Chapter 13 - Johnny - All Lined Up
“Definitely not masturbating, if that’s what you’re thinking,”
The memory of Becca’s words ring through my head as I finish washing up in the bathroom. Her description of her stomach issues prepared me for an entirely different smell, despite what I said about disinfectant, but when I walked in here, all I could smell was sex.
And pissing with the hard-on that caused was not fun.
“She couldn’t have been masturbating in here, could she?” I whisper to myself. “Why would she do that?”
She did seem a little flustered when I ran my hand down her side, showing her where to tattoo would go. It was probably overkill, but I couldn’t resist the chance to touch her a little. Not that I won’t be touching her a lot over the next few hours, what with the size of the tattoo we’re doing and all, but I wanted to touch her with also causing pain at the same time.
So, did she like it when I touched her? Is that what her stuttering declaration and overall awkwardness were about? Or am I seeing things that I want to see and hoping that she’s starting to be interested in me?
Wait, that’s not quite right, anyway. She was interested in sleeping with me two days ago, so she might still be. I’m the one who called it off. I’m the one who decided we’d just be friends. Maybe she just came in here to take the edge off? She was trying to respect my wishes to just be friends?
Fuck, being friends with someone I’m interested in is hard.
And so is my dick.
I pull out one of my trustworthy old visions of Ryder’s Gran to help with that situation. I’m all for people exploring their sexuality no matter how old they get, but having an eighty-year-old woman and her similarly aged friends discussing their sex lives in detail right in front of me is a little much. But it works wonders for making my dick soft. A few minutes recalling their ‘teeth in or out’ debate, and I’m ready to head back to Becca.
I tap on the door to my room before opening it, in case Becca is uncovered, and then I step inside.
“You all set?”
“Ready when you are, captain,” she says.
She’s laying on the table, on her back, towel over her hips and legs, and her arm thrown over her eyes. I know she’s not feeling sick, but she does seem a little out of sorts.
“Do you still want to do this? Are you feeling okay?”
“Oh yeah,” she says, taking her arm off her eyes. “I want to do this. Freddy needs to be kicked off his throne. This is probably the best thing that could happen to me.”
I step closer to the table, sitting on my stool and pulling over the cart with my tools. “Okay, great. Then let’s get you on your right side.” I hold the blanket up, keeping her covered while she rolls. “Perfect. Okay,” I say, handing her a corner of the blanket, “tuck this corner under your body, and take this part and pull it up between your legs. That should keep you covered enough that you don’t get cold.”
She arranges the blanket like I’ve said, adjusting her body to get comfortable, tucking her arm up under her head. “So,” she says, pausing a moment before continuing. “You know I’m not paying you for this, right?”
I choke on a laugh. “Yeah, I’m aware. I wouldn’t ask you too.” I want to tattoo Becca more than anything. My artwork on her beautiful body is more payment than I deserve. Knowing she has a piece of me inked into her skin for the rest of her life is better than anything she could give me. Well, almost anything.
“Okay, good. So long as we’re clear on that. I’ve run into a small problem with my photography and there’s a chance it could get much worse.”
“Oh? Tell me about it.” I pull on my gloves and spray green soap onto Becca’s thigh to clean it. I wipe the soap off and grab a disposable razor to prep the area before I put the stencil on. “Maybe I have some ideas.” I shave the area while she explains.
“Ugh,” she groans. “I had a wedding booked last weekend and the mother of the bride cancelled on me when I showed up at the venue. Like, I walked in carrying all my equipment, and she told me they no longer required my services.”
“What a bitch.” The blanket has shifted and is covering part of the area where I want to place the stencil, so I move it, accidentally brushing the skin on her ass cheek while doing so.
Becca’s sharp intake of breath mimics my own.
I doubt her dick gets hard like mine does, though. Considering she doesn’t have one. At least, I couldn’t feel one when she was straddling me a couple of nights ago.
“Sorry,” I say, reaching for the deodorant I need to transfer the stencil to her skin. “So, why do you think it might get worse?”That’s it. Change the subject. Move on. Don’t acknowledge the bulge pressing against your zipper.
“Oh, umm. Well, she asked me to refund her deposit, and I refused. She wasn’t happy about it.”
“Why would she expect a refund? She cancelled when you got there to do the work. It’s not like you could have just booked another wedding for that day.” I slide the deodorant over her skin and line up the stencil, pressing it down gently.
“Yeah, that’s what I said. Plus, she signed a contract that stated the deposit was non-refundable. People try it every once in a while, but this is the first time anyone has ever cancelled the day of the event and expected a refund.”
