Good help is hard to find

After you got the big promotion, you decided to give yourself a bit of a break and hire a few people to help keep your little house and garden up to your very precise standards.

Your housekeeper is an older woman who clearly doesn't relish working for a single, 30 year old woman--though you'd think that it's the easiest job around--no kids and no man to make a mess, and you are out the entire day, so easy enough to find the time to come. Still, it isn't your problem.

As for the garden, well...You looked into a few landscaping companies, but found a rather intriguing ad on the neighborhood web forum:

"College junior: Landscaping services, reasonable rates, I bring all my own equipment."

Can't hurt to help out a local kid, right?

Trevor comes by one afternoon to check out the job. You suppress a smile as you open the door. He is about an inch shorter than your own 5'10' frame, with a thin but muscular physique. A mop of tousled dirty blond hair tickles his face.

He starts slightly at your blazer and slacks; leaving the top two blouse buttons open to reveal a hit of red lace bra seems to have been a good move.

"Come in, my dear, and have a look around."

You offer him a glass of ice water and watch him survey the work. He is obviously longing to ask you whether anyone else lives there, but you pointedly ignore his hints.

You sit down at the table to haggle terms--a discussion that you very much have the best of, since he can't meet your cool, appraising, gaze as you talk.

Trevor is conscientious and in no time your garden is the envy of the block.

About two months after he starts working for you there is a very hot day. Trevor spends the afternoon weeding and only finishes about 5pm. As he comes inside he swears.

"Damm!"

"Oh--excuse me, miss. I didn't see you. My language..."

He blushes.

You suppress your smile and ask, "What's the trouble, dear?"

"Oh--it's nothing. I've got to run to campus and I don't have time to get back to my apartment to change."

"Oh--feel free to use my shower," you smile, with a wicked laugh in your head. "Leave your things outside the door, and I'll run them through a quick wash and dry."

"Oh, miss, I really couldn't..." he starts to say.

"No--I insist."

Of course, you have a perfectly good guest bathroom. And of course, you do not show that to him. As he rinses off in your walk-in shower, you collect his clothes.

You ponder. It might be time to have a bit of fun with the boy. Maybe the dryer could "break" and you'd need to go tell him as he gets out of the shower. Or maybe the washer might just "lose" those boxers of his...in which case you could supply an...alternative...