by Ines Johnson
No. Not cloth. Rope.
From the bodice to the skirts, the garment was made of knotted rope. It was an odd choice for material. At the same time, it was a brilliant choice for material. Alyss had to have it. But first she needed to find the genius woman who made it.
The sound of footsteps came from behind her. Alyss turned from the dress in the window and nearly screamed. Standing before her, looking as shocked as she was certain she looked, was her mystery artist; the male she'd seen at her cousin Chanyn's home. The male who'd gifted Chanyn with the painting Alyss couldn't get out of her mind.
"You," she whispered.
"You," he said simultaneously. His voice a soft cushion that beckoned Alyss closer.
They stared at each other a moment longer. His skin showed a healthy tan. His features were dark; dark eyes, dark curly hair. Even his curls, with thick swoops that fell around his face, had an artful sway about them.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
"Did you do this?" she said.
He followed the line of her finger to the dress. If she'd blinked, she would've missed the flare that caught at the edge of his dark eyes as they roamed over the fabric of the garment. Then his eyes came back to hers. "Its my work, yes."
The way he said 'my work', as though it were a possession, made Alyss want the dress even more.
"Is it for sale?" she asked.
"For sale?"
"Yes, I want to purchase it."
His eyes drew in confusion. "Because...you want to wear it?"
Alyss wondered about his mental acuity. Many geniuses were actually impaired souls. Their skewed visions and understanding of the world attracted sane eyes only because of the different interpretations of reality.
His eyes roamed over her. Men did this to her constantly. But the way he did it, his assessment, it felt...different. He appeared to be taking the measure of her, not trying to unclothe her with his eyes.
Of their own accord, Alyss unfolded her arms and allowed him his perusal. "Do you need to take my measurements?"
His eyes flashed to hers, wide open, allowing her to see into him. There was no mental impairment in those dark eyes. Alyss saw intelligence, passion and something else. Something she didn't know but struck a curious ember inside her. He turned his back on her, shutting her out of the windows into his soul, and walked away.
Alyss reached out to the counter to steady herself. She scanned the shop's walls. They were filled with art work. "These are all yours too, aren't they?"
He came back to her, tape measure in hand. A slight tremor overtook his fingers as he stretched the tape out towards her. "Raise your arms," he said.
His voice was a silky command. Of their own accord, Alyss' arms floated up. She caught herself before they reached her breast, and she frowned. How dare this male give her -a high born lady- an order.
"Please."
Alyss obeyed him without another thought.
He swallowed, surveying her proffered figure before he approached her. She'd been measured many times for clothing, most of her wardrobe was tailored. Some of the best seamstresses were men, but she didn't know of any male clothing designers who designed from scratch for women's bodies.
He wrapped the thin strip around her, making care not to touch her skin. He was close enough that she smelled his sweet cologne. Beneath the sweet smell was another, more tart, more pungent, the smell of oil-based paints.
Alyss inhaled.
Slowly he tightened the tape at her waist.
"You didn't answer my question," she said. Her voice didn't sound like her own. It was throaty, breathless, even after the deep breath she'd taken. She let lose the shaky breath.
"Hold still...please." He pulled the measure tighter.
The tape couldn't have been more than an inch in width, but Alyss felt the impact of the tiny strip spread the expanse of her torso. She inhaled again, under the pretense of sucking in her waist line. She welcomed more of his scent as it traveled down her throat.
The tape slipped lower, to her hips. "The dress is my design,” he said.
Alyss felt the tape on her rear. He moved it back and forth. The swish of the dress from the sawing action, coupled with her shallow breathing, were the only sounds in the shop. Her voice left her throat on a heavy whisper. "I've never seen anything like it."
"No," his voice was a quiet whisper too, as though they were in a school library and didn't want to be found out. "It's one of a kind."
Having never glanced down at the measurements of her waist or hips, he pulled the tape around her breasts. Again, careful not to let his fingers touch any part of her skin, only the fabric of her dress. The tape tightened at her nipples.
Alyss swallowed.
He watched the undulation of her throat as though cataloging every movement.
It felt improper, like he was taking liberties. But he stood a respectable distance. Only the tape touched her. His dark eyes continued to trace the contours of her face instead of minding the tape measurements. Alyss felt trapped under the intense gaze, ensnared in the heady smell of the remnant of oils on his fingertips.
She wondered if he smelled the same scent on her? But it was unlikely. It had been so long for her.
She dipped her head, looking straight down at his long fingers. There was paint under his nails. She wanted to ask what brand of oils he preferred: latex, acrylic, a blend? She opened her mouth to speak, but he was gone.
He walked away to the counter and made notations on a piece of parchment. Alyss wobbled on her legs for a moment before following him.
"I don't have to make many alterations," he said.
Alyss blinked in response.
A small smile played at his lips. "For the dress," he clarified. "I can have the dress ready for you tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?"
"Yes. Will you come back to me?"
Alyss watched his lips move. They were plump and full, like a cherry hanging from a tree. She watched them move and make sound, but her brain fogged because the sounds and the words and their meanings didn't seem to match.
He stared at her. Too late, she realized it was because he'd asked her a question and she hadn't yet answered.
Alyss shook the fog from her head and then straightened her back. She took a deep breath of clean air. "Yes. I can come back to you. Tomorrow."
Chapter Four
"I am humbled you have chosen me to advocate for mankind on the Insemination Bill."
Emet stood before the Male Voice, a formidable man with broad shoulders and olive-toned skin. His name was actually Lord Willym, but everyone called him by his title, a title he'd held for over a decade fighting the good fight. Making sure men had a voice in this oppressive matriarchal society. Specks of gray hair dotted his temples. Weariness tinted his intelligent, light brown eyes.
"Humble is exactly what I need you to be when you speak," the Voice said. "One of the reasons I agreed to train you as an advocate was due to your spiritual training. Besides your understanding of women and their natures, I expected you would know how to maintain your calm."
Emet's outburst earlier had been unacceptable. But he was passionate about the case. For hundreds of years women systematically stripped away the rights of men until they were second class citizens. This Insemination Bill would take away man-kind's last stronghold, the last place a male's presence was mandatory: the bedroom.
"Arguing with women will never get us ahead," said the Voice. "A woman needs a gentle touch. Isn't that what you monks believe?"
Emet grit his teeth at the reference to his pleasure training. He'd spent so many years of his life learning how to please women, believing their lives and pleasure were more important than his. "I renounced my vows. But I understand your meaning. I will use a more moderate tone."
"We never attack women."
"Of course not.” Emet bristled at the very thought. He would never physically assault a woman. Verbal sparing with entitled matriarchs and untried misses was a
different matter. "I doubt I'll have much of an opposition. Lady Alyss has never advocated or lobbied before. She seems more concerned that her hair barrettes match her shoes than any issues of society."
"Do not underestimate her, or her family. Lady Regyn and Lady Anglya have been pushing for such a bill for decades. Now they have victory within their grasp. They will move heaven and earth to turn the bill into law. This battle will be an uphill climb for us.”
"Popular opinion rests with the male view on this. Men cannot be stripped of their basic rights to procreate."
As a former pleasure monk, Emet had had access to women's bedrooms, an access few male's in their society ever gained. Though he'd willingly given up access to the pleasure of a woman's body, he felt strongly that women did not have the right to deny a man access to the creation of his own child.
The Voice shook his head. "Society, men and women alike, wants more girls. We have to find a way through."
"I can handle this." Emet felt confident on that.
The Voice gave Emet a hard, assessing look. For a moment, Emet was afraid the Voice would change his mind and give the case to one of the more seasoned advocates.
There were five advocates who worked for the Male Voice. Only five males in a city of thousands who could advocate for the majority of men in their society. Each male advocate was overworked and underpaid. Still they all showed up each and every day, ready to fight for the rights of all man-kind. Emet had been doing the work for three years. A year as a novice, two as an apprentice, and the last few months as a fully seated advocate.
Born a second son in a wealthy family, Emet knew service was his life's calling. His Mother was a former novice for the Chamber of Justice. She’d declined an apprenticeship in favor of having a family. Emet had spent the first part of his life listening to her discussing legalities and moralities. She was both devoted to the law as well as the Goddess. At the age of twelve, the legal age of manhood, she'd given Emet over to the Pleasure Hound Temple to serve the Goddess.
The monks aimed to teach him to be of service to the Goddess when they taught him the Sutras of Pleasure. Emet read more in the texts than what the class called for. He came to see that the basic rights given by the Goddess were meant for all of humanity, and not just women. He realized that he wasn't called to serve women, nor to be a slave to their whims and pleasure.
Though Emet no longer wore the robes, he still held fast to many of the promises he'd made to the Goddess. Those of obedience, interconnectedness, truth and no-harm. Over the last three years, Emet advocated that these basic human rights should be extended to the everyday man. Now, he had a chance to advocate for all men.
"I will not let you down," he said to the Male Voice whose eyes came to rest on Emet's face.
Finally, the Voice nodded.
Emet let out his breath. It wasn't a gamble the Voice took by putting him in charge of this bill. Emet had proven himself time and again, and he was prepared for this fight, welcomed it even. A chance to set the world balanced on its gender axis.
He left the office and made it home ten minutes after his normal time. The lights were off in the dress shop. The door was unlocked. Emet cursed Adom's forgetfulness. One day, street thieves would come in and relieve them of their worldly possessions. But then he glanced around the shop. What thief would want avant-garde dresses that were more artistic than functional?
The shop didn't do much business. In fact the shop didn't do any business these days. There was a dress set out with scissors, needle, and thread at its base. It looked as though Adom had made a sale. Emet shuffled back a few steps to bring the dress into full view. When he did, he realized his mistake. This must be a new creation. No woman would buy a dress made of ropes.
Emet locked the shop door and went to the back into the living quarters. They'd rented the storefront and home for two years now. The rent payments came solely from Emet's legal work for settling disputes between second class males. He knew it sometimes chaffed Adom that he couldn’t pull his own financial weight, but Emet didn't need him to, didn't expect him. He'd never minded the responsibility of taking care of the man he loved. Aside from their lovemaking, it was the only way he knew to show Adom how much he cared for him.
It hadn't been love at first sight with the two of them. Adom and Emet had been fast friends along with Jian and Jaspir during their pleasure training.
Jian was devout in the work of pleasure.
Jaspir, too, had excelled at the art of pleasure, but his heart had never truly be in the work.
Emet, though a great student, of the physical arts, lacked the mental will power to do the work. His mind had never been in the game. It was hard for him to keep his mouth shut both in and out of women's bedrooms when there was so much injustice in the world caused by their hands.
Adom's skills...well, they were in a class populated only by himself. It was a class most women did not appreciate. It was a class that nearly got Emet's then friend into the custody of the Peace Officers. It was Emet's gift of reasoning and advocacy that got Adom out of harm's way that day. By that time, dissatisfaction with his work in the temple had taken root in Emet's heart, and so had Adom.
By that time, Emet yearned to free himself from the demands of the Goddess and her daughters. He wanted to become an advocate for man-kind. But he knew leaving Adom behind, away from his watchful eye and logical voice, would be like giving a man enough rope to hang himself.
Luckily, it didn't take much convincing for Adom to take his hand and walk out the temple doors. With the promise of a life at an easel, Adom joined him and they both turned from the call of the Goddess. They pledged their hearts to one another and never parted after that day.
Emet went down the steps into Adom's studio. He heard the male before he saw him, smelled his creativity in the air.
Adom's nose was nearly pressed up against a canvas. An array of brushes were in his hands, color on his forearms and cheeks. He worked with a small brush, filling in the detail of a painting. Most of Adom's art was abstract and Emet couldn't make heads or tails of it. This piece was clearly a woman. Or at least the outline of a woman. The details of her body blended in with the naturalistic background. Swirls of green were the firmament beneath her supple ass. Yellow sun rays caressed her full breasts. Puffs of blue greeted her outstretched arms.
Adom worked now on her nipples. They were cocoa brown.
"You're going to cover those up, aren't you?"
Adom jerked at the sound of Emet's voice. He stood, placing himself between Emet and the painting. His shoulders covered the woman's bare breasts. "This one isn't for show. I was just..."
Emet let Adom trail off. For years Adom had shown his work in underground galleries that clamored for such erotic works as these. Those sensual art houses were illegal, and the risk too high. Especially now with Emet advocating for the Male Voice. They both agreed Adom would stop showing there, and they'd opened the dress shop, a way for Adom to still pursue his art but in a practical vocation.
Emet knew painting was Adom's passion. He'd insured that his lover's passion could be practiced safely, within these four walls, beneath a respectable, though not financially solvable, business.
"She's lovely." Emet chucked his chin to Adom's canvas.
Adom turned back to his canvas, his eyes reverent as he regarded the painting.
Emet didn't feel any jealousy at the reverence in his lover's eyes. For all the time he'd known Adom, even as a youth, Adom had been obsessed with the female form. He painted, sculpted and designed for women to exclusion. All the models and muses lived in his imagination.
These days Adom kept his distance from women. After the last woman he'd touched had cried out in panic. After he'd narrowly escaped the clutches of the law, Adom never touched another woman again. It was too dangerous for him and his...proclivities. So, no, Emet felt no jealousy toward these imaginary women. They were safe for Adom to play with.
"She is amazing, isn't she Em. They want he
r: the Jayne Austere gallery. They want three paintings, a series."
Emet pulled Adom up and into his arms. "That is wonderful news."
Adom had been trying to sell his paintings to a legitimate, above ground gallery for years. Male artists were not often accepted. Women didn't buy art created by men. This was a huge deal for Adom. But...
"Can you do three paintings? Without..." Emet chucked his head towards the woman's bare breasts on the canvas. If this painting were shown outside of their home, Adom would be arrested for obscene art.
Adom stiffened. "Don't worry. I can make her presentable."
There was nothing Emet could say to lessen the tension in Adom's shoulders. Art was the one subject Emet couldn't argue because the subject was just that; subjective. Instead of launching into what he knew would be an argument, Emet decided to change the subject.
"Looks like we both have cause to celebrate. The Male Voice is letting me advocate against the Insemination Bill.”
Adom took Emet's face in his hands. The familiar smell of paint on Adom's finger made Emet momentarily light-headed. Instead of inhaling, Emet shared Adom's breath with a slow kiss. Anytime Emet tried to deepen the kiss, Adom would pull away. Emet wanted more but Adom wouldn't give it. Apparently, his lover was in a mood tonight.
Emet pulled away. He took another deep breath, inhaling the acrid smell of paints on his lover's fingertips and licking his lips in anticipation of what those fingers were about to do to him.
Impatient for the adventure to begin, Emet reached for Adom's face with his hand seeking to take control of the situation.
Adom caught his hands in a vice-like grip, exactly as Emet had planned.
Adom backed Emet deeper into the studio. Emet went willingly, eagerly. They ended back in the center of the room until they stood beneath a wooden suspension rig. The rig was metal. Intricate patterns were soldered into both legs of the rig. The artwork was wielded by Adom's own hand. It wasn't a piece of equipment they could order from the market.