Duck, Duck, Sucker.

I'm normally not a bitch.

I promise. I come across as so, but I really do have a suckers heart.

I keep relationships I should sabotage on the pure basis that I well up with guilt.

Fucking sucker.

In this case, I'm a raging bitch.

The kind that men hate, conniving little shit.

You really can't blame me though, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do homeskillet.

So let's begin this story months ago, as I lie topless on a table, arm covering my tits, shameless.

I'm getting a tattoo in this scene. My first, to be exact.

My tattoo artist.. Picture a guy my age, but mentally aged 16. Hormones ablaze, while my friend and I sit there as he inks my half naked body.

I'd always thought it would end there. Some playful banter back and forth, tattoo's done, up I get, fuck off and never hear of it again.

Yes, what a dreamy scene. Too bad that's not how it went down.

Fast forward a week or so after the fact. Enter a flirtatious message on the Book of Faces.

"Need me to oil up that tatt?"

No. Sweet mother of God, no.

This isn't happening. You were supposed to fuck off when all was said and done.

Fast forward some back-and-forth flirtatious banter that leads to nothing, and enter a poor guy with big, heavy blue balls.

After weeks of teasing leading to nothing, I slink off into my slutty domain, finding more fitting and silent bangable gents.

So I'm surprised to receive a message of greeting from this particular tattoo artist.

I'm hard at work when I receive this message, so a quick glance,  and then back to work for me.

This is apparently unacceptable. By the end of my shift, I'm blocked.

Sure. This is what I've been going for from the start. Great!

Great.

Life is peachy until tonight.

"Hey there, what's up!"

Fuck. Fuck.
Clearly someone's horny. I've been unblocked after other vaginal sources have been exhausted.
Normally, that's okay with me. A quick fuck'n'flee isn't a bad thing, ever. But in this case, I'm uninterested.

Like a cat, I've battered the mouse around until it's no longer a new toy. I've lost interest.

Until I hear my friend's genius plan.

"You want another tattoo, don't you?"

"Well yeah."

"So do I. And didn't he give this to you on the cheap?"

"Yes. Yes he did my dear, dear Einstein-esque friend."

"Well, hang him on your wire, get those tattoos on the cheap, and completely fuck off."

I love my friends. They've got the same fucked up thought patterns as I.

Let's do it.

Lock and load, motherfucker.

-Sunday, November 3rd, 2013