Free Sketch by Laramie Briscoe

guy I’ve tattooed before walking over.
    “I know this is awkward,” he says by way of greeting. “But it healed up, and I haven’t had a chance to show you yet.”
    “Nina, this is Gidcumb,” I say using his last name. It’s easier for me to remember last names. “Gidcumb, this is my wife, Nina.” I make the introduction, one I haven’t ever made. I’ve never made her available so my clients could meet her before. I tell myself that was mostly her, but I can see now that part of it was also me.
    “You must be so proud of your husband, he does amazing work.” He turns around and lifts his shirt up, showing us the piece on his back. He’s turning around so that he can tell Nina what’s going on. “That ’70 Super Sport. It was my dad’s. He passed a few years ago, and he loved that car. We ended up having to sell it in order to pay for his funeral, but I had a picture of it with him, and I took it to Sketch, and he did this.”
    I’m trying to look at the tat through her eyes. I see a cherry red Super Sport, a middle-age guy leaning up against it with a twinkle in his eye, obviously proud. The background, though, is what I’m most proud of. It’s a gorgeous setting sun—it allowed me to flex my artistic muscle.
    “It looks amazing,” she breathes and turns to me. “I can’t believe the things you do with a tattoo gun.”
    “I can’t either,” Gidcumb says as he’s still looking at us.
    There’s one part of the tat that’s annoying me. That part healed faded compared to the rest of it. “When you get time, my man, c’mon back in. There’s a small section in the sunset that healed faded, and that pisses me off. I’ll fix you up.”
    He lowers his shirt and turns back around, offering me his hand. “Will do. I appreciate you taking the time to talk. I’ll let you and your wife get back to your night.”
    I watch as he leaves, shaking my head. Sometimes I get recognized at the weirdest times. “Hopefully he didn’t kill the mood.” I turn to look at Nina; she’s got an odd look on her face.
    “You don’t even know, do you?” she asks.
    “Know what?”
    “How special and talented you are. Damn, Devin, I’m lucky you wanted me.”
    I don’t know what to say to that. It’s something I’ve wanted to hear from her for the longest time, but now I can’t form words to explain how it makes me feel. Instead, I grab her around the waist and turn her around again. It takes me a few moments, but I clear my throat. “Now, which ones do you want?” I run my hand up her side, stopping just under her breast. “Do you want ones that are discreet enough you can wear out in public? Like right now, you could be wearing them, and no one would know, it would be our little secret. Or do you want bigger ones, ones that can only be used in the bedroom?”
    She’s breathless again, and I see a pair that are small, they look like barbells, with a small clamp on the end that can be tightened or loosened. I reach over and pick them up. “These are the closest I’ve seen to the actual rings I would put in them. Do you want these?”
    Her eyes are glazed over as she watches me turn them over and over in the palm of my hand. She nods. “Those are the ones I want.”
    I pull her closer to me again, leveling my mouth to her ear. “You want to wear them in public, don’t you, baby?”
    “Uh huh.”
    “I never knew you were such a bad girl.” I grasp her hand, and we go to the checkout area, making our purchase.
    We walk hand in hand back to my truck. When we get in, she scoots over so that she sits next to me, every part of her touching every part of me. “God, Devin, I can’t wait to try those,” she tells me as she runs her fingers along my thigh.
    “I can’t either, but there’s a stipulation,” I tell her.
    “Stipulation?”
    I’m feeling a little like a sadist, and it feels good. I tilt her chin up with my finger. “You can’t use these without me, and you won’t know when we’re