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There were two - no, three - models similar to the one in the window display, equally shoeless, equally bored. There was apparently nobody in the shop. Still time, Karen thought, to sneak out and escape, leaving the doorbells tintinnabulating away to an empty boutique.A doorway covered by a curtain of dangling beads led out the back somewhere, and in front of it a small glass-fronted display cabinet with a glass top which seemed to serve as a counter. In keeping with the shop's minimalist approach to display, it contained a bra. Just one lacy bra in a shiny cream material, lying on a bed of dark green velvet. Karen felt an uncontrollable urge to giggle. There was a large bell on the counter, one of those bells with a plunger on top. Usually, those bells are plain metal. This one was painted in three shades of pink. Karen's hand hovered above it, then came down hesitantly. Even as her palm touched it, she changed her mind. Too late.The bell was appallingly loud in the little shop.. Firstly there were certainly no cock pictures - a good start.Secondly there were no pictures of other t-girls that Steve waspretending were all his friends, i.e. his conquests.Thirdly the pictures were clear - unlike the usual blurred and heavilycropped photos.Fourthly all the photos were of the same man - presumably Steve. Onephoto was taken of him in front of the Brandenburg Gate in Berlin,another in the mountains of Switzerland. I couldn't recognise the otherlocations but I could see our Steve was obviously a bit of a traveller.Steve was, I guessed, in his mid-forties like me. He was slim and wiry.Flecks of grey appeared in his hair but he had no signs of prematurebaldness. No middle aged paunch either. He was casual but smart andlooked athletic. Did he work out?He looked a nice guy - the sort of guy who would be a friend of my malepersona, Richard. I could imagine going to a pub with him on a Fridaynight, having a couple of pints and chatting about football, theeconomic crisis or.
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