Free Yarn by Jon Armstrong Page B

Remon of Loin." She teased the ruffles and frills of my jacket and shirtfront with her lace-gloved hands. "You are truly majesty and honor… you are the smoke before fire… the silence before the crash."
    A warm tingling filled me as I stared into her eyes.
    "Kira," said Worm Jacket, "I'm not trying to be a cut or anything, but you know that he hasn't fashioned before, right?" He smiled nervously as his eyes darted between us.
    "Deep instincts of the forgotten men," she said, eyeing me knowingly, "are never forever lost. Just as cloth remembers the body and the creases of time, so too the warrior lays deep within the breast of the male."
    Worm Jacket smiled sourly. He swallowed, nodded slowly, and then stepped away. For an instant I felt bad for him.
    "The interlocked closeness," continued Kira, her voice tender and hungry. "Knits rubbing against wovens. The tightness of the stitch. The slight pilling across the friction of our longing. The stretched and then torn yarns of desire."
    The black emerald of her coat made her eyes glow with promise. I reached to touch her cheek, but she moved so that my fingers met the thick collar of her jacket. The material was warm and soft and as I caressed it, she closed her eyes and let out a long teardrop-shaped moan.
    A second later she pushed me back in a playful faux anger. "Save Troy for the show!"
    "Shoppers, customers, consumers, and buyers…" A man in an enormous orange suit spoke at the far side of the stage. "On this auspicious day of late winter afternoon shopping, The Black Blossom Fashion Shopping Amphitheater fashion show continues!"
    Kira and I were peeking between the heavy white curtains. Through the glare of the lights I could see hundreds of t'ups around the runway clapping and cheering. As others strutted out before us, Kira showed me the mechanics of the walk, the sort of dower, unhappy face one made, and what we were going to do at the end of the runway.
    "Let's have a passionate welcome for our favorite independent men's fantasy skivvé knitter Celebrity Executive Officer, Kira Shibui!"
    Kira fiddled with the ruffles of my jacket and sleeves one last time and then turned, and headed through the curtains to the runway. The crowd screamed.
    "There she is! Today's shopper! Today's luxury consumer! And just behind her, new shopper to our boutiques… welcome Tane Cedar as Warrior Remon of Loin!"
    I held closed my eyes for an instant and then stepped through. A crash of applause hit me in the chest as I started after her.
    "Kira is in a Bietnamese tower wool blend with a silk-a-pussi core and dovetail lady lining," said the announcer. "Her warrior is wearing a wounded sky robust purple jacket in pleated zero denier high-twist Halyn with fall curl and spilled ruffle gut details by Rebel Sheep. His blouse is a quad-collared taffeta with splatter-curls by Exceptional Red Self-Injury Santa. His shoes are fine goat scrotum leather cement-skippers from Aurora Boring Alice."
    The man went on, but with the screams of the crowd and beat of the music, I couldn't hear and didn't care. Ahead of me, Kira reached the end of the runway, stopped, glanced one way with a haughty turn of her head, and then turned to gaze at me. In the glare of the lights, the blast of the sounds, and the frenzied motion of the crowd, she seemed like the center of the store and the apex of the earth.
    Stopping before her, I first glanced away as if I wasn't interested or hadn't even noticed. Then I put a hand on a hip and turned toward her slowly. I could see annoyed amusement in her eyes. Stepping closer, I caressed the thick lapel of her coat and then, as I had seen on some screen ad somewhere in the hallways, I gripped the fabric, pulled it close, and kissed it. She was saying something, but I just buried my face in the soft collar and started nibbling at the edges. Her fingertips traced the seams of my shoulders, to my armpits, and down my sleeves. The sensation was tickly exciting. I bit the collar of