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*Part 3 in an ongoing series…
I pulled up in front of the house and turned the engine off. But I didn’t get out of the car right away. I needed a few minutes to collect myself. I looked at the house; the house of the woman who had posted a want-ad for a naked houseboy. It looked like any other house. A well maintained lawn, a recent coat of paint, a flowerbed by the front door. In a word, respectable.
“Better make sure I look respectable too,” I thought to myself as I adjusted the rearview mirror to check my tie. As I straightened the knot, I looked at my reflection. The same reflection I had seen in the mirror back at the hotel this morning. And yet different. Now my hair was brushed, my face clean. But this morning…
In the last 22 hours I had jerked off 6 times, not once bothering to wipe myself down. And that included the facial I’d given myself. What I saw in the mirror that morning, before my shower, was a filthy cum-covered mess, swinging a sad looking limp dick, red from so much wanking.
Which was more real? The clean, well dressed job applicant staring back at me now, or that hot mess from this morning? Two sides of the same coin, I guess. But normally it’s only the clean side that is on display. Were I to get this job, there’d be no hiding the filthy side, even if I wanted to. Was I ready for this? Well, I’d come this far. No turning back now. Taking a deep breath, I got out of the car.
As I walked up to the front door, I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. “What the hell are you doing here? And who do you really think is going to open that door? This isn’t some porn fantasy, this is real life.” I realized that I was staring at the doorbell. Finally, some finger, which seemed not to be my own, reached out and rang.
I heard footsteps. My heart, already racing, was flying now. My throat was dry. The sound of a lock sliding; the handle turning; the door swinging on its hinges. And then, a woman.
As an avowed perv, I feel like I should be saying that the first thing I noticed were her breasts or her hips or her legs. As someone who was raised with some semblance of manners, I feel like I should be saying that the first thing I noticed were her eyes; eye-contact is key to a good (and professional) first impression.
But really what I noticed first was the smile. It’s not that it canlı bahis was a beautiful smile, or a sexy smile. It was a kind smile. How else to explain how instantly at ease I felt? One look at that smile and my heart rate fell back down to earth. I could swallow again.
“Hi, I’m Carrie. So nice to meet you!” She reached her hand out to me. I accepted her handshake and looked up to see a pair of soft brown eyes above that smile. But where her smile was all warmth and kindness, her eyes were shy, furtive.
We looked at each other for long moment in silence, as she searched my face all while somehow avoiding my eyes. Then, with that wonderful smile, “Please, please, won’t you come in?”
I didn’t need to be asked twice. I closed the door behind me, mindful that every action – no matter how small – might influence her impression of how I would treat her home, how responsible I might be. Having closed the door, I turned around to face her, only now getting my first real look at her, top to bottom.
She stood 5’9″, three inches taller than myself, with wavy blond hair her to her shoulders. She was dressed casually but conservatively, sporting a beige crew-neck sweater over a white collared button-shirt. Below that, a pleated skirt – royal blue – just past the knee.
Because of the conservative style of dress, it was hard to get a good read on the details. Clearly, her breasts were massive. One got the impression that the reason for the sweater was because trying to button up a shirt over those things would run any number of risks. Her round belly was also somewhat restrained by the shirt-sweater combo. Wide hips led down to calves that were more strong than thick.
Looking at her, I briefly tried to handicap her bra size. Forty-four around seemed about right. But what about the cup size? Who knew what kind of work her combined undergarments were doing, what kind of strain they might be under. Certainly no smaller than DDD, but realistically, quite a bit bigger than that.
And then I realized. If I got this job, I’d be doing her laundry. I would not only know what size she wore, but what brand, what style. “Isn’t that interesting?” I thought to myself. “In this job, I’m the one who’s going to be naked. But unless this woman is planning on doing her own laundry, she’ll be sharing some rather intimate things with me as bahis siteleri well.”
“Why don’t we talk in the kitchen?” she asked, bringing me back to reality. It wasn’t really a question, as she had already turned her back on me and was on her way. There was no hiding her broad, round ass. But her hips swayed with such grace and elegance, that she wasn’t so much walking as figure skating.
Raising my eyes a few inches, I could make out the broad band of her bra pushing through the back of her sweater. It was easily four inches wide. Whatever she was carrying, it needed a lot of support.
She led me into the kitchen, to a glass-topped, metal frame dining table, surrounded by 6 leather chairs. Pulling one chair out for me, she then walked around to the opposite side of the table. I waited for her to sit first, out of an abundance of politeness. But she didn’t sit. Not yet.
She just looked at me. Or rather, she looked around me. In fact, it seemed as though she was looking everywhere *but* at me. For a few moments, she didn’t say anything. Then, when she finally did speak, her voice was soft, almost shy; in stark contrast to the confident and professional voice I’d heard over the phone or the friendly voice which had greeted me at the door.
“Look,” she began tentatively. “I know this might be a little awkward. And I’m sorry to have do it this way. But I really…I must insist that you remove your clothes for this interview. I mean, if you don’t mind.”
To be honest, I was a bit taken aback by this. I mean, who posts a want-ad for a naked houseboy and then gets all shy and awkward when it’s time for said (potential) houseboy to actually disrobe? But when I looked at her face, any misgivings I might have had simply evaporated. The kindness of her smile remained, even as she seemed to be looking more at her own two feet than at me.
“Poor thing,” I thought. “She’s just as nervous as I am. Probably even more so, given she’s the one inviting a total stranger into her home.” So I tried to lighten the mood.
“Yeah, yeah, of course. I guess you wanna get a look at the milk before you buy the cow, huh?” I laughed weakly. That was not a well-crafted metaphor. Worse, my effort backfired. She shot me a wounded look, as though I had offended her.
“Nothing of the sort,” she declared. “To be perfectly honest, I bahis şirketleri don’t much care what you look like. But if you’re going to work and live here under the terms outlined in my ad, I need to know that you’re comfortable being naked around me.” She spoke with waxing confidence. “It’s really that simple.”
I could feel my face burning with embarrassment. “Oh no, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean any offense. I just…”
“I know,” she said softly. Her body relaxed. “It’s OK. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I’m sorry too.”
“Don’t be,” I waived her off. “I think we’re both – “
“A little nervous,” she finished. “Yeah. Look, why don’t we start over?”
“Sounds good to me.”
And then, we just stood there looking at each other like a couple of idiots. At last, she clapped her hands. “Well? Off with them, already!”
“Huh?” I was a step behind.
“You’re doing this interview naked. Or have you forgotten?” She was no longer shy or awkward. Now she was in control, confident, smiling. Laughing, even.
“Of course, of course! Where are my manners?”
I began by undoing my tie, which I folded neatly and laid upon the table. Next, my shirt, one button at a time. This too I folded with special attention. For it had occurred to me that this might be a test of my laundry folding skills. Piece by piece I disrobed, and all the while, she looked on the way an HR manager might watch an applicant filling out a survey.
And then I was down to nothing but my boxers. This was the moment. Some of the previous tension had returned. She looked at me now, again with that shyness in her eyes. It was an awkward moment, no question. I decided to try a different tack.
“I’m sorry, could you point me to the restroom?”
“Yeah, it’s uh, just around the corner there. On the right.” She seemed a little surprised. I mean, talk about timing, right? But I figured there’s no way to gracefully de-boxer oneself while standing. Better would be to take them off in the bathroom and just re-appear naked. Which is exactly what I did.
I returned with my carefully folded boxers, laying them atop my pile of clothes. At which point I stretched my arms wide and did a complete 360 degree spin, affording her a look from every angle. I ended with a deep bow at the waist.
“I believe madam requested my naked presence?” I smiled mischievously.
“Stupid,” she whispered as she brought a hand to her mouth, stifling a laugh. Ice. Broken. “And now sir,” she said regally, “if you would be seated, we may begin with the interview.”
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