Tattoo Virgin

DISCLAIMER

Tattoo Virgin
is a work of fiction intended for adults 18 and older.

Any
resemblance to persons alive or dead is purely coincidental.

Cover Images courtesy of: Ambro/FreeDigitalPhotos.net,

&
Digital Art/FreeDigitalPhotos.net

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Tattoo Virgin

“So,
Amy, what do you think?” He held out a flimsy, white piece of paper with a purple design inked on it, a design I would soon have on me forever. He leaned down a little to show me, his shoulder almost touching mine as we looked at the picture together. The design was large and would cover the entire right side of my ribs with a spindly, interlocking outline of jasmine flowers. It was beautiful, detailed, delicate: it was absolutely perfect.

I looked up at him,
embarrassed as my pulse leapt from his proximity. “It’s wonderful.” If I sounded breathless it was because I was trying not to breathe. This close I could smell his faint cologne combined with his own warm, manly scent, and the effect was heady.

His name was Mike Ramirez, and hi
s reputation preceded him. At 29 years old he was young to own a renowned tattoo parlor, but he was just that good. His work was careful, creative and stunning. And he also happened to be the single most beautiful man I had ever met, not that that had any bearing on his talent. He was tall, probably about six feet, I imagined, and his wide shoulders and lean muscled body were a testament to long hours spent in a gym. As his name suggested he was of Latin origin, most likely Mexican. When he spoke, his voice rich and commanding, there was just the smallest hint of an accent. He had beautiful, creamy brown skin and a full head of thick black hair. His most shocking feature, however, was his eyes. They were a pale green and stood out dramatically against his otherwise dark features.

It was a
tribute to his talent that all I had heard about him was his reputation as an incredible tattoo artist, not how incredibly fucking sexy he was. Needless to say, when I had walked into his parlor a week ago I had been rendered nearly speechless. He was entirely professional however, not even smirking while I stammered what type of design I wanted and fought the spread of blush raising from my chest to my forehead. He was probably used to the reaction he elicited.

He smiled at my praise of the stencil but said, “You sure it’s what you want? No tweaks or anything? Don’t be afraid to tell me if there’s something you don’t like. It’s going to be on you for a long time.”

Damn
, it was hard to concentrate when his eyes were looking directly at me. “No, no, I love the design,” I said, shaking my head. “Really, I couldn’t imagine it better.”

He smiled again. “All right then, let’s get started. Follow me.”

The parlor was one of the cleanest I had ever been in, with individual rooms that shut with sliding Japanese doors. His whole parlor had a Japanese theme, with Japanese art lining the crimson colored walls. The parlor was silent and I didn’t see any other tattoo artists, which I commented on.

“We’re not normally open on Wednesdays,” he said
, leading me to a room at the end of the hall and slid the door shut behind him. I walked to the black leather padded chair dominating the space as Mike moved over to a tray sitting on a low cabinet running along the far wall where a series of paint caps and tattoo guns were aligned neatly. “I like to give everyone a day off, but sometimes we use it to catch up on our appointments. It’s been busy at the shop lately.”

I fidgeted with the stitching on the leather seat. I was completely alone with him in this parlor. The thought was not helping my already unsettled nerves.

“Go ahead and take your shirt off,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll put the stencil on and you can see how it’s going to look.”

I pulled my thin cotton shirt over my head. Underneath I was wearing a sapphire colored string bikini top from last summer. I thought the color looked great on me regardless of whether or not I had a tan, and the suit was one of my favorites, and well worn. My blonde hair has always been long and very fine, and I realized that it was static-y from the discarded shirt. I hastened to smooth it out.

Mike walked over to me with the paper stencil. “Raise your arms.”

I did, holding my elbows with my hands level with my nose. Mike applied the stencil delicately. His fingers brushed against the skin beneath my breast softly and I could feel myself break out into goose bumps.

“I need to move this a little,” he said, gently tugging the string stretching across my ribs up to accommodate the upper portion of the stencil. His warm hands pressed down firmly on my skin, smoothing the paper and transferring the design. He pulled the paper off and led me to a full length mirror on the wall.

“What do you think?”

The purple stencil
stretched from just under and behind my right breast down my rib cage. It was beautiful, the lines accenting the curves of my body rather than masking it, almost like an optical illusion. I smiled at him. “Let’s get started,” I said.

I went to the chair again and sat in it stiffly.
Ok. This was it. I tried to remember to breathe. Mike walked over to the cabinet and crouched down in front of it. After a moment I heard a Spanish guitar playing softly and I noticed there were speakers in two corners of the room. “I hope you don’t mind the music. It helps me focus when I’m working.”

“No, not at all. It’s nice,” I said, my voice squeaky.

He sat on a wheeled stool chair, like the kind doctors use, and moved next to me. I couldn’t figure out where to put my hands, and they fidgeted with one another in my lap. He moved my right arm over my head. I could hear myself breathing, short, shallow breaths. “Hey,” he said soothingly, looking directly at me. He rested his latex gloved hand on my ribs. “Relax.”

“
I probably should have mentioned that I had never had a tattoo before,” I said, trying to force my stiff torso to loosen up.

He chuckled. “A virgin, huh?”

I blushed furiously. I probably matched the color of his walls. He smiled again and patted my ribs. “There’s no need to be nervous. You’re in good hands.” He picked up the gun, gazing intently at my side. “You ready?”

It was now or never.
I nodded, swallowing hard. He smiled, his eyes locking on mine, before he leaned his head toward my ribs. The gun started up, a fast vibrating sound, and I steeled myself for the pain. He placed his left hand on my shoulder, keeping my body in place, and started in on the design.

To my surprise it didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. It was definitely unpleasant at first, but after a few minutes my body got used to the pain and I almost started to be lulled into a trance.
I felt a pressure down below and to my amazement I realized that I was actually getting turned on by the feeling of it. I wasn’t sure if it was the feeling of getting a tattoo or the tattoo artist who was applying it. Probably both. I focused on his arms, the tendons and powerful muscles flexing as he worked. He was wearing a black short sleeved t shirt with a red skate boarding logo on it, and I could see his skin from his biceps down. Both his arms were covered with tattoos, intricate black designs. Most of them seemed to be Japanese. A large black koi covered the inside of his right arm and I watched, fascinated, as it flexed while he worked.

After a few more minutes he broke the silence. “For a virgin you’re sure taking this like a champ,” he
said, smiling up at me.

I warmed at the praise
, my pussy tingling. I could feel myself getting wetter. “It doesn’t really bother me,” I said. “It’s almost soothing.”

He laughed. “That’s not what most people seem to think. Especially on the ribs.” I said nothing, just continued t
o watch the koi flex and dance. After another few minutes he spoke again. “I’m always curious why people pick their tattoos. Why the jasmine flower?”

I blushed again. “Well, it’s kind of silly,” I said.

He raised his head, his stunning green eyes on me. “Try me.”

“Um, well, you know how different flowers have different meanings, right?” He nodded his head. “Well, the jasmine flower has a few different meanings. To some it represents nobility, grace and elegance.
Things like modesty and kindness.” He nodded again, still focusing on the tattoo. “But the flower can also represent beauty, deep affection, and, well, s-sensuality.” He paused for a second, his eyes locking on mine, before resuming his work. I felt flush, embarrassed to continue, but I pressed forward anyway. “And the thing about the jasmine flower is that it blooms at night. Almost like in secret.”

Mike was silent for a moment. “So you’re saying you’re like the jasmine flower?”
 

I don’t know why I continued. Something was making me bold, or at least
a little reckless. “Yeah,” I said softly. “Kind of. Like, people have always seen me as this delicate little thing, you know, like how most people see the jasmine flower. I’m elegant, modest, kind. But, I’m sick of being seen just like that. I’m sick of
being
just that. I feel like I’ve always had this secret side to me that no one sees. So I’m getting it tattooed on me so everyone can see.”

“That makes sense,” he said. “But why do people see you that way?”
By this point he was working on the lower half of the tattoo, pressing his free hand lightly on my stomach.

I hesitated before answering. “I just always have been. I was never a rebellious kid. I was a straight A student, I still am. F
ull scholarship and all that. I’ve just always played it safe.”

“But not anymore?” His head was angled near my hip bone and I could feel his warm breath puff across it lightly as he worked. I swallowed thickly and my pussy throbbed.

I smiled. “No, not anymore.”

We were both silent as he continued to work, and I drifted to the combined sounds of the guitar music and the tattoo gun. After about twenty minutes he spoke up
again.

“You know, I just can’t picture you being the shy girl.” He paused. “I mean,
I can picture it, obviously, you’re a bundle of nerves, but I don’t get it.”

I felt embarrassed. “What do you mean?”

He was silent for a second, as if weighing what he was going to say. “Look,” he said and then stopped again. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re hot.”

I felt my face flush. “What?”

He gestured to me with his left hand impatiently. “
Chica
, you know you’re gorgeous, ok? Don’t act like you don’t know it.”

I don’t think I was breathing. I tried to say something but all I did was sputter. So he continued. “I know guys must have been hounding you all through school. How you managed to have and keep the
image of someone so innocent is beyond me.”

Finally my sputters turned into actual words. “Look,
don’t take this the wrong way
but you don’t know me at all. I had braces and baggy clothes all throughout high school, and I braided my hair down my back every day. My first kiss was on a dare at summer camp when I was thirteen and that was the most action I saw all throughout high school. I was basically a looser.”

“You were a virgin all throughout high school?”
he laughed incredulously. Where had this conversation come from? Where was the professional guy from before? Why were we talking about this? My face turned beet red.

“Yes,” I said tersely, close to tears. “Still am, if you really must know.
”

Mike’s eyes
widened and he stopped tattooing and stared up at me. “What?
Jesús Cristo,
you’re a
virgin
?”

A few hot tears of shame rolled down my cheek.
When I was agitated I tended to blush and tear up; when he was agitated apparently he reverted to speaking Spanish. “Yes!” I burst out. “21 years old and still a virgin! Now can you please stop making fun of me and finish this tattoo so I can go?” I was breathing hard, gasping even.

Mike’s
face sobered and he looked at me with kind eyes. “Hey, hey,” he said softly. He put the gun down and rolled closer to my head. “I’m sorry, Amy, really. I’m not trying to make fun of you.” He paused again. “It’s hard for me to believe that you’re still a virgin, yes, but only because you’re so incredibly beautiful. With the hair, those pretty blue eyes, this amazing body. And,
chica,
your skin is like milk. You’re unbelievably sexy. I don’t know how some guy hasn’t tried to make you his by now.”