Black and grey realism tattoo of a snarling jaguar above a woman's face with long hair and a painted stripe, on the upper thigh.

Jaguar and woman portrait on a thigh

Realism · Thigh · Black and grey · Photo

A large portrait tattoo on the outer upper thigh shows a snarling jaguar head with bared fangs above a woman's face, with long hair flowing down the leg. The shading is smooth and realistic, with fine whisker detail and soft gradients across the skin of both faces. The image is black and grey against a dark background, with denim shorts visible at the top of the frame.

Realism Thigh Leopard Woman Portrait Face paint Long hair

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit down, the lot of you, the kettle's not boiled yet and I'm not finished with my tea. You all remember Margaret Oakes, who sat at the back by the radiator and never once put her hand up. She went off up the Ribble valley the summer we left school, and what came back down the hill in the autumn wasn't a girl at all. It was a girl with a great spotted cat walking at her heel.

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Her mother swore the animal was a sheepdog pup. The vicar's wife said it was a stray from a travelling show at Preston. But I saw them both on the cricket field that October. The beast lay down in the long grass with its chin on its paws while Margaret painted her face with a stripe of mud across the cheekbones, the way the old women on the reservoir farms used to do before the gathering. She didn't look at any of us. She looked at the cat, and the cat looked at the rest of us, and nobody laughed.

That was the year the foxes stopped coming down to the bins. Bread went missing from the bakery's back step, and every hen on Cutler Lane was counted twice in the morning. People said it was a poacher, then a bear loosed from a zoo. Margaret never said a word about it, but on Bonfire Night she walked into the hall with her hair loose and damp, sat down at the table where she always sat, and ate a whole pork pie without once looking up.

So when you see her at the bar tonight, don't ask her about the cat. Just leave the last sausage roll on her plate, and let her decide for herself when she's had enough of being thought ordinary.