"The mark of an immature man is that he would die knobly for a cause. The mark of a mature man is that he would live humbly for one" - Catcher in the Rye -WARNING WRITER SPELLING CHALLENGED! But Sometimes you have to say "what the fuck!"

Thursday, October 07, 2004

Wicked Wednesday Wrecking Yard, S&M Fetish, and Tattoo Parlor Frolicking

Rough Sex Bites
So I start off my day Wednesday, dreading having a mammogram. I especially dread this because I have to explain to everyone and their brother why there was damage to my right breast. “ummm yeah…. I was taking one for the country with this GI about to go to Iraq and during rough and amazing sex he bit me really hard”. How fucking embarrassing and slutty is that? Well ahem… so…..I’m driving to my appointment, smoking a cigarette and listening to Howard Stern when I come to a stoplight. I hit my brakes and my 80’s Honda doesn’t stop. The brakes go way into the floor, my break light comes on, and I skid through the stoplight. Fucking great! Now I’m having car problems. Luckily, I have a stick shift, so I gain my composure and downshift my ass to my appointment. I figure I can deal with the car, AFTER the mamosmash torture.

Nipple Clamping
The mammogram actually wasn’t that bad this time. Some crystal wearing, groovy medical chick, manipulated my breasts into the machine and didn’t even laugh when I told her my story. This machine wasn’t metal like the one before, and it kinda felt like big giant plastic nipple clamps. After that torture, I’m off for the ultrasound, again repeating my story to another groovy chick, who tells me everything looks good, and the lumps are most definitely caused from the bite. I put my clothes on, sigh a breath of embarrassed relief, and grab some free groovy breast cancer nail files and pens and leave.

A Mechanic’s Bitch
Luckily an auto-parts store is close to the clinic. I grab some lipstick from my purse and apply a dark coat, hoping to pull the helpless female gig at the auto-parts store. No such luck, there was a female clerk. Damn! She does help me figure out where my brake fluid went, but I had to do all the work. Hoping this would fix the problem, I drive home and my breaks immediately give out, and the brake light comes on again. This now really sucks, see, my ex boyfriend is a mechanic. For the last 3 or so years, he was MY mechanic. My car, he bought for me, and of course, it’s a kind of car that requires a mechanic’s maintenance. So far since our break up, I have never had to call him for car help. I’m too damn proud for that shit. Too be honest, I have a “thang” for mechanics, I love their greasy hands, and I love watching them work under the hood. Turns me on every time. It’s my weird “Cooter Davenport” Dukes of Hazzard Fetish. All my last few serious boyfriends have been mechanics. So…. Anyway…. I’m in a pickle, I need car help, and I’ll be DAMNED if I pull the damsel in distress act with my ex.

Re-United Down at the Ol’ Wrecking Yard
Curiously enough, I met my ex through another male friend; I’ll call him Wrecking Yard Punk. I have known Wrecking Yard Punk for years; in fact he was a childhood best friend of my son’s father. Wrecking Yard Punk is this totally a fine ass hot, sexy, and tattooed NWHC (NorthWest Hard Core) punk raised on a wrecking yard like Sanford and Son. His punk ass has always blown my mind, as a talented musician, metal artist, and entrepreneur. He ran the wrecking yard for years, and then opened an auto shop with my ex boyfriend (who no longer works there). Wrecking Yard Punk and I kinda had an intense friendship for years, which included some interesting sexual experiences. He definitely left an impact on my life, as I’m sure I did his. We were “fucking around friends” before I met my ex. Once things got serious with my ex; I was no longer allowed male friends; especially this one. Needing car help, a light bulb went off in my head. This would be a great time to re-aquatint with Wrecking Yard Punk, (and also save my ass so I can commute my car to work). I called him up, and it was like the years had never separated us. Cooter style, he told me to come on down and he would fix me right up.

Old Dead Cars Turn Me On
Wrecking yards are also a fetish of mine; there is nothing sexier than old cars. I especially love old American cars, and spending hours and hours in wrecking yards looking at them always makes me crazy. Hanging out at the wrecking yard/auto shop and talking to my old friend totally fucking rocked. We talked Star Wars, politics and Tom Leykis 101. He always makes fun of me for being a liberal Berkeley chick; we banter back and forth yin/yang style. Spending this time made me realize how stupid I was to ever lose touch with good friends during my serious relationship. Never again, will I be so foolish.

Takin One For The Troops at Fat Daddy’s
After my car was fixed (the brake hose had burst and needed to replaced and I got my oil changed and fluids checked too) I headed to Fat Daddy Tattoos, a nearby tattoo parlor. One of my best friends works tattooing at Fat Daddy’s, and seeing how I hadn’t seen him for years, it was due time for a visit. Shaun and I go way back, to high school, and we lived together for a year. He tattooed my rose barbed wire tattoo in the late 90’s, and for years stopped tattooing to tour and play drums in a NWHC band, and then race motorcycles. His drumming is one of the hardest and fastest seen, and his sexy ass body and attitude definitely match his raw talent. Now remember, tattoo parlors drive me crazy, another one of my many fetishes. Shaun and I have never had sex, though there has always been some intense sexual chemistry. He knows what a crazy freak I am, and as soon as I see him, I divulge my story of the mammogram and S/M soldier bite. Then comes the crazy and uncontrollable tattoo itch. Impulsively, I decide I want a tattoo on my right breast commemorating the bite and my “take one for the troops” experience. Deciding what to get would be the hard part. I told Shaun to make my body his canvas, and pick out something that would memorialize my experience, and also our close friendship. Being as we both love skulls, Shaun sketches a girly and cute cartoon-looking flaming red skull and crossbones. I strip down to my bra, lay back in the chair, and let him fondle, rub and sting the hell out of my already tortured boobie. This was definitely the most erotic of all my tattoos, and also quite fucking painful. But, a pleasurably, naughty and yummy pain, none the less.

I’m High as a Kite I Just Might Stop to Check You Out...
There is always a rush after a new tattoo, especially one that requires flashing your boob every time you show it off. High as hell, I leave the tattoo parlor headed to visit my friend Vito et al at Blue Devil Tattoo. I was concerned that they would be upset that I was tattooed at another shop, but once I promised to get a tattoo there too (another day) it was cool like Fonzie. Though I did let them clean and fondle my new tattoo with their excellent tattoo artist skills.

Today I’m still high from the tattoo rush, and I love shocking the prudes at work by flashing them my new piece. It’s quite a thrill. Now my new tattoo is starting to burn and itch…. The only relief is a S/M style slapping…lol. Oweeeeeee. Will post photos, once I get them...

Until then,

Later Days and Better Lays.....

Ahhhhhhh the pain……ooooooh the pleasure.

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