for hire

FOR HIRE
by Kristie Alshaibi

Imagine this. You’re walking down the sidewalk toward a trendy bar in a trendy part of town. You are a bit nervous because you are going to meet someone there. You know his voice from a couple of phone conversations, but you have no idea what he looks like. His name is John, and while you’re walking, you are wondering why anyone would name their child something so common. Then again, you really don’t care. You’re only trying to bury your uneasiness.

Oh, I almost forgot. You are 21 and you’re a female. You’ve just been through a long divorce following a short marriage, and you (and your two-year-old daughter) are living with your parents. You want to get out, so you are looking for a job as a live-in nanny.

So you walk through the door of the bar and scan the crowd. An overweight man with a red beard and curly red hair stands and extends his hand. He knows your name, so you realize he is John, and you sit down at his table. You exchange a few customary observations about the weather, then get down to business.

He says he’s willing to pay two hundred and fifty dollars per week, plus room and board. He says he’s just bought a new house and there will be plenty of room for you and your little girl. He tells you that his son is thirteen years old, and doesn’t require a lot of attention. Next comes the fine print. He says he’s going to be very straightforward, because “you know, it’s always best to be honest about these sort of things”. He tells you that being the nanny is only part of the job, and a very small part at that. He says he’s looking for someone to give him massages, and not just any kind of massage, you understand, but erotic massage.

Your throat starts to feel a little dry, but you put on a timid smile and listen politely, because a thousand bucks a month with no expenses is not a bad deal. He says you won’t be able to bring any men into the house, of course, and you think “that’s okay,” because you’ve been a lesbian in training for the past six months anyway. Then you look into his watery eyes and something deep inside you cringes. The waitress asks you what you’d like to order. You’ve really lost your appetite, but since he’s buying, you order a salad and a Sprite.

After she leaves, John tells you that you remind him of the girls he used to date when he was your age, which he estimates was about the time you were born. He says you dress a lot like they did then. You look down at your long gray paisley dress, and you decide to take it as a compliment. Then you notice how his eyes have been scanning you and the clingy cotton fabric seems just a little clingier than it did before you came in.

He tells you that he had a girl working for him not long ago, but she went back to her ex-husband. You can almost hear your thoughts come to a burnt-rubber halt. Surely nothing this guy could do would ever make you return to that kind of torture. You shiver, and you’re not sure if it’s the air conditioning, or your nerves. But, your greedy side has you bound to your seat, and politely tells you to “shut the fuck up,” because this kind of opportunity does not come along every day.

Your salad finally arrives, along with some greasy-looking thing on a bun for him. As he continues to talk, you find out that he and his son are living at a hotel while their house is being built. His cellular phone rings and you ignore the one sided conversation to watch the waitress. You’ve just noticed how pert her tits are. You marvel at how different your own boobs feel since giving birth to your child, at how much heavier and softer they are. You’re beginning to imagine the weight of this woman’s breasts in your hands, and you can almost envision the color of her nipples, when John interrupts your train of thought. He grumbles something about builders and then cheerfully asks you if you would like to go back to his hotel room and make a few bucks. You stutter around your answer for a moment, while musing about your food stamps and your unpaid car insurance, then you agree.

On the way out the door he places his hand gently on your lower back. He walks you to his car, which turns out to be a van, opens the door, and helps you in with a hand on your ass. “At least he’s polite,” you think as you step up into the gutted interior and pull the door closed. There’s a mess of tools and empty Big Gulp cups strewn about inside, and you realize that you don’t even know what this guy does for a living. As if reading your mind, he hoists himself into the driver’s seat and immediately explains that he’s in real estate. He buys old houses and fixes them up, then sells them for a profit. Plus, on weekends, he’s a bouncer at one of the local honky tonk bars.

You remain silent during most of the ride to the hotel. He tells you more about his last nanny, Tracy. He says that at first she was really scared, but before long, she actually started to enjoy it. Before she’d met him, she was doing out calls as a masseuse. She also had a kid, a little boy, who stayed with his dad when the two broke up. John tells you that he’s had a vasectomy.

“I’m not really doing this. Am I really doing this?” These two chants become music inside your head as you pull into the hotel parking lot. John greets the two women behind the front desk, jokes about his son with them, as if to prove to you that he really has one, and takes care of his bill. Then you go up to his room. It’s simple and plain, with two neatly made full-size beds, a couple of ugly chairs, and a dressing table. The curtains are drawn, leaving only a flat grayish light filtering through them, falling off to near darkness at the doorway.

Your stomach feels tight, and you’re trembling. In about thirty seconds, John is naked and lying face down, his gut spreading out beneath him. He tells you to get undressed, and he watches you with one ear pressed to the pillow. You take off your boots, then pull your dress over your head. You unfasten your bra and self-consciously let it slip off your shoulders and into your hands where you crumple it and set it aside. You leave your panties on. The air conditioning is humming and you’re cold.

He hands you some oil and you sit on the bed and pour a little into your hands. You rub your hands together, then begin rubbing them on his back. The rest happens pretty fast and you’re a bit dazed, but you get the idea, right? Somehow you end up on your back with him above you. He’s touching you and playing with himself, and he asks you if he can get inside you. You shake your head “no,” so he starts rubbing himself on the inside of your thigh. Your panties have been removed now, and he’s begging you to let him fuck you because, after all, he’s had a vasectomy, and he won’t get you pregnant. You refuse, and you’re a little scared because you think he’s going to slip his dick into you anyway. But, exasperated, he says “okay” and you can tell he’s trying not to frighten you. He cums all over your stomach, and you look down at yourself and think “this is strange,” because his semen is sort of clear, not white like the men’s you’ve seen before. You’re wondering if it’s the sperm that makes cum white, while John gets up and starts to get dressed. He throws you some Kleenex, and you wipe off the goo, which has started to run down your sides.

You put on your clothes, and John asks you if you gained a lot of weight when you were pregnant, because he’s noticed the stretchmarks on your hips and stomach. You tell him “yes,” but that fortunately you’re almost back down to what you weighed in high school. He tells you that you look good and shuffles through his wallet. He hands you a fifty dollar bill, saying that it will help pay your car insurance, and that you can make some more later. You thank him, but you’re a bit insulted because you’d expected more. Then again, you’ve never done this before, so you don’t really know how much is enough, and you realize he’s a little upset about not screwing you.

The two of you ride the elevator down stairs where you pass the women at the desk again. You look at John, who is dishelved and sweating, and you feel kind of cheap, not because of what you’ve just done, but because of the knowing way these women are looking at you. They smile politely and say, in voices that remind you of wind chimes, “Good-bye,” and “Have a good day.” You smile back and nod, and you’re just relieved that you are no longer trembling.

On the ride back to your car, John says that he’ll give you a few days to think about his offer, then call you for your answer. He says he’s going to work it all out legally, and he’ll even give you health insurance and what-not. He tells you about the horses he owns down in the Ozarks and says he’ll take you on vacation with him. He talks a little about his son and how he loves video games, and you remember how much video games have always annoyed you.

Finally, he pulls up beside your car and reminds you once more that he’ll be calling you soon. You smile and nod, and say good-bye, and you are free. You get into your beat up old powder blue chevy and exhale. You don’t feel violated or abused, just relieved. You turn on the radio and drive straight for your best friend’s house.

When you get there, your friend’s not home, but his roommate opens the door. You ask him if you can come in and use the bathroom, and he says “sure”. You walk into the little white-tiled room and close the door behind you. You sit on the toilet and start to pee, setting your purse on your knees. You open it and take out the fifty, and you stare at it. The trickle of piss comes to a stop and you glance up. You notice your friend’s favorite pair of jeans hanging on the back of the bathroom door. You wish he were there so you could tell him all about your little adventure, but he’s not, so you wipe, stand up, pull up your panties, and flush. You fold up the fifty dollar bill and stuff it neatly into the right front pocket of the dangling jeans. Then you go home to your daughter, your parents, your little brother, and your cat who sniffs you curiously. Your mom tells you that you’ve had another call about your newspaper ad. You grab an orange, sit down in the big comfy chair next to the phone, and dial. A woman’s voice answers. With a smooth and friendly tone, you speak.

“Hi. I understand you’re looking for a nanny?”

Kristie’s Portfolio

  • subscribe

    subscribe to our news feed

  • our dvd releases