House Boi Training 101

Houseboi in Training - 101

I was lucky to get my latest IT gig. Contrary to what the Advisors told me in college, any technical skill (no matter how good you are or how many years of experience) are easily Offshored these days... leaving you, as it did me, with a load of debt and a skillset that can barely cover those minimum payments. Ah heck, at least I didn't become an Art History Major!

In any case, I was able to hook on with a good financial firm at a decent enough rate (though I had to leave my home state) and I was – finally – starting to make ends meet (after being outta work for months since my last gig...) still, I did feel how precarious my situation was... and that's why... while I was bending over the sink at work and washing out my lunch dish... I didn't completely dismiss the proposition when some big guy reached around me to wash his cup and, almost, whispered in my ear,

"You should come to my house and wash my dishes..."

I had been propositioned before, by Guys, and, while it didn't freak me out, I had my reasons for not starting up anything with a "guy" In fact, I kinda avoided starting anything up girls anymore... since college... because the "free sex" was over and – whether they admitted it or not – they all expected the House, Garden, Kids and white picket fence... and I could barely figure out how to pay for my crappy car and the Extended Stay Hotel away from home... let alone take on someone else's (unrealistic?) expectations for Life.

But, in that instant, okay, I'll admit it, I thought "IF this guy was interested in me... and I could lower my expenses on the hotel and gas... IF He wanted me to live with him... and, well, would it be so bad if he wanted to suck my dick... or, what if He wanted me to suck his dick? Never did that before... well kinda... but not really... okay I thought about it... but that's another story... and, heck, IF girls can do it, why shouldn't I be able to something for Him IF he can do something for me?"

So – in that instant – I replied, "Sure, if You are close by, I'll do the dishes and even clean your house..."

Silence. Ooops. Did I reply to a Proposition... that was not really out there? I could feel myself blush with shame as he looked at me and I could not look Him in the eyes, even as I turned around to face him... He was big! Almost a head taller, older 50? (but I am never good at the age thing) and stocky, bulging in his shirt, suit jacket and pants... big buckled belt and big shoes... truth be told, I already felt like a bit of a "girl" standing there before Him... He was the kinda guy I would go out of my way to – avoid – had circumstances been otherwise... my masculine pride (or sense of self preservation) told me to back off, get out of this... do not engage... or just hope that I had misconstrued the situation.. and be glad to be free... but practicality (if not necessity) made me start to think, "What IF?"

He reached down with his large hand and pulled on my Security Badge with His thick, sausage type fingers... holding it up, He, again, whispered, "I'll get in touch with you this afternoon" and, with that, He was gone. If I was holding my breath, I now let it go now. What have I done? My head was spinning as I returned back to the common room where the consultants were packed in like sardines, working on temporary PCs that should have had warning signs on them "Don't Even Think You are Important!"

I picked up where I had left off with my latest program... trying to remember that last piece I coded???

But my thoughts were spinning through my head, "Is He going to call me? I don't even have a phone (other than my cell) so He must have meant he was gonna email me... but I don't even know his Name, so how would I know which email was from Him? There was nothing in my In Box, but judging by his suit (only senior managers, bother to wear suits these days...) He probably has a meeting or two to go to right after lunch... so He may not email 'til the end of the day... and IF it did, What would it say??? Everyone knows that all corporate email is kept, archived and part of the Historical record... so He won't be able to saying, well, detailed. And I had better watch what I say in response. After all, consultants can get fired at a whim... and it took me months to land this job... in fact, I better get back to work because I was sure that the clock was running on the finishing up my current program and the current manager I was reporting to was, well, not the kind of woman that like guys... especially guys who look half way decent and probably never asked her out in college. All I know was that she took an immediate dislike to me, when I was assigned to her group... so I was already walking on glass with her... hopefully this Guy will "save" me... that's the exact word that popped into my head. If He was into me, and I did what He wanted, maybe He could – well, not only cut my expenses – but get me a little more permanent position, here... how great would it be to work for a manager who wouldn't look at me with resentment for every guy that never ask her out... though, to be fair... I could think of – at least – three guys who looked like the Man in the Suit, who propositioned me back in the days when I thought Life was Free... and I blew 'em off (perhaps not in the nicest way?) and now I was hoping for His email to "save" me....

"Kitchenette Usage"

Whew – 4PM – it took three hours (me constantly checking my email and totally distracted from my work) but there it was... very "corporate" in fact, I almost thought it was an HR blast, something about consultants not being allowed to wash their dishes in the sink (giving all the other things that consultants were restricted from doing!) but there it was:

Consultant: R4559650

The Kitchen area is restricted for employees on the 5th floor. Please update your non-office contact information on the Consultant's Webpage so an official notification can be logged.

Samuel K Brummley Executive Director

HMPR Resources and Management

In fact, it could well have been from HR, but I don't think I was ever told that the kitchenette area was for employees... only? Maybe this was just that... a warning... and I was stuck in my prior circumstances, having wasted the afternoon hoping otherwise and not having finished the program I was working on....

Well, one way to find out (as I updated the webpage with my cell #) and that was to look up "Brummley" on the company's Who's Who... hmmm... only on "Brummley" and it had the corporate photo of the guy... "Executive Director", check, "HMPR" check... Oh shit! Activities: LGBT Chairman. So, not only is the guy gay, but he is the head of the LGBT initiative that was spearheading the company's efforts to attract "New Money" from the LGBT Community... in other words, this guy was Powerful and Untouchable.

I wonder if secretaries, oh, excuse me "administrative assistants" have these feelings IF their boss asked them out??? Of course, these days, with the "sexual harassment" lawsuits, any guy who would take out his secretary would certainly qualify as a guy who has no place in "management" – but – as odd as it may seem, LGBT managers are immune from this corporate standard (well, maybe on paper, but I do keep up and I have read of cases where a guy or gal tries to raise the issue because they went out with some manager who was of the same sex... and GLAD and other LGBT organizations threaten counter suits and the company is left in the middle... so nobody wins out (In fact, I think that the Managers won the two cases that I knew of... I might have googled it right there... but that would have been traced and it would have been "evidence" – all I did know was that this Guy was connected and... IF He was interested in me... and He wanted me down on my knees and sucking His dick... well, I was already in this too deep to back out now... and IF I was ever gonna do it... this would be the right Guy to do it for....

My cell buzzed:

"Dishwasher"

"Yes..."

(Should I? Shouldn't I? Maybe I should? Maybe I shouldn't... say yes....)

"... Sir"

Silence.

"Meet me at the Guard Station at 5PM"

Click

Not a Man of many words.

I was kinda put-off by the Guard Station. I was hoping that we could "meet for drinks" after work... so as to keep any – exit – anonymous. If I was going to walk out with the LGBT Executive Director at the Guard Station, at 5PM, then it would be pretty obvious, at least to the "guards" – who are supposed to notice these things... that I – only a consult-tant – was leaving with a Senior Director... what would that make "me" to Security... His bitch? Well, I guess IF that's the way He wants to play it. Okay. It's not like – NOT – showing up, now, was an option without its own consequences.

On the way out (and I'll admit, I was shaking with Unknown Anticipation for what I was doing...) my Female Manager insinuated that I was leaving "early" if the program was still not done, expecting OT (Uncompensated, of course!)

"I'll be back, (I wrote) Monday morning, at 7AM to, finish it up, Ma'am (first time I addressed her as such, but, now what I was calling my, potential New Manager, "Sir" and IF this interaction was reviewed, I didn't want my decisions to be perceived as "sexiest") it's almost running, but I will need to work on a more Test Cases."

(She likes to hear the phrase "test cases" – but what I really wanted to say was "Hey Witch, You think You are so bright! You finish it up... you can't even read code... you project pin pusher! I'm going out with an Executive Director and IF He likes me... IF I suck His dick really well... then I'll never have to see your sour face again! Pity You never even had that option." – but, as far as I knew, I still needed to be in this Hell Hole for the unforeseeable future... so...)

"Good Nite, Ma'am."

If my parents taught me one thing about how to get along in the (corporate) world, a little deference to one's superiors goes a long way in cementing your position... and these days that may only mean one extra month's pay.

At the Guard Station, I had to wait a few, uncounted, uncomfortable minutes... most people avoided the Guard Station on the way out, taking the side doors, because the guards were one step above Mall Cops, even though they tried to look like they worked for the NSA, bringing up your records, checking out your profile, asking you questions that – had an ordinary person asked – you might reply "Mind your own fuckin' business!" And, even though it might sound "racist", it seemed like corporations went out of their way to hire big, burly, Black guys who took a special interest in their limited power and authority. (Perhaps it was a psychological way to convincing you that IF you were thinking of any corporate malfeasance, you may as well end up in a place where these Guys had the ultimate power and authority....)

"Thank God!" I mumbled to myself when "Sam" finally showed up. The guy behind the desk had been running my badge through security and kept wondering why I was going through the Guard Station... and, not, sneak out the back like all the other "conslut-tants"??? (which is where I first heard the designation) No checking out "Sam" though...

"Mister Brummley, m' Main Man, had a good week?"

"Adequate, we'll see how it finishes off..."

(Felt like I was a 3rd wheel, and a Training Wheel, at that...)

"He's with me."

The Guard seemed to smirk. I would have smirked, too, if I was sitting there, seeing a large, older Man, well connected, talking about some young "gal" who needed her job, now leaving with him at the end of the day, at the end of the week... back in the good ol' days when, well, women had to do such things and it was great to be King! I could have just blurted out "Yeah, I'm willing to be His bitch to keep my job, what of it? Mind your own business" – but it looked like Security Guard already confirmed that fact.

And out the secure doors we went.

Of course, He was driving the latest Lexus, as I looked at my college poop-mobile from Govt Motors sitting at the far end of the lot...

Should I get my car and follow You?

Naw, leave it here. They don't check if it's kept here overnight.

"Overnight" – okay, so we know where this thing is going, right? At the very least I was gonna be spending the entire night with this guy, the Head of LGBT, the Man who could keep me gainfully employed... if, as my college professors would advocate, "Hey, guys, you can't really be sure that you are – not – gay... if you don't try it a couple of times... and see if you like it. Whadda ya got to lose?" (Of course, wouldn't you know that the only professors that brought that up... were Gay and they were hoping to inspire a few guys who might be sitting on the fence (post?)

But here I was... and it suddenly seemed like good, practical, advice.

As He opened the door for me, I was hit with that New Car smell and pleasant sounds of warning chimes, when He circled around open His door and got in on the Driver's side, "Buckle up" Oh, ya, right.

As we pulled out, again, past a Guard station and, again, past another Big Black Guy who exchanged knowing glances with "Sam" – checking me out... and giving a "thumbs-up" I truly started to feel like I was a little less of "me" and a lot more like "His" and, while the feeling was uncomfortable... a bit intimidating... I tried to focus on the advantages of.... Being His "boi?" In any case, it was way too late to back out now... And IF this meant I could have a little more income ... and, some, "job security" (what little THAT meant these days?) then who cared what other people really think? It's not like they were going to help me out... right?

"You work for Helen's Group."

"Yes."

"Yeah, that's not good. They are only funded thru next month, then they'll cut lose all the contractors..."

(That WITCH! She has been riding my ass to work late, weekends, piling it on... and She already knew that she was gonna cut me! Why did she even accept me when I was assigned to her me, when she knew that she was only going to keep me only a couple of months!?! Unless, of course, it was that "Oh, One of YOU bastards that didn't talk to me when I was in school... I can't wait to shit-can your ass!")

"I'm pulling you over to my group, you'll be reporting, directly, to me... not much coding, plenty of analysis... AND, of course, keeping Me happy."

"Thank, You..."

Thinking, thinking, thinking, oh, well, I already said it once and i may well acknowledge it now...

"Sir."

(Besides, I'd much rather be calling Him "Sir" than her, "Ma'am") and I went on...

I really, REALLY appreciate this, Sir, because, well, in addition to my school debts, I had been living a bit over my means... and, between the credit cards and college loan payments, well, a couple more months outta work, and I might have had to go bankrupt on the cards... and that would have meant (as He well knew) that I could no longer pass the background checks to work for financial firms...

Not a word.

I could have kept going, but I knew well enuff when to quit. Upon reflection, I had already said too much... in addition to making know how much I – did – truly appreciate His pulling me out of my Hell Hole, I was trying to "negotiate" the possibilities of being able to pay down my debt IF He didn't need "rent" or expenses... but, as I sat there in isolated silence, driving through the green suburbs of homes I could never afford, I realized that – my – problems were not His... worse, I had just blurted out how – now – completely dependent I was on His generosity and pretty much ruined any "negotiating" room...

I almost chuckled to myself, as I thought "I bet girls aren't as stupid to just give away the farm before they negotiate away their sex" but here I was, basically, saying, "Sir, I am in dire straits... and if You can help me, I will suck Your big fat dick whenever You want..." and stealing a glance at Him, I wondered, "How big is His dick was... and what must it taste like?"

By the time we reached His place, a large Ranch Style House, deep in the woods, off the main highway, very secluded, I was already in the "If I don't back out know, I don't think I'll ever be able to "backout" – and wondering if – not – "backing out" meant "anal" sex... too? He did mention I'd have to be doing, a lot of, "anal-y-sis" and wondered if that was His sense of humor... or just my own?

As, I got out of the car, I realized that I was already – in – His scenario... if He wanted "it" then i was gonna have to give "it" – else I would be outta work, probably for months, actually having to file for bankruptcy... and then I couldn't even get another "bitch" con-sluting gig, like this one, reporting to a Witch who could take out her adolescent disappointments on me. Like it or not – I was going to have to allow myself this experience, at some level, and – for the first time in my Life – I felt weak, vulnerable, and depended on another person with no leverage than – other what I was willing to offer... and I knew i was, now, willing to offer more than I had ever considered possible in the arrogance of my youth, when Mommy and Daddy were paying my bills and I thought Life was going to be Easy... now i knew it was hard... and filled with compromises... and i had only begun to fathom what the word compromise... really meant.

He picked up the mail, as I quietly waited, going through it, trashing a good lot of it in a receptacle already filled to the brim with junk mail, before taking out his keys and unlocking a conspicuously large, heavy, thick front door ("Looks like a door to a dungeon" I thought to myself....) I could – run – make a break for it thru the woods... but what good would that do... now? Worse, it would look real silly.

Inside, it was large, sparsely furnished house, no clutter ("Not much to "clean" if we are on that track?) And, passing the stark reception hall, we passed into a large living room, actually sunken, one step down, all carpeted, black leather, couch, chairs, metallic and glass furnishings and a large screen television... like I said "stark" (at least there were no paintings or statues of "naked young men" I, again, thought to myself.) He tossed his mail on a coffee table, plopped down in an easy chair the slid into a reclining position and looked at me.

"Keys, wallet, cell phone, on the table."

"Yes Sir."

As I emptied my pockets, adding a money clip and change to the collection, though, quite honestly, taking out my "money" clip in the lavish surrounding for a Guy like this felt like putting a nickel on the church collection plate... which I had done once, and got a look from the usher that made me feel "poor" but I figured "God understood"... does would God understand... this?" (while not "devout" I was raised as a Catholic and you don't get over that... especially, now, in circumstances like these, where the Church would say this was wrong... but my secular education in the University taught me that there was nothing wrong with this... and thinking so, made you a bad person... so you should experience it, as part of your repentance... or so insisted those Gay professors had that propositioned me... the Church thing did have some residual impact... that I won't go into....

"Strip"

Well, at least there was no more doubt about That! I started to unbutton my shirt, pull it off, tossing it on the coffee table, along with my "identification" and contact with the outside world... pulling off my t-shirt over my head, I felt a humiliation that I never had experience in my Life, and it only continued, as – He said nothing – so I unbuckled my pants, pushed 'em down, only realizing then that I would have to take off my shoes... humiliation gave way to confusion for a moment, should I sit, should stand, pull up my pants, hop around on one foot while I try to take the shoe off the other??? what if I fall over, wouldn't that be the Kodak moment to remember! He watched as if he were enjoying this immensely. Finally, I just lowered myself, squatted until I was sitting on the floor, took off the shoes (and socks, tucking them in my shoes, as was my habit) pulled off the pants and felt the need to stand up, in nothing more than my tighty-whitey briefs... the moment of truth. I froze. It was like the one last line to step over and I found myself waiting for the – prompt – to do so....