The Neighborhood Keeper

I got a security job in an upscale neighborhood. 

One day, I got a call from a resident. 

“I think there’s been a break-in.” 

I rushed to the scene. Instead of an intruder, I was greeted by a beautiful woman in barely anything. 

She held me and pleaded, “I’m scared. Can you stay with me?”

I had been on a job hunt since graduation, but nothing had panned out. So, a buddy of mine then suggested a security job in an upscale neighborhood.

I didn’t care for the job at first.

As a top-tier college graduate, I couldn’t fathom taking a blue-collar job.

My buddy then said, “The job pays 30 thousand dollars a month with full social security benefits and bonuses for good performance.”

A security guard raking in 30 thousand dollars? Unbelievable.

After a day of hesitation, I attended the job interview.

The interviewer was a middle-aged woman with a one-inch scar running along the corner of her eye.

She introduced herself as Emmy.

“I’ve reviewed your resume.”

Emmy scrutinized me from head to toe for three whole minutes, her arms folded, even demanding that I got up and do a turn for her.

Then, she said emotionlessly, “Strip.”

Taken aback, I nervously glanced at the door.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Emmy clicked her tongue in annoyance.

“This position is in high demand. We expect candidates to keep a neat appearance without visible tattoos or scars.

“Are you going to strip or not? If you’re not happy to do so, I’ll contact the next candidate.”

It turned out that the request to strip down was to inspect me physically.

I felt ashamed for having fleeting, inappropriate thoughts.

As I gladly took off my shirt, Emmy gestured for me to take off my jeans too.

“You’re a big boy. Don’t be shy. Come on now.”

I was put off by her tone.

Reminding myself of the lucrative salary, I followed through with her instructions and unzipped my pants.

Seconds later, I was stripped down to my briefs.

Once undressed, Emmy eased up the attitude.

“Nice. It seems you work out regularly.”

While talking, Emmy grabbed and felt my biceps. Her red-manicured hands traced along from my biceps to my abs.

Despite her mature age, Emmy had the looks and the body.

Her girls were right in my face.

As Emmy drew near, my gaze was drawn to the deep valley between her twin peaks.

It was rude of me to stare, but I couldn’t look away.

While our skin met, I caught a whiff of a faint scent on her.

I could feel a rush to my loins.

My roommates used to joke about my size, in a good way. With just briefs on, it was clear to see my physical reaction.

This had not gone unnoticed as Emmy’s gaze lingered on my package.

It took a while before she looked up at me with a cheeky smile.

“You meet our requirements. When can you start?”