Bodies By Design: The 2nd Jasmine Frame Novel (Jasmine Frame Detective)

by P R Ellis

  She wanted to try to see Honey Potts before the show started, as the thought of mingling with a boozed and drugged-up, she-male-fancying crowd did not appeal to her, particularly as in her plain skirt and top she would stand out like a goose amongst peacocks. She walked slowly to the corner and looked down the alleyway between the club building and the adjacent block. There appeared to be another entrance about thirty metres away. Jasmine stepped into the alley, shivering as she immediately moved into shadow. There was the usual litter of discarded cans and crisp packets. The club building itself was forbidding with all its windows filled in and painted black. The entrance, when she reached it, was another grey steel door. She turned the handle. The door didn’t budge. She rapped on it, making a dull clanging sound.

  The door was opened immediately by a person of indeterminate gender wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. He or she was about Jasmine’s height, but there the resemblance ended. He - Jasmine decided ‘he’ was probably the correct pronoun - had lank, shoulder-length hair, a waist and chest about twice hers in girth and arms with bulging tattooed biceps. He looked at Jasmine with a sneer.

  ‘Who are you? You’re not a member.’ Jasmine guessed that the members of Transgression were instantly recognisable by their dress and appearance.

  ‘No, I’m not.’

  ‘The Open Club Night doesn’t start till nine and the entrance is round the front.’ He tried to push the door closed. Jasmine wedged herself in the opening.

  ‘I know. I’d like to speak to one of your performers.’

  He stopped pushing the door as if a little confused. ‘Who?’

  ‘Havana Goodthyme, Honey Potts.’

  ‘She expecting you?’

  ‘No.’

  He made his decision and started pushing the door closed again. ‘Well, she’s not going to see you then.’

  ‘Please,’ Jasmine put her weight against the door to prevent herself being squashed. ‘Give her a message.’

  The bouncer stopped pushing. ‘What?’

  ‘Just say, I’ve come about Xristal.’

  ‘OK. Now get out!’

  He renewed his effort to close the door. Jasmine stepped back and the door slammed shut with a reverberating thud.

  Would he pass on the message? Jasmine didn’t know but resolved to bang on the door again after five minutes if there was no other response. She looked up. The strip of sky above her was still bright and blue but down here in the narrow alley it was as dark as twilight. She glanced at her watch noting the minutes passing. The five minutes were almost up when the door was wrenched open again.

  ‘Come in. She says she’ll see you.’

  Jasmine stepped into a small foyer with a counter on the right. The walls were covered in purple flock wallpaper and posters of performers in flamboyant female dress. She didn’t have time to search for one of Honey. There were two stairwells in front of her, one leading down into a dark underworld illuminated by small yellow wall lights. The other, leading up, was wider and brighter.

  The bouncer closed the door. ‘Follow me.’

  They climbed several flights of stairs until they reached the top floor of the building. The bouncer pointed down a corridor. ‘Dressing room C,’ he said, before turning and heading back down the stairs.

  Jasmine walked slowly down the narrow, dimly-lit corridor examining the doors on the left. The first two said A then B, the next, logically, said C. She tapped.

  ‘Come in,’ a voice called, high-pitched for a man but low for a woman. Jasmine pushed the door open and stepped into a brightly-lit room. There was a figure sitting in a swivel chair facing a mirror with a strip light on either side of it. Jasmine instantly recognised Honey’s face in the mirror despite the long blonde tresses of the photo now being replaced by short mousy hair. There were other subtle changes that Jasmine couldn’t identify immediately.

  The chair swung around giving Jasmine a full view of its occupant. She had broad, fleshy shoulders and huge boobs that were only just held in check by the cups of a white basque which was covered in glistening pearls. A similarly be-pearled pair of knickers covered her very obvious manhood, but the basque gave her a totally feminine figure and her bare arms and legs were hairless.

  ‘Who are you? And what do you know about Xristal?’ As Honey opened her mouth to speak Jasmine realised what was different about her now compared to the photograph. Her chin was smaller, cuter.

  ‘I’m Jasmine Frame and I found Xristal’s body.’

  The colour drained from Honey’s face and drops of sweat appeared, glistening, on her forehead.

  ‘Are you the police?’ Honey’s voice trembled.

  ‘No, but I work with them and they are looking for you.’

  ‘Why are you here then?’

  ‘I want to ask you some questions before I tell the police where to find you.’

  ‘You’d better close the door and have a seat.’ Honey indicated the couch against the wall behind the door. Jasmine pushed the door closed and sat, placing her bag on the floor between her feet. Honey stood up revealing her full height which Jasmine estimated as about 6 foot three or four. She was quite impressed by Honey’s hourglass figure, her massive boobs balanced by her large but firm buttocks.

  ‘Would you like a drink? I think I need a whisky?’ Honey crossed the room to a chest of drawers beside a washbasin. She reached for a bottle that stood on top of the chest and poured the amber liquid into a tumbler.

  ‘Just a water, please,’ Jasmine replied. Honey filled another glass from the tap and handed it to Jasmine. She sat again in her swivel chair.

  ‘You knew Xristal was dead?’ Jasmine said.

  ‘I heard it on the radio,’ Honey replied.

  ‘But you didn’t come forward?’

  ‘I didn’t know anything about what had happened to her.’

  ‘But you have lived close to, if not actually with, Xristal for years. You knew her well.’

  ‘Yes, but we split up a while ago.’

  ‘Only a fortnight. That’s not long. The police are having trouble finding out much about her. You could help them. That is, if you didn’t actually kill Xristal yourself.’

  Honey did not reply but her face took on an expression of deep sadness and she said nothing for a few moments. Finally she spoke.

  ‘Xristal and I were close, but when I left two weeks ago we weren’t exactly on friendly terms. If you know anything about the life we lead then you’ll realise that I don’t particularly relish questioning by the police.’

  ‘I know you and Xristal were she-males working as prostitutes.’

  Honey pulled herself up straight. ‘That’s in the past. I’m a performer now.’

  ‘And Xristal – was being a she-male in the past for her?’

  Honey sucked her lip. ‘Almost. She’d decided that she wanted to become a complete woman. That’s one reason why we had a row. I loved her as she was, with her gorgeous cock.’

  Jasmine felt a little sick and also surprised at how disconcerted she felt at Honey’s attachment to Xristal’s male attributes. ‘So, you killed her?’

  ‘No!’ Honey jerked upright and her nostrils flared. ’I said I loved her. I meant it but…’ she subsided and sighed, ‘well, if she was going to get the chop then there was no point sticking together. And there was the other reason.’

  ‘What other reason?’

  ‘I was offered the gig here.’

  ‘You’re going to have to be a lot more convincing if you want to persuade the police you didn’t kill Xristal.’

  Honey looked at the small clock on her dressing table. ‘Look, I’m the first act of the opening show. I’ve got to get ready.’

  ‘But I need to know more. I’ve got to know who murdered Xristal.’

  ‘Why? What are you doing here if you’re not with the police?’

  ‘Because …’ Why was she so desperate to solve the case? ‘Because I’m trans too and I want to know why she was killed.’

  ‘I thought so. Are you pre-
or post-op? You don’t look as though you’ve had much surgery. Are you on the hormones?’ Jasmine recoiled from the questions fired at her.

  ‘Pre-. I’m taking the tablets and I haven’t had any surgery – yet.’

  ‘Hmm. Well, how about this. Let’s meet after my first show and I’ll tell you what you want to know, on condition that you tell the police I wasn’t involved in Xristal’s death.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Right. Off you go then.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘To watch the show!’

  ‘How do I get there?’

  ‘Go down two floors, then along the corridor. The end door will bring you out at the back of the stage. From there you can get into the auditorium. It’ll be filling up now.’

  Jasmine picked up her bag and stood up.

  ‘Right. See you after your performance then.’

  ‘OK. Oh, make sure you don’t blunder through any of the other doors. You may not like what you see. You don’t seem the kinky type.’

  Jasmine’s recent internet research meant that she was inclined to agree. She pulled the door open and left Honey already dabbing make-up on her face.

  She followed Honey’s directions carefully. After descending two floors she walked along a corridor with loud muffled rock music emanating through the wall to her right. She wondered if there was already action going on behind the closed doors on the left. At the end of the corridor she found the unlocked door and stepped through into a dark, high-ceilinged area. There was a raised stage to her right and a curtain in front of her from beyond which came the sound of voices striving to be heard over the booming music. Moving slowly forward she carefully pulled the edge of the curtain to the side and looked through the gap. There was a large room with small circular tables and chairs and, on the far side, a bar. In the gloom cast by a few wall-lights she could see a number of people sitting, standing, moving around. More were coming through double doors to the side of the bar. Honey was right, the club was certainly filling up.

  Jasmine slipped through the curtain trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. She regretted wearing her light-coloured skirt and top as even in the semi-darkness she felt conspicuous. No-one seemed to notice her, however, so she tried to walk confidently and naturally towards one of the few empty tables that were left and sat down. There were a few tables between her and the stage but she felt that she would have a good view when Honey Potts, or rather, Havana Goodthyme, made her appearance.

  She looked around at the clientele of the club. The majority were in female dress, well, a type of female., some drag, most not. There were lots of bright colours, sequins and shiny fabrics. Hems were high or slit to the hip. Bare arms and shoulders and impressive cleavages were on display, but further inspection made Jasmine wonder how many were real and how many were silicone. The voices were lively and predominately sounded alto or lower. As Jasmine had expected, most of the clientele of Transgression were transgender but she was not sure whether they were transvestites, she-males or transsexuals. None, however, were as modestly dressed and blandly made-up as her.

  There were a number of men present. Real men or trans-men, Jasmine wasn’t sure. Some were with the feminine characters as a couple, others in groups, but a few seemed to be standing alone with a glass in their hand checking out the growing audience. To Jasmine’s horror a single man’s eyes caught hers and he immediately started making his way across the room towards her, weaving his way through the tables and clubbers. He was bald-headed but looked to be late 30s, early 40s and was wearing groin-hugging jeans and a tight white T-shirt. His lack of a belly suggested a degree of fitness.

  ‘Hi,’ he drawled over the ear-numbing beat when he reached her table. ‘You seem to be on your own. Mind if I take a seat? The show will be starting soon.’

  Jasmine couldn’t think of a reason to refuse since she was obviously alone. She signalled to an empty chair and shrugged. The man sat down next to her, put his beer glass on the table and leaned over to speak into her ear.

  ‘I’m Greg. Who are you?’

  ‘Jasmine.’

  ‘Hi, Jasmine. Can I get you a drink?’

  Jasmine wanted to get away but did not have time to answer. The painfully loud rock music suddenly stopped and was replaced by a fanfare, obviously announcing the start of the show. The lights dimmed and spotlights lit up the red satin and velour of the curtain. A man in a sparkly blue suit stepped out from behind it, and walked to the centre of the stage as the music faded.

  ‘Hi there guys and gals, and guys that want to be gals and gals that want to be guys!’ The audience cheered excitedly. ‘What a show we have for you tonight!’

  Jasmine’s attention drifted as the MC launched into his innuendo-heavy introduction. She looked around the packed auditorium. Every chair at every table was filled and at the back the crowd was so thick that the bar could no longer be seen. Everyone was focused on the stage and cheering every rude joke. She half-heard a line about she-males and cocks and felt a weight on her knee. Looking down, she saw Greg’s hand resting there. He leaned close to her again and his hand dragged up her thigh, ruffling the hem of her skirt.

  ‘What about you, Jasmine? Have you got a dick under there?’

  She shoved his hand off. What could she do? Getting up would draw attention to herself. The MC had already made lewd comments to members of the audience nearest the stage. It would be difficult to get out unseen and she needed to stay, to see Honey’s act and get back to question her.

  ‘Wait!’ she said, hoping that would be enough to delay Greg’s exploration.

  ‘And now,’ continued the MC, ‘the one you’ve come for or would come over given the chance, Miss Havana Goodthyme!’ The music changed to the opening bars of Diamonds are Forever, the MC skipped off the side of the stage and the curtains opened to reveal the impressive figure of Honey Potts just as she launched into the first line of the song.

  Jasmine had to admit that she looked and sounded the part. Her height was now increased by a foot or more by silver platform-soled, stiletto-heeled shoes, together with a towering blonde wig. A sparkling silver satin dress clung to her vast bosom, wasp waist and immense hips. She looked like a giant Amazon of a woman. She stepped forward to the front of the stage, moving amazingly steadily on the outrageous shoes as she belted out the song, the slit in her dress parting to reveal white stockings flecked with silver held up with silver suspenders. Jasmine had never been particularly fond of drag artistes, but had seen quite a few on her visits to gay and trans clubs. There was no doubt about it - Havana Goodthyme was breathtakingly good. Honey Potts obviously had considerable talent.

  The crowd hooted and whistled as Havana continued into her second and third numbers – classic Tina Turner and Alison Moyet songs. She moved, seductively at first, then with raunchier movements of her hips and bust, showing off her amazing figure. She kicked up her legs giving a glimpse of bare upper thigh and a hint of the bulge at her crotch.

  The numbers got faster and louder and Havana’s dancing raunchier. Jasmine failed to see how it happened, but the silver dress became undone and slowly, sexily, Havana slid the sleeves from her arms and threw it back off her shoulders. She stood, centre stage in the combined light of four spotlights, feet a metre apart, thrusting her manhood forward encased in the pearl-covered pouch of her knickers, hands on her broad hips and light glinting off the pearls scattered across her torso. Jasmine imagined that this was the climax of Honey’s act, but she moved smoothly into another number with another heavy bass rhythm. Her voice soared to hit the high notes, reverberating through the auditorium as she moved, gyrated and bent over showing off her magnificent physique. Then she began to wiggle herself free from the confines of the basque. With a flourish she discarded it, revealing the tasselled nipples of her high, melon-sized breasts. She came to the front of the stage, still singing, and leaned out to the audience. Jasmine wondered how she managed to maintain her balance; how the weight of her tits didn’t make her topple to
the floor. Perhaps it was the counterbalance provided by her buttocks that did it. Still singing, she did a one-eighty and thrust out her bottom while easing the waist band of her knickers down over her hips. Gradually, the smooth white skin of her bum was revealed. The knickers reached the top of her thighs and dropped to the floor just as the song reached its climax. Havana leapt in the air and twisted round as the final chord crashed from the speakers. The lights went out and the curtains closed just as Jasmine had a brief glimpse of Honey’s huge, bouncing erect penis.

  The music reverted to the original heavy rock and the lights came back up. ‘Phew. That was some performance,’ Greg shouted in Jasmine’s ear. His hand landed on her knee again. ‘She’s got some tackle, that girl. Did you see it?’

  Jasmine nodded, wondering how to get away and see Honey again. Greg’s hand slid up her bare thigh. ‘What about you, darling? What have you got between your legs? Did that performance make you hard? I am.’

  Jasmine placed her hand over his, tried to push it back. He resisted. ‘Come on,’ he shouted in her face, his expression contorted in frustration and growing anger. ‘You want it don’t you? That’s why you’re here.’

  Jasmine stiffened her arm as Greg struggled to push his hand into her groin. ‘No, I don’t want it. Leave me alone!’