Author: Charisse Spiers

My eyes travel from his lips back to his eyes, locking into place. I hook my thumbs behind the front waistband of my shorts, giving them a prop to avoid an awkward stance, before going for the introduction I couldn't muster last night. "I'm Delta Rohr, the girl that's going to be one of the best in a man's world. Ink is my life. I wear my portfolio on my body. I'm an artist, only I want my canvas to be skin. I want my artwork to be worn. I've wanted an opportunity like this for a long time, and I'll give up anything to get it, but I need the tools to get there. I need the best fucking mentor there is. I need you, Kross."

He remains staring at me while my intestines start twisting into knots, saying nothing at all. Maybe my answer wasn't adequate enough. I'm not sure if I should say anything else or leave it at that. His stance finally breaks and his arms rise and fold over his head, his hands gripping the back collar of his shirt. He pulls it over his head, baring his torso a few inches at a time until it's completely off. Oh hell. His body looks better without clothes than with. He obviously works out, his chiseled form confirming it. Let's not forget the ink spread across his chest and running down both arms. The lower part of his sleeves and the ink that peeks out of his collar, running up part of his neck, is the only thing I've noticed until now. Now that he's standing here shirtless. He tosses the shirt over his shoulder, freeing up his hands.

"What are you doing?"

I immediately notice the silver, square, belt buckle in a dull metal finish, cut out to form a raised skull in the center; my favorite emblem, and the masculine opposite to mine...exactly what he tattooed on my body last night, complete with a pink hair bow. The black, elastic band of his briefs is peeking out of the waistband of his jeans. He works to unbuckle his belt, letting each end hang, before going back for the button. He pops it through the slit and then slides down the zipper, revealing the royal blue underwear hugging his hips. My eyes widen. Is he stripping up here? What the hell is he doing? 

"Kross, what are you doing?" I ask again, needing an answer. My heart rate is beating faster with each movement he makes. 

"Starting part two."

"Which is?" I'm becoming nervous. Is he just using me for sex? Dammit, I feel so stupid. I actually thought this was a real interview. I should have known this was just a setup. 

"Letting you tattoo my body."

I regain focus. "Say what?"

"I don't repeat myself. Listen the first time." He pushes the band of his underwear down his body, along with the waist of his jeans, leaving them not far above his...

"It's kind of hard to listen with you stripping naked. You're a guy and I'm a girl. It's human nature to look. So sue me."

He grabs me by the arm and pulls me toward his station. "The second part of this interview is to see you give it a shot. To me, tattooing is a natural talent. It takes more than the ability to trace an object to be a good tattooer. An artist is well rounded in all areas: drawing, tracing, visualizing, shading, design and color, all while having a steady hand. You may be good at drawing with a pencil, but it's a little more difficult with a vibrating gun in your hand puncturing the skin hundreds of times per minute. I'm not wasting my time to make shit more pleasant. I'm making great, flawless."

He releases my arm and steps over the chair in a straddling stance, drawing my attention to his black, high-top Converse shoes matching my pink ones, before grabbing a thin sheet of paper off the counter space. My nerves are on overdrive now. "I've already drawn you out a design that matches the one I tattooed on your pelvis last night, minus the fucking bow. It's a pretty simple design but a good one. Basic skull and crossbones fit my personality so I'll deal with it on my body. Wouldn't be the first version anyway, but since this is your first it's going somewhere I can cover up if you fuck it up. My sleeves are sacred, my masterpieces. Only the best adds to it. You earn the right to leave your mark as an artist there."

He pushes his pants down some more, until the top half of his firm ass is bare. If he pushes them down any further I'll be able to see his dick. Without breaking he applies the transfer of ink from paper to skin below his waistline, and low enough he can cover it by simply buttoning his pants. He cannot possibly expect me to give him a tattoo that close to his dick. Come on.... 

He grabs a pair of black, latex gloves off the tray. It looks like everything is already setup. "If you want to be the best in a man's world, then you better be serious as fuck about learning and perfecting. There are some that have made it and done so well, but tattooing has always been a man's art. I'm not showing you how to setup or prep today, because that's not necessary before you get the job. I looked at your ability to draw when I looked at your body last night. I want to see technique. I'm a hands on learner so that's how I teach. You have about a two-hour window. All of my artists will be here at three today. That gives me time to clean up after you're done."

"So you let everyone interview this way? How do you have any blank skin left?"

A smirk begins to form. "Nope. You're the first. I don't normally teach."

My nerves were at a good five. They were just bumped to ten. "Uh, then why me?"

"I'm feeling giving I guess." He hands me the gloves and sits down on the chair, then laces his hands behind his head and leans back against the back of the chair. "Tattoo me." 

I am totally and inevitably fucked...