Adventure 7

Featured Image for The Tattoer, Adventure 7 of the fiction blog Christy Palmer's Sexual Adventures

I’m totally amazed by all the possibilities of adventures there is when you open your eyes (and legs) to it! Just a casual tattooing—yeah, “casual” as if I was having a new tattoo every week…—can turn out in an amazing evening who can turn out in an amazing night who can turn out in well… Quite a surprising ending! Let’s not spoil anything; let me explain…


Want to start from the beginning?

Okay, I need to apologize for the last post.

With some perspective, what happened with The Gamer scared me a little. I mean, I acted like a sex predator, for God’s sake! He just wanted to be in a relationship with me, and even though he was seriously too intense for me (recovering from a heartbreak or not, as a matter of fact), he didn’t deserve to be urge like that.

I can guarantee you I’ll behave from now on because my guiltiness dropped my hormones to a tolerable level—apart from when I attend a class taught by The Teacher, then it takes me a whole day to calm down my internal raper.

(Oh… And in case you thought The Friend had anything to do with this, he didn’t. He is still out of town and let’s just say that sex isn’t his priority right now. I totally understand why.)

So I decided to do something new to change my mind.

I’ve read somewhere that one of the good ways to get over a break-up (yes, I googled “How to get over a break-up”, I admit it!) is to do things you would never have done when you were with your ex, as a way to consider the break-up as a good thing instead of a bad thing. Well, I thought it made sense so I decided to get a tattoo!

I’ve always wanted to have my favorite Sylvia Plath’s quotes on the inside of my forearm:

I will seek to progress, to whip myself on, to more and more—to learning. Always.

But The Ex never wanted to hear a word about it. He thought girls with tattoos weren’t feminine at all and that it was a very stupid way to spend your money.

I’d manage to convince myself that I didn’t need a tattoo, but now that The Ex is no longer in my life to complain, the desire to have it came back running. And money wasn’t even a problem—because it kinds of piles up when a post-break-up depression makes you disappear from the surface of the Earth for a whole year.

I spent two weeks searching on the Internet for the perfect font to write the quote with, another week deciding how it should be positioned on my arm and another one just to decide if I would add “Sylvia Plath” or not (I decided not at first, but changed my mind in the tattoo shop). And then another month later, after I found the best tattooer in town when it comes to tattooing words, I finally took an appointment.

I was super nervous I was going to pass out on the chair (I’m really not good at dealing with pain, to be honest) so The Party-Friend proposed me to come along for moral support, which I gladly accepted.

When we arrived at the studio and we were introduced to my tattooer, I was so glad I accepted her offer! I just couldn’t pass out in front of that guy. With his long dark hair in a relaxed bun and his long dark beard plus his tattoos covering every part of his body I could see, he was the physical representation of the cool, hot tattooer. Plus he had those surreal green eyes to die for.

But as soon as we really got started on the actual tattooing process, The Tattooer himself became the least of my concerns.

You know, when I said I was not good at dealing with pain? Well, that was an understatement! I literally suck at dealing with pain.

No joke, I cried like a kid.

The whole time.

At least The Tattooer was really nice, saying I was kind of cute with my big crocodile tears (I know he was making fun of me), but I didn’t feel good about myself and I didn’t even consider asking him out. Ever.

So when the torture was finally over, all I care about was to pay him and leave as quickly as possible. But I couldn’t because he still needed to explain to me how to take care of the tattoo to make sure it was going to cure well.

And I don’t really understand how my body came to the conclusion that a little bottle of disinfectant was worst than having a needle penetrating my skin like a jackhammer, but when he sprayed it on my arm to show me how to do it, it was like he was speaking from far, far away.

Then my vision got black.

Then I don’t remember anything.

I woke up lying on the tattoo chair set in flat position, a cold towel on my forehead and my feet raised by a couple of pillows.

You know, real classy.

The Party-Friend look petrified, standing on my side.

“I’m okay, don’t do that face,” I told her.

“I guess I’m not really good at moral support…”

“Don’t say that,” I answered raising myself up on my elbows.

“Where do you think you’re going?” said The Tattooer behind me. I didn’t even know he was there! “Take your time, little bunny.”

Yeah, “little bunny”! What kind of nickname is that!

“Hum… There is somewhere I needed to be like 15 minutes ago and I’m her ride so…” said The Party-Friend looking shy.

“More like a someone you need to be with…” I said with a wink.

She met this guy who seems really adorable. As an answer, she gave me the sort of smile only newly in love people have. I’m so happy for her; she deserves someone as awesome as her.

“And do you have a someone who could come and pick you up?” asked The Tattooer to me.

Yeah, I had my mom. But I had been pathetic enough for one day, so there was no way I was calling her.

“Not really… But it’s okay, I can take the bus.”

“Nonsense. I’ll take you back home after my next appointment. If you want to, of course,” he added with a smile.

For the record, when you look that badass and you say lovely things like that, it makes girls go completely nuts.

“Oh! Yes, she wants to!” answered The Party-Friend for me. “’Gotta go! Love you, sweetie!”

And she ran out of the studio, leaving me alone with The Tattooer.

Just to be sure that your mental image of the scene is not too glamorous, let me remind you that I was still lying down with pillows under my feet and a wet towel on my forehead!

At least, it didn’t last very long.

“Your next appointment is here,” said the receptionist, popping her head around the door. “You can take [The Tattooer-Colleague]’s office if she needs more time.”

“No, that’s okay. I’ll—” I said trying to get up, but The Tattooer was already leaving, saying thanks to his receptionist.

And he came back a minute later, throwing a small chocolate milk carton on my lap and winking at me before leaving again.

To be fair, I was so glad he didn’t ask me to get up right away because I think I would have fainted again. It let me some time to make sure all the blood that was supposed to be in my head was back there and with the firm intention of not leaving the region again.

I also had enough time to drink the chocolate milk (who did me way more good than I thought it would), to take the towel off my forehead and to sit normally on the chair.

So when The Tattooer came back, I felt at ease.

“You look better,” he told me.

“I am! Sorry for all of that… I thought I would handle this tattooing thing in a more glorious way.”

“Don’t worry about it. I fainted too at my first tattoo.”

Again, for the record, when you look that badass, showing your vulnerable side is the best idea in the world to make a girl crazy about you.

On the way to my place, he told me the story of the first tattoo he got at the age of 14, in the creepiest tattoo shop there was (because they were the only one who accepted to do it without asking any parents’ permission).

“I swear, this place was so horrible. I’m lucky I didn’t catch HIV!”

Although he fainted and the tattoo turned out so hideous, he remembers it as being one of the best days of his life, because it made him want to become a tattoo artist.

“What was it? Was it that awful?” I asked him as he walked me to my door.

“It’s a tribal on my shoulder blade, but it’s the ugliest tribal tattoo there is. I still have it. I can’t cover it because it means too much to me.”

Yeah! He kept getting cuter and cuter!

“Really? No! Can I see it?” I asked him over excited and with a real sense of curiosity, not (strictly at this moment) thinking of how good of an opportunity it would be to have sex with him.

Because up to that moment, to be fair, I was only enjoying his presence. He was nice and it felt good to be around him. So I had only the purest thoughts when I asked him to see his very first tattoo.

“I have a policy of never taking my shirt off in front of a lady before I offered her at least one dinner,” he answered me laughing. “Pizza?”

“Great idea!” I was starving! “Come in, we’ll order it. I’ve got beers in the fridge.” I’m not alcoholic, just far-seeing.

“That’s the best invitation I ever had,” he responded with a smile, entering my apartment.

So we ordered a pizza (extra bacon) then opened two beers as he was asking me about what I was doing for a living.

“I’m a college student. Majoring in English,” I said raising up my freshly tattooed arm as a proof of how book-geeky I am. “I’ll be graduating at the end of this semester…”

Saying that made me more scared than I thought it would. Graduating is supposed to be a good thing, right?… But The Tattooer pointed out exactly what was scaring me so much.

“What are you going to do once you graduate? Are you going to grad school?”

I took a very long sip of beer there, to give me some time to find out an answer. But the truth is, I didn’t know what to answer to that question.

“I have no idea… And it scares me more than I want to admit,” I told him, realizing that he wasn’t The Ex; he surely wasn’t going to get mad at me for not knowing what I want for my future.

And if he had got mad, I could have just kicked him out of my apartment and it would have meant more pizza and beer for me.

“Must be hard to not know what career you want,” he said looking sincerely sorry for me. “You could always apply for a minor, it would give you more time to figure it out.”

“That’s true, I could.”

The rest of the evening was great; the pizza finally arrived, wet and cold, and it was disgusting, but we ate it anyway because we were so hungry. We laugh about it and started conceptualizing a bad pizza contest.

Hanging with The Tattooer was just so easy; I felt more relaxed and happy that I had felt in a very long time.

And after we threw the rest of the bad pizza, we opened our third beer and he accepted to show me his tattoo.

His body is a real piece of art and looking at it was captivating.

He first showed me the tribal tattoo, who was really horrible but at the same time kind of cute when you knew the story being it. I soon started studying his other tattoos, asking about the meaning or history behind every one of them.

Without realizing it, as I was exploring the canvas that is his skin, I was softly caressing is back and arms. So when we were done with his back, I found myself facing him, both of us sitting on my sofa, slowly touching his chest and abs to ask about the rest of his tattoos.

When he had his back to me, I was able to concentrate of the inks, but when we were facing and his deep green eyes were admiring me, it started to get real hot. I was literally stuttering as I asked him about the flowered skull he had on his right pec.

“If you go through my whole body like that, I’ll also have to take my pants off,” he said with a soft smile.

“And what is your policy about pants?”

I surprised myself at being nervous there; not my typical I-don’t-really-know-what-I’m-doing anxiousness, more like an I-kinda-like-you-and-I-want-to-get-closer-to-you-but-I’m-afraid-you-don’t-want-to sort of anxiousness.

“Normally, I have a three dates policy for that—I’m a little old-fashion—but I could make a special exception for you.”

From that moment, I lost all my interest for his tattoos. My clothes just felt so damn uncomfortable; I only wanted to press my skin on his and make one with him. We started kissing and we never stop as he was transporting me to my bedroom.

And it was a sweet, tender lovemaking; I had totally forgotten it could exist. Our bodies were not sync in a way it does for a couple after having sex many times, but I could definitely see the potential.

He was all about making sure I had the best time and felt comfortable. And when you look that badass and you’re being so concerned about your partner’s well-being… It is just perfect.

After it, he even spooned me softly and kissed me on the neck.

I didn’t think, even for a second, to ask him to leave. It just felt too good being held by him.

Another thing that didn’t cross my mind was that it had now been a year since The Ex dumped me. I thought it would make me lose my mind and crush me all over again, but here I was, just happy in the arms of a very nice guy.

I guess Google was totally right about how to get over a break-up; having a tattoo was the best idea in the world. By the way, my Sylvia Plath’s quote is the most beautiful tattoo in the world—of course, I’m being very objective here!

As for The Tattooer, well, I guess the adventure doesn’t really stop here so… To be continued.


Want more? Keep reading! Adventure 8: The Tattooer Part 2


What did you think of Christy’s adventure this week?
Do you think she’ll see The Tattooer again? What do you think will happen when she wakes up?
Tell me in the comments!


Wanna know the truth about Christy's break up?
(Yeah... She lied about it...)

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