Most of the preprinted tattoo art consisted of pin-up girls. Half-naked chicks cavorting in seductive poses weren’t exactly what I wanted on my body—how would I explain a buxom brunette to the next guy I fucked? I wasn’t bi, wasn’t even interested in the fairer sex. The panels that weren’t nude girls were demons, skeletons, or the like. It was sex or death, all geared toward the straight man. I wanted to ask where the happy queer section might be, but I suspected there wasn’t one.
“Find something?”
Rist’s voice startled me. He stood so close behind me, I could feel his breath on the nape of my neck and the warmth of his chest against my arm where mere inches separated us. When I moved back, his hand touched my waist for a brief second before falling away. Suddenly my mind was blank, my cock raging in my pants, my blood surging in my veins, and my mouth unable to work. “Um…”