Her Fantasy: Maid Rape Ch. 02

And sure enough, just as I had suspected, the only response I got was spam. Too bad, I thought, it's a shame to throw away this idea before exploring it further. After all, there are entire stores devoted to selling sexy maid's outfits! So I set about creating a more extensive and serious marketing plan for a hot and rough encounter with a "maid".

I took my story and posted it to several adult online services with members in my area. I even considered a newspaper "Personal" ad but that seemed old-fashioned and I didn't want to see a grandmother in a bustier. Slowly, the amount of spam email I was receiving was increasing. At one point I considered the ironic possibility of hiring an assistant to weed through my email. How would I hire that assistant -- with a Want Ad?

But then I happened to be reminded of one of the great rules of marketing. "There is no bad publicity." Like that guy who used to stand in Times Square wearing underwear, holding a guitar. He's famous. Not attractive to me, but I surely remember him. So I determined to spice up my ad with unique and memorable details that would tickle my future mistress's imagination. And the grosser and more outrageous, the better.

Now, I knew that women are fascinated by deformities and scars. So I enhanced my ad with a request for someone willing to rub vitamin E lotion onto my scars. What scars, you might ask? Well, for starters, there are angular welts on both of my legs from cycling accidents that did more than tear skin off. One time I flew off a bike, was impaled across a picket fence, and had multiple deep lacerations that required surgery to fix up. Needless to say I never finished that race. And then there are the work-related injuries. Just after college I was working in a sheet-metal rolling mill when I was pushed against a hot die surface. It burned right through my clothing and branded some oddly rectangular hieroglyphics onto my torso and right arm. These surface injuries surely need careful attention and I don't have the patience to stop and do it myself. Having a "servant" to insistently remind me and care for me would be divine. Well, that is, if I could afford it, which I can't.

So I updated my ads and waited again. Only this time something completely unexpected happened, something that could have turned out badly but didn't. It happened because I live in a cute neighborhood with very mixed demographics, old and young, single and families. And a few doors down, three, to be exact, on my side of the street, lives a couple with two young children. Karen is a homemaker with a lot of education and more energy and ideas than she knows what to do with. She loves her small kids but she is clearly eager to get back into her career. I think our chatty neighbors told me that Karen plans to go into environmental law. And Karen is very attractive and I have certainly noticed her and wished for some excuse to talk with her. I don't really see her husband often because he's something of a workaholic alpha-male breadwinner.

Well, it happened that Karen was throwing a backyard birthday party for her four-year-old and two other girls the same age. Altogether, they had about twenty kids at the party, and many more parents than expected. (Why can't parents leave their kids alone for social events and sports anymore?) So Karen and the other moms were desperately looking for extra chairs and water pitchers. Karen, in agitated conversation with another parent in her driveway, saw me slow down in my car as I was approaching my house and she stepped out to the curb to hail me.

"Hey Chuck, I was wondering if you could loan us some folding chairs for our birthday party. We ran short. Do you have any?"

I thought for a moment and located a couple of items in my mental map of dusty storage troves around the house. I told her they might not be squeaky clean but I had a few that were serviceable. Did she want me to bring them over?

"Oh no, I don't want to trouble you, Chuck. Can I just walk over in a few minutes to get them?"

"Sure," I said, "I'll leave the door open and you can come in while I find them."

Now you're probably wondering where all of this is going, because at this point, I certainly had no idea that Karen was about to collide with my "unwilling/willing" fantasy maid search.

With sudden alacrity, I parked at home and went about finding the folding chairs, bringing them to the foyer, and finding a rag for cleaning them. Just as I came back to the foyer with my rag I sensed that I was not alone in the house. "Hello?..." I called. I jumped a little as Karen spoke to me from behind me. She had entered from the backyard and hadn't realized I expected her at the front door.

"Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I came in the back door and got distracted. I should've announced myself."

"That's okay, Karen. It's nice to see you, we don't see each other much. I have these chairs for you -- um, just let me wipe them down. What distracted you?"

"Oh, um, well, it was nothing. I mean, I didn't mean to pry."

"I'm afraid I don't understand" I said, finishing the cursory wipe-down.

Smiling in a sheepish and classy way, she flashed her bright teeth for a moment and raised her eyebrows as she said, "Well, I saw what was on your computer. I shouldn't have read it, but my eyes somehow took it all in as I was walking by your kitchen table. I'm really sorry. I mean, not sorry for you - I'm sorry for prying. Actually, if you don't mind me saying, it's kind of a nice fantasy. I never would've known you have that kind of imagination, Chuck."

All this time I was sort of dumbstruck. Here's this delightful, proper, untouchable, married, bombshell neighbor who has apparently just read my secret sexy personal ad, and she is complimenting me instead of denouncing me in the street. I waited another moment to make sure she wasn't kidding, wasn't going to sentence me to wearing a red "A" on my clothing forever. But no, she was just looking into my eyes.

So I looked back, and kept looking...