Saturday, March 13, 2010

The eroticism of Tattoos...


I know, I know, I've been a horrible blogger. I haven't written anything in like 2 weeks. I suck. I could give you my excuses: depression, a grad school app crisis, and a hateful computer that's been locking up when I try to open more then one internet tab at a time... but the fact is, it doesn't really matter does it? You don't come here for stories of my life, unless those stories take place while I'm naked. What it all boils down to is I've been absent, and I'm sorry. I give each permission, if you ever meet me to spank me or something in punishment.

So in the weeks since I've written here, I haven't gotten laid at all. Out of my three local, semi consistent sex partners, one disappeared off the face of the earth, one moved 2 hours away, and the other and I haven't had a chance to get together for mainly scheduling conflicts. It's been about a month now, and honestly, I'm about ready to fuck the couch, but anyways, moving on.

I did manage to do one thing that made me feel amazing. I got a new tattoo. It brings the count up to 7, and it is by far the largest I've ever gotten. I went with my friend N. I was explaining to her how much I loved the feeling of getting a new tattoo, but while I was on the table, shaking from being in the uncomfortable position that long and gripping the table in pain, she asked if I wanted to change my answer.

No, never. I like pain, I like being a sub, but I have major trust issues, so I don't do it often. Body modification is completely trust worthy pain. A tattoo artist or piercer is someone who will cause you pain, but always stop when you tell them, always check on you to make sure you're ok, and will never do more then you asked/paid for. All the things a good dom does. I realize I could probably find a pro dom who would do all those things for me as well, but, like I said, I have trust issues, and I don't think I would be able to let go with a dom like I can at a tattoo parlor.

As the needle touches my skin, I feel a change right then. I can feel the blood rushing to that part of my body, feel the rest of my skin cool in comparison, feel the cutting, stinging pain, feel the warmth of the tattooer's gloved hand sliding over my skin, wiping off ink and blood. This time, for the first time, it was so big, the endorphin rush of pain hit before I was done. About an hour and a half into it, I felt the high hit. My skin felt electric, but at the same time, the pain was dulled. I rolled on to my side so he could get a better angle, and my eyelids drooped. I felt warm and safe and happy. I know that N was talking to me, but I couldn't tell you a word she said. I laid there, my head on my arm, with a stupid half grin as I just let the calm wash over me. My head was finally, blissfully, peacefully quiet.

Finally, 2 hours after we've started, the tattooer (who, by the by, is ADORABLE, I might want to marry him a little) looks up and tells me I'm done. I hold my pants up to my ass as he sprays my legs with water and rubs up and down the newly raw skin with his gloved fingers. The cold of the water shocks my system awake, while his hands calm me down again. I get up and look in the mirror. I hadn't really planned on getting a tattoo, and I definitely hadn't planned on one this large, but the second I see it, it's love at first sight; as it has been every time I've gotten one. The combination of raw, pink skin with dark, bold ink is one of my favorite things, and I wish they could always look as they do right after they are done.

For awhile after, I feel high. I love everyone and everything. I want to crawl in the lap of the cute boy waiting for his friends to get off work. I want to kiss everyone there. I want someone's skin on mine, I want physical affection, something I never let myself crave. But, as all things do, the feeling fades. Suddenly I'm exhausted. I want to crawl into bed, warm and safe, and I'm cranky that I'm not.

For a few days, I'm raw and sore. Every step I take jars my skin, making me ache. But I wash the new ink lovingly, running my fingers along the still raised words. The raw skin jumps and stings under my touch, but I love that feeling. But soon the flaky, itchy stage starts, and then, the ink is set, and it's just part of my body again, not special, not electric, just skin. But the memory sticks for a while, the high feeling, the feeling of the needle and hands on my skin, and that's enough. But soon the memory will start to fade as well. I'll struggle to recall the details, the exact mix of sexuality, sensuality, pain, and bliss that I've never replicated anywhere else will become a intangible concept in my mind instead of an exact feeling. And when finally the high is just a blur in my mind, that's when I get the itch for my next one.

1 comment:

  1. This is an awesome depiction of the "tattoo experience." I really enjoyed reading it.

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