The Domestic Job
My friend Gemma and I disagreed about just how much sexism there is in the world.
She thought the world was full of and driven by sexism with every interaction being dominated by it.
On the other hand I thought that sexism was a thing of the past, being less and less common everyday, eventually to fade away entirely.
I was sure her attitudes were shaped by the semi-celebrities her family rubbed shoulders with. Gemma Gianiopolis was the daughter of some big-wig: rich AND beautiful.
On the other hand, my attitudes were shaped by growing up on the other side of town, living among real people.
She argued that in education, in relationships, and in hiring, sexism would determine the outcomes more than any other factor.
Whereas me and my home friends just struggled to make ends meet and didn't care about any of that bullshit.
So I challenged her to find some proof.
Just behind us, in the Student Union, there was a job board where anybody could post a job. She just pointed to the board as if she'd already won her case.
I said, "There's a hundred jobs on that board and any one of those could be filled by a woman as well as by a man."
She said, "Every one of those jobs discriminates and women will always suffer from a disadvantage."
"Prove it!" I said.
She got up and looked over the jobs for a few minutes then came back with one. "Here's an obviously sexist ad! It's a horrible job designed to subjugate women in ways they would never do to a man."
I took the paper, looking it over. It read: "Housekeepers wanted. Fit, trim, youthful, applicants should apply for topless cleaning duties. Uniform provided. Great pay!"
I objected, "It's illegal. It shouldn't be on the board and doesn't count."
She shot back, "But it IS on the board and it's the oldest profession."
"Well" I countered, it doesn't say it's only for girls. "I could get a job there. Also it's great pay. How's that subjugation? And it's not prostitution, it's just topless work."
Waving the paper she said, "They'll never hire you! And you can't do the job. If they do, and if you survive a week, I'll let you be the first to have this!"
Saying that, she gestured to her magnificent body. In her mind, using her body like that was empowering. Then, feeling empowered she clawed the air and growled like a cat.
I thought that secretly she would like to get with me, but couldn't admit to wanting a guy-girl patriarchal relationship.
I asked, "If I lose?"
She answered coyly, "You'll be my butler and do whatever I want."
I would kill to sleep with Gemma. Her thin waist, super short shorts, and silver-black hair turned me on to no end.
She wasn't the only girl in my social group to adopt that popular style but I think she pulled it off the best.
But even if I won, she had a great capacity toward tortured logic and could twist the truth better than most.
Turning the ad over I wrote a contract on the back and had her sign it.
I wrote, "Robbi, If the offer on this paper isn't sexist I'll be your sex kitten for a week and do whatever you want. But if it is sexist then you'll be my butler for a week and do whatever I want - Gemma."
She signed it with a flourish, confident she would win.
The next day I went into the agency. There were pictures of college age girls all over the wall. All of them wore a French maid uniform from the waist down, and all of them were beautiful and topless.
The guy behind the counter didn't bat an eye. If anything, he seemed bored, "Fill out the application. It's twenty-two dollars an hour. The customer's always right. Tips are between you and the customer. Don't disappoint me."
I filled out the application, it was a standard form like any other. I asked, "So you have a position for a guy? And a uniform?"
He barely looked up, "You're a good looking kid. We have customers who will be very happy to have you clean their place with your strong muscles. The uniform's the same for everyone. We're an equal opportunity employer."
So far so good. I was clearly on my way to winning the contest. I'd passed the first hurdle.
Now I just needed to last a week - and I would make a shitload of money in the process.
The next day my first job was in the valley. It was a big house owned by a producer of some sort.
I packed my bucket of supplies and put on my uniform. It felt really strange to wear a skirt, stockings, garter, and high heels.
Standing in front of the mirror and holding up my hand, I blocked the image of my upper half and looked at my sexy maid bottom. I looked really feminine, and hot.
Then I blocked my view of my bottom half. I still had my six pack abs, ripped muscles, and thick biceps. I looked really masculine, and hot.
When I arrived the owner buzzed me through the gate. The front door was wide open so I went right in.
I learned his name was Paulee, and told him mine was Robbi. He loved my "stage-name": how feminine it was. I didn't reveal that it was my real name, nor that I always thought of it as manly.
He told me to clean the kitchen, vacuum the whole house, launder the linnen, and finish by skimming the pool.
He didn't seem disappointed that I wasn't a hot topless girl. I guess he really did just want his place cleaned.
I finished in about two hours so I'd made forty-four dollars - a lot for a college kid at that time.
I went over to the bar by the pool to get my card signed while tottering on high heels.
He offered me a drink and since I didn't have another job for the day I accepted.
We talked for a while and I even forgot I was a man in a skirt and fishnet stockings until he asked me what was holding the stockings up.
Matter of factly, I pointed to the garter straps, lifting the skirt to show him.
Next he asked about my package, "Is that all you under there?"
I never had thought to wonder if his questions were anything other than curiosity. And gayness or bisexuality weren't even things on my radar.
"All me? What else would it be?"
