Nice and Shiny

She’d spent the morning cleaning.

It wasn’t anything she’d ever thought deeply about. Chores accrued, there was a brief argument over doing the chores, and then the chores generally got done. Meghan had, previously, deliberately subverted a few gender expectations in chore allocation – she proudly if slowly pushed a mower on their tiny patch of lawn. Austin had been the one doing dishes. The apron was actually his. She’d thrown it into the cart at Target.

Clearly, she’d realized, there was a lot more to housework then she’d realized. It was – soothing. There were no internet posts to get mad at, scrubbing a floor. No painfully earnest essays to sort through, doing dishes. There was a sense of actual accomplishment that the sisyphean load of written work never scratched. The floor was definitely scrubbed, it definitely shone. So there was all of that, and if it wasn’t exactly Women Making Noise or an application of her expensive Degree, perhaps, so be it.

And she was definitely feeling like a woman. Yes, because she was barefoot in the kitchen, on tiptoes, trying to get a spot of dirt at the very far back of the window box. Dressed in tights. Not a very empowered woman. But it was never easy to dismiss thousands of years of cultural expectations. It had an ingrained erotic resonance, didn’t it? . She had her back arched, butt in the air, panting, tits swinging. She was wholly dependent on her provider. He’d arrive home and be very proud of her, Meghan was dimly sure of it. No half-assed “how was your day” that neither side cared for. The table was definitely set.

It didn’t hurt that her breakfast cereal porno was an hour on the free use channel. Just girls going about their business, washing dishes or doing laundry, and casually getting their backs blown out by large cocks. It seemed an idyllic life.

“Meghan, everything okay on your end?” the editorial zoom call wasn’t going well. Her attention kept slipping. She’d left the floor half-washed, and it was bothering her.

Nervous laugh. “Sure! Doing great!” Meghan checked her reflection in the terrible laptop camera. She’d worn a throwback blouse for her morning chores. It had two big straps and a 70s-era v-neck. Her boobs felt tender and her bra tight. She’d made waffles from scratch. “Did you say something? Sorry, I’ve been—” concern flitted across her face. What? What was she being? A girl that abruptly watched porn like it was prestige TV?

“We’re getting some background noise? Strange.. noises?”

The porno.

“Be right back!” Meghan said. It wasn’t just on, it was loud, very loud. A pile of half-folded laundry sat next to a redhead getting fucked doggy-style. The genre bounced back between girls who could drain a dick while still calmly sorting, and girls who eventually had to stop and moan. This was a moaner. Meghan hit mute. Nothing happened. She was able to lower the volume, although only about halfway. The captioning kept flowing on and on: serve men, fuck men, be on your knees, the usual stuff. Damn Trey.

They’d muted her when she got back. Humiliated, Meghan sat in silence. Was everyone staring at her? All these other girls, in natural-tone makeup, necklines all very high. Was it so obvious that she’d been slipping, the mask of calm, professional woman showing cracks? Meghan felt a surge of anger – like they didn’t have the occasional urge to slurp ice cream and go without a bra. To just be horny for no reason. She jabbed the end meeting button and sat back.

Oh. She’d slid her tights a little bit down, just for fun and comfort. So everyone had probably gotten a good look at her panties, as she’d legged it for the TV. They were pretty wet.

—-

The incident shocked her back to some reality. She’d spent most of her life diligently working her way into a literary career. At age twelve she’d read To The Lighthouse. Every year she read her way through the Booker Prize short-list and had strong opinions on them. Her pictures in the office were of her at events, meeting well-known authors, wearing sedate blazers. All apparently tossed away for one slutty moment.

It was also worrying that her impulse, her very first impulse, was to stress-eat a burger. The second was to call Austin, have her man make it all better. Meghan e-mailed her colleagues to say she was taking a mental health day. She decided to go for a walk. No, better, a jog, a long and refreshing run, the type that modern professional women took. Away from the blare of the porno that she couldn’t quite seem to shut off. It was now on a 90s softcore kink. A girl with short hair was getting eaten out by another girl with short hair.

It was stress, Meghan decided. A lifetime of purposeful activity thrown out of whack by unauthorized and incompetent handyman activity. Adrift in an empty house as a guy with a beard flailed about with pipes and wires. She could turn it into an essay.

Dressed to run, Meghan decided to ignore the unusual wobble fore and aft. The bubbling butt she saw in the mirror was temporary – or better yet, a mirage. She had a waif ass. And not much boobs. The heft on her chest wasn’t there. Her running shorts bit into thighs she was pretty sure she didn’t have.

Prepared, walking carefully, eyes averted from the girls lapping at each other with nice pink tongues, Meghan opened the door. Trey was right there.

He looked woeful.

“Nope,” Meghan said. “So long.”

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Trey said. He sighed and put his hand on the wall. “I just wanted to– look, I know I haven’t done a good job. I’m real sorry. This is supposed to be a two man crew and…”

He looked genuinely upset. “I told your husband I’m doing this one free and I just wanted to say I’m real sorry.”

“What’d Austin say?” Meghan said, pausing.

“I mean, he was pretty unhappy,” Trey said. “I said he didn’t need to sue me or whatever.”

“Sue you?” Did that sound like Austin? Yes, it did. It was time to be honest with herself. Her butt was getting a little big.

“Yeah– I mean, he was mad.” Trey shrugged, to show it was nothing to him.

Fine. “Come in and get the job done. And can you do something about the porno? Like, does it need to be lesbian? I’m not against lesbians of course.”