SLAG TAGS AND TRAMP STAMPS

I have to be honest, I am not a fan of sleeve tattoos. In fact I am not a fan of most kids of tattoos that can’t be covered up. There are two reasons for this, and not the obvious one that showing ink at job interviews and so on may not be considered a good idea. It probably isn’t. Not everyone wants or likes tattoos and prejudices remain. Tattoos are a sign of low intelligence, of criminality, a tattooed woman is probably a prostitute, or if not an actual sex worker, than a cheap slag. Lower back tattoos on women are particularly frowned on by those who like to judge. They call them slag tags or, on the other side of the pond, tramp stamps. I actually have a lower back tattoo which I will talk about later. But, for now. I want to discuss the two reasons for covering up.

The first is that, at least for me, my body art is a visual window into my inner life. No one, other than me obviously, can know this other than fleetingly but I need to control who I gave this access to. There are those who I want to have glimpses of me in my glorious complexity but others to whom I choose to remain a blank page. In front of these people, who probably include recruiters. I dress carefully, modestly. Actually I dress carefully and modestly most of the time. I dress to give nothing away.

My tattoos are my story, the art on my skin says things that I don’t want everyone to know. I have two tattoos that are visible, or can be, in normal clothing. On my shoulder I have a wonderful portrait of Marlene Dietrich in a men’s jacket and shirt, with tie and cufflinks. This is a statement tattoo for me, a statement of androgyny and queerness. A hint of what lies beneath, a glimpse of what I may offer to those allowed to undress me, slowly, sensually, of course, like the very best Christmas present. Marlene is my Goddess, it is Marlene who inspires me, inspires my writing. I love the thought that she and I will be together for the rest of my life. She is buried in Berlin, in Schöneberg Cemetery and I visit her every time I am in the city. Like most visitors I leave a token, a pebble, a powder compact, a lipstick, a cigarette. The last time I left her a photograph of my tattoo. I so hope she liked it. It was an act of worship, so why wouldn’t she?

My second tattoo is on my back, a bird among flowers. It is, I suppose, alright, but no more than that. It was my first tattoo, done many years ago before I discovered the amazing Kerry Irvine who has done my other tattoos. It is not really part of my story, So I will say no more about it.

My third tattoo, chronologically too, is Betty Page in long leather gloves with a whip. This is on my left upper thigh and by the you get to see it, you will probably be close to getting down to business with me. BDSM play partners frequently never get to see it, but sexual partners seemingly get excited, to the extent of asking for a spanking. And I am usually happy to oblige.

By the time anyone sees my lower back tattoo we are seriously about to pleasure each other. Here it is.

It is not just a joke, nor even a joke. Neither is it primarily something to excite sexual partners. It is a message about slut shaming, the sort that says it is alright for men to like sex, but not women. It is a gesture of love to Liz, the first fellow schoolgirl I worshipped, the first girl I saw destroyed, branded a slag by the boys and by those jealous girls who were only too happy to take her down (why is it that the worst enemies of women are so often other women?). I was too young to reach out, to tell her I still adored her, too young to understand it all. But if by any small chance you are reading this, I did it for you (it hurt!) and I still think of you.

Don’t Panic London did something in the same spirit a couple of years ago and had this temporary tattoo to apply in protest at slut shaming.

Female sexuality is power, female sexuality is strength, and it will sweep away patriarchy one orgasm. That is why the defenders if female subordination are so desperate to keep it in check and under surveillance.

I am already thinking of another tattoo. This will be another portrait, of the painter Tamara de Lempicka, hedonist, bisexual, predator.

I imagine living in hope , and I could then live in the hope that one day she will hit on me, give me the exquisite delights of being a bottom. I can but dream can’t I? Maybe this tattoo, too, will give me what I need!