Second Hand Tattoos (Patreon)

"Shit!"

I felt the familiar sting, the forehead this time. I quickly find the phone in my back pocket and use the selfie camera to inspect the damage. I'm not sure what it is supposed to look like, some sort of abstract design. It's not horrible, and not my first face tattoo, but still annoying. I've pretty much resigned myself to tattoos anywhere else on the body. It's not like another one will make a difference, but I still feel protective about my face.

I still lived in the old apartment at the time I met Jake or James or Jason or whatever his name was. We bumped into each other at the dance floor of Club 22 down by 22nd Street and Clover ave. He was hot as fuck. We danced. We had drinks. We want to my place and fucked like never before not since. It was then, exhausted, I admired his equally sweaty body and made a comment about his amazing chest tattoo. He seemed genuinely flattered. Then I went on to complain about how I would never be able to afford something like it, he responded "You can have them once I'm tired of them."

"I wish I could," I said. We fucked another round and he left. It was more than a year later before the first tattoo appeared.