Punk Rock Resurrection

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Punk Rock Resurrection Page 7

by Jenna Galicki

  Two successive chimes announced a group of girls and a burly dude covered in tattoos. The girls were only interested in looking through the artists’ portfolios, but the burly dude had an appointment with Alyssa.

  “Take a seat,” Damien told him. “She’s almost done and will be up in a minute.”

  A few minutes later, Alyssa escorted the burly dude to the back room. It alerted Damien’s curiosity, because the back room was used for privacy. He opened the appointment calendar and scanned Alyssa’s appointments. 3:30 – Scott, apadravya. He scratched the shaved skin above his ear and wondered what the piercing entailed.

  They were in the back room together for a long time, or maybe it just seemed that way because Damien was waiting, and wondering, what was going on behind the closed door.

  Axel rang up a client and deposited money in the register next to him. “I could use a hand if you have a minute.”

  “Sure.” Damien followed Axel back to his station, threw on a pair of gloves, and began depositing the used ink cups and paper towels in the trash. While he was spraying everything down with disinfectant, Alyssa and her client emerged from the back. Damien inspected his face as she walked him to the front of the shop, but there was no evidence of a new piercing as far as he could tell. He finished cleaning Axel’s station and caught up to Alyssa at the front desk, just as her client left the shop. “What did he have done?”

  “Scott? An apadravya.” When she saw the confusion on his face, she laughed. “It’s a genital piercing.”

  Damien still didn’t know exactly what an apadravya was, but he pictured Alyssa threading a needle through the head of his cock . . . or through his ball sac. The blood rushed down between his legs and the tightness at the crotch of his jeans threatened to cut off his circulation. Why didn’t he think of it sooner?

  Alyssa mistook his silence for jealousy. “Don’t be mad. It’s my job. I pierce clits, too. It doesn’t matter to me. It’s business.”

  The devious smile that passed across Damien’s face explained the erotic thoughts going through his head.

  Alyssa let out a seductive laugh and quickly covered her mouth to hide it. “Don’t get me in trouble. Save those ideas for when we’re at my place.”

  Damien stepped closer to her so no one could hear. “I want you to pierce my dick – right through the head. And my balls too. Can you do it tonight?” His voice was low and raspy, and his cock was getting harder by the second.

  She hesitated. “I don’t know if you really want me to do that, but we’ll talk about it later.”

  Damien was on his back, completely naked, on top of Alyssa’s bed. His legs were open into a wide V, while Alyssa knelt between them. There was a large surgical pad next to him with supplies on it: latex gloves; a piercing needle in a sealed plastic bag; antibacterial ointment; a clamp, also sealed in plastic; a marker; a bottle of Betadine; gauze pads; and the large ring that was soon to be adorning his private parts. Anticipation had his body tingling, and he couldn’t contain the erection that was growing between his legs.

  “You’re not supposed to have a hard-on the size of the Empire State Building when I’m about to shove a needle through the skin at the base of your dick.”

  His nerve endings jumped at the mention of the piercing, and his cock twitched. He was worried that he’d come as soon as she touched him, or quite possibly before she even started. “Hurry up. Do it.”

  “It’s a process. I can’t just hurry through it.” She smiled and kept glancing at him while she slipped on a pair of gloves and bathed his balls in antiseptic. It was cold and they tightened, but his dick was still standing sky high. She took care in placing marks on his flesh where the piercing would reside, then sat back on her knees and examined it. “That looks about right. Are you ready?”

  “So fucking ready.”

  She pulled at his sac with the clamp and stretched the skin.

  It was a weird feeling, both exciting and alarming. He clenched the sheets in his fists and leaned his head back. He wished there was a mirror set up so he could watch, but the image of Alyssa with a needle poised in her hand, aimed directly at his balls, would be imbedded into his memory for life.

  “Do you want a countdown?”

  She tricked him with that question the first day they met, when she pierced his eyebrow. “No, but – UH!” Searing pain exploded through his balls as the needle went straight through his sac at the base of his cock. His shoulders lurched forward, and he curled up to look, but white light blinded him.

  “Don’t move. I’m almost done.”

  Yellow spots covered the room and he could barely make out Alyssa’s silhouette in the haze. His balls were throbbing and his heart was pounding. He fell back down onto the pillow, breathing heavily, while his lower half pulsed with an odd mixture of excruciating pain and intense, blinding pleasure. When his sight came back into focus, Alyssa was smiling down at his cock.

  “I knew that was going to happen. You, Damien, are a dream come true for me. I push my needle through your flesh and you reward me with a shower of semen.”

  He didn’t even realize he came. Sensations were swirling through him with a force that made him dizzy. A blissful smile spread across his cheeks, and he closed his eyes, savoring the buzz of electricity that was still pulsing through his crotch like a cattle prod.

  Alyssa ripped off her gloves, gathered her supplies in the surgical pad and dropped it on the dresser. She returned with a handheld mirror. “Would you like to look at your new jewels?”

  Damien struggled to sit up. The pressure from the mattress on his balls was sharp and made him cringe, but he pushed through it.

  “Easy. Don’t hurt yourself.” Alyssa steadied him with a hand on his back and held the mirror for him.

  It was crimson, and only mildly swollen, but it throbbed like a mother fucker. “I can’t believe you just pierced my balls. What’s this called again?”

  “A lorum. Technically, it’s not your sac. The piercing is at the juncture of the shaft and the scrotum.” She pinched the tightened skin of his balls between her index finger and thumb, digging in with her fingernails. “A scrotum piercing is lower. Down here.”

  He shuddered and thought he might come again. “You drive me crazy, Alyssa.”

  The self-satisfied smile that spread across her painted lips made him sigh.

  She put the mirror down on the nightstand and crawled in bed with him. “I’ll show you how to clean it in the morning. How does it feel?”

  “Like my balls are on fire.” He meant that in a good way. “I can’t believe I met you.”

  She placed a long kiss on his lips. Her mouth was hot as hell and sweet as sugar, and she constantly turned him on. He slipped his hand inside her robe and cupped her breast.

  “Slow down.” She stopped his hand, but he still played with her nipple ring.

  “Just because I already came doesn’t mean I’m done.”

  “You just got pierced, remember? You need to let it heal for a while.”

  He propped himself up on one elbow, slightly alarmed. “I thought you said I could still have sex with this one. That’s why I didn’t get the Prince Albert.”

  “You can, but it’s not a good idea to have it immediately afterwards.” She handed him a glass of juice that she brought with her when she set up her supplies. “Drink this. Just in case you get light-headed. I don’t want you to pass out on me.”

  “Pass out? I may have already done that.” The rush of pain and pleasure was still fresh, and his body still tingled.

  “I’ve had people who looked absolutely fine pass out as soon as they stood up.” She motioned to the glass in his hand. “Drink.”

  He drank most of the juice and grimaced at its sweetness. “It would have been better if you put some vodka in there.”

  She took the glass from his hand, set it down on the nightstand, and helped him with a T-shirt. “In case you get cold,” she explained. “I don’t want you to unconsciously grab the covers and
catch the piercing, and I don’t want you to put shorts on yet. Let it air out for a little while.” She sprawled in bed next to him and pressed her fingers to his neck. “Your heart rate is high. I can see it beating in your throat. Let’s just lie down and relax. Close your eyes for a few minutes.”

  He scooped her closer with one arm, and she rested her head on his shoulder. His heart rate settled, but his body still felt like it was floating from the rush of the needle. He closed his eyes, but the smile remained. Suddenly he was exhausted, and he slowly drifted off to sleep.

  It was cold. Damien was shivering, but the only thing he had to keep him warm was his hooded sweatshirt. He should have taken a blanket or a heavier jacket with him when he snuck out of the house to seek refuge in his mother’s car. She had a man with her, and they were both drunk. They wouldn’t have bothered him. They wouldn’t have even noticed he was there as long as he stayed in his room, but he was repulsed by the sounds that filtered through the flimsy drywall. Even though the car was in the driveway and only a few yards away from the front door to the house, it was scary for a young boy by himself.

  He heard noise outside. It was a group of people walking down the street. Male voices grew louder, then stopped in front of the house, just a few feet away from the rear of the car. Damien curled into a ball, buried his face in his knees, and hoped they continued walking. When the voices didn’t leave, he peeked up at the window. The light from the lamppost reflected inside the car, and he realized he forgot to lock the doors. Whoever was outside could easily reach in and grab him.

  He watched the shadows that performed a ghoulish dance across the interior of the car. They looked like long, giant fingers tangled together. The wind shifted and the shadows moved and covered his face. He drew in his breath and imagined they were strangling him. A black silhouette appeared on the back of the seat, and he froze. There was a loud male voice attached to it, but it was projected from the rear of the car. He was safe – for the moment.

  The car rocked when the shadowed figure hopped onto the trunk of the car and kicked his feet against the bumper. Damien sucked in his breath, covered his face with the hood of his sweatshirt, and slipped down to the floor. His heart was pounding, and he squeezed his knees closer to his chest.

  It was probably only about ten minutes before the person sprang off the car, and the voices diminished and disappeared down the street, but it felt more like an hour. Damien waited until he couldn’t hear them anymore, then shot up and hit the button that locked the doors. He flew back down to the floor of the car and out of sight. He waited and listened for more voices, but the only thing he heard was his heart thumping in his chest. He shook off his fear and sat up. He hated that he was forced to sleep in the car because his mother entertained boyfriends at the house. Technically, he was out here by choice, but given the circumstances, he’d rather sleep in the car – except it was freezing.

  The car started to shake and something was pulling on Damien’s arm. Someone was calling his name. He fluttered his eyes open and jumped when he saw Alyssa staring at him from six inches away. Relief flooded him when he realized that he had been dreaming, but it only lasted a few seconds. It was a horrible memory, retained in his subconscious. He was probably ten years old in the dream, over a decade prior, but it brought to life the injustice of his childhood, and humiliation washed over him.

  “Damien, are you all right? Answer me!”

  He realized Alyssa was still calling his name, and he focused on her. Her eyes bore into him with deep concern, and she had one hand on his chest. She had only known him a short time, yet her expression showed him more love and affection than his mother had in his entire life. He was too choked up to say anything. He only covered her hand with his.

  “I can feel your heart beating through your chest, and you’re drenched.” She took a few tissues from the box on the nightstand and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Stay here. I’ll get you a glass of water.”

  “No.” He grabbed her arm and stopped her. He needed a hell of a lot more than water to rid him of the torment that was swimming inside him. “I’ll be OK. I just want to wash my face.” He slid out of bed and carefully slipped on a pair of loose-fitting shorts. The chill from his sweat-soaked T-shirt made goose bumps rise on his back. He was embarrassed and uncomfortable. “Maybe I should leave.”

  Alyssa jumped out of bed and was at his side in an instant. “Don’t be ridiculous. You had a bad dream, Damien.” She took his hand and brought him to the bathroom. “Splash some cold water on your face. You’ll feel better. I don’t have any shirts that’ll fit you, but I have an oversized bathrobe that you’re welcome to wear.” She tried to read his eyes. “Are you sure you’re all right? You look pretty freaked out.”

  He was far from all right. “I’m fine.” He grazed his fingers over her cheek. “Thank you for being so nice to me.”

  She tilted her head to the side, and wavy lines formed in her forehead. She didn’t understand, but he couldn’t explain the turmoil that gnawed at his soul.

  He locked the bathroom door behind him and studied himself in the mirror. No wonder Alyssa looked so worried. His face was ash white and his eyes were blank. They were devoid of life. It was the expression he wore through most of his adolescence. It wasn’t until he became a teenager and picked up his first bass guitar that he started living. Music was the only reason he had to look forward to the start of a new day back then.

  The cold water shocked him back to the present and reminded him that his life had worth and meaning now. There was a beautiful woman on the opposite side of the door who genuinely cared for him, and he was locked in the bathroom mulling over his past. He shut off the water, patted his face and looked back in the mirror. He straightened his mohawk and pulled it toward the ceiling. Now he looked like his old self again.

  When he opened the door, Alyssa was leaning against the wall with her arms folded across her chest, holding a glass in her hand. She didn’t ask any questions or try to invade his privacy. She only looked him deep in the eye and studied his demeanor before offering him the glass.

  “Drink this.”

  He brought it to his nose and sniffed. Water. “You got anything a little stronger?”

  He followed her into the kitchen, and she opened a cabinet. “Tequila or Jack Daniels?”

  “I’ll take the Jacks.”

  He kept his finger on the neck of the bottle as she poured, and she watched him while the alcohol filled the glass waiting for him to release it. He lifted his finger when the glass was three-quarters full, and he drained half of it in one big gulp.

  Alyssa’s eyes never left him while she screwed the cap back on the bottle. “Feel better?”

  Shame covered his face in a wave of heat and stole his voice. He nodded while staring at the remaining Jack Daniels in his glass. Swallowing the last gulp, he waited for it to erase the loneliness than plagued his memory. He wanted a refill, but he was self-conscious by the way she watched him drink the alcohol so quickly.

  Alyssa sighed, took his hand and led him back to the bedroom. “Try not to think about anything and go back to sleep.”

  He tossed his sweaty T-shirt on the floor before he got into bed. As an afterthought he picked it up and crumpled it into a ball and placed it on top of his folded jeans that were on the dresser.

  Alyssa popped up on her elbows. “Did you just pick your shirt up off the floor?”

  “Yeah.” He slid beneath the sheets next to her. “I can’t throw my shit around like it’s my apartment.”

  “Are you kidding me? You just had some kind of freaky nightmare, and you’re worried about throwing your shirt on the floor of my bedroom?”

  He kissed her cheek and put his head on the pillow. “It’s disrespectful.”

  Her mouth hung open, unsure of what to say. “You’re really deep, Damien. I’d love to know what goes on behind those pensive eyes of yours.”

  He pulled her to his chest, but she rolled off of him and onto her ba

  “Don’t like to cuddle?”

  “I love to cuddle.” She wrapped her arms around him and brought him to her shoulder. “You just look like you really need a hug right now and someone to hold you.”

  His insides were shattered. Her kindness and tender touch, accompanied by the remnants of the dream, were reminders of the void in his life. He held onto her, molded to her body, and pressed his face into her shoulder.

  She smoothed down the top of his mohawk and chuckled. “You’re going to poke my eye out with this thing.” She nuzzled her cheek into his forehead and whispered, “Goodnight.”

  He listened to her breaths slowly deepen as she drifted off. He begged for sleep to take him away but feared his past would return to haunt his slumber. Too tired to stay awake and too scared to fall back to sleep, he hung somewhere in a state of semi-consciousness and replayed the dream in his head – over and over again.

  He exhaled a deep breath and wiped his face with his hand in an effort to clear his mind, but the thoughts remained. He peeked up at Alyssa. She seemed blissful and content, asleep with a warm smile across her lips. He would give anything for the same luxury right now.

  Cautious not to disturb her, he carefully rolled out of her arms and sat on the edge of the bed.

  “Where are you going?” she mumbled without opening her eyes.

  “I’m just going to use the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

  He tiptoed over to his jeans, slipped his hand into the pocket and retrieved a small, folded piece of paper. He glanced back at Alyssa to make sure she went back to sleep and headed to the bathroom. The running water camouflaged the rustling of the paper in case Alyssa woke and followed him. He shook one of the round yellow pills into his hand and washed it down with tap water. Another shot of Jack Daniels would have helped speed up the analgesic effect of the medication, but he didn’t want Alyssa to find him rummaging through her cabinets, so he returned to the bedroom.


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