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Nacho smiles.
“Nothing, baby. For you, it’s free.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, you firecracker.”
“Would you do it right now?”
“Now?” he says, flummoxed, and places his beer on the counter.
“Yes.”
“But it’s five o’clock in the morning.”
I smile at him. I’m determined to get what I want.
“Don’t you think it’s a splendid time to do it?”
Nacho takes me by the hand, and we leave the bar. We get on his scooter and ride to his tattoo shop. He turns on the lights when we enter, and I look around me. There are hundreds of drawings on the walls—Nacho’s work over many years. Tribal designs, names, caricatures, dragons ...
“Well, Miss Impatience, what would you like your tattoo to look like?”
I look at the photos until I see exactly what I want. He’s taken aback when I tell him, but he still looks through his stencils for what I’ve requested. We decide on the size. Not too big, but noticeable. Once that is decided, he works on the stencil. Twenty minutes later, he shows it to me.
“It’s done, beautiful.”
Nervous, I check out the design and give him my approval. He invites me to lie on the cot where he does his work.
“Where would you like the tattoo?”
For an instant, I’m not sure. I want this to be something very intimate, visible only to someone who loves me. I want it to be something ... something that always reminds me of him. Of Eric. Finally sure, I point to just above my smooth mons.
“Here,” I whisper. “I want you to tattoo it here.”
Nacho grins. I do too.
“Baby, it’s going to be a very sexy tattoo. You know that, right?”
“Yes, I know,” I respond.
As he picks up the needle, Nacho asks, “Are you sure, Judith?”
“Yes,” I say confidently.
“Cool, beautiful, then lie down.”
While we chat and listen to Bon Jovi, Nacho works on my body. The needle stings, but it is nothing compared to the pain in my heart. At about seven o’clock in the morning, Nacho puts down the needle and cleans me up.
“It’s ready, beautiful.”
I stand up, eager to see the results.
Still in my panties, I walk over to a mirror, and my heart clenches when I read the lettering over my pubis:Tell me what you want.
When I get home about an hour later, I’m exhausted and also a little sore from the tattoo. I open my laptop. I download the photos from my cell and decide which one I want to send. Then I open my mail and write.
From: Judith Flores