Today I have the first piece up for my blog tour. I’m on the Lickety Splits podcast recorded with Van from Little Raven this month.
To hear all about it, go to Little Raven.
Make yourself a cuppa, click on your favourite method to listen and I’ll tell you a story 😉
Keep you’re eyes on here for more info on the Blog tour.
Much Love and R.A.C.K.
Oh and as Little Raven have yet to put up the whole piece that I read from in the podcast, here is the full story…
Never Judge a Book by its Cover (Art)
By KL Joy
Retro clothes hung in the double front shop window display, a girl in cowboy boots and knee-length A line skirt stood behind the mannequin trying to adjust a hook high up on the wall. Her skirt rode dangerously high as she teetered on the edge of the dais. Her hair was gathered in a polka dot bandana tied off in a dolly bow, midriff exposed beneath the gingham shirt tied up at the front catching on her well-formed bust line. Wandering past, I couldn’t help but stop and stare, waiting, wondering if this was going to require a ‘knight in shining armor’ to come to her rescue or not. Either way it was entertainment for my afternoon strolls.
I often stopped by the parking meter out front and watched the gorgeous femme in Sheila Vintage. Her platinum blond hair styled just like Marilyn Monroe, short and ultra sexy. I worked at a café called The Fitz on Brunswick street – café’s are a dime a dozen but I’d seen this gorgeous lady on more than one occasion; her order was unusual, like her, coffee double ristretto with honey. How could I, a barista, not notice?
It was almost time for me to head back to work; I caught my reflection in the window as the girl slowly slides down the wall to safety on two well-heeled cowboy boots.
“Damn” I mutter softly under my breath. I’d been too shy to come out from behind the coffee machine and talk with her, I didn’t even know her name, it was just … there is something about her.
Retro isn’t my style. I don’t wear it, I have no reason to go in the shop, and anyway, my dreadlocks would be a dead giveaway! You see, I’m a skater, always have been, it’s more than a mode of transport for me. I’m more at home at the Rob Roy hotel with a beer; she’s more the Burlesque Bar type.
Resignedly I turned back toward work, when out of the corner of my eye I saw a sticker on the bottom corner of the window. It was new, I was sure I hadn’t seen it there before? With blue and black horizontal stripes, the center one white, with a red heart up in the top left hand corner… I knew that flag, it was the leather pride flag! Staring for a moment too long, she caught my eye line, noticing that I’ve noticed. She saw me and winked; I quickly pull my cap down low over my eye and hurry back to work, cheeks flushed with fire.
I knew I was being watched as I adjusted the hook on the wall. That kid came by almost every day at the same time. I always walked an extra block out of my way coz The Fitz café had the best coffee I’d ever had; oh, and the bonus may have been that the kid made it.
I’d felt the spark between us the first time I ever went in there. I was running late for my first early shift at Sheila Vintage and had decided to skip breakfast at home, but coffee, well, that was my lifeblood and when you work the hours and the jobs I do, bad coffee just doesn’t cut it!
Where was I, oh yeah, the spark… So I was waiting and the kid saw me, I was focused on my caffeine hit, like an addict I didn’t notice the stare until I’d tapped my way through the line to order.
The kids focus was on me, but the coffee didn’t suffer one bit! I call that talent.
When the coffee was passed over the machine to me, I winked and was surprised to see a flush in the kids cheeks, it was so endearing. I looked closer and saw the smattering of freckles over the nose, the blue eyes, and high cheekbones. That was the beginning of my intrigue. You see, I wasn’t able to tell that day, or any of the subsequent days that I went in for my morning coffee, whether ‘the kid’ was dressing right or left, if you catch my drift?
Well, let me spell it out … I wasn’t sure of the kid’s gender… trans-male or female butch, young boi or boi-ish girl? Not that it really mattered to me, I’m not into gender binaries … hell, I’m just a Femme Fatal dropped into the wrong era!
To make matters worse, the kid never spoke loud enough for me to hear, so I didn’t have a voice to go off. The kid’s hands were smooth, and square and gentle-looking… nope, nothing there. Eventually, I guess it didn’t matter, I was smitten with the kid, and I had it bad!
Our ritual was, I’d get my morning coffee there and the kid would walk up about 3pm and stare at me through the window, never coming in. Most days I’d ignore the stare and go about what I was doing, other days, like today, I’d see the kid coming and start a window tease.
Last week I asked the boss lady if I could put a sticker in the window, the leather pride flag. You know those jobs/hours I mentioned? Well I’m also on a committee for Vic leather, and as Leather pride was coming up soon, I decided to show my colors. The boss lady was an arty-farty, hippy dyke type who bought the building for a song, back in the days when the strip was not what it is today. She converted the warehouse out the back into a living space and slips through one of the doors at the back of the shop every now and again to see how things are going. She was really supportive saying that she’d dabbled in BDSM a while back … I nodded and thought, yeah probably in the 90’s when ‘Preaching to the Perverted’ came out!
I hadn’t been in the Melbourne community long, which was why I got involved with Vic Leather, a mutual friend in my home town, dobbed me in to the current president that’s how I got on the committee! I guess my ulterior motive to putting the sticker up was to see if it would mean something to the kid.
The look on the kids face was a dead giveaway – the leather pride flag is not as well-known as say, the rainbow flag!
“Now, I have a plan…” I thought.
It was my suspicion that the kid was a boot slut, I was so glad I’d worn my hand stitched cowboy boots today. I’d head down after work, and stare the kid down top to toe, if there were any signs of Top/bottom; Dom/sub; Daddi/boi; I’d find it!
Today, the kid would be mine ….
Thoughts ran tumbling through my head, tripping over one another, as I ran down the strip.
“Shit! What have I done?! I gave it all away, but then … I was taken by surprise…leather pride flag! Could it be someone else put it there? Nah, it was her, I’m sure! She saw me… she knew… she knows.”
My Doc Martin boots stomped the sidewalk like I wanted to stomp my damn blush reflex! I stopped next to the lamp-post for three deep breaths holding the cool cast iron.
Conversation continued in my head “…Calm down, nothing has changed…”.
“Yet!” my conscience answered.
I knew it had, she would find out, but would she want a boy like me? I could only hope!
The rest of the afternoon, my thoughts wandered while I made coffees for the late afternoon crowd. Leather was the lifeblood that had kept me sane through all those years of teenage angst. I was so lucky to have met my mentor, my Sir, who took me under his wing, and trained me in service. All I ever wanted to do was punch shit out of bullies who teased me, and then I met Sir. He taught me to put my hands to good use; that the anger was better served in the cleaning of his boots, and he had LOTS of boots, lots of leather. I had served Sir well, and the belt I wore each day to work was in honour of him. It was actually a hobble belt, but no one noticed the extra rings, it was just an unusually studded black leather belt… unless you knew.
The sun started streaming in the side service window and reflected on the ice buckets stacked on the shelf above me. Lights danced around the room, and I followed them. My eyes swept across the large windows facing on to Brunswick Street, following the corner line onto Kerr Street, and there she stood! Next to the same cast iron lamp-post that I’d caught my breath at, only hours before, the one made by Edwards Lighting Engineers of Ballarat Victoria or so the inscription said. I’d sat next to that lamp-post so many times… and now, she watched me from there, I was grateful I had not worn my cuff today. She seemed to be staring intently. Looking through me, not at me…
Questions started ringing in my head, did she know? Did she care? Would she like?
I finished the process of clean down on the machine, and turned to my boss and waved goodbye. I knew I’d have to pass her. The late afternoon traffic was buzzing about; the tables and chairs outside had been packed down, the lamp now stood alone, but for the gorgeous femme leaning on it. Obviously waiting … but for what, or who? Surely, not for me? I started to walk out the door, and she watched me with such intensity, she scanned down my body, now that I was not behind the counter she could see all of me. My loose black jeans and black t-shirt gave nothing of my gender away. I had never developed breasts, I used to call them mosquito bites, and as soon as I started on ‘T’ and with the fire twirling I did, they’d turned into pecs quite well.
She stopped her scan landing on my crotch, well more accurately my belt, and then … I blushed!
Of course! She knew… and she smiled a little lopsided grin, one eyebrow raised, and reached out a hand.
‘Hi there. My name is Paula, and I know that you’ve um, been watching me from afar.’
I took her hand and firmly shook it while I looked down at her magnificent boots,
‘Hey Paula, I’m Jonny.’
‘Well, that’s wasn’t so painful now was it Jonny? Why’d you wait so long? I don’t bite… unless…well…’ She shrugged one shoulder.
She had to be one of the sexiest ladies I’d ever met and I hoped this was going to go further than a handshake and hello but I was frozen to the spot.
‘Ok, so here is what I’m thinking Jonny, I’d really like to take that belt off you and use it in a hobble tie around your upper arms tied to this lamp-post in the next 30 seconds … Failing that, how about a drink down at the Old Colonial and we can talk about other things I’d like to do with you?’
‘Um, oh, ah .. well…’ Words failed me and I wanted so badly to say yes.
‘OH dear! This is worse than I thought…I’ve left you speechless; that will never do! Ok, so repeat after me, “I’d really like to join you, Paula” …Now, your turn’
“I’d really like to join you, Paula’ I repeated with a hint of a smile, she had a great sense of humor.
‘GOOD! It’s settled, follow me.’ She grabbed my hand and took off down toward Johnston street.
‘But my skate board, hang on…’ I rushed back inside to grab it from where I hung it on the wall in the morning. That done, I didn’t know if I could take her hand again. Ah fuck it! She obviously liked me! I took her hand, and smiled with the brightest blush tainting my cheeks. She leaned over and planted a raspberry lipstick kiss on my cheek, to match the blush, and whispered, “Good boy”.
I knew I would hear those words again, and that they would have no less effect on me the next time, or the time after that, or the time after that…
Heading back to my car parked out the back of work Jonny walked beside me, skateboard under his arm. We had talked, played pool, teased and eaten; now, in the pre dawn quiet of Brunswick Street I wanted to make him mine. We were back at the corner of Kerr Street, the cast iron lamp-post, and I got this wicked idea.
I turned suddenly, placed my hand on his chest,
‘Take off that belt, boy’. The tone of my voice left no doubt that it was not a request, it was a demand!
‘Miss?’ He looked up querying me as though there was a choice.
‘Yes, boy?’ hands on hips, I waited
‘I, we … there has been no, well, we haven’t…’ He stumbled to find the right words.
‘Belt, off, now!’ It was a demand you see? Not a request!
‘Yes, Miss’. Finally he complied.
The skate board clattered as he fumbled with the buckle.
I ran my hand over his chest firm and smooth. He was only a couple of steps away from where I needed him. I leaned in close to his mouth, our lips almost touching, he took a step back, and then another. I placed my hand on top of his and slid the belt from his hands. He was backed up against the lamp-post now. I held him captive, with my eyes, my lips so close, a promise between us. I leaned in a little closer and at the last moment, as his eyes closed, I whispered in his ear,
‘Hands behind you, boy.’
‘Yes, Miss.’ His hands went behind him automatically wrists together. I slipped the belt through the metal loops, and doubled it back to create the makeshift cuffs that the hobble belt is so well designed for. Pressing my whole body against his, I leaned around him and slipped them over his fine hands, and tightened the belt in one swift movement. Leaning back, I pressed our groins harder together and watched as his neck rose in a flushed that painted his cheeks a deep purple.
‘Mmm my favourite shade, ‘humiliation purple’. Feeling vulnerable, boy?’
‘What do you want?’ I leaned in and whispered
‘Um… er, I mean anything you want, Miss.’ He recovered but I could feel the moment ebbing
‘Been a while since you submitted, boy?’
‘Yes, Miss, could you tell?’ he looked down. With one finger I lifted his chin to look at me
‘Just a little…so we’ll take it really slowly then, you call me Miss, that’s fine. You will always address me with respect. You want rules and safe words? I think in time, for now, the only rule is obey unless it’s harming you, and yellow/red are your safe words. Understood?’
‘Yes, Miss.’ He seemed satisfied with that and I felt his body breathe beneath me.
With one hand on the end of the belt keeping it tight, my other hand was free to roam. I stroked across his chest, and down toward the now loose waist band of his pants. Watching his face, his mouth gently opened, head resting back on the pole, I wanted to unleash my animal with him, his scent was so intoxicating; I could only imagine it infused with leather.
‘Breathe’, I reminded him. I wouldn’t want him to pass out on me now!
He sucked a deep breath of air and my hand came up immediately to cover his mouth and nose. His eyes flew open, wild, I could see both complete irises. His pupils dilating and contracting with fear.
‘Will you give me your breath, boy?’ I saw in his eyes a softening, the glow from the street lamp flickered, his eyes blinked, and I knew then I had him.
I whipped my hand away and covered his mouth with my lips, devouring his breath that he tried in vain to gather into his burning lungs. My hand pressed his solar plexus, making his breathing shallower still and he melted into me.
My free hand slid between us, I wanted to feel, I wanted to know… I had to! I couldn’t stop tasting him though. He was intoxicating meeting my kiss with equal fervour as though a flood gate had opened for both of us.
I leaned back, and took my own advice. Breathe.
Note: I’d like to acknowledge the inspiration of music and people who cross my paths at the most timely moments and to SD especially for ‘being there’.