Tattoo - Marked For A New Life

by Ellie Dauber

© 2004

 

"I'm doing it, man," Ricco Correlli said. "I'm getting a tattoo." He flexed, showing off the muscles in his arms.

"Cool," Brando Gianetta said. "What're you getting?" Brando was Ricco's best friend. He started calling himself Brando after some chick dragged him to see STREETCAR NAMED DESIRE at an art theater. He was blown away by Marlon Brando's performance, even more so, when the chick told him she thought he looked like Brando.

"A flaming skull. I saw this new shop over on Kingsley. They got pictures in the window. The skull is fucking incredible, man."

"So do it. It looks good, I'll get one. too."

"Forget the skull, Brando, they got a cycle in flames, too."

"Now, _that_ would be cool. When you gonna do it, man?"

"I'm heading over now. Later, man." The two men slapped hands, and Ricco left.

* * * * *

 

"You have come to be tattooed?" The woman asked, as Ricco walked into the store.

"Yeah, are you the one who does it?" She was old, sixties, maybe. Ricco raised an eyebrow and looked at her hand for any sign of shaking.

"I do." She smiled and held up her hand. Steady as a rock. "I am... Jadia. I have been doing this sort of work since before you was born." She took what looked like a large photo album out from under the counter. "Look through and see what you want."

"I don't need to. I know what I want, that flaming skull you got in the window. How much?"

Jadia blinked as if in surprise. "The skull... then you are..." She closed the book and smiled. "Very good. We do it now."

"How much?"

"You are Ricco Correlli, no, the leader of the Pythons?"

Ricco smiled. The Pythons ran the neighborhood, everybody knew it, even the cops. Even this old lady. "Yeah, what about it?"

"For you is no charge. Just gift, so the Pythons not bother me."

That was the sort of respect, Ricco loved. Respect born of fear. "I'll take the gift, but there'll still be the insurance, say... ten a week."

"I pay if you not bother me."

"You pay, and we won't."

She stood. "Follow me, then." There was a green beaded curtain behind her. She walked though it. "Come. The work room is back here."

By the time Ricco walked through, she was sitting on a chair next to what looked like a doctor's exam table. "You lay down on this." She pointed at the table, then, without looking at Ricco, turned and began fitting small cylinders into an opening on the desk next to her.

"These are the colors... for the skull." She studied him closely, as if looking for something.

Even if she was old, she was still female. Out of habit, Ricco flexed his muscles, showing off. He was wearing an old sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off and a pair of tight jeans. "I got things to do. Can we get started?"

"Yes, you are a busy man." Jadia reached across him and pulled a strap out. It slid over his chest and into an opening on the table.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Even the bravest of men can jerk or flinch from the needles. I hold you steady with these. You not get hurt from moving, and the... picture be perfect."

"Okay, then, but let me know what you're doing from now on."

"I will." She pulled out other straps, first over his legs, then his arms, and, finally, one at his neck. "Now you not move, Ricco."

Ricco strained at the straps. They were thick, brown leather, very old and _very_ strong. "Damn straight I can't. Do you really need to do this"

"I do. I know you, Ricco Correlli. I know all about you." She pulled the stylus, a long, multi-jointed mechanical arm out of the desk. The end of the arm was the hollow tattooing needle. She flipped a switch, and the apparatus began to vibrate.

"I know what sort of man you are and what you do?"

"What I do is my business, lady. I changed my mind. Let me outta this thing."

"No, I say that I make a gift of this tattoo, and that is what I do." Ricco felt something cold and wet on his arm, and he strained again at the straps. "That just the alcohol. You not afraid of just that."

"I'm not afraid of nothing." He clenched his teeth, readying himself for the torture he expected.

"No, you not. You walk around like you king. You hurt people. You hurt my Magda."

"Magda. Who's..." He stopped. He remembered a girl, just one of the kids in the neighborhood. She was young and kind of pretty -- no, damn pretty. He'd watched her for a while, then taken here back to his place for some fun.

When she wouldn't cooperate, he slipped her some crack. That loosened her up—loosened her up real good. She ran off screaming after. Dumb skank killed herself from what he heard.

Jadia smiled, showing teeth, long _sharp_ teeth, it seemed to Ricco. "You remember her now. Don't you, Ricco?" She jabbed him with the stylus.

He didn't want to scream, didn't want to give her the satisfaction. He ground his teeth from the pain, but, through what seemed like days of the torture, he didn't scream.

"We done," she said finally. She reached over and began loosening the straps.

"You'll pay for this, bitch." Ricco sat up as soon as he could. He wanted to grab the old lady by the throat and choke the life out of her.

But he couldn't. His feet were free. He jumped off the table. He could move any way he wanted. Except take a step towards her. "What'd you do to me?"

"You ever read about tattoos, Ricco? Tattoos is magic, real old magic. That what I done to you."

Ricco looked at his arm. Instead of the skull, the name "Magda" was spelled out in big, flowery, pink letters. There was even a little pink butterfly just above the name.

"Damn, it looks like a girl's tattoo."

"It is." She touched it with a fingertip and said a couple of words in some language Ricco had never heard before.

His skin around the tattoo began to tingle. The feeling spread down his arm towards his fingers. His arm grew slender. The hair on it thinned, then disappeared completely.

When the feeling reached his hand, it began to get smaller, more delicate looking. As he looked at his hand, his nails grew out a half inch. They darkened as polish appeared on them.

The feeling moved up his arm and across his chest to all parts of his body. He was slimmer now. The muscle builder's body that he'd spent years creating vanished in moments. It left behind a slender frame that was developing very female curves.

His other arm and hand changed just as the first one had. Six-pack abs became a gently sloping, stomach and narrow waist. His hips widened, as his butt flowed into the teardrop shape of a woman's behind.

His shirt felt harsh against his chest. Something was pushing against it, pushing it out. Two small, rounded shapes grew outward to become a pair of pillowy breasts that he would later find to be 38-D.

His pants were loose at the waist now. He reached down inside. His balls were gone. He could feel the fleshy sack that had held them tightening against his groin. He ran a finger along them and shuddered at the strength of the sensation.

He found his prick, too. It couldn't have been more than an inch or so long. It was sinking down in between the two folds that had been his scrotum. An opening formed, wet and sensitive to his touch, and he felt his... clit slide down into it.

"Damn you, woman," he cursed in a voice that was now a soft soprano. "I'm gonna get my boys, and we'll tear this place up until you change me back."

"Go," Jadia said, triumph in her voice. "Nothing can change you back."

"We'll see about that." Ricco turned and ran out of the shop. "I swear, once she changes me back, I'm gonna kill that bitch."

Ricco tried to ignore the feelings of his breasts bobbing up and down as he ran. After a minute or so, it got a lot better. 'Nothing to it," he thought, not realizing that his undershirt had become a sports bra.

He didn't notice that his black hair had grown out from under his cap and was tailing down his back in curly waves. Or that his jeans now had a woman's cut to them, or that his $150 cross trainers were now a $15 pair of pink Lady Keds.

"When I find Brando, he'll know what to do. He's smart, almost as smart as me. Kinda cute, too, and... what am I thinking? Brando is a guy. I'm a guy. He can't be cute. Not even if he's got those dreamy eyes and... No. I'm a guy. I'm a guy. I'm a guy. So is Brando. We're buddies. We been doing stuff together since we was kids. Stealing hubcaps, shooting craps, all that _man_ stuff. If that lady thinks that she can make me want to kiss him and hug him and be in his arms and... screw this. Screw you, lady. Screw me, Brando. Aw, no, I said it, said it out loud."

Ricco felt his eyes fill with tears. "Now I'm crying like a girl. I got to find Brando. I need his help. I... I need him, need him in me. No! I can't... I gotta."

Ricco felt himself bump into something. A pair of hands grabbed his arms. "What's the matter, babe?" a voice gently asked.

Ricco opened her eyes. "Brando?" She asked the man holding her.

It was Brando, but... it _wasn't_. This Brando was clean shaven. he wore a pair of dark blue slacks and a matching shirt with his real name, "Berto" embroidered on it in silver letters. It was the uniform that the suckers who worked at the 8^th Avenue Garage wore.

"Brando?" he asked. "Oh, yeah. You said I looked like him when we saw that movie. I guess it's a compliment." He pulled Ricco close and kissed him.

Ricco squirmed for a moment, trying to get free. Then he suddenly felt how good it was and surrendered to the kiss. 'I shouldn't be doing this,' he thought to himself.

'Of course, you should,' a new voice in his head answered. 'He's your husband, isn't he?"

Husband. A flood of new memories swept over Ricco... Rita. Brando... Berto was her husband. They got married right after high school, as soon as he'd quit that stupid gang and gotten a real job. They'd been married three years now. She'd worked in a shoe store. They had a nice apartment and... an eleven month old baby.

The shock was too much. What was left of Ricco let go and fell into blackness.

"So where are you heading?" Berto asked, taking her hand.

Rita looked up at her handsome husband and smiled. "Where do you think _we're_ going? We have to pick up the baby at Magda's. You know she runs that pre-school right down from her grandmother's tattoo parlor."

"I know, but it's hard to believe that they're related. Magda's so _normal_, and her grandmother's always carrying on about tattoos and magic."

Rita kissed Berto on the cheek. Men got so silly sometimes. "Tattoos and magic, as if such things could be real."

  

  

  

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© 2004 by Ellie Dauber. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, and compilation design) may be printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without the express written consent of StorySite and the copyright holder.