Nothing here matters to me. Maybe it's time to start fresh. I glance again at my tattoo, and the pull to leave gnaws at me.
The ice cream carton is wet in my hands when I wander back to the living room. I could fit everything I own in my car and just leave. My dreamy guy’s voice saying “Carly” echoes in my head, sending a twinge of desire to my lower belly. Maybe I will. A smile creeps onto my face, and I return to the couch. Plopping down with a whoosh, I grab the remote to watch someone else's pitiful life as I finish off dessert.
3
Chapter 3
Carly
The dank smell of earth is around me, and soft moss cradles my prone body. Daylight filters through fir trees like tiny daggers. I shiver in the cold. The tattoo on the inside of my wrist is burning. I'm afraid it's infected, and I lift my arm above me to look. The ink is raised, and it's pulsing as if blood is pumping fiercely to my hand. Confused, I touch it. The moment I do, an electric shock of desire floods my body.
I stroke lightly, and it's as if I'm pleasuring every sensitive spot I have. Oh God, this is glorious. I writhe on the forest floor, and the feel of the moist sponginess against my skin makes me realize I'm naked. My panting fills my ears. I move the tender flesh of my tattoo toward my mouth to lick. The wet, rough sensation of my tongue takes me to the edge of climax.
An acrid musky odor pulls me away for a moment. It should be unpleasant, but I'm drawn to it. Raspy breathing that is not my own startles me. I open my eyes to sharp white teeth glistening. Fear laces my orgasm as it builds. The teeth sink into the flesh of my breast as I scream in ecstasy.
My cry wakes me. Did I just have a sex dream about an animal? The light clicks when I turn it on, and I inspect my tattoo. Still tender, it looks normal. Only, I'm not. I'm a freak that gets off on bad furry breath and sharp teeth biting my boob. Great. I'm tempted to lick my tattoo to see if it really does feel good, but it's unsanitary, and I don't want to risk the germs.
Shaken by my nightmare, I'm wide awake. I stumble in the darkness toward the kitchen. Slamming my shin on the coffee table, I drop to the floor in pain. A wave of nausea rises, but I swallow it down and place my hands on the rough shag carpet to stand. The memory of soft fur against my naked body and the softness in my hands comes back to me. My insides flutter. Wow, I'm losing my mind.
When I get to the kitchen, I find hot chocolate in the cupboard. Brown powder spills out when I rip open the packet. After I pour the remains in a mug, I add water and stir before placing it in the microwave. The buttons beep in staccato as I set it to timed cook. Hopping up on the counter to sit, I open the cabinet and pull out a package of cookies. Grabbing a handful, I put the rest back so I don't devour them all.
Nibbling on buttery shortbread, I look down at my pale legs. Shapely calves are my best feature, but unfortunately they lead to fleshy thighs, full hips, and a soft middle that manages to muffin top even over my loose jeans. I'm fat, and hot guys like Ray don't date girls like me. Shame washes over me when I remember that they do if she gives good head. Willing to suck him off on command, I was desperate to keep him. So desperate I refused to see he was a player until walking in on him left me no choice.
The whir of the microwave stops when it chimes. I take the mug out, and my spoon clinks as I stir to dissolve lumps of chocolate. If I could live anywhere else, where would I go? The scent of cut pine tweaks at my memory as if to answer. It might be time to leave the bikini-clad world of Venice, California, where I'm reminded of my ample curves daily, and move to someplace where sweaters hide my rolls and accentuate my assets. The mountains.
Grabbing the package of cookies from the cabinet and my mug, I return to the living room and boot up my laptop. My dreams are something I’ve learned to listen too. It’s not that they tell me straight out what’s going to happen, but they point me in the right direction.
The bright light of the computer screen flashes in my eyes and eerily glows on my hands as I type. Google is my friend, and I research mountain towns with tattoo shops. Colorado is my first choice. I imagine being wrapped in a warm fleece blanket and sipping hot cocoa by a fire. I bookmark shops in ski towns in the Vail area and make plans to compile a folder of my flash.
I snort thinking of the dick pics of my work all over the Internet. Definitely porn, but it might be my ticket. Maybe all I need is a penis business card, because something about a tattoo-less ink slinger makes shop owners nervous. Okay, not so tattoo-less any more.
Rough crumbs stick to my fingers when I reach in to find I finished off the bag of cookies. It's just as well. I'm tired and really should grab a couple hours of sleep before work. But I’m afraid of my nightmares.