He walks into my tattoo room. A low voice I used to crave invades my senses as he leans down to speak in my ear. "You still can be. Want to sixty-nine before your next appointment?"
Seriously? Like sucking his cock is what I live for? I shudder a little in disgust. Crap on a cracker. The wheels of my chair whirl as I push away from the desk in irritation. "Lovely offer, but I think I'll pass." He must be really horny.
Stepping into my personal space, he gets down on his knees. Ray's hands shove my jean-clad thighs open to slide himself between them. "Carly, I miss you." Pulling me against his chest with his arm, he nibbles on my neck, and tiny hairs prick up in response. But it's not desire I feel. It's almost hate. My lip curls in disgust, and a rumble comes from my chest like a growl. I catch myself before it comes out. As if a switch flipped, I've gone from hot for this guy to not even attracted.
I know how this used to go. He'd get me hot and then stand up to unzip his pants. When I was done pleasing him he'd find a reason he couldn't return the favor. But right now I'm not sure he would even get me warm. Even the smell of him is foul, and I’m reminded of the dumpster earlier today. I push him off me. "No. I agreed to come back if you promised to keep this a professional work arrangement."
He unbuttons his jeans and reveals the snake tattoo I designed and applied that leads beneath the zipper. His low voice says, "I could fuck you on the desk."
I roll back until my chair hits the wall with a thud. "Stop it, Ray. I'm serious." And I am. Right now anger is threading its way through my body. When he pulls his cock out and begins to stroke it, I bark at him, "Out."
"What a fat fucking bitch you are." He squints at me and tugs his dick one more time as if I should be upset I’m not getting to touch it. “Good luck finding someone who wants to fuck you.” He shoves it back in his pants as he walks out and kicks the door shut with a slam.
His words prick at my heart. You'd think I'd be immune by now. Thin is something I haven't seen in years. I turn to the client chair and the metallic gleam of my tattoo machine. The tribal paw print image floods my mind, and excitement hums through my veins because I see it clearly. I'm ready to draw it now. A glance at the clock tells me I have time. The smell of alcohol fills the air as I prepare my pale white wrist. I'm about to break more than one of my cardinal rules.
* * *
I’m home and tired. A tingling sensation travels up my arm as I gingerly touch my first tattoo. It’s still red and swollen, and normally it would look angry to me. But I think it’s the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
The microwave dings, and I pull out a container of mac and cheese. I push the pasta around with a fork, and the cheesy goodness steams, warning me to wait for it to cool. I'm known for putting a tattoo anywhere an individual wants with practiced ease, and I bet I've seen more penises than the average porn star.
My father was a tattoo artist, and I spent my life as his apprentice. Now I'm solidly booked, and he probably rolls in his grave knowing I'm the prick-your-dick queen. Actually, he's probably proud of me and sad knowing he had to leave me too soon.
Taking my pasta, I wander to my living room and sit on my sofa. My prudish tattoo-free body and usual uniform of baggy jeans and tees put men at ease, although they like to think they turn me on when my gloved touch makes them hard. Even now that I'm not the owner's girlfriend, Ray still protects me by stepping in often to check on the progress when I do delicate places. He isn't a complete ass.
Well, considering tonight, maybe he is. I make him a lot of money, and you'd think he could remember that. Part of the draw of Tattoo Junkie is the legendary Al Cutler's daughter carrying on his trademark traditional designs. I thank my dad often, because being a woman in this business is tough. A female tattoo artist my age is practically unheard of.
When I’m done eating, I lean back on the scratchy upholstery of my thrift-store couch and sigh. A red light flashes from the remote as I turn on the TV to scroll through my recorded shows. Finding nothing that interests me, I wander to the kitchen with my dirty bowl and deposit it in the sink. Frosty air blasts at me when I open the freezer for dessert and grab a carton of ice cream.
When I was in a relationship with Ray, I didn’t feel worthy of him. The way he acted tonight confirms I was an idiot. My father drilled it into my head that no man is worth more than I am. Digging into the hard ice cream with my spoon, I put a lump into my mouth. Creamy vanilla flavor coats my tongue as I chew chocolate bits.