The Anticipated Pain

The anticipation of the first sting of the bundled needles is something that cannot be explained to someone that has not yet experienced its allure.

That anticipation is heightened when the distinctive sound of the machine signals its awakening. Waiting, with my breath held, is surreal and adrenaline surges through my body while I wait impatiently for that first light touch of the artist.

The feeling, along with the knowledge that ink is being injected beneath the first layer of my skin, is addicting.

For some, the art of tattooing is taboo, something only to be had by the lowest members of society, sailors, bikers, and the like. "No," they say time and time again, "you can't do that."

Well, yes, yes I can. We all have choices, and while I may make some another would not, they have made choices I would have not.

Although I have wondered, at times, if my longing for that distinctive feeling of the machine, the pain,  against my skin is somehow connected, in the recesses of my memory, to self destructive deeds of the distant past. Of that, I'm not sure, I can only speculate.

I only know that I eagerly await the date, the time, and the minute, that the man will apply the stencil he drew especially for me. He firmly rubs it against my body and then removes the paper, leaving a faint outline, for approval.

It's not yet real, not until the singing of the machine lyrically fills the air and the enticing pain is felt as the permanent ink is deposited, and I breathe deeply and settle in for the endurance of the project. 

There are times when a nerve is hit and I hold my breath, tighten my body and grimace, until the artist moves the machine, ever so slightly, to another position, another area. I sit in his chair for hours until the finishing touches are completed, and only then I'm able to see the finished piece of art, my art. It belongs to no one but me, and there will never be another one like it, the stencil is thrown away. The piece is unique, as am I.

For those that have words of scorn, I have no need. I am me, and I have confidence in who I am, and what I can accomplish with, or without, my embellishments.

My first, and probably last, un-coverable piece