I stepped into that stranger's room with some apprehension.
It was him alright.
He is lean, tanned, and looked taller than his profile pic -- after all, I'm seeing him in the flesh for the first time after over two months of chatting, and profile pics can only show you that much.
It wasn't as awkward as I thought it would be. He was nice, pleasant looking and made me feel wanted.
In fact, I was rather excited. The butterflies in my stomach had started fluttering around and the only way to net all of them would be to do it.
I took off my shirt, and sat on his bed.
"Are you ready?" he asks gently.I nod.
"Okay, here we go."
Stanley the sex bunny, who is always in for a sex story, nods approvingly for me to carry on my tale.
Carl the dense one, who generally loves fairy tales, grins like a goon.
I could feel his touch... and the moment it entered my body, I closed my eyes and bit my lips.
"Was it painful?" Carl asked.
"Did it bleed?" Stanley asked.
No, and no.
On a scale of 1 to 10, the pain factor was at a 3.5 at first -- because it was the first prick -- but it quickly simmered to a 2 once I got the hang of the tattoo gun poking continuously at my left shoulder blade.
I was told it'd take 30 mins for my tattoo to be done.
But the artist completed the job in half the time.
I'm not complaining.
After cleansing the area, he exclaimed proudly.
"All done".
The first time I set sights on the tattoo -- which I had been meaning to have for nearly 10 years -- I felt a rush of happiness. This is exactly what I wanted, I told myself.
Stanley my sex bunny friend interjects and says this is exactly what he says to himself after every successful continuous poking episode.
My tattoo is no ordinary tattoo.
Although it's not a unique pattern (in fact, it's very common), it's a tattoo that would conjure different reactions from people.
Mine comes in the form of the ancient Sak Yant tattoo which has roots in animism and originated in the Khmer empire.
You'd find these tattoos typically on monks who recluse themselves to mediate in the jungle, sweaty, fearsome muay Thai fighters and, oh, Angelina Jolie.
I had been drawn to it around 10 years ago because they looked mystical to me.
I then began researching it on and off, acquiring enough trivia on the topic: From the types Sak Yant, the meaning behind it, where to tattoo it in Singapore or Thailand, and what devotees need to do after getting these sacred ink.
After a lot, a lot, a lot of rumination (and discussions with J), I concluded that I liked it for the looks of the tattoos.
Yes, I am superficial like the skin deep nature of tattoos.
Which is why instead of getting them tattooed by one of the monks in Thailand or a practising Ruesi (Thai for hermits), I opted for a tattoo artist in Singapore who had been replicating these patterns.
No blessing, no chanting, and most importantly, no strings attached.
Amen to that, Stanley said with meaning.
That day at the tattoo parlour, I felt very happy with this permanent fixture on my left shoulder blade.
Mine's the traditional five lines (or ha taew in Thai), each line supposedly giving the wearer a certain charm and protection.
But because I am not reading between the lines too much, I don't focus on what it would do for me in my life (I still strongly believe that I should be the one charting my own destiny).
And because tattoos are addictive, and mine would come in the form of a set, it would likely be the first of three which I'd get (J doesn't know this yet, but let's take this one set at a time).
The next one would be another set of five lines on my right shoulder, followed by a pyramid-shaped scripture known as gao yord (9 spires).
My decision to get these inks may surprise many.
I am after all, a relatively goody-two-shoe person and the fact that my first set of tattoos has links to something so enigmatic (and very ungodly) is something even my brother Barry was uncomfortable with at first.
Though Barry had his first tattoo when he was 18 and was excited for me when I got mine at the ripe old of age of 42, he sounded unconvinced with my choice of tattoo.
But in the end, the decision wasn't his to make (he's since cool about it saying it looks nice on me), but mine and J's.
J had been a little harder to convince but he eventually gave in, knowing this is something I didn't decide lightly.
That day, I walked out of the parlour feeling very pleased with myself -- and having finally put my commitment from,ink to, well, skin.
I felt that I had done something good for myself and I applaud my sense of self-love.
Stanley my sex bunny friend approves my interpretation of self-love.
Based on my definition of self love -- which involves getting pricked and poked and getting all sorts of tingling sensations from that activity especially when it's carried out and led by a man who's heavily tattooed and is in full control of your body -- you are indeed loving yourself.
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