Going Up and Going Down (15 page)

Sex....

I spent the
first week after my parents’ death in either total disbelief or total
devastation, alternating between the two. When Anthony took me back home from
the funeral, I crawled into a corner and howled the place down. A box of
tissues constantly by my side; I took to pouring brandy down my neck all day,
every day. It didn’t go down very well with the tablets. It didn’t do anything
to numb the pain for me. I reached a stage where the tears ceased completely.
There were no more tears to cry. Anthony didn’t go into the office. I think he
must have been worried about me. He made sure I tried to eat something and
stood over me at times to make sure that I did. The rocking stage came next. I
sat cross-legged, arms around my knees, and rocked constantly. Anthony called
our doctor who came out two nights in a row and gave me a sedative to help me
sleep. He also left a new prescription - an increased dosage of my
anti-depressants.

Three weeks
after the funeral I went into the office –but not to work. I hadn’t been in
touch with anyone since my parents had died. I realised I was not being fair to
Ted, I had behaved badly but I couldn’t face seeing people or even speaking to
them. I had relied on Anthony far too much to protect me from people. I knew
that it had to stop sometime, and this was the time. I needed to see Mr Hopkins.
I knocked on his door, popped my head around and said “Can I come in please,
Ted?”

“Helen, please
do.” He gestured towards the chair opposite him

“I didn’t
expect to see you back yet. Surely…you need a little more time. Take all you
need, it’s not a problem.”

I felt guilty.
I had been inconsiderate and I didn’t want him to be nice to me. I couldn’t
even look him in the eye, I would start crying again.

“Ted, the
reason I’ve come in is…” I hesitated, “I can’t return, I just can’t, it
wouldn’t be fair to you, or to any of the staff. I’ve not been pulling my
weight lately. You know that, so does everyone else. My parents…I’m devastated.
I have serious problems in my marriage. I have other issues too, which you
can’t fail to have noticed, I know some of the girls have noticed. I can’t
concentrate, I can’t work. I’m no good to anyone, so it’s only fair that I
should leave. It will give you the chance to employ somebody, or take another
partner on, someone who can give one hundred percent. I’m not even capable of giving
ten percent at the moment and I can’t see that improving in the near future. It
is going to take me a long time to get over this…Mum and Dad…my marriage. I
don’t know how long…”

“Helen, could
you not even think this through for…who knows…however long it takes?  Three or
possibly four months even? We could get by – just. You’re jumping the gun, it’s
still early days.”

He was such a
lovely man, so compassionate and so patient, I hated doing this to him. The
trouble was it could be too detrimental to the business if I stayed and
couldn’t give one hundred percent, I couldn’t do that to him.

“But it’s not
just the grieving, Ted, it’s all the other issues - my marriage, I can’t keep
my O.C.D. in check. I
am
leaving, Ted, I
have
to.”

His eyes showed
his disappointment although he smiled kindly at me.

“Well, you’re
still a partner here. You can have your percentage of the profits. I can’t say
fairer than this – I’ll get an agency worker.  Take what you need, one year or
maybe two, but come back please.”

I couldn’t give
him my promise so I didn’t say anything. He came with me to my office, and I
cleared my personal bits and pieces from my desk. There wasn’t much, a few of
my favourite pens and a picture of Anthony (which I intended slinging into the
nearest bin once I left the office). My laptop was already at home so there
wasn’t much else. I tried to give Ted an update on the files that I had been
working on to bring him up to speed, although with everything that had happened
to me, my recollections were vague. I stepped towards him and put the pile of
files in his arms. Ted being the way he is, immediately put them back down onto
my desk and held his arms out to give me a hug.

“I am so sorry,
Helen. Please stay in touch. I really hadn’t expected this bombshell today, but
I want you to know, I do understand your reasons, I really do. If there’s anything
I can ever do to help...”

“Thank you,
Ted. Can I just ask one more thing of you please?”

“Certainly,
what can I do?”

“Would you
please mind telling the staff after I’ve gone? I love them all dearly but I
can’t face them, the way I’m feeling…Tell them I will be in touch - when I’m
ready.”

“Consider it
done, my dear.”

“Thank you
again, Ted.”

I walked out of
the door relieved that I had one less thing preying on my mind. Remembering the
picture of Anthony in my handbag, I tossed it in a waste bin at the end of the
street, and I took little pleasure from doing so. I didn’t know where I was
going, or what I was going to do. Just over the road from the waste bin, I
spotted the tube station and crossed over. I got on the first train that
stopped and I had no idea which direction it was going, or where I was going to
get off.

I don’t know
how long I had been travelling when I woke up from my daydreams, but the train
had just stopped at Oxford Circus tube station. I must have been staring at the
man who was sat opposite me (not intentionally), because he was glaring back at
me as if I was some alien from another planet. He made me feel uncomfortable,
so I quickly snatched up my handbag and left the train.         Once out of the
station into the open again, I walked. Half of the time I didn’t know where I
was but I just kept on going, changing direction without realising and totally
unaware of the length of time I had been walking.

It suddenly
dawned on me that people were looking at me, and I couldn’t understand why. I
started to taste the tears that rolled into my lips. I was then aware that I
couldn’t make out the faces of the people that stared, they were blurred.
Feeling embarrassed, I turned to what I thought was a shop window on the
pretext that I was window shopping. Only it wasn’t a dress shop, or any other
shop for that matter. I was looking straight at the job vacancies in a
recruitment office. “Chambermaids wanted, apply within.” I quickly dabbed at my
eyes and went in.

One hour later,
I was emerging from a top London hotel, with a bag containing two chambermaid
uniforms with instructions on who to report to the next Monday morning. When I
arrived home (it seemed a stupid thought, but that’s how I still referred to
the marital house I shared with Anthony), I ignored the mess in the house, I
ignored the mail sat on the doormat near the front door and went up to my room.
Opening the bag I took out the uniforms, and wondered what the hell had gotten
into me. I was a qualified accountant for heaven’s sake. What on earth had
possessed me to apply for a job as a cleaner in a hotel? I started an argument
with myself there and then.
Yes girl, but you are an accountant who can’t
even do her job anymore. Too much going on in your life, you can’t concentrate,
you can’t even do anything right any more.  So you’ve found yourself a job that
you can actually do, haven’t you? You can clean. You can make a good job of
this - you’ve got O.C.D. for heaven’s sake. Just turn up there on Monday
morning. Do it. Get out of the house, away from him. Nobody need know what you
are doing. But Mum and Dad would have gone crazy if they knew about this. They
will do. They’ll be watching over you Helen.  That’s what they always did.
Watch over me.
The argument within, carried on for over two hours, covering
the same ground, asking the same questions, answering the same answers. My mind
was made up. I would turn up for that job on Monday morning. Anthony needn’t
know. I was not going to make him any the wiser, and there was nobody else to
tell him.

I turned up at
the hotel with ten minutes to spare on my first day. I checked in with head
housekeeper, Mrs Fenwick, first and filled in some of my personal details on
the form she handed me. She handed over my name badge and showed me to the
locker room where I had to change into one of the little black dresses and
crisp white maid’s aprons that had been provided. One of the girls, Sandra,
took me to the floor that I would be working on and introduced me to Jodie, the
girl who would spend the day with me to show me the ropes.

Jodie was a
nice kid, more mature than I would have expected for an eighteen year old and
unusually conscientious for someone of her years. As we chatted our way through
the morning, I happened to mention to her that I detected more than a hint of
iciness in Mrs Fenwick’s manner. She laughed her agreement as she told me that
all the staff referred to the head housekeeper as ‘Frigid Flo.’ I enjoyed
Jodie’s constant chattering and at least if she was doing all the talking, I
didn’t have to say much. I preferred to keep it that way - it would keep things
simple. I made up my mind that I wouldn’t reveal any details about my recent
devastating news or my disastrous private life.

I was relying
on my O.C.D. to help get me through each working day and it struck me as ironic
that my mental health issue actually had a use! I cleaned, scrubbed and took a
genuine pride in my work, or so Jodie thought, but she was unaware of the inner
demons I was attempting to rid myself of. There were more than a few occasions
when I caught her glancing at me suspiciously, and it didn’t shake me in the
slightest when she posed the question,

“Have you done
this type of work before, Helen? Because you’re making a great job of these
rooms. It surprises me because you don’t actually look the type. You look kind
of…educated, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

I returned her
smile as I quickly scoured my head for what to say. I sensed that if I didn’t
volunteer something about my private life she would keep pushing.

“Thank you,
Jodie. You’re right! I did have a good education.”

Her eyes were
agog. She plonked herself on the bed we had just made, laid on her side,
propped up on one elbow. Getting comfortable for a heart to heart, she wanted
more and looked at me expectantly. I reluctantly obliged.

“I
was
married but he…he cheated. I’ve still got the bills to pay so I do anything I
can to earn money. It’s very hard, living alone, but it’s what I have to do to
keep my house and pay the bills. I work from home as well, doing business on
the internet, which I can do on a night and weekends. I work as many hours in a
day as I can.”

She seemed to
accept quite happily what I’d just told her and we got on with the rest of the
day’s work on our floor. I wasn’t happy with myself but I couldn’t tell her
that I had worked in accountancy or that I suffered with O.C.D. I liked the
girl a lot and her chitchat kept me amused for the most part. At other times, I
tried to switch off from her. I also kept attempting to visualise my parents,
but it was hard. I hoped they wouldn’t think bad of me or be disappointed –
think that I was weak for giving into my grief and throwing away my career.

Mrs Fenwick came
out of her office to see me the next morning. She had apparently heard
excellent reports about my work from Jodie
and
the shift supervisor, and
from that morning onwards I would be working alone. She handed me the details
of the rooms I would be working on that day. The solitude was lovely. I cleaned
and scrubbed, only focusing on what was in front of my eyes. I didn’t have to
think, or concentrate. I disinfected, I cleaned out my mind. Cleared it of
hurtful thoughts! Thoughts of Gavin, Anthony, rape and my grief over the death
of my parents! But the hurt returned with a vengeance each time I left the
hotel. It didn’t feel like I would ever be over it. And for the first time
ever, I wished I had a brother or sister – a sibling, someone who would be able
to understand my grief and be my shoulder to cry on.

I wondered if I
could have better coped with my grief if I didn’t have so many other issues -
if I had a loving husband at home to talk to and care for me. It further
grieved me that
I
didn’t
even have
that
!

Anthony was
absolutely clueless where I was going or what I was doing each day; I left home
in my car every morning, parked up in a car park near the tube station and
caught the train into the city centre. It wasn’t likely that he would ever find
out. He’d never phoned me at work
before
we became estranged and I
doubted he would do that now.

I carried on
going to work each day from Monday to Friday. I had specifically requested not
to be given weekend shifts, mainly for the reason that I didn’t want Anthony to
realise what I was doing. Our indifference towards each other was as much a
routine for us as our working hours. We shared a bottle of wine at times, but
conversation between us was still almost non-existent.

After I’d been
working at the hotel for no more than a few weeks, Mrs Fenwick told me I was
being promoted to the top floor where all the penthouse suites were situated.

“They are much
bigger than those you have been used to. The standard of cleaning must be
exceptional, Helen. There’s more to do, but you don’t have so many of them.” She
continued to tell me, “I’m bringing down one of the other girls, she’s been
missing a few things lately and we’ve received complaints. I can’t afford to
let that happen where special guests are concerned. Don’t let me down on this,
Helen. You’ve worked hard and you are now my best chambermaid, so I’m giving
you this opportunity – I’m putting my trust in you.”

It was ironic.
My O.C.D. had done well for me. Was I expected to be pleased? I tried to find some
emotion from within but I came up with…indifference. My good manners however
came to the fore.

“Thank you, Mrs
Fenwick, I’ll try not to let you down.”

I had been told
by the other staff that she very rarely made an appearance on the top floor to
check the suites, so I would have to check my own work. I knew my pride would
be hurt if she ever received any complaints. Every shift from then on I made my
way up in the lift to the top floor; Garden, Kensington, Thames and Tower.

She hadn’t been
wrong about the extra work. The bathrooms were large, the bedrooms bigger, and
a decent sized lounge with dining areas to each. I tried not to think of the
job as cleaning for an employer. I rather fancied that each of these little
apartments was my own personal flat and I was keeping it immaculate for my own
satisfaction. There were times I met some of the V.I.P. occupants and whilst
there was one or two who talked down to me, the majority were fairly respectful
and chatted to me as I worked. The male clientele were especially attentive, or
at least they were when they didn’t have wives or lovers with them, and I could
always feel their eyes burning into me as they drank in every detail of my long
legs and bottom.

About ten days
after I’d started working on the upper floor, I knocked on the door of one of
the suites and waited for a response. It was a male guest who opened the door
to me.

“Come in, young
lady, and put the latch on the door behind you. I don’t want to be disturbed by
anybody else. I’m busy doing some work. Start in the bathroom and bedroom
please, and I shall make myself scarce when you want to do the living area.”

“Yes Sir, I
will.”

I latched the
door as he’d instructed and quietly made my way into the bedroom. The door was
ajar, and whilst I was working I could see that he had his laptop plugged in
over on the desk, although he was actually sat on the settee with a pile of
buff folders next to him. He was busy reading the contents of the folders. I
busied myself with the dusting and polishing and changing the linen on the bed.
I decided I would do the vacuuming when he eventually disappeared as he had
said he would. I was out of the bedroom after about thirty minutes and I went
to work on the bathroom. I disinfected the toilet, washed the tiles around the toilet
area, and moved the used towels onto the floor so that I could clean the bath.

I was bent over
the bath reaching to the furthest edge, and without any warning at all, I felt
my skirt suddenly being raised up my back, and my tights pulled down to my knees.
A couple of fingers slid into my pussy as my knickers were pulled to one side.
I didn’t move away but stopped dead in my tracks.

“Sir, what do
you think you are doing?” I asked him politely.

He was
breathing heavily. “I’ve been watching you working - from the bedroom. You
didn’t hear me, did you? You’ve got a very hot body and I would love you to
show me how hot it can get.”

He continued
groping around inside me and I still didn’t move. I hadn’t had anything inside
me for about two or three months and I had almost forgotten how good it felt,
the excitement coursing through my whole body.

“I…I’m
supposed…to be…working. I don’t do things like that, Sir. T…Take your fingers
out…I can do my job...and you can do yours.” Whilst I listened to my own words,
I realised that he wasn’t convinced. Hell, I was struggling to convince myself.
“That’s…what we’re…both here for. If my boss…knocked at the door…I wouldn’t
have a job anymore.”

I was shocked.
I had a big problem. This was sexual harassment in the workplace – by one of
the special guests. My trouble was that I wanted it to continue. I actually
wanted
him to keep poking me…fingers…his dick. I was on fire and the flames had to die
out naturally. I didn’t want them extinguished. Beautiful…feeling…beautiful
flames. I turned my face to look into his eyes. Did he realise he was playing
with fire? That if I lodged a complaint…but he was
not
playing games.
His eyes showed how much he wanted me…and his determination to get what he
wanted.

“Come on…! You
know you want to. You would have moved away by now if you didn’t.”

That much was
true. I finally moved to my left and his fingers slid back out of me as I
moved. I tried to convince myself that I didn’t feel horny.

“Wouldn’t you
rather be fucked than finish the cleaning? I won’t tell anyone. I want to fuck
you. Come on, how much would it cost me? Name your price.”

I didn’t quite
know what to think. He was suggesting I prostitute myself. I turned my back on
him, pulled my tights up and straightened my skirt.

“Okay, if you won’t
name a price, I’ll suggest one. Come on, honey, play the game. I want to fuck
you real bad.”

I wanted to be
fucked real bad too. He wasn’t particularly attractive, maybe fiftyish, but
there was something…or was it just my need to have a shag after weeks without?
His first offer was one thousand pounds – I shook my head without saying a
word. It wasn’t about the money. If only he’d rip my clothes off instead of
talking money, he would be able to fuck me for nothing…my body was awakened and
I was gagging for it.

“I’m just going
to get on with my work. Please forget it, Sir. I’m not a prostitute.”

He kept raising
his price and I just continued shaking my head and repeating “No! I’m not doing
this.”

Undeterred, he
kept upping the offer. I stopped shaking my head so often, pausing in thought
for a few seconds between his bids. When he reached the figure where my
interest took a sudden lurch, I turned and looked at him.

“Do you
actually have that much money on you? I’m nobody’s fool. It’s got to be cash or
it doesn’t happen - your choice.”

He had broken
into a sweat and his hands were shaking, his eyes were undressing the goods and
he started stuttering.

“I’ll…I’ll…go
to my…my bank later and…br…bring the cash back for you.”

“No. You’d
better get the cash now…or I’ll just do my job and get out of here.”

Five minutes
later he was out of the door with his briefcase. I asked myself what the hell I
thought I was doing and I couldn’t come up with an answer. My work had come to
a standstill, I was unable to concentrate because my mind was now focused on
one thing only – getting laid. Somehow I didn’t expect him to return. Once he
was out on the street with me out of his sight, he would come to his senses and
realise he couldn’t cheat on his wife or partner.

Half an hour
later, my heart leapt as I heard the click as his card bleeped in the lock. He
replaced the security chain once he’d closed the door. Beckoning me over to the
dining table, he opened his briefcase and showed me the cash. I stood gaping…but
not at the cash. What had caught my attention, and gave me my second big shock
of the day – the guy was a barrister. The curly white wig was laid at the side
of some A4 Oyez legal forms. Backing away, I was intending to return to my
duties, suddenly very wary of him.

“You could make
yourself a fortune with your body and your looks - a nice side-line for you;
get you away from all this.” He gestured towards the housekeeping trolley.

I looked
directly into his eyes, thinking that he was quite attractive after all, and
throwing caution to the wind, I asked “What do you want?”

He smiled, his
brown eyes showing his desire and he came up close and almost whispered in my
ear.

“I want to play
with you, taste you and fuck you. I want you to make it really nice and
welcoming for me. You can treat me like all men want to be treated. Do it right
and you get all that cash that’s in the briefcase! You’ve seen it - now let’s
see if you want to earn it. Nobody will ever get to know, trust me.”

I don’t know
whether it was because the guy was vaguely handsome, or whether it was the
thought of the amount of cash, but I was feeling hot and clammy, my panties
still damp from his earlier exploration. It would be another escape from my
current existence and depression. He started peeling off his clothes down to
his tight trunks as he walked towards the bed. He was slightly overweight with
a hint of a paunch, but not too unattractive. I was quite naïve as to how
prostitutes behaved with their clients and for want of something better to say
I put on my best seductive voice and asked “Would Sir like to unwrap his very
expensive present or have it unwrapped for him?”

“First of all,
Sir, would like you to call him Simon,” quick glance at my name tag, “and,
Helen, I love opening surprises myself.” He patted the bed, and I think I maybe
overdid it with the provocative walk. “Please don’t act like a pro, Helen. Be
yourself,” he scolded.

I lay down on
the bed next to him and my thoughts turned from sex to being found in bed with
a hotel guest and I couldn’t relax as tension started to creep through my body.

“What if someone
knocks on the door, Sir…Simon?” He considered.

“I shout and
tell them to bugger off. On this floor nobody argues with us…shall we say, very
important guests!”

I was slightly
pacified to hear it, but it still didn’t feel quite right.

“Let’s continue
where we left off in the bathroom, shall we?” He moved in to kiss me and I
turned my head away,

“No, don’t do
that please. We are not lovers, Sir..Simon, it wouldn’t seem right.”

He shrugged and
looked down at my body. The bathroom scene unfolded once again as he drew up my
skirt and pushed my tights and panties down. Although the scenario was totally
alien to me, I was excited in a way I had never been excited – yet tense at the
same time. The tension was a mixture of wanting…and fear. I hadn’t had sex in
weeks and could hardly wait for his fingers to once again edge their way
teasingly into my warmth and wetness. The underlying fear was intensifying the
pleasure. I was feeling tarty, and shameless. I placed my hands under my bra
and fondled my breasts…a new experience. He watched me and I got the impression
it was something he’d never seen before, his mouth gaped in excitement. I
jumped, but pleasurably so, when he unexpectedly twiddled with my clit for a
short time before moving his attention to my fanny. His right hand was
awkwardly groping about with the top half of my clothes so I helped him.

“You are eager,
Helen. I see that. You want fucking as much as I want to fuck you, don’t you?
You take your clothes off while I attend to this beautiful pussy.”

I pulled my
blouse off quickly, but I was struggling to hold back, the anticipation edging
ahead in the battle. His fingers were in my hole again, probing and shoving.
Every damn nerve in my tunnel was alert, waiting and already tingling, ready to
surrender. As he bent his finger towards my G spot I couldn’t hold back any
longer. My body arched backwards as I moaned out loud and my upper thighs
gripped his arm, keeping his fingers firmly in place. I could feel my juices
flowing and I wanted more. I was truly on fire. I let the first wave of orgasm
subside. I unfastened my bra, threw it to the floor, and my skirt followed in
one movement, up and over my head. I was panting in pleasure…and fascinated by
my own behaviour.

“Wow. I can
feel your love syrup all over my fingers. I wanted that love syrup over my
cock. Let’s see if you’ve got some more to give.”

“Oh, I’ve
definitely got more to give,” I said throatily. “I can see the bulge in your
undies. I want that bulge inside me, fucking me. First you are going to feel my
mouth pleasuring your cock.”

I knelt on the
bed and pushed his boxers down his legs. They only reached his ankles at the
full stretch of my arm so he kicked them off with one of his feet. I was
pleasantly surprised when the bulge sprang out of his tight trunks, its
hardness twanging as it slapped back against his stomach, thick and superbly
erect. I wanted it inside me, there and then, but I couldn’t be selfish. My aim
was to please the man and earn the cash. I barely recognised myself and
wondered what the hell I was doing as I leaned over and wrapped my fuchsia lips
around his knob. I teased around the rim of the head and tickled its tiny
orifice with my tongue – that orifice which would soon be spewing out his sex
juices when he ejaculated.

He moaned
almost silently as I stroked the length of his cock with my tongue. I changed
position until I was leaning over the bed, my head between his legs. Taking one
of his balls into my mouth, I grasped at his cock with my right hand and rubbed
it up and down his length, slowly at first and then steadily increasing the
speed. He was groaning again, as I flicked his ball back and forth in my mouth
with my tongue. I eased the first one out of my mouth and taunted the other for
a minute before also encasing that one in my mouth. My hand was moving rapidly
up and down his tool, and he steadied it,