Chapter 1

She'd been talking about doing it for a long time. Any time the conversation came up at a party, Molly would join in, talking about where she was going to do it, even the guy that she'd picked out. But it was one of those things that she never really thought would ever happen.

Until last night.

She'd had a few drinks and been on her way home, when she'd passed a small, dingy shop with a sign on the window: "Bubba's Late Night Specials"

"Screw it," had Molly thought to herself. It was time to stop dreaming about the day when she finally summoned up the courage to take a risk like that. It was time to stop pretending that she was just waiting for the perfect guy to do it at the perfect time in the perfect place. It was time to go for it.

And so last night, Molly had gotten a tattoo.

She had awoken with two pains - one in her head, from the drinks, and one on the small of her back, just above her ass. Within a few seconds, everything had come flooding back to her - the neon "tattoo" sign that had lured her in, the brief explanation of the tattoo that she'd been planning of for half her life, and the pain of getting the tattoo applied.

The tattoo "artist", if one was feeling generous enough to call him that, had been called Bubba, and he put one more in mind of a gorilla than someone to be trusted with a needle and the ability to permanently mark one's skin. He was short and hairy, but he'd seemed to perfectly understand her description of what she wanted for the tattoo, and had set to work on it immediately.

Molly worked in graphic design, which had been an obsession of hers for years, and she'd wanted a tattoo to celebrate her passion. It had started as a discussion when she was a teenager - "What tattoo would you get to sum you up?" - Molly had thought about it for months, and when she'd found the answer she knew she had to make it a reality. She had to have it.

When Milton Glaser designed the "I Love New York" logo in 1977, ten years before Molly's birth, he'd only expected it to be used for a few months. He could never have foreseen the design becoming an internationally-recognised symbol for New York, and he would never have guessed that anyone would use it as the basis of a tattoo.

But Molly did love New York - she'd moved there as soon as she'd finished high-school. She'd studied there, she worked there, she'd lived there for years. New York was where she'd met her boyfriend, John, and when John inevitably proposed, New York was where she wanted to get married.

She didn't want to get the entire logo, just the distinctive love heart. To anyone who didn't understand graphic design, it would just look like Molly's tattoo was celebrating love, and that was fine with her too. It was ideal - to the untrained eye, it represented love, but to her it was a tribute to the city she lived in, and the field she worked in. It was the perfect tattoo.

Unfortunately, it wasn't what Bubba had given her.

Molly had a glass of water and some aspirin before she thought to check out her new ink in the mirror; she lifted her shirt, swivelled to get a good view, and dropped the glass in shock when she saw her new tattoo.

It was printed in a font that wasn't easy to read in the mirror, designed to look like spray-painted graffiti, but after a few seconds of squinting, Molly saw what her new "tramp stamp" read.

"Big Butt Slut"

Molly's apartment was suddenly a flurry of activity as she grabbed her bag and her keys, got dressed (her headache forgotten, flushed away by her fury) and left. She was going to find "Bubba", and she was going to give him a piece of her mind. How dare he? How dare he deface her body like this?

It was ... well, it was definitely illegal, she knew that. It was abuse, a breach of contract, false advertising ... libel! Bubba wouldn't know what hit him.

As Molly stormed down the street, retracing her steps from last night, she attracted more than a few glances. She was an attractive woman - standing just over five feet, she had generous curves and a face that was impossible to ignore. When she smiled, she could light up a room, but even with her face in a scowl and her eyes shooting daggers, she was still attractive, in a dangerous kind of way. Dressed up, she could stop traffic, but even with her long brown hair tied back in a ponytail and wearing whatever casual clothes had been closest as she'd stormed out of her apartment, guys noticed her. Hell, girls noticed her.

After half an hour of stomping around New York, trying to recall where her and the girls had stopped for a drink and how she'd found her way home from there, Molly found the place. It was simply called "Bubba's", but when she entered, the gorilla-like man of the previous night wasn't there. A tall, well-dressed man man with glasses smiled at her as she entered.

"Hello! Welcome to Bubba's. My name is Mitchell - how can I help you today?"

Molly stared at his glasses. There was something slightly strange about them - the glass was slightly too thin, or too thick. Light didn't reflect off them the way that it should. When she stared at his glasses, it looked ... it almost looked like she could see rain behind them.

Mitchell didn't say a word as the busty young lady entered his shop and stared at him. He knew that she would speak when she was ready, and that whatever problem she had, he would be able to solve it.

After staring at the rain for a few minutes, Molly remembered why she was here. It was odd ... she wasn't angry any more. It was if all her anger had simply been washed away.

"I'm sorry to bother you," she started apologetically. "I was here last night, and the man..."

"Ah yes, you must be one of Bubba's late-night specials. What can I do for you?"

"Well, I was here to get a tattoo of a love-heart, and ... instead, he gave me this."

Molly turned around, and pulled up her shirt. To make sure that he could see the results of Bubba's work, she wiggled slightly and lowered her pants as well. Not a lot, just so that the top of her crack was showing. She wanted to make sure that he could read what that fool of a man had done to her.