OK, I’m a cheat; it’s a temporary tattoo but I couldn’t resist the idea of Sarah having one, having seen them on Amazon (do a search for ‘queen of spades tattoo’). I’m actually not a tattoo fan in real life; call be a fuddy-duddy but the latest fashion of wearing a proper old-school retro dress when you have wrist to shoulder tattoos just feels odd to me (says the 50+ year old transvestite with a fetish for retro fashion, so take that with a pinch of salt).
But still, the idea of having a tattoo, especially that one, for shoots is a laugh. And it leads on to yet another amusing story.
So, currently I’m driving to London for the sessions. I’m from Bristol originally, so I tend to put Bristol or London on my social media ‘where are you from’ info, but I’m actually from somewhere else near Wales, which makes the drive about three and a half hours on a good day (not South Wales, which would be reasonably easy on the M4, I’m in the ‘middle of nowhere’). To get to London for, say, 8:30am I need to get up at 4:00am because I never shave the face until the day. I have irritating hair, bless it, pitch black and like a hedgehog (apologies for destroying the fantasy a little but bear with me), so shaving as late as possible before a session is essential.
It often leads to me driving along country lanes and swearing at myself because I’ve missed a bit, normally that tiny point under your nose that you are terrified of going close to the nose in case you end up like a middle-aged leper. But anyway, my ablutions involve shaving the legs, arms and now chest the night before, getting up early and doing the face and then hopping in the car for the slog to London.
So I bought some of these temporary tattoos; they are marketed exquisitely towards, well, swingers with a certain level of sexism – they are called ‘hotwife’ tattoos, where the tattoo indicates the woman is happily married but is willing to entertain sexual encounters with someone else if their husband allows, and the Queen of Spades indicates that the partners she is looking for are black gentlemen. So the whole thing has a warm kinky (and yes, in this case sexual) bend to it.
They are dead easy to apply as well; simply remove the plastic coating, hold the tattoo against your skin, paper side out, and apply a warm wet piece of tissue to it. Hold for 30 seconds and et voila, you’re am advertising hotwife for as long as the tattoo lasts.
To get rid of them you simply apply a little makeup remover and scrub hard. And that’s where the fun sets in.
The session before last I woke up very early, about 3:00am, and decided to do the bits and pieces. Off came the stubble, I grabbed a shower (and here’s something else for people like us; do you notice that shower gel refuses to foam up when you’ve shaved your body? First time it did that I freaked out a little, in a good way). dried myself, remembered the tattoo and applied it, about four inches above my ankle. I then put on a pair of socks and my jeans and forgot it was there.
Then I did the drive; that time in the morning is a bit of a pain because none of the services have a Starbucks or a Costa open. I do sessions on a Saturday at the moment, when the traffic into London isn’t quite as insane as it normally is, and they don’t open the Coffee shops at 5:30am when I stop off at my favourite services for a nervous pee.
Got to the session, showed off the tattoo which made Cindy amused, and had a fun ten hours of makeup, dresses, posing and a lot of laughter; myself and Cindy share a sense of humour and musical taste so the ten hours are interspersed with Simpson’s references, quotes from Monty Python and others. If you could hear the conversations during the shoot you’d be very amused; I’m normally singing behind my teeth or saying ‘trouble t’ mill’ loudly between different feminine poses. I really should take it more seriously but being honest for a second, I’m still nervous when dressed, even now after five years and countless (well, around 47) sessions with Cindy, and humour is my outlet to make myself feel more relaxed.
We normally start at 9:00 and go through until 19:00; I’m a hard taskmaster and work Cindy hard, not because I’m a tyrant but because I’m so excited to see the next outfit. When we finish I treat Cindy and her other half to some food, normally a pizza or curry via Uber-Eats, and when I’ve mopped off the makeup as best I can (I really don’t mind if I have still have some glitter or a little eyeliner on, makes me look Goth) I hit the road for the drive home, getting home just after midnight in time for another shower before sitting in bed with Sarah’s laptop and greedily looking at the looks for the day.
Back to the tattoo – it worked a treat (and I bought thirty of them so expect to see them a lot) but I’d forgotten about it. Turns out showering doesn’t effect it at all.
Now I’d booked another session with Cindy for the Friday following; basically I said if there were any cancellations I’d love to do another session as soon as possible, so I found myself with only six days between trips, still high on the excitement from the last one.
The ‘less-than-a-week’ between sessions went past quickly but with a lot of things in it. I went to the dentists, which entails driving to Cheltenham, I went shopping for some new jeans (weight loss is delightfully expensive when it comes to day-to-day clothes) and sneaked in another dress purchase from Marks and Spencers. I went to the doctor for some consultancy on my feet (nothing wrong with them, I’m in training for a marathon for Cancer Research again and I don’t know when to stop, which means I have overdone it a number of times). The doctor examined my feet and said they were fine but had an odd look on his face during the examination. I put it down to the wonderful amount of damage I’ve done (people are squeamish so I won’t go into it, but let’s just say I can’t wear nail-varnish on either feet at the moment because there’s nothing to put the varnish on for a couple of toes). I did a couple of food shops. I even sunbathed for a day in shorts.
So it came to Friday morning; alarm went off at 4:00am. I blearily got up, did my teeth, shaved. Had a shower. Grabbed another tattoo to apply and lifted my leg up.
You’ve probably already guessed it dear reader but here’s the kicker. I’d forgotten about the damn tattoo completely. It was still there, still complete. I’d spent six days of real time wandering through my drab life with a Queen of Spades tattoo on my leg. The doctor had obviously seen it. People had obviously seen it when I was out and about and sunbathing with shorts on. Err, whoops.
I had that moment, when your heart feels like someone has doused it in icy water. And then it faded. In the old days I’d have been mortified; what would people have thought? But five years of dipping and diving into, being honest, the real side of me has made me a little more immune to those guilty feelings of discovery. But still, six days with a ‘hotwife’ tattoo on my leg without me even knowing it? That’s a lot of naughty fun.
Anyway, this was a quickie, if you’ll pardon the pun. I’m back off to Cindy for another session on Saturday coming. And again I will apply one of those tattoos. And I’ll probably hold my breath when I lift my leg in case I forgot to remove it again….
Stay beautiful and enjoy those silly little moments. They are what make life fun and exciting.