“Of course.”
She threw her black hair aside and looked over her shoulder. “What does âCJ' stand for?”
I blinked a few times and leaned closer. “Carmen,” I said softly. “My name is Carmen Jansen.”
Her eyes traveled down the front of my shirt. “Beautiful,” she whispered, then met my gaze again. “That's a beautiful name. Nice to meet you, Carmen.”
I swallowed against a lump that had taken hold within my throat, and fleetingly worried that my chin was quivering. “Nice to meet you, Violet.” She smiled and rested her head on the pillow.
After edging, highlighting and coloring both sides, I started outlining the
V
. Her gasps grew stronger. I moved the light closer and leaned in. As I went lower, following the letter to its bottom tip, I could smell her. She was wet. Her womanly sweetness moved into me, permeating me, making my senses tingle as they never had before. God, how I wanted herâto touch and taste her, know every inch of her soft skin. I wanted to hear her moan and scream. My mind flashed an image of her head thrown back, hands grabbing my hair and holding me against the aching delight of her clit. My breath came quicker, and I knew she could feel it landing upon her tender flesh.
Finishing the outline, I ripped open a sterile three-point needle. She watched over her shoulder, mouth slightly open as I mixed a variety of blue and purple shades in the dipping tray.
By the time I neared filling in the letter, her gasps had turned to moans. Violet's face, pressed sideways against the pillow by the arching of her back, was covered with a scattering of hair and tiny beads of sweat. Her left hand was atop mine as I held her buttocks apart. Her right was tucked beneath her stomach. Two of her fingers were making frantic circles before disappearing.
They emerged, slick and shiny, to race over her clit again and again.
Squirming upon my stool, I came twice just watching her.
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“CJ?â¦CJ?”
I drew a breath. “What?”
“Sorry. Uhhh, it's been almost half an hour,” Joey said. “That guy is still waiting.” I told Dylan we'd take a break and made my way to the front.
He seemed average enough, as if anyone in this world could be considered so, though nervous, the way squirrels are. Uncomfortable and twitchy. I apologized and asked what I could do for him. He flipped through a book of flash on the counter. He eventually pointed to a torn chest, ribs exposed through jagged, bleeding flesh.
“I was thinking about something like this?”
“Just like that, as it is, or do you want something similar? Can't afford to be vague when it comes to a tattoo.” He stammered and shifted for a moment. I sent Joey in back to check on the autoclave and see if anyone wanted a bite to eat. “Okay. Tell me exactly what you're looking for.”
He blinked a few times and lifted his T-shirt. Across his chest were four diagonal red lines, with a fifth slightly offset, which was thinner and shorter. They looked three-dimensional and I reached out to see how they had been drawn. He flinched slightly. Parts of the lines had scabbed over.
“Have you been picking at these? If you keep doing that, they'll probably end up scarring.”
“I don't want them as scars,” he said in a whisper. “I want them to bleed.”
While an apprentice inker, I quickly learned that people want what they want. You don't ask them why; you just ask
them if they're sure. This guy was sure and, when I asked him a second time, he was certain again. I bit my lip and broke the unwritten rule.
“Tell me.”
After a couple of false starts, he began recounting how he and his girlfriend had gotten into an argument, some sort of big scream fest involving another girl. He didn't go into specifics, though the dropping of his head and avoiding my eyes told me all there was to know. The argument got worse, he said, and she began to freak out. She cried and screamed and hit himâfinally reaching the point where she gouged her fingers into his chest and raked him open. She ran from the house, squealing tires as she raced away. After twenty minutes and unable to think of anything else, he went after her.
When he came upon the scene, the rescue squad was using a pneumatic expanderâtrying to free her from the wreckage curled around a tree.
“Glass and metal everywhere andâ¦I don't expect you to understand,” he said. “I did that to her. I wasn't driving, but I did it all the same. And this is all I have left. She'd still be in my arms if only I'd⦠I'll pull the scabs off every day, if I have to. I just want you to help me to never forget. I'll be left with nothing, if it fades.”
This guy would eat his own heart if he could yank it from his chest. I looked at his shirt, knowing what lay beneath, then back to him.
“I'm sorry, I can't. No, what I mean is, I won't.”
He stared at me, his face a blank.
“Sorry,” I said again, softly. “I'm afraid you'll have to find someone else to do it.”
He stood there for a moment, then nodded. He rubbed his nose and, with eyes blank, shuffled out.
My gaze wandered down to the notebook before me. A chill lingered at the center of my spine as I drew the image from the plastic sleeve. It was in several crumpled pieces by the time it hit the bottom of the trash can.
When I got back to my station, Larry was putting the finishing touches on the walk-in and Dylan was leafing through a magazine. The smell of a cigarette lingered upon him.
“Are you kidding me? You haven't even quit smoking?”
He smiled and shrugged, favoring the shoulder I'd been working on. “What can I tell you, CJ? Can't help myself, I guess!”
“Turn around! Just turn around and assume the position!” He let out a little chuckle.
Damn it, Dylan,
I thought, reaching for a new pair of gloves.
After closing the shop, I went upstairs and popped a frozen dinner in the microwave. Twelve days had passed; twelve days since I had told her that I needed to be sure of myself. The only thing I was certain of was that I was little more than a shadow of who I'd been. I turned on the television, quietly beseeching it to numb me. I thought of that guy, wanting his cuts to be everlasting. Then memories of Vi flowed into my mind, as I knew they would.
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“Hi CJ! Would you mind checking my tattoo? I can't see it very well, and I want to make sure it's healing okay.”
“Why don't we go upstairs? Want some coffee?”
“Sure!”
We went up and I flipped the switch on the coffee machine. “Let's take a peek.”
Violet unbuttoned her jeans and turned toward the countertop, placing both hands upon it. Looking over at me, she smiled faintly and raised one of her wonderfully arched eyebrows. I
walked to her and, standing behind, eased the zipper down. Her jeans followed and, with the tips of my fingers, I gently pulled back and lowered her panties. Her flowers, vines and initial, kept moist with a thin layer of Tattoo Goo and a patch of plastic wrap, slowly revealed itself.
“Beautiful,” I whispered in her ear. She turned around and, cupping my face in her hands, brought her lips to mine. Long and slow we kissed, and I soon forgot what it was to breathe.
“Come back tonight,” I whispered.
She did.
I have known heat, and the few women I've been with have brought me to understand hunger. But like so many things about her, Violet's lips were different. There was yearning, but also softness and exhilaration, fear and freedom. Fingers touched necks and shoulders, as my kisses moved from her lips to the underside of her chin. One of her hands set gently upon my breast. Her fingernail traced around my nipple, then left it to strain against my T-shirt as she drew me close. Her other hand ran through my hair as I began nibbling the soft skin beneath her ear. She moaned and held me against her even tighter. Struggling through stolen breaths, we soon found our way to the bed.
Since I'm usually the aggressive one, I was surprised to find myself on my back. She crawled atop and kissed me, lightly at first, then with more passion. More urgency. Violet's tongue danced with my own as I felt her hands moving to the bottom of my T-shirt. She straddled me and, with a smile, pulled it up. As soon as my head came into view, she twisted it around my arms and held them lightly in place. Her eyes drank in my little breasts.
She kissed me once, long and deep, then quickly set upon one of my nipples. Her tongue played over it softly, sending little shivers racing down my spine. After flicking it hard a few times,
she pulled it gently upward with her teeth. Without realizing, I was arching my back to keep her mouth on me. I ached to reach out and hold her head exactly where it was, but as soon as she felt movement, her grip on my shirt tightened. Violet shifted from one breast to the other, sweetly tormenting that nipple as well. With the pulsation moving outward from my core, I ground my hips against her stomach.
She released her grip, took off her top and bra, then leaned forward to feed me one of her breasts. Warm and soft in my hands, I played upon her nipples in much the way she had mine. Within moments, she was kissing my forehead and reaching down to rub a hand between my jean-clad legs. The wetness quickly began to move outward.
Moments later, Violet turned herself around and lowered her warm and hairless flesh within easy reach. She planted soft kisses all around my slit, licked the wetness she found there and began to flick at my bud with her tongue.
I pulled her hips slightly downward until her clit pressed against my ready and wanting mouth. We delved into each other with fingers and tongues, the trembling of hips and spasms of pressed bellies telegraphing every new sensation.
Fingers deep within each other, we licked, kissed and nibbled. Time, memories, worryâeverything beyond the softness of her flesh seemed to dissolve and float away into the dim light of the room.
I urged Violet onto her back and positioned our legs. We moved and pressed against each other, quickly finding a rhythm to match the flow of desire that rose from within. With her head thrown back, she seized my hips and began to press her clit hard against my own. Several quick gasps escaped her and she pulled me in tightly. All of our lips merged. My orgasm raced to its bursting point just as a long moan escaped her. As she shuddered
and shook with release, her voice shifted into a scream muffled against my neck. The grinding became gentle movement, then stillness. I pulled the sheets over us, kisses taking in the sweet sheen from each other's necks and faces.
A few nights later, we fell into each other again. And again. Daylight became something that kept us from the moon, from our true selves, though we soon conquered that as well. Weeks became three months. Sometimes she stopped in the parlor, dropping off hoagies and soup while I worked on Dylan's first koi. The semicircles of its many scales became, in my wandering mind, the curves of her body and the arc of her smile. Larry had noticed the change within my face, smiled and said nothing. Dylan picked up on it as well. “She's good for you,” he whispered.
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Back in the present, I turned off the television, splashed water on my face, then went and sat on the edge of the bed. The full-length antique mirror in the corner glanced back at me. It had watched us always, including the night I found myself on the brink of weeping from the melding of our souls. Her breath had fallen softly upon my neck as I held her, close as a person could without disappearing.
“I love you, Carmen.”
I took the few steps toward the mirror and unbuttoned my jeans. Slowly easing down my panties, it came into view. Open and unfolded, it was an exact copy of hers, repositioned so the tendril led to the very top of my folding flesh. I moved a fingertip within myself then brought it higher. The hues of the flower, already quite vivid from daily care, glistened.
I drew a breath as the tears rose up. No longer afraid, I reached for my phone.
CUCUMBERS AND CREAM
Helen Sandler
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I only went down to the bar to watch the show. I was feeling pretty chilled, rolling up there just before I expected the act to come onstage. One of the other regular MCs, Tatiana, a big brash doll of a girl in a ripped, punk T-shirt, was sitting at a table in front of the DJ booth with her manly/womanly girlfriend and cheeky-chappie boyfriend. The entwined group was like an ad for the genderfuck love-in that is our little club.
But when I asked, “Are you compering tonight?” Tatiana said, “No, I think you are.”
I reeled away, wondering if I'd got it wrongâ¦spinning right into the arms of the club promoter, Reno. She held me in a comforting bear hug as she asked, “You wanna host tonight?”
“I just came down to hear the band,” I said.
“The band canceled, Tatiana's feeling vulnerable, Freddy wants to do techâ¦I can go on, but I'd love it if you'd do it.”
“Oh, okay.” I regrouped. “So who's on?”
“An amazing burlesque duo who are over here from Paris.
They're backstage now. Go meet them and see how they want to be introduced and we'll go on in fifteen.”
“You want me to go backstage and talk to the strippers while they get changed?”
“Yes, why not?”
“Why not indeed?” I laughed, shaking my head at my good fortune.
“Just don't call them âstrippers.'”
“I should probably tell you I haven't got a pen and paper, I'm not dressed to go onstage and I'm mildly stoned. Oh, and I haven't put wax in my hair.” I ran a few fingers through my gray quiff; it was fluffy instead of stiff.