This is an old one, but a recent painting by my fabulous artist friend Becky reminded me of it… although her work is far to exquisite to be compared to the mutterings below. Please feel free to check out her work at


Occasionally it paid a girl like me to be unique. The whispering in dark corners didn’t bother me anymore, or even the calls of ‘freak’ that reached my ears. You see in my line of work men would pay good money to have their curiosity sated and then their desire. Fifty bucks just to look at the freak? I can’t really complain.

They all asked for me by name. Mumbling in back alleyways, they spoke to the other girls and the resentful call for ‘Tattoo’ would drift to me through the district. That’s how this one had come to me. Sitting there licking his chapped lips and shifting in his seat as his growing erection pressed against the material of his cheap suit. He came to fuck the freak and here I was, naked and demure.

I have a beautiful body; no man or woman could ever tell you different. Flat stomach and small waist accentuating luscious curving hips that led down to legs so shapely they made other girls stare with envy and desire in their eyes. This john, like so many of the others, didn’t even bother to run his eyes over me. Fixated they were on that one teasing hint. A flickering tongue of flame snaked its way under my arm and curled itself around my left breast. Those black inked lines held him captive.

A voice husky and dry commanded me to turn my back to him and ever the compliant whore I obeyed. Arms high over my head I held myself for his study, never quite sure as always if that gasp I heard on his lips came from horror or some kind of desire. One thing for sure, there was always a hint of surprise.

Demons and devils stared out from my flesh. Writhing in flame, that licked and scorched at my milk pale skin. Black eyes damning anyone who ever dared to stare. It didn’t matter. They all stared anyway. Swelled for me, wanted me. The freak that I am.

I heard him stand. The rustles of fabric as trousers were abandoned. His eyes bored into my spine. The serpent twisted about my arm luring him to temptation just as surely as it had Eve in the days of the Bible. Clammy hands cupping my breasts even as his mouth pressed wet and hungry against my skin. His disgusting little tongue traced the lines of the fire that marked me. Caressing my demons and tasting my devils as his erection swelled even harder against me. My mind drifted away from him. To another time and place far from here.

It was the middle of a trick. He was just an average Joe. A little weird, but weren’t they all? This guy probably had a wife and 2.4 kids stashed away somewhere in a nice suburb yet here he was trawling the gutters for a cheap piece of flesh.

He had me turned from him. His mouth and hands caressing the creamy skin of my back. He was a talker. He told me I was perfect. He called me his white rose. I rolled my eyes because I knew he couldn’t see and whispered back all of the niceties his kind liked to hear. When finally his hands stopped their ceaseless caressing I almost sighed with relief, enough talk and lets get this thing done.

The sound of hands fumbling in pockets. I turned to offer him some help with the condom, but his hand on my shoulder kept me from facing him and he asked me not to look. Oh great, he was shy. Just what I needed, we might be here all night.

His arm was snaking around my waist, thank God, finally he’s ready. His breath felt hot as he pressed his mouth to my ear.
‘I’ll make you beautiful.’ He whispered
The sharp pain as the needle pricked my neck. I tried to struggle. Blackness seeped in at the edge of my vision. Oh God I couldn’t go out like this. You hear stories of men who murder whores, but not me. Not like this. I tried to hang on but I was falling and there was nothing to stop me.

I woke hours later in my own bed, pain flooded through me before I even had time for relief. A thousand knives stabbed at my body. I crawled to the edge of the bed and vomited on the carpet. It didn’t help at all.

Eyes finally raising I caught my reflection in the full-length mirror. Face pale, my hair limp and rumpled. Blood and ink still oozing from my shoulders. I slid from the bed and crawled to the mirror. It was agony but I had to see. Turning I saw the bed, stained red with my blood and black with ink. Oh God, Oh God. I twisted to look and the demons stared back at me.

Creamy white skin now a living tribute to a madman. I was his walking canvas.

Pulling back to the here and now I slid the gun from between those same rumpled sheets and turned on the john. This time there was definitely horror in his gasp. That big black eye of destiny stared him down, the barrel never blinked. Erection suddenly pathetically flaccid as his bladder emptied down his leg.
Two hands on the gun, ‘Any last words?’

‘Please…’ he muttered. Funny, I have heard that so many times.

I shot him in the head. I shot him like I shot them all, because they reminded me of Him.