Chapter One

The Man Who Was Put On Earth To Serve Women

The Man Who Was Put On Earth To Serve Women shook some Ajax into a toilet and used the scrub brush vigorously. He folded a paper towel into a square then sprayed the seat and rubbed it clean. He did not work quickly for he was under no deadline, but he was always mindful of doing the best possible job and leaving everything in the sparkling clean state that would please Cathy, Lydia, and Sarah. He threw that paper towel away, then paused in his work to take a couple of drinks of cold water from a Dixie cup.

Looking in the mirror above the sink, he admired his own clean-shaven reflection. He was six feet tall, broad-shouldered, and ruggedly handsome. He possessed a light beige complexion, short wavy hair of a medium brown color, bright blue eyes, an aquiline nose, and prominent cheekbones. He tore off another paper towel, and removed the Kleenex box and the latest issue of the Reader’s Digest from the tank before wiping it clean.

Then he gave the same careful and thorough treatment to the sink, the mirror above it, and finally the bathtub. Before he left the lavatory, he looked around to make sure he had left no spot behind that he was capable of erasing. Finally, he sprayed the bathroom lightly with air freshener and went to Cathy and Lydia’s bedroom.

There he removed knick-knacks and jewelry boxes from atop the two chests, setting them down temporarily on the ladies’ bed. He dusted the chests, trying to get all the crevices between the drawers. A certain fluttery sensation of sexual arousal mingled with fear and shame rose inside him as he got to the bottom drawer of the larger, maple chest: that was where the instruments of his correction were kept. He dusted the frames around the pictures hanging up on the walls. Then he returned to the kitchen to fetch a can of wax and polished what he had just dusted until the wood glowed with a fine sheen. He put each knick-knack back in its place after carefully removing the dust from it. Like most people, The Man had a name. However, unless he was at his regular job as an actuary (luckily he was back to working under a woman boss) or at church or in some other public venue, he did not like to think of himself by his name. He preferred to think of himself as The Man or simply as “fella”, the term used for him by Cathy, Lydia, and Sarah.

Taking a break from his chores, he went to the kitchen to fix himself a sandwich. He took that into the living room with a Coke and turned on the tube.

It w