My tattoo artist in Austin told me the cover-up would hurt. She didn't mean th… · @A9Beacon · TwKit

@A9Beacon

My tattoo artist in Austin told me the cover-up would hurt. She didn't mean the needle. Her name's Kayla, 31, full sleeves, shop on South Congress. I came in to cover a tattoo I got at 19 and broke. She's leaning over my ribs for two hours, breath on my skin, knee pressed between my legs "to keep me still." "You keep twitching." "You're breathing on it." "I'm breathing on YOU, cowboy. Hold still or it'll scar." Shop closes. She locks the door, flips the sign, doesn't turn the chair light off. "Payment plan," she says, pulling her shirt over her head. No bra. Ink everywhere, including places the public never sees. "I don't tattoo those parts for customers. I save them." She rode me right there in the chair, slow, watching my face the whole time like she was checking her linework. "Deeper than the needle, huh?" I came so hard my half-finished cover-up was shaking. She wiped me down with the same alcohol pads, kissed the fresh ink and said: "Now part of you is mine forever. The tattoo was just the receipt."

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