“As she pulled her pants down and lay over the tattoo bench, I tried to settle the nerves by letting her know that it was a relatively painless procedure,” a candid Justin said. “’You will only feel a small prick,’ I told her.
“’I'd rather be feeling a big one!’ she responded. And that was it. All hell was let loose in the trouser department, or kept restricted as it turned out.”
A sudden and unexpected flow of blood to the groin area caused a massive involuntary erection within the restricted confines of Justin’s underpants.
“For the next 11 hours I had to work on the smooth, lightly scented bottom of Cheryl Cole while trying desperately to keep that erection at bay,” he said. “It was hell.”
Justin attempted to quell his erection by desperately trying to recall the names of all post-war British prime ministers, the counties of the UK and British number one singles of 1998.
“With every push of the needle into Cheryl’s glistening derriere she would let out a low moan, breaking my concentration and precipitating another surge of blood to my engorged member,” an ashen-faced Justin recalled.