It must have been about 6 or 7 years ago, I suppose. I know that I was having a personal struggle of some kind, trying to relate the person I thought I was with the guy who left the house every morning in a dark suit, to go sit behind an office desk. And somehow it seemed important that I did something to give people just a slight warning that they shouldn't assume that they knew me. Does that sound strange?
Anyway, I'd had one or two conversations with S, my ex, and she'd made it clear that many things were possible but a tattoo was not one of them. Naturally (grin), it then just became a matter of time, and sure enough one sunny Saturday morning, I "just popped out" to the shops with S's parting words ringing in my ears. "Don’t you dare come back with a tattoo."
I'll cut to the chase. I'd been in the chair for about 20 minutes, and the pain was just beginning to become strangely pleasurable. The girl who did the peircings in the studio had been leaning against the wall watching, and I saw a glint of amusement in her eye as she spoke.
"You haven’t taken a breath for about 5 minutes. Do you think it hurts?"
"Well" I said, "considering I don't know whether to faint or throw up at the moment, I'd say yes. It f*cking hurts."
She laughed and walked towards me, and without a word threw one tanned, sinewy leg over my chest so that she was standing over me, but facing my feet. A sort of reverse cowgirl, had she decided to undo my jeans and just sink slowly onto my shaft (oh, hang on, that’s a different story... ROFL) Instead though, and with her bottom inches from my face, she lifted up her very short skirt to reveal a gloriously naked, and perfectly proportioned pair of cheeks for my inspection.
Except that those beautiful cheeks weren't quite naked, because each one was completely covered in one large tattoo, a kind of jungle scene of long grasses and trees, revealing just a glimpse of the multitude of wild animals peering at me from their rather special vantage point.
After what seemed like minutes, but was really seconds, she swung her leg back over me, making sure that her thigh brushed my face as she did so. Then, she leaned down and pushed her face close to mine, staring straight into my eyes.
"Now that f*cking hurt", she said, grinning.
Post script: I should probably add that I got back home after a couple of hours, blood running down my arm from underneath the crudely applied plaster. S met me at the door, looked at my arm, looked at me, and promptly burst out crying. She didn't speak to me for three days.