I am moving to NYC in December, so I decided to spend early November in the area looking for an apartment. It is about a 13 hour drive from Chicago to NYC, and since there were some cute girls from Pittsburgh that had been emailing me, I decided to stop and hook up with a few of them.

There was one girl in particular that I wanted to hang out with, "Jess." She'd sent pretty good pics, wrote intelligent emails, made it very clear she wanted to fuck the shit out of me, and was a big drinker, but it was something else that really clinched it. A week or so earlier she posted this on my message board under a thread about road head:

"One of my very best friends, a guy I dated for about 4 hours in high school, found out his girlfriend was cheating on him, with a 17 year old baby daddy named Daeqwon. I cannot explain in writing how livid we both were to learn this. I also cannot explain in writing how vengeful and twisted he and I both are.

Instead of immediately dumping her and letting me tear her to pieces, he took her out on a huge date. Kind of like Tucker's buttsex story - he buttered this bitch up. Dropped $250 on dinner and took her to the fucking ballet. All because he knew that a little romance and a little Dom would get her to open wide and give him a slobjob on the ride home. And slob she did - he later said it was some of the best head of his life.

His life; not hers.

Before their date (immediately before) I ran over to his apartment really quickly - and let him fuck me. In the butt. Seriously, we are strictly friends, totally platonic. He didn't come. Just a few in-and-outs to make sure his wang was nice and tasty. After he put it in my ass for a few minutes, he very carefully stuck his dick back in his boxers, saying he didn't want to let anything rub off.

Two hours later he let his raging whore of a (now ex-) girlfriend suck on his penis for about 20 minutes. He claims at one point, she almost stopped, because he was laughing so hard he swerved off the road.

See you in hell."

This is clearly a girl I needed to party with. Right before I get to Pittsburgh I call her to make a few things clear:

Tucker "I like to fuck before I go out drinking, so are you up for a quickie or two before we hit the bars?"
Jess "Yeah, of course, definitely."
Tucker "Excellent. And one more thing: Just because I fuck you before we go out does not necessarily mean that I will go home with you. I am not saying that I'll be going out with the intent of hitting on other girls, but I never know what is going to happen. If you are not cool with me fucking you early and then potentially going home with some other girl, let me know now. I don't want you to get pissed and stab me in my sleep."
Jess "Oh no, I know. I'll even help you pick them up, maybe we can have a threesome."

This girl is going to make a great wife someday.

I get to her place and she looks just like her pictures; cute face and a really good body capped off by something her pics did not really show: an amazing ass. To be honest I am more of a tit guy than an ass guy, but her's is a piece of art. But even better that she sent me honest pics. I have no idea why but some girls seem to think that when I meet them in person I won't notice that they put on 40 pounds since their last good picture.

We hang out for while, she seemed like a pretty cool girl, and we fuck. It was cute: She was kinda nervous at first, but eventually she relaxed and it was pretty good sex.

Afterwards, I notice a tattoo on her right hip. It is the initials "R.H." with this weird design in between them. Obviously, I assume the worst.

Tucker "Who is that? Ex-boyfriend?"
Jess "No, fiancé."
Tucker "He dumped you? Tattoo doesn't seem like such a good idea now, does it?"
Jess "No...he didn't dump me. He died. I got this after his death."
Tucker "He got that sick of your shit, huh? He couldn't just break up with you?"

She laughed at the joke, but I did legitimately feel bad. Well, not really, but a good person would have felt bad.

We go to a place called Fatheads for beer and wings. The bar is filled with what is apparently the official mascot of Pittsburgh: The loud, drunken blue collar idiot. These two older guys were sitting next to us in their Greg Lloyd jerseys and Harley Davidson bandanas, screaming at the Penguins game on TV, when we sat down.

Yinzer "So, yinz two aren't gonna argue like that last couple are you? He spent two hours yelling at her 'cause she wouldn't fuck him, and she was pissed because he was never home."
Tucker "No, sex is not a problem in this relationship. In fact, right now she has a bunch of my cum in her. And even a little on her. You can probably smell it if you get close."
His eyes got all big and he leaned back and elbowed his buddy.
Yinzer "You hear this guy Dale? He's talkin'bout shooting cum at her!," turning to Jess, "You don't mind him talkin' like this?"
Tucker "She's lucky I'm even here."
Yinzer "DAMN!! I wish I had your balls!"
Tucker "I wish you had a breath mint, but I guess we don't always get what we wish for."

After that, they left us alone.

The place had like 40 beers on tap and another 40 bottles, most of which I had never heard of, but Jess confidently recommended a beer, Arrogant Bastard Ale. It was quite good. Not only is this girl bisexual, good in bed, a huge fan of mine and cool to hang out with, but she really knows her beer. At this point I was kinda excited; when you reach in the Ho Grab-Bag, you never know what is going to come out, but it looked like I had picked a winner. So of course, I did what only a fool would do: I looked the gift-horse in the mouth.

Tucker "I know you like girls; what about threesomes with guys? You ever do that?"
Jess "Oh yeah."
Tucker "You do know that girl, girl, guy = awesome, but guy, guy, girl = gay, gay, whore."
Jess "I know...but this was kinda different."
Tucker "How? You were in love with both and couldn't decide so you had a Fuck Off?"
Jess "No...this threesome was more about the guys."

Oh no.

Tucker "What?"
Jess "Well, my boyfriend and this other guy and I had a threesome, and they kinda focused on each other--"
Tucker "You fuck gay guys? Are you telling me I just fucked a fag hag?"
Jess "NO! It's not really like that, you see my boyfriend--"
Tucker "You do know that virtually all AIDS cases are transmitted by three things: IV drug use, sex with prostitutes, and SEX WITH GAY MEN! If you don't fuck those risk groups, you are probably going to be fine, yet here I am, fucking a girl who screws homosexuals. This is just fucking great. Where is the closest clinic?"
Jess "NO WAIT! It wasn't like that, listen. My last boyfriend is gay now, but the first time he ever hooked up with a guy was that threesome. And it wasn't really a threesome. We were drunk and high and this kid got blacked out drunk and passed out and my boyfriend sucked his dick."
Tucker "That was his first time fucking a guy? Yeah right, and you are the first girl I've ever fucked."
Jess "NO! IT WAS! I've known him since he was 6! He is gay now, but that was the first time he'd even done anything with a guy. He talked about it a lot before then, but that was the first."
Tucker "Did you fuck him once he started putting random dicks in his mouth?"
Jess "NO! That's pretty much the reason we broke up!"
Tucker "Pretty much! What are the other reasons? Murder? Rape? Arson? You mean sucking off a guy who was passed out wasn't enough, there had to be other reasons?"
Jess "Did I mention that the blacked out guy was 17? And a virgin?"
Tucker "I am going to take a wild guess and say that this ex-boyfriend is the same guy who you let fuck you in the butt right before he had his cheating whore girlfriend go down on him?"
Jess "Uhhh...yeah..."
Tucker "This just keeps getting better. Please tell me that incident was before he started fucking dudes?"
Jess "YES of course!"
Tucker "That is the first good news I have heard since this conversation started."

Jess eventually calmed me down by plying me with beer and promises that she knew her ex very well and that even though he is a big gay slut now, that really was his first time. I don't believe her, and I am still getting tested, but I felt much better. Then she started talking about the shirts I sell and how she wishes I had one that says "I Fucked Tucker Max."

Tucker "Who would wear that?"
Jess "Are you kidding?!? I would wear that shirt with pride. The only problem is that lots of girls would buy it that haven't fucked you, so you'd have to have some that were only for girls you've actually fucked."
Tucker "Well, if you are really serious about wanting people to know you fucked me, you should get a tattoo. Get 'I fucked Tucker Max' right above your pussy."
Jess "I would totally get that tattoo."
Tucker "Yeah, OK."
Jess "I am completely serious. I will get it right now."
Tucker "Get out of here, there is no way you'll get that tattoo."
Jess "Let me close our tab, I'll do it right now."

This isn't happening. This girl cannot be serious. She is just bullshitting me, trying to lie her way into my heart. I am totally going to call her on this...after she pays the tab, of course.

Tucker "Are you drunk?"
Jess "No, not at all. I've had like three beers. I am a fucking bartender, I drink more than this before I even go into work."
Tucker "Alright come on, stop fucking around, you and I both know you aren't going to do this, let's go to another bar."
Jess "I am totally serious. Come on."

We start walking towards the tattoo place. No way...she can't be for real.

Tucker "Are you serious about this?"
Jess "Absolutely."
Tucker "Why do you want to do this?"
Jess "For me, this is like...it's...this is like for a devout catholic if Jesus were to come down from heaven and say, 'I validate you.'"
Tucker "Awesome. I don't care what anyone else says, you aren't crazy, you are prescient and way ahead of your time. Good for you."
Jess "That, and tomorrow I am going to take a picture of this and send it to my dad and say 'Happy Fucking Birthday Dad.'
Tucker "No you're not. Are you really going to show this to him?"
Jess "Oh yes, I am completely serious. Then I am going to show it to the whole family on Thanksgiving."
Tucker "Why do you hate your dad?"
Jess "He married my horrible bitch step-mom and basically left me on my own."
Tucker "So let's see...the two men you have loved the most--your fiance and your father--have left you?"
Jess "Well, yeah...I hadn't really thought of it like that."
Tucker "And your best male friend turned gay after dating you?"
Jess "Yeah..."
Tucker "I guess this tattoo is just the logical course of events. I may leave you, but it never will! Let's go!"

We get to the tattoo place. I have never actually been in a tattoo parlor before, at least not sober, and I cannot believe all the pictures everywhere. Every wall is covered with art; some of it really good, some of it bad. The Jesus with the lazy eye was my personal favorite. The girl working there is straight out of an anti-drug commercial about the horrors of crystal meth: Missing teeth, crazy eyes, twitching and spastic and dressed like circa-2000 Christina Aguilera.

Meth girl "What can I do for you?"
Jess "I want a tattoo. Just four words, right below the left hip bone."
Meth girl "OK, what do you want it to say?"
Jess "I fucked Tucker Max."
Meth girl [at least a 5 second pause] "Are you serious?"
Jess "Yeah."
Meth girl "OK. It'll be about 30 minutes until Jeff is done with the guy in front of you."

She walks off, and I kinda start to feel pangs of guilt. Can I really let her go through with this? This girl is totally fucked up, but she isn't a bad person at all. I actually kinda like her, at least as much as I can like someone I just met a few hours prior. But it is apparent that she is serious. I am torn: This is clearly one of the coolest things that I have seen in years, and letting her do this is going to increase my legend by quite a bit...but at the same time, this girl has major emotional issues and is making what anyone else on earth besides me would see as a major mistake. And beyond that, once she gets this thing, she and I will for better or worse be inextricably linked from this point forward. What would Tucker do?

I decide that I have to at least see if she is sure about her decision. I cannot make her do anything, but I can at least make sure she knows what she's getting into:

Tucker "You know this is permanent, right?"
Jess "Yeah, of course."
Tucker "You do realize that every dude you fuck from now on is going to see this, right?"
Jess "Yeah."
Tucker "Look Jess, I think you are making a great decision and this is clearly the coolest thing I have ever seen. But not many other people on earth would agree with me."
Jess "I know."
Tucker "Because of this tattoo, you are going to have problems with every guy you fuck from now on not named 'Tucker Max.' I love this tattoo idea, but we aren't ever going to date or get married. That job is going to fall to someone else, and he is NOT going to like that tattoo. Do you understand that?"
Jess "Yes, of course."
Tucker "And you are still cool with it?"
Jess "Tucker, I idolize you. I mean, I relate to you, you are my fucking hero, and your writing is part of me; it is part of who I am and helps me define my existence. I want everyone to know this. I want my parents to know this, I want my kids to know this, and my future husband has to be OK with this."

At this point I paused and actually pictured that scenario: Her pulling down her pants to show her children this tattoo, and then trying to explain it to them in a way that would make sense to a child...then I had to push the thought out of my mind. Sometimes, the unresolved pain that surrounds me is too much to contemplate.

Tucker "Wow. OK, as long as you know. If I were anyone else on earth I would call you stupid, but personally, I think this is awesome."

At that point her phone rings. It is one of the bouncers she works with, who she tells me has a crush on her. I can only hear her side of the conversation, but the rest is easily figured out.

Jess "I am at a tattoo parlor...I'm getting a new tattoo...on my hip...'I fucked Tucker Max'...yes I am totally serious...oh Jesus...yes I am sure I want it...no I am not drunk...what?...did you just say that I am one of the greatest girls you've ever met?...make me fucking sick...whatever, unless you're drinking in the city with us, then I don't want to hear from you for the rest of the night....bye."

We pick out the correct font for my logo-type [Bank Gothic] and Jess goes with the tattoo artist to work on the outline. As I was in the front room waiting for them to call me back so I could watch this, there were like six teenage trailer park idiots also waiting for tattoos. These kids were straight out of the upper-deck at an Eminem concert; flat-brimmed NBA logo hats, cigarettes behind their ears, frail whispy mustaches, grimy fingernails and cheap, fake gold chains. They hadn't heard my conversation with Jess, but they heard what the tattoo was going to be. One of them says to me:

Ghetto bastard "She really gun get dat shit?"
Tucker "Looks like it."
Ghetto bastard "Hey dawg, yur name Tucker Max?"
Tucker "Yeah."
Ghetto bastard "Damn! Dat your girl? You datin'er?"
Tucker "No man."
Ghetto bastard "How long you known her?"
Tucker "I don't know...like three hours or so."
Ghetto bastard1* "DAMN!!!! AHAHHHAHAHAHA--YO DAWG, DIS GUY'S A PIMP YO!!!!"
Ghetto bastard2* "HE MUST HAVE A HUGE DICK YO!! AHAHHAHAHA!!"

All these kids were cracking up laughing and in complete disbelief. I only have an average sized dick, but I didn't think I could explain to these kids why Jess was getting this tattoo. It did not appear that higher order thinking is something they excel at.

I would not have ever posted this story had I not gotten pics of not only the final tattoo, but of the whole process. I was there and I wouldn't even believe it without seeing the pictures. Here they are, in order:

Jess getting prepped
After the stencil was applied
Doing the actual tattoo
Still doing the tattoo
Right after he finished
A few minutes later (Yes, I realize how small my hands are. Fuck you.)
Me with the tattoo

As my editor Jeremie said, "Wow. That is some next level shit."

I promised Jess that I would publish her version of the events and any commentary she had directly below mine, so here it is, totally unabridged:

"Given the chance to refute a Tucker Max story, any friend of mine could tell you that I'd come in my pants. But, alas, here I am, my Holy Grail before me... and I can't get it up. I am rebuttal-y impotent.

Everything Tucker has said about that night is true.

In my head, I feel as though I was less of a verbal dick-sucker than he makes me out to be (although that Jesus quote is actually verbatim). I'm also sure, though, that in his head, I actually was that much of a verbal dick-sucker. It is Tucker, after all; don't we expect him to think that way? It's pretty irrelevant either way - whether I was or was not fellating his ego as much as reported - but I make issue of it for one major reason: to illustrate the fact that - while he is, and for a long time has been, my idol - I am not in love with Tucker Max.

Let me repeat that.

I am not in love with Tucker Max.

That's not what this tattoo is about. It is not an attempt to charm him, wow him, make him my husband, boyfriend or even friend (though at this point, the latter is more or less inevitable; as Max himself has said, for better or worse, we are now inextricably linked). It is not, and was not, an attempt at anything, except proving to Tucker that I am a no-bullshit sort of girl. If I say I'll do something, I'll do it, even if I only said it in passing. Go back and re-read Tucker's story. He called my bullshit. That is the only reason that I now have a badass little, black, Bank Gothic inked brand of "I Fucked Tucker Max" crowning the kitten (that, coupled with the fact that I did actually fuck him). In no way was this tattoo premeditated. It was an impulse purchase. Kind of like gum. And, while I may one day choke on my gum and damn myself for ever having bought it, at present I have no regrets.

No bullshit.

Tucker left Sunday morning, and having had my tattoo for a full 24 hours, I decide I have healed well enough. The first booty-call I get, I am all too eager to comply. It's time to take my new puppy out for her first walk around the block.

I head over to this guy's house. Not because I come when he calls, but because I want to maintain some semblance of class and don't want to make the poor bastard lay in Tucker's and my sex sheets. I walk into his place and we start fooling around, when I suddenly realize I have not properly prepared myself.

I have a brand-new tattoo an inch and a half away from my vag. Razors and fresh needle-punctures do not mix. I haven't shaved. Fuck.

Granted, this is not a major embarrassment (and at least my legs are smooth). Nonetheless, as we grope our way into his bedroom, I hit the light switch on my way in. Stubble is slightly less noticeable in the dark. So are tattoos.

Again, I have not properly prepared. The events of the entire past 24 hours run though my head and I start to think that I may actually be mildly retarded.

He reaches over to his nightstand to get a condom when I stop him. "Let's do this with the lights on," I say. I am shameless, as well as on a mission; he has to see this tattoo.

I guess guys get kind of excited over the idea of fucking with the lights on, because he literally bounded to the wall and flipped the switch again. He was Bambi-bounding back to bed when he skidded to a halt, cracking his shins on his own footboard.

"Wha... what... what the fu... who the fuck...?"

Mission accomplished.

I fake a confused look, when he turns around, sits down on the foot of his bed, and puts his head into his hands. At this point, I start to worry. I'm not afraid that this tattoo is going to cost me sex (and I plan to prove that in the coming months), but the prospect of having to deal with all of the guys' emotional issues upon revealing to them my little battle scar is more than I can handle. Just as Tucker said, I have serious emotional issues - mostly of the "attachment" sort. I'm not really interested in being attached to anyone at the moment, and as such have developed the lovely skill of being able to emotionally detach myself from sex. It's not love. It's fucking with a good friend, a drinking buddy, whatever. I like to tell myself that all of my fuck buddies feel the same way. But if this tattoo is going to shatter that illusion, if by turning on a light to show off my tattoo I have begun to drag their emotional issues out into the bright light as well - I have ruined my favorite pastime.

What have I done?

As I lay there sulking, the guy turns to me. Here we go.

"Who is Tucker Max?"

"This guy... he has a website."

Kid marches right over to his computer and Google's "Tucker Max," obviously pointing him in the direction of the site. At first I ask him what he's doing. He tells me to hush; he'll read some stuff and if he thinks "the guy is money, we can still fuck." He reads for awhile, ten or fifteen minutes, snickering occasionally. Then he stands up, gets a condom, turns the light back off, and pounces. Crisis averted. After we're done (we fucked, in case that needed to be spelled out), he speaks for the first time since surfing Tucker's site.

"That guy is fucking funny. I'll take his sloppy seconds. And if you still talk to him, you can go ahead and tell him I said that."

Then we had pizza and watched SportsCenter, and I went home.

To wash my sheets."

This will be an ongoing story. Jess has promised to keep me updated on how the tattoo affects her sex life and personal relationships, and not only how much sex it costs her but how much it gets her. And to make it easy, we will have counters for this:

Guys who have turned her down because of the tattoo: 0
Girls who have tried to fuck her because of the tattoo: 3
Guys who have tried to fuck her because of the tattoo: 25
(count updated 1/16/05)

She told me to post her anonymous email address, so all you jackals can email her and ask to fuck instead of emailing me:
thetattoogirl@gmail.com

*--I would like to point something out. A few people--not many--have emailed me bitching about how I depicted the "black guys" in this story, and then accused me of being racist. I found this to be hilarious. I never once referenced the race of the "Ghetto Bastards," and in fact they were ALL WHITE (of the five, one may have been hispanic). If you automatically assume that because they are poor/ghetto that they are thus black, then it is you who are racist, not me.

Posted by Tucker Max at 10:57 AM

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