01

***Note: This is the first of a four-part series. Check my other stories for the rest of the series.***

Prologue:

Some men would call me a hero. Some would call me an addict. Some women would call me a pig and some would call me weak. Some people are forced to make difficult choices and some are just destined for this.

In some ways I'm quite proud of my achievement here, but in others I'm haunted by the fact I was never caught. I'm riddled with guilt over breaking her trust, but yet the caveman in me can't help but be awestruck by my latest conquests.

That's right - I said conquests, as in plural; multiple even. This is the story of how I came to be entwined in what can only be described as a sex square.

It began with a life lesson.

After just over a year and a half trying to be the hotshot businessman I had longed to be since high school, I was fed humble pie when my business went under. The failure to launch wasn't entirely my fault but I accept the blame that is partially mine. Had I not hired a certain freelancer to perform duties which were beyond the scope of my abilities I wouldn't have been placed in this mess; I'm too trusting and as such I hired said freelancer on a verbal agreement. He assured me he was qualified for the job and knew exactly what needed to be done. This was far from the case.

I had secured limited funding for my business and was mere weeks away from launch. I had clients lined up and had schmoozed others. I'd learned the strengths and weaknesses of my competitors and had everything else all lined up and ready to roll – save for one vital element of the website which was to be my main source of revenue.

I'd spent months seeking out the right freelancer for this one-time temporary job, to integrate two systems into a perfectly synchronised workflow for me and my staff to use on a day-to-day basis. I'd delayed the business launch already and wasn't prepared to risk another delay. I'd set a new target launch date as soon as I found this freelancer.

As the weeks went by I was becoming impatient. The guy was spending far too much time on this and wasn't getting very far. He continued to assure me he had everything in hand. I gave it another week before reminding him I was on a limited budget and couldn't afford him for much longer. It was at this point that he stated he wasn't skilled enough to achieve what I was hoping for. Cue devastation. I'd already paid him for his time up until now and he'd tampered with our website in his efforts and in the process killed several processes, rendering the website somewhat useless. What's worse is he'd corrupted the hard drive on our server.

I was ruined. I'd almost run out of money and couldn't afford to rectify the problems he'd created in trying to achieve my goal. He essentially lied to me in order to get the job and then "winged it", hoping he'd figure it out eventually. When I raised the issue of a lack of further funding, he got out of there as soon as possible. What's worse is he later billed me for completing the work and when I refused to pay, he tried to sue me.

And this was all because I was naïve in business. He took advantage of my naïveté. As soon as it happened I'd learned my lesson, but the hits just kept on coming. Court fees to defend myself, fees for appeals, fees for a broken server which I was still paying for, general fees for the rest of the elements of the business, and of course I tried to retain staff until I knew what I was doing. In a matter of 3 months my business was bankrupt and I wasn't far off personally. The one saving grace is that when it came time to attend the hearing in court, he was due to pay final court fees and never did so, which meant the case was thrown out.

As a result of this trauma, I was forced to move back home with my parents. No longer living a more lavish lifestyle with the bachelor pad; no longer enjoying the freedom and independence that allowed me to be a ladies man. No, now I was just a kid in his early twenties, heading towards mid-twenties with a failed idea for a business that had moved back in with his folks.

I definitely learned the important lesson though; won't be making that mistake again.

Part 1:

After a little while living back home, I was somewhat settled back into my teenage hermit routine. Nocturnal living hours, with many of them spent on games consoles. Junk food galore and mindless television shows. Celebrating days where I had the house to myself and away from the irritations of parents being around all the time. It was difficult, but regressing back to yesteryear had its perks it seemed.

Thankfully I wasn't a complete waste of space by this point and still managed to go out and socialise. I still managed to find myself a part-time job; it wasn't anything fancy and was far from the income I had projected in my business plan, but it helped. It was the combination of these two elements which allowed me to get back into the dating scene and meet my wonderful current girlfriend Lydia.

Lydia is no doubt the love of my life and I'm sure one day, once I revisit my business and save up those profits, I'll be buying her an engagement ring and asking her to make an honest man out of me. In some ways she's exactly what I aspire to be, but in others, she's everything I detest in the wealthy. Her father pretty much owns and runs the city; she grew up on silver spoons, ponies and caviar. I grew up on hard graft, saving up for a weekend trip to the local store for a comic and sweets and occasional visits to the park. We grew up in two completely different worlds and this is where I find life difficult with her sometimes.

It's not her per se, as she's a sweet little angel and was clever enough to know there was a world outside the rich and fabulous bubble she grew up in, but it's her family - her obnoxious family!

Her brother's a jackass – plain and simple; he's your typical trust fund kid with a face you just want to flatten and an aptitude for exercise, sports and mistreating girls. Everything the nerdy kid in me hates. Her little sister is your typical spoiled brat who stomps her foot to get anything she wants. Her father, while a nice man on the face of it, reminds me of an Italian mafia man.

He's intimidatingly distant and vague and I'm sure he knows the ins and outs of our city's underbelly and takes full advantage of it to keep ahead in the business of maintaining a wealthy lifestyle. Her mother? A stuck-up snob of a desperate housewife who enjoys nothing but the finest things – or so she'll tell you to your face, but in reality she was probably brought up in a world like mine where obtaining anything in life was hard work and a never-ending cycle of trial and error. There's just something about her...

Lydia shares an interesting mix of all these characteristics, but above all that, retains a level of grounded-ness that I find so endearing. She's level-headed, book smart and street smart, kind, caring, loves kids and aspires to simply teach children at school. That's it; she doesn't want to follow in her father's footsteps, nor is she interested in what he thinks of her choices. She's an independent young woman who's quite content with settling for a "normal" life.

I love that girl. I really do.

That's why it pains me somewhat, to recall the days of December last year when all this started. Although technically this started in my late-teens before I ever even moved out of my parents' house and tasted independence.

When I was a teen, my mother began to work a lot more. Times were tough and everyone's salaries were getting smaller, their working hours were getting longer, and pensions were, well, somewhat pointless to invest in. So my mum being the thoughtful, caring woman she is, set out to help the family as best she could. She felt this was neglecting the up-keep of the home, so she hired a cleaning lady to come in once or twice a week just to keep on top of any housework she wasn't able to do during the week.

Now, anyone who's been a teenager knows about endorphins and knows what they can do to your body and mind. I was in the prime of my experimental self-discovery years so when a young woman in her mid-twenties (at the time), named Carla waltzed into my life to clean our house a couple of days each week, I was smitten.

In all honesty, this woman was, and still is a goddess. Her body is lusciously curvy and combined with silky smooth dark skin and shimmering black hair, she could easily be described as a chocolate dream girl. Her boobs alone drove me near-insane at that age; every time I caught a glimpse of those 36E's I'd almost instantly get hard. Her 24 inch waist led to 36 inch hips, which for some women might not be the best of proportions, but for her, this meant booty and knowing how to work it!

As I exited my late teens and entered into my twenties, Carla began to wear different outfits to work. It seemed as though she was doing this for me. I was always the only person in the house whenever she was around – more often than not, deliberately so. So it was either that she'd met a guy and was going on a date with him in the middle of the afternoon when she finished at our house, or she was wearing increasingly revealing outfits just for my benefit.

The usual state of play was that she and my mother would communicate via phone calls or text messages and then notes left on the kitchen counter. From time to time, their paths would cross just as one was leaving and the other was arriving. My mother never made comment about Carla's attire once; it didn't seem to matter to her as long as the house was ship-shape.

I soon discovered Carla's choice of clothing was purely for my benefit when, one summer afternoon while I was out on the decking which led to our garden, soaking up some rays, listening to some music, Carla came outside to clean the exterior of the house, wash windows and sweep the decking – for the first time I could ever recall. Wearing jean shorts and a tank top and not much else, with her hair tied back, I knew something was up. She knew my parents were out of town for a little mid-year holiday. I knew she wasn't one to usually clean the outside. Glances into her brown eyes told me everything I needed to know.

A little dip into my book of "porno pick-up lines" later and she was helping rub cream into my back and shoulders to protect my pale white skin from the sun.

It didn't take long before she took advantage of my vulnerability and began to kiss my neck as she rubbed my back and shoulders. Gradually she began rubbing her hands over my arms and around my torso as she nibbled away at my neck and whispered sweet nothings into my ear. Carla the cleaning lady wanted me – and wanted me bad!

She'd been sneaking peeks at me while I masturbated on afternoons – often thinking about her, ironically. She'd peeked through the cracks in the loose door of the bathroom while I showered afterwards. She'd stared at my backside while I bent down to grab snacks from the cupboards when she was cleaning the kitchen. I felt the irony of the role reversal. She was the pervert – although I wasn't totally innocent in all this!

Turning into her, we began to kiss as she ran her hands up and down my body while my skin began to glisten in the sun. I trembled lightly as I brought my nervous fingers to her skin and attempted to do the same and massage her body as we made out. In moments we were in the throes of passion with our tongues connected on physical and sensory levels. Our nostrils were filling with each other's pheromones and our hands clasped as her body ground against mine with her legs straddling mine.

We broke the kiss and she directed my head towards her chest, where I breathed her in for a moment before smothering her right breast with my mouth as best I could, licking through the thin fabric of her bright yellow tank top. After just a few licks and sucks, her large areola and nipple were showing through quite prominently to the point where I instinctively sucked hard on her nipple and gnawed on it gently. Her hands ran lower down my body and began to seek out my erection all while writhing away against it.

As I moved over to give her left breast equal treatment, her mobile phone began to vibrate in her pocket. I presumed this would only enhance her experience, but no – it halted everything. Carla practically pushed me off her as she struggled to free her phone from her tight fitting jean shorts. She answered anxiously and I began to wonder what the issue was. I ran my hands up her legs and began to massage her backside while kissing her navel through her top as she spoke to her caller.

I was completely oblivious to the conversation but it didn't take long for her to hang up and snap her flip-phone – which was in vogue at the time – shut. She bent down and kissed me passionately on the lips and told me we'd pick this up later and that she'd come back for me that night if I wanted to continue. Of course, I agreed, but had to know why she was leaving in such a hurry.

She explained that her sister, whom had been suffering with a mental disability for the most of her life, had fallen ill again and urgently needed her at the facility where she was being cared for. I felt nothing but guilt and confusion as to the situation I found myself in and let Carla go.

That was the last I saw of Carla before I moved out of my parents' house. She needed to take some time off to care for her sister and it was in this time where I was able to develop my business plan and study business courses part-time. Of course, I now know I moved out far too soon and couldn't afford the apartment I'd chosen anyway, but hindsight is always 20-20.

So as you can tell, returning back home in the winter of last year meant returning to the scene of many mental sex crimes in my old bedroom; an old bedroom which Carla had returned to keeping clean on a weekly basis. Cue sexual confusion and frustration – on multiple levels.

***Note: This is the first of a four-part series. Check my other stories for the rest of the series.***