"Hey Cel! Do you think that some makeup and fake nails would satisfy the Italian stripper mood?" That butthole is just trying to make me mad. "Maybe, maybe not. What do you say grandpa?" "I don't know much about strippers, but one thing I do know is they are raunchy." He always satisfies me with the simplest answers. I love it. "Thanks." When I came out of the upstairs bathroom, I looked like a drunk catholic whore that just got shagged. The two men stared at me in different ways. Jameson stared as if he saw me naked, delighted and turned on, but my grandfather looked like he had just witnessed a tragedy. Tragedy for sure. My shorts were right up to my butt and my shirt ended at the bottom of my boobs. Everywhere except for my no-no places were showing. "Aw hell ya! You look fucking spectacular!" Everything sounds sexy because he is Scottish. I love his accent, but I hate his point. I look like a whore. I sure as hell hope Blackwell doesn't come today. I has been as slow ass day, then suddenly.. "Mr. Litchy! How are you!" Shit! I'd know that nasty stuck-up monkey anywhere. Blackwell is in the building. "Hello.. Mr. Blackwell. I'm fine." I heard a buzzer go off and my grandfather and I came downstairs. "So, Natalia, Terrence, how is the practice coming?" Think fast! "No so good. We have lot of problem." "Ok Natalia, I'll be there in one moment." Blackwell was looking around for something suspicious. "Jameson, who is this?" He had all eyes on me. Was my face red or was it white as chalk? Whatever I looked like, Blackwell didn't like it. "This is my girlfriend Natalia. She is a Russian model." Model.. He is bat shit crazy. I hardly look model material, but sure seemed to satisfy Blackwell. "Natalia, we should go upstairs now. Mr. Litchy has company and we are not done with our practice." "I did say I'd help you, didn't I? Well, please excuse me for a moment Mr. Blackwell. I must help my friends here." He gave us an annoyed face and beckoned us to go upstairs. "Shit Cel that was close. He really didn't care for you." We all gave an exhausted sigh. That'll be the last time I squeeze into this skin tight suit.
YOU ARE READING
The Breathing Brushstrokes
خيال (فانتازيا)Hi ya! I'm Celène de Challon, but my village calls me Veendasha. Veendasha means talented artist. And ya see, when your an artist in my town, your special. And if you're wondering, the cover of this book is one of mine. Yep! So you're probably wonde...
