Date With Joe Rose

Last night, after cabinetry class (and that was after work), I headed east to New Hope for my first session with Tattoo Artiste Extraoridaire, Joe Rose of Lion's Den II. Our appointment was at 7:30 p.m., and I was there on the dot. Alas, Joe was swamped, busy tattooing dragons and unicorns and such on girls' butts. It seems that colleges are letting out, and shapely co-eds are feverishly returning home to get some ink. Joe said that he hadn't been hit so hard since we invaded Iraq. ("All these soldier boys coming in wanted a discount. I told them, 'fuck, it's your decision to fight so that coked up kid from Texas can make money on oil. My mother doesn't even get a discount.") So I chilled on the sofa while Joe dispensed with dragons and unicorns and such on girls' butts. Which lasted an hour and a half.

Finally, it was my turn.

Interesting. The girls all came in posses. I was solo. Just like when I got the ink I have back in (I think) 1991. It was just me and Sonny Tufts.

I don't remember it hurting so much. Maybe Sonny had a gentler touch.

I'm liking Joe Rose, Tattoo Artiste Extraordinaire. He's obsessive in the way I think I would be obsessive. He spent more than an hour, and all he was doing was a touch up. He laid out a supply of black, dark blue, brown, white, yellow, and green, and totally went to town. (Joe uses black latex gloves. Nice touch.)

From what I can tell, it's looking good. Although right now, of course, it's swollen and bleeding.

I remembered to breath. (Thanks, Diabolique!)

Pain is so interesting. After a while, it becomes like a thing you're observing. It's like 'oooh! ow! eeeee! ouch!' and then you just relax into it. Your body is feeling pain. That's all.

I did warn Joe that when he's doing the chain, and has to go over my bone, I'll be making a lot of noise. How when I got pierced, I cleared out the place with my bellows of agony. Joe laughed, and mentioned how he makes elephant noises, which he demonstrated.

We sat down to go over the preliminary sketches Joe had made of the chain tattoo. Not so much sketches (there were a few). Joe had gone out and purchased a length of chain. It looks like 5/8ths gauge. Big and fat. He took several pictures of the chain. His plan is to render the tattoo in greys and whites. The chain will start at my right ankle, and wind up my leg, then across my right butt cheek, across my lower back, up my latissimus dorsi, across my chest, wind around under my arm and make a sort of yoke over my shoulders (must avoid the center of my back... don't want to get it ripped up when I next submit to a singletail whipping!), and then wind down my left arm, ending at the wrist. Joe thinks we ought to be able to knock it out in four sessions: ankle to hip, hip and belly, chest and shoulders, arm. Four long sessions.

At work, I'm the coolest thing since Johnny Cash. I'm this procedures manual writin', mean presentation givin', tattooed, chain collar wearin' Big Man. Sickboy from the sanding table was telling me yesterday that he wishes he was built as big as me, so nobody would fuck with him. Felt good to hear that, as my gym going has been sparse lately, and I look at myself in the mirror and see a bean pole.

And tonight, I pick up my Sir at the airport and we spend another weekend together. The Big Man is Big's boy.

Remember Drum? Drum was an illustrated thing in Drummer Magazine. Taking place Somewhere in the West, Drum was a big, muscled, bearded boy, wearing the collar of his Sir. The typical plot was that Drum and Sir go into town to pick up supplies. While Drum watches the horses, he's accosted by some of the locals and gang raped. Sir fights them all off, takes Drum home on a leash, and then fucks him to reclaim his boy.

*sigh*

They don't write'em like that anymore, huh?

Drum was always depicted as full of wide-eyed, trusting awe, desire tinged with fear.

Lately, so am I. Steel, ink, muscle, cigars, Big.

Yup. I'm in awe.

I am definitely in awe.

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