The woman doing my first tattoo (the tribal band) had to stop several times for mysterious reasons. She was visibly shaken and could not concentrate. She kept saying, "man, I need a break." Though It wasn't for my sake, I hid the pain very well and tuned it out for the most part--but this woman could not wait to get me out of that chair. She claimed that she drank quite a bit the night before (I was getting the tattoo on a saturday afternoon), and this seemed to be the most logical reason that she was having such a tough time. I can't help but wonder, however, if there was more to it. Even then my diminished discernment was working, and I sensed a spiritual conflict taking place. When the woman had finished, she made a disturbing remark that will foever echo in mind, "there ya go, you're no longer a virgin." Of course, she spoke not of physical sexuality, but of spiritual defilement against God in the form of marking my flesh. Now I was "one of the gang", one of the "cool people", and one of the rebels who shakes their fist at the law of God.