Chrystal Chalice -- What Price for Chrysalis -- Episode One
A Short Story by Randy Gonzalez
A mustang was symbolic for me. In college I had one and now another one. Nothing like good old American style muscle under your ass. Geezus, the power, the potential and the purr of expectation is intoxicating. Not to mention of course, those pulsating vibrations that stir inner senses. Spinning those tires, my red spiked heel on the accelerator, a flash of gunmetal gray bursting down the interstate, almost as good as a gushing orgasm. But get a good grip on it, there's nothing like a full-blown heart pounding orgasm to clear the mind.
For me, a woman who could field strip an M-16, a 9mm or car engine, the Shelby GT500 was my choice. Getting my hands dirty, no problem, being dirty, better yet. Wild, reckless, untamed, and of eccentric Spanish breeding, the mustang was an unruly beast. Yeah, and bleached blond, go figure, instead of black or dark brown. Ok, so I'm not a natural blond, who cares. Frolic, fight or fuck, the essence exuded the uninhibited liberation my self-evolution. Hence, my namesake, Chrystal Chalice, a sparkling gemstone with overflowing silken essence.
Whoa horsey, gotta pull back a little on the thrusting throttle, just saw a trooper. Don't wanna get my brothers or sisters off to the wrong start today. Yep, we're one great family, even after taking early retirement due to injuries on the job, sure don't wish to push the professional courtesy thing. Hey, push comes to shove, hell I'd have no qualms about flashing him or her. In the meantime, it would be nice if people would drive the speed limit. Whole lot of people out here must hate their jobs, because they are driving slow and playing with their phones. They ought to be home playing with themselves, but most likely suffer sexual dysfunction.
On the other hand, I figure they must be very important if they gotta be on their fucking phones early in the morning. What the heck people, the sun's not up yet, its zero dark thirty, just drive your flipping cars. Geez, better yet, ya'll should be whacking off, instead of being a danger to others. You should be home fucking and sucking with someone or something. I don't care if it's animal, vegetable or mineral, just do it and be creative. With that in mind, I drove to my private detective business. Chalice Investigative Agency, C.I.A., kinda catchy huh? I thought of calling it, C.U.N.T., Chalice Undernourished but Nice and Tight. Okay, that didn't quite work so well. Plus, a lot of people get really anxious when you say the word "cunt". I don't know, I kinda like using it, because I don't take things too personal or too serious. In fact, life's way too short to worry about much. Heck, you oughta just work hard to make yourself better.
However, local zoning and public hypocrisy couldn't take a joke anyway. So, we'll stick with C.I.A. instead. Regardless, my old school chum, Woody Long decided to join me in partnership. After the police academy, he'd given up on public service and preferred the private sector. At any rate, we decided to form our P.I. biz. Located in a neat little seaside arrangement of office condos, with an upstairs of course, the office was situated slightly near the so-called red-light district. This in turn this was good in terms of urban planning on the part of local politicians. Everything was close and cozy with a string of comfy motels, eateries and local shops.
Following the duplicity of politicians over the past several centuries, as nothing much changes, they figured they could get laid and paid. Sure, they played the usual two-faced pretenses to so-called family values, whatever the fuck that was. And, they relished in the pontifications of morals to pass vague ordinances about this and that. However, I made good friends with the local sex workers, adult toy stores proprietors, and glory hole aficionados. Average down to earth real people, they were just trying to have a little fun.
Unlike the fake, plastic and shallow types, typically living behind gated entry points, the street provided a wealth of information about human behavior. Not far from my office, a good source of intel came, so to speak, in the form of a specialized information source. At the local adult theater, the owner-manager and I had become well acquainted. As such, I not only had free passes for Woody and me, but got all kinds of useful tips and tidbits. My acquaintance with Tonno di Pesce, aka the Tuna, was not simply a matter of getting information, or complimentary popcorn and beer to watch a first run movie at his x-rated theater.
There were important elements of mutual respect and alliances within this particular community. This revolved around real-world exposure in the reality of nitty-gritty life. Part of that was a cost-benefit analysis of every situation. Buy, barter and trade, you do for me and I do for you. If you agree to something, then you better do your part. When you trespass where you ought not be trespassing, well things can get rough. Overall though, this was a relaxed atmosphere with a bohemian flare and amusing human entertainment.
People generally minded their own business, but there were always exceptions. In this town of Playa de Concha, beach of the conch, or cooch, depending on how you took it literally, there was an air of openness. With a high per capita of retirees, the cash flow in the local economy was good. Not too occupied with their techno devices, or obsessed with social media, the seniors typically relished in the three things, feasting, frolicking and fucking.
In particular, the physical aspects of sex were essential and that included energizing the mind beyond the reaches of the imagination. To me, the theory of life was about exploring every conceivable aspect of sexuality. There was a price tag, as there is a cost to be on the cutting edge, outside the box and transforming your life. Liberation of self-meant psychically climbing to the highest realms of enlightenment before death pissed you off. Coming, going, and coming some more, to live an open-minded lifestyle, was to be brave and daring in spite of the strife others stirred up. Critics, she maintains, will always try to shift their fears onto you.
At any rate, I paused a moment in the shade of the courtyard, to brush off a little dust from my navy pinstripe suit. Yep, blue suit, silver stripes, my attire had a masculine flare, but feminine dominance. With a pencil thin red tie to match my heels, I felt it was a good choice for the day. The short skirt, tailored to fit tight, expressed my salacious slant, yet provoked a sense of fashion. Under my coat, I wore a smooth brown leather shoulder holster that restrained a Smith and Wesson 9mm pistol. Stubby, compact, the stainless-steel gun always felt good in my hand. Not to mention of course, in all modesty, I was an expert with firearms. Added to that, it helped to know good street tactics I learned from my Israeli associates in Jerusalem.
From the parking lot to the courtyard, the place was Mediterranean festive, red brick walkways, palm trees and palmettoes, with sandy floral landscaping. The Spanish hints kept an exotic flavor to the setting. My red stiletto heels clicked briskly over the coral colored tiles. For me, every day was an attempt to make it all fun, exciting and potentially dangerous. Regardless, my personality hinged on the fringe of being brazen, smart and daring. I relished in the fascination that fantasy could be brought into reality on certain occasions.
It all depends on a careful application of common sense and being present in the moment. Most people don't get that. Instead, they play games and pretend something they're not. basically, life is too sudden in its brevity for bullshit. Unfortunately, with most people there's lots of bullshit to go around. No time for that kind of nonsense. Death is always too close for comfort. Nobody has the answers. If they say they do, watch out. That's why life is urgent and each moment precious. As an ex-medical examiner investigator, death had always been nearby, with a smell that never goes away. Living with it was part of accepting the inevitable and being toughened from the school of hard knocks. Along with that comes an appreciation for a good fight and a good fuck. Nothing like a sweat drenched pounding, legs up, ankles locked together, with gushing orgasms to rejuvenate mind and body.
A nudist at home and on the beach, I felt comfortably tanned except for a few carefully planned patches, over which I seldom wore underwear. Not only that, each day I worked to be relaxed in my own skin. Keeping in shape was important. No fears, no shame and no blame, that was all part of maturity. Growing up and being an adult caused lots of taboo hypocrisy for a bunch of people. Being uninhibited had a real staging aspect. You use your assets for entertainment purposes or strategic value that might require well-selected lingerie. Note to caution, if you don't like what you or hear, don't look or listen.
Simply put, mind your own business. I've known too many plastic people over time. They talk a lot of bullshit, think they're cool, play games, yet proof is in the evidence. I mean what the hell you have to be authentic. Speaking of which, no sooner had I approached the door to my office, I noted the "open" sign had been turned to the "closed" side. Now what? I pondered for a split second. Reaching inside my jacket, my fingers felt my pistol. With that in mind, I heard whimpering sounds coming from the inside. I relaxed a little but not much.
"What the hell?" I muttered under my breath, rather than blurt out and make too much noise a few feet from the entrance to the office. "Security breach?" I sighed. "The door is locked but not latched from the inside." My bright blue eyes scanned the doorframe. I sucked inhale and ran my fingers through spiked bleached blond hair. The salty air smelled good, like freedom first thing in the morning. "My assistant should be here by now." I mumbled. Gently, I tested the knob. "You just never know, anything is possible and something might be amiss."
"Oh my god! Fuck me, baby!" A female voice cried out from inside. I almost recognized the tone and tried to put a face with the sounds. As my facial features softened to a naughty smirk, I heard more. "Geezus! That big dick feels good! Oh, oh, pump me, baby..."
Relaxing just a tad, I listened a moment longer. My fingers played with the butt of my gun, snugly deep in my shoulder holster, gloved tightly in its grooved fitting. My pulsed quickened with anticipation to wanna go in and watch. Yeah, I liked watching. From inside, the dialogue wasn't too bad, but was pretty much generic for a low budget x-film. I figured a torrid liaison was taking place in the conference and probably on the cherry wood table. My assistant and occasional backup, Woody Long was likely entertaining a client.
"Oooo, Kitty, you are so hot, sweetie," Woody, in his deep gravelly voice, groaned. "I'd give anything to do a movie with you...," he moaned with a husky whisper.
"Fuck me like this for a while, baby," Kitty purred, "I'll see what I can do."
Kitty Kleft, her stage name of course, was a celebrity in our local district. She was a star all right, but you had to follow the x-biz to be in the know. I was a fan and wanted to see the action. Plus, being a dedicated voyeur at heart, watching turned me on. So, carefully, quietly, I slid my key into the lock and crept into the outer office. Behind me, I shut the door as discreetly as possible and listened as the latch made a dull thud into the receptacle. Automatic air fresheners scented the inner atmosphere with hints of sea breeze and coconuts.
Inside, the outer office, or reception area, was where you usually found Woody. A big dark burgundy desk met you when you came through the door. Naturally, the motif was tropical seashore, with a couple of potted palms and plush beige leather sofas. Ocean green carpeting added to the flavor, with a few surreal beach pictures on the walls. Off to the right, down a slim hallway, across flooring of large yellowish square tiles, the conference room was behind a big set of double green pine doors. Each polished panel separated right up the middle.
