my tattoo fetish sometimes get the better of me. in a serious meeting when i'm preparing a panel of people to say what i'd like them to say because i'm in a rare occupation where i'm paid to do this, i spot a tattoo on this guys wrist and it distracts me.

its not one of those girly, tiny tattoos that girls get on their hands because its cool. peeping quite discreetly from under his long sleeve shirt which he has left unbuttoned, i spy a thick tribal band that runs around his wrist. its really hot and i can only imagine the pain and bleeding as the needle runs through his veins and the very thin layer of skin and bone as they ink him.

i want to make him a hero because the pain would have fucking killed me and i am no wuz when it comes to pain. i keep talking and throw little admiring glances when i see the wrist band. dark ink, thick strokes. its very masculine and strong. i want to stop everything i'm doing so i can talk to him about it / touch it / ask to see any other dirty tribal tattoos he has on his body / show him mine.

except its a business day and i don't think anyone else in the room has seen the insides of a tattoo parlour or even remotely thought about having one or even appreciate seeing one. he probably attends leather parties, owns a big dog and has a small dungeon in his lavish apartment.

i am attracted to details and small things like this never escape my eye. i find details sexy and they make a statement about someone. whether its a different shade of colour in a lapel button hole to a belt that has two loops, one of a different colour, details show that racy side of you which you only think you see. and the lucky few in the world like me who only live for these fleeting moments.