q life: A NAKED HOUSECLEANER

How I Be­came a Naked Housecleaner By Gabriel Tabasco

Q Magazine - - News -

A few months ago I moved from Europe to Aus­tralia, for per­sonal rea­sons and was look­ing for a job. Back home I had a high-pres­sured job and upon re­lo­ca­tion I re­alised that I missed the rush of work. In be­tween in­ter­views and send­ing off CVs I won­dered how I could make some pocket money. To stave off bore­dom I needed to find some­thing quickly.

I scoured temp jobs. All part time jobs wanted ex­pe­ri­ence. One ad­vert asked for ‘three years ex­pe­ri­ence as a Barista.' Wait… did they mean Barista or Bar­ris­ter?

While clean­ing my house an idea came to me: why not be a naked cleaner? I have al­ways been com­fort­able naked and hav­ing mild Ob­ses­sive Com­pul­sive Dis­or­der I liked to clean. So why not? I put up an ad on­line.

Per­haps 75% of the re­spon­dents were time-wasters who wanted sex­ual ser­vices that I did not pro­vide. Other men promised me var­i­ous things such as swim­ming in their pool, go­ing car rac­ing in the out­back, or go­ing for drinks, but they never fol­lowed up.

When I ar­rived at one client's house he told me that he wanted sex, not clean his home. ‘My wife does that.' ‘I don't pro­vide that ser­vice' I said, stand­ing there naked. ‘Well what can you do?' he asked. ‘I can clean.'

‘Then please clean quickly… my wife will be back from the hair­dressers' any mo­ment now.'

I had a vi­sion of an older lady, re­turn­ing home with per­fectly-coiffed hair find­ing her hus­band star­ing at my bare bot­tom as I rinsed off the suds from her fine china.

Over­whelm­ing my clients were friendly. One client was a bi­sex­ual busi­ness­man, open to his wife about try­ing some­thing new. We spent half an hour talk­ing about busi­ness strat­egy be­fore I mopped his floors in the nude. An­other man showed me his col­lec­tion of Indige­nous art and an­other taught me how to play pool.

There were some em­bar­rass­ing mo­ments too. ‘Do they touch you?' asked one man. I went to an­swer but as I did so he rushed around the kitchen counter and cupped the tip of my erect pe­nis. I looked down and saw that my pre-cum was about to drip into his dish­washer, so he rushed over to catch it. Though un­com­fort­able it was funny.

There were some dis­ap­point­ing mo­ments. One man had a fetish for naked house clean­ers (he had three!) and wanted to au­di­tion me. If he liked me he'd keep me on. As I cleaned his kitchen and we got on. We ar­ranged to meet for cof­fee. He kept chang­ing the date and then never replied to me texts. I was hurt more than any­thing else. I was new in town and thought I'd made a friend.

Most clients' houses were ei­ther spot­lessly clean or derelict. For the men with clean houses, I felt bad clean­ing them. They didn't needed clean­ing and I told them so. For men whose houses were dirty… I felt the full force of my com­pul­sion to clean. I told one man, whose house was so filthy it was a health-haz­ard, that I would do ex­tra clean­ing and not charge him. He de­clined.

As a house cleaner I didn't want new clients; I wanted re­peat clients. I did not want to be­come a clean­ing one-hit won­der. How­ever, a nude cleaner is a niche ser­vice. Not ev­ery­one has the lux­ury of time to watch me bend­ing over on all fours col­lect­ing pen­nies from un­der the sofa.

In one case one client had me vac­u­um­ing while he sat on the sofa tex­ting barely look­ing at me. Why have a naked cleaner then? Per­haps I did not mea­sure up… to his clean­ing stan­dards?

I took pre­cau­tions. I had a penknife in my bag and text a friend where I would be go­ing. Al­though I was in other men's homes pro­vid­ing a ser­vice, my clients treated me hos­pitably. I never felt in harm's way. There was one ex­cep­tion…

Never judge a book by its cover but you can tell a lot about a per­son from their home. When I ar­rived at one clients' house I had a sink­ing feel. The grass on the front lawn with­er­ing. The blinds were drawn. The whole house had a sad, for­lorn look. It was odd to me be­cause Aus­tralians are house-proud.

I rang the bell and was greeted by a young man. He had just moved into his home, hence its un­kempt ap­pear­ance. He had a strict look. I felt I was go­ing to be told off if I missed a spot.

Hav­ing a naked cleaner is a sce­nario peo­ple are not used to.

A chat to eases peo­ple into it. But in this case as soon as I walked in the client said ‘well, go on then'. I un­dressed and set to work wear­ing my usual uni­form: white socks, a base­ball cap and a sil­ver chain.

‘Just hoover­ing and iron­ing please' he said. That would have taken me an hour and he had booked me for two and a half. Clients can change their mind like that. But he was kind. He of­fered me al­most dou­ble my hourly rate for one hour's work, say­ing that he knew what it was like to be look­ing for a job and wanted to be gen­er­ous. I guess ap­pear­ances can be de­ceit­ful… just as de­ceit­ful as an am­bi­tious ex-ca­reer man iron­ing your sheets in the buff in your front room. If those net cur­tains could talk…

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