Dave's Perfect Housemaid

GUY WANTS HOUSEMAID

A guy who has lost his interest in sex after two marriages (four children but all taken into legal custody by their moms) who miraculously has retained a fine home and great SUV would like the company of a woman around his age (40) willing to sleep with him but not required for sex. Must cook, clean, do the laundry and mow the lawns while being a non-smoker, moderate drinker and capable of watching sport on TV without chatting at inappropriate moments. In return she'll receive $300 bucks a week for personal expenditure and no problem if she comes with a child between four and seven years of age. The guy is safe, clean, house-trained and capable of being coaxed into having fun – e.g., movies, the beach, eating out. Write to 'Dave, Box 16789, Williamstown.

David Royce Jones took the ad into theWilliamstown Gazette. The young girl at the classified ads counter read it, looked at Dave and said gamely, "I'd be prepared to give it a go."

"I need more definite commitment than that; anyway you are what – twenty?"

"Eighteen."

"Please place the ad in the Personal column."

The clerk said she'd get the wording approved by the manager. She returned smiling and asked Dave for the $33.27.

"Good luck sir – if you don't have any success come back and talk to me – I only get $310 a week after tax in this job."

The number of replies surprised Dave – he'd expected four or five. By the week's end he'd receive 154 – many abusive. For example:

·Pig, Fascist, Commie, Dog and Up Yours.
·No wonder your wives and children escaped.
·Guys like you should be castrated.
·What a way to pay for your fucks.
·Wouldn't come for $1400 a week.
·I'm gay you slimy wimp. Please reply asshole.
·Asshole.
·Judgment Day awaits you, Brother.
·You make me sick you pervert.
·I'll accept and give you diseases.

Perhaps one hundred inquired if the weekly allowance was negotiable.

Another twenty stated they didn't like watching sport so he'd have to agree to channel share.

Five asked would they have to mow the grass if it was raining.

Five inquired about the type of mower he possessed.

By lunchtime on Saturday all of the replies bar three were in the trash. Dave wrote to those three respondents setting up an interview times on Tuesday evening. Only one of those respondents turned up.

Margo Ring was just forty, and showed Dave her driver's license to prove it and her identity. She'd had a slip-up in sexual activity five years ago so had Meg; now her parents wanted them out of the house as they wished to sell and move to a one-bedroom apartment. She fitted the over-all specification perfectly and added he could have sex anytime after she felt she knew him sufficiently well. She had never married and Meg's father no longer lived in the country.

"Right, that seems satisfactory to me," Dave said. "You appear to be the perfect fit."

"You really can have no idea...oh, you mean match requirements as a live-in?"

"Yes, any questions?"

"Is what you state about yourself in your advertisement true?"

"Yes, I believe so," Dave said, placing his hand on his heart.

"Why did you wives leave you?"

"Both claimed I had become boring to live with."

"Well, that's unlikely to be a problem for me – I read a lot."

"Anything else?"

"No – may I move in on Monday morning after I drop Meg off at school. We don't possess much so I'll hire a van mover to shift me. I don't want my mean parents to know where I'm relocating. I'll arrange for them to lunch with Meg and me on The Promenade every Sunday. They quite like Meg. Oh, another thing, I sleep in the nude – is that okay?"

"Yes, me too. The chances of touching accidentally are remote – it's a king-size bed. Want to see through the house?"

"No, Monday will do. I'm off – please show me out Dave."

"My pleasure Margo. I must say I feel very happy about you."

"I'll let you know what I feel about you after a few days Dave."

It was true Dave was happy about Margo. She was pretty, not beautiful, tall with a great figure with mousy hair – he'd get something done about that. She appeared to be confident and well educated. He'd forgotten to ask had she been holding down a part-time job; perhaps it was being slave to her parents. She appeared to have great legs, for what that was worth.

* * *

At 9.25 Dave bounded out when hearing the van drive up. He stared in amazement at Margo, dressed in shorts and a halter-top – her great legs appeared to go up to her armpits. He swallowed and managed "Hi."

"Hi. What is the drill – do we kiss each time we meet?"

"Okay; what about lightly on the lips."

"Okay," she smiled, puckering her lips and Dave was in like a Great White Shark. Actually he almost tripped over his feet and dabbed forward, getting some lip and some nose.

"Oh, " she giggled. "Out of practice – we'll have to work on that."

Dave wagged his tail, almost.

"Well, this is Frank – we need you to show use where to deposit this load."

"Of course – hi Frank; I'm Dave; hand me a couple of items and follow me."

"Yes boss."

"Oh, what a wonderful bedroom suite," Margo sighed.

"Aren't you guys a number?" Frank asked, putting down the long mirror on its stand and scratching.

"No, I'm just the cleaning lady, cook and bottle washer," Margo said sweetly.

"And I'm Father Christmas," leered the owner-driver looking at the huge four-poster bed that looked straight out of Arabian Nights.

The longer Margo looked at the bed the pinker her face turned.

After Frank the mover left there was an awkward moment as Margo and Dave continued looking at the spot left vacant by the departing vehicle.

"Um, nice day," Dave said attempting to fill the sound vacuum.

"Coffee?" Margo asked sensibly. "I love your kitchen."

"Our kitchen," Dave said firmly and just caught an accelerated flutter of her eyelids.

He followed her to the kitchen noting the long brownish dull hair just touching her shoulders, square shoulders pulled back with a touch of athleticism and the earlier impression those delectable legs went all the way to her armpits was dispelled by the sight of two half-rounds a little below her waist showing merry but discreet bounce.

Lovely.

She turned into the kitchen and he walked into the door jam, just managing to deflect his head so the chest took the impact.

"Oh goodness," she cried, looking at him curiously. "Are you okay?"

"Bad timing," Dave muttered, turning his grimace into an assuring smile.

She accused: "You were looking at my butt."

Panic roared through Dave knowing that perhaps their entire relationship rested on this response if trust and understanding were to develop. "My apologies; it's hereditary."

She tinkled laughter and went to the coffee machine displaying three times the bounce, or so it seemed as Dave had so little time to refocus. He decided to keep an eye on that and would ultimately get confirmation whether or not the extent of bounce related to mood.

He stood over her at the cupboards, but only just as she was so tall. He bent slightly and the fragrance of her perfume – probably cheap scent – invaded his nostrils without resistance. It was probably called 'Take Me' in French. He sniffed – damn, too loud; she would have heard him. As a diversion and out of necessity, he threw open an overhead cupboard to the side of them and said, "This is the coffee."

"Very logical to store it there."

As he stepped back a pace she turned and leant back slightly over the bench more or less parading her smallish breasts. He smiled, his gaze not leaving her eyes which would confuse her; even so a deep feeling within him – he would liken it to the silence roar or a hungry lion – caught his attention. Did this mean his desire for sex was not totally extinguished?

"Yes?" he asked, noting she was studying his face for some obscure reason that only a female would know and know how to translate the feedback.

"Do you have a workshop?"

Huh?

If she'd asked him was he wearing a condom he wouldn't have been more surprised. What on earth did a woman do in a workshop? Ah yes – oh, very clever. A yes would translate into 'You using the workshop at nights Dave means I have the big screen television in the lounge all to myself to wallow in Soaps'. Gawd, this babe was good.

"As a matter-of-fact I do; produce the coffee and we'll go on a tour of the property. You'll need to know where the lawnmower is kept."

"Ah yes," she replied, her eyes dulling and Dave's eyes being raised to the ceiling in an attempt to confirm he still hadn't looked at her breasts if that had been her objective. He was sure it was; a couple of times when in the depths of loneliness he'd had a couple of women snap, "Why are you looking at my breasts?" He knew he had only been looking in the general direction, and certainly not staring, but those sharp rebukes resulted in making him focus on their breasts to see if they were worth looking at. Women were so damn confusing and he'd wondered in each case had the rebuke achieved the intended result. He hadn't stuck around to find out, instead uttering an apology sounding like an obscure Russia dialect and accelerating away from each of those and their breasts.

At last they came to the workshop that ran half the length of the back of the house at right angles to the double garage where the battery lawnmower was kept to cut the two small lawns.

"Ohmigod!" Margo gushed as if seeing for the first time the bridal suite in Don Juan Capistrano's winter palace in Seville. Either that or she was having an orgasm.

Actually she was looking at Dave's Palace. It was where he daily performed his art – restoring mantel, wall and floor clocks. His reputation as a master restorer was known throughout the country – although nothing in that because New Zealand is a small country. But some of his most lucrative commissions came from places like Havana, Buenos Aires, Washington, Montreal, London, Berlin and even Bern. There was half a wall of tools beautifully hanging like teeth in dentures. The room was fully air-conditioned with a glassed off room for painting, enameling and varnishing at one end and a similar enclosure at the other end for a metal and woodworking.

"It this what you wanted to see?" he asked proudly.

"Oh Dave," she cooed. "This is paradise – do you think I could use a little bit of space in the metal working area for my tiny business – I design, make and distribute exotic evening jewelry."

Dave scratched an ear. "Is your work noisy?"

"Not at all, except for the occasional bit of grinding."

"Are you tidy?"

She smiled and said meticulous.

"Well, I suppose I could allow you to work in here – at a small rental because you are commercial."

"Whatever it takes," Margo said, looking at him through lowered lashes.

There was that lion roaring away silently again.

As they walked around outside Margo said she would appreciate being given schedules – a list of housekeeping duties, his preferred meal times and another schedule of times she could operate in the workshop.

"Tell you what," Dave said, pointing to ripening tomatoes. "You do the housework to suit your own daily schedule. I guess breakfast will be governed by getting your daughter off to her school – is it near here?"

"Yes, she began her new school this morning; it's within walking distance. I had a car which I'll use on wet days – it's parked on the street."

"Use the garage."

"Thank you, it doesn't leak oil. I must say for a bachelor your house is astonishingly tidy."

"The first ten years of my life I worked in watch repairs; to do that one has to be meticulous. But that business was in decline as today if anything is wrong with a modern timepiece it's more economic to replace the entire movement or whatever. I saw the writing on the wall so moved into restoration of clocks, as that work requires multiple skills. Ah – where was I. Oh yes, meticulous at work so I'm a tidy person around the house."

"That is very interesting. I'm surprised that I don't see clocks all over the house and there's only one clock being repaired on your workbench."

"I have no wish to be over-run by clocks. I have one in the hallway and an electronic time alarm beside my bed. Otherwise, it's just my wristwatch or the clocks in the computers, oven, TV sets and SUV."

"Oh yes, I saw that funny looking ornate metal clock in the entrance foyer."

"Yes, an early metal relic."

"Valuable?"

"Insured for $200,000. When I leave the house and set the alarm that clock becomes independently electrified as an additional security measure."

"Ohmigod – will Meg be safe?"

"Yes - always turn off the central alarm before entering the house and there's no problem. Additionally, I suggest you never talk to her about that clock – it's up fairly high."

As they returned inside Margo said she'd make coffee at 10:30 and serve it out in the side patio. "In the meantime I'll sort out Meg's room – it is such a lovely room for her."

"I bought that bed for her yesterday. The woman said it's first choice of little girls who are given the choice. I've stored the other bed in the loft above the garage."

"That was very sweet of you. Um, sleeping arrangements?"

Dave decided she was negotiating so he should be kind. "You sleep in the third bedroom if you wish."

"No, your bed is fine. It's just, um..."

"You don't normally sleep in the nude?"

"Well yes. For some reason I felt the desire to make myself more appealing to you to perhaps give me an edge over all those other applicants winning an interview."

"So now you wish to renege?"

Margo blushed but thrust out her chin. "No – no way. It's just that I don't want to tempt you to...you know."

"I assure you Margo you have nothing to tempt me."

Dave watched her eyes widen in shock and he walked away, leaving her with his utter lie.

"Do you want to watch me undress?" she called, aware there was a separate dressing room.

"Please yourself," he said, not looking back and beginning to whistle on his way to the workshop.

* * *

Margo prided herself on her daring and fertile imagination but was aware she'd gotten herself into something almost out of her depth. She contemplated hauling her still unpacked boxes outside and telling Dave she's decided this weird situation and his unpredictable behavior was too much for her. It was simply not normal for a man to avoid looking at a woman's breasts when they were displayed to him. Oh yes, he had fixed on her ass but what else was there for a guy to look at when following a woman?

As far as his workshop went, it wasn't right that a self-employed person should have a huge amenity like that fitted out with air-conditioning and superb looking tools and machines. The facility would be worth thousands – possibly a hundred thousand. Really she had no idea. She'd trained in jewelry making but the thought of her designing and the master-craftsman doing intricate work beyond her capability make her feel faint. Oh god, she wasn't about to orgasm again was she? That one she had upon entering Aladdin's Cave or what he called the workshop was the only time in her life she was aware of she'd had one without touching herself or being worked over.

The weirdest thing was to sleep with him and yet not being fucked. What kind of monster was he? Really she'd heard the warning bells when writing in response to her ad but she was so desperate to break the grip her parents had on her that she willingly took the risk.

Run or stay? Well, he didn't appear to be an axe-murderer or whatever. She moved into Meg's room and began unpacking.

She thought about Dave. He hadn't touched his genitals within sight of her; that must be a good sign. He'd been dismissive of her as an allurement; the man was a liar, surely. It gave her an uncomfortable feeling as if he was slyly ensuring he kept on top. She was anxious that she didn't expose Meg to any danger. God, with this strange behavior, what if he were a pedophile? She smothered her alarm by asking herself did she trust this guy? She answered yes, hoping she hadn't rushed the answer and continued unpacking. Meg, dear Meg – she'd be helpful in sorting this dilemma – if she were simply shy that would be a good sign; if she wanted nothing to do with the man that would ring an alarm.

Margo rushed out with coffee at 10:40. "Sorry, sorry – I became oblivious to time."

He laughed, put down the newspaper and looked enquiringly, "Where's your cup?"

"Er, in the kitchen."

"I invite you to have all meals and refreshments with me unless you are otherwise occupied."

"Thank you and even share the bath," she joked.

"If that appeals to you," he said.

"Oh God, I'm sorry. I have a habit to making thoughtless quips that can be embarrassing."

"I'm not embarrassed or offended," he said to Margo's relief. "Actually if that's what you want may I expressed my preference for a shared shower. I rarely use the bath."

Margo eyed her coffee and wondered if it were possible to die of embarrassment. God, he must think she was a right airhead.

Finishing off Meg's room and then hanging her own clothes in an empty wardrobe in the dressing room of the main bedroom Meg thought at this rate she was likely to die of nervous exhaustion. Everything was new, strange and much of it was loaded to become potentially confrontational or antagonistic. It required sorting. She decided to go to the kitchen and study what was in the fridge; freezer, pantry and cookie tins and that would give her a pretty accurate account of his food preferences. She found no lettuce so decided to make a cheese omelet for their lunch. She called him to lunch, back on the patio, and almost kissed him when he said, "Oh, cheese omelet, my favorite. As they ate she probed him about his wider food preferences, times when he preferred to eat and quickly built up a huge start to her database.

Dave was working at his computer on accounts when Meg arrived at her new home with her mother.

"Meg, this is Mr Jones," Margo began warily.

Dave who'd already spun his chair around took off his reading glasses and said, "Hello Meg, welcome to your new house."

Meg studied him for a moment and said, "Are you my father?"

"No, only your new friend. Please call me Dave."

Meg walked over to Dave and held up her arms to be lifted. "Do you have games for little people on your computer like we have at school?"

"No but I'll buy you a computer tomorrow and have it loaded with games for little people."

"I'd like that. You smell nice."

Margo leaned against the door jam, eyes closed wondering if she'd died and gone to a home for happy mothers.

That night Margo spent fifteen minutes cleaning her teeth worrying about her debut. She went through the side-door and removed her dress and panties and gritting her teeth walked out into the bedroom wearing just bra, garter belt and stocking; that was the look men liked wasn't it? She found him, peacefully asleep. Well, at least that established which side of the bed was hers. She decided to wake in the morning at 6:30 and then when he stirred she'd waddle to the bathroom with a full bladder giving him a great look at her bare ass.

She awoke just before 6:00 in great confusion: he was already gone.

Relax girl, Margo told herself. You are not handling this at all well; you are too uptight and attempting to anticipate too much without possessing parameters.

She dozed until Meg came running into the bedroom. She kissed Margo and asked where were her clothes.

"Mommy is not wearing a nightdress anymore."

"Oh, what about Dave?"

"What about him?"

"Does he wear clothes in bed?"

"I don't think so."

"You and him are funny mommy. Where is he?"

"In his workshop I suppose."

"Oh, I'm not allowed in there am I?"