They watched Julie and Monica walk into Julie's bedroom, Veronique with a worried frown on her face. Veronique shook her head. “These English girls are never taught to be the woman. My mama showed me how to sit, stand and walk in a way that attracts the mans attentions. They have no idea.”
“It’s just ‘attention’, mon petit chou-chou, not ‘attentions’.”
As Julie grew, her bedroom changed. It no longer held dolls and a play house. She'd gone through the stage of putting rock stars on her walls and moved on to a pleasant, sunny room with quilts on the bed and pictures of her family and friends on her dresser.
Veronique said, “English is tres ennuyeux. I looked it up to say it in the English. ‘Ennuyeux’ means boring, stupid, awkward, tedious and annoying. That is what this language is.”
“That’s all true but it is the language of Canada today.”
“If we had stayed in Ontario, I could hear French spoken every day.”
“That’s true, but we are here.”
“That’s not the only thing. The weather out here makes my skin dry.”
Etienne looked at her steadily for a few seconds. Veronique frowned and said, “Well alright, if I still had skin, it would be dry all the time. Anyway, I can’t stand the rain in the winter.”
“I know, mi amour. But we stray from the topic which is how to get the dull-witted Jim to notice the beautiful Julie.”
“Bah, that is easy. I will her mind open to the possibilities of her feminine side. It will surprise her English morals, and I will love it. But first, she must have a case of the desperates. She must fail at something she most wants to make happen."
CHAPTER 7
That night, Etienne and Veronique followed Jim to a party thrown by Jim's former fraternity. Jim stood six feet four inches tall. In addition to playing high school basketball he had also been on the swim team at his high school and college. His shoulders stretched far enough on each side to have their own time zone. His smile, dark hair and deep blue eyes could turn any woman under the age of eighty into a puddle of desire. As Jim went in the door, an acquaintance named Inez Moreau took his arm.
“Jim, it’s nice to see you. Come with me. I’ll introduce you around.” Jim went.
As was true to his nature, he'd exercised good sense in the fraternity he’d chosen. Pi Delta Zeta stood out from the rest of the fraternities. They had strict limits on drinking and rules against cheating on tests. The club house was always neat; not because the young men were neat, but because the fraternity hired a cleaning company to pick up, dust and polish, and a woman to cook and wash up. It cost twice the price of any other fraternity, but Jim came from major money, and he could afford it.
Inez didn't fit, or rather, she fit into the fraternity like a marauding mountain lion in a flock of lambs. She was the product of greed, naked ambition and talented plastic surgery. Her eyes were the only thing that hadn’t been expanded, trimmed or sucked. In a soft light, she looked experienced and intriguing. Daylight made her look hard and avaricious. Her bleached blonde hair failed to soften her look.
Standing in a corner, three inches above the floor, a man who had been known as Jacques Moreau watched Inez capture Jim. Jacques had been hung in 1924 for murdering an elderly couple for the rent money that they kept in a glass jar under their bed. His eyes sunk back inside his skull as if they were recoiling at what he’d done. His mouth was a thin, corrupted pink line across his face. His body was emaciated and weak. He moved his neck around as if it still hurt.
He waved his hand and Inez pressed Jim’s arm into her left breast. She whispered in his ear, “I’d like to talk to you some place private. I need your help on something.”
She didn’t wait for an answer. She grabbed his hand and pulled him into a spare bedroom. Jacques floated through the door and stood directly behind Inez talking into her ear.
Jim asked, “What is it?”
“I’m thinking of having plastic surgery. I wanted your opinion of my boobs.”
Jim frowned. He considered ‘boobs’ to be crude and unromantic.
Inez missed it. So did Jacques. Neither had much regard for other people, so they paid little attention.
Inez stripped out of her blouse and threw it on a chair. She’d spent time picking out the best bra to use on Jim. Jacques was a big help. He’d known dozens of women, most of them purchased for an evening, and he remembered what he’d liked. He helped her choose a push-up bra with wide set straps and lace along the top. Her already augmented breasts made a lovely fullness above the fabric of the bra.
She turned from side to side. She stopped and held up a hand. “Wait a minute. How can you give me a good opinion with the bra in the way?” She unhooked it and threw it on top of her blouse.
The previous year, a talented plastic surgeon had changed her 32A breasts into 32C with the careful addition of pads of fifth-generation, semi-solid, silicone gel. Inez paid him partly in cash and partly with access to her new body.
She turned her weapons on Jim. “Should I get implants? What do you think?” Once again, she raised her hands, “Stop. How could you know it you haven’t touched them?”
She pounced, leaping toward him and snagging his hands which she held on her manufactured breasts. “Now, you can make a judgment. No, you can’t. You need to see my entire body to see if bigger boobs would fit with my figure.”
She reached for her skirt. Jim stopped her with his hand on hers. She said, “You don’t want to?”
Jim said, “You're beautiful, but we don’t know each other well enough to make love. I think that's where this is headed.”
Inez responded without thinking, which meant she told the truth. “I don’t think you’re understanding me. I just want to fuck, none of that ‘make love’ shit.”
“I’m sorry. I have to have a relationship with a girl before we get intimate.”
Inez took a few seconds to readjust her expression. She held her hands over her breasts. “Good for you. You passed. I have that little test for men who interest me. If you’d accepted my offer, I would have dumped you. I’m tired of men who go to bed a few hours after they’ve met a girl.”
Inez watched him move away. She put on her bra hurriedly. “Don’t leave. You passed.” She scrambled into her blouse. “Like I said, that was a test.” She buttoned the last button on her blouse.
Jim had the door open again. “I’m glad I passed. Why don’t we go back to the party?” He hurried out and closed the door behind him.
Jacques said, “Bastard.”
Inez said, “Bastard.”
CHAPTER 8
Julie stood next to the table with drinks and cookies, Monica by her side. Julie said, “I don’t know what to do.”
“Do anything. You know doing nothing won’t work. Just talk to him. See if that helps.”
Julie’s expression continued to be grim and unhappy. “What will that do? I’ve talked to him a lot, and he still sees me as a little girl.”
“Well, right now, I can’t think of anything else. Just talk to him to make sure he knows you’re still alive.”
“Alright. I’ll give it a try.”
Julie walked slowly over to Jim as he chatted with two other men. She touched him on the arm. “Hi Jim.”
Veronique stood at Jim's elbow. She waved her fingers over his eyes. They darted here and there without landing on Julie.
He said, over her head, looking at someone else, “Hey, Julie. Enjoying the party?”
“Yes. It’s nice.” She paused. “No drunks.”
Jim chuckled. “Everything’s better when there’s no drunks around.”
“How’s work?” Jim scanned the crowd instead of looking at her.
“It’s about the same. Vancouver Island isn’t a hotbed of violence and lawbreaking. I mostly break up family fights and haul drunks down to the jail.” It was obviously a canned response, his typical answer to the same question. Julie didn’t know what to do. Why won’t he look at her? She was growing so frust
rated, she felt tears sting the backs of her eyes.
“Okay. I’m going to talk with Monica again. See you later.”
She walked across the floor to her friend. “Complete failure. Maybe I will take my clothes off. At least he’d look at me for more than a second at a time.”
"I was watching,” Monica said, incredulously, “He never saw you, not even for a second."
"It's because I've always been there. You and I have been best friends since the third grade. I'm like his sister. Invisible."
"This party is a total waste. Let's go home."
Julie stood at the front door. Her mouth suddenly turned into a straight line across her face. She said "I have one more utensil in my drawer, and I'm going to use it."
The big room in the frat house had one light that played down on the center of the dance floor. The rest of the room was in shadow. They'd hired a DJ for the party. Julie spoke softly to him and he nodded.
The music ended and the dancers drifted off to the edges of the floor.
Julie walked out on the empty floor and stood under the light shining down. The light emphasized her blonde hair and her long graceful arms. The DJ waited until the crowd quieted down and started a song meant for slow dancing. It made them think of soft skin and quiet whimpers.
Julie listened for a moment then did something she'd learned in dance class. She bent her knees and arched her back. She looked straight up into the central light. She closed her eyes. The expression on her face reminded everyone of a woman basking in warm sunlight. She put both hands on the back of her neck and slid them up into her hair. This made her neck look long and graceful. She waited a few moments for the crowd to appreciate her before she dropped her head and began swaying her hips from side to side. She'd worn a white blouse and tight, short, black skirt. Her light skin glowed and shimmered against the fabric. She lifted her arms with painful grace over her head and let them writhe slowly around each other.
A few seconds later, she bent her knees and lowered herself. She dropped down very slowly and pushed her hips from side to side farther and farther. She paused at the bottom, with her rear end no more than three inches from her shoes and allowed her arms to fall down her body until they hung by her sides.
She began the trip up. Her hands slid up her legs, catching her skirt for a second and pulling it up until a length of leg showed.
Her hips never stopped moving.
She moved her hands up her hips, pausing again to bring attention to their womanly curves. She moved her hands from her sides to her belly then up just below her breasts.
She stopped her hips and waited while the crowd closed their collective mouth. Keeping her hips still and moving nothing else but her hands, she let her hands drift up until they cupped her breasts. She paused for a moment before she gave her hands permission to move up her chest and neck and back into her hair.
The song ended. Julie walked off. The room was completely silent and stayed that way until Julie and Monica walked out the door.
Monica said, "I didn't know you could do that! It was beautiful... and so sexy. Wow!"
"Thanks. The question is, did it do any good?"
Monica frowned, "No. Sorry, honey, nothing. You attracted the attention of everybody in the room but Jim. My stupid brother never saw you."
Julie stopped walking. "I feel like crying. I did everything I could think of to get him to look at me. None of it worked."
CHAPTER 9
Veronique nudged Etienne. “It is what I told you. The girl has no idea of how to be the woman.” Etienne nodded. Veronique continued, “It is the basic part of being female. We have to know the ways of capturing and controlling the mans in our lives. How else can we move forward?”
Etienne said, “What should she do then, hit him with a heavy stick?”
“She must use all of her weapons. She only uses the weak things to get him. She doesn't know what else to do. I will show her, and she will succeed."
Etienne floated around until he stood in front of Veronique. “Let me look at you.”
Veronique delightedly turned around for her husband. “Do you think I’m still the entrancing woman?”
“Most assuredly.” He paused. “Do you remember that little hotel room in Nanaimo?”
“Our wedding night?”
“Yes. I was so taken with you. You were so beautiful.”
Veronique sighed deeply. “Thank you, Etienne. You make me feel very feminine.”
They both faced the party again. Veronique said, “When we make the finish here, let’s visit our great-grandchildren. Michelle is having nightmares.”
“She needs the soothing hand of her arriere grand mere on her anxious brow.”
“Yes. I can give her the loving of my heart. She feels it.” Veronique studied Julie. “I have work that must be done with that petit Anglaise. She will lose the mans if she doesn’t change her actions. I will do that after her eyelids fall in sleep.”
That night, Julie went to sleep in her oversize tee shirt and panties. She tossed and turned for a few minutes then settled down and let herself dream.
She couldn’t see Veronique hover above her. She couldn’t hear Veronique say loving words to her and make suggestions about the direction of her dreams.
Julie found herself standing in the center of a room with seats on every side. Handsome young men filled the room. All looked directly at Julie with serious expressions on their faces.
She looked down at herself. She wore a dress she would never have worn in her real life. It came down just below her rump. Her long legs trailed down to the floor. She paused a moment to study her legs. They curved deliciously from her thighs through her perfect knees and down to shoes that were all straps with very high heels. She bent one knee and brought her leg in front of her to examine it. She was surprised to hear a massive gasp from the men in the room.
Her dress sparkled with golden threads. It covered her, but it was translucent. As she moved, the dress allowed a breast to show then her lovely ass, then her waist. The men stared at her as if she were a time bomb ready to go off.
She looked at their faces. They were trapped by her extraordinary beauty. She held her arms away from her body and turned around.
Veronique's influence changed the direction of the dream. Up to that point, it followed most girl's fantasies, and it would have gone no further if Veronique hadn't interceded.
Without thinking about it, Julie lifted her dress over her head and dropped it to the floor. She stood in front of a group of young men wearing only her high heels. She didn't blush or cover herself with her hands.
Veronique told her to sway her hips. Soft music filled the room. She slipped her hands into her hair and swung her hips from side to side in an outlandish movement just as she had done in the frat house. She bent her knees and dropped down slowly. When she was all the way down, she let her hands fall to her sides.
She felt her hands touch her legs. Once again, her hands framed her hips then caressed her tummy. She gasped.
Her hands traveled up her naked skin until they reached her breasts. She held them up as if they were ripe fruit, and she was offering them to the men around her. She felt the heavy, full softness of her breasts and gasped again. When her hands slipped into her hair, she turned in a circle, swinging her hips in a circle. She let the men study each side of her body.
She’d been aware of male breathing since this part of the dream started. As she twirled slowly in place, the sound stopped. Every man in the room held his breath and drank her in.
She’d never felt like this. She said to herself. "I am beautiful. I am desirable. Men want me, and I want them to want me. It feels delicious." All her life, she'd enjoyed her parents and her own approval of her femininity. She moved on to include men and their special kind of appreciation.
She finished the circle and smiled at all of them. They stood and clapped and yelled and stomped their feet. It was all for her.
Etienne and Veronique watched
from overhead. Etienne said, "That has done it. She knows how desirable she is. Our work is done."
Veronique shook her head. "It is not done. She hasn't begun the part most important. It is quite one thing to show a girl that she is beautiful and that the mens will want her. It is another thing that she knows that the mans touch is welcome and good." Veronique raised her translucent finger and waved it in the air. "It is the difference between little girls and grown women. Grown women know what a man can do to her and likes it. That we must bring to pass right now. We must go back to the lovely Julie and give her another dream."
Julie found herself walking down the hall of an opulent hotel. She wore an expensive, exquisite light blue gown that covered very little above her waist and flowed in graceful folds down to her feet. She looked at a mirror at the end of the hall and wondered who that extraordinary woman was. She knew it was a stranger. She would have remembered anyone so sophisticated and lovely as the woman in the mirror. She kept walking and studying and thinking.
It wasn't until she was within ten feet of the mirror and raised her hand to touch her neck and the reflection did the same thing that she realized with a shock that the reflection was her own.
She tried to reconcile her own image of herself, created as she grew up, through countless pictures taken by her mother at proms and graduations, with the fully formed woman in front of her. Her grown self looked like a stranger.
Jim appeared behind her, wearing a tuxedo and looking very mature and handsome. He was serious and intense.
He put his arms around her. Julie smiled. She noticed that a good-looking man was holding the woman in the mirror. Julie and her reflection shared a feminine expression of satisfaction.
When Jim wrapped his arms around her, she'd held her arms against her chest. Jim gently pulled her arms down and moved his hands toward her chest. Julie watched them come closer. She knew they would land on her breasts. She felt a moment of alarm until she saw the woman in the mirror. Her reflection smiled in joy as her Jim cupped her breasts in his hands.
Bears of Burden: THORN Page 51
