by Tiana Laveen
“Okay, let’s continue.” He just went on, as if what he’d just done was customary. A few minutes later, he was outlining her skin.
“This is called a thermal-fax. This method is far faster than the old school methods we used for tracing, which, many times, were by hand.”
“Oh boy, that kinda tickles…” She smiled, looking next to the calendar at a silver-framed mirror, which allowed her to see him more clearly.
“Does it?” He offered a crooked smile, his eyes glued to his work. Boy did he have a beautiful smile… She looked at him a bit closer, taking liberties as the mirror allowed her to steal secret glances.
He is so sexy… What am I saying?
“I’m just using a little deodorant as an adhesive. It’ll be over in just a moment…violà! It’s on.”
“Mmmm, that wasn’t so bad.” She laughed lightly.
“Yes, if only it were that simple.” He smiled indulgently. “Milan, now, I’m going to place these ink caps, which is the ink coloring, into this machine here. My tools have been sterilized. I’ve already got the distilled water here for cleaning the needles during your procedure. In your case, I will only be using black, white, a little green, yellow, orange and a little brown. The colors are for details in the flower, it will allow me to draw contrast, causing the flower to appear realistic in appearance.”
“Okay.”
“I’ve put a little ointment over the image transfer, and that will help the design stay on there, not be smudged as my hands move around. I’m left handed, so I tend to tilt my arm in odd ways sometimes, which could force me to stop and redraw, and that could make things harder for me. This application helps prevent that from being a problem. … Now, I know you’re nervous, so, I want you to take a deep breath.”
He looked in the mirror at her, waiting for her to follow his instructions. Milan sucked in air, and then exhaled.
“Good. Try to breathe normally from here on out, okay? Try to stay relaxed, and keep it steady. When I put the first needle in you for the outline, it will be uncomfortable. After a while though, I promise, it will get better. Your skin will acclimate to it. Any questions?”
She liked how he kept checking in with her, making sure she wasn’t about to pass out or lose her mind.
“Yes, I’m fine,” she lied. And he seemed to realize it, too. The man gave her a reassuring grin and then, her teeth clamped down as he began.
Oh shit!
She wanted to curse and tell him off, let the world know she’d been wounded, but the music was so beautiful, as well as his face. She melted into her pain, rendered quiet. Thoughts of what a fool she was for doing this flooded her mind but dissipated as his hands worked against her body.
“Everything is juuuuuust fine. You’re doing great,” he said over the quiet buzz of the needle as he worked his painful magic on her form.
“This hurts!” she finally blurted, daring herself to stay put.
“A lot of things hurt that are worth having, and doing. Pain is a part of life. You’ll live, I promise.”
Is he being a smart ass?!
How could he go from being so wonderful, kind and loving to one that ripped the sheets right from under her? The man she’d been crushing on, she was now cursing out in her mind. Actually, he’d done nothing wrong. She understood what he was doing. He was trying to get her to focus. He’d tried coddling her, and now, he was down to business. The show had already begun; there was no need to back out now. She expected some pain, but this was worse than she’d imagined. She figured she was a fraidy-cat, and tried to suck it up the best she could, at least for the time being.
“When I switch mags, I’ll let you know. I will need to in order to take care of the shading, and the coloring of the flower. I will remind you when that’s happening, but by then, I assure you, you will be much more relaxed.”
“What are mags?” She winced, but kept her declarations of torture to herself.
“The needles. Mags is short for magnums.”
Magnums…unbelievable. She was in too much pain to fully enjoy the sexual twists she could turn with such information.
“Um, I read about the aftercare, but to kinda take my mind off of what is going on right now, and to help me envision the finish line, can you tell me about it?” She knew she looked downright pitiful, but she couldn’t help herself. He offered a warm smile and scooted in a bit closer to her.
“Absolutely.”
Her stomach flipped. His voice was deep and soothing, rich with flavor…she loved it. It preceded him, aged with wisdom, while his body stood out in pristine, youthful form.
“Once we are finished, I will apply another layer of ointment and this one will be anti-bacterial. I will then bandage up your shoulder and have you leave it on for approximately three days, but check it every night for unusual reddening, anything like that. Milan?”
“…Yes?”
“You’re going to love this, I can guarantee it. You’re not going to regret it. And look, your muscles are relaxing already.”
The man was right. She hadn’t even noticed that, as he continued to speak to her over the music, she’d heated a bit to his touch.
She cleared her throat. “You said anything worth having is painful, or something like that. What did you mean by that?” she asked as she glared at him in the mirror.
“I mean, the good things in life sometimes hurt at first. Like childbirth. The end result is wonderful. And like…oh, nevermind.” He smirked and stuck his head closer to her, as if trying to hide himself.
“No, like what?” she begged, still needing the distraction.
“It’s not something that would be appropriate for me to say to a customer, so let’s just move on and—”
“No.” She shook her head. “Come on, you can tell me. I want to talk. I need to talk or I am going to go crazy.”
Julian sighed, his shoulders slumped as if she’d asked him something deeply personal, yet his eyes gleamed with mischief.
“Alright. What I was going to say, it is kind of like the first time a woman has sex, her first time being penetrated.” He turned away, avoiding her gaze, as if slightly shy about his own admissions, though he said it with confidence.
“Mmmm.” She smirked and shook her head. “Never thought about it like that.”
“Well, there are similarities. Like, the needle going into your body is a type of violation. That first time you felt the needle hit your skin, it hurt, but now, look, ten minutes later, you’re okay, riding the wave of pain. Once it is all over, your first lover or, in this case, your artist—if he is any good and cares about you and the quality of his work—will make sure that though aspects of this experience may have been unpleasant, you are pleased and satisfied in the end. The final product is your completed tattoo, your climax, so to speak.
“Some people believe you can’t have pleasure in the midst of pain, but that’s not true. The same nerves are being used to deliver either message to your mind and that is why a very thin line separates sensations of pleasure and pain. Our brains tell us which feeling we are receiving, but with a few adjustments, pleasure and pain can turn into their total opposite and what may hurt one person, may make another person feel completely euphoric. Additionally, should you decide to get any future tattoos, you’d want to return to me…as your first tattoo artist, to do it again and again and again.”
“And why would that be?” she egged him on, feeling even more relaxed the longer he spoke. She could feel her eyes hooding as he lulled her away somewhere illicit and wicked.
“Because it would have gotten good to you.” He paused and looked at her through the mirror, as if trying to read her mind. “…And you know I’d be happy to give a repeat performance, hopefully better each and every time…”
Her fucking groin was quaking. Did this joker really have to compare what he was doing with sex? And he did it so damn eloquently.
“That almost sounds like drug addiction,” she joked, trying to switch up the mood, b
reak the sexual tension lest she explode.
He nodded. “Sex is a natural drug. The hormones our bodies release during intercourse are similar to those found in opiates. Pleasure is addictive. Dopamine is released during heroine addiction for instance, and sexual climaxes, alike. Addiction is a personal story. So is pain, for some people. Love within itself is a drug. We spend our lives trying to be accepted and loved by people. It’s a never ending chase to a finish line that doesn’t exist; it just wasn’t meant to be.”
He swallowed, then got back to work, as if he were holding back, biting his tongue. No, she wouldn’t let him. The conversation was too interesting for her to release just yet.
“What do you mean?” she urged him. She had an idea, actually, of what the man was saying. At this point, despite her discomfort, she just enjoyed hearing him talk. His voice was slightly raspy, and he spoke slowly, as if he were teaching a class. His voice was so damn relaxing, the man should have been doing hypnosis tapes—and she didn’t want him to stop talking. Not now, not ever.
“Being perpetually in that state of ‘falling in love’ is an illusion. True love is what we should become attached to. I was just saying that, too many times, we follow our suns instead of our moons, when we should follow it all…the stars, the planets, everything.”
She chuckled. “So we’ve gone from sex to drug addiction to astrology.”
“They’re all one in the same, in some respects,” he said matter-of-factly as his thick, dark brows bunched while he concentrated extra hard on his work. He paused, dabbed at her flesh with a moist cotton ball, and then continued. “You think astrology is a bunch of bunk?” He grinned wide.
She looked at him through the mirror and knew that smile wasn’t genuine. One thing she’d learned about him during this brief interaction was that the greater he smiled, the more serious something was to him, or at least, it appeared that way. He’d smiled while talking about the tattoo of his stillborn child; he’d smiled when discussing the loss of his father. Julian was either hiding pain, learned to live with the shit side by side, or had found some mysterious, glittery pill to cure it. She wanted to know what made the man smile during tragedies. Whatever it was, she needed some.
“Well, let me put it this way—I don’t believe in astrology, it’s silly and a bunch of nonsense. Anyone with half a brain would be able to see that it is all a bunch of hogwash. Those that are lost follow such foolishness. I think we’re all searching for something to believe in, something that will make this messed up world make sense.”
He grinned at her, and that grin made her slightly uncomfortable, as if he were planning to launch an attack.
“Do you believe in God?” He temporarily removed his gloves, grabbed what appeared to be an old-fashioned cinnamon stick she’d seen on the tables of dilapidated coffee shops. He popped it in his mouth, as if he did that sort of thing every day and, she surmised, he probably did. He did have a continuous scent of cinnamon about him; only, she hadn’t recognized it as such during their first meeting. He rolled it around, then took a few leisurely chews.
“Yes.”
“So…” He removed it, set the thing down and continued. “You’ll believe that a man can walk on water, turn water into wine, cure the blind and fight Satan atop a mountain and survive, but you don’t believe that that same entity, in this case, God, could have assigned meanings to the days and times when we are born? Something so small, in the grand scheme of everything else He can do. Hmmmm…” He cocked his head to the side and grinned a bit wider, as if pitying her, feeling so very sorry for her complete and utter ignorance. Her face flushed with heat. “I never said we didn’t have free choice; we do, despite what our astrological sign says, but we could be predisposed to some notions, some ways of life. Why is that so hard to believe?”
“Well, because—” she started, but he cut her off, his brows dipped a bit. She assumed he was revved up, possibly angry, but his tone remained calm.
“That’s crazy to me… You’ll believe this man Jesus can cure a disease by just touching someone, but couldn’t possibly have the forethought to create something as magnificent, yet so simple, as astrology. It’s amazing how some people can limit themselves…”
She couldn’t believe her ears. The man had initially shied away from heavy topics with her, but then it started—first the concept of sexual intercourse and its comparability to his line of work, now he’d gone overboard, delving into her religious beliefs which were none of his damn business, and yet, he attacked her all the same.
“It is general, that’s why and the Bible speaks out against astrology.”
“You really believe that?”
“Yes I do!” She twisted her neck in his direction, her lips slightly apart.
He chuckled, for now she was the angry one. Her heartbeat accelerated, her relaxed state completely compromised. She couldn’t believe his audacity. She turned away from him, gripped the pillow in front of her, stifling condemning words she yearned to hurl his way. All she wanted was a damn tattoo; she wasn’t paying this man to chastise her and talk about some damn moons and stars! Her life was not a box of Lucky fucking Charms!
“Look, don’t get mad at me. You are the one who came in here insulting my beliefs. I didn’t say anything about your own views not being true or legitimate. I never said God wasn’t real, or a figment of your imagination. I know the word; I’ve read the bible from cover to cover.”
“So has Satan. He even played a starring role. Big deal.” She rolled her eyes, causing the man to chuckle.
“When was the last time you read Leviticus? Huh? ‘Leviticus 19:28, You shall not make any cuts on your body for the dead or tattoo yourselves. I am the Lord.’ Matter of fact, no woman during her menstrual cycle is to even leave the damn house!” He laughed. “That’s in there, too! On top of that, you shouldn’t even have a job, Ms. Fancy!”
He kept on laughing, causing her to want to reach over and grab his beautiful face with her bare hands, and rip the flesh right off his damn skull. But then, she looked at him closer, really took him in. The man was truly amused, in a joking mood. She didn’t find it the least bit funny but he did have a point; she may have come on too strong regarding the whole astrology bit. She surmised he’d gotten worked up, defensive.
“Look,” she said calmly, determined to keep the conversation on the right track. “You can read one horoscope and say, ‘Yup, that sounds like me.’ Then, you read another, and it sounds like you, too.”
“Consider the source. The Saturday newspaper horoscopes are bullshit,” he blurted.
“Ouch!”
“I didn’t do anything to you.” He kept his head down, his eyes hidden, but she didn’t miss the smirk on his face like the tiny instigator that it was.
“Something jabbed me. You poked me.”
“You moved… I didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. If I’d truly poked you, trust me, you’d know it…”
Yes, her mind went there, even during this damn argument and despite the pain she was in. She couldn’t believe her sensual response, the way her damn pussy liked this motherfucker and the more shit he talked, the wetter the little kitty became… What a mess she was in, betrayed by her own crotch.
“Try to not move your arm.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did. When I said the word ‘bullshit’, the rotary muscle under your shoulder slightly revolved, and that is where I was working. As that muscle moved, it had a domino effect, causing the needle to skip, dig a bit deeper due to your sudden motion.”
Just like that, Julian was no longer so fucking charming. A sinister layer lay under his cool, calm exterior. He had a trigger, and she had inadvertently pulled it. He was not kind and sweet, at all! Matter of fact, it became rather apparent that he was the wrong motherfucker to try and toy with. As her mother used to warn, ‘Don’t poke the bears!’ But Milan didn’t know Julian had fangs and worse of all, she liked that he bit…and he bit, hard. Oh how she loathed that this was
happening.
You know nothing about this man, and you were falling deeper into your crush for him as he spoke. He is probably a looney, a psycho… Aren’t all these tattoo guys? Talking to me about astrology, taking me to that strange shop of his, talking about losing one’s virginity is like a damn tattoo and smiling while discussing horrible deaths. He’s crazy…
She rolled her eyes, dismissing him.
“You’re tense again.” He kept working. “When something irritates you, your muscles tell me before you do.”
“If I was annoyed, then it was your fault but for the record, I’m not irritated.”
“You are. You are the type of woman who thinks logically, and wants others to agree with you.”
“Now to that, I say bullshit, at least to the latter part.” She smirked.
“Let me guess, you work in a high stress job. You were tense when you called me the first time, you were tense the first time I met you, you are tense now. You have to have everything go in a linear fashion. I tried to offer you things, natural things, to help you relax, and you wouldn’t even look at first. I know what you think of me, Milan, and it’s cool, really it is. I’m accustomed to it.”
“Well, since you believe you know everything, school me.” She chuckled. Now, he was doing it, too. She was irritated, but tried to cloak it under the guise of a laugh for she refused to let him see he was getting on her damn nerves.
“You think I’m some tree hugger, a hippy, maybe even insane. You probably think I get high, too.” He infused his tone with iciness. “You think I’m completely into astrology, using it as my personal God, and live my crazy life with no rules or regulations. You think I don’t take life seriously, right? All I do is sit around drawin’ all night and day dreamin’… Selling witchy brews. You think I don’t know about you, but I do. I spent the first years of my career honing my craft, talking to thousands of customers. I like talking to people. You hear all sorts of stories, you know?” He kept on working, his hands busy, his gaze averted. She couldn’t deny what the hell he was saying; he had her pegged and she was stone cold busted so she did what many would do—remain quiet, lest she incriminate herself.
