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Sophia is different every single day. She learns something new all the time. This week, she learned she likes apricots, but not carrots. She learned how to push a toy from one hand and pick it up with the other. It’s like I can see her figuring out the whole world in real time, from the very beginning. It’s
magic.
So now I send Dahlia about a dozen pictures a day. Sophia making a sour face. Sophia laughing with her mouth open. Sophia sort of, kind of sitting up but really just temporarily balanced on her butt and leaning forward. She’s still too young for that.
But I can’t wait! And I’ll get to see it when it happens!
What I should do is send Dahlia a thank you card or something. Maybe some roses. I definitely owe her my gratitude, maybe I owe August even more than her. But at the same time, I’m not sure I could even explain it to either of them and I’m not ready to try yet.
But I’m still mad. She certainly didn’t seem to believe this was something I was going to be good at when August suggested I take the interviews. That hurt my feelings. So I guess I am not ready to say thank you just yet, the way that I should.
But I did get to send my mother roses on her birthday, and I bought my dad some kind of football access package for his DirecTV thing. He was pretty excited about that. And for me, there have been shoes, real designer dresses, real sunglasses.
It’s hard to get used to spending money, though. When I got my first paycheck direct deposited into my bank, I instantly had more money than I have ever had at one time. And that was just one paycheck! Craziness!
It’s hard to go from budgeting for twenty-five-cent packages of ramen all the way to spending a hundred dollars on a single pair of panties and not thinking about it. It hurts my stomach.
But so far, every pair of panties is practically a single-use item. I have to buy them all the time because the guys think they are fun to rip off. They have no respect for handmade silk and lace. To them, the panties are just the wrappers on a piece of candy.
My cell chimes, telling me which brother to expect today. I set up the calendars so that it tells me first thing in the morning, and then I know how to prepare.
Royce likes to sleep over, snoring beside me in my bed with Sophia asleep in the next room. He sleeps in pajama bottoms, like a dad. He likes me to rest my head on his shoulder.
Spencer likes to sleep over too, probably even more than Royce. He likes to wrap both of his arms around me and hold me all night, like a stuffed animal.
Sully prefers that I come to his suite, and he really likes it when I do some kind of performance for him. Show him something I’ve bought, or dance for him, or strip. He is an excellent audience. But when it gets late, he begins to fret about the next day’s work. He says he can’t sleep if I am there, because he’s worried he’s disturbing me. Kind of a paradox, but I think one day we will get through it.
Today, It’s Brock and Trey… both. At first, Brock and Trey liked to meet in the mornings. Then maybe again later in the day. But now, they have been talking about consolidating their days, so they could both be with me two days in a row. We’ve talked about going to Mexico for the weekend. I’m just waiting for my passport to arrive.
When Sophia goes down for her nap, I shoot Trey and Brock a quick text to let them know I’m free.
Baby is asleep. I need u now!
In moments, I hear my front door softly open. I’m sure they’re being quiet, not wanting to wake the baby. She’s only sleeping about forty-five minutes at a time this week, so everything can go sideways if we disturb her. That’s another thing I didn’t know about babies: they change their minds about how long they like to nap every few days or so.
But for now, she’s sleeping soundly so I can get my groove on, guilt free. I lean back on the bed, ankles crossed, waiting for my bedroom door to open. Brock and Trey come in, anxious as high schoolers. They look me up and down with hunger in their eyes.
“That’s beautiful,” Brock smiles. “Is that a new one?”
I pluck the hem of the sheer nightie I’m wearing, holding it away from my thigh. Trey’s eyes immediately dart to my sex, and I’m not wearing any panties.
“You mean this?” I ask, licking my lips. “I had Agnes make it just for me. I’m glad you like it.”
“Stand up and let me see,” Trey suggests, the growl in his voice belying his urgency.
Slowly I slide from the bed, noting how the skirt billows up as the air moves. It’s a brassiere on top, sewn with Swarovski crystals that looks sort of like a night sky. The midnight blue skirt swirls down, weighted by rosettes at the bottom.
This was Agnes’s suggestion when I came to buy panties for the dozenth time. She asked how I could possibly need so many. I explained—without too much detail—that my lover didn’t know his own strength and couldn’t undress me without destroying the delicate little things.
After pursing her perfect, full lips for fifteen seconds or so, she brightened. She promised to make me something that would solve my problem, and this is it.
No panties required. In fact, I shouldn’t even need to take it off.
Raising my arms over my head, I roll my hips like a belly dancer, causing the skirt to flutter and swing over my skin. Trey and Brock squint, automatically enchanted by the half-concealment the sheer fabric creates. I am glad they didn’t ask me to shave my pubes. I like to keep them trimmed into a triangle, which they are currently staring at with delight.
“I brought us something,” Brock smiles, still watching my pussy. He pulls a small, clear bottle from his pocket and holds it out.
“What is it?” I smile.
