Tonight I feel in an okay mood so I am actually willing to talk about my tattoos. See, my tattoos are kind of personal and I think only I "get them", so I don't like to get into hour long discussions about them. They are me.
It's funny - my dad basically disowned me over them. My mother - well she doesn't like them, but she even says now that if they weren't supposed to be there, they would not be there. I don't really even notice that I have them anymore... save in the summertime when people stare, touch me, or grab their kids and whisper stuff to them. That's cool with me- I don't want to be around their stinkin' kids, anyhow. *grin*
Anyway, I got my first tattoo when I was 18 and in college. It is of a dragon on my left upper arm. I drew the anthropomorphic dragon in a very geometric design. I chose a dragon because I think they are very misunderstood creatures and I identify with their plight! They're really smart, magical, and really don't bother anyone until some knight comes along and screws with them - trying to take their gold or something. Once you fuck with a dragon, there is hell to pay! Just leave the poor dragon alone!
I was doing the Army ROTC thing (HUGE MISTAKE!) and could not have anything that would show in my class "B" uniform. I remember arguing with my tattooist about how big it was. I kept saying "smaller! smaller!" and he kept saying "But you'll lose the detail!" We compromised. I lost my virginity, and that darn tail of the dragon never did hide under my uniform very well. Which I suppose, upon further reflection, said a lot about me and my persona. How I just never can hide my true self. A little over a year later the Army was history and I felt my life as a young adult was just beginning.