20 -TV SERIALS, SANDY THOMAS ADVERTISING "A"

CHAPTER THREE

THURSDAY MORNING I HAD TO HURRY TO GET MISS CINDY READY TO get to work on time. The busy model always rushed around frantically in the morning, and she had kept me hopping getting her ready for the day. As I was helping her dress, Miss Cindy remembered things she wanted me to do, filling my day with lots of "favors" and errands.

Thursday was the day I did the heavy housework. Miss Cindy usually stayed out Thursday nights, rarely arriving home before midnight, (especially if some cute guy was flirting with her somewhere!) Because of her schedule, I could leave such daily duties as dusting, making her bed, and vacuuming until late in the afternoon, giving me the most of the day for more laborious chores.

I rested for a few minutes with my tea in the kitchen after the whirlwind that was Miss Cindy in the morning had breezed out the door! I was still dressed in the satin sleep shirt and panties I'd worn to bed. The short, swingy sleep shirt and matching panties were white with pink polka dots. I admired them on Cindy one day and she gave them to me, so I particularly liked them.

Early on, Cindy took me aside and said, "Since we are the same size, I don't see why you shouldn't try on my clothes if you want. . .in fact, after I wear them, I want you to try on everything so you can see how to iron them and understand the fit.

I blushed at the idea of wearing her clothes but understood how clothes 'changed' when they were washed and ironed. It made some sense.

I was very small framed so was almost exactly her size, except for the hips. Her hips were fuller with a rounded flaring shape.

It felt absurd—almost clandestine to be trying on her clothes after she wore them. I'd look into the mirror making mental notes on the various details: the pleats of a skirt, the blocking of a sweater, or the thousands of other little particulars.

Each day I walked through the elegant apartment with my tea, planning the day's housework. Putting the cup in the kitchen, I went to my room to change.

My cozy little room was right next to the master bedroom. Unfortunately, Miss Cindy had instructed her decorator to

MAID IN FORM "A" 21 label the door "Maid's Room" in a fancy, feminine script. Miss Cindy explained that the label helped eliminate any speculation about the unusual domestic arrangement we had. She also informed me it also served to pay me back for once hinting to her girlfriends that I did her housework and laundry in return for certain "favors." After my little lie, Miss Cindy made sure everyone knew that I slept in my own little room, alone.

The maid's room had soft white carpeting, pastel pink walls, and a little single bed with a lacy spread and a pink chiffon dust ruffle.

"Sissy maids don't have lovers or anyone over, so a single bed is really all you'll need," Miss Cindy had casually said as I was moving my stuff in. I was embarrassed at her words, but she said it as a joke, I guess.

I slipped out of the sleep shirt and wiggled out of my panties before stepping into a hot shower. After showering, I dried off and smoothed cool, scented powder all over. I sat on my still-unmade bed to rest, my bare bottom cooled by the glossy sheets. I pulled on clean white nylon/Lycra bikini panties and hooked on a lace underwire bra with bouncy silicone inserts. I didn't feel "breasts" were necessary but Cindy insisted that I get used to wearing them. . .after all, the uniforms all were meant for females with them. After rolling on stockings, I went to my dresser and got a silky pink half slip and adjusted it high on my waist.

Switching on the light in my closet, I saw all my maid's uniforms hanging in two neat rows. There was quite a selection, many of them designed and sewn up by the most famous fashion houses on 7th Avenue. There were starched cotton dresses for housework and informal service in shades of gray and pastels, and pretty, sleek black satin or taffeta uniforms for formal serving. I unzipped a starched gray day uniform and dropped it over my head. I smoothed the snug-fitting dress down over my hips and reached back and zipped myself up. I always felt a little awkward as I slipped on the dress, feeling the hem play around my nyloned knees. Checking myself in the mirror, I straightened the businesslike white scalloped linen cuffs and collar of my uniform and turned and looked to make sure my slip wasn't showing beneath the above-the-knee hem.

I tied my longish hair in a tight pony tail with a satin ribbon before putting on a white terry headband. Most evenings I had to curl my hair or be burdened with wearing a hot wig all