House of Bobbi

I wasn’t sure what to expect. A church with my name on it. I looked at the ring on my numb hand, it has to be related. I pushed past the first set of doors, taking a look around inside the foyer.

A bulletin board was hung on the wall, a grainy blown up photo of me was in the middle. It was from that night, the first night when I used the ring. Pinned all around my face were pictures of others, several elves, smiling women. Letters were also there, I grabbed one.

“Dear Bobbi, I owe you my life. I don’t know if you remember me,” I mumbled as I read. I don’t remember anything from that night. “I was the girl with the brain tumor. All the doctors said it was inoperable gave me months to live. I was depressed, drinking myself into a stupor every night.” I stopped, pinning the letter back to the board.

I glanced at the letters. “Reversed my mastectomy.” “Fixed my acne scars.” “Positive pregnancy test.” “I love my new ears.” “Gave me the confidence to ask her out.” “Got rid of those grey hairs.” Every letter was addressed to me, thanking me for whatever change I made to them.

I turned to the doors that lead to the main hall. I paused, a buzzing sound came from the other side. Should I go in? I stare at the ring, my hand rested against the door. Will they expect me to be able to do all those things? I can’t, or I could but at what cost to my arm. Will they accept changing nail polish after watching me cure cancer? I could still turn back. They haven’t found me in the past weeks, I could hide until I was better, stronger, more powerful.

No, I needed to see what was past those doors. They squeaked as I entered. There were four women around the room. One laid out on a table, her ass exposed. Another holding a tattoo gun, the buzzing I heard from the foyer. Another was scraping something off the wall. And the fourth was carving a statue in corner, she wiped away at dust and pebbles, raising her chisel back up.

“No way. It’s, it’s actually her. It’s Bobbi,” the wall scraper said when she saw me. Everyone stopped, turning to look at me.

“What is this place?” I asked, walking further into the room.

“It’s a gathering spot. Those of us touched by, well by you,” the tattooist said. “I’m Fiona,” she pulled off her glove, before stretching her hand out. Her arm was covered in tattoos.

“Bobbi,” I said before realizing, “but I guess you already know that.” Standing next to Fiona, I could see the other girl’s ass up close. Bob was tattooed across her ass another b already started. I recognized the font, she was getting a “Bobbi’s Bitch” tattoo.

“Lizzie here didn’t get the tat, and has felt left out,” Fiona said, catching my gaze. Lizzie was smiling at me, her pointed ears poked through her blonde hair. An elf.

“I can fix that,” I said. I swung my good hand, the slap caused Lizzie’s ass to jiggle. And when my hand came away, a fully formed “Bobbi’s Bitch” was there. “Oh no,” I said, realizing that it didn’t line up with the half finished tattoo.

Lizzie grabbed the mirror from the table. She laughed looking at it. “I can fix that,” I said without thinking. Could I fix it? I guess I was going to find out. I imagined Lizzie’s ass, pictured the half finished tattoo gone, leaving only my mark. The ring flared up, it hurt but it was manageable, still it would be a good idea not to push it.

“Perfect,” Lizzie giggled, rubbing her ass. Hot damn, perfect indeed.

“This is Gabriella and Vicky,” Fiona introduced the other two women. Gabriella was the Latina sculptor and Vicky was the black haired woman scraping the walls.

“It’s so nice to meet you again,” Vicky said.

“I hope you like the place, we’re still renovating,” Gabriella said.

The place was kind of rough now that I was looking at it. Holes in a few walls, unpainted in others probably where they’ve patched it. “So what you worship me?” I asked, noticing a distinct lack religious iconography. Is that what the sculpture is? It does kind of look like me, except for the nose.

“No, no, well, maybe a little,” Gabriella said, “it’s just you helped so many of us. We kept visiting that bar trying to find you again. We started a group and when I saw a decrepit church on sale for cheap, a few of us chipped in and well, the House of Bobbi was born.”

“This is crazy,” I said.

“Maybe, but you’ve changed our lives. I mean Lizzie’s an elf,” Gabriella said, “Vicky used to be diabetic. Fiona was drinking herself to ****, she’d injured her hand and was never going to be able to ink again.”

“And you?” I asked in curiosity.

“I was already dead. Stage 4 lung cancer.” I stared at my hand, I really did a lot that first night. “Will you stay? I know a lot of the other girls would love to thank you in person.”

“Um, sure. Let me just make a call,” I said. They cheered, excited. They all pulled out phones to call up the other members. I called Regina.

“What’s up, Ringmaster?” she said.

“I think I might have started a cult,” I joked.

Regina laughed, “It usually takes longer before that happens.”