Amanda Adams Becomes My Queen

I meet the most fucked-up, beautiful people in my line of work. It's one of the main reasons why I'm not in a hurry to quit my job and enlist in the university system. This business is an island of misfit toys to say the least- but it's my island.

People want strange parts of their body pierced... they want ugly tattoos permanently inked into their raggedy skin; and they pay me top dollar to make their imagined abominations a reality. But I can't blame them for their odd tastes because I myself have a dark streak as wide as a Dallas highway- and what can I say? My work turns me on because there is something sexy about the common denominator of art that involves pain.

Awhile back, I encountered a new customer that may well change my outlook on life and sex forever. Her name is Amanda. She is everything I aspire to be: rich, poised, attractive, charismatic, eccentric... she has personality to spare. I can tell she is older than me, but she has one of those womanly bodies that is so fucking perfectly curvy and feminine; she could be anywhere from 31 to 45; nothing about her suggests: 'girl'... she is all 'woman.'

She has those perfect genetics: skin like a Roman statue: curves like an anime vixen. If a Hollywood producer were to chance upon her mesmerizing face, he would instantly cast her as the leading woman in his next big film- she could be the next Renee Russo or Angelina Jolie or Meryl Streep... but she couldn't be the next Maggie Gylenhal- she's much too polarized in the other direction.

So naturally, when she made my acquaintance, my breath got all caught-up in my throat- and my heart pounded- and I could feel my cheeks flushing for no apparent reason. She started in on me with a personal remark right off the bat: she noticed that I had no visible tattoos and she pointed out the irony because of what I purport to do for a living.

"Actually, I don't have any tattoos at all... yet. It's not that I'm too good for them, I just can't decide on something so permanent to have on me for the rest of my life. I guess I'm kind of indecisive," I admitted too much too soon to her.

She told me that she would likely be making an appointment with me in the future. She was very interested to know my knowledge of the intimate details of one obscure piercing- a very strange one that hardly anybody ever wants known as a "Prince Albert."

"It's kind of perverted, if you ask me," I said. What I withheld from her then was that my current boyfriend just happened to have that exact piercing himself, and it was a huge source of excitement for me... every time his piercing hit my G-spot, it made me feel like he had the special key to my lock. Such personal information... didn't seem appropriate to share with a new customer... but I felt like she could sense that I had more truth I was holding back just beyond my obfuscations.

"But it's actually a very straight-forward procedure on my end... the PENIS is a delicate- but-forgiving- organ... and as long as I hit fairly close to the target, permanent damage is virtually impossible... There are a couple different varieties of that piercing and MEN have been experimenting with such piercings for a long time for various reasons- I don't really ask 'why' usually... but I know some men think it will help them pleasure their partner better... some have reasons that are too strange for me to understand- or I wouldn't want to understand. I've only studied the mechanics of this particular procedure enough to guarantee my patient's safety..." I white lied.

She listened to me with a mysteriously calculating intensity- like I was interviewing for a job... She smiled at my use of the word 'patient' -she seemed to approve of my precociousness, but her air was anything- but-conversational. She seemed to listen to me as if she had some deep dark obsession that should be frightening; but I wasn't frightened. Instead, I was deeply intrigued by her.

She left me with a generous tip for doing nothing but answer her questions. She stopped in a few more times... always with a knew question about my tattoo designs- or a piercing she's thinking about. She never scheduled to have one of my services done. She just came in, made small talk, tipped me well for my time and then left.

The last time she came in, she wanted to look through my little catalog of intimate jewelry. She studied it longer than I expected, tipped me, and left. Then I didn't see her again for a long two weeks. That's not to say she didn't occupy my thoughts in the interim. I dreamed of the mysteriously charismatic woman- who called herself Amanda- nearly every night. If I'm completely honest, I have to admit that the very thought of her face aroused me sexually in a way that no woman ever has. I could feel the unmistakable sensation of moisture condensing between my thighs whenever I pondered the realistic possibility that I could be performing a clitoral or a vulva piercing on her own regal genitalia soon; and what an exhilarating project that would be for me. Even the thought of having to hide my arousal from her compounded my arousal.

However, in my waking moments of reflection, I found myself wondering what interest such a beautiful woman could have in the logistics of a strictly male piercing. She never inquired about any type of pussy piercing... odd.

Then one random, rainy day, she called me up and asked if it would be possible to book an exclusive appointment.

"What do you mean exclusive, Ms. Amanda?" I asked.

"Are there any other customers at your shop right now?" She asked.

"Nope," I answered her matter-of-factly.

"I have a friend who would like to have an intimate piercing done, but she's rather shy. I think she would be a lot more comfortable if- when we showed up- the shop could be closed to any other patrons..."

My mind went immediately to the way some famous people were known to close down a store in Hollywood so they could shop in peace without being molested by fawning fans. Her proposal seemed tantalizing and intriguing- and- it was 'her' requesting it. It wouldn't surprise me at all if she had some close, famous friend who would visit her and want to remain anonymous- she seemed so much like Hollywood royalty herself.

"Rainy Saturday afternoons are usually pretty slow, so it might be a perfect opportunity for me to close down for awhile to give you and your friend some privacy here- for whatever..." I said getting very excited inside with strong curiosity that bordered on sexual longing; so I assured her that it would be no problem.

What ensued when they showed up made for one of the strangest afternoons of my life, and unlocked a tightly closed chamber of lust hitherto buried deep within me. At this moment, I'm still perplexed how a single hour of an otherwise-normal work day could have so permanently changed the trajectory of my sex life profoundly- and forever.

***

Amanda was just as dazzling as I remembered her upon our first acquaintance, and the girl-friend she had in-tow was also strikingly beautiful- if a little awkward. Even more-so than Amanda, this new stranger confusingly aroused my most-girlish flutters of attraction. Something about this strange new woman's strong chin and innocent grey eyes caught and held my attention. Normally, meeting an attractive woman brings out my most competitive emotions- like Amanda had- it's a trait I'm not proud of; but with this cutie, I felt no competition at all- just intensely confusing curiosity and a stirring in my loins I'm even now hesitant to admit.

In their presence, I felt nervous and intimidated in a way that I hardly ever feel. I'm a confident woman- like my Daddy raised me to be. Maybe it wasn't nervousness, but just a funny feeling like something strange was about to happen that had me feeling all 'twitterpated' like the bunny in Bambi. There was a weird electricity in the air. After all, something strange was about to happen.

Absurdly, Amanda wanted me to tell her friend about the risks and benefits of a 'Prince Albert' piercing... I launched into my canned speech about how it's a rather rare piercing that just a few MEN want to get one through the sensitive skin just below the head of their penis... I thought she had maybe the wrong idea about what specifically a 'Prince Albert' was- maybe she thought it was as unisex as an ear piercing- but then she laughed at me in such a strange way that I found myself forced to closely re-examine her friend's face... her neck... her shoulders... her chest... her hips... her ankles... What was this friend of hers anyway? some kind of a...?

She reassured me that she did- in fact- have the right parts for a Prince Albert, and only then was the veil lifted from my eyes. How could I have missed it?! She was really a man- of course- but so goddamn passable! I'm a little ashamed to admit now that I felt such a heavy rush of relief about my strong attraction to him. Maybe I wasn't as much of a 'Lesbo' as I had recently been allowing myself to wonder! No doubt, it was his underlying masculinity that had me so mesmerized upon first laying eyes on him... or her... whatever.

So what if I'm attracted to women... a lot of girls are! It's not that big a deal... Jesus!

***

Anyway, my recent break-up with Tyler still loomed large in my mind that afternoon.

Ahh... Tyler...

Even now, his gorgeous smile still haunts me whenever I slip up and allow myself to remember it- the way his dark, thirty-something hair was just beginning to thin a little on top. Tyler was everything I thought I wanted in a man: handsome, confident, funny, stable, smart, but not the sensitive kind of smart- the autistic kind of smart- the compulsive kind of smart- the eerily obsessive kind of smart... A math geek... Think: Steve Jobs.

Tyler had wanted to be a cop- like my daddy... But it was probably better that he failed the psychological profile required to become a cop because he was way-better suited for the computer job he ended up getting instead. And it paid better anyway. He was the kind of guy that just wanted the power of carrying around a gun and a badge.

I get the chills thinking of how dead his eyes looked when he was engrossed in that game where you beat up prostitutes, sell drugs, and steal cars. He'd play it for hours as I'd sit hopefully next to him... biding my time until he'd lose interest in his game and get horny enough to look at me... hoping the subtle aroma from my wet pussy would drift up into his nostrils and tear him away from the hypnotic trance of the screen. I ached for his attention in such moments. I think all I really wanted was for him to be present with me just once- to see me and to feel my feminine need- and be there with me.

He wasn't just obsessive with video games though, Tyler once spent a month with a colorful cube in his hands. At first it seemed so childishly cute the way he twisted it around with the intensity of a mongoose cornering a poisonous snake. He even watched hours of online videos investigating the secret to unlocking the solution to this classic puzzle and practicing with it. Eventually, he did perfect the mysterious procedure, and I confess that I amused myself at his expense knowing that all I had to do to distract him for a few minutes was mess up the cube and place it in front of him like a ticking time-bomb. Then the clever chimp would pick it up more like a tasty treat and twist it around itself rhythmically until all six sides were decidedly all-one-color again.

And the most quizzical expression of relief would then wash over his face- like something magical had just happened- like he'd just cum. Once he had figured out it's secret solution, I never saw him release it from his hands without first solving it- no matter how many twists it took him. Every time, he would solve it with the intensity of a man that is proving a very important point to himself.

Sue me if I found this obsessive-compulsive behavior of his so fascinating- but what can I say? I was completely infatuated with him. Did I mention he was very sexy? I got off on the thought that girls would do a double-take when they caught a glimpse of him. I was proud of how marketable he was as a piece of flesh. He's MINE: I would glare at them. But I liked seeing such reactions from my would-be competition. It made my pussy wet just to think about it.

But in the end, Tyler turned out to be as predictable as his own favorite toy- a twisted cube of disappointment. I would cringe anytime one of our friends dared to casually bring up politics or religion in his presence. Tyler lacked the slightest capacity for nuance or subtlety when it came to his opinions. Every conversation that slightly threatened his fragile world-view would inevitably deteriorate into an ugly lecture from him that left many of my friends feeling both alienated and embarrassed for me. After such scenes, I often wondered where exactly he landed on the autistic spectrum. When I first learned what Asperger's Syndrome was, guess who I immediately thought of. What should I have expected from a guy who I met because he wanted a 'Physics-themed tattoo?"

But he was loyal- annoyingly loyal- or was that just because of his neediness? Okay- I was flattered by his clinging. I put it in the 'plus' column for a long time. It still hurts a little to walk down this lane of memory. It hurts a lot. I have to remind myself how trapped and suffocated I felt when I was around him... I have to remind myself the cold-dead stare he would get whenever one of his many strong opinions was challenged... His staggering lack of empathy for his fellow man... I have to remind myself how often I cried myself to sleep with the isolation being with him made me feel most of the time. Most of the time, being with him felt no different than being alone.

The slightest change of plans was enough to send him into a depressive spiral. Only I could hold him and love him out of these funks. The feeling of being so needed was addictively intoxicating- at first, but eventually, he just got to be too much- way too much frustration- and work for my young, inexperienced heart. It's amazing how quickly neediness goes from being flattering to causing real actual physical indigestion. Just thank god he never got me pregnant. The thought of raising kids with such a man still terrifies me. I'm not ready to be a mom, I still feel like I'm a kid.

All too clearly, I remember the night I ended it with him. He was entranced- as usual- trying to pass a challenging level of "Gangsta Car-Jack Hooker Punch IV." His avatar was in the middle of bludgeoning a skanky-looking prostitute when I said it: "Tyler, we need to talk..."

He didn't take it well- naturally. I must have repeated the reasons we weren't right for each other about 15 times, but it's like I was speaking a wall in a foreign language- he didn't understand- or wouldn't... Tyler hadn't the slightest capacity for self reflection. The very confidence that initially attracted me to him, wound up being the very arrogance that made living with him impossible in the end.

I silently began packing up my shit, and as soon as he realized it was futile- he went back to his Game Station 4 with only a slightly deader stare than usual. It was on me to do all the crying from that point on.

I never doubted my decision to leave him, but I still miss the intense feeling of having him inside me, trying to solve me like one of his games. I miss having a man hold me- even one like him... Sometimes I can't believe I'm the one that ended it.

Every once in a while, I still think I see his Korean hybrid SUV parked out in front of my house or in front of my shop- which is creepy- to say the least. Every time this happens, I get this weird feeling like I'm being watched, then I peek through the blinds, and the headlights come on, and he drives away- or was it just my imagination? It's creepy as fuck to feel like I'm being stalked by somebody as hyper-vigilant as Tyler, but I don't think he's some gun-toting psychopath or anything... If he owns any guns, he never showed them to me. If he had ever showed me a gun... I don't know... I'm just glad he didn't. Some people can own guns and it's just fine, but if I knew HE owned guns... I just don't know... it would creep me out more than I'd know how to handle.

I don't have the heart or the time to get a restraining order against him anyway- just because of a feeling that is most likely my own paranoia... I just wish I could feel safe again. I'm not saying that I ever felt like I was riding around in a car with no handles on the inside when I was with him, there was just something really unsettling and cold about Tyler... dog-kicking cold... I only wish I'd noticed it sooner.

Also, I've been feeling pretty pathetic and lonely- a lot like I did back in school... maybe these are just the typical break-up emotions that I'll get used to, but I'm new to this kind of sadness. I needed a change so bad that I went to Rosa Marie and told her to give me that new trendy hairstyle where my roots are dark and the rest of my hair is old-lady silver. I love the way she treats my hair like an art project that will become her crowning masterpiece. I do look rather striking now- and she deserves all the credit. I posted my new striking hairstyle as my profile picture on FB and changed my status to 'single.' Now, it's like I'm walking around with a spotlight on me at all times.

It's weird for me to realize I'm turning so many heads- weird in a good way. Catching men, women, people staring at me is kind of exciting. I usually catch men staring at me because I have a sixth sense for feeling eyes on me, but even more so lately. When I look back in their direction they avert their guilty gaze back to the ground. I confess that it makes me smile- and my pussy smile.

'Come talk to me!' I invite them with my thoughts. But they never seem to read my mental telegraphs. Maybe they can smell my loneliness...? Maybe they think I must be taken- or that my standards are too high... Maybe there's something else about me that throws them off... Who knows.

Amanda stared at me... Amanda never averted her eyes.

I wasn't very popular in high school. I was an art geek and a bit of a loner- alright- I was a total loner. I pretty much haunted the art department taking every available class and then volunteering to help student-teach just to keep my access to the facilities. Getting into a 'flow state' with a big bright painting or ceramics project was a great way to distract myself from the fact that I was a little on the chunky side and easily over-looked by the boys. What I lacked in the realm of 'social interactions' I made up for in my fantasy world. Every night I masturbated myself to sleep thinking about the guys I had crushed on. In my dreams, they'd do things like tie me up and do unspeakable things to my pussy and nipples- usually without consent. I felt ashamed of my dark fantasies, so much so that I'd funnel all my guilt into my work- and for better or worse- I learned to transmute my shameful emotions into beautiful artwork that the outside world could admire without even knowing its sinful origin. I know a lot of kids had it worse than me though... Looking back now, I think I was lucky to have somewhere to funnel all that angst.

The day after graduation, by some strange twist of puberty, my metabolism kicked into high gear and the fifty extra pounds I'd carried for so many years through the hallways of my high school melted away over the course of just one-hot summer. Isn't it ironic that I found myself inside the body of a Venus only after all the cliché milestones of young adulthood were just in my rear view mirror? It was like the freshman fifteen story except in reverse for me. When I looked at my naked body in the full length mirror that hung from my bedroom door, it's like I was looking at another girl- the fucking prom queen- a girl I would have been sickeningly jealous of only a few months before. I found myself in possession of a real-life super power and I had no idea how to use it- and nobody to use it on- no body to train me...