Category Archives: 11/2009

Some Relationships Simply Don’t Last

Written by Lilith Raymour

The Professor took off his glasses and wiped them. He had been thinking of his housekeeper. So erotic, especially last night. She let him do anything and everything he wanted.

“I’m glad my wife’s away for the week. She’d never understand.”

He had a hard time as he interviewed students about their papers and their desires to get better grades. The girls were the most annoying. He was devoted to his wife: he could never cheat on her; especially with some young thing looking for good grades. Well, except with the housekeeper.

The day seemed to wear slowly and before he eventually picked up his briefcase at 6; walked out to the staff’s lot, and climbed into his Lexus. He had grown stiff from fantasizing about the housekeeper.

It was dark as he approached the house except his bedroom. He had left a light on. He threw his briefcase on the kitchen table and went upstairs. In his room he imagined he could hear her screams for mercy, but that was impossible. She was locked into the closet and tied down tight so she wouldn’t escape. He imagined her pleading for mercy, telling him she deserved to be punished. Just thinking about it turned him on. He had been kinky enough to tape her mouth shut when he left for college this morning. Not that she would ever really say anything. She was always so quiet, willing: compliant.

He threw open the closet door, dragged her out and threw her on the bed. She didn’t struggle. Just when he started to mount her he heard a sound: escaping air….

“Oh, damn, damn, damn. Now I have to ‘hire’ a new housekeeper. I hope the wife doesn’t see the package when UPS delivers my next housekeeper.”

He knew she would never understand.
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Copyright 2009
Lilith Raymour
all rights reserved

Your next Housekeepr awaits

Your next Housekeepr awaits

Housekeepers

Written by Namraknec

“Don’t just slap those papers on the desk and prop up your feet. Did you grade them yet?”

“No, Ma’am.”

“Don’t you ‘Ma’am’ me. You spiff up those papers right now. I expect your grading to be spic n span. If you work hard, put your nose to the good grade grind stone, maybe you’ll be a Housekeeper someday.”

“OK, but I doubt that. I don’t have the experience for that pay grade. I spent my college years smoking pot, drinking and having someone write my papers for me as much as possible. Besides, everyone knows that practical experience; and doing the manual labor that has to be done to keep society flowing, deserves more pay than professors, or writers, or entertainers, or politicians. That’s why housekeepers, gravediggers, sanitation workers, attendants at 24 hour gas stations who risk their lives night after night, ditch diggers, handymen and women earn more than someone like me.”

“But remember, Professor, anyone can succeed if they work hard enough.”

“Yes, you’re right. And that’s the way it should be. Imagine a world where people who do work that really doesn’t have to be done earn more. How insane. I imagine more people would kill themselves, take drugs, drink themselves into oblivion and live their lives thinking they’re just not good enough.”

“Yes, Professor, I suppose so. I suppose so. We’d need a steady supply of the kinds of workers society can’t function without. Imagine if no one took dead bodies away? Or no one was around to take care of the waste you flush? Housekeepers would be so uninspired by their work it would take at whole room filled with them to do the work of one.”

“Yes, Ma’am. But such a world would be so out of kilter it would never be able to function right, would it?”

“I imagine so, Professor, I imagine so.”

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Copyright 2009
namraknec
all rights reserved

The Professor

Written by Millie Jenny C.

She woke up suddenly. What had startled her awake? She had no idea, but there she was awake. She looked at the clock. It was a good forty-five minutes earlier than when the alarm would normally ring. She thought, if I go back to sleep, I will feel worse. . . She stumbled to get her coffee made, shower taken and face on for the upcoming day. Off she went.

On the way to work in her powder blue Mazda 323, well beyond its days she thought, I just know that Professor is going to have a gigantic mess as usual. She fumed as she flew on through the first yellow light quickly changing to red. Glancing behind her she watched for blue lights. Good, no officer of the law this time, she had forgotten to look. Thats all she needed on a Monday morning.

She was still unsure if having 2 wheels in the intersection would be good enough to avoid a ticket. Now as she blew through the second intersection, she cursed. She did not see the white car that was now following her with the siren & blue lights flashing. Now she was mad at herself. Had she wished the ticket on herself? She pulled off on the shoulder, pulled out her license & registration. She showed them to the officer, Did you realize you went through . . . Yes, yes . . . Im in a hurry. Yes, I am aware I need to pay more attention, slow down. . . I can hurt myself & others. I will slow down. Nancy Piper sat there and waited and waited. It seemed like an eternity.

The officer finally came back to her car. Here is your ticket, Miss Piper and have a nice day and next time just slow down!

A half hour later she calmly pulled back into the backed up morning traffic, cursing again but holding to the speed limit, stopping at all the rest of the lights. Nancy even stopped at the light that was about to change, almost getting run over by the red Camaro. Where was that cop when the driver barely missed her, flipping her the bird with horn Blasting!

She pulled up in front of her bosss office. Yes, yes. . . now I am more than a little irritated. Anticipating the mess, the traffic ticket, road rage etc. The Professor will be upset. He makes the worst messes and if I am a couple of minutes late, well you can guess. She did not want to hear the screeches & shrill calls and all that! It was just so undignified. It seems the messes are even worse on Mondays especially when she is in a bad mood. Since mornings are not her favorite part of the day, this pattern is often repeated over & over. She braced for the encounter as she slowly finished her drive to the office.

Nancy asked herself, How long have I been the housekeeper for this college office? She wished she could have her office be a residence as well. Professor Taylor liked his classes as close to his Then she could sleep to the last possible second and then be there at work, just walking across campus. Well that depends on how you look at it.

Nancy Piper was the housekeeper for that colorful and showy Ms. Polly Witherspoon first. She had been respectful. Despite all of her fluff and feather flying ways she had some dignity. She was not nattering about this and that while she was cleaning. She was quiet and quite respectful. Sure she had her days when she would go on and on and Nancy would have to try & silence her.

She walked in felt violated again. Not only was the Professor screeching at the top of his lungs, the mess was incredible and the stench almost made her wretch. Yet she proceeded to get on the gloves and start to clean. Now you would think the Professor could clean up after himself or at least keep the newspapers tidy. No they were scratched up and stained. It looked like professor had slept in them. It looked like he had tumbled about like he was drunk and make as much of a mess as possible.

She cleaned up as quickly as possible. Straightening, throwing out soiled newspapers, complaining as she went. She even started complaining. She did not realize she was complaining out loud until she heard repeated back to her, You are a bad, bad bird. Bad Ralphie. Bad Ralphie. Why cant you be a nice bird? Why?

And to make matters worse, he screeched at her, Ralphie wants a treat. Ralphie wants a treat. Treat, my ass, Nancy said. Ralphie screamed at the top of his lungs, My ass.. . my ass. Now she had done it. He would probably repeat that at the next board meeting.

As calmly as she could, Nancy walked over to the Professor Ralphies cage and opened the door. Out flew the parakeet. She shooed him out the window saying, And dont come back. She had done this about 5 times previously. Not every week so the college would suspect. Yet each week when she returned there was Professor Ralphie, sitting on his perch waiting to terrorize her again. She could only hope that the next time she released him, he would not return.
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Copyright 2009
Millie Jenny C.
all rights reserved

Double Duty

Written by Sennebec

“How did it go? Professor Syndic Mahoney set his coffee cup on the tan napkin beside his freshly emptied plate and discharged a discrete burp.

Lordy Perfesser, I wish you coulda been a bird in a tree, Words wont hardly describe what a ruckus the whole event was. Flora McGonicle brushed imaginary crumbs off her apron before grabbing the dirty plate and heading for the soapstone sink in the kitchen. When she returned, her employer raised an inquisitive eyebrow, indicating she should join him at the table while she caught him up on her unexpected trip to West Montgomery, VT., the town she had left nearly thirty years ago. The previous Friday Flora had picked up the hall telephone on the second ring, only to learn that her stepfather had passed away unexpectedly while defending his title for the twentieth time in the Florn County cow chip toss at the Montgomery Agricultural Fair. The funeral would be on Sunday with burial next to his first wife in the town cemetery.

While Professor Mahoney found the idea of being interred next to Floras stepmother a tad odd, he had kept his opinion to himself, instead making arrangements for Flora and her not terribly bright husband Alfred, to fly from Philadelphia to Montpelier where they would pick up a rental car, ensuring their arrival in plenty of time for both the Saturday wake and Sunday funeral. Good housekeepers were hard to come by, even in the deteriorating economy and he wasnt about to risk losing his by seeming penurious or unsympathetic.

Flora eased herself into the chair opposite his, heaving a big sigh as her ample backside came into contact with the memory foam underneath the custom embroidered seat. Well, Perfessor, Things was movin along right fine until we got ready for the burial. The flight was great. They even gave Alfred extra peanuts and a second diet Moxie. The car was wicked shiny and had one of them GSPs which tells you how to get where ya wanna go, step by step. Gosh, even Alfred couldnt get lost usin one of them contraptions. Ma met us as we pulled into the driveway. Lawdy, she was holdin up better than either of us expected. Course, tappin some of the extra hard cider down in the root cellar didnt hurt none.

Flora pulled a rumpled handkerchief from her apron pocket and dabbed both eyes before continuing. Everyone got through the wake just fine, even if Cousin Elbridge did manage to lose his upper teeth in the casket. Luckily, his wife wasnt at all averse to pawin around next to the departed and he was back in business in no time at all. I was wicked certain we was gonna sail right through the rest of the weekend without a hitch. Shows what I know, I guess. The funeral was awful nice, with Reverend Loal Fibberjack comin all the way down from the Northeast Kingdom to honor Pa. The Montgomery Rotary Club Barbershop Quartet did an acapella rendition of The Old Rugged Cross that I swear brought tears to the eyes of everyone, even the wasps circlin Old Man Jessbaums bald spot.

When we got to the cemetery, all hell broke loose. Perfesser, it aint like here in the big city where everythings computerized and just exactly so. No sirree, things back home can get outta hand at the drop of a hat and some son of a bear screwed up big time. First inkling anyone had was when Lem Ferdhoffers boys hit somethin solid as they was getting ready to dig down next to Dads first wife. Twenty minutes later, we was starin at someone elses casket laid beside the first missus. Ill tell ya that threw everyone for a loop. How in tarnation someone else got buried in Dads final restin place was beyond anyone standin around with their faces hangin out. Darn good thing my brother Freds so fast on his feet. See Hed hired the volunteer fire department to provide a barbecue down at the station following the funeral. All it took to solve our dilemma was a couple sawbucks donated to the air-pack fund and half a dozen bottles of that good cider from down cellar to kill off any lingering inhibitions on the part of them fire boys. Seems they had an extra barbecue pit readied in case of an overflow. Luckily, it was downwind of the rest of the set-up. Two or three honks into the cider and the idea that Dad was getting cremated in a barbecue pit didnt seem odd at all. Hell After four, the idea was hilarious and we toasted him until the last drop went down the hatch.

Flora stood, realizing she needed to take the clean load of clothing from the washer in the basement and hang everything on the line out back. Anyhow Perfesser, by the time anyone was ready to deal with Dad, he was cool enough to be gathered together and stuffed into a couple Prince Albert cans. Nobody could see wastin the hard work of Lems boys, so we laid Dad on top of whoever in hell was buried beside his first Missus and came home.
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Copyright 2009
Sennebec
all rights reserved

Photo courtesy Arla Ruggles and jpgmag.com

Photo courtesy Arla Ruggles and jpgmag.com

The Housekeeper and the Professor

Written by Ken Carman

She sang softly as she dusted off the old phone booth that had been dismantled from its location in England and brought back to the office she was cleaning. Her thoughts were pleasant, casual, although she knew…

“So much to do today. Must not think about it now. Just relax. Ah, this booth is a pain. Professors are so eccentric. A phone booth in an office. How odd. How interesting. But this job would be easier if this booth wasn’t here.”

Dust here. Dust there. She was really good at cleaning. She knew all too well that professors needed things to be spotless so when they come back from class they could mindlessly dump papers to grade on their desks. It annoyed her a bit that well dusted, wiped, ordered papers on the desk, tables, shelves, now immaculate old books, pictures, awards, degrees on the wall would soon be a mess again. Then, next morning, she would once more do her duty and get it ready to be made messy again. Such was the job of being “housekeeper.” A professor can’t be as perfect when it comes to being “clean” as she could be.

Everyone has their place, she knew. Her job now: the housekeeper; and there was a lot to do. This office was more home to a professor than the professor’s actual home. There was even a well-slept on couch in the office and cooking plate.

She remembered long ago, long before she came to this college, she had been a maid, a secretary: even pumped gas as an attendant. She was a student once herself and graduated college. Yet she didn’t mind being the housekeeper, not one bit. Her job now, though some academics might claim it demeaning, gave her great pleasure, despite constantly cleaning up after a messy professor.

“Professors deal in the abstract with metaphors, or complicated formulas. They often don’t have time to appreciate the simple things like just cleaning and bringing order to a professor’s office,” she thought.

So, whistling and humming to herself, she cleaned, and cleaned, cleaned and when she was done she sighed, contented.

“OK, time to put on my super suit.”

She stepped into the old phone booth and changed into her super suit for everyone to see. Then she walked across the quad to her first class…

…as the professor.
___________________________________________________
Copyright 2009
Ken Carman
All Rights Reserved

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