July 2021

DISPOSABLE  INCOME

By Peter Fraser 

My mind has become unusually alert to English signage.

So, when I come across a business that has a minor addendum in English I am often interested. I see, ‘Parfumes and Pussy Wigs,’ I hesitate at the door, then decide to investigate their range of perfumes. I’m searching for local scents, I know there has to be some.

I see a mature woman inside the small shop smoking a cigarette. Smoking in a perfume shop? They are not serious and it could only be the owner, not an employee. When I address the woman in English her eyes light up.

“Ah Anglisch?”

Ah. Yeah.

“Come in. Yes, right in.”

I looked around it wasn’t my kind of shop. Way too alien for me. I was in unfamiliar territory, but prepared for exploration, I steeled myself to face the unknown.

“Wigs or perfume?”

Perfume.

I hesitated. Well I didn’t want a wig.

How do you mean wigs?

“Wigs. You know what a wig is, I’m sure you do. Women’s vanity products, you might say. Pussy wigs, every woman needs one. Or two. I’ll show you in a minute. Think we’ll start with some perfume. You seem a bit shy. A bit flighty. Might even be a bolter. Call me Rose. Try some of these florals first.”

She went to a display of bottles then took a sample. I obediently offered my hand. She dabbed a touch of it on me.

“They are all original scents. I make them here, but only in small quantities. Bet you’ve never heard of our local perfume? It’s the French. They buy all the raw materials and then turn it into the French product. Guess I’m jealous. You think that’s sad? I suppose it is. Now, try this one. I like that. There are some beautiful lifted tones in there.”

I smelt it. I liked it.

I stood there blank. Wondering what a lifted tone was. Clearly it was an idea that I should understand. And an accepted way of assessing smell.

I’d guess Rose was at least sixty and a most attractive sixty at that. She was at ease, confident and knew she had a sale already. She took control. There was no way I could get out of that shop without surrendering some Euros to her. And she seemed to be flirting with me. It seemed to be part of the sales pitch. Rose was wearing a bright girly frock, which I would estimate as being quite short, no jewellery but a lot of make up on her face. Her breasts were prominent, I really mean exposed, they seem to be most wrinkled, incredibly wrinkled and meaty but appear extremely interesting. My inquisitive mind is alert. Anticipating the need for research.

“Is it for yourself? Or do you have someone in mind? A gift maybe?”

No. For myself.

My answer is way too dull.

She brushed her chest up against me. Her flesh was encased in something quite firm, which held them perfectly in place. Her eyes are shaded and coloured by the hand of an expert. They seem to be the focus of her whole body. Rose continued dabbing perfume on me. She must have done this so many times, but I like to think her enthusiasm is only for me.

“Have we tried too many? It’s easy to get perfume fatigue. Which ones do you want to buy? Well how about we come back in a few minutes and give you time to decide. I’ll show you my wigs.”

Oh. Ok. You sure?

Hesitant about retail etiquette.

“Yes you’re here aren’t you? You may as well see what I’ve got. You never know you might decide to buy one.”

She provided an interesting giggle, then added a surprising guffaw at the end. We moved towards the back of the shop where there was a small display of pubic wigs. Rose opened a draw and pulled out a few plastic samples. She was at ease with me. We were by now old friends. Even though I didn’t smoke cigarettes.

“These are the original wigs. Yeah it all started out as a novelty item. I made them up at night while sitting in front of the television. Seems funny now. What colour do you like?”

I indicated a bright purple. I don’t know why. I’m totally indifferent to colour, I might even be colour blind.

“I cut them from any cheap plastic fabric I could find. This is about five years ago. They were all lurid and florescent. It was a great joke. Everyone around here bought one. Think they used them once, if they used them at all and then threw them away. But hell, it was good for business. Way better than any dumb advertising I ever did. It didn’t take long, but everyone got to know my shop.”

Rose lit another cigarette. Then she took the plastic wig I had preferred out of its packaging and posed with it on the outside of her dress. She giggled girlishly and made a few lascivious pelvic motions.

I was concentrating on the total image. I liked both the giggling and the pelvic thrusts. The big picture is aleways important.

“OK? You gonna take that one. Give it to your wife or girl friend, they’ll think you’ve got a real sense of humour. You married?”

This clearly meant something to her. It wasn’t just chat.

It’s hard to say.

“Is it? You either are or you aren’t. I woulda thought it’s not a difficult question, you think?  I mean you are or you’re not. With me? Ooh, you are so secretive. Why? So, you got a girlfriend? Is that it? You know, no-one knows? It’s all a secret? Wow.”

And she was laughing again. She thought it great fun. Her teeth and gums looked healthy. She was fiddling with her cigarettes and lighter.

No.

“So you’re telling me you are on your own?”

I’m like single, I guess.

“You guess? You’ve gotta guess? What, you’re not actually sure? You poor lonely man. Lotta nice women round here. Lovelies. Want me to introduce you to some? They’d go for you in those clothes. And you can speak English, it’s a real turn on.”

Is it? You mean speaking English is a turn on? I never knew that. Why am I only finding out things like this now? Why has it been withheld from me?

“Sure is cutie. It’s really exotic.  Means you’ve had a touch of education. Or come from a weird country. I mean Western country. With me? Now have a look at these.”

She opened another drawer, filled with wigs, they were genuine hair and a lot more professional than the plastic one, the wig it seemed I had just bought.

“Horse hair. Made by expert wig makers in my own little factory. You know the art of wig making was just about dying out? Can you believe that? Well not anymore. I had to go into manufacturing. Not that I wanted to. And employing people is no picnic here. Believe me. No one wants to work.  They’ve all forgotten how. They expect the government to support them. So, they can live happily in semi-poverty. The whole country thinks like that. Can you believe it? But concentrate. On what we are doing right now.

Touch it. Isn’t that just so sexy. You can’t tell me you wouldn’t want one of them in bed with you.”

Rose gave a few high pitched shrieks. And then finalised it with a quick bass growl. Her verbal range was impressive. A lascivious giggle is no easy sound to produce on demand.

It was velvety and brought back images of an innocent youth. Girls in cars. Girls in secret hiding places. But I was in a shop, stroking a horse hair pubic wig.

“Isn’t it beautiful?”

                She lifted her dress to reveal some interesting lingerie. It was black, small and lacy, just the type that I might easily show some interest in. She placed the wig over her genital area and replicated the earlier pelvic rhythms. There was a degree of expertise in the action.

“You’d wanna stroke that all night honey.”

Her eyes were bright with enthusiasm. It was a trick, from a magician who never tired of the performance.

“Men are not expected to understand women, no we don’t want any of that. Women are mysterious, surely you’ve noticed. Come on tell me you love it.”

I love it.

“Good. Although a little bit more enthusiasm might help. Or you just shy?  But there’s still one more. We haven’t finished yet.”

I was locked in. There was no way I might be offered a possible escape route. I summoned an inner strength against this woman. She was indifferent to any discomfort I might be signalling.

Rose returned the horsehair to its packaging. Then opened a smaller draw and brought out just a couple of different wigs.

“Pubis Deluxe. It’s genuine human hair. They’re made to last a lifetime. And if you look after it properly, it will. Every woman must have one of these. Go on feel it.”

Ah. Should I?

“Yeah. It’ll remind you what you’re missing out on.”

I felt it, I stroked it and by now I was feeling a bit embarrassed. What the hell was I doing? I wanted to escape. I had been in here with this woman for far too long. I needed fresh air.

“Only have a few of these, they are at the expensive end. And you gotta have a few fittings before you can buy. But this one was made for me.”

Her eyes now alight. Primitive. Focusing directly on me.

“You wanna see me wearing it? Bet you do.”

Ah.

There was no point turning back right at this moment. I’ll run away after this. Modern retail has evolved without my knowledge. A parallel universe. Where no-one has bothered to transmit any of this information to me.

Yeah. You think I should?

Feeling bold. Almost daring her.

Rose lowered her black lingerie and held her dress up. She had a girlish bald pudenda and shapely legs. She was exposing herself in the shop. Well. Exposing herself to me. I became contemplative. What else could I do?

“I have to put this on. I’m going out to-night with the boy friend. God, he loves to take it off. He sinks his teeth into it. Now hold this wig.”

She dropped her dress, hiding her genitals. Then put the wig on its reverse side and applied an adhesive, while I held it.

“Part of the secret is the glue. I had this specially formulated, kinda like a denture fixative. It’s really strong for about three hours, then it loses its power. You following? So, you have to get the timing right. Like plan for when you are gonna take it off.  Know what I mean?”

I nodded my head. It seemed reasonable. I could take a touch of logic. Like think ahead. She spread the sticky goo.

“Now put it on me.”

Now?

“Come on, don’t go all coy on me”.

I wasn’t getting skittish.

She held her dress up and parted her legs.

“OK.  Surely  you see where it goes? It fits me exactly. Go on. Before the glue goes off.”

It did fit perfectly.

The earlier fitting had been accurate.

“Now hold it against me. With some pressure baby. Until the glue sets.”

I held it against her mound.

“Ah yeah. Now that feels so good. Have you done this before honey?”

No. Never.

I worried about my power of speech.

“You really are naive. No wonder you don’t have a girlfriend.”

What?

Rose supplied the necessary suggestive giggles.

“Are you just playing at being innocent?”

It was the kind of arcane knowledge worth collecting. One day in the future I might be required to do this and I’d have the requisite knowledge and experience. I might be on a cruise ship. A passenger was having difficulty with a wig. I was a registered wig expert. I might be at a guesthouse in a French vineyard. Seriously contemplating some interesting Burgundy. I might be at a chalet, the snow almost covering the building. My help was needed. And I would supply the expertise. Rose lit another cigarette.

“OK honey. You’ve done good. You can ease off the pressure now.”

Oh. Right.

I withdrew my hand, making a mental note that perhaps I should widen my shopping experiences in the future. There seems to be an exotic selection of product available for the idle consumer. But you do need to be inquisitive enough to search it out.

“Now you have a good look at it. Is that one beautiful bush or not?”

It was. She posed seductively, her labia fitting perfectly into the design. Rose extinguished her cigarette, put her black lingerie back on and adjusted her short dress.

“You like that? I’m thinking you did.”

Am I such an innocent? She is implying I am. Ah.

“Don’t worry honey. It’s OK. I liked showing you that. Did me the world of good as well. But I know you at least want some perfume. Let’s go back and work that out.

I might have bought more than I wanted. But it was perfume, it’ll last forever, won’t it?

“Honey it was so wonderful to meet you. I love a man with discernment. Here. Don’t forget your receipt.”

She kissed me on the cheek.

Then waved goodbye at the door and was lighting up another cigarette as I turned and waved back at her. Now I had the burden of carrying all this perfume with me. It would take forever if I just sprayed it on myself. I’ll have to bequeath it to my grandchildren. They’ll like it. I might write a short story about how I came to own so much of the stuff.  Or not.