Nouveau Tattoo Pt. 01 - Cynthia

"You don't have to do it though?" Cynthia pointed out, confused.

Taylor looked down, her voice softening. "It is not so easy Cyn. I feel like I don't have much choice. It's about my credibility, the shop's even. If I don't... what does that say about all this? This whole 'Tattooed for a Cause' thing when I don't have any?"

Cynthia reached out, touching Taylor's arm in a gesture of solidarity. "You're brave, Taylor. Braver than you know."

Taylor met her gaze, a mixture of gratitude and apprehension in her eyes. "I'm next," she whispered, a statement more than a declaration. "I just have to figure out how to be okay with it."

Their eyes met, a silent understanding sparking between them. The moment lingered, charged with unspoken possibilities. Then, a mutual blush and a sudden look away broke the tension, leaving a hint of something more, something yet unexplored, hanging delicately in the air.

Taylor spoke first, breaking the slightly awkward silence "We both need to get some sleep.  See you tomorrow Cyn."  Taylor left, lingering in the doorway with a gentle smile before closing it.

Lying in the quiet of the room, Cynthia replayed the moment in her mind. The brief, intense connection with Taylor was unexpected, stirring something deep within her. She had always identified as bisexual, but had never fully embraced that part of herself. Yet, the magnetic pull she felt towards Taylor ignited a fire within her, bringing warmth to her chaotic inner world. As she settled into the softness of her bed, the possibilities of what this new attraction might bring swirled in her mind, adding an unexpected but not unwelcome dimension to her journey of self-discovery.

Cynthia's nights had become a deep, restorative slumber, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of activity and transformation she faced each day. Taylor's gentle wake-up call at 8 AM marked the start of yet another day in this extraordinary journey. Breakfast was a quiet affair, the early morning silence serving as a brief respite before the storm of creativity and ink that awaited them. Thom was dressed in his usual black t-shirt and black jeans, his arms covered with old school traditional tattoos. Taylor was in what Cynthia now came to realize was her signature look; something with tiger stripes; this morning she wore tiger striped tights and a flattering black t-shirt.

Thom, poring over the schedule with a thoughtful expression, broke the silence. "Four more days," he mused, casting a glance towards Cynthia. "So, by the end of the day tomorrow, we're halfway done."

Cynthia, fork midway to her mouth, paused. "So six full days, not three?" The confusion in her voice was evident, a reflection of her attempt to reconcile the timeline in her mind with the reality of their progress.

Thom shook his head, his smile broad and filled with pride. "Not with what we've raised!" His excitement was palpable, a testament to the overwhelming response they had received. "This has really blown up Cynthia. We've gained so many followers. This has been a huge success for us, and for your cause!"

Cynthia barely registered the latter part of his statement. The implications of Thom's words were clear--this was going all the way to full coverage. The realization hit her with a mix of awe and trepidation. "And," Thom continued, his voice tinged with anticipation, "if it comes through, we'll meet on the evening of the seventh day for the final stretch goal." The notion of a concluding event, a grand finale to their monumental effort, was both thrilling and daunting. "We'll make it a special event," Thom elaborated, his voice rising with excitement, "and anything we raise that night will go straight to your cause!" His enthusiasm was infectious, mirrored by Taylor's radiant expression as she looked at Cynthia.

Cynthia's smile was small and hesitant, more for Taylor than herself. This "special event" that filled Thom and Taylor with such excitement did little more than fill her with a gnawing sense of dread and uncertainty. They were going to tattoo her entire body, what more could they do with this special event? And at that moment she answered her own question, and her feelings of unease grew.

After breakfast they returned to the table under the lights and cameras for those watching live, or watching highlights later on social media. As the morning unfolded, Cynthia's legs became the canvas for Thom and Taylor's synchronized artistry, their tattoo machines whirring in harmony. Thom took one side, Taylor the other, their occasional soft discussions on color and technique weaving through the air like a quiet melody.

"Think a deeper green here?" Thom murmured, his focus intense as he eyed the expanse of Cynthia's thigh.

Taylor glanced over, nodding. "Yeah, it'll make the fox pop more against the background."

By the time they paused for a mid-day break, Cynthia's legs were a riot of color and life, the designs seamlessly blending up to her hips. She took a deep breath, realizing that only her back, bum, and belly remained untouched--a thought both daunting and surreal.

As they prepped her for the next session, spraying her down and applying saniderm, Cynthia felt like she was encased in the strange feeling film, her body a patchwork of art and protection. She returned to the table, the blindfold returning her to darkness, as they started on her stomach and torso.

The stencils felt cold against her skin, a sharp contrast to the burn of the needles and ink that soon followed. The sensation on her ribs was sharp, each buzz a stark reminder of the day's task. Yet, amidst the physical discomfort, Cynthia found herself less emotionally fraught than before. This was her new reality, she had accepted it as well as she could. She tried to detach herself from the discomfort, to enter a meditative state distant from what she was feeling; but when they reached her ribs that became almost impossible. Her breath hissed and she struggled not to squirm away from Thom and Taylor's relentless needles.

"This is the tough part," Taylor said softly, sensing Cynthia's tension. "But you're doing amazing."

"Almost makes me wish I had ribs of steel," Cynthia joked through her gritted teeth, a half-hearted attempt to lighten the mood.

Thom chuckled, the sound warm in the quiet room. "Well, your strength's definitely iron-clad."

As the session stretched into the night, ending at 11 PM, the pain and exhaustion were palpable. They stood Cynthia up and rinsed her down and led her to the mirror. With exhausted eyes she beheld herself, detached, exhausted, almost uncaring at this point. There was a woman in the mirror, and looking at her straight on she was covered with a continuous design of dense tattoo ink; beautiful plants from forest, to mangrove, to wetlands, to flowers, fields and trees. Almost hidden among the verdant greenery was a whimsical scattering of wildlife. A woodpecker was perched on a tree, a fox squirrel clinging to a branch, a sandhill crane soaring across her chest were but a few of the many nods to the native wildlife.

Cynthia nodded at the mirror, almost like she was nodding to a stranger, and made her way upstairs to her room and she just half-flopped across the bed, feeling little more than numbness.

Taylor's familiar knock at the door came as a gentle interruption to Cynthia's exhausted reverie. "Come on in," Cynthia said, her voice a tired murmur.

As the door opened, Taylor stepped in, a small plate with a sandwich and iced lemonade in one hand and a couple of snifters of brandy in the other. Her eyes immediately found Cynthia, only half-lying on the bed, still clad in the black bikini that was now speckled with ink stains -- a testament to the day's work. Taylor's expression softened with empathy as she approached.

"Oh Cyn," Taylor said softly, setting the food and drinks on the bedside table. "Let's get you cleaned up and into something comfy, huh?" Her tone was light, an attempt to lift the heaviness that seemed to envelop the room.

Gently, she reached out, helping Cynthia to sit up. Cynthia's movements were sluggish, the toll of the day's session evident in every motion. As Taylor began to assist her with undressing, Cynthia instinctively moved to cover herself, a spark of modesty flaring up despite her exhaustion.

Taylor chuckled softly, shaking her head with a knowing smile. "Cyn, relax. I've seen it all before, remember? Occupational hazard of being a tattoo artist." There was a playful edge to her voice, coupled with a warmth that was comforting.

Cynthia couldn't help but crack a weary smile, letting her guard down. Taylor's presence, usually so full of energy and enthusiasm, was now a source of comfort and care. She allowed Taylor to guide her to the bathroom, the thought of a warm shower feeling like a small slice of heaven.

The cool tiles of the bathroom floor were a stark contrast to her warm, tired skin. As she stepped into the shower, the luke warm water felt like a gentle embrace, washing away the remnants of ink and the fatigue of the day. It was a moment of solitude, a brief interlude in the midst of her transformative journey.

Fresh from the shower, Cynthia emerged with a hint of renewed energy, the warm water having washed away some of her fatigue. However, a quick glance in the mirror brought her back to reality, the reflection highlighting the extent of her transformation. The vibrant tattoos covering her body served as a vivid reminder of the journey she had embarked upon, reigniting a wave of melancholic thoughts.

As she changed into a nightshirt, her concerns tumbled out. "Will anyone even want me like this?" she asked, her voice tinged with doubt.

Taylor, who had been setting out the brandy and sandwich, looked at her with a reassuring smile. "Of course, they will. Why wouldn't they?"

Cynthia sighed, "But you're a tattoo artist, Taylor. It's different for you. I'm just an environmental activist. We're in different worlds."

There was a pause, a moment of silence that stretched between them. Then, unexpectedly, Taylor leaned in and kissed Cynthia deeply. The suddenness of the gesture caught Cynthia off guard, but she yielded to Taylor's soft lips. When they broke a blush rose to her cheeks.

"Does that answer your question?" Taylor asked, a playful glint in her eyes.

Cynthia, still reeling from the kiss, managed to stammer, "But... Thom?"

Taylor grinned, a mischievous look crossing her face. "Thom lets me play with girls," she said, her tone light yet wicked. But her expression softened as she looked at Cynthia's freshly inked skin. "But you, poor thing, are in no shape to play at all. Let's give it a week or two."

Cynthia nodded, processing everything. Taylor's gaze shifted, turning more serious. "And," she added, "you'll be here for me when it's my turn on that table?"

"Is that happening?" Cynthia asked, a new concern in her voice.

Taylor looked distant for a moment, then nodded. "Yes..." Her eyes fell on the brandy. "You know, you're supposed to sip these," she said, then unceremoniously gulped down her drink.

Taylor grimaced at the burning liquid and handed Cynthia the other snifter. "Sip it.." she said with a cough.

Cynthia smiled, still processing the fire that was growing between them. Feeling the warm glow of attraction she took a sip of the brandy, and gently said "I'll be there for you Taylor."

----

Cynthia woke to the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, bringing with it the realization of another long day in her transformative journey. She played over Taylor's kiss in her mind as well, savoring the feeling on her lips and in her heart.

A gentle knock at the door was followed by Taylor's voice, "Morning, Cyn. Time to take off the saniderm on your arms, neck, and chest. A quick shower should help loosen it up."

Cynthia smiled at Taylor's voice and her mind replayed the gentle and warm moment they shared together the night before.

Standing in the shower, Cynthia let the warm water run over her, noticing how it played strangely on the saniderm, the droplets bouncing off the plastic film. The transparent layer, which had been like a protective layer over her recently tattooed skin, was ready to be removed from her upper body. The tattoos on her legs, however, were still too fresh and needed the protective film a bit longer.

After the shower Cynthia stood in front of the mirror. The idea that she could simply peel off the saniderm--and with it, the tattoos--crossed her mind, a fleeting wish for reversibility in the face of such permanent change. Over the lest few days she had begun to feel like the strange film was the art, like an elaborate decal that was adhered to her skin. Gingerly, she began to peel away the film starting from just under her jaw, tugging gently until a large section came away, revealing the skin beneath. It was an intimate moment of discovery, seeing the newly revealed ink-soaked skin, the tattoos smooth and lustrous. She leaned in, closely studying the skin beneath, fascinated by the change. The ink wasn't on her, it was her, a part of her, the ink a mere fraction of an inch beneath the surface of her skin, so close but at the same time well out of her reach.

She straightened and looked at herself fully again. The freshly revealed tattoos were vivid and alive, a stark contrast to the plain skin she remembered. Cynthia looked at the flora and fauna inked into her skin in rich detail. It had been a strange feeling, peeling away the film and revealing the tattoos in their healed state, like uncovering a part of herself that was always there but never seen.

The realization that these designs were now a part of her identity settled in. She could no longer just blend into a crowd; her tattoos made a statement, telling a story without words that anyone who saw her could immediately read. It was daunting, a realization that she was different from most other people, that she would always be looked at strangely and that there was no going back from this. But she began to feel a hint of pride, as well as a growing respect for Thom and Taylor. They had clearly listened to her story, and thoroughly researched the plants and animals that now so elaborately covered her. She knew what Taylor said the other night was true; she was bearing, and bearing witness, to the work of a genius.

As the dawn of the fourth day broke, Cynthia found herself in a new pose for the culmination of her transformation: leaning forward on a chair while Thom and Taylor, working in close proximity due to her petite frame, began their meticulous work on her back and buttocks. The main spectacle to emerge on this untouched canvas was a tender scene of a doe and her spotted fawn amidst a backdrop of pines and blooming flowers, surrounded by an assortment of whimsical animal figures and additional floral designs.

The studio, now familiar with the hum of the tattoo machines, the bright lights, and the ever-present gaze of the camera, became a place of enduring and creation. Despite the monotony and discomfort of the needle's persistent kiss, Cynthia had found a way to cope, if not to embrace it. "I don't think I'll ever love this feeling," she confessed during one of the quieter moments, her voice tinged with resignation.

Thom chuckled softly, pausing in his work. "It's not for everyone," he admitted, glancing at Taylor, who nodded in agreement.

"Still, several hundred people seem to find something captivating about it," Taylor added, her voice lifting as she referred to the audience that remained steadfast in their viewership, despite the numbers having dipped slightly.

The atmosphere was thick with fatigue, a shared sentiment between the artists, Cynthia, and even the unseen but ever-present audience. Yet, Thom and Taylor's commitment to their artistry never waned, their focus unyielding as they poured their skills into every detail of Cynthia's elaborate tattoo.

The fifth day passed in a similar fashion, working from the back of her neck down Thom and Taylor continued the long process of blending and shading colors into the large pastoral scene that would fill Cynthia's back down and across her buttocks. Although Cynthia herself would rarely see it, this would be the seminal piece for her, it was the largest uninterrupted stretch of skin on her body - a place where the artists could truly express themselves much in the same way as a painter on a canvas, and Thom embraced that opportunity on Cynthia.

Finally, on the sixth day, Thom and Taylor finished the final colors and shading on Cynthia's back, and touched on a few places here and there across her body that needed extra attention; filling a few gaps of untattooed skin with shading and depth to make the embrace of ink complete. As the final day drew to a close, a palpable sense of anticipation filled the air. With the final strokes of their machines, Thom and Taylor put their machines down for the last time.

"We're done," Thom announced, his voice breaking through the concentration and weariness. The simplicity of the statement belied the enormity of the accomplishment.

Taylor let out a deep breath, her smile weary but genuine as she looked at Cynthia. "You've been amazing through this, Cyn. Really."

Cynthia, her body a testament to days of endurance and art, could only nod, the reality of the moment sinking in. The transformation was complete, not just of her skin but of her very being. The journey had been arduous, a test of her limits and a dedication to conservation, witnessed by hundreds.

Thom and Taylor gently sprayed down Cynthia's back while she closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the cool, soothing sensation that had come to signify the end of yet another intense session. The water was a relief, a brief respite from the hours of enduring the tattoo machine's relentless whir. When they motioned her towards the mirror, she hesitated, a wave of modesty washing over her as she cupped her hands across her breasts before standing to face her reflection.

Taking a deep breath, Cynthia approached the mirror with a mix of trepidation and curiosity. She turned slowly, first glancing over her shoulder to catch a glimpse of the newly inked scenes on her back, then positioning herself to take in the full extent of her transformation. What she saw left her breathless.

From her ankles, where longleaf pines began to rise and flowers bloomed, to the base of her chin, where the large pair of blanket flowers adorned her neck, now fully healed, burst forth in a riot of green, yellow, orange, and red, her body was a vibrant tapestry of color and life. Bright yellow, orange, purple, and red flowers, each a homage to Florida's wild beauty, intertwined with foliage of lush, verdant greens.

Only her feet and head remained untouched, a stark contrast to the elaborate canvas her body had become. The transformation was both beautiful and startling, a visible testament to nearly two hundred hours of painstaking work by Thom and Taylor with their efforts combined. The sheer scale of the change, the permanence of the ink embedded in her skin, was overwhelming. Cynthia stood silently, absorbing her reflection, the reality of her new appearance settling around her like a mantle. The once familiar contours of her body were now defined by the vivid ink, the tattoo a story, a memory of pain, endurance, and ultimately, transformation.

It was a lot to take in, this new version of herself, created through countless hours of preparation by the artists and the many hours she spent under their machines. Yet, as she traced the lines of ink with her eyes, she began to feel that sense of pride that she began to feel a few days ago. This somehow seemed right for her. This was more than just ink on skin; it was a declaration of her values, a permanent representation of her dedication to wild places and conservation. The journey had been arduous, but the outcome was undeniably beautiful, a startling yet exquisite testament to the power of art, commitment, and transformation.