Rough Draft Forever Ink

Jack prologue

I saw her the first time ten years ago. Ben called me to the front of the shop for a customer. She was there with a friend looking at jewelry. It was easily discernible that she was no older than nineteen. Definitely a freshman out for her first bout of rebellion. Everything about her screamed 'too sweet', but still something about her stuck out. She wasn't overtly beautiful. Pretty, I'd definitely had done a double take if I passed her on the street, but definitely no pin up. It wasn't the half smile she had or the slightly husky voice she spoke with, though both were fucking sexy. It wasn't even that she literally looked like she'd just rolled out of bed, all ratty pj pants, tank top and her hair in a messy knot on top of her head. No, none of those things made her memorable, it was what I didn't see that I'd not forgotten in ten fucking years. Just looking at her, I could tell she had a devil-may-care attitude. She wasn't playing by anyone's rules except her own, and that was just fucking incredible.

"Can I help you ladies?" I said with my most professional grin. I had worked in this business long enough to know there had to be a professional distance. I rarely flirted with customers, though I knew even in that first instance I was about to blow that to shit.

"I'm looking to get my nose pierced," her friend answered. She was done up, normally the kind of girl I'd go for. A lot of make-up, a lot of hair product and a lot of tit. A whole lot of tit, but the dressed down brunette had me by the balls from the moment I'd laid eyes on her.

I frowned that it was a piercing, "Sorry girls, I'm strictly ink, but Ben here can help you with the bod mod."

"Actually, I'm here for ink." It took every ounce of willpower I had not to fist pump and shout out.

"Cool, what did you have in mind?"

She put a shirt on the counter and pointed to a design. "This. On the small of my back." I had to physically restrain my eye roll. "I want it in all black, though and a little bigger. It's got to cover a scar." Oh. Well. Damn. That made me feel like shit.

"What kind of scar? Not all scars take ink well."

"It's a thin pink scar. Not raised too much, not puffy. But, it's also not surgical. It pretty much spans the whole space." When she said the last part her voice was barely audible.

"Well, I'll take a look, sounds good though. Gimme a minute to bang this out on the stencil and we'll be good to go." She nodded and moved back to looking at nose rings.

Ten minutes later I had her prepped and stenciled. She was looking at the placement with her shirt shoved up into her bra and her pants sagging right to the crack of her ass. More than once I had to discreetly adjust myself.

"Looks good. So does it hurt?" She asked, putting the small mirror down and turning to face me.

I gave her my standard, movie quote answer, "It's better than getting bamboo chutes shoved up you nails."

She cocked her eyebrow and gave me a sardonic smile, "Thanks, Flea." My jaw dropped at the fact that she got the reference. My dick twitched again.

I couldn't help but smile, "What's you're name, sweetheart?"

"Anya. What's your name?"

"Jackson, but everyone just calls me Jack."

"Nice to meet you, Jack. So? Where do you want me?" With five words she caused a hundred lurid fantasies to flash through my mind. I was so fucking screwed. She cocked an eyebrow at me again. Oh. Yeah. She had asked me a question.

"Um. Yeah. Straddle the chair, lean forward a bit." Why did my voice sound like I'd gargled pea gravel?

"Is this good?" She had no fucking clue.

"Yeah. Music?"

"Sure."

"Preference?"

"Not really. I listen to anything." Right. I decided to not scare her too much so I decided to play some old school Anthrax. She shocked the hell out of me by singing along to 'Indians'. That was interesting.

"Ok we're gonna start with the outlining. This is the worst part. This piece won't take long, but if you need a minute just lemme know. Straight?" She gave me another sardonic grin.

"I'm pretty sure I can handle it." She was either really stupid or incredibly sexy.

I got to work on the outline. There was the minutest of flinches when the needle touched, but then she relaxed totally. The ink was taking like a dream on her soft white skin. The contrast to the black ink was striking.

"This is gonna be hot."

"Yeah? I never really wanted a tramp stamp, but I'm sick of that fuck...um, damn scar." I could see the color rise on her neck. Damn she was fucking too sweet.

"Sweetie, you're in a tattoo parlor. You don't have to watch your language."

"Yeah. It's just something I'm working on. For me. I have a rather extensive vocabulary. I need to try to use it, huh?" I smiled at her back. She was smart and sexy.

"So you gotta thing for Bettie Page?" She was looking at the classic Bettie pin up in front of her. What the hell? She knew Anthrax and Bettie Page. Fuck I needed to get done and get her the fuck out of my chair.

"Yeah. She's kinda my ultimate. Ya know good girl gone bad and shit?" She let out a squeaky little giggle. Not a flirty one, that was her real fucking giggle. It was the cutest damn thing. Damn, I wanted to take my gloves off and feel her skin. I had to stop to adjust myself...again.

"You get off on corrupting good girls?" I definitely wanted to corrupt her. Or get off on her, either way, it would end with my dick in some orifice of hers.

"Something like that." I hadn't noticed until that moment the impossibly small grinding movements she was making in the chair. Her skin was also flushed, blotchy pink in places. It could have been pain, but the way her breathing would kick up ever so slightly when she moved told me it was the opposite if pain she felt. As if I wasn't hard enough, I had a perky bodied, college freshman getting all aroused in my chair. Fuck.

"You still good?" I needed to get my mind off of laying her out on the table and having her for lunch.

"Yeah," her voice was thick. Oh damn.

I finished the outline after adjusting myself no less than six times.

"Still with me, sweetheart?"

"Mmhmmm."

"You need a minute?"

"Uh-uh." She was so damn cute and somehow fucking sexy as hell at the same time.

"Ok. This part's a lot easier. You're doin' great. This is gonna look fucking hot."

"You said that already," she chuckled. I started filling in the tat. She started the light rocking again. I wondered if I gave her enough time could she finish? I could picture her coming apart in my chair. Her smooth flushed skin, her husky little voice whimpering. Fuck, I could smell her arousal. I had to adjust again.

"So, Anya? That's an unusual name." Anything to stop my wayward thinking.

"It's Russian. My great grandparents are from there."

"Oh that's cool. We're just about done." I finished the rest of the piece and cleaned her up.

"Damn, girl. That's tight. Wanna see it before I wrap it up?" She stood and nodded. She stretched her arms over her head and arched her back making those perky tits raise up even higher. They weren't small, a good hand full, maybe more. She shuffled to the mirror and turned to look at her tat. She was doing that half turn girls do when their checking out their own asses. Hers was definitely nice. Not too big, but pronounced.

"Nice," she smiled. Unknowingly stealing my thoughts about her cute little ass.

"So? The rules. Keep it clean. Regular soap and water. Keep A&D on it until it heals. It'll flake and itch. Don't scratch. No immersion in water until its healed. After that no fragrance lotion."

"Got it."

"Yes you do," I flashed her the smile that usually makes the panties drop. She furrowed her cute little brow and pursed her pink lips.

"Right." She bit her bottom lip with tiny teeth. I almost moaned out loud. Jesus, I was going to either have to jerk off in my car or have blue balls for two months.

I started wrapping her new ink. "Leave this on at least two hours, you'll notice it leaks, but that's normal. Follow me up front and we'll get you checked out." I don't think she noticed the little frown I gave when I said it. I wished I could keep her longer, but I couldn't come up with one reason to get her to stay. She paid, tipped better than most and left.

Yeah, that was ten years ago, so imagine my surprise when she walked into my shop two hundred miles away from where we first met.

Anya 1

I love the smell and feel of a tattoo parlor. It's all antiseptic and clean, but then it's artsy and unique. I'm not covered by any means. I only have five tattoos. They're all single pieces. I have my tongue pierced, but that's as far as I took bod mod. I'd have more ink if I didn't have a job that required me to keep it covered.

My best friend mentioned a new parlor had opened and he needed a job. I told him I'd wait for him while he interviewed. They'd been impressed with his portfolio, his references were stellar and his phone interview went well, so he pretty much had it in the bag.

"So these guys are from, where?" I asked.

"Nashville." I'd gone to school just outside of Nashville. I didn't know why anyone would consciously move to Memphis to open a tattoo parlor. Don't get me wrong, I loved my hometown, but businesses failed easily here.

The shop was cool. Kind of minimalist, but it was new. One thing in particular caught my eye, a pin up poster of Bettie Page. It was a drawing of her in the traditional pin-up pose, wearing bondage gear.

"What is it with tattoo artists and Bettie Page?" I asked.

"What she's hot. She's the ultimate pin-up girl."

"Yeah, yeah good girl gone bad and all," I smiled. I hadn't thought about him in a while. The artist who did my first three tats was the epitome of all of my bad boy fantasies. In school I'd wanted him so much, but who was I? I was just some silly girl that tipped well, so I kept him in the fun fantasy box. He'd had a thing for Bettie.

"Hey can I help y'all?" The guy behind the counter asked. He had messy hair and an overgrown goatee with a labret spike sticking out.

"Hi, yeah I'm Kyle. We spoke on the phone."

"Oh yeah. Hey, I'm Ben." He walked around the counter to us. He extended his hand to Kyle. "Nice to meet you. Nice hawk."

"Thanks, man. This is my best friend Anya. She's actually responsible for the hair." Ben turned to me and shook my hand. There was something familiar about him, I just couldn't place him.

"Nice to meet you, Anya." He gave me a strange look. "Have we met?"

"I was just thinking the same thing," I laughed. "Where'd you work in Nashville?"

"Twisted Ink."

"Oh yeah? I had work done there."

"Really? That must be it then. Who did your ink?"

"Jack."

"No shit. Hey, Jack!" What. The. Fuck. He was in the parlor? I'm pretty sure my face turned five different colors before settling on bright red.

"What the fuck, man? You don't have to yell." He was still gorgeous. Chiseled jaw. Perfect nose. Oh-my-God full lips. All of those vibrant colors coming from under his sleeves. He still had the gauges in his ears, but he'd added an eyebrow and lip ring. I remembered that I'd felt dwarfed by his muscular six foot plus frame. He still shaved his head, too, and that just made me want to rub on it.

He looked at me and stopped, "Well, fuck me." Okay. "I haven't seen you in, what? Nine years?" How the fuck did he remember that?

"You remember me?" I'm positive that my jaw was in danger of being stepped on.

"Who could forget the little virgin that knew Anthrax lyrics?" My cheeks burned and my legs turned wobbly. Kyle looked from Jack to me to Ben and back. If I wasn't frozen with shock, I would have laughed.

"Virgin?" I managed to squeak.

"Your skin, sweetheart," he winked with a knowing grin. He had dimples, that I always wanted to lick. Yes, I wanted to lick his dimples, among other things.

"So what brings you here?" he started walking toward me again.

For some reason I felt like prey being stalked so I pushed Kyle in front of me. "Um...you're interviewing my friend," I said in one breath. Jack creased his forehead and frowned for a split second, before resuming his smile.

"Kyle, right?" Kyle nodded, apparently confused by my rather strange reaction. "So, you worked locally for six years? Then the parlor closed?"

"Uh, yeah," Kyle was still bemused by the weirdness. "Bad economy. Parlor went down the shitter."

"Your portfolio was good," Jack said then looked at me and back at Kyle, "You done any of your own?"

"Yeah my thigh pieces. And Anya's got a small ankle tat and lettering on her shoulder that I did." I gave Kyle a dagger stare. I didn't want Jack to know that. I kind of felt like I'd cheated in him.

"Oh yeah? Well let's see 'em." I wanted to play ignorant, but he looked right at me when he said it.

I pulled my pant leg up and showed him the zodiac symbol on my ankle. He knelt down and lightly traced the ink. My skin caught fire when he touched it. Jack stood and twirled his finger to see my shoulder. I pulled up my shirt and pulled down my bra strap. He walked close enough I could feel his heat and traced the words on my shoulder. A shiver ran through me. He moved to the lower ink he'd done. He traced it too.

"This still looks great. You stuck with black and gray I see," his voice was close to my ear. I wanted to lean back into him and whimper, instead I pulled my shirt back down. "Interesting choice."

"What the black?"

"That too, color would be an artist's wet dream on your skin, but I meant the phrase on your shoulder." It said 'pain is weakness leaving the body'.

Jack walked to the counter and lifted himself onto it. He looked at Ben and gave a single nod. Ben lifted his chin in response and asked Kyle, "So? When can you start?"

"Really?" Kyle looked about ready to start doing the Cabbage Patch. "I can start tomorrow."

"A'ight. We open at one tomorrow, be here at noon for paperwork," Ben said with nod.

"Thanks," Kyle smiled. He grabbed my hand and all but ran to the door. When we got to the car he actually 'did' the running man.

"Dude, you are such a dork. Who does the running man anymore?" I shook my head at him.

"A guy who finally got a fucking job, doing what he fucking loves," Kyle said while hopping around like a cracked out baboon. His good mood was contagious though and I was glad for him. Although now I was going to see more than my fair share of Mr. Sexypants.

"By the way..." Damn it. He was going to ask. "What the fuck was that?" He pointed to the shop.

"What? He did my first three tats?" And I still pictured him on lonely nights with my vibrator. But Kyle didn't need to know that.

"Uh-huh. Anya, I could practically see the sexual tension it was so thick." Really? I thought it was just my lust filled brain.

"Whatever. You're imagining things because your a horn dog."

"Yeah, well I got a chubby just watching you two. It was like mental porn," he waggled his eyebrows.

"Um, okay. Number one, ew, on the chub. Number two, what the hell does that even mean," I asked sliding into the car. Kyle got in and started it up.

"It means that while you weren't physically fucking, your responses left little to the imagination.

"You need help, Kyle."

It had been a week since Kyle started at the parlor. For all intents and purposes he really liked it. He actually brought in some clientele from the other shop. The guys kept him busy and word was getting around pretty quick. They were nowhere near being where they wanted to be in a year, but they were off to a good start.

I hadn't been back since Kyle started, but then with work and all I was busy. That's why on Thursday when I went to pick Kyle up to go out with the rest of group I was a bundle of nerves.

The shop closed at eleven on weeknights, so I pulled up about fifteen til. When I walked in Kyle tilted his chin up and did an air kiss. It was our standard greeting, so I of course reciprocated.

"Hey," Ben gave me the chin tilt sans air kiss. I waved back.

"Anya, what's up?" Jack gave me a dimpled smile. He was the only one with a client. He looked to be finishing up.

"So where we goin'," Kyle asked me.

"Jen and Mike wanna go to The Caddie. So cool?"

"Cool," Kyle shrugged. We did this every Thursday. We would actually ask where we were going. In four years we only went somewhere different once.

"What's The Caddie?" Ben asked me. "You know we're new here? Always looking for new places to hang out."

"Um it's a bar. They do karaoke on Thursdays." I loved to sing. So it was perfect for me. Laid back, but still fun. Everyone knew us and we knew everyone. It was like Cheers, everybody knows your name.

"You guys wanna come with us," Kyle offered. Asshole.

"Karaoke? I don't know about that," Ben pondered.

"Dude, very few people get up there that can't carry a tune. It's mostly just laid back regulars." I wanted to tell Kyle to shut the fuck up.

"Sure why not," Jack spoke up, "it's something to do, man." Great. Fine. I could handle being around him. Drunk. I'd just limit myself tonight. I didn't normally get shitfaced, but it didn't take much to free me of my manners.

We waited for Jack to finish up with his client and headed out.

Jen and Mike already had our table. A few other friends had taken up residence with them.

"'Sup," Kyle hollered at them. "Guys. These are the owners of the shop I'm posted up at. This Jack and Ben." Everyone gave their greetings.

Jen jumped to her feet, "I'll be damned!"

"Hey. Nose ring," Jack smiled at her. Ok. So he remembers everyone. Guess I should have figured.

"You remembered," Jen turned on her full flirt and hugged him. Some strange sensation made me want to scratch her eyeballs out. Damn. She's like my sister and I was ready to inflict bodily harm over a hug. Yeah I needed to calm the hell down.

I sat down on the booth side of the table. Normally Kyle would sit down next to me, but instead Jack scooted in and pressed in so that our thighs touched. He looked over and raised his eyebrows, daring me to move. A challenge, motherfucker? I accept. He was messing with the wrong bitch.

I leaned forward and waved to Dawn our waitress. She came over to take orders.

"Jameson's on the rocks." I ordered. Jack pressed harder into my thigh. "Make it a double."

He snapped his head toward me in surprise, then gave a Cheshire Cat grin. "Nice," he winked at me and turned back to Dawn, "Bushmill's single malt, straight up." I'm sure the smile on my face made me look like a serial killer or a deranged clown, though to me there's not much difference.

"Irish whiskey, huh?" I yelled over the music. He gave a single nod and flashed the dimples.

"Hey do you want me to put your card in?" Dawn pointed to the makeshift stage. I nodded.

I felt hot breath on my ear and smelled a spicy, clean scent, "So are you gonna sing for me, sweetheart?" he said into my ear instead of yelling. Oh. My. God. I would have stripped naked and table danced if he stayed that close.

I leaned back into him, though I doubt it was nearly as sexy since I stuttered, "Yeah, I-I sing."

My drink finally came and I powered it down. So much for that plan. I waved for another. "Damn, girl. You keep that up and I may have to carry you out." I don't think he meant to sound seductive, but, holy shit, he did.

Greg started calling people to sing. Mike of course was first. He did an entertaining rendition of 'Sweet Caroline'. The crowd interaction gets everyone hyped up for the night. A few of the other regulars went. Jack grimaced at 'Friends in Low Places'.

Greg called me next. I had a patron's card. All if my favorites were written down, when I came in they pulled my card and put me in rotation. I picked up the mic and waited for my song. I heard the opening notes. Shit!