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"I ask for a lot," the man with a stern gaze and moustache a bit too jolly for it stated. "I intend to run for the Prime Minister seat of this country. I believe in unifying Deutschlandt. I need people who are behind me on this."
He looked at the requirements, they... were indeed a lot. "Blood transfusion and organ transplantation?" Frown, that point in the contract related to all manners of health issues looked truly dubious.
He was asked to undergo a full examination beforehand, to the fullest amount that the modern medicine could provide. Already knew his blood was suitable for transfusion, but organ donation...
"Which organs are we talking?"
"All the necessary ones," the man answered without any hint of humour.
The prospective bodyguard to a soon a very important man nodded.
"Now, this next part is a bit unorthodox, and you may refuse to participate in it. That would conclude the interview."
The large man blinked.
The "unorthodox affair" turned out to be taking a shower with the chairman and one other person. Without thinking about it too much, he agreed. Maybe there would be a drill on an assassination in the bath?
No, not quite.
"If we are to spend twenty hours a day or longer together, that doesn't seem so preposterous now, does it?"
And knowing what he would in the future, a less prepared person could have been scandalised and disgusted at the ways chairman lived his private life. That could lead to bias and unconscious neglect.
As it stood, Mr Desmond believed in close knit bonds with his compatriots, and especially people working with him, under him.
"Aide me," the wet and slim man demanded, pushing a washcloth at him as the water hit him in the face. The other person, Jeeves, dark haired with light bronze skin was already lathering soap on the chairman's shoulders and his chest peppered in dark curly hair.
Yes, this man could be the very next leader of Ostania, he could believe that. He stepped up.
"The permanent personal team has designations, we already got"
- North, #1 — a balding man with calm eyes, the first proper security Mr Desmond got;
- East, #2 — light haired man with sly face, eventually a terrible gossip;
- West, #3 — not-Jeeves as he first called him, for how similar he appeared at first (unfortunately, his personality was also not-quite-Jeeves)
"So this is South, welcome to the team #4."
The jokes about chairmans's security were nothing new.
"So much security, is he the president of Earth?" Assembly member whispered not so subtly. "Did we miss something on the alien front?"
Well, Mr Desmond is very practical, utilitarian in most aspects of his life. And the jokes about him going everywhere with his bodyguards (an entirely justified measure) were overblown.
What they did was crucially needed maintenance.
The chairman stepped into the spacious shower, big enough to comfortably accommodate burly frames of his bodyguards. Hi sighed as their hands settled on his shoulders and back, getting to the job of massaging his flesh, sore from days in the office chairs and boardrooms.
The chairman hissed when thick fingers dug into his buttocks and forearms, a sign that they were applying optimal pressure. The water from single, military style shower head was hitting at a perfect angle, warm but not to the point of steam. Not a hedonistic wasteful ritual, but a functional and effective hygiene measure.
They had the routine down to the seconds, chairman's palms against the wall as two of them slipped lower to his slender legs and crotch, a beginning of arousal — purely physiological reaction.
(Of course, the chairman had a wife, one they all deeply respected, but it would be quite unfair to burden the petite woman with something a few grown men were required to do properly.)
As #2 went about shampooing the dark wavy hair, he kneeled fully to ensure that everything was cleaned thoroughly. In sure steady motions he lathered the ballsack, before going to spread the pale cheeks to rub at the tight entrance. The target of his ministrations widened his stance, back arched a little. #3 overeager, as usual was already at the pubic hair and right-on-schedule erection the chairman sported.
They would deal with that in three minutes fifty seconds, all carefully counted, and abided by during the years of their service. He himself was a bit hard already, appreciating the measured out precision with which they operated. Slick bodies moved with practiced ease, and soon the tile walls were painted with spurts of white
#1 was outside, reviewing the day's schedule and finalising any vehicle and venue changes. The three of them would finish up in eight minutes, and be on their way for the first appointment of the day, in synergy and focused.
Be it for their maintenance rituals or professionalism, despite all the assassination attempts and other unpleasant occurrences, none of them got injured badly enough to leave the service and the need for transfusions or transplantations never arose.