A Different Kind of Employment Relationship
Hi, my name is Kimmee W, and I want to share with all of you how drastically my life has changed in the past several years.
My father left my mother and me when I was only four months old. Mom struggled but kept us with a roof over our heads and food in our stomachs and even managed to scrape enough money together to help me out with books and clothes for college when I received a scholarship to a state university.
Mom took sick with adult onset leukemia during the second semester of my freshman year of college. I finished exams, packed my stuff and took the first bus home. She was gone by mid August. After funeral expenses and everything else I could not afford to go back to college, so I found what work I could do, working as a waitress in a local family-style diner.
The job did not pay a lot of money, and some days my tips would barely cover the gas for the old clunker I drove back and forth from the tiny apartment I could barely afford. If it wasn’t for the fact I was given a meal every shift I worked I would have starved, because utilities, rent, and gas money were eating up every dime I made.
In the two years I was waitressing I became friendly with an older couple that had moved into the area about the same time I began my job. They were very kind to me. They were always good tippers, giving twenty percent to me even if they only came in for pie and coffee. They were the kind of couple I had always wished my parents (the fantasy ones) could be. Holding hands and demonstrating that the loved each other very much.
They had lived in a town about seventy miles farther north, and during a storm the old trees on the property had caused serious damage to the roof and foundation of their house. Their insurance had totaled the home and replacement in their old community was not affordable. So they had basically built a duplicate of their old home in this town, with, as the wife laughingly said, serious upgrades to the kitchen and bathrooms.
One rainy evening they left the diner and were walking across the parking lot when a car driven by a woman in her eighties hit them. The old lady claimed she never saw them, but no matter, the wife slid head first into a curb and died on the scene from traumatic brain injuries. The husband suffered a shattered hip, knee and ankle on his left side and a broken right arm. He was months in the hospital and then in a rehabilitation facility, fighting to regain some of his independence.
Finally, about six months later, I waited on this much older frailer gentleman who murmured, “Kimmee, don’t you recognize me? I’m Mr. G…”
I started to cry. This vibrant man who told of his riding his bicycle for miles, body boarding in the nearby surf and who had been the poster boy for a healthy life style seemed to have aged thirty years in six months.
I pulled up a chair, (with my manager’s permission) and we chatted for a while. His son-in-law and daughter had been caring for him in her home since his release from rehabilitation, but it was a strain on their young family and he no longer wished to burden them. He had moved back into his own home, but he found he could not care for himself. If he could not find someone to work for him as a live-in helper he would have to sign himself into a nursing home.
I asked him what kind of duties would be involved and he told me, “Everything a spouse would do, except sex.” I got the idea right away. He needed someone to drive him where he needed to go, do laundry, do housework, pay bills and cook for him. I asked him what the job would pay and he responded, “It depends on just how skilled and trustworthy you prove to be, if you are asking if I would have you to do the job, which I would be glad if you accepted the offer.”
He needed an answer by the end of the week. It was now Wednesday and by Friday I needed to give him a yes or no. I talked to some of the other girls and my manager and they told me to go for it. After all, what was the worst that could happen? If I hated the job I could go back to waitressing.
He came in at one in the afternoon on Friday and sat in the same booth he and his wife had always shared. He looked very sad. I slid into the booth across from him and told him I would take the job. He smiled and pulled a document from the satchel he was carrying.
“Here is the contract, read it carefully. It allows us to review our relationship after the third, sixth and twelfth month of the contract. After that it becomes binding for two years. Kimmee, I cannot tell you how much I thank you for agreeing to help me like this.”
I did not even glance at the contract, I just signed it and told him I was honored he’d chosen me. It turns out I probably should have read it before I signed it; however, everything has turned out fine, so far.
Everything was fine and normal between us for the first two weeks, and then I excused myself to shower and shave my legs. My Boss said one word, “Contract” and then had me bring him the document he had signed. Clearly spelled out in a paragraph I had never read was the statement; “Following acceptance of employment Miss Kimmee W shall neither shave nor have otherwise removed any pubic or body hair and shall allow the hair on her head to grow out to a minimum of shoulder blade length.”
OMG, I had signed this without reading it. I simply said, ”yes sir,” when he asked me if I still wished to work for him and he replied, “Shower fine, shaving no,” and handed me the contract. This time I retired to my room and read the darn thing.
For the first three months the only stipulation was that I not shave. After the third month and until the sixth month I was to rid myself of all panties, swim suits, shorts, jeans and trousers and wear only simple cotton shift dresses. The same sort of dress his wife had always worn when they came to the diner. After the sixth month and up until the first year I was to be nude while going about my daily work within the house, but would be allowed to wear the cotton shifts or a coat while running outside errands. I would be paid thirty thousand dollars upon completion of my first year of my contract. It would all be bankable as my Boss was paying for my food, and since I had given up the apartment and the clunker when I moved in to work here I had no major expenses of my own.
In exchange, I would work in the nude. Now I may never have needed to wear a bra in my life, being a double A, fried egg kind of girl up top. but below the waist I was all girl, curves and high tight butt and legs that looked longer than what belonged on a five foot seven inch girl. So I asked, "What about the beach and swimsuits, if I let my pubic hair grow it would look gross."
His response was, "We have swimming pools here on grounds and a twelve-foot privacy fence. In fact I will have Sean, my physical therapist, show you the range of motion exercises I must do every day and you can hop into the heated indoor pool and help me with them the days he isn’t here. That should be worth an additional five thousand dollars at the end of the year,"
Sean's training had me able to do my Boss’ exercises after the fourth session. I observed the first time, boy did I observe. Sean is six feet of solid muscle and as both he and the Boss were nude, I saw more muscle than a girl could dream having herself wrapped around. But, I digress.
The second session, Sean did an exercise and then hands on mine repeated them. His hands felt wonderful and I swear I felt the beginnings of a very unprofessional erection popping between my legs as he stood behind me. The third he let me do the exercises on the Boss and critiqued my efforts. After that I was on my own. It was weird, because Boss was nude and so was I but there was no sexual tension at all; it was just the two of us in the pool every day working through the exercise program.
We were both enjoying the company we kept and after two more weeks it was all on me as insurance coverage for Sean’s visits had lapsed. After the water therapy the Boss was to walk a half-mile on his treadmill. I would sit by the side of the machine offering encouragement, with my hair wrapped in a towel, but otherwise nude.
I had begun to not bother dressing at all, two months before it would have become an obligatory part of my employment. Boss was walking better, regaining his weight and strength and long hours of the two of us lying in the sun in the fenced in yard had given us both all over tans without the hint of a white tail tan line.
I felt good about myself and I felt good that Boss was healing in both body and mind. One point was still raw for him. He had nightmares almost every night concerning the accident and would wake screaming in anguish. My room was just down a short hall with a bathroom the only separation. I would rush down and wrap my arms around the Boss and try to soothe the fear and pain from his mind.
It was five months into my employment, shortly after I’d given up wearing clothes, when I realized that unless I slept in the same room with the Boss neither one of us was going to get a full night’s sleep.
I started out sleeping in a recliner next to his bed. When he’d begin to stir I’d reach over and rub his back or his hand and he would calm himself back to sleep. One night he had rolled too far over in bed and unable to touch and comfort him I watched as the night terror took hold of him.
That was the night I moved into the Boss’s bed. He would cuddle me like a body pillow, cup a hand over my tiny breast and fall contentedly to sleep. The only time I ever felt his erection was when he was deeply asleep and probably dreaming of his lost love. Hey, I had no delusions of anything else. He had adored his wife and I was younger than his daughter. I was an employee short and simple. My being his bed companion was simply a matter of the care and compassion my job required.
As per the contract, when the first year ended a thirty thousand dollar check was deposited into my bank account. Two other checks followed, one for five thousand dollars, as compensation for my taking on the Boss’s physical therapy, and a second check for thirty seven hundred dollars as a bonus for quality performance.
I don’t want to tell you how hairy I was by that point. My scalp hair had grown out into curls and ringlets that hung nearly to my waist. I could now open the door for delivery persons and with my hair swept forward cover my small breast mounds completely. Oh, did I fail to tell you that I had become so used to being nude that I would walk to the mailbox or answer the door that way? Well, between the huge bush of hair at my crotch and the long hair on my head nothing was visible from the front and as the Boss was fond of saying, everyone has two cheeks and a butt crack, what does it matter if someone sees yours?
I had entered into the next phase of my contract. At the end of the twenty-four months left of my employment I was to receive a check for forty thousand dollars for year two and forty-five thousand for year three. I continued to do my Boss’ therapy sessions; however, as he regained more control of his body he wanted more challenging routines. That is how I found myself attending college on the Internet, working toward the goal of becoming a fully licensed physical therapist. The Boss was paying for everything with bonuses for every A I got in a class.
One day, while the boss was napping and I was reviewing some on line material for an exam the next day, the doorbell rang. I answered it and standing there was the tallest, shapeliest woman in her thirties I ever seen. She was accompanied by a six-year-old boy.
“Momma, she’s all hairy naked!” The boy shrieked with delight and began dancing around the foyer shouting the phrase, “hairy naked,” over and over. I was blushing so badly that I almost forgot to ask the woman who she was or the nature of her business with my Boss.
“You must be the miracle worker, Kimmee, that my Dad has been emailing me about. Hello, I am his daughter Kathy and this monster is Skip, real name Donald, but avoid using it if you value your shins.” She warmly extended her hand and I took and shook it.
We both heard a splash at that point and we rushed to the back of the house where we found Skip, having kicked off his clothing, doing a passable back stroke in the heated indoor pool.
“He’s a fish, let him be,” Kathy smiled then said something very interesting, “I want to see my Dad, but my guess is house rules still apply here, so,” with that she slipped out of her travel dress and panties and showed me the most beautiful golden all over tan on a statuesque body. She had all of her body hair, but hers was so pale a yellow blond that from a distance it was not noticeable.
Calling from the bedroom the Boss said, “Kimmee I hear voices, do we have company?”
Kathy put her finger to her lips in the universal sign for silence and walked to the bedroom door, “Nope, Pop, no company, just your kid and grandkid.”
I peered in over her shoulder and the Boss got out of bed and grabbed his cane. He was stark naked with the semi erection men get when they need the rest room. “Out of the way or I’ll pee the floor.” We both stepped aside.
“That’s my Dad, master of understatement and surprised at nothing.” Kathy giggled. I joined her.
Done toilet flushing, the Boss was met with two women yelling, “Wash your hands.”
This put Kathy and me into another mutual fit of laughter.
Now the normal rounds of hugs kisses and tender affections were shared and we retired to the one time family room, now home gym, to chat and watch Skip turn laps in the pool.
Kathy told her father that her husband, Kevin, was assigned for three months to work in the offices of his corporation in India. She had closed up her house and was going to spend some time with Kevin’s parents and with her father too, if the Boss could put up with Skip and his hyper activity.
Her father looked at me, as if I had a say, then told Kathy, “You two can use Kimmee’s room, she hasn’t slept there for months.”
“Well, that sounds like the pipe dream of a lonely horny old man,” Kathy teased. Her grin and raised eyebrow seemed to indicate something other than shock.
Blustering like an idiot I responded, “It isn’t like that. He has these night terrors and if I’m in the room he has less of them and sleeps the night through.”
“Relax, kiddo, he has written to me about how much your nurturing has meant in his recovery.” She looked at him, and then to me, “He even told me, for as much as he would like to get into your currently non existent pants, he wouldn’t ruin what he has by trying to.”
I grinned at that one; Kathy seemed well grounded and not at all concerned about the remote possibility of my becoming her step-mom. No, all she cared about was that her father was no longer in a deep depression and seemed both serene and content with his lot in life.
“Well, in that case, feel free to share whatever other dirt he has told you about me,” Kathy howled when I said that and the Boss actually blushed.
Over the course of the next three weeks of her visit, Kathy took a great deal of time explaining the dynamic, which had driven her family. The unshaven nudity had been her mother’s inspiration. Stemming from the fact that Kathy had steadfastly refused to wear clothing, once she’d learned how to undress herself, her mother simply segued that to the policy that no one had to wear clothes in the house, or yard, if they promised to keep all of their clothes on while out in school, shopping, or church.
At first her mother would walk around the house in just panties and when that did not convince Kathy to do likewise she relented and went nude with her daughter. Kathy’s father would come home after work, strip, shower and shave, and come to the dinner table nude. Kathy started kindergarten at age four, and almost immediately made friends with three girls with whom she would be close through high school, Sally, Tessa, and Karen.
Soon, the invitation for play dates began to roll in and Kathy’s mom kept fending them off. Until finally during a parent’s night at the school, she had drawn the moms of Kathy’s friends aside and explained the ‘clothing optional’ nature of Kathy’s home.
Tessa’s mom was the first to respond, “You have that gorgeous pool in your yard, girl, I can understand you letting the kids go naked in and around it, Do you know how many swim suits my Tessa went through last summer? Five. Five, between runs from scraping concrete while sliding in and out of the pool, chlorine damage to the fabrics and simply having a growth spurt, honestly I wish I’d thought of ‘clothing optional’ a long time ago.”
Surprisingly, neither Sally's nor Karen’s moms said any different, In fact nods of agreement were the order of the day. Karen’s mom even suggested reciprocity with, “Hell, the kids can go naked at my place, also. I don’t have the ritzy pools you two do, but my back yard is a mud pit and my dogs love to romp with the kids. If they are naked I can just hose them down, dry them off, and send them home at the end of a play date.”
Sally’s mom just said, “I’m in, too.”
For the next nine years, through grade school and middle school, the four girls kept their secret and that of their families and enjoyed the glory of summers’ nude by one of the two pools and each other’s company. Their parents became a close circle of friends and, when at Kathy’s or Tessa’s, were as naked as their children.
The fly hit the ointment in September of the girls ninth grade year. A snotty blonde, (who thought she was all that being on the junior varsity cheerleading team), in their gym class took note of the fact that the four friends were the only ones in the locker room with no tan lines but obvious tans. She caused such a ruckus that Mrs. Swenson; the gym teacher came into the locker room to investigate. Lining up the girls, ‘as is’ she checked the entire class. Looking at the white girls, she noted some girls had not been in the sun at all, all summer long, and were quite pale. Others showed the tan lines of tennis outfits or one and two-piece swim suits. Then there were the four friends, all richly deeply tanned and except for sandal strap marks on their feet not a tan line between them.
Mrs. Swenson raised an eyebrow and was about to say something when Kathy defused the situation with, “So the secret is out, our families are nudists.”
Everyone dressed and left the locker room and the next day during girl’s health class, Mrs. Swenson brought up the topic of ‘naturism’ as a way of life. When she finished her talk she asked the girls if they wished to add anything. Tessa said, “My mom says she has saved a fortune not buying swim suits for all these years.” That remark made all the girls giggle. Tessa’s mom was known to pinch pennies hard.
“I just love the way the air and water and sun feel on me without a damp chaffing piece of cloth wrapped around me,” Kathy added.
Some of the other girls asked the four several questions and the blonde cheerleader leaned over to Kathy and whispered, “Do you think I can come over to your place sometimes to swim and lay out?” Kathy smiled and extended an open invitation to any of the girls in the class who wanted to ‘try it.’ Mrs. Swenson added to be sure to have your parents approve your visit and don’t all impose on Kathy and her mom all at once.
One day. shortly after the larger circle of girls began frequenting Kathy’s back yard and pool, Kathy noticed something different in her mother. “Mom, why did you stop shaving your legs and belly hair,” she had asked her hirsute parent six weeks into the school year on one of the last days before the outdoor pool was closed for the colder weather.
“Well, Kathy, as you are well aware the hair on my belly is called pubic hair and since I no longer have to worry about it peeking around the sides of my swimsuit I decided that if God and Nature meant for it to be there I’d let it grow.” Her mom had told her. From that day forward Kathy had not laid razor to body either.
“My father put it this way,” Kathy continued with the story, “A nude woman, in this house maintains her modesty with the covering of hair God gives her. A shaved and shorn woman is naked and brazen.”
I asked Kathy about her father’s attitude outside the walled enclosure that was his home and fortress of solitude. She told me to check around at the local 24-hour markets and drug stores and the local 24-hour filling station if I wanted answers. Particularly the staff who were on duty 10 p.m. to 2a.m. The dim bulb in my brain lit. The couple had shopped nude in the late hours when less attention would be drawn to them.
“So in the same way that I go to the end of the driveway, nude, to pick up the newspapers and mail and the neighbors just accept it as normal they went shopping?” I asked.
“You catch on quickly,” the Boss’ daughter replied, then smiling broadly, “Just wait 'till he feels up to going to the ocean. Just remember 7th Street beach to the right of the lifeguard stand; and bring a boogie board.”
Having Skip in the house for nearly three weeks perked up his grandfather’s mood a great deal. By the time Kathy was ready to move on to her in-laws, her father was mentioning getting his strength back enough to visit Kathy for the holidays.
“We would love to have you both visit whenever you want and for as long as you want.” Kathy had hugged me warmly and kissing her father goodbye she dropped the shirtwaist dress she wore on arrival over her head and forced Skip into his shorts and shirt for the taxi ride to the airport.
That night, if it were possible, the Boss clung closer and tighter to me than he had since I first began sleeping in his bed.
* * *
Well, we did go visit Kathy, Kevin and Skip for the week between Christmas and New Year. Kathy kept the same type of household as the one in which she was raised. Skip and his buddies ran around and swam in their unclothed glory and thought nothing of the similarly nude adults. Kathy announced she was pregnant again and all indications were it was a girl. “Should be interesting once she is old enough to have her friends come over to the house for play dates,” the Boss told his daughter, “We only had you and the one gender to concern us, since Karen and Tessa had younger sisters.”
Kathy laughed and remembered how may times boys had tried to wheedle their way into the inner circle of friends to be invited to join in the pool parties. “Pop, do you remember the all night pool party and barbecue you and mom had for us after the Senior Prom?”
“The very first time your mother permitted boys and girls to mingle in the yard and pool in the nude, I sure do." Her father smiled.
“Tessa was the daughter of the Captain of the uniformed patrol unit of our police department. Seeing him playing sheepdog keeping the innocent lambs separated from the ravenous wolves was quite funny,” Kathy told me.
While she and Skip had stayed with us, I had shown her some of the physical therapy I was doing with her father. While at her place, she assisted me with his workouts and praised her father for all the progress he was making. Like a plant in a pot that sprung to life when watered, her father showed improved mood and physical improvement with his daughter’s praise and encouragement.
Toward the end of my third year of employment, the Boss called me into his office for a performance review. It was then that he told me he would no longer need me to do his therapy as he felt he was now well enough to see after himself.
I told him I understood and would start to look for another place to live and be ready to move out when my contract expired. I guessed that with the money in the bank I could at least be able to feed and cloth myself until I got my physical therapist's license and found a job.
“No, no you totally misunderstood me,” he told me. “I said I don’t need you to do my physical therapy, I did not say I can live without your friendship, companionship and caring affection.” He opened up a box and showed me a two-caret cushion cut diamond ring with channel set smaller stones running down the sides of the ring. “I want to make our relationship permanent.”
I took the ring, slipped it on my left ring finger, and for the first time since our relationship began I took the Boss to bed with something other than sleep on our minds. We were married two weeks later. Eleven months after that our twins Monika and Mike were born. They start kindergarten this September; we are both wondering what will happen when they both want to have friends over.