Tattoos Are Never a Good Surprise

Now I'm not one for exclamation points but this story is just full of them!

Gerry and I had been in a “discussion” about his helicopter flight lessons as he headed out the door for one this morning. He was doing it and I was pissed about it – that was the discussion. I was trying not to be a nagging wife and not sure if I were succeeding. I was only trying to save his life, after all. When he finally came home, he came into the kitchen. Gerry walked over to me and kissed me, sweeping me into his arms.

“I’m so glad you didn’t crash and die, my love. I was worried because I expected you back hours ago,” I said breathlessly, wrapping my arms around his neck and burying my face in his chest.

“Wow, Mare, you’re really chewing up the scenery, but I can give you some acting notes,” he said, hugging me back and slapping my rear. I looked up with disgust at his face and grabbed his biceps. Then I felt something.

“What is that?” I asked, touching what felt and sounded like plastic under his bomber jacket.

“Oh,” he said nonchalantly, “I’m getting a tattoo.” What? We didn’t talk about that! He only has one other tattoo: A bird with his deceased son’s name on it on his other bicep. I stayed calm because, frankly, anything less than a helicopter or plane crash is a relief. But still…

“Oh?” I asked, just as nonchalantly. “Is that where you’ve been? Not waiting on Search and Rescue to find your mangled body in the wreckage in the woods? Well, okay then,” and I turned and walked back past Cook who had been watching and listening to our conversation. I pulled the Cava out of the fridge and began to pour myself a glass. I stopped and checked my watch. Yep, it’s after 12 noon. Gerry took his jacket off and started unbuttoning his checked shirt and then pushed up the sleeve on his undershirt.

“Mare, do you want to help me pull this bandage off of it in one piece so I can put it back on?” he asked, working the tape.

“No,” I said, taking a gulp from my wine and getting no closer. He looked up at me and he jerked the whole bandage off in one motion.

“Mr. Gerry!” Cook exclaimed. “What did you do?” She walked over to his arm to examine it. “Did you ask Mrs. Gerry before you do this?”

“Yes, Mr. Gerry, did you?” I asked.

“I don’t need her permission,” he answered, and Cook turned and looked at me. She turned back to him and slapped the red, tattooed area and said, “Si! You do need her permission! She has power over your body! Holy Scripture says so! Same to fly the helicopter!” Gerry looked like a scolded child and Cook turned on her heel and walked out of the kitchen, mumbling in Spanish.

“Well, now what?” he asked, just standing there in his T-shirt, looking so desperately sexy except for the red-rashy, ink on his arm that I couldn’t make out from the other side of the kitchen.

“You tell me. I’m only the over-wrought 'actress' pretending to be your wife. You’ve already written the script,” my words dripped with sarcasm. He began to walk toward me and I began to drink my bubbly wine and then I began to gulp it until all five ounces were gone. When I burped and then hiccupped, he stopped walking momentarily and then came over to me with a little smile on his face. I turned and opened the fridge and got my bottle back out and pulled out the stopper.

“Mare, I’ve never heard you burp.”

“There are a few things you don’t know about me, Gerald.”

“Gerard,” he corrected me. Gerry took the bottle away from me, sweeping me into one big arm and I looked down at his tight T-shirt and ran my hands over his shoulders and then down to his nipples. He began to kiss me deeply. My Lord, he’s so hot and he’s so good at changing the subject.

I pulled away, remembering that he was distracting me. I pushed his sleeve up and looked through the redness. There was an outline of a pinup girl laying on her back, tattooed permanently on his arm! It had a ribbon across exactly none of her important parts with the word…Mare! It was my name. Wait, it was me! It was the picture I had taken in my lingerie and given to Gerry as an anniversary gift.

“Gerry, it's me! I’m in my bra and panties!" I had lost all of my cool detachment at that point. "Is this one of those temporary…” He shook his head as I looked him in the eye. I swallowed the whole glass of wine and the bubbles made me burp again while I covered my mouth.

“’Scuse me,” I said. “I wish you had talked to me about it,” I said, feeling myself losing the argument and my balance.

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” he said, caressing me as he kissed my neck.

“Oh, it is. But tattoos are never a good surprise.” I looked at his arm a long time and then the wine hit me. “The rooms pinning.” That didn’t sound right. “I’m going to get a tattoo and it’s gonna be a surprise,” I announced excitedly. I slapped his arm as the happy look left his face just as quickly as it had come. “The first one should always be a surprise, don’t you think?”

“Wait a minute,” he said.

“Nope.” I poured another full glass of wine and walked to our bedroom and closed the door. Loudly. I was pretty sure I couldn’t drink anymore wine and stay upright. Within less than a minute, the bedroom door was flying open and then slamming again. Gerry was marching across the room in that tight T-shirt, standing before me as I sat on the bed and I took a tiny sip. I could almost see the steam coming out of his nose, like a bull.

I looked at him demurely. “I do love that T-shirt,” I said, sizing him up and raising my glass in a toast. At that, with an angry look on his face, Gerry grabbed his T-shirt right where the V meets and ripped it apart...like a beast!

I was so shocked that all I could do was smile and say, “Oh, my.”

“Take off your clothes, Mare or I’ll do it and you won’t like it,” he said so calmly.

“If you want them off - ” and before I could finish my sentence, he reached down, pulling my T-shirt out of my jeans and ripped it up the side seam. Just ripped it! Now I'm not one for exclamation points but this story is just full of them. So let's skip ahead...

“I have…power…over your body…Wife,” he breathed into my neck, pinning my arms over my head. I pulled one free, putting my hand on his chest.

I nodded, panting, “Yes, Gerry, yes. And I have power over yours.” He stopped and looked at my eyes and then down at my body. He leaned into my ear.

“Yes, by Almighty God, you do,” he whispered.

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Excerpt from "Marble Falls: The Homecoming of Gerry Frey" coming summer 2022. Copyright Mare Loch 2022 © All rights reserved.

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