ROSETAT2

It had been a challenging 19 years, and Rose knew she deserved a reward for surviving it. She had been saving up and finally had enough. She already had a license plate on her dusty rose colored Ford POS that read ROSETAT2. Now she could afford the tattoo to go with the plate.

She took a deep breath and walked into the tattoo parlour. She had been carrying the design with her for four years, since drawing it in a freshman year art class. Two years before she had given birth to Lily. She remembered those days like they were yesterday. Back when she had to answer to her parents and teachers and everybody.

Now, life was different. She worked at the Legz Club, taking her clothes off and dancing for strangers. She didn't have to answer to anyone. No one was the boss of her. She knew she was lucky, able to leave Lily for days. They owed her that. She was able her to live the free and easy life that suited her best. Living in a small trailer, parked in her parent's driveway. Rose would get up after noon, enjoy her breakfast beer, smoke a couple of cigarettes, shower and shave, smoke a bowl or two, and when possible, spend a few minutes with Lily before heading over to the Club. It would take her a good hour to get her makeup on and dressed for the show. Once the bar began to smell like a used ashtray, the music got louder, and Rose and the other girls would move toward the stage, ready for another day of work.

Today was special, it was Lily's second birthday. Rose had worked a double shift, and now that it was 4 a.m., officially the anniversary of hte day she gave birth. She planned to commerate it by getting her first ever tattoo. She and the girls had done celebration shots before leaving the club, then she headed over to the tattoo joint. Knowing how tight money was, what with the cost of pot, vodka and smokes, she wondered whether she might even be able to get a discount from the tattoo guy if she offered to handle him. Never hurt to ask, men are so damn easy.

As she entered the tattoo parlour, she heard an odd buzzing sound. Rose looked around, trying to find the source, then realized it was the tattoo machine. She chuckled and relaxed a bit. A thin, dark haired man covered in tattoos, wearing skin tight black jeans came out to greet her. "I'm Rose, I called about getting a tattoo today." "Sure, I remember you, you had your own design. And you asked about tattooing your daughter, right?" He stuck out his hand, "I'm Jim." She nodded, then dug into her purse and pulled out her special rose design. She told the guy she wanted it placed on her right arm, everyone would always know Rose. Jim looked it over carefully and nodded. He beckoned her into one of the side rooms, and asked her to take a seat.

Jim examined her arm, and then took some tracing paper and traced the outline of the design. Rose sat nervously, finally pulling a small bottle of vodka out of her bag and taking a deep drink. Jim ignored her, concentrating on his tracing. Finally he turned to her, "have you ever had a tattoo done before?" She shook her head no. He began to explain the process, but Rose wasn't paying much attention, she was too busy watching the way his mouth moved as he talked. He had really sexy lips, she thought. He looked at her arm again, wiping it down with alcohol. The chill made Rose shiver, and she hoped she looked hot. Jim was definitely warming her up. He carefully applied the tracing he had done to her arm, and pressed it against her arm, causing the outlines to stick to her arm. He got his ink and his tattoo machine ready, then turned back to Rose, who was trying to look hot.

Jim asked her, "ready?" She nodded, and the machine started buzzing. She felt a shooting pain in her arm, but managed to refrain from flinching. "Ow" she said, and Jim apologized. Rose tried to relax, but the pain was making that difficult. "How long will this take?" Jim shrugged his shoulders, "probably an hour or two." Rose wished she could light up a joint to help her relax. She asked Jim if she could smoke, and he shook his head no.

Rose was a bit surprised there was no smell, she thought for sure there would be some nasty smell involved, instead, it was just a sharp, constant pain and pressure on her arm. And the sound. It was a constant loud buzzing, kind of the way life sounded after she had too much to drink. She couldn't wait for this to be over, as she watched Jim dab the blood off her arm. After about five minutes, her endorphins kicked in, and suddenly, each thrust of the needle was a kick, almost a sexual pleasure. She closed her eyes, and fantasized about Jim without those tight black jeans, as he pushed the needle in and out of her arm.

Before she knew it, the tattoo was complete, and Jim was admiring his handiwork. Rose decided to give him something else to admire, and tugged on her shirt, as if to adjust it, but enough to expose her nips for him. She giggled as Jim blanched and turned away. He presented her with a sheet explaining care of her new tattoo, along with a bill for his services, which she paid for with cash. Rose pulled her shirt up, and looked at her tattoo with pride. That's me. Rosetat2.


Another in the license plate series. Hope you enjoy!

Nadia's Doll

I watched as a little girl played with a beat up old nekkid, scraggly doll while she waited on line. It got me to thinking, and inspired this little tale.

Nadia wakes up in the morning, and goes looking for her doll, only to discover once again, she is scrunched in the far corner of the bed, as if trying to escape her grasp. The child tunnels under the bed sheets until she is able to grab the doll by a foot, and pulls it into daylight. A quick hug, and then Nadia throws the doll onto her pillow and goes to wash up.

Still dripping from her shower, Nadia hugs the doll, leaving a faint dampness on its body. As Nadia dresses, she chatters, as if expecting an answer from the doll. Nadia puts on her shoes, and realizes that once again, she's forgotten how to tie her shoe laces. So she grabs her doll by its hair, and they head downstairs, careful not to tread on the trailing shoe laces.

Nadia's mom ties her shoelaces, lecturing her to pay more attention. Nadia is too busy trying to give the doll a proper hairdo, and manages to ignore her mother's words. Cereal is poured, and Nadia attempts to feed the doll, who wants no part of either Count Chocula or the chocolate milk that it creates.

Time for nursery school. Nadia grabs the doll by a finger, and whips her into her school bag, stuffing all its limbs into the overflowing backpack. Off to school. Nadia holds the back pack on her lap, talking to the doll through the canvas fabric, ignoring any chance of human interaction.

School time, and Nadia gingerly opens the back pack, removing the doll ever so slowly. Smiling, together they sit at a table, coloring. Nadia tries out a shade of dark blue on the doll's foot, just to see if it looks good there. It doesn't, and she tries, unsuccessfully, to wipe it off. When it remains where she placed it, Nadia slams her doll into the table, hoping that will cause the crayon to disappear. It doesn't, and she begins to cry.

School is over, and Nadia waits for her mom to pick her up. She has not placed the doll into her back pack, which she is wearing on her back. Instead, she is holding the doll by its hair, and is staring madly at the blue crayon on the doll's foot. When her mom arrives, Nadia tells her that another child colored on her doll.

Dinner time, and Nadia sits at the table, the doll seated on her lap. She tries again to feed the doll, this time, spaghetti o's and succeeds only in making the doll's mouth an odd shade of orange. After dinner, Nadia and her doll play a game. Nadia holds the doll by its hair, and swings it around, releasing it to watch it fly.

Bedtime, and Nadia and her doll are tucked in by mom. Nadia holds the doll tightly, as if it will keep away any possible nightmare or ogre. Slowly, she falls asleep, releasing the doll, allowing it to make its nightly attempt to escape by crawling to the bottom of the bed.

And such is the life of a doll.