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Sex with the manny


Ted Max

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I'm thinking of retraining as a manny as I think there'd be plenty of work, it would pay better than my current role, and the job would suit my natural accomplishments.


My only worry is that I will be plagued by constant demands for all the sex from off of the mums and dads of East Dulwich.


So to the mums and dads that post here, do you think if you were to meet me out and about with my young charges you would be able to resist slipping me your phone number and asking me if I get my nights off?

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Thanks for the clarification, Chick.


Thanks to you too, Katie. Although your good-natured innuendo is typical of the sort of thing I'm afraid I might have to put up with as a nanny.


I had to come down hard on that sort of thing when I was a tennis coach/ personal trainer.

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Peckhamgatecrasher, it would be very unfair if past indiscretions on my part were to hamper my employment opportunities for working with the local young people. Anyway, all concerned were consenting adults, and I like to think I brought some happiness into those women's lives.


*Bob*, I agree he looks a state. This is why I am proposing a uniform. Perhaps something like a chauffeur, but without the hat. It would have to be a good suit, though; something with a bit of movement, not too structured, but smart. Certainly not one of those Next static-generators the Addison-Lee chaps scratch themselves into for an 18 hour shift.


Annette Curtain I refer you to my answer to PGC.


candj, Thanks for your good wishes and for clarifying your own socio-sexual morality. I'm not anticipating direct offers from my employers, but am rather concerned that their friends will be all over me like cherry blossom falling onto on a verdant, windblown lawn.

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As an NNEB (Nursery Nurse) trained chap of some years standing, I remember vividly the part of the training where I had to work in a family home.


The lady of the house took great delight in bringing me and the kids to playgroups and play 'dates' at her friends' homes.

It's important to remember that this was several years and several stones ago, and I don't think I'd be in violation of The Trades Description Act to describe myself as something of a 'hottie'* as the modern vernacular has it.


Anyway the fashion in which the mummies flirted and made mild innuendos gave me the distinct impression that had I wished to take advantage of the situation I could have seen more sex than a policeman's torch.

Of course my natural gentlemanliness and rigid professional code meant I didn't take advantage of the situation.

Though being but flesh and blood it became harder and harder as the days went on, and I confess to finding great relief when I handed in my final report and bid farewell to the family.


I suppose I should have felt soiled and cheapened at being treated as some sort of sex object, and indeed perhaps a more sensitive 'depthy' sort of cove would, but on reflection I was happy as a dog with two dicks.


As for the best course of action, Ted I suggest uyou take a golfer's stance and just 'play it where it lies'.


Good luck.


* I've just looked at some old snaps from the time, and I don't think 'stunning' could be dismissed as hyperbole, franky.

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Sight unseen, I reckon you've still got it going on, Cheebs. I'd have been flinging a few rigid codes at you myself, twennery-summery years ago.


You reminded me of a time when I once ran Poettery courses in the Camargue - a multi-media arts venture in which shapes were thrown in words and clay. It was, I fear, always more of a typo than a business model.


But for one late summer, as the wild bulls ran and the flamingos turned the skies terracotta, a trickle of women of a certain age, often but not exclusively American, would submit to my tuition.


But all this has nothing to do with my current life goals, of raising the young people to a better understanding of their place in a world where care for them is outsourced to a succession of Australians with half a drama degree and a summer camp internship to their name.


I think a man of my experience could find a place in this world. But, I'll say it now, the constant sexual objectification would have stop.

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Seen Ted, seen.


But I fear the sexual tension between you and the mistress when you remove your spats and unknot your bow tie for a lively game of swingball with her eldest may be too much for her to bear.

Weakness thy name is woman and all that.


I imagine her savouring the memory until the next time Laurie is in Brussels.

Then in the wee hours comes a-tapping gently rapping on the Max bedroom door.

You start like a fawn and the copy of Spinoza's Tractatus de Intellectus Emendatione you are absorbing falls from nerveless fingers.

You cup your hands around your mouth and start to make loud snoring noises (think Basil in The Wedding Party episode when he mistakenly thought that Mme Peignoir was storming his portals but it turned out to be Sybil) in order to fool the sex crazed bint, but to no avail.

She enters the Max boudoir and exercises her droit de seigneur over which I prefer to draw a discreet veil.


However it's probably worth mentioning her throaty whispering of "Teddy-Toodles be nice to mummy" throughout added insult to violation.


Anyway in the aftermath when your employer has taken her leave, you lie in bed musing philosophically on the experience.

Lanquidly you retrieve the fallen volume and wonder where Spinoza stood on the matter of happy two-dicked dogs.

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