Nude Men

I should be kept in a cage. “You are a creature to be owned” were her precise words. “To be shown to guests.”
    Other times she says things like: “I love you because you’re not embarrassed to buy me Jane dolls. And because you think of me.”
    She’s wrong. When I buy her Jane dolls I am thinking of her mother.
    I could never be intimate and comfortable with Sara, and I feel bad that she will be disappointed.
    Henrietta, who is often present during her daughter’s strong displays of affection for me, doesn’t seem to think that her behavior is in the least bit strange, and I guess maybe it isn’t. I don’t know. I’m confused. Children are allowed to be affectionate: It’s their innocence. But this girl is so pretty, and there’s something so sexual in her affection. I’m not sure if it’s really there or if I’m just a pervert. She often comes in scantily dressed. But then I think, is it really scantily dressed, or am I just choosing to see it that way? After all, shorts and a T-shirt are a perfectly proper way of dressing, but on her they seem like a provocation. Maybe it’s because she wears them every single time I see her. She’s not letting me catch my breath. I feel like saying, “Give me a break! Refresh my eyes for once. Wear a potato sack.”
    But no, she keeps at it, she keeps at it. Her arms are smooth, and there’s a strange glow to her skin that more mature women don’t have. It’s almost magical, again like a cartoon.
    I’m madly in love with Lady Henrietta, but I’m starting to feel sexually attracted to the daughter, which horrifies me. I try to become cold to her, to make hints. I stand up and say, “Come on now, act like a lady, you’re not a baby anymore.”
    She looks at me uncertainly for a moment, but then jumps up, putting her arms around my neck and says, “Yes I am.” Lady Henrietta often leaves us alone together, which annoys me. She continues to see Damon, and I continue to be jealous, but I don’t hear of any real intimacy growing between them, which makes me feel better.
    One day Sara invites three of her friends “for tea.” The girls are basically rather unattractive, but on top of it, their hair is disheveled, they wear very ugly, unflattering clothes, and two of them are overweight. Sara, on the other hand, looks more beautiful than ever. I understand her little trick right away.
    When her friends leave, Sara asks me, “Which part of my appearance do you dislike the least?”
    “Don’t be so modest. You mean, which part do I like the most?”
    “Well, yes, assuming that there’s any part you like.”
    “Your hair.”
     
    W hen I get home from work the next day, I see a long flower box at the foot of my door. There’s a card with it, which I open. I don’t recognize the handwriting, and there is no signature. It says, “Here is a lock, a token of my affection.”
    I open the box, and a wave of nausea sweeps over me. I feel as though I’m holding a decapitated head, except that the head is not there.
    Pee-U, yucky ducky. Where is the head? is my instinctive thought.
    There are two long blond braids lying inside the box. They look like a corpse. Disgusting. Sad.
    I pounce on the phone and call Lady Henrietta. She answers.
    I say, “Sara cut her hair?”
    “Yes.”
    “She gave it to me in a flower box.”
    “I know.”
    “How could you let her do it?”
    “My daughter can do anything she wants as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone.”
    “But she had beautiful hair.”
    “She wanted to cut it. It looks very pretty now.”
    “Do you want the braids? I don’t want them; I think it’s disgusting. And it’ll probably mean more to you than to me.”
    “You can do what you want. Though you should be touched. She did it to be nice. It’s a really big deal, her gesture.”
    “I know. That’s what’s so annoying. It’s indecent. Yeah, I’m touched, but I’m mostly troubled and worried about her mental and emotional health. I’m surprised you’re not worried also.”
     
    O ne day Lady Henrietta says something that horrifies me beyond belief.
    She says, “Would you do me an enormous favor?”
    “Yes,” I answer, overjoyed at the opportunity to please her. I wait for her to tell me what the favor is, but instead she gets her handbag and takes out two plane tickets. She stands there, not saying anything, just looking at me. I open the tickets and see that they are for Orlando, Florida.
    “What is this?” I ask, suddenly deeply