My Tattoo Itches So Bad Novels & Stories

“Or are you practicing for when the kids bring home headlice?” “Oh my gawd,” Aislen gaped at him. “Headlice.” “Yeah, it’s totally a thing,” he told her. “I get a lot of mummies in for tattoos, and they tend to do it in pairs or small groups. It’s like a bonding thing. They sit, I tattoo them, they talk to each other. Stuff like little Jenny Junior brought home headlice for the fifth time this year and now the mummy-getting-Jenny’s name tattooed with a rose has to treat the whole family for headlice, and wash all the bedding, again,” he put stress on the again as he opened the vanity and retrieved a face cloth. “I don’t listen to a lot of what they’re saying unless I think they’re talking to

Slowly the pain ebbed away and my neck felt numb with the occasional stinging. “Hazel? There is something on your neck?” Lorena stopped dabbing the wound and I felt my neck. The burn was gone but I couldn’t feel anything. Everyone was staring at me now and Cassie handed me a mirror from he purse. On my neck, was a freshly done tattoo, of a blood red eye next to a black crescent moon, intricately designed, with every detail standing out. I rubbed at it but it didn’t come off. Maybe the ritual did work.

Nathaniel saw the tattoo on Mango's body. It was a big tattoo that stretches from her upper body to her lower body. She was not a woman who liked tattoo. Why did she do this? Was she trying to change herself? Or were there any other reasons? He remembered that the doctor had said before that Mango was allergic to cephalosporin. How could she not use anti-inflammatory for having such a big tattoo? What exactly was the reason for her to be able to endure all of this? "Is there any special meaning for the tattoo on your body?"

he said. Aaron motioned for me to sit down in the tattoo chair, and he started setting up his tools and supplies. Within minutes, I felt the needle prick. As the needle prickled my skin, a sharp yet strangely exhilarating sensation spread through my body. Each puncture of the needle felt like a tiny, concentrated burst of pain. However, it was a pain that I willingly embraced, knowing that it would result in a permanent work of art etched onto my skin. With every passing moment, I could feel a mix of adrenaline and anticipation building up as the tattoo slowly came to life. As Aaron applied ink to my skin, he worked skillfully. A smile appeared on my face when he finished. The result was fla

Suddenly his expression changes from interest to aversion. "A person who has an insect tattoo and criticizes someone who wears a piercing is very ironic.” Grunting softly, I lean towards the backrest, resting my trunk on the soft leather. "Piercings are pieces of metal stuck in the body, it's a little disgusting, but I respect it. My tattooed Ladybug is not disgusting.” “Where is the tattoo? "He asks. “On the inside of my right thigh.” “Near the knee?” "Near the groin" I practically growl.

She tiptoes and quickly touches that spot under my right ear. "Ouch!" Isabel involuntarily pulls her palm away from me. She exclaims and almost cry in pain. "What's wrong with you?" I stare at her blankly and wonder what happened to her palm. It's not like my neck bit her. "It's hot! Your tattoo is burning hot! The moment I landed my palm on your skin I felt like I was touching a fire." "What? Are you on drugs?" "I'm serious!" "Alright, let me see your palm."

The buzz of the needle intensifies, and then I feel it. The burn. The sting. He starts tattooing me. I scream. I scream not from pain—though it hurts like hell—but from the rage, from the humiliation, from the white-hot panic flooding every inch of my body. My back arches. My fists clench around the restraints. My throat burns raw. He doesn’t stop.

Monic stepped into the tattoo parlor just as the late afternoon sun filtered through the front windows, casting long shadows across the polished concrete floor. The bell above the door gave a soft chime that echoed in the quiet space. She had been thinking about this for months, the idea of getting her first real tattoo gnawing at her like an itch she could no longer ignore. At twenty eight years old, with a steady job in marketing that left her feeling trapped in a cycle of endless meetings and bland routines, she wanted something bold on her skin. Something that screamed she was more than the polished professional everyone saw on the outside. Her heart pounded a little harder as she scanne

A tattoo—small but intricate—etched just below my skin. The infinity symbol, its delicate lines looping and intertwining seamlessly, radiated a sense of endless continuity. It was beautiful but haunting. A chill ran down my spine as I lightly traced the design with my fingers. My skin tingled at the touch, as if the mark carried some latent energy.

I hear a small laugh, but it's not a lie; this time I mean it. "The next time you text me in the middle of the night, I'll remind you of that." I hear talking on the other side of the door and I look up. "Don't worry. I locked it." Stacy confirms my unspoken question and I nod. "How much longer?" I ask, ready to put my clothes back on. There's a long pause and then the pain is gone. "You're all set." My feet are a little unsteady as I stand up and stretch. The muscles in my back ache but in a good way. Some people might not consider getting tattooed to be therapeutic, but in a weird way it helps me get through some shit in my head.