Sean's accomplice turned her kittenish chin towards her shoulder and winked at me. 'My name is Amy,’ she said. She blew the phallus a kiss as she passed beneath it.
Resisting an urge to do the same, I entered the changing room. The curving space was divided into separate cubicles, all doorless and all mirrored. Here, blue struck the dominant note, colouring the carpet, the walls and the scroll-backed cafe chairs. The ceiling was lacquered a rich indigo and stars were spangled over it. To my right loomed a Chinese-style ebony and brass cabinet. Amy turned to it and opened its folding doors, exposing a multitude of tiny compartments.
'You can strip off now,' she said, occupied with the contents of a drawer.
Well, really, I thought. But I did as she asked.
"The centre cubicle,' she specified, when I would have chosen another.
I could think of only one reason to choose this cubicle over the others. I studied the mirror. Though the lighting was artful, a hint of smoky indistinctness revealed its two-way nature. Tiny hairs stood in an icy wave along my arms. Aside from that, however, I don't think I betrayed my knowledge that others would watch me disrobe.
I undressed without any special grace, the same as if I were alone. I didn't bother to ask if I should remove my underwear because I knew I should. Once naked, I gazed at my reflection, outwardly dispassionate, inwardly seething - and not with anger. I saw my body as a stranger might: the mixture of lean and soft; the pleasing arrangement of my bones; the arrow of hair that pointed to my secrets, a darker auburn than my head but just as curly. I saw that I was beautiful and that others would desire me for no better reason than that. The knowledge did not displease me. I would take them, or not, as the spirit moved me. I was the master of my flesh.
But not tonight. Tonight I delegated responsibility for my pleasure to more imaginative hands, the hands of the man who had to be behind the mirror: Sean Patrick Halloran. I felt no fear, merely anticipation and a certain curiosity - not only for what was to come, but for how it would make me respond.
Amy handed me a corset-like contraption of burgundy silk and lace. 'Let's see how this fits,' she said. She stood behind me and slightly to the side. Her eyes were quiet on my naked body but something inside her fizzed. Her nipples distended her fuzzy sweater, and when she steadied my elbow so I could step through the leg holes, her palm was damp.
Taking me by the shoulders, she turned me to face the outer salon and began to tighten the laces. I closed my eyes at the unfamiliar sensation. As she pulled, the bodice gripped my torso like an elastic bandage. I could not begin to explain why this impersonal embrace aroused me, but it did. Maybe the lack of breathing room was making me light-headed.
'Suck in,' she ordered, and gave the ties a final heave. 'Now be still. Do not move.'
She circled around to my front and resettled my breasts to sit more comfortably in the lacy cups. Her hands were hot but not wet. I knew she must have dried them on her trousers. Once again, she turned me to face the mirror as if I were a child. 'Open your eyes.'
As soon as I did, I burst out laughing. This contraption looked even sillier on me than it had on the mannequin. My nipples, and a good bit of my breasts, bulged out from the cut-out cups like old-fashioned bomber noses. The laces cinched my waist to cartoon-like waspishness, and my pubic hair showed through the crotch like a squirrel peeping through a stage curtain.
'No, no, no,’ Amy scolded, her pretty face flushed. 'It is not funny. You look beautiful.'
Exotic dress-up was obviously her kink, and I had as good as mocked it. Ashamed, I wiped tears of laughter from my eyes and apologised. I could not, however, contain a few last snorts.
'I should beat you,’ she said, giving my arm a little slap. That quieted me, because I wondered whether she would - and if I would like it. 'Besides,’ she added. 'I'm not finished.'
I hoped whatever remained wouldn't be so humorous.
All too soon I remembered the old saying: be careful what you wish for. Amy removed a small pot of body paint and a finger-wide brush from one of the cabinet's mysterious drawers. Sticking the end of the brush between her teeth, she squinted at my reflection.
Tits first, I think.'
My nipples sprang to attention. Amy smirked as though to say: now, that's better. She opened her paint pot. Its contents matched the burgundy silk I wore. Her fingers were slim and dexterous as she dipped the brush in, then scraped the excess against the rim.