I’m not covered in tattoos, but for some reason, people–men in particular–feel the need to stop me and ask about my one tattoo (on my lower back, of all places). I’m a bit modest when it comes to body modification and calling attention to myself, but it’s so exhausting being interrogated for one feature. That’s why I’m no longer answering anyone’s questions about the tattoo on my lower back that reads ‘LOADING ZONE’.
Of course, they’re always the dumbest, most cliché questions, none of which I should have to answer. No, it did not hurt nor do I regret it. No, my parents nor do my employer care about or bring it up with me. And no, it does not have to mean something deeper: I just like getting recklessly dicked down to my socks, and needed the perfect way to show it.
And FYI, just because I like showing that I enjoy getting banged into oblivion doesn’t make it an invitation to talk about it!
I get that the sun is out, more skin is exposed, and we’re all craving human interaction, but none of that is an excuse to be tat-called. I did not get this tattoo to provoke random people into making small talk with me. I got it for myself and how important it is to remind myself to slow down and live in the present moments, like when I am getting the living shit fucked out of me.
And the nice thing about my tattoo? You can see it without me talking. You can easily admire it visually from afar without coming up to me and asking if I want to see yours. Your tattoo is for you to enjoy just like mine is for me to appreciate how much I love getting railed out of the mortal coil.
Women having tattoos will always be inherently feminist and subversive, breaking the history of forcing women into presenting themselves conservatively. And no, I don’t have tattoos anywhere else, you perverts. Stop being coy. Just let me enjoy my body and celebrate getting boned so hard I forget my name.
Rarely has being asked about my tattoo been a bonding moment. Occasionally I’ll meet someone who says, “same” or “wow mood” or “I remember those days”. Those are the kinder moments in which I appreciate my artistic bodily expression and branding myself with my own feeling of self-determination.
Of all the dumb questions I receive, the one that always sticks out to me is, “would you ever get it removed?” The future has always been an open field that I cannot predict, but I thought long and hard before seeking out this tattoo. Getting slammed from behind is integral to who I am, and even if I get the tattoo removed, I’ll never remove that part of my identity.
