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By Gungadick (yataala@aol.com)


Well, today's was the day. I fucked the maid. It'd been coming for quite a while now. They say you should never sleep with the help, but this was inevitable. She wanted it. I wanted it. She got it.

It all started about four months ago. I'd taken on a large number of projects two free-lance articles for an 'in air' magazine; a tech writing piece for a local software company; a made for TV screen play; and three movie scripts. I was busier than the proverbial bee. My housekeeping not that it was ever good was falling by the wayside and my live in girl friend, who didn't do any house cleaning period, suggested I look into a maid service.

You know, they come in periodically and make a lot of noise then leave and miraculously your house is like new. I'd put off looking for one until the 'live in' said she'd move out if I didn't so I put it off a little longer. Once she moved out, I looked in earnest. Earnest as in with vigor not as in the town of Earnest. I don't even think they have maids there.

Anyway, I happened to pick up the local university's student paper one day as I was walking to the Creative Writing class I teach and my eye passed over this ad for "Student House Maids." Well, actually it was both eyes, but you know how the saying goes.

"Help students working their way through college." The ad read. I chuckled inside. I knew that those "Student House Painters" and those "Student Movers" that you see advertised everywhere are usually a scam. Oh, they get the job done, but the closest any of those guys ever got to college was when they painted it or helped some geek move his furniture into it.

I made my way down to the college newspaper office and dropped in to chat with the publisher, who was an old friend. She was sitting behind a desk pilled high with years of detritus. She probably had the cure for cancer somewhere in there, but no one would find it until she passed away. She smoked those little brown cigars and had her window open in deference to the university's no smoking policy. She hacked her greeting and indicated the one chair that didn't have a facsimile of the leaning tower of Pisa on it.

We chatted for a while and she asked about my 'live in' and she smiled when I told her she'd moved out. She smiled because now she would make a play for her. I flinched at one point as I sat there because I saw one of those piles of papers move. It could have been gravity, but I swear something was alive under there. Probably one of those 'Student Movers.'

I brought up the subject of maids and we talked about the possibility of a scam so she called in her advertising manager, who was a post grad student. The post grad took the paper from my hands and circled all the ads that she new had been purchased by individuals.

I thanked her and she pushed her glasses up further and smiled at me. She had a constant blink, which made her look like a myopic guppy since she also left her mouth open slackly at all times. I thanked her again and she frowned and left us. The publisher chortled. We shot the breeze some more and then I thanked her and left for home.

I called a few of the numbers that evening, but two were no longer working; one was a dormitory hall phone and it was impossible to find out who had put up the ad; there were a couple of no answers; and when someone finally did answer she told me she was solidly booked up.

I was about to give up, but decided on trying one more before shooting myself in the head. The phone rang twice and someone picked it up.

"Mushi, mushi," a voice said.

It took me a moment to switch gears. I'd reached a Japanese household. I almost asked if they spoke English and realized I would be insulting the other person so I just launched into my inquiries. The woman told me that the girl who put in the ad was not at home at the moment, but if I left my number she would return my call.

I asked if she had any idea if she was open to new customers and the woman said she didn't know. I thanked her and went in search of my gun. He-he, actually I just fixed myself a drink and sat amidst the filth.

I was sitting in front of this machine and slowly pecking away at one of the airline pieces, trying to describe the Greek Isles from memory when the phone rang. I looked at the clock and saw that it was nearly eight. I walked over and checked the caller ID box, but didn't recognize the number, although it did seem familiar. I realized then that it was the number I had called where the Japanese woman had answered.

"Hello!" I said jovially.

"Hello," a young girl's voice replied, "is this Mister Rawson, please."

"Yes, this is Mister Lawson," I told her.

"You call about clean house, yes?" She inquired.

I was starting to feel like I was taking part in the Mikado. I realized that you didn't have to speak English to clean a house so I let the communication barrier slide. I made an appointment for her to come by the following day. She told me she had no classes in the afternoon and would come by at one. We said our good byes and I hung up. I thought no more of it.

I had actually forgotten the appointment and was busy working when I heard a loud knock at the front door. I frowned at the interruption and I stormed through the living room and swung open the door to confront whichever roaming 'pain in the ass' had deigned to disturb me.

I was prepared for a leaflet bearing Jehovah Witness, or a couple of young men with white shirts and name tags, but I was confronted by a young dark haired beauty, who took my breath away. I stood mouth agape, waiting for my brain to re-engage and she simply stared back at me with a look of consternation. She must have thought I was a lunatic. I finally swallowed and managed to eke out:

"Hello! Are you the maid?"

God, I felt like an idiot. She nodded her head quickly a couple of times and looked at me questioningly. I suppose she was wondering if we were going to conduct the interview on the front stoop with her staring at my belly button and me staring down at the top of her head.

My brain finally started functioning again and I invited her in. I saw her look around and then saw her breath a sigh of relief. I imagine she had pictured the horrors of a bachelor pad with clothes, newspapers, old pizza boxes, and smelly socks hanging from the chandelier, but the house was neat. It only needed a good dusting and vacuuming, plus the dishes had to be done, and the bathroom needed a good scrubbing, and the tile floors hadn't been washed in a while, and the windows were filthy, and could she regrouted the chimney while she was at it?

I offered her a chair and felt like an idiot when I had to ask her to repeat what she'd said. It's not that I didn't understand her, it's just that I was too busy looking her over. Now this is what every maid should look like.

She was in her early twenties, I think. She was Japanese. Her long lustrous black hair was full and hung down to her waist. She had those doe brown eyes and a full pouty mouth. She was narrow-waisted and had something a lot of Japanese women don't have an ass. It was nice and round. She also had a very large bust for a Japanese girl.

During my travels in Japan, I had noticed that the rule was a small bust, but she was sporting something in the range of a 38D or even E. I couldn't tell because of the loose white men's shirt she wore over a pair of stirrup pants. She had to be about five feet four or five inches tall. I was impressed.

"How often you need me come?" She asked in her broken English.

I need you to cum as often as possible my mind said, but it came out of my mouth as, "I guess about once a week."

She nodded and pulled out a palm pilot. She poked and clicked for a second and then she looked up and said, "I come Wednesdays two o'clock?"

"Okay!" I answered. Somewhere in the back of my mind, someone was yelling 'ask her about prices'; 'ask her what she's going to do'. But, my libido was in charge and it would agree to anything.

She smiled that brilliant white-toothed smile and stuck out her hand for me to shake. I took her soft hand in mine and shook it slowly. I didn't want to let go. She smiled and tugged gently. I let go. I lead her to the door and held it open for her. She walked down the stairs and started to walk away.

"Wait," I yelled, "what's your name?"

"Kumiko," she told me from a safe distance. She turned and disappeared around the corner of the house.

I finally breathed. I hadn't realized that I hadn't taken a breath in twenty minutes. It wasn't until about an hour later that I realize what a fool I'd been. I'm glad it wasn't my job to interview Supreme Court judges. I was peeved with myself and told myself that I wouldn't be a blithering idiot the next time she came. I spent the rest of the evening straightening out the house. Tomorrow was Wednesday.

I was freshly showered and nattily attired when she knocked at exactly two the next day. She came in carrying a bucket filled with cleaning supplies and a change of clothes draped over her arm. She smiled and half bowed and I smiled and half bowed back. She was wearing a plaid skirt with a white blouse tucked into it. You can imagine the thoughts that that outfit fueled. The pleated skirt hid the shape of her ass, but the blouse did wonders for her bust.

I offered her something to drink, but she said she needed to get to work. From the way she said it, I understood what she meant was, 'get the hell out of my way and stop fawning.' I got out of the way and decided I should probably stop fawning. I told her I'd be working and she went into the bathroom and changed her clothes. She came out and my heart started beating faster. She had put on a pair of cut off blue jeans and a tee shirt, which she had gathered at the waist and knotted. Her hair was pulled back severely and tied into a long ponytail.

It was erection time. I'm not sure, but I think we both heard it as it rose up and slammed against the bottom of my desk. She asked about a vacuum cleaner and I was about to rise to show her where it was when I realized that if I did she'd probably react like they do in those old Godzilla movies. I pictured her holding a hand to her forehead and her lips moving out of sync with the words coming out.

"Oh my, God! What a monster!" Would be heard and her lips would move for a few seconds longer.

Not wanting to be the subject of B movie angst, I merely told her it was in the hall closet. She walked away and I reached down to rearrange myself.

I never realized how often I had to get up and look for something when I was working. I mean, who can work without a sharp pencil, especially using MS word. And a French/English dictionary. Who can write about the Greek Isles without one. I seemed to get thirsty quite often also. I should probably see if I'm diabetic! In all of my ups and downs I got to see Kumiko a lot.

She was working quite hard too and I was impressed. She had a sheen of sweat built up and soft tendrils of her hair had worked loose and were stuck to the sides of her forehead and cheeks. It took all of my will power not to reach out and move them aside. She would smile every time I went passed and her cheeks must have really gotten tired.

Speaking of cheeks, well, the cut offs she was wearing must have been too loose because she kept on having to tug them up and every time she did those marvelous globes would appear. Did I mention that those shorts were very, very short. Oh! Well they were. She almost gave me a hear attack when I went to the bathroom to see how she was doing and to offer her something cold to drink. She was bent over and reaching into the tub as she scrubbed away.

The shorts were pulled up and the bottom curves of her ass were sticking out, but the more provocative part was that I could make out wisps of pubic hair poking out around that narrow inch wide strip of material, which was the only thing separating me from getting a view of heaven.

Godzilla reared his ugly head again and my own pants became quite constraining. She readily accepted the offer of a cold drink and she sat on the edge of the tub and took a break. I leaned against the doorway and peppered her with questions.

She was from northern Japan. She was born and raised near Sapporo. Her father was a low level bureaucrat. She had won a scholarship to the local university and she'd been here about a year. She had just started her sophomore year. She was nineteen. My heart stopped. Luckily it started back up on its own and didn't required anyone to jump up and down on my chest. She was living with an Asian-American family in Chinatown. She had a room to herself and shared the rest of the house. She wrinkled her nose and I could tell she wasn't happy there. I pressed a little and she just shrugged and passed over it.

Her schoolwork was going fine. It had been rough at first because her English skills hadn't been that good, but she'd taken night classes and it had improved. Her grades were moving up. She was studying international business. I'm amazed that I was able to keep up my end of the conversation, because a few moments after I started asking questions I realized that she wasn't wearing a bra. Her shirt had been dampened by sweat and it had adhered somewhat to her body.

I could make out the large round discs of her aureole and the distended nubbins poking out the material were unmistakable. She rose up as she finished her drink and she stretched her arms up to loosen her back and those magnificent globes tried vainly to burst through the material.

I was in lust. On occasions like this, I would have headed for the bathroom, but since she was in there, it might have been a little awkward for me to whip out my cock and start stroking. I went into my bedroom instead and closed the door behind me. I lie on the bed and pulled out my rampaging cock. In a matter of moments, I had copious amounts of reproductive fluids trying to impregnate my shirt.

I changed shirts and went back to staring at the computer screen. She worked for four hours and then she magically appeared before me, wearing her school clothes once again. She said she hoped it was okay that she had used the shower and the audible thump was heard once again. I asked how much I owed her and was pleasantly surprised that I wouldn't have to mortgage the house.

I wrote the check out to Kumiko Misawa and then showed her to the door. I know she saw the bulge in my pants because she blushed brightly when I stood up to show her out. We both stammered our good byes and she went walking away once again. I went back to my desk and sat there wondering if I could survive until next Wednesday.

The old lady at the registrar's desk had a hard time understanding why a visiting instructor needed to see a student's file, but she finally relented as I poured on the charm. I had told her that I'd been asked to help her with her English lessons and that I wanted to see what I was getting myself into.

Her transcripts indicated that she was slowly climbing from a 'B' average to an 'A'. I memorized the address in the file and then thanked the old bitty and walked away. I turned the corner and quickly scribbled the address down before forgetting it.

I was sitting on a small wall surrounded by students and studying the address in my hand. I couldn't decide if I actually wanted to do this or not. I felt like a stalker. I had thought of going to Chinatown and seeing if I could catch sight of my latest addiction.

"Hello, Mister Rawson," a familiar voice said and I looked up to see Kumiko standing before me.

I quickly shoved the slip of paper into my pocket and tried not to look guilty.

"Hello, Kumiko," I said with a lump in my throat, "how are you?"

"I am good," she answered and that little voice said, 'I'm sure you are.'

"Which class are you heading to now?" I asked her, trying to make innocent conversation.

"No class," she answered innocently. "I am done for today, now I must go study. You have class today?"

"What? Oh, no. I was just visiting a friend. I was sitting here trying to decide where to eat lunch. Would you care to join me?"

I could tell she was taken aback by the offer. So much so that she couldn't find an answer. I reached out for her book bag and she followed me as I led her to a local pizza shop. The shop was awash with students, but we were able to find an empty table in a corner. I asked her what she wanted and she only shrugged. I ordered for us and then sat back and tried to make idle conversation over the din. I asked her how she felt about living in the U.S. of A. and if she liked Seattle.

I was surprised to find out that in the year she had lived here she hadn't had the chance to see any of the sights. I told her that that was a shame and that she would have to let me take her around on some weekend. She smiled and agreed weakly, but I felt it was only to be polite. She asked about my class and she seemed genuinely interested. I found out then that her English tutor had quit and gone on to a different college. She asked if I could recommend someone and a light went on over my head.

I asked if she would be willing to trade cleaning services for tutoring and I saw her hesitate. She told me she needed the money and could not afford that kind of deal. I sighed and made a big production out of relenting and then said that I would be willing to do it for free. She studied my face and I could see she was wondering why I was offering. Luckily the pizza arrived before she could come to the right conclusion that I was hot for her body. She ate lustily, tearing into the succulent pie. She smiled with streaks of sauce extending her painted lips and told me that it was delicious.

I made a comment about it seeming to be the first time she'd had pizza and was shocked when she said it was. We sat around nursing our Cokes until it became awkward and she said she had to go study. I paid the bill and walked her back to campus.

"When do you want me to come for lessons," she asked me as we parted.

I was surprised that she had acquiesced and shrugged. I told her to decide when was best for her and to let me know. I asked if she had my number still and she said yes. I told her I was free most evenings except for Tuesdays and Thursdays when I gave my class. She smiled a farewell and I watched those hips sway away from me. I noticed quite a few young guys turn to watch her as she passed. That long black hair swayed back and forth like a pendulum.

I couldn't wait to twine it between my fingers. I didn't hear from her the rest of that week and over the weekend. I was coming out of my evening class on Tuesday when I found her standing outside the classroom. She smiled and I smiled back over the heads of a group of students who were gathered around me asking a bunch of inane questions. Everyone wanted to write a blockbuster script and they all thought I had the magic wand to allow them to do so. I made my way through the clutch and took her by the elbow.

"Quick!" I said so only she could hear. "Save me!"

She smiled and we walked quickly away.

"You are very popular teacher," she said.

I merely shrugged. I hadn't asked why she had been waiting and suddenly wondered if it was I she had come to see in the first place. She didn't say anything and so I figured it was. We were halfway to my car before she spoke.

"I wanted to ask if we could do the English studying tomorrow after I do the cleaning?"

I glanced down at her inquiring face.

"Sure! That sounds like a good idea. You only want to do this once a week?"

She was taken aback by the question and she glanced down at the ground.

"I do not wish to impose upon you," she said.

"Oh, please. Impose, impose," I told her with a laugh, but she didn't quite understand why I was saying that. I suppose flirting doesn't translate that well either.

She arrived at two the next day with her bucket and change of clothing. She was wearing tight black chinos, a pale blue blouse and a silk bomber jacket. Her long hair was done up into two long braids, which flowed over the shelf of her chest. Didn't this girl know what she was doing to the male population. The number of heart attacks in the Seattle area must have doubled since her arrival.

She went into the bathroom and changed into something a little more sedate than on the previous occasion. I almost asked what had happened to the cut offs, but bit my tongue instead. This time she wore dark blue sweat pants and a black tee shirt. I sat at my computer and let her get on with her work. I didn't find as many excuses to wander around the house this time.

I guess I was already becoming jaded. Although, the lump in my pants gave evidence to the contrary. It only took her a couple of hours this time since she'd done all the catch up cleaning the week before. I saw her go into the bathroom and heard the shower come on. I went on line and looked for sites that sold those little miniature 'peeping tom' cameras. My fingers were poised over the keypad and I sighed as I chickened out and closed down the window. I was a wimp. I would have to find some other way to see her naked. I smiled as I thought of how nice the 'other ways' could be.

She came out a little while later and she smiled as she pulled out a writing tablet and sat across the desk from me. I had her tell me what the other tutor had been teaching her and she reached into her bag and brought and old English primer. I grimaced. I went to my bookshelf and took down an anthology of essays by a number of contemporary American writers. I told her we would use it in her studies. She frowned and looked through the book. She said there were no lessons in it. I told her that we would go about this a different way.

I had her start reading the first story and told her that when she didn't understand a word, or a sentence construction, or anything else to stop and we would discuss it. We hacked away at the English language for a couple of hours and her note pad quickly filled with scribbling. I could see her rocking her neck back and forth a couple of times and I realized it was stiff and that she was probably getting tired. I made a comment about her neck being stiff and she nodded yes.

I had been sitting on the windowsill and looking outside as she struggled through a lengthy essay on racism. I stood and walked over to stand behind her. She jerked slightly as my hands settled on her shoulders. I realized I should have asked first, but I figured in for a penny, in for a pound. I started working the corded muscles along her shoulders and neck.

I felt her loosen up under my fingers and she would let out little moans of pleasure every now and then. I went at it for a good ten minutes and decided she'd had enough. She was very enthusiastic in her thanks. I shrugged it off and told her it was nothing. She said that a Japanese man would never had done that. I apologized for being forward and she said it was quite all right that she had enjoyed it immensely. She looked at her watch then and said she had to leave because the last bus would be coming by soon.

I frowned because the nearest bus line was about ten blocks away. I asked if she'd been riding the bus every time she came over and she said yes. I told her I couldn't have her walking all that way every time and a look of loss came into her eyes. I think she thought that she was being fired. I said that I would give her a ride and she insisted that it wasn't necessary, but I finally won out.

I asked her to stay for a late supper and she grudgingly accepted. I made some smoked turkey sandwiches and offered her a beer. She smiled sheepishly as she accepted. I think it may have been her first beer. We ate and chatted. She told me that she wouldn't have gotten anything to eat otherwise because the family she was staying with was very strict about when meals were to be taken.

I said I was glad she had stayed then. I drove her to her home and we made arrangements to get together on Friday for another tutoring class. I had her take the book with her and told her to finish the essay we had begun. I watched as she practically skipped up the steps to the front door and then as she turned and waved good-bye.

Friday didn't come soon enough. She arrived at the door wearing a burgundy leather skirt and a red blouse. She wore more make-up than she normally did, but I wasn't complaining. She looked good enough to eat. I led her into the living room and ensconced her on the sofa. She pulled out her note pad and we started in on the lesson. She had a lot of questions about what she had read and some of them were philosophical as well as grammatical.

She was feeling a lot more comfortable around me and I could tell by the way she held herself and how she opened up verbally. I offered her a beer after a while, but she crinkled her nose and said she hadn't really liked the last one. I went into the fridge and found and open bottle of fruit wine and brought out two glasses. She sipped it and her eyes sparkled a the taste.

We talked some more about her ambitions and her goals. Before we knew it we'd been conversing for a couple of hours. She said we should get back to the lesson and I told her that we had been studying; that conversation was the best thing for her. She thought about that and she finally nodded.