House Boy Ch. 01

Note: this story contains themes of nonconsent/reluctance.

*********************

The congressman's waiting room was boiling.

I closed my eyes and tried in vain to will myself to stop sweating. Pit stains weren't exactly professional in an interview, but I'm a stocky guy, and it was the middle of June. I was towheaded and pale, too, so when I got hot, my face was pretty obviously flushed.

I looked over at the chick at the desk, who was still typing away. She hadn't looked at me once since I arrived half an hour ago. She probably didn't even remember I was there. I coughed to see if she'd look up. She didn't so much as twitch.

Damn.

Should I say something? No, that would just make me look impatient. First impressions are everything, even with a lowly secretary.

All I could do was sit there and stare at the photos of Congressman Adrian lining the walls. Shaking hands with Bush. Smiling with his wife and daughters at some event. Holding a rifle over a dead deer. The last one looked to be the same shot used in one of his campaign ads, the kind where he told his haters to go fuck themselves and showed off his dope hunting skills.

That was the stuff I liked about Thomas Adrian. He was half the reason I got interested in politics in the first place. Most guys my age don't give a shit about anything but video games and getting laid. But guys like Adrian made politics look fun. He was different from all those boring old guys--he was young and cool, not afraid to stir the pot or offend the other side. The guy was a badass, a true hero. Even sitting here for an interview felt like a dream come true.

I checked my phone. It had been 40 minutes now without a word. Was this some kind of a test? Probably not. Politicians ran late; that was true no matter what party you belonged to. When I volunteered for O'Brien's reelection campaign, the man's schedule was a running joke. I quickly learned that patience was my best asset when dealing with politicians. It seemed to work well with O'Brien, at least. He'd been pretty eager to mentor me, telling me how much promise I showed and how he could help me navigate DC. It had been his idea for me to move here after graduation and seek a position with Rep. Adrian in the first place.

"Adrian and I go way back," O'Brien had said. "I'm sure he could use a boy like you in his employ."

Connections were everything in DC. If I played my cards right in the interview, I'd be able to ride the congressman's coattails anywhere I wanted to go. I just needed to be patient.

The door to the congressman's office opened. A thin, balding man wearing a pair of horn-rimmed glasses poked his head out from the office. "Scott Pierson?"

I got to my feet. "Yes, sir." I recognized him as Michael Downing, Adrian's Chief of Staff.

"You can have a seat." The man strode over to the seat in front of me. He opened up a file and scanned it, then tossed it aside. "So, you're one of O'Brien's boys?"

"I volunteered for his campaign last summer." I sat back down, mindful of my stomach pushing against my button-down shirt. "I was a policy intern in Des Moines."

"Well, he's got good things to say about you. Thinks you'd be an asset to Congressman Adrian." He looked me up and down for a moment. "Tell me: what do you know about the congressman?"

I smiled, thankful I'd spent the last few days researching everything I could find about the man. "Well, he's 45 years old. He's been a congressman representing Texas's 2nd congressional district for the last 15 years, and before that, he served as a combat veteran in the Gulf War. He's the head of the Financial Services Committee."

Downing stared at me unblinking, so I continued.

"Uh, he's married to Rebecca Adrian and they have two young daughters, five-year-old Amy and three-year-old Katie." I didn't mention that his wife was 15 years his junior, not that that mattered much in Congress these days. "And to be honest, he's been a hero of mine since I was a kid. I'd be honored to work for him."

Downing sat back in his chair, chewing on his pen. "Stand up for me."

I stood slowly.

"Spin around."

I turned my back to the man, my face growing redder by the second. The secretary continued typing at her desk, paying us no attention. When I turned back to Downing, he looked smug.

"Politics is all about appearance, Mr. Pierson," said Downing. "How you look is half the job. The congressman can't be photographed with a bunch of frumps and chubs. You hold up well enough, though you could stand to lose a few pounds. Lucky for you, Adrian isn't half the critic I am."

He glanced at the chair, which I took as permission to sit. I figured there'd be a few curveballs in the interview, but nothing like this. I mean, I knew body positivity was BS, but it was still shocking to have someone talk about my weight like that in an interview.

Downing leaned back in his chair, studying me in silence a little while longer. "If Adrian were to hire you, would he have your loyalty?"

"Of course," I said.

"Don't just say yes because you think it's what I want to hear," said Downing. "This isn't a game. The congressman needs someone loyal, someone he can depend on."

"I-I can be that," I stuttered. "I mean, I am that. You can ask Congressman O'Brien. I was always available when he needed me. Even in the middle of the night."

A glint of amusement flashed across Downing's eyes. "Can you be discreet?"

I nodded. "Absolutely. I mean, as long as there's nothing illegal going on, of course." I laughed nervously.

Downing stared at me coldly. "The congressman would never ask you to do anything illegal." He stood. "Thank you, we'll be in touch."

I could feel the interview escaping me, so I leaped to my feet. "Wait." I hated the wavering in my voice. I took a moment to steady myself. "I can assure you, sir, that I am willing and ready to learn whatever the congressman has to teach me. I know how to be discreet, and I'm loyal to a fault. If you hire me, I'll do whatever the congressman says, no questions asked."

Every second that Downing stared at me was torture. Then he nodded. "You can wait here. I'll be back shortly."

I sat back down, deflated. I'd never bombed so hard in an interview. Downing had just caught me off guard. Maybe that was the point--to see how I responded to the unexpected. I should have seen it coming. Idiot.

Downing popped his head out of the door again. "The congressman would like to meet you."

I took a deep breath and stood. I tried to smooth my shirt out as I followed Downing into the office.

Adrian sat behind the desk, my folder in his hands. He looked the same in person, although maybe a little younger. His face was round, with short black hair and a neatly trimmed beard that had just started showing signs of gray. He had a scar on his forehead where he'd been injured in war, a diagonal slash that had nearly taken his eye. I felt instantly unmoored in his presence, like a deer being hunted in one of his campaign videos.

"Mr. Pierson, please have a seat," said Adrian.

I sat before the desk, wiping my sweaty palms on my knees. "Thank you for seeing me."

"Oh, I'd do anything for old Paddy," said the congressman. "He and I go back to undergrad. He tells me you were a workhorse on his campaign. Lots of... natural talent."

"Thank you, sir," I said. "I loved working for Congressman O'Brien. I really believed in his campaign."

Adrian smiled. "Really? How so?"

"He's building a stronger future for America. More manufacturing jobs. Tougher sentences for crime. More focus on traditional families. It's what I admire about you as well, sir. Your work for the American Family Association was inspiring."

The congressman laughed. "Inspiring. You hear that?" He pointed at me and turned to Downing, saying, "This is the kind of young person I like to see. Kids these days are all gender-bent and demisexual. No wonder we've got a plunging birth rate. We've lost faith in the power of a tight family unit."

I smiled. "I couldn't agree more, sir."

Adrian grinned, making my heart flutter. I needed this man to like me. It was about more than just the job--this was my childhood idol. His opinion meant everything to me.

"I like you, kid, but I want to make sure you're prepared for what I'm asking of you," said Adrian. "It's the same thing I ask everyone who works for me--that you give me everything you have. You do that, and I can promise to help you get wherever it is you'd like to go."

I nodded. "You have my word, sir."

Adrian rapped the desk with his knuckles. "Well then, it's settled. Michael here will get you squared away with all the paperwork, and we'll start you first thing tomorrow morning."

I felt euphoric as he stood and reached across the desk to shake my hand. His grip was strong, firm. A real man's handshake. "I look forward to having you on my team, son."

I spent the next hour signing paperwork with Downing in the waiting room. It seemed like half of what I was signing was all NDA-related. I was familiar with non-disclosure agreements after signing one for O'Brien's campaign, but I'd never seen anything as thorough as this. It was the employment contract, however, that gave me pause.

"Sorry, I think there's a mistake," I said to Downing. "I thought this was for an assistant position."

"The position is part of the congressman's support staff."

I frowned. "But this is all grunt work--cleaning his apartment, running errands, cooking meals. And it says here I'm supposed to 'be on-call in the evenings?' What does that mean?"

Downing frowned. "If this 'grunt work' is beneath you, there are a thousand other young up-and-comers exactly like you who would kill for a chance to work with Rep. Adrian."

I sighed. "Of course. It's fine, I-I'm fine." I quickly scanned through the rest of the contract, my stomach sinking. It went on for ages, but all seemed to revolve around the same theme--I was to do pretty much anything and everything Congressman Adrian asked, no matter how small or demeaning. And on top of it all, the hours were grueling: 7 am to 7 pm, with the potential to work weekends and late hours if needed. It was far from the job I imagined, but it was all I had.

After I finished signing the paperwork, I left to board the metro back to Arlington. I had a shitty little studio apartment by the highway, but it was all I could afford with the money I'd saved up working part-time during college. Besides, with the new job, it seemed like I'd barely even be there.

My phone buzzed in my pocket shortly after I got home. It was my girlfriend, Ashley.

"Hey, babe. What's up?"

"How'd it go?" Her voice was high with excitement.

"I got the job."

She squealed loudly. "OMG! Congratulations, baby."

"Thanks."

"Why do you sound so sad?" she asked. "I thought this was what you wanted?"

I sighed. "It is. It's just... the job isn't really what I thought it would be. It's a lot of grunt work, not really anything political. At least I'll be close to Adrian. I guess."

"That sucks, Scotty. Is there any way you can keep working for O'Brien?"

"No. His campaign's already over, and he doesn't need any more people in DC. This is my only connection right now."

"You could always come work for the Examiner," she said hopefully. "They're still looking for interns."

I laughed. "No way. Journalism is your thing, not mine."

"I know, I know. You want to be the youngest president ever elected."

"Only 13 years till I'm eligible."

"Well, fingers crossed," said Ashley. "It's probably best if you don't work here anyway."

"What do you mean?"

She sighed. "It's not what I thought it would be, either. This girl asked me on my first day if I was screwing my boss. Supposedly, that's how most of the girls get assigned the best stories."

I blinked. "Oh, wow."

"It's not just him, either. Apparently, spreading your legs is the unwritten secret to getting a source to talk. I knew DC was godless, but... It's just sad how Washington works."

"Maybe for some people," I said. "But you're better than that. You're talented enough to earn your way up the ladder."

I meant it, too. Ashley had even lighter blonde hair than I did, but she was far from the stereotype of a dumb blonde. She was smarter than I was, which, as the man in the relationship, did kinda bruise my ego.

"You're sweet, Scotty," she said. "The same goes for you. This job might suck, but it's just a stepping stone. Work hard and by next time this year, you'll be his Chief of Staff, I'm sure of it."

I smirked. "That's a little ambitious, even for me."

"Oh shoot, I gotta go," said Ashley. "We still on for dinner Friday? 8 o'clock?"

"You got it, babe," I promised.

I arrived at Rep. Adrian's place at 6:45 the next morning, eager to make a good impression. The congressman lived in a townhouse in a nice part of town, a large brick building that looked identical to the rest of the houses on the street. It put my grungy little apartment to shame a thousand times over. But hell--maybe this could all be mine one day.

As I walked up the steps, I noticed a security guard sitting in a black sedan parked out front. I gave him a friendly wave, but he ignored me.

When I knocked on the door, I was surprised to see the congressman himself open it.

"Ah, Scott. Come on in."

Rep. Adrian was in the middle of putting on his tie, his shirt only halfway buttoned. My attention couldn't help but be drawn to the rug of graying hair covering the man's chest. I followed him into the kitchen, where he offered me a cup of coffee.

"Since it's your first day, let me walk you through the ropes," said Adrian as he continued tying his tie. "You'll set the coffeemaker the night before to be ready by 645. I eat breakfast at 730, so you'll need to start on that as soon as you arrive. I'm meeting a colleague for breakfast this morning, so don't worry about it today. While I'm at the office, I want you cleaning and running errands--there'll be a list on the kitchen counter of what I need done every day. Oh, and since you're representing me as my employee, I'll expect you to wear a uniform. I'm very particular about how my staff dresses, but don't worry--it's casual. You'll find your uniform for the day hanging in the hallway closet."

He finished tying his tie, then turned to face me. "Any issues or questions during the day, you have Michael's number. I expect dinner to be ready when I arrive home at six. I like it hot, so try to time it as close as possible. Any questions?"

I shook my head.

The congressman smiled. "Good boy." He reached out and tousled my hair. It struck me as surprisingly familiar from such a professional man. "I'll see you at six."

After the congressman left, I scanned the list of tasks on the kitchen counter. My heart sank as I took in the breadth of his chores for the day: dust the blinds, sweep and mop the floors, run the dry cleaning--the list went on and on. I'd have to start right away if I hoped to have it all done by the time the congressman got home that evening. But first, I'd have to get into uniform.

I opened the door to the front hall closet to see a black garment bag with my name on it. When I picked it up, I was struck by how light it was. Unzipping it, I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Instead of a button-down shirt or even a polo shirt, there was a black t-shirt that had to be at least two sizes too small. There were no pants, either, but only a pair of black shorts that were also way too small. Surprisingly, they even included underwear: a pair of black briefs. That part seemed especially unnecessary--did they think I wouldn't wear underwear to work?

Despite my reluctance to invoke Downing's wrath, I was certain there had to be a mistake. I dialed his number and waited as it rang a couple of times before I heard his gruff voice on the line. "What is it?"

"Hey there, I'm just wondering if maybe there was a mix-up with the uniform. It just seems a little-"

"Did the congressman tell you your uniform would be casual?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"Then what's the problem?"

I swallowed. "Uh... I mean, it's a little small for me."

"That sounds like an issue with you, not the outfit. I can assure you it's the standard size for the average man."

I blushed. "Right, sir. Sorry. I'll get to work."

"Don't call me again unless there's an actual problem."

I looked at the outfit once more. How the fuck was I supposed to wear this shit? Maybe if the congressman could see how ridiculous it looked on me, he would order a bigger size. With no other option, I carried it into the bathroom to change. I tried to avoid looking in the mirror as I took off my clothes. I'd always been a little self-conscious about my weight, but Ashley didn't seem to mind. Then again, we were waiting for marriage to have sex, so it wasn't like she'd ever seen me fully naked.

Despite my better judgment, I caught a glance of myself in the mirror. I didn't have much chest hair to speak of, and what little I did have was pale and yellow like the hair on my head. I was also thicker than I would have liked, with a little bit of a gut and thick thighs that made it tough to fit into most shorts. I pulled off my boxers and quickly slipped on the pair of black briefs. They were tight against my skin, barely able to hold all of my ass. The shorts strained against my thighs, only coming down to about mid-thigh and practically declaring my religion to the world. The t-shirt was the worst of it, though--it was a size smaller than I usually wore, which meant that it barely came down past my belly button. Looking in the mirror, it seemed like I was wearing a crop top, something I would never do for multiple reasons (what kind of man wears a crop top?). I pulled the t-shirt down, my heart sinking as it rose back up. Resigned, I left the bathroom and started on the day's chores.

Despite my humiliation, there was something nice about doing domestic work for the congressman. For one thing, there was no one to see me in this horribly emasculating outfit. For another, I was able to relax while working alone, with no one to tell me I was doing it wrong or fucking everything up. Politics could be such a stressful line of work, and I was used to high-pressure environments and high amounts of verbal abuse. Maybe this job could be a kind of vacation from all that as I worked my way up the ladder.

I spent the better part of the morning deep-cleaning the floors. Luckily, the bedrooms were all carpeted, so that only left the downstairs and the bathrooms, but it was still a lot of effort, and I was sweaty by the time I'd finished. The blinds took me a little less long, but it was well past noon when I was done.

The last task on my list was the dry cleaning, although I couldn't bring myself to be seen in such a skimpy outfit. I threw on my button-down over the t-shirt and caught an Uber to the dry cleaners. By the time I got back to the apartment with the congressman's clothes, it was already 5:30. Scrambling, I scoured the congressman's fridge and rustled together a dinner of sausage, asparagus, and rice. I was just finishing the rice when I heard the sound of the front door opening.

"Something smells good," I heard Rep. Adrian say from the other room. I quickly plated the congressman's meal and set it on the table just as he entered the kitchen.

"Everything's ready for you, sir," I said, gesturing at the table.

Adrian frowned. I racked my brain trying to think of what I could have messed up. "Did I do something wrong?"

"What are you wearing?"

I looked down to see I was still wearing the button-down shirt over my clothes. "Oh, sorry. I had to run to the dry cleaners, and the shirt you gave me was a little small-"

"I gave you that shirt because I wanted you to wear it," said Adrian. "You look like a fucking idiot with that on. Take it off, now."