12th August 2010
I had waited so long. We had talked about it a lot, exchanged ideas and designs but the time had never been right. I had started to become complacent about it, thinking it would never really happen. I understood why he was waiting, it’s not something you do on a whim or do lightly. I had to be right, but when would that be?
Just when I thought it might never be, I find myself outside a tattoo shop in Philadelphia with his hand firmly placed on the back of my neck guiding me towards the shop entrance Was it really going to happen, now? No warning, no preparation, just do it?
The next thing I know I am in this tattoo shop and the artist is drawing up His request. The first draft is good, but the second draft is even better. ‘Do you like it?’ asks the tattooist. I reply yes, but that it is His choice really. For a moment the artist searches my face, a quizzical look in his eyes, I think he is wondering if I am drugged up or drunk, but the open clear glaze of my eyes seems to reassure him and he shrugs and smiles and writes up the consent form.
I can’t quite absorb the speed with which this is happening. I want it so badly and have wanted it for so long, but the suddenness of it starts to have an effect on my body and by the time I get to the chair and peel back my top I am already sweating. I am not quite sure what happened next, but my body failed me slightly. It wasn’t the pain, in fact it’s not even painful, I have experienced much worse in my life, no, I think it the whole thing, the feelings, the emotions, the suddenness, but my body floods my system with adrenalin and the result of that is not exactly pretty.
The artist was great, apparently he has seen it all before, and worse, but I felt like a total donut. It’s not like I could even blame the pain, as there wasn’t really any pain, just a scratchy discomfort. Damn silly body, getting itself all out of kilter. In the end a break was required for me to get myself back under control. I did feel bloody silly though. In the end, all was well and we continued on.
‘Look in the mirror, before I cover it up’ said the artist, but instead I turned my back and show Him first, after all it is His mark on me. As I glance back over my shoulder I see Him smile and looking deep into my eyes and I see him mouths the words ‘I love you’.
I love my tattoo, or is His tattoo? It’s his mark on me, he chose it, placed it, watched as it was drawn onto my skin. I can’t wait for it to be healed properly so that when he takes me from behind I can feel his teeth biting into the flesh that carry’s his mark. I am so proud to have his mark. It looks so sexy, nestled there on my shoulder. At the moment I can’t see it enough, and I find myself regularly in the bathroom, twisting and turning and feasting my eyes on it. When I see it, or think about it, it makes me wet, it looks sexy and it makes me feel sexy. I am his, I know it, I feel it, and now I see it too. I have his collar round my neck and his mark on my back.
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