Flashback to my mid-20s, I’d settled into my first “real job”, and I was finding my way. In decent shape, tall, and well-hung, I’d made a decision to stay single and have fun.
Kelly had been cleaning my apartment for two years. Maybe 34, she was a tiny thing, cute, about 5’2″, red hair, slim, from one of the country towns in the area, but she would often talk about her past working with musicians in Los Angeles and Las Vegas. She’d partied and had a couple of interesting tattoos to show for it, but now she’d calmed down, was close to her family, and did some art on the side. I always liked hiring her because she did a good job, had a good attitude, and showed up on time, and we’d gotten to be chatty about life. Once, when she had a sick pet at the vet, I slipped her an extra $50. That was the only time she’d hugged me, told me I was “amazing”. Beyond that, I didn’t give it much thought.