Melly

Gigi takes me out. One second I’m walking across the patio in our little backyard. The next I’m on my right hip with my right wrist and arm reverberating from contact with the concrete. Gigi, my dog and the cause of my fall, has the courtesy to lick my face in apology but then is back in pursuit of whatever squirrel sent her charging into the yard in the first place.

“Broken,” the ER Doc announces an hour later after making me wail while she shifted my elbow around. “You’ll need a cast.”

Doc shuffles off in quest of casting supplies. Will, my husband, grimaces. “Sucks, Melly. Bad timing with my trip tomorrow.”

“You’re not still going? Will, I can’t even drive. We don’t know anyone in town, if I need help.”

Will and I had moved to Austin only two weeks ago for my new marketing job, which luckily wasn’t due to start for another week. And, to be fair, Will’s boss, Larry, had only agreed to let him work remotely if he’d fly back whenever needed. But now I’m not even sure I’ll be able to dress myself.

“I don’t have a choice,” Will says. “We used all our savings to buy the condo. What if your new job doesn’t work out? We have to be sure to keep mine, right?”

“Why wouldn’t my new job work out?”

Will shrugs. “It’s a new company.”

“With a great product. And now a great marketing director.”

“Sure, sure. But new companies fail all the time. I have to go. One of us has to stay employed.”

Twenty-four hours later I stare into the refrigerator wondering how to make a sandwich. Will stocked the fridge before he left but with all kinds of supplies that aren’t readily usable without cutting, cooking, and assembling. For instance, I have enough bacon, lettuce, and tomatoes to make BLTs for days but no pre-sliced bread, only those rustic baguettes Will loves so much. I can’t use my fingers or move the wrist of my right hand. How am I going to saw into a baguette?

Gigi, the hyper black-and-white boxer mix responsible for my incapacity, drops her ball at my feet. “I can barely throw when my right hand isn’t broken,” I say. “Plus I’m not giving you a chance to take me down again. We’re both out of luck.”

Four days later, Gigi is about to climb the walls. I’m not much better off. From typing to texting to tying my shoes, simple everyday tasks have become ridiculously hard. I haven’t even taken a bath since the day before the accident. Luckily, Will and I had mostly finished unpacking, but a thin layer of dust covers everything. Packaging from the few food items I managed to open overflow our tiny trash can. Dishes need to be washed. I need to be washed. 

I’m a bit of a neat freak. Other people’s favorite appliance? Their blender, refrigerator, or maybe their microwave. My favorite? Honey, the vintage green Hoover convertible upright vacuum gifted to me by my grandma (also named Honey) before she died. Okay, maybe my second favorite appliance, but I wasn’t in any shape to use my first favorite either.

My phone rings. Thank God for Face ID. I’d told everyone to call rather than text as texting lefthanded is just too hard, and things I say using the microphone come out all wrong.

“How’s it going today?” Will sounds so darn cheerful. I glower at the phone.

“The same. Dirty house, dirty wife. How are you?”

“Work’s great. Busy, but Scott and I made a lot of progress on the Crosswinds Commons project, so Larry’s happy. Hey, I’ve got a surprise coming your way.”

“Keep talking.”

“You’ve been down in the dumps. The messy house is getting to you. So I had an idea. It’s a little out there, but if you loosen up, I think you’ll like it.”

“A little out there?”

“Hey, you’re the one who wants to try new things. Isn’t that part of why we moved to Austin? Give it a chance. Should arrive anytime now. Love ya. Gotta go!”

I had barely set down my phone when our doorbell rings. At least I won’t be kept in suspense. A look through the peephole doesn’t clear up matters. I open the door a crack. “Can I help you?”

The man on the stoop wears white pants, a tight white t-shirt, and funky white and black basketball sneakers. Stubble roughens his chin. His head is closely shaved. Dark, deep-set eyes crinkle beneath sculpted eyebrows as his supple lips curve up. One muscled arm wraps around a bucket of cleaning supplies.

“Someone ordered a clean-up? I’m Ajax, with Mr. Spotless.”

“Ajax? Really?”

His smile widens, revealing teeth as white as his clothing. “Really.”

This is a little out there for Will. A lot out there for Will, and I don’t know how comfortable I am with it either. Besides this guy looks like a model, whereas I look, well, not ready to hang out with models.

Will likely has already paid for this, though. He must be trying to hold out an olive branch. “Uh, I guess I did. Come in.” 

Our condo is open plan, with the main room separated from the kitchen by a long bartop. A hallway leads to the powder room, second bedroom which Will uses as an office, and our primary bedroom and bath. Rather than seeming put off by the mess, Ajax’s eyes start to sparkle. “Great,” he says. “I can really make a difference here.” The sparkle dims. “Hey now. What happened to you, girl?” He raises my cast with gentle hands. “Looks like it hurt.”

Gigi chooses that moment to push inside from the dog door leading to the scene of the accident. Her entire furry body wriggles when she spots Ajax. She weaves between his legs, whimpering. 

I’d bet good money that’s the reaction of any female who finds herself between Ajax’s legs. My cheeks flush at the thought. “Here’s the culprit. She chased a squirrel and sent me sprawling.”

Ajax croons. “You poor thing. Just make yourself comfortable and let me take good care of you. Can I bring you anything? Coffee, tea, something to eat?”

Somehow he’s managed to settle me on the couch, lift my feet onto the coffee table, and rest a pillow under my arm all in one motion. “I’m fine. Let me know if I can help you.”

“No. Let me know if I can help you.”

Thus begins what I can only describe as a veritable ballet of scrubbing, polishing, wiping, mopping, and so much lifting of chairs and boxes Ajax’s muscles start to glow. I try to get absorbed surfing on my phone. I think about going outside and getting out of his way. There’s something so mesmerizing about any man cleaning, though, and Ajax cleaning is a thing of poetic beauty. Veins stand out on his muscled arms. Those pearly whites worry his plump lower lip as he employs various bottles and sprays. My legs refuse to walk away.

I take a sparkling water from the fridge. 

“Help you with that?” Ajax asks when I struggle with the bottle opener.

I fumble my phone, sending it clattering beneath the couch. 

“Help you with that?” Ajax says again and returns it to my hands.

Every once in a while our gazes connect. I yank mine away but not before I see his brilliant smile flash. 

Ajax approaches our one piece of real art, a sensuously twisting abstract sculpture glazed in blues and oranges made by my artist sister, Lucy. It adds color to our otherwise rather bland white and beige decor. When Ajax takes a cloth to its curves, my breath hitches. His hands move slowly, lingering on the dips and massaging the distended points. He bends and blows on what I realize for the first time resembles a plump ass, and I start to glow too. My nipples rise beneath my t-shirt.

I jump up. “Excuse me. Please. I’m going, uh, to the other room. Give you some space.”

Ajax glances at my chest. “Okay.” He drags the cloth between his fingers. “I wanted to vacuum next. Do you have one or should I get mine from my van?”

I almost fall again in my haste to reach the hall closet. Ajax catches me. The fingers wrapping around my bicep connect. What huge hands you have, oh my. I shove the thought away. “Honey’s in here. I mean the vacuum is in here.”

“You call your vacuum Honey?”

Shit. “After my grandmother. She loved cleaning. Like I do.”

“Girls after my heart.”

I pull the bedroom door behind me as Honey begins to purr. Not good – or rather very good but in a very not good way. Ajax is entirely too hot, and my God, he’s cleaning my house. He’s washing the dishes — with soap. Will just runs water over everything. Ajax uses bleach. And disinfectant!

My skin feels tight. I rifle through my night table drawer in search of Syd, my first favorite appliance (sorry Honey). Must not attack the cleaning man, right? Honey will cover the sounds of Syd’s little motor. It can’t take me long to get myself off.

I stretch out crossways on the bed, pull up my stretchy skirt, and press Syd’s button. The angle is all wrong though. Syd is long, and left-handed me is clumsy. Syd’s tip somehow slides away from my clit. Syd’s shaft keeps missing my g-spot. Instead of getting relief, I’m becoming more frustrated. Near tears, I kick out and send the bedside lamp crashing to the floor.

Dante describes seven circles of hell. I don’t know which one I find myself in when Ajax flings open the bedroom door, but it’s scalding. There’s no hiding my activity. Skirt bunched around my waist, legs spread, and Syd still vibrating. Why didn’t I lock the door? On some level, had I hoped this would happen? Surely not. I’m a faithful wife. 

But Will had said this was about trying new things.

After a brief struggle with buttons, Syd goes quiet. I squeeze my eyes shut. It’s hard to say if I’m more humiliated or turned on.

From his footsteps I can tell Ajax has approached the bed. For a moment, our combined rapid breathing is the only sound.

Then Ajax says, “Help you with that?”

In no real world is there a cleaning man who looks like Ajax and is, by the way, named Ajax. In no real world does someone’s husband send them a cleaning man like Ajax and tell them to “loosen up.” If reality is suspended, then of course I can say “Yes,” can’t I?

I open my eyes. “Yes. Please.”

The bed dips. Ajax plucks Syd from my hands. He turns him this way and that but doesn’t press the button right away. Instead he sets Syd down between my parted knees. 

“How turned on are you?” he says. “On a scale of 1-10, with 10 being close to exploding?” 

“Uh. Maybe a 7?”

“How quickly do you want to orgasm? Right away?”

The way he asks these questions is almost clinical, but his voice is hoarse. 

I rub my thighs together. “Not right away,” I stammer. “But soon.”

Ajax’s hands move to the hem of my t-shirt. “May I?”

Ajax pulls up my shirt and takes my nipple in his mouth. His tongue laps at my areola, his teeth scrape my skin, and his lips suckle. The stubble across his jaw abrades in the most wonderful way.

My heels dig into the mattress. “Breathe,” Ajax says and shifts to my other breast. Meanwhile his hands stroke my trembling legs. When he reaches my underwear, he lifts his head and shimmies the cotton the rest of the way down. I risk a look at his face. His gorgeous dark eyes grow even darker. His reddened lips glisten from sucking me.

I look lower. Ajax’s tight white pants do little to hide an impressive erection. The fact this is turning him on too turns me on even more. “Nine.” I gasp for air. “No, ten. Now please.”

Ajax grips Syd between his hands and flicks the button, but he’s not done teasing me. He runs Syd’s fat head along the crease between my leg and vagina. He drags it across my pubic bone. He just about kills me by dipping his fingers inside me and using my moisture to lubricate Syd’s shaft. He licks the same fingers and coats Syd some more. 

So slowly that I begin uttering all manner of nonsense, he eases Syd inside me until the vibrating clit attachment hits exactly where it’s supposed to. I’m already arching off the bed, but Ajax ups the game by angling Syd in various directions, almost growling. “Here?” he asks. “Or here?”

When he hits the G-spot, he doesn’t have to ask anymore. My eyes roll. My non-injured hand grips Ajax’s thick wrist, whether to push him away or pull him closer I have no idea. It makes no difference as Ajax obeys my words instead of my hands.

“Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Just like that. Like that.” Or that’s what I think I say. 

My brain goes haywire. Inner muscles ignite, rev, and squeeze. Every quivery part of me screws up tight, and I contort from the tension, deliciously tortured, until a molten earthquake erupts between my legs, sending lava lush heat all over my body.

“Do you want to be held?” Ajax asks. 

I do. “Would you mind?”

Ajax plasters me against him so I can feel every thick, firm muscle while my convulsions subside. He smells springtime fresh like sheets right out of the drier. I’m drenched in sweat, and, given the days since my last shower, likely don’t smell as good.

“I’m dirty,” I whisper.

“I like dirty things.” He props up on an elbow. “You know what I like even better?”

I wait.

“Making dirty things clean.” With that he scoops me up, carries me to the bathroom, and proceeds to give me the dirtiest bath of my life.

Hours later, I stand in my open doorway watching the white van drive away. My apartment and I are squeaky clean. I have knowledge of a number of new cleaning techniques as well as sexual positions. Could this truly have been what Will had in mind? I study the business card in my left hand, across which Ajax had scrawled, “Call me anytime you’re feeling dirty.”

The door in the adjacent condo swings open. Ms. Lily, our elderly neighbor, steps out. At the same time, a UPS truck pulls to the curb. I’m about to go back inside and attempt to process this insane day when she catches sight of me. “Oh, hello dear. How are you?”

I’m not sure how to answer. “Good. How are you?”

“Well, I’m a bit pissed off at the moment. Forgive my language.”

Out of the corner of my eye I see the UPS guy starting up our shared walkway carrying a large cardboard box. I wonder what Ms. Lily might have ordered and why she’s so ticked about it. “What happened?” I ask. “Anything I can help with?”

“No, dear. Thank you. It’s just that I scheduled one of those services to come clean my house today. Mr. Spotless. You may have seen their commercials. They’re supposed to be very good. But they never came.”

I’m standing there with my mouth hanging open when my cell phone rings. It’s Will. “Hey, so did you get my present? What do you think? Like I said, it’s a little out there, but I’m guessing you’re going to love it.”

The UPS guy stops in front of me. “Package for Melissa Lewis?”

I am incapable of speech. “Melly? You there?” Will asks. “Melly?” 

I hang up.

“Let me know if you see a white van, dear.” Ms. Lily opens her door. “Looks like you got a present. How nice.”

Then it’s just me and the UPS man. “Set this inside for you?” he asks.

A minute later, I stand alone in the condo looking at the box as if it might start tap dancing. Shaking, I retrieve the scissors from my spotless kitchen.

It takes some effort with only one hand, but at last I stare down in mingled wonder and horror at what’s inside.

A Dyson - Ball Animal 3 Extra Upright Vacuum.