Nine Months Month Eight
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Three Months In Parsi Part Eight free porn video
Jacque looked so cute trying to conceal his shiny nails in his pants
pockets. I nudged him and asked if his hands were cold. It was about 79
degrees on a bright Paris morning.
"Oh, no they are not cold, Wendy. I don't know why you did this to me. I
felt so strange having a woman put polish on my nails. I have never done
anything like that before. What will people say?"
"Jacque, you are worrying about nothing. A man can be just as fastidious
as a woman about cleanliness. And you nails were a mess. I don't know how
you can serve your customers in your shop with such poor attention to
your nails. I bet your assistant will tell you sometime soon how much
better your nails look and she will be happy she has such a caring boss.
Now don't hide your hands. A man deserves a manicure from time to time.
This was your time. Let me see you nails."
Jacque reluctantly took his hands out of his pockets and folded his
fingers into his palm as a man would do to show them to me.
"No, no, not like that. If you have pride in how your hands look you will
splay your fingers wide and with your palm out."
I showed Jacque how I inspected my nails, as a woman would do, proudly
displaying each painted gem.
Jacque looked around the street and then help his hand and fingers out as
I had instructed him to do.
"That's better, dear, they do look lovely. Clarise will do a good job for
you. I am sure you will be making your own appointments after you get all
the glowing compliments on your nails"
"Now, let's have a bite of lunch before you have to get to work."
I took his hand and gently kissed his nails. They were lovely.
"Jacque, would you mind if I called my friend, Claudette, and see if she
could meet us at the bistro for lunch. I can't believe that you two have
not yet met. I have told her all about you and she is eager to meet you."
Jacque, with his mind on his nails, had no problem with this suggestion.
I called Claudette and she agreed to meet us at Cafe de Flore in ten
minutes. Jacque and I got to the Cafe and were able to get a table for
three on the sidewalk. I loved the feel of the breeze ruffling my skirt
and loved to look at Jacque as he still tried to keep his nails
unobserved.
Claudette bustled in with a wave of Chanel #5 and all the men at
adjoining tables took note. Jacque rose from his seat and took
Claudette's hand to kiss in the parisian manner. He seemed stunned at
Claudette's beauty. Claudette allowed her hand to be kissed and then took
hold of Jacque's hand and with a smile inspected Clarise's handiwork.
"Well, Jacque, I am sooooo happy to finally meet you. Wendy, my dear
girlfriend, has told me ALL about you. And now I can see why you make her
so happy. So handsome and I see so secure in his manhood to even wear
nail polish. That is delicious. I know I am going to love you just as
much as Wendy does."
Jacque blushed a thank you. Not even knowing exactly what he was thanking
Claudette for. Something to do with his nails.
After a very nice lunch, Jacque had to head to his shop. He seemed to
feel a little more comfortable about his nails. He even told Claudette,
with a laugh, that I had said that maybe the next (if there was to be a
next time) he should ask Clarise for pink polish.
He was a little taken aback when Claudette agreed with that suggestion.
Then he was off. And Claudette and I were able to talk about him and
everything about him.
A few days passed with Claudette and I getting together at least once a
day to sightsee or eat or just pass the time in girl talk or helpful
girly hints for me. I talked to Jacque each night but we had not had
coinciding schedules for meeting.
I knew I needed and wanted a perm. The next day was my scheduled
appointment with Silvia at the Salon de Coiffure. I poured over pictures
books of hair styles and famous people' hair styles. I keep coming back
to pictures of the beautiful June Allyson, movie star of the fifties (see
The Glenn Miller Story as an example). Her hair was short, about ear
length, but with a perm which allowed the cutest pageboys and the most
endearing curled and waved do's. I wanted that versatility with my hair.
I didn't want it longer than it was. I was in my 60's and shorter style
was more becoming and natural for a woman my age. Claudette agreed with
me and we picked out three pictures of June Allyson which I could show to
Silvia the next day.
I was going to have my first permanent!
The next morning I prepared myself for the ordeal. For the first time I
wore my all-in-one foundation. I wanted to be firmly controlled as I
accepted the curlers. Panty hose, three inch black patent pumps, a soft
pink man-tailored front button sateen blouse over a box-pleated pale grey
knee length skirt. Minimal accessories and minimal make up and I was
ready to be tortured and cooked in the name of womanhood.
Just as I was walking out the door to go to the salon, the phone rang. It
was Jacque wanting to know if we could get together as he had traded a
shift with one of his workers. I told him of my feminine plans and the
thought: "This could be a teaching experience."
Quickly I told Jacque that I would love to see him but he would have to
come to the salon to meet me and I didn't know just how long the
procedure would take but he was welcome to come at any time and if he
waited he would be able to see what we women go through to be pleasing to
such as he. He laughed and said he would come. He said I couldn't scare
him away. (I didn't want to scare him.)
At the Salon, Silvia and I poured over those photos and she knew exactly
what I wanted. And agreed that the June Allyson look was precisely what a
woman my age would be adorable in. After shampooing, the scissors were
needed because June's do was actually shorter than my current hair. About
an inch was trimmed off and at once I much more pixieish. I loved it even
without the perm.
I sat back and let Silvia make me into a woman once again. The perm was
thrilling to a guy like me. Ever so precise rows of tightly wound rods
and papers, the smell of the chemicals, the feel of the cotton loop
around my head, the net, the cape, the heat of the dryer, the knowing
that my hair was being permanently curled to be like the heavenly cute
June Allyson. My heart was skipping beats. Just as Silvia was starting to
do the final unwind of the rods and going to start the roller set, Jacque
sheepishly came into the salon.
He looked so cute and cuddly and just opening the door to the salon made
him blush. I held up my hand to ask Silvia to stop for a minute and
called to him.
"Jacque, here I am. Don't you recognize me. I bet I look a lot different
in all the perm rods."
"Wendy, there you are! Thank god! I was afraid I wouldn't be able to find
you and one of these women would latch on to me and do god knows what to
me."
"There are worse things that could happen to you, Jacque. Please meet my
stylist, Silvia. She was just about to unroll my rods and start my set.
It will be nice that you can be with me till I am done. We can talk and
you can learn what I have to go through as a woman. Is that all right
with you?"
"Wendy, seeing how cute you are in those rods, I have no problem staying
at your side."
Jacque did as he said and I noticed that his nails were still very shiny.
I suspected he had even renewed the polish. But maybe not. He did have a
lot of questions about the perm process and why something was being done
to me. Just like his steady stare as I applied my lipstick, he seemed
mesmerized by what was happening to me.
You know I think all men, deep down, are very curious about the rituals
and processes of being a female. Most won't admit it, but watch outside
the window of a beauty salon and see how many men try to peek inside
surreptitiously as they walk by. It wouldn't take much to get most of
those men inside for a learning experience. That is what I thought about
Jacque being with me, it was a learning experience.
When the rods were out and the set was in, Jacque followed me to the
dryers and as I was installed into the helmet, he sat at the dryer next
to mine. Silvia jokingly lowered the helmet of his dryer. But he didn't
complain. He sat under the dryer just as I was sitting there. Such a
wonderful man to share this time with me. Maybe he was just too confused
to say anything.
When the drying was done I shared the pictures of June Allyson with
Jacque and he loved that I wanted to emulate that look. June Allyson had
always been his ideal of female beauty. We thought a lot alike.
Silvia worked her magic. I couldn't have been more pleased. The cute
curls encircled my head at ear length, the sides and the back, equal with
about a 4 inch band of curls coming from a smooth crown. No bangs this
time. My forehead had grown about two and a half inches leading to a bank
of waves which rolled lanquidly to the right till they met the wreath of
curls. With my bangs no longer in play as a hair style, the need for
stronger eye and lip make up became evident. Just as had June Allyson, I
now had Silvia reemphasize my eyes and apply a bright red lipstick. June
signature pearls set off my neck above my pink blouse. Jacque's jaw had
dropped and might never come together again. I felt perfect.
Nothing like a perm to make a 60 something man feel even more like a
woman. I think Jacque realllllllly liked the woman he saw.
With much praise to Silvia and an admonition from Silvia to Jacque that
she would love to see him whenever he wanted to feel pretty, Jacque and I
practically skipped out of the shop and into a wonderful luncheon.
Getting a perm can make a girl, or a boy, very hungry.
Over lunch at Cafe de la Mairie, near St. Sulpice, Jacque's eye ate more
of me than he did his food. I couldn't blame the poor guy. I felt and
looked beautiful.
Then a cloud came over his eyes and i had to ask him what was wrong. He
took my hands in his (I do think he had refreshed his polish, the little
sissy) and looked into my enhanced eyes.
"Wendy, you know that I am 60 years old, but you do not know that I have
had some problems with prostate cancer. I have had the radiation
treatments and am now cancer free. But there were side effects at this
age. I am not able to, as you Americans would say, "get it up" anymore.
It is possible for me to experience some pleasure but, my dear lady, I am
no longer able to service a woman the way a man should."
The poor boy! I was so startled at this unanticipated confession that at
first all I could do was hold and caress his hand. Then I realized that I
would have to make a semi-confession of my own.
"Jacque, you dear person, I know what it means to be a 'senior'. I have
had health problems also. Believe me, mon cher, it has been a few years
since I was able to accept a 'get it up' in the area a woman would 'get
it'. Don't worry, Jacque, I am a cuddle person and a kissing person and
in that regard you are no slouch. Drink your wine, Jacque, and enjoy your
life. And enjoy me. Speaking of which, I bet you would like to watch me
apply my lipstick now that our luncheon is finished."
Jacque could not bring a word to his lips but just nodded. After I had
gotten my lipstick and compact out of my purse, I took the longest time
to apply lipstick that any woman has ever taken at a table in that
restaurant. My goodness, Jacque may have even "gotten it up" by the time
I twisted the shimmering raspberry cream stick back into it's "crossed
C's" tube.
As Jacque sat there panting, I mentioned that in two days on Saturday
evening Claudette and I had made plans to spend the evening in and do
each other's hair and talk girl talk.
I asked Jacque, that if he didn't mind being around two females in a
frenzy of tight curlers, if he would like to come also. But only if he
brought two pizzas, one sausage and one gruyere cheese.
He agreed. And looked at his nails as a woman would. I smiled.
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