Chore Whore Read Online Free PDF Page A

can’t stand still. As we speak, he starts picking dead flowers off bushes. I dig around in my purse for the door keys.
    â€œNo one’s going to think you’re slacking off. The garden looks fantastic and I appreciate you helping me. Is Jock home?” I whisper.
    Tito nods toward the living room window. I peer through it and see the back of Jock’s brown curly-haired head resting against the leather couch. Suddenly, a blond ponytail rises up from what I assume is Jock’s lap. His company.
    â€œHe’s consistent,” I say to myself.
    I ring the front doorbell, announcing my arrival, then glance down to the grocery bags at my feet.
    For a man with such variety in his sex life, Jock’s choice in food is downright boring. Week in and week out I shop for the same foods. I don’t even need a grocery list anymore. Jock eats four tubs of cottage cheese per week and three gallons of Silk brand soymilk. Only “Original” flavor, because that has the lowest fat and the lowest sugar content of any soymilk on the planet unless he personally squeezes the edamame beans.
    Then there is his tuna. He bases the entire balance of his diet around his consumption of hermetically sealed foil pouches of tuna. When I hit the grocery stores for a “Jock run” and clean out the entire tuna supply, other shoppers stare.
    I ring the doorbell again just to make sure he knows I’m here. No one answers. He is, after all, busy. I slowly count to ten and then open the door. He’s on the living room couch with a young Icelandic-looking woman draped across his lap. I keep an expressionless face as I remember my grandmother putting me across her lap and giving me a hard spanking for not minding her.
    â€œHi, Corki!” Jock smiles.
    â€œOh, hi!” I say without blinking.
    I pass by his living room “art” collection, consisting of children’s stuffed animals with all their limbs and tails severed and resewn on in improper places. Donald Duck has a monkey’s mouth sewn on his crotch. Woody Woodpecker has a huge pecker indeed, with Pluto’s tail sewn in place of his private parts. A matching pair, Tom and Jerry, have cloth penises so long they twist and turn, are intertwined, plaited, then go up the back and end up as toupees on their heads.
    I quietly put the groceries away. As I place them in Jock’s stainless steel side-by-side Sub-Zero, I can’t help hearing what’s happening in the living room: slurping.
    Jock calls out, “Oh, by the way, Cork?”
    â€œYes?” I say as I enter the living room. He strokes Icy’s ass and she turns her face toward the couch cushion, running her hand over his six-pack abs.
    â€œThere’s some stuff in the out basket for you. And what’s going on with Concepcion? She didn’t do all the laundry in the hamper. I need some clothes laundered before she comes back on Monday. I gave her tomorrow and Friday off and look what she does. This is terrible.”
    â€œI’ll drop them off to be done tonight and pick them up tomorrow. Is that okay?” I ask.
    â€œMmmmmm, yes, that would be perfect,” he moans. “There is one other thing in the out basket I’ll be needing today. Probably sooner than later.”
    I slip into the office. Concepcion’s list awaits me: green kitchen sponges, Windex, a new mop, vacuum bags and laundry detergent. Under her list is an unopened condom. No note. I don’t need one, I know what I have to do. Find this particular brand and find it quickly. He has apparently changed brands while my back was turned. This rubber with its “pleasure-enhancing pouch” offers “oodles of sexual pleasure.” It certainly doesn’t look like typical grocery store or pharmacy fare.
    The clock reads 2:16 P.M .
    I dodge into Jock’s bedroom closet and throw open the lid to the hamper to get the laundry, but it’s empty. I search the floors of both