Nice Tattoos You Have There

A ball of fire lively burning with dazzles of yellow, orange and red hues before a Sanskrit word Ohm inked in black on the lower nape of his neck. While he was changing his pants I got a sneak of another tattoo on his right calf. The magic number was three he said: The number of tattoos on his body. With that I only have to use my detective skills to unearth the hidden one sooner or later.

It was a rather warm night when we were having a nasi goreng tektek dinner somewhere near his residence when he asked me, “Do you mind if I plan to have another tattoo across my chest? It’s gonna be a tribal one”. “Go ahead, I never mind anyone with tattoos” afraid he’d get big-headed, I said without divulging an important kink that I have for dudes with tatts.
“You should get one… You’d look good with a tattoo or two” he continued.

I know I would. At that moment I started imagining myself having a tiger crouching on my right upper back. But then again, how does one suppose to fuck himself? Cuz I’d definitely fuck myself I were a tattoo dude. Secondly, the idea of permanency scared the hell out of me. With Martha, you could always rearrange your living room, but to erase or exchange a tattoo? It’s a lifetime commitment in which I don’t think I am giving in yet. Lastly of course, I wasn’t about to hurt myself with any sharp objects piercing onto the surface of my skin. Ask me again if the object happened to be blunt, inviting, and oozing with hmmm. I’ll stop here to leave a space for your imagination.

Getting back to the person, I don’t even know why I chose to date this person. He didn’t seem right, didn’t even look right for my type for he was rather skinny. It must be his tattoos. I am well known as the ultimate sucker for tattoo dudes. One of my favorite ever TV shows is Miami Inked. Gorgeous everlasting paintings that would utilize your skin as the display medium. And even the hot tattoo “artists” in the show were my ultimate eye-candies. Don’t ask me the reason why I like this subject very much. Maybe I am stuck with one of those “two goodie-shoes princess who only dates bad boys” stigmas. The thing is, I don’t exactly look like a princess with this ever-going army look of mine. And I prefer sneakers any day to any stilettos made of glass, even if the venerable Datuk Jimmy Choo would ever market them.

If one could ever associate the primal behaviors of a pack of wild dogs with their human counterparts: I would say that as an alpha-bitch, I would need to date a top-dog. Just insuring that I’d get the crème-de-la-crème for my future offspring (physically and socially).

But however, I won’t be calling this latest tattoo dude in my collection a top-dog either. (As if! I wish I had a collection of this type anyway). With insecurity as his latest fashion, even moi, this bitch, is even more masculine than him. I felt like a butch dating a fem lesbian. And the reason why I rarely date brondong (younger guys) was that I don’t need another financial burden in the life of crazy ol’e me. As long as you can support and supply yourself with whatever you may want or need in your life then I am fine. And as long as you don’t ask these extremely delicate matters from me I’d be fine. But as you guessed it, not trying to corner him, I just wished that he’d manage his life better than today. But most of all, to be a top-dog, at least you’d have to be a top. Isn’t it?

So when friends asked me where was I in these couple of weeks, “busy with work or with date” usually were my replies.

When one of them asked, “Oh my God this guy must be so gorgeous…”
Another friend retorted, “No…”

“He must be so hunky…”
“No…” this annoying friend replied again.

“Is he nice to hang around with? To have decent conversations?”
“No…” he kept on replying.

“Extremely rich?”
“Money can’t buy me love... And besides as a career woman, I’d get my own Valextra tote (in white) in due time when I feel like it…” this time I replied.

“Maybe he’s good in bed?”
“Dunno, haven’t test-driven him”

“For this long you haven’t tested his engines?”
“Yes.. Is that supposed to be a problem?” I asked.

“So what is it that you see in him then?”
“I dunno…” said I squeezing a civilized answer.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Ooh, must be the tattoos then…” they all converged in harmony.

Well well, for beauty, umm… I mean, tattoos, are only skin deep.
I am a really really shallow person then.

At least I recently managed revealing the third drawing on his body.
Tehehehehehe...