16 -TV SERIALS, SANDY THOMAS ADVERTISING "A"
I agreed with her wholeheartedly. I knew she was already pretty rich and getting richer by the month, so why should she do housework if she hated it and didn't have time for it?
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Looking at me strangely, Cindy slowly said, "Listen, I've got a neat idea. Why don't you be my maid? You don't really have a job right now, and you've always helped me so much. I thought she was kidding. I had never even imagined such a thing as a male maid, of course. Leave it to some spoiled New York fashion model to think up something as bizarre as that.
"You could even be a 'live-in' and stay in my guest room. And I'd pay you, of course. It'd be fun, don't you think?" Cindy said with excitement.
"Besides, I think you'd look cute in a little apron!"
I blushed but laughed out loud, thinking how strange it was that Cindy just continued to look at me with her big green eyes, perfectly serious. Cindy instinctively knew she had me wrapped around her little finger. And she knew I'd probably agree to anything if she really wanted it bad enough.
I PUT UP A FIGHT FOR AWHILE OF COURSE, BUT IN THE END CINDY got her way, as she always seemed to. She told me I had a choice to make. I could either go along with the "experiment," or leave and never see her again. Her flashing eyes told me she was sincere if I wasn't even going to try to be her maid, what kind of friend was I?
The fact that I was nearly out of money and she offered me a salary of $28,000, along with room and board, were big points in the crazy idea's favor. But the prospect of actually living with Cindy was, of course, the strongest inducement.
"You can be my maid for a few years and end up with money in the bank, Cissie," Miss Cindy said, becoming more and more excited at the prospect of having me as her maid. "You won't really need to spend hardly anything, and I can have my accountant invest it for you.
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Although it was certainly a strange idea, it began to sound like it might not be such a bad deal for me, at least financially. After all, if I was going to work for someone, why not work for Cindy. She was beautiful and rich and always had lots of juicy fashion industry gossip. (Not to mention the fact that I was in love with her.)
The restaurant I waited tables went out of business and I was having trouble paying my bills. After I'd received a
MAID IN FORM "A" 17
particularly nasty "pay or get out" eviction notice, I finally told her I'd try her little "game"
"That's the spirit, Cissie," Cindy said with a smile when I told her, "but it's not really a game you really will have to be my maid, you know.
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I knew she wanted me to do all her housework and laundry for her, but when I discovered she meant to actually dress me as her maid, I had second thoughts. Unfortunately, I had already given up my place and moved in with her. (Thinking back, this was part of her plan. Cindy had intended from the start that I'd dress as her maid. And with the commitment I made by moving out of my place, she knew I'd have a hard time not going along with her scheme.)
"You can't back out on me now, Cissie," she said, sounding hurt and disappointed. "Besides, what's the big deal you and I already know you like wearing girl's underwear, don't we?" she said with a knowing look and a sweet smile. "And it'll be so different to have a male maid," she continued, "like an experiment or something!"
As soon as Cindy and I were settled in her new place in early January, my life as her maid began. Her designer friends measured me for custom-tailored uniforms, apparently intrigued with the idea of dressing a male maid. Cindy and the somewhat jaded New York fashion crowd she hung out with were always looking for something new, and a male maid was certainly new!
It was embarrassing to stand in Cindy's huge new master bedroom while every dimension of me was carefully measured. And all I was wearing on my newly-shaved body was a skimpy pair of Cindy's panties. She had given me a list of "requirements" which included, shaving my legs, underarms, and plucking my eyebrows, which I did sparingly.
A few of Cindy's fashion designer friends were there. Two of them were girls and one was an older gay man. Cindy's words had echoed off the bare walls of her new apartment when she'd introduced me to everyone. “Everybody, this is 'Cissie,' my new maid!”
I'd blushed and expected everyone to laugh at me. Instead, they just started measuring me and talking about what tailoring tricks they could use on the maid's dresses to make me look more feminine. They seemed more excited than shocked by the idea.