The Tattoo

(Author's Note: There isn't a lot of sex in this, so if that's what you're looking for, sorry, but it is a love story, if not your most normal. I hope you like it and that you will let me know if i should keep writing or go back to my day job...LOL Peace)

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I love tattoos, not just the usual hearts, and MOM, but all the hundreds of thousands of designs that the tattoo artists come up with around the world every day. I love the work and the detail and the colors that bring them alive. My dad was a tattoo artist and I spent most of my childhood with him in his shop, watching as he painted men and women with artwork that rivaled Van Gogh and DaVinci. I saw him paint naked ladies and fire breathing dragons, he did red roses just starting to bloom and majestic eagles in flight. And he did The Demon.

"The Demon" It was his supreme masterpiece; there has never been one like since. A full rendering of a scene in hell, the reds, yellows and oranges of the flames, the naked bodies of men and women, and the boulders of brimstone. All centered around one major figure. A man, a man standing tall and slim, his low riding jeans and blacker then black tee shirt contrasting so completely with his pale skin that you wondered if he was really there at all. Long black hair fell around his face and he wore a well trimmed beard and mustache. He stood in a circle of flames and all the bodies around were trying to reach him, if for salvation or for something else, I have never understood, but it didn't matter, all I saw was the tattoo and the artwork involved.

I was home for summer break from college and working in my dad's shop for the summer. I had been doing it forever it seemed. For as long as I can remember I have been able to set dad up better then anyone else. I knew from just looking at the drawings what colors he would want and the shading and texture he would use. I was the one who set up his needles and made sure the customer was relaxed and sure of what he wanted. They say it hurts to get a tattoo, it does, but not as bad as it does to have it removed, so just a quick word of warning here, if you decide to get one, plan on living with it for the rest of your life.

I myself have several of them. On different parts of my body, each one is a memory or a part of my life that I want to remember. I got my first one when I was twelve, dad wanted me to wait, but my mother had just died and I wanted to have a black rose put on my shoulder so I could show the pain that her passing caused me. It hurt and I cried, but they weren't just tears of pain, they were tears of a child who had lost the most important woman in her life, and I shed them freely.

Since then, I have added all sorts of things from a small diploma on my right hip to the initials of my first boyfriend on my right wrist. I have a bronze dragon and a gold dragon entwined in flight on my left leg to remember the first Dragonriders of Pern book I read. I still love that series. The most startling to all those who see me, is a golden heart on my cheek.

I got it after I was hurt in a car accident and left with a scar. It covers the scar and reminds me how close I came to dying that night. Another lesson, never drive drunk, I wasn't drunk but the man who hit the car I was riding in was. The driver was killed as was my best friend. It was our eighteenth birthdays.

That had been two years ago and I still remember it vividly. The heart however is like the rest of the tattoos that I have; they are a part of me, like my soft brown hair and bright hazel colored eyes. I just don't think about them anymore. At twenty, I worry more about getting my work turned in on time and making sure I'm not late for class.

I was just opening the shop when he came in. Setting things up for my dad and the other two artists he had working for him at the time. Bear was a big hulking man who had the touch of an angel; and Donna who, besides being the ad for the original tattooed lady, tended to be more coarse and outspoken. She had been Bear's canvas for the twenty years they had been married and her body showed both the love and detail Bear put into his work. I had been around them enough to know their styles and preferences as much as I did dad. I always had the place ready when the three of them came in at Nine AM sharp.

He arrived at eight thirty. Like the drawing, he was tall and lean and dressed in the low riding jeans, and a tee shirt praising Harley Davidson motorcycles. A timing belt chain hung on his hips and he had all the usual tattoos that came with the lifestyle. What would have been the most handsome face I had ever seen was marred by a long scar that went from his left temple down along his chin and disappeared underneath. It gave his face an interesting look and he wore it like a badge of pride. I did notice that when he walked, it was with a limp that didn't hinder him, it just stood out considering how tall and straight he stood.

His voice was deep and gruff. "You're the artist?" He looked at me and as I looked up, he saw the heart. "Nice work, most women would have picked somewhere else though."

"I'm not most women, we're not open yet and no, I am not the artist." There was something about him that I wasn't sure how to take. I had seen bigger men then him in my life, and I had seen smaller, but there was a power about him that I guess threw me off.

He didn't move, instead his dark, intense eyes looked my tall, full figured body up and down and licked his lips to show his approval. "No, I guess you're not. So, I'll wait." He limped over to the couch and sat down, but not before he spoke again. "Hey, what's your name?"

I didn't see why he would want to know, but I answered him. "They call me Dixie; I was born in Mississippi while dad was in the service."

He grinned. "Nice, they call me Demon. Mom and dad had a strange sense of humor."

He just sat then and I went back to work, but I was distracted again when I heard him humming the tune "Dixie" under his breath and the words when they came out were not what the writers of the song had intended.

"Oh I wish I was sunk deep in Dixie, hurrah, hurrah, in Dixie I will make my stand, to fuck and cum in Dixie." He knew I could hear him and the next time around he sang it a little louder. I had to admit he had a nice voice, but it didn't keep me from shaking my head, or smiling.

Now I am not some naive little virgin who would blush and run from a man like him. If anything he was the type of guy I am both attracted to and seem to be attracted to me. And at the time he was singing, I was already reacting physically to him by having my nipples harden under my tank top and my pussy beginning to drip. I have very few men in my life like him who aren't equipped the way their bodies look. Long and lean and built for pleasure. So, it seemed only natural when I walked around that my hips moved a little more then normal, and I found a reason to brush closer to him then I should have when went to water the plants in the window behind him. And when his hand closed around my breast, I didn't scream or pull away; I just looked at him and saw his smile.

"Hmm, they're real, I was beginning to wonder."

"This is all me." I ran my fingers down over the front of his jeans. "Is that all you, or do you have a steel rod in there?"

"Oh, that's all me, and right now it is hard as steel Dixie. How long we got before you open?"

"Do you mean me or the shop?"

"Well, you are what I would prefer to say, but I think I mean the shop. I've seen the guys who work here." He licked his lips, and I knew dad and Bear did not intimidate him.

"Me, anytime you care to ask, the shop in about ten minutes."

He pinched one of my nipples and bent his head to bite at it. "I would not want to insult you with only ten minutes. How about after you get off work tonight we get together? I'm running solo these days and I definitely like what I see."

I did too. I let him claim my mouth for a series of deep throat kisses. We might have spent the day at it, if dad hadn't come in with Donna and Bear right behind. I had never been as forward as I was with Demon anytime in my life, but with him, well, it just felt right. Dad barely paid any attention to him but Bear and Donna greeted him like a long, lost son. It was clear they hadn't seen him in a while and when my dad finally noticed him, it was like old home week too. So who was this guy and why didn't I know him?

"Dixie honey, come here, I want you to see something." Dad looked at me and I sauntered over to where they all stood. "Show her Demon, she is going to love this."

He gave me a smile as he pulled his tee shirt up over his head. I didn't see anything different about his compared to most guys chests, at least not until he turned around and I fell in love. It was only partially done, but it was enough. Who ever was doing the art work was taking his time. This would be a five or six month job at best. I wanted to reach out and touch it, caress it. Hell, I almost had an orgasm just looking at it. There it was the drawing I had seen in dad's office. I was stunned, speechless.

Demon began to hum "Dixie" under his breath and I found myself smiling. He grinned back at me and dad looked at us both curiously. "Well, lets get to work, Dixie, this will probably be an all day job, so you'll be handling the front okay?"

I nodded, not that I wanted to. I would have really preferred to sit beside dad as I always had and watch his master's touch. I would have liked to but I knew it was going to take all his concentration and I didn't want to be the one who screwed up the Mona Lisa while DaVinci painted. It was a long day for all of us. Most of all for Demon, even with coffee and food breaks I could see the pain was getting to him. Finally dad looked at him near late afternoon.

"You got to take a break Demon, this is more then I could handle in one day."

Demon looked up at me and nodded. "You're right, it is. Is there someplace I can lay down for a while? We'll do some more another time."

Dad looked at me. "Take him up to the apartment. Make sure he lies on his stomach. Jesus Demon, you are a real masochist."

Demon let me help him upstairs, but for a man who had looked on the edge of death downstairs, he seemed to get his second wind once we were alone. He had me backed up against the door the minute I shut it, and the earlier kisses were nothing compared to the way he kissed me now. I am sure we were having a race to see who could swallow the other's tongue first. Then he was squeezing my breasts and my shirt got pushed up so he could begin to suck on my nipples and put all kinds of love bites on them. He pressed so tight against me that I could feel that steel rod pressing into me and I ran my hand up and down it.

"You know where I want to put it honey, been thinking of it all day. You got to let me fuck you or I am going to go crazy." He was actually begging me, and I wanted it probably worse then he did.

In my room he wasted no time stripping his jeans off and watching while I did the same. When I started to take off my panties he shook his head and went to his knees. The next thing I knew, he was eating me through them and I creamed within minutes of him starting it. Only then did he let me drop them off and lay back on the bed. He wasted enough time to slip on a condom then he was in me, pounding and slamming into me like this was the last day on earth. He was gripping my hands tight and pressing them into the bed while he fucked me and I gave up trying to keep up with him.

When I began to cum, he looked at me. "Let it out baby, I want to hear you call my name while I pound into you."

I knew that if dad heard us, he'd be yelling at me for a month, but I didn't care, it felt too fucking good and I needed to let loose. "Demon, oh god, Demon, yes, fuck me Demon. I'm cumming...!" It wasn't phony, despite how much it might look like it on paper, and he was just as loud about letting the world know who he was fucking when he began to cum as well.

When it was over, we just lay together for a while, then he got up, went down stairs and left. Just like that. I wasn't sure what to think, but considering what he had given me and the love I felt for his tattoo, I was happy.

He didn't come back for four weeks, and then again it was the same thing. He'd have dad do the tattoo as long as he could physically stand it, we'd go upstairs, and he'd fuck me crazy. That time he stayed for a repeat session, got up the next morning and left.

Three fourth of the tattoo was done when I went back to school and the day he was set up to come back in to have it finished, I was in my art theory class, watching the clock more then listening to my professor. Now, considering that I was in college over two thousand miles away from my dad's shop, the last thing I expected was to hear my professor's voice overridden by a voice outside the classroom yelling my name and singing his version of the song Dixie.

When he busted in the door, he must have had half the college security team on him, but he just walked up to me, and glared.

"What the hell you doing here? I can't get this damn thing finished if you aren't there for afterwards." His wild eyed look made him almost look like a mad man.

I looked at him and wondered what the hell he was talking about. He hadn't seen me in four weeks, and all we did was fuck after he got the tattoo. "What the hell are you talking about Demon? You get the fucking tattoo worked on, take me up stairs and we fuck until you pass out. Why the hell you need me when any bitch back there would do just was well?"

He was standing right in front of me, nose to nose all most. "The hell she would..." Right there he stripped off the tee shirt he was wearing and a series of ooh's and ah's went up around us. "Does this look like any bitch would do?" He turned around and I saw that it had been changed. Now, he didn't stand alone, I was next to him, only in outline, but there none the less. "Do you know what your dad had to do to change it at this late date?"

I could imagine, dad must have been cursing me the whole time he worked on it. "You...you never said; you just up and disappeared afterwards, and I never knew..." I didn't know what else to say, it was true and he knew it.

He turned back and looked at me, "Dixie, you never asked either..." His voice was softer then I had ever heard it. "I can't finish this without you there. You need to come home with me."

I was torn, this was college, my future was here, and he was asking me to leave in the middle of the semester to go back long enough to let him finish a damn tattoo, no matter how much I loved it. Even as I tried to decide, I heard suggestions coming from every where. But the voice that spoke the loudest was my professor.

"Go home Dixie, get the tattoo finished, and then come back next semester. And bring him back with you. I want to see it when it's done. This class is a true piece of art." His voice was soft almost full of reverence, as if we were in a museum looking at some famous painting.

Demon held out his hand. "Come on Dixie, it's a long ride home..."

Yes, it was and I enjoyed every mile of it, riding behind him, holding on to him, protecting that glorious work of art that cemented us together for all time. Dad retired after it was done, now he works as a teacher of tattooing while Bear and Donna have moved on to another city and another shop. Demon and I took over the shop, and while he does the sketches, I do the actual art work on the skin. Our sons Earl and Harley sit quietly by me as they watch the ink turn the human body into the greatest canvas on earth.

Oh, if you ever visit our shop, yes, that photograph over the door is the artwork on Demon's back, but don't ask to see it in person, it's in a private gallery, mine.