Free Dirty Ugly Toy by K Webster

thirty-four B, twenty-seven inch inseam, and size six shoe?” he questions, tapping his supple lip in a thoughtful way with his pointer finger.
    I nod in amazement. It’s been awhile but those were my measurements when I could afford to buy clothes for myself.
    He reaches forward with both hands and I gasp when his smooth palms graze over my breasts and along my belly. It’s far from sexual but to an onlooker, it would appear otherwise.
    “You’re familiar with US sizes? Most of the girls don’t understand those sizes and I have a helluva time trying to convert their UK measurements,” he narrows his eyes at me when his palms reach my hips.
    Dubois’ warning rings loudly in my ears and I bite my tongue from telling him I’m really from Georgia. “I’m familiar.”
    Cartier’s thumbs run over faint ridges on my hipbones and he frowns at me. “How old are you?”
    I push his hands away from my hips and cross my arms over my bare breasts. “Twenty-eight.”
    He nods as if he guessed this correctly too. “Your hips are wide. Does he know?”
    The room spins and I snatch the robe up. Shouldering past him, I rush toward the now open bedroom door. Once my feet are on the chilled marble, I suck in cold breaths of air. He comes behind me and takes the robe from me. Gently, he helps me put it on. After he’s tied it tightly at my waist, he comes to stand in front of me.
    Kind, brown eyes meet mine and he swipes away a rogue tear that I hadn’t realized had even escaped. He smiles and presses a chaste kiss on my forehead before whispering words I need to hear.
    “I won’t tell him and I won’t bring it up again.”
    I swallow and nod my thanks.
    “Now let’s go have fun, girlfriend!”

    I spent most of the morning after Cartier visually measured me, in the sauna and pool. Christine, an adorable older lady, brought me a tray of fruits and pastries, as well as, cup after cup of hot tea. Brax was right, I took to her right away. Something about her greying dark hair reminded me of my mother and the need to connect was strong. She told me cute, funny jokes and stories about Lake Sammamish. By the time Cartier came to fetch me after his shopping excursion, I was in love with her and didn’t want to leave.
    She’d promised to bring us something for lunch in the salon and that was the only reason I left without argument. Cartier seemed pleased with his purchases—clothes I had yet to see—and he babbled on and on about the sexy salesman that helped him. Discovering he was gay wasn’t a surprise but my heart did ache a little for all the women in the world. Cartier is hot and I’m jealous of whichever man gets to touch the angelic body at night.
    “What does he do for a living?” I ask once he’s settled me in a leather stylist chair in the sleek, tiny, yet modern salon.
    We’d passed his office door but it was locked—I’d tried to open it despite Cartier’s swatting. Braxton’s dark, delicious voice rumbled on the other side and I wasn’t sure if he had a client or he was on the phone.
    “Honey, my place isn’t to educate you on what Mr. Kennedy does. My place is to mold you into what he wants—something that will please him,” he says, blowing me off.
    Despite Brax’s abusive and bizarre nature, I am still attracted to him. He riled up my body so easily in the airplane and I craved his touch. If I can learn to keep my mouth shut and go along with his weird antics, I think I could enjoy my six months here. It might seem more like a vacation rather than work.
    As Cartier cleverly changes the subject and rambles on about how he and “Sven” flirted and how “at least someone isn’t afraid to openly show how much he likes him”, I stare out the window that overlooks the lake. I’d spent so long in Bolton and the other surrounding towns outside of London, selling my body to the dirty side of the population that lived there, that I’d gotten used to the shitty side of life. It’d been a long time