Jem stared wistfully out of the café window. God, life was boring. She had weighed all her options and was just about to sink her second latte when the door swung open. A frigid wind blasted hell out of the customers and then Krystal St John was beside her, spreading her special brand of heat over everything and everyone.
Jem couldn't help but smile. Without looking into the room behind her, she imagined the faces of both men and women seated, hands around their mugs of chai lattes and cappuccinos. Faces of sly excitement and wry grins of recognition, coupled with lashings of damped down desire. No point in getting hot and bothered. It was a known fact that Krystal St John was no ordinary woman and it took an extraordinary person to meet her on her level. She was a woman adored by men and women alike but only women met her special requirements. Her preference lay in women whose body shape emulated that of a boy, rather than of feminine curves. The best of both worlds she often laughed.
Jem was the perfect foil for Krystal. She was tall, slender, small hipped, and her feminine attributes lay more in her waifish look of cropped and gelled dark brown hair and pouting lips than in the size of her bra cup and shoes. Krystal was as opposite to Jem as latex is to velvet. She was voluptuously curved with high round buttocks, large firm breasts and Playboy Bunny striking looks of long blonde hair and sleepy green eyes. The eyes lied.
There was nothing sleepy about Krystal. Her days as a Playboy Bunny were a few years behind her now but she had taken her hard earned cash and turned it into an empire of exotic underwear, fetish toys and mail order. She had one boutique, as voluptuous as her body. Like the outfits she liked to adorn herself with, the shop was lush and sumptuous. Red velvets, black satins, chandeliers with diamond like crystals that flickered prisms of light across the walls and ceilings. The perfect backdrop for the lingerie that hung like pieces of object d'art on the walls, the crystal embedded whips, the handcuffs wrapped in mink, the ostrich feathered French ticklers. Books were sold there too -- the sensual short stories of Anais Nin, the sexual factual life complacently regurgitated by Catherine Millet, bondage books, books on erotic photography.
Several small booths hugged the back wall of the boutique, their thick black velvet curtains inviting the curious eye to peek inside. The interior was a disappointment, unless the customer had plans to make use of the empty booths. Each one had only a peephole in one wall and a plush velvet-covered seat on the opposite wall. A person could simply sit on that seat, or stroke herself, for the pleasure of both the sitter and the observer in the neighbouring booth through whose peephole such pleasures could be viewed. Each booth also had a mirror and the mirrors in each had seen many wonderful visions. Once, a woman had stuffed stolen love balls inside herself, not realizing the shop assistant was on the other side watching. She got a fright when she walked outside the booth and was asked to give them back!
Krystal's plump long fingered hand lay over Jem's smaller one. "Darling," she sighed, "I hate to say this, but you look like you are going through a crisis."
"A crisis of boredom, Krys. I can't stand it. I can't think of a thing to do that will put a smile on my face. I know I am, God forbid, being boring by saying this, but I just can't get motivated to do anything."
"Your problem, my sweet, is that life has been too easy for you. Too much has been handed to you on a platter. While I'm not going to change that for you, I can offer you a slight change in your routine. I wonder if you are free this afternoon. I want to put on a small fashion show in a month's time, just in the boutique, and I think you would be perfect for some of the pieces I want to show off. I am also going to ask Angel because your body shapes are best suited for different things. What do you say? Are you interested?"
She smiled lazily. She knew very well that, despite Jem's androgynous appearance, little bits of lace tied up with leather and whips were some of the few things that could inspire her. Jem smiled back. And just for the viewing of the café customers, she leaned over and kissed Krystal on the lips. "Ah,' breathed Krystal, 'Sealed with a kiss, clichéd though that might be."
Jem took a last swig of her nearly cold latte, made a small moue of distaste, wrapped her scarf and coat around her, collected her bags from under her chair. She slipped her arm through Krystal's and together the two women swept out of the café, leaving behind them a swirl of perfume and a general frisson of discontent.
As Krystal and Jem picked their way along the pavement, Jem reflected on how good she always felt in Krystal's presence. She supposed that was because Krys seemed to get such a charge out of life and when Jem was with her, she seemed to feel that charge, like electricity, buzzing through her body. She was a bit disappointed that Angel was going to be involved in the show, but mainly because she wanted and enjoyed Krys's sole attention. Jealousy she guessed. She'd never admit that to Krys though. That would be a sure way to up-end their friendship. Inwardly she sighed. Friendship -- if only it could be something more than that. But Krystal had been burned at some point by someone unnamed and unknown to her current circle, and it seemed she would never get involved with anyone again. Jem was grateful though that Krys so obviously liked and enjoyed her company. They laughed a lot, told lots of silly jokes, had the same taste in films, food and fast cars (Krystal, her flame red Porsche; Jem, a sleek black Merc convertible given to her recently by her father). They often laughed about that -- the three 'f's. Sometimes, Jem felt like throwing in a fourth 'f' but was often discouraged by the thought that Krystal might think that too personal. She was a funny creature, difficult to make out at times. She could talk about sex and love and relationships all night, but only as long as none of it touched her personally.
Jem marveled at how Krystal walked, straight backed, in four inch heels, never faltering. A path seemed to open up through the crowds of people tacking back and forth along the pavements, filtering in and out of shops. Even when someone stopped in the middle of the path, they always moved just as Krystal came upon them. It was extraordinary but, Jem thought, Krystal is extraordinary. Those heels of hers never seemed to touch the ground. As if aware of Jem's thoughts, Krystal squeezed her hand. Jem looked at her face and saw a secret smile there. She was really beautiful, despite the fact that she was no longer a young woman. She wore maturity so well, her body ripe and warm looking, striding along as though she owned the world. Jem felt like a little girl beside her and not just because of the age difference. Krystal was everything she wasn't and once had wanted to be. Curvy, beautiful, blonde, desired and the apogee of all people's fantasies. She didn't want that so much anymore. She wanted Krystal instead. She knew Krystal's predilection was for girls with lean straight bodies and she was finally grateful for her inherited shape. If only she could get Krystal to go one step beyond just talking, eating and driving like a maniac in her company. She pulled a rueful face. Get over it, she thought. There are plenty more fish in the sea as her mother always said to her. Or mermaids.
