Eric was down on his knees attempting to scrub away the ring around the "claw" tub—one of those old-fashioned stand-alone tubs elevated by stubby legs with lions's claws as "feet." Hence the term. A naked Eric had started out inside the tub but soon found it easier to work on the ring from the outside. He was working on the near ring at the moment meaning his bare ass was nearly resting on his narrow heels. To scrub the far ring he would have to rise up higher.
It was while he was in this latter position, a little earlier, that today's client—his employer—entered the bathroom, reached down and gave Eric's vulnerable ass a squeeze, one cheek then the other, while asking, "How's it going?"
"Slowly but surely."
"It's a bitch isn't it?"
Not for the first time today the man was fingering Eric's hole. There was still residual lube in Eric's crack from the other times. His client wasn't fingering him deeply. Just the tip of his middle finger or so. With all the reports about sexual harassment in the news these days Eric had to laugh to himself when he thought that his little sideline business was one of the few professions where touching, groping, kissing, nudity, sexual innuendo and far more were not only expected but implicitly allowed. These things came with the territory. Eric guessed it was theoretically impossible to harass a sex worker. And now he, technically, officially, qualified to be called a sex worker.
He received money not just for taking off his clothes in front of his clients, like a stripper, but for performing various sex acts in person. Like a whore.
Eric was now regularly—though not regularly enough in his opinion—prostituting himself. What would his poor mother think?
He was also cleaning house for his clients let it be said. In the nude, of course. It wasn't just sex. And Eric worked as hard and as diligently at vacuuming a man's rug or mopping his floor as he did at sucking the guy's cock to completion. Or however else that day's client wished to cum.
And, in truth, we weren't talking big money here. It was hardly a call girl's rate at the Hilton. Eric's fee was $10 an hour with a minimum of three hours; plus an additional $10 ($5 each way) in travel expenses if his client's home was 25 miles away or more. Today's client, the man with the tub, fit that bill. So at the end of the day he would owe Eric at least $40. We say "at least" because Eric's last client, from the previous week, had ended up slipping him three twenty dollar bills for a mere two-and-a-half hours' work—cleaning and kissing and sucking and stroking and whatnot. The man told Eric he had worked hard, done a good job and deserved every penny of it.
Eric was thrilled. Despite his age, he felt like a kid whose dad had just paid him twice as much as promised for mowing the lawn. Time to go buy some candy! (While stealing a pack of cigarettes.) Psychologists take note...
Today's client pulled his finger out of Eric's skinny ass. For one thing he was elderly, "mature" as the euphemism goes on the sex personals, where Eric advertised his services, and the man was probably getting tired of bending over. Feeling it in his hammies. It was an awkward position.
"I'm wondering if there might be something better for this," his kneeling, ass-in-the-air, nude housecleaner said.
"A better solvent?"
"Or something. It's a hard-water stain, right? Isn't there a cleaner with lye in it?"
"Lye? You think they still make cleaners with lye in them?"
Eric shrugged. "I don't know..." He wasn't even sure where the idea had come from.
Eric knew the man standing behind him was staring down at his backside. Back, butt, thighs, horizontal calves...the high-arched soles of his girly feet, his toes tucked under. Eric's strong suit, at his age, was his youthful body. Men had always responded eagerly to it when he posted his ubiquitous ads on Deanslist. For a while, a few months prior, he'd signed on as a performer at the online livestream sex site MasterChat. Eric, true, had shaved a couple of years off his actual age on his profile. But still, even so, viewers and followers who had watched him dance, masturbate, dildo himself and perform other sex acts while dressed en femme, under wig, constantly expressed disbelief that he was, with his shaved, effeminate, relatively youthful body, the slightly false age he'd posted.
While performing on MasterChat Eric had received multiple marriage proposals as well as other invitations to visit. One man had invited Eric to come stay with him in London. He'd show him the sights! Eric found this offer amusing. He considered the UK his second home and traveled there almost yearly. Another man, in SoCal, had offered to get Eric a boob job. He would set Eric up with the "best plastic surgeon in L.A." and pay all the future she-male's expenses.
