Lynn followed the black limousine through the intersection in a left-hand turn with Justin hugging her close atop her Soft Tail. She
digguh digguh digguh digguh'ed
behind the limo's rear bumper around the corner, ever mindful of the driver's brake lights up ahead. The car pulled to a stop next to "The Lucky Horseshoe Tattoo Parlor and Piercing Studio," taking up several parking spaces as Stevie, the limo's driver decided to park along the edge of the sidewalk. It didn't matter that the stretch limousine's parking status was somewhat less than legal; it being after hours on a weekend. There was no need to feed the meter.
Inside, the establishment's lights flickered and the green and white OPEN sign indicated there was still business to be had. Stevie turned, dropped his rearview panel to look into the limousine's back. In the rear of the car, Nancy was busy polishing off a shot of Tequila with Flash, (and would have probably been polishing the rocker's knob had the ride been just a bit longer). Ignoring the spilled booze on the carpet, Stevie spoke to the veteran guitarist with respectful deference announcing,
"Well Mr. McDonegal, this is probably the best guy in town for the job you're looking for,"
"Thanks Stevie," Flash replied, grateful to have located a tattoo joint to keep his post-concert 'tradition' alive, "as soon as we're all done here, I'll be needing to get to the hotel."
With that Flash seized Nancy's hand, pulling her with a squeal through the open passenger door. A second later and Nancy's head and arm re-emerged that same entrance as she craned her neck around in a booze addled haze. Spying what she was looking for; she snatched up the tequila bottle; blowing a kiss to Stevie over the seat before she shut the passenger door to join Flash outside.
Up ahead of the limo, Lynn parked her bike and killed the engine. It coughed and died with a wheezing sputter of exhaust rattles as her new boyfriend, Justin, the cowboy motherfucker dismounted from behind her.
Lynn was absolutely jarred from the ride to the tattoo parlor (although only partially from her motorcycle). It seemed the whole trip over from the fairgrounds; every time she'd hit the brakes on her bike she could smell the man-funk of "Cowboy Motherfucker;" all musky heady and strong, and wafting about her like a testosterone fog. Those particular notes of "he-scent" made her a bit nuts in a happy-horny way,
to say the least.
Adding to her state of agitation state was the fact that her cowboy passenger had pulled himself up close to her and been anything but a gentleman. She didn't mind that fact at all to be truthful. His hands took the liberty of roaming up and down her body as if she were a guitar neck; tweaking her boobs here, dipping a finger beneath the elastic of her thong there, (fiddling both her nipples and clit until they were swollen angry nubs).
She was now horny as a bat out of hell, (and consequently wet as a Texas seawall during storm season)! Whatever was going to happen in this goddamned tattoo parlor; she wanted it over and done with soon, (so she could get this hot sonovabitch back to the hotel where she fully intended make him scream like a bitch for his momma in a king-sized bed). Payback was hell, and she was now fully prepared raise it with him.
Lynn and Justin joined-up with Flash and Nancy at the curb. The four entered the Lucky Horsehoe. A female tattoo artist was ringing up a customer over at the cash register and she bid the four a friendly 'Hello' upon entry.
As the group took in the surroundings they could see the place most definitely catered to the biker and rocker crowd. Although they'd never been in before... they were home.
All along the walls were electric guitars in a myriad of shapes and sizes. In contrast to the normal comfy chairs one would've expected in such an establishment, there were an assortment of antique motorcycles and curiously, a few hard plaster horses; all bolted to the floor to prevent them from tipping. Customers had their choice between seats atop a vintage motorcycle or mounted on a faux pony riding tall in the saddle.
Somebody had gone out of their way to make this more than just an electric ink experience. The place oozed a cool sort of trendy hipness to it, mixed with campy fun. This would do, oh yeah it would. In fact, it would 'do' ...and then some!
Nick the proprietor (and chief artist as it turned out), struck up a conversation with Flash just as Nick finished with his last customer. Nick had recognized Flash straight away as he'd entered but didn't say anything right off, (as he was finishing a skull and rose tramp-stamp on a young woman he'd been laboring meticulously on for quite some time). With the girl up and out of the way, the forty-five-year-old artist with his long salt and pepper ponytail and droopy mustache took a few minutes to show off his establishment for the benefit of the four visitors.
During the course of the show and tell, Nick and Flash began to discuss what sort of tattoo the aging rocker was looking for, (in between comments concerning the merits of one guitar hanging on Nick's wall as opposed to another instrument hanging only a few feet away). It was quite clear both men were on the same wavelength. It was a forgone conclusion really; for here were two artists, one for whom the human body was his canvas, and the other whose medium was raw sound that could transform audiences into seas of head-banging worshipers as he plucked magic from a guitar. Both men knew their craft and both could communicate effortlessly in a sort of rocker-renegade language. It was all quite exciting stuff for Nancy and Lynn who both watched in quiet awe.
The only other one in the establishment in any kind of awe was Tina, the other artist. She'd been ringing up a customer as the four had entered and she now had her eye on the cowboy motherfucker.
She'd recognized him from a series of performances at local rocker bars in the area. She knew what she saw, and just like Lynn before; she liked what she saw, (for damned sure)! Funny, she noticed he wasn't wearing his cowboy hat... the short 'MILFie wench' standing next to Flash who'd lost most of her clothes was?
What the fuck?
Oh well, Tina couldn't care less,
he was here in the tattoo shop and she was there too!
Flash explained how he wanted a little something for his sleeves that would help him remember Flagstaff. Nick suggested skyline of the snow-capped San Francisco Peaks with a Route 66 sign superimposed in front of them, hearkening back to the days when the highway passed by the city.
Flash appreciated the concept after Nick drew it all out on piece of scrap paper and that was that. In no time the veteran rocker was seated atop one of the vintage motorcycles with his arm up; receiving the electric kiss of the tattoo needle from the master artist.
As Lynn, Nancy, and Justin the cowboy motherfucker looked on, Nick transformed one more segment of Flash's fore-arm into one more bit of human tapestry. Soon the outline of the San Francisco Peaks, the natural skyline for Flagstaff created by Mother Nature's skillful hands was clearly visible, as was a Route 66 highway sign a short time later. At last, Nick surveyed his lines with satisfaction and began to add colors.
It was about this time that Nancy, already feeling the buzz of the tequila; now found herself turned on by the buzz of the artist's needle. At first she'd kept a respectful distance and just let Nick work on her new-found rocker lover Flash, but now she leaned in close and watched as intently as if she was watching a new born babe arriving in the delivery room back at Healing Hands Memorial Hospital where she and Lynn worked.
"You like to see ink done?" Nick asked her.
"It's all about man-flesh being marked up and yes, it draws out the primitive in me," Nancy admitted; nearly hypnotized by the activity before her very eyes.
"So ...you have any tats yourself?"
"Oh I have a nice little one here," she said spinning around and displaying her perfect heart-shaped ass.
