In the past, being in the house wasn’t something I ever looked forward to, and in fact, I typically avoided it. The house was always a reminder of my wealth, and the wealth a reminder of my parents. Thoughts of my parents caused me to feel alone, and the large empty house provided confirmation of my suspicions that I was destined to live a life of solitude until my death. It was a vicious circle, but the house seemed to be the fuel or driving force behind it.
Now, sharing my life with Stevie, I felt accomplished, fortunate, and graced by the hand of God himself. The house I had always despised had become a home upon her arrival, and I now looked forward to each and every time I was able to return.
“Andrew, I have questions,” I bellowed as I stared out the window of my office.
The day was beautiful, sunny, and slightly cooler than the previous days. Seventy degrees was the anticipated high for the day and for Kansas even in the late summer would have qualified for unseasonably cool, but beautiful. Sitting in the office seemed like punishment, as I knew it was Monday and Stevie was off work.
“Sir?” Andrew said as he stuck his head in my office.
“Do you enjoy your work here, Andrew?” I asked.
“Immensely, Sir,” he responded.
“You know one day I plan on retiring from all of this,” I said as I turned around.
He stepped into my office and smiled. “And when that day comes, Sir, you’ll have earned it.”
“Have a seat,” I said as I motioned toward the chair in front of my desk.
He walked leisurely to the chair and sat, crossing his legs as he did so. I walked to my desk, pulled out my chair, and sat down.
“Have you ever given any thought to what you’ll do when I’m gone?” I asked.
“I haven’t spent tremendous time dwelling on the matter, no. I suspect when the day comes, I’d like to open my own business, something similar,” he said.
“I see,” I said with a nod. “Let me ask you a question.”
“Have you any interest in owning this one?” I asked.
“An established business like this one? No, Sir,” he responded.
“No, not one like this one, this one. Wilson Investments,” I said.
“Only in my dreams, Sir,” he responded.
“But interest nonetheless?” I said with a laugh.
Ne nodded his head and grinned. “Yes, Sir. Again, nothing more than a dream, but one day I hope to have such a firm. Have I thanked you for the car?”
“Many times, Andrew, yes, you have. As you know, Stevie and I are living together, and I am planning some changes in my life. Big changes. I don’t know when I intend on making them, but I suspect they’ll certainly come sooner than later. I’ll keep you apprised, but I’d like you to consider some things. I’d hate to sell this company to someone and have them ruin my good name; and as you know, I trust very few men…”
I paused and leaned forward, resting my forearms on the edge of the desk.
“I’m well aware, Sir,” he responded.
“So, considering all things, I’m left to wonder if you’d consider taking over the business,” I said.
He lifted his left leg from his right, planted his left foot on the floor, and crossed his right leg over his left.
“Alone?” he asked.
“Yes, alone,” I responded.
“I wouldn’t be able to afford to purchase the business alone, Sir,” he responded. “Not now, or ever, I’m afraid.”
“I didn’t offer to sell it to you,” I said. “I’m considering giving it to you.”
He uncrossed his legs and began rocking back and forth in the chair nervously. A young man rarely shaken and never one to show much emotion, his mouth quickly curled into a smile. As much as he fought the emotion he was expressing, he was incapable of hiding it.
“Sir…I’m flattered at the consideration, but…”
Seeing his reaction was confirmation enough that my thoughts were in the right place. Making him happy and providing a solid future was something that I was able to do, and in all reality, I could never spend the wealth I had made in ten lifetimes. Possibly premature, but in line with my thoughts and certainly in accordance with what my gut told me, I stood from my seat and spoke my mind.
“Consider it done. We’ll work out the details with the attorney over the next few weeks, and you’ll have to keep the name, but consider this yours,” I said as I extended my hand.
He stood from his seat and stared.
“I…”
“Save it for later, Andrew. I’ll be taking the rest of the day off. It’s customary to shake a man’s hand when he offers his to you, unless you take exception…”
He quickly reached for my hand and shook it firmly in his.
“Are you alright, Sir?” he asked.
“I’m in love, Andrew. It’s quite a wonderful thing. I’ll see you in the morning,” I said as I stepped around my edge of my desk.
Not being bound to my career would assure me that each and every moment of the day that Stevie was not working would be spent with her, and not at my office. The mornings and evenings I had spent at my office since she moved in had been torturous at best.
Now, with her work day starting at noon, mornings could be spent in bed or relaxing together, and not hustling around the house to get to the office.
I suspected most men would say I was insane for even considering the offer I had made to Andrew, but I would have to totally disagree. My wealth was such that Stevie and I, and our children should we choose to have any, would be financially secure for generations of lifetimes, and for me not to offer the opportunity to obtain that potential wealth to someone as close as Andrew, who was my only true friend, would be beyond selfish.
Although people could describe me as being many things, some of which were certainly true, being a selfish man was not one of them.
Nor would it ever be.
As I stepped into the hallway, I gazed back into my office. Andrew stood at the window looking out over the city. I gazed blankly into the office for some time before turning and walking to the elevator. During that time, I realized Stevie’s first mention of loving me was in the very office Andrew was now in, and giving it up would potentially be impossible for me to do.
Although I couldn’t go back on my word, I realized our contractual agreement would undoubtedly require some colorful language.
Because if my plan went as intended, I would need to use the office for a special occasion.
A very special occasion.
STEVIE
After spending my entire professional adult life in a tattoo parlor, I was pretty sure I had heard it all, discussed it all, and partaken in some of the wildest discussions to ever be brought up in mixed company. I did, after all, live in southern California during the process – a state known for weirdos. But nothing compared to some of the topics of conversation at Blurred Lines.
“Would you, or wouldn’t you?” he asked.
“Dude, I don’t know, let me see her again,” the guy responded.
“It’s not a her, it’s a fucking dude, Dude,” I said over my shoulder.
“Have you seen her yet?” Blake asked.
I glanced up from the piece I was working on and shook my head. “Don’t have to.”
“This bitch is hot,” he said.
“If the bitch has a cock, it’s not a bitch. It’s a dude with tits,” I said.
“That’s arguable, but it’s not the topic. Stay on topic,” Blake said. “The question is would you make her spit out your cock if she was giving you a blowjob and you reached down there and found her schlong.”
“Gross,” I said as I shifted my eyes back to the tattoo.
The guy I was tattooing glanced toward Blake. “Let me see her,” he said.
“Stevie,” Blake hollered.
I glanced in his direction. He held his phone in the air. “Catch?”
I shook my head from side to side, peeled off my gloves and nodded my head. He to
ssed his phone across the shop toward me, and luckily, I caught it. After pressing the button on the side of the phone and illuminating the screen, I glanced down at it. A beautiful Asian chick was looking back at me.
“Not this Asian chick, is it?” I asked.
“Yep,” he said.
“She’s got a cock? A sewn on one?” I asked.
“Nope. The real deal. She’s hung like a fucking horse. Flip through the pics,” he said.
Using my thumb, I flipped through the pictures. In the first four or five she was topless and rather attractive. In the next series of pics she was totally nude and had her hand on her massive cock. I’d been with dudes with smaller cocks than she had, and I had enjoyed it. She was hung like a fucking horse.
“Holy shit,” I said.
“Holy shit is right,” Blake said with a laugh.
“So, would you?” Blake asked as he nodded his head toward my client.
He was in his mid-twenties, seemed like a kid off of a farm, and was wearing boots, a flannel sleeveless shirt, and a John Deere cap. I was tattooing the words “Cowboy Up” on his bicep in a very feminine script, which seemed odd, but not out of character for a man in touch with his femininity; and now that I was handing him the phone so he could see if he was okay handling a cock, I began to wonder.
I handed him the phone.
“What’s the question?” he asked as he studied the pictures.
“She’s got a ten inch cock,” Blake said as he continued to work on the tattoo. “If she was sucking you off, say in the parking lot of a bar…and she was wearing a dress or whatever…say you just met her and thought she was a chick and then you reached under her dress to finger her or whatever…and you feel a big thick cock. Would you make her stop sucking you off?”
As Blake spoke, I put on a set of gloves and went back to work on the tattoo. I had heard enough.
“Fuck no,” he said. “I’d let her finish.”
“No shit, Dude,” Blake’s client chimed in as he glanced toward my client.
“You guys are gross,” I said as I reached for the phone.
“What’s her name?” my client asked.
“Areeya,” Blake responded.
“Okay, one better,” Blake said. “What if you were letting her suck you off and she asked for a hand job. Let’s say she’s got you about ready to blow your nut down her sexy little Asian throat, and she lifted her head and says you gotta yank her crank or she’s gonna stop. Do you give her a happy ending?”
“Dear fucking God,” I sighed as I outlined the next letter.
“I’d yank her cock, but I wouldn’t tell anybody,” Blake’s client said.
My client turned his head toward Blake’s station and chuckled. “Same here. But I probably tell some of my buddies later.”
“You fuckers are gross,” I said.
After a moment of thinking about it, I decided to one up Blake’s remark.
“What if she said she wanted a sixty-nine? And she’s been giving you the best head ever. Would you go down on her?” I asked.
“If we were in a motel or whatever, I would. I wouldn’t swallow, but I’d suck it. It ain’t like I’d be sucking off a dude, it’d be like sucking a tit,” Blake’s client said.
“Other than it’s actually a cock, I guess so. So you’d suck it?” I asked.
“Yeah, a little bit,” he said. “I ain’t looking to have somebody call me a cocksucker, though.”
“So if you suck it just a little bit, you wouldn’t be a cocksucker?” I asked in a sarcastic tone.
“As long as it’s on a chick, I didn’t swallow, and I didn’t try and deepthroat that shit, I’d say I’m safe,” he said.
I shook my head in disgust. “Dude…”
I paused and bit my lip. I felt I shouldn’t tell Blake’s client, who was a returning client, that he was a nasty fucker. As I finished outlining the last letter, I gazed up at my client and cocked my right eyebrow.
“I’d do it. I mean if she gave me an ultimatum. You know, if she said ‘suck it or I’m gonna stop sucking yours’ or whatever. If she said that, I’d go down on her,” he said.
I shook my head again, in complete disgust. “Okay, would either of you guys suck a dude off?”
“Fuck no!” the cowboy hollered.
“That’s fucking gross,” Blake’s client groaned.
You’re both a couple of douchebags.
As I moved to shading the script, the door buzzer went off. I naturally glanced in the direction of the door, and noticed a Harley parked on the sidewalk that wasn’t there earlier. It was an old school bike with tall ape hangers, a set of old leather saddlebags, and a well-worn paint job. I shifted my eyes toward the guy who had just walked in, and immediately began to admire the black and grey work that covered both arms down to his knuckles.
“Owner in?” he asked from the other side of the receptionist desk.
He wore worn jeans, a worn Harley shirt from an unrecognizable city, and appeared to be a pretty big guy. Based on his accent, my guess was that he wasn’t a local.
“Right here, you can come on back,” Blake said. “My name’s Blake.”
He studied the shop as he walked in. After slowly walking toward our work stations, he turned and studied what I was doing, nodded his head as he passed, and turned toward Blake.
“Nice old school piece,” he said as he stepped to Blake’s side.
“Appreciate it. What can I do for you?” Blake asked.
“Name’s Devin Crane. Don’t go by it though, go by Lightning. Just moved up from Texas. Looking for work, and this is the first shop I stopped at. Like the name. You need any help?” he asked.
“Got a portfolio?” Blake asked.
He rolled up his sleeves and held his arms out on front of his chest. “Carry it with me everywhere I go.”
“All of that your work?” Blake asked.
“Every bit of it,” he said with a nod.
“Impressive,” Blake said.
Blake released his switch, turned toward me, and tilted his head to the side. “Stevie?”
“Yeah?” I said as I released the pedal of my switch.
“Man’s looking for work. What do you think?” Blake asked.
“Pretty impressive black and grey work,” I said.
“You willing to give him a try?” Blake asked.
I knew why he was asking. By giving him a job, he’d naturally take a portion of the work from the walk-in customers at the shop. Over time, artists build their client base, and walk-in customers go to the new artists. As the new guy and I would both be new to the shop, we’d each get half of the walk-in work. In theory, I’d be giving up half of my income.
Considering the fact I didn’t need to pay rent, it really didn’t bother me too much.
“If you’re worried about me bringing in clients, don’t. I’m pretty well-known in Texas, southern Oklahoma, and even into Kansas. I’m gonna guess it won’t be long and I’ll be standing on my own here. All I need’s a shot,” he said.
“Okay by me,” I said.
“A thousand a month booth rent, due the first of the month, and not after. That buys your rent for the month following your payment,” Blake said.
“So we’re a go?” the man asked.
Blake nodded his head. “Looks like it.”
The man turned toward me. “Appreciate it…”
“Stevie,” I said.
“Lightning,” he said.
I grinned, stepped on the switch, and began shading the script. After another quick survey of the shop, the man walked toward the entrance.
“Bring in my stuff Saturday, that alright?” he asked over his shoulder.
“Saturday’s fine,” Blake said.
“See you then,” the man said.
After he walked through the door, the cowboy started to laugh. “Lightning? Seriously?”
“You dick,” I said.
“What?” he snapped back.
“Never say anything to some
one’s back that you wouldn’t say to their face. Grow some balls,” I said. “And I’m gonna guess you wouldn’t say shit to that dude’s face.”
“He called himself “Lightning”. What a stupid name,” he said.
I stopped shading the script and glared at him. “You didn’t say that shit while he was in here.”
I glanced at the door, and noticed he hadn’t left yet. I stood from my seat, pulled off my gloves, and walked toward the door. As Lightning saw me approaching the door, he turned toward the door and widened his eyes. I grinned and waved my arm toward the shop, calling him back inside.
“What’s up?” he asked as he opened the door.
“My client has something he wants to tell you,” I said.
As he walked past me, it was pretty apparent he wasn’t a small man. Clearly more than a foot taller than me, and probably pushing two hundred pounds of muscle easily, he looked more like a running back for the Dallas Cowboys than a tattoo artist.
“What’s up?” he asked as he approached my client.
I watched with a grin as my client’s Adam’s apple raised and lowered. After a short pause, he opened his mouth.
“Nice bike,” he said.
Lightning nodded his head. “Appreciate it. I built it right after I got home from Afghanistan. It’s a damned good shovel if you ask me. You ride?”
The cowboy shook his head. “No, but I really like that bike.”
“Appreciate it,” Lightning said. “Well, I’ve got to get about 800 miles in, so I better get.”
“Shiny side up,” I said as I walked past him.
“That fucker ain’t got a shiny side, but thanks,” he said as he passed.
I stepped beside the cowboy, crossed my arms in front of my chest, and shook my head.
“Get up, you’re done,” I said.
He glanced at his bicep, scrunched his nose, and looked up. “Done? You’re not finished.”
“The fuck you say. I don’t tattoo pussies. Look at it as a lesson. Don’t talk shit to a man’s back,” I said.
“This is bullshit,” he said as he turned toward Blake.
“Don’t look at me,” Blake said. “Her station, her rules.”
“Come on. You won’t finish it?” he asked.
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