Inked...

I got my first tattoo yesterday, not because I wanted one but because I needed one. I used to hate tattoos. When J got her first one I was living in Saskatoon and she didn't tell me about it becuase she knew I wouldn't approve. She waited until she came to visit and I had her naked to show me and tell me about it...needless to say I was less inclined to have an issue with it with a gorgeous naked woman in front of me; I am afterall a man... It wasn't until 4-5 months ago that I seriously considered getting one, feeling a need to have it on my skin as a reminder.

I got it on the left side of my ribs, so that when my arm is hanging it's mostly covered and is mine and mine alone. I'm not going to go into detail about what the tattoo is or its meaning to me; as that is something for me and a lucky few to know...I feel it's more special, more mine in that way. Since the artist finished putting needle to skin I've felt a connenction to it not so much that the tattoo is there but more the meaning behind it. I don't feel so alone and when I think of it close to my heart, my hearts swells bringing tears to my eyes because of the memory it evokes. It's comforting to know it's there...clinging to me....embracing me. The memory of the needle's sting evoking images of my past.

When I first told J I was thinking of getting a tattoo, she told me that it'd become addictive and I'd want more, but now that I have it I don't think this will be the case. To me, having more than one would deminish this one's meaning and its importance to me is too great to ever let that happen. Maybe one day a feeling will come along and make me change my mind, but that feeling would have to be extremely powerful and I fail to see how anything could match the emotional attachment I will always have for my tattoo.