Inked by A. Kite

[akite.livejournal.com]

Big thanks to my beta readers, sprat and nowlive.

There are 1525 words behind the .

Inked

My eighteenth birthday was a day of firsts. It was the first time I could legally buy beer in the state of Illinois. (This was the 70s, before they changed it back to twenty-one.) I walked in the liquor store and bought a whole case of cheap beer for the party my friends were giving me. I tried to be cool when the clerk checked my I.D., but ended up grinning like a dork, I'm sure.

The clerk said, "Congratulations, son. Happy birthday." I told him thanks and carried the beer out to my car. I put it in the truck and walked down the street to my second first.

Most people probably think that I drank the beer before I got the tattoo, but they'd be wrong. I was stone cold sober when I walked into the Ink Well. The owner and artist, Dirk, knew me. I'd been in before, just looking. I couldn't get inked without a parent's consent and no way were my mom or dad going to go for this. Dad's opinion was tattoos were okay if you're in the Navy, and Mom just thought they were tacky. They were going to hit the roof when they found out. I was eighteen now. They couldn't stop me.

It was mid-afternoon, and there were no other customers. I had skipped classes that day to come when there wouldn't be a bunch of people around. "Happy birthday, Ray!" Dirk called as I came in the door.

"Thanks, man. You need to see my I.D.?"

"Yep. Let's make it official. You've got to sign this waiver too." Dirk rolled his eyes letting me know what he thought the bullshit paperwork the city made him do now. I proudly showed the man my driver's license. My hand only shook a little when I signed the waiver. I was nervous but determined to do it. "You ready?" he asked.

"Yeah, let's rock and roll."

It hurt like a motherfucker, almost enough to ask Dirk to stop. Then it was over. I watched as he wiped the blood away. There it was, the Champion logo right on my arm.

"Looks pretty good, huh?" Dirk asked me. I could only nod and wince as the alcohol burned. I got a bandage and a pamphlet about how to keep it clean while it healed. I shook Dirk's hand and put my shirt on. I stopped at the drugstore on my way to Mike's house and my third first of the day.

Mike and his cousin Dean helped me ice down the beer. I'd known Mike since I started grade school. His mom worked nights, and his dad died back when we were in junior high. They lived far enough away from my folks that we could have a party. My parents would never hear about it --as long as we were cool, and nobody called the cops.

Dean lived out in the burbs somewhere. He hung with Mike a lot, so I knew him. He was one tough son of a bitch. When we were kids and got hurt, you know scraped a knee or something, Dean never cried. His arm got broken when he was eleven, and he never let out a whimper.

So it was Mike, Dean, four of our other buddies and me. You know, it's funny to me now; there weren't any girls at the party. I guess if I'd brought Stella, the others would have brought dates too, but Stella had broken up with me again. She was going to school up in Michigan and was dating some football jock. There you go. We had beer, some snacks, tunes, and seven guys with no chicks in sight. I guess I could blame what happened on being drunk, but I'd be lying.

Once all the guys got there and we had a couple of beers in us, I peeled back the bandage so everybody could see the tat. Danny put up his fist and said, "Hey, Kowalski, wanna trade punches?" making like he was going to hit my arm.

Before I could tell him to fuck off, Dean caught Danny's hand and told him, "Leave Ray alone, asshole. You want to trade punches, I'll trade punches with you."

"Uh, no thanks. Sheesh, I was just kidding around." Danny didn't want to mix it up. Dean was a pretty big guy and a couple of years older than the rest of us. Danny walked away, over to the table where the chips and dip were. He didn't stick around too long after that.

Later on, after most of the other guys had gone home, I was sitting alone in the living room listening to the stereo. Barry and Dave had gone on a beer run earlier, so there was still plenty to drink. I was just sitting there with my can, kind of swaying with the music, when Dean came in. "Hey, Ray. You doing all right?" he asked as sat down on the couch beside me.

"I'm doing good, Dean-o." I let my head fall back on the cushion.

He reached out and touched my arm. He ran his fingers up and down lightly over the bandage like he was trying to feel the tattoo. It tickled, and it didn't, you know? It felt good. Made me shiver.

Dean's fingers went up over my shoulder and ghosted up my neck. That made me squirm. "Feels good, huh?" he whispered.

I nodded and lifted my head up. Dean moved closer to me and rubbed the back of my neck. I felt his other hand move up my leg, rubbing my thigh, then higher. "Wha...?" I squeaked a little when his hand got to my balls. I tried to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing.

"Shhhh..." Dean's mouth was right up by my ear, warm and wet. "Just let me - I can make you feel so good, Ray." He was whispering and his lips tickled my ear. I started to panic because he was making me hard. He was being so gentle, though. Touching me like I was some sort of wild animal he was trying to calm, rubbing my back and neck. "It's ok. Nobody'll know. Mike's asleep."

Dean's hand was at my fly. I stopped struggling and let him do it. I even lifted up and let him pull my jeans and underwear down. I wasn't sure what he was going to do until he slid off the couch and onto his knees. There's not many horny eighteen-year-old guys that would pass up a blowjob even if it was from a guy. I didn't. It felt too good. Way better than when Stella tried it. Dean knew what he was doing. He alternated between licks and sucks and rolled my nuts in his hand. I came harder than I'd ever done before, and he swallowed it down.

I was lying back against the cushions totally blown out of my mind when Dean got up and kneeled on the couch beside me. He had pants open and said, "Come on, Ray, jack me," in this shaky, desperate voice. I knew that kind of desperation. I did it. I wrapped my hand around his dick and jerked it until he came. It was weird. I knew how to do it to myself, but doing someone else was totally different. His dick was different from mine - shorter and thicker. I guess I did it all right, though, he spunked all over both of us.

Dean kissed me when it was over. He put his mouth on my mouth and kissed me. Not for very long because I wouldn't let him. I pulled away and scrambled up. I got my jeans refastened and grabbed a bunch of napkins to wipe myself off, which wasn't easy. I was freaking out. My hands were shaking. I turned away, not looking at Dean at all and said, "I gotta go." I practically ran out of Mike's house.

I know I shouldn't have driven that night. When you're eighteen you do stupid stuff. I'd planned to crash at Mike's house, but I had to get out of there. After that, I didn't hang around Mike and the guys very much. Stella transferred to Northwestern, and we got back together.

I've come a long way since then, and not just in miles. It's now my fortieth birthday. Stella and I are splitsville again. It's for good this time. Kisses from men don't freak me out anymore - at least not kisses from one man. Blowjobs still feel good. Fraser's better at it than Dean Horowitz ever dreamed of being.

Today I'm getting my second tattoo: a birthday present from Fraser. He knows someone here in the Great White North that's going to ink us both.

What if I flinch and mess up the design? What if they use some weird shit, like whalebone or sharks' teeth? I'm more nervous about this than I was when I was eighteen. Enough of that crap, I'm going to do this.

But I reserve the right to freak out later.