stranger.
“This is the life, huh?” Vivian says dreamily. “This is the fuckin’ life.”
“Personally, I enjoyed the facial more,” I reply dryly.
My manicurist attacks my nails with a file and a vengeance and I jerk my hand away out of sheer terror. “No, no,” she scolds, “Nail ugly. Give hand. Me make pretty.”
I give her my left hand, saving my best hand in case she damages the other, praying she doesn’t have a chainsaw under her table.
Vivian continues in a lazy voice, “You know if they make a movie of our lives, I want Drew Barrymore to play me.”
“I want Queen Latifah to play me.”
Vivian gives me a strange look. “Queen Latifah? She’s black.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize we were dealing with reality here. Then I choose Hillary Swank.”
“Okay...” she relents. “I guess she’d look okay in dreads.”
Vivian’s tits buzz. She digs her cell phone out of its hiding place with her free hand, glances at the caller ID, and bites her lower lip.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Is it him? The Prince Charles guy?”
A lightbulb pops on over Vivian’s head. She looks at her Vietnamese girl and asks, “Wanna make a quick two hundred bucks?”
The manicurist’s eyes open wide at the prospect. Both sisters talk excitedly back and forth in Vietnamese, then Viv’s girl asks, “Do what?”
“Answer this phone and talk dirty to him.”
“Talk dirty?” the girl asks. Her twin talks to her in Vietnamese and they both giggle with their hands over their mouths.
“Real dirty,” Vivian says. “Nasty. Sexy. Dirty,” she emphasizes.
The girl smiles big and grabs the phone, answering, “Hello, big sexy man. Me talk dirty. Sexy nasty dirty.”
I hear a garbled male voice on the other end.
The little manicurist giggles and continues, “Me suck big dick. Ten dollar, titty only. Twenty dollar, me suck dick all night long. You likey suck? Me number one sucker. Hundred dollar, me suck dick, sister put thumb up ass. You likey big boy?”
Dial tone on the other end.
The manicurist frowns, shuts the phone and hands it back to Vivian. “No likey thumb up ass.”
That sends Vivian and I both into loud guffaws. The manicurists look at each other and chirp again in their own language. Vivian’s girl holds out her palm, saying, “Me two hundred. Sister one hundred.”
Vivian pulls the wad of hundreds out of her tits, peels off three hundred dollar bills and hands them to her, exclaiming, “Worth it. That was so fucking worth it.”
I’m still laughing when my little manicurist exclaims. “Done! Give other hand.”
I look at my done hand and flex it a few times. It doesn’t look any worse than it did before and it appears to be in working order, so I hand over the other.
“Think we can we go get my Harley after this?” I plead.
“Sure,” Vivian promises. “But first...” Then she says the two scariest words I’ve ever heard in my entire life. “...bikini wax.”
If Vivian can do it, so can I, I keep repeating over and over in my head.
It’s not helping at all.
I have allowed Vivian to lead me to a private back room in the spa and now I’m lying on a cold table bare-ass naked from the waist down. I’ve kept on my shirt and my leather jacket and boots in case I decide to flee.
There’s a pink curtain running down the middle of the room, separating me and Vivian. She’s over there just chatting away like she gets a Brazilian wax all the time. Maybe she does for all I know. Personally, I like my woman parts just fine. I don’t see any need to fuss with them. I fig leaf my privates with both hands and pray for this to be over real soon.
“You’ll love the feeling, Lee,” Vivian says from behind the curtain. “Smooth and silky.”
“I don’t want to look like a seven-year-old,” I grouse.
The door opens and Julia Child walks in. Not the real Julia Child, of course, but a big, older lady who’s the spitting image of Julia Child. She has huge hands
“This is the life, huh?” Vivian says dreamily. “This is the fuckin’ life.”
“Personally, I enjoyed the facial more,” I reply dryly.
My manicurist attacks my nails with a file and a vengeance and I jerk my hand away out of sheer terror. “No, no,” she scolds, “Nail ugly. Give hand. Me make pretty.”
I give her my left hand, saving my best hand in case she damages the other, praying she doesn’t have a chainsaw under her table.
Vivian continues in a lazy voice, “You know if they make a movie of our lives, I want Drew Barrymore to play me.”
“I want Queen Latifah to play me.”
Vivian gives me a strange look. “Queen Latifah? She’s black.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize we were dealing with reality here. Then I choose Hillary Swank.”
“Okay...” she relents. “I guess she’d look okay in dreads.”
Vivian’s tits buzz. She digs her cell phone out of its hiding place with her free hand, glances at the caller ID, and bites her lower lip.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Is it him? The Prince Charles guy?”
A lightbulb pops on over Vivian’s head. She looks at her Vietnamese girl and asks, “Wanna make a quick two hundred bucks?”
The manicurist’s eyes open wide at the prospect. Both sisters talk excitedly back and forth in Vietnamese, then Viv’s girl asks, “Do what?”
“Answer this phone and talk dirty to him.”
“Talk dirty?” the girl asks. Her twin talks to her in Vietnamese and they both giggle with their hands over their mouths.
“Real dirty,” Vivian says. “Nasty. Sexy. Dirty,” she emphasizes.
The girl smiles big and grabs the phone, answering, “Hello, big sexy man. Me talk dirty. Sexy nasty dirty.”
I hear a garbled male voice on the other end.
The little manicurist giggles and continues, “Me suck big dick. Ten dollar, titty only. Twenty dollar, me suck dick all night long. You likey suck? Me number one sucker. Hundred dollar, me suck dick, sister put thumb up ass. You likey big boy?”
Dial tone on the other end.
The manicurist frowns, shuts the phone and hands it back to Vivian. “No likey thumb up ass.”
That sends Vivian and I both into loud guffaws. The manicurists look at each other and chirp again in their own language. Vivian’s girl holds out her palm, saying, “Me two hundred. Sister one hundred.”
Vivian pulls the wad of hundreds out of her tits, peels off three hundred dollar bills and hands them to her, exclaiming, “Worth it. That was so fucking worth it.”
I’m still laughing when my little manicurist exclaims. “Done! Give other hand.”
I look at my done hand and flex it a few times. It doesn’t look any worse than it did before and it appears to be in working order, so I hand over the other.
“Think we can we go get my Harley after this?” I plead.
“Sure,” Vivian promises. “But first...” Then she says the two scariest words I’ve ever heard in my entire life. “...bikini wax.”
If Vivian can do it, so can I, I keep repeating over and over in my head.
It’s not helping at all.
I have allowed Vivian to lead me to a private back room in the spa and now I’m lying on a cold table bare-ass naked from the waist down. I’ve kept on my shirt and my leather jacket and boots in case I decide to flee.
There’s a pink curtain running down the middle of the room, separating me and Vivian. She’s over there just chatting away like she gets a Brazilian wax all the time. Maybe she does for all I know. Personally, I like my woman parts just fine. I don’t see any need to fuss with them. I fig leaf my privates with both hands and pray for this to be over real soon.
“You’ll love the feeling, Lee,” Vivian says from behind the curtain. “Smooth and silky.”
“I don’t want to look like a seven-year-old,” I grouse.
The door opens and Julia Child walks in. Not the real Julia Child, of course, but a big, older lady who’s the spitting image of Julia Child. She has huge hands
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