Now that I was divorced, I was dating again. The problem was, I already had a boyfriend. He professed he wanted to make me the beneficiary of his $100,000 life insurance policy while he was creating perfect hospital corners with my sheets.īut there was another reason I couldn’t marry Eddie: I was in love with someone else. He proclaimed he loved me while his hands were deep in soapy water, washing my dirty dishes. He also wouldn’t take no for an answer about the marriage proposal. I kept catching him digging around in my drawers, ogling my things. He certainly wasn’t going to become my husband.īut he saw our relationship as more than just mistress/slave. He was supposed to address me by my stage name. He wasn’t supposed to be snooping around in my personal things. Then he’d shout my given name, following it up with a giggle. She told me to not touch her things, but I looked inside her drawers and cupboards and found letters with her real name on them.” She told me to make her bed so I did that. “She told me to wash the dishes, so here I am washing the dishes. While he did my dishes, he’d mutter to himself, carrying on long conversations in his head about me, out-loud. He was a little off psychologically, too. You could see the yellow roots of his teeth because his gums had receded so much. His skin was leathery and he was long in the tooth - literally. Our age difference wasn’t so big - but he had done all those drugs. “I want to marry you,” Eddie declared one afternoon while he was down on his hands and knees, scouring the grime from inside my bathtub. I thought it was enough to “pay” Eddie with the privilege of being in my presence. I’d slip between the covers and he’d pull up the sheets below my chin, then fall to the floor and massage my feet while I dozed. When he made my bed, he made it with me literally tucked inside. He’d cart off a huge pile of my dirty clothing, then return with it freshly washed and folded. To this day, I’ve never had my house cleaned better than when Eddie cleaned it. However, once Eddie got to work, I saw he really knew what he was doing. Sure, he got off on the humiliation of being my unpaid cleaning slave. He couldn’t afford my rate, but he could offer his services as a housecleaner. He was into kink but didn’t have the money to pay a pro like me. Now he was sober and living off the royalties he still earned from his parts in Hollywood movies.īut his earnings were meager. He’d worked as an actor when he was younger but then got hooked on crack.Īfter that, no director wanted to work with him. When Eddie materialized in my life, I was thirty-five years old and he was sixty-five. It didn’t take long to figure out that just because Eddie didn’t ask for money to clean my house, that didn’t mean he didn’t want to be paid somehow. I soon found myself in a certain kind of hell. He dusted my furniture, cleared up the clutter, and gave my carpets a good vacuuming - for free. He mopped my floors and scrubbed my toilet beautifully - and more, he did it out of the kindness of his heart. I found a “cleaning slave.”Įddie answered my ad calling for an adept “cleaning slave.” The first time he came to clean my house, I felt like I’d died and gone to housecleaning heaven. As a dominatrix, I knew I could find someone to do that job for free. I especially didn’t want to clean my own house. I wanted someone else to do the heavy lifting for a while. I was simply exhausted from the constant arguing at the end of my marriage. I wouldn’t say it was about revenge though I was still angry at my ex-husband. Returning to this line of work seemed practical because I was now responsible for my own expenses again. I wanted someone to clean my house for free.Īfter I divorced my husband, I decided to go back to the job I had before I got married. I soon learned that just because he didn’t want money didn’t mean he didn’t want to be paid somehow. In my case, a man came to clean my house for free. I’d never be expected to pay another way. I could get away with having someone work for me for nothing. N othing in life is free and you always pay in the end, the saying goes and I can attest to its veracity.īut like many people, I believed this rule didn’t apply to me.
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