Hi, my name is Kimmee W, and I want to share with all of you how drastically my life has changed in the past several years.

My father left my mother and me when I was only four months old. Mom struggled but kept us with a roof over our heads and food in our stomachs and even managed to scrape enough money together to help me out with books and clothes for college when I received a scholarship to a state university.

Mom took sick with adult onset leukemia during the second semester of my freshman year of college. I finished exams, packed my stuff and took the first bus home. She was gone by mid August. After funeral expenses and everything else I could not afford to go back to college, so I found what work I could do, working as a waitress in a local family-style diner.

The job did not pay a lot of money, and some days my tips would barely cover the gas for the old clunker I drove back and forth from the tiny apartment I could barely afford. If it wasn't for the fact I was given a meal every shift I worked I would have starved, because utilities, rent, and gas money were eating up every dime I made.

In the two years I was waitressing I became friendly with an older couple that had moved into the area about the same time I began my job. They were very kind to me. They were always good tippers, giving twenty percent to me even if they only came in for pie and coffee. They were the kind of couple I had always wished my parents (the fantasy ones) could be. Holding hands and demonstrating that the loved each other very much.

They had lived in a town about seventy miles farther north, and during a storm the old trees on the property had caused serious damage to the roof and foundation of their house. Their insurance had totaled the home and replacement in their old community was not affordable. So they had basically built a duplicate of their old home in this town, with, as the wife laughingly said, serious upgrades to the kitchen and bathrooms.

One rainy evening they left the diner and were walking across the parking lot when a car driven by a woman in her eighties hit them. The old lady claimed she never saw them, but no matter, the wife slid head first into a curb and died on the scene from traumatic brain injuries. The husband suffered a shattered hip, knee and ankle on his left side and a broken right arm. He was months in the hospital and then in a rehabilitation facility, fighting to regain some of his independence.

Finally, about six months later, I waited on this much older frailer gentleman who murmured, "Kimmee, don't you recognize me? I'm Mr. G..."

I started to cry. This vibrant man who told of his riding his bicycle for miles, body boarding in the nearby surf and who had been the poster boy for a healthy life style seemed to have aged thirty years in six months.

I pulled up a chair, (with my manager's permission) and we chatted for a while. His son-in-law and daughter had been caring for him in her home since his release from rehabilitation, but it was a strain on their young family and he no longer wished to burden them. He had moved back into his own home, but he found he could not care for himself. If he could not find someone to work for him as a live-in helper he would have to sign himself into a nursing home.

I asked him what kind of duties would be involved and he told me, "Everything a spouse would do, except sex." I got the idea right away. He needed someone to drive him where he needed to go, do laundry, do housework, pay bills and cook for him. I asked him what the job would pay and he responded, "It depends on just how skilled and trustworthy you prove to be, if you are asking if I would have you to do the job, which I would be glad if you accepted the offer."

He needed an answer by the end of the week. It was now Wednesday and by Friday I needed to give him a yes or no. I talked to some of the other girls and my manager and they told me to go for it. After all, what was the worst that could happen? If I hated the job I could go back to waitressing.

He came in at one in the afternoon on Friday and sat in the same booth he and his wife had always shared. He looked very sad. I slid into the booth across from him and told him I would take the job. He smiled and pulled a document from the satchel he was carrying.

"Here is the contract, read it carefully. It allows us to review our relationship after the third, sixth and twelfth month of the contract. After that it becomes binding for two years. Kimmee, I cannot tell you how much I thank you for agreeing to help me like this."

I did not even glance at the contract, I just signed it and told him I was honored he'd chosen me. It turns out I probably should have read it before I signed it; however, everything has turned out fine, so far.

Everything was fine and normal between us for the first two weeks, and then I excused myself to shower and shave my legs. My Boss said one word, "Contract" and then had me bring him the document he had signed. Clearly spelled out in a paragraph I had never read was the statement; "Following acceptance of employment Miss Kimmee W shall neither shave nor have otherwise removed any pubic or body hair and shall allow the hair on her head to grow out to a minimum of shoulder blade length."

OMG, I had signed this without reading it. I simply said, "yes sir," when he asked me if I still wished to work for him and he replied, "Shower fine, shaving no," and handed me the contract. This time I retired to my room and read the darn thing.

For the first three months the only stipulation was that I not shave. After the third month and until the sixth month I was to rid myself of all panties, swim suits, shorts, jeans and trousers and wear only simple cotton shift dresses. The same sort of dress his wife had always worn when they came to the diner. After the sixth month and up until the first year I was to be nude while going about my daily work within the house, but would be allowed to wear the cotton shifts or a coat while running outside errands. I would be paid thirty thousand dollars upon completion of my first year of my contract. It would all be bankable as my Boss was paying for my food, and since I had given up the apartment and the clunker when I moved in to work here I had no major expenses of my own.

In exchange, I would work in the nude. Now I may never have needed to wear a bra in my life, being a double A, fried egg kind of girl up top. but below the waist I was all girl, curves and high tight butt and legs that looked longer than what belonged on a five foot seven inch girl. So I asked, "What about the beach and swimsuits, if I let my pubic hair grow it would look gross."

His response was, "We have swimming pools here on grounds and a twelve-foot privacy fence. In fact I will have Sean, my physical therapist, show you the range of motion exercises I must do every day and you can hop into the heated indoor pool and help me with them the days he isn't here. That should be worth an additional five thousand dollars at the end of the year,"

Sean's training had me able to do my Boss' exercises after the fourth session. I observed the first time, boy did I observe. Sean is six feet of solid muscle and as both he and the Boss were nude, I saw more muscle than a girl could dream having herself wrapped around. But, I digress.

The second session, Sean did an exercise and then hands on mine repeated them. His hands felt wonderful and I swear I felt the beginnings of a very unprofessional erection popping between my legs as he stood behind me. The third he let me do the exercises on the Boss and critiqued my efforts. After that I was on my own. It was weird, because Boss was nude and so was I but there was no sexual tension at all; it was just the two of us in the pool every day working through the exercise program.

We were both enjoying the company we kept and after two more weeks it was all on me as insurance coverage for Sean's visits had lapsed. After the water therapy the Boss was to walk a half-mile on his treadmill. I would sit by the side of the machine offering encouragement, with my hair wrapped in a towel, but otherwise nude.

I had begun to not bother dressing at all, two months before it would have become an obligatory part of my employment. Boss was walking better, regaining his weight and strength and long hours of the two of us lying in the sun in the fenced in yard had given us both all over tans without the hint of a white tail tan line.

I felt good about myself and I felt good that Boss was healing in both body and mind. One point was still raw for him. He had nightmares almost every night concerning the accident and would wake screaming in anguish. My room was just down a short hall with a bathroom the only separation. I would rush down and wrap my arms around the Boss and try to soothe the fear and pain from his mind.

It was five months into my employment, shortly after I'd given up wearing clothes, when I realized that unless I slept in the same room with the Boss neither one of us was going to get a full night's sleep.

I started out sleeping in a recliner next to his bed. When he'd begin to stir I'd reach over and rub his back or his hand and he would calm himself back to sleep. One night he had rolled too far over in bed and unable to touch and comfort him I watched as the night terror took hold of him.

That was the night I moved into the Boss's bed. He would cuddle me like a body pillow, cup a hand over my tiny breast and fall contentedly to sleep. The only time I ever felt his erection was when he was deeply asleep and probably dreaming of his lost love. Hey, I had no delusions of anything else. He had adored his wife and I was younger than his daughter. I was an employee short and simple. My being his bed companion was simply a matter of the care and compassion my job required.

As per the contract, when the first year ended a thirty thousand dollar check was deposited into my bank account. Two other checks followed, one for five thousand dollars, as compensation for my taking on the Boss's physical therapy, and a second check for thirty seven hundred dollars as a bonus for quality performance.

I don't want to tell you how hairy I was by that point. My scalp hair had grown out into curls and ringlets that hung nearly to my waist. I could now open the door for delivery persons and with my hair swept forward cover my small breast mounds completely. Oh, did I fail to tell you that I had become so used to being nude that I would walk to the mailbox or answer the door that way? Well, between the huge bush of hair at my crotch and the long hair on my head nothing was visible from the front and as the Boss was fond of saying, everyone has two cheeks and a butt crack, what does it matter if someone sees yours?

I had entered into the next phase of my contract. At the end of the twenty-four months left of my employment I was to receive a check for forty thousand dollars for year two and forty-five thousand for year three. I continued to do my Boss' therapy sessions; however, as he regained more control of his body he wanted more challenging routines. That is how I found myself attending college on the Internet, working toward the goal of becoming a fully licensed physical therapist. The Boss was paying for everything with bonuses for every A I got in a class.

One day, while the boss was napping and I was reviewing some on line material for an exam the next day, the doorbell rang. I answered it and standing there was the tallest, shapeliest woman in her thirties I ever seen. She was accompanied by a six-year-old boy.

"Momma, she's all hairy naked!" The boy shrieked with delight and began dancing around the foyer shouting the phrase, "hairy naked," over and over. I was blushing so badly that I almost forgot to ask the woman who she was or the nature of her business with my Boss.

"You must be the miracle worker, Kimmee, that my Dad has been emailing me about. Hello, I am his daughter Kathy and this monster is Skip, real name Donald, but avoid using it if you value your shins." She warmly extended her hand and I took and shook it.

We both heard a splash at that point and we rushed to the back of the house where we found Skip, having kicked off his clothing, doing a passable back stroke in the heated indoor pool.