Dark Rose

"Yes, I get a lot of comments on those." She held out a hand. "I'm Charon."

I shook and damned near wet myself when her warm hand enclosed mine." "My name's Roisin. You're a Moslem, Charon?"

She grinned, making me feel slightly foolish. "The head-scarf, right? You're good at picking up the clues, Sherlock. And you must be Irish."

"As shamrock. Now would it be the brogue that gave me away?" I riposted, "Do you get any hassle because you're Islamic?"

"Yeah, some from the occasional bigot who thinks I'm a terrorist. You?"

"We must know the same bigots. Hear my accent, I must be IRA."

We sighed together at the thought of human stupidity. "Ah well... So, what sort of tattoo are you looking for, Roisin?"

I'd painted myself into a corner. It looked as if I was going to have the tattoo I'd always wanted but never had the guts to go through with. I thought. What was I looking for? Then I knew. "A rose," I told Charon, "a black rose." I took out my cell-phone and pulled up the photo I'd taken of Zabi's portrait. "Maybe like this one."

"Hey, that's Zabi," Charon said, "I was only an apprentice at the time but she took a chance on me and I did that rose. How do you know her?"

"We met her in Italy." I explained our circumstances. As I did so, Charon looked thoughtful, tapping her teeth with a pencil.

"Can you come back tomorrow? I'll sketch a few ideas and you can pick which you like."

* * * * *

This is going to sound strange but I had no idea of how to ask this enchanting creature on a date, much as I wanted to. Over the several years since fleeing Dublin my dates had generally been along the lines of "Wanna fuck?" From what I'd seen, Ellie's approach was only marginally less basic. In their early days she had once invited Rio round for a romantic dinner. When the little Asian girl turned up she found Ellie sitting naked in a chair, legs wide open, displaying pussy in all her glory. Ellie greeted her with the words: "If you want me, come and get me. I'm all yours!" That worked for Rio. I didn't think either approach would impress Charon.

I went to consult Dominic, telling him everything. As always, he cut straight to the point. "Is this Charon attracted to women, or specifically to you?"

I shook my head. "I don't know. I'm hopeful."

"She may be married."

"I don't think so---no ring and she looks too happy."

Dom allowed himself a rare, dry chuckle. "If you date her, she will not drink alcohol nor eat pork dishes. Both are haram, that is: forbidden. She may be vegetarian, although that is not mandatory in Islam. You should also know the Holy Qu'ran forbids same-sex relationships---then, so do most other religions. But... the Qu'ran also forbids any alteration to one's body which is Allah's design and is therefore perfect. You cannot improve upon his perfection."

I briefly puzzled over what he had said and then light dawned. "Her tattoos!" Dom inclined his head. "That means she doesn't follow her religion to the letter." Another nod.

"Is there some special way to greet a Moslem?" I asked, confident that Dom would know. There seemed to be little that he didn't have some knowledge of.

"You could say to her 'As-salam-u-alaikum'. That means 'Peace be unto you.' The polite form of reply is: 'Wa-alaikumussalam-wa-rahmatullah' which translates as 'May the peace and mercy of Allah be unto you also.' " Dom had me repeat these words several times until he was satisfied. "I hope you find what you are looking for, Roisin."

As I was leaving his office he came out with another of his enigmatic questions. "You do know, don't you Roisin, that Charon was the name of the entity who ferried the souls of the dead across the River Styx to Hades?"

Every time he quoted one of these gems I was left scratching my head. I'd no idea where the River Styx was nor did I know that anyone ferried the souls of the dead, wherever their destination. It sounded like a crap job but I suppose someone had to do it.

* * * * *

The following morning I was early for our appointment. An hour or so early. Like a smitten schoolgirl. Squirming, afraid my pussy would leak and let me down in front of Charon. I had never had it so bad. Truth to tell, I had never had it at all. When Charon showed, it was all I could do not to jump up and down with glee.

"As-salam-u-alaikum," I called.

"And Wa-alaikumussalam-wa-rahmatullah to you, Roisin," she smiled. "Did you know that or were you told?" On my admission that I'd sought advice, she added: "Your accent's shaky but I appreciate the gesture. Let's go in."

Sitting in her studio, looking at her sketched ideas, I found out two things about Charon. One, she was a highly skilled artist and two, that her sleeve of tattoos extended to the left half of her back (I caught a glimpse in a mirror while she was changing). I selected a tattoo of three roses from a single stem, scaling my back with a blossom on each shoulder, the third being at the base of my neck. "We'll make a start today," said Charon, "There's about four or five hours work here..." She paused and looked closely at me. "Is something wrong?"

I found I was gritting my teeth... "I've never had a tattoo," I told her, "I've heard awful stories about the pain."

"Most talk of the pain is very much exaggerated. It's a stinging sensation and I promise to be as gentle as possible."

I trusted her. Removing my t-shirt, I clambered onto her table face down and she started. As promised, she was as gentle as could be and then, surprise, I fell asleep while she worked.

* * * * *

A few weeks later, Charon was coming to the apartment to make preliminary drawings for a portrait of me that she wanted to do. Aware that she didn't drink alcohol I had bottled water, a variety of fruit juices and Rio had prepared a pot of her excellent coffee. She and Ellie were going to spend a few hours on the beach so I didn't have to worry too much about their behaviour. That said, Ellie's beach bag made a suspicious rattling and buzzing noise. I lined them up. "Only go to the beach," I instructed.

They grinned at each other and then chorused: "Yes, Mommy!"

"No running around naked, I don't want you arrested for public indecency."

Another grin. "No, Mommy!"

"Oh, bugger off and have fun!"

"Thank you, Mommy!" Laughing, they scampered down the stairs. As they went, I saw them reach out and goose each other, letting out little shrieks and giggles. The two burst out of the front door, narrowly missing Charon who was carrying her portfolio and a sketch pad.

"Is that your roomie?"

"The tall one," I answered, "The other one's her girlfriend. Times I worry about what they'll do next. They really should have a responsible adult with them at all times. Coffee, juice or water?"

"Coffee please," she said as she removed her hijab, then when asked how she preferred it: "I like it strong, dark and sweet, just like you." I felt a little flip inside.

Taking her coffee with thanks, Charon added: "Truth time, Roisin. That first day we met, did you really want a tattoo or did you just want to get to know me?"

"I've always wanted a tattoo but never had the gumption. The truth, though? I didn't know it was a tattoo parlour. You were the attraction. When I saw you for the first time I'd have followed you anywhere. Another thing I've not had the gumption for so I'll speak out before I chicken out. Charon, will you go on a date with me, a proper date, meal or a movie maybe?"

"I thought you'd never ask. I came here today intending to ask you the same thing." Charon put her hands on my shoulders. "Here's something else I'd better do before you chicken out." She pulled me closer and soft lips descended on mine, warm, velvety and with just a touch of tongue along my bottom lip. I'm sure I floated up to the ceiling where I could hear a celestial choir. I responded and the kiss went on and on, our tongues sucking and swirling and dancing together lovingly.

As Charon drew back, I was breathless and felt quite weak at the knees. "Was that serious or just to relax me?"

"Do you want it to be serious?"

"Oh Charon, you've no idea how serious I want it to be."

"Good. I've never thrown myself at a woman in my life but I'm hurling me at you. Catch me, Roisin." It sounded as if Charon was as gone on me as I was on her. Please, please, please let that be so... She pulled me towards her with one arm and unfastened the top button of my shirt. "This shirt feels expensive. Is it?"

"Yes."

"Then I'd better unbutton it properly instead of ripping it off like I want to." Nimble fingers moved to the second button and then the third. I tugged her shirt from the top of her jeans and slid my hands underneath onto the warm, smooth skin of her waist and torso. It was like caressing silk and I came close to creaming my pants. If just touching her back could do that to me, what would it be like when our whole bodies were exposed to one another?

My shirt fell open as the lowest button was unfastened, revealing my neat little cones of breasts with their hard pointed nipples. "No bra," commented Charon, "Was that hope or expectation."

"A bit of each, maybe," I said, "but I haven't been wearing a bra anyway, not while the tattoos are still healing. Not that I've got much to fill a bra."

"I think they're beautiful," said Charon, lowering her head to take a nipple in her mouth. Her warm hands slipped beneath the waistband of my jeans then into my panties to cup my backside. She squeezed and I started to leak.

I managed to peel off her shirt then unhook her bra to reveal lovely, medium-sized boobs with large, dark areolas and even darker nipples. In between kisses I said: "Yours are nicer."

"We'll argue about that later," smiled Charon, "but right now you'd better show me where your bedroom is."

Once in the bedroom, Charon knelt in front of me to unfasten and slip my jeans down. "Now you'd best lie face down, Roisin. The tattoos aren't completely healed yet and I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"You're only saying that because you want to see my ass." I lay down as bid and expected Charon to comment on my scars. She said nothing and I braced myself for an expression of distaste, half-expecting her to recoil and walk out. Instead, a gentle finger traced a feather-light path from my bottom to my ankle and then again on the other leg. Then those luscious lips followed suit, kissing every inch or so, pausing only at the backs of my knees where her tongue came into play. I jumped a little and whimpered when she did that. I had no idea that was an erogenous zone. Having reached my ankles, she kissed all the way back up again.

"Now, let's have these off." Charon gripped the waistband of my panties and slowly eased them down, smothering my bottom with kisses as she went. Her tongue trailed up from my perineum, between my buttocks and along my spine to my neck, carefully avoiding unhealed, tattooed skin. She kissed around my neck and licked my ears, whispering, "You are lovely, my little Irish rose."

"And you are beautiful, my Arabian Nights princess," I told her.

My lover held my hips to raise me into a doggy position and I gave a little cry as her tongue swept the length of my cleft. "Do you come hard, Roisin?" she asked.

I honestly didn't know. Most previous orgasms I'd had were fairly low-key, often little more exciting that a sneeze. "Nothing brilliant," I confessed. Previous experience had mostly been with butch pick-ups in places such as Amsterdam.

"We'd better fix that," said Charon, bending again to lick my pussy and reaching underneath to tug my pubic hair gently. She anointed a finger with my lubrication and held it to my lips. "I wonder if you know how wonderful you taste," she said. I had never tasted myself, the still brain-washed Catholic in me foolishly believing that I might go to hell if I so much as touched my 'private parts' or 'secret places' as the nuns used to refer to them. I didn't really believe that crap but it had been so deeply hammered into us it was hard to escape. I tentatively touched Charon's finger with my tongue-tip and was nicely surprised. Slightly bitter-sweet with strong musky overtones, not in the least disgusting as I might have expected. Charon continued to lick, paying a lot of attention to my clitoris and slowly introducing a finger into my pussy. I was very tight there and it was a good job I was as wet as I'd become. When that first finger was all the way in, Charon introduced a second, again slowly and very gently. I could feel something building up inside me and suddenly it was as if I'd ridden a rocket to the moon. I was shaking all over and I think I cried out loudly.

"And that's the way it should be," Charon murmured in my ear and she turned my head so that she could kiss me. She gave a little giggle. "That day of your first tattoo session when you fell asleep," she added, "you were very lucky not to wake up naked. I just wanted to rip your jeans and pants off and have my wicked way with you."

"For a number of reasons, I didn't think this could ever happen to me," I told her, "but I'm falling in love with you, Charon."

"Keep working at it," she said, kissing me again, "It's mutual."

Then the moment was spoiled when I heard the outer door slamming shut. A worried little voice called out: "Rosie! Do you know how to get a butt-plug out? This one seems to have got stuck!"

I turned an anxious look to Charon, half-expecting her to get up and storm off in disgust. Instead she clapped a hand over her mouth trying not to laugh aloud. "Is... that... Ellie?" she spluttered. When I nodded she said: "I think I'm going to like her. Come on, Rosie, let's fling something on and go see what we can do for her..."

* * * * *

Within a couple of months Charon had moved in with me. I had told Zabi and she had happily agreed to the arrangement, approving too to Rio joining Ellie. I had warned Charon about the occasional disturbance caused by my dreams. She accepted that.

Dom's comment that Charon was the name of the ferryman taking the dead souls across the River Styx to Hades had puzzled me. As so often, I had no idea what he was talking about. I really was a sad little creature in those days, having neglected my education in the way that I had. It was just one of the many things he mentioned in passing that determined me to read and learn. I'd learned something about Dante so I could learn something about Charon. Much later I figured out that this was Dom's intention, to get me to educate myself without it seeming that he was pushing me. Now I know all about Charon and the River Styx, about Orpheus and Eurydice, about the Argonauts, and apart from that and other mythologies, so many different things in the world. I had discovered late in life that education was a boon, not a burden. And having learned a few things, I asked Charon why, being of Middle-Eastern descent, she had a name from Greek mythology. She pulled a face as she told me.

"Because I didn't like my Arabic name."

"In what way?" I asked.

"I was the youngest of ten children and while you might not believe it now, I was a sickly child, not expected to survive at first. They called me aldeiif or albayis, more nicknames than a proper name. They mean something like the weakling, the one to be pitied. I suppose in English you'd say I was the runt of the litter. Even when I grew up and eventually became fit and healthy, the names stuck." She sighed. "I'd seen the name Charon somewhere and without knowing the connotations called myself that when I broke away from my family."

"Why was that?" I said "I broke from mine because of the brutality, among other things [at that time only Zabi and Dom knew my full story. Eventually I'd told Charon for she deserved to know]. You too?"

"Not exactly," Charon said, "I wanted to be an artist of some kind. As you know, I have the talent and I had the hunger. Not good enough for my parents, or rather for my father for he ruled the roost---my mother had little say in control of family matters. Although we were born Americans, he was very much of the old mind-set. When I was only sixteen, father was pushing me towards an arranged marriage with a business colleague of his, a scrawny old man with dirty fingernails and stinking breath---the old goat had been sniffing round me from my early teens and I had to be pleasant to him because he placed a lot of work my father's way. But marriage? No thank you---I knew early on that I was gay but even if I hadn't been... urghh! My three elder sisters were in arranged marriages and none of them were happy. I saved what money I could and one day, instead of going to school, I quietly disappeared and got on a Greyhound heading for California. It was a long haul in stages but I got lucky. A nice elderly couple on the bus took me under their wing and made sure I was safe the whole way. When I got here, I found work in a tattoo parlour as an apprentice and eventually set up my own business. The rest you know."

"Didn't your family try to find you?"

Charon shrugged. "No idea. They're in New York, I'm here, and it's a big country. I did send my mother a message once by a roundabout route to let her know I was safe. I'm likely disowned, anyway. End of story."

"What about your siblings?" I asked, "Wouldn't they help you stay in touch?"

"Wouldn't trust a single one of them," she said. She thought for a moment then added: "No, not one."

I had been attracted to Charon in the first instance because of her exotic beauty and then her niceness (thankfully she had been attracted to me, although for reasons I've never been able to fathom) and now I knew that we had more in common, the need to escape a family life of total wretchedness. Now we had each other and each time I looked at Charon I realised I couldn't wish for anything better.

2. Pilgrimage: Facing the past

Then in the course of two dreadful years we had a double tragedy. The first was when Zabina died of cancer. She had known for some time that it was terminal but not wanting to cause any worry or pain, had forbidden Alex to tell us. Zabi was interred in the Vitelli family plot and a grief-stricken Alex elected to stay in Italy to be near the love of her life.

I know that Dominic loved his sister dearly but as always his emotions were buried deep inside, still and unreadable. He went to Italy for the funeral and when he returned asked me into his office. Jinn was there too and seemed to have been weeping. Once settled there with cups of fresh espresso before us, Dom showed me a sheaf of papers in Italian. "Zabina's will," he explained, "and you are a beneficiary."

I was astonished. "Me?"

"Yes, she has left the apartment to you, free and clear."

"But... why... what about Alex? And Jinn?"

Dom gave that strange little twitch of the lips which signified a smile. "Don't worry about Alex---they discussed the will and Alex was in agreement with everything stipulated. Zabina has assigned most of her assets including her restaurant and fashion businesses with all outlets and design copyrights to Alex. It all amounts to far greater value than the apartment.

"As for Jinn, Zabi has bequeathed all her shares in The Ascension and other clubs. "

Still in a kind of shock, I could only mutter: "Thank you."

"There are a couple of non-optional stipulations to your legacy, though," he added, "One is that Ellie can remain with you, rent-free, until such time as she wants to move elsewhere. I doubt she'll be with you long---I think she and Rio have other plans."

"And the second stipulation?"

"That if you decide to sell the apartment and move out, say to buy a house, that any excess over the original sale price be donated to charity. Are these conditions acceptable?"