Made to be a sissy - Part 1

By: S. Isi

My name is Jennifer Keener and I am a professional house cleaner. Actually, I own
a maid-service agency and have six other house-cleaning ladies in my employ. Since
we are still a small business, I take on the wealthier, more exclusive clients while the
rest of my staff share the more “middle-class” accounts.
I accepted the account of Mr. and Mrs. LaFille for that reason. She was an attorney
and the principal in a very successful law firm which dealt primarily in handling the
trusts and estates of very rich Metro-Phoenix residents. I found out that she was quite
astute on investment counseling and did very well for her clients, and herself, too.
Mrs. LaFille answered the door that Saturday morning. She was strikingly beautiful
with raven black hair and radiant eyes that were almost violet. She was tall,
stately, and had the classical beauty of a young Joan Collins; being, I guessed, no
more than her late twenties or early thirties.
She wore black silk hostess pants that flowed like a gentle breeze from her hips yet
was tightly belted at the waist showing off a very trim figure. Her silk blouse contrasted
in white and had full billowing sleeves tapering at the wrists and accented with
genuine pearl buttons. Despite its fullness, there was no hiding a full voluptuous
bosom. Her height was further emphasized with black patent high heel pumps. Allin-
all she looked very casually elegant. She had a radiant smile and insisted that I call
her Sabrina as she shook my hand with beautifully manicured hands and nails.
She took me on a brief tour of their luxurious home in the wealthy suburb of Paradise
Valley. It had almost 4,000 square feet and I knew it would take me almost a full
day to clean despite the fact that Mr. and Mrs. LaFille lived by themselves and their
delightful toy poodle “Muffin”.
Sabrina informed me that it would not be necessary to clean any of the three guest
bedrooms, as they were already quite clean, and I need only concentrate on the Master
Bedroom, family room and Formal Living rooms (which needed only a slight dusting).
I was a bit surprised when I met her husband, Ceceel. He was not at all what I expected
after meeting such a striking and successful beauty like Sabrina.
Ceceel was in the Laundry Room, of all things, ironing.
I can almost swear that he blushed when he noticed that I was watching. I was
shocked that such a wealthy man would engage in such a menial task.
Yet, I was quite tickled to see a domesticated husband sharing in household
chores. Although handsome, in an almost delicate and pretty way, he was not as tall as Sabrina, even without her high heels. I guessed he was about five feet seven inches
to her five ten in stockings.
He was wearing a pair of very short cut-off jeans and a cotton poet's shirt tucked
into his very thin waist. He wore a pair of colorful thongs and the hair on his legs was
quite light and sparse. He lacked much facial hair and, with his blond head of hair,
looked quite young. As he reached to shake my hand I noticed his fingernails were
coated with a clear protective enamel. His grip was not very firm and he appeared almost
embarrassed to be seen ironing the silk sheets which apparently belonged on the
king-sized master bed.
I later learned that Ceceel was a clerk in the bank that handled Sabrina's corporate account,
which is how they met.
Clearly, she was the primary breadwinner in this household; so refreshing to see in
this day and age.
Before beginning my cleaning, Sabrina gave two instructions: first, any questions
concerning supplies and the like should be directed to Ceceel (and he was instructed to
give me full cooperation, if needed) and; secondly, all other questions should be directed
to Sabrina who would be in the study taking care of the couple's monthly finances.
That first day took only about four hours of cleaning.
Since I bring my own supplies I had few questions to ask either Ceceel, or Sabrina.
She took care of her accounting and then lounged on their beautiful brocade living
room sofa reading several periodicals, while Ceceel spent all of his time ironing quite a
bit of laundry. (I even noticed a basket full of intimate apparel and wondered if he
would iron those, too.)
The last room I cleaned was the Master Bedroom. It was quite tastefully done and
the bed was king-sized and covered with a beautiful silk comforter. Although I did not
go into the walk-in closet I did clean the vanity area.
Signs of Mrs. LaFille were everywhere with a vast array of expensive French perfumes
arranged on the vanity, but I did not see anything (colognes, shaving cream or
the like) that might belong to Ceceel.
I gave it no more thought as I dusted and vacuumed the large room as Muffin occasionally
ventured in to sniff at my feet and become acquainted with me.
When I was done, Sabrina did a brief inspection and gave me a glorious smile saying
that I would work out just fine.
She also complimented me on owning my own business and said she wished many
more women would exercise their inherent talents of leadership. She hoped that we
could chat, sometime soon, on this very subject.
When I went to bid farewell to Ceceel he was busily engaged in carefully ironing the
pleats of a darling tennis dress. I inwardly smiled thinking that it would take him
twice as long to iron that garment as it probably did for his wife to soil it while playing
some tennis match.