My Sister’s Tattoo

“Hey, what’s up? Did somebody die?” I’d just come home from hanging out with some friends. Mom and my sister were sitting at the kitchen table looking pretty unhappy.

“Your sister had herself tattooed,” Mom replied.

“Cool! Can I see it?”

“I can’t understand why you and Dad are so upset,” said Bernie. “Tattoos are in.” Her name is Bernadette but I just call her Bernie. She prefers that anyway.

“Go ahead and show him,” said Mom. Bernie stood up, turned around and lifted her top. She displayed a nicely designed tattoo that covered her lower back. She must have been saving up for it for a while. The tattoo artist took pride in his work at least.

“Nice tramp stamp.”

“What did you call it?” Mom asked.

“They’re called tramp stamps.”

“They are not,” Bernie exclaimed.

“Why do they call them that?”

“From what I’ve heard any girl that gets that kind of tattoo is announcing to the world that she’s a slut.”

“It’s worse than I thought,” said Mom. “I think I need a drink.”

“He’s just making that up, Mom. I know he is.”

“I’m not making it up. Just google tramp stamps and you’ll see that I’m right.”

“Well, I’ve had my say,” said Mom. “You’re going to have to live with that for the rest of your life.” She got up and walked out of the kitchen. I assumed she headed for where the booze was kept.

“Why did you tell Mom that? That was mean and you just made things worse.”

“Mom and Dad would have found out sooner or later. Better to get all the bad news out now so they can get used to your new decoration.”

“So that’s what it’s really called; a tramp stamp?”

“Just like I said. I take it Allison talked you into it?” Bernie nodded her head. Allison is Bernie’s best friend. Mom and Dad adored her like Allison was another daughter and I liked her plenty too except as another sister. I guess they’ve known each other since kindergarten. It’s easy to figure who the dominant one is in that friendship. Allison can talk my sister into practically anything. At least it’s monkey see monkey do. Allison had her tramp stamp first. The same thing happened with their piercings. They’re both 18 years old and recent high school graduates.

“Well, I don’t care what people call it. I’m not a slut. I happen to still be a virgin.” Not for long I thought.

“You should ask why people call girls with tramp stamps sluts, shouldn’t you?”

“Suppose you tell me.”

“I’d be happy to do just that. Now, as I see it the girl with one of those tattoos has to show it off, right? What does she wear? She wears those low riser jeans with her thong straps showing and a crop top for maximum exposure of the tattoo. Now that happens to be the uniform of today’s street hooker in any town in the good old USA you care to mention. Is it any wonder why people will think of you as a slut? It’s like saying, ‘Come fuck me. I’m available.’”

I could tell my explanation was having an effect on her. Naturally it was stuff she never considered before. I was having a ball fucking with her mind. She was two years older than me but I swear she was as gullible as a child.

“I don’t have to wear that stuff.”

“No, you don’t have to but do you think Allison will let you get away with that? She’ll have you outfitted like a whore just like herself.” Bernie didn’t deny it. I think she realized how much sway Allison had on her.

“Anyway, you’d have to rid of your bikinis and wear swimsuits designed for old women.” Bernie looked horrified.

“Then what should I do?”

“I don’t think there’s anything you can do except look on the bright side.”

“There’s a bright side?” She sounded hopeful.

“Yeah, now you’ll have plenty of guys coming on to you.”

“That’s never been a problem for me.” I could believe that.