Housesitter Pt 02

Housesitter

Part Two

by The Preve

Inspired, in part, by "Shower", by A-L-E-X-X

The man was dressed casually, as always. One rarely saw him in any formal wear. He was too fucking rich to care for formality. Semi-formal was the most concession he gave to his fellow Quality.

His hair was styled in that tousled mop, part fratboy, part boy scout, contributing to his perpetual youthful appearance, in spite its gray.

The Peter Pan look extended to his puckish face, flashing his classic mischievous smile at Finn.

Brilliant mischief always characterized his image in the media. The same brilliance that powered him into the upper billions in fortune, over a tech empire, and multi-business conglomerate spanning the globe.

The man's presence drove it home for Finn: the job was not going to be a simple house sitting.

"So, Finn Duffy," Gavin Peters, founder and CEO of Craftlove Development Group (CLDS), started, "very Irish name on you. Your father came from Ireland. Which part?"

"Uh . . . uh . . . County Cork."

"And your mother is Edwina Corning-Duffy, of the Corning family."

The 'Corny' family.

"Um, yes."

"Solid Boston Brahmins. A good family, so I heard."

"I guess," Finn's tone was a bit subdued. Gavin picked up on that.

"So, your file mentioned you had some family issues. May I hear them? I need to know about potential problems."

"Uh, we're not exactly on speaking terms."

"Go on. Don't be shy."

Finn hesitantly explained: his father's favoritism towards his brother, his Brahmin relatives' poor treatment of him, his mother's aloofness, his family's decision not to fund his college education, while giving his brother all the support, and attention.

Gavin listened quietly.

Too bad, the poor bastard. It makes him a good candidate.

When Finn finished, Gavin continued, "Well Finn, if I decide you're good for the job, your financial worries will vanish, guaranteed. But it's going to require you to do things beyond the pale. Most candidates turn it down the instant they hear them."

Finn nodded, "Um, I've come this far Mr. Peters. I'd like to hear it before I decide."

"That's good, but I still must warn you, it's a major commitment. Would you like to sit?" He gestured to one of the bar chairs.

Finn sat, Gavin took one next to him. He spoke to Finn and explained.

"It's a project I cooked up with

Philip Johnson

a while back, before he died. It's much like his

Glass House,

but larger, with more glass, actually transparent metals: aluminum, iron, and titanium. All highly experimental. Should revolutionize home building.

Also, it has state of the art technology. I built it some years ago, but I've tweaked and remodeled since. It's designed to be a smart house, practically able to take care of itself, but some of the tech is so new, it needs some monitoring over a few months.

I need someone reliable to keep an eye on it. Not fix it, mind you. Just write down issues in a log book we'll provide you.

Some of the tech is highly sensitive, so something of you will be required, we'll talk about it in a few.

The house has the best recreational facilities on the planet, including a gym, swimming pool, Jacuzzi, home theater system, with over 200,000 movies from around the world, cable, but no internet.

It has a huge library, stocked with books catering to all tastes. And it has a state of the art kitchen, five star restaurant quality, stocked with the best gourmet, ready-to-cook foods, five years' supply.

The house is on

Grass Lake Island,

in the

San Juan Archipelago

. Pleasant in the summer months, little to no rain, plenty of sunshine. It's hilly but the house is set in a little valley inland.

Your presence will be required from June 1 to August 31. You will have no contact with the outside world. No one will visit, and the island will be off limits to all other visitors. The exception will be the person who will drop you off, and pick you up at the end.

This requirement is due to the value of the tech in the house, as well as to prevent vandalism. This is the reason we vet for criminal records and drug use."

Finn nodded, understanding. Gavin's next words stunned him speechless.

"The pay will be generous. Two hundred thousand dollars for the first month, five hundred for the second, and one million for the third. Plus a possible bonus to be determined."

Finn coughed, choking on his own spit.

Almost two million dollars to watch a house?!!

Gavin's face wore a mischievous grin.

"You 'cough!' You're not joking . . . are you?!"

"It's the God's own truth. I'm offering that much. It's how important this job is, even if it's easy. All you have to do is chill in a luxurious house for the summer and the money's yours."

Finn would grin at this possible good luck falling into his lap. The neon "Danger," sign flashed in his head, though. This offer was far beyond to good to be true. There was a catch. A big one, obviously.

"The requirement," Finn voiced out loud.

"The requirement," Gavin grinned, wagging his brows.

"What is it?" a trickle of sweat rolled down Finn's back.

"It's simple," Gavin smiled. "From the time you set foot on the island, to the time you leave, you will not wear a single stitch of clothing, except a pair of shoes provided for you at the pier, and only for your walk to the house. You will be required to deposit them in a box outside the front door.

No clothing will be allowed inside the house. You may wear the shoes when you jog or explore the island. I will warn you, we keep goats on the island to deal with the grass."

Finn blinked, not quite believing what he heard. Gavin smiled back, more puckish than ever. Finn, in other circumstances, would think Gavin was joking, but Gavin Peters always looked as if everything was a joke.

Maybe everything is to him.

"Now, I'm sure you're wondering about this requirement, and I'll answer. As mentioned before, some of the tech is new, experimental, and sensitive. Certain things have to be kept to a minimum. That includes dust, skin cells, fibers, lint, and hair . . . at least most hair.

For this reason you will be required to receive skin treatments for several weeks prior to taking residence, including removal of most of your body hair, exfoliation, and skin peels. You'll be allowed to keep the hair on your head, and eyebrows, but your hair will need to be kept short and close cropped, and not allowed past the nape of your neck.

We will cover all expenses, and the treatments will be done at the top salon in North America, and one of the top three in the world.

Considering the nature of the task, and what's required, I'm willing to pay top dollar to prospective employees for their trouble. So how does it sound?"

Finn blinked again, and answered honestly. "It sounds . . . uh . . . crazy, sir. I don't think I've heard anything like it."

"Of course you haven't. It's new territory. One thing I've learned building Craftlove, new territory means new paths of exploration. I promise you, though, you won't get voyeurs, ha!"

Finn smiled and thought,

It's crazy, but it's a lot of fucking money. It would fix a lot of problems for me. All I need to do is spend three months alone, on an island, in a luxurious house, naked. No one will see, no one will know, except him.

"Okay, I'm willing to try it, if you can't find anyone else."

Gavin nodded, pleased. "Good, I can't guarantee you'll be hired. We have a few other candidates to interview, but we'll let you know next week."

"Okay."

They shook hands. Finn went back to the elevator, then the lobby. Sandra greeted him.

"So how did it go?"

"Okay, I guess. Kind of weird."

"Well, he is eccentric," Sandra said. "And he has a wicked sense of humor. We have a few candidates left, but I have a good feeling about your chances."

"I'm trying to process this whole thing, but thanks."

Terri Brooks waited outside. In the car, she asked, "So, the interview went well?"

"I don't know. I guess. Maybe."

"I'm not going to ask any more. I'm not supposed to, really, but I heard . . . was Gavin Peters there?"

"I don't think I'm supposed to talk about that," Finn smiled.

"Okay."

Wow!

She dropped him off at the campus. He ate at the cafeteria.

The following week was a routine of classes and preparations for finals. Finn was anxious. The interview sat in the back of his thoughts like a pimple. He wasn't sure how to react if the job came through.

He found out Wednesday, the following week.

The email was short: "Congratulations, you made it! Please call Emile Bouchard to arrange an appointment.

Good Luck, Gavin."

Finn sat back, looking at it, blinking.

Maybe I should delete it. Back out. Ignore it.

Warning thoughts were scrolling through his brain like a stock ticker.

Nope, I committed. So I got to go forward with it.

He called.

Events unfolded rapidly after that, over the rest of the spring.

He signed the hiring documents at the same medical center as before. He went over them beforehand. They were straightforward. Terms of agreement regarding the nudity, no liability for injuries, NDA's regarding the tech and details of the job. Agreements on pay. He gave the papers to Bouchard.

Appointments were scheduled for five sessions at the Augusta Riley Spa and Salon. Finn whistled when he heard that. The top movie stars, billionaires, and other Quality listed among the regular clientele.

The sessions were platinum class; the highest tier.

One alone costs a million, but five?!

Bouchard had assured him all expenses, including the sessions, were separate from his pay. Plus, it was in the contract.

The sessions consisted of a series of hair removal treatments, and chemical peels, over April and May.

Finn had heard of a couple of them, waxing and lasering, but electrolysis was new. He found it was an old technique from the early 20

th

century.

He had not realized, in signing the contract, he'd consented to permanent hair removal, from his face (excluding eyebrows) to his feet, including pubes.

"Well, I guess I won't have to worry about shaving ever again," he chuckled. He didn't mind, necessarily.

He wasn't keen on beards and mustaches anyway, and few people would likely see his bare crotch in the future.

The skin peels ranged from light to medium, and mostly dealt with some acne scars and blackheads. Overall, the procedures were mildly painful, and he had to keep exposure to sunlight at a minimum but, in the end, he sported clear, pale, unblemished skin.

Staring at himself in the mirror, nude in his dorm, Finn thought, "This is going to be me for three months?"

At least it made his cock look bigger.

The last session was a haircut, close-cropped, with a bit more off the sides than the top. The stylist was the best, and he gave him a box of his own, exclusive hair care products. "They'll keep it manageable, at least," he said to Finn.

The finals came. Finn sailed through them. Arrangements were made to put his clothes and possessions in storage. A plane ticket to Seattle was already purchased. Finn decided to wait out the final few days at a motel near LAX.

Not much happened during the last days of May, other than a phone call from Larry Jones, the family lawyer.

Finn was startled. He'd forgotten to tell his family about the new job.

Actually, that's not true. I didn't think they'd care, so why bother? And it figures they'd have Larry the Lizard call, instead of doing it themselves.

"Finn."

"Larry," Finn imagined Larry wearing his usual toothy, used car salesman grin. He hated the man.

"Your parents asked me to ask you when they can expect you home. Your Dad wants you to intern for a friend of his."

Probably Doug Pierce, runs a brokerage. Dad's been schmoozing with him for years. Less a friend, more a business partner. As much a piece of shit as Larry.

"I'm not coming home. I have a summer job in Washington State. I'm already hired, and the money's better,

better than a fucking intern job under Doug the Dick, at least.

"

A few seconds pause on the phone. "Oh, um . . . I'll inform your Dad. Congratulations, do you have a contact number for your job, to keep them up to date?"

"No, not with me. I'll be out of contact for awhile. Just tell them everything's fine. I'll call end of summer."

"End of summer. Sounds like you're going into forestry."

"Something like that. Anything else?"

"No . . . no, I'm sure your parents will be happy to know you found work. Talk to you later, 'click!'"

Like they could give a fuck.

Two days later, Finn boarded Alaska Airlines. He took nothing other than a change of clothes in a duffle bag.

The plane landed at Sea-Tac. A chauffeur waited in the lobby, holding a sign with his name on it.

"Finn Duffy," Finn said.

"Any luggage?"

"Just this," Finn held up the duffle.

"Follow me, please."

The car was an Edison, like the one in LA.

The driver took Finn to a small, private Craftlove airfield in Tukwila. The plane Finn boarded was a Craftlove Aerostrata, similar to Lear, but more streamlined and faster. Finn was reminded of a shark. A brief foreboding shuddered through him, as he ascended the steps.

Stop being nervous, Finn.

He calmed himself.

The plane ride was quite pleasant. An attendant served him a great lunch: roast beef sandwich, green salad, sweet potato fries, and key lime pie, followed with champagne.

"Mister Peters insisted you be given every comfort during your trip to the island," she said.

Finn smiled.

I could really get used to this.

The next stop was Victoria, BC where another chauffeur drove him to a private pier. The boat awaiting him was a small yacht, also Craftlove.

The boat ride was as pleasant as the flight. The waters were calm, the weather warm and sunny. As with the flight, he received another glass of champagne.

The boat made its way east through the Salish Sea, among the archipelago. Finn took a look at the various islands as they passed.

Some of the larger ones had towns; a few contained expensive looking houses.

Not surprising a few rich folk would live in this area. I could see Mom and Dad stake a claim here.

Other islands were fairly small, some heavily forested. Finn noticed seals resting on some of the beaches and rocks. The yacht passed a few orca pods.

The yacht passed a larger island, the captain said was San Juan, and turned north. Finn saw they were headed towards a smaller island near Lopez.

Initially, the island looked heavily forested. As the yacht drew closer, Finn noticed large grassy meadows between the trees. He didn't see the goats, but noticed some of the grass was close-cropped.

The yacht came around a small cape. The other side held a tiny cove, with a sandy beach rising gently from the shore.

Situated on the side of the peninsula was a pier, large enough for the yacht to dock.

Other than Finn, the yacht had the captain, and an attendant. The latter emerged from the cabin with a clipboard, a camera phone, and a shoe box.

"Well," said the attendant, "here we are. I trust that you enjoyed the trip?"

"Yes I did, thank you. I like the champagne too."

"You're welcome." the attendant set down the items and secured the yacht to the pier.

"The trail to the house is paved, watch out for the goats. The beach is open, of course, but watch out for seals. They like to sun themselves, sometimes. Now, those small pointers out of the way, I guess it's time to start." The attendant picked up the items and waited, expectantly.

Finn blinked, confused for a moment, then remembered, "Oh."

He hesitated, took a deep breath, then started: shirt, shoes, pants, socks, undershirt, and finally, briefs. He stood on the deck, blushing slightly, resisting the impulse to cover his nethers.

Remember the money, Finn. Remember the money.

The attendant smiled, blandly professional. He held out the clipboard. A paper with legal writing was on it. "Please sign this document affirming you are obeying the terms of the contract."

Finn read, basically a document confirming his nudity, then signed.

"I am required to take your picture for a visual record," the attendant said.

Finn stood straight, smiled, raised his hand, and made a "V" sign. Flash! The attendant took the clipboard and co-signed as witness, then handed the shoe box to Finn.

"Here are your new shoes, courtesy of Gavin Peters himself."

Finn opened the box, and whistled. Del Toros, the latest model. He'd read about them. Durable, cutting edge fabric, stain proof, for multiple environments, weather conditions, and terrain. Very expensive. They were a bright, royal blue, with a white base and trimming.

"It's a joint project between

Del Toro

shoes and Craftlove. I believe Mister Peters wants you to test out this model, to see how they hold up during your time here."

"Wow, well, I'll at least have good shoes for the summer." Finn put them on; a perfect fit.

"Heh, well, this is where we leave you. You won't see us until August 31. Hope it goes all right for you."

"I hope so too, thanks," Finn shook the attendant's hand and walked down the gang plank to the pier.

The attendant watched the young man walk down the pier, to the trail, and the bend, disappearing from sight.

"That poor kid," he shuddered. The attendant knew not what was going to happen. He didn't want to know. He only delivered them, and took Peters' money.

Maybe he'll come through. One did.

He unhooked from the pier, signaled to the captain, and the yacht cast off. It rounded the cape, and disappeared into the west.

To Be Continued.