My mind raced. A real
sauce box. She had to be from Essex I speculated. Correctly as it turned out
from the minute she opened her mouth!
She wasn’t alone.
Hurrying along behind her was a skinny, sharp faced blonde also wearing a mini
but this one ultra-short in leather with slightly ripped white fishnets
encasing her long shapely legs. Neat
little arse, the thought crossed my mind and then the fact both were eyeing
me up with a well-controlled satisfaction.
They knew what they
were about all right. I was under a pheromone attack and desperately needed
assistance. My eyes fastened onto a large piece of Rose Quartz at the front of
the table and I tried drinking in its calm, peaceful vibes. Relax, think love and peace… Let the calm
flow in and around you…
It helped but only
marginally. The blonde was also wearing a crystal. A fine clear quartz double
termination also on leather. Clearly they both knew their stuff. With the first
flush of their arrival over they began taking in the stall, glancing over the
Gem Trees and the various crystals I had out on display along with my semi-precious
pendants and mineral specimens. As for myself I’d taken in the Rose tattooed just
above the fat girl’s preposterous bum. A really sweet smelling place I thought
before letting my mind wander. Christ, if ever I was stuck with her on a desert
island without food or any hope of rescue I could live off those thighs for
over a year. I immediately banished the thought. A creature like that could easily
do for me while I was sleeping.
The idea dissipated
when the blonde began talking. Did I have any Moldovite, she asked matter of
fact?
I immediately played
my friendly market trader’s gambit. “You girls from Hornchurch,” I enquired
affably. This was a market in Central London. Lunchtime on a warm autumn day.
Both were from Essex. No doubt about it. They could have come up for the day
from Southend or Chelmsford but unlikely. Too far out from London. They had to
be from somewhere nearer at hand.
I got a warm smiley rejoinder.
How did I know then? Not far from Hornchurch at that.
Surely not Upminster I
chuckled?
Their knowing looks
said it all. “You some healing wizard?” the skinny blonde asked, tartly arching
an eyebrow.
“I’m into crystal
healing,” I purred, taking due cognizance, “but I wouldn’t call myself a
wizard.”
Her eyes gave me the
once over. That special kind of look that every market trader knows. Full of
promise but dangerous. Essex all over and predatory with it.
“We’re from the estate
down the end of Hall Lane. Know it?”
I knew exactly. “Used
to live there myself,” I confirmed, “before I moved out of London.”
The one with the black
fishnets smiled at her friend. “We don’t exactly live there any more either.
Got ourselves a flat in Romford.”
My eyes widened.
Romford! The biggest shit-hole in the Galaxy!
“We’re just out on our
lunch-break,” she went on, common as a second hand tampax from that part of the
world. “Someone told us there was a stall here selling crystals.”
Essex or not I liked
the fact that they were interested. I could see them admiring the trees under
the light and much else besides. I made most of the stuff myself I said
pleasantly, wanting to convey that I was some sort of craftsman though somehow
forgetting my wife and then feeling stupid. Get off with those two? I had to be
out of my head. Early twenties and straight out of Romford. Probably shagged
their way through the whole Klingon Empire. Five minutes with either and I’d
have chlamydia growing out of my eyeballs. That said why be prejudiced? I was
there to make a living and they were both wearing crystals. It had to say
something. I mean, Essex girls or not they were also believers. Why else were
they wearing them?
“That’s a nice double
termination you’re wearing,” I said encouragingly. “It’ll give you plenty of
energy.”
“Pointed at both
ends,” she nodded. “Nice and transparent. Not like the rubbish most people
sell.”
“Sounds like you know
more than I do,” I breezed, taking in the points bursting out of her top like a
promise. Even so, she was nothing compared to her friend. The size of her arse
in that tiny mini-skirt was so very Essex. What was uncommon however was her amethyst crystal. Very dark. The very
best quality that came only from Uruguay and perfectly formed. What the hell?
It was the size of her that was overwhelming my senses, not the crystal.
Strange that. As a rule I can’t abide fat women but this one was different. Not
so much a tub of lard as a great big bubbly sauce box with something engaging
about those legs of hers.
She knew I was looking
her over. What the hell indeed? It had to be the fishnet stockings. A woman
really needed to have class to look special in them. Classy rather than cheap.
There are many men, market traders among them I know of, who are turned on by
cheap looking girls. Cheap can mean many things but one of them’s ‘available’
and available means doing something you’d never ever imagined you’d do and
winding up in a semi in Romford eating kebabs twenty-four seven and lying on a
beach in Benidorm two weeks of the year with three awful kids wanting cod and
chips every night… and the ‘ladies’ looking over my crystals conveyed that kind
of promise. Or did they? Maybe it was all in my head. Maybe that really wasn’t
their style and they were planning to study philosophy at Oxford.
It was a consideration
I had to put into abeyance. Having asked permission the big girl picked up my
biggest single quartz crystal. A superb piece from Brazil, Not quite
transparent but clear enough and well-rounded with a perfect point at one end.
Around seven inches long, it didn’t come cheap. Good energy but nothing
compared to Moldovite or Sugilite. Seconds later I did a serious double-take,
wondering whether I was seeing right. She wasn’t doing anything wrong, working
it with her hands and testing its energy, and yet I couldn’t help thinking there
was something else going on. Something that wasn’t entirely spiritual. Indeed
the more I thought about it there seemed to be a psycho-physical connection between
her and the crystal! If I didn’t know better I’d have said she was getting off
on it.
My thoughts stopped
dead in their tracks. Incredible! I’d never considered that kind of
relationship before! Was this something that only happened to women or could
men get it too?
She knew what I was
thinking. It had powerful energies she confirmed then gave me a real knowing
look… Nothing compared to Moldovite, or best of all…
We both said the
magical name together. Sugilite!
By this time I’d gone
round to the front of the stall hoping I might make a sale. For a moment I
thought she would ask if I had any of the wonder mineral but was glad that she
didn’t because none was available and the waiting list already long. It really
did have a special place in the hearts and minds of the fraternity but then how
had she known about it? I was curious and wanted to ask but didn’t. So far that
day my sales weren’t up to much. I needed to concentrate on taking some money
and the situation seemed opportune. Could I interest her in a nice piece of
Rose Quartz I ventured? That piece I had there near the front of the table was
special. Just in from Madagascar. A beautiful rose colour and lovely to touch.
“Perfect for calm and
tranquillity,” I enthused. “A really loving stone.”
“You mean shagging…” she said matter of fact. “I’m not looking for
healing. “I’m more into something that’s activating
and enervating.”
I followed her eyes as
they ran over the stall. “Something like Moldovite!”
I saw where she was
looking. There was a beautiful pendant lying near one of the trees. A deep rich
forest green in colour. From Moravia in the Czech Republic where all the best Moldovite
came from. The mineral was rare and it didn’t come cheap. It was certainly an
activating stone and she knew it.
“How much?” she said
picking it up. “It hasn’t got a chain or anything.”
The chain was
incidental. A freebee chucked in for the kind of money I wanted.
I thought quickly. She
certainly wouldn’t have it.
“A really fine piece I
said lightly “and at a very good price. A hundred and sixty, nothing less. It’s
one of the best pieces I’ve had.”
She looked at me
disdainfully. “You’re a cheeky bastard,” she said warmly. “I know your kind all right! Dirty as the night
is long.”
Somehow I liked her
for that. “That’s pleasure,” I said sweetly. “You know what you’re holding is
special.”
“Give you one-forty,”
she shot back. “Can’t do any more.”
I considered, then
shook hands at one-forty-five. A good deal for both of us I thought till she
pulled out a wallet bulging with twenties.
“And a nice silver
chain she insisted,” asking me to fasten it round her neck.
I did so graciously
and with no small degree of affection. It looked good on her and it pleased me.
It wasn’t the money I
reflected, just that she had her own kind of class and had it in spades, only
it wasn’t my kind of class. I wished her well silently, hoping that the man she
met and fell for wouldn’t hurt her too much. Where she’d got that kind of money
I wouldn’t ask but she certainly had a real eye for quality.
The sale wasn’t over.
Her friend, a blonde piece of work if ever there was one, grabbed the Rose
Quartz. I could tell that she liked it. For twenty-five it was a steal and she
knew it.
There was something about
both of them as they pranced away out of sight They’d both bought qualitied
things which is more than I can say about some of the purchases made by women
from Chelsea or Kensington. Only these two weren’t Chelsea or Kensington and
never would be. They were different kinds of lighthouses that a man can’t take
his eyes off. Indeed, the history of the British aristocracy is littered with
doxies like these. Raunchy slags who knew how to press all the right buttons.
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