Last night while I was cuddling with my Frenchman (for new those who just arrived…read a few posts back) after a very kinky post-Valentine’s Day romp, I thought of my favorite tattoo of yours. Random, I know. Here I am, naked in bed, with my beau, after a very romantic night of Thai food and seeing “The Iron Lady”, and I am thinking of your right upper arm. Thinking of the wave tattoo. Maybe it is because you both have massive amounts of body hair or that you both let me cuddle in the nook, I am not sure what lead the present to become a flashback to the past.
You have nine tattoos total, but the wave was always my favorite. It is a beautiful tattoo in vivid shades of blue and done in an ancient Japanese style. I always gently touched the freckle that was tucked into the second to last crest. I used to watch it move when your muscles tensed up as you were inside of me.
I fucking loved the wave.
Do you recall the evening we spent together the night before you moved away? The night that we watched the sunset and rise without a wink of sleep between the two. The night that we fucked for hours and ate ice cream half-naked in the kitchen. The night I asked if I could take photos of your tattoos and you agreed. It was amazing how intimate the small act of photographing your tattoos was, how incredibly intense the feelings between us became. I took over a dozen photos of each piece of body art, all very close up and using the soft light of your reading lamp. Click, click, click. I saved the wave for last, trying to savory the fleeting hours we had left. Straddled over your body trying to get the right angle, trying to capture all the love I had for the wave in one perfect shot. My favorite photo of the wave was framed and placed on my nightstand, right next to the poem you wrote me.
You walked out on me and took the tattoo with you. And even though many years have passed, I thought you both should know, you and the wave, that I have found a new piece of ink to adore. A powerful bird of wisdom, love, and courage. Someday, I will ask the bird if I can take it’s photo so it can be framed and placed on my nightstand. And if I am lucky, the bird won’t walk out on me and break my heart.