by Carrie
Diary of A Rich Girl – Chapter 125
“You want me to make believe that this is my apartment?” He said, “As long as it pertains to what we’re doing. I do not want you to move any furniture or deliberately violate the fundamental order of my office. This is a matter of mind not material. Do you understand?”
“But I have a mirror at home.” He said, “Make believe there’s one over there.”
I went and stood before my imaginary mirror and took measure of myself. “What are you doing?” I said, “Just looking at me.” “Why?” I said, “A girl likes to visually groom herself.” I swiveled and turned my hips to see if any weight had caught up with me. None had. But then I couldn’t really see, could I?
I walked over to the couch and made believe it was my bed. He said, “Good. Now that action seemed real. Continue. Don’t run from your problem. Face it.” I crossed my arms and lifted up my sweater and took it off. I left it on the floor. “You usually do that with your expensive clothing “Yes. I usually do that.”
I kicked off my heels then unsnapped my garters, lifted up my legs then slipped off my sheer stockings, leaving them on the floor. I curled up on the couch, comfy in my panties, and reached for my hand bag. I took out a joint and said, “This is what I do when I get home, or what I used to do.” I smoked it until I felt a big fat hit high hit my head. I leaned back and shut my eyes. He looked at me, “What are you thinking?”My mind was floating. “Sort of nothing.” I stretched out and let my body grow as long as it could. I was feeling fine. But not sleepy. The doctor asked, “What’s going through your mind?” I said, “Thisley, my butler, comes in about now.” “Why?”
“He tends to me. Runs my bath. Picks up my things. Tells me about the household and any gossip he’s heard from the other butlers. He hands me the mail and I go through it. Then he reads me my appointments for the evening and the next day. He’ll pick out a few evening dresses. It’s always fun to see what he thinks is proper. Sometimes I admonish him, but he learns why one dress would be better and why another isn’t.”
I toked on the joint, “How’s your butler?” He said, “I don’t have one.” I was making a joke but he was as dead as I had thought. He asked, “Anything else?” I thought about that. Whether I should or I shouldn’t. Oh, what the hell, “He sometimes sees to me.”
