Read Online Tattooed Moon by Tiana Laveen - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Tiana Laveen
Tags: Fiction
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fizzle out due to his blatant lack of continued interest.
He was tired of this. He wished to find someone he was mentally compatible with, someone that made him not only want to see them, but miss them hard as hell when they were away. More importantly, they needed to have a sense of humor as well as intelligence. He desired someone willing to learn and accept who he was, even the weird shit he did and said from time to time. He was done apologizing for being himself, didn’t want to have to ask, ‘Do you get me?’ He could see on their face that they did.
Toying with his cellphone, he blocked out his surroundings and drifted into his own homemade world full of homespun daydreams. His tensed muscles relaxed just so; he became calmer, simply knowing that the workday was almost drawing to an end. He scrolled through his text messages from various friends, not quite in the mood to respond. As his thumb swayed back and forth over the illuminated screen, he wondered if Milan would come, but he wasn’t going to worry himself about it. He hoped she would, but if she didn’t, he was fine with that as well. He knew how these things worked. People had the best of intentions. People made promises they didn’t keep, said things they didn’t mean and lied to save face. Fear drove human beings to act in nonsensical ways, and for others, fear was never a factor, causing them to be a menace to society—soulless. Hurting others gave them much gratification. He didn’t feel for people like the latter; so much so, he’d often crossed that line, plotting revenge if such a person sunk their claws into him or someone he loved. Julian’s kindness had been mistaken for weakness a time or two, his love of nature and all it entailed misconstrued for him being some sort of novelty item, a ‘peace maker.’ Nothing could have been farther from the truth.
He appreciated the concept of war. Combat in the world was natural as far as Julian was concerned. He believed it was an ‘after all else has failed’ concept, but never the less, rivalry was genuine and purposeful. The intramural wars were always the most difficult, and he’d had his share. He believed all man kind suffered from various internal battles: war with one’s emotions…What shall I do? There was a persistent clash between doing the right thing versus taking the more frequently travelled short cut, ‘Wrong Way Avenue.’ He knew about pain and pleasure, too. How the needle going into the skin and the ink injection, felt euphoric while swirls of hypnotic agony danced together, creating the perfect blend of self-enchantment giving birth to art. It was a spiritual high, especially since the pain endured from tattoos didn’t register with him any longer. He no longer felt, saw, heard or tasted the discomfort, only the indulgence. He was built for hurt, and the jagged edge of the thing made him bleed with exultant hedonism. Hurt now tasted delicious going down, even as it sliced his throat, cutting off his airways. Just then, the bell chimed, and in walked a 5’7 golden brown beauty with toned, thick legs that had no beginning or end. Her shiny gold heels clicked against the floor while her long, sheer red shirt swayed over a black sports bra.
Well, well, well…
He glanced at the clock, noting it was 7:34 P.M.
She wore tight, blue capri jeans that hugged her hips and maneuvered just so, enchanting him, swaying, forcing his eyes to pay attention to her every move. Out of Julian’s peripheral version, he noted how a few other heads turned too, especially the resident pervert, Cedrick, who stood straight as a newly sharpened number-two pencil and ran his hand across the front of his pants, manipulating his cock like Vanessa White turning letters. Angela smiled at the woman, held up her finger as she spoke on the phone. Milan nodded, not yet looking in his direction.
Beautiful. She’s here…
He grinned inside so hard, his chest and face flooded with warmth. He pivoted in
He was tired of this. He wished to find someone he was mentally compatible with, someone that made him not only want to see them, but miss them hard as hell when they were away. More importantly, they needed to have a sense of humor as well as intelligence. He desired someone willing to learn and accept who he was, even the weird shit he did and said from time to time. He was done apologizing for being himself, didn’t want to have to ask, ‘Do you get me?’ He could see on their face that they did.
Toying with his cellphone, he blocked out his surroundings and drifted into his own homemade world full of homespun daydreams. His tensed muscles relaxed just so; he became calmer, simply knowing that the workday was almost drawing to an end. He scrolled through his text messages from various friends, not quite in the mood to respond. As his thumb swayed back and forth over the illuminated screen, he wondered if Milan would come, but he wasn’t going to worry himself about it. He hoped she would, but if she didn’t, he was fine with that as well. He knew how these things worked. People had the best of intentions. People made promises they didn’t keep, said things they didn’t mean and lied to save face. Fear drove human beings to act in nonsensical ways, and for others, fear was never a factor, causing them to be a menace to society—soulless. Hurting others gave them much gratification. He didn’t feel for people like the latter; so much so, he’d often crossed that line, plotting revenge if such a person sunk their claws into him or someone he loved. Julian’s kindness had been mistaken for weakness a time or two, his love of nature and all it entailed misconstrued for him being some sort of novelty item, a ‘peace maker.’ Nothing could have been farther from the truth.
He appreciated the concept of war. Combat in the world was natural as far as Julian was concerned. He believed it was an ‘after all else has failed’ concept, but never the less, rivalry was genuine and purposeful. The intramural wars were always the most difficult, and he’d had his share. He believed all man kind suffered from various internal battles: war with one’s emotions…What shall I do? There was a persistent clash between doing the right thing versus taking the more frequently travelled short cut, ‘Wrong Way Avenue.’ He knew about pain and pleasure, too. How the needle going into the skin and the ink injection, felt euphoric while swirls of hypnotic agony danced together, creating the perfect blend of self-enchantment giving birth to art. It was a spiritual high, especially since the pain endured from tattoos didn’t register with him any longer. He no longer felt, saw, heard or tasted the discomfort, only the indulgence. He was built for hurt, and the jagged edge of the thing made him bleed with exultant hedonism. Hurt now tasted delicious going down, even as it sliced his throat, cutting off his airways. Just then, the bell chimed, and in walked a 5’7 golden brown beauty with toned, thick legs that had no beginning or end. Her shiny gold heels clicked against the floor while her long, sheer red shirt swayed over a black sports bra.
Well, well, well…
He glanced at the clock, noting it was 7:34 P.M.
She wore tight, blue capri jeans that hugged her hips and maneuvered just so, enchanting him, swaying, forcing his eyes to pay attention to her every move. Out of Julian’s peripheral version, he noted how a few other heads turned too, especially the resident pervert, Cedrick, who stood straight as a newly sharpened number-two pencil and ran his hand across the front of his pants, manipulating his cock like Vanessa White turning letters. Angela smiled at the woman, held up her finger as she spoke on the phone. Milan nodded, not yet looking in his direction.
Beautiful. She’s here…
He grinned inside so hard, his chest and face flooded with warmth. He pivoted in
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