Show Me Your Tats!

So, lately I have been thinking about getting a tattoo.

Yeah, I know what you are thinking. You can take the girl out of South St. Louis, but…

I have always told myself that I am totally opposed to permanently defacing my body with something I am likely to tire of or regret someday. In addition, I have never felt strongly enough about something to justify having an eternal likeness indelibly inked on some part of my body.

Although David has a tattoo, he has never really urged me to get one. He has a tattoo of a dragon on his right leg, and I am not crazy about it. In fact, I think it is stupid. Not too long after we began dating, I asked him why he decided to have a mythical creature etched on his calf. He replied that he thought it looked cool. This is why I do not let David go grocery shopping, or have the password to my eBay account. I believe that many tattoos are the result of an impulsive decision, when they should be considered after much thought and counsel.

This brings me to Emily…

You may remember Emily; she is my friend from St. Louis, and we had some girl sex a couple of years ago.

Emily spent her vacation here again last month. It was a dabble-free week; however, Emily is the reason that a tattoo is on my mind. Since I last saw Emily, she has inked-up quite a bit. She has the obligatory tramp stamp, which is apparently a gender prerequisite for all zip codes south of Highway 40. Also, she has a tribal thing with stars on each side of her tummy, and some sort of tribal thing behind each ear…yeah, those kinda freaked me out some.

Emily informed me that she wanted to get another tattoo while she was in Daytona Beach. When I asked about the intended placement of this newly proposed ink, she said she wanted “two very feminine sparrows, one on each hip”. So, she chose the guy for her most recent torso graffiti (per a recommendation in the mall), and I drove her the fifteen miles to have a preliminary drawing created. This happened on Tuesday; however, Emily was gonna wait until Friday afternoon for the branding, so as not to restrict her time in the sun and pool. As she negotiated price, design and placement with the artist, I amused myself by paging through countless pictures of this guy’s previous work. I gotta say this…some people are just not meant for tattoos. I saw photos of both genders displaying body parts, which had no business being revealed.

These are my worries when it comes to tattoos... I worry that someday I might not be the near-perfect physical specimen that I am today, and any tattoos I might get would make me look even worse.

I worry that I will get something stupid inked on me, and then change my mind. I only need to look in my closet to get a tangible reminder that I am unable to make sound decisions about shoes and clothes I buy, yet either do not wear, or tire of quickly.

And I worry that I will run screaming out of the tattoo parlor, crying like a little bitch when the first needle touches me. However, I will admit that there is something about the tattooing process that turns me on. I am not into pain, but I do kinda wanna know what it feels like.

This brings me back to Emily…I sat with her for six fucking hours while she had “two very feminine sparrows” inked on her hips. I was quite turned on. I am not sure if it was the fact that I was watching her wearing very little, and being tended to by a “professional”, who seemed to have little interest in her near nudity…or if it was the look on her face. She seemed to get off on the presumed pain. I am not saying that she was orgasmic, but I do think she derived some pleasure from the invasive event.

I do know that I have never wanted her more.

I imagined myself making love to her as writhed in ecstasy in response to my cunnilingual efforts. I imagined looking up from between her legs, and seeing her beautiful tats changing shape in almost cartoon-like fashion as I licked her. And I imagined she was some mysterious stranger allowing me to see inside her world as I pleasured her with my mouth.

And, snap back to reality…I decided I was getting a little too worked up to be sitting in a tattoo parlor. I had noticed this classy establishment was situated next to a bar when we arrived earlier. I could hear the Country music through the walls, as I watched Emily on the table, barely keeping her vagine contained. I excused myself and went next door to have a drink.

As I entered this bar, which I would describe as your typical biker/redneck bar, I wondered if it preceded the neighboring tattoo parlor, or vice-versa. The clientele this night left no doubt in my mind that there was not a Brooks and Dunn concert, or a demolition derby anywhere in the area. I found a seat at the bar, and ordered a Bud Light bottle from the bartender, who seemed thrilled to be on duty, and surprised that I had a full set of teeth. Luckily (yeah, that is sarcasm), it was Karaoke night also. I considered ordering a So-Co lime shot to enhance my experience; however, as I watched a couple of roaches frolic on the mirror behind the bar, I elected to limit my alcohol consumption to beverages in factory-sealed packaging.

So, some overweight and under-gifted girl with a belt buckle, which would make Roy Rogers envious, was crucifying a Trisha Yearwood song. I swear it sounded like someone was standing on a fucking cat. Again, I considered the So-Co lime shot, this time more as an imperative in the interest of surviving long enough to finish my beer. Again I resisted the temptation, and looked about the bar, hoping that something would be attention deserving enough to drown out the fingernail on a chalkboard like efforts of this tone-deaf, Minnie Pearl on the stage.

No such luck.

There was a group of bikers, who apparently are also plumbers (see what I did there?), playing pool in the corner, and a table of girls who made Dog the Bounty Hunter’s wife look like a runway model. The biggest one had a deep, throaty laugh…kinda like that sound a dog makes just before he throws up.

I was as out of place here as a morning drive time radio producer at a Mensa convention.

As the next Karaoke contestant began to make noises, which made Charlie Daniels sound like Perry Como, I finished my beer and headed for the door.

I re-entered the tattoo establishment to find that Emily was still ink-incomplete. Now I could understand why. The two “very feminine sparrows” more closely resembled two “very angry war eagles”. She informed me that it was prolly gonna take another hour or so. I consigned myself to waiting, and began to look at some more pictures of tattoos. This prompted me to ask myself many questions…

Should I get a tattoo? If so, what should I get?
Would a tattoo give me more self-confidence, or make me more self-conscious?
Would I look sexier or mysterious with a tattoo?
Would others judge me because of my tattoo?

Finally, it was over. Emily got off the table, and began to get dressed. I heard the tattoo guy instruct her to keep the new tattoos covered in a Saran Wrap type material, so they would not “bleed” on clothing or furniture. He also reminded her to stay out of the sun for a few days.

Tattoos seem like high maintenance…at least initially.

When we got home, Emily got completely naked and I took pictures of her. I gotta say she is a beautiful girl with a classic body. I tried to remember our past dabble, and how she looked naked back then. I found myself wanting to get undressed and invite her to bed. Then I remembered how awkward I felt after our previous sexual encounter. I finished photographing her body art, and just appreciated the opportunity I had to look at her.

Emily and I have been friends for a long time. She struggles with her ability to attract guys. I have often told her that she intimidates guys because she is so beautiful…naturally beautiful.

I wonder if having slightly less ink than the Declaration of Independence makes her more intimidating to guys.

Emily is very proud of her tattoos, and she should be. They are quite beautiful, and I think she feels they add to her overall physical appearance. I also think she feels they represent something more than just artwork to her. Whether that is rebellion, a certain discipline, or just something to mark certain times in her life…I do not know.

I purposely asked more questions in this column than I answered.

I do want your input…

What do you think about tats on girls?
Do any of my female readers have tattoos?
What made you decide to get one?
Do you have any regrets?

You can post your comments here, or you can join me in a slightly more private venue at my new forum Maggie’s Back Door.