For Alexi's choice of activity, he took me to New York, a place I had only ever read about. Even with my brother attending NYU I had never even been through the Lincoln tunnel. But here I was, on the back of Alexi's motorcycle.
My middle-aged, mafia connected boyfriend was not much of a sugar daddy, but he the first thing he wanted to do was buy me a new dress. Alexi confessed he wanted me to look more like his girlfriend, and less like his daughter.
It didn't take me long to settle on a prom-like dress; a long black gown with a slit up the middle.
"A little much for sightseeing," Alexi said jokingly.
"You said I could pick what I wanted," I replied, "It's not like I'm asking for diamonds."
In my new gown, Alexi took me on a tour of the city- or Manhattan at least. We would drive around to touristy locations like Time square, and the 9-11 memorial, staying just long enough to not be arrested.
For my only request, I asked if we could go to a place I only heard about: a shop that hosted an eclectic young tattoo artist who was best known for being kicked off of a popular reality show. The only problem was this shop was in the Bronx. I had to google the address on my phone but Alexi was more than willing to take me there.
"What's a famous Russian flower?" I asked as I filled out the paperwork to get a walk-up tattoo appointment.
"Chamomile like the tea, or would you rather know my favorite flower?" Alexi said, pulling me on to his lap. "Or maybe you should get something in tribute to your father?"
I suddenly caught sight of the baby-face Italian hottie, William 'Billy the kid' Desilva and let out a fan-girl shriek.
"I take it you're a fan of Ink blowout?" the young man said with a smile.
"You got totally screwed over, I love your art, and I love everything you do!" I paused to catch my breath. "I was hoping to get a rosary and...a daisy." I didn't let Alexi tell me his favorite flower, The daisies in his bedroom mural spoke for themselves.
"I can do that." It took him twenty minutes to sketch a design; a typical catholic cross wrapped in daisies.
"I love it!"
Alexi watched quietly as Billy tattooed my wrist. The whole process took less than an hour. On the total bill of a little over $200 Alexi paid the man a forty percent tip (a fact that did not go unnoticed.)
"Were you jealous?" I asked, joking.
"If I was jealous I would have given him a bullet instead of a tip. You got to meet your idol, I'm happy for you. Let me take you home."
"That depends, your home or my home?"
"What?"
I leaned in close, pressing my lips to his ear. "Come to my dorm, please."
He had no reason to say deny me. "Sure, why not."
That answer was met with a smile. After making it back to New Jersey, I eagerly led Alexi to my third-floor room. There were two twin beds with the usual cheap dorm mattresses. I locked the door, and let my dress fall to the floor.
He exposed just enough of himself to make love in the missionary position.
I wrapped my legs around his waist letting him penetrate my pussy deep and hard. "Take your clothes off, I want to see the real you."
"No you don't," Alexi said as he finished rather abruptly. He moved off and sat with his back against the wall.
Through his t-shirt, I could already see many unique tattoos. I stroked my fingers over the image on his upper arm; it was not a normal mafia looking tattoo but rather a crow with its wings spread so wide it stretched around his sizable bicep.
"You really want to see"?" Alexi took off his shirt, revealing his body, a road map of mistakes and regrets. Dozens of Russian mafia tattoos interlaced with medical scars.
And one thing I did not expect; a removed chemo port scar. But I would get to that last. Alexi's body was thick and strong, but not overly muscular similar to a pro-wrestler past his prime. "This isn't you," I said, studying the random collage of tattoos. There was such a variety of themes, I was certain that many of the pieces were not actually mafia related.
I traced a hand down his chest, over the image of the Kremlin's iconic towers (a pattern that repeated on his forearms and back). There were two nautical stars under his collarbone, surrounded by fire, bugs, a wolf and one particularly evil looking demon over his ribs. It was already a mess of images, but the way various doctors cut through them made the composition look even more like a jumbled mess. "Lay back," I kissed his lips, working my way down his body until he laid naked on my bed. Now, finally, there was the issue of the chemo port. "So, what's this?"
"It's terminal," he said with his eyes closed, as if in a long blink.
I took a breath, trying to keep from losing it completely. I stayed on his lap, resting my head on his chest.
"I have liver cancer; stage four it's already spread to my kidneys and lungs... at least it was the last time I went to any doctor." He said in a matter of fact tone.
"Why?" I asked in a whisper. My conscious mind knew the answer would only bring sadness.
"Why what?"
"Why did you stop treatment?"