1 comments/ 4879 views/ 0 favorites Inked By: Original_SinApple Aileen walked in to the tiny shop on the corner. It was her 18th birthday and her virgin skin had begun to shudder in anticipation. The shop was simply named Tattoo, and inside there stood "the Creeper" a seemingly filthy man covered in Indian black ink that, with time fades to a forest green. Scraggily brown grey beard streaked with left over lunch and hair to match it, the Creeper was dressed in faded black. Aileen had seen demons dressed better, but she wasn't interested in his dress, it was his hands she wanted. His hands were his profession, clean and well cared for signaling their importance like those of a surgeon's, but a surgeon's couldn't have been more precise with their bloody lines. However Creepers tool wasn't knife or saw but a needle and droplets of ink. Aileen walked over to him with the same courage of a mouse to a lion. Cautionary as she was, there was an air of respect from her. Creeper looked upon her, a disgusting white canvas in need of an artisans brush. 'Are you ready Aileen?' the Creeper asked a growing smirk upon his dirty face. Aileen was frightened of the needles but not the man who held them. She tried to not let her shivers reach the outside surface of her body. She handed over her hard worked sketch of the marks that would become a permanent part of her body. The Creeper smiled a smile so sinister that the worms passing over a grave would curl into a ball and roll away from the sheer sight of it. As she shivered his smile grew. He thought the sketch was nice but with his help it would be living. He took her artistry and made it into his own but it still held all the beauty that she herself had put into it. "Take off your jacket please." Aileen slid off her jacket with the grace of a snake shedding it's cracked dry skin for that of a fresh second skin. Thus Aileen began to think of herself as a snake at its first skinning, 'A fresh start to a new life.' Her skinned prickled with excitement and the chill of the air in the shop, as she sat down on a chair like a cowgirl. She slid her legs over the sides of the chair and placed her head where back of the chair ended, she heard the not so distant hum of the gun starting. "This won't hurt." He said to her placing his hand upon her shoulder where the neck meets it. She focused on his touch as cold as ice and slick as a serpent's normally from such a man she would have slithered away from such an intimate touch. Then the needles started, he was right it didn't hurt. She could feel herself relax, just as the Creeper was in his element. For the artist and the canvas to melt together like water droplets is another form of love making. Love for skin, love for ink and love for the creation, and as with any love making there is a pain. Across one part of the tattoo Creeper hit bone, and Aileen bit her pain 'til it bled never once crying out. The Creeper was gentle for this part. As the last needle prick entered her skin she could feel the relief set in. He backed away from her and as she stood staring into the full length mirror her eyes came across the blue and the yellow on her shoulder and then her red tears that her tongue had missed on her chin. She let her tongue come out of its slobbering cave and clean her chin. Her tears came then, as the realization came upon her. Her skin was marked, she was marked. The tattoo made her whole, a new person in an odd mirror. The Creeper lit a cigarette and offered one to the young light. She took it between her fingers and breathed in the blue smoke. "What's this mean to you anyway?" He really never needed to know but always thought it polite to ask. As her fingers gingerly rubbed over the welted bleeding skin, she said "This is change and this is transition. This means family and love. It is my everlasting bond with the people who made me, other than my life of course." Upon her back now etched in ink were the moon and the sun conjoined, with a star to the right. She traced the hard black lines and the soft lips of the sun sore as it was, touching seemed to help finalize the truth. The moon was blue as a corpse's mouth and the sun bright yellow like an orange busting in the mouth. It was the star that made her cry; it did not hurt as much as any other place but emotionally it was an everlasting reminder of death. Throughout her life this moon and sun mashed together comfortably had been there for her. It represented change and yet staying connected to the past. It was her guiding light and her northern star. It meant family, and what it was to never be alone. The sun was her lighted mother and father bright and happy, and it was her as a child growing into a woman brilliant and strong. Her moon shone bright like the nights when her courage never failed her, and in the mist of fighting with her family she stood in the dark. The moon was her mother and father's ever changing moods. The star that was off to the side not a crowning jewel, but none the less important, that was Sam. Sam was her sister who had died at birth. Aileen at four had loved that baby more than anything, and 14 years later Sam still had an impact on her life. Sam was her guiding light and Northern star. Aileen had always felt Sam in the sun and the moon, watching the family with love, shining like the sun when times were good and luminates like the moon when they were tough. Inside that tattoo was 14 years of pain, hate, unanswered questions, joy, triumph, and love. Aileen had to go to demons to become whole, and now whole she was fully alive. Without that tattoo she wouldn't have been her really. She turned her head to the Creeper with a gentle smile playing on her lips, she said "No one is light and no one is dark. There is no good, and there is no evil. We each have a tendency to be more like a prim and proper child or the junkie off the street. We all have a bit of each in us that's what makes us human. We all have a guiding light, dark moods and light moods. We are yin and yang to halves of a whole put into one. We are the moon and the sun in one sky comfortably together." The Creeper watched and Aileen gently traced over her welted skin as if putting memories in certain spots only she could find. Slowly she circled her finger tips around her palm on the bulk of the tattoo while her finger tips stayed in sprawled out, her pointer finger finally coming to rest on the shining star. Inked in Love Some names have been changed * Several years ago, I decided to finally have the sleeve on my right arm completed. I went to my favorite shop to make an appointment with Erika, the woman who had inked all my tattoos for the past three years. Essentially, she'd used my arm and my back as a blank canvas. Yes, I trust her tattooing skills that much. Rather than tattooing something I picked off the wall or out of a notebook, Erika asked questions about my life, my likes, and other things which enabled her to create unique pieces that said something about me. All but a few of my tats have been done by women. The preference isn't sexual in nature at all; I'm just more comfortable in the hands of a female tattooist. Usually, I'll tell Erika what I'm wanting in the most basic way, and then let her imagination run wild. She takes a great deal of pride in her work and the results have been incredible. However, on this day, I was told that Erika's increasingly painful back condition led her to take a leave of absence for surgery and rehabilitation. I didn't know. "It'll be about three months," said Chris, the owner. "But her cousin has taken her place until she gets back. Her name is Jeri and she's really, really good. A natural. I tell you, if any of my other people quit, I'd hire her in a heartbeat." I knew Chris to be a straight shooter. He's a perfectionist and his shop was named one of the top ones in America. Thus I was confident in Jeri's skills; if Chris praised her and hired her to replace a great tattooist like Erika, she had to be good. "She'll be back in a few minutes; her portfolio's the blue one if you want to see her work." I sat down and flipped through it. Jeri was good! As I neared the end of the portfolio, a smoking hot dark-haired girl with full sleeves wearing a simple frilly top and figure-accenting faded jeans walked into the shop. She went directly into Chris' office. I thought she was his wife at first, but then I remembered I'd already been introduced to his wife, who was a much shorter blonde. This girl looked to be nearly as tall as I am, about 5'10". I was surprised when she exited the office and immediately called out to me. "So you're George?" she said. "Erika's talked about so much about you. It's so good to finally meet you. I'm Jeri." She extended her hand. "A pleasure," I said standing, shaking her hand and looking at her arms. "I love your work." "Thank you," she said. I asked her how Erika was doing and asked her if she could give me her address so I could send her a get well soon gift. "Aw, that's sweet," Jeri said. "I'll get it for you in a little bit. Erika's doing okay. She starts therapy next week." She looked over my nearly completely inked arm approvingly. "Erika's done an amazing job as usual," she said. "She's the one who inspired me to become a tattooist. My first tattoo was that butterfly on her shoulder. And she did a lot of my work." I guess I should've been nervous in front of this beauty. But I wasn't. Jeri had a great personality and was very easy to talk to. "You know, my schedule's actually open the rest of the day," she said. "I'd love to complete that. I can do it all today no problem," she said. "Okay," I said. She invited me into her studio and I described my idea: a closeup of my right hand playing a bass guitar. Jeri added her own ideas and created a sketch freehand on thin paper. She skewed it to fit in the available space. "Perfect," I said. "Just give me five minutes, okay?" said Jeri. After a few minutes, her work area was ready. With my right palm up on the armrest, Jeri prepared my skin with a mild moisturizer. The combination of her soft, gloved hands and her model looks had my penis hardening. I silently grimaced, closed my eyes, and tried to concentrate on other things. I surreptitiously placed my free arm over my crotch and prayed she didn't notice. I hope she doesn't get offended... God, she's beautiful... This is strictly business... You're too old for her... She's a professional... Forget it... She bent over my arm and her right breast fully touched my palm. My eyes opened immediately and I jerked my arm away. "Oh, I am so sorry!" Jeri immediately exclaimed and turned the color of a tomato. "That was an accident!" At the same time, I said, "Oh, good Lord! Oh, Jeri, I am sorry! That was not intentional!" We broke out laughing. "My fault," we said at the same time. We laughed again. "Luckily your boyfriend or your husband wasn't here," I said. "Oh, I'm not married. And I don't have a boyfriend," she said. "Not for almost a year." She looked sad and angry at the same time. I didn't want to intrude. "He cheated with another woman," she said. "Jeri, I didn't mean to..." I began to say. "It's alright," she said. I stifled a comment that it was a shame and a sin that a beautiful woman like her was alone and her former boyfriend would cheat on her, but I didn't want Jeri to think I was hitting on her. The work took about two hours or so and turned out beautifully. As I was about to pay her, Jeri said, "Tell you what. You take me to dinner tomorrow night and it's just half." My heart practically stopped. "Are you asking me out on a date?" I asked, surprised. I'd never had a woman ask me out. I wasn't complaining, mind you. "Yeah!" said Jeri. "Erika said you weren't married and thought maybe you could use a friend. You know, she really likes you. She says you're one of her favorite clients and that I'd love working on you." "I'm flattered," I said genuinely. "Erika's a wonderful lady. But look, Jeri, I'm God knows how many years older than you; there are thousands of guys closer to your age who are way better..." "Shhh..." she said, putting a finger to my lips and chiding me. "Enough of that!" "Well, Jeri," I said. "I'll pick you up here at say, five?" "I'll be ready," she said. And she gave me a kiss on the cheek. That was unexpected. I had to have blushed. I left the shop in a daze. We had a wonderful date. And we had more over the next few weeks. Pretty soon, we were a pair. One day, I knocked on her apartment door. "Come on in, George," she said. "It's open." I opened the door and Jeri was dressed in her normal attire: jeans, tee-shirt, and sneakers. "Uh, I thought we were going out," I said confused. We'd planned to go to a club. The music they normally played at those places wasn't my cup of tea. But Jeri had somehow survived the indoor driving range and came out unscathed. Quid pro quo. "I changed my mind," said Jeri. "Woman's prerogative." "Oh? Quiet night at home?" I teased. "Not if I can help it," she said softly as she wrapped he arms around me. We kissed. Long and deep. I tentatively worked a hand to the side of Jeri's beautifully firm, perky breast. She chuckled. "Figures you'd go there," she said. "Count on it, babe," I said, slapping her beautiful ass. She eeked and giggled. In minutes, we'd ripped every stitch of clothing off each other's bodies. God, Jeri was hotter nude than clothed! Her hairless pussy was glistening. She pulled out the sleeper sofa and jumped into bed. "Now get over here and fuck me," she said, stroking herself. That would come in time I assured her. I had to savor kissing this goddess from head to toe. Finally, after torturing her for a good five minutes, I reached her pussy and pulled at her engorged clit with my lips and worked my tongue over her pierced hood. She smelled and tasted incredible. Jeri arched her back and growled through gritted teeth. "Oh... fuuuck! Damn!" she said loudly as she orgasmed hard. She fell back sweating and panting. "Holy fuck! Oh my God," she smiled and exhaled. "It's not over yet, Jeri," I said. She giggled. I inserted a finger in her pussy and located her G-Spot. Jeri gasped and squealed. "Oh, I never could get that to work," she said. She gasped as I massaged her. Her first G-gasm happened a couple of minutes later and sent her into spasms. "Oh-oh-oh-ohhh gawwwwwd!" Jeri panted and growled as she came. "Oh damn! Oh damn!" As the spasming subsided, Jeri looked to be in a state of shock. "Oh fuck!" she laughed trying to catch her breath. "I never ever came like that before! Who the hell taught you that?" "Tell you in a bit," I said as I nudged her head to my throbbing cock. She took about three quarters of it in her mouth and spit on it to get it slick. A few minutes later, I entered her beautiful pussy. She inhaled sharply. "Oh, fuck!" I yelled. I was surprised by her sheer tightness. We groaned in unison as I buried my cock in her. "Damn... So tight!" I exclaimed. With breaks, I fucked Jeri for about ten minutes. I tried to make it last longer, but Jeri made it virtually impossible. "Oh, Jeri... I can't..." "Not in me... I'm not on the pill!" she said. In my haste, I'd completely forgotten about condoms. "Oh, fuck!" I yelled as I pulled out and pumped myself and shot the load of a lifetime all over her beautiful tits and her beautiful belly. "Oh my God, Jeri, I'm so sorry!" I said. "Don't be sorry," she laughed. "I loved it." She kissed me and went to the bathroom and brought back a couple of towels. As we cooled down, she asked me about the G-gasm. I hesitated. "I promise I won't be jealous," she said. "It was a lady named..." I hesitated again and considered making up a believable "normal" name. Fyre was a working girl at a long-closed legal Nevada brothel. "So what'd you do? Fuck a porn star?" she teased. "No. Actually, she was a courtesan," I said. Jeri looked confused at the term. I preferred it to "prostitute". "Courtesan" invoked an air of class and nobility. "Prostitute" sounded demeaning. "A working girl, Jeri," I explained. "A legal one. Nevada. Years ago. She called herself Fyre -- with a 'y'. I never learned her real name." "Oh," she said nodding. Fyre was a nice lady who loved pleasuring men and women alike and found she could make a good living at it. I wondered where she was. "Sorry to disappoint you," I said. "Oh, I'm not disappointed, George" she said. "I can't criticize you. Hell, I lost my virginity on my fourteenth birthday. I thought the first time would be amazing and I'd become a woman and all that bullshit. God, I was so naïve. I was a kid. We both were. It sucked. I can't blame the guy though. He was a virgin, too. So what was your first time like?" she asked. "Well, Jeri, I'm a guy," I said, wishing she hadn't asked. "It's different for us." "Well, duh!" she said. "Seriously, how'd it happen?" "You really want to hear this?" I asked. "Yeah. I'm a big girl," said Jeri. "I told you about mine. Was it romantic? Us girls are suckers for romance." It was romantic. And more. Sexually, I owe the most to Paige and Fyre. I gave Jeri the Cliffs Notes version of what led to me losing my virginity and the wild summer romance Paige and I had over the course of eight unforgettable weeks. "Paige taught me about making love to a woman. Not just having sex. There's a difference," I said. "And Fyre took it to a new level. But that was then. Right now, I am in love with you, Jeri. So let's stick to the here and now, huh?" "Well, George, stop talking and make love to me then," said Jeri, kissing me. We made love until dawn and fell asleep in each other's arms. We got married three months later. And Erika returned. Her first job was inking both of us with "George+Jeri" tattoos over our hearts. Over the course of the next few years, Jeri tattooed my left arm. We broke up after nearly five years. Thankfully the split was amicable. Jeri moved to another state and is the co-owner of her place and it's become very successful.