Amily the personal maid-1

After about a month of widowhood, the joys of drowning my sorrows at the local pub were outweighed by the need to catch up on the work I had neglected. I stopped hanging out and started just staying home – which gave me more opportunity to notice how shabby my house was becoming.

Determined not to fall into the maid fantasies my friends and I had senselessly spun, I sought the anonymity of an agency service. If I did not even know precisely who was cleaning my home, I could hardly fantasize about them, let alone be tempted to do something more extreme. Besides, I rationalized, an agency would do the bonding, reference checks and payroll chores. I could just write a cheque.

Acme Maids seemed no better or worse than Best Maids, or Klean Kastles, or Zenith Janitorial. Simply first in the listings, and someone answered the phone on the second ring. A great start, then they told me an estimator had to visit to “measure me”. A simple two word phrase, and suddenly, prurient images of maids with rulers extracting my erection from my pants exploding in my brain. I must have mumbled something though, because when I hung up, in addition to a throbbing cock, I had a note of an appointment the next day at 11:00.