It was Saturday night in a heaving Manchester bar and the party was in full flow. Music blared and the room was full of gyrating bodies, yet finding a guy was the last thing on my mind. Then, I spotted him, standing by the bar in a black T-shirt and jeans. A million miles from my usual type, he had tattoos in almost every visible spot, from the cobweb that began on his neck and circled onto his left cheek to the incomprehensible words on his sleeve; a far cry from the suited and booted, groomed men I was dating at the time.
— Read on www.cosmopolitan.com/uk/love-sex/sex/a32237580/best-sex-ever-tattooist/
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