Front Stamp

“Lucky You”

“There’s no proper term for it,” I said. “I’ve read front stamp or vag tat. That’s about it.”

I waited for my friend to answer. He didn’t. He just kept driving.

“But you get what I’m saying? When it’s on the other side it’s called a tramp stamp. But in the front, the area between the pussy and the naval, there’s no official name for that kind of tattoo. Or even that zone so far as I can tell.”

Still, nothing.

“I’d love to be the one to coin the term for that zone,” I said. “Sorta like naming the taint. That wouldn’t be a bad legacy.”

“So no fame or fortune? No Pulitzer Prize? No bestseller? No readings? Just this front stamp? You’re serious?” he finally asked.

“Yeah, I think so. Imagine, some beautiful woman, even if it was just one, tattooing my words over her pussy. And, of course, with some hair.”

“Like how people get gospel verses inked on their arms and backs and shit? Like that?”

“Yeah,” I said. “And then, as she grows old and the pussy grows old, so will my words along with it all. I dunno, there seems something poetic about it. A fitting denouement, don’t you think?”

He turned silent again, staring into traffic.

“A good enough legacy for me,” I said. “Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. Of course, naming the zone would be cool too.”

“I can’t tell when you’re being serious or not,” he said.

“I can’t either, sometimes.”

“And why’s this woman of yours got to be beautiful. Why can’t see be old or just so-so looking?”

“Poetics, my man.”

My friend shook his head.

“And how old are you?”

“Forty eight,” I said.

We drove a mile or so in silence.

“Then again, nobody reads my shit anyway so maybe somebody old or ugly would be more appropriate. Shoot.”

I waited for my friend to respond but he wouldn’t.

“So let me ask you this. Should it matter if the woman was black or white or Asian or Latino? You know, in my vision of how this might go down?”

“Do you have a preference?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Somehow…for some reason….I envisioned her as white. But it shouldn’t matter, right?”

“No. It shouldn’t matter,” my friend said.

“So you got any ideas about that zone between the pussy and the navel? I mean, if you do and I use it and the term gets coined, I’ll give you credit, so long as I’m alive.”

“I think it’s already got terms: belly or tummy or midriff,” he said.

“Fuck,” I said. “I think you’re right. But that tattoo itself – the front one – first I was thinking twat stamp or twat marker or something like that but now I’m thinking bajingo brand.”

“What’s bajingo. Like Django? The movie?” he asked.

“Nah. It’s just another term for pussy. I got off of Urban Dictionary.”

“It sounds stupid,” he said. “Besides, I think you’re going a bit too far with this whole thing.”

“Yeah. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I need to reign it in.”

He jumped into another lane of traffic.

“Motherfucker,” he yelled.

“So what’s new with you?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he said, and kept on driving.

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