Peaches

The Boy

Jean had spent the last three weeks lounging, and not doing much else. Each morning, she was allowed to wake at any time she felt, and all she had to do was ring a little bell on her bedside counter and Minnie would be there in a matter of minutes with her breakfast. After she had finished the meal, which coincided of anything from delicately poached eggs served on french bread to the sweetest of crepes, smothered in a thick layer of strawberry jam and whipped cream, Minnie would dress her. The outfit was never decided by Jean, and had been picked out for her, assumedly by James. It was strange at first, having someone remove her nightie and view her naked self in such a casual manner, but after a few days, Jean began to expect it. She would hold up her arms at the opportune moment for her blouse and lift her feet into the t-straps without having to be told. Despite the unusualness, Jean didn't mind it at all. It was lovely to be doted upon.

Today, Minnie slid a cream blouse with puffy sleeves onto her body, accompanied by a russet skirt with matching nylons. For the first time, she found that she was regularly expected to wear underwear. Back with her parents, she would get away with only panties, but now she was dressed in silly girdles and slips, things she had thought previously to only be worn only by movie stars. Nylons were the worst out of everything, and she found she almost always shred them to pieces with her nails by the end of the day. It was a waste of money, Jean lamented, but Minnie shushed her, saying they were only 25 cents a pop, and James wanted her to be presentable at all times.

Jean sighed as audibly as she could, but Minnie did remind her of the look on his face as he came home. He was always surrounded by a cloud of stress, and even slouching as he returned home from work, but as soon as he saw Jean, dressed in the way he wanted her, he stood straight and smiled.

They would eat dinner then, quickly and quietly, her feet always brushing against his beneath the table. When they finished, he would usher Minnie away, as fast as he could without outright shoving her. Then, and only then, James would painstakingly remove each and every article of clothing she had on, stripping them from her body as if they were a coat of dried paint, kissing each inch of skin as it became visible. By the time she was entirely nude, Jean felt like she was about to burst into flame, and immediately pounced. James said that was his favorite part.

After Minnie tightened the buckles on her shoes, there was a sudden rapping at the door. Jean went to go relax in her usual spot, hidden on a pale pink lounge chair with giant fluffy pillows. After flipping through the stray Vogue magazines that had piled around the sofa's clawfoot legs, looking for some articles that she had only skimmed, she couldn't help but listen to the Minnie at the door.

"Boy—listen to me, you're not listening—what did I tell you about hanging 'round here?" Minnie paused. There was a response from out in the hallway, but it was too far away for Jean to hear. She tried to get up from the sofa silently, cursing the clicks her brand new shoes made against the floor. "You're gonna get yourself in a whole load of trouble. If Mister ever saw you looking for what I know you're looking for—" Jean's foot managed to collide just a bit too sharply with the tile, alerting Minnie and whoever else was outside the door of her presence. Jean heard a sigh.

"Miss Jean?" Minnie said, stepping back inside. Her left eye was twitching. "Someone here wants to speak to you."

Jean smiled and stepped outside. The boy, the one that had given her now forgotten luggage, stood with his arms behind his back. She had seen him briefly since, but he'd never spoken to her and had always avoided her eyes. Before he even said a word, a drop of sweat fell from the tip of his nose.

"Hello, Jean. Could you, uh, could you just," The boy scooted behind her, shutting the door. "Hi." He held out his hand awkwardly, taking hers and shaking it.