Leaving a Mark
I've always wanted to do something out of character, something daring. I've always been such a 'by the books' kind of person that I've wondered what it would be like to let my hair down and do something unexpected. I try very hard not to give in to my impulses, but maybe, just this once......
Thanks in large part to a mid-life crisis, I find myself sitting in a bright office, staring into the eyes of a person I will allow to stick needles into my skin and permanently mark me. How did I get here? Answer: years of controlled living. I guess I'm letting my hair down today. I'm getting a tattoo. I need my head examined. I am letting a stranger torture my skin and create something beautiful in an area I will never directly see. Yep, I need my head examined. Deep breaths, this is a choice. You want this, remember? I jump into the deep end with both feet.
He's different. Something about him draws me. His eyes, his voice, his skin--already covered with someone else's ink and art. I feel this connection, nearly imperceptible. It's definately sexual. It's a good thing I am going to have my back to him the entire time I'm here because I tend to wear my emotions very clearly on my face. I don't know that I could camoflage these deep seated feelings of lust. How can there be anything erotic or sexual about having a stranger poke you with sharp objects? But somehow, it's there. It's like an underlying tension. I can feel my own sexuality buzzing and humming under the surface of my skin. Can he feel it?
Everyday I walk through my life, I touch those around me, I mark them with my presense. Imagine leaving a more visible, permanent mark on those I touch. A literal mark. He interests me on many levels. I don't know him, I've never met him, but I am asking him to leave his mark on me. Everyone will see it and know that he had his hands on me. Everyone will see it and know that this stranger was touching me. I find this deeply sensous and erotic even though I know that the marks will be painful. I reveal my skin to him and he starts to touch me.
I brace myself. The feeling is more irritation than actual pain. However, whatever form it takes, it's a distraction. The sensation helps take my mind off of my thoughts. It takes my mind of the heat I feel building in the core of my self. It takes my mind off attempting to visualize the eyes I can feel penetrating my flesh in time with the pulse of the needles. It takes my mind off of my thoughts, at least until he speaks to me.
He tells me that tattooing a woman's lower back is nice way to spend his afternoon. My heart skips a beat. Is he flirting? Am I imagining it? I wonder if he can feel me smiling, because he can't see my face. What is he thinking as he stares at my virgin skin and paints me with color? My mind wanders. So far, all the outlines are black. So, I begin to associate the color black with stinging irritation and the flush in my cheeks. Sting and heat. Black feels like sting and heat.
I wonder, as we progress, what else he will make me feel......
I try to concentrate. I'm sitting on a cushioned chair, much like one you would find in a dentist's office. I'm using the back of the chair to lean on and brace myself. Not to sure if I am steadying my body so I don't move during the process of tattooing my skin, or if it's so that I can center my mind and focus on intelligent conversation. My thoughts are racing. Is it wrong that all I want him to do is bend me over the seat of this chair and ..... He tells me that he loves curves on a woman. Soft curves. He tells me that often, he goes home after tattooing a woman and admonishes himself for not enjoying it more. Damn. Why even bother to distract myself? Am I not here to do something completely out of character? I find myself uncharacteristically speechless. The very best I can accomplish in the way of a reply, is a silly giggle. Good lord. I think all the blood has rushed out of my brain. Will the rough whiskers of his facial hair feel coarse and harsh against the delicate skin of my clit? Stop that! Behave...a little. For now..... Are his hands rough or smooth? Hard to tell with the latex gloves. Mmmmm, latex... Damn. Well, if I was going for uncharacteristic behaviour, I'm doing a damn good job. I wonder if he would respond with an intake of breath, and a slight moan, if I ran my hot, wet tongue along his inner thigh? Mmmmmm....I love to do that. One long stroke with my tongue, followed by a few tiny bites. All of a sudden I realize that the irritating sting on my back, the vibrating throb of my skin, is very much the same feeling I have in my clit after one too many orgasms. Interesting....
I can't see his face.....but I can feel his eyes on me. Pouring over the surface of my skin. Of course he has to look. He's tattooing me for Christ's sake. But it's more than that. There's the hint of a caress. I feel his breath on my lower back. There's the cool spray of the water. It awakens my skin, my senses, brings my thoughts back around to my present situation and away from their meandering path toward debauchery. I want to lick his neck. Slowly. Run my tongue behind his ear. Warm his skin with my breath. I want to kiss the hollow of his throat. That delicate spot between your collarbones.... I want to see his reaction. I want to feel his reaction. I want to weave my hands into his hair. I want to kiss him. I want him to kiss me. I want his warm lips to touch me. I want to discover just where he'll put his hands if he has his way. Will he stroke my face or my hair? Will he caress my shoulders or run his fingers down my back? How much passion and lust is building between us? Is it my imagination? I want to turn around in this chair, look down into his eyes and then spread my legs.
Thanks in large part to a mid-life crisis, I find myself sitting in a bright office, staring into the eyes of a person I will allow to stick needles into my skin and permanently mark me. How did I get here? Answer: years of controlled living. I guess I'm letting my hair down today. I'm getting a tattoo. I need my head examined. I am letting a stranger torture my skin and create something beautiful in an area I will never directly see. Yep, I need my head examined. Deep breaths, this is a choice. You want this, remember? I jump into the deep end with both feet.
He's different. Something about him draws me. His eyes, his voice, his skin--already covered with someone else's ink and art. I feel this connection, nearly imperceptible. It's definately sexual. It's a good thing I am going to have my back to him the entire time I'm here because I tend to wear my emotions very clearly on my face. I don't know that I could camoflage these deep seated feelings of lust. How can there be anything erotic or sexual about having a stranger poke you with sharp objects? But somehow, it's there. It's like an underlying tension. I can feel my own sexuality buzzing and humming under the surface of my skin. Can he feel it?
Everyday I walk through my life, I touch those around me, I mark them with my presense. Imagine leaving a more visible, permanent mark on those I touch. A literal mark. He interests me on many levels. I don't know him, I've never met him, but I am asking him to leave his mark on me. Everyone will see it and know that he had his hands on me. Everyone will see it and know that this stranger was touching me. I find this deeply sensous and erotic even though I know that the marks will be painful. I reveal my skin to him and he starts to touch me.
I brace myself. The feeling is more irritation than actual pain. However, whatever form it takes, it's a distraction. The sensation helps take my mind off of my thoughts. It takes my mind of the heat I feel building in the core of my self. It takes my mind off attempting to visualize the eyes I can feel penetrating my flesh in time with the pulse of the needles. It takes my mind off of my thoughts, at least until he speaks to me.
He tells me that tattooing a woman's lower back is nice way to spend his afternoon. My heart skips a beat. Is he flirting? Am I imagining it? I wonder if he can feel me smiling, because he can't see my face. What is he thinking as he stares at my virgin skin and paints me with color? My mind wanders. So far, all the outlines are black. So, I begin to associate the color black with stinging irritation and the flush in my cheeks. Sting and heat. Black feels like sting and heat.
I wonder, as we progress, what else he will make me feel......
I try to concentrate. I'm sitting on a cushioned chair, much like one you would find in a dentist's office. I'm using the back of the chair to lean on and brace myself. Not to sure if I am steadying my body so I don't move during the process of tattooing my skin, or if it's so that I can center my mind and focus on intelligent conversation. My thoughts are racing. Is it wrong that all I want him to do is bend me over the seat of this chair and ..... He tells me that he loves curves on a woman. Soft curves. He tells me that often, he goes home after tattooing a woman and admonishes himself for not enjoying it more. Damn. Why even bother to distract myself? Am I not here to do something completely out of character? I find myself uncharacteristically speechless. The very best I can accomplish in the way of a reply, is a silly giggle. Good lord. I think all the blood has rushed out of my brain. Will the rough whiskers of his facial hair feel coarse and harsh against the delicate skin of my clit? Stop that! Behave...a little. For now..... Are his hands rough or smooth? Hard to tell with the latex gloves. Mmmmm, latex... Damn. Well, if I was going for uncharacteristic behaviour, I'm doing a damn good job. I wonder if he would respond with an intake of breath, and a slight moan, if I ran my hot, wet tongue along his inner thigh? Mmmmmm....I love to do that. One long stroke with my tongue, followed by a few tiny bites. All of a sudden I realize that the irritating sting on my back, the vibrating throb of my skin, is very much the same feeling I have in my clit after one too many orgasms. Interesting....
I can't see his face.....but I can feel his eyes on me. Pouring over the surface of my skin. Of course he has to look. He's tattooing me for Christ's sake. But it's more than that. There's the hint of a caress. I feel his breath on my lower back. There's the cool spray of the water. It awakens my skin, my senses, brings my thoughts back around to my present situation and away from their meandering path toward debauchery. I want to lick his neck. Slowly. Run my tongue behind his ear. Warm his skin with my breath. I want to kiss the hollow of his throat. That delicate spot between your collarbones.... I want to see his reaction. I want to feel his reaction. I want to weave my hands into his hair. I want to kiss him. I want him to kiss me. I want his warm lips to touch me. I want to discover just where he'll put his hands if he has his way. Will he stroke my face or my hair? Will he caress my shoulders or run his fingers down my back? How much passion and lust is building between us? Is it my imagination? I want to turn around in this chair, look down into his eyes and then spread my legs.
posted by wicked butterfly at 11:03 p.m.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home