The bathroom was a closet with a mirror.
I locked it. I pulled the shorts down again and watched his c*m slide down my thigh under the ugly light. My hands shook when I wiped. It did not matter. I was still wet. The stencil on my lower back looked crooked from how I had come. I fixed my clothes and stared at my own mouth until I could walk.
Tyler was changing the paper on the bench when I opened the door.
The next consult’s voice was gone from the hall. He had sent them away. The lock was turned again.
“Get on your stomach.”
“The tattoo.”
“Yes.” He pulled on fresh gloves. “You made a mess of the transfer. I put it on again. Then I work. You hold still this time.”
I lay down.
He cleaned me. Cold soap over skin that still felt used. New stencil. His palm on my ass, professional now,
