got my tattoo touched up today. Ah, tattoo pain... What a great day. The euphoria that comes post ink. Wandering around downtown alone in that euphoria. Good meditative solitude. Have to say/admit it feels a shame that I won't get to go back there to feel that great pain again until I think up my next tattoo.

I love sitting there and feeling that. Exactly what I fucking needed. Every time. Feels so fucking good to feel such intense, focused pain. Distracts from all else. Heaven and Hell all right there in that needle. And my blood on his hands when he's done. I love him. The guy who tattoos me. I fucking love him for what he can do, for what he can make me feel. - to be so fully aware, right in that fucking moment. Nothing matters. I don't care about anything else.
"takes you higher than you've ever been"
I want to live there in that chair, with him bent over me, giving me that healing bliss pain forever.

Told him as I got there, "I have to say, I look forward to this pain."
"You're a sadist," he said.

No. Here I'm a masochist. He's the sadist.

I'm willing to bet a lot of people fall in love with their tattoo artists. They are powerful people. Such a catharsis comes in receiving that pain. Makes you go sane. Clears the head completely. And he is the messiah.

my arms wrapped round my knees to my chest,
I turn my head and read
the titles of the books on his bookshelf
as he's working on me-



yes. mmmm, gimme.

This is love.


When he is finished, I'm disappointed.

I turn to him. My blood on his hands- (that's so... sexy. Wow.)

"Can't you do more?" I ask. (masochist)

He laughs. (sadist)

Hey, THANK YOU. I feel better already. And, goddamn, you look so good to me right now. A man that can make me FEEL so much, so extreme, and make me feel so good- I want to just grab him and fuck him. Like that would just be right after that. Fucking love him. Conquer him. Show my gratitude somehow.

"Thank you," I say, as warmly and emphatically as I can through post ink bliss. And I leave.

Email: chaara@hotmail.com