Everybody Ought To Have a Maid
I don't usually spoil myself, but since I'd just gotten a raise, I figured I
deserved some special treatment. Looking around my apartment, trying to
decide what would be the greatest self-indulgence, it struck me. I'd hire
a maid to come once a week to clean my place up.
While I was thinking about it, I decided to go to the convenience store
around the corner. It's a short walk, and on the way I noticed that there
was a Xeroxed sign on a tree. It read: I'LL CLEAN YOUR APARTMENT.
REASONABLE RATES. CALL PETE. There was a row of phone numbers along the
bottom of the sheet, with vertical slits in the paper, so passersby could
rip one off. I decided to call Pete.
On the phone he sounded ok. I told him that I wanted someone to come in
once a week to clean up -- especially the bathroom -- and that for the most-
part I'd want him to come during the week when I was at work, but this
first time I'd like to meet him. Really, I was a little embarrassed to
have someone else cleaning up after me. It seems kind of decadent or
something. But on the other hand, I didn't want some jerk coming in and
ripping me off. So I decided to be major middle class for once and meet
this Pete guy -- after that he'd be on his own. Whatever. It was a
Wednesday. I made an appointment for Pete to come over the next Saturday
afternoon. Then I spent the next two and a half days cleaning up my
apartment. Especially the bathroom. I guess I'm crazy. But then again, my
mom used to do the same thing when Rose, her cleaning person, came in once
a month. I guess she didn't want her maid to think that she was a slob,
either. What a life.
Pete showed up right on time. When the doorbell rang, I thought my heart
was going to jump right out of my chest. "What the hell was there to be so
nervous about?" I asked myself. You'd think this was a first date, or
something. Anyway, after I opened the door, the lump in my throat was
matched by the lump in my shorts. This Pete didn't look anything at all
like the cleaning lady I remembered from when I was a kid.
Pete was about nineteen years old and just under six feet tall. Blond --
that sort of light brown blond that gets streaky in the summertime. He had
grey-green eyes that were flecked with little spots of gold. He was tanned,
and that made the smile lines that stretched out from the sides of his
beautiful eyes stand out, drawing you back when you tried to look away. I
couldn't stop staring into those eyes, and I guess he must have been used to
it, 'cause after I had been just standing there, staring at him for what
must have been fifteen seconds, he laughed a low, airy laugh and asked if
he could come in. I stammered out something stupid, like "please", but
with an extra three syllables in it -- "p-p-please". And I stepped aside,
tripping over the cat and nearly knocking a lamp off of the table near my
front door. I was acting like a complete jerk. I would have given
anything to roll time back sixty seconds so I could start this over.
I asked Pete to sit down and offered him a drink. "Coke?" he half said,
half asked, and then smiled -- pulling his wide, sensuous lips over a set
of straight white teeth. This kid was perfect. A two-in-one commercial
for Solaflex and Ultrabright. Anyway, this smile was a smile that could
have gotten him a hell of a lot more than just a Coke. He knew it, too,
but he was having fun, not being stuck up. I picked up the cat, which was
rubbing up against my leg
-- she was purring like an electric fan. I stroked her, thinking "Yeah,
baby, I know...I know."
In the kitchen I took a couple of deep breaths and opened up the
refrigerator. Luckily, I actually had the Coke I'd just promised. When I
reached for the ice tray, I noticed that my hands were shaking and I decided
that maybe I could use a cold drink, too. There's a pass-through in the wall
of the kitchen, so you can see people in the living room. While I was
fiddling with the ice and glasses, I looked up to see what Pete was doing.
He was sitting on the couch, flipping through the International Male
catalogue that I'd gotten in the mail that morning. From this distance, I
was out of range of those magnetic eyes, so I could finally check out the
rest of him. It just got better and better.
This kid was built like he'd been working as a lifeguard in Southern
California -- or Australia -- or ... well, you get the idea. He was wearing
a tight, clean white t-shirt that hugged every inch of his chest, strong
shoulders and biceps. The thin white cotton didn't leave much to the
imagination as it stretched over him, rising sharply over two hard nipples,
and dipping gently in the middle. This shirt must have been washed and dried
once too often, because it rode up short at his stomach. As he sat there,
a thin stripe of lightly tanned belly showed between t-shirt and shorts. It
was so tight that the skin there didn't even fold when he sat down, and I
could see his perfect little navel, which was perched on top of a slight
blond arrow of hair which shot itself into his shorts, cut-off Levi's that
were so short that the tips of the front pockets poked down an inch below
the fringe and sat plastered against his hard, hairless legs.
The cold glasses felt good in my hands, which were still shaking a little.
On the way from the kitchen to the livingroom -- six or seven steps if you
take your time -- I had to pull my thoughts together. "Don't be a fool" I
told myself. "He's here to clean the place up, not suck you off." Calm
down. And after that we had a pretty normal conversation. He told me that
he had left home recently because he and his father fought too often, and
that he wanted to go to school, but he wasn't sure what to learn, so for the
time-being he was cleaning houses because it paid ok, and the IRS never had
to find out about it, which made it that much better. I asked him how much
he charged, and was not surprised to find out that it was about twice what
I had expected -- although I nodded my head to indicate that it was ok, and
he smiled that smile again. He had me and he knew it.
After Pete finished his Coke (with a long, glass-emptying gesture that
pulled his shirt up an extra six inches on his belly and forced his biceps
and chest to flex) he stood up, pulled the shorts down along the fringe
where they must have been binding, and asked "Where do I start? This place
looks pretty clean to me." I couldn't even think, but the words "uh...the
bathroom" produced themselves automatically on my lips. Then I went to the
closet to get a bucket (which had a brand new sponge, and three bottles of
unopened cleaning stuff in it) then I led the way to the bathroom.
I walked into the bathroom first, which is almost as large as my livingroom.
I'd often thought that for an apartment so small, it was kind of a waste to
have half of the floor space in the bathroom. But right now it meant that I
could hang out and watch Pete while he worked without being obviously in the
way. "Here you go," I said, and handed him the bucket. Pete just looked at
me, smiled in a friendly way, and put the bucket down. He reached for the
bottle of Ajax cleaner, and started prying off the safety seal. I watched
with a knot in my throat as the muscles along his arm flickered and twisted
with every tiny movement of his fingers. "Damn these safety seals," Pete
muttered, and twisted the bottle around to try it from a different angle.
After a second, the clear plastic band flew off --
but so did the top of the detergent, and a spreading yellow stain covered
most of Pete's chest and stomach. Pete straightened up and held both arms
out to the side, looking down at his drenched soapy front in surprise.
There was a second when neither of us knew what to do, but then -- at the
same time -- we both started laughing.
"Drag," I said. "And that stuff's not going to do your skin any good. I
guess you should take the shirt off. I'll get a clean one for you." Pete
obliged, grabbing the t-shirt at the bottom, cross-hand style. He lifted
the shirt slowly, pulling it away from his torso and face to avoid
spreading the Ajax any further. I was in heaven. Now the shirt was off,
and Pete was standing there, bare chested, with the shirt in one hand, a
sheepish smile on those incredible lips, and a sticky shine all along his
smooth, hard chest and belly. "Listen," he said. "I know this isn't
normal, but do you mind if I shower this off? It'll just take a second, and
then I'll get on with the job." Of course, I didn't mind. I just made a
gesture that said 'the place is yours', turned around and left the
bathroom, closing the door behind me.
On my knees at the keyhole (I know, but I couldn't help myself) I watched
Pete undress. He was far enough away from the door that I got a full view
of him. First he took off his deck shoes and then his shorts. No
underwear. And no tan line, either. Pete started toward the bathtub, but
got sidetracked at the full length mirror, and decided to check himself
out. He was facing away from me, broad shoulders tapered down to narrow
hips and a beautiful tight ass, curved in on both sides. He had strong,
muscular thighs, cycler's thighs that were smooth and hard, and had only
the faintest dusting of light golden hair that gradually got courser and
darker as it worked its way down the back of his legs. I never got as far
as Pete's ankles, because I suddenly discovered that in addition to this
incredible rear view, the mirror was giving me an even more amazing front-
view. My eyes climbed up his body, passing over the front of his thighs and
resting for a long moment on his heavy young cock, arched forward
slightly, a long swollen vein standing out clearly along the length of the
six-inch shaft. I couldn't believe my eyes. This kid was half hard,
excited by his own reflection. Pete reached down and cupped a strong hand
over his hardening dick and massaged lightly. I couldn't believe the show
I was getting. But just then, Pete must have realized that he was taking
too long, and he moved to the shower. His three-quarter hard cock swayed
as he walked, and he reached down to stop the slow back and forth motion
which must have been getting him hornier and hornier.
Pete stepped over the high edge of the bathtub, to place one foot on the
cool porcelain inside. For a second, as his foot went over the lip of the
tub, his low-hung balls showed between his legs from behind, heavy and
round. Then he was in the tub, one of those 'afterthought' jobs that has a
shower installed where a shower was never intended to go. Pete looked a
little perplexed. As he bent down to figure out the water taps, he stood in
perfect profile. Along his side, the outline of ribs jumped out, and the
hard curve of his shaft stuck straight up, hugging the contours of his
stomach. I might have been dreaming, but I swear that a drop of pre-cum
glistened on the tip of his full, round, swollen cock-head.
With a quick twist of the knobs a pulse of water shot out of the showerhead.
For a minute, Pete enjoyed the warm water flowing over his body. He bent
his head backwards, and let the water soak into his hair. The water poured
down the entire length of his tight body, cascading off here and there in
twisting spirals of water. I noticed that he was getting water all over
the floor and thought ironically that this was one maid that I was going to
clean up after. Not that I minded much ... under the circumstances.
Anyway, he finally noticed the water puddling up on the floor and he pulled
the shower curtain closed. Damn.
The cat watched curiously as I sprinted to my bedroom to find the perfect
t-shirt. At first, I thought I would just give him a plain white t-shirt
like the one he was wearing, but then I found the tank top which a friend
had just bought for me in San Francisco. It was a loose fitting white tank
top with the words, 'Gay Games 86' in small black letters. "This is pushing
it," I thought, and grabbed the white t-shirt after all. Yes, that would be
perfect.
At the bathroom door, I thought about knocking, but decided just to walk in.
Pete liked hot showers. The bathroom was filled with a light fog, and
billows of steam rose above the shower curtain. "Pete, here's a shirt," I
said, walking up to the curtained tub. "I'll just leave it on the sink,
and..." But as I was finishing my sentence, he shut off the water and drew
open the curtain. This was incredible. He was acting very no-big-deal,
like he was in his own bathroom, and there was no one else there. For my
part, I thought I was going to have a heart attack. "Have you got a
towel?" he asked with that smile. There he was, standing in my bathtub,
with water dripping from every part of his nude body, asking for a towel
and I couldn't move. "Have you got a towel?" he asked, again. It was a
simple enough question, but at that moment, as I struggled to pull my mind
together, it seemed terribly complex. All I could think of was a
description I once read of the way deer will stare into the headlights of
an oncoming car until they're run right down. They just stare. But at the
same time, a little voice was telling me that only a fool would hand a naked
man a towel.
Finally, a choked noise that sounded something like "oh, yes." came out of
my mouth and without turning my head, I reached for the towelbar which was
two-thirds of the way behind me, coming up with a bathtowel on the third
grope. I handed him the towel and continued to stare as he dried himself. I
couldn't help myself. Pete, for his part, was obviously getting off on the
power he had over me. His dick, which had been on the plump side from the
first, was now definitely swelling. It swayed heavily as he brought the
towel to his dripping hair and rubbed vigorously. As he brought his arms
back down to his side, he winced slightly, and rolled his left shoulder as
if it were stiff. "Listen, I wrenched my shoulder a couple weeks ago doing
some yard work and it's still sore. Would you help dry my back?" he asked.
I couldn't believe my ears, but this time there was no delay. "Sure" I said
quickly, sounding a little too much like a 17-year-old who's been offered a
chance to polish the neighbor's Porsche.
I took the towel and slowly wiped the water droplets from his shoulders,
shoulder blades, and lower back. I now had such a hard-on that I thought
the zipper might not hold it in any longer. He took the towel and turned
around. I quickly covered my crotch with the tank top, but I knew he had
seen the bulge in my pants. "Is that t-shirt for me?" He asked, knowing
what it was hiding. I handed him the shirt, which he took, staring at my
crotch. He smiled again. My eyes were fixed like magnets on his beautiful
eyes -- eyes that smiled. I tried to break the stare. I forced myself to
look down, and was glad to see that his dick was still hard. I started to
relax, although my cock didn't.
Pete stepped forward and with his strong arms pulled me close against his
naked skin. He kissed me gently, with soft, warm lips. I wrapped my arms
around Pete's neck, sliding my embrace down until I was holding him just
above his hard, hot ass. I pulled him tight against me. Pete responded
with a kiss that nearly ripped the tongue out of my mouth. His hot tongue
left my tingling lips and wandered down my neck. My hands slipped down
another few inches to massage those firm, round buns of his. "You feel so
good." I said. He knelt at my feet. Then, looking up, he said "I want
your cock in my mouth." and began un-zipping my pants. "I want to eat
it." he said. He pulled my pants down and started licking my dick though
my underwear. I felt as though I would cum any second if he didn't stop. I
had to do something or else it would be all over much too soon. I quickly
knelt down and grabbed his dick. He kissed me with his probing tongue. As
I rubbed his now huge cock, he moaned, "Oh, that feels great." He look at
me with those eyes of his.
"Would you like to go into the bedroom?" Pete asked. I nodded and led the
way. In the bedroom, Pete grabbed me from behind and we rolled onto the bed
together. He un-buttoned my shirt and lay on top of me. His chest against
my chest. He kissed me again, then he licked his way down my chest and
stomach. Reaching my white Fruit-of-the-Looms, Pete caught the waistband in
his teeth pulling one side down, then the other. He wrapped his lips
around my pulsing dick. His warm mouth felt great.
We maneuvered around to 69 position and I slipped his balls into my mouth
one at a time. He moaned loudly (Now I know what he likes!). Then he
started licking my balls too. I took his cock and swallowed it. He twisted
in delight. We were both inhaling and exhaling deeply, our bodies moving in
the rhythm of our rapid breathing. He pumped his dick deep into my throat
while his mouth sucked my cock faster and faster. I was so fucking close,
but I wanted to cum with him. It took all my energy to hold back. He was
driving me crazy, but his breath was very fast now so I knew he was close,
too.
Pete took one long, hard, full length suck on my dick, then pulling it from
his mouth, began to beat it. I grabbed his ass, forcing his dick deep into
my throat. He moaned deeply. With each beat of his strong wet hand on my
cock, my balls tightened -- ready to explode. But Pete was ready, too.
He pulled his dick from my mouth and then we both shot our loads all over
my chest, the bed and the wall, too!
Pete sighed and fell off of me. As he rolled onto his back, he noticed our
cum dripping down the wall. He began to laugh. "I guess I know where to
start cleaning," he said pointing at the wall. We smiled, and both laughed.
It was so great. It didn't seem odd that we were laughing. Somehow it
seemed completely natural. He lay down on top of me smearing the cum from
my chest all over his. Then he rolled over, pulling me on top of him, held
me tight and kissed me.
I think I found the right cleaning person, don't you?