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From: Eric Shon <EricShon@aol.com>
Subject: NEW!  "Unexpected Company" by Eric Shon (1/8) (M/f-teen, inc, cons)
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Unexpected Company
Part 1
by Eric Shon




     She had a week to kill, and she'd see me Sunday.  That's all she said
on my answering machine.
     I come from a large family, with birthdays spread over two decades. 
And since I came from the more recent decade, I actually knew very
little about my older siblings because they were practically grown and
itching to move out when I was just a little kid.
     So when I got the call from Renate, the oldest daughter of the
second-oldest of my sisters, I was quite surprised.  Then I was a little
pissed off that anybody in my family would just drop in basically
unannounced, without discussion.  I'm single and I live alone, so
preparing for visitors takes quite a bit of effort (think back to when you
were single and house cleaning came about eighth on your list behind
the game of the week, beer, hitting the clubs, looking for some tail, and
beer!), and since it was Friday night when I received the message, I was
in quite a panic over how to clean the mess out by Sunday!
     I dialed my sister's number in hopes of reaching Renate to maybe
push her visit back by a couple of days.  I was surprised when I said,
"It's Al," and my sister replied with "Al, who?"
     "Your baby brother, Al!" I replied a little tersely.  I'm her own
brother, for christ sake!
     "Oh!  I'm sorry Alvie!  Since the divorce I've met so many guys, I
forget whose names I've remembered!
     We exchanged small-talk for a few minutes, and then I brought up
Renate's phone message.
     "She said she has a week to kill, and that she'll be here Sunday. 
What the hell, Connie!"
     "Alvie!  Don't you remember Christmas two, three years ago?  When
you came home to see the family?  You told her she was welcome to
drop in on you any time if she was ever in Kentucky!"
     I scanned my brain for the event, and I vaguely remember talking to
a lot of people through a wine-induced haze.  I probably said it to about
thirty of my family members-cousins, uncles, and siblings, but I couldn't
recall any specific conversations.
     "Well, Con, I really don't remember telling her that," I said, hoping to
win a couple of days' stay.
     "Alvie, she's talked of little else since that day.  Well I mean that she
brings it up all the time.  She's always loved to travel, and now's her
chance.  You didn't call to break her heart, did you?"
     "Well, I don't want to break anyone's heart, but I'd like to risk
bruising it by putting her off for a couple of days.  Can I talk to her?"
     "Outa luck, bro," Connie said, with a touch of sarcasm in her voice. 
"She's been gone since Wednesday."
     "Gone?!  Where the hell is she?"  
     "Somewhere between Chicago and Louisville.  She's driving down to
her Army friend's college to help her unload and unpack."
     I was shocked.  "You let your daughter travel alone with an Army
guy?!  What the hell is wrong with you, Connie?"
     "Alvie, when's the last time you talked to anybody in the family?"
     I looked at the ceiling.  "Shit, I don't know.  A year?  Two?  A
couple of months after the big Christmas gathering."
     Connie's laughter crackled in my ear.  "You're out of the loop, little
brother!  She's in the Army herself, and so's the GIRL she's riding down
with!"
     "OK," I sighed.  "Catch me up."
     Connie then proceeded to tell me that shortly after graduation from
high school, Renate joined the Army to become a nurse.  But the Army's
program requires nurses to be officers, and you can't be an officer unless
you have a four-year college degree.  The Army signs you up, lets you
choose a school for nursing, subject to the Army's approval, puts you
through basic training, and then pays for your schooling.  When you
finish and get your nursing degree, then you owe the Army the rest of
your life.  Or something like that.  That's what I got out of my sister,
anyway.  
     "And so she's on her way to start school at the University of
Kentucky, but she's sidetracking to Indiana University to get her friend
set up there.  Then she's coming down to visit you.  From the way you
described where you live, it sounds like paradise."
      That's true.  As an advertising consultant for several agencies, I
make a decent buck, and being single, I get to keep most of those after
tax bucks in my pocket.  And then I lucked into an unbelievable,
secluded patch of land high up on a river bank.  It was property in
foreclosure, so I got it for a song.  It's only about 20 acres, but it's set
between a farmer's field and the river, so there's no noise, no traffic, and
only the occasional trespassing deer or two.  Having spent my college
Summers as a carpenter's assistant, and having a knack for carpentry
anyway, I had managed to build myself (most of it, anyway.  I had help)
a modestly spacious home overlooking the river.  At the time of
Renate's phone call I had just cut the hole into the deck for the hot tub,
but was still about two weeks away from getting it all set to go.
     Well, make that three weeks, now, with the impending week-long
visit from my mousy little niece whom I hadn't seen since she was... how
old?  Sixteen?  Fifteen?
     One last attempt:  "There's no way to reach her, Connie?  I need a
couple more days to clean up."
     "Sorry, Alvie.  She calls me whenever they stop for the night, and the
last time she called me was last night to tell me they had arrived at the
university.  They'll get her friend squared away, probably hit the bars
tonight, sleep it off tomorrow, and she'll hit the road Sunday morning. 
She'll probably be with you by noon or earlier."
     "That's just great, Connie.  Don't you think I deserved a little more
notice?"
     "Come on, Alvie!  She's just a kid.  You know how kids are.  They
plan maybe two days ahead, and that's it!  What are you grumbling
about?  She's family, right?  And you did say she could come by ANY
time."
     "Well, all right.  I don't remember saying it, but if it's something she
remembered for two years, then I guess I said it."
     We said our good-byes, I canceled my plans to go out chasing tail,
cleaned up areas of the most outrageous mess, and I immediately began
to scan the yellow pages for maid services.


*    *    *


     Early Saturday morning I was jarred awake by the phone.  I
answered it in a fog.
     "Senor Simon?" came the timid voice.
     "Yah, it's Mr. Simons."  I tried to decipher the lady's broken English.
     "Eedees may serbis," she chirped.  It took me a few seconds to
process the information, and to remember my agenda for the day.
     "Oh YES!  The MAID!  When are you coming?"
     "I loss."
     "Shit!" I murmured under my breath.  "OK, I'll come get you.  Where
are you?"
After struggling through her broken English, I got enough information
to where I was certain I could find her in town.
     I pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and trotted barefoot out to the
pick-up truck, and then bounced along the dirt trail that led out to the
highway.  10 minutes later I pulled into the Morden 7-11 and found her
still sitting by the phone.
     "Concita?"  I called out to her.  She certainly looked Hispanic, with
long dark hair, golden-brown skin, and deep black eyes.  She had a
clean, innocent face, and that wide-eyed smile that is so rare these days. 
She wore a big frumpy smock, and slacks that I can only describe as
matronly custodial, underneath which she wore thick soled, sensible
shoes.  As she sat on the bench outside the 7-11, she held her big black
purse closely to her body.
     "Senor Simon?" she called in response, her smile beaming brighter.
     "Yes..er, um...Si!"  Since it is so hard to find my place, I wanted her
to feel as comfortable as possible, and not to feel that I was angry at her
for getting lost.  And so I spoke entirely half of what I know of Spanish. 
"Um...follow me?"
     "Oh!  Si, Senor!" and she hopped up and skipped to her car.
     In another ten minutes we were back at my place.

     Concita's eyes went wide as she entered the kitchen.  She looked at
me briefly, still clutching her purse to her chest, and then she scanned
the rest of the areas visible to her.
     "Senor...will take long time!"  She had a sort of worried look on her
face.  I must be a bigger slob than most!
     "That's OK," I said.  "Just take your time, and I'll pay you a little
extra."
     The maid looked at me with a blank stare, and I realized she didn't
understand a word I had said.  "Si!" I said.  "OK."  She smiled and
headed out to her car for her supplies.
     While she readied herself to clean my house, I readied myself to clean
myself.  I went to the bedroom and doffed my shirt and my jeans.  I
decided I wanted to hear music while I was showering, so I padded out
toward the living room.  I was two steps in when I heard the kitchen
door bang as the maid pushed against it with her bucket.  I darted back
into the hallway cursing at myself for forgetting so quickly that there
was a stranger here, and that my usual habit, thanks to the seclusion
here, of walking around nude had to be curbed for the next week.
     I ducked into the bathroom, grabbed a towel, and wrapped it around
my naked waist.  I walked into the living room again, trying to remain
unnoticed, and moved toward the stereo.
     I was startled by Concita's gasp, and I jumped around to look at her. 
She turned and covered her eyes.  "I so sorry, Senor!  I go to start in
here, but I go back to kitchen."
     "No, Concita.  It's OK," I reassured.  "I just wanted to listen to
music."  With that I turned the stereo on.  "See?" I said, a little louder to
rise above the smooth jazz that poured out of the speakers.  Then, to
ease her embarrassment, I offered her the choice of music she preferred: 
"Here.  You pick." 
     She smiled, still averting her eyes from my body, and, as I expected,
chose a Spanish language station.  She looked only at my eyes, "Ees
OK?"
     I smiled back at her and nodded my head.  "Si...It's OK."
     "Gracias, Senor!"  She backed away from me toward the kitchen,
and I stepped through the doorway and toward the bathroom.
     While in the shower, I heard the music kick up a notch or two in
volume.  It was a lively song with horns and accordion, and I
understood not a word of it.  But I figured as long as the hired help is
happy, what would I care?
     The water coursed down my body as I lathered myself up.  My hands
reached my crotch and I felt the swelling begin.  It had been a week
since I'd had any pussy, and I'd been getting it pretty regularly since I
met Carolyn at Waldo's Pub in town about two years earlier.  She was
out of town on vacation with her kids...and her husband, so I was on
coitus hiatus for a while.  I had planned to make a move on Waldo's
new, young waitress, Stacey, on the previous night, but Renate's
impending visit quashed those plans.  So I closed my eyes and
envisioned Stacey in her tight Waldo's half shirt (Waldo was inspired by
Hooters, the nearest of which was about a hundred miles away), and the
short-shorts that seemed to fit her better than any of the other girls' fit
them.  She was just bending over to serve me, displaying her ample
cleavage, my hand slipping soapily over my fully stiff cock, when I heard
the vacuum sweeper bang into the bathroom door.  It startled me so
much that I slipped and nearly fell in the shower.  I shook my head and
decided against finishing the job at hand, and I could almost hear my
balls heave a disappointed sigh.
     I stepped out of the shower and dried off, and then followed my
once-weekly ritual of shaving the pubic stubble from my pelvis and balls. 
It's a habit that stems from when I was 
in college.  A friend of mine there had gotten me into working out at the
gym with him, and after about a year of toning and firming, I looked in
the mirror one day and realized that I was one of those guys who could
wear a Speedo...in public!  That idea in my head, I went out and
purchased one at the university Rec center, which also happened to be
where the swim meets were held.  I brought it home and almost died
laughing when I saw the thick tufts of pubic hair sticking out from the
waist band and both leg bands!  So then I went out and bought a pair of
hair clippers at Wal-Mart, and proceeded to trim the excess.  but it
looked uneven, and it still poofed out the material of the briefs, so I
trimmed the pubes down to stubble.  Though the look satisfied me, it
was incredibly uncomfortable because the stubble was prickly and I
constantly itched.  So I decided the solution was to shave it bare.  Once
done, I couldn't get over how sensitive the area was to touch, and how
alien it looked without hair.  I looked like a little kid with a man's cock! 
I couldn't wear the Speedos to the beach or the pool for several weeks
afterward, however, because I had a constant hard-on from the snug feel
of the material against my bare skin!  But the biggest thing about it is the
looks and attention I get from women.  They never expect to see a bare
pubic area on a man, and it seems to fascinate them!  And the sensations
of oral attention to that area are out of this world!  They also seem to be
more receptive to the idea of giving blowjobs without all that hair there
to gag them and get stuck between their teeth.  Anyway, after shaving it
the first time, it became a routine.
     While shaving, I got hard again.  It actually helps because the skin is
stretched, reducing the risk of nicks and cuts, but since I had decided
against giving myself release, at least for now, I was mostly
uncomfortable.
     Once done, I pulled on my jeans again and ventured out into the
living room.  Concita had already finished vacuuming and was dusting
the furniture.  "Ola!" I said, exhausting the other fifty percent of Spanish
I knew.
     "Oh!  Ola, Senor!"  She said as she turned toward me, but once she
had me in view she averted her gaze again.  I felt a little twinge of self-
consciousness at being bare-chested, but it's my house, damn it!
     "Coffee?" I said as I padded into the kitchen and grabbed a cup from
the dish drainer.
     "Oh!  Si, Senor!  Gracias, Senor!"  I poured her cup and she walked
over and sipped it black.  
     "Please, Concita, call me Al."  I poured myself a cup.
     "Ol?" she blurted
     "Al," I corrected.
     "All!" 
     "No, AL."
     "Si.  Oll?"
     "Just call me Senor Simons." I conceded with a roll of my eyes.  "It's
easier for both of us."
     "Si, Senor."  And with that she put her cup down and went back to
work.
     While Concita finished dusting the furniture and moved on to dust
and vacuum in my bedroom, I busied myself by going over some
proposals I was preparing for submittal  the next week.  The Latin music
and the clatter and bang of Concita's cleaning became an audial blur in
the background of my mind until I heard a sharp sigh behind me in the
kitchen.  I turned to see Concita just as she had set her bucket down on
the kitchen floor.  With her back to me she removed her loose fitting
floral smock and lay it on the counter.  Underneath it she was wearing a
rather tight tank-style white shirt.  What amazed me was how I had seen
her as somewhat fat and round, when in reality she had quite a shapely
figure with a strong back and shoulders.  Thus she suddenly appeared
much younger to me than I thought she was!
     I cleared my throat, half conscious that it was as much to get her to
turn around for me as it was to clear my throat, and she turned briefly. 
It was long enough for me to see that she had a truly magnificent body! 
Her breasts weren't large, but they were round and full and sat high on
her chest.  I didn't get a long enough look to decide whether she was
wearing a bra or not, but at this point it didn't matter.  Her "matronly
custodial" slacks hugged at her tiny waist, but were baggy around her
legs.  She nodded her regard of me, and then proceeded to her task of
washing the kitchen floor...on her knees!  I was about to protest and
show her where the mop was, but as she bent over the bucket and then
began scrubbing the floor, I was treated to one of the most delectable
views of cleavage I have ever seen!  As she pressed her weight down
onto the scrubber in her hands, her arms pressed her tits together, which
made the clingy cotton shirt separate and fall away slightly, and I could
see to her smooth belly.  No nipple was exposed, but at that point I
didn't care.  
     I watched her for several minutes, my hard-on growing again to
swell in my jeans, before she noticed me.  She let out a slight laugh and
turned her body around to continue the kitchen floor's scrubbing.  This
gave me a pleasant view of her ass.  Bent over in this manner, the baggy
pants she wore stretched tightly across her buttocks, revealing to me
that this Latin lady was quite hot!
     I had to force myself back to work, otherwise I was going to explode
in my pants!  As one would expect, I couldn't concentrate on my work
any more, so I started thinking of a way I could get Concita to polish my
pole.  How do you say "Wanna fuck?" in Spanish?
     I heard her get up and drag the bucket to the bathroom.  With the
music drowning out her grunts and sighs of physical exertion, I was able
to get some of my concentration back.  After about a half hour she
walked past where I was working and said, "I do weendows, now,
Senor, and then done."
     Had I thought she would understand, I'd have made a joke about
cleaning ladies who do windows, but I didn't bother.  It was almost sad. 
After about a half-hour of hearing the occasional thump and squeak of
glass, she went out the door.  
     My coffee had long since grown cold, so I went into the kitchen to
dump and refill my cup.  In my peripheral vision I noticed movement
outside the kitchen sink window, so I looked up, and my hand went
limp, my cup dropping  into the sink and breaking into several large
pieces.  Concita was wetting the glass down with her cleaning solution,
and in reaching up to the highest parts of the window, her body was
pressing against the glass.  The cotton fabric of her tank top was getting
soaked by the solution, and the combination of those elements quite
graphically revealed to me that my hot Latin cleaning lady was indeed
bra-less!  I stood there drooling as she went about cleaning the window,
oblivious both to her gorgeous revelation and to me, standing there
drooling.  She moved around the corner to the next window, and I
followed like a monkey at the zoo, slathering as she pressed up against
the glass again, her breasts flattening and sliding left and right, the dark
brown nipples centering my vision as clearly as if they were uncovered
and within my reach.  I continued to watch her as she worked her way
around the entire house, ending up at the kitchen door.  She was startled
to see me standing there when she opened it, but then she spoke. 
"Senor?"
     I just stood there looking at her tits shining through the transparent
fabric in the soft, late afternoon light coming through the sparkling clean
windows, my cock an ominous presence straining against denim. 
"Senor...?"  She followed my gaze down to her breasts, and then she
shrieked when she realized that she was on display.
     She threw her hands up to her chest and covered herself up, and then
dropped her head in abject shame and embarrassment and began to cry.
     "No, no, Concita.  It's OK!" I tried.  I placed my hands on her
shoulders.  "It's OK.  Don't worry.  You're beautiful."  In reply, I got
more sobs and muttered Spanish phrases.  My natural reaction was to
pull her to me and hug her gently.  She buried her face in my chest, the
wetness of her tears cooling on my bare skin and causing my nipples to
harden.  The feel of her hot body against me was intoxicating, and I
rubbed my hands down her back.  I pulled at her waist gently, trying to
rub my straining cock against her belly, but she was pitched too far
forward with her face in my chest, so I didn't push it.  Instead I leaned
my head down and kissed her bare shoulder.  Then I slid my lips along
her shoulder, licking subtly along the way toward her neck.  I felt goose-
bumps raise in her skin as I made my way.  My lips moved over the bend
from shoulder to neck and I began suckling softly there.  She craned her
neck in pleased response, but then suddenly she pulled away, looking
directly into my eyes, confusion and fear in hers.  I whispered, "No.  It's
OK."  I reached for her and gently touched her wet breast.  I stepped
toward her and placed the palm of my hand flat against her breast, and I
heard a raspy sigh escape her lips as she slowly rocked her head back. 
She leaned forward, pressing her breast harder into my palm.  I slid my
hand around to the back of her head and tilted it forward so that I could
kiss her lips.  She reached up with her lips for mine, but after the first
electric touch there, she went rigid, panted, "No!" and then rattled off
something in Spanish, and grabbed her smock.  She kept muttering as
she put it on, her head hung as if in shame.  She picked up all of her
cleaning supplies and ran out the door and to her car.  I followed behind
her, apologizing and asking her to wait when I realized she was about to
leave without getting paid!  "Wait!"  I cried.  I stammered.  "M-money. 
Uh...  Di- de-  dinero!"  A third word of Spanish that I know!  I ran
back into the house, grabbed my wallet and pulled out five 20 dollar
bills, and ran to her car just as she was backing away from the house.
     "Wait!!  Here's your money!"  She spun the wheel to the right,
swinging the front end of the car right at me, so I tossed the bills into
her open window and dived out of the way.  She popped the
transmission out of reverse and into drive, and spun the tires in the dirt. 
Just as she passed from my view, she flashed a look at me.  Her eyes still
filled with confusion and shame, and,  I was afraid, anger.
     All I could think of was what she was going to say to her employer. 
And whether the cops were going to be here before the weekend was
up!   How stupid can a man be?  I slumped into the kitchen and found
her bucket, still full of water, sitting there.
     I figured to wait until Monday, then call the cleaning service and tell
them that Concita had left her bucket.  I grabbed a beer out of the
refrigerator and sucked half of it down in one big swig.  I thought of
going into the bedroom and easing the pressure on my balls from a week
of abstinence and a day of abject torture, but I decided I'd finish this
beer, and perhaps another, first.


***Be sure to read the rest of "Unexpected Company," parts 1-8, by
Eric Shon, as well as other Eric Shon stories here, and at Mr. Double's
website:   http://www.mrdouble.com.

Tell me what you think of this story!  Send comments to
ericshon@aol.com


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