Monday, February 27, 2012

Inked

There used to be a time, up until very recently in fact, when the word "tattoo" conjured up a plethora of negative thoughts. Nice people equated "body art" (as tattoos are now usually referred to) with evil, menacing people: biker gangs, people in prison, anti-social losers, and sometimes people in the military. Some people are synonymous with their tattoos. Richard Speck, the drifting loser who murdered eight student nurses in Chicago in July, 1966, was tripped up because the lone survivor of his night of murder remembered his tattoo--"Born To Raise Hell". Nasty business. Nice people just didn't sport ink. Fast forward to the present. It seems everyone has at least one tattoo these days. I have seen tramp stamps on soccer moms. Of course, any professional athlete worth is paycheck has armfuls of them. I have seen discreet ink on doctors and lawyers as well. Quite a few people that I work with have tattoos. They are not uncommon in these times and have become an acceptable form of self-expression. When I turned 40 in 2000, I began to contemplate getting a tattoo for the first time. Before that, the notion had been unthinkable. What did I need a tattoo for? Once I got seriously into the spanking scene, I began to see more and more people with tattoos. The more I saw of them, the more I wanted one of my own. But I didn't know the first thing about how to go about finding a reputable tattoo artist. My 27-year-old nephew, Sean, solved that dilemma for me. He has a full sleeve on his right arm and an almost full sleeve on his left. He told me "Aunt Cheryl, if you're serious about getting a tattoo, then I'm taking you to my guy." Now his tattoos aren't something I would want. He has aliens, skulls and killer clowns on his arms. He also has "Juggalo" (a reference to the Insane Clown Posse) on his stomach. I knew I wanted something aesthetically pleasing, that conveyed my love of music and also something that I didn't see on anyone else. So I did a Google search of musical notes and found the first four notes of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony. The notes looked awesome together. I knew my search was over. I had found what I wanted. All that remained was saving the money and finding a time when Chris, Sean's tattoo guy, would be available. On Wednesday, Sean informed me that he was going to be going on Sunday to get some more work done and offered to text Chris and ask him if he would consider doing mine the same day. Now tattoo artists are like any other professional. Their time is valuable. You can't assume that he will be free, much less willing. And he's by appointment only. You can't just walk in off the street and expect him to spend three hours on you. He needs to know in advance what he's up against. So Chris sent a text back telling Sean that he would be able to fit me in. It helped that I already knew what I wanted. I loaded the photo on a flash drive and Sunday afternoon, we headed over to the Big Top tattoo parlor for our tattoos. The place was very interesting. The man who owns it collects old circus posters and memorabilia. But I had a moment of panic because there were clowns everywhere and I have a clown phobia. I have hated them all of my life. When Chris took me downstairs to download the photo of the tattoo I wanted, we found that it wouldn't load on his computer. For whatever reason, it didn't download from my computer. Sean fixed that problem. His ex-girlfriend (with whom he's still on very good terms) lived nearby and he offered to go and download it on her computer. While he was gone, Chris got to work on some sketches he wanted to sh0w Sean. He was an excellent artist. As I watched him, I realized there was a lot more talent involved than I had at first thought. We made some small talk, but I saw how into his sketches he was so I decided not to bother him. When Sean returned, we got the picture downloaded and printed and I showed it to Chris. He asked me where I was planning on putting it. "On my ass," I told him. Well, right there was a problem. He explained that the image was flat, but my ass was round (don't I know it LOL). So he took out some paper and began to draw. He was mindful that this was my first tattoo and I didn't want to be there all day or spend a small fortune. Once he got the design he liked, he presented it to me for my approval. To be honest, it didn't look like much on paper. He must have seen my disappointment because he went on to say that it would look much better once he got it on my skin. Skin is a living medium; one that moves and changes with you. Well, there wasn't much left but to get down to it. He asked Sean to look the door in case someone decided to walk in off the street. I was mortified to learn that he didn't have a private room. He took every precaution to ensure that no one saw us. He motioned for me to take my jeans down. I've been in the spanking scene long enough to know this signal when I see it. The first thing he did was shave the area where the tattoo was going. He explained that this was necessary to keep from getting an infected hair, which might affect the way the tattoo healed and would also be monumentally painful. Then he sprayed something on it which helped the transfer stick. It had alcohol in it so it stung a little. I had to stand there with my pants down while it dried. Meanwhile, Sean is watching the whole thing. You might find it a bit yucky, but I actually felt comforted by his presence. When the transfer dried, there was nothing else to do but go for it. He had a massage table which he moved over to where his equipment was. Then he put a pillow on it and told me, which a grin, to "assume the position". Here I thought I was going to be comfortably lying down while I got my tattoo, but no, I had to bend over the table on my tip toes. I was extremely thankful that I had decided to wear a thong. If I hadn't, he would have seen everything in the position I was in. He dipped the needle in the ink and said "Last chance to chicken out." I bent over the table and said "Let's do it." Sean had warned me that it wouldn't tickle. Getting spanked with nasty, evil implements on a regular basis has come in handy more than once and this was one of those times. It did sting, I will admit. But something funny and amazing happened. I zoned out, the same as I would if I was getting a nice, rhythmic paddling. The endorphins flooded my body and I felt so peaceful and calm that I never once moved out of position. He did ask about the healing wounds from the previous week's funishment session. I told him what kind of scene I was in and he was cool with it. A kink friendly tattoo artist might not be such a novelty though. He told me when we were almost done. I really didn't want it to be over. But it soon was. He had me stand up and he put some ointment on it.He told me I could look at it in the mirror if I wanted to. It reminded me of all the times I had looked at my freshly spanked bottom. Then he covered it in a paper towel and some tape. He instructed me on how to take care of it while it healed. All in all, I was thrilled with the whole experience and with the result:





I wanted to make sure that the tattoo was out of the safe spanking zone. I think it may serve as a guide to the safe places to spank; keep it below the tattoo. So now I have my own identifying mark. Everyone who sees my bottom from now on will know it's mine from the tattoo. But I have no regrets. This is something to cross off the Bucket List (if I had one).


Also, on a personal note, I just passed my third blogoversary. It's hard to believe that I've been telling you folks my experiences and dreams for this long. Hopefully, I will be able to continue for many years to come.

1 comment:

cleo said...

not usually into tatoos but loved the musical notes.