Page 195 of S is for SEX

BLURRED LINES

(Bodies, Ink, and Steel Book I)

BLAKE

My life had been a series of ups and downs, never staying in one place for very long. I did realize I played a huge part in the peaks and valleys in which my mind resided, but maintaining an even keel was difficult for me, and even though I realized it was difficult for everyone else on earth, it was apparent it wasn’t equally difficult.

I was different.

I had always been different.

I found comfort in Riley; what she offered me mentally, physically, and emotionally was unlike anything I had previously received as the result of human contact. Keeping her in my life would require consistency on my part, and being constant or living an unchanging life had never been strengths I possessed.

Confused on how to proceed with life, but desperately wanting my time with her to continue, the answer came to me at an AA meeting. Or, at least what I believed to be the answer. Steps two, three, and four were exactly what I needed to apply to my life. I felt if I adhered to the principles of the program, progress was certain.

There was no way millions of converted drunks could be wrong.

“Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.” This was easy for me. I had been trying to restore myself to sanity for some time, and had been rather unsuccessful. In fact, my way of doing things landed me in the very meetings I was using to attempt to correct my life. For me to believe God or a resemblance of God might be able to make changes for the better in me and my life was simple. I knew I couldn’t, so to believe he could wasn’t a stretch at all.

“Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as weunderstood Him.” If I wanted the previous step to work for me, believing this step could be skipped or cast aside was impossible. I had never been a person to pray, go to church, or even discuss God, but I was now convinced my lack of contact with him just might have contributed to the emotional roller coaster my life had become.

“Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.” After discussing the steps with an old timer, he explained the importance of performing this step. If I stepped out of myself and stood as a critical examiner of who Blake West was from a moral standpoint, I was disappointed with him. This step allowed me to become aware of the changes I needed to make in me to become the person I deeply desired to be.

But first things should always come first, so I prayed for the ability to have eyes that could see, ears that could hear, and a mind that was able to discern right from wrong.

I was now proceeding with life listening more, talking less, and at least attempting to be a man with a moral compass. As much as I admired Riley and her simple way of living life, I decided to follow her lead. I expected if I did, my life would become a mirror image of hers.

Or so I hoped.

“The food was fantastic,” I said as I leaned away from the table.

“Thank you,” Riley’s mother said. “I can’t take complete credit, Riley helped out.”

“Well, to whoever was in involved, it was fabulous,” I said.

They looked at each other and shared a moment of infectious pride. Riley’s mother wasn’t at all what I expected her to be. I envisioned a slightly overweight housewife wearing an apron covered in flour and handprints, having her hair pinned in neat little sections - always one step away from finishing it. Through the house she would run, trying desperately to have the meal prepared in time, later apologizing for her appearance as we ate.

From twenty feet away, she could pass for Riley. Sitting side by side, they could easily pass for sisters who were ten years apart in age. She shared Riley’s lips, eyes, facial structure, and body. And, although I wasn’t sexually attracted to Riley’s mother, noticing she also shared Riley’s little round ass was painfully obvious.

“So, what made you decide to become a tattoo artist?” her mother asked.

I stared down at my forearm and recalled my first tattoo. The piece was on my chest; something I intended to hide from everyone but felt I desperately needed to make my life complete. A traditional tattoo - a dagger through a skull - represented bravery to me. Receiving the tattoo was a huge step, something I wanted to do for a long time but had always found a reason not to get. One day when the time was right I went into a tattoo parlor, tossed the money on the counter, and let the artist proceed at will.

The remaining tattoos were like everything else in my life, the result of an addict feeding his addictions. I didn’t regret any of them, as I felt the combination of all of my artwork in some way, shape, or form depicted who I was - or at least who I was at the time I received them.

In all honesty, the tattoos changed me. Receiving each one allowed me to release something from within myself I had spent a lifetime either subconsciously protecting, or attempting to rid myself of.

But.

It was the artist that made each and every one of them possible.

I shifted my eyes from my forearm to Riley’s mother and did my best to explain myself. “Tattooing in the United States started in the 1800’s, and the first tattoo parlor opened in New York City in 1870. A German immigrant who had spent his time in the states tattooing Civil War soldiers finally decided to open a shop offering his service to anyone willing to spend the money to get a tattoo. In 1891, a man invented the electric tattoo machine, and tattooing really took off.”

I opened my arms wide and leaned toward the table. “Tattoos have become a way for people to represent bravery, receive perceived protection, or in remembrance of an event or person. For many, myself included, they’re an outlet - but they are always permanent, and they’re only as good as the man who applies them; the artist. I had always been a great artist and took tremendous pride in my work, so I decided to offer the service of changing the lives of people one tattoo at a time. I believe the quality of my work is second to no one. The sad thing is most people won’t even realize it until a decade or two has passed, and their brother’s, sister’s, or friend’s tattoos are awful looking while theirs are still as good as day one. So, I don’t know, I think I started because I wanted to make a difference in people’s lives.”

I leaned back in my chair and waited for the arguments to start.

“That’s an admirable reason. I’ve always wanted one, but was afraid it would hurt too much. Does it hurt?” she asked.

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