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Torquere Press
www.torquerepress.com
Copyright ©2007 by Torquere Press
First published in www.torquerepress.com, 2008
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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Table of Contents
Foreword by M. Rode
Tattoo You by Willa Okati
Possession by Jourdan Lane
Marginalia by Laney Cairo
Beneath the Mask by Mychael Black
Contributors
Foreword
By M. Rode
Strange, different, mysterious, weird, interesting, fascinating, intriguing. Whether it's the simpler modifications like tattoos or ear piercings, or the more extreme piercings and implants, making changes to one's body is inherently sensual, sexual. Whether or not we have modifications ourselves, when we see someone who does, we are instantly drawn to look, to examine. We want to know what it feels like, and we want to know why.
The four stories gathered in this anthology run the gamut from simple to extreme, the characters here all with their own reasons for what they do. From Willa Okati's tattooed men in Tattoo You to Laney Cairo's Marginalia, a cyberpunk vision of a world where body-mods are extreme and at the same time everyday, you're sure to find something to intrigue and fascinate you. Mychael Black's Beneath the Mask and Jourdan Lane's Possession add in the element of paranormal, vampires and werewolves who are all the more fascinating for the way they've tattooed and pierced and altered their bodies.
Read through this wonderful collection of body modification stories and be amazed and intrigued.
M. Rode
Tattoo You
By Willa Okati
Chapter One
"Hummingbird Studio West. This is Bristol. Can I help you?"
"Morning.” Whew. They're open. Good. “This is the tattoo parlor, right?” Jacob Lee adjusted the Bluetooth receiver in his ear—he still hadn't gotten used to talking into what felt like thin air and actually having someone miles away hear him. Made driving easier, of course, but some bits of modern technology just plain unnerved him.
"One and the same,” the guy named Bristol agreed amiably. He didn't repeat his question, which Jacob Lee appreciated.
Stalling for time, still nervous as heck about actually making this call, Jacob Lee chipped at a smudge of construction dirt on the steering wheel of his truck and turned left on Maple. “Look, I bet you get this all the time, but I do need the help. I don't have any personal experience with any kind of body modification whatevers. All the same, I've been thinking about getting a tattoo and wondered if anyone there dealt with the newbies."
The man on the other end of the line, his voice raspy as if he had a two pack a day habit, wheezed a rough laugh. He didn't sound mean or mocking, though. “Yeah, sure, kid. We all do that. Gotta say not too many ask, and it's ungodly good to hear someone who'll come right out and admit they need some help. You know?"
"For serious?"
"The horror stories I've witnessed, kid. God knows I wish I had a bouncer some nights to just beat back the drunk roughnecks who think they'd look great all inked up.” The man exhaled, telling Jacob Lee he'd been right about the smoking habit. “So, okay. You want to come in and meet with someone? Depends on when you come in as to who you'd get to talk to, but we can work with you."
Jacob Lee took the right-hand-turn that would carry him off the highway and point him home. Home to his Donathan. “What about you?” he asked, already inclined to favor Bristol. “Would you have some time?"
"What, you mean my charm and good nature won you over already?"
"Nah. It's more that I like the honesty.” Cutting into an unexpected burst of traffic—man, riding around here was hazardous to your health some days—he stepped on the gas and matched his pace to keep up with the thimble-sized mom cars zipping around. “You're out on Key Market Street, right? At least that's what it said in the phonebook."
"Key Market Street, yeah, between the hippie shop full of patchouli and the secondhand vintage store. Don't ask me how we got this storefront out of all there are in the city. Dumb luck."
Jacob Lee chuckled. “Okay, I really like the honesty. But what's wrong with patchouli and vintage?” Not that he really knew what patchouli was, but he did know the smell of the incense that burned in those little stores stung his nose.
"You always talk this much?” Bristol didn't sound annoyed. More like amused, with maybe a dash of intrigued. Jacob Lee knew he kinda had that effect on most people. He either drove them nuts inside the first five minutes after they'd met, or they clicked right away and always would.
"Usually, yeah,” Jacob Lee admitted. “Sorry."
"Hey, it's no skin off my nose."
"Shit. I didn't know anyone still said that.” No sooner had the expostulation escaped him than Jacob Lee wanted to bite his tongue. Yeah, not only did he chatter, but he didn't have much of a filter between his brain his and mouth. “Sorry again."
Bristol cackled. “You're a pistol, man. No worries. I don't mind. It's not the rudest anyone's ever been to me, for damn sure. People say all kind of crazy shit when they're getting inked, like I'm a bartender or something. Or a dentist, except their mouths aren't full and I can hear the crap they're spewing. When it bugs me, it's in one ear and out the other, but like I said, I dig the candor.” A beep sounded, loud, like it was played through a speaker on the Hummingbird wall. “Fuck. Hang on, would you? Got another call."
"Yeah, sure thing. I can wait.” Jacob Lee drew to a halt at the final stoplight on his commute from the construction site he was working on now, facing the intersection he swore had been built by Hades himself. Right of way was regarded as more of an optional suggestion than a rule of traffic. He'd have to watch like a hawk for his chance to take a left turn. “Appreciate this."
"Sure, man. Be right back with you.” Bristol cut off and decently melodious classic rock cut in, Credence Clearwater warbling in Jacob Lee's ear. Smoke on the Water, not bad. He'd told the truth; he had no problem taking his time and enjoying the bright, warm day, not yet too hot, the scent of pines and magnolia and coffee on the breeze, and a great burn in the muscles he'd worked hard and well that day. Even if Bristol had wanted him to swing by, he could have. Donathan wasn't expecting him back for an hour yet.
Donathan. Jacob Lee didn't think adore was a strong enough word for how he felt about his buddy, his lover, his forever guy. He'd gotten so lucky with Donathan. Half the time, when Donathan beamed at him or pressed his firm lips to Jacob Lee's, Jacob Lee thought he'd float clean off his feet from pure happiness. The first time he'd looked into Donathan's huge blue-violet eyes, doubly gorgeous in the middle of the delicate traceries of plum-colored Byzantium swirl tattoos decorating his face, he'd lost his heart easy as falling off a log.
Three years later he was still having the time of his life, waking up every morning with Donathan next to him, sheets rucked up around and tangled in Donathan's whipcord-lean, strong runner's legs, Donathan's face buried in the pillow. Lord only knew how he got oxygen enough not to suffocate in his sleep.
Jacob Lee had lost count of how many times he'd run his fingers over Donathan's tattoos. Not just on his face, the intricate lines spiraled in plum and azure and ice-blue down his arms, his chest, his hips and his legs. He added a new design or two every time he had the cash to spare, the lines sometimes taking s
hape like one of those funky 3-D puzzles and popping to life in the form of a tiger poised to strike or a dragon coiled about his firm, cobbled stomach.
As much as Jacob Lee loved them, the tattoos were their only bone of contention. Namely, how Donathan had wanted him to get one from their first night together, fingertips dancing lightly over Jacob Lee's biceps and triceps, talking sleepily of how great he'd look with some ink, how he'd love it.
The problem? Needles. Dear God in Heaven, Jacob Lee hated needles. He spent hours gazing at Donathan's tattoos, fresh and weathered in, while his lover slept, but he couldn't even make himself go sit in the tattoo parlor and offer Donathan a hand to hold while he went under the gun.
Donathan teased him, but Jacob Lee thought he understood. Same as he thought he caught a look of wistful unhappiness turning down Donathan's smile whenever he came home after having fresh work done.
If there was one gift he could give his Donathan in this life, something to prove to Donathan he took seriously the good thing they had going between them and never, ever planned to turn away, it would be to hitch up his man-sized jockeys and face that which he feared.
It would be Donathan's twenty-ninth birthday in a couple of days, and Jacob Lee figured there would never be a better time to give his lover this particular gift.
Hence the call to Hummingbird West, one of Donathan's favorites. They'd done an actual hummingbird, their trademark, on the back of Donathan's neck. Jacob Lee loved it and could happily spend hours outlining the bird's blackwork lines with the tip of his tongue or nipping at the bright colors to tease Donathan. In his more contemplative moments, Jacob Lee figured that the hummingbird had to be Donathan's spirit animal, what with its jewel-toned hues and fascinating sweetness.
The classic rock, done with Credence and on to Cream's White Room, fuzzed briefly into static before cutting off. “Okay, back with you,” Bristol said. “Had to head back inside to take care of some flash a brat knocked off the wall after I got done on the other call."
Jacob Lee listened, fascinated and tickled. Lord help them both, he thought Bristol might be near as much of a chatterbox as him. “No problem."
"Okay.” Bristol coughed. Oh, yeah. Definitely a big time smoker. “So, what's the situation? Do you know anything about tattoos in general, or you need the whole 101 rundown?"
"I know some stuff, enough to have a general idea about how it all works in theory. My live-in, he's probably seventy percent covered in ink. He shows it off and talks up a storm every time he gets a new design. It's the only time he jabbers harder and faster than me, and that's saying a lot. He's a sweetheart, you know?"
The explanation was both a statement and a challenge. Jacob Lee wasn't the kind of guy who'd go running to the papers crying “homophobe” every time he got snubbed, because for Christ's sake, he'd have to protest more than half the world then, but he'd be danged if he'd go under the needle with a guy who'd turn up his nose at the queer the whole time.
"That's cool.” Bristol sounded wholly unbothered.
Jacob Lee was pleased. If he was going to do this for Donathan, he'd do it right all the way, fear of needles be damned. He wondered what Bristol would say to a tattoo of Donathan, naked, on Jacob Lee's ass cheek.
"Say what, now?"
Oh, crap. “Did I say that last part out loud?” Jacob Lee cringed, cursing his absentminded habit and the missing screen between mind and mouth always failing to censor far less than he'd have liked.
"I couldn't hear you too well. Sounds like your phone's cutting out."
"I'm on the road, heading home. This truck's pretty old and she gets noisy when she's tired, kinda rattly and clanky. I like ‘er all the same.” Jacob Lee reined himself in. “Anyway, just ignore me when I go on and on, okay?"
"Nah, I'm cool. I'm outside smoking.” Jeez, but Bristol had to be one of the most patient guys on Earth. Maybe that went hand-in-hand with the smoking and/or the tattooing, learning to develop a Zen-like focus and a stoner's inability to stress the mellow. “Where's your guy go to get his ink?” Bristol asked. “Here?"
"Mostly, as far as I know. I think you folks are his favorite. At least, y'all are the ones he talks about the most, and I found half-a-dozen business cards in his drawer full of sketches and empty Tattoo Goo tins."
"Wait a sec.” Crackling inhale. Man, this guy was a chimney, wasn't he? “Mega ink, gay guy ... don't tell me you're Donathan's squeeze."
"Yeah. You know him? No kidding?"
"Donathan's cool, man. Goes under the needle like a prince. Doesn't move friggin’ once while we're working on him, and let me tell you that's awfully damn rare. So you're his Jacob Lee. Rockin'. I can swing you a discount if you need one. He talks about how he's dying to have you get a design or three. You're finally giving in?"
"Anything for my man.” Jacob Lee saw his opportunity—at last—and gunned it, zooming fast through the intersection. Hot damn, almost home free. All he had left was a straight shot back to the shotgun apartment he and Donathan called home. “If you don't mind, can we do the 101 like I don't know anything?"
"Yeah, sure. You mind if I ask a kind of personal question first?"
"Er ... can I decide whether or not I answer?"
"Sure, man. Okay. Donathan never says as much, but from what I read between the lines, you're scared shitless of needles. That true?"
Jacob Lee winced. “Not shitless. More like deer in the headlights."
"So, why the change of mind? I'm not asking ‘cause I'm nosy; you've got to understand that. I'm asking ‘cause I figure you'll answer me straight, given what I've heard from you so far, and let me hammer this home: once you get a tattoo, it is for life. Doesn't sink in sometimes with some guys until the art's done, and then they freak. Or they get all worked up with their plans and never show to get the ink itself. If you're scared of needles—and that's cool, a lot of people are—what's got you wanting to do this?"
"Donathan,” Jacob Lee said simply. “I've told him I'd do anything for him, and it's the truth. This is the only thing I've ever held out on. His birthday's coming up. For all the times he's talked about how much he'd like to see some ink on me, and in thanks for how he's never pushed, and in appreciation for all the work he's had done, this is the gift I want to give him. That's the flat truth. Flat truth as told by a motor mouth, that is.” Jacob Lee grinned, though he knew Bristol couldn't see, the good humor welling up inside him. He couldn't wait to see Donathan's face when he came home all inked up and looking fine.
"Okay,” Bristol agreed. “Good enough for me. Come by Hummingbird—say tomorrow around noon, right when we open—can you do that?—and I'll block out a few minutes to show you how it all works. Sound good?"
"Sounds fine to me. I'm off tomorrow. I'll be there.” Jacob Lee tapped his Bluetooth receiver to end the call. He decided he was satisfied with what he'd set in motion. They said the first step was the hardest, right? It'd be worth it, the whole thing.
Anything to make Donathan smile, that was his raison d'etre. The man's happiness was the bonfire that lit up Jacob Lee's life, and he'd do whatever it took to make his man happy come hell or high water or butchery and needles.
Besides, now that he'd set himself to walking this path, Jacob Lee discovered to his surprise that he'd actually gone and started tingling with anticipation of even more than Donathan's delighted surprise when he saw the ink.
This was going to be awesome, Jacob Lee just knew it, and he couldn't wait.
Chapter Two
It was kind of like his big, heavy truck simply glided on a slipstream of air as Jacob Lee burned rubber the rest of the way home, flying over the blacktop with a grin on his lips and darn near a song in his heart. He couldn't stop grinning or daydreaming about the surprise and the delight he knew Donathan wouldn't be able to hide—and still more about the ways he hoped Donathan would express his happiness. The man had a serious imagination on him, and was he ever kinky when he took the mood.
Jacob Lee wondered, seriously, i
f maybe he should get the tattoo he chose done on his ass. Definitely for Donathan only, since he didn't have any plans on anyone else getting a look at the work, and he'd probably have a lot more leeway with the design itself.
Except the thought of still having an X-rated image on his butt when he was eighty and sharing space with Donathan in a nursing home kind of put a damper on that particular idea.
And from what he knew of Donathan, which wasn't a small amount, Jacob Lee was sure Donathan would want to show it off. Wouldn't be able to stop petting and fondling. So maybe something on his arm or his chest or the back of his calf. Something he could display without getting dirty looks from folks at the organic market.
He had a few days, time enough to figure this out, and Bristol would help. He'd gotten lucky yet again, hadn't he? Or maybe that was why Donathan loved Hummingbird West so much.
Either way, the future looked mighty bright.
Jacob Lee executed a neat swallow's swerve off the main road, crunching across the once-graveled but now mostly powdery dirt of their apartment's shared driveway. Donathan's bike was there, chained in place at the edge of a spindly pillar holding up the subdivided house's roof, but that didn't mean he was home. Only if Donathan didn't feel like walking did he ride, blessed jack o’ the green that he was.
Today, Donathan's electric blue touring cycle didn't look like it had moved, nor was it damaged in any way. None of the other couples who rented in the house minded Donathan's bike so long as he didn't leave it lying on its side in the driveway. Good folks, all of them; he'd gotten lucky once more, hadn't he?
Jacob Lee fondly patted Donathan's bike on his way up to the house. He checked the lock on the bike chain out of force of habit. Secure? Yep. Good.
That taken care of, he fished in one pocket of his jeans for the house key and bounded up the three concrete steps to his front door. He caught a whiff of tangy, spicy tomato sauce before he even had the screen door open, whooshing under the off-level jamb right into his nose.
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