Monday, November 21, 2005

New Tattoo

The new tattoo looked great, although it was still oozing a little, and the salve made it look sort of greasy. It was her fourth one this year, and she was ready to take a break.
She checked her Mohawk in the mirror, trying to decide if she should dye it blue again. She ran a razor down each side, then blasted the center with some seriously heavy duty hairspray to make it stand up and fly right.
She slipped her rather large and pendulous boobs into a sheer bra, taking time to make sure she did't snag the nylon with her piercings, and leveraged them into a seriously deep cleavage.
The fishnet stockings, black underbust corset and the leather boots and skirt finished out the outfit. She took a long look at herself in the mirror, and got ready to go down to the party in the big ballroom in the basement, thinking about that new bulldyke that had moved in down the hall a few weeks earlier.
She was hoping for some serious horizontal action, the kind that lasted all weekend and gave you carpal tunnel from all the handwork and lots of sloppy kissing.
Damn, she thought, she was really liking this new nursing home, and the money her assclown husband had left her. It was making up for 40 years of his stupid macho attitude.

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"Sometimes a scream is better than a thesis." Ralph Waldo Emerson