My Lover's Maid

Yesterday was Emily’s wedding shower, co-hosted by two of her aunts. It was, by all that I heard from it, a lovely affair and we received some very thoughtful gifts, including some wonderful things for the kitchen that I can’t wait to use (I LOVE to cook.)

Emily had two of her college girlfriends in town for the shower—they came Saturday afternoon and spent the night at her place. Since this would be one of last times with them before we get married (they will be back for the bachelorette party in a couple of weeks), I was asked by Emily to spend the night at my house so they could hang out together.

Naturally, I was happy to obey. Yes, obey. Emily may have sounded like she was asking, but her implication was that she was ordering.

So, like a good boy (or girl), shortly after her friends arrived, I made my excuses and apologies and left for the evening, left them to the wine I had picked out, and to the food they were going to cook (I happily had picked out recipes.)

Why’s this blog worthy?

Well, around 11:00, Emily called (we always call and say goodnight if we’re not sleeping in the same place) and sounded a little tipsy, though not drunk. “Having fun,” I asked her.

“Yes, the food turned out great and we’re well into the wine.”

“I can tell,” I laughed at her happy tone. Not slurred, not drunk, just, well, happy.

We chatted just for a minute, I was ready to go to bed, but before hanging up, Emily asked me (again, “asked” in voice that sounded like a request but was really an order) to come over and clean up while they were at the shower. “We’re just having fun sitting around drinking and talking and none of us really feels like cleaning up,” she said.

“Yes, of course, Em,” I easily agreed.

“You’re such a dove,” she said to me, but then said something to her friends. “Of course he said he would, I told you, one of the reasons I love him is all the things he does for me.”

One of her friends mumbled something. Emily laughed. “Oh, no, he’s all mine, find your own…if you can.”

After we hung up, I got a text from Emily, a text of something she did not want to relay in front of her friends, who may think I’m a bit different, but who do not know the full extent of who I really am or Emily and I’s relationship.

—Wear you uniform when you come over to clean up.

I just stared at the text for a minute. How was I supposed to do that? Uniform? She meant my black satin French Maid’s uniform. How was I supposed to wear that? Her friends? I didn’t understand. I finally texted back.

—Emily, but your friends???

But of course she anticipated that question.

—Sara, Sara, Sara. We’re leaving at 10:30, shower is 11:30 to 2:30, so back by 3. Plenty of time. I’ll text when we leave just to be sure.

—Emily are you sure?

—Yes, my sweet sissy, I’m sure.

So, so, so. So I got up early Sunday morning and showered and shaved my legs and put on light makeup and the prettiest black lingerie. And stockings, of course. And my black satin French Maid’s uniform, the one with white lace trim and a white satin apron. And black pump heels.

And at 10:15, I put on a black raincoat and got in my car and drove to Emily’s house. She texted me as promised when they left right on time and at 10:40 I pulled into the garage, got out and went inside. For the next three hours, give or take, I cleaned up and straightened up Emily’s home. The wine bottles and wine glass and dinner dishes. I made the bed (all three slept in the same bed) all the while fantasizing about serving them. I cleaned up the bathrooms.

At 1:30, nervous about the time, but still reluctant, I finished up, got in my car, and drove home.

Emily, good to her word, texted me when they left; I let her know I was gone. At 3:00 she texted me again.

—House looks good, fucking hilarious.

—What’s hilarious.

—Becca and Nikki both said how nice the house looked and how lucky I was and how great you are and then Nikki said, ‘it’s like you had a maid service come over while we were gone.’

Yes, a maid service. A maid service for my lovely fiancee, for the woman I love, for my best friend.