Please read When We Were Young Ch. 18 and this will make a lot more sense.
Special thanks to kenjisato for the editing, whom I cannot recommend enough.
Comments would really be appreciated.
**
The alarm clock on my side of the bed woke me up. Eight o'clock, Thanksgiving morning. I shut it off, quickly, and glanced at Linda, who smiled, sleep in her eyes.
"Five minutes, ma'am," I yawned, and she nodded, closing her eyes.
I am not a morning person, but I was trying. I crawled out of bed, kicked up the thermostat, went into the bathroom, used the toilet (not easy to do with morning wood), turned the shower on, and laid out the towels, trimmer, and her robe.
Back in the bedroom, I kissed her forehead.
"Shower's ready, ma'am."
"Thank you."
I pulled the covers back and helped her up. In the bathroom, I stood quietly while she used the toilet, then removed her Backstreet Boys t-shirt (don't ask) and sleep shorts and helped her into the shower.
I washed her body while she gradually woke up, neither of us speaking. She mewled while I washed her long hair, and I couldn't resist kissing her shoulder.
"Focus on your task."
"Yes, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am."
Finished, I wrapped her hair in a towel and dried her, then applied moisturizer to her body. She was as beautiful as ever, but I had gotten better at ignoring this while I worked. I draped a towel over the toilet seat, and she sat down, legs spread.
Using a beard trimmer, I trimmed her pubic hair short, then took a razor and removed a little cleft, creating a heart-shaped pattern. Then I took a wet washcloth and removed the trimmed hair, before giving her the hand mirror.
She nodded her approval, stood, and I helped her into her robe.
"Shower."
"Yes, ma'am."
Every morning we were together, usually just weekends since school started, this is how we began our day, the hair-trimming once a week. We often had sex before we got started, but once we were finished, we slipped easily into our roles. Bridget had recommended it, and it was a great reminder of our power dynamic. It put us directly into a sub-and-dom mindset, and I found it very calming. I also noticed Linda was more self-assured and radiated a quiet confidence.
When we were out together, waiters and salespeople gravitated to her naturally, and I had begun to notice this when we were out in a group, as well.
I stepped from the shower and frowned, seeing her in sweatpants and a sweatshirt, rubbing lotion on her face.
I dried quickly, pulled on some sweats, and stepped up and kissed her neck.
"Dressing you is my job, ma'am."
"I was cold. Look at it this way, now you get to undress me AND dress me," she smiled.
"Well, aren't you a genius?"
"I believe I am. Breakfast, please."
"Yes, ma'am."
I'd bought a coffee maker for the little kitchen upstairs, and fixed us each a cup, dug out the fruit plate I had stashed in the fridge last night, and popped a bagel into the toaster oven.
Linda was sitting in bed, up against the headboard, and I set the breakfast tray between us. Linda turned on our fancy new flat-screen television, which was all the rage in 2001, to the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, and we ate in companionable quiet.
The castle was empty for the first time since we had moved in, and we enjoyed the privacy we got too little of.
Mar and Mama were down in Georgia, visiting Mama's twin boys and daughter, on leave from the Coast Guard; Holly was in Indiana, visiting family; and Jazz and Thea had flown out to Seattle the previous weekend to spend some time with Miss Ruth and Cal on the bus.
Speaking of, they were enjoying themselves immensely, having visited the Grand Canyon, Las Vegas, San Francisco, and Napa Valley, then up the coast to Seattle. We spoke every few days and were looking forward to seeing them at Christmas.
Cal had sent me an email a week after they left with a link to an article in a Cleveland newspaper.
Cavs Release Brentford in Surprise Move
By Al Johnson -- Staff Writer
Jamaal Brentford, 26-year-old backup center entering his fourth season with the Cavs, was released unexpectedly yesterday, just days before training camp is set to begin. Brentford, who averaged 12.6 points and 7.8 rebounds last year, was thought to have an expanded role with the team this year. Obviously, that won't happen.
Reached for comment, GM David Hunterson said, "We had high hopes for Jamaal this year. On the court, he is quite talented. Off the court, well, there are just some things his talent can't overcome. In my seventeen years as a General Manager, I have made it a priority to meet with every player I trade or release, and try to find an opportunity for them elsewhere, be that in the NBA, or overseas, and to wish them well. That won't be happening with Mr. Brentford." Asked to elaborate, Hunterson "regrettably...declined."
When reached for comment, Brentford said he was "confused and mad," and referred questions to his agent, Boz Jackson, who said "I was given no reason for his release, but it's their loss," adding, "Jamaal will have no trouble finding a team that appreciates his supreme talent."
I'm not a revenge guy, not at all, but I smiled, then said a little prayer for KJ.
A week later, I saw a blurb online that he was still unsigned, and he and his agent had 'parted ways'. A month later, he was playing on a second-division team in Croatia, averaging twenty-seven points and sixteen rebounds a game against vastly inferior competition.
Mama had the stent put in, started on medication for her high cholesterol and blood pressure, and we had started walking nearly every day. She'd lost twenty-seven pounds in eleven weeks, and we were very proud of her; more importantly, she was proud of herself.
Mar loved school, and I spent Tuesdays with my girlfriend, doing whatever Mar had planned. It usually involved being out in public together, and more and more frequently, Mama would go with us. Mar would hang on my arm for a while, asking Mama to walk behind us, then have us switch places, so she could gauge the difference in reactions. Sometimes they were obvious and disgusting, but usually more subtle, and, if you weren't paying attention, you would miss it. Then Mar would send us off to get coffee or something, while she made a bunch of notes.
"It's going to be my thesis, I think. 'Openly Homosexual Relationships in Public', or something like that," she eventually told us.
Mama and I told her that if we were going to be guinea pigs, we deserved compensation. You can probably guess how she repaid us.
Holly's divorce had gone through yesterday, and she was relieved to have it over. She had given Wayne fifty million dollars and he had taken the job in Miami, then she gave Barb twenty-five million, keeping the rest, and the house, which she planned to sell. She told us she was going to go lay on a beach somewhere for a few weeks and decide what she wanted to do with her life, but I was sure she would come back to us; she loved working with plants as much as Thea, and was spending more and more time with her and Jazz.
Pam had told her husband, Gary, about her infidelity. She said he wasn't angry, just disappointed, 'which was a thousand times worse'. They went to see Carmen on our recommendation, and by Thanksgiving, Pam told me they were 'really talking about what we want and need' and their sex life was 'better than it had ever been'. Linda and I had been to dinner with them, and we really liked Gary, happy they were going to be okay.
DeeDee said everything was fine at home, and hinted at wanting to get together with Jazz and Thea again, but I don't think it had happened.
Candy and I went to lunch once, and we were becoming good friends, but we hadn't been together again. I wanted Linda to join us, and we had been too busy for that to have happened, yet.
Jazz, Thea, Mar, and I joined their Tuesday night bowling league. We were awful, but had a good time, and by Thanksgiving, most everyone had accepted Jazz, Thea, and Mar, or kept their bigotry in check around us. Partly because it was impossible to dislike Jazz, who liked everyone and worked tirelessly to be liked back. And partly because of Candy, Pam, Holly, and DeeDee, who went out of their way to show everyone how much they approved of us. Part of the reason we were so bad, I think, is because of how much effort we put in to being included. It shouldn't be that way, but that's the truth of it. It also provided a lot of material for Mar.
**
"I have a job interview tomorrow," Linda said, as we ate breakfast Thanksgiving morning.
"Really? How did that happen?"
"Bridget's partner, Andre, from Miss Ruth's party? He's president of Dynamic Wealth Bank. Bridget asked me for my resume a few weeks ago and he called me yesterday, said he wanted me to meet his IT director, John Bradford, about an opening they have."
"Wow, that's great, right?" I replied, noting she didn't seem very excited.
She sighed. "I want to earn my way to the top, not be given it, Tone, you know that. I appreciate what Bridget did, but I've worked too hard to just be given a job because of who I know."
"Why don't you wait until after your meeting before you decide they're just giving you a job because of Bridget? Maybe your resume blew them away, I mean, it's pretty damned impressive. Valedictorian in high school, top three in college, and straight A's in grad school. You're hardly scraping by."
She grinned. "Okay, I'll wait until tomorrow to decide they're just giving me a job because of Bridget."
I smiled and nodded. "That's my girl. You ready to get dressed?"
"Yeah. Let me set your outfit out first."
I took our dishes to the kitchen and made the bed while she laid my clothes out (dress pants, a button-down, and a sweater), then followed her along to the dressing room.
I removed her sweatshirt and slid a nude camisole on, then sat on a padded stool beside her, my head even with her breasts, while she put on her makeup and fixed her hair. The stool was new, Bridget's idea, and I loved it. We didn't talk, I just rested my arm on her leg, feeding off the connection. It wasn't lost on me that fifteen years ago I was in Miss Ruth's office, looking up at her.
When she was ready, I removed her sweats, slid nude satin panties on, nude thigh-highs, then a green silk blouse, knee-length brown skirt, a tweed jacket, and two-inch heels.
"Well?"
"Beautiful. Perfect for a family reunion."
She smiled, softly. "Go get dressed, honey."
**
"How's school?" she asked, as we drove the two hours to the senior citizen day center slash nursery school my family rented for our yearly reunion.
"Fine."
"Are you passing?" she asked, nonchalantly, but I caught the concern she tried not to show.
My online lectures and assignments for the week dropped Monday mornings, and I typically chose to grind through until midnight or so, which was usually enough to get things done for the week. Online classes seemed easier, thankfully, than in-person ones, and I was taking fewer hours than Linda and Sharon.
But, between you and me, I hated it. I just didn't see the point. I liked my Thursdays with the landscapers, hanging with the security folks on Wednesday evenings, learning to be a good sub with Miss Bridget, even my meetings with our accountant, Mistress Mary. As a result, I suffered from a serious lack of motivation. Linda wouldn't let me quit, though, saying you never knew when I might need it.
I chuckled. "Yes, straight C's; one's almost a B. Don't worry, I'll pass."
"I would be very disappointed if you didn't," an unmistakable warning communicated.