HOT TAMALE


“Fuck me,” Derek murmured as he pulled his t-shirt off and tossed it in the corner. Getting a tattoo wasn’t a new experience for him, far from it, but messing around with a half-naked beauty at the station across from him was a first. His friend and tattoo artist was getting his ink and tools ready, giving him time for a closer look at the delicious chick.

The woman must have had a back piece done, because her back was to him as she straddled the chair. Her head was down, probably resting in the padded donut, hair pulled out of the way, and she didn’t have on a shirt, only a pair of shorts tugged down. If he had to guess, she wore earphones to help her zone out. He was curious to know what she listened to so intently she didn’t move a muscle.

He was finding it difficult not to be turned on by the silky smooth, light brown body across from him. The woman was not a stick figure, either, even more of what he liked. She had curves he wanted to savor and his fingers itched to follow various paths around her body.

In his imagination, he put a finger on her neck and followed the line of her spinal column to just above her visible crack. Maybe her shorts were unbuttoned and pulled down low on her hips to give her artist more room to maneuver his machine. Whatever, she was stunning; he knew it even though he couldn’t see her face, and his hard-on was growing as proof.

Shit, he thought and shook his head to dislodge the multitude of naked pictures highlighting her body. Obviously he needed to work on getting some pussy.

There was a color patch on her lower back, almost to her ass that continued up her spine, but he couldn’t see details because of the plastic covering. The ink didn’t distract from her beauty, just the opposite, at least for him. He was pulled in to look closer and, of course, to touch—oh, to touch her relaxed body until she—

“Okay, Der, you ready, man?”

“Sure,” he said as he cleared his throat, trying not to look at her but also finding it hard. She was there. “Yup, I’m ready.”

“Good, first let’s get this exploding grenade on you, and see how it fits with the rest of your ink,” his friend Max said.

Amongst the color on his legs, arms, chest and back, there was only one tattoo on his upper right arm. The former was a pair of combat boots with a gun and dog tags for his buddies who didn’t return from their in Afghanistan. Like the one on his whiter-than-white forearm, the tat on his upper arm was important to him. Hopefully the ink he was about to get would close that chapter in his life. He was an HVAC guy now, had a stable job, and volunteered for the local fire department, but he hadn’t been ready to settle down. The Marine Corps gave him a purpose as a young man and he received his first tattoo while he was doing Basic Training. Words weren’t his thing; inking his body was how he expressed himself.

“What do you think?” Max asked after he looked in the mirror. Derek was critical of what he was looking at—it was his body and his ink, he’d better like it.

“Can you do it as a transition piece between the grey piece on my upper arm and the color on my back?” There was no big plan for his tattoos, but before he put them on his body he wanted to be sure they’d appear how he envisioned them.

“Yup, I can do it half and half along the seam like I originally drew, but I was thinking it would look better if we made it less exact.” Max held up a drawing depicting the first option and then picked up another depicting the other. “I drew this after we had a chat and agreed to do the tat. Do you prefer the first or a more organic transition?”

There was no question about it, he liked the second one, and told his friend.

“This one,” he said, pointing to the updated drawing. “I like how the explosion bit is all color and the grenade shows more of the transition between color and black.”

“Done.” Max smiled big and waved him back to the chair. “Let’s get started.”