Thursday, December 17, 2009


Tattoos are a recent thing for me. Well, recent as in the last few years. I’d wanted a tattoo almost my whole life. It appealed to the artist hiding in me to have something that I could carry with me everywhere.

I put off getting one mostly because of the other people in my life. They didn’t like tattoos. But when my children starting sporting what seemed to be a new one every other month, I’d start thinking again about how much I’d really wanted one. My chance finally happened about three years ago.

I was on a vacation sans husband and kids, and was with my sister in Florida when she’d tweaked me about my continuously putting off getting a tattoo. She’d said that it wasn’t because other people didn’t like them...but that I was “afraid of the pain”....and that I "was a wussy". Since I’m actually quite afraid of needles, I'm sure she thought she’d found something that I wouldn’t ever do.

Once I’d gotten over laughing at the thought of how I could explain to her about my fascination with pain, I thought of something that appealed to BOTH my masochist and well as the little inner sadist that sometimes lurks. I said that if she wanted me to get a tattoo so much, then I’d be willing. And the bet was that if I cried or cringed during it, I’d pay for it. Otherwise, it was on her dime.

We found a tattoo shop in Tampa that she’d heard about. We went in, and I chose a tattoo that would mean something to me forever. I chose a symbol which represented the name of someone very special to me. Since she’ll always be the most special, I know I wouldn’t change my mind and regret the choice. We discussed colors, placement and size and the guy began the tattoo.....and I found myself in a remarkably relaxed space in a matter of minutes.

About an hour later, I was the proud owner of my first tattoo.

Afterwards, while my sister was paying the bill, she just looked at me and said “I’ve never seen anyone who almost fell asleep while being looked like you were almost enjoying it!”. I didn’t know what to say. I had enjoyed it. So much so, that I knew if I wasn’t careful, I’d willingly get every inch of my body tattooed given the chance. And that would look freaky. It is much too addicting.

But what I find most interesting was the state of my mind during it. It was painful in spots....and it felt a lot like playing with pain....the willingness and anticipation of the pain created a juxtaposition in my brain. That “fight or flight” reaction. The problem is that my mind says stay....while my body says “get the fuck outta Dodge”. When they become synched....that’s when I’m able to fly.

I’ve wanted another tattoo for three years, but I've waited. In much the same way as I waited before meeting daddy. The former is too addicting, the latter was because I'd wanted to make sure that I wasn't behaving as an addict searching for my next fix of D/s.

You see, while I could just get them because they’re pretty, or I like the feeling, or they’re cool, since I do have to live with them (and around other people who still think tattoos are low-class) for a lifetime, I decided that I’d ONLY get inked when there was something I was sure about. I used that precious little girl’s flower on my shoulder as the test of that. I’d only get a tattoo that would say something I’d never regret.

I’ve been toying with the idea of getting a tattoo over the past several months. At first, I didn’t know what I’d want. I toyed with the idea of a kitty, a rainbow, and others. But none of those felt right and didn’t meet the requirement of “meaning something” to me. So I’d waited.

When I finally decided on what I’d like tattooed, I waited some more. Although I tend to rush into things, this was one time that I’d decided early on to go slowly with. Step by step, little by little. Making sure, testing myself (ok, and truth be told, him too), learning about each other, and mostly just accepting that there is someone out there who loves me exactly as I am, who expects nothing from me except to be who I am, and who accepts my love exactly as I give it.

And that's why I'm finally getting a tattoo again this weekend. I'm finally sure that despite whatever happens down the road, I will never regret getting it....and never regret who it will remind me of.

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