Non habent sexus cum servis
There used to be a sign on my bedroom wall.
Professionally framed and printed on expensive parchment, it hung at the end of the bed and said, in large red letters:
Non habent sexus cum servis
Yes, that's Latin, and a crude translation looks something like this:
Do not have sex with the servants
Or, perhaps more simply,
DO NOT FUCK THE HELP
I think I saw it first on an episode of "Spartacus" or similar, I can't be sure. My mind plays tricks on me these days.
It's a simple warning if a little forceful, no? Translated into plain English, it means Keep your hands off the Au Pair. Under no circumstances should you even think of putting any part of your body, clothed or otherwise, adjacent to or actually inside the person of the Help.
And that message didn't just apply to my Darling Husband. It was there for my benefit too.
Also notice that I used the past tense. Past tense in that said notice was recently ripped up and tossed in the bin. Here's why.
Our house is fairly large and quite old. Late Victorian, according to the Deeds. It's also a Grade II Listed Building, which means that the Government, and English Heritage in particular, would prefer us to look after the place properly as they consider said edifice to be part of the Nation's history. Consequently, the house requires a lot of care and attention, not just the routine 'clean your shit up' variety but also regular building surveys to ensure that the roof doesn't blow off as was nearly the case when Storm Arwen hit last November. That wasn't much fun at all, and whilst we lost some trees, one of my greenhouses was last seen heading in the direction of Norway so keeping the place in tip-top condition is important.
Now, my deadlines are such that I don't have time to cook or clean properly, and so we hired Soovi, an Estonian student, to look after the place whilst I had my nose hard up against the Corporate Grindstone.
Soovi is, stated simply, drop-dead gorgeous. She's impossibly tall, at least six foot four, extremely leggy and as slender as my kitchen mop. Worse, she is crowned with a luxurious head of pure white hair which falls about her shoulders like an advert for one of those awful dandruff shampoos. She really is the most perfect creature I have ever laid eyes on.
Have I been tempted? Yes, absolutely. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought of ripping her clothes off and ravaging her on the spot. I know my husband has. He's said as much.
So now you know why we have the sign on the wall.
Non habent sexus cum servis
There. I said it again.
Do not, under any circumstances, fuck the Help.
"Why ever not?" I hear you ask. After all, that's the point of this missive, no?
Well, first and foremost, until recently, I have never seen or heard the Help, namely Soovi, express any kind of interest in being fucked. She has, so far as I can tell, zero interest in sex and, if she has, she's kept any indications well hidden. That was until she revealed that she'd had a role in an Estonian movie detailing the life of one of their folk heroes. That adventure is described, in detail, in the entry "Pizza for Knight".
Secondly, as gorgeous as she is, she may not (and knowing my luck, certainly won't) welcome any kind of amorous interest from either myself or my husband and would, in all probability, make her sentiments known by way of a solicitor's letter and a summons to the County Court on a charge of inappropriate conduct.
So, I guess shagging a gorgeous 6'4", 120 pound Estonian is off the cards, eh?
Maybe not.
Forgive the lengthy pre-amble. I'll get to the good stuff now.
It's Sunday, a day of rest but rather than skip off down the pub, or skive for an hour or two in the Big Smoke, we're hard at work in my Victorian Walled Garden. This is a restoration project, to see if we can bring this gorgeous old 19th century installation back to life after seventy years of neglect.
We've split the garden into two sections, Dig and No-Dig. Both will use strictly organic fertilisers. No Glyphosates in my food, thanks.
Anyway, window dressing aside, Alex and I have been hard at it since dawn. The no-Dig area can take care of itself. The Dig-area is totally back-breaking work. Great in theory. Awful in practice. In the end, we relented and hired a Rotavator because my poor man's spine was in pieces.
Now, throughout this process, we have been ably assisted by Soovi, who has fed and watered us, fielded all of the incoming telephone calls, and generally stopped my aged dog Sam from chasing the latest addition to our menagerie, namely our chickens, Huey, Dewey and Louis. Soovi has also been doing sterling work trimming and pruning the espaliers along the north wall, which we hope will provide us with an abundance of soft fruit over the coming months.
However, by three o'clock, we're done. All of us. It's too hot to stay outside and whilst we still have a mountain to climb in terms of planting, we've broken the back of the project. I can do the rest on my own.
We head indoors to sit and rest, and thereafter to contemplate the excellent work we have done. Alex has been a joy. He hates and detests gardening and yet he's spent the whole weekend grafting away to the point that he can no longer stand properly. I drag his sorry ass up to the shower, strip him naked and park him under a jet of water.
There's something else at work here. There's a totally sexy buzz in the air and, by that, I mean that we're all hyped up. The job has gone well and there's a communal feeling that we worked together seamlessly, as a team. Now, it would seem, would be a good time to let the hair down a little.
Ten minutes later and Alex is starting to feel more human, as am I. That's when I hear the thud, the sound of bone hitting a hard floor. There's a pause before he starts to scream.
And scream he does...
"Oh... shit..." I whisper.
I find Alex splayed out across the shower room floor, face down and grabbing at his knee. He'd apparently missed his footing, slipped and then gone over on his ankle. The painful thud was his right patella hitting the floor hard.
"Oh fuck!" I whisper and jump directly into emergency mode. Thankfully, the damage isn't nearly as bad as it initially appears. The blow to his knee has exacerbated an an old sports injury from way back in his University days and he's in a lot of pain but we both know it'll soon fade. I've seen this before, when I dropped a Baby Grand piano on his foot, and he got over that incident with an hour or so. Shame the Baby Grand didn't.
I join him in the shower and nurse his poorly knee whilst scrubbing him down although he insists he can manage on his own. Whether he's genuinely exhausted or just playing the sorry-assed weakling I cannot tell. I'll give him the benefit of the doubt.
Of course, the very act of scrubbing him down has brought about the rather predictable and somewhat inevitable erection, which he is very obviously enjoying. It really is bloody massive and I am so, so tempted to say thank you for all of his hard work in the best way I know, which is to either blow him hard and fast, or give him the kind of hand job that will put a smile on his face from now until Michaelmas. I'm nice like that. But I also note that Soovi is scuttling around and therefore likely to stumble across any would-be sexy, sexy encounter, which might, in turn, lead to a regrettable situation.
As the sign on the wall says, Non habent sexus cum servis.
Do not shag the Help.
However, I just can't get Alex onto his feet. He complains that he's twisted his ankle and can't put any weight on it. Alas, it seems I'm physically too small to shift his enormous dead weight on my own.
Here's the good news. Soovi has heard Alex's screams from the other side of the house. Coupled with my frantic and somewhat abortive attempts to lift him off the floor, she politely knocks on the bathroom door before entering.
"Are you okay? Can I help?"
"He's twisted his knee and his ankle," I reply. "Can you get the other side of him and take the weight whilst I lift?"
So, together Soovi and I get Alex to his feet and prop him up against a wall so that he's at least vertical and able to cling on to one of the hand rails. I'd already removed most of my filthy gardening clothes and I've been quietly pottering around in my underclothes for twenty minutes but poor Soovi still fully dressed and is therefore utterly soaked to the skin.
And then, of course, there's the issue of that truly massive erection.
I can't help myself. I start laughing. Laughing and giggling because... well, there it is. And it's magnificent.
And because I'm laughing and giggling like an idiot, that sets Soovi off, and then Alex.
And... Well... Oh...
Soovi drags her t-shirt over her head and drops her shorts. She's naked.
Just like that.
Yowza! That's nice.
Actually, that's not true.
She's utterly glorious.
Totally utterly fucking gorgeous.
Taller than me by at least a foot, her pure white hair tumbling over her shoulders, tiny champagne glass boobs set against pure alabaster white skin and an ass that you could bounce a quarter off, what's a gal to do?
I mean, pinch me.
