"Where are you going?"
"The tattoo parlor," I say. "It's time to get something added."
Cory keeps talking and I can hear it in his voice. Fear, sadness, anger. "Just leave it as it is, Kensi. Leave it alone. Please."
I try to explain but he hangs up. My stomach rolls over and I fight back tears. He doesn't get it.
Fourth Street Tattoo is deserted as usual. The young kids looking for ink tend to migrate to the large flashy shops that are all about show. Sure, they're cool and expensively decorated -- the flash walls are like art galleries, the signs are new neon that doesn't pop and sizzle as if they are about to give up the ghost. The ink, though, is shit. Most of what comes out of the showy shops is butchery, not art.
Fritz is sitting behind the glass counter with his high tops perched on the metal edge. Piercing rings and barbells wink and glisten behind the smudged glass. I'm not here to get pierced, though. I am here to add to my starry sky.
"Ah, the lovely Kensington. And what exactly are you doing here? Time to wrap up that piece of art on your back?" he winks and the tiny barbell in his blond eyebrow dances in the fluorescent light.
I nod and search the walls for new shots. I wander over, not ready to lay it out for him. Fritz gave me my first star. My second, my third, and so on. To date he had tattooed twelve cobalt blue stars on my back. A little shading came with each star. What I have is an unfinished, starry sky between my shoulder blades.
"Nice," I say more to myself than to him. He's gone back to his magazine and to banging relentlessly on the arm of his chair. The Dropkick Murphys wail with angst from the overhead speakers.
I run my fingers over his latest work. An old-school black panther. A classic pinup girl, this one a mermaid. The words "Live Free or Die" emblazoned under her bust in classic script. I move on to Dutch's work. Dutch has never inked me but I know he's good. The proof is in the new photos tacked to the corkboard wall. A huge back piece of the classic Jack the Ripper shot. I can almost smell the fog, hear the water dripping. Goosebumps spring up on my skin as I stare at the shadowy figure in the top hat, the cloak. I take in the realistic buildings and the nearly obscured moon. Done completely in shades of black and gray with a few touches of white, it is eerie and beautiful at the same time. Next to it is a Jesus tattoo. I'm not much for the religious tattoos, but when I stare at Dutch's work, I feel physical pain. The look of agony on the face, the blood from the wounds, the crown of thorns. I shiver and turn to Fritz. I am ready to tell him what I want and ready to get in the chair, my skin nearly itching for the delicious pain of the needle.
"I'm ready."
As much as I love the feel of getting tattooed, I loathe the sound. It's like going to the dentist. It's not getting the filling that bothers me, it's the noise. The tattoo needle bites at my skin and I love it. I crave it. The sound of being marked, though, is nearly maddening. Like a giant wasp that has settled deep in my brain. It usually takes me a good fifteen minutes to stop focusing on it and block it out. Fritz knows this and does his chatterbox routine to distract me.
"So, you finally decided to finish her up. What's your guy gonna think? Cory. That's his name, right?"
I nod. I don't shrug at his question because I have learned to sit completely still. Nothing like a permanent fuck up on your skin.
"He's mad," I mutter.
"He is! Why?"
"He doesn't' understand. He really didn't let me explain," I said. The numbness is starting. My body is pumping me full of adrenaline and natural pain killers. What was once a biting, stinging pain is fading to an annoying throb. I miss the bite.
"Well, he will, I guess. You've got a dozen stars here. That's enough, don't you think? You've been through enough."
I nod again and smile just a little. I have been through enough and I am ready to finish the starry sky. The first star was for my father. My father who is behind bars. No man should do to a small child the things that were done to me. The second star was for my first boyfriend. My jaw was wired shut for a month after our little "spat." I left him and had the second star tattooed that night. After the emergency room doctor released me. The third was for the man who wrecked my car, high on crack, and left me in the wreckage. He assumed I was dead. I filed charges and once I was mobile again, I came to Fritz.
Each star was supposed to remind me not to do it again. Not to somehow seek out and find a man just like my dad. Each star was supposed to be a lesson learned. There were too many damn lessons on my back.
"This won't take long," Fritz says softly. I think he reads my posture. He is probably a pro at reading body language. I realize he's been through my long history of pain right along with me. He is, in fact, a friend. A true one. "You want shading?"
I nod and then remember I am supposed to speak. "Yeah, finish that and then shade it all. The whole sky. Then it will be done."
He starts the shading and I sink into it. Where the outlining is a sharp and concentrated pain, the shading is a broad pain. Like the flat edge of a dull razor blade being scraped across your skin over and over again. I close my eyes and relax into it. Now that the piece is done,
I wonder if I'll ever get another tattoo.
There are some who will tell you it's addictive. Once you have one you crave others. You think about them and imagine the pain and seek it out. I see that. I understand. But each of mine has been sparked by pain much deeper than needle on skin. Pain that stays with me no matter what I do to wash it away. Bleeding doesn't help. Therapy never helped. Nothing seems to help.
Cory doesn't understand but I hope he will. I do now. I understand. While the needle stains me permanently, I imagine what it will look like finished. Then I smile. This time the smile touches the dark, hard parts of me on the inside. Maybe the pain will stop now.
After what seems like both minutes and hours Fritz turns the needle off. The sudden silence is so loud it hurts my ears.
"You are done, Kensi." His voice is gentle and for just a moment he rests his latex clad hands on my shoulders. He gives me a little squeeze and I guess he's thinking like me. Will I ever be back now? "Let's see, the first was when you were fifteen. Now you are twenty-five. I've watched you grow up, haven't I? It has been an honor," he says and kisses the crown of my head like a father would a daughter. A good father. Or so I imagine. I have no frame of reference.
"What do I owe you?" I ask as he puts the A&D ointment on and then tapes my bandages in place.
"Not a goddamn penny. This one is on the house. I've been waiting years to put that tat on you and it would be an insult to try and pay me for it."
I nod and blink back the tears. When I say goodbye to Fritz, I can feel in my heart that it's for good. The feeling is both freeing and saddening.
*****
Now that the sky is done and the pain that will linger for days has started, I need Cory. I need him like I have never needed him before. Need him with me and in me and to understand. I know he's home as I knock but it takes him forever to answer the door. The over-sensitized skin of my back sings as I lean against the wall in the hall to wait. His apartment door opens and I take in his face.
His normally smiling face is set in a stern mask. I sigh and touch his cheek. "Can I come in?"
"Why? Is this how it ends? You get your tattoo and then you come and say goodbye?"
I shake my head and brush past him. He won't stop me or hurt me. I know this for certain.
He needs to understand but he needs to do it my way. On my terms. This is who I have become. I need to be in control and he usually understands.
I don't answer, I stand on tiptoe and kiss him. Push my tongue past his rigidly set lips, stroke his velvety tongue with mine. I play my fingers over the fly of his jeans and already his cock has stirred to life despite his anger and his fear.
"Is this how you say your so longs," he mumbles into my mouth, "a pity fuck?" His words are angry but his hands are gentle, as usual. And he is kissing me back.
I scrape my nails along his denim clad cock and the sound is harsh right along with our breathing. "Just let me," I whisper. That's it. Just let me. Let me have my way.
I sink to my knees, free him from his jeans and slide my lips along his hard flesh. I can feel the head of his cock brushing the very back of my throat and I breathe through my nose to keep from gagging. He tastes like soap and musk and the sweet, salty taste of pre-come. So much more subtle and tangy than semen.
"Kensi," he groans and shoves his hands into my hair. He tangles it and yanks just enough to send a thumping, agonizing rush of excitement to my cunt. I won't last long. I need him inside of me. "Please don't go, Kensi. I'll give you whatever you want but please don't go."
I don't answer him now but I will. Once I have what I need, I will make him see.
I lick and suck until my body is humming with need. I love the feel of him in my mouth. The smell of him in my nose. I love to be on my knees before him, he is the only man I can imagine being vulnerable for. I crave that vulnerability.
Cory sinks to his knees in front of me. I want to go lower and take him back in my mouth but now I am a slave to my need. He's talking but it's lost to me. I unbutton his shirt and fling it aside. Gingerly remove my sweater. Shuck my jeans. Push him back.
He goes willingly enough. His erection standing high against his belly. I brush my fingers through the ginger-brown trail of hair that sits low on his stomach. His cock jumps at the stimulation and I can't resist licking the tiny seeping slit before moving forward. Then I position myself over him, listen to his rasping breath and sink down.
We both make the sound. The whispery "oh" sound of penetration. His from slipping into my wet, ready cunt. Mine from the feel of being stretched and filled by him. The feel of him loving me. I wriggle and shift until the base of his cock rubs my clit with each move I make. I lean forward and touch his face - his beautiful face, as I slowly move up and down. His eyes are closed and he opens his mouth and sucks my nipple into that wet heat. My back is throbbing, not enjoying the repetitive motion of the stretching as I lower my chest to his. Breast to chest, I pump my hips and move so that the head of his cock brushes my G-spot. I shiver and sigh but I don't talk.
Cory grips my hips and pulls at me. Pulls me hard and thrusts up with his hips. I can feel his urgency and it sets me off. The palpable need that radiates off of him as he grows more frenzied.
"Kensi, Kensi,..." He's saying it like a prayer and I feel those first sweet flutters of orgasm. My name falling from his lips is the sweetest sound. My movements grow more frantic as his cock repeatedly strokes me.
My clit is swollen, my skin is hot, my back throbs. Pain and pleasure, love and hate. It all joins, a swirling mess of chaos until the pleasure outweighs the pain and the love eats the hate. I come, crying his name out loud. That does it. He comes with me, still chanting my name as if I can save him from the confusion.
I can. I will.
His hands brush my sides, along my ribs and I jump. He is careful, though, to avoid the large bandages on my back. His cock is still a little hard, seated deep in my cunt. I shift just a little and we both make needy sounds. He moves his hands to my hair, my jaw, my leaking eyelids. Cory brushes my tears away and kisses my forehead.
"Don't leave me. I know what the tattoos mean. Each star is a failure and then you move on. How have I failed you? Tell me and I'll fix it."
I shake my head and let the tears continue to fall. They feel good. Cleansing. "Take the bandage off," I whisper. "I'm not going anywhere."
"You're supposed to leave it on." He knows this. He has tattoos of his own,.
"Fritz said it's okay to peek. Just put it back when you're done."
I lay on my stomach as he moves behind me. When he peels back the tape, I moan. The adhesive yanks at my tender flesh but I know he has to see. He has to understand.
I hear him sigh. Maybe now he will stop worrying. "It's finished," he says. I feel his hands hover over the starry sky on my back but he doesn't touch. He knows better. "You're not leaving."
I shake my head. He gets it.
The tattoo is finally done. Far too many stars in the sky ride the flesh of my back. Now, in the center is an ethereal moon. Full and shining and white. Radiating peace and brightness. Hope for a future.
There will be no more stars. The moon is there now. The tattoo would only be finished when my cycle of self-destruction stopped. When I found someone who loved me and could let me love them. Now complete, the starry sky is wondrous and beautiful. No longer a journey but a destination reached.
"I love you," Cory says and then gently puts the bandage back.
"I know. I love you, too." I close my eyes and cherish each tender flicker of pain in my back. It's the good kind of pain.
Originally published June 2007 - "Body Art"