A Not So Ordinary Life Chap. 1

This story was thought up when I was going into a saloon. You’ll be surprised what you can see at a saloon when you look hard enough. Reader discretion is advised (again).

-------------------------

As the early rays of morning shine through my window, I slowly rise; wiping away the remnants of what was yesterday lay in my eyes. The apartment window that sits there embedded in the wall, as it has been in the time I have stayed here, shows of a horizon, the vast ocean of skyscrapers and intertwining highways and sky trains. I get into my ‘big yet not so big’ toilet for a shower to get ready for school. As I walk from my bed room to the living room outside, furnished with the latest in art and fancy-prancy pompous decorations, Jacqueline; my maid and half-mistress walks out and nags me like she does every morning. She has a porcelain-vase body, her chest just about the right shape, and her behind not sticking out as most women do when wearing tight clothing yet very revealing nonetheless.

“Art! Just because I’m used to seeing you naked doesn’t mean I like it. Now for the love of god! Wrap a towel around that….” She stuttered at the awkwardness of what was supposed to be the last statement. Her face just turned a bit red though. I however, was used to the reaction.

“Jacqueline, if you would be so kind, as to pass me my…” I stopped, as she had already thrown my towel at me and stormed out of the living room into the kitchen, to prepare breakfast as she would every passing day. I just walked casually toward to the shower, not bothering to wrap the towel that was just thrown to me around my… Well you know.

Wonder how I got this fabulously decorated apartment and a gorgeous maid to match? Let’s just say there was an ‘occurrence’ with a certain owner of a long line of apartments, and let’s just leave it at that, shall we?

As I rough up my hair to dry it, and walk out of the shower (towel covering ‘it’) and casually sit on one of the stools surrounding the breakfast table protruding out of the wall. I look up at Jacqueline’s face as pours me some milk, and as her gaze meets mine, she looks away a red mess.

“You know, all you need is a wardrobe change, some moving rubber on that messy crop you call hair, and any girl would fall for you.”

Taken aback by the sudden claim, “What makes you say that?” I ask, more out of surprise than anything.

“The way you look at people, I mean, well...” she stuttered, not understanding what she said. How could she? She doesn’t know anything about my ‘special’ talent.

“Don’t be like that Que. You know me long enough to hold back with the face” I lied, as we had only known each other since I finished junior high last hear. She turns even redder at the mention.

“Que…” she just turned away and started wiping dishes, which were clearly dry. I knew she needed some cheering up from the embarrassment. I mean, it wasn’t even her fault!

“Que!” I shouted in an attempt to startle her. It did the trick; she spun around and nearly dropped the plate, when I held it firm in her hand. As she looked away, I lifted her chin up to meet my gaze, her beautifully shaped, light-blue eyes. She stared deep into my set of light purple eyes, as I stared into hers.

“Que…” I started.

“A-a-a-Art.” She said firmly at the end.

“Tell you what; I’ll make a bet with you.” She slowly pushed me away as I start the conversation.

“What kind?” She was slowly recovering, as I had hoped.

“I’ll do that makeover thing with you and since tomorrows school, we’ll see if the girls keep gaping at me.”

A wide grin spread over her face. “Conditions and Prizes?”

“If less than 50% of the girl population ignores my presence, you win. Otherwise, I win. As for prizes, you decide yours if you win. I’ll decide mine when I win.” I said in a slightly mock tone, but ginning widely as to show no hard feelings.

“You’re on!” As she shook my hand, my towel dropped. Sigh. Back to square one.

As she pushed me into the saloon chair, I was faced with a reflection of myself and an eyeing Jacqueline. The Saloons hairdresser, Miew Miew, Que had called her, has that “Your hairs going to be interesting to fiddle with” look. This just increased my distress. Jacqueline laughed at my displeasure.

“Nice looking boyfriend you got here Que. Mind if I snag him from you?” The saloons occupants were listening intently but doing their best not to show it.

“I told you for the fifth time! Read my lips. He. Is. Not. My. BOYFRIEND!” She was wearing a light pink shirt, with a matching floral skirt just above her knee level.

Miew Miew eyed her up and down then up again. “You dress like your on a date though. Can’t blame me for that.” Que’s face turned away and tried to argue further but Miew Miew just put up a hand for silence, and pointed to my hair.

“Remember Quinn?” Que asked.

“You want HIS hair!?! Now THAT’S a request!” She began spraying my hair with water. Slowly but surely, a hairstyle was being formed. What scared me was that I couldn’t see what style it was until it was finished. She slowly layered my bang then pressed it so it went sideways, but not to the point of an emo hair cut. My overgrown sidebangs were layered slowly to become short but still very thin. Then she might as well have practically layered my whole head as much as I was concerned because in the end, I was left with a very strawy, volume style of hair. It wasn’t as thick as those Asian models you see, but it still wasn’t as short as the models you see in the European part of the world. She then dipped her fingers in what I think is some sort of hair product. I don’t really care for these sort of things. When she was done, my hair looked slightly poofy, yet maintaining its strawy quality.

“Hows that for Quinn?” Miew Miew obviously happy with the work.

“He’s…” She stopped as I smiled at her and she went red again. A customer giggled at that.

As I stood up and paid, I nodded a brief ‘Thank You’ and quickly stepped out. Que put her arm around mind and said in a very perky tone that I have never heard before, “Clothes!”. I was still up in the clouds after the hair cut, so it came as a surprise to me when the escalator came to an end. I stumbled forward I dragged Jacqueline down with and next thing I knew, she was on top of me. I could feel her ‘chest’ on mine, and her heavy breathing on my face. She turned a very pink red then as she tried to stand up, a familiar voice greets us in that awkward (yet sexy) position. I looked up and saw a pair of turquoise panties under a very short skirt.

“Art? That can’t be you, can it?” A set of purple eyes observed us on the ground.

(Parte Uno El Fin)

Or at least that’s how I think it’s said in foreign language. A short note here, most ‘obscene’ parts are dedicated the critic ‘McWiggle’ as was his feedback to my prologue. More feedback is needed please. Thanks in advance!

Nandayo.