C01 In Which We Meet Our Heroines

The light turned green while Jack was talking. "Did you see the smirk on her face?" He asked, sounding incredulous. "'Do we need a chaperon?' I'd like to have given her a pow!" he mimed an uppercut, followed by a left hook, "and a ka-pow!" People eyed him uncertainly, and edged away.

I started across the crosswalk, and he hurried after me. "We did need a chaperon," I pointed out to him. "That's why I asked you to come along." I grinned. "So that I didn't give her a pow, and a ka-pow." Or she didn't give me one, I didn't add. That, ultimately, was why I had broken up with Jasmine... I no longer trusted her if I was naked, tied up, and alone with her.

We got to the other side of the street, and I put my hand on Jack's forearm. "Thank you, Jack," I said, standing on my toes to kiss his cheek. At five-five, I'm not short... but Jack was more than a foot taller than me. "You're the best chaperon a lady could ask for."

He smiled at me. "Ah, Cherry Blossom," he said, and I rolled my eyes, wishing I hadn't ever shared the meaning of my name with him. "I'm sorry about this breakup. Let me buy you lunch?"

I shook my head. "Thank you, but I think I need some time alone. Thanks again for coming with me today."

"You're welcome, Sakura," he said, and leaned to kiss my forehead. Then he smiled, gave me a jaunty wave, and moved off through the post-holiday pedestrian crowd in the Square. I stood, watching his copper hair bobbing above the other heads, until he turned the corner and was lost to sight.

I sighed, and walked to the bookstore. Pale Moon Books was wedged in between a hardware store and a quilt store. It took up the first five floors of a brownstone. I stepped inside, loosening my scarf and unzipping my dad's flight jacket. I made my way to the back wall, ignoring the displays of calendars and marked-down wrapping paper.

I rode the elevator to the fifth floor, and made a beeline for the science fiction shelves. One of the things I loved about Pale Moon was that they had separate shelving for science fiction and fantasy, and neither section was small. As I passed the fantasy shelves, I noticed the woman standing there.

It was her hair that I saw first... long, wavy, and blonde, drawn into a loose ponytail and tied with what looked like a scrap of ribbon borrowed from a holiday present's wrapping. Then I noticed her height... she had to be close to six feet, I thought, and I glanced at her feet. She was wearing sneakers, so no more than an inch of that was her shoes. Her jeans were faded with the kind of fading that comes from years of wear, not manufacturer's weathering, and she was wearing a fawn-colored duffle coat, tailored to her slim figure.

I stared for a moment, shook my head, walked around the corner to the last row of science fiction. I wasn't here, I reminded myself, to meet women. I was here to give myself some space and time to think. To get Jasmine out of my head. Besides, what were the odds the first striking woman I met after my breakup would be interested in women? Infinitesimal.

Still... I walked around the end of the bookshelf, casually studying books. I pulled my long, black hair over my shoulder and started twisting it absently. I pretended to peruse the titles in front of me while I snuck looks at her out of the corner of my eye. She had a heart-shaped face: strong cheekbones and a pointy chin. She glanced over as I stepped a bookcase nearer, and smiled a nice smile. I smiled back, and picked up a book at random.

"I don't think fantasy artists really get elves anymore," she said, indicating the book in my hands. I looked at the cover. It showed a wild-haired woman who might be an elf or a Vulcan, who was hardly wearing any clothing.

"Wow," I said, looking up from the cover into her eyes, and being struck by the pale blue color of them. I pulled my gaze away from hers, saw her hair. It had to be naturally blonde, I thought, you didn't get color depth like that from a bottle. "You'd think they could have paid the wardrobe department a little more." She was young, mid-20s. That was younger than I preferred, but would it matter that much for the rebound girl?

"Elves used to be powerful," she complained. "Something to be afraid of. Something to respect, and fear, and propitiate."

"Tolkein got that," I said, "you can see it in 'The Smith of Woottan Major'."

She grinned at me. "Sarah," she said, sticking her hand out.

I put the book down and took the offered hand. After a moment, I remembered to offer, "Sakura." As I held her hand, I was suddenly intensely aware of the pressure of my bra against my nipples. I stood smiling at her, before remembering to let go of her hand again.

I looked at the book she was holding in her other hand, The Kludge Book of Braids. "You're trying to learn to braid hair?" I asked.

"Yeah," she said, glancing at the cover. "I can never seem to get the hang of it. The pictures seem so clear, but then I try to do it, and it just ends up a tangled mess."

"It's harder to do on yourself," I agreed. "I'm pretty good at doing it for my girlfriend..." I paused, and then amended, "my ex-girlfriend, but don't really do it for myself, either."

She smiled knowingly at my slip. "So," she said, "would you be willing to help someone else out?"

I grinned at the thought of getting to play with that fabulous hair. "Maybe," I said, then, "When?"

"I have to go to this black-tie thing on New Year's Eve," she said, shaking her head slightly. "I don't really want to, but I have to... and I'd like to look really good. Would you be willing to help? Come over, braid my hair?" She got a hesitant note in her voice, "and maybe I could repay you by taking you to the party?"

I laughed. "That same party you just said you didn't want to go to?" I asked.

She looked down, self-consciously, and I wanted to take my words back; wanted to take her hand and tell her of course I'd go with her. "I don't want to go because of who else will be there," she admitted. "But it's probably going to be a really good party. Or it could be, with the right company." She looked back up, meeting my eyes, and I found myself getting lost in hers again. "But if you already had plans..."

"Okay," I said.

"Okay?"

"Yeah, okay, I'll braid your hair, and we'll make you look absolutely smashing for whoever it is you want to impress." I shrugged. "And I don't have plans... or rather, my plans involve sitting at home being alone and feeling sorry for myself. So your plan sounds a lot better. Who are you looking to impress?"

"My ex," Sarah admitted, and I nodded. "Oh, how do I get hold of you?" she asked.

I dug in my purse, pulled out one of my business cards. "Here," I said, handing it over. "Give me a call, send me an email."

"I will," she said, and grinned.

-*-*-

Later, at home, I stood in front of the mirror and saw what she'd seen. My round hafu face, my long, straight black hair, my amber eyes. I liked my eyes and their striking color, but the rest? Nothing special. I had large breasts, and particularly with a good bra, they sat high and looked firm... but with my winter clothes on, how much of that had she seen? My waist was narrow enough, but my hips were... well, I'd inherited my Japanese grandmother's face, and my German grandmother's figure.

I realized that it was Jasmine's voice I was hearing in my head. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath. Jasmine had always waited until we were having sex, until her hand was inside me, until I was at my most vulnerable, to say negative things. "You're a fat little fuck," she'd said, "and no one will ever love you like I do."

I shook my head, and opened my eyes. Sarah had seen something she liked. I imagined her standing behind me, that knowing smile on her face. I smiled back at her, and pulled my hair forward over my shoulder, imagined her leaning down to kiss the nape of my neck feather softly.

I smiled at the mental image. I undressed, dropping my clothes in the hamper, and walked naked to the bed. I'm not the kind who makes the bed every day, so it was as I'd left it that morning: sheets rumpled, blankets pulled back. I lay down, plumped my pillows, and looked at the ceiling.

I thought of Sarah, of that smile, of those incredible, pale blue eyes. Ice would look like that, I thought, after it had been frozen for a thousand years. I don't ski, but I thought of her on a ski slope, layered in wool and down. I thought of waiting for her in the ski lodge with a book and a cup of cocoa. I thought of taking her hand and leading her to our room.

As I thought of these things, I ran my hand over my mons, feeling the stubble. I would need to shave on New Year's Eve, I thought. Not that I expected things to go that way, but if they did, I wanted to be ready.

I thought of her slender figure, her modest breasts, and I felt my nipples hardening. What would they be like, I wondered? With her pale complexion, would her areola be as pink as a rosebud? What would her nipples be like? I raised my hand to my own, felt the pleasure of their tightness, pinched them. I felt heat building between my thighs. I opened my eyes, rolled over, dug in my nightstand for my vibrator.

Lying on my stomach, I spread my legs and slid my hand and the vibe between my body and the bed. I turned it on, ran the point over my already slick petals. I pictured us in that ski lodge room, falling back into white sheets. I pictured kissing that lovely mouth, gently biting her lower lip. I pictured my hands on her breasts, pictured the cute sports bra she'd be wearing, and the way I'd drop it on the floor.

The point of the vibe found its way between my petals, circling my clit. I imagined kissing her nipples, imagined running my fingertips over her petals. What would they be like, I wondered? Would they be covered in fine, golden down, or clean shaven like mine? I imagined holding them open with my fingers, kissing her clit. I wedged the tip of my vibrator under my clit hood, felt the vibrations going to my very core, felt white-hot heat ignite in the delicate organ and then climb my spine, felt a hot wire connecting my nipples, and then... the heat burst in my mind, and I cried out in pleasure.

I turned the vibe off and set it aside to clean later. I lay, smiling. If nothing else, I thought, I had achieved this... someone to think about who wasn't Jasmine.