Latina Granny Ch. 03

"I think you'll get along as well as anybody can with this nerdy bunch of misfits," she announced finally, "And I wish you luck with them. It's a good thing you'll only have seven or eight of the young beasts to manage for the summer. Twenty of them at a time for the whole year was like non-stop boot camp for me."

She stood, shook my hand curtly and announced with gravity, "You have my blessing, dear, though lord knows why you would want it. I'll let Larry know my decision and I'll send in those three beasts who call themselves the Screening Committee to interview you." She hesitated a moment as if unsure whether to ask the question on her mind. She asked it anyway. "Are you sure you want this job, my dear? I mean, you're young enough to be doing other, better paying and less demanding work. There is no future in serving as a nursemaid to these beasts," she announced grimly.

Mrs. Hall had all the warmth and charm of a freshly dug grave, I decided, and I could understand why she had found the work of housemother so challenging and why Trent and Larry referred to her as 'The Undertaker' when they answered the many questions I had asked. We get what we give and attitude is a part of what we give.

"Oh, I'm sure," I told her, "I am approaching retirement and want a job with more contact with young people. They can be so, so inspiring for a person my age."

"Retirement? How old are you, anyway -- if you don't mind my asking."

"Sixty-one," I answered.

"Incredible!" she said. There was real shock in her voice. "You are older than me. And I never would have guessed. You look so- so- much younger," With this final exchange, Mrs. Hall and I parted company. As she left the room I realized that in the thirty minutes of our interview she had never really smiled once.

I was smiling now. Even with all the stress of this job interview I found a lot to smile about. It pleased me to know even a dour old woman like Mrs. Hall thought I was younger than I looked. I assumed it also implied she felt I was attractive. I had done a good deal of experimenting with my appearance in the past week. I was wearing my long black, wavy hair like Veronica Lake wore hers. It fell down partly over the right side of my face. It hid the gray at my temple on that side but I thought it added a bit of mystique to my appearance. It made for a more dramatic appearance too and a petite woman like me needed a bit of drama in their look, I decided. The wisp of gray at my left temple was still visible and I accentuated it by curling it so that it hung over my ear and was more noticeable. With these changes and some more practice with my makeup, I could understand why Mrs. Hall thought I was younger. I felt younger than sixty-one.

The Selection Committee or 'puppy-dog committee' as I saw them consisted of three responsible young men of the Rho Rho Betas who volunteered to interview candidates for the position of summer housemother. All of them would be living in the house over the summer and were to be my 'charges', so to speak. The young men of this committee took their responsibilities very seriously. They began by asking all sorts of questions regarding how responsible I was, whether I agreed with new 'scientific' findings that pizza was now considered one of the major food groups, my cooking skills and even whether I had a criminal record. My answer to this last question was an emphatic 'no' -- though I had committed some pretty randy and unlawful acts recently that could have gotten me arrested in this state.

Two of the young men showed up dressed in shirts and ties and had at least shaved this week. The third showed up in flip-flops, a T-shirt with an obscene quote on it and shorts. His sloppiness pissed me off. Forgive my language but just watching him slouch into the room and sprawl on the couch brought my blood to a boil. I decided to make an example of him. However, this unwashed and poorly dressed example of a young man was exactly what I had hoped for in this phase of the interviews. He didn't know it yet but he was going to make this part of the interview easier. It would also allow me to establish most of the ground rules for my future young charges in a matter of minutes. Mrs. Hall had complained about this slovenly disrespect in her young charges and I intended to actually do something about their dress and their attitude.

We got the pleasantries out of the way and the three of them had been asking their questions for a minute or two when, finally I couldn't stand it any longer and abruptly commandeered the interview. The slovenly member of the group had just asked a vague, off-topic question that clearly revealed he was both poorly prepared and not listening to any of our conversation.

"Young man," I said, addressing Peter, the underdressed young member of the committee directly, "Do you normally dress and slouch like that when you conduct job interviews or eat meals or study or go to class?"

"W-w-well . . . yeah. I guess so, I mean usually," he replied. He sounded surprised that I would even consider his appearance. His answer was as vague as his manner of dress and bearing were untidy.

I may have been applying for the job in this case but there were some things I found totally unacceptable. An unshaven, sloppily dressed and probably unwashed young man given responsibility and mishandling it badly was at the top of my list.

"Young man -- what is your name?" I demanded.

"P-peter!" he answered defensively.

"Well, Peter -- Your manners, your attitude and your dress habits are going to change if I am hired as your new summer house mother!" I told him angrily.

I stood then and faced all three young men. I was seated on an upholstered chair more or less in the middle of the room and they were seated together on a couch. I began the interview feeling a little uncomfortable, like I was a show pony staked out in the middle of an arena. My building annoyance with Peter replaced my nerves with an irritation that would not be soothed until I spoke up. Just the same, Peter was going to help me more than he knew.

"Do you have a dress code for staff? Is there a certain way you expect me to dress?" I asked.

"W-well no. I guess not -- I mean the Undertak-! Mrs. Hall always wore black pants and shirts . . . but I guess it doesn't matter," Peter answered.

"Would you consider the way I am dressed now acceptable?" This time all three nodded their approval.

"Or would you rather I wore sweatpants and a T-shirt that said "If you're already this close why don't you suck my dick?" I was quoting from Peter's eloquent T-shirt. I was taking charge now because someone needed to! Blame it on my hot latin blood or the grandmother in me, but I was not going to put up with the Peters of this world.

"Did you bathe today, Peter?" I asked bluntly. I made one step forward and then openly sniffed in his direction. I let Peter shrivel under the heat of my question for a long moment.

"Wel-l-l . . .." he started to drawl.

I cut him short. "Peter, I refuse to continue this interview while you are here dressed like that and smelling like . . . like a sweaty field hand! I want you to go shower and shave that scraggly stubble and when you come back -- if I'm still here - I want to see you in a shirt and tie -- and socks!"

Peter's face showed all the shock I expected. Before the three of them could protest, I unbuttoned my suit jacket quickly, opened it wide, placed my hands on my hips and stood facing them defiantly. I wanted them to admire all of my new look while they weighed their options. I may be a grandma and I'd just used the 'granny card' to take control of this little interview, but I knew it wouldn't last long unless I followed it with something more. I didn't want to give them time to realize they were supposed to be in charge of this interview.

"Are you still here?" I said, glaring at Peter sternly.

"Wel-l-l . . .," he started to say. He was staring at my breasts just as I had hoped he would.

"Go - now -- or we can end this interview immediately!" I threatened.

The young man scurried by me without another word.

"As for you two gentlemen," I began, "I know the two of you have more questions for me but I have a few questions of my own first."

I waited for Peter to leave the room, closing the door after him before asking, "Do you want me to leave my jacket on or take it off?"

"Off," they said in unison. I was pleased. I had been getting a little flushed anyway. Well-dressed young men seemed to be having that effect on my lately.

"Fine," I replied and draped the jacket over the back of my chair before sitting, then crossing my legs slowly for dramatic effect.

Their eyes were now riveted to my legs. I fought back the urge to smile. They didn't know it yet but they were going to agree to everything I asked, believe all of it was their brainchild and love it all -- down to the last cum-filled grunt I coaxed from each of them at the end of the summer.

"Do you expect me to wear skirts and dresses - or are pants okay?" I asked.

"Skirts," the one on the left said.

"Dresses," the one on the right said.

Well, they had ruled out pants. Both still had their eyes laser-locked on my legs. Just for fun I slowly shifted in my seat and re-crossed my legs. The slit in my skirt made it obvious I was wearing stockings.

"Do you expect me to wear stockings or pantyhose or go bare-legged?" I asked.

They both nodded, eyes still locked on my legs.

"Which one?" I demanded.

"Stockings," the one on the left said.

"Bare legs -- if they're tanned," the one on the right said.

Apparently I wouldn't be wearing pantyhose at all for the summer.

"So, do you like the stockings I have on now?" I asked being as coquettish as I remembered how. I turned to my side and uncrossed my legs for them to see the dark band of shimmery silver at the slit.

Again, they both nodded. It always amazes me how easily young men can imitate bobblehead dolls.

"Now," I continued, uncrossing my legs and standing, "What length skirt or dress do you gentlemen prefer?"

I stepped closer, grasped my suit skirt just beneath the swell of my hips and asked, "Do you prefer it where this hem is now -- or," and here I shimmied and tugged my tight skirt up three or four inches until it was at mid-thigh so that the tops of my lovely stockings as well as the slender gray straps of my garters were on display, "Do you prefer it about here?"

"Well," the fellow on the right half-choked and sputtered, "I-I think the shorter skirt length is preferable but it might not go over well if we have guests. Especially if you wear stockings."

"Good point -- er?" I waited for him to supply his name again. I'm pretty bad with names.

"Stan, Stanley if you prefer," he replied. He didn't sputter this time.

"Stan it is then. So you have a lot of guests in the house every day?" I asked. I still had my skirt hiked up. They both seemed to like it this way.

"N-n-not many girls wear stockings and garter belts," Stan's partner piped up.

He startled me with his answer but I took it in stride. "I'm a woman -- a lady and ladies often wear stockings. I consider it a sign of refinement and sophistication -- and," I added, "It shows a measure of respect for the gentlemen she keeps company with. You do want to be shown some measure of respect by me if I'm hired, don't you?"

"Sure," he replied.

"And your name again is . . .?"

"Evan," he answered.

Good, Evan it is. And thanks for asking that question. The reason I'm asking so many questions is because I want to establish ground rules and codes if I'm hired. It's important to know what you want me to wear and what you want me to do. The same thing applies for you. You need to know what my rules for you are. I do have some rules, you know," I told them. I was laying the groundwork slowly.

"You do?" Stan piped up. He sounded like a teenager, afraid he might be asked to do something - anything resembling work and he was ready to whine about it.

"Oh, certainly. But they will be pretty easy for you to follow. Let's get back to the dress code for me for a moment," I said, gently leading them both back to the path I had in mind.

"What about blouses and bras? I asked.

"Bras?" Stan asked, his eyes suddenly settling on my boobs once more.

"Yes, bras. You know -- pretty lace and elastic contraptions like this one. Do you approve?" I released my skirt in mid-sentence, cupped my breasts and hefted them gently, slowly. As the two watched me, I flicked my index fingers across the nipples once casually and paused.

This was the same sheer blouse and marvelous little bra that had held Trent and Monty spellbound a week ago. I knew my pale brown nipples were faintly visible even through the sheer layers of the exquisite material of my blouse and bra cups. I savored the feel and weight of them in my hands and lamented the fact that Stan and Evan couldn't experience the supple roll of my breasts in their palms and marvel at the way my nipples would surely stiffen and stand at attention with just a bit of taunting on their part but that was not part of my plan. I promised myself I would make it up to them after I started work.

"Would you prefer I wear bras like this one? Or maybe you prefer plain-Jane white cast-iron bras with a little padding? Or perhaps you're back-to-nature boys and you don't like bras at all?" I was still cupping my breasts so I gave the nipples another swipe. Sorry, but I had to entertain myself somehow and teasing them like this was getting to be fun!

"I favor the back-to-nature look," Evan announced, then added, "If you've got the chest to pull it off."

"Me too," Stan chimed in, then added, "But I really think your bra is hot!"

"I've got the chest, but I like sexy bras too. Maybe I could do both -- if you approve?" I slowly released my boobs and let them come back to rest on my chest.

They both nodded in agreement.

"Good. Glad we got that settled. Now, before we move on to my ground rules for you I have one last little thing I need to ask. It's more because I need to make sure I understand than anything else," I began. I was afraid I might begin to ramble, but I pressed on. My curiosity was aroused by something Steve had said the evening before. "Can either of you tell me what it means to 'be a commando? It's not a military term, I hope."

Stan's and Evan's eyes opened a little wider and they both sat a little straighter on the couch. Right away I knew being a commando had struck a nerve with them both.

"You're not going commando right now are you?" Evan, the back-to-nature lover asked, rather eagerly.

"That depends . . . what exactly does it mean to go commando?" I asked again.

"I-it means that you're ready for anything!" Stan blurted out. "I-it means you're going without underwear! I-t sort of means you're ready to attack -- if you know what I mean. Sort of like a strike force."

There was an anxious little pause, as if they hoped to be shown my 'commando' status. That was not going to happen -- at least, not right now.

"Oh! Well, I see," I replied as calmly as I could. Going commando made me feel rather dashing. I saw myself swooping in silently, stealthily in the dark of night, my mission clearly of grave importance, my pussy shimmering and well lubricated with oil and my young but worthy adversary armed only with a grandly menacing erection and practiced, relentless lips. I let this image thrill me for a long, delicious moment, then stifled a broad and very wicked grin before calmly asking, "Is that something you want to put in the dress code for me? I mean, most of the time you would never know whether I was going commando at all -- unless someone checked."

"I suppose someone would have to check," Evan conceded. He seemed excited about the prospect of checking me for panties. He had no idea the new me would never balk at practicing this new form of urban warfare. At heart, I think I already was a commando.

"Perhaps every member of the house could take turns sharing this responsibility?" I suggested. "I'm in favor of every young man sharing responsibilities around the house, as you'll see when I explain my code and what I expect from young men who live here this summer," I added. I was leading them toward my design for the operation of the house in a subtle way. I wanted them to understand that living in Rho Rho Beta house wasn't going to be all unbridled tits, short skirts and commando checks, though all these things promised to be a lot of fun. I had some rules that would apply and I wanted to prepare my future charges for them.

"What kind of rules are you talking about, Febe?" Stan asked. Once again he had that whining, 'A-w-w! Do I have to?' look on his adorable face.

"Well, if we're agreed on the dress code for me then I suppose it is time to discuss the rules I would impose as your house mother for the summer," after saying this I approached their couch and sat down on the end where Peter had sprawled a few minutes ago. Sitting up close to my young charges might make our conversation more intimate. Besides, I wanted to remind them I was wearing a lovely pair of shimmering silver stockings and 'suspenders' to hold them up. I crossed my legs slowly -- just to make sure they remembered.

"First, if I have a dress code to live by, you should too. I want every young man to come down to dinner wearing slacks, not jeans, a dress shirt and a tie. There will be no ball caps worn to the table. I'll leave wearing a sport coat as an option up to you. I expect every young man to be clean-shaven at dinner too. You can come and go dressed as you please during the day but I will expect dinnertime to be more formal. Are there any questions so far?" I announced in my most matter-of-fact voice.

"Are you kidding? And what happens if we don't dress in a shirt and tie?" Stan asked.

"And shaved!" I added firmly.

"And shaved," he half-groaned.

"Well, Stan -- if a single one of you fails to abide by the dress code I will follow suit. I'm a Cubs fan. I have a pair of Cubs sweat pants and a ball cap. They're getting pretty old now and a little tattered, but I'm sure I'd fit right in," I told him flatly, looking him straight in the eye.

"Or I can dress like this," I said, smiling. I continued to look them both in the eye for a moment before I casually uncrossed my legs. As I uncrossed them I subtly eased the hem of my skirt up my thighs an inch. "Have I made myself clear on that point?"

Stan and Evan exchanged glances and then both nodded their agreement. Score the first point for me.

"Good now let's discuss my clothing allowance," I began when they were agreed.

Stan and Evan got a quizzical look, glanced at one another and then back at me.

"Clothing allowance?" Stan almost sputtered.

"Why yes," I answered calmly, "I will expect a clothing allowance of sorts. Take this suit for example. I purchased the shoes, stockings, skirt and jacket, blouse and underthings all as an ensemble. Would you care to guess how much it all cost?"

I waited for the pair to consider my question and then I added, "Do you think it is worth what I paid?"

"Well -- well -- yeah -- definitely! But Rho Rho Beta can't afford to buy your clothes," Stan answered, still baffled by my proposal.

"Oh, I wouldn't expect the fraternity to pay my allowance," I began, "I was thinking that you -- and your brothers - would each provide me with a dress and possibly some other interesting article of clothing during the summer. I would ultimately have the authority to decline any outfit you provide -- but -- well -- use your imaginations," I added suggestively. "I'm sure you all have excellent taste and have some -- well dazzling notions for what I might look good in."