G
guest
Guest
I'd never even been to the East Coast, but the money was too damn good to turn down. So there I was, the new kid in Beantown. My small apartment wasn't what you'd call impressive, but it was home. A single guy, making righteous bucks in the big city. I had everything I needed, or so I thought then.
My new life wasn't without a few inconveniences. Sure, the pay was great, but the hours were murder. I left early and came home late. My boss, Mr. Lao, wanted to double our profit margins. I didn't really mind, I loved doing what I did. Rubber dog poop didn't sell the way it used to, but damned if I would give up.
Now, I never was much of a cleaner before. Laundry, dishes, trash, you name it and I neglected it. Things really started getting out of hand in Boston. When I was home, I'd either order in and ignore the garbage, or cook something and forget the dishes. I could see the dust piling up on my shelves and ledges, and I'm ashamed to say that the place smelled pretty ripe. I was turning underwear inside out, for Pete's sake!
Well, as fate would have it, a solution was right around the corner. One week in grey, early November, the local rubber dogshit sales convention was kicking off at the Staybridge. I was representing Mr. Lao's interests, and boy did I want to nail it. On day three of the convention, I didn't feel like heading home once the nine hours of speeches concluded. I headed to the bar. Sitting at the bar was the man who changed everything.
A small, plump man with bizarre ears and a Red Sox hat greeted me as I sat down.
"Daniel Mullen, from Feces Acquisition Group. You can call it FAG for short," said this ruddy faced stranger, holding out his hand. I replied with my name, Mr. Lao's business, and shook his rather large hand. He bought me a grapefruit shandy, which I accepted gratefully. Next thing I know, we're three or four road sodas deep and having a blast.
"Check out all these empties, man!" I exclaimed, gesturing at the bar.
"Uh...yeah. Sure," Mr. Mullen replied. "So how's Boston treating you?"
I was buzzing pretty good, and began to elaborate on my cleaning problems. When I finished, I felt ashamed. My new friend would think I was a slob! Except, he didn't at all. He sympathized, then told me his wife had a house cleaning service. "Egads!" thought I. This was just what I needed. We agreed on the price and exchanged numbers. Dan told me he'd have his wife call me on Saturday. I was thrilled.
Saturday rolled around. I got up early to cook a little breakfast and start some coffee. Around nine, as I was reading a Will Tate novel, the phone rang. I saw it was Dan Mullen and picked up.
"Hello?"
"Hey man, it's Dan from Somerville. My wife just needs directions to your place. Can you give them to me, and I'll tell her?"
I provided the details, and Dan told me that she'd be there in twenty. I was a bit nervous, I didn't want the first woman I had over to see my place in this state. I sat and waited quietly for the knock. At last, a few sharp raps came at my door. I opened up, and there she was. She was six foot three if she was an inch, tits like grapefruits, and long dark hair.
"Sí, I am a Flavia. Joo needed the clean?" She asked in a husky voice.
"That's me. Come on in," I answered. She swept into my apartment, arms full of cleaning supplies. This lady meant business. She got right to work gathering trash, scrubbing surfaces and all other manner of things. We made small talk while she worked, and I inquired about her accent. Turns out this sultry Amazon was from Brazil. I'd never been with anyone but schizophrenic black chicks who had huge hobbit feet, but I'd always had a thing for Latinas. I reminded myself that this was Dan's wife, to no avail. Her scent was intoxicating.
By the early afternoon, she was finished with her work. I had paid her, but she was making no effort to leave. Instead, she sat on the couch with me. She told me of her life in Brazil, how her husband ordered her out of sex slavery, and that she suspected he was in a gay love affair with on old, fat Italian who lived in Canada. I listened intently. She slowly inched her way across the sofa until we were nearly side by side. At last, I gave in to my hedonistic impulses. I leaned to kiss another man's wife. She responded in kind, and we began the dance as old as time.
After some time, we headed to my bedroom. I stripped and climbed into bed. Flavia smiled at me coyly, and said "One ting I got to tell joo, papi," she said.
"Anything," I responded.
She turned away from me, and proceeded to remove her work-stained casual attire. As she finished, she stood up straight and inhaled deeply. The moment had come. The Brazilan beauty slowly turned around, and the truth was laid bare before my eyes. That lady had a pecka! That lady had a fuckin pecka! I was like holy fukken shit look at that lady's pecka! I started gettin all fuckin grossed out and couldn't stop thinkin about how that lady's pecka tasted. It was the hugest fuckin pecka I ever saw.
Fin
My new life wasn't without a few inconveniences. Sure, the pay was great, but the hours were murder. I left early and came home late. My boss, Mr. Lao, wanted to double our profit margins. I didn't really mind, I loved doing what I did. Rubber dog poop didn't sell the way it used to, but damned if I would give up.
Now, I never was much of a cleaner before. Laundry, dishes, trash, you name it and I neglected it. Things really started getting out of hand in Boston. When I was home, I'd either order in and ignore the garbage, or cook something and forget the dishes. I could see the dust piling up on my shelves and ledges, and I'm ashamed to say that the place smelled pretty ripe. I was turning underwear inside out, for Pete's sake!
Well, as fate would have it, a solution was right around the corner. One week in grey, early November, the local rubber dogshit sales convention was kicking off at the Staybridge. I was representing Mr. Lao's interests, and boy did I want to nail it. On day three of the convention, I didn't feel like heading home once the nine hours of speeches concluded. I headed to the bar. Sitting at the bar was the man who changed everything.
A small, plump man with bizarre ears and a Red Sox hat greeted me as I sat down.
"Daniel Mullen, from Feces Acquisition Group. You can call it FAG for short," said this ruddy faced stranger, holding out his hand. I replied with my name, Mr. Lao's business, and shook his rather large hand. He bought me a grapefruit shandy, which I accepted gratefully. Next thing I know, we're three or four road sodas deep and having a blast.
"Check out all these empties, man!" I exclaimed, gesturing at the bar.
"Uh...yeah. Sure," Mr. Mullen replied. "So how's Boston treating you?"
I was buzzing pretty good, and began to elaborate on my cleaning problems. When I finished, I felt ashamed. My new friend would think I was a slob! Except, he didn't at all. He sympathized, then told me his wife had a house cleaning service. "Egads!" thought I. This was just what I needed. We agreed on the price and exchanged numbers. Dan told me he'd have his wife call me on Saturday. I was thrilled.
Saturday rolled around. I got up early to cook a little breakfast and start some coffee. Around nine, as I was reading a Will Tate novel, the phone rang. I saw it was Dan Mullen and picked up.
"Hello?"
"Hey man, it's Dan from Somerville. My wife just needs directions to your place. Can you give them to me, and I'll tell her?"
I provided the details, and Dan told me that she'd be there in twenty. I was a bit nervous, I didn't want the first woman I had over to see my place in this state. I sat and waited quietly for the knock. At last, a few sharp raps came at my door. I opened up, and there she was. She was six foot three if she was an inch, tits like grapefruits, and long dark hair.
"Sí, I am a Flavia. Joo needed the clean?" She asked in a husky voice.
"That's me. Come on in," I answered. She swept into my apartment, arms full of cleaning supplies. This lady meant business. She got right to work gathering trash, scrubbing surfaces and all other manner of things. We made small talk while she worked, and I inquired about her accent. Turns out this sultry Amazon was from Brazil. I'd never been with anyone but schizophrenic black chicks who had huge hobbit feet, but I'd always had a thing for Latinas. I reminded myself that this was Dan's wife, to no avail. Her scent was intoxicating.
By the early afternoon, she was finished with her work. I had paid her, but she was making no effort to leave. Instead, she sat on the couch with me. She told me of her life in Brazil, how her husband ordered her out of sex slavery, and that she suspected he was in a gay love affair with on old, fat Italian who lived in Canada. I listened intently. She slowly inched her way across the sofa until we were nearly side by side. At last, I gave in to my hedonistic impulses. I leaned to kiss another man's wife. She responded in kind, and we began the dance as old as time.
After some time, we headed to my bedroom. I stripped and climbed into bed. Flavia smiled at me coyly, and said "One ting I got to tell joo, papi," she said.
"Anything," I responded.
She turned away from me, and proceeded to remove her work-stained casual attire. As she finished, she stood up straight and inhaled deeply. The moment had come. The Brazilan beauty slowly turned around, and the truth was laid bare before my eyes. That lady had a pecka! That lady had a fuckin pecka! I was like holy fukken shit look at that lady's pecka! I started gettin all fuckin grossed out and couldn't stop thinkin about how that lady's pecka tasted. It was the hugest fuckin pecka I ever saw.
Fin
