                                          Nanny Bob
                                    by
                                           Little Dan



WANTED


Clean-cut, personable, honest young man who loves children, to look after 6 year old boy and 4 year old girl.  Living-in required.  Days off to be negotiated.  Must be on call whenever needed.  References requested.  Call before 4 p.m.   227-964-3376.   Ask for Mrs. Wexler.


I was looking through the classified ads of the local newspaper when I discovered the ad.  I had just been let go from my job at the local stationery store, due to habitual tardiness, and I did not even have the necessary funds to cover this month’s rent on my shabby apartment.   I needed a job badly, and I had few qualifications.   I had been unable to attend college, as I had to spend so much time at home, safeguarding my five younger siblings, when our parents were off on one of their frequent drunken binges.   


But I had done a good job, and the kids were safely off, and out on their own.  But I, myself, had little to offer to a business corporation.   So the ad seemed just ideal for me.  I did love children.  And I certainly would be glad to live-in, as I was momentarily going to be evicted from the rathole in which I now resided.  


But ‘References.’   Aye.  There’s the rub.  I had no references.  I had never been employed as a child-care worker, and the stationery-store owner would only write that I had been late all the time.  But I didn’t think stationery store work was the kind of references she required.  I supposed that I could always ask one of my sisters or brothers to tell her what a good big brother I had been.  but they were family, and that would not be the assessment of a dispassionate previous employer.  I wanted that job.  Badly.  Would it hurt to call?   I decided to give it a try, and with trembling fingers, I dialed 227-964-3376.   A lady answered.  “Hello,” she said.


“Hhhelllo,” I stammered.   “Is this Mrs. Wexler?”


“Yes.  This is she.”


“I’m calling in regard to your classified ad in the Twimble Gazette.  Someone to take care of a little boy and a little girl.  I would be interested.”


“Very good,” she said.  “Do you have references?”


The dreaded question.


“No.  I’m afraid that I’ve been working in another field.  Retail.  And I’m not at all happy in retail.  But I do love children, and I did help raise my five younger sisters and brothers, when my parents were away, which was frequently.  I know that they will vouch for my character, if you care to ask them.”


“I see,” she said.  “Well, you sound like a very honest young man.  At least we can meet, and see where it leads.”


“Fine,” I said.  My heart was dancing.  At least she was willing to interview me.   I had a chance.


“Can you come right over? I’d like to get all this decided immediately.”


“Yes, of course.  Where do you live?”


“337 Sycamore.”


I knew where Sycamore Street was.  It was only a short walk from the Number 5 Bus.  I would just grab a Number 5.  “I’ll be right over,” I said, (I hoped I was not sounding too anxious.) “but I don’t have a car.  I’ll be taking the bus, so give me a few extra minutes.”


“Fine.  Now, tell me your name.”


“Bob,” I answered.  “Bob Melis.”


“Fine, Bob, I’ll be waiting for you, Ciao.”


“Ciao,” I answered, but she had already hung up the phone.   I went into the bathroom to wash up and comb my hair, and then I dashed down to the Number 5 Bus Stop.  I was lucky.  The bus came within five minutes.


As I walked down Sycamore Street, admiring all the lovely, upper-middle class, suburban houses, with their wide front lawns, I smelled Lilacs blooming in everyone’s yard.  I could get used to living on Sycamore Street.


And here it was.  Number 337.  A two-story Old New-England type cottage, with bay windows and exquisite lattice-work.  What a nice life-style.   I walked up the long path from the sidewalk to the front porch and stood before a great oaken door with a large brass knocker, but I rang the bell.


A young woman answered.  She had long blond hair, and was dressed in an attractive business suit.  She looked so familiar to me.  But the name ‘Mrs. Wexler’ didn’t ring a bell.


“Bob?” she asked.


Yes,” I answered.  “Are you Mrs. Wexler?”


“I am.  Come in.”  She led me into the parlor.   We spent a few minutes talking about my childhood, and how I had taken care of my little brothers and sisters.  She seemed pleased with me.   “I’m considering taking you on, Bob,” she told me.  But first, you have to be very sure that you want the position.  I’m away from home, traveling a good deal, because of my job, so I would be depending completely on you for the care of the household.  Are you sure you really want to be a Nanny?” she asked me.


I hadn’t thought of it like that.  The word ‘Nanny’ threw me a little.  I liked taking care of children, yes.  But did I want to be a career ‘Nanny’?  Wasn’t that usually a lady’s job?   I paused for a moment, thinking, but she continued.


“In addition to caring for the children, you would be expected to keep the house clean, and do the laundry, and the shopping and the cooking.”


So in addition to being a Nanny, I was to be a Maid, Housekeeper, whatever.  I wondered what I was getting myself into.


“May I ask what the job pays?” I asked.  I had no intention of being a domestic worker for minimum wage.


“For the right person, I’m willing to go as high as $1000.00 a week.  How does that sound?


I almost swallowed my tongue.  That was twice what I had been making at the stationery store.  “It sounds fine,” I said.  “……for a start.”   Was I being too bold now?


“If it works out, and we are all satisfied, we would consider raising your salary periodically.  Don’t let that be a concern.”


“Your ad said that this was a live-in job.  That I would be required to live here.  Where would I live?”


She led me up the stairs to a door at the end of the hall, past two doors that were the children’s rooms.   She opened the door.   It was a large homey bedroom.  The walls were covered in wallpaper with a beautiful floral pattern, and there was a large double bed with a carved maple headboard.   This was luxury that I was not used to.  I walked to the window and peeked through the white lacey curtains, and could see the large back yard with the two tall maple trees, and beyond to all the other back yards, with peach trees, and apple trees, and pear trees.  This was a step up from the shabby apartment from which I was momentarily to be evicted.


And then we heard the compressed-air hiss of a bus braking in front of the house.  The children were home from school.  The little boy, she told me, was in first grade, and the little girl was in pre-kindergarten.  We walked down the stairway, as we heard the children talking and laughing, running from the bus up onto the front porch.   Mrs. Wexler opened the door, and the children rushed in.


We all went back into the parlor, and Mrs. Wexler introduced me to the children.


“Warren, this is Bob.   Nancy, this is Bob.  Say hello.”


The children said hello to me, and I to them, and Warren even shook my hand.  He was a six-year-old gentleman.


“There is a possibility that Bob is going to be your new Nanny.”


“Goody,” said Nancy.


“What happened to Elizabeth?” asked Warren.


“We will not mention Elizabeth again, Warren.  Do you understand me?”  


“Yes,” said Warren, hanging his head.  Apparently he had been happy with Elizabeth who was presumably the last Nanny, but his mother had not been.


“You’ll meet my husband, Eric, tomorrow.  He generally works until after ten every evening, but tonight he’ll be working through the night and coming home in the morning.  He designs aerospace parts and has to be sure the night shift is working properly before he leaves, but there’s a new part coming on-line tonight and he has to be there.”


“Fine,” I said.


“Children.   Would you like Bob to be your new Nanny?”


“Could we play football in the front yard?” asked Warren.


“I don’t see why not,” I said.   I was not a football player, but I thought I could hold my own against a six-year-old.


“Would you jump rope with me?” asked Nancy.


“Of course, I would, Nancy.  I love jumping rope.   And we can bounce a rubber ball and play ‘A My Name Is Alice’ on the front porch.”


“Goody,” screamed Nancy.


They were really adorable children.  I could easily learn to love them.


“So what about it, kids?  Do you want Bob to be your new Nanny?”


“Yes,” said Warren.


“Yesyesyes,” said Nancy, jumping up and down in excitement.


“And what about you, Bob?   Are you ready for all this?”


“Completely,” I said.


“How soon could you start?”


“Today?  I could run downtown and collect my things.”


“That would be just perfect.  If you could get back before six o’clock, I wouldn’t have to call the sitter.  I have to leave for the television studio at seven p.m.”


That was where I had seen her.  She was on the nightly news.  She was Ronnie Ranger of CPPW, the global news network.  She was a foreign correspondent.  I had seen her doing spots from London, from Paris, from Cairo.  No wonder she needed a good Nanny to take care of her children.”


“I’m going for the bus right now,” I said.  “I promise I’ll be back with all my things before six.”


“Great,” she said.  Before I left, she asked me to fill out a few papers, and she got my social security number.  She was not one of those sly fox household employers out to cheat the Nanny out of Social Security.  I wondered if I dared press for medical coverage, but perhaps not yet.   I felt I was in good hands here, and left the house with a happy heart.


I was back with my few paltry possessions within two hours, and within a short time I had put everything into the dresser drawers and the closet of my beautiful flowery, lacey, new bedroom.  I felt I had finally found a home.


Ronnie   (she told me to call her Ronnie) had prepared a light dinner for herself and the children and also for me.  I did the dishes, as she got ready to go to the television studio.   Before she left, she showed me all around the house.  We went down to the basement to look at the washer and the dryer.  She showed me where the linen closet was, and where all the dishes and silverware were kept.  She familiarized me with the children’s bedrooms, and their routines.


Little Warren had baseball player pictures cut from magazines scotch-taped on all his walls.  And Nancy had drawings she had done in pre-kindergarten of houses, and churches with steeples, and skinny people with large heads taped all over her own walls.


We put Nancy to bed right after dinner, and I was instructed that Warren could sit with me in the living room and watch quiz shows on television until 8 p.m., at which time I was to put him to sleep.   Ronnie told me that she would be back from the studio, sometime around 3 a.m.


She asked me if I was all right, and I said “yes,” and she left for the television studio.  Little Warren was a very smart first grader.   As we were watching the quiz show he called out many answers, and they were absolutely right.  And neither the contestants nor I had known the correct answers.  At eight o’clock, I took him up to his room, and helped him brush his teeth, and put on his jammies, and get into bed.  I kissed him on his dear little forehead, before I turned off the light and closed his bedroom door.


I was tired myself.  It had been a life-altering day, so I retired to my pretty bedroom and put on my own pajamas, and turned out the lights and went to sleep.  


The next morning, as I was sleepily stumbling down the hall to brush my teeth, I heard a commotion behind the closed door of the master bedroom.  There were the loud voices of a man and woman, fighting.  Ronnie and Eric.


“Tell me that again,” yelled Eric.


“I hired a new Nanny.   His name is Bob.”


“What?  Are you insane?” screamed Eric.  “Whoever heard of a male Nanny?”


“I just thought it would be a good idea?” said Ronnie, fairly calmly.


“And why did you think that?”


Now Ronnie raised her voice and yelled angrily.  “Because you’ve fucked every single female Nanny we’ve ever had.”


“Well, I have to fuck something.  You don’t get home until god knows what hour.”  They were both at shouting pitch now.


“Have you ever heard of marriage vows? Have you ever heard the word ‘adultery’?” Screamed Ronnie.


“Then be home once in a while.”


“I can’t.  My job is my job. And I’m going places.  But I would like to keep our marriage together.  I really don’t want to divorce you.”


“Thank you, I suppose,” he replied.


“And I know you’re much too busy with work to run around town chasing women.  It’s just been so convenient for you up to now to have a young Nanny in the end bedroom.  But now we will have Bob, and the children like him very much, so can we please end this discussion now, and get on with our lives?”


“Hah!” he exclaimed.  But he had no more to say.  I was trembling in the hallway.  I had overheard this terrible argument concerning my presence in the household, and it was obvious that the head of the house, Eric, did not want me there at all.   And just when I had been beginning to feel so secure.  I went into the bathroom and brushed my teeth, and washed up.  Then I got dressed, and went out to face the music.


The music was downstairs in the kitchen.  Ronnie was waiting to instruct me what to prepare for the family breakfast.  Juice, bacon, eggs, cereal,  toast, coffee (but milk for Warren and Nancy.)  She had already gotten the children up and dressing for school.  From now on, that would be my job.


I still had not met Eric.  I was facing that moment with fear in my heart.


The children, dressed for school, came into the kitchen, and as I was putting the bacon on the table, Eric came in.  He was fairly tall, with a muscular build and wavy black hair, which set off his green eyes.  He looked as if he attended the gym on a regular basis.   He was terribly attractive.   I could see why Ronnie wanted to hold onto her marriage, despite his infidelities.  Ronnie was pretty, but Eric was spectacular looking.  The only thing was he was not happy to see me in his kitchen.  He had a nasty scowl on his face.


“Eric. I want you to meet, Bob, our new Nanny.   And Bob.  This is Eric, my husband.”


“Pleased to meet you,” I said stretching out my hand.  Eric gave it a perfunctory shake and said “Yeah.”   Then we sat down to breakfast.  The children did all the talking.  I just kept nodding, and saying ‘yes,’ and ‘wonderful.’   It was a difficult meal.


After breakfast, the bus came and the children left for school.  I did the dishes, and Ronnie got me started with the household chores, while Eric went upstairs to nap for a few hours before going back to the aerospace plant.   


I began to get into a daily routine.  After school each day, I would walk the children to the park, and play with them.  I would throw a football at Warren, which he would catch, and he would throw it back at me, over my head.  I was always scrambling for it.  It was exhausting.   I did enjoy jumping rope with Nancy, and found I was quite good at that.  


Ronnie was very sweet to me, but Eric never said a word to me.  He could hardly bring himself to look at me.  I tried to always be in bed by ten o’clock, when he got home from work.  That way I would only have to face his cold silence across the breakfast table. 


One morning a strange thing happened, when I was at the sink, washing the dishes, Eric came up behind me and pinched my bottom.  I jumped.  I was surprised.   I turned around and looked at him, and while sneering, he winked at me.


I was disturbed by this and told Ronnie.  I didn’t want to get fired like Elizabeth, and all the other lady Nannies who had gotten fired, but Ronnie just laughed at me.  Not that I attributed anything sexual to it.  I knew he was just baiting me.  But I wanted everything to be out in the open.


“Oh, he was just teasing you.  That’s all. I wouldn’t worry about it.  You can be sure my husband was not coming on to you.  Eric is aggressively heterosexual.  Much too aggressively, actually.”


He never pinched me again.  He just continued his relentless campaign of silence whenever I was around.  It was obvious he had contempt for me.  He was a captain of industry and I was a Nanny.   Real men were not Nannies.


Then suddenly one morning, the silence broke.  He asked me a question.


“So, Bob.  Tell me a little about yourself.  Do you have a girlfriend?”


I knew that snide tone.  I had heard it before from others. He was making fun of me.  It had happened to me in school, when the boys would repeat something I had said, in a high effeminate pitch, embarrassing me.


I’m sorry.  That was the way I talked.  I could not help the way I talked.  But it had been devastating.   And now, Eric, the master of the house, was acting like a grown-up high school boy, and making me feel less than masculine and therefore inferior.  I wanted to cry.   I had been chewing some toast, but my throat got so dry that I couldn’t swallow it.  I had to take a sip of orange juice to get it down.  As I was doing this, I was planning what to say.  I was planning to lie.  I was not going to admit to him that I didn’t have a girlfriend.


“Yes,” I said, flashing a bright smile at him.  “My girlfriend, Marie.  She’s working in Washington now, so we don’t get to see each other very often, but we’re saving our money, and as soon as we have a little nest egg, we’re planning to get married.”


“Good for you,” said Eric, obviously knowing I was lying through my teeth.


“Yes.  We’re in love.”


“But she’s in Washington.  You must get a little lonely now and then.  Maybe you have another girl friend?”  He was baiting me.


“No.  I believe in being faithful,” I declared, knowing that he had not been.   Maybe it was a little bit of a dig.


“Bob, here, is a man of high character,” Eric said to Ronnie.  Then he turned to me.   “I do hope we’ll get a chance to meet Marie very soon.  When is she coming up from Washington?”


“I don’t know,” I answered.  “She’s very busy.”


Eric smirked at me, and I lowered my eyes and finished my scrambled eggs.  After that there was no more conversation. 


About a week later, at breakfast again, I asked, “Does anyone want any more toast?”


“Does anyone want any more toast?”  Eric repeated in a high-pitched effeminate voice.  He was making fun of me, just the way all the bullies in my high school used to.  I hated that place.  I was so glad to get out of there.   I felt my face flushing with embarrassment, and I turned away.   Then I took the juice container and put it back in the refrigerator, pretending as if I hadn’t noticed the mockery.


After that there was only silence.  For months.  Eric never spoke to me, and I never spoke to Eric.  


But the children were such darlings.  I had such fun playing with them, and teaching little Nancy the alphabet, and Ronnie was very sweet to me.  I missed her when she left for the studio each evening.


Then one morning at breakfast, she was all aglow.   “They’re sending me to do a CPPW special on women in Nairobi,” she exclaimed triumphantly.  I’ll be investigating the lives of women over there, and be broadcasting nightly.  I’ll be gone for two weeks.  This is my biggest assignment yet.  I’m so excited.”


“Two weeks?” asked Eric, less excited.


“Yes,” she affirmed.


“And what are we supposed to do?” he asked.


“What you always do when I’m away.  And besides you have Bob here to do everything around the house.  So there should be no problems.”


“When are you leaving?” he asked.


“”We have a whole crew flying out Wednesday morning,” she answered.


“Congratulations, Ronnie,” I said.


“Thank you, Bob,” she said.  “At least someone is happy for me.”


Two days later, Ronnie left for the airport shortly after I had put the kids on the school bus.  I hated to see her go.  She was my only adult friend in the house.  I had the children, of course, who were fond of me, but I also had Eric who refused even to look at me. 


Well.  It was not so bad.  I only had to see him at breakfast.  After that he left for the aerospace plant, and I did my daily duties.  And I made very sure to be in bed with the door closed before he returned home around ten each evening.  He even worked on weekends, which turned out to be very good for me.


Every night the kids and I watched Ronnie on her CPPW remote broadcast from Nairobi, interviewing teenage girls, married women, prostitutes, old ladies.  It was all so interesting.  And Ronnie looked very glamorous in the different Dashikis she wore each evening.


“There’s mommy,” I said to the children, pointing at the TV.


“I know,” said Warren.


“Why is she wearing that funny dress?” asked Nancy.


“That’s the fashion in Nairobi,” I explained to her.


“When is she coming back?  I miss my mommy.”


“Darling, she’ll be back next week.  Before you know it,” I told her, and gave her a little squeeze.  Then I took her upstairs and put her to bed. 


When I came back into the parlor, Warren put me to shame as usual on the evening quiz shows, and then I took him upstairs also and tried to help him into his jammies.


“I can do it myself,” he said.   He was getting so independent.  He was really growing up.


“Okay,” I said, and watched as he changed.  He had an adorable little body, with an adorable little ding-a-ling.  He was just like a little cherub, sculpted by some great Italian artist.


I kissed him on his forehead and pulled up the covers.  Then I turned out the light and went down the hall to my own bedroom.   There had been a lot of laundry that day, (I had changed all the linens, and washed them, and dried them, and folded them) so I was really tired.  


Usually before bed, I read a little, and I was right in the middle of the best part of the book I was reading, ‘Magda on the High Seas,’ a romance novel about an eighteenth century highborn lady who is on a sea voyage from England, bound for the Carolinas, when her ship is overtaken by a pirate vessel, and she is taken captive by a vicious band of brigands, led by the handsome and dashing Captain Fabian, after which, she is forced into all kinds of menial labors which she had never been unaccustomed to, such as cooking the meals, and acting as a servant to the rowdy crew, as well as to the handsome Captain.  And I was just getting to the part where she was about to be forcibly seduced by Captain Fabian.   He had called her into his cabin and was about to rip open her bodice and force himself upon her.  I was breathless to read it.  But it would have to wait until tomorrow night.  I was just too tired now.  I fell immediately asleep.


I don’t know what time it was.  Probably after midnight, but I came awake.  I felt a presence in my room.  Someone was in here with me.  Slowly I opened an eye, and I saw my employer, Eric.  I saw his slim naked body glowing in the moonlight streaming through the window.  He was standing barely a foot away from my face.  I could only see his midsection.  I didn’t dare look up.  He was standing there with an erect penis sticking roughly ten inches perpendicular to the rest of his body.   Whatever could this mean?  Rather than face the situation, I closed my eye, and pretended to still be sleeping.


He shook my shoulder roughly.  I opened my eyes, and looked up into his.  They were cold and they were mean.


“What is it?” I asked.


“Suck my cock, homo,” he ordered me.


“I am not a homo,” I defended myself.


“Of course you’re a homo.  I knew you were a sissy the minute I laid eyes on you.  So why don’t you just be a good little fairy and suck my cock for me?  I need to shoot off a load, so I can get some sleep.”


I had told him I was not a homo, but I thought that maybe I really was.  I had been terribly attracted to some of the boys on the sports teams back in high school.  There had been this really sleek, beautiful boy, Jimmy who was the star of the swimming team, and he had kind of cornered me in the shower room one day.  He had pretended to be my friend, and told me how much he really liked me, and I kind of got a momentary crush on him, and I was so happy that he really liked me that I would have done anything for him, so that when he suggested that he would like me to suck on his penis, right there in the shower, I slipped to my knees, and took it in my mouth.  And then he wasn’t so nice any more.  He kept pushing my head down on it, which was choking me, and yelling, “Suck it, faggot.  Suck it, faggot,” and before I knew it his hot thick cream was filling my mouth, and even going back into my throat, and I tried to spit it out, but he held my head in such a way, yelling “Swallow it, faggot.  Swallow it.,”   that I had no choice but to swallow it.


After that life was not worth living.  Every boy in school knew I was a homo and hounded me for blowjobs, but I only did it if I knew they were going to beat me up, should I refuse to blow them.  I didn’t really want to do it any more.  So, yes, maybe I was as gay as everyone thought I was.   High school had been years ago, and I had mercifully put it all out of my mind.


And now, here was Eric, my employer, calling me a homo, and ordering me to suck his cock.  Eric was very handsome, but I was deathly afraid of him.  I felt just like Lady Magda felt toward handsome Captain Fabian in ‘Magda on the High Seas,’ repelled by Eric, and attracted to Eric at the same time.


I crawled out of bed, and obediently got down on my knees before his thick pulsating penis.  I took it in my left hand, and felt its amazing rigidity.  Then I inched forward and took it into my mouth.   He had showered, and I tasted Ivory Spring soap, which I loved.  I began sucking on his penis.  At first I liked it.


But then it was just like back in high school with Jimmy.  He got mean and nasty.  He grabbed the back of my head and forced me down on it, so that I was choking, all the while yelling “Suck it, faggot.  Suck my fucking cock, you fucking homo.”


It didn’t last long.  Ronnie had been gone for over a week, so he had a copious amount of cream, which needed to be expelled, and it was.  Down my throat.
He kept forcing my head down on it and thrusting in with each spurt, until the fountain had run dry.


He withdrew his softening cock from my mouth, and complimented me.  “You give a good blowjob, faggot.”  Then he turned and left my room. I watched the bounce of his tight buttocks as he walked to the door, and I could see his large pendulous balls and limp penis swinging in front of him, as I looked between his muscular thighs as he walked away from me.   He closed the door behind him.  I was still kneeling on the floor next to my bed, trying to mentally process what had just happened.   Finally, I just got back into bed, and luckily, I fell back to sleep rather quickly.


I was preparing breakfast as usual the next morning, and getting the children fed and ready for school when he descended the stairs.  The moment I had been dreading.  I couldn’t even look him in the eye.


I put his platter of bacon and eggs on the table in front of him.


“My juice,” he said.


I had forgotten his orange juice.  I poured him a glass and set it in front of him.  And not another word was spoken.


Ronnie returned from Nairobi a week later, and life returned to normal.  I was so much more comfortable having her in the house.   By this time I was very attached to the children, and happy in my job except for that one incident, which in a strange way had been a little exciting, so I decided not to risk anything by revealing to Ronnie what had occurred in her absence.


And then a year passed, and the children had each graduated to the next grade level, and Ronnie was again given a foreign assignment.  ‘The Life of the Ladyboy in modern-day Thailand’.


The kids and I hated to see her go, but it was a good career move for her.   She was to be gone three weeks this time, and was also to interview sex-workers in other Asiatic countries.  This was a subject garnered to bring the station mucho high ratings.


It happened again.  About a week after she was gone, I awoke to see the handsome, naked Eric looming over me, clutching an enormous hard-on.
I sat up in shock. “On your knees, faggot.  You know what to do.”


I did know what to do, and I got on my knees and did it, and as mean and rough as he was, I was getting a perverse kind of thrill out of his ill-treatment, and the largeness of his dick filling my mouth, and I was even grasping his firm buttocks, as he slammed his cock into my throat, and the dribble was running down my chin, and onto the wood floor.  He was still using Ivory Spring.  My favorite.  I began to get into it a little, and succeeded in pulling my mouth off his knob, so that I could tongue his heavy balls, and even the flesh behind them, and even a little between the tight buttcheeks.  My tongue touched his hole, and he jumped and roared.  Finally, he grabbed my hair and sent his cock burrowing down my throat for his voluminous liquid climax.   


“Swallow it, faggot,” he ordered me, but I already had.


Ronnie came back and life returned to normal.  Another year passed.  I wondered if Ronnie ever noticed that her husband never looked at me or spoke to me, but I said nothing.


And then she got her biggest assignment yet.  She was going on an assignment to interview Aslamic women for CPPW.   She was going to be broadcasting from the country of Medinastan.  This assignment was going to put her in line for the top anchor position on the nightly news.  She was terribly excited, and I was happy for her.  I knew that I would probably have another visit from Eric while she was gone, but I now felt I could handle it.


Sure enough.  Not too many nights had gone by when his trim naked form appeared by my bedside.   “Hi,” I said.  I just wanted to make it a little more friendly.


“I can’t fall asleep.  I need to cum.  Do it.”


“Yes, master,” I said, trying to make it sound like it was a game, and I was kidding.   I climbed out of bed and got down on my knees in front of his erect penis, and decided I would tantalize him a little first.  I didn’t put it right in my mouth.  I stuck out my tongue and licked up both his thighs.  I felt his muscles tighten beneath my tongue.  This hadn’t been expected.  Then I started to nuzzle on his large hairy sack, taking each of the large eggs into my mouth one at a time, and running my tongue over it.  He seemed to like that too, because I heard a little moan.  I knew he wanted me to swallow his cock now.  Wanted it badly.  But not just yet.   I crawled between his thighs, and licked his firm, manly, muscular buttcheeks, which I then separated just enough to stick my tongue between until it came into contact with the soft wrinkled hidden ring.  As long as he was moaning and arching his body like this, I had no intention of stopping.  I was enjoying his pleasure.  I was positive that neither Ronnie nor any of the other nannies before me had ever done such extreme things for him, and wondered if he even appreciated my efforts to delight him.   Suddenly he grabbed my hair and pulled my face in front of his long straight cock, with the smooth angry red knob.


“Suck it,” he ordered.  I was about to say okay, but he used that opportunity to shove it right down my throat.  He was throat fucking me with unbelievable force, as if he wanted to hurt me, but I was excited.   Secretly I reached down between my legs, and grabbed my own erection, and stealthily jerked it back and forth as he fucked my face.   The sensation of the hot liquid blasts filling my mouth and throat sent me over the top, and I spilled my own load secretly in the dark on the wooden floor.  Thank goodness there was no carpet in my room.  I would have stained it.


As soon as he had drained the last drop down my throat, he pulled away and turned and left the room.  Not so much as a thank you.   And I had given him such extra special treatment tonight.  I shrugged and reached for a tissue to mop up the puddle on the floor.  Then I got back into bed and slept like a baby.  I’m not sure, but I think I even dreamed that I was sucking Eric’s cock.


Ronnie had been making nightly appearances via satellite, and it was so interesting to learn about the lifestyle of the women in the eastern lands.  So different from here.


But about two days after my visit from Eric, I was dusting the parlor, and I had the radio on.  Suddenly the hip-hop song they were playing stopped right in the middle.   There was a news announcement.   I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.  I stood frozen in a half-stooped position about to dust the legs of the armchair, when they announced that Ronnie Ranger of CPPW International News had been captured by terrorists, and that they were going to behead her the next day.  The terrorists were planning to charge her with crimes against the modesty and obedience of Womanhood itself, and would show a videotape of the mock trial in several hours.  The dust rag dropped from my hand.  I began to cry.  


I tried to call Eric at the plant, but they told me he had already been informed of the situation and was on his way home, and that he was stopping to pick the children up from school.


I sat down in the undusted armchair, and faced it toward the television, where I had CPPW tuned in for further information.  I was still crying, and using the dust rag for a handkerchief.


I gave the kids an early dinner and sent them up to bed.  The less they knew, the better.  Eric and I sat in separate chairs watching the large LCD screen across the room.   As usual, we didn’t speak.  I tried to tell him how sorry I was, but he just glared at me.


All of a sudden there was a breaking story.  CPPW was about to show a tape it had just received from Al Haluul, the leading television broadcaster in the Eastern world.


A group of covered, masked men led in a woman whose hands and feet were bound and who was completely covered in a chador.  Only her frightened eyes were showing.  They spoke in Medinastantic, which was then translated into English, and the woman answered in English.  It was indeed Ronnie.


There were English subtitles also, as the men spoke in Medinastantic.   One of them, the leader, it seemed, spoke.


“You are accused of walking through our Kingdoms with neither shame nor feminine modesty, displaying your face and body for all to see.   You are the ultimate example of the Western Slut who is corrupting the purity and virtue of our women.  We have consulted our holiest texts and the righteous men who interpret them, and have decided that these crimes are punishable by death.   You will be beheaded at once, and your head will be carried on a pole throughout the land for all to see the fate of a harlot.”


Ronnie started to cry.


At first the man seemed unmoved.  But then he asked her.  “Do you repent your crimes?”


She was desperate.  She didn’t know what to say or do.  She just kept ripping at the long sleeves of her chador, with her frightened eyes looking left to right.  Finally she made a decision.  It was obviously a last futile attempt to save herself.


“Yes.  Yes. I do.  I have been a Western slut and harlot, and I only wish I had the chance to show you what a modest and obedient woman I could be.  That is my true self.  What you saw in me was a mask I wore to survive in the Western world, where it is impossible to be a real woman.”


“Is this the truth?”  The man, was impressed with her impassioned speech, but didn’t know if he could believe her.


“Yes.  That is the truth.  I only want to be a good woman and follow in the traditions of obedience and humility.”


“There is a way that you could save yourself and live,” he suggested.


When she heard the English translation, her tremulous voice asked, “How?”

 
“You would have to convert to our beliefs.   Would you be willing to do that?”


“Yes.  Absolutely.  Yes.  How do I convert?”


“Repeat after me,” he said.  The translator told her what to do and say, and she repeated the foreign phrases she had been told to speak, not having the slightest idea what she was swearing to.


“Is that it?” she asked.   She wasn’t quite sure she was out of trouble yet.


“Not quite.”   The translator told her “Not quite.”   The next conditions, which we saw in subtitles on the screen even before they were translated, were these:  “We will arrange a marriage for you.  You will become the wife and property of one of our great Mujahadeens.   You will serve him religiously and obediently and bear his many children.”


Ronnie just stood there in her chador.


“Do you agree to these conditions?”  The translator asked, following the leaders foreign words.   She stood motionless for a few moments, but what choice did she have?  It was either agree or be beheaded.


“Yes.  Yes, I agree,” she agreed.


At this point the translator, translating the leader’s words, told her that this very man, this leader, this great Mujahadeen has agreed to make you his third wife, as he already has two.  He has always liked blondes, and thinks that perhaps you will have beautiful babies together.”


She seemed a little dizzy, and looked about to faint, but the leader caught her and set her down into a chair.   They would be married immediately, and start their new family.   The ceremony would be shown the next day on Al Jaluula television.   And then it was over.   Eric and I sat there stunned.  As usual we didn’t speak.  


He switched off the television and climbed the stairs to his bedroom.  I waited a few minutes and went to my own room.  Somehow, some way, Ronnie would find a way to trick them and escape.  She was smart.  She was clever.  She was Ronnie.  We would have her back soon.  I was sure of that.  I never gave up hope.  Still crying, I fell asleep.


The next day we witnessed the Matrimonial Ceremony rebroadcast on CPPW from the original tape sent to Al Jaluul.  They had Ronnie. At  least for now.  I knew that at this very moment she was probably having to go to bed with that horrible Mujahadeen.  I had only seen his eyes, but they were mean.


Eric worked tirelessly with the State Department, trying to secure her freedom, but it was useless.  Neither the identity of her new husband nor her whereabouts could be discovered.


I bonded with the children as closely as I could, to make up for the loss of their dear mother.   We told the children almost the truth.  That she was being detained in another country and our government was doing everything possible to get her back.


I helped the children with their homework every night.  I did everything I possibly could.  I knew they were feeling insecure.  Nancy was always throwing her arms around my waist and holding me, and Warren was also.  He was even kissing me on the cheek every morning when he left for school.


It took Eric about a month to appear in my bedroom late one evening, and demand that I give him a blowjob.   Well, Ronnie was gone, and I had been hired as her surrogate.  I was the Nanny.  I did what I had to do.   He was happy enough to use me, but he still never spoke to me.   I wondered if the children ever noticed that their father never addressed a word to me.


Then he started coming in more than once a week.   Then he started lying on my bed, and making me crawl on my knees between his legs to suck him off.  He was making himself comfortable now.


And then one night, instead of saying “Suck it,” he said.  “My wife is gone, and I like to fuck.  I’m going to bang you.   Kneel on the bed with your ass in the air.  I’ll go in doggy.”


“I don’t think…….”


“Get on your fucking knees,” he screamed at me.  I did.  He climbed up behind me on the bed and I could feel the tip of his cock probing at my virgin asshole.  He slammed forward.  I screamed.  I don’t remember when I had ever felt such excruciating pain.   He took it out and spit on it.   Then he went back in.  But I was very sore now.  I think he had scraped me a little.  I was crying.  That didn’t stop him.  He just kept pushing it forward more and more until my ring closed around the large head of his tool, and after that he plunged forward.  It was not fun.  He slammed against me.  “Take my dick, faggot.  You like my big dick up your hot tight little ass?”


“Yes.  Yes,” I lied.  “I love it.  Fuck me.  Fuck me.”


And he did.  And in a few more minutes I was starting to actually get to like it.  I was still chafed, but it felt very good deep within me, filling me.  Then he pushed me down flat on the bed and just lay on top of me with his hips pounding up and down, feeding his big cock into my cherry ass.  And then I felt it happening.


“I’m shooting my hot cum into your pussy, faggot.  Take it.  Take it.  Take it.”


And I did.  I raised my bottom up to get more of it.  I wanted it all inside of me.  He finally said something nice as he was leaving my room.  “That was pretty good.  Ass is tighter than pussy.   I’ll be back.”


A year went by and another broadcast came on CPPW by way of Al Jaluula, it was Ronnie, totally covered, holding her new baby in her arms, and looking up obediently into the eyes of her Mujahadeen.”


She assured the viewers that she was totally happy in her new life with her new husband, and that this was what she had always longed for.   Eric switched off the television in disgust.   I knew it was up to me to do something.  I was nothing to him.  Only a convenience.  A receptacle.  A cumbucket.  He used me constantly.  But he was a heterosexual man who wanted a woman.   


I volunteered to leave.  I told him that he really needed a woman in the house, and that even though I loved the children, I would be willing to go.  I would take care of them until he found a new Nanny.


“No,” he said.  “The kids have already lost their mother.  I can’t have them lose their Nanny.  They love you.   You’ll stay.”


I went up to my room and started to cry again.   Those were the first kind words he had ever said to me.  But after those kind words, he never spoke to me again. He just fucked my ass.
  


The years went by, and Warren and Nancy advanced from grade to grade in school.  I attended all the PTA meetings and I met with some of the mothers of the other children who were very sweet.  They knew that Ronnie had been taken captive, and that I was the children’s Nanny, and they wanted to help me in whatever way they could.  They even taught me how to play bridge, and I was invited into the Tuesday afternoon game.  They helped me when I was trying to knit a very complicated plaid sweater for Warren, and I even joined the Thursday afternoon book club, where we read romance novels aloud.  All in all I was very happy.


And even with the cold silence, I would look forward to the frequent visits from Eric in the night.  I had grown so comfortable feeling his cock moving inside me.  I can’t explain it.  He never hugged me, or anything.  But just the copulation itself made me feel safe and secure, as if I belonged right where I was----under him.


And then there was the phone call from the State Department.  They had located the Mujahadeen and his evil tribe and Ronnie, and they were in negotiations to get her home.  I was overjoyed.   Ronnie would be coming home.  But I didn’t say anything to the children just yet.   I didn’t want to get their hopes up, in case something went wrong.


The State Department was meeting with the terrorists and with Ronnie, and the meeting was to be televised by Al Jaluula, which we would immediately received by satellite on CPPW.  Eric and I were again seated across the room in our two armchairs watching the large LCD screen.    


The masked terrorists and their leader, who was Ronnie’s Medinastanian husband entered.  Ronnie followed at a respectful distance behind, completely covered in her chador.  She held two small babies in her arms, and six other children of increasing ages followed behind her.   


There was a lot of Medinastantic talking and translating, but Ronnie answered all her questions in English.


The State Department representative said to her “Miss Ranger.  We have made an offer to your captors.  We have offered them a great deal of money and several dozen medium range missiles to secure your release.”


I thought Ronnie would break out into tears of joy, but she just stood there trying to absorb it all.   Then she spoke.


“I will not go.”


The State Department representative could hardly believe his ears.   “You won’t come home.”


“No I shall stay here with my husband and with my children.”


“Are you sure?” The representative asked again.  This was not the conference he had planned for.  He had spent years on this and now Ronnie was refusing to come home.


“I am no longer the same person that I was.  I am no longer Ronnie Ranger of CPPW global news network.  I am now Salima Fatima Al Jakarazraka.  I have committed myself to a new life and a new god.


“But Miss Ranger. are you very sure?  You’re not being pressured are you?  Now is the time to speak.


“No. I love my new husband, and I love my new children and I love my new life.  I can never return to what I was before.  I have learned the joys of being a decent and pure and obedient woman, and bending to the will of my all-commanding husband in all matters.   And as you can see, we have many small children, many babies.  What would they do without their mother?  I could never leave my babies.”


“But you have children back at home.  And a husband who loves you.”


“I never before knew the true joy of being a complete woman.  I would not give it up for anything.  I submit to my lord in all things.  Nothing gives me more pleasure.  You are all heretics and infidels back there.   Here we pray to our glorious god many times a day in the one true religion.  You in the West do not understand the meaning of Purity and Piety.  I could never go back to that meaningless empty life.  I do miss the children that I left behind, but I shall remain here forever.  That is my final word.”


All the Westerners in the chamber were abuzz.   The Mujahadeen and his men departed from the chamber, followed by Ronnie and the menagerie of Medinastanian children she had borne.


Eric gave a cold bitter laugh and switched off the television.  He went up to bed.  I went up to bed.


More years passed and I grew accustomed to the warmth and weight of his body on top of mine.  I grew accustomed to the taste of his male organ.  I grew accustomed to having it inside my body.  It had become a part of me.  And all this was maybe twice a week, for thirty or forty silent minutes each time.   How could I love him so much, when he despised me so much?  When he had nothing but contempt for me, faggot that I was.


But a great day was coming.  Warren was about to graduate from eighth grade, and he was to give the valedictory address at the commencement ceremony.


I had bought some new clothes for the occasion.   A pair of light blue, form-fitting slacks, even though the baggy ones were in style.  I bought a blue blazer with copper buttons.  I bought a white dress shirt, and a little red bow tie.  I had never worn a bowtie, but I thought it would suit me.


I was getting dressed in my room and had gotten up to the tie, and suddenly I realized I didn’t have the slightest idea how to tie a bow tie.  I tiptoed down the hall and knocked softly on the door of the master bedroom.


“Who is it?”  asked Eric.


“It’s me,” I answered.  “I’m sorry to bother you, but I need a little help.  I don’t know how to tie this bow tie.”  He allowed me to enter the room and took the tie from me.  He placed it under the collar of my shirt and then stood behind me, putting his arms around my neck, as he tied a bow in front.  He was standing very close against me.  I could feel the contour of his soft penis through his slacks.   And as his penis rubbed against my bottom, I could even feel it stiffening a little.   But then the tie was tied, and he stepped away.


“Thank you,” I muttered, and returned to my own room to put on my blazer.


I sat silently next to Eric as we drove to the school.  The children were in the back seat, beautifully dressed.  I had seen to that.   We got to the school parking lot.


“Damn,” said Eric.  We probably should have left the house a few minutes earlier.  The parking lot was completely full.


Eric drove down a country road past the school and parked the car in a deserted spot on the side of the road.   We got out and walked about a quarter of a mile back to the school.   


At the end of the graduation ceremony, Warren climbed out of his seat in our row and walked up onto the platform to receive his diploma, and to deliver his valedictory address, which was just beautiful.   All about no more wars and everlasting peace forevermore.   Oh.  To be a child again, and believe that such things were possible.   Nancy sat between Eric and myself.


After the ceremony they served cookies and soda in the back of the auditorium and everyone departed for home.  That is----They all went toward the parking lot, and we walked in the other direction down the long lonely country road.  


Suddenly Warren and Nancy raced ahead toward the car, talking loudly and laughing, and I was left walking side by side with Eric.


And then something happened.  Something so unexpected.  Something, I think, I had waited for my whole life long.  I hoped he didn’t see the tears that were beginning to drip down my cheeks. 


And what happened was this:


As we were walking toward the car, Eric had reached out and taken my hand in his.




          















 














  
   
