Telling

“Silence, dirtbags!” An impudent, tartan clad queen shouted from the stage. Her Doc Marten’s were jerryrigged with sky blue duct tape & spite. She howled on the microphone like a cat in heat and her bass lines were so dirty you felt Dionysian after listening to them.

Veronica Telly stood five feet flat and towered over the world. I’d seen her sink her teeth into a bouncer’s shoulder after being denied entry into her own show. What I’m saying is— she was not a force to be fucked with.

Which is exactly why I fell in love with her.

Night of the Living Dead, haunted houses, Veronica Telly— What do they all have in common? My collected terror and infatuation.

I’d skip mass to pray at the skate park. Quicker to knock my ankle than bend the knee. I overheard Veronica mention a love of beads— but I didn’t think she meant rosary.

I picked up stick & poke to have to excuse to offer her something. She asked for examples and all I had to offer was the amateur sketch pad that was my left thigh. I had to pull down my jeans to show her the full spread— my face was red. Hers was not.

She laughed at how pale I was and told me to ask her again after I got the hang of it. She left after tracing the outline of the starfish.

“That’s your best one. You might figure it out yet.”

I wanted to burn that moment into my brain and live in it. Instead— I ran to the library and checked out as many animal and sea life books as possible. I stole tracing paper from my universities art department and retreated to my attic room atop a four story hovel in hope of compressing hundreds of years of artistic excellence into a weekend.

I rode the fevered current of site as I studied the feathers, bones, & fur of predators and prey alike. I had the sense that I was not the predator between Veronica & myself.

I found a poison dart frog— admiring the ink and blatant audacity of a small, but mighty force in the jungle. It seemed like the honey badger of amphibians. Mutual assured destruction for anything that attacked it— although I aimed for mutual assured affection. I had no desire to be poisoned— but as I worked under a creaking roof I knew I had already failed.

The birds started chirping before I knew morning caught up to me. I had progressively messy drawings— but the meaning was clear. This was an obsession that I wasn’t going to give up lightly.

The next three weeks saw me beg, cajole, poke & prod anyone I knew to let me practice my fledgling art after completely filling my own thighs. A rocket ship for Logan, music notes for Julian, a Greek sun for Aisley.

I slowly found my lines— and filling in my imagination that blossomed behind it. I even forgot the original fever— Until the Veronica Telly’s next gig was announced.

Veronica and the Nine Tails only played once a month. I had a single chance of impressing her with the progress I’ve made. She was covered head to toe in black denim, but I prayed she had a spot for my art underneath it.

The crowd was whipped into a frenzy as Veronica commanded them to jump. The middle of the audience was a pit of sweat and adolescent release. Her bass wailed along with her voice— begging them to let loose. I pushed my way to the front— knowing there was little chance in her knowing I came.

But as the song trickled out and the crowd began to breathe deep— she peered down towards me and smiled. I lifted my arm to display my latest work, a goshawk in flight. She gave a slow smile before nodding towards the left of the stage.

The man at the door looked me over like bargain sausages and gave a rueful chuckle “she said you’d be here,” before opening the door.

I found myself in a dim, closet of a room. It smelled like Mountain Dew and old Chinese food. Veronica’s faded army jacket hung off the chair— I looked at the patch of Iggy on the back before settling on the couch. I heard the squeal of the guitar as the final song hit its crescendo. I closed my eyes and tried to picture the animal I thought she’d like.

“Good, you found the room. I didn’t want to have to hunt you down after the show,” Veronica said lugging her bass. She set it next to the desk and turned to me. “I saw some of your friends— you’re getting better.”

“Thanks. I’ve been trying to find the right animal but-“

“I want one before you’re famous. Otherwise I’ll have to make an appointment and those are never exciting,” she said dropping onto the couch beside me. I nervously rifled through my backpack with my supplies.

“Do you know where you want to get it done?”

“Same spot as the first one you showed me,” she said unbuttoning her jeans. I didn’t make a sound. She slid them off revealing lean, olive tone legs. No tattoos. I tried not staring at the black lace thong. Sweat broke across my neck.

“What do you want?” She grabbed my hand and put it on her thigh.

“I want something inspired,” she pulled my hand higher. “I want you to remember this forever,” my fingertips grazed the bottom of her thong. I could feel the heat of her. She leveled her hazel eyes at me like sunlamps— I pushed my hand higher— resting it across the length of her before curling my fingers under the elastic band and pulling down.

She shimmied out of the thong— leaving my face between her legs. I placed gentle kisses on her inner thighs as I worked my way up. I pushed one hand up her chest and the other gripped her ass as I breathed in her sex.

My tongue filled with the taste of her as she caught my hair in her fist. She let out out small moan as I worked slowly over the outer edges. Her breathing became heavier as I began to lick at her clit. I moved my hands down to grab her thighs as she squeezed against my face.

Time turned fluid before she brought me back to reality with a heaving moan and jittering legs.

“Oh my fucking god,” she laughed. “Where the hell did that come from? You looked like you were going to pass out when we started.”

“I was nervous, not incompetent,” I said laughing with her. She let out a sigh and sunk into the couch.

“I really did want one of your tattoos, but I don’t think I can sit through that now.”

“You could always stay lying down if you want?” She raised her head to roll her eyes at me before returning horizontal.

“Why don’t we get some beers first? My voice is fucked from the show,” she abruptly pulled herself up from the couch. “Wait. I don’t even know your name. Did I never ask?”

“I don’t think so. Figured we’d figure that out later?”

“Wow, I’m an asshole…-?” She rolled her hand at me.

“Aanders,” I said with a sheepish grin.

“What? Are you a secret Viking?”

“My family is Scandinavian— kinda comes with the territory.”

“Did you just eat me out anonymously and then drop a geography pun on me?”

“You asked,” I said with a shrug. She sat half naked with an animated light was in her eyes. She leaned forward and gave me a hungry kiss.

“Let’s go find that beer— I don’t want to fuck you while I’m thirsty.”

***

I ended up sprawled across a sweaty mattress as Veronica laid on top of me. She kissed my chest and looked up.

“Sooner or later you’re going to have to stop with the on and off confused look. I don’t know how you’re still confused after…” she checked her phone for the time, “three hours? Jesus tap dancing christ. Well, apparently the Viking’s lineage runs true.”

I smile but felt the knot in my chest tighten, “I thought you wanted the tattoo, I didn’t expect to be- I don’t know.”

“A booty call?”

“Yeah, I mean. I gotta admit that I really like you. I didn’t want this to be one off.”

“I think you’re jumping the gun here, maestro,” she cackled. “You do know we have basically the same friend group right?”

“Not really?”

“Roxanne is my best friend. She’s dating Julian. Julian is one of your best friends— ergo we’re in the same bubble.”

“And?”

“I didn’t pull you back just to jump your bones or for the tattoo alone.”

“Why then?” My brain couldn’t piece this together.

“I know about the last couple weeks. Your friends love you, but they spill the beans pretty quick under pressure.”

“Shit.”

“And yes, while it’s a little bit intense that you went all rampant artist to try and make me a cool tattoo. That’s actually one of the sweetest things ever.”

“So?” I said tracing patterns across her back

“It’s also hot that you kinda just do whatever the fuck you set your mind to. I figured I wouldn’t see you again at any parties so I booked an early gig in hopes that you’d attend.” There was a distant sound of glass cracking— and later I’d realize it was all the little assumptions I’d gotten wrong.

“Does that mean you still want that tattoo?”

She pulled herself up to my face and kissed me, “I do. But I need some sleep first.” I started to move to get out of bed when she put a hand on my chest. “Aanders— I’m going to tell you this once. And I’m sure you’re trying to be polite. But if I just admitted that I put on a gig to have you attend— and you spent three weeks trying to design a tattoo for me— you’re out of your mind if you think you aren’t going to cuddle me to sleep after fucking me.”

“Oh, yeah. I want to— I just didn’t want to impose-“ the words died in my throat. “Sorry, still learning how to not be an idiot. I’d love to,” I said turning to my side and wrapping my arm around her. She pressed herself into my frame like a forgotten mold.

The street below played host to occasional honks and flashing lights. I fell asleep with my nose nestled in Veronica’s hair. She smelled of citrus and sweat.