“So I changed my mind. It’s a
woman’s prerogative, isn’t it?”
She sat on one of the stools, too
tired to keep standing. Her head had finally cleared, after Doc made her drink
a horrible concoction—whiskey, coffee, Tabasco sauce, a raw egg and cracked
pepper, mixed in a glass of orange juice—and as she’d predicted, she had thrown
it up. But then she’d felt a little better, especially after four Advil and
about a gallon of water. But she still had that residual kind of haze in her
head, like it was wrapped in gauze.
“You said you were gonna get my
name tattooed over your heart.” Doc poked her again, this time in the chest,
and Carrie stuck her tongue out at him.
“A tattoo is forever,” Wilson
reminded them, smiling at their banter.
“Which is why it’s not such a
good idea to get anyone’s name tattooed anywhere.” The tattoo artist had
clearly gone against his own advice—he had three names in a connecting heart on
his forearm. But he explained that away almost immediately. “Unless it’s your
kids, of course.” He pointed to his arm. “Three girls.”
“Well I know I’ll be yours
forever.” Doc wrapped his arms around Carrie’s waist and kissed her cheek. “I
have no qualms about getting your name tattooed on my body.”
“You could get it tattooed on
your dick,” Wilson joked. “Then no one would ever see it but Carrie. In theory,
anyway.”
Carrie’s eyes widened as she
glanced back at her husband. “I’d better be the only one to see it!”
“I’ve done cock tattoos,” the
tattoo artist said, smiling up at her. His name was Brad and he was far more
tattooed than Wilson, tendrils of black tribal marks snaking up his neck under
his black t-shirt. At least you couldn’t see Wilson’s when he had street
clothes on.
Carrie stared at him, a little
shocked. “But… don’t they have to… you know… have an erection…?”
“At the beginning, yeah.” Brad
winked at her, rubbing his chin with the back of his gloved hand. “We put a
stencil on when it’s erect and then we can stretch the skin after that.
Although the closer we get to the head of the cock, the more likely a guy is to
stay hard.”
She blinked at him, his meaning
finally dawning on her. “It feels… good?”
“Yeah.” Wilson nodded, agreeing.
“It hurts
soooo
good.”
“You’re kidding me.” Carrie
turned to him, her mouth agape.
Doc laughed. “You’ve got a tattoo
on your dick?”
“What is it of?” Carrie couldn’t
help asking.
“You wanna see?” Wilson reached
for his belt buckle.
“Whoa there!” Doc punched him
lightly on the shoulder. “We just crossed the line into too much information.”
Wilson settled back in his chair
and Brad went back to work, but Carrie couldn’t help sneaking glances down at
the zipper on his jeans, far too curious for her own good.
“So what
are
you gonna
get, Doc?” Wilson looked back over his shoulder at the job the tattoo artist
was doing.
“I don’t know for sure.” Doc
shrugged, glancing at her. “I was thinking about—”
Carrie made a face when his
beeper went off. That was never a good thing, never.
Doc swore, checking the number.
He looked at her regretfully. “Babe…”
She sighed. “When is the
emergency rotation over again?”
“After Christmas.”
“You should be on-call like I am
for the OB rotation.” Wilson rolled his eyes. “It’s actually worse. I spent
seventy-two hours at the hospital last week, and I think I slept about three of
those.”
Doc nodded. “That’s next
semester.”
“Great,” Carrie remarked
sarcastically. “Something to look forward to.”
Doc was already pulling on his
coat. “Hey, can you take Carrie home for me?”
“Sure,” his friend agreed. “No
problem.”
“How long will you be?” Carrie
put her arms around her husband for a kiss.
He gave her what she was looking
for, far too briefly. “I’ll call you.”
She pouted. “We were supposed to
have dinner.”
“You can still have Mexican
delivered. Save some for me.” He kissed her again and then let her go. When he
got to the door, he turned back and called out, as if just remembering, “And
hey—no showing off cock tattoos.”
She stuck her tongue out at him.
“Maybe I’ll get a vulva tattoo.”
“No you won’t.” He laughed.
“Chicken.”
“Call me!” She waved as he pushed
the door open.
“I will.” The bell tinkled as the
door closed behind him.
Carrie sighed and took a seat
next to the tattoo artist, watching his progress. They were the only ones in
the shop.
Wilson saw the look on her face
and nudged her with the tip of his combat boots. “Well, Tonto, I guess it’s
just you and me.”
She smiled wanly. “Heigh-ho,
Silver.”
They hadn’t spent much time
together without Doc, so it was a little awkward at first, but by the time his
tattoo was finished and Brad was greasing it up with Vaseline, they were
talking everything from tattoos to their favorite television shows and laughing
like old friends. She was surprised how easy he was to talk to.
“Are you suuuuure you don’t want
to get a tattoo?” Wilson nudged her as he pulled out his wallet to pay for his
new body art. “Last chance. You could get a lower back tattoo. Doc would love
it.”
“Nope.” Carrie shook her head,
adamant. “Not me. If they could do it without needles, I’d be all in, but I’m
not into that pain thing.”
“You can do a temporary, see what
it looks like. Just try it out.” Brad reached under the counter, pulling out a
stack of temporary tattoos. “Look through, see if you find anything you like.”
Carrie frowned, pawing through
them. “How do they go on?”
“Just warm water and a
washcloth,” Wilson reassured her.
“No needles,” Brad agreed. “That
one would look hot on your lower back.”
It was a Celtic knot design,
twisty and winding and sexy. She imagined Doc’s reaction when she showed it to
him—pretending, of course, that it was real, that she’d been brave enough to go
through with it. It would be a fantastic joke.
“Okay, I’ll do it. How much?”
“For you?” Brad glanced at Wilson
and smirked. “Free. Come here.”
Brad came around behind the
counter and led her to the back, Wilson following behind. He wet a washcloth
with hot water, instructing Carrie to lie down on what looked like a massage
table.
“Undo your pants,” he instructed.
She looked back at him,
wide-eyed.
“You want it on your lower back,
right?”
Wilson grinned, watching as
Carrie undid her jeans, inching them down her hips so they could both see the
black triangle of the thong she was wearing.
“Perfect.” Brad pressed the
temporary tattoo to her back, applying the warm washcloth, which actually felt
really good. “Now just hold still for a few minutes.”
“How long before it wears off?”
She twisted, trying to see, but it was no use.
“A few days.” Brad lifted the
edge to check it. “If you want it to come off before then, just rub it down
with baby oil or vegetable oil.”
“Oh man, Doc is going to have a
fabulous time doing that,” Wilson muttered, his gaze never leaving her ass.
Carrie laughed, blushing, asking
him, “How does it look?”
“Sexy as hell.”
Brad nodded, agreeing. “Tattoos
like you.”
“Can I see?” She rolled to her
side, going over to the full length mirror hanging on the wall and turning so
her back was to it. Her jeans were still undone, open in front, revealing the
black lace top of her panties, but she was focused on her back where the tattoo
had transformed her skin with black swirls, the pattern drawing the eye toward
both dimples on each side of her ass. It was far sexier than she had imagined,
and when she looked up at Brad and Wilson and saw identical looks of restrained
hunger on their faces, she knew Doc would love it.
Brad cleared his throat. “Like
it?”
“Love it!” She pulled her jeans
all the way up, buttoning and zipping. “Thank you so much!”
“No problem.” Brad led them to
the front of the shop. “Come back when you want a real one.”
She smiled, waving as they pulled
on their coats and pushed open the door. “Maybe I will.”
Wilson’s Camaro got them back to
her apartment in record time.
“Do you still want to order
dinner?” she offered, her hand on the car door handle.
“Do you want to?” Wilson
shrugged, rubbing at his goatee. “I don’t want to impose. This was supposed to
be a threesome sort of thing.”
His words hung there, the
suggestion in them palpable.
“Come on.” Carrie reached over
and turned the key in the ignition to shut off the engine, sliding it out and
putting them in his pocket. “It will be fun. Mexican food and reruns of
I
Love Lucy.
What’s better than that?”
“Can’t think of much.” Wilson
followed her into the apartment.
As promised, the little Mexican
place around the corner delivered hot tamales and quesadillas in under an hour.
Wilson ate four burritos while Carrie ate only half her quesadilla, putting the
tamales away for Doc.
“He hasn’t called me yet,” Carrie
pouted, glancing at the clock. It was already late—going on ten—and she’d hoped
he’d be back in time to at least hang out with them for a while.
“Emergency rotation is crazy.”
Wilson wadded up his napkin and sat back with a groan, patting his belly. “That
was so good. I’m stuffed.”
“Hey, can I ask you something?”
He raised his pierced eyebrow,
glancing at her. “Sure.”
“What do you think of Daphne?”
“Nice girl.” He closed his eyes,
sinking lower in the couch. “Cute. Why?”
“Just wondering.” She couldn’t
help but wonder, after seeing them together. Daphne hadn’t answered her phone
that morning and she hadn’t had a chance to call her again to see if Wilson had
actually stayed a while at her place—or if she had gone to his. She found
herself thinking about them together, wondering if Daphne knew just what Wilson
had tattooed on his cock.
He squirmed on the couch, making
a face. “Damn thing’s really starting to sting.”
“Your tattoo?”
“Yeah.” He sat up, pulling off
his shirt and looking over his shoulder. Carrie looked too, she could help it.
He was just as well-built as her husband—a little leaner, lankier, but still,
nice washboard abs and a broad chest. Daphne could do worse, she thought.
“This is why I’m a fan of
temporary ones.” She leaned over to inspect the damage on his bicep. “No pain
at all.”
“Want to do me a favor?” Wilson
reached into his jean pocket, pulling out a little packet. He tore it open with
his teeth and squirted something gel-like onto his bicep, starting to rub it
in. “Can you put some of this on my back? I can’t reach.”
“Sure.” She spread the grease all
along his shoulder where the snake coiled, each scale a dark, almost glowing
green singed with black.
Wilson hissed through his teeth,
glancing back at her.
“Hurt?” She tried to do it more
lightly, although she found herself wanting to really massage it into his skin,
dig her fingers deep into his muscles. She smirked. “You must have had fun
after you got the tattoo on your cock.”
“Unfortunately, I wasn’t dating
anyone at the time.” He laughed. “But I did have a bit of fun all by myself.”
She grinned. “I bet.”
“Thanks.” He pulled his shirt
slowly back on and they both got up to wash their hands.
“What a waste of lubricant,”
Carrie remarked, soaping up.
“I’ll say.” Wilson dried his
hands on the kitchen towel, glancing at her standing at the sink. “That tattoo
is so sexy peeking over your jeans like that.”
She glanced behind, pushing her
bottom out, trying to see. “Is it?”
“Doc’s gonna have fun all over
that thing, isn’t he?”
She laughed. “I sure hope so.”
As if on cue, the phone rang. She
grabbed it off the wall, sure it was him, and it was.
“Another hour?” She sighed,
looking over at Wilson, still fiddling with the towel. “Yeah, he’s still here.
Do you want him to wait?”
“I gotta get going anyway.”
Wilson tossed the towel onto the counter. “I’m on call tomorrow.”
Carrie listened as Doc talked to
someone in the background. Then he said, “I love you, baby. I gotta run,” and
hung up.
“Well I guess I’ll watch my
I
Love Lucy
video boxed set all by myself.”
Wilson hesitated, his coat
half-on. “Do you want me to stay?”
“No, it’s okay.” She smiled. “Doc
will be home soon.”