Two fine line bee tattoos sit on the upper thighs of a person in a short skirt and lace-top stockings, photographed in sepia.

Fine line bee tattoos on two thighs

Fine line · Thigh · Black and grey · Photo

Two legs are photographed from behind, each with a small fine line bee on the upper thigh. A thin single line runs down from each bee towards the top of the lace stocking band, which has a small white bow. The image is sepia toned, so the black ink and skin tones appear in warm brown greys against a blurred street background.

Fine line Thigh Bee Line Lace Bow

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dora had been told the swarm would not sting if she kept still, so she kept still on the bottom rung of the ladder while the cider apples thudded into the grass around her. The orchard at Pell's Corner smelled of bruised windfalls and wet bark. Her uncle was up the ladder with the smoker, muttering to the hive as if it were a difficult customer, and the bees hung in a brown knot from the lowest bough like a fist of wool.

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One bee had broken away. It circled her head twice, then settled on the sleeve of her coat and walked, deliberately, to the cuff. She had a length of black thread wound round her finger from mending the lace on her Sunday stockings, and without thinking she tied one end to the bee's narrow waist. It was no more than a stitch. The bee lifted, dragging the fine line behind it, and went off over the hedge towards the church tower, a kite with no kite.

Her uncle laughed when he saw. "You've got a pet now," he said. "Mind it doesn't take you home." She didn't tell him she meant to follow it, but by four o'clock she had walked the lane to the vicarage, then the mill race, then the stile where the brambles grow thick. The thread went taut and then slack, always pointing somewhere ahead.

She found it at dusk on the back step of the post office, where a telegram boy sat with his knees up and a fat bee asleep on his cap. The boy had a message for Pell's Corner and had forgotten to deliver it. Dora read it by the lamp: SWARM SETTLED ON YOUR TREE STOP COME HOME BEFORE IT DECIDES OTHERWISE. She untied the thread, coiled it into her pocket, and walked back up the lane with the light going, the bee humming somewhere behind her like a watch that had decided to keep its own time.