Tattoos

She sensed a long-forgotten frisson of desire when he stripped and exposed the tattoos. They were indeed a work of art. All those shades of green on that python as it snaked its way around the top of his thigh, and then slithered seductively into his groin. She giggled girlishly at those stunning love-birds on each of his bum cheeks. Simply exquisite! When he turned around she giggled girlishly as she read the words ‘MILD’ and ‘BITTER’, just above each nipple. All in all, such beautiful body art was a sight to be savoured. But that wasn’t all.

Somehow, as if by magic, her husband of thirty years had transformed beyond belief.  He’d actually grown several inches;  in fact he was taller than she was now. His sparse, dandruffy grey hair was now chestnut brown, and the lustrous glossy curls whorled wickedly into the nape of his neck.  And then there was his physique, oh his physique! Her dearly beloved pale, freckled, puny apology of a hubby, had morphed into a bronze, taut-muscled Adonis.

She’d just whispered to herself, ‘Be still my quivering loins’, when she woke up…

Shirley McIntyre

October 2016