The Guy with the Dragon Tattoo

"Just have some patience."

"Why!"

"I know you will take some time to adjust."

"Why did you create the need for me to adjust!"

"It's just a phase I'm going through."

"What about my feelings?"

"I understand and respect your feelings, but...but...I just can't help it ok! It just happens!"

"Do you want it to happen?"

"No...um...I don't know. I'm not sure."

"Not sure? NOT SURE?"

"Um hmm."

"Now what the hell does that mean?"

"I don't know ok! Just give me some space!"

Simi glared at Sam as he started pacing nervously around the cramped flat. Not for the first time she wondered just what the hell she saw in this guy. He was scruffy as hell, didn't look at all presentable and seriously had a screw loose somewhere. Add to that his erratic behaviour and outrageous manias and he was certainly not husband material by any means whatsoever. Then again, she was too young to find husband material. This guy was fun; he could be depended on for sourcing weed and vodka at odd hours; and the sex was bed-breakingly amazing! But they were not indulging in any of these activities right now, so the only thing left for her to do now was fume at the dragon tattoo on the back of his newly shaved head.

It was not a bad tattoo to be honest. The artist had showered much love and attention and myriad coloured inks over this one. The flames coming out of the dragon's mouth were particularly vivid. But all that Simi's jaundiced eyes could see right now was a big coloured blob smack on the back of her boyfriend's head, not to mention the utter absence of hair on said head. She wasn't a particularly big fan of his hair - what with the food bits she kept finding in that unwashed mass - but it was still a darned sight better than this gleaming oily dome-shaped monstrosity with an oriental design that was creeping the hell out of her.

"Why the fuck would you do something like this?"

Sam stopped pacing and flopped down on the sofa at one end of the room, giving Simi a lot more space for maneuvering and dramatic expressions.

"Well?" she said, shaking her hands for said dramatic effect.

"Well what!"

"Why the FUCK would you do something like this!"

"Felt like it," Sam replied, trying gamely to sound nonchalant.

"Felt like it? FELT LIKE IT! The guy says he felt like it!" Simi said in sarcastic aside to the wall, "Was that the reason you shaved your head too? Because you 'felt like it'?"

"Of course I had to go bald! How else could I have gotten the tattoo!"

Simi wanted to wring his neck, but her thirst for information was not yet quenched. She controlled her baser instincts and probed further.

"Ok ok," she said in a calm tone that was more for her own benefit, "so you got a tattoo because you felt like it."

"Yup."

"Like the first one that you got on your bicep."

"Um hmm."

"And that idiotic elephant on your chest."

"Hey! It's a cool tattoo!"

"And that fucking snake on your dick!"

"I thought you liked that one!"

"Dude you couldn't fuck for three weeks after you got that! How the hell could you think I liked it!"

"But it got better right? You don't have any complaints now."

"No complaints? I feel like a fucking zoo animal now every time I go down on that thing!"

"You still do it though," Sam replied rather smugly.

"I close my eyes....What the fuck! That's not the point! Don't distract me!"

"Maybe you want to be distracted," he leered, "that can be arranged..."

"Fuck you bastard! I'm not touching you unless it is to beat you senseless with that tennis racquet!" pointing at a very solid looking implement hanging above the sofa.

"I can go for that baby. Sounds dirty."

"Oh shut up!"

Simi sank down on the floor with her head in her hands. She hadn't signed up for this! Sure he was into tattooing himself, but whatever foul monstrosities he inked on his person were mostly shielded from the public (except for beaches and drinking binges which invariably ended with him exposing himself in some form or the other). Hell, she got a kick out of them sometimes, especially that growing snake! But the idiot had now gone and gotten a big fucking dragon that looked like something out of a bad 'shroom trip! How the fuck was she supposed to live with that thing!

"HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO BE OKAY WITH THIS?"

Sam was bemused at that question. It was a loaded question that, a question that beggared any correct response. He was a person who lived in the moment, who was stoned and/or high (he didn't remember exactly) when he saw a porn video where the male lead was sporting a similar look. This was the way he got all his tattoo ideas - including the snake on his john - and he thought nothing of once again emulating his idol Randy Banger. Maybe it was some obsessive gay crush he had for that guy, or he wanted to imbibe his legendary sexual prowess, or he just got too fucking stoned and/or high too many times. Whatever it was, he had gone ahead and done it, caring not one whit for what Simi would say. She was a cool chick, his brain said. She'd go wild and fall all over him, the scumbag continued. It was deep anti-establishment shit this tattoo; it cocked a snook at all that this decrepit defunct society held dear; it was just simply awesome! He was thus, very very obviously NOT prepared for this question.

"Er..." he started timidly, "I thought...er...that is to say I was thinking that...um..."

"You thought? You actually thought and went through with this?"

"Yeah...I mean no...I mean...it looked cool!"

"Looked cool where?"

"On that new Randy Banger video...."

"WHAT?"

Oh shit, he thought as she started to turn red. Not a good time for a brain fart.

"YOU. COPIED. THIS. IDEA. FROM. A. PORN. MOVIE!" she thundered, punctuating each word with barely controlled rage.

"No no no! You misheard me! It was not Randy Banger. It was...it was Mandy Moore! Yes! Mandy Moore. That's who it was!"

Simi got up from her beanbag and started stalking ominously towards him. He sank further into his sofa and fervently wished to be elsewhere.

"Mandy Moore you say," she hissed through clenched teeth, her fists balled up so tight her knuckles were white, "You are telling me that Mandy Moore is bald and has a stupid multi-coloured dragon on her head!"

"No no no! I obviously didn't mean her! I saw some back-up dancer with this look."

"What song?"

"Hunh?"

"WHAT SONG!"

"I don't remember! How am I supposed to remember! I am not the Mandy Moore Fan Club President or something!"

She was towering over him now like some other-worldly colossus. Her flaring nostrils looked particularly gigantic from his vantage point, i.e. flat on his back and cowering in terror on a very exposed sofa. Simi looked at the pathetic worm wriggling under her furious glare and wondered for the umpteenth and oneth time about why she banged this bozo. Sex can't be worth this much idiocy!

"So let me get this straight," she said slowly, the ominous sound of approaching thunder laced in every syllable, "You copied a tattoo from a music video you don't remember by an artist you don't like?"

"Er...yes..." was the timid reply.

Sam cowered even more as her body started trembling with rage. His tattoo was itching, his briefs were scrunched too far up his ass crack and he really really needed to pee; yet he dared not move a muscle for there was something about the way her eyes were popping out that made him eschew any sudden movements. He was a nutter yes, but not a suicidal nutter. The best he could hope for now was to curl up into a ball and hope she didn't break something. So he closed his eyes, did his best impression of an armadillo and waited for it to end.

Simi snorted with disgust as she saw his self-preservation tactic unfold. Never one to accord much respect to this Neanderthal, she was even more disdainful of this blatant display of cowardice. A hotted-up girl bursting at the seams needs a captive audience, an aspen that will bend when she rages and take a few scratches here and there for dramatic effect; but this pussy was depriving her of that joy too. She raised her foot and poked him sharply in the soft part of his stomach.

"Ow!"

"Stop...cowering...like...a...weasel!" she spat out, punctuating each word with another sharp poke.

"Stop doing that!" he screamed.

"Then start fucking behaving like a man you bitch!" concluding the statement with another emphatic kick.

"OW!" was the response as Sam finally scampered off the sofa and fell on the floor in an ungainly heap. He in fact contrived to fall in such a way that the offending tattoo was bang in the middle of Simi's sights. She obviously blew a gasket.

The next few minutes were a flurry of arms and legs and sharp pig-like squeals. Simi was Nemesis in the flesh, deadlier than a brood of famished harpies and twice as more pissed off. Sam meanwhile was literally being downtrodden as he suffered a barrage of kicks and stomps and punches, trying all the while to somehow disentangle his left arm from his right ankle and vice versa. He eventually managed that feat and rolled away before she could land another blow. He then rose immediately to his feet and backed away into the farthest corner possible. That didn't deter Simi though. She could have taken apart an army battalion with her bare hands in the mood she was in. Her clenched fists were literally thrumming with unleashed fury, as were her furious eyes and menacing prowl towards her victim.  

"That's enough Simi!" Sam shrieked, trembling at her approach, "You...you can't do this."

"I can't do what!" she growled in response, continuing to prowl towards him.

"You can't hit me!"

"Why not? You are a lazy fucking idiot who can't find the right end of an exhaust pipe without any directions! Why the fuck should I not hit you!"

"Because...because...because I'll hit you back!"

"Oh really! Try that you fucking piece of shit and I'll have every cop in the district buggering you in the ass!"

"You wouldn't do that!"

"Try me dipshit!"

The situation was getting extremely dire for the tattoo aficionado. Like Simi he didn't expect too much from this relationship. She was hot enough, she was an amazing fuck and she kept him well-fed. But was it really worth this much peril to his physical well-being? His body was just now realizing the full extent of the damage that it had suffered and it was strongly against enduring more of the same. He had to put this female in her place and do it fast before she started scratching him in earnest.

"Wait. Stop!"

"Why should I!"

"You can't hit me! This is not the way to treat your boyfriend!"

"Who says!"

"I says...I mean I say! You can't hit me, or else..."

"Or else what?"

"Or else I will break up with you!"

If he had expected to shake her up in some profoundly metaphysical way he was sadly mistaken. She didn't even flinch. She did pause though, which was good enough under the circumstances. He gave a silent prayer of thanks and slumped against the wall behind him, though he still kept an eye out for sudden movements. You can never be sure with the fairer sex. Here today, gone tomorrow.

The comely representative of said sex was meanwhile deep in thought. Her long lustrous hair that normally made his gonads turn cartwheels were shielding her face from him though, so he had no clue at all what she was thinking. Not that he was particularly curious. Chances were that she was going to jump on him with claws outstretched any second now, so he might as well enjoy what little quiescence was there in his lot. He sent a furtive hand down the back of his pants and adjusted his scrunched up briefs. If I could just get to pee now, he thought as he completed the adjustments. Life would start to look on the up again.

A couple of minutes passed without any sudden movements or claw work from Simi. Ever an eternal optimist, Sam started regaining some of his joie de vivre. Poor angel, he thought smugly, she was probably terrified at the prospect of a life without him and must be even now shedding silent tears behind that ebony veil. His heart went out to her, as did some other important part of his anatomy. Some affinity for vulnerable girls maybe. Once he had had his pee he would go and comfort the poor girl and then show her a good time; a really good time. He was just about to get up and complete the first part of this fantasy when the suffering angel raised her head and brushed the hair back from it. The anger seemed to have been replaced by a calmer and more sober visage. She wised up quick, his inflated ego whispered as he began to extend his hand toward her.

"Where do you get the weed?"

The question threw him a bit. Simi had never expressed much curiosity in this department. He got it, she smoked it. That was the deal. Everybody's happy. This sudden thirst for knowledge after all this kerfuffle was thus a bit puzzling. Then again, this day had been chock-a-block full of surprises. Add one more to the list.

"Er...well there's this place near the station..."

"Can you write it down?"

"Hunh?"

Simi immediately grabbed a pen and a notepad from a nearby cabinet and thrust them in his hand.

"Write."

"Hunh?"

"Write!"

"Write what?"

"Weed."

"You want me to write weed?"

"What the fuck....where the hell do you get the fuckin' weed! Just write down the address!"

"I don't know the address..."

"Directions, phone number, sketches, whatever the hell you can do, just fuckin' do it!"

Sam immediately got down to work, his new-found confidence very much deflated by her sudden belligerence. He was more than a little convinced now that Simi was off her rocker, and once again the internal debate about the viability of this relationship was raging in his bosom. Then he got a look at her bosom and forgot all about that crap. Anything was worth one more crack at that! He scribbled the rest of it with a flourish and handed it back to her.

"The deed is done m'lady," he crooned, adding a theatrical bow for effect.

The damsel thus addressed looked decidedly disgusted by the gesture. She scanned the paper once to satisfy herself about the veracity of its contents. Satisfied, she folded it up and kept it securely in her purse. She then turned towards her hopeful paramour who was still in a supplicant position.

"Don't I get my reward now?" Sam asked in a decidedly lecherous voice, leering to boot.

Simi's frame quivered once under some great emotion before settling down into an ominous stillness. The faux knight was clueless as always as his mind wandered the realms of carnal desires. So it was no wonder when she asked him in too sweet a voice to "close his eyes" that he graciously obliged. She immediately picked up the racquet from where it hung on the wall and circled around to his backside. She swung her arms experimentally, assessed the required force and trajectory and then proceeded to plant a satisfying wallop on his behind.

Sam's first unconscious thought was that his intestine had for some mysterious reason lodged itself in his throat. His second unconscious musing was on the sudden change in equilibrium his body was experiencing. By the time the pain registered he was already hurtling towards the floor and planting his face smack bang in the middle of it.

"OOOOOOOOWWWWWWW!!!!!"

Simi advanced on him with grim purpose written all over her face. There was a job to be done today and she wouldn't rest until she'd gotten it out of the way. She wound up and hit again.

"AAAAAHHHH!!!!"
And again.
"EEEEYYYYAAAAA!!!!"
And again.
"MMMNGGPFFFF!!!!" came the muffled response this time as his hand jammed against his mouth.
"Break up with me will you, you piece of shit!!!" she shrieked, continuing to beat him black and blue.
"Oww oww oww oww oww!!!"
"Try to manipulate me will you, you bloody asshole!!!"
"Stop that bitch!" he thundered in a belated attempt to regain control.
"Fuck you!" she rejoined with a particularly wicked wallop.
"OWWW!!!"

Sam had regained his feet by this point and was running around the room like a headless chicken with Simi and the racquet in hot pursuit. It took him a couple of minutes and some very painful strikes more before he could figure out where the door was. He immediately made a beeline for it and started struggling with the bolts. She stopped just a few feet away and observed his machinations.

"Listen," she said after a few moments.
He jumped literally two feet in the air at that. He hadn't realized that danger loomed so close and turned around instantly to shield his smarting back side against the door.
"Hunh?" he replied.
"I wanted to say something."
"Ok. But don't hit me!"
"I'm not going to hit you you baby! Just listen."
"Ok."
"I'm breaking up with you."
Sam stared stupidly at her for a bit before replying indignantly,
"Hey! You can't do that!"
"Why not?"
"I was gonna do that!"
"Really?"
"Of course really! I threatened to do that didn't I?"
"I saw the way you were looking at my boobs you bastard. A break-up was most definitely not on your mind!"
"Er...Hey...Ah...I'm not going to stand around here and have my character questioned like that!"
"So don't. Leave and don't come back."

Sam mulled that over. The idea seemed very charming to his distraught buttocks, but his loins didn't seem particularly pleased at the prospect. The boobs in question were spectacular after all.

"Baby don't do this! We can work things out. I know we can."
"Can you get that friggin' dragon removed?"
"Of course not! It's a work of art! And laser surgery is so fucking expensive anyway."
"Then we can't work things out. It's best you leave now before things get ugly."
"Ugly?"
"Yes. Ugly," she replied, the racquet swinging ominously in her hand.

He gulped, then turned around and started unlocking the door frantically. Better get out of here fast while he had the chance. Affairs of the heart could wait for a new day. If he stuck around any longer this female would massacre him. He finally got the last latch undone and was out of the house in a jiffy,  ice-baths and soft downy cushions uppermost on his mind.

Simi bolted the door behind him then went back and hung back the racquet carefully. Hopefully she hadn't done any lasting damage to it. The flat was in some amount of disarray because of recent events, but that piece of housekeeping could wait. All she wanted right now was a nice big couch and an equally nice cool beer. The lark was on the wing and everything was all right with the world again. That blithering idiot and his fucking dragon were out of her life after all. Plus there was enough vodka and weed stocked up to last her some while yet. Ideal really this. A zombie apocalypse could strike right now and she wouldn't bat an eyelid.

I'm going to miss the sex though, she mused as she and her beer ensconced themselves snugly in the couch. He did know his stuff. Probably picked up tips from that Randy Banger fellow or something. Maybe I should check this guy out, see what the fuss is about. She got up immediately and retired to her bedroom where her laptop and an internet connection with unlimited download awaited. Might as well celebrate her emancipation in style.