Miss Baxter’s Girls: Julie the Pianist
By Davina Lee
I’m lying supine on the massage table again. This time there’s a sheet between me and its vinyl-clad surface—to keep my bare flesh from sticking, I suppose.
“Are you ready, Julie?”
I raise my gaze to her, this amazing woman who has opened my eyes to so many things, challenged me in so many ways in the year since my arrival. “Yes, Miss Baxter.”
“Before we begin, Julie, I’d like you to tell me your safe word one more time, please.”
“Yes, Miss Baxter. It’s peaches.”
“Ah, peaches.” Miss Baxter reaches out to cup my cheek in her hand. “Fitting. Juicy and ripe. And so very sweet.”
I smile and turn my head just a bit to more easily rub against the tender warmth of her fingers. “Yes, Miss Baxter, that’s what you always say.”
I watch the
