Chapter 22

On Tuesday morning, I awoke to the light streaming through my bedroom window. I pulled the blanket over my head to shroud me in darkness. I did not want to get up. It was too early. I snuggled beneath the blanket savoring the warmth from the not-so-warm thermostat setting.

About to doze off, my eyes popped open.

I flung the blanket off, leapt from the bed, rushed out of my bedroom in bare feet, and flew down the stairs and into the living room where our Christmas tree, adorned in tinsel and garland and baubles, stood tall by the window. Even the lights blazed, and my father only turned them on at night so they could be seen through the front window of the house. I guess Christmas morning justified them being turned on during the day.

My parents were sitting on the sofa waiting for me. I had been in such a hurry that I was still in my pajamas, not even wearing a robe or socks, but I forgot about the chill. I ignored my parents’ good mornings and dived at the tree. On my hands and knees with my butt in the air, I ducked under the tree to check the names on the cards taped to each present. I pulled all of mine out from under the tree.

I ripped the wrapping paper off each present one at a time, flinging bits of shiny paper all over the living room carpet. It was the one time my mother didn’t scold me for making a mess. It was the happiest day in our family. I opened box after box, getting mostly clothing, which I loved, and a few games, but I also got a little makeup from my parents. Well, my mother most likely even though the card was from both of them. My father didn’t know anything about makeup. It was my mother’s way of telling me that I had her permission to wear makeup. Another milestone in my growing up.

One present had different wrapping paper than the others. I thought I had pulled out the wrong present so I checked the card again. My name was on it, but not who it was from. Odd. When I looked up at my mother, she was grinning.

“It’s from Wanda and Don,” my mother said. “Wanda brought it over yesterday. She said it’s for the best babysitter in the world.”

I tore the wrapping paper off and ripped open the box. Stunned, I held the strange brush in front of my face and stared at it. The bristles were round like the bottle brush for cleaning Suzy’s baby bottles, but they looked like they belonged on a hairbrush. But it was not flat like a normal hairbrush. I was confused. When I looked at my mother she seemed surprised.

“Oh my, that’s a curling brush for curling your hair or making it wavy,” my mother said. “Your hair is straight. Did you ever tell Wanda that you wanted it wavy?”

“No, never.”

“That’s odd. I wonder why she gave you that.”

I stared at the brush and all of a sudden it hit me. The curling brush had a long cylinder-shaped handle. I almost dropped it knowing why Mrs. Russo had bought it for me. Thank God my mother was clueless.

After lunch, my relatives from Canarsie came to our house for Christmas dinner. It had to be a special occasion for my grandmother to leave the apartment. I got more presents. More clothing. Everyone was in a great mood, even Granny. The man who was my grandfather, who I had never met, left her during the Great Depression. I wasn’t sure if they had divorced or he simply abandoned her. It was never talked about. Granny, never having remarried, hardly ever seemed happy. But today, Christmas Day with her family, she smiled a few times. It was nice to see her smile. She always seemed so lonely.

Dinner was wonderful. My friends had turkey for their traditional Christmas dinner, but my mother claimed that was for Thanksgiving so we always had ham. The side dishes varied year to year, but one staple was roasted potatoes because I loved them. I was stuffed by the time my aunt served the apple pie with ice cream she had brought, but I ate it anyway. No way was I going to pass that up. Apple pie and ice cream. Yummy!

The open presents were still scattered on the floor near the Christmas tree where everyone had an opportunity to inspect and talk about them. My aunt showed me how to twirl my hair with the curling brush, but I had no intention of using it that way. Granny got tired so, before I knew it, they were leaving.

After kissing everyone goodbye at the front door, I said to my mother, “I’m going to Wanda’s.”

“No you’re not.”

With my hand still in the coat closet, I looked over my shoulder and said, “I want to thank her for the present.”

“Not today. Not on Christmas Day. You’re not bothering them on Christmas Day.”

“But, Mommy...”

“But nothing. Now go put your presents away.”

I could tell by her tone that her decision was final. It took several trips up and down the stairs to carry all my presents to my bedroom where I put my new clothes away in the closet and drawers. I got sweaters and blouses and skirts. No pants.

I sat on the bed and sulked. Of course my mother was right, but I wanted to thank Mrs. Russo for the gift. I felt special that she had thought to give it to me. My eyes fell on the curling brush, still on the top of my dresser where I had left it. All my relatives had said that my thick and straight hair was too nice to curl. What they didn’t know was that it was my toes that would curl when I used the brush.

I pushed myself off the bed and walked to the dresser. I stared at the brush’s handle and mentally compared it to Mrs. Russo’s cylinder dildo that I had started with before advancing to the larger, cock-shaped ones. I wanted to try it, but I didn’t have K-Y jelly. But Mrs. Russo had told me that K-Y was only needed when the pussy was dry, or when the dildo or man’s penis was extra large. She had said that K-Y wasn’t typically used on a man’s cock when he fucked a woman. In the pussy, anyway. When I had asked her what she meant by that, she looked at me with deliberation and told me we would talk about that at some other time. We never did. But she had said that as long as the woman was wet, which was why foreplay was not only fun but important, K-Y was not necessary. She had giggled saying that I got so wet from the anticipation that I probably didn’t need the jelly with a dildo, but all the times I masturbated with her we had used it. And she was right. I would get wet walking to her apartment knowing what I was going to do there. By the time she opened the door and invited me in, I was squishy wet down there.