The Cleaning Lady

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It all began six months after my divorce. I found a schedule that I was comfortable with: breakfast out, off to work and home by 6 pm to an evening workout and study for the next day's lectures. Each morning at breakfast, I noticed how many of the same people came in. One person was an intent young woman sitting across from my table. The lists and papers she went through daily; it must have been a routine with her. Daily, I started guessing people's age and occupation for something to do ('get a life', I wondered to myself, a man in his 60's should be over at the country club with people his age). I knew time would be the healer and remained on task. The weekly schedule included one planned hour, alone for self-pleasure.
This morning place was helping: it was friendly and comfortable and everyone usually acknowledges your presence with a nod. I did wondered most about the girl with those notes. Maybe she was a returning student since she appeared in her late twenties, early thirties. After all, she wore those pleated skirts or jeans most mornings. I hadn't seen pleated skirts for years and they reminded me of the 50's. I felt something I hadn't for six months - I was a little excited. Although I'd not seen her on campus, I hoped in a way that I would.
One morning she nodded and I spoke to her. Just in passing, a few words about having a good day. She mentioned that her day had just ended and she was looking forward to a few hours 'off' before she had to get her child from school. It turns out she was not a student, but she was married to one and he was in his last semester. She worked cleaning commercial offices; got off in time to take their child to school and enjoyed the breakfast time scheduling her next day's activities. I liked her manner and wished her well with the support she provided her family. The term would end soon and they'd be off to his (their) new careers.
It was a few weeks after graduation that I'd noticed she'd not been back and I assumed they'd gone on to some industrial area where he'd start an engineering career.
The surprise came the very next day. I was having coffee when she came in. She came directly to my table and asked if she could sit with me. Her name was Krissy and she wanted someone older to talk to and I always seemed nice; I'd probably could help her to understand 'men'. Graduation evening, he announced he was leaving for Chicago, alone. He thanked her for putting him through school; he felt they were no longer compatible; he needed to start anew. At first, she felt okay - it was just life; but then, she felt the need to understand: how could he leave her. How could he abandon their child?
I had to collect myself. I'm not a clinical psychologist; I'm a researcher. But, I am a man and I am older. She needed my counsel. And, after all, she'd given me something I thought was gone. After collecting myself, I just stared at her for minutes.
I explained to her there are two types of men. There are the 'Givers' and there are the 'Takers'. She had a 'Taker'. He had chosen the course of least resistance when he got the job offer: a new beginning, a new life with no baggage. And, after all, she has the house, car and makes a decent living here. She was happy here and the child had a good school. Takers feel like they're helping you!
I had hoped this would help and it did seem to.
After that, we each had morning company (two lonely people). The following week, I had a brainstorm, why not have her help me: I needed someone to tidy up and we made a weekly arrangement. I left my key under the mat each Wednesday and the house was in the best shape in years. Then, one day, it happened. I needed to come home for some forgotten graded papers. I arrived to 'on-the-loud-side ' rock music. My office is upstairs, next to my open bedroom, and Krissy is lying with that plaid skirt up (knees in the air) and both hands masterfully accompanying the beat of the song. She was shaved: I'd never seen that before in person. I was awestruck. All I could do is watch for a moment, until she realized I was there; she must seen my hard-on. Without any embarrassment, she knew I was uncomfortable, she asked me if I wanted to watch. As I fumbled, she admitted it would help her to become satisfied if I did. In that case, I got the footstool and assured her that I now understood. She took off all her clothes and I couldn't believe my eyes. Her body was a delight. She asked if I'd gently stroke her breasts. She rubbed and inserted alternate fingers into herself. As she became more aroused, I told her how beautiful she was and how much I loved watching her. This seemed to stimulate her even more, as she came numerous times until her body totally relaxed into a whimper. It was so rewarding to me; one of the most rewarding things I'd ever felt. I got next to her and held her for several minutes. She rolled over, smiled and kissed my cheek.
She said now it's your turn. I want you to come for me. I'll sit on the footstool and watch you. I was reluctant, but it felt right. I undressed and laid on the bed; uncomfortably trying stroke an erection that had gone limp. Krissy put her hand on the side of my face and began lightly touching my lips and nose and ears. She ran her fingers through my hair as the antenna rose to attention. Wow! It was never so good. She spoke of how she watched me in the mornings, wondering who I was and why I was always alone. She wondered if a man my age would notice her. She admitted that she found me very attractive and wondered how I stayed in such good shape. That did it, I provided both of us with an outcome I'd not seen since I was a teenager. She was quick to assist with a magically appearing towel. She came beside me as I held her for what seemed an hour.
Krissy was very open and wished to talk about what we had done. She said how completely satisfied she was, and how I had helped her. She admitted that it had been some time since her last complete gratification. I requested to watch her dress and she was thrilled! She put on her bra first as she stood beside the bed; then her panties (French style); the sweater; and then that skirt: the one I loved to see her in. She pushed her hair back as she reminded me of those papers that need to be back within the hour. She asked if I'd hug her once more before I left for campus. I held her and she kissed my cheek, again, before I left.
(Part One)



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