Temporary Satisfaction

I'm covered in tattoos
Well, machine washable marker tattoos.

The night was spent drinking wine, telling secrets, listening to smokey blues singers and drawing tattoos on each other in our dimly lit house.

There's something about the night that inspires people to say things, tell secrets that they've kept hidden from the harsh judging sunlight, to share a part of themselves that normally stays reserved for significant others.

I love secrets. I love that time of night when secrets become tangible.

The drawing tattoos is an intimate ritual for me, one that started years ago with an ex boyfriend.
I've mentioned before that I'm not big into the whole touching thing. Even casual touch is intimate to me. The other day I was playing a game with co workers, which involved writing a famous person's name on a sticky note and then taping it to someone else's head so they can guess who it is. I taped it to a friends head and even that slight brush of skin contact... it's burned into me. I can still feel it if I think about it. I know it doesn't work that way for everyone. But if I choose to touch you, or ask you to touch me in someway... it comes with a lot of thought before it.

Trust me, I've become the expert at finding ways around the necessity of touching people.

But back to the drawing tattoos part of the evening. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the dirty rock'n'roll blues that was playing. We sat in an uneven circle, Jess drawing on my left arm, my legs sprawled over Liz's lap, Liz drawing on Cliff's left arm and Cliff's feet tapping the beat out on Matt's shins. All of us touching, in small insignificant ways.
But intimate ways nevertheless.

And now the sun is fully up, the heat has reclaimed the day and I am covering in tattoos and the echos of tattoos that have rubbed off on me from other people's washable tattoos when they leaned on me. I look at the jumble of colors on me and see the warmth of friendship.

Seeing the colors on me reminds me that I've let these people in. I care about them and they care about me and we... touch. Casually. Comfortably. Like puppies that play and rough house and then all sleep in a pile.

It's a good feeling.
It was a good night.