Ink Ch. 02
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Ch2 – Ride
The day was winding down as I was locking up the shop; the sun was supposed to be low in the sky, but you couldn’t tell it with the clouds overhead, despite it being the middle of summer. Jingling the keys in my hand as I made a few last peeks around my studio, I swept my hand over the light switches and plunged the tattoo parlor into darkness. Working from memory, I pulled free my satchel from under the counter and stepped outside, finishing off the final locks and bolts, I found myself ready to head home. Walking out the front door, I glanced up and down the street.
And that’s when I bumped into Anya, playing music through the headphones around her neck. It had been a long time since we had last seen each other, and while I had enjoyed her checkups with me, visits which I had looked forward to; given that they involved a lot of good natured swearing and teasing.
The hilariously disrespectful punk had been good at getting the last word in, or taking advantage of the mirrors in my studio to poke fun at me with gestures and goofy expressions while I replaced the saran wrap taped to her bare back. I had enjoyed her regular visits immensely, especially those little intimate moments we had in my studio, with me fussing over the tattoo I had on her back. Anya had taken to straddling my chair for those visits, almost completely topless; she would shuck her tank top and undo her bra, and as she let the latter hang off her shoulders she would throw the former over the back to keep the cold leather from ‘freezing her nipples into fucking skittles’.
Her wording, not mine.
But good times never lasted. And on her eighth visit, she knew it too. Walked in without her usual greeting even though she wasn’t afraid to shout it out with other customers nearby, or a mom carting her kids around outside, and then assumed her position with a little more rigidity than normal.
The last visit had been disturbingly asexual. Clinical, almost. I had peeled off her wrapping, declared her tattoo fully healed… and that this was the last time she needed to come in. After that, she had only been a rare sight. Every now and again, weeks apart, she would come along with a greeting. We would spend time in near silence, her flicking through my sketches on the shelves, or making small talk about music, the weather… nothing of substance.
I missed those first encounters with her. Fresh and lively, it had been so fun and thoroughly enjoyable despite our pants Escort bayan staying on.
Eventually – a month ago – she had simply stopped visiting.
To be honest, I missed her.
And now she was there, leaning against a lamp-post and looking up the street, waiting for a bus.
In the months that I had last seen the crude, bubbly punk her mohawk had changed color from the neon blue I had first seen to a pale white, framed by her almost buzz cut scalp. Her slim figure was bulked up by the clothes she wore, covered by a tightly fitting grey long coat that reached her knees, its zipper done all the way up to her throat, but unzipped from the bottom up to her bare belly button. A thin scarf was wrapped around her neck to keep the headphones from chafing, its color matching the plain white thigh high stockings covering what parts of the legs that her heavy black boots did not, and a black and red plaid skirt completed her trademark look.
She turned as my parlor’s door slammed itself shut (almost taking my fingers with it).
Our eyes met.
Her eyes brightened.
“Well hey there, old man! Got laid yet?” Shouted the teen as she left the bus stop to march the street, her mouth split into a smile to match my own, uncaring of the pedestrians who looked and gawked.
As soon as Anya got closer, she jerked her head back in greeting. There had been always something primal in that gesture, that antithesis of bowing your head. Unlike inclining your head towards the recipient, the act of exposing your neck seemed more barbaric. More animalistic.
On the punk, it suited her fine.
“How’s it been, darl?” I asked when Anya finally reached close enough to meet my raised fist with hers. She pulled me into an unexpectedly pleasant hug, and grinned.
“Got a job. New place opened up and they have me do the first shift of the night.” Anya nodded excitedly, with a grin tapping her still blazing ‘phones as I let my eyebrows and suspicious look do the communicating. Club? Okay, she had turned eighteen three months ago…
I whistled; low and impressed. “Well, you sure worked fast. I suppose you aced the interview?”
The punk’s cheeks went bright red as understanding dawned on her, a slow grin spreading across her features. I quietly celebrated. Score one for the ‘old man’. She turned that smile into a grin of playful malice and whopped me on the shoulder, chuckling as I mocked pain and flinched back.
“It’s a Bayan Escort DJing gig, asshole! Don’t think you’re gonna see me strippin’ at some sleazy joint, y’hear?” Anya laughed, throwing another punch just as soft as the first. I snorted, putting a hand up over my mouth to hide the grin I had. Hey, I’d admit it if she asked; I missed talking to her and mucking around like this. The punk in front of me caught that thought, apparently, because she smirked and stepped a little closer, cheeks bright and red as she began her counter-attack.
“Or were you hoping I had something sexy on underneath this ol’ coat here?” She asked in a quiet, almost seductive voice, swaying her hips from side to side as she teased me once again, finger reaching up to her throat, pulling the little metal tag of her zipper up to her teeth. She began idly playing with the zipper, running her tongue over the tip as she looked up at me between the loose strands of her mohawk.
Okay, score one for the kid. I laughed. She laughed.
The magic was back.
God, I missed this.
Finally, I recovered enough to poke fun at her again. “I know there’s something under there; my tattoo.” I riposted, which got a savage punch directed to my ribs.
We chuckled again, as I mocked her for punching me in the nipple, waving her off. Despite the fun of our reunion, I still had things to do.
She accepted the informal truce, and I fished out my keys.
With my back turned to her, I reached out to lock the door. “It’s nice seeing you again, Anya.”
“You too, old man.” Anya returned, smiling as she spun on her heel. “Were you worried that I was making more money than you with this hot little bod here?” The punk showed me her back and wiggled her ass at me, and despite the coat obscuring her legs she made it look sexy as hell.
“Yeah, sure. Keep dreaming, darling.” I threw a bird over my shoulder, and gave the doorknob an experimental jiggle. Her soft laughter was my reward, her fingers thrust into her coat pocket Anya looked at me with a grin plastered to her face.
“Figured you would, old man.” She closed her eyes, still flushed. “But hey, if I went a-whorin’, it’d make for a pretty good advertisement for your tat shop. Hell, work on your spelling and maybe I’d send a few of the girls your way when they want ink on their asses.”
I stroked my chin, ignoring the stubble that had grown here, in a pantomime of thinking. “So that’s Escort where all those new customers came from…” I mock-mused, this time earning me a kick in the shin – not hard, just enough for me to feel it.
“Hmm.” That opening was too tempting not to take; “How much per hour?”
She choked on her next words. The punk stopped for a moment, before bringing around swifter kicks as we played and danced in circles around each other, laughing all the way. “Asshole! I’ll make you pay for that!”
“So you do let them in back there!” My verbal jabs were getting more painful to match Anya’s kicks. “Does that cost extra or are you a whole three holes and a handjob deal?”
“You. Fucking. Perv!” The teen DJ shouted with a wild grin on her face, the two of us roaring with laughter over the sound of the departing bus.
I whirled around on Anya, deflecting her latest kick with my knee. “Whoa, whoa whoa! Time out! You were catching the bus?”
“Yeah, what about…” She broke off suddenly, with that same realization dawning. Both our heads whipped around just in time to catch the rear end of the last bus of the night turning the corner.
The one Anya was supposed to be on.
She summed our feelings up nicely, in the silence broken only by the bouncing nightclub beat of her headphones and the whistling wind coursing through the street.
“Well, fuck. You made me late, old man.”
Deadpan, I answered; “Sorry, should have worn a condom, darl. What’re we gonna call the baby?”
Anya looked at me briefly, before snorting and giving me a punch to the elbow that probably hurt her more than it hurt me. “Shithead.”
I didn’t stop smiling from the turned my head to watch her mentally go through her options, not liking them at all as she mulled over her plans. An idea formed in my head. Why not? “You… want a ride home?”
The teenage punk turned to me, where I was holding up my car keys. She smiled, mischievous again. “Dad told me not to get into a car with a stranger.”
This time, I had the grace to look offended. “I swear I ain’t no stranger, Anya. I knew you well enough to make you late, after all.”
“True enough, old man.” The punk admitted, nodding once before turning to me. “If it’s alright with you… I’ll take that ride.”
“Alright, kiddo.” Reaching for my keys again, I started us on a walk towards my car. “Just two rules: don’t wander off on yournken and remember to look both ways when crossing the street.”
This time, her kick met me on the back of the knee, almost tripping me up as we went for my car. Over my laughter, I spotted her smile as she cussed at me again. “Fuck you, old man.”
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