Goldie's Locks and the Three Men

by Liz Adams

  Johanson shrugged. “As far as Mr. Wilson is concerned, I’ve never heard of him. And he will never hear from me.”

  She decided that was probably as good a promise as she’d get, and left before the thug boss changed his mind. She was out twenty Gs, and she’d let herself miss her flight for Gary, but at least the loan shark would no longer threaten him. No one deserves to have their money – desperately-needed money – taken from them the way her father took hers.

  She returned to the taxi. “Airport,” she said and slumped low in her seat. That was it. The end of her life as a thief. No way was she ever going to rob again.

  ***

  Al waited in the plush hallway among the rest of the men waiting to be interviewed. From the looks of his competition, he knew he had a much better chance than the rest of them. The ad for the new household assistant stated, “Prior experience as a bodyguard a plus.” These men looked like butlers with the strength to balance a tray of four dinner plates. Hardly enough muscle to intimidate if the situation called for it. There was even a woman waiting to be interviewed. The ad made it clear, “Male Household Assistant Needed.” If he read the rest of the ad right, there was the possibility that these employers were not looking to have any women in their home. After what happened in Al’s last job, that fit his needs just fine.

  It was just a few days ago that he had been under the employment of Madam Foster. He knew it wasn’t proper for him to lust after his employer. Coming from a long lineage of butlers and maids, Al knew that wanting to screw your employer was at the top of the list of forbidden practices. But damn it all, having watched how sensual she moved while she made her way through the estate made his pants feel far too tight and uncomfortable.

  The turning point was five nights ago when Madam Foster prepared to leave for a fundraising event, or as she liked to call them, a “shit-facing” event since the upper-class people who went were less interested in helping the needy, and were more interested in showing off their jewelry while getting drunk. She twirled in front of him with her trademark sardonic smile in her skin-hugging black gown, sparkling like all the stars in the sky.

  As she twirled and laughed at his impassive expression, he fantasized about pushing her face front against the wall, yanking her dress over her buttocks, and pumping his cock as deep as he could go until she screamed and came.

  Damn it all to hell. Where had such improper thoughts come from?

  Al drove her along the glistening night city streets wet with rain and dropped her off in front of the hotel for the fundraising shindig. Al parked in back and turned on the radio to listen to classical music as he waited for Madam Foster to return. As he waited in the limousine, he imagined how beautiful she’d look dangling naked from her ankle tied to the ceiling, the rest of her body horizontal like a ballerina in the air, one leg kicking high. What would the ballerina look like when he applied a powerful vibrating wand at her clit? Would she cry out his name? Would she let her hands fall down to the floor to hang completely upside-down? Would she kick her free leg and beg for more?

  Al’s body responded to his thoughts. His blood pumped hot, and his cock grew further down his pant leg.

  One time he had seen her come down for breakfast in just her nightgown. She yawned and stretched, bringing up her arms and pushing her chest out. The thin material did nothing to hide her hardened nipples. How would she look standing with her wrists bound behind her head as though in a permanent stretch? She’d be a living, beautiful painting fixed in that position of jutting her chest, but he’d want more. He’d want her not to hold that position just for him, but to also hold on to that moment of gasping, that intake of breath, a constant contraction of her muscles that would feel so good to her she’d be exhausted from the pleasure. Tied up in that position of eternal stretching, he’d take her from behind, doing everything he could to make her gasp and groan, and only orgasm at his say so.

  Feeling a growing itch, Al let a hand go to his thigh. He scratched the tip of his dick through his pants leg. It grew.

  Two hours later, Madam Foster called him to let him know she was ready to go home, so he forced aside his fantasies and drove around to the front entrance of the hotel.

  She fumbled into the back seat of the car. “Whoo! I may have enjoyed the champagne a little too much.” She hiccupped and giggled.

  Al wanted her more than ever.

  On the way to her residence, she squeezed his shoulder. “I know I’m not supposed to say this, being your employer and all, but if you weren’t working for me you’d be the perfect man.”

  His face grew hot. How should he respond to this new information? Could his fantasies come true? The possibility gave him goose bumps. He could get used to feeling this way, knowing that any day now his fantasies would come to fruition. Having worked as her employee for just two weeks, it was good to know he found a job he’d enjoy. A dream job where his dreams would likely come true.

  “Ma’am?”

  “You’re a handsome and strong man, Al. I’m probably not the first woman who got a thrill knowing your past as a wrestler. It’s an endearing quality. What woman doesn’t like to feel protected?”

  In an all-boys school, he had taken up wrestling to release the fury of seeing his father’s employer always giving his father orders. Later in life, Al understood the value of helping others. Orders became a pleasure to fulfill instead of a burden. But Al still needed to be in charge, if only in his fantasies. As for Madam Foster, yes. He could pin her down easily if that’s what she wanted. He could lock her neck between his ankles, pry her open and finger her until all her secret dirty desires were washed away with her juices.

  Her voice sounded sultry. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how big you are. Isn’t it natural for a girl to want to know what it feels like to have someone as huge as you between her legs?”

  Al said nothing and tried to ignore how cramped it was in his pants.

  “Oh, shit. I’m sorry, Al. I said too much, didn’t I? I can be a total airhead sometimes.”

  He didn’t say anything. As far as he was concerned she said exactly what he wanted to hear.

  “I’m sorry, Al. Can we just pretend I never said anything?”

  Not sure how to respond, he fell back on his role. “You are free to say whatever you wish. It is not my place to judge, ma’am.”

  Was that a sigh he heard? “Thanks, Al. But I really was out of line. I don’t want anything to come between us, okay.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He drove for a spell in silence. Finally he asked his burning question. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I feel I must know. Why do you see me as the perfect man?”

  “Oh, gosh, Al. You’re not going to leave me, are you?”

  “No, Ma’am. I’m just curious.”

  “Well, it should be obvious from who you are?”

  “Ma’am?”

  “You’re a servant, Al. You attend to my every need. I always feel taken care of by you. It’s rare to feel so taken care of by a man.”

  He nodded. That made sense. It was in his nature to want to help make sure people’s needs were met, or do his best to do so.

  “But most of all you’re nothing like the men I know. Men can be so rough and, well, I just know that in the bedroom – and I’m not saying I expect you to sleep with me – but in the bedroom, I just know you’d be soft and gentle. You’d listen to me and fulfill my needs, following my every demand.”

  Al slumped his shoulders. She would never fulfill his fantasies. He wanted it rough, maybe even more rough than the other men she’d known. His dreams of her were no longer just inappropriate, they were also unrealistic, a waste of time. He’d probably never meet a woman who’d be willing to actualize his fantasies. That being the case, he’d be better off having a male employer than torture himself with his desire for his female employer.

  Instead of parking in the garage, he had stopped at her front walkway.

  “Why are you stopping here?”

>   Without turning around, he had said, “I’ll be staying at a hotel tonight. I’ll drop off my letter of resignation in the morning.”

  Now he sat in the hallway of a mansion waiting to be interviewed by two men. It could be an ideal position, especially considering the pay. The door to the interview room opened and Al heard a man announce, “Next!” That was his cue.

  ***

  In the living room of their mansion, Bruce scanned the résumé of the next applicant.

  His housemate and coworker Rob shifted in the seat beside him. “This is ridiculous, Bruce. We’ve interviewed what, forty people so far?”

  “Thirty-seven.”

  “Whatever. There’s no way we can find someone we can trust who can also defend himself.”

  “Actually, this one looks promising. Former wrestler, experience as a bodyguard, butler, and chauffer.”

  “Bucks to bagels he’s going to be a stick in the mud like all the others.”

  “I choose to be optimistic.”

  “Five bucks says we pass on him.”

  Bruce shook his head. Then to keep his housemate happy, he held out his hand to shake. “You’re on.”

  Rob smiled and shook hands with him as a tall man sauntered into the room. Bruce detected a bulk of muscles beneath the man’s dark suit. The applicant introduced himself as Al.

  Rob asked the basic questions, what Al’s experience was, what he was looking for in his new position, and why he left his previous job. When Al mentioned he was looking to not be employed by a woman, Bruce glanced at Rob. Rob responded with a raised eyebrow.

  Rob turned back to the applicant. “Are you gay?”

  “Rob!” Bruce felt his face grow hot.

  “Just asking.”

  The applicant smirked. “I don’t mind the question. I’m not gay. Quite the opposite, actually. Which is why I prefer not to be employed by a woman.”

  “Ooh.” Rob gave a knowing nod. “Can’t resist the ladies, eh?”

  Al said nothing.

  Bruce scanned Al’s résumé. “Let’s move on.”

  “What’s your type, Al?” Rob leaned in. “Slender and glamorous with legs that hike up to the moon?”

  “Rob.” Bruce put a hand on Rob’s shoulder to stop his pal from making an ass of himself.

  “Or are you more of a tits and ass kinda guy? Like when they’re jogging, wearing tight shorts and a loose top, and their tits are bouncing up and—”

  “Rob!”

  Rob put up his hands. “Just asking. Geesh.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Probably wouldn’t answer my questions, anyway.”

  Bruce was relieved to detect a slight grin on Al’s face. When it came to women, Rob enjoyed the conversation a little too much.

  Bruce tried to phrase his next words without revealing too much. “It’s good you feel that way because we also avoid building relationships with women. If we hire you, you’ll understand why.”

  As Rob continued asking basic questions, Bruce’s thoughts drifted to Samantha, the love of his life. A quiet librarian from Brazil who didn’t mind the secrets Bruce kept from her, she was perfect. She was the only one who accepted him for who he was, and didn’t mind that he couldn’t tell her everything about his life.

  She gave him the ear he needed to voice his concerns, as much as he could without revealing too much. She provided him with the freedom to express himself intimately, holding her in his arms and kissing her tender lips, caressing her bronze breasts, filling her with his love. She shared her private dreams of sailing on the ocean reading her favorite books, visiting the Eiffel Tower, and having a home of her own in Nice in southern France with a peach tree in her back yard. She gave him the joy of being needed and wanted.

  He thought he could keep her safe by not sharing his secret. He thought hiding the truth from her was enough to protect her.

  He’d been wrong.

  He found Samantha’s body on his doorstep, a letter stuck to her chest with a knife.

  The letter read, If I can’t have you, no one can.

  No signature at the bottom, but he recognized the symbol on the letter. It was the same symbol left at other crime scenes, by the same female assassin.

  Behind Samantha’s grave, Bruce had planted a peach tree. If she couldn’t have her tree in life, at least she had one in death. He’d learned his lesson. Relationships were out of the question.

  There was a lull in the questioning that brought his thoughts back to the present. Al and Rob looked at him expectantly.

  With the applicant in front of him, Bruce knew he had to be clear. “Al, you need to understand something. There’s a secret that if revealed could hurt many people. If we were to hire you, keeping our secret wouldn’t be enough.”

  Al scowled. “Sir?”

  Bruce hesitated for a second, then dove in. “There are a lot of dangerous people who may break into our home, wanting what we have. In normal circumstances, I’d say if you see such a person, get out of their way, let them take what they want, and don’t get hurt. Your safety comes first.”

  Al said nothing.

  “But in our case, if someone breaks into our home and discovers our secret, we cannot let them escape.” Bruce tried to gauge whether or not Al understood him. “If someone breaks into our home, your job would be to stop them at all costs. If they threaten to take your life, you take theirs first. Do you think you’d be able to do that?”

  “Yes, sir,” Al said without hesitation. “I’ve had experience as a bodyguard. If the secret I am protecting saves lives, I am capable of putting my life on the line to protect it.”

  Bruce nodded. “Even if the thief is a woman?”

  “Without hesitation, sir.”

  Rob handed a five-dollar bill to Bruce and leaned to whisper. “You win, but he’s still a stick in the mud.”

  PART 2

  Present Day

  Goldie helped her lover Christina take off her dress. Since Goldie knew getting the loving attention she needed from a man was an impossible dream, she’d turned to the love of a woman. Christina was a tall, sensual woman who came into Goldie’s life at a time when Goldie’s crusted soul needed her love the most.

  “Thanks, Pumpkin,” Christina caressed Goldie’s cheek, and reached for the band at the back of Goldie’s head. “How come you always keep your hair in a ponytail?”

  “Don’t.” Goldie pulled away. “I just want it this way.”

  Christina blinked and swallowed, seeming hurt. “Okay. Sorry—”

  Dammit. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Christina bared herself by removing her lacy bra and panties. “I’m going to take a quick shower.” She gave Goldie a peck on the cheek.

  There was a time once when Goldie was just a naive senior in high school who trusted too much and despite the harsh role model of her father, she still had a thread of hope in finding a loving man. She had often spent the weekends away from home, away from her father. Without money to pay for a place to stay during those Friday and Saturday nights, she slumbered in busy hotel lobbies where too many businessmen and families bustled through for the hotel staff to notice her. One rainy evening drinking pineapple juice with her lonely self at a ritzy hotel lobby, she ran into Paul Maxwell, a guy she’d had a crush on as a freshman in high school. He had graduated when she finished freshman year.

  “Paul!” She felt courageous enough to give him a strong hug.

  “Hi…how do I know you?”

  “Sorry.” Her face burned hot. She fingered a lock of hair. “We were in Roosevelt High together. Well, I still am at Roosevelt, and you’re not. I mean, you already know you’re not there anymore. I don’t need to tell you that.”

  A dawning of recognition came across him, thank goodness. “Right! I remember you! Um…Gertrude?”

  “Goldie.”

  “Right. Of course.” He touched Goldie’s arm. “How are you?”

  “Good.” Goldie thanked the stars above she wore her pretty wrap-around dress with the matchin
g spaghetti-strap top. “Why are you here? Is there a college event?”

  “I’m not going to college. A waste of money. Just staying the night for a seminar on marketing. You probably think it’s boring.”

  “Not at all,” Goldie lied. Wow! Staying at a hotel like this must cost a pretty penny plated with platinum. He was not only handsome, he was rich, as well. Her mind jumped to being with this handsome man, traveling together to exotic places, staying at ritzy hotels, Paul treating her to succulent dinners at five-star restaurants and surprising her with sapphire rings and gold necklaces.

  “Let me buy you a drink. What’s your pleasure?”

  Goldie’s heart pounded. No one had bought her a drink before. Now here she was treated to a drink by the very guy she’d dreamed of kissing.

  “I’m not twenty-one, yet.” She bit her lip.

  “Okay, but you’re at least eighteen, right?”

  She nodded. “Turned eighteen last month.”

  “Congratulations! That’s good enough for me.” He stepped away to the hotel bar and came back with a green drink in his hand. “One Grasshopper.”

  “Is that really what it’s called?”

  “Truly.”

  She took the drink from his hand and smirked. “I don’t suppose there are any real grasshoppers in it, are there?”

  He smiled that gorgeous smile of his. “They were all out, so I had them put in crème de menthe instead.”

  She took a sip. The mix of fire and ice ran through her throat and nostrils. So good! She stifled a laugh. Here she was breaking the law again, this time drinking under age. Her heart fluttered at the thrill of getting caught. The rest of her body also responded to the thrill with a tingling all over.

  “You’re so cute.” He ran a hand through her long locks of hair.

  Chills ran down her back and melted her spine. No one had ever touched her that way before. But “cute”? Was that an I-find-you-attractive “cute,” or a you-remind-me-of-Elmo-the-Muppet “cute”?

  The night played on. Goldie listened to his stories enraptured by his words. The more he shared about his dreams of business success and opinions on the messed up yet hopeful state of the world, the more endearing he became. They talked through three Grasshoppers and one White Russian, and every so often he stroked her hair. His touch was unbelievably good. The way he caressed her hair made her feel so connected to him, adored by him, even cherished. Goldie got less and less interested with what he was saying and more and more interested in spending the night in his arms.