Julie's New Houseboy

I pretty much knew the type, and he was one of them. I could tell by the way he quietly ordered his cappuccino with his eyes downcast. I kept a peripheral eye on him as I was steaming the milk and saw him looking about, but in the course of looking about, looking at me. What did he see? A cute 20 year old wearing a black top that left my pierced belly exposed, black velvet shorts, black converse sneakers and white socks. Perky, energetic, and not one to be fooled. I'd had my hair cut fairly short recently, and a small cowlick bobbed at the top of my head. The rest? Brunette, light olive-toned skin, five foot five.

This guy was fifteen, maybe twenty years, my senior. He looked okay. Neatly dressed - conservative, but showing some taste. I drew a spoon through the top of the foam on his cap, making a design, and placed it on the counter before him. He looked at it appreciatively, and I could see that he wanted to say something.

"Will that do it?" I said, sliding the cup toward him.

"Yes. That's all. thank you. It's very nice. That's a nice design you made. I... well,... how much will that be?" he mumbled, tripping over his words a bit. Seems I made him nervous. The cap was $4 and he left me two in the jar. More than generous. Hey, come back anytime.

"Thanks." I said, turning away.

"Thank you, miss."

He took up residence at a table across the room, choosing a chair that didn't face the bar directly, but still afforded a view of it, and of me.

The truth is, I was kind of on the lookout for a needy older guy, maybe a loner type. Loners are interesting. They seem to get along okay on their own, but they've all -most anyway - got some inner need. Submissive ones, well, that's what I have my antennae up for. This quiet dude seemed to fit the bill. The last one I had was good. He moved away. I Never figured out why. But he liked bending over backwards to please me. Naturally, I liked that. Plus, he did a lot of practical shit. Cleaning, cooking, ironing, you name it. At heart, he was a panty sniffer. Sub all the way. You can get all kinds of mileage out of those guys. They don't want to fuck you, but they do have other talents. And those I kind of like!

I struck up a conversation with Lenny, a friend who happened to be sitting right by the counter. He was doodling in a book. Where I was standing, I knew my quarry could see me, see my legs and ass. Men have complimented me on my body. I always like hearing it. I didn't look over at 'shy boy', but knew he was looking.

There were new customers coming in, and that kept me busy for awhile. When things died down, I came out to bus the tables of the lazy fuckers who didn't bother to do it themselves. When I went past his table, I dropped a spoon. You should have seen him go for it. Like a sprinter in starting blocks. It was a good sign.

"Oh, hey, thanks." I said as he handed it to me. "How's your coffee? To your liking?"

"It's perfect. Sometimes baristas pour too much milk into a cappuccino. But this is just right." he said.

I had to suppress a smile when I saw him color slightly, and he turned his face away.

"Well, thanks!" I said. "How about another?"

"I'd like that." he said.

So, that was the first contact. Brief, but so much information packed into it. This guy wanted to crawl at my feet. I could see that. It made me kind of hot thinking of possibilities. He stayed there for two hours, had another cappuccino, read a book he had in his shoulder bag. On another bussing trip, I got his name out of him. Get this: it's Duncan. I told him mine. 'Julie', he said, repeating it softly when I told him.

I was off the next two days. When I showed up on Wednesday for my evening shift, there he was with an empty cup in front of him, looking around the room. He kind of jumped in his seat when I came in. He pulled a book out of his little bag, and began staring at the page in front of him. But he wasn't reading. I guarantee it. He was probably trying to control his breathing, and who knows what else.

Once I got set up, and Eva, the girl I was taking over from, had split, I glanced over his way. I caught his eye, which he was timidly making available, and gave a little nod of recognition. He lit up like a Christmas tree.

I enjoy this sort of foreplay. The kind that happens way before any clothes are removed. I was cultivating him, grooming him for what might come. I liked him for the position I had in mind. He was kind of cute, neat, very well-mannered, and attentive.

He stuck around till closing time, apparently engrossed in his book.

I was out on the floor wiping down the tables and I heard my name.

"Oh,hey, there, Duncan." I said, looking towards him while I continued working.

"That must be some book." I ventured, giving him a little smile.

"It's a Jane Austen book. Mansfield Park. Yes, it's really quite good." he said turning the book over in his hands as if he were inspecting it for defects. He was just nervous. And why wouldn't he be?

"Me, I'm reading Naked Lunch. It's by a guy named Burroughs."

"I've heard of it. Are you enjoying it?"

"It's about him caught up in a big-time heroin addiction way back when. The 50s, I think. Yeah, I like it. The language is so out there." I said, coming over to stand by his table. He kind of reflexively began to stand up. Presence of a lady, and all that.

"Keep your seat, Duncan. Boy, your mother must have taught you right - respecting women, I mean." I said. The poor guy was blushing a bit.

"It's just something that comes naturally to me, I guess." he said, recovering himself.

"Would you care to sit down?"

"No can do." I said, resuming my duties. "I want to get out of here sometime tonight." I said, noting that my crotch was more or less at face level with my new friend.

"Can I help? I don't mind. Really. It would speed things up." he said. His smile seemed a bit tense. Wondering if he'd gone too far, I suppose. But, no. It was just the right response.

"How about finishing up the tables? That'd be a big help. Thanks, Duncan!"

"Happy to pitch in." He said. He got up and brought his cup to the bus pan in the corner, then returned.

"Nothing to it, really. Wipe them down good. Just knock the crumbs onto the floor. I'll get them when I sweep."

"I can do the sweeping." he volunteered immediately. He was already going at it with the table-wiping.

"All right, then! That way I can run the dishwasher. We should be done in no time."

While I got the bank deposit ready, balancing the books, etcetera, Duncan busied himself wiping off the salt and pepper shakers. I think if I hadn't stopped him he might have started waxing the floor.

"Well, we're done." I said, stuffing the day's receipts into the deposit bag.

"Sure appreciate the help."

"Oh, I enjoyed it. Really, I did." said Duncan, beaming as he arranged the teabags in their respective holders.

"You just naturally like to be neat? Is that it?" I said. I was probing a bit.

"I enjoyed helping you, mostly. But, yes, I like things to be orderly."

"Hmmm. I could use you around the house. Apartment, really. But that would be asking too much." I said, laughing.

"Not really.", he replied, his eyes looking off to the side.

"I was kidding, Duncan! Sheesh! I practically just met you. I usually wait till after three or four dates before I let a guy clean my place." I said, presenting the idea in tongue-in-cheek fashion, but looking for more as I studied his face.

"Could I give you a lift? How do you get to the bank, anyway?" he said, sounding concerned.

"Walk." I said, zipping the bag shut. "It's just two blocks."

"You should be careful. Someone might notice you doing that, and get ideas."

It's okay. I've got mace. Plus, if they really want the money, they can have it. But, there's always lots of foot traffic, and it's well lit."

"So then you go home from there?"

"I go to Dylan's for a pint or two. See who's there. I live close by, which is nice."

While we're talking, I'm checking him out. His body, I mean. He's on the slim side and his skin is pale and delicate looking. He looked like he was in shape.

"But, you know, I'll take you up on the ride. I have some sketches I want to work on at home, so I'll skip the bar tonight."

"Okay, then." Duncan said, seeming pleased.

I wondered if he was going to open the car door for me, but he didn't. I mean, even a goody-two-shoes like him knows that that's passe.

He waited in the car as I made the bank drop. My apartment is above a hardware store a block off of Main Street. The building is old brick and the walls of the apartment are plaster, so sounds from the adjacent apartment (the only other one) are muffled. Actually, I've almost never heard a sound from there.

Duncan pulled up to the door, I grabbed my stuff and said, "Park over there and come on up."

I didn't bother to look at him as I said this. I got out of the car and headed to the doorway leading to my place.

I had my keys out, and could hear him coming quietly up behind me.

"It's a nice old building." he said, but I didn't respond. We walked up the one flight of stairs. Naturally, I was aware that my cute ass was at eye level to him as we made that brief journey.

I unlocked the two deadbolts, and we entered.

The place is never what you would call neat. There was a draughtsman's table by the window overlooking the street, and it was covered with pencil drawings. I had a canvas set up by my bed. The apartment consists mainly of this one large room. there's a small kitchen with no room for a table, and a sleeping alcove with its own window where I just store shit, also facing the street. It suited me. As did the rent.

"So, where do you want to get started?" I asked, straight-faced. He looked at me in a way that spelled DUMBFOUNDED in capital letters.

"Start...?" he said. "Oh! You mean tidying up. You mean cleaning! Got it."

Boy was he nervous.

"Just pulling your chain, Dunc."

There are a couple of easy chairs in the room, but he keeps standing.

"Would you like to sit down? I said with a mock formality that he missed completely.

"Yes. Thank you." he replied, not moving.

I pointed to a cushioned rattan chair.

"How about right there?"

"Yes. Thank you." he said, like a doll with a string attached to its back.

He sat down and folded his hands in his lap. I stood there and looked at him. He averted my gaze and fidgeted, and I took that as a good sign.

"How 'bout a beer, Dunc?" I said, heading for the kitchen.

"Sure. sure." says Duncan, nodding vigorously.

"Well, come to kitchen and get it." I said. "I've worked enough today." I said, and laughed.

"Yes, of course. Sorry."

"That last word sealed the deal for me. I was the presumed host, and he was apologizing for not serving himself. In the small kitchen, I opened the fridge, and pointed to where the beer was.

"The glasses are up there." I said, indicating a cabinet above the sink. Then I left.

There is a sofa against the wall in the main room, and I took up residence there. I crossed my legs, folded my arms across my chest, and waited.

Duncan entered, somehow managing to carry everything.

"I took the liberty of finding the opener in one of the drawers." he said, looking at me as he approached.

"Great." I said, leaning back.

"There are coasters here." I said, indicating a side table just beside me.

Duncan went about his work while I watched. He put the bottles and the glasses on the coffee table, quietly, I should add, then fetched two coasters from the side table drawer. He took a tissue from a box on the table and, lifting the beers, he wiped up the bit of condensation they'd left there. He put one coaster in front of me, then he knelt on the floor on the far side of the table and poured my beer. It was textbook beer-pouring, I gotta say. Tilted the glass, poured slowly, left an inch of head on top. He placed the beer silently onto the coaster.

"Thank you, Duncan." I said, giving him a little smile of approval.

"Well, how about your beer?" I said, giving him a quizzical look.

"Oh... yes." he said, snapping out of whatever mind space he'd entered. He poured his beer, setting it on the table by where he knelt.

"Hop up here, Duncan. That can't be too comfortable." I said, scooching over slightly. He was sitting back on his heels.

I'm okay. I prefer this." he said. He gave me a look of someone entirely satisfied with the situation at hand.

"It's nice to sit down, finally." I said. "It was a busy day. I've asked Marty... do you know Marty, the owner?"

"I think I've seen him. Fellow with a beard? He came behind the counter this afternoon while you were working."

"That's him. He's cool, but he's forgetful. I've asked him for some decent floor mats for the work area, you know, something professional like you see in restaurant kitchens. I've got to make a stronger pitch. Maybe I'll tell him I'm getting ankle issues, or something."

"A floor mat seems like not so much to ask. Especially if you're doing as good a job as you do." Duncan said, seeming mildly incensed on my behalf. But it was sincere. That was nice.

"Look, Duncan," I said, after polishing off the beer, "this may sound a bit forward, but I would be ever so grateful if you would give my feet a little massage. They're really aching."

Well, it seemed these were just the words Duncan was waiting to hear.

"Of course, Julie." he said, and began shifting himself over to the side of the sofa, never quite leaving his kneeling position.

"Wait. Let me wash my hands." he said, beginning to rise.

"It's alright Duncan. It's my feet. I don't eat with them."

"Oh, well, okay then." he said, moving closer.

I swung about so that my back rested into the corner of the couch, and I put my feet up on the cushion. Duncan began gently unlacing my shoes. He slid one off, then the other, then slowly rolled down the socks from the top. His hands were slender and delicate looking. I mean, he hadn't even got the socks off, and already it was a sensual experience. I've had plenty of foot rubs, and most of them have been sub-par.

Once the socks were off, Duncan rolled them up and placed them into the shoes. He sat back for a second and looked at the floor. Who knows what was going through his mind.

"They don't stink, do they?" I said.

Duncan looked at me and smiled.

"I don't see how they ever could." he said, and a bit of color rose up in his cheeks.

Now, I've heard all kinds of lines, but, no kidding, Duncan telling me that my feet could never stink was one that truly registered. It was strangely and sincerely romantic.

"Before you get started, my friend, could you get me another cerveza?" I said, slumping languorously further down into the cushions. I wanted to be fully set up for the experience.

Duncan was back in a jiffy, and the fresh beer was soon poured, sending those spirally bubbles up through the pilsner glass. I sat back watching them, and Duncan lifted my right foot up by the heel and cradled it. He began by rubbing the sole gently, then more vigorously, and stroking firmly into the arch with his thumb. He had a good touch: firm but sensitive.

While he worked, I studied him. He had a touch of rusty-red to his hair, and his eyes were grey. There were a few subtle freckles to either side of his nose. His lips were red, and on the full side; nice looking, in my book, and sensitive. Maybe some fragility.

My feet were getting happier by the second. He was working the ball of my foot with his thumbs. He'd do that for awhile, then give a light friction rub to them and to the tops of my feet. Yum.

He was definitely enjoying himself. I wondered if he was getting off. It wouldn't have surprised me. With one foot elevated, he had a nice view of my legs, but I never saw his eyes stray from his work.

With both feet done, and the beers warming me, I was feeling good.

"Would you like me to apply some lotion?" he said, once finished.

"Naw. That's okay. It was great, Duncan. You've got a real talent there."

"It was my pleasure, Julie." he said, softly. Then, even more softly: "An honor."

"You do know how to make a girl feel special. Hey, how about doing me a little favor."

Duncan was obviously down with that.

"Sure! Whatever you like!"

I think the foot massaging got him kind of wound up.

"Just for luck, could you kiss both of my feet. Kind of a finishing touch."

I could hear him breathe in sharply. Apparently this had taken him by surprise.

"You know, just a little "goodbye" kiss." I said, to fill in the gap. "My feet and your hands have become good friends. Who knows when they'll meet again."

"Soon... anytime! I mean..."

Boy. He didn't just color a little this time. He was full-on blushing.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to put you on the spot." I said, feeling a bit guilty.

"No, no. You didn't. Or maybe you did, but anyway, I'm pretty shy with women. I guess you surprised me a little."

"It was kind of a weird request. You don't need to do it." I said, but, really, saying this was a test.

"Not at all! No, not at all weird." he said, eyeing my feet with what looked for all the world like affection.

"Well, okay then." I said, and raised my foot toward him.

Again, he cradled my foot in his hand, lowered his head and planted the softest, most tender kiss on the arch. It made my whole body tingle.

"That was sweet, Duncan. Mmmmmmm, you can give another, if you like."

After the second kiss, I stroked the side of his face with my foot.

"Now the other." I said, raising the other foot.

Again, Duncan delivered in spades. I thought, if he can be this sweet and sensual with my feet, I wonder what other uses his pretty mouth might have.

After that, he drank some of his beer (which he hadn't up to that point touched), and we talked for awhile. He said he was quite comfortable on the floor, so there he stayed.

"Thanks for coming by, Duncan." I said, as he made ready to leave. "You'll have to come again sometime. I like your company."

"I'd like that very much, Julie." he said.

"Hey, what do you think about the place? Not the neatest habitat around, I'd say. But I'm pretty lazy about that kind of thing. When it gets to be an eyesore, I do a bit of cleaning," I said, definitely fishing.

"Well," he said, putting on his jacket and looking around the room, "That's where I'd say we are different. I like to clean and organize. I guess it's hard-wired. I could..., you know, help out sometime, if you like." he said. "It could be a way of supporting your artistic efforts!"

"Patron of the arts, eh?" I said, laughing.

"I always wanted to be one." he said, running with the joke.

"Well, okay. if you're sure it wouldn't be imposing..."

"It wouldn't. Plus, it would be a way to spend some time together."

"Well... we wouldn't be doing housework together, you know."

"Of course not! You could do your artwork while I cleaned. I'm sure I'd enjoy that." he said with real enthusiasm.

"It's a deal." I said. "Soon, okay?"

"Anytime, Julie."

I stood by the window and watched him drive away. Maybe he'd show up at the cafe the next day, but I wouldn't ask him over for a little while. It's like my Uncle Jake once said about fishing. You reel the fish in some, then you give it some line, and go on repeating that until the fish is tired. Then, it's ready to be rather easily brought into the boat.

To be continued.