The Vagina Chronicles Volume 7: Sexy Tattoo Artist
This is going to be a very special Volume of the Vagina Chronicles for me, not only because it’s about one of the sexiest men that I have ever fucked, but also because this was the first sexual encounter that I had after my daughter was born, and I was nervous as hell. My daughter’s father (let’s just call him Baby Daddy from now on to keep things simple), essentially lost all interest in me physically from about the time I was 5 months pregnant on. So needless to say, after she was born, sex was incredibly scarce for me. I’m not going to get into that too much right now – because ain’t nobody got time for that – but just imagine the pure torture that a sex-less relationship is for a sex addict *shudder*.
After Baby Daddy and I split, it was obvious that I was going to need to find employment as fast as possible since, you know, I was a single parent now and all that. Luckily, I already had a few years of experience in my industry, and there are always jobs available for people who are qualified, so it didn’t take long to get back to work.
Of course, going back to work means learning all new systems, as well as product knowledge, and it was just my luck that all the training that took place for this company, took place in Vancouver. I was a newly single Mom, and I was being shipped off to Vancouver to stay in a hotel for 3 days by myself, all expenses paid. Fuck yes.
Anyways, I arrived in Vancouver and got settled into my hotel room, when it suddenly dawned on me: I could literally do anything that I wanted. Anything at all. For the first time in two years, I was neither pregnant, or responsible for my child for three days straight, and I was not going to let that golden opportunity go to waste. The only problem was, I was still struggling with a lot of insecurities surrounding my body ever since having a baby. I didn’t feel like myself anymore, I just felt like a frumpy Mom. Like all of the sexuality had been sucked right out of me, and I had been replaced with a chunky version of myself who collected cloth diapers. What the fuck had happened to me?
However, insecurities or not, I had a freaking hotel room to myself sans child for 3 days. As far as I was concerned, it was time for me to get over my own bullshit, and get laid. You can guess exactly what my master plan was: login into POF and start looking for some nearby suspects. I was just minding my own business, clicking around on profiles, when suddenly I see this profile belonging to a guy who appears to be exactly my type: tattoo covered bad boy. Mmmm… those ones really are the best. But just to make it even that much sexier, he was also a tattoo artist, which is just so fucking hot on so many levels. I’m going to make a little confession right now, and I almost feel bad for saying this, just in case this makes any of my future dates feel insecure (if they were to read this, that is…), but here it is: when I go on a date with someone who doesn’t have any tattoos, I will admit, I feel a small pang of disappointment. It just feels like they’re missing an dimension to them that for some reason, is important to me. Or maybe it’s because I have a lot of tattoos myself, so I feel way more bad ass than a guy who is an ink virgin, and I don’t want to be more bad ass than the man I’m with. It’s just a thing I have, and that is all.
So, there I was, checking out this beautiful bad boy, and low and behold, he sends me a message. I figured to myself that this had to be a sign that I was meant to have sex with him, and next thing you know, we were arranging for him to come meet me in the lobby of my hotel. I sat and waited for him to show, and when he walked through the doors, I was not disappointed. Turns out, the Sexy Tattoo Artist was half white and half Asian, and I have to say, he had the most incredible hazel eyes I have ever seen. There was just something about his genetics that really appealed to me, as nerdy as that sounds.
We sat and talked for a while in the lobby, mostly because I wanted to make sure he wasn’t a psychopath (although I’m not sure how talking to someone in a hotel lobby for half an hour can discredit this from being a very real possibility), but also because of how nervous I was to be out there playing the field again, after such a long hiatus. As we sat there chatting, all I could think about was how badly I wanted his hands to be all over my body, even though I wasn’t totally sure that I wanted any man to actually see my body.
As luck would have it, he didn’t turn out to be a psychopath, so I invited him to come upstairs with me, which only meant one thing. We got in the door, and I was half expecting him to jump on me, but instead, he was really polite about the whole thing, which was probably exactly what I needed. We hung out on the bed and cuddled up with each other, talking and laughing about whatever came to mind. He’s also a single parent, and has an adorable little girl that he’s an absolute sucker for. Ladies, there is nothing that will melt your panties off faster than a sexy tattoo artist who turns into a grinning goofball when he talks about his little girl. After that, all bets were off, and you know as well as I do, that I wanted to do some pretty naughty things to this guy.
We started making out, one thing led to another, and suddenly I was naked. Oh my god, it was the moment of truth for me on so many levels. Would he be grossed out by my stretch marks? Would he still think I was beautiful, or would he just fuck me and get out of there, after realizing that I wasn’t perfect? And in that moment, the most glorious thing that could have ever happened, actually happened. He leaned down and kissed the edge of my belly stretch marks, and looked up at me and told me I was beautiful, and that I should never be worried about a man not loving my body.
I’m going to be really candid here: the sex that followed was mediocre at best. I think we were both nervous, but also he was kind of a lazy lover (which we’ve established is not my thing), but none of that mattered, because he had filled my void in a different kind of way, that made the experience really special. Although, it does kind of suck that the sex wasn’t better, especially since he truly is one of the most physically attractive guys I have ever been with. One thing he did, which I thought was so sweet, was that he kissed me a lot while he was fucking me from behind. I always really enjoy making out during sex, but some times I think people avoid it when their plan is to have a one night stand, since their MO is obviously to avoid intimacy.
Anyhow, the Sexy Tattoo Artist ended up leaving my hotel room at like 3 am or something ridiculous like that. I remember giving him a huge hug and kissing him good-bye, convinced that I would never see him again, but thankful for the boost in confidence that he had given me. In so many ways, I think my encounter with the Tattoo Artist was the beginning of something completely different for me. You see, up until that point in my life, any time that I had a one night stand with someone, regardless of whether I knew it was going to be a one night stand or not, there was this thing that always happened two or three days after the encounter: a huge hormonal crash that ends with me crying my eyes out over how empty I feel. But not this time, not with him.
It was the first time that I had sex with someone, and felt gratitude for the experience, as well as acceptance that what we had experienced was a temporary moment in time, and that it was okay to just continue on with life as it was before. I think in my earlier years, I always wanted sex to mean something, maybe so that I wouldn’t feel like such a slut. If I could convince myself that the guy truly meant something to me, and I to him, then it made the action acceptable. But all of these feelings had faded away, and instead, I felt perfectly fine with myself and what I had done, and I knew that life would just go on, and what I would be left with was a fun memory, nothing more, nothing less. I can’t even begin to explain how refreshing this frame of mind felt, and I’ve continued on that same path ever since, just accepting situations for what they are, and making informed decisions on what I was or wasn’t okay with based on the facts. Nothing like being an adult.
Also, this story would not be fully complete unless I told you this last little detail: that was not actually the last time I saw Tattoo Artist. Almost exactly a year later, I was in Vancouver for work again, and decided to look him up. He was happy to hear from me, and again, we had a fun little encounter in my hotel room, which was mediocre again, but there was something about him that felt so comforting. The best part about him was his cheeky sense of humor, and the way he stroked my hair while we cuddled up to watch a movie. Maybe the moral of the story is that some people are meant to be in your life at different times for different reasons, and you just have to enjoy them while you can, and leave on a good note. I would never hesitate to look up the Tattoo Artist again, and I also feel sure that he would be happy to hear from me again if that were to happen. Wow, this post is getting far too mature, time for this girl to bounce.