That’s Not My Name

Sarah

 

While The Grizzly and I were friends she had mentioned her tattoos were mostly names. After Skype and meeting in person I had opportunities to see these tattoos. Three of her tattoos are names. One of which is this huge tat on the left side of her chest and this woman’s name bannered across a tortured heart. Tortured heart. Keep that in mind.

This tattoo is in my face when we’re hanging out. You can see it pop out from under her shirts. This particular piece of ink is right in my face while we’re intimate. It’s in my face on a regular basis. When I touch her chest? I’m touching this tattoo.

“Doesn’t that bother you?” Is the most popular question since we’ve been together. The name tattoos. Kiss of Death, cursed ink. You’re apparently doomed in the rest of your relationships for having some other girl’s name on your skin.

Why? My response has been my honest answer, “It’s a really beautiful piece.” It’s an old tat. It really doesn’t bother me. I like it. The outline and ink are still something to look at. I like running my fingers on this part of her chest. It helps that her pecks are so fucking touch worthy! My God! The name doesn’t phase me. None of the names phase me. The girls at work thought and looked at me like I was some sort of alien woman.

The tattoo is old. Maybe 15 years old. The relationship is old news. The woman and my wife are far from those fresh wound break up days. As I mentioned before, the ink is still very clear. It rests perfectly on her chest. I like to touch it. I actually like to look at it.

Why? Why should I be upset about some other woman’s name tattooed on my wife. She’s my wife. What concern is there for me? Whenever I ask why. The girls respond with because, “It’s someone else name.”

Really? A name. Did I know her? Do I know her? I’ve never seen her. It’s just a name on her skin. And a piece of my wife’s story.

Tattoos are the non-verbal stories about ourselves. About our experiences. The things we like, we love. The people who have managed to form a significance in our lives. Lovers, parents, grandparents, and kids. Sometimes those people don’t hold that same value but they were there in some part of our lives. That part or person in our lives meant something special at some time.

What are you gonna do? Tell your new/for now lover to scrape that name off? Cover it up? Cover a sentimental piece with something insignificant, for what? Because the new lover is insecure over some ink. Some name. You don’t know that person on their skin. That name hasn’t affected you in any way. That person did have an effect on your lover. Obviously. Our bodies with or without ink have expressed our stories in all sorts of ways.

That’s what it is mostly. More than anything it is an insecurity. If you wanna go cray-cray over a name tattoo there might something a little deeper than that going on in your head? I’m sorry. But, it’s just a tattoo. The woman isn’t physically there as some kind of competition. Seriously?

Personally, I am not fond of a name tattoo. I will most likely never get a name tatted on my body. That is my insecurity of relationships and people that have come and gone in my life. I did one thing similar to a name tat on the back of my neck. Myself and two best friends got “Friend” tattooed on us in different languages. It was my very first tattoo when I turned 18. The tattoo is still there. Those two best friends. Not so much. I still like my tattoo. But, I’m thankful I didn’t get their names on me. We’re not near as close as we were in high school. However, not everyone functions like I do when it comes to tattoos. Everyone gets inked for their own reasons. Mine are typically more of a sentimental nature. The fairy on my leg catching a star is to hold onto your dreams. I have the Cancer sign and crab on my foot which my brother (who is a Cancer) draw for me in a tribal form. I have a mistake tattoo on my left ankle that might be the African symbol for “Unity.” It’s two lizards going in opposite directions but connecting at the middle of their bodies. The best way I could describe it. I just grabbed it off the wall in the tattoo shop because my friend wanted someone to get a tattoo with her. The tattoo is still on my ankle. The friend. Yea. Have no clue where she is.

Now, for lovers? I have had two occasions where I wanted to get their name or some symbol tatted on me for their amazing skills in bed. Not really in reference of love or relationship. But, fuck! You owned this right here. Lol! Obviously, I didn’t go through with those. But, I refuse to knock those who do get an old lover’s tattoo. Not my body.

End of story. Not my body. Not my story. Not for me to shut it down. Or get upset about something from their past. Their past. While I am the present and look forward to our future.

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