Cleaning Cans and Bottles Topless

"Thank you but I'm not a slut. I don't go to bed with strangers," she said. "Just because I'm homeless and wandering the street doesn't make me available. Just as I'm not an environmentalist, a conversationalist, and didn't even know today was Earth Day, I'm not a whore."

"I know you're not a whore and I don't think of you as a slut or a whore. Besides, we're not strangers. I already introduced myself to you and told you my name. My name is Michael," he said holding out his hand for her to shake. "What's your name pretty lady?"

"Susan. Susan Jill Parker."

* * * * *

"It's a pleasure to meet you Susan Jill Parker. Now about that dollar a can and bottle," he said with a smile. "Are you interested? You'd be doing me a big favor by cleaning up the trash that litters my back alleyway and I'd be helping you to feed yourself. In the way that I see it, it's a win/win for both of us."

Studying him to see if she could trust him, she looked at him while considering his proposition.

"Sure. Why wouldn't I be interested in a buck a can and bottle? Who wouldn't be interested in earning a buck a can and bottle instead of a nickel? But it depends," she said still not trusting him. Figuring where the conversation was going in the direction of him asking her for sex, she was reticent to continue the conversation even at the expense of giving up earning a dollar for a can and bottle.

"It depends? It depends on what?"

"It depends on what I have to do to earn the dollar," she said eyeing him while waiting for him to stare at her tits again but he didn't this time.

No telling what he was all about, she imagined him wanting her to have sex with a bottle neck, or having her pee in a can to pour over his head, or to drink her urine. All three thoughts disgusted her but ready to do whatever he wanted, so long as it wasn't him having sex with her naked body, she was willing to oblige him, whatever was his fetish. Maybe all he wanted was a feel of her big tits and to suck her big nipples. Ten bucks a tit, she'd charge him twenty dollars for him to have his wicked way with her tits for ten minutes.

Even though today was nice and nearly spring like, there was some bad weather coming and twenty dollars would buy her enough food for a few days so that she wouldn't have to walk the streets collecting bottles and cans. Definitely, she'd allow him the use of her tits for twenty dollars, that is, so long as she didn't have to do anything else to pleasure him. She wasn't about to fuck him or to suck his cock for twenty dollars. Maybe, if she was in the mood, being that she's already so horny, she'd give him a hand job for twenty-five dollars. She'd even suck him for fifty dollars. Yeah, fifty dollars would be a fair price for her to suck his cock, so long as he didn't cum in her mouth. More than what a crack head prostitute would charge, she'd charge him hundred dollars for him to cum in her mouth and more for her to swallow his cum.

"Well, all you have to do is to wash the cans and bottles in my kitchen. That's all. You can even keep them after your done cleaning them," he said. "In essence with me paying you a dollar a bottle and can and you redeeming each bottle and can for a nickel each, you'll be earning a dollar and five for every can and bottle, while cleaning the planet of bottles and cans on Earth Day."

"Seriously?" She looked at him as if he was crazy. "Lemme get this straight," she said looking at him again. "You'll give me a buck a can and bottle just to wash them in your kitchen," she said looking at him as if was some kind of pervert or some type of nut. "And I get to keep the washed bottles and cans? Is that's it?"

"Yes, that's it? And yes, you get to keep the washed bottles and cans," he said smiling up at her.

"What are you a pervert who gets off on watching a woman washing things Mister?"

"Michael. Please call me Michael," he said flashing her his smile again. "A pervert?" He laughed. "No, I don't think I'm a pervert. I'm just a man offering to help a pretty woman by giving her some much needed money."

"Then, what do you get out of me washing my cans and bottles in your kitchen?"

"What do I get? I get a lot. I get to watch you standing at my sink washing bottles and cans. I get to spend some time with you and talk to you. That's all. That may not seem a lot to you but it's a lot to me," he said pausing before speaking again. "I'm lonely."

"Me too. I'm lonely too," she said not believing that she was confessing how she felt to a stranger.

"So what do you say Susan Jill Parker?"

"Okay, but, be honest," she said. "What's the real reason that you want me washing my cans and bottles in your kitchen?" She looked at him with suspicion.

"The real reason?" He looked at her with appreciation of her obvious insight into his ulterior motive. "The real reason is," he said looking away from her when he started to tear up and to collect himself before speaking again. "I'm not only lonely but you remind me of a woman I used to know," he said with sadness.

They looked at one another in silence before she responded.

"Okay, I'll do it," she said apparently satisfied with his answer.

"Wonderful. Follow me then," he said moving from the passenger seat to the driver's seat and starting his car.

"Where?"

"Right here," he said pulling his car in a parking spot in front of her. "I live right here," he said getting out of his car and setting the alarm. "You can leave your shopping cart just inside the door so that it won't get stolen. It will be safe there. No one will touch it. The back door locks when closed and only I have access to the back door. I own the building. Because this is such a high crime area, all of my tenants know to enter and leave by the front, unless there's an emergency."

"Okay," she said pushing her cart inside.

"Let me give you a hand with those," he said taking the big bag of cans and bottles from her.

"Best you not try any funny business Mister, I mean, Michael," she said. "I grew up with four older brothers and I know a few things about self defense."

"Don't worry," he said. "I don't mean you any harm and at my age and your great physique, I'm sure you could deliver me a sound trashing."

Susan followed him upstairs and inside his house. He escorted her to the kitchen.

"Is that where you want me," she said when he put the bag down in front of the sink.

"Yes," he said. "And if you don't mind, I prefer you to stand while washing them instead of sitting. I'll be sitting right here watching you," he said pulling up a chair so that he could see her from the front and from the left side.

"Okay," she said opening her bag to peer inside. "There's a lot of cans and bottles in here," she said turning her head to look at him. "Are you sure you can afford to pay me a buck a can and bottle for all of these cans and bottles?"

"Yes, I'm quite sure," he said with a laugh. "Can I get you anything before you start washing them, coffee, tea, water, or a soft drink?"

"Coffee would be great if you already have some made," she said. "I've been dying for a cup of coffee."

"I do have some freshly made coffee. How do you take your coffee?"

"Just black," she said.

"I should warn you that I make strong coffee, Starbucks French Roast. I grind my own beans."

"The stronger the better, as far as I'm concerned, so long as it's hot," she said.

"Sit while you have your coffee and after you're done, you can start washing your cans and bottles for me," he said.

Susan sat at his kitchen table while he poured her a cup of coffee. Embarrassed by her appearance and feeling a bit like Calamity Jane in Deadwood after waking up sober from a week of binge drinking, she pulled down her sleeves to cover her dirty hands.

"Thank you," she said taking a sip of coffee.

"You're welcome to use my bathroom," he said noting her grime stained hands and fingers. "You're welcome to take a shower, if you'd like. Mi casa su casa."

"Mi casa su casa? If that's what you mean by talking to me in a foreign language for me to take off my clothes, I'm not taking off my clothes Mister," she said.

"Michael. Call me Michael please," he said with the smile of a priest. "Mi casa su casa is Spanish for my house is your house. My bathroom door has a lock on it."

"I'm not stupid Michael not to think that you have a hidden camera in your bathroom to watch me strip naked and shower," she said.

"I can assure you that I don't have a hidden camera in my bathroom," he said with a chuckle. "I'm not the kind of man who'd do that to a lady," he said addressing her as such. "You're free to inspect the bathroom before removing your clothes to take your shower," he said.

Wanting to accept his offer of a hot shower, she looked at him with suspicion. Only, once clean, she'd hate to get dressed in her dirty clothes again.

"It doesn't seem much good to wash if I'm only going to put on my same, dirty, smelly clothes," she said as if talking to herself while looking down at her disheveled appearance and raising her arm to smell her armpit when he looked away.

"My wife was about your size," he said.

"She was?"

"I have her clothes that you can have," he said.

"You do? I can keep the clothes?"

"Yes, I do. Yes, you may have her clothes to keep," he said smiling at her with kindness. "I'm glad to put them to better use than just hanging in the closet and giving them to Goodwill to sell to some stranger."

"Okay," she said. "Then, after I shower, I can still wash the bottles and cans for you? We still have a deal for a dollar a can and bottle? Right?"

"Yes, of course. We still have a deal," he said offering her his hand to shake again. "Come. Let me show you the clothes," he said leading her to the bedroom.

Cautiously, reluctantly, and maintaining her distance, suspecting if he was going to try something, he'd try it here in the bedroom, she slowly followed him to the bedroom. He could have a knife, a gun, or any kind of weapon to render her helpless while he stripped her naked and tied her to the bed. Suddenly, she was dizzy with sexual excitement with the thoughts of him stripping her naked and tying her to the bed. It's been a long time since she's played that sexy game.

"You have a nice place Michael. Everything is so neat and clean. I really like your kitchen with all the stainless steel appliances, beautiful, custom cabinetry, tiled backsplash, the lighting, and the granite countertops. Even your floor is beautiful. It's the best kitchen I've ever seen. You must do a lot of cooking," she said looking at everything as she stood in the doorway of his bedroom.

"Aside from what I make using a microwave and toaster, I don't cook but my wife did. She was a good cook and I miss her cooking as much as I miss her," he said. "Here are her clothes," he said casting open four sets of walk-in closet doors. "I've already given away some of her things."

"Wow, she sure has a lot of clothes. I haven't seen this many clothes since I went to the mall and walked through Ann Taylor's, that is," she said with a laugh, "before they asked me to leave."

"Cynthia was quite the shopper," he said.

"Why did she leave you?"

"Leave me? You can say that, I guess. In a way, she did leave me," he said with sadness. "She died. Actually, so serendipitous that I met you on Earth Day, she died on Earth Day. Suddenly, ashes to ashes and dust to dust, Earth Day has new meaning for me. Earth Day, a day that should be a happy day and more about the salvation of the planet, seems to be a personal and a key day in my life," he said with sadness, "especially after having met you on Earth Day too."

"I'm sorry for your loss," she said pausing while wondering if she should ask but he looked as if he wanted to talk about it. Suddenly, he appeared so sad, so lost, and so lonely that he looked as if he was about to cry.

"It's okay. It's been three years," he said touching some of the clothes that hung from hangers as if they were her ghosts before lifting the sleeve on a few of her blouses to smell them and to hold them up against his cheek as if he was lifting her hand and dancing with her blouse.

"How did she die?"

"Unfortunately and tragically, rather than to live with me any longer, not even for another day to explain how she felt and why, I imagine while blaming myself," he said with a flash of anger, "she killed herself. She committed suicide. She destroyed the only woman that I ever truly loved."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she said. "How did she die? I mean, how did she--"

"She jumped off a bridge. They found her bloated body floating in the Susquehanna River. I barely recognized her remains after something had been feeding on her face," he said.

"That's so horrible. I can't even imagine your pain," she said.

"Thank you," he said, "but I'm okay now, I think, that is, aside from picking up a strange woman on Earth Day because she resembles my deceased wife," he said with a sad laugh. "Here," he said pulling out some assorted jeans and tops. "Take whatever and as much as you'd like. I'm only going to bag them up and donate them to Goodwill. It seems foolish to give them to a stranger when I can give them to you, someone who really can use the clothes. After you shower, you can wear any of these clothes and take the rest with you," he said pointing to the closet as if he was a model and showing a showcase on the Prize is Right or Let's Make a Deal. "There are panties and bras in the drawer there," he said looking at her while pointing to the dresser. "Many of her clothes still have tags on them. If you don't mind me asking, what cup size are you, a C cup?"

"I'm a 36D," she said.

"Cynthia was a 36D too. I'm sure there are bras in her drawer of every color and style that will fit you. She was quite fond of sexy lingerie, which makes me wonder if she had a lover because the only time I saw her lingerie was when it was in the wash. "There's even a brand new hairbrush and toothbrush that she never used and some makeup that she never even opened that I had bought her for her birthday," he said leaving her alone in the room and closing the bedroom door behind him.

"Thank you," said Susan just before he closed the door.

Taking her time looking at everything and taking only what she wanted and only what she needed, Susan emerged from the room carrying a pair of jeans, panty, bra, a top, and Cynthia's hairbrush, toothbrush, and makeup.

"The guest bathroom is down the hall and to the right," he said.

Susan meekly walked in the bathroom and locked the door. Checking the vents and the overhead light for a hidden camera before undressing, she removed her clothes, turned on the shower, and washed herself. Having been a few days since she showered last, she took a long, hot shower. Using the blow dryer to dry her hair and decorating herself with makeup, a luxury she hasn't had in a long time, she walked out of the bathroom looking like a different person. Sparkling clean with her makeup on and her blonde hair brushed, she looked beautiful. Judging her by her appearance, no one would believe that she was homeless.

"I'm ready to wash the bottles and cans for you now," she said with a smile. "Do you want to keep count or would you like me to do that?"

"We can count them all after they dry," he said.

Bottle after bottle and can after can, Susan washed the bottles and cans.

"I guess I collected more than I thought I did," she said with glee while dollars danced in her head. "I'm not even putting a dent in the bag and I've already washed 40 bottles and cans," she said keeping an unofficial count in her head while thinking of all the money she was making.

She watched him in her peripheral vision staring at her chest. Teasing him, she purposely chose a fitted, blouse that flattered her figure and highlighted her big breasts. A button blouse, the neckline was scooped low enough to show her long line of cleavage. She figured the jiggling motion of her tits moving around while washing cans and bottles would keep him interested.

"Remove your top please," he said staring at her big tits.

Not wasting any time, she couldn't believe he said that. If anything, she figured he'd get up from his chair, walk over to the sink, and feel her big tits through his wife's blouse. If anything, she figured he'd try to kiss her while feeling her.

"Pardon?"

She knew what he said. She heard him but she couldn't believe what he asked her to do. Calling her bluff, she was at a loss of what to do. It's one thing to tease him by wearing a low cut blouse but it's another thing to remove her clothes. Nonetheless her perplexity with her next move, she was as sexually excited as she was embarrassed that he asked her to remove her top.

She wanted him to see her in her bra as much as he wanted to see her in her bra, no doubt. Obviously, she was as sexually aroused as he was. It had been a long time since a man paid her this much sexual attention. It had been a long time since a man who hadn't come up behind her to grope her wanted to see her tits. Too busy trying to remove it for her, no man has ever asked her to remove her blouse.

"Remove your top please," he said again.

If only he knew how much she wanted to shed her top, no doubt, he'd think less of her. She was horny, no doubt, as horny as he was. She wanted to remove her top, no doubt as much as he wanted her to remove her top. Yet, if she just undressed at his command, he'd think her a slut. He'd think she was easy and, being that she was alone with him in his house, she didn't want him to think that.

"Remove my top? No, I don't think so," she said stopping her washing, turning off the water, and drying her hands before looking down at herself. In an attempt to make her big breasts look less conspicuous, she folded her arms across her breasts before turning to look at him. Only, with her breasts so big and even bigger in this tight blouse, there was just no way she could hide them. "Maybe I should go," she said reluctantly as if testing to see how he'd respond. "You can just pay me for what I've washed so far."

She had no intention of leaving. Excited to play this out by participating in his sexy, Earth Day game, she wanted to remove her top to stand there in Cynthia's bra while washing cans and bottles but she felt uncomfortable undressing in front of a stranger, a man old enough to be her father. She thought of all the times her brothers barged in her room while she was dressing and undressing in the hopes of seeing her tits. She remembered how her uncle and cousin groped her and had their wicked way with her and forced her to suck and fuck them when she was just an 18-year-old virgin. She recalled all the times her brothers got her drunk and touched her and felt her before coercing her to remove her blouse and bra while playing strip poker. Yet, this was different. He wasn't related to her by blood in the way her uncle, cousin, and brothers were. He was a kind man who was much nicer to her than her ex-husband ever was.

Maybe if she had a bit more incentive to motivate her to remove her top, she would. She'd love nothing better than to show him what she looks like in his wife's sexy blue bra. It was just a bra after all and it's the least she could do to pay back his kindness for allowing her to use his bathroom and wear his deceased wife's clothes. She's shown more when she used to wear her barely there bikini on the beach before accidentally on purpose losing her bikini top. She's shown so much more when giving men down blouse views of her tits and flashing truckers her breasts on the highway. Knowing full well they were standing there watching, a captive audience when not closing the curtain all the way, she's shown her tits when trying on bras in a dressing room that still had a curtain while bored boyfriends and husband waited outside for their girlfriends and wives.