During career counselling my councillor asked me what I liked doing and what I was good at. I promptly said housework. She immediately scorned the idea of a woman doing housework as a career. Women have long moved away from that sort of thing. Why didn't I consider a real career? Why, I wanted to know, should I spend long years studying for a career I didn't want and probably wouldn't like? I already knew how to do housework, was good at it, and enjoyed seeing a place neat and tidy after I'd finished.
The councillor thought my ideas were archaic and suggested that I ought to see the school psychologist. I needed to move with the times. I thought I was moving with the times. Have you seen how much a maid can earn per hour? Build up a regular clientele and you can make a mint. Houses always need to be cleaned and with all those modern women out working at their careers they didn't have time to do it. Enter me, smiling and willing to do their work and take their cash.
I had an Aunt who had already set up her own cleaning company and she hired me straight away. If I worked out she said I could buy into the company after a few years, taking it over when she retired. It was a case of leave school and start a lucrative job, as long as I was willing to put the effort in.
By the time I was twenty one I was making good money and had already entered into a partnership agreement with my Aunt. I had to take some bookkeeping and accountancy courses but my mathematics skills weren't too bad and all bookkeeping is is an attention to detail, which I'm quite good at. I had a string of regular customers who requested that I, specifically, do their housework, rather than one of the general maids our company hired out. That's generally how it works when we do a good job. People ask for the same person each time.
On the day that the incident happened I was working for one of my steadies. The place was home to an older man and his son, Brad and Jason. The old guy was neat enough but his son was a bit of a slob. Hopefully he'd grow out of it as he matured. The first time I cleaned for them I thought I'd lost any repeat business for myself when I flatly refused to clean the son's room.
"Anytime I come around to clean and I can't see the floor in your son's bedroom, I'm not cleaning it," I told the father. He just laughed and seemed to think this was quite reasonable. Jason let me know that he didn't think so, but he still made sure his floor was reasonably clean for future visits.
Anyway, there I was, vacuuming the front room and Jason came smarming into the room and the look on his face made me instantly suspicious.
"What do you want and the answer's going to be no?" I said.
"Don't be like that, Kylie," he grumbled. "I'm in a little bit of a jam and I need you to help me."
"Why me? You've got a perfectly good father. Speak to him."
"He'd laugh and say it was my own fault and that I'm an idiot. Besides, he can't help me in this instance. Only you can."
"Really?" My voice oozed disbelief and he winced.
"You know I turned eighteen a few days back?" he asked and I nodded. I'd even sent him a card.
"Yeah, well, I got a bit of cash from various people and I'd had a few drinks and the guys were ribbing me about various things."
He stopped and didn't seem to want to go on.
"And?" I said, making encouraging signs.
"They were kidding me about being a virgin. . ." he began and I put a hand.
"Don't go there," I told him flatly. "Don't even think of going there."
"No, no, nothing like what you're thinking, honest. It was just I was boasting a bit and they told me to put my money where my mouth is, so I did. I need to provide a photo of you with your panties around your ankles or I lose the money. No sex, I swear. You don't even have to show anything. Just slip your panties down to your ankles and that's it. I'll take one photo and be gone."
I smiled kindly at him.
"You're out of your ever-loving mind," I said softly. "Just tell your father and he'll kill the bet. If you were drunk it wasn't a fair bet. How the hell did you get raked into a bet like that?"
"They were drunk, too," Jason pointed out. "I was big-noting myself and mentioned you and how lovely you are. Real model material, I told them. It was a legitimate bet. I'll look like a fool if I back out now."
"Maybe, but you'll look like a fool with five hundred dollars rather than an idiot with zero dollars."
"Yes, but if you let me take a photo I'll be an idiot with one thousand dollars. I'll pay you. I'll give you twenty."
I laughed and he promptly upped his offer to fifty and then to a panicked one hundred. A hundred wasn't a bad deal. I wouldn't be flashing any flesh, just lowering my panties so he could take a shot. If he tried anything I could just hit him with the vacuum cleaner. All things taken into account, a hundred is a hundred.
"Alright. I'll do you a deal. One hundred, in advance, and I'll drop my panties and you can take one photo. If I find that photo on the web you will be dead. If you try to go the grope, you will be dead. Are we clear?"
He nodded his head so fast I thought he'd break his neck, then he whipped out his wallet and gave me the hundred.
I'm not a fool. He might be young but he was still male, so I backed up to put more room between us. Then I slipped down my panties, letting them drop to my ankles. His face was bright red and his eyes were ready to pop but he hastily took his photo.
"Are you there, Jason," called out his father, but the answer to that was a resounding no. As soon as Jason heard his father's voice he said something along the lines of, "Oh, shit!" and departed the room and house with great speed, while his father came through the other door to find me standing there with my panties around my ankles.
He was looking at me with some amusement and it was my turn to have a red face.
"This isn't what it looks like," I said quickly.
"Really?" he asked, strolling over to stand in front of me. "It looks as though you're standing there with your panties around your ankles."
Before I could protest or explain he lifted the front of my dress and tucked it into my belt, leaving me very much exposed.
"Ah, I have to say it looks very much like it is."
