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“I’m trying to—believe me,” I mutter to Danny. She rolls her stool closer to me, until my bent knee is between her legs. Resting her hands on top of my thigh, she leans her face closer to mine, not helping matters down below in the least.
“I’m fine,” she speaks quietly, stating the same thing I kept repeating to her about getting this tattoo just moments ago. Lips so close to mine that I can smell the cherry chapstick she put on them, and I just want to lick it off. “Last night was perfect. I don’t know how many times you need me to say it, but I’ll keep saying it until you finally believe it.”
“Five times should do it.”
Some of my worry goes away when she inches her hands up higher on my thigh, her fingers slipping under the hem of my basketball shorts as she scoots her chair even closer to me, until I have a hard time swallowing when my knee is pressing right into the juncture of her thighs. Her smooth, bare thighs—pressed against either side of mine in her tiny, tattered jean shorts—that I can still feel locked tight around my waist last night when I pounded into her tight, wet heat….
“Well, I believe that was number four, so…,” Danny pauses, moving her face to the side of mine, pressing her cheek against mine and her lips close to my ear, lowering her voice, and making this boner situation extremely precarious. “I really liked what happened last night. And I really liked that I could make you lose control. And I really,reallyliked your monster cock, and I’d like it inside me again as soon as possible, please and thank you.”
I don’t even know what kind of sound comes out of me. Part choke, part cough, part dying man.
“Every time you say the wordcock,an angel gets its wings,” I whisper, wondering where this woman has been all my life and why it was so utterly boring before she got here.
“And every time you say the wordfuckwhen you’re inside me, a Danny gets an orgasm.”
And now a gurgling sound comes out of me like I’m drowning in my own spit I’m having a hard time swallowing, and she pulls her face back from mine with a smile.
“Still right here. And I can still hear you,” my tattoo artist mutters as he pulls the machine away from my shoulder, rubbing his gloved hand over his work and making it burn even more, before he dips the machine into the tiny container of ink and gets back to it. “But please, keep going. This is the best thing I’ve heard all week.”
Danny laughs softly, while my stupid cheeks heat in embarrassment.
“I still can’t believe you’re doing this. You just walk in the door from tutoring math this morning… and announce you want a tattoo? I feel like I should check your temperature.”
“And I still can’t believe you got one in solidarity.” I smile at her, flipping over our joined hands and looking at the new ink on the inside of her wrist.
Since my tattoo is going on the two-hour mark, Danny took off the cellophane wrapping on hers a little bit ago to wash it off, and it no longer looks like a gross, bleeding, messy blob of ink mixed with whatever gel stuff was spread over it. It’s a small paintbrush on the inside of her wrist, with colorful swirls of paint coming off the brush. It’s beautiful, and perfectlyher.
The only way Danny would let me get a tattoo and believe I was serious was if she got one first and I still wanted to do it when she was finished. I think she assumed I would change my mind while I waited. But watching her get inked—kicked back in the chair with her feet up and crossed at the ankles, alternating between playing solitaire on her phone and easily chatting with me like someone was painting the brush on her wrist instead of stabbing her with a bunch of needles that felt like knives—was honestly hot as hell. While also a little disturbing that she didn’t even flinch the entire time, like a nut job.
Likemynut job.
My nut job who likes a little pain.
Jesus, is it hot in here all of a sudden?
“I get what you mean now, though.” I nod, trying to think about anything other than Danny tracing circles on the inside of my thigh with the tips of her fingers. “It hurts, but it’s a good pain. Kind of addicting.”
“Mmm, yes…,” Danny moans softly, biting down on her bottom lip with her eyes locked on my mouth, the sound making flashes of last night scroll through my head until I want to drag her into the closest empty room and bend her over something so I can hear it again.
“All right, we’re all finished here. Go ahead and take a look.” The tattoo artist finally shuts off his machine, wipes a wet paper towel over the back of my shoulder one last time, then scoots his stool back so I have room to get up and off my chair. Walking over to a floor-length mirror in the corner, I hear Danny gasp as she looks at the tattoo before I do, then turn my back to the mirror to look at it over my shoulder.
“It’s good, right?” I ask Danny’s reflection in the mirror as she gets up from her stool to join me.
She stands by my side and rests her hand on my shoulder, and I turn it toward her.
“It’s perfect.” She sighs, her fingers tracing all around the back of my shoulder and around the tattoo, careful not to touch it. “I am a firm believer that tattoos should always mean something. Even if you get them on a whim without a plan, they should still have significance. You did good. And you didn’t even cry once.”
I smile and shake my head at her teasing. Regardless of the little bit of guilt I still felt when I woke up this morning, I also felt… wild and free. It was the strangest thing. I just felt happy, and excited, and I wanted to do something to permanently remind myself that I need to stop being afraid of doing what I want and live my life howIwant to. Whether it’s dancing in the rain, screwing this woman’s brains out, or holding onto that reckless, wild feeling and getting a tattoo.
Looking back over my shoulder into the mirror, I continue smiling at the black-and-gray tattoo of a set of bowling pins flying in all sorts of directions. The only color comes from a red bowling ball smacking into them in an obvious strike. I’m never more confident than when I’m bowling. I know what I need to do to achieve the outcome I want and I just… do it. Without any hesitation, and without any fear, I walk down that lane, and throw my ball. I want that confidence in every other aspect of life, and I want this tattoo to always remind me to keep striving for it. When you throw a bowling ball, you never know which way the pins will fly. You could throw a strike, or you could throw your ball right in the gutter. It’s totally chaotic, just like in life when you take a chance on something new. In the end, I always win at bowling because I’m always confident that I will. It’s time for me to start winning at life in the same way.
“I feel like I’m a bad influence on you.” Danny laughs softly, but there’s a look of worry on her face I don’t like one bit.
Remembering that my dad said the same thing about her, it makes me just as angry to hearhersay it.
“Don’t do that.”
Danny’s eyes meet mine, and I reach out and tuck a lock of hair behind her ear.
