It was on the first day of July when Jasmine, the new housekeeper, arrived.
She was supposed to be 19, a second year student at the local college, but she looked 30 at the least. I had never seen anybody like her before except in pictures. Her figure was certainly stunning. She looked like Jayne Mansfield before she went to the wall. She smelled like cigarettes and a whole garden of flowers.
I was certain Mrs. B would not have hired her had she actually seen what Jasmine looked like. Mrs. B liked them young, as in young and naive, young and stupid, young and easily taken advantage of. And to put it plainly Jasmine looked like she knew how to take care of herself and anybody else too.
No sooner had she walked in the door that she embraced me and kissed me as if we were lovers meeting for the first time after a long absence. This was not my way of greeting people, especially strangers. I could feel her big boobs mashed against my chest. It was impossible for me to actually return her embrace, so I settled for a passive acceptance of her gushing enthusiasm.