Ink, Sex, Magic Pt. 02

This is a work of fiction. All characters are 18 or older.

*****

Ink, Sex, Magic: A Tale in Five Parts

Part II. Rites of Passion

One of the first things I did when I got home from work that night was dive into bed and swim through the sheets where my only lover had given me so much pleasure, feeling their soft wrinkled chill as if I might find him there. But all that remained was scent and memory. An strangled sob welled up in my aching core. Resting my head on a pillow, I called Kiernan, steeling myself for him not to answer with each ring.

"Hey, darlin'. I was worried you might have forgotten about me."

"Not likely," I murmured, considering that he was the only thing I could think about.

"How was the rest of your afternoon?"

"Not nearly as exciting as its beginning."

"I should hope not. Where are you?"

"In bed, wishing you were here. What about you?"

There was a slight delay before he answered. "On the road, wishing I was there."

"How are you talking to me and riding your chopper at the same time?"

"I'm driving my car, actually, to Puget Sound."

"Puget Sound?" I repeated in disbelief. "What's in Puget Sound? Hello?" I could hear my father's muffled voice talking to someone else while I was speaking. "Who are you with?"

"Sorry, Alice, we're about to go through a tunnel. I'll call you back later, okay? Are you going to be up late?" Kiernan's last few words sounded garbled.

"I- I don't know. How late?" I felt the distance growing between us.

"I'll -xt- la- -ight- kay?" Static ripped his words apart.

"Okay."

"I lo- -li" The swoosh of a hundred oceans.

"I love you, Kiernan," I mumbled, though our connection had already been severed.

I chided myself for thinking that he would rush over as soon as I got home from work; that he would be joining me in my cold bed, in my colder life. It was to be expected that Kiernan was on his way out to some club or party with his friends. He'd always been in high demand with people more worldly and entertaining than I'd ever be. When my phone vibrated with a text minutes later, I expected it to be from my father, but it was from Jen instead.

Hey babe feeling better today?

That was a loaded question.

Mostly. Did you have fun at The Bell?

We have to talk about it tonight over drinks.

I sensed something had happened with Thomas, and even if I couldn't say anything about my father, having my best friend over was better than drinking alone.

I'm already home in bed with a glass of wine girl. Want to join me?

I'll bring vodka. Got any OJ?

***

When I went to school in New York, I was a perpetual social outcast for being a little too poor, a little too weird, a little too mousy, a little too me. But things were different at the private academy I'd been enrolled in when we moved to Seattle. And I don't credit the 'medication' or my new wardrobe or even the fact that my stepbrother was popular- I owed it all to a redheaded spitfire named Jennifer Fairfax. After a few days of familiar loneliness, she pulled me over to her table of friends at lunch.

The boys didn't really intimidate me. Hanging around Sectio Divina as a girl, I'd met customers whom grown men would cross the street to avoid; heard the poetry of a former member of the yakuza, getting his ink-suit altered; seen men in biker gangs cry like babies; juggernauts who could use me as a toothpick and wouldn't hurt a fly. But I could tell right away that the girls were The Popular Girls- a clique of preteen goddesses with manicures, designer purses, boutique clothing and bulimia. I couldn't relate to anything they were interested in and I fumbled over the few words I did manage to get out, so I fully expected that to be the last time Jen took pity on the sad new girl. But it wasn't.

Not only did she think I was quirky and 'mysterioso', but she thought it was cool. And the longer she persisted, the more I came to appreciate her bubbly, no-nonsense personality, her humor and keen insight. Despite our differences, we seemed to speak the same language. I never became a social butterfly like her, but didn't feel like a pariah either. It actually gave me a bit of mystique, being a wallflower. I was Ali, Jennifer Fairfax's artsy friend from New York, her silent partner in crime; Alice Delaney, one of the academy's most pursued and little known.

We became and remained besties throughout primary school, roomed together during our freshman year in college, managed to deal with each others bullshit and never had a problem we couldn't get through together. As I straightened up my neglected apartment, I wondered if this might have to be the exception to that rule. Other than the full extent of the recent craziness- i.e. magic- in my life, I'd told Jen my darkest, dirtiest secrets. But trying to sort through whatever was happening between Kiernan and me seemed too black and messy even for her.

Jen arrived looking windswept and weepy, though her outfit and makeup were impeccable, and we hugged with the fierceness of heartache. She played bartender and made Screwdrivers while I put on television series that sent us into hysterics because we both seemed to need a laugh. Once we were in significantly better moods, splitting a carton of ice-cream, Jen told me about her night with Thomas, at The Midnight Bell and beyond.

The evening itself sounded perfect- he was charming, the ambiance seductive, the sex phenomenal (from the overly descriptive account Jen provided without solicitation), they fell asleep holding each other ever so sweetly. But in the morning, the real Thomas showed himself. After a rough wake-up screw, he called Jen a whore, threw her clothes at her and told her to leave.

"What a dick move! I'm so sorry hon. You didn't deserve that." I nuzzled her head affectionately.

"You did warn me. I should have known he was a creep when he asked me all those pervy questions after you were gone."

I bristled. "What did he ask?"

"If you were a slut or a virgin, if we'd ever made out, if I thought I could convince you to have a three-way."

I put down my spoon in disgust. "What did you say?"

"Neither, none of your business and hell no."

I chuckled. "Thank you. I think he's only interested in me because he's never had me. The closest he ever got was an accidental handjob."

"Accidental?"

"I certainly didn't do it on purpose. It happened at a family Christmas party. We were drunk and I was blue and he was such a good kisser- before I knew it he'd pulled me into a closet and I was jerking him off while he felt me up. I think he might have ruined one of our aunt's fur coats when he came. I'm not even sure he remembers."

"What a douche. I'm sorry, Alice, I had no idea. I should have sliced his balls open when I had the chance."

"Yeah, well, you dodged a bullet with him. Bruce has started pressuring Thomas to get married and god help the poor girl he finally decides on..."

"Speaking of decisions, have you told your dad if you want to do it yet?"

My mind took a nose dive into the gutter. "What?"

"Work at his tattoo parlor."

"Oh. No, I'm not sure if it's such a good idea. I mean, like you said, I'm not even tattooed," I reasoned, wringing my hands.

"Forget what I said, I was being a bitch. I think you should go for it. Don't you at least want to try?"

"With all my heart. But I'm too scared. I mean, this afterno-" I stopped short but Jen didn't miss a thing.

"This afternoon what? Did you talk to him?"

"He came by."

"And?"

"He gave me this." I held out my wrist to show her the bracelet.

"Oh, Alice, that looks beautiful! And expensive," she added, clearly impressed as she examined the delicate charms. "What's wrong- don't you like it?"

"No, I love it. It's not about the bracelet. It's- it's nothing..."

"Did something happen while he was there?"

A brief bite of my lip told her that something had.

"Tell me."

"I can't."

"Oh my god, Alice, did he hurt you?"

"No!" Her first guess was so wrong, that her spot on accuracy with the second caught me off guard.

"Did he make a pass at you or something?"

I blushed profusely.

"Come on, I tell you everything juicy, you owe me this. Otherwise I'm going to concoct my own story about what happened, and at the end your Daddy will ask if I can join next time."

I took a deep breath confessed. "It was the other way around, actually. When Kiernan came by I was really horny and well, even I can see that he's mucho sexy and... I hit on him. Well, threw myself at him is more like it."

"What! How?"

"I kissed him and said... I can't- it's too embarrassing to repeat."

"Then you definitely have to repeat it."

"I may or may not have asked if he wanted to... fuck his baby's little kitty." I cringed, fearing this might make Jen lose all respect for me now.

"I rescind my earlier statement- you are a slut. And I've never been prouder to be your Best Bitch. So did he?"

It made me feel so much better that she didn't hate me that I cracked a smile before answering. "No. That's the thing- we didn't fuck. I didn't even get to see his cock."

"So he just peaced?"

"No..."

"Goddammit Alice I will torture this story out of you one way or another so you better give me the deets now!"

"He fingered me... and he went down on me... and he fingered me while he went down on me and... Oh god, and I'd left my dildo out and... All he wanted to do was make me cum. A lot."

"Holy shit that's so friggin' hot and I'm so jealous."

"For one he's my father- so how can you say it's hot?"

"If anything that only makes it hotter."

"For another," I continued, "he only did it because he felt guilty, not because he wanted me."

"Okay, that's fucking bullshit. When my dad feels guilty, he gives me shopping trips or spa days or jewelry- not head. Your dad ate you out because, believe it or not, some men actually like making women feel good. The only reason he didn't bang you afterwards is because loves you too much to rush you into anything you might regret."

"That's the thing- I did rush in and I totally regret it. I feel so miserable."

"Alice, honey, I love you but you're always miserable. At least now you're miserable and sexually satisfied."

"You don't understand, Jen. It's like I'm sad, giddy, feverish and high all at the same time."

"I do understand, because you, my dear, are in love. To be in love is to be as euphoric as you are miserable. But you know what misery loves?"

"Company?"

"Having her pussy licked."

I laughed, grateful that my closest friend never failed to understand me. But I still pressed Jen about her cavalier attitude towards what most people considered to be a Cardinal Sin- if she really didn't think me a total sicko for getting in bed with my father or if she was just turned on by the idea.

After extracting the unnecessary promise that I'd never tell, Jen told me a taboo secret of her own: that she'd been fooling around with her brother Will for years and it was killing her that he'd moved away for school. They were a year apart, like Thomas and me, and I'd always envied their close sibling bond, never suspecting it could have been something more.

"We want what we want," she commiserated. "And when it's someone who knows us the way family does- with whom we're truly in a state of love and trust- it's almost like we reach a level of intimacy most people only find after a lifetime together."

"I don't know what I'm more afraid of- that he wants to take it further or that he doesn't. What should I do?"

"Follow this, Ali." Jen put her hand on my chest, over my heart. "If Kiernan holds this fragile beating thing in his hand tightly enough to keep it warm and gently enough not to crush it, then you know you hold his too. Love him and let him love you. It might be the most magical thing to happen in your life."

***

My mother Tessa's speaking voice was lower-pitched than one might expect; soft and sensual so that one leaned in to hear. Her singing voice was equally lovely- a breathy alto-soprano that approximated what I think Marilyn Monroe would have sounded like if she had the vocal range of Maddy Prior, from the Scottish band, Steeleye Span. Whenever she cooked or cleaned around the house when I was a child, she would be singing anything from the Beatles to Beyonce, songs in Irish Gaelic and the latest pop hits, lyrics from Hammerstein musicals and schmaltzy parodies by Dick Cheese.

Tessa's favorite to sing and mine to hear, though, was the traditional folk ballad, "Black is the Color of my True Love's Hair". Even if he wasn't around, my mother would sing it for Kiernan: I love my lover, and well he knows. I love the ground on where he goes. The first time I heard Nina Simone's version, it was so heart-breakingly beautiful that I fell in love with him too, in the way a little girl comes to covet the masculine allure her father represents.

But now that we'd reunited after almost a decade of radio silence, I was in love with my father in the way a woman falls in love with her paramour. Maybe I was just desperate to be close to him- to anybody- and my neglected libido was starved. It was difficult to know because I didn't have another relationship to compare it to, least of all an incestuous one.

And still I hope that the time will come when he and I will be as one.

***

I worked a double the following day and texted with Kiernan throughout. It was idle chatter, mostly, and plans to get together and see UnderGround. He was still dealing with inspectors, delivery men, and purchasing all of the necessary equipment, so he wouldn't be able to see me that night, much to my dismay. He promised that he something special planned for me, though.

How do you feel about getting your first tattoo tomorrow?

Tomorrow? I don't know what I want yet.

I drew up a few small pieces I thought you might like.

I knew he'd go easy on me and put in on a good spot for virgins, but it wasn't really the tattooing itself that worried me the most. I took a deep breath, thinking about what Jen had said, and opened myself to the possibility of the marvelous.

I can't wait to see them or the new shop!

I can't wait to see you.

Me too. I love you Kiernan.

Love you my darling.

The prospect of getting tattooed, and potentially more, by my father was both nerve-wracking and enticing. It almost made it too difficult to concentrate on anything else. Later the next afternoon, I spent half an hour or so in the tub washing, shaving and buffing, moisturizing my entire body with coconut and cocoa butter when I got out. After putting on a particularly sexy bra and pantie set, I dressed in a blouse, skirt, striped thigh-highs paired with Chucks and a peplum jacket since it had gotten windy.

I drove uptown to the address he'd given me, finding it on a strip of trendy galleries, bars and clubs. Kiernan met me on the sidewalk and kissed me so shamelessly that I was emboldened to return it with equal ardor. Once inside, I shivered when he locked the door after us, noticing how damn fine he looked in a button-up, vest and fitted jeans. Then, I admired the rest of the view.

The floor had been painted in an artfully warped checkerboard pattern, brickwork scrubbed clean, metal sandblasted and architectural details painted in a lurid colors popular during the Victorian area. Sofas, chairs and tables still wrapped in plastic were clustered in the middle of a large room; framed pictures, rolled up carpets and mirrors were leaned against walls; and boxes, crates and cabinets of various sizes were scattered everywhere in between. Branching off of this main space were several private studios, a staff room, bathrooms, and a private courtyard.

"This is amazing, Da!"

"I'm still figuring out where everything's going to go. Maybe you could help- it needs a woman's touch."

And I need a man's...

My breath hitched when he came up behind me and rested his hands on my shoulders, then caressed down my arms and back up, thumbs skating along my back, up the sides of my neck, my face and throat to end up where they'd started. Before letting me go, he deliberately kissed the crown of my head, leaving me wobbly and dazed. I could feel my nipples poking through my shirt when I turned around, and his eyes were immediately drawn to them.

"Eager, are we?" Kiernan murmured, then led me back to his studio. He sat me on a stool at his drafting table and stood close to show me his tattoo designs. There was an anti-possession seal, as well as several decorative pieces drawn on onionskin paper so he could show me how each one looked layered over the seal.

"Tattoos for spell-work require special inks that ordinary ones don't affect. This way you can disguise an arcane piece as a mundane one- in case you don't care to advertise your magic. Which in your case, I would suggest you don't."

I took his advice and opted for an illustrative style rose. It's intricate petaled structure hid the underlying snowflake-like pictograph, and I loved that it was white rose being painted red. Deciding that my calf would be the best location, Kiernan got to work making the stencil, assembling his tools and palette and preparing for the rituals to cleanse both artist and canvas- with me shadowing.

As meditative as I found the prep to be, my heart was pounding when I kicked my shoes off and sat down on the tattoo table to take off my left thigh-high.

"Allow me," my father offered, rolling his chair over. Then he took my foot, lifting my skirts in the process, and rested it on his thigh. Taking full advantage of his view, he slowly rolled down the stocking, feeling each inch of bare skin it left behind. "You're so silky smooth, love. So ready for me already."

Now grabbing my other ankle, Kiernan stood up, turned me long-wise with the table and flipped me over, making me shriek though it didn't hurt. From the low moan he gave, I guessed that I was as exposed to him as I felt from the waist down. But he remained professional, putting his gloves on and sanitizing my skin to apply the transfer.

When he lead me to the mirror to take a look, I told him truthfully that it was perfect.

"Ready to begin?"

"Yes, but I feel bad about not paying you for your work."

"I don't want money from you, sweetheart. Although, if you really wanted to, there is something else you could give me as compensation."

"And what, pray tell, might that be?" I asked coquettishly, hoping he'd try to extort sex out of me for tattoos.

"Orgasms. Your orgasms. At least one from you every tattoo session. What do you think about that?"

"I think you're getting the short end of the stick," I said, not believing that could possibly be a fair trade. "You can't be serious."

"Deadly. I want you to get used to the idea that you are as capable of receiving pleasure as you are at giving it."

"Why? Do you feel that guilty about what happened to me? For leaving me? Because you being here, now, is enough. Please- you don't have to do anything for my love. You've always had it, Kiernan."

"Oh, my precious one, if only you knew how much I love watching you cum. Hearing you cum. Feeling you cum... It makes me feel guilty, how much I love it. And you. I'm just afraid I'm going to burn you out or push you away. If it ever gets to be too much, you have to tell me."

"It's too much already- I feel like I'm on overload. Yet it's also not enough. I want so much more..."

"I know, Lili. So do I. But you're so young, so new to love- I don't want to keep you from finding all that this world has to offer. Besides, you won't want to lie forever with the first man who shows you the stars."