Man Needs a Maid Ch. 03

MAID Chapter 3

I called Cindy, to tell her that she hadn't gotten the job.

- "Really?" she said, sounding slightly incredulous. I'm sure she couldn't figure out what her rival might have done better than she had (in bed, at least).

I promised to get in touch again if the winning candidate didn't work out, for whatever reason. That was a lie. I'd start over interviewing from scratch before I'd hire a gold-digger like Cindy.

Elise agreed to meet me for coffee, at a location roughly halfway between her first and second jobs. She was dressed 'office casual', but it wasn't hard to notice that her clothes were well worn - as in, close to worn out.

- "The position is yours." I told her. "If you still want it." Oops. I hadn't meant any double entendres.

- "I do." she said, looking positively underwhelmed. "How... how do we do this?"

- "You give your landlord a month's notice. Then you apply for a leave of absence, or whatever kind of program lets you quit your job with the government temporarily. Stress leave? I don't know. Whatever works for you. Then you quit your second job. It's up to you how much notice you want to give them."

That seemed to concern her. Maybe she hadn't really seen the maid job as a real possibility. I'd paid her $3500 for a couple of interviews, a day's work, and a fuck. But now I was offering $150,000, plus room and board.

- "I'd have to give them two week's notice." she said. "They'll need to find another waitress, train her... I won't be able to start for you right away."

I'd misread Elise. She was actually worried about her employer's troubles.

- "That's fine." I said. "But could you take a sick day from your government job? There are quite a few things to go over. The contract, the decor and furniture for your room -"

- "Decor?"

- "It's going to be your room, Elise. You can re-decorate and furnish it as you like. It will be entirely yours. Private. I won't ever go in there, unless you invite me - which you don't need to do, ever." I'd also removed my security cameras, so that I wouldn't be tempted to spy on her (at least, not in her private sanctum).

- "What about your workout space?"

- "It'll fit in my den. It may be a little tight, but it'll work. I'll just have to stop using the trampoline."

She almost smiled. It might have been my joke, or maybe she was imagining how ridiculous I'd look bouncing up and down, smacking my head on the ceiling.

I passed her a large envelope.

"Here's the contract. Have a good look at it. There are certain parts that you may want to remove before you show it to a lawyer, though."

Yes, those sections described how she was obligated to have sex with me twice a week. But she probably wasn't going to waste money consulting a lawyer. I'd had my lawyer keep it as simple as possible, and then I'd typed it up myself.

Elise wasn't going to embarrass me by going public with that. She'd be equally embarrassed. Plus I had her on video agreeing to accept $2500 to clean my apartment, cook me a meal, and then fuck me. If I posted the video of us having sex, she'd be a porn star, but if I didn't, it was prostitution.

- "Thursday?" she said.

- "See you then."

She arrived at my apartment at 9:00 on the dot. She was dressed conservatively, but that hardly mattered.

"You read the contract?" I asked.

- "Yes. It's... very fair. Very generous."

- "Good. I have two more copies here. Check them carefully, to make sure they're the same as the one I gave you. Or, if you didn't cut up the one I gave you, you can sign that one. We'll both sign two copies, and each keep one."

- "They wouldn't stand up in court." she said. "You know that, right?"

- "Maybe not. It might be fun to find out. No - the real reason is to give you leverage against me in the court of public opinion. And I doubt that you could get your government job back if this came out."

- "No."

- "But I don't think that either one of us wants to ruin this deal."

She looked down. "May I ask you something?"

- "Go ahead."

- "It's... maybe a bit... too personal."

- "All the better to ask before we sign, then. Don't you think?"

- "Alright. I... I don't understand why you don't just..."

- "Go to a prostitute?"

She looked down again. "Yes."

- "Prostitutes are very, very expensive. They're also only pretending. I've had one girlfriend in my entire life. She was pretending. It spoils even the memory of what we had. Of the time we spent together. I need a maid, Elise. You cleaned my apartment and cooked me a wonderful meal. You did it diligently, and conscientiously. You have an admirable work ethic."

She flushed ever so slightly. "Thank you."

- "Now, I know that your work ethic may not extend to having sex with me. Yet. But I'm hoping that one day it will. In the meantime, I'm willing to pay you a lot of money to be my maid. And you don't have to pretend with me. In fact, I'd prefer that you didn't."

It wasn't just an awkward conversation; it was super-awkward. Olympic medal awkward.

- "You're spending a lot of money."

- "I don't see it that way. First of all, I have money. Why not spend it on things I want? Second, you need money. Why not give it to someone who needs it?"

Elise conscientiously studied the table top for a few moments.

- "This is - "she began.

I cut her off. "Unusual. Weird. Extremely weird. Sure - and?"

This time she did crack a smile. A very small, very brief smile - but I'm positive that it was there.

- "Sorry." she said.

- "No need." I said. "So here's a credit card; we have a joint account now. You can use it for household expenses. Food, whatever. It's got a $5,000 limit, so for anything bigger, you'll have to ask me. Just keep receipts - please."

Sure, she could withdraw $5,000 dollars and just take off. That would be a cheap way of getting rid of a thief, if you ask me. And Elise definitely didn't strike me as someone that foolish.

"This laptop is for you. Use it to browse for items you want. Bed, chest of drawers, a trampoline of your own... whatever you think you need. Bookmark them, show them to me, and I'll order them. And here's a phone. No offence, but the one you're carrying around belongs in a museum."

- "I... thank you." she said.

- "You're welcome. But you'll need those things, so it really benefits me, too. Let me know when you're ready to move, and I'll have your stuff brought over."

Elise signed the contracts, and then shook my hand.

***

Gary, my accountant, liked to discuss my investments in what he called 'informal' settings. He would treat me to lunch, or even dinner. Considering what I was paying him in commissions, he could afford it. Maybe that was why he felt it was appropriate (or at least permissible) for him to comment on my private life.

On this occasion, he'd discovered a new deli-restaurant opening up only four blocks from my apartment. It had that 1950s diner-style decor. Gary was already seated in a booth when I entered. He waved me over.

- "Hey, Mark. Just got here myself." he said. He stood up and shook my hand, and I sat down opposite him. Then he looked over my shoulder. "Holy shit." he whispered. "Incoming."

It was our waitress.

- "Hi fellas. Welcome." she said. "First time here?"

She had hair the colour of spun gold. That was the first thing I saw. Her teeth were perfect, and brilliant white. Bright blue eyes. Lips. Her uniform couldn't conceal her attributes, even if it didn't flaunt them. Her name tag stuck out: 'Poppy', it said.

- "First time," said Gary, "but if you're workin', I'll be back every day."

Poppy smiled at me, which allowed her to ignore Gary.

- "Would you like a drink with your lunch?"

- "A Manhattan, sweetheart." said my accountant. I don't know how much he drank, but it was obviously more acceptable (in his eyes) in an informal setting than it would have been in his office.

- "Just water for me." I said. "Thank you."

Poppy left us a couple of menus, and went to get our drinks.

- "Ho-ly" said Gary. "D'you see that?"

- "She's very pretty." I admitted.

- "Pretty? Are you serious? That's a freakin' smokeshow right there!"

I tried to change the subject. "What are you thinking of having?"

- "Place like this? Smoked meat. Or a Reuben. There aren't enough of these types of delis in the GTA, if you ask me. Now, Montreal..." Gary liked to remind me occasionally that he was well-travelled, a man of the world.

The waitress returned with his drink and my water.

- "Here you go." she said.

- "Thanks, darlin'." said Gary.

- "Have you had a chance to look at the menu?" she asked.

- "Sorry, sweetheart; haven't even looked. To tell you the truth, I've only had eyes for you."

I rolled my eyes. Did this sort of thing get him better service? Or was he seriously thinking that she'd be impressed by this kind of flirting?

- "I'll give you two some time, then."

Gary watched her walk away, then grinned at me.

- "I thought you were going to have the smoked meat." I said.

- "Yeah. But this way we get to watch her walk away, and then walk back."

It wasn't that busy, so the waitress looked our way a couple of times. When she saw Gary still holding the menu, she found something else to do.

"So." he said. "You went ahead and did it. The maid."

- "Yes." I'd sent Gary some numbers, including her base salary, plus the projected renovation expenses, so that I could deduct them from my income before tax time.

- "I wish I could've talked you out of this." he said.

- "I have the money. It's not that major an expense."

- "Are you serious? Fifty thousand? And not charging her room and board, but letting her claim it as an expense? That means you have to declare it as income."

- "I know."

Gary put down his menu, and waved to the waitress. She put down the napkin she was folding, and came straight over.

- "So you know what you'd like?" she said, with a smile.

- "Oh, I know what I'd like." he said, grinning at her. "But for now I'll just order some food. I'll have the Reuben, with fries."

Her smile was a little forced this time. "And you, sir?"

- "The smoked meat special. Please."

- "Super." She picked up the menus, and turned to go.

- "Oh - Poppy?" said Gary.

She had to turn around again. "Yes?"

- "Is that your real name? Poppy?"

- "It was my father's nickname for me."

- "Oh. I thought maybe it was a stage name, or something like that. Because you look like you could be a model, or an actress, or something."

- "Umm... thank you."

Mercifully, he let her go this time.

- "What are you doing?' I asked him.

- "What?"

- "Why are you torturing the poor girl?"

- "Torturing? It's just a little innocent flirting! And she likes it - she knows it'll mean a bigger tip."

- "I didn't get the impression that she likes it all that much. And don't you have a girlfriend?"

- "Ex. Not that that matters. It's just a little flirting."

- "Sorry about your ex." I said. It seemed like the thing to say.

I hadn't seen Gary like this before. He handled my investments, and gave me tax advice. It probably didn't matter if he wanted to make a fool of him of himself over a girl. But that wasn't what troubled me; it was the sudden switch from remonstrating with me over my expenses, apparently annoyed, to the frat-boy (or lounge-lizard) routine with our waitress. If he could switch moods that quickly, then he was acting. And that made me wonder when and how often he'd been acting with me before.

- "Anyway, we were taking about this maid experiment." he said, serious once again. "It's a lot of money, and you're taking a tremendous risk letting her stay in your apartment."

- "You think she's going to steal my laptop? Or commit some kind of industrial espionage to uncover my next project?"

- "It's no joke, Mark."

- "Come on."

- "I'm serious. You have to take precautions. Security cameras would be a good idea. Do a thorough background check on this woman, at the very least."

I didn't let him know that I already had both of those.

- "You really think so?" I said.

- "I know so." he said. "Look, I know a good private investigation firm. I've used them before. At the very, very least, let them give you some advice on how to protect yourself. And if they turn up anything on this maid of yours..."

- "Unlikely."

- "It was unlikely that the Titanic would hit an iceberg." he said.

- "Really?"

- "Mark, you pay me to look out for your interests. Financial and otherwise. Just doing my job here."

Actually, I only paid Gary to look after my finances. The 'otherwise' was entirely his own addition, and I wasn't sure what he meant. He certainly wasn't my security consultant.

Poppy interrupted an awkward moment by arriving with our meals.

- "Reuben sandwich, with fries." she said. "And a smoked meat special." she added, as she placed a plate in front of me. It looked good, right up to the enormous dill pickle. She smiled at me.

- "Thank you." I said.

- "Hey doll," said Gary, "what do I have to do to get a smile out of you?"

Poppy had a very pleasant expression on her face. It wasn't a smile, though. For that, I suspected that Gary would have to have a sudden heart attack. Shit: had she spat in his food? If I was his waitress - waiter - I probably would have. In fact, I might have done worse.

Mercifully, he let her go.

- "Jesus, Gary." I muttered.

- "Okay." he said. "Maybe my recent breakup has affected me more than I like to admit. But I'm just messing around a little, right?"

- "She's just doing her job. Give her a break."

- "Right. Sorry. Okay - back to the issue of your security..."

Gary could talk with his mouth full. I didn't have to, which was a good thing. The smoked meat on rye was excellent, and the fries were above average. I decided that I needed to eat more foods that had mustard on them. Gary talked; I listened with half an ear, and ate.

That was one good thing about Gary. He liked the sound of his own voice, and never tired of repeating himself. If I missed something the first time around, I could catch it on the rebound.

The meal was over quite quickly. That was too bad; it was very good. A treat. Gary had polished off his Reuben and fries. He waved at our waitress again.

- "How did you like it?" she asked.

- "Excellent." I said. I'm not sure that she heard me, though, because Gary had to take over.

"My friend here thinks I've been flirting a little too hard." he said.

- "A lot too hard." I said.

He ignored that. "But, hey - you're really hot, Poppy. Hard to resist, you know. But I'll make it up to you. How about you let me take you out to dinner? Show you a good time, you know?"

She wasn't smiling. "Sir, I don't know you. We just met - if you can call it that. I don't even know your name..."

- "That's not a problem. I'm Gary. This is my friend Mark..."

- "Nice to meet you." said Poppy. "Would you like some dessert, or should I just bring the bill?"

That was probably borderline unprofessional, but I could hardly blame her. I might have done the same.

Gary's phone went off. He glanced at it. "Shit - just the bill. Sorry - I have to take this." He slid out of the booth.

- "I'll get your bill, then." she said.

- "Ah - Poppy?" I said. "I'm sorry. He's not usually not like this. I apologize if he made you uncomfortable. Both the service and the food were excellent."

- "Thank you, Mark." she said. I was mildly impressed; in her place, I would have forgotten the customer's name less than a second after I heard it.

Gary came back before she did. He'd had the decency to take his call outside, but it had obviously been a short one.

- "Sorry about that."

- "The phone call, or the way you treated the waitress?"

- "C'mon... I didn't hurt her or anything. She probably liked it."

- "She didn't. Neither did I. If we're going to have lunch or dinner together again..."

- "Okay, I get it. Sorry. Won't happen again."

When Poppy returned, Gary made a point of insisting that he would pick up the tab. That was all for her benefit; if I accepted his invitation to lunch, that implied that he was paying. Besides, he could claim it as a business deduction.

I don't know what he left her as a tip, but it probably wasn't enough. Probably? Almost certainly. I slid a twenty dollar bill halfway under my place setting before we left.

***

Elise sent me a list of the things she was proposing to buy for her room, with links to the websites advertising them. Most of them were cheap.

I phoned her on her new phone - the one I'd given her. She didn't answer. I left a voice mail.

- "Elise, it's Mark. Please call me back at your earliest convenience. It's not urgent, but it is important."

Idiot. Earliest convenience? What was I trying to sound like?

She called back less than an hour later. "Mark? I'm sorry. I don't answer my phone when I don't recognize the number."

It was the first time I'd used my own phone to reach her. During the interview process, I'd used a now-discarded burner.

- "We have to discuss your proposed furnishings." I said. "I'm not happy that you've selected all of these cheap options."

- "I was -"

- "Trying to save me money. I get it. On one level, I appreciate that you're careful with my money. And I get it; I shopped at Ikea when I first moved out, too. But I want you to be comfortable, and I want you to be happy. These items you've listed were meant to please me - and they don't."

- "I... I'm sorry."

- "You're going to have another day off so we can go shopping."

- "I... I can't."

- "Did you give notice at your second job?"

- "Yes."

- "When's your last shift?"

- "Wednesday of next week." That was eight days away.

She'd either delayed giving them notice, or she was working an extra few shifts. I couldn't really complain; trying to save me money and helping out her employer were hardly crimes against nature.

- "Thursday or Friday, then. Right after your day job. A quick dinner on me - nothing fancy. Then we get you some decent furniture and bedding. I've got two places in mind. They're both open until nine on Fridays."

- "Friday, then."

- "I'll have a taxi waiting outside your building at 5:05. Alright?"

- "Yes."

- "See you then."

I met her at the deli. It was two blocks away from the stores I intended to take her to. It was also very reasonably priced, so that she wouldn't feel guilty about spending my money. Plus it was good food, and I had a hankering for another smoked meat sandwich. And fries - don't forget the fries.

- "You didn't have to do this." said Elise.

- "Hello, Elise." I said. "Most people start with a greeting of some kind."

- "We're not most people, I think."

That was a good answer. I liked it. And then, for whatever reason, I steered her to the same booth where I'd had lunch with Gary. Now, as far as I knew, Poppy worked days. I'd met her on a Monday, so I wasn't expecting to see her late on a Friday... but here she was.

Big smile. Brilliant teeth. Bright blonde hair, bright blue eyes, honey-gold skin.

- "Hi, Mark." she said. "Welcome back."

Offered a drink, Elise asked for water. When Poppy left, she looked at me.

- "Do you come here often?"

- "No. Once before. It just opened recently." I decided to tell her the story of my lunch with Gary.

- "And the waitress remembered your name?"

- "I don't know why." I said. "Do you remember customers' names?"

- "Regulars. And special ones." she admitted. "Plus a few random ones. I can't explain it. It just happens sometimes."

- "What makes a customer 'special'?"

She shrugged. "Some people tip more generously. Some are just... more pleasant."

- "Okay."

- "What did you have last time?"

- "The smoked meat special. With fries. It's a little bit decadent, but I only have fries once a month or so. And I was reminded that I like mustard."

- "We'll have to have more conversations about food." she said. "I need to know what you like - and how often. And what you don't like."

- "That could be a long list."

- "Oh? A bit... picky?"

- "No, I mean the list of things I like. After living on Kraft dinner, ramen noodles and plain rice for years, I really appreciate good food."

Elise had a wistful look on her face. She was probably no stranger to cheap food.

Poppy came back, smiling like a lighthouse. Is that a thing?

- "Have you decided what you'd like?"

- "I'll have the smoked meat special again. It was really excellent."

- "The same, please." said Elise.

- "Great!" said Poppy. She gathered up our menus and left. I might have glanced at her backside as she did so.

- "She's very attractive." said Elise.

I didn't have to pretend. I was going to be having sex with Elise, but she wasn't my girlfriend. "Yes, I noticed. Especially with Gary hitting on her the whole time."

- "Pardon me for saying so, but he doesn't sound like a very good friend."

- "He's not my friend. He's one of my financial advisors."

- "One of? You have more than one?"

- "I'd rather talk about food."

- "Noted. Don't talk about money."

I sighed. "We can talk about your money, Elise. Or money in general. I just..."

- "Favourite foods? Something you like to have once a week, or even more?"

It wasn't subtle, but Elise effectively changed the subject, and avoided embarrassing me. It was a nice thing to do.

Poppy served us our meals, and then checked in with us a couple times.

- "You're on your way to being one of her 'special ones'." said Elise.

- "What?"

- "If a waitress stops by to ask you how you're doing, that's good service. If she does it twice, she's either bored, or she likes you. She looks to be pretty busy, and those smiles are hard to miss."

- "Maybe the smiles are for you." I said.

Elise actually smiled at that. She didn't show her teeth, but it definitely made her look prettier for a moment. It also made me think that we might be able to get along. Be friendly, even.

- "Pay attention to who she smiles at longer, when she comes back."

Okay, it was me. By a wide margin.

- "Would you like coffee? Dessert?"

I looked at Elise.

- "I'm fine." she said. "The special was really good." she said, to Poppy.

- "Glad you liked it."

I thought I'd noticed something. "Could we have a minute to decide?"

- "Of course." Poppy cleared our plates, and left.

- "Would you like a dessert, Elise?" I asked.

- "I don't need one. I'm fine."

- "Nobody needs dessert. But when was the last time you had one?"

That was a shrewd guess. Elise was all about paying down her debt. She didn't have money to waste on non-essentials.

"My treat." I said. "Consider it a signing bonus. I'm going to order us both a coffee. What dessert would you like? Please pick one, Elise."

She put her head down. I thought for a moment that she was reviewing the dessert menu. It wasn't that. She didn't want to - or couldn't - meet my eye.

- "Could I... the raspberry cheesecake?"

- "Of course."

I didn't have to get Poppy's attention. The moment I looked her way, she came over.

- "We'll both have coffee." I said. "And my friend will have the cheesecake. Please."

Poppy grinned. "Oh, you're gonna love it. It's so good. Two forks?"

- "Sure. Thank you."

Elise hadn't raised her head. She still appeared to be staring at the top of the table. Then I saw her shoulders move, ever so slightly. She was quietly sobbing, having herself a little cry. I did the best thing I could think of, which was not to say a damn thing, and pretend it wasn't happening.

I thought my life had been shitty. How bad does your life have to be, that the thought of having dessert makes you cry?

Head still down, Elise wiped her eyes with her napkin.

- "Sorry." she said.

- "Don't be. We're going to be sharing an apartment. Living together. You're going to find out way more about me than you want to - and a lot of it isn't pretty. I can be a pretty complete asshole, and do you know who said I was easy to get along with? Nobody. Ever."

She actually raised her head, and smiled again. "You're not so bad."

- "Wait and see."

- "Cheesecake!" announced Poppy, as she brought our coffees and dessert.

- "She's either high, or she likes you." said Elise, after Poppy had gone.

- "Shut up and eat your cheesecake."

Elise took a small forkful, and slowly brought it to her lips. She closed her eyes as she tasted it.

"Really?" I said.

She answered me by pushing the plate toward me. "Try it."

I did. It was cheesecake. Nice. I pushed the plate back to her.

Elise took her sweet time with it. She savoured it, let it rest on her tongue, and licked her teeth, lest she miss a single bit.

I drank my coffee, and let her have her moment of bliss.

Poppy came back. She grinned at Elise. "Good, right?"

- "So good."

That seemed to make our waitress happy. She smiled at me. "Can I get you anything else?"

- "Just the bill, Poppy. Thanks."

I left her a generous tip. I thought about what Elise had said, but I did it anyway. Poppy had gone out of her way to be extra nice and extra attentive.

Elise and I left. By unspoken agreement, we didn't mention the cheesecake, or the crying. I led her straight to Sleep Country. It's a store. They sell beds, mattresses, bedroom furniture... you get the idea. There are probably more expensive places, with better quality, but I wasn't buying for the Sultan of Whatever. Elise just had to raise her sights from the bargain basement.

She tried to pick out the most affordable possibilities (the cheapest ones). After the second time, I put my foot down.

- "You're going to be spending almost third of every day sleeping on this bed. And I'm buying. Treat yourself, Elise. Get something that makes you say 'Aahh...' when you lie down on it. Please."

I made her test at least a dozen beds. She didn't need a huge one, since she wasn't going to be sharing it with me, but a queen is more luxurious than a double, so I made her get one. We went through the same routine with pillows. And then again with sheets and pillow cases. She didn't fight me as much over the comforters. I got her two.

Then we got to the bathroom section. I steered her to the biggest, most luxurious towels they had. It was a sensual experience just to run my fingers over them.

- "I don't need these." she said.

- "Look, Elise. In case you missed the point of my ramen and Kraft dinner story, I did without for quite a few years. Not for the same reason as you, maybe, but it was still... kind of the same. Now I have some money. This isn't spoiling yourself. It isn't wasting money. It's a treat. But unlike that cheesecake, this will be a treat you get to enjoy every time you come out of the shower."

She balked at getting a new bathrobe. "I already have one." she said.

- "Night table?"

- "I have one."

- "Will it match?"

She hesitated for a moment.

"Get a new one. Lamp. Chest of drawers. Makeup table." She didn't wear much makeup, from what I could tell, but you never know. "Buy it now, Elise, on my card. Don't do something silly and pay for it yourself, later."

She lowered her head again. "Thank you." she whispered.

***

Elise moved in two weeks later. Her bed and bedding, plus her furniture and all of the other stuff had been delivered, and I had her belongings from her apartment moved over, so she spent most of that first day - a Monday - getting organized and moved in. I ordered take-out Chinese food. She protested; I overruled her.

We'd proceeded on the assumption that Saturday and Sunday would be her days off. I saw no reason to beat about the bush, so I made it clear that Tuesdays and Fridays would be our sex days. I thought that we be optimal: she'd have two days off after Friday night, and our Tuesday session wouldn't be the first thing she had to face when she came back.

So we shared a take-out meal, and talked about mundane things, all the while pretending that my dick wasn't going to be in her pussy tomorrow. I don't know why it was so weird; we'd done it once before. But it was.

She cleaned like a white tornado on Tuesday morning, and then cooked baby back ribs, mashed potatoes, and green beans for dinner. The ribs were frozen, out of a box, of course. She apologized for that.

- "Are you serious?" I said. "I haven't had ribs at home... ever. You thought you'd be cleaning all day, so you chose something less labour intensive - even if it's messier to eat, and a lot messier to clean up. But fun. C'mon, Elise - you knocked this one out of the park. Home run. Thank you."

She nodded. I don't know if she was pleased to be praised, or irked that I'd reminded her how much clean-up was involved.

I made sure that I had extra towels in my room, along with condoms, lubricant, and candles. I figured the low lighting would help.

She took her time. Elise cleared the dishes, cleaned the counter-top, and then the entire kitchen, as if it was due for inspection by the health authority. Then she went to her bedroom, and took a shower.

I went to my den and fired up my laptop, to pretend that I wasn't impatiently waiting for her to come to my bedroom. I played Wordle for a few minutes; it was a complete waste of time. Then I heard her moving around, and caught a glimpse of her headed for my room.

It took a bit of self-control, but I made myself count to seven before I got up (I'd meant to try for ten, and settled for five). I entered my room, to find Elise standing by my dresser, wearing only a bra and a pair of cutoff jean shorts. She'd put on a bit of makeup, and she looked damn good.

She wasn't going to win any awards for facial beauty, but Elise had an incredible body. She was thin - skinny, in fact, without much of an ass - yet she had tremendous breasts. They were ridiculous, really, on her frame. Yet there they were were.

Elise looked more than a little uncertain. Asshole that I am, I decided not to give her time to regret her choices. I walked straight up to her, kissed her cheek, and then kissed her neck. I reached behind her back to unfasten her bra. I'm proud to say that I got it on the third try.

We were both nervous. I took three deep breaths in a row, trying to calm myself, and then cupped her magnificent boobs in my hands. It took me a few weeks to realize, after considerable examination, that they were works of art. That second time with her, I simply marvelled at their fullness, how soft and yet weighty they were.

By the time I undid her shorts, and slipped them down her legs (revealing that she wasn't wearing panties), I was breathing hard. I steered her to my bed, and had her sit on the edge. I knelt at her feet.

I thought that beginning with some oral would be a good idea (shows you what I know). She was nervous; I was awkward. I got her to lie back (making her expose her nudity even more), and then started kissing her knees.

All of the how-to instructions I'd read said to pay close attention to the woman's reactions, to let her indicate what she liked - and what she didn't.

Elise didn't react at all. She was frozen. Motionless. Rigor mortis. Completely unresponsive. Our first time hadn't been like this, but for whatever reason, Elise was stiff as a board. My confidence (already slim enough) slipped. I was licking her pussy, conscious only that I was failing to turn her on at all.

But this was our first 'official' time; I couldn't just back away. We needed to consummate the relationship - the business end of it, at least. I was at least semi-hard, so I took a condom from my bedside drawer, and rolled it on. Then I had to move her around so that I could join her on the bed.

Thank goodness for her incredibly sexy body. I got just hard enough to penetrate her in the missionary position. I lasted for eight reasonable strokes. Okay, eight strokes. And realized, with horror, that I wasn't going to be able to maintain an erection.

First off, there was my crippling nervousness. Second, Elise had her head turned to the side, and her eyes closed; she didn't even want to look at me. I was about to go flaccid inside her. I'll admit that I panicked, and did something I'd only ever heard about: I faked it.

I groaned, and went stiff atop her, pretending that I was coming.

Great start.

***

Neither of us mentioned the sex the next morning. In fact, we managed to have breakfast without saying much at all. But she went out of her way to make French toast. I don't know if that was some kind of apology, or just a gesture, but I let her know that I appreciated it.

Elise went out to do some grocery shopping, while I half-heartedly worked on my latest project. Then I got distracted (something that didn't happen to me very often), and found myself reading advice from a website called 'How to Please Your Woman'. I shut it off very quickly when she came back.

She'd bought more than she could comfortably carry.

- "How did you get all of this stuff back here?" I asked.

- "I made two trips." she said, with a perfectly straight face. I don't think she was even trying to make a joke. Or maybe it was one of those jokes so common to her family, or her circle of friends, that they all used it.

I got the feeling that I was getting in her way, so I excused myself and went back to my den. For the first time in a while, I found myself reading a book, for lack of something better to do. It was Joe Abercrombie's 'The Blade Itself'. I'd read it before, but I didn't mind; it was like watching a movie you enjoy for the second or even the seventh time. You find yourself catching little snippets of action or dialogue that you'd missed before.

Plus his characters were so well done. I remembered most of their names; how often does that happen? Eventually, I lost track of time, and Elise had to call me for dinner. She'd made Angelhair pasta with a clam sauce.

- "Fresh clams?" I said. "You went to the seafood market?"

- "It's not that far."

- "Ribs? Fresh clams? You don't have to impress me every night, you know."

- "I won't." she said. "I just wanted to start off with a bit of a bang..."

Her voice tailed away, and just like that we were both back to thinking of how bad the sex had been. She flushed, and couldn't look at me.

- "Hey." I added. "Last night... we were bound to be nervous. And I... well, I'm not very experienced. But, ah... we'll get the hang of it, right?"

- "I'm sorry." she said, without making eye contact. "I'm... out of practice."

- "Well, I never had much practice. Maybe I'll take some online courses, or something."

She almost smiled at that. Almost. Both of us knew that this was a potential deal-breaker. She was a conscientious cleaner, and an inventive cook, but if the sex was going to be bad would she be surprised if I changed my mind? And if she couldn't bear to be touched by me, or even looked at... well, that didn't bode well either.

Elise cleaned up after dinner. Around eight o'clock, she asked me if I wanted anything else. When I replied in the negative, she wished me a good night, and went back to her room.

Thursday was quiet. She did some light cleaning, ordered a few household items delivered, and then went to a great deal of trouble to prepare a very memorable dinner: fajitas. Strips of beef, green peppers and onions, lettuce and guacamole, sprinkled with lime - plus a few ingredients I couldn't identify - wrapped in warm tortillas. It was an interactive meal: you had to choose your items, and load them into the tortilla, without overdoing it.

- "Oh, my gosh..." I murmured, after my first bite. "This is..." I couldn't finish commenting, because it was so good.

Elise actually smiled. "We can have these whenever you want. It's not all that difficult."

- "Sure looks that way."

- "Lots of chopping. That's about it."

- "My compliments to the chef."

- "Thank you."

Friday was a bit more awkward. She offered me a western sandwich for lunch (which I gladly accepted), and then cleaned my bedroom and bathroom as if her life hung in the balance. She started cooking earlier than usual, as well. I wandered into the kitchen.

- "What are you making?"

- "Chili." she said. "I'm making more than we can eat, so that you'll have leftovers for tomorrow. Or Sunday." Those were her days off, so she wouldn't be cooking for me.

- "Very smart. Very thoughtful. Thank you."

- "You're welcome. I ordered a rice cooker, too. It may take a few weeks to get here, but I think you'll appreciate the difference." Elise knew that I liked Chinese and other Asian dishes. Rice or noodles were obviously going to be important.

She took charge after dinner, too. I mean, after she finished cleaning up. She came by my den.

- "Your room in ten minutes, okay?"

- "Umm, okay."

I semi-sauntered in, trying to appear as if I'd been in this situation before. She was wearing white stockings, lacy white panties, and some kind of half-nightie that was at least fifty percent transparent, and was only held up by two straps thinner than spaghetti. It wasn't a bustier; I think it was a peignoir. (Somebody later told me that a peignoir was a bathrobe; maybe, but 'robe de chambre' is better for bath robe. This was a thin, silky piece of lingerie. It was not after-shower wear, unless your goal was to arouse anyone who saw it.)

- "Can I have your shirt?" she asked. I handed it over.

"Lie down on the bed. On your back."

I decided to let Elise lead. From the way she was dressed, she was at least making an effort. She couldn't possibly make as big a mess of it as I had.

She took off my slippers and my socks, followed by my light track pants. She left me lying on the bed in my underwear. My tented underwear. She glanced at it, and quickly decided to do something else. I couldn't complain, because the something else was her removing the peignoir.

Elise didn't perform a slow, sensual striptease. She simply took off her top. But she did it slowly. And man, did that work for me. She had great breasts. Not huge, but tantalizingly shaped, no matter what position she was in. They looked weighty, and just cried out for attention.

She left the stockings on, but took off her panties as well. Clever girl. Then she climbed onto the bed, and made a show of adjusting my pillow. I don't know: maybe it needed adjustment. But I think that it was just a good excuse to let her breasts hang over my face, like the ultimate fruit. I resisted the temptation to reach for one. Let's see where she's going with this, I thought.

She let her fingers trail ever so lightly over my chest as she reached for the waistband of my underwear. Thankfully, though, she didn't immediately pull down - she might have snapped my dick off. Instead, she reached under the waistband with one hand, took hold of my cock, and lowered it so that she could take off my gotchies without ruining me forever.

It was just a bit odd. Everything she'd done, to this point, was not quite a show. Let me clarify: both Alex and Cindy had performed for my benefit. It was an act. The same kind of act that strippers and prostitutes perform (or exotic dancers and sex workers, if you prefer).

Elise, though, wasn't performing a striptease and then a seductive routine. Or, to be more precise, maybe that's exactly what she was doing. She was following a recipe, or a prescription. 'Do this, to make sure he's hard' (and I was - hard enough to cut glass).

She got my undies past my feet, and then let her fingers glide up just over my legs. I could have sworn that I felt a nipple brush my knee. Her fingers curled around my erection again. It was a bit mechanical, as if she was testing the temperature of a Thanksgiving turkey.

Apparently I was hard enough. Elise leaned over, to reach into my bedside drawer. She produced a condom, and a tube of lubricant (which she had to have put there earlier). She placed the foil packet on my chest, because she needed both hands to open the tube, and squeezed out a healthy dollop onto her hand.

- "Yah!" I exclaimed. The lube was cold.

- "Sorry." she said. "Get the condom ready." She slathered lube all over my cock, then put her hand between her legs and lubricated herself. It wasn't the most arousing thing to see; I could appreciate the fairness of it, even as I wished that she could have already been naturally wet (asshole, right?).

I rolled the condom on, and Elise straddled my hips - facing away. Reverse cowgirl. I couldn't complain, though, as I felt her heat envelop me.

She started out sedately enough, with slow, controlled movements. I was fascinated by the shape of her slender back, narrow waist, and tight ass. I couldn't see her breasts, but I could imagine them swinging as she rocked back and forth (and I would be watching them on video later, for sure).

It wouldn't have been my first choice of positions, but given that we would have time to try out as many as we liked, reverse cowgirl wasn't bad. At the very least, it was a nice change of pace. And given how much attention her boobs drew, it also wasn't bad to notice her back and backside.

Elise got a good workout. I felt up her ass, and then shot a large load into the condom. Success.

The next morning was Saturday - her day off. I heard her moving around the kitchen, and decided to make it a habit to get up soon after she did.

- "Morning!" I said, cheerfully.

- "Good morning." she answered. "Would you like eggs?"

- "Not on your day off."

- "I was going to make myself some."

- "You go right ahead. But don't start doing things for me on your day off. Slippery slopes, and all that."

- "Okay."

- "I wanted to thank you for last night, though. That was much better than Tuesday."

Elise flushed. "I... I'd prefer not to talk about that."

- "Oh. Alright." I completely misread the situation. I just assumed that she didn't want to talk about sex while she was scrambling eggs. What she really meant, though, was that she didn't want to talk about sex at all.

I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised that Elise didn't go out during the day. Instead, she sat on the couch in the living room, reading a Terry Pratchett novel. I didn't want to disturb her, so I worked in my den.

I hadn't thought out the issues that her days off might create. I guess I'd subconsciously expected that she would make herself scarce at those times. But going out costs money, and Elise had spent the last few years saving every penny. I had to think about that some more.

So I was the one who ended up going out Saturday evening. I didn't have anything in particular mind, so I went to the deli place for a smoked meat sandwich. Okay, I'll admit that I was hoping to see Poppy, too.

- "Poppy?" said the waitress. "She only works days. Monday to Friday."

I didn't enjoy my meal as much. I went home, and closed the door to my den, so that I could watch the video of Elise riding me. Her breasts did sway very beautifully.

Sunday was much the same. I avoided going to the kitchen while she was having breakfast, just to stay out of her way. Then she ended up back on the couch, reading.

- "You know you can go out, right?" I said.

She flushed. "I know... I..."

- "You got out of the habit of going out on weekends, because it costs money?"

She didn't answer. But I could tell from the expression on her face that I was right.

"Come on." I said. "Let's go."

- "Where?"

- "Short walk. Come on."

Elise gave in, and I took her on a seven-minute walk.

"Subway station." I said. The ROM and the AGO are ten, fifteen minutes away, for the price of a subway token." (the ROM is the Royal Ontario Museum, and the AGO is the Art Gallery of Ontario)

I walked her back the way we'd come.

- "Kensington Market." she said.

- "Yeah. It's fun even if you don't spend a fortune."

I pointed out three parks on the way back. Admittedly, two of them were fairly small. But if you look up a map of Toronto, there are quite a few more. And there's plenty of free stuff to do. High Park is free. The zoo there. Grenadier Pond. Bloor West.

- "I get it." she said. Then she shook her head. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to sound churlish. It's just..."

- "Churlish?"

- "Rude. Okay, bitchy..."

- "I know what churlish means. I just don't think I've ever heard anyone use it in a conversation before. I'm impressed."

- "I read a lot." she said, with a frown.

I didn't know what I'd done to spoil the mood. So we walked home in silence, for the most part.

On Monday, she whipped up a big stir fry. Bok Choy, water chestnuts, tofu, baby corn, the works. I was impressed again, and told her so. On Tuesday, she went to town on a homemade noodle soup. I complimented her again.

It was sex night. I was hoping that I could compliment her again, afterwards. I guess I thought that she was going to take the initiative again. She didn't.

Well, she did give me a hint, lying in the centre of my bed, but on her side. Topless. All she had on was a pair of thin track shorts.

I snuggled up behind her. I massaged her shoulders a bit, and rubbed her back. After a while, I couldn't resist the urge to reach around and fondle one of her soft, heavy breasts. Her nipple sprang to attention. I did resist the urge to grind my crotch against her ass. There would be time for that later.

I did caress her ass, through the shorts. Eventually, I started to slide them down lower. She helped me, lifting her hips and tilting her ass so that I could get them all the way off. Now I could play with the crack of her ass. I didn't go overboard; you never know how people are going to react to having fingers (or, Heaven Forfend, something bigger) close to their anus. I know that I wouldn't be all that keen on it.

Fortunately, Elise didn't mind moving her leg a bit, so that I could stroke and pet her pussy. She wasn't all that wet, but a little of my saliva helped. I quite enjoyed teasing her pussy lips, occasionally brushing against her clit, and then sliding a finger inside her.

I'm not quite sure how long I kept at it. I got impatient, then. Out came the tube of lube and a condom. I applied the lube to her, and then to my dick. I entered her from behind, slowly, and carefully.

It was good. Very good. There was no rush, and I was in complete control of the pace. Slow. Unhurried. As far as I'm concerned, those are both good words when it comes to sex.

Leisurely. Sedate. I just enjoyed the sensations of being inside her. There was no pressure to perform. I could hold onto her hip as I fucked her, which was surprisingly much more arousing than I would have expected. I could fondle her tight little ass. Or, I could reach around and cup her soft breast and hard nipple.

I could also let my fingers trail down her flat stomach, and lightly brush across her clit. I will admit that I found myself returning to her big soft boob more often than not.

I fucked her like that for a good, long time. My own orgasm snuck up on me; I took hold of her hip, thrust as deeply as I could, and unloaded inside the condom.

Elise waited a full minute before she gently disengaged, got out of my bed, and returned to her room. I slept really well that night.

The next morning, I was a little late getting to the kitchen.

- "Good morning." said Elise. "What would you like for breakfast?"

- "Just coffee and toast, please."

- "How about some special toast?"

- "What kind? You know what - never mind. Surprise me."

Elise served me a coffee, and then went back to the counter. She was slicing something.

"You know," I said, "last night was really good. For me, at least. Was it okay for you?"

She stopped slicing. Her whole posture changed. "I thought I made it clear." she said. "I don't want to talk about that."

- "I don't see why not. I compliment your cooking. I would certainly tell you if you made something I don't like. You wouldn't make it again, would you? We can talk about your cleaning, or your shopping. Why can't we talk about the sex? I'm paying you more for that than for everything else combined."

Okay. Wrong thing to say. In my own (partial) defence, I am an asshole.

Elise shovelled a few things onto a small plate, turned, and slid it across to me. Then she left the kitchen. She didn't slam the door to her room, but it was close. Let's say that she closed it firmly.

She'd made me avocado toast. It was a very nice treat, and absolutely delicious. I ate it as I thought about her reaction. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised. It was a given that she was going to wake up one morning and realize that she was having sex with an ugly loser. In the abstract, making $100,000 for twice weekly sex may have sounded appealing, or at least acceptable. Now she was coming to terms with the reality - and not liking it.

I should have expected this. Well, it was out in the open now, and that meant that we needed to address it.

Her bedroom door was closed. I knocked. She didn't answer.

- "Elise? Thank you for the avocado toast. It was delicious. That was an excellent idea, and a wonderful surprise."

I counted to twenty, slowly.

"That was me complimenting your cooking. You have yet to serve me something I didn't like - but rest assured, I would let you know if you did. I praise you because you deserve it, because I know it feels good, and because I want you to keep doing it."

I counted to ten, very slowly.

"Last night, I enjoyed the sex. I told you that so you'd know we can do it that way again, if you like. I want to be able to tell you if you do something I don't like, and I want to encourage you to do things we both like."

I counted to ten again.

"You may not want to, but I think we need to talk about this. I need to discover your limits, and stay well clear of pushing them. If that includes talking, then I need to understand why. Would you please come out of your room? I'll be in the kitchen."

Elise was no petulant teenager. She was a responsible adult - an overly responsible adult - in a highly unusual situation. After a few minutes, she came into the kitchen.

- "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable." I said. "Can you tell me why you don't want to talk about sex? It seems to me like it's going to be a big part of our relationship."

She wouldn't look at me directly.

- "I... I didn't think I would... but when you talk like this, it makes me feel like a prostitute. Like I'm dealing with a john who wants to get maximum satisfaction for his money."

- "You are not a hooker, Elise." She might have been expecting some kind of reassurance, but I decided to blast her little navy out of the water. "Most hookers can't choose their clients. They also get paid to do some disturbing, degrading things. I would never do that to you. That's one reason I want to talk to you about sex. Anything that makes you uncomfortable, anything that creeps you out... we'll eliminate that. Right off the bat. I want the best for you that we can possibly get."

- "As long as you can continue fucking me."

She was glaring at me again. She had a hard, sharp stare. I was glad that she hadn't reached for the knife that was sitting on the cutting board.

- "That was our deal, Elise. I didn't force you to do anything. I offered a ridiculous sum of money, and you accepted. Unlike a prostitute, you could have said no. You're not a hooker. A mistress, maybe. A kept woman. Maybe I'm a sugar daddy, and I'm paying your tuition in return for sex. It's not prostitution. You can quit anytime you want. And I'm asking you to talk to me about what you like, and what you don't. I understand if you're uncomfortable. But can't you see that I'm trying to help you feel more comfortable? To enjoy it, if you can."

- "I don't WANT to enjoy it!" she snapped.

Elise had never really raised her voice at me. I can't say that I liked it. But I wanted to know what was causing this. Could it be overcome, or was this going to torpedo our arrangement? Where was she coming from?

- "Is that your family talking?" I said.

- "You don't TALK about my family! You know nothing about them."

I counted to ten, slowly.

- "I can guess, though. They taught you their expectations. Work hard. Be a 'good' girl. And then when the shit hit the fan - when you needed them most, they weren't there for you."

She didn't reply.

"Did they tell you to not co-sign the loan? Or did you not even ask them?"

Elise shook her head. "We're not doing this. You don't know anything about my family. Hah! You don't even know your own. Don't think I didn't notice that you don't have a single framed photo in your apartment. No family portraits. No travel pics. No friends, no birthday celebrations, no special occasions..."

- "So now you know everything about my life?"

Elise was angry. Spittin' mad. Yet she immediately retreated. She was bright, and empathetic. She was also the type of person who would shoulder a tremendous risk in order to help a cousin that the rest of the family had written off. And she was paying the price for it. Alone.

By unspoken agreement, we decided to stop there. We could have said a lot more, and it might have been like peeling off scabs, or poking sharp items in sensitive places. Quit while you can still walk.

She thoroughly cleaned the apartment that day. I put on headphones and listened to music so that I didn't have to hear the vacuum cleaner getting a workout.

***

She made a mildly spicy goulash over noodles for dinner. It was a nice meal, and the kind of thing I would never have made for myself, or ever ordered in a restaurant. Are there Hungarian restaurants?

On Thursday she apologized as she presented our meal.

- "It's just Shepherd's Pie."

- "No 'just' about it. I like Shepherd's Pie. And the goulash last night was a treat. Thank you."

I guess I was poking the bear, a bit. She didn't rise to the bait. Okay, mixed metaphors. Sorry. She simply said 'Thank you', and we left it at that.

On Friday she made me another spectacular stir fry, with strips of sauteed beef and a tangy soy sauce. It had taste, colour, and texture, with crunchy bits and even cashew nuts.

- "Phenomenal." I said.

She nodded in response.

I messed around in my den until she finished cleaning up. Then, finally, she appeared in the doorway, wearing only a robe.

- "Where do you want me?" she asked.

- "On my bed. On your stomach, on the towel. Naked."

I'd spread a large towel, and lit a couple of candles, plus a little bit of incense. I was going for a sort of Asian massage groove. Elise didn't make a fuss. She was already in position when I came in.

I'd warmed the massage oil in the microwave. That's probably a no-no, but... too bad. She moaned involuntarily when I dribbled some on her calf. And again when I slathered up her foot and began to rub it between her toes.

No, I don't have a foot fetish. But I was exploring Elise, looking for her triggers. Or just looking. She had fabulous, long legs. I liked her trim little ass. I've mentioned her back and her slender waist: what nice sights as I played with her toes and massaged her arches - which earned me another muted moan.

I took my time. Both calves, both feet. All ten little piggies. Her calves again, briefly. Then I got my hands on her thighs. Slender, muscular thighs. And then her ass. Asses deserve to be massaged. Hers did, at least.

At that point, I had to move up and straddle her thighs if I wanted to reach any higher. Elise was a tall girl (taller than me, remember?). That was fine, though. I straddled her thighs so that I could massage her lower back. Soon after that, I moved up a bit further, so that I could reach her shoulders.

I was basically sitting on her ass. Oh - and just for your information, I was naked, too. I didn't want to get massage oil all over my clothes. That put my rampant erection (oh yes, I was hard) between the cheeks of her ass as I rubbed her shoulders.

- "Can you move your hair, Elise?" I asked. "I don't want to get oil on it."

She complied without a word. That was a win, in my book.

I rubbed oil into her back. When I reached her shoulders, even I (no trained masseuse) could tell that she had knots there. She was tense, or had been tense for days. I spread the oil, and then gently worked the hard spot with my thumb.

- "Can I press a bit harder?" I asked.

- "Please." she muttered.

- "Tell me right away if I'm pressing to hard."

She didn't say a word. 'Ohh...' isn't a word. I don't think it is, anyway. Neither are 'Ahhh' and 'Nnngg...'. Suffice it to say, I think she was enjoying the massage. I was enjoying it, too - especially the part that had my oil-slick cock sliding between her ass cheeks.

I may have quit the massage too soon, but I was aroused enough that it was going to end sooner than later. I moved a bit lower, to sit on her thighs again, and rolled on a condom. When I put my hands on Elise's hips, and began to pull her into a kneeling position, she didn't say a word - but she helped move herself into the position I wanted.

She didn't make a sound as I entered her from behind. I'd been hoping for some reaction, but I could hardly complain. Doggie style allows for deep penetration, and it's tremendously exciting for many men and women. It is not among the more intimate positions, and that may have been why Elise was so accepting of it. I made a note to self: more doggie.

I didn't last nearly long enough, but it still ranked (for me) as our best fuck so far. I could only hope that it had been better for her, too.

***

Saturday was her day off, but Elise made sure to come into the kitchen while I was having coffee (from a pot she'd made earlier).

She didn't seem to want to meet my eye again, so I didn't stare at her.

- "Everything okay, Elise?" I hoped that sounded neutral enough.

- "Yes. Umm... I'm not very good at apologies, and... and the talk that goes with them. Can I just say I'm sorry, and leave it at that?"

- "I'm not sure what you think you have to apologize for, but okay. Apology accepted. We're good." Then I looked her in the eye. "We are good, right?"

- "Yes. Thank you." With that, she fled. She actually went out, and I didn't see her until the next day.

*****