I dig everything about ink.

When I was young, I always got turned on hanging out in the firehouse that my Dad worked at. It wasn't just the big muscular firefighters, or their uniforms that got me off, but catching a glimpse of a hot tattoo peaking out of the short shirts that they wore in summer. I wanted to grow up to be one of these tough guys and get a tattoo and share a cigar with these butch men.

My first experience seeing a tattoo done was by one of my brothers friends. I can’t remember what the design was, but he dipped some thread in India ink, then slid the needle and thread underneath his skin. When the thread came out of his skin there was a dark black line where before there was none.

When I tuned 18 or 19, a good friend of mine took me to get my first tattoo at Chicago Tattoo. The design that I picked out was a set of claws ripping out of my skin (it was a logo from a popular movie at the time.) The experience was incredibly hot. During the three hours that it took, lots of hot guys would come in the shop and watch as a biker/vet pounded ink into my skin. The biggest turn on was when three sailors in their navy whites came in the shop and picked out a design. One of the sailors ended ass in the air, crying in pain. The sight made me cum in my jeans, as all the shop visitors watched him humiliated and turned on at the same time.

I tattooed my self for the first time when Ed went home to visit his family for a holiday. I got out some ink from art class and a couple of piercing needles. I taped them together in a cluster, then dipped the needles into the thick ink and started to pound them into my ankle. I went over the design many times before I got the ink in deep enough. When I was almost done, Ed walked into the room (in my excitement I didn't hear him come home,) and caught me jerking off with the ink and blood. Never being able to shock him, I found a tattoo gun under the Christmas tree the next year.

Getting a tattoo always get my bone hard, not in those shiny new shops, but the old time shops with the barber chairs and hot clients (bikers, sailors, rough trade, Latinos and hoods)with the buzzing of tattoo guns filling the air. The sharp, electro shocking of the needle as the ink is mixed with blood and Vaseline, the goop is a real turn on to me. I like to feel an artist scratching a design into my skin from a simple stencil, then a single needle outliner pounding the design into me, then the magic of color shading and the first look of a bloody new scar deep in my skin.

The healing process is a real turn on too. The first night sleeping on the swollen, throbbing new art, and waking up with what looks like the shroud of Turin covering my sheets. Even the smell of preparation H on the healing tattoo makes me want to grease my hole and jerk my bone. Finally, watching as the scabs peel off, revealing a new piece of me that I will have forever, and marking this time of my life.

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