The Story Teller Pt. 02

Obsession and envy make fine pets, but they are hungry animals and you do need to feed them. Some people visit Trader Dan's to fill the bellies of these inner beasts with a measure of pain, and they leave with lifetime commitments-- enduring changes they can never, ever shed.

But the story teller is not there to judge. He delivers artistic gratification for cash and makes the sensitive process bearable, or even enticing, by lulling his clients with heroic tales to pacify their animal instincts while he works.

"Alberto had no interest in being a farmer or a shop-keep, but he had a strong back and a distaste for the brutal dictatorship that ruled his country. So, when he was old enough, he shipped out on a dark water vessel, much as his father had done decades before." said Dan.

Megan sat comfortably in Trader Dan's barber chair. It had come to feel like a refuge to her, a safe place to feel pain and to immerse herself in the artist's patter while he worked. It was 2 am and the shop was closed, but she had ceased being a paying customer long ago.

Dan paused his story as he laid out his tools on the work tray. He grinned and reached up to put his gloved fingers on Megan's right nipple, giving it a playful tweak. It was mostly black now as the thunder clouds from her back now flowed over her shoulder and down her chest, but it was still as sensitive as always.

"The work was dangerous and unforgiving," Dan continued, "but it saved him from being pressed into service to fight in the country's African colonies-- or to stay at home to fighting for freedom and food. There just had to be better places, he reasoned, in other parts of the world."

Megan closed her eyes and mumbled, "Just had to be," as Dan squeezed her nipple harder now with a metal tool. Her brow furrowed when he twisted it left and right to examine the alignment. Finally he let go of the clamp and let it dangle from the thick skin of her areola.

"You know," he said academically, "In three years time, Alberto had not found that place-- until one day, when the Peixe Voador docked early in Macau and the load they expected had been delayed. The city was gritty place for a shore leave, but for Alberto it was his first glimmer a new and wonderful life..."

Megan opened her eyes. Dan held a thick hollow needle in his hand. Her eyes widened as the wicked tip of it approached her skin. They shared a moment, a brief hesitation, before he thrust the tool through her nipple, carving out a tunnel of flesh that would never close up.

Megan winced and her arms stiffened, raising her slightly from the chair. "Ohhh, dear God!" she shrieked as the sharp pain ricocheted through her body leaving her quivering involuntarily.

"... and he found that in a dockside bar, in a woman with a voice like an angel. They were married the next day." said Dan.

Dan placed a metal ring on the open point of his tool and methodically slipped it through the new hole in Megan's nipple as he withdrew the needle. While it hung there, with the open end down, he gently daubed the wound with antiseptic and said lightly, "With this ring, I thee..."

He paused, second-guessing his words. Megan and Dan's eyes met. After a few moments, she reached up to the back of his neck and pulled him to her.

She closed her eyes and they kissed like it was their first time.

In another part of town, Aubrey lay flat on her back, naked. A homeless guy hovered over her vagina with a pair of chopsticks.

Aubrey whispered urgently, "Scat! Go away!"

He leered at her and then grinned with the few remaining teeth he owned saying, "Oh, but I want your tuna." In his unwashed hand, he held a bone china appetizer dish and his fetid breathe rolled over her in a fog of rotted produce and Johnny Walker. He clicked his chopsticks smartly over her labia to illustrate his point.

"I don't want you here. You're scaring all the others away!" Aubrey insisted as she rocked her hips to avoid his touch, careful not to spill the puddle of soy sauce from her navel. "Have you tried the eel or the Firecracker roll?" she asked, desperate to distract him.

The man glanced at her boobs indifferently. A slice of salmon dancing on her right nipple caught his eye. He plucked it up with greasy fingers and held it up to the light. Passing inspection, he slurped it in like a noodle and chewed it thoughtfully. Then he let it fall out of his mouth. "That's not tuna," he said gruffly. Aubrey's stomach lurched.

Aubrey rocked her head to the side. All the good guys, the doctors, the lawyers...they were across the room. A few glanced back over their shoulders and curled their lips dismissively before returning to their conversations. No one was coming to feast at her banquet.

Suddenly, Aubrey felt the homeless guy's crusty lips and rough tongue on her abdomen licking up California roll slices. She lurched up into a sitting position and threw up in his ear. All of the artfully placed sushi fell off of her naked body and plopped onto the floor in an expanding pool of rice wine, soy sauce and puke.

Then it all faded away and Aubrey found herself alone in her bed, hunched over and shivering. The wave of nausea passed, but her skin felt clammy and perspiration beaded up on her like fresh dew on cold melons.

"You're not bagging us, are you?" demanded Megan.

Aubrey shook her head and said morosely, "Nah, I'm still coming with you to South Dakota, but I'm worried about attracting the wrong guys. You know?"

Megan nodded sagely, but didn't really understand what her friend getting at.

"It seems like, no matter what I do, I can't find anyone of substance who wants to be with me. That little bunny tattoo on my butt has made it even worse, I think," explained Aubrey.

With a concerned frown, Megan asked, "What do you mean?"

Aubrey sighed and said, "I mean... now I've got teen boys trailing around after me at the pool-- and some old perv who quotes the Bible incessantly. I think he wants a taste of my tuna."

Megan laughed and said, "What?" She paused watching her friend's sullen face. "Oh, honey, you are such a beautiful woman. There are lots of guys out there. Good guys. You just need to expand your circle, keep your eyes open and go with the flow."

"Easy for you to say. I mean, you kinda met Dan by accident," complained Aubrey, "He's dreamy-- I mean handsome, talented and he's got his head together. You two are great together. That's what I want."

Megan patted her friends hand, "Thank you for saying that, Aubrey." She paused and added, "Listen, I understand completely where you are coming from. But if you remember, I was a wreck when I met Dan. The tattoos started out as a defiant lark, but they became much more over time. Dan settled me and brought me back to a good place. His work on my body is a testament to our story together-- our past and our present."

Aubrey looked at her Megan's hand over hers. Since they last visited, Dan had added a death's head moth that covered the back of her friend's hand. It seemed to hover above the floral design that extended over her wrist and up her arm. She idly wondered where it fit into the story, but still marveled at the exquisite detail. That reoccurring hunger for body art roiled in her gut once again.

"Do you think, if I get more tattoos, it will... you know, scare guys away? I mean, like lawyers and doctors?" Aubrey asked.

Megan leaned forward and looked her friend in the eyes. "Honey, you're beautiful inside and out, you don't need ANY supplementation to attract attention. Whatever you decide to do is for YOU, not for someone else. And, if some guy can't see your beauty without tattoos, he won't see it with them either. So, do what YOU want. Live your own life"

Aubrey said, "I guess, you're right," and relaxed back in her chair, for the moment, no longer fretting about settling down with what her mother would have called, 'the right kind of man.' She closed her eyes and imagined being marked like Megan, feeling the artist's hand touch her, piercing her skin, covering her body with indelible art. How marvelous it would be to watch it develop and grow. She could be unique in all the world. These thoughts churned through her, kicking up endorphins as they went. She blurted out, "Has Dan tattooed your Va-jay-jay yet?"

Megan, who'd just taken a sip through her straw, snorted ice tea from her nose.

There was a cluster of motorcycles parked side-by-side in front of Trader Dan's when Aubrey arrived for her appointment. She bit her lip and hesitated, watching the bikers lazing around in front of the door, wishing she'd worn frumpier clothes. She bucked up her courage, put her head down and walked through the lewd cat calls anyway. A lone voice of reason in the group, stopped her.

She heard, "Hey, don't let them bother you. They mean no harm."

Aubrey turned. One of them was not on the sidewalk. He was lounging on his bike watching her. He had short brown hair, an affable smile and a close cropped beard. Thick arms stretched his black t-shirt, and his leather vest was festooned with ride pins and cloth badges. Aubrey froze in place as his startling brown eyes met hers.

Finally, she shook herself and said, "Oh, is that so?"

The biker looked down the street casually, then back at Aubrey and said, "Yeah, it's just that there is nothing sexier in all the world than a fine looking woman entering a tattoo shop."

Aubrey couldn't help but smile. She noticed ink work that extended from under his shirt sleeves to his elbows. There was a tape-covered patch on his left bicep. His eyes were like a magnet though, compelling her to come closer. She shuffled to the curb, curious.

"So, you know a lot about tattoos?" she asked, making conversation.

The biker grinned and then lowered his head humbly before saying, "Yeah, and a whole lot of other stuff." He held out his arm with the patch to illustrate. "Dan does good work. I trust him." He paused and added, "He'll do right by you."

Aubrey nodded slowly, taking in the scene. "Well, thank you," she said, "I know..."

The biker leaned forward and held out his hand, "They call me 'Doc' by the way." As Aubrey shook his hand, she said, "I'm Aubrey." Reluctant to leave his magnetic eyes, Aubrey backed up and turned around. When she got to the door she glanced back. He was still watching.

As the bell tinkled and the door closed behind her, Aubrey came to a stop and her eyes glazed over. The short encounter with Doc was a surprise. He certainly wasn't her type. Yet, his assured demeanor and generous smile thrilled her.

"Is everything alright?" asked Dan from behind the counter.

Blinking her eyes and returning to the present, Aubrey answered, "Oh... Oh yes." The thought about what she was determined to do today flooded back to her. "Very alright!" she said with a smile.

Ten minutes later, Aubrey was topless and reclined in Dan's barber chair. The stencil had been applied and the buzzing of his machine had begun. From time to time, the artist would hold her boob aside for a clearer access to the work area, but she felt relaxed and welcomed his touch. The comforting sound of his voice belayed the pain of the needle piercing her skin.

"... So, you see, Alberto and Meijuan left their old lives behind and came to America. Even though they were very different in background and culture, their lives had been changed by events beyond their control, and that unified them. They were creating a new life now for themselves in a new place neither had seen before. They were free to be anything they wanted to be..."

Aubrey closed her eyes. The sound of Dan's machine, and his resonant voice faded as she imagined her life moving forward. That, and the infectious smile and watchful eyes of a biker named Doc.

The photographer was all smiles when Megan removed her clothes. Even Aubrey gasped at the swirling mass of color her friend's body had become. She'd worn custom lingerie under her belted peasant dress that drew thin strips of pink satin across her breasts and thighs, yet covered nothing. Her skin was oiled to deepen the pigments and sharpen the edges for the photo session. As she bent to unhook and peel off the stockings from her thighs, the umbrella lights around her popped like gun shots and the camera absorbed images from every possible angle.

Megan moved like a voice controlled robot, obeying the photographer's curt demands, "Arch your back." "Cock your hip." "Raise your arms..." As she turned and bent over so the photographer could to capture the tattooed detail on her ass and back, Aubrey stood transfixed, just out of the light. Her glittering eyes took it all in. She imagined the magazine that would soon be laid open at the centerfold on coffee tables around the world.

Aubrey was especially drawn to Megan's ample boobs swinging left and right, one decorated with blue birds perched on a flowered tree, juxtaposed by the other with dark Asian inspired storm clouds and lightening strikes. Silver rings dangled from both nipples and a tiny bell adorned the one on the right. She felt an overwhelming desire to put her hands on Megan's body. She wanted to touch and feel every inch of it.

Long after the photo session, Aubrey laid in her bed fantasizing about melting into Megan and sensing her being from the inside.

The rush faded as she fell fitfully asleep and she found herself at a table by the sea with a swarthy, craggy faced man and a beautiful, ageless Asian woman. The woman clicked the game tiles in front of her, considering her next move.

"But, I don't know the rules." said Aubrey, feeling overwhelmed by the confusing swirl of images before her.

"Of course you do." said the dark man brusquely. Seals barked from the dark rocks below them, punctuating his words, and calm waves lapped rhythmically up to the shore.

"My friend... Megan knows how to play, I think. But she hasn't shown me." countered Aubrey.

"What is it you want, young flower?" asked the woman.

Aubrey gazed at the woman's placid face for a moment, and then looked away. "I guess... I just want to be seen."

"Pung!" said the man abruptly as he laid down tiles on the table.

The Asian woman continued to stare at Aubrey, and said, "The game is long, my dear, but for some it seems far too short. Women who play are always seen in equal measure." She paused to lay tiles on the table, before continuing, "...except for those who act boldly. Mahjong."

Waves breaking on the rocks faded and a stiff wind blew across the bay, morphing into the sound of a reciprocating fan perched on her dresser. Aubrey lay awake in the dark on top of her sheets with a deep emptiness in her gut. The fan raised goosebumps on her flesh as it passed over her body. She touched the skin under her breasts. The soreness had faded and now that tattoo was just part of her. She wondered if it felt the same for her friend. Images of Megan posing for the photographer flashed through her brain. Men all over the world would see her and would be aroused.

Aubrey's skin tingled at the thought.

"I talked to Aubrey yesterday," said Megan. She was laying on her stomach with her arms folded under her chin, while Dan concentrated on his work.

"Mmmm?" replied Dan

"Yeah, she's really, really pleased with her new tattoo." Megan replied. Then she chuckled and said, "She'll be back."

"Oh, good. I'm glad." said Dan as he swabbed Megan's skin. "She wanted something sophisticated. So, I recommended an under-boob tattoo with a Moorish design. It's all fine line black-work, but pretty detailed. I think it works well on her body."

Megan added, "And, she's really looking forward to joining us in the Black Hills now. I think she wants to show it off."

"Cool." said Dan as he bore down, applying more ink to the orange blossoms that covered Megan's right buttock. He paused to wipe away stray ink and blood, and cocked his head to survey the work. Then his eyes lost focus and he saw through the pattern on his lover's skin. Even now, electricity pulsed through him when he touched her. His needle hovered over her, directionless.

Dan shook himself to refocus on his work. He continued with his story.

"... in those days, there was always work for men with strong backs and calloused hands on the docks in San Francisco, so Alberto quickly found employment. Meijuan had found a small room for them in the Chinatown above a shop that sold sundries and knick-knacks to tourists."

Megan sighed comfortably and readjusted her body on the padded table to open the cleft between her legs when Dan paused again to dip his needle in an ink cup.

Dan swabbed Megan's skin and continued, "So, they were apart from each other on most days, their work taking them in different directions..." His needle moved rhythmically across her ass. "With so little time together, they made the most of what they had."

Dan stopped abruptly and set aside his machine. He stood and surveyed Megan's body, but he wasn't seeing the finely crafted tattoo that now extended from the back of her knees to the nape of her neck. Rather, he was seeing the lovely, sexy woman who chose to be with him. He hungered to be inside her.

Megan heard the clanking of Dan's belt buckle, followed by a zipping noise, and intuited what would come next. She knew what he needed, and she welcomed that. She parted her legs and pushed herself down the table, hanging her ass over the edge.

Always a little surprised by his girth, her eyes widened, her brow furrowed and her lips parted as Dan filled her. As he settled into a forceful rhythm she thought to herself, "I want to feel like this forever."

"You will be damned to hell forever!" shouted the disheveled old man following Aubrey.

"Stop!" shouted Aubrey, near tears. She hustled along the sidewalk, trying to put distance between her and her harasser. He'd tailed her from her follow up appointment at Trader Dan's and now she just couldn't shake him.

"God said that it's a sin to mark your body," said the man, stabbing a gnarled finger at the worn Bible in his hand. Like an avenging super hero, his filthy trench coat blew around him like a cape.

"Leave me alone. Please leave me alone!" cried Aubrey.

Several bystanders pulled out their cell phones, about to call the police, when a lone motorcycle rumbled down the street and came to a rolling stop near Aubrey. Doc jacked the kickstand down, leaned the bike over to the left and casually swung his leg over the saddle. He stepped up onto the curb and positioned himself between the girl and the belligerent preacher.

Smiling warmly at the befuddled older man he said, "Friend, you have no business here. You need to walk away."

"But, but," the man sputtered, "That woman has defiled the Lord's temple! She must repent and atone!" His face was splotchy red, spittle flew from his lips and his accusing finger shook with palsy.

Doc moved closer to the nervous old gent, put his arm over his shoulders and held him close while he talked earnestly into the man's ear. As Aubrey watched, the man seemed to shrink.

They stood that way for about a minute. Amazingly, the old man turned and walked dejectedly away.

Aubrey stood behind Doc for a few moments as the trench coated man continued down the street and turned the corner, never looking back. When Doc turned to Aubrey, his face was placid; not angry, not self-satisfied.

"OK... what just happened?" asked Aubrey incredulously.

Doc shook his head and said, "He just wants what you have."

"Yeah, I know. He's a pervert..." said Aubrey derisively.

"Not exactly," said Doc. "He's old and alone now, and is desperate for someone, anyone to see his worth. You have beauty and vitality-- and he resents you for it."

Aubrey bit her cheek, and suddenly felt sorry the old guy.