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The day I got "FUCK OFF" tattooed on my knuckles. I was 21 years old. That was 17 yrs ago, before tattoos were socially acceptable, the tv shows and the type of women who now get them as fashion accessories were the same ones who back then looked at me with disgust. I already had a number of tattoos and piercings at that point. Had I been a guy, that would have likely been a deterrent, people typically rushing to stereotypical judgement that I was a "criminal"or dangerous. I would have honestly gratefully embraced that reaction, to be left alone. However the typical assumption about me and other females with tattoos and piercings was that we were sluts, clearly inviting attention, disrepect and being touched in public...This was before my PTSD had really started to manifest intense rage and the struggle to control it, to try to channel it into something useful and productive. t just finished working a shift at a doggie day care and was going through a dunkin donuts drive thru. As soon as I pulled up to the window the cashier got that familiar infuriating lecherous grin. "Hey girl you look like you know where the party's at!" He proceeds to lean ridiculously close to my open window. "Admiring" my tattoos.My frigging coffee is nowhere in sight. I tell him I do not know "where the party is at" and i need my coffee and to get to my other job. After several ridiculous minutes I finally negotiate the release of my coffee that I already paid for. Next up, the gas station right across the street. I walk in and am instantly greeted by that same fucking grin. And "compliments" about my tattoos as I pay for the gas. As I'm about to walk out, he finally actually makes eye contact after roving them all over my body. "Oooo and you've your nipples pierced what else you got pierced?" That one caught me off guard. I look down at my chest and there's a faint outline of my rings beneath my shirt and bra. Not obvious unless you've made a point of staring at them. I feel myself turning bright red, say nothing, pump my gas and peel out. I am furious now, at these two assholes, but worse and even more myself for letting them degrade me. Still one more stop, the post office. It's been less than an hour. I get out of my car and before I can even turn around, before this douchebag can even see my face, I hear "Hey pretty how you doing?" I start physically shaking with a rage that would over the years become enormous and eventually something that would make me stronger. I turned around and snapped "Fuck. Off." through grinding teeth. And he actually shut up, from sheer surprise I guess. I had long contemplated getting my fingers tattooed and now I knew what I wanted and got it done. The final kicker, the only artist willing to do it for me then was the same one who, while tattooing my chest,had complimented that I had nice tits that reminded him of his ex girlfriend's and was a total predator of teenage girls....... wedding bridal collection in blue