Fucking French Boys Pt. 01

*NOTE: despite the age difference, all characters are over 18*

Thomas tightened the laces of his corset, his waist getting a few inches smaller and making his small breasts appear larger than they were. Just to be safe, he put on a dress shirt and slacks. He didn't know what his potential employer would think about his fashion sense. He opted against his many pairs of high heels, grabbing his pair of sneakers.

The bus ride to his interview was crowded and he had to stand, barely able to reach the handrail above his head. After almost an hour, far longer than he'd expected, he finally reached his potential employer's house. It was a sprawling, one-story house.

He rang the doorbell, clasping his hands behind his back as he rocked back and forth on his feet. The door opened and the person inside opened the screen door. Thomas hopped inside, looking around the front room.

"You're the maid candidate?" Thomas didn't know what a candidate was, but he nodded nonetheless. He finally turned his gaze away from the house and looked at the stranger in front of him.

"Bonjour," he squeaked. He bowed, both out of respect and to hide the blush on his face. The stranger was a handsome, older man in a well-fitted suit. Thomas had always had a thing for older men.

"Take off your shoes," the man said, shutting the door. Thomas obediently did so, neatly placing his shoes against the wall. "I looked at your... résumé, as you called it. No college education, a few years of cleaning experience, and you're from... France, was it?"

"Oui, Monsieur."

"Hm." He quietly muttered something that Thomas couldn't understand. "Can you clean?"

"Oui, Monsieur! I am very clean."

"You know how to run a vacuum cleaner? Washing machine? Dishwasher?" Thomas stood in confused silence. "Jesus, kid, we need to work on your English skills."

"I am sorry, Monsieur." The man huffed and took out his phone. He typed something and showed it to Thomas. It was Google Translate for vacuum cleaner in French. "Oh! Oui, aspirateur! I can, how you say..."

"Use it?"

"Oui!" Thomas nodded eagerly, his short, curly hair bouncing.

"Fine. You've got the job, kid."

"Merci, Monsieur!"

"C'mon. I need you to sign a contract. If you can understand it, that is."

"Oui, I understand." The man rolled his eyes and walked to his office. Thomas followed him, grinning. The man rummaged through his desk, finally taking out a sheet of paper and a pen. He set the paper on the desk.

"What was your name, again?" the man asked, holding out the pen.

"Thomas Dubois." He took the pen and attempted to read the contract. It was a lot of English words that he didn't understand, but he was pretty sure he got the gist. He signed on the line and handed the pen back to his new employer.

"And your name, Monsieur?"

"Henry. Henry Whitman."

"Monsieur Henry..." Thomas echoed. Henry picked up the contract and put it in a filing cabinet. "May I ask a question?"

"Shoot." Thomas cocked his head in confusion and Henry sighed in irritation. "Yes. Ask your question."

"Que dois-je porter..." Thomas mumbled to himself, working out the translation in his head. "What... do I, eh, wear?"

"Hell, I don't care, kid. What you're wearing now is fine. Just wear what you can work in."

"Could I wear a- a...?"

"A what?"

"I do not know the English..." Thomas sighed.

"Just, fine, wear what you want. You start work tomorrow." Henry shooed him out of the room and he skipped to the front door.

•••

Thomas knocked on the door the next day and Henry opened it, wearing a suit once again.

"What... the fuck are you wearing?" he asked. Thomas looked down at his outfit, a tight t-shirt, knee-length skirt, and black pumps. He'd thought it was modest, but now he was doubting himself.

"Is this not, eh, acceptable?" he asked, blushing.

"Fucking French boys," Henry grumbled. "Get inside."

"I could wear something else--"

"Get inside!" Henry barked. Thomas squeaked and dashed into the house. He stared at the floor, not daring to look at Henry. "There's a to-do list on the kitchen counter. I have work to do. Don't bother me."

"Oui, Monsieur Henry." He stalked away and Thomas went to the kitchen to find his list. It was all in English, but he could understand most of it. He'd learned a lot of words for cleaning last night.

He went through the list carefully. He vacuumed the living room carpet, washed the dishes in the kitchen, and cleaned the bathroom. He dusted in the living room and the bedrooms, did Henry's laundry, and then organized the pantry even though it wasn't on the list.

"Monsieur?" He knocked on the door to Henry's office. A moment later, Henry opened it.

"I said don't bother me."

"Here is your list." Thomas handed over the completed to-do list. "It is clean."

"Already? It's only been a few hours."

"Oui." He smiled proudly.

"Okay, then... uh, I guess you can go home. I'll find something for you to do tomorrow."

"D'accord, Monsieur Henry! I will see you tomorrow." He curtsied and walked away.

"Thomas," Henry called.

"Oui, Monsieur?"

"Thank you for your hard work. I'm sorry if I made you upset with my rudeness this morning."

"Oh, no, Monsieur! I am not upset!" Thomas giggled. "I will see you tomorrow."