Aunt Jean

"Do you... um, kinda know how much a makeover at a spa would cost?"

"Mmm... maybe between... oh... $250 at the low end, up to... without getting too extravagant, maybe $600."

Ron's eyes grew large. "That much?"

Betty Thompson grinned. "Beauty isn't cheap, Ron." Her smile stayed in place but her brow pinched. "Why... why do you want to know all this?"

He had this part planned out. "Well... Jean's... my Aunt Jean's birthday is coming up, and I remembered that commercial I'd seen before about the spa, the... the hairstyling, and... some of that other stuff, and the... the commercial said it made a great gift."

"Oh... uh-huh, I recall that commercial. I think... I think there's one of their spas near the Oak Brook Center."

"Do you think it would be a nice birthday gift?"

"Mmm... yes. Most everyone likes to feel pampered once in a while."

"There... there'd probably be... like different plans? Wouldn't there? You know, different things included in various makeovers? Right? So... different prices?"

Betty Thompson smiled again. "Yes, probably."

"If I call and... and then write down what's in each... plan... option, whatever they call it, would... I mean, could you explain what it is, you know, the items on the..."

Mrs. Thompson grinned and interrupted, "Why don't we call right now? We'll put it on speaker phone, you can talk and if I think of any good questions that you don't, then I'll ask."

Ron smiled. "Mrs. T, that'd be great."

"Just tell them you're thinking of giving it as a gift, and have them explain everything that's included with... with each plan."

*

The traffic was heavy for some reason. He figured there was road repairs up ahead. He looked at the dashboard clock. There was still plenty of time.

"Why won't you tell me where we're going, and... and why did you tell me to wear this... this new dress?"

"Well... you look awesome in that dress." He had probably sounded like an idiot, but he had even asked Mrs. Thompson what a woman would wear to the spa, explaining he wanted it to be a surprise and just take Jean there without her knowing where they were going, so he had to tell her what to wear, so she wouldn't feel weird showing up wearing something that would be dumb to wear to a spa. He now realized he had probably prodded Mrs. T to say a little dress like Jean was wearing would be appropriate. He had wanted to see Jean in it. It was one of the mini dresses he had gotten her. He had really been putting a dent in his college savings but it was all too much fun for him to care and it was for Jean.

"Where are we going?" She saw him smile but he didn't even glance at her. They had already gone clothes shopping three times. "Are we going to the mall again? Ron... I really don't need any more new clothes, and... and we better not be going back to look at bikinis again. I'm never going to wear any thong bikini... ever."

Ron grinned then chuckled. "Man... you would look so hot in one of those."

"Just... just tell me where we're going."

"All right. We're... we're going to your birthday present."

"My birthday present? My birthday isn't until December."

"I guess that means your early birthday gift."

They were headed to the mall, she guessed that much. She wondered what the surprise was going to be, or if it was just going to be another forced shopping trip. She had gotten everything he wanted. He had spent his money which she was going to reimburse him for, write a check as an additional birthday or Christmas gift, or most likely as an 'off to college' gift. They turned onto the highway along the vast parking lot of the mall. She gazed at the buildings trying to guess if he had one of the large anchor stores in mind, then instead of turning right, he turned left into a shopping and professional building strip across from the mall proper. "What's over here?" She looked at him, again he didn't face her and just smiled.

Ron had made a dry run the previous day. He pulled around to the rear of the high rise office building into an area with more shops. He parked. "We're here." He shut off the engine, removed his seat belt, and opened his door. "Come on."

She glanced at the boutiques. "Ron, I really don't need anymore clothes." She exhaled sharply and got out of the car. Ron wanted to take her hand. "I.... I don't know if we should hold hands in pub..."

He interrupted, "We will now though." He took her hand. He didn't think they'd see anyone who knew them and if they did, holding hands wasn't that big of a deal. He was taking her to her surprise "birthday present." He'd hold her hand for that.

They stepped onto the sidewalk and Jean wondered what clothes he had in mind. She only saw a couple clothing shops down the walkway. He suddenly pulled her to the side towards the double glass doors of a separate building. He opened one. She stepped into the foyer, not noticing the writing on the door. "What's this place?" She pulled off her sun glasses.

"Your birthday present." He grinned.

*

He had told Jean to call his cell when she was finished. After Jean had gone through the doors to the spa area Ron had asked the receptionist how long the makeover might take, so when Jean called, he was already sitting in his car outside the building. He told her to just walk outside and he'd magically appear. He grabbed the long stemmed rose he had bought before driving back and jogged to the doors of the spa. He grinned when Jean came around the corner and turned towards him. He opened the door for her. He gazed at her hairstyle and his grin grew. She totally looked like a college babe now.

Her eyes teared. "Are... are you laughing at it?"

"What?" His grin shrank and his brow pinched as he looked into her eyes.

"Are... are you laughing at my hair? Does... does it look awful? Does... does it... I mean... can you notice... um..." She pulled her sunglasses out of her purse, and opened them.

"Hey... don't put those on yet. Jean... you... you looked awesome before today, and now you look..." He grinned again. "Awesom-er. The haircut.. hairstyle looks great on you." He shook his head. "Jeezuz."

Jean tensed again. "What?"

"No one is going to believe you're my aunt. You... and this is the truth, Jean, you look, like I've said a few times, you look like some college chi... girl."

She started to relax. "So... so my hair is... is all right?"

He gave her the rose and then kissed her cheek. "You look beautiful. Happy birthday, Jean."

Her eyes welled up. Her face scrinched. "Why... why are you... doing all this?"

"You... you told me not to tell you."

"What?" She sniffled, then opened her purse, put her sunglasses in and took out some tissues. She wiped her eyes and nose. "What?"

Ron put his arm around her shoulders. "Come on, let's go to the car." He looked both ways and stepped off the curb.

"You... you really think I look okay with this cut?"

"Jean, when I say you look great, or hot, or beautiful, I mean it every time I say it. So, yeah, the do looks great on you."

"I... I never had any of that done before, I mean not like today. I... I was... was glad you didn't tell me about it, because... I... I would have been so nervous." She started crying softly.

Ron was totally confused. He stopped and put his arms around her. It was the only thing he could think of to do. It seemed she liked the spa from what she was saying but the crying didn't make sense if she liked it. He kissed her temple.

"Ron..." She sniffled. "We can't do this out in the open like this."

"Jean, we're just hugging. So... are you... like upset? I... I meant it as a surprise, as... as a surprise gift... I... I thought you'd like it. I... I even asked Mrs. T... Thompson if it was a good birthday gift for..."

Jean tensed and interrupted, "You... you talked to Mrs. Thompson about it?"

"Yeah, a little."

Jean pushed away. "What... what did you talk to her about?"

"I asked her if it'd be a nice gift for your birthday. I... I asked about what it was, you know, a spa day, a spa..." He didn't want to say 'makeover.' "You know, a haircut, a... a manicure, all that stuff. She helped explain the stuff I didn't know about, like... like the color coordinator, you know the..."

"The fashion color coordinator consultation."

She had stopped crying so he chanced a small smile. "Yeah... yeah, that thing."

Her eyes teared more. "Did... did you do this... thinking... thinking it would make me... feel better about... about the way I look?" A tear ran down her face.

He didn't know what to say. Maybe somewhere in the back of his mind he thought that, but the main reason was that he thought she'd look hotter with a different hairdo. She had very nice hair but it looked like she just put waves in it as an afterthought since she stopped wearing it in that stupid half-assed pony tail after he had asked her to stop doing that. It would have looked better just straight. It looked great, all sexy and mused up when they screwed but she couldn't have it like that all the time. He recalled the word Mrs. T had used. "I... I thought you'd enjoy being pampered for a few hours. I... I thought you'd like it."

"It... it was very nice. I... I did like it." She started crying softly again and let Ron hug her close. "I know I shouldn't... be... crying but... but I can't help it. You've been so sweet. Thank you, Ron... thank you so much. It was a wonderful gift."

"So... so that means you... you liked it?"

She giggled and cried. "Y-y-yes!" She thought about the hairstylist. He had been so gay, yet so up front and frank about her disfigurement, that it hadn't upset her, it was almost like being with one of the numerous doctors and surgeons she had seen over the years. He told her they should ignore it, and go with the shape of her face to determine the cut that would look best on her. He had complimented the quality of her hair and asked what products she used. She had been embarrassed when she told him she used whatever shampoo and conditioner she found on sale. She was glad the somewhat layered style they decided on, could hide her eye socket some and not have it seem odd that it did. It was also nice she wasn't going to have to use a curling iron on it.

* * *

Chapter 8

Jean's jaw was clenched. She was standing in her bedroom by her bed strewn with a half dozen garments. She was barefoot, wearing white panties from the half dozen Ron had picked out at Victoria's Secret, and a white cotton, wide strapped tank top. Her arms were folded across her chest. She was glaring at Ron. "I want to wear the beige shorts with this top!"

"No! Why do you always want to dress like an old lady? Those are just like your stupid baggy blue jean shorts!"

"No they aren't like my blue jean shorts!" She pointed at them. "These are pleated cotton shorts! Women wear them to... to barbecues and... and pool parties!"

"Yeah, old ladies wear those! You look like a college girl! College girls wear stuff like that light blue tank dress!"

"I told you, I'm not wearing that! And I'm not a college girl!"

"Well, you're not an old lady either!"

"Those aren't old lady shorts! You even said they looked good on me when we bought them! And... and college girls wear them too!"

He wondered why they were shouting. He lowered his volume, "Okay... wear that top but... but put on the white mini skirt."

"I can't wear a white skirt with a white top, you idiot!"

"Is that your bikini top under your shirt?"

"No, it's a bra!"

"Take that off! You look better without it!"

"NO! I'm not... I'm not not wearing a bra!"

His intense expression started to soften, then he smiled. "What the hell did you just say? You're not-not what?!" He started laughing. "Does that mean you ARE going to wear it, or NOT going to wear one?!" He laughed harder.

"It means... It means..." She exhaled sharply, then a smile started forming on her lips. "It means SHUT UP!" She pushed him onto the bed and then climbed on top of him, straddling him with knees, then lowering her butt onto crotch. She leaned forward, grabbed his wrists and pinned them to the bed. "Shut up. Quit arguing with me."

"I would if you'd stop being so dumb." He chuckled but stopped quickly. Her eyes welled slightly. His voice softened, "Jean, really. I think... wearing a skirt, you'd... okay, you're not a college girl, but you look like you are, and you're not as old as Mrs. Thompson, or... any of the parents. I'd... I'd really like to see you again in one of the skirts I got you. I... I think even... you know, some of the moms there might have a short skirt on, really, and... and you look good in... I mean the skirt looks good on you."

"Ron... it's... it's not really the clothes I'm... I'm worried about."

His brow pinched. He wondered if she was concerned he was going to act like she was his girlfriend in front of everyone. They had gone over all that. "Is it... is it me you're worried about?"

"Huh? No. I... I'm nervous because... because I haven't... haven't been to a party, at least not a party like this, in a... in a really long time."

"Jean, we've... we've talked some... I mean are you worried, about... ahh... your..."

"My... my eye?"

"Yeah. Jean I really don't think that it's..."

She interrupted, "Yes, I am worried about... about that, but... I'm worried about just... just being at the party."

"I don't know what all the parents are like, but... Mrs. T is cool, and... listen, I'll just stick with you the whole time. I mean, you're the one I want to be with anyway."

Jean was tempted to tell him if that was true then why didn't they just stay home. She owed it to him to go, to act normal. She was scared she'd not be able to. She knew people would stare. "No... you... you can't do that, it... it wouldn't look right. We talked about that."

"Jean?"

"What?"

"You're making my cock get hard and it's difficult for me to think about anything other than being inside you right now."

She wiggled her hips. Her pussy was pressing right against his burgeoning cock. She was so nervous about the party that she surprisingly wasn't feeling any tingling. "Do... why don't we..." Her eyes welled more.

"What?"

"Nothing. I... I was going to say... maybe we should just stay home and... and we could have our own party, but... but you want to go and it'd be rude to... to the Thompson's not to go."

Ron twisted his hands and got them out from her light grip. His palms caressed her hips.

"I'm... nervous about being around so many people because... because it's a party, and... and I am worried about... about wearing... um..."

"Jean, really, a top like you have on and a... one of those skirts look great on you. I really have seen some of the moms wearing that sort of thing and... and you're young. It fits... I mean your age and the clothes."

"Can... can we compromise?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'll wear the... blue skirt, but... but I... I won't go into the pool. I won't bring my bathing suit."

His jaw clenched. "Why not? You've worn that a half dozen times. You... you were only weird about it the first time. It's not that... that skimpy."

"I've only worn it here with you at our pool. There wasn't... anyone else around."

His brow pinched again. That didn't have anything to do with her head injury. It dawned on him. "You're... Jean, you're not one of those girls who think they're fat when they're not, are you?"

"What?" Her brow pinched.

"You don't look fat in that bikini at all."

"No, it's... it's my scars." Her eyes welled again.

He gazed at her bad eye again, then he blinked and looked at her shoulder scar. "You mean..."

"All the ones on my body... my chest and abdomen."

"Jean, those don't..." He stopped talking. He had almost said 'those don't count' or something equally stupid. What seemed insignificant to him might seem like hideous scars to her. He thought if she had the guts to actually look at people without her old fake glasses on, or with her new sun glasses on, that the scars on her torso were nothing compared to her eye. But, he also realized that the new sort of wrap around sun glasses hid her eye injury even better than the fake glasses. She did well though, talking to people, taking the sun glasses off at first at least, making eye contact then put them back on. She never wore them in restaurants. His dad had told him it was rude to meet and talk to someone with sun glasses on, at least really dark sun glasses. He said it was important to make eye contact.

Jean was trying to control her tears and anxiety.

He took a slow breath. "Jean, I... I hope this doesn't make me sound like a... a jerk, um..."

"What?"

"You've... you've gotten a light tan, and... you may think those scars are really noticeable, but... they're really not."

"Yes, they are."

"I... I thought since the... you know that night at the Thai place, that... that you were going to stop thinking about what other people thought."

"I'm... I'm trying, but... but I don't want anyone asking... asking me about anything. I... I don't want to talk about it." She started trembling. She quickly wiped her eyes.

Ron realized there was a part of him that wanted Jean to go to the party so he could show her off, as if she was his girlfriend and his sexual conquest, and maybe even his little project, how he had changed her in just a few weeks. He felt like a jerk about that, then again, he really did think he was helping her. She had changed not only with him at home, but she didn't freak going into restaurants or stores anymore. She hadn't run out of the spa when she found out about it. He tried to think fast. "Jean... do... would you ask someone? About how someone got scars?" He realized if he was all scarred up, he'd probably really enjoy talking about it to whoever wanted to listen. Maybe guys were different.

"No, but..."

"What?"

"But someone might. It's... it's happened before. I... I don't want to talk about it. I... I don't want to be stared at."

He almost laughed and tried to stop the smile but it started to show.

Her face scrinched up. "Don't laugh at me!" She couldn't believe he was. She started to back off him, but he quickly sat up and put his arms around her. "Let me go." She tried to twist free.

"I'm not laughing at you, but..." He chuckled softly. The whole situation struck him as being hilarious.

She started crying. Ron was laughing at her. "Let me go!"

He held her tighter. "I'm... I'm not laughing about what you think I am. Listen... listen to me! You don't understand!"

"No! Let me go!"

He had to wrestle her around and down onto the bed. He was now holding her arms pinned to the mattress. "Yes, you're going to get stares, but..."

"You lied to me then! You said... you said people wouldn't! I.. don't want to go! I'm not going!"

"God... how could you be so damn stupid?!"

"You don't understand! You... you don't know what it's like! Restaurants... restaurants and stores are one thing, but... but a party is different! I don't want to go!"

"Would you just shut up and relax?! Jeezuz! Yeah, some people may stare, the... the guys'll probably stare... even if you wear the stupid mom shorts, but it..."

She interrupted, "You said no one would! You lied to me! I don't want..."

"SHUT UP! They're not going to be looking at your scars! They'll... they'll be looking at your body! Your hot body! God... you're so stupid!" He shut his eyes for moment and cooled down. "I'm sorry, I... didn't mean to call you stupid, but... jeezuz, come on, Jean, you... you never really see yourself. You... you look in the mirror and... and you only see... you only see your... your..."