Sadie Hawkins Day
by Sydney Michelle
Chapter Three
"Who gives this man to be wed?"
Jan takes my bouquet, beaming as though she were the one getting hitched. I wish!
Accessories? A perfectly manicured hand wearing a sapphire and diamond dinner ring hands my perfectly manicured hand wearing an engagement ring with a stone the size of Arkansas to Reverend Goodwife as I hear, "His father and I do."
The minister hands my hand to Blake. Jan straightens my skirts, petticoats billowing out from around my ankles.
Idiot! Mutton-headed dolt! Turn, run, it's not too late! What am I, a lamb for slaughter?
"You have come forward this day, in the presence of God and this congregation, to declare your intent to enter into a union, one with the other, . . ."
We were shepherded out, each going our own way. Jan and Jean were headed for gowns, stylish but limited by the assets none of us possessed. As for me, it was time for the full range of undergarments. Shoes would wait until after we all got back together, although that didn't stop my escorts from doing a little window shopping along the way.
In spite of my fears, and to my great relief, they did not haul me into lingerie boutiques. Blake explained that I needed the basics, and that there was no point spending a ton of money if I were going to be losing weight. As it was, the weight I was losing was in my pocketbook, or rather gaining on my credit card balance. When I barely got a glance making the first purchase, I relaxed some. If I just didn't look nervous, the salesclerks would probably figure I was just the poor moneybags dragged along for his girlfriend's shopping.
Since Thelma had thoroughly measured me as well as selling some nice put pricey underwear, Blake and Stacey were able to outfit off the size tags. When I objected that the quantity seemed excessive, Blake smiled. Then she took me aside and told me I needed to wear a variety of items to be used to what worked best. Unless I really wanted to make a mid-week trip to the laundromat at NSU, I would need enough to get me through the week so I could wash my "dainties" at her place. Still, three "Wonderbras" in different colors seemed excessive. Excessive until she informed she wanted variety when peeling them off me weekends.
"You do remember what this morning was like, don't you?"
Well, sirree, that got my undivided attention and had me in no mood to protest when they led me into the sleepwear department. "I can't keep sharing, Sugar-Bear. You'll need your own here." When Blake whispered, the warmth of her breath on my ear was almost like having her kiss it. And that made Uncle Peter stand up and take notice.
Unlike the foundations, which were pick and play, my mentors really got into sleepwear. Color, length, material, layers, and plain old removability were all factors to consider. This time I was stuck with holding up items for consideration. I got a couple of looks from across the floor from guys, but they looked sympathetic, as in "been there, done that, fellow beast of burden." At last my card lost more of its credit margin and I wound up with another shopping bag. This one contained a floor length black number with pleated shoulder straps, my very own blue baby doll that I hoped would evoke memories, and a red satin number with hip high side slits that felt so good sliding over my hands. I hoped it would not engulf Blake after role playing was done.
It wasn't until they pulled me over to "Women's" and started holding blouses up against me that I really began to worry. Department stores reflect noise like a mirror, and Shelby's voice carried like a bell. The second time she uttered, "Isn't this darling. And it's just Jaimie's color!"in a voice that could be heard back at ESU, I became alarmed. Poor, slow, terrible me had finally figured out that Jean's new shirt was really a blouse, but a whole new wardrobe seemed a bit much for a one time event. It was when Blake brought over a knee length black skirt and held it to my waist that the dim bulb finally lit.
"What are you doing? I won't wear a dress!" I hissed through a frozen smile.
"But Sugar-Bear, you have to practice, so moving in a skirt is familiar, comfortable, and you don't flash. Besides, you'll need something to wear when you have your hair done. You certainly can't go in your ball gown." At least Blake's voice didn't carry like a cannon shot.
"Hair done? What do you mean hair done?"
"If you're going to look presentable, to have a chance to win that prize, you'll need to have your hair done with some sophistication. Something up, with movement and style." She looked critically at my head. "Maybe you should get a little hairpiece, a wiglet would do."
"What?" I wanted to explode, but not over half of God's creation. "You never mentioned anything about that!"
"Oh boys! If you wear a special dress you need a special do to go with it."
"And jewelry." Naturally Shelby had to get in her favorite accessory.
"And jewelry. It's just part of the package. I thought you knew that."
"And what's next? A facial and a manicure with red nail polish?"
"That's the spirit, Jaimie. The whole nine yards. You do want Blake to be proud to escort you, don't you? I know I want Jodi to look fine for me."
I gaped. I just gaped. Shelby was actually excited at the prospect.
"C'mon, Baby, just for me. The whole thing's only for one day. And you'll like getting your hair done, it feels so good. Promise."
I had a sinking feeling that "one day" was more like the whole next month. But when Blake's lower lip curls out, I just can't say no.
So we emerged with my stack of bags growing. Now I had four blouses and three skirts, mid-calf, knee length, and mid-thigh, as well as enough panty hose and undies to outfit an army, and of course, the negligees. At least with those, I had reasonable hopes for some action.
At Dillon's the girls thought the day so far had been a great success. Drew and Nikki had found something they thought would show off Jan and Jean, and they had found some skirts and sweaters on sale, and it was all coming together so well. We, on the other hand, looked as though we were beginning to realize we might ought to ask for a last cigarette and a blindfold.
"What do you think? Shoes next? They'll need to get used to heels." Nikki was almost beside herself. Non-stop shopping can do that to a girl.
"Please, Nikki, we've been sports about this, but there's no way we can try on women's shoes without having everyone laughing at us." Jean looked determined. "There's no way I'm going into a shoe store, or department, or whatever, dressed as man, and try on women's shoes. No way, no how."
"I second that emotion." Jan leaned back and looked Drew straight in the eyes.
I relaxed. Surely this expedition was at an end, and we could return to what we had come down for, taking advantage of cool weather for some nice, warm, snuggling. Why we might even splurge for an overpriced bundle of wood, open up the fireplace, and get some real fires going.
Shelby looked around at the three of us. "You guys won't shop for heels in pants, is that it? Positively?"
"Positively. No way. That's final." Jan looked down at the table, the way he does when he doesn't want to be talked out of something, then looked up.
"Okey-doke. Order me a turkey salad and tea when they come by, will you?" Shelby pushed back from the table and turned away.
"Hey, don't go away mad." Jean looked startled at her sudden departure.
"Oh, I'm not. I'll be back in a jiffy."
It took her a little longer than that, the orders had come before she returned. Meanwhile the girls were congratulating us, and themselves, on the purchases. Fortunately the terms were general enough that anyone looking over and seeing our lengthening faces would assume only that we were contemplating the size of the bills. Which we were.
Shelby slipped back into her seat, beaming, just after we began to eat, except the girls were too busy talking to eat. "We're in luck."
"How?" I dreaded her definition of "luck."
"They have openings. I got you appointments. Eat up. The first one is in half an hour."
"Appointments for what?" Jan and Jean looked surprised, nervous.
"At Transformation's. Who's first?" She dug in without waiting for a reply.
"You did? Oh, you fellows are really going to enjoy it." Nikki beamed. "I want Jean to go first. He needs shaping the worst way."
"Enjoy what?" My plans for preparing for an evening's snuggle were going up in smoke.
"Your makeovers. Not a full one, there's not time, but a shampoo and set, a manicure, and your faces. That way afterwards you can shop for shoes and not feel embarrassed."
"And just how are we supposed to feel while this is going on?" I would have throttled her if she weren't completely across the table.
"Relaxed, Sugar-Bear. It has to be done sooner or later, so it might as well be sooner. Just relax and let the magic fingers do the work." Blake stroked my hand. "You really do need a manicure. Brilliant, Shelby. Every once in awhile, that brain of yours kicks into gear."
"Actually it was you talking to Jaimie that planted the seed."
"Me? When? Oh, back in Etudes."
I sat there stunned. Not only had a bunch of women's clothes been charged to my credit card, but I was booked into a spa? salon? for nails and a do. And apparently we would all emerge dressed so we could go shopping for shoes. No, make that heels.
"Eat up, Sugar-Bear. We don't want Nikki to have to take Jean all by her lonesome. Besides, we can look through the style books to find something nice."
Don't want Jean to go alone? How about not at all? Suddenly the girls had appetites and we had none.
"Blake Marie Jones, will you have Jaimie Alba Blair to be your lawfully wedded wife, to live together in Holy wedlock? Will you comfort, honor, and keep him, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, cling to him, and keep fast unto him, so long as ye both shall live?"
"I will."
The women clung to our arms with grips of steel. We had no choice: we were propelled to Transformations. Fortunately for the little dignity that remained, Transformations wasn't an "in plain sight" mall shop. It had walls, and a reception area, with all the action tucked safely out of sight. Southern women still prefer to walk in and out and pretend that nothing went on for the hour or so they were out of sight, other than a little "freshening up." Of course we would be exposed to the clientele inside. I could hardly guess whether that would be a greater shock to our systems or theirs. Either way, I'd have given odds that someone would either run screaming from the salon or be carried out comatose before all was said and done.
The receptionist and cashier, a very nicely put together brunette, the place certainly had style from the get-go, greeted us warmly, then settled us into chairs with drinks before calling up the stylist, a woman with black hair in a soft Gibson named Loretta. She had Jean and Nikki whisked off before we knew it, talking calmly to Jean as if there were nothing odd at all about making over a man.
She may have been calm, but butterfly wings were beating in my stomach a mile a minute. I couldn't decide to scrunch and hide or sit still as if this were an everyday thing, and didn't every man come to a beauty salon to have his hair trimmed? Blake held my hand under the style books and that helped, although the styles she liked, all bridals and proms, didn't. Up, she definitely wanted, and the styles she really liked would have cost a fortune in extra hair. Jan was petted by Drew, but he seemed really interested in the style books. Shelby had naturally discovered the salon's costume jewelry line. It might not have been real, but it sparkled.
I started sucking soda like there was no tomorrow before Blake pulled my hand down. "It's going to be awhile. You don't want to have to dash for the restroom in the middle of something. Take it easy. They'll give you another when you're under the dryer."
"The dryer? Don't they use blow guns or something these days?"
"Relax, it'll be fun. That's when they'll do your nails. And it will give us an idea how your hair takes a set for your prom do."
"Prom do? What about a simple little page? That's ambidextrous enough."
"Do you mean ambiguous, as in vague? Or androgynous, as in male and female?"
"Either. Both. Blake, I don't, people think, I'm, . . . Dammit, I like girls! You especially."
"That's sweet. But men have played women's roles for eons. And men at court after Cromwell were absolutely gorgeous. Long, curling love locks were mandatory for awhile."
I gave up. I already knew that when Blake had her mind made up, you might as well lie back and enjoy the ride. Either that or decide to get off the roller coaster altogether.
Blake sensed I was anxious. She held my hand, supporting me, and the warmth of her hand on mine was comforting. I began to breathe easier.
Sooner than I would have wanted, Loretta was back, trailed by a stunning Teutonic Goddess, with elaborately braided, waist long, flaxen hair. She smiled at me, then at Jan. If all the stylists looked that good, maybe I shouldn't be so picky.
"Let's see, which of you is mine? Do you have a preference, Adelaide?"
"I'll take the blonde if it's alright with his lady."
"So why don't you come back with me, Honey?" Loretta gently took my hand. I floated off the chair staring into gorgeous brown eyes with the longest lashes imaginable. If I had been a puppy dog, my tail would have thumped. "So what would you like for me to do for you today?"
She had me surprisingly calm as she handed me to the shampoo girl. Blake went off with her while I was taken back to a changing room. The clothes came off, the salon smock went on, and suddenly panty hose didn't feel so ridiculous. Washed and towel turbaned, I didn't look so different from the other patrons. I felt an urge and the shampoo girl led me to the rest room.
As I was led to the styling chair, I glimpsed Loretta settling Jean under a dryer, his hair in red curlers, his head wrapped in a pink net. I started to smile as he patted the curlers before settling under, but then I realized when Loretta put me under, I too would probably look like I could get satellite TV without a dish.
Blake waited in a styling chair, one of two in a partitioned area, a couple of books open on the counter. Evidently she and Loretta had talked as Loretta finished rolling Jean. She smiled at me and stroked my hand. I was getting a lot of stroking, but I needed all of it.
Loretta was back in a flash, putting me in a cape, combing out my wet hair, telling me what a good head of hair I had, how it would probably hold a curl and could do almost anything. She chattered along gently, asking me questions that could be answered yes or no without making me feel as though I were being interrogated. She confirmed we, meaning Blake, were interested in updos and that I would need to look stylish for the Sadie Hawkins Dance, since I would dress. She didn't miss a beat, telling me she thought it was wonderful that I could be so confident and I would have a good time, both primping for the dance, and afterwards. And then she told me she had a friend, Antoinette, who was a lot like me, same red hair, who looked just wonderful with long hair, and long hair was so versatile, you could do so much with it. And it was sexy, to boot. Did I want to try a hairpiece for the dance, so I could get the feel of long hair, I might like it, Antoinette certainly did, even with her long hair.
She was so good that I actually relaxed as she sectioned and trimmed my hair, turning my head gently to position it. Wearing an updo was a fine idea, why wouldn't someone want an updo, they were flattering and you weren't always fighting loose strands. A hairpiece sounded fine, just not a big one since I didn't have much money, what with getting a dress for the Dance.
Loretta disappeared for a few minutes to start her next patron back to the shampoo bowls. Blake came up from her chair and held my hand. "How do you feel? Not nervous anymore? I told you you would enjoy it."
I nodded, feeling the strands swing and fall into place. "She's nice. And no one is staring."
"That's because you're going to be beautiful."
Loretta covered my head with small rollers, so many I lost count, all pulling my hair up toward the top of my head. Frankly I was mentally unfaithful to Bake every time her hands brushed my neck, which was often. I could hardly believe how good the gentle pressure felt on my scalp as she tightened each roller, securing each one tightly with pins. And then she put her hands on my shoulders, her fingers brushing down under the smock. I almost lost it right then and there.
"If you don't mind," her every request was a question, "I'll do your brows after you dry. That will give your nails more time to dry before you're done. Would you like to see your set?"
I nodded, intrigued by the first mysterious process that turns my hair from slightly wild mop to sleek, controlled curls. She handed a mirror, spun me gently around so I could use the wall mirror. Even in curlers, my face looked different, the oval shape more defined. I craned my neck, twisted to see the pattern of rollers marching up the back of my head. It was magnetic. My hand stole to the back of my head, patted a curler, tested the firmness of the pinning.
"I think he likes it." Loretta was grinning, pleased at my fascination, holding a blue net. "Just let me tie this on your head. It helps hold the set in place."
I held my breath as if the magic moment might cease if I breathed. The net settled on my brow, soft as spider web. Loretta draped it back, made a quick tie. She settled cotton pads over my ears, telling me they would keep my studs from getting too hot. And then she tied it in front and tucked the tails and took my hand. "Let's get you cooking."
The cape off, she had to lead me by the hand toward the dryers, I was so stiff from desire and barely breathing. There was a long row of chrome and plexiglass dragons, the hot curative for my setting lotion soaked hair and a chance for my stiffness to wane. Jean was still there, the manicurist working on his nails, Nikki sitting protectively beside him. He looked up, mouthed hello, smiled thinly. Apparently this makeover stuff wasn't too bad.
Loretta turned on the dryer, guided me into the chair, her hand upon my back. She could have put it anywhere, that would have been perfectly fine with me. I had never known anyone so gentle, so solicitous, and I wanted more. Perhaps I should get my hair done twice weekends, searching for the perfect style. Then this gentle creature could tell me I was wonderful and she could touch me. Before she put me under, I simply had to pat my curlers, trying to count them.
Blake knocked on the hood. I raised it so I could hear over the "whoosh" of warm air.
"Are you Okay? Do you mind if I slip out for awhile with Shelby? Tell the manicurist "Manchu Red" when she asks about a color? Okay?"
I nodded. She kissed me on the cheek, her hand resting on my thigh. She stood up, a little wide eyed, pointed an index finger down, smiled, and shook her head. And then she was gone.
I lowered the hood, picking up a styling book that Jean had looked through. It was full of elegant styles, covering Christmas balls, and New Year's parties, and Valentine's Dances. Valentine's! The Dance would be Valentine's weekend. Even if I were in a dress with my hair stacked to the ceiling, I was sure Blake would want me to do something romantic in addition. But the thought slipped out of my mind as I looked at the pinned up, curled styles that no longer seemed quite so strange and distressing.
Adelaide brought over Jan just as Loretta came for Jean, so I didn't lack for company. Jean held his hands out, fingers spread, protecting his nails, as Nikki lifted the hood, helping him up. When she felt his curlers, he tilted his head so she could get a better feel. The smile on his face said he enjoyed the sensation. I felt my hair beginning to tighten under the warm air, so I could second that emotion.
Drew helped seat Jan under the dryer, blonde hair and curlers faintly visible through the pink net. Looking closely as his fingers pressed the rows of curlers, I realized they were not all the same size and color as mine were. Obviously there was more to this hair setting business than I had imagined. He settled under, craning his neck to let the warm air rush around his head.
"Jaimie Alba Blair will you have Blake Marie Jones to be your lawfully wedded husband, to live together in Holy wedlock? Will you comfort, honor, and keep her, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, cling to her, and keep fast unto her, so long as ye both shall live?"
"I will."
Don't listen to me! Can't you people tell I'm being made to do this, I'm drugged, I'm drunk. I'm out of my mind? Of course not. All brides are a little crazy.
"The marriage of Blake and Jaimie creates a union of their families as well as their own. They ask your blessing on their union."
"We rejoice in your union and pray for God's blessing upon you and yours."
"Will all of you, by God's grace, do everything in your power to uphold and support these two persons in their marriage?"
"We will."
Don't rejoice, do something! Get me outta here! Momma, anybody! Call out the Army! Save me! Or is everyone in on this plot?
The plot thickened. The mire got deeper. A pretty blonde, hair falling down her back in a long page boy roll, pulled up a rolling cart and chair, placing them before me. She spoke, but I just shook my head, unable to hear for the roar of the dryer. She smiled and reached for the hood.
"Hi, I'm Rachel, your manicurist. Can I get you something to drink before we start? And what color do you want your nails?"
I guessed anything but clear would be obvious anyway, so going with Blake's choice seemed like the path of least resistance. My mouth was a bit dry, from the tension I supposed, so a diet soda would be appreciated.
"Let me start you soaking." She opened the lid on a shell shaped container and dunked my fingertips. "Back in a flash." She lowered the hood and disappeared from view.
Sitting there I had nothing to do. I couldn't talk to Jean since we couldn't hear one another. I couldn't look at magazines with just one hand free. All I could do was try to take in the sights, and smells, and feelings of that inner sanctorum of women, the beauty salon. It was a peek at forbidden fruit, even more so than being in bed with a woman. You were supposed to get there eventually, but a salon was forbidden territory, as secluded as any caliph's seraglio.
I have a sister, Gwen, so I had peeked into the mysteries of a woman's toilette. But only a peek and this was total immersion. The air was replete with strange odors, odors I could barely identify from watching a few home sets. Mom did that, but Gwen almost never. I was fascinated but the isolated location provided me few glimpses of the secret life of this feminine world.
Rachel reappeared, set a cup on the table. She went straight to work, smiling reassuringly at me from time to time. I didn't understand anything she did, so I closed my eyes and relaxed in the waves of warm air. I felt pushing on my cuticles, scraping under my nail tips, pinching as she removed hangnails, and twisting of my fingers that turned out to be her clipping and filing. Fingers dipped in and out of soaking solution as she worked back and forth on my hands. Mainly I sipped soda and wallowed in the sensation of hair tightening on curlers, getting a faint glimmer that my strands were becoming stiff in the heat.
There came a rapping, gentle rapping on the hood. Eyes opened to Rachel holding up a bottle of polish. The label on the bottle was about the color of a cardinal's plumage. She raised an eyebrow, cocked her head. I understood she wanted to know if the shade was alright. What did I know? I nodded and re-closed my eyes, luxuriating in the heat swirling around my head.
I felt coolness on my nails and opened my eyes. The wet polish was red, screaming red, on nails with slightly rounded tips! Did I think color wouldn't make much difference? Wrong, wrong, wrong! The color practically shouted for attention. It was just too late to do anything about it as she started on my thumb.
I sat there, numb, as she spread my fingers, my nails a flaming scarlet. She looked up and smiled as she dried my other hand, then returned to her work. In a few minutes I had a full set of polished nails that were as subtle as flashing neon. She reached across and raised the hood again.
"Keep your fingers spread out for a few minutes. It's quick dry polish, but give them five minutes to harden before you touch anything with them. And go easy for an hour or so so the polish doesn't dimple. It's been awhile since you had a manicure, hasn't it?"
I nodded Like never. Rachel moved her cart in front of Jan as I stared at my spread fingers. I could barely take in my fate, could almost see my hands turning off and on, a sign screaming, "Ten cents a dance."
Rachel had just started on Jan when Loretta brought over her client, a middle aged blonde in a red suit dress with her hair wrapped on very large rollers. She guided the woman under a dryer next to me, then lifted my hood. A quick feel up on top where my hair was longest preceded the announcement, "Fifteen more minutes." She was gone and I was left to cook. The blonde flashed a perfunctory smile, then settled into a romance novel with a long haired swashbuckler on the cover, his blouse open to his navel.
Rachel used a stick on Jan's nails. I was trapped, trapped as I had feared when Shelby announced this little project. But after a few minutes, I couldn't resist. I slipped a hand up under the hood and felt the curlers under the net. The hair on the lower curlers was definitely stiff, in thick strands. It was strange, unfamiliar, but somehow wonderful.
A bell rang. I started with surprise. The fan stopped whirring. It became strangely quiet. Slowly I began to make out noise in the salon. Eventually I realized the bell had signaled the end of my dryer time. I raised the hood, taking care not to bump my head. Rachel was applying deep pink polish to Jan's nails. Drew looked over, caught my eye, nodded approval.
I took a deep breath, reached up to my head. The curlers were not as tight, my hair definitely dry. I shut my eyes and felt, trying to count curlers. I had no idea why it was important but it was. Six, twelve, twenty, twenty-one, two, twenty-eight. One last touch. Thirty-two. Somehow it was satisfying to know there were so many.
Loretta appeared as if my magic, without my hearing footsteps. "Why don't you come over and sit? I'm still finishing your friend, but it won't be but a few minutes."
As I was led away, Adelaide hastened around the corner to check Jan. I noticed she wore running shoes, thick soles muffling the sound of her steps. I was relieved. My thick soled cross trainers didn't seem so out of place. I wiggled my fingers in support at Jan, before following Loretta, my hands back at the wrists, fingers spread so I wouldn't bump the fresh polish.
Jean was in the chair, back to me, holding up a hand mirror and turning his head. There was a small puff of hair at his crown, but the rest of his chestnut mane hung straight, with a slight turn under at the ends. The hair in back was high on his nape, the hair at his sides trailing down as his jaw line sloped forward. The style didn't scream "hairdo," but the overall effect was definitely not a "normal" man's hair style. Still, it looked nice, neat.
Nikki sat one chair over, looking very pleased. Jean's packages were in her lap, her eyes sparkled. Loretta spoke to her, something I couldn't catch, and she nodded.
Loretta went to work with her brush. The wall mirror provided only glimpses as she smoothed the puff, leaving just the slightest lift. What I noticed, what made Jean's style undeniably feminine, was the center part, deep and straight. Despite my own head full of curlers, seeing my jokester friend in a serious feminine hairdo was a shock. Seeing his tangerine tipped hands gesture around his head, moving out as if were appealing for more volume, was incredible.
The most astounding part was yet to come. Loretta turned the chair sideways so she faced Nikki, then leaned it back about half way. She picked up a box and a pair of tweezers, plucking out a dark fringe. She made a pass of a brush from a bottle and bent forward, working intently. She repeated the process three times more. Jean lay there quietly as Nikki rose, looked carefully at his face, nodded.
When Loretta straightened Jean up, she turned him so his back was to the mirror. For the first time, he saw me sitting there. "Why, hello, Jaimie. How do I look?" Loretta handed him a mirror. He held it in his lap while he turned his head, giving me a good luck.
I couldn't say anything. His do framed his face, a face carefully made up in brown shades to emphasize his cheekbones, a face sporting dark red outlined lips. His brows were thinned and arched along his brow ridge, and darker than I remembered. His eyes were subtly shadowed to extend the line out, making them appear wider. When his lids fluttered, there was a precise line of mascara, and it was evident, if you knew him, that Loretta had added false eyelashes. If I looked carefully, Jean was under there somewhere, under an attractive, if not stunning face.
"Well? Don't tell me all my work was for nothing." Loretta stood there with crossed arms as Jean raised the mirror, lifted a hand to push up the bottom of his hair.
"No, it wasn't. It's just, well, I have no idea what to say."
"How about, 'I like it?' Or, 'It's very pretty?' After all, you're up next."
That's precisely what I was afraid of. But Jean looked pleased, turning to see the back and his face at the same time.
"It is nice. His hair is so neat. It's just that it's, it's so, so different!"
"That'll do, after all you're a virgin at this. Honey, if it weren't different, it would all have been a waste of time."
At that moment Blake came hustling up, saving me from having to make more comments. "Did I miss anything?"
"No, we're done here. Loretta's ready to start on your Jaimie. C'mon, Jean, let's get you to the restroom. Back this way, right?" Nikki nodded towards the back hall.
"Across from the changing rooms." Loretta turned to me and held out a hand. "Now then, Honey; let's see what we can do with you.
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