Mother s Future Helper
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The Helper free porn video
The Helper
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters
I had not realised how far the house was from the main road until the
taxi finally drew up beside it. It was a large house with a veranda on
all sides, even larger facing the sea. Mr Golbenkian was waiting for
me near the front door. He was seated in his electric wheelchair. I
had not met him before then, but his warm brown eyes were as friendly
as his voice on the phone.
"Welcome, Tom," he said. "And thank you for being here."
I walked up the ramp to the veranda and put down my bag before shaking
his hand. I said: "I am so pleased to meet you, Mr Golbenkian," or
something like that. I had spoken with him over the phone several
times to settle the terms of the arrangement. Now I was here for 6
months to be his "valet and companion".
"You can call me Hyrick," he said. "It is not my first name. It is
sort of a pet name. In Armenian. I family are Armenian."
"All right, Hyrick," I said.
"Let me show you the house," he said. His wheelchair lurched into
action and he sped confidently around the house, pointing out the
boardwalks off down to the beach or into the small thickets of
windblown shrubs.
"I do like to swim in the sea when the weather gets warmer, so I will
need you help with that," he said. His chair bucked a little as he
crossed the threshold into the house.
The main room was large and open, but had alcoves created by the
external shape to provide separate spaces. The walls were decorated
with art and photographs, and there were shelves and tables with all
manner of objects and artefacts. This was the home of a man who had
lived a rich and varied life, and had no doubt travelled widely. His
chair moved easily across the polished floors and occasional rugs.
"My room is here on the ground level," he said. "I am generally quite
capable in my own room. I may need some help if I use the bath, but
you will be pleased to hear that I can toilet and shower myself." He
was smiling at me. I knew already that I liked him.
"I have a guest room on this level as well, but your room is upstairs.
The two rooms upstairs are my daughters' rooms, but they only rarely
get out here these days." There was no sadness in the statement,
although I wondered how a man so clearly outgoing could exist happily
in this isolated place.
"Can I ask what you do during the day," I asked. I was standing beside
my bag, enthralled by the objects on one table in particular. It had a
number of indigenous masks and rattles, and decorated bowls.
"Oh, I see you have found my voodoo table," he said with delight. "The
tools of bewitchment from five continents. But in answer to your
question, as you know, I write. I write every day at that desk over
there. And I understand that you are here to write too."
"I hope that I can finish my novel," I replied. But he could not know
the doubts that had persuaded me to take this job. If I had any hope
of finishing I needed to isolate myself from the distractions of life,
and this was that opportunity. I was in the middle of a crisis of
confidence."
"It must be difficult," he said. "I am strictly non-fiction. I have
always found that fact is more often stranger than the imagination.
People have no idea what others are capable of. But please, if I can
help in any way, just tell me. We can talk anytime that I am not at my
desk. I find that with writing it is best to keep a timetable.
Minimum hours before lunch. Minimum hours after lunch."
"That's good advice," I said. "I will develop a timetable to match
yours."
"There is a desk in your room, but you are welcome to write at the desk
over there, or on that table, or this one, or either of the tables
outside, when the weather improves." He pointed to the various spots
and the ample furniture available. "Can I ask what it's about? Your
novel?" he asked.
"Well, it's a story of unrequited love, I'm afraid. My hero is a
complex character, and I think I have succeeded in developing him quite
well, but the girl in my story is still a mystery to me. He doesn't
understand her, and neither do I."
"So, she loves him, but he does not love her back?"
"Well, he might. But I think that it will end in tragedy and he will
discover it too late. Whether she dies at his hand or by another's, I
still have not worked out. But she loves him, yes." It felt good to
talk about my thoughts, like clearing a channel through a mind full of
too many words.
I thought that he must have read my mind because he said immediately:
"You need to clear your thoughts entirely. I have some techniques that
might help you."
"That would be great," I said, shouldering my bag. "Is my room on the
left or the right at the top of the stairs?"
After I came back down, I had told him I could cook so I made a meal
for him.
"This is very good," he said. "My work in the kitchen lately has been
limited to running between the fridge and the microwave. But I had
fresh food delivered yesterday. You can make a list and I will have it
delivered."
"I could go into town," I said. "I see that you have a car in the
garage."
"You can use the car on your day off," he said, "Only subject to a few
rules. But the delivery to me is free, so why not take advantage of
it."
We talked over dinner, and after we had eaten he produced a bottle of
Armenian brandy and insisted that I try it. It was very good. A
little too easy to drink. If he had needed help to get to bed that
night it is doubtful that I could have given it. I was able to crawl
into bed.
The bed was soft and warm. There was a wind blowing outside and I
could hear the sound of waves crashing onto the beach below the house.
I soon drifted and slept deeply.
The room that he had chosen for me faced the morning sun and the first
rays of light woke me. He had told me that this room was his
daughters, and it was definitely decorated in a feminine style, with
floral patterned wallpaper and lace-edged curtains. It may sound old
fashioned, but it wasn't. It looked fresh and tidy. There was a desk
by the window and a dressing table in the corner lit with lights, its
drawers full of his daughter's things. There were women's clothes in
the wardrobe as well, but space left for me to hang a few things. And
the chest of drawers too, had only two drawers for my use, marked with
post-its "Tom". It was enough. I was travelling light.
That morning, before I got out of bed I re-assessed my position. I
felt that I had made the right decision. I was living in an
environment that offered me time and space to write and to think. Free
board and lodging and money to spend at the end. And I was in the same
house as a man who offered friendship and help, which was more than I
was getting back in the City. It was over with my girlfriend because
she felt I was going nowhere. My barely had contact with male friends
because I had chosen to try to make a living as a writer, which none of
them understood. My parents despaired of me. My father had told me at
the Christmas we had together a month before: "Come back when you are
married and have a real job."
As if to reaffirm my thoughts, Hyrick greeted me with a warm call to
breakfast and the smell of fresh coffee and baking. He said: "Enjoy
some matnakash. Baked straight from the freezer but excellent with
jam. My daughter has made these and other pastries and burek for me.
This is what I can do. Coking in the oven."
The food was delicious and I wanted to know the recipe. He assured me
that he had no idea, but there were books on the shelf, and recipes for
Armenian food on the internet.
After breakfast he suggested that we should sit together and try some
relaxation techniques to "Clear the mind" in preparation for the day's
work ahead. Before he sat me down he asked me to get something from
his "voodoo table" - a sort of short stick with a carved head on top,
the eys being moter of pearl or something like that.
When I was seated comfortably he said: "Don't be concerned about this,
it is just something to concentrate on for a moment. If you look at it
you will see that there the eyes are slightly different colour. Can
you see it? You have to look more closely. There are many colours in
these eyes. Look closely and see what colours there are..."
And the next thing I knew I was on the beach. I was skipping along the
beach. I mean skipping, not walking or running. I stopped to get my
bearings. I could see the house above me. The beach was about to end
in front of me where there was a rock face. Before it there was a
jetty going into the sea in what would be a sheltered cover. The shore
end of the jetty had a ramp that headed up to the house.
I had wanted to come down to the beach before I started work. So I was
here now. But I seem to have lost a few moments. But I was aware that
my mind was clear. I excitedly realised that there was a line of
narrative appearing in my head. Not a jumble of ideas, but a clear
story. I knew that I had to write it down. I completely disregarded
the apparent blackout I had just suffered and I hurried up to the
house.
Hyrick was seated at his desk and clearly busy, but I could not have
talked to him anyway. I rushed upstairs and spent hours clattering
away on my keyboard. The words seemed to run out of me. I completely
forgot about lunch, until I heard Hyrick call out to me. That seemed
to break the spell. I just dropped everything and ran downstairs to
make him a sandwich for lunch. And one for myself as well. But I
found myself surprised that I had walked away from that moment of high
productivity so easily. He called and I stopped.
"What is name of your heroine?" he asked, as he munched on his
sandwich.
"Hester," I said. "It is a bit of an old-fashioned name. I'm not sure
why I chose it."
"Change it," he said. What is the colour of her hair?"
"Fair. Blondish, I think."
"Be more precise. Chose a colour from the hair dye chart and tell me.
Tell me the colour of her eyes, and the shape of her nose, and her
lips. You need to see her before you can understand her. What does
she wear? Perhaps find something in my daughter's wardrobe."
It seemed to me that he had a plan to help me. I wrote down some notes
for him on a piece of paper.
"Add the shopping list," he said. I can have it delivered this
afternoon. Perhaps a couple of steaks for dinner? Whatever you need."
He sent the list through by email and then we had some lunch. I was
disappointed that I did not have the same explosion of words in the
afternoon, but I reshaped and corrected the morning's work and I was
very happy with what had been achieved in only my first day at the
beach-house.
Later in the afternoon he greeted the delivery and collected some items
before leaving me to unpack food items. After our steak dinner he
handed me a small box.
"Here is the hair colour you wanted," he said. "The instructions are
on the back."
I remember being very happy, but a little confused. I looked at him
for guidance and he just smiled. I immediately ran upstairs and opened
the box. I followed the instructions and while I was waiting for the
dye on my hair to work I went through the wardrobe. I washed my hair
and used the special conditioner and then I used the blow drier and
round brush in the bathroom to give body to my hair, following the
instructions in the magazine by the bed.
I put on a dress and I went downstairs.
He was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. He looked very pleased to
see me. A few steps up a did a little twirl, with the hem of my full
patterned dress swinging out.
"Hester?" he asked.
"No," I replied. "Tamzin. Or Tammy or Tam." I had decided that he
was right, the name needed to change.
"Tam is a lot like Tom," he observed.
I remember being confused again. It was as if I had forgotten who Tom
was. I was trying to order things in my mind, but everything was not
where it should be. I felt as if I was descending into a mild panic.
"If you are understanding how Tammy is feeling, I think you need to
write it down." Hyrick had seen my confusion and was making a
suggestion. My laptop was downstairs on the table near the kitchen, so
I went over and started to type.
I woke up in the morning and discovered that I had gone to bed wearing
a nightie. Somehow that did not seem to be wrong. What did seem wrong
was the whiskers on my chin and the hair on my arms and legs. When I
looked in the mirror I saw that my hair was a beautiful shade of golden
blonde, and despite being crushed by the pillow it still looked full
and feminine. But on my face there were unsightly hairs. The razor
would not do. I rummaged through the draw and found some hair removal
cream. I applied that, and I used the razor on my arms and legs in the
shower.
It was late. I threw on a dress and ran downstairs to make breakfast,
donning the pretty apron that hung inside the pantry to protect my
clothes.
I heard the buzzing behind me as Hyrick rolled out of his room and down
to the kitchen table.
"Here are your tablets," he said. Two every morning for at least the
next few months, then down to one."
I did not even ask what they were. I took the pills and served him his
meal.
After breakfast I sat at my PC and looked at what I had written the
night before. There was a lot, but most of it seemed to make no sense.
It was basically a rambling emotional diatribe. There were expressions
of feelings, uncertainties, regrets, desires, all punctuated with
phrases about pretty flowers and beautiful sunsets. The day before I
had been able to get the stream of consciousness into quality prose.
But this was going to be much harder. The heroine in my novel was a
much more complex character.
The truth is that Tammy did not develop much on the page after that.
She developed off the page.
Hyrick had a pet name for Tammy. He called me Amoosin, which he said
was an Armenian word, like Hyrick was, apparently. I liked it when he
called me Amoosin. His lips would pucker when he did, like every time
he said it was blowing me a kiss.
He actually did kiss me a few times. Just on the cheek. Sometimes he
would kiss me when I sat in his lap on the wheelchair. For fun he
would have me on his lap while we rode down to the jetty for a swim,
now that the weather allowed that. It meant lifting him out of the
chair and into the water and then getting him out of the water and back
into the chair. This seemed to be getting increasingly harder for me
to do. I was just becoming weaker in the arms and legs, with the bulk
now being flabby areas elsewhere on my body.
He would sometimes play with the swellings on my chest. He would kiss
me on the cheek after that. And he liked to stroke my hair. It was
getting longer and needed the application of more colour.
He would always kiss me on the cheek as a thank you after I brought him
to an orgasm. I started by doing this with my hand and a little olive
oil, but then he suggested I try my mouth, and I did it that way. I
liked the way he would hold my head. My hair was long enough to put in
a big blonde topknot that he could play with.
Rather that working on my novel I seemed to spend a huge amount of time
watching daytime TV and reading all the old women's magazines in the
house, plus keeping up to date on beauty and fashions tips over the
internet. I had some idea that I was engaged in research, but when I
sat down at the keypad I never seemed to be able to string much of
anything together.
I kept fit with regular swims and walks on the beach, and I
experimented with yoga from a site that I found on the web. I took to
wearing a bikini most of the day as the summer wore on. There were
several in the chest of drawers in my room, and everything seemed to
fit me perfectly. There were also several loose "beach to bar" robes
that during the warmest days. Hyrick told me that he liked the way I
looked, so I was always working on little improvements to my
appearance, with touches of makeup, and polish on my finger and
toenails.
I completely forgot about the world outside. I got emails from my
mother and even one from my father and a couple from my ex-girlfriend.
I just told them that I was happy (which I was) and I was very busy
with the book which was taking shape (which was a lie). Other
communications from friends or connections I just ignored or gave very
limited responses too. The truth is that I was in my own world. The
weather was warm, my life was comfortable, Hyrick provided me with
everything I needed, and I seemed not to care beyond that.
And then one day, Anton arrived.
I was walking along the beach and I saw that there was a car by the
house. It was not the grocery or the parcel deliveries that were
basically our only visitors. It was a European sportscar of some kind.
I should have recognized the make and model as I used to be interested
in such things, but now I did not care - it was a nice car of some
kind.
I went up to the house. I had no mirror with me but I pulled the tie
out of my hair and hoped that I looked good enough for visitors.
When I stepped inside I saw that standing beside Hyrick was a tall,
dark and very good looking young man. I knew immediately that he must
be related to Hyrick. He had those dark Armenian features but also the
nose and the same bewitching eyes as the older man.
"Amoosin," said Hyrick. "This is a bit of a surprise. This is my son
Anton."
I walked forward and offered him my hand. He did not smile. He looked
at me, at then at his father accusingly. There was dislike here and it
was palpable. I kept my hand forward, and so he had to take it.
Rather than shake it he held it. He looked at me with those eyes. I
think my heart skipped a beat. It made me stammer a bit as I
spluttered out: "I'm, um, Ta, Tamzin. Tammy."
"Are you alright?" he asked. I was not sure what he meant. Did I look
that out of sorts? Was I blushing? Or was he concerned about me in
some other way?
"No," I said. "I must look a mess. Please forgive me. I was not
expecting visitors. Let me get myself together. You are staying for
lunch?"
"The weather was so nice, and with my air conditioner out of order I
had hoped to stay the weekend," he said. "If that's not too much of an
inconvenience?" He turned the question to his father.
"Of course," said Hyrick, with perhaps a trace of reluctance. "The
City is so close yet you visit me so rarely. Of course you can stay.
In the Guest room. As long as you like."
I excused myself to run upstairs and get changed. I found a nice
sundress and some pretty sandals with a heel. I put my hair up in a
loose messy bun, and applied some makeup. It was the right look.
Casual but chic. It was now safe to go down and get to work in the
kitchen. I needed to make something special to impress our visitor.
An exotic salad.
As I prepared it, I tried not to listen to the conversation going on at
the other end of the house. I could have, as it was an open room. I
chose not too because it seemed angry and personal, and it was not my
business. I hoped that when I called out for them to come to the table
they might be more agreeable.
"This is great," said Anton. "You are a good cook and you are clearly
looking after my father very well."
I thanked him and I think I might have blushed a little.
"Amoosin is my treasure," said Hyrick.
"Don't call her that," said Anton angrily. Then he looked and me and
apologised: "I'm sorry. I don't mean to upset you."
We ate a little and then Anton asked me: "How long have you been here
exactly?"
It seemed like a simple question. I had the know the answer. Of
course I did. What day is it? What date did I arrive? I suddenly
realised that I did not know. I started to feel worried that memory
was going. I must have looked concerned because Hyrick stepped in.
"She's been with me about 9 months," he said. But I thought I was here
for only 6 months?
"And you're a character from your own novel?" Anton appeared to be
accusing me.
"No," I retorted. "The character in the book is based on me, that's
all. And I have given her my name."
"And you have become her?" he persisted. "My father has suggested it
and now you are one and the same? Is that not what has happened?"
"No," I said. I was getting a little angry with the young man now.
"Tammy in the book is fiction. But we share some beliefs and maybe
some character traits. We are strong women - we believe in ourselves.
We love to please others and keep them happy. We can be selfless to a
fault. But we do tend to get over-emotional at times." I realised
that there were tears in my eyes. He had made me cry, this man.
"Hey," he said. "I have gone too far. Forgive me."
"Talk to me then, Anton," said Hyrick. "Tell me how things are going
in the world of high finance".
I cleared the plates and dried my eyes. I refreshed my makeup in the
pantry. This man Anton was rude, but he was fascinating, and powerful.
Unlike Hyrick in his wheelchair, Anton exuded masculinity. I could
almost smell it on him. I found myself wondering how big his penis
might be.
I had baked a cobbler and I brought that out and joined them. The
conversation had moved onto art. They both seemed well informed.
Sometimes they tried to include me but I had no idea. I shrugged and
smiled, and tried to look interested and pretty.
While I was cleaning up, Anton came to help while Hyrick went to his
brandy cupboard. I could feel Anton's eyes looking at my bottom. I
had noticed lately just what an attractive bottom I had. I may have
been guilty of showing it off a little because I had sensed that he had
noticed it.
Hyrick produced the bottle of Ararat Brandy and three glasses. After
the compulsory toast to "The Old Country" I felt that I needed to watch
my intake. "I'm just a girl," I said. "I get drunk too easily".
For the first time that evening we laughed together. They were both
very nice to me, complimenting me on my cooking and my presentation as
the perfect hostess. I was very pleased with myself, and I told them
so.
"You two can finish the bottle," said Hyrick. "I'm going to bed."
I got up and kissed him on the head as he trundled off, leaving me and
Anton alone.
"I sense some hostility between you and your father," I said. "Can I
ask what he has done to earn your ... what appears to be, at least
dislike?"
"He ruined my brother's life," said Anton, flatly.
I said: "I was not even aware you had a brother. In fact I did not
even know about you. He told me that he had two daughters."
"I have an older sister. She is devoted to her father, but she has a
family and she now lives some distance away. Before you arrived, she
looked after him and I am sure she left him with food in the freezer.
The other sister was not always a sister. She is like you, I think. A
victim of his mind control experiments. She was my younger brother
Michael. Now she is my sister Maria."
"Like me?" I asked. I was suddenly aware that I was not like other
girls. I might pee sitting down, but only by pushing my penis back. I
was like Michael - now Maria. I was a girl who was once a boy. I had
a penis. I burst into tears.
Thank God - his arms were around me. I was not a total freak.
Somebody was holding me. Anton was holding me. His face in my hair.
Whispering something reassuring and caring. I put my arms around him
and I held on as the tears flowed.
Anton said: "What I want to do is to take you into my room right now
and make love to you."
I hugged him even tighter.
"I am not sure whether this is his doing or not," he said. "I have
wanted to do it from the moment I saw you. If you are willing, I don't
think anything is going to stop me."
I pulled my head away so that we could face one another, still in a
tight embrace. His eyes were deep and dark, and full of love. I said:
"I am willing. Please. Please make love to me."
He carried me to his room. I had become so small and slim that he
could pick me up like that. Or was he just so strong? I practically
tore his clothes from his body. I had never touched a male body
before, except my own when I had one. I wanted to touch every part of
him. His penis was erect in my hand and we kissed aggressively.
"Please do your best to ignore my thing," I said to him. I was deeply
shamed that I could not offer him a crotch clear of such ugliness, and
a wet slit for him to penetrate. I could only give him what I had, but
fortunately I had been experimenting with penetration, and I had
cleansed thoroughly in the shower before dinner.
When he entered me, I knew that it was right. When we both came
together, we both knew it.
"I am sorry if I hurt you", he said in the morning, his hand stroking
my coloured blonde hair cascading across the pillow in the sunlight
sneaking through the curtain.
"To start with a little," I said. "But when I felt your man juice
inside me, there was no pain, just the sweetest feeling I have ever
had." I rolled over and kissed him tenderly, pressing my ample breasts
against him.
"Would you consider running away with me?" he asked. "Do you think you
could? Or is his hold over you too tight?"
"I was not even aware he had a hold over me," I said. "But if he does,
my guess is that your hold is stronger. And what about you. You said
last night that you might be under his spell as well?"
"No," he said. "That cannot be so. I think that the power of
suggestion can make people to do many things, but it cannot make you
fall in love."
His words enchanted me. I kissed him, and rested my head upon his
manly chest.
"Can it change somebody from a man into a woman?" I wondered aloud.
"You are a woman," he said. "I only know you as that."
"I need to be fixed ... down there," I said. "And I need to tell my
parents. I need to get away from here. You need to take me away."
"I will, my darling," he said. "We just need to arrange another helper
for my father."
The End
© Maryanne Peters 2018
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