Tattooed On My Brain

When I was growing up, I knew so few people that had tattoos. It seemed like the only people I knew were in the army or rode a motorcycle. It wasn't until college that I knew any civilians with tattoos. This guy I went to college with, Ricky, got a tattoo of this big painting from our dorm on his arm. The painting was of a child smiling. It was a huge picture hanging in one of the lounges. I would've never thought about making that into a tat, but it looked good. After that I started seeing more and more people with tattoos. One of my classmates had a butterfly tattoo etched on her cleavage. I only saw it once when she was wearing a bikini top on a particularly warm spring day late sophomore year. Other people had lions on their chest, ankle tattoos and barbed wire on their bicep. More of my friends started getting tattoos and when I looked around and I noticed more and more people with tattoos. It went from being on the fringe of society to mainstream by the time I was out of college. At this point I feel like I'm one of the only people without one.

Your tattoo is calling me. It's been three days since Sunday morning, and there are so many things about that morning I can't get out of my mind. Your kisses tasted like sugar. Each kiss was sweet and wet and made me want more. Your skin was smooth and soft to touch. You smelled like lilacs with a whiff of cinnamon, a combination I had never experienced before. But my focus rested on your tattoo. I am attracted to a bare back, and your back makes a wonderful canvas for your tattoo art. I don't think I knew that it was there before you took off your top and turned your back to me on the bed. In the middle of fucking you I found myself staring at it. Looking down at it, focused on its size and shape and how it made your back more interesting. I was attracted to it, although I don't think I touched it. I don't know why I didn't though. When I get another chance, I will take my fingers and trace around it.

I want to be naked next to you again, looking at your back and using my fingers to caress your tattoo, tracing the pattern and feeling your soft skin beneath the ink. Does the ink slightly raise your skin so that it has small bumps? Can I read you like braille? I don't have tattoos of my own, so I have no idea how it feels. What made you choose a compass? Is it your way of making sure you always know the way home? Does it center you? Were you thinking of other images for your tattoo? Were you thinking of other locations to put it? I think you made great decisions on both. On your shoulder blade. The size of your hand. You didn't put it in the tramp stamp position. Good decision. I feel for women who do that. I have a friend with one. She's a mom, and the first time I saw her tattoo, it was an accident. She had bent over to put dishes in her dishwasher and her shirt rode up just a tiny bit to reveal a piece of the tattoo on her lower back. I'm ashamed to admit that it made me feel sorry for her. I'm sure that when she did it, tramp stamp wasn't yet a moniker. She's no tramp, but she has to deal with this society's idiocy now. I think the lower back is a great spot for a tattoo. It's a wide spot to create your vision, but perhaps too many porn stars put their tattoos there, and that changed the perception of that tattoo real estate.

Will you let me see your tattoo again? We don't have to be naked of course. Perhaps you wear a tank top or something that reveals your skin art. However, I want to be naked with you again. I don't want Sunday to be the only time we see each other. Ask me to come over again and I will be there. I think about it all day. I am completely turned on and completely interested in seeing you and fucking you again. Your compass rose attracts me to your apartment to be enveloped by your body once more.