Tina At The Hideaway
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A Good Idea free porn video
"A Good Idea"
It was, perhaps, a week before graduation that Mona suggested
we move in together. It was a fairly innocuous request, when
you got right down to it; she had found an apartment which she
couldn't afford on her own. $1000 a month is fairly difficult for
a college student to pay when one considers that such a
student also must purchase their own books. It was the
cheapest apartment she had found that wasn't crawling with
roaches, but she was lucky to pull in $600 a month. What was a
girl to do?
I highly doubt I was the first person on her list. We were
friends, but not really close friends. That is to say, we hung out
sometimes, and we did not find each other's personalities
entirely objectionable. It's not too hard to trace exactly what
she would have done. First, she would have gone to her best
friend Anne. Anne now was the 'connection' that had allowed
us to meet in the first place; I had known Anne since the fifth
grade. Anne would have told Mona at least one, possibly all, of
the following things:
1) She was going to college three states away.
2) She was moving in with her boyfriend, Rich.
3) She doubted that the two of them would get along in the
same apartment.
That tends to happen with good friends, she would have said.
She would have hugged her, kissed Mona's cheek, and walked
away. She had been distancing herself from all her friends for a
few weeks, trying to prevent the pain from being too much for
when she finally had to leave in early July.
She next would have made a similar entreaty to Janey. Janey
would have said no, because she had already paid for her dorm
for the semester. Similar responses would have come from
Sally, Meg, Sarah, Charlotte and, possibly, if she asked her,
Michelle. Joey would have said no because he wouldn't want
the temptation. Leaving me, Jim, and Other Jim, in that order.
So, when Mona came to me saying, "Morgan," (yes, my name
is Morgan, shut up),"would you want to share an apartment," I
was more than happy to take the opportunity. See, I was
taking a year off so I could save up some money.
Unfortunately, paying $700 in rent would afford me little
chance to save much of anything. Reduce that to
$500, splitting the rent for the apartment with Mona in half,
and everything is peachy.
So, I scrambled to cancel the two-hundred dollar check I had
put down on the West End apartment and made arrangements
to move in with Mona. She'd be the only one legally paying the
rent, but I'd be delivering my share to her every month. She
told me all the details over the phone about two weeks before
we moved.
"There's only one bedroom, but we can easily turn the dining
room into the living room and move you into the den. One
bathroom, which we'll have to share, I guess, and a small
kitchen. It'll be crowded, but it's in a good neighborhood, so it's
worth it."
I had to concur. The apartment I had been planning on was in a
fairly dingy part of Fairfield, so this would be a definite
improvement. To top it off, one day, while packing up my
room, Mona showed up with a CD for me; Edith Piaf. She
knew me and my love for French jazz. She hated the stuff, and
insisted that I use headphones when I listened to it at the
apartment. I didn't care how I listened as long as I listened.
Quand il me prend dans ses bras, il me parle tout bas, je vois la
vie en rose.
Natch, I loved it.
So, we moved in. It was pretty small, but it had high ceilings.
That's always nice; give us the space where we don't need it?
up. But, we had room enough; the tiny dining room became our
tiny living room. She got the relatively spacious master
bedroom, and I got the substantially smaller den. At first, I
protested. She had a third more space; I was gonna run out of
room.
Mona looked at me lightly, and said, "Don't be like that,
Morgan. I'm paying for all the food, AND I bought you that
CD to thank you for helping me out. It's a good idea."
A good idea? Yeah. She was right, after all. She was buying all
the food, and I couldn't stop listening to that CD. I shouldn't
have argued with her about it. She had been kind enough to
help me out, and, again, that ?bad-ass? Edith Piaf CD. I popped
it back in, and began unpacking my room again. Happily and
without complaint. Mona rocked. Time passed, and we lived
on. It had been a month or so; I was working at Giorgio's
Italian Restaurant, and she was going to school AND working
full time. And, ya know, my room wasn't nearly so small as I
thought it was. Maybe I got used to it, or maybe it was all a
matter of my biased Morganvision. It's a good thing Mona was
there to help me adjust. And we were becoming closer
friends; on those nights we were both home at the same time,
we'd rent old movies; Sabrina was a favorite. It was her idea,
and like she kept telling me every time she picked the movie, it
was a good one. A good idea.
I have a lot of really specific memories of those days, ya know.
Especially the ones where Mona has a good idea, which
happened a lot. She made me feel dumb a lot of the time, as she
pointed out the obvious. All she had to say, it seemed, was "it's
a good idea," and I'd see it. I just needed to be shown.
Like this one time, she came up to me and said, "Ya know,
Morgan, I think it'd be a good idea if you shaved." I had a
goatee, and had had one for the better part of a year, and now, a
month into living together, she points out that it'd be a good
idea to remove it. I balked for a second, thought about it, and
realized that, like always, she was right. It was a good idea. So,
I popped in my Edith Piaf CD (headphones, of course! I
wanted to keep Mona happy), and shaved the damn thing off.
Was that a momentary feeling of confusion? Why did I
shave it off? I shook off the thought, and went back out.
Smiling, almost giddy, she stroked my now-smooth face and
said, "I loooove it!" She then kissed that baby-smooth cheek,
and gave me a funny look.
"You should use skin lotion. Like Oil of Olay."
"What?" That was weird of her to say, I thought.
"Oh, come on. I like your skin all smooth like this. In fact, you
should use some of that skin-lotion soap, too. Oh! And Nair!
Go hairless!"
"Hardy har har."
She gave me puppy-dog eyes and said, "Puh-leeeeeeeze? It's a
good idea..." Flutter flutter. And, right then, I realized it. She
was absolutely right. So often, she was absolutely right, and
this was no exception. It was a good idea. Why couldn't I see
it? Being smooth felt good on my face, so why not on the rest
of me? I loved Mona for taking care of me like that; she was
really good at showing me where I needed to change. What
would I do without her?
So was it written, so was it done. I used her bath stuff and Nair,
and smoothed all up. Chest hair, leg hair, back hair. Arm pits.
And, dammit, she really _was_ right. It felt fantastic. Why
hadn't I done this sooner? Mona, you're too good to me, always
helping me out. If it wasn't for her, why, I'd still be gross and
hairy. I could see that now; being hairy was gross, not manly
and badass, but downright sickening. Smooth was the way to
go, and so I went that way. Later on, she told me how good an
idea it was for me to start using her perfumed soaps. She was
right. Fantastic ideas all around! I couldn't believe none of this
had ever occurred to me! It all seemed _so obvious_ after she
told me what a good idea it was. Edith Piaf was right, after all.
Je vois la vie en rose.
I needed her. I was beginning to see that, if nothing else. She
was keeping me hip and stylish, showing me all these things
that were great ideas, things she had been doing all her life, and
now, she was right, I could see it.
Why hadn't I always been doing it? I must have been so stupid.
Ah, Mona. She's so good to me.
Like I was saying, we had a lot of fun during those times we
were home together. Always, such good ideas! Every time, it
seemed, she had another one. Something else to point out to
me. I remember a lot of those times, because they meant so
much to me. One night, I had the night off, and, miraculously,
so did Mona. She was in the living room watching Roman
Holiday while I was in my room playing Civilization III. I
popped out for a second to get a can of Pepsi, and she looks
over at me with that funny look of hers.
"What?" I said nonchalantly.
"Oh, nothing."
I hated this. "What?"
"Well, I was thinking. It'd be really fun if you let me give you a
makeover."
Again. "What?"
"Oh, please? I used to do this all the time for my little sister,
but I can't anymore. It's really fun."
"Ya know, I don't think it would be."
"Please? For me? It's a good idea."
There it was. A good idea. She was right, again. I could see it
now; it was a good idea, after all. It was just a chance to let
Mona have a little fun. What was wrong with that? I was
confident enough in my manhood not to let something like this
bother me. After all, as Edith Piaf says, this is la vie en
rose. I want Mona to be happy. So I let her go nuts all over my
face. She did me all up; lipstick, mascara, eyeliner, something
called 'foundation,' blush. Everything. It took like an hour or
something; I'm not entirely sure. Time flies, they say. But,
when she was done, she spun me around to face the mirror, and
I was shocked; it didn't look half bad. Not that I'd wear this
stuff ever again.
"Wow, Morgan," she said. "You look really sexy in that. It'd be
a good idea if you wore it more often."
A good idea, she said. She was right. Dammit, again, she was
right! How did she always manage to see what I couldn't? It
was so obvious - I _did_ look good in all this makeup, and with
my hair already long, it actually worked really well. It wasn't
just a good idea; it was a _fantastic_ one. Girls would be all
over me if I went around like this. It was just perfect.
"Mona, you're right, as usual. I need to get some of my own."
And she insisted on buying it for me. Two days later, I came
home from work to find a mirror and a makeup box on my
dresser. Mona is so good to me. I was going to be able to look
pretty for work the next day. So when I got up the next day to
go down to Giorgio's (my job, in case you forgot), Mona
helped me doll up for the occasion. I was sure to make a
splash!
A splash is exactly what I made. They fired me on the spot.
Bastards, I thought. Mona said I didn?t need to worry about
getting a job, as she had recently been promoted, and could
now afford the whole place herself. She just wanted me to
clean around the house, keep things all spic and span for her.
Cook?that kind of thing. She told me it was a good idea.
Well, she was paying my rent; the least I could do would be to
help around the house. It was a good idea.
So, my life was reduced to cooking and cleaning our tiny loft
apartment. I still kept trying to find work. Mona even offered
to help me look pretty for my interviews, but every time, they
looked at me funny and sent me packing.
Unable to find work, I remained the housekeeper. Mona even
started giving me a bit of an allowance, to keep me in makeup
and movies. Edith Piaf was on the CD player all the time.
One day, however, she tells me that her parents wanted to
come over for dinner. We didn't have a dinner table; we just ate
on the couch. But Mona's parents are more formal than that. So
we had to work something out. We racked our brains for the
better part of an hour before Mona came up with something.
"We could share the big room."
"How?"
"Well, we could move your bed in, bring in your dresser and
everything. Split the closet down the middle. Then, ya know,
we could move all the living room stuff into your room, and go
buy a dinner table from ?The Dump? (a local
furniture store)."
"I don't know. How Kosher is that?"
"We aren't sleeping together. It's a good idea."
A good idea. That was that. So was it written, so was it done,
and Mona's room, which previously seemed spacious, was now
downright cramped. And then her parents cancelled.
"Well, fuck." That was about the extent of my reaction. But we
had already rearranged everything and bought a goddamn
dinner table, Mona said, that we might as well keep the
arrangement. It would take some getting used to, though. But,
she said, it was a good idea, and who was I to disagree with
Mona? It was difficult. My dresser got in the way of
everything, and I barely used it to store anything aside from
underwear and socks. Even my makeup box had moved down
to Mona's vanity. Really, it wasn't working. Even the closet
division was failing. We sat down for dinner at our table, the
curse of this apartment and the source of the problem, and I
made a suggestion.
"You should sell the table."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Just no. I like the table. It's a good table, and it's a good idea
that we keep it." That ended my argument right there; she was
right about the table.
"So what should we do?"
She looked thoughtful, and finally, with a Eureka! look, said,
"Throw out your dresser. You only use it for underwear,
anyway. It's a good idea."
"I agree," I said. She was right, after all. "I'll store my
underwear with yours, then?"
"No. That wouldn't work. It's a terrible idea. We can't store
both mine and yours together." I felt so stupid, having come up
with such a bad idea.
"So what, then?"
"Well, we could share mine."
"You want me to wear your panties?"
"Wouldn't it save us money? Only having to worry about
buying the one set of socks and underwear? You don't jack off
and we're about the same size.
It's a good idea."
And, don't you know it, I could see it. She was right. It was a
good idea, it made perfect sense once I thought about it. We
would share underwear and socks, and everything would be
right with the world. The dresser went the next day, with all my
unmentionables still inside. The garbage men took it away,
and it was gone forever. The room just opened up like you
wouldn't believe.
And now that we could see everything, we realized how bad
the room looked with my stuff and hers side by side. There was
no unity in anything. She told me it would be a good idea to let
her redecorate everything one day. So she went out and bought
pastel sheets. It was all very girly; I would've protested had she
not pointed out what a good idea it all was. She still let me
listen to Edith Piaf whenever I wanted, so who was I to
complain?
One problem solved, another brought to the forefront. We lived
like that for about a month when the closet-sharing pretty much
collapsed. Everything was getting mixed in, lost. It was a
confusing mess. Another dinner, another discussion, another
Good Idea.
Mona took charge as usual. (I was beginning to realize that,
really, she was the man of the house). "Morgan, I've got the
solution to the closet situation. It'll solve that problem and save
us a ton of money at the same time."
I looked up from my veal scaloppini.
She smiled wryly. "Let's share clothes. Then, we won't have to
worry about whose is whose."
I would have suggested we go back to our individual rooms
and just sell the goddamn table, but she had already shown me
how that was a bad idea. In all our months of living together, I
had learned to afford her a lot of clout, because, more often
than not, she had fantastic ideas about how to arrange our
lives, so I was prepared to hear her out.
"You mean like shirts and pants and the like?"
"Not just that. Everything. Why waste anything? We could
share my skirts and dresses and everything. I mean, we are
almost the exact same size."
I stared blankly at her for like five minutes.
"Oh, grow up, Morgan. It's a good idea."
How did she do it? She could always see so many things,
always had these grand ideas, and I always couldn't see it until
she told me. Even then, 99% of the time, she had to actually
inform me it was a good idea before I saw it for what it was.
This would save us so much money! AND end the closet
problem! We would share everything; be perfect roommates,
closet mates, and clothes mates.
Nothing between us. What's hers is mine and what's mine is
hers. After dinner, I stripped down to my panties - well, our
panties - took all my clothes, and unceremoniously shoved
them into a trash bag. Again, the garbage men would
come and take them far away. She went through her wardrobe,
and took out a blue casual dress, and told me it'd be a good idea
if I wore it. She was right.
She even told me it'd be a good idea if I, since all her tops and
dresses were made for chicks, started wearing a stuffed bra all
the time. It all made so much sense!
So my day now went like this. Every morning, I would wake
up at 5:30 sharp to make Mona her breakfast. I would get
dressed - put on panties and a bra, stuff the bra, and, more often
than not, put on a dress - Mona liked me in dresses, and I did
everything I could to please Mona. She was so good to me. I'd
put on my makeup (I was getting good at it!) and make her
breakfast. She'd get up, eat breakfast, and go to work (I would
kiss her goodbye on the cheek) while I would spend the day
cleaning the house, running errands, and, increasingly,
watching daytime TV. I grew my hair out even longer, and for
convenience, started wearing it in a ponytail. I'd have dinner
ready when she came home, and she'd eat and pop in a movie.
We'd then watch it together and go to bed; I would wear a long
blue nightgown. Man, bachelor life rocked. I was so happy that
I had Mona to take care of me. She'd even convinced me that it
was a good idea if I turned over my bank account to her, so I
wouldn't have to worry about money. And what's more, she
showed me that, since I was such a good housekeeper, I didn't
need to go to college!
This went on for a while, with no major problems creeping up.
We lived together and were happy. It was like we were
husband and wife! She handling all the money and going off to
work, and me keeping pretty and cooking and cleaning. Life
was grand. One day, over dinner (I had made Mona's favorite,
pepper chicken), she said to me that she had fallen in love. I
was so happy for her! His name, she said, was Benny, and he
was human resources director at Dillard's Department Store.
She said she'd been seeing him for a month (she hadn't
breathed a word about him all that time), and was now fairly
certain she was in love. Mona looked angelic as she thought
about him. I couldn't help but wonder what he looked
like.
"He doesn't have a problem that you have a guy for a
roommate?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Well, some guys would think I'd be competition -"
"No, Morgan. I mean, what do you mean 'a guy?'"
"I'm a guy."
"Look at yourself. You're wearing a dress. Bras. Panties. We
share a wardrobe. You wear makeup. You look, act, talk, and
dress like a girl."
"What are you talking about? I dress like this because it keeps
our wardrobe bills low, and I wear makeup because it looks
good."
"You are a perfect little housewife."
I must have had my painted mouth open for a solid minute as it
hit me. And it made such perfect sense. In this 'family,' Mona
was the husband, and I was the wife. The cuckolded wife. She
didn't even have to inform me it was a good idea.
"Benny wants to move in. He's going to be coming in two days.
This means you have to move back into the den."
"So are we selling the dinner table?"
"What? And deny Benny an appropriate dinner? No. All the
entertainment equipment is going into my room. It'll save
space." She must have seen my face.
"Oh, come on, Morgan. You can't have not seen this coming.
You know I love you like a sister, right? Come'ere." I walked
over to her and she hugged me, pressing my head against her
chest. Mona is so good to me. She leaned over and
whispered into my ear, "Oh, you know it's a good idea for him
to come." And she was right. It all made sense.
So, after a few minutes, we got up and began rearranging the
apartment, yet again. We moved my bed back into the den,
moved the entertainment equipment into the master bedroom,
along with the love seat, and, because Mona loves me
so much, she even donated some clothes to stock my closet.
She said she'd go out later and buy some more. True to her
word and her good ideas, when Benny did show up, two days
later, he carried up a vanity that Mona had purchased for
me, while she brought up a whole bunch of new clothes.
Mostly dresses and skirts, I might add. I could nearly have
cried.
Benny, now, Benny was really a man's man. He wasn't really
buff or attractive, but he was strong, mildly good looking, and
really assertive. He immediately 'took charge' of the household.
Mona let me know in no uncertain terms that he was the man
of the house, and I was to afford him the same respect and
deference that I afforded her. It was a good idea, she said, and
it was.
It made sense.
But now, I had to get up extra early to make two breakfasts, I
had to do twice the laundry, and Benny was notorious for not
picking up after himself. I was working a full time job
housekeeping, and all I got was a lousy $100 monthly
allowance. I was starting to wonder if I should move out, and
get my own place. But what would I do without Mona? She,
and now Benny, took care of me. They kept me fed and
clothed. They even sometimes let me watch TV with them or
eat meals with them. They are both so good to me.
I guess Mona recognized this. She told me that she and Benny
had had a nice long talk about where exactly I fit into that
household. Benny's primary objection, it seems, was that Mona
no longer had any need of a roommate, lacking neither for
money nor company. It was true, he was willing to concede,
that I did a lot of work around the house, but really, they two of
them could split what I did. There was no reason to keep me
there. She told me he really wanted to kick me out.
But, she said, she had told him that there was no place for me
to go, that the only skills I had were housekeeping. That she
was keeping me from being homeless. That I had no money, no
assets, and not even any legal property.
Benny wasn't a bad guy, she said, so they two of them worked
out an agreement. They said that I could stay on one condition:
I agreed to become their legal employee. Their maid, to be
precise. Really, it wouldn't be any different than my
current life, she said, aside from better pay than the monthly
allowance. They had written up a contract, all I had to do was
sign. To sign this, I said, would be to ultimately repudiate my
manhood. It would be to accept my position in life, to deny
everything before that. It would mean I would stop being her
friend, and start being her servant. It would be the end of life as
I knew it, I told her.
"But," she said, "it's a good idea."
So I signed it. And the world didn't change immediately.
Things went by almost exactly as usual, except that I had more
money and more free time. I made about $1,000 a month, and
they even set up a bank account for me, to which it was directly
deposited. Life was proceeding pretty much the same, and time
just passed. And then, one day, I realized something. I had
been living there for a year. Benny had been there for two
months. But I had been there a year. I looked at myself in the
mirror and cried a little, realizing my family hadn't heard from
me in months. I wondered what they thought. I asked Mona
about this, and she told me that she had informed them
that I was moving to Europe. Six months ago.
So, they wouldn't be looking for me. They wouldn't see the
changes. Mona told me it was a good idea, and I
realized it was.
Benny was becoming increasingly successful, as time passed.
He decided that he and Mona should buy a bigger apartment
downtown. I had no choice but to come. I was, after all, the
maid. At the new apartment, though, Benny expected me to
wear a uniform. It was a traditional black and white maid's
uniform. I was also expected to sign a new contract (Mona told
me it was a good idea) which bound me to the apartment;
I was forbidden to leave except on business. My bank account
was closed, and my salary cancelled. They now required me to
call Benny 'Sir' and Mona 'Ma'am'. I, of course, agreed
emphatically that these were all fantastic ideas; after
all, Ma'am thought most of them up, told me how good they
were. She takes such good care of me.
One day, while waiting upon Ma'am as she ate her lunch at
home (she had quit her job and left school because Benny was
so successful), she asked me to sit down. She said she had an
idea. Ma'am's ideas are always so good; I sat down and listened
with rapt ears.
"I think it'd be a good idea if you took a new name. 'Morgan' is
unbecoming for a girl as pretty as you."
I still chafed at being called a girl.
"Oh, get used to it. So, how about Marie, eh? A French name
for a French maid? And, it's awful close to Morgan, so it'll be
easy to get used to."
"Ma'am, I don't want a girl's name. I'm not a girl."
"I think it'd be a good idea if you started thinking of yourself as
one."
So I did. It was, after all, a great idea.
***************************************************
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*********
Hmm. I wanted to write more, but I couldn't figure out where
to go next.
I was thinking some light bondage, no sex (because sex stories
annoy the hell
out of me). So if anyone wants to write the next chapter (and I
am BEGGING
someone to), all I ask is that it's kept PG and you show it to me.
[email protected]
Dani
- 06.10.2020
- 14
- 0
