Phoenyx: Flesh & Fire

by Morgana Blackrose

  Her fingers wandered pleasingly through my hair. “Never mind the rent next month, girl. You’ve made me feel like nothing else, and nobody else, ever could. We’ll do this again when you return. Yes?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Groenenberg.”

  “Good, girl. Good. Now, I’d better go, sadly, I have things to do.”

  She pushed up past me to her feet, wobbled a bit on her heels, and adjusted her clothes to look slightly more presentable again. Her hair was wild now and her perfume was fresh sex, her mascara traced spidery lines down her cheeks, and yet she left the house without another word and without looking back. Definitely a strange one, I thought, as I closed the door behind her. Her hips had lost some of that now-familiar cocky swing. But she was drunk, and going through some kind of lifestyle change. I could hardly blame her.

  Besides, I had things to do of my own – like sorting out passports, learning something about the country I was about to visit, and figuring out what I’d need to buy to bring with me. It would be weeks before I’d see Mrs. Groenenberg again.

  I wondered if I would miss her when I was gone.

  Chapter Seven

  Rise of the Phoenyx

  Honey was right about one thing. From the moment we stepped off Lufthansa flight 718 at Tokyo, I was in love with the city. It really did look like nothing else I’d ever seen before.

  Skyscrapers and skylines that appeared to be alive with lights and surging electricity. Animated cartoon characters, prawns, crabs and animals jumped out at us from buildings in glowing neon, advertising, games, arcades, restaurants, bars and stores of every kind.

  And so many people. So many bloody people, everywhere I looked, that I felt overwhelmed, as if I was once again the innocent country girl coming to the big city for the first time in my life.

  “Stay close,” Honey urged, and pulled me tight.

  That made me panic a bit. “Does it get dangerous here?” I gasped, knowing I really didn’t want to know.

  “Not really, I just want the chance of groping your amazing ass whenever I can.”

  I laughed out loud. Honey had such a winning way; it was hard to remember that she was capable of taking anything seriously. Having scoped out the hotel and signed in (and finding out that we were on the seventeenth floor – which would either help me to overcome my fear of elevators, or lose plenty of weight), we started off on the sightseeing and gawking in shop windows routine.

  I didn’t feel as out of place as I had feared, since there were plenty of other tourists like us looking similarly overwhelmed. I overheard American, English, and French voices within our first hour of mixing and mingling on the street. But despite the masses of people – more than I’d ever seen in one place before – the city seemed far more orderly than anything I’d ever been used to, as if everyone had a definite purpose and reason to be exactly where they were at that time.

  Honey pulled me aside into a shop front and, totally unexpectedly, grabbed my hand and pushed it up her t-shirt, clamping my fingers over her nipple ring.

  “You still like this little thing?” she asked me excitedly.

  “Yes, I love it.”

  “Still want to get one just like it?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

  “Then come with me. I’ll introduce you to someone really cute who’ll get you fixed up.”

  She led me down a side street – a dead end, as it turned out, with only a brightly-illuminated shop front at the end of it. I couldn’t read the Japanese characters (which are called ‘Kanji’, so Honey had informed me earlier), but the English sign read: ‘Johnny Tattoo’.

  “Hold on,” I said, “a tattoo shop?”

  “Don’t worry,” she said, pulling me onwards. “He also does piercing. In fact, all kinds of body modification.”

  We entered and the first thing I noticed was the smell of antiseptic. It reminded me of a hospital. There was a cluster of young girls sitting, chattering excitedly, leafing through the big glossy folder of tattoo designs. And behind the counter, bopping along to some kind of local rock music on the radio, was a young man in sleeveless tee-shirt, with spiky hair and dragon tattoos curling around his arms and chest.

  “Johnny, sweetie,” Honey sang, and the man beamed excitedly in reply. “Ikaga desu-ka?”

  “Genki desu,” he replied in a charming sing-song voice. “Or, as you might say, ‘over the moon’.” He turned to me. “Don’t worry about her, she’s only showing off. I taught her all the Japanese she knows.”

  “Not quite all, Johnny,” Honey said, moving in to support the counter. “I already knew all the swear words before I came here.” She pulled me in beside her and hugged me tight. “Johnny, this is Phoenyx. She dances at the same club I’m at in Berlin.”

  He bowed to me. “Johnny Iko. Honored. Any friend of Honey is a friend of mine.”

  His accent held a strange, almost American drawl, unlike any of the other native speakers I’d come across so far.

  I smiled at him. “Your English is amazing. A hell of a lot better than my Japanese.”

  “Thanks, but I was educated in Canada, and took my art degrees there. I only returned here to Japan a few years ago to start my own business.”

  “Speaking of which,” Honey said, “How goes it?”

  “Hm, it goes.” He pointed to the giggling girls, who were failing badly to look as if they weren’t showing great interest in these two Western women. “I get the usual time-wasters taking up space. But, there are plenty of big gigs to keep me afloat.”

  “Well, I’ve got a one-night stand for you, if you’re not too busy,” she went on. “Phoenyx here liked my piercings so much she wants one of her own.” She turned to me expectantly. “You are still up for this, right?”

  “Always said I’d try most things once. Twice, if I like it.”

  Johnny did some things beneath the counter and opened the door to the back shop behind him. He beckoned me with a nod. “Come on through, then.”

  I looked at Honey. “Do I get any moral support for this?”

  She leant over the counter, resting her chin in her hands. “You’re with the best there, Phoenyx. It’ll all be over in a minute, trust me. Blink and you might even miss it.”

  The hospital smell got thicker as I followed him through to a little area which reminded me horribly of a dentist’s surgery, and in particular the time I got all my front teeth knocked out when I was a kid. That was a horrible experience I’d never want to repeat, filled with much blood, cotton wool, and screaming on my part.

  I shot a nervous glance over my shoulder to see Honey grinning and waving back at me. Johnny closed the door behind us and I looked around at the bare space, filled only by a couch and a chair, a small cabinet upon which were the tools and instruments of decoration, and some stunning tattoo designs pinned to the wall. I cast my eyes over them all, soaking in the spiraling, intricate details of dragons and fabulous beasts.

  “Interested?” he inquired.

  “They’re beautiful,” I said. “Oriental dragons are so exquisite, compared to the Western ones.”

  “Thanks. I draw all these myself.” He pointed to another design on the opposite wall, a stylized, spread-eagled firebird. “That’s one I just finished. One of my more Western-influenced pieces.”

  I studied the firebird closely, shimmering tongues of red, orange and yellow leaping from its outstretched wings.

  It was me, I thought; Phoenyx. The bird of freedom eternally rising from the flames.

  “I love it,” I said at last, entranced. “If I ever was to get a tattoo, it would have to be that.”

  “Well, you know where to come if you ever do,” he smiled. I was still staring at the swirling, hypnotic design when I glimpsed a hand beckoning me. I snapped out of it, remembering where I was and what I was doing there.

  I was alone with a strange man in what looked like, upon closer inspection, some kind of modern torture chamber. Bizarre metal contraptions sat in glass cases – surely, those things didn’t
get stuck in human bodies anywhere, did they? rings, needles, dumbbells, spikes, and other artifacts I could not even name.

  He snapped on a pair of surgical gloves and opened up a little plastic tray on his workbench.

  “Take a seat,” he said, “I’ll be a minute or two. Be at ease.”

  I sat on the black couch and tried hard not to laugh. A strange man was about to stick sharp pointed things into one of the most tender parts of my body, and I was supposed to relax?

  So I lay back, staring up at the white painted ceiling above me and the fluorescent strip-light. Johnny’s face appeared at the edge of my vision.

  “Just take your top off when you’re ready,” he said cheerfully.

  Oh yes, of course, I thought; that might help. I pulled the sweater up over my head and spilled my tits out of my bra. He actually looked quite impressed at the sight.

  “Right or left?”

  I thought for a moment. The right was usually a bit more sensitive, for some reason. So I pointed to the left one. I didn’t want to overdo it on my first time.

  He approached me with what looked like a darning needle, and a shiny steel ring with a bit missing. I looked back up at the ceiling again, knowing that if I couldn’t see what he was doing then I would be okay.

  “Honey’s lovely, isn’t she?” he asked as he rubbed something which smelled sharp and tangy over my teat. My usual sensitivity didn’t let me down, and I felt it quiver and stiffen under his touch.

  “Hm,” I replied through my gritted teeth, hoping to brave the pain that I knew was coming.

  “I can tell you, I got a big surprise the first time I lifted her skirt up. Oh, I knew what to expect, alright – but, so big? I felt jealous, you know.”

  I wasn’t thinking about Johnny and Honey, or wanting to imagine what they might have got up to in the past. I was still waiting for that jab of tremendous pain to jangle my nerves and make me squirm for the rest of the day.

  It occurred to me, after a moment, that he was doing more than just preparing the site with a swab of local anesthetic. I risked a glance down, and saw that he was, in fact, playing with my nipple as if it was a radio tuner.

  “Is this normal procedure?” I asked.

  “That’s what I’m thinking. You’re incredibly sensitive. Amazingly erectile.”

  “I guess I am,” I said. “I get...um, excited very easily.”

  “Maybe I need more anesthetic.”

  “No, it’ll be okay,” I said, not quite knowing what I was saying, or why. “Just – get it over with.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Okay. Here goes, then.”

  I flicked my eyes back quickly to the ceiling. So far I’d just about managed to ignore the rising heat between my legs. If he spent any more time playing with me, I’d be likely to make a mess of myself and God knows what might happen then. If we weren’t in a public place, with strangers – vulnerable, young ones at that – sitting outside, then I might have been tempted to go a little further. But Johnny was Honey’s old flame and I didn’t want to step on any toes.

  The stab hit me like nothing I had ever experienced. My back arched and the pleasure centre of my brain locked into overdrive. I glanced down and saw him working the open-ended ring in through my tingling teat.

  “Oh, God,” I hissed aloud, the words mangled as I chewed my lip between my teeth. The ring worked its way further in, and the fire down below became an inferno. I wanted nothing more at that moment than for him to do it properly and grab my tit between his teeth. I squeezed my fingernails tight into the side of the couch, hoping I wouldn’t embarrass myself. He turned away for a moment and I tried to think of boring, un-sexy things. Ronald Reagan. Yes, he’ll do, I thought. I tried to keep my mind on the American president as Johnny came back at me with a little emerald green ball between his thumb and forefinger.

  “I thought this would look good,” he explained. “It matches your eyes.”

  He set the ball in the gap of the ring and tweaked and pulled again.

  “Aww fuck yes,” I squealed as he closed the ring up and stepped back. It was a good job I’d bothered to wear underwear or I would probably have soaked his couch.

  I just lay there, twitching and fighting back the urge to sob with orgasmic delight. He carefully unpicked his gloves from his fingers as I wiped the water away from my eyes.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  I nodded dumbly.

  “Sure?”

  “Uh huh,” I squeaked, still vainly trying to conjure images of Ronald and Nancy in the hope of stemming the wetness which was seeping through the crotch of my G-string. I quickly sat up and swung my legs over the side. “Thanks,” I said at last.

  Johnny went past me and opened the door. Honey was in the main shop alone, staring goggle-eyed as we came back through.

  “What the fuck were you two up to in there?” she gasped. “You scared away the children.”

  I finished adjusting my sweater and felt a hot rush flow into my cheeks.

  “Not what you think,” Johnny snapped, “I’m not that quick, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know, sweetie.” She took me by the hand as I came back around the counter. “Get more than we bargained for, did we?”

  I shrugged, grinning maniacally. “I should say so.”

  “What’s the damage?” Honey asked as Johnny rang up a total on the digital cash register. She had opened up her purse when I pushed her aside and dashed back around the counter again, seized by impromptu desires. I had to have the right one done now. I had to, there was no argument. I had to experience that again with the super-sensitive right tit. After all, the kids had vanished, and now was my chance to scream for all I was worth, if the need so arose.

  “Do the other one,” I begged him. “Now. Please.”

  Honey plucked one of the healthcare leaflets from the counter and turned away as we went back through.

  “Aw Christ, here we go again,” she sighed, and Johnny closed the door with a click and a chuckle.

  “Good day, then?” Honey asked me as I sat in the bath surrounded by cherry blossom bubbles.

  I just sighed in response, waiting for her to finish rubbing surgical spirit into my nipples. There’d been a little bleeding earlier, which had alarmed me, but that had long since stopped. And besides, Honey had kissed them better, so everything was wonderful again.

  “What d’you want to do tomorrow?”

  I opened my eyes. “Get a tattoo.”

  “Whoa there. Nice idea, but – really? Remember, you can’t take it off. You’re stuck with it. Forever.”

  “I know. But I’ve seen the perfect design. The only design I’d ever want to get.” She looked through me with a strange kind of skepticism. “Aw, c’mon, Honey. This is no surprise. You obviously put Johnny up to it before we came here, right?”

  That made her flash her eyelashes in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

  “The fiery phoenix bird, Honey. The one he said he completed just the day before.”

  She swept a loose lock of hair back from her face. “You’ve totally lost me. I called him from Berlin to let him know I was coming back – sure. But you’ve never mentioned tattoos to me, and the only thing you ever spoke about was the piercing. Which you’ve already got.” She shrugged. “Sorry, am I missing something here?”

  She was right, of course – it didn’t add up. But it was nonetheless too meaningful to ignore. “I don’t believe in coincidences,” I said by way of a response.

  “Me neither. But if it feels right, then it’s probably all right. Right?” She flicked a finger over my right nipple and made me splash in response. “But, sleep on it. It’s a big commitment. Although, anything that means I get to rub cream into your skin is definitely fine by me.”

  I did sleep on it, and when I awoke – even before I opened my eyes – the first thing I saw was Johnny’s phoenix bird, flaming wings outstretched and a tongue of fire flicking out from its open beak. I opened my eyes to see Honey in
her white kimono, standing by the window and looking out at a thousand other windows opposite.

  I arrived behind her, pressing my naked flesh against her warm silk. She reached behind and caught my hair between her fingers.

  “Weather forecast is for rain. And humid sunshine,” she said.

  “Warm and wet? Great combination.”

  She turned around and squeezed her lips into mine. “Yes, you are, you divine fiery bird.”

  “How long have you known Johnny for?” I asked.

  “Oh, we go back years. First time, was in Montreal when he was still a student. He’s older than he looks, you know – I don’t know how he does it. And as well as being an amazing artist, he’s also damn handy at kinbaku.”

  “What’s that, a martial art?”

  That made her laugh. “No, dear. It’s Japanese rope bondage. Very different from the Western idea of whips ‘n chains.”

  “I don’t know anything about that,” I confessed, feeling embarrassingly uneducated again. What little of it I’d seen didn’t interest me – I’d always preferred my sex to be physical and direct, and didn’t much like the idea of getting hit beyond the occasional good spanking, or Mrs. Groenenberg’s idea of discipline.

  “Well, I was skeptical at first, as well. Until the night he sat down and explained it to me, all about its history as an art form and the sensual and psychological journey it involves.” She shrugged, seeing my lack of interest. “Hey, different strokes, and all that. Wanna get breakfast?”

  “I wanna get my tattoo.”

  “Then you really do need breakfast. Last thing you want is feeling faint or light-headed under the needle. C’mon, let’s go get some squid tentacles.”

  I passed on the seafood options and dragged Honey to the nearest burger bar instead, where we were served in a smiling, grateful and very humble manner by uniformed employees who looked as though they actually valued their jobs and the service they were providing to the public.

  “You still want to go through with this?” she asked me in between slurps of some kind of cola. “We’ve been here only a day and all you’ve wanted to do is suffer pain and bodily mutilation.”