Laundry

I didn't know it, but I was about to clean up.

It's been a couple of decades now, but the memory of my first post-college-graduation year stays with me, even today.

I was indeed fresh out of college, my 'OK, life come on and beat a path of riches to my door!' freshly minted business degree under my belt, and... ZERO job offers. College had been financially easy, in comparison, with me making it through on a full swimming scholarship (butterfly my forte). Fortunately, being a plan for the worst, hope for the best kinda guy, I'd applied to a graduate school program, so defaulted to that for the autumn semester as partly an improve the resume move, partly an ego protection idea where I could pretend that the zero job offers weren't really a total societal critique of my worth as a human being. I managed to get a scholarship for part of the expense, another chunk of student debt taken on for the rest. My folks weren't in a position to help, and besides, I was an independent adult, right? On my own, right? Let the loud rumpus, and the great adventure begin!

I had to move to another state for the grad school, lucked into a former classmate's place as a temporary crash pad, and was searching for a place to live that would fit into my budget. I was pleased to find an opportunity in a house basement apartment that was downright cheap. I dressed for success just to interview for the place, arrived early to scope out the neighborhood and make sure I'd found parking, and right on time, rang the bell of an upper-middle-class looking place.

A woman of what I later learned was 45 years answered the door, accompanied by a tail-wagging Labrador retriever. She explicitly introduced herself as "Mrs." Gentry, introduced the dog as "Sadie," and I did myself as Mac Parker, then in my eagerness to make a good impression, I promptly probably babbled for a while. Catching myself, I made myself shut up as she and Sadie gave me a tour. Stairs led to the basement from the hallway of the otherwise 3 bedroom place. In the basement, she showed me around a central room with a small kitchenette built into one corner, a bathroom with shower, a bedroom with a double bed, a large walk-in closet with ample drawers for all my meager wardrobe, and a laundry room with washer, dryer, and ironing board. It was all I needed and more than I'd expected I could afford, and I hoped I hadn't been too much of an idiot in my small talk as we toured as to put her off - not to mention my gender.

I learned that Mrs. Gentry was a widow, her children gone from the nest. I managed an awkward compliment about her looking too young to have grown children, and that spurred me to finally take a look at her. Her hair was pulled back in a bun, and she was in women's business suit, low heels, and a nondescript blouse. She looked to be about 5'7", had an attractive, not gorgeous face, and seemed to have a nice figure, maybe even voluptuous, but it was hard to tell.

With the suit and the almost brusque manner, the overall impression I got was one of a pretty severe professional. She explained that she traveled for work for a large corporation headquartered in that city, and preferred to have someone in the place for the sake of security while she was gone. She also said she had hoped for a female boarder, without explanation - not a surprise, society being what it is. She also said she intentionally kept the rent low, in her estimation, since she hoped a lodger would be willing to walk and feed her dog when she was traveling out of town. I quickly agreed to that, sincerely, giving Sadie a quick rub and getting a nuzzle and tail wag in return - I love nice dogs, and labs are well known as chick magnets anyway.

The tour completed, I mentioned the price that I'd seen in the ad I found, and she confirmed that it included utilities but that food and drink and keeping the place neat and orderly were up to me. She said she didn't mind my having an occasional guest. I almost took that as a wink, wink, nudge, nudge, but she said it straight with no indication of further meaning, and I wasn't about to ask about that sort of thing. Then she added, but not more than the occasional guest - no parties, no loud noise.

She also said she'd like, if it fit with my schedule, to have me join her for Sunday noontime dinners, that she enjoyed having a boarder and that she hoped we'd get to know each other without intruding into each other's lives.

I asked if that meant I was acceptable as a boarder, and she said that she'd need to have two references, but that if they checked out, it would be fine. I had the reference letters with me - business school doesn't teach you not to be prepared - and I gave her my cell number to call when she'd finally decided.

The next day, she called, and said I'd passed muster, and could move in any time, that she'd prorate the rent daily, expect it to be paid two weeks prior to each month's start, and needed a month in advance as security deposit. All fine with me, and very business-like.

The day following that, I arrived, my entire worldly belongings in my very used compact car. Thankfully, parking was easy in the neighborhood, and within an hour, I was moved in, paid through the next month, and ready to settle. She gave me a key that fit both front and back doors. Since the stairs to the basement were near the back, I expected to use that more than the front door, and that was fine with her.

As she turned to go back upstairs from going over things with me once more as I loaded boxes of books and clothes, she said, "Oh, I don't think I mentioned that you're welcome to use the laundry washing machine and dryer, as well as the vacuum that I keep down here in that closet. I'll certainly call down to announce my presence when I come downstairs to do laundry - and if we end up trying to use the machines at the same time, we'll just work it out, ok?"

"Sounds good," I said, and made a mental note not to be wandering around naked in the main room, just in case. A lady such as she would not appreciate that sort of exhibition.

Classes for me started well, with the expected long hours studying, wanting to get a good academic start in the program. I knew virtually no one in the area, and I soon found a couple of places to grab a burger and beer on Saturday afternoons - otherwise, I was pretty monastic. I expected that a social life would develop in time, and was in not much a rush, not interested in any relationship permanence by any means. I'd pretty much had my share of one night stands in college and was willing to wait for kismet or serendipity or whatever might come my way, rather than going out on the prowl.

That first Sunday dinner with Mrs. Gentry was a welcome break in the pattern as well. She cooked up a roast, and we took our time, sharing life situations over the excellent food. Away from her business suit, she was more attractive than I'd initially assessed, with seemingly more ample breasts that even swayed a bit as she moved, still hidden in a conservative dress, but one that also brought my attention to her hips when she walked away from me. I realized that despite my focus on studies and such, I was distinctly horny. I'd relieved myself the evening before, reading some erotica on my tablet as a catalyst, but Mrs. Gentry's presence was a reminder of the attraction of a real female, regardless that her proper behavior indicated nothing of an attraction. She did tell me I could call her Eve, which did nothing to quell my hormonal situation.

Back to reality, I thanked her for a wonderful meal and went back to hit the books in my apartment an hour later. I had trouble concentrating, though, as the meal had changed my assessment of her from severe professional landlady to mature (compared to me at the time) female of considerable attraction.

Ah well, not gonna happen, I was sure, but nice to see her more relaxed, and becoming something of a friend as well. That night, I hit the erotica again, and revisited a familiar story, easily overlaying the seduced female character's image with my own of Eve, and eliciting a pretty explosive climax as a result.

Mrs. Gentry had traveled during the following week, but was back on Friday, and came downstairs to thank me for taking care of Sadie - I told her truthfully that I welcomed the study break to go for a walk and loved throwing the tennis ball as much as Sadie seemed to love chasing it.

I'd done laundry a couple times, recycling my limited wardrobe, and tossed another load in the washer the next Saturday afternoon, after a morning in the university library. Puttering around, showering and getting ready to go on my weekly pub outing, I went back to the washing machine, then opened the dryer door to transfer my load there. I immediately saw that there were clothes already in the dryer, and figured Mrs Gentry had just gotten part way done with doing her own while I was out. Well, she said we'd just deal with it, so I figured I'd just pull hers out and put it aside while I did mine. I bent over, reached in, hand-tested to confirm the load was dry, and, satisfied, pulled out a handful.

It took me a moment to digest that what I had in my hand was an assortment of very flimsy, very sheer lingerie! Staid and proper Mrs. Gentry, my, my!

Pulling out the rest and sorting further, I found matched sets of half-cup underwire bras with thongs and garter belts, other sheer bras matched with bikini panties, an almost all sheer slip, some sort of negligee, and a very simple but very skimpy all white bikini bathing suit, held by only ties, no clips or other attachments. There wasn't a utilitarian piece among it all - no granny panties, no padded bras or even a bra that wasn't sheer enough to see a nipple through it, although there were some plunge styles that managed to be designed to cover a good bit of breast while pushing up and in, or so I figured.

I took another moment - maybe this was her special vacation set of underwear, and that she had the basic uninteresting kinds of stuff to wear everyday. It definitely merited further research! Should I snoop into her dresser drawers while she was at work? Would that be too much of an ethical breach? She'd been traveling the week prior, but was it vacation or work? And if it was work, no doubt she'd have laundered this kind of stuff right after wearing it. Hmmm.

I decided to fold everything up neatly, leaving the unmistakable message that (1) I'd found the items, and (2) was nice enough to fold them, rather than just leaving them in a jumble, much less taking them out to do my load, then replacing them. I'd have her knowing that I knew she wore such things, unless there was something else outlandish going on - a neighbor used her laundry? Unlikely. Even so, if that was the case, she'd know I'd thought they were hers and had gone to the trouble of folding them up. And since she'd said we'd "just work it out" if our laundry schedules conflicted, I was just being a good scout, right? This would be fun, and I doubted I'd get thrown out for what I'd done - in good faith, mind you!

The items folded and stacked nicely in her laundry basket, I tossed my wet things into the dryer, reset it from delicate to normal, and hit go.

Then, just because I'm a pervert - that comes along with the dick and balls - I selected a particularly soft set of panties out of the stack, pulled the perversion-causing member out of my jeans, wrapped it in that pair of diaphanous bikini panties, and slowly brought myself to a nice full hardness, thinking about ways to get Mrs. Gentry into my bed.

I was jostled out of my reverie by the sound of the front door opening upstairs. I quickly unexposed myself, reinserted the panties in the stack, and took a seat with my laptop, well away from the dryer, pretending to study.

I waited for her to come downstairs to retrieve her "laundry" - the term just doesn't do justice to women's sexy unmentionables - and waited.

After about 15 minutes, I heard her start down the stairs - "Mac, are you home? I'm, just coming down for my laundry."

"Yes ma'am, I'm here, no problem," I answered as she came into sight. I watched as she looked and saw the dried things neatly stacked in her laundry basket, and I thought I saw just a bit of a wince as she factored in what must have happened. The dryer was still running with my stuff in it.

"Ah, thank you - there was no need to go to the trouble..." she started, then picked up the basket and turned back toward the stairs.

"It was no trouble," I said, working as hard as I could on an innocent attitude.

She lost no time in disappearing upstairs, and I managed to stifle any laughter until I heard the door close. I felt a bit deliciously wicked, having gotten what I thought was the best of the encounter. Now what would she do? Throw me out on some other pretext just so she wouldn't need to face me in the future? Pretend it didn't happen and avoid such a recurrence? Start line drying her things in her bathroom upstairs? We'd see. The next day was to be our weekly dinner together, so it wouldn't take long to find out.

The next morning, I picked up a bottle of nicer-than-my-usual wine and brought it to our Sunday dinner. I wasn't expecting to use it to seduce, but wanted to offer something as a gift for the meal, at least. I got as spiffed up as struggling grad student wardrobe could manage - freshly pressed shirt and chinos - and presented her with the wine when I went upstairs. We went through the "oh, you shouldn't have" politenesses, and I opened it and poured us each a glass.

"To gracious landladies and hopefully acceptable tenants," I offered as a toast, and she laughed a bit then took a healthy drink of it. She laughed!! Ah, a human under there, for sure!

"You're certainly acceptable so far, Mac. I appreciate your walking Sadie, and she obviously likes you - quite a good character reference, she is."

She paused, and an awkward silence arrived, then, "And I'll try to keep my laundry to myself in the future," and visibly blushed. My heart was smitten by that blush.

"No need for that - I'll just put off washing and drying my own until I'm sure you're through," I managed, trying to sound gallant, not knowing how not to seem the pervert I no doubt am. Then, pushing my luck way past what I knew was proper, I added, "I've gotta admit, that sort of made my day, though!"

We both took a beat, then burst into mutual chuckle.

Nothing more was said, but I think I didn't manage to wipe the smile off my face until considerably after the meal was over.

The following evening, I was studying again - ever at it - when I heard some grinding sound from upstairs, then a shriek. I ran upstairs, worried that something awful had happened. "Mrs Gentry, you ok?" I called as I turned down the hall to the living room, where I thought the sound had come from.

Mrs. Gentry was on her knees on the bare floor, facing away from me, a rug jumbled up behind her, a big couch in front. She looked lovely, her woman's hips stretching her jeans temptingly tight. She was mumbling under her breath, apparently not really hurt, but really angry about something.

"This damn sofa," she said, gritting her teeth. "I've got new furniture coming on Friday, and they want the room cleared when they get here, I'm traveling tomorrow again, and it's so heavy, and then the rug slid out from under me, and, and... "

"Let me do it - please." I said. "Where do you want things?"

She told me where various things were to go - a charity was coming for the current items, so we needed to have plans for pickup as well as delivery. We discussed, agreed, and I told her I'd take care of moving it all, that she should just have a nice business trip and I'd see her when she got back. She objected, half-heartedly, but then accepted, assuring me that she'd make it up to me, whatever that meant - I knew that what I'd like as a makeup would be far from what she was thinking of. I also knew that the more I thought about her, and watched her at our dinners and rare encounters outside of those Sundays, the more I thought about her in a way that was giving me a continual state of the horns.

After our planning, I went back downstairs, and the next day she was gone. I walked Sadie as usual and managed to move all the furniture in less than a half hour. Another good turn for the scout in me, I thought.

She returned on Friday, straight from the airport, in time for both the charity (which, thankfully, came first) and the furniture delivery. It changed the looks of the place and I thought the result was much more comfortable, and told her so, after taking Sadie for one more walk.

"Well, thank you, and thank you even more for all the furniture moving - you did exactly what we discussed, and that took a huge load off my calendar for the week, as well as off my back! I really don't know how to repay you! Really, what can I do to make it up - free rent for a month?"

"That's very generous," I said. Then, taking a deep breath, I plunged forward, "but there's really only one thing I can think of, and you'd no doubt not want to do that."

"No, really - anything - what is it?" Her innocence, even after I gave her that out, was impressive.

"Well, I haven't been able to get your laundry out of my mind, and I'd call the score even and then some if you'd do me the great favor of modeling those things for me." There, I'd said it. Now - ridicule? Rejection? Eviction?

She was stopped cold by that. She said nothing, but looked suitably surprised, and just sat there and looked at me.

"Mrs. Gentry, I'm sorry!" I blurted. "I shouldn't have said that. Please forget I said that!" I stammered. I realized, finally, how truly stupid, over the line, probably insulting that had been!

After a moment of silence as I awaited my likely eviction, she said softly, "You'd want to see me in those things?"

"Well, yes, obviously - you're a beautiful woman, and those things are made to be seen... on you."

"You think I'm beautiful?"

"Duh. You're gorgeous. That's apparent, although in your business attire, you come off as more severe than you are in person."

"That's my armor, I guess," she said. "When you're a female in a man's world, you can either be a ditz, or a pushover, or a cipher. Or, you can arm yourself and stride into that battle every day until they admit your worth. That's taken me a long time to earn around there, and I feel like wearing that kind of underthings under an all-business exterior, from clothes to hair to attitude, gives me a secret that they don't know, and that gives me something like a kind of power in situations. That thinking all developed over time, and I don't have much of a theory for it, but it works for me."

"I'm not ever going to be able to see a woman in any kind of uniform again without thinking about that," I smiled.

And then, "So, you'll model them for me?" I knew that was no straight logic step, but if I could sell it that she'd just agreed, maybe it could work.

"Mmmm. I'm not sure about that. I'd have to think that one through. But, I will - think about it, that is - and thank you again the help with the furniture. I'll see you Sunday at noon, right?"

"Right," I answered, taking that as my exit cue.

Over the next day or so, I had more time to develop my "theory" of Mrs. Gentry. I figured her for a closet split personality. At work, she was the tough feminist management stereotype, widowed, working harder than anyone else, putting up the frigid front, staring down any suspicion that someone might imply she was a woman after all. Then there was the Eve Gentry who let her hair down at home (unless she was being the landlady who was Mrs. Gentry as well) and who wore sexy things under her work uniform to remind her that she was indeed a woman, just one in the strange land of her work. She could go through the executive meetings with ease, knowing that she was wearing a transparent g-string underneath, indulging a fantasy life about which of her male cohorts would be good in bed, and what she'd do with them given the right opportunity.