26 -TV SERIALS, SANDY THOMAS ADVERTISING "A"

Looking in the mirror, I wondered what Miss Cindy was doing now. A bunch of guys were probably fawning all over her doing her make-up and hair while she relaxed and made catty remarks with the other models. And she'd probably sent some poor assistant stylist scampering off to fetch her a Coke or something.

In part because of her beauty, Cindy had a self-assured personality that drew "servants" to her like a magnet. Waiters in restaurants, cab drivers, studio assistants, wardrobe girls they were always immediately anxious to wait on Miss Cindy and please her.

"What different lives we lead," I thought as I drank some ice water and wiped my brow. I laughed as I tried to imagine Miss Cindy in a maid's uniform and rubber apron scrubbing floors it was a vision I had a very hard time conjuring. Miss Cindy's beauty and elegant femininity just didn't mix with housework. She was the type of girl that was meant to have servants do all that for her.

Of course, I would have had a very hard time conjuring an image of myself in a maid's uniform scrubbing floors before meeting Miss Cindy. Now it was just routine-what a curious turn of events.

While I was still suitably uniformed for such work, I went in to tackle Miss Cindy's bathroom. I scrubbed the sunken marble tub, the sinks, and the toilet before polishing the large mirrors and counter tops.

Besides my weekly scrubbing, I often stepped into the luxurious master bath after my mistress so I could pick up her casually discarded underwear or wet towels. Miss Cindy always seemed to drop everything on the floor without a thought, but completely expected everything to be magically picked up.

Still in the rubber apron and gloves, I went to clean the guest's powder room off the foyer. As I knelt on the floor with my brush and cleanser, my skirts had ridden up high on my thighs. I blushed as I remembered what had happened just last Thursday.

Miss Cindy had unexpectedly burst into the apartment with her model friend Tracy. Unfortunately, I had just that second started scrubbing the toilet in the powder room. Miss Cindy stood there with her friend, oblivious to my rather embarrassing position. I was kneeling by the toilet in my rubber apron holding a scrub brush while the two elegantly-dressed young models looked down at me!

MAID IN FORM "A" -27

Miss Cindy hurriedly asked me where her portfolio was. Red-faced, I had meekly informed her that it was in the den. As the women breezed by with the portfolio moments later, Cindy yelled.

"Have fun, Cissie!"

Tracy shook her head in wonder and asked, "Where do you find guys sissy enough to clean your toilets for you, Cindy?" The occasion would certainly have been humiliating enough for a female maid, but Cindy's friend's comment had made it clear she knew what I really was a sissy in a maid's uniform and apron dutifully scrubbing Cindy's bathrooms for her! I was so upset I had actually given a passing thought to leaving that day, but something held me there. Of course, that "something" was my love for Miss Cindy.

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After a break for lunch, I tied on a white nylon apron and began my dusting. I dusted everything in sight every other day. In Miss Cindy's strict household, neatness definitely counted! After the dusting was completed, I sat in the dining room and polished the silver tea service. Recently, Miss Cindy had purchased a little cart for me to serve tea and coffee from in her immense living room.

"It will make it easier for you to serve tea and coffee to guests, Cissie," Miss Cindy had explained when the cart was delivered last weekend.

"Besides, I think you'll look adorable pushing it around in your little uniform.

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I guess the little cart would make serving tea in the living room more convenient, but I thought I'd look more foolish than adorable pushing it around. Tomorrow night I'd probably be ordered to serve tea from the cart to Miss Cindy's girlfriends, so I'd soon find out.

When I finished with the silver I went out on the balcony to shake out my dust cloths. Miss Cindy's apartment was on the twenty-seventh floor, and the balcony had a great view of Central Park.

With summer coming on, Miss Cindy had started sunbathing out there. She would lounge on a fluffy towel I threw over her padded chaise, dressed only in the bottoms of one of her neon-colored, microscopic thong bikinis. She'd have me rub lotion on her pretty back and her almost-bare bottom.

Last Saturday Miss Cindy had spent the afternoon out on the balcony. She laid on her stomach looking back over her shoulder at me as I carefully rubbed lotion on her bottom for