Valentine’s Day
by
Skinnie Stallion
Part 1: His first Valentine
Andy had run to the door when the delivery driver pulled up outside the townhouse and rang the bell. He'd been expecting deliveries all morning. He hadn't listened to what the driver had said as he was handed the beautifully wrapped roses. Red roses. His Aunt had so many admirers. Maybe from Reverend Mayfield, or some smitten businessman, or one of his Aunt's many girlfriends. He even wondered whether Chantelle might have splashed out. Red roses? From Chantelle? Roses Chocolates more like from her. He cringed when he thought about how Chantelle would want to eat them. He still wanted that to be his prerogative, but recognised his Aunt had needs and desires of her own
There was no delivery paperwork to sign; the driver just took a photo of the handover, although Andy thought that he was being photographed rather more than the bunch of flowers. It wasn't often that the driver delivered to a house with a formally dressed maid these days. A pretty maid at that. Not in the town centre. Not even in the poshest townhouses. It wasn't Downton Abbey. And not even in Downton did the maids dress in latex. This maid was rather special. (It never occurred to the driver that he was delivering to a sissymaid. The prettiest maid in the south of England.)
Andy hadn't bothered to read the card perched between the top-most blooms. The flowers had to be for his Aunt. Obviously. He rushed to hand them to her, clipping on his heels on the parquet flooring. She was standing in the kitchen, looking resplendent and squelching in her brown vinyl pants while she checked that his cleaning was going properly, and that he’d moved from his 4" to his 5" heels for his duties about the house. At their last review, The Sisterhood had emphasised that it was important to make sure the sissymaid was being properly attentive to her duties. Andy was proving much more attentive after spending the last month in pink. Being in pink all that had made him much more appreciative of his black latex maid’s uniform and had really taken his new layered, white silk petticoats, and liked the security of his tight latex panties.
Jane had taken the flowers and read the card. Andy asked who the roses were from. He was excited to know but also concerned about others vying for his Aunt's attention. She held it up for him to read. He gulped and turned away. The roses were for him! From Will! He was overcome. ‘Everything you are and all you ever will be’? Did Will really mean that? He bit his finger trying to press a sob. It meant so much to him. A tear started to trickle down his face. He couldn't stop that. ‘Everything’! Will knew and was content with how Andy was. And those final two words meant so much: ‘Love Will’. And kisses too. It was all too much. It was all so sudden. Will really loved him. Another tear joined its colleague as dark streaks started to form from his melting eyeliner.
Andy's delight at receiving flowers - and not just flowers, roses, red roses - and such a sweet card from Will was tempered by his own feelings of inadequacy. Tears welled in his eyes even more. Yes, he’d sent Will a Valentine. But unlike Will's, his had been a simple card. A basic card. He even hated to admit it, a cheap card. A card with just a red heart on the cover. A plain red heart. Not even an arrow through it. And inside, only a short message: "From a Secret Admirer". He hadn't even added "With Love". At least "With Love from a Secret Admirer" would have gone some way to expressing how he felt.
And all he’d written was a solitary "X". Not kisses. Just one kiss. Why couldn't he say how he felt? After all it was an anonymous card. And an anonymous kiss. It could have come from anyone: a girl in Will's office would be an obvious assumption, or someone who'd been at from college with them. Maybe even a neighbour? It would have to be someone who knew Will's address.
Why couldn’t he even bring himself to sign his name. Why hadn’t he been able to say how he felt? That he wanted to hold Will's hand. That he wanted Will to hold his hand. That he wanted Will to hold him. And, he blushed and trembled to think of it, he wanted to kiss Will. He wanted to kiss a boy. That seemed so silly: kissing a boy. He wanted to kiss his friend. He wanted to kiss Will. He'd always wanted to kiss Will. And he wanted Will to kiss him. He yearned so much for Will.
Why couldn't he even write it on a card? Will had. Will had said how he felt. He'd only written a few words but words that meant so much: 'I love you'. Why couldn’t he say it himself?
Andy might have turned away but Jane could tell how he was feeling. The poor lamb. He was so confused, He still found it so difficult to admit his true feelings. But he couldn't hide from her. Not after all the patient years she'd spent helping him to find himself. And Will. Will had come through. He was a good boy, thought Jane. Will was what exactly Andy needed: someone who loved him unconditionally. Someone who could help Andy through all his doubts and uncertainties. Someone who could also give him what he needed. The time had come.
Andy was torn by the torment of emotion churning inside him. He could no longer even make pretence at suppressing his feelings. He began to cry. Jane was ahead of him. She walked over and held him in her arms. He buried his face against her neck. "Oh Auntie, I'm so silly! This is all so silly. Do you think Will really does love me?"
"Yes, darling, I do," was her simple reply.
"Really? Are you sure? It can't be. I’m a boy."
"Now who's being silly. Why ever not?"
“But, I’m a boy.”
“Young man, I think you need to look in a mirror?”
“You mean I look like a girl?”
“Yes, you look like a girl. A very pretty girl. But more than that.”
“You mean Will just likes me because I look a girl.”
“No, not because you look like a girl. And Will doesn’t like you: he loves you. He loves you because you’re you. He loves you because he can see the person inside. A very sweet, kind affectionate person. Who also happens to be exceedingly pretty, and delightfully and delicately feminine.”
“Oh, Auntie,” Andy sobbed and buried his face deeper against her.
Jane was happy that the prettiest blossom in her kitchen wasn't the roses but her own dear Andrew. It didn't matter what The Sisterhood thought, Andrew wasn't hers. He wasn't The Sisterhood's. He was Will's. Always was, if only he could admit it to himself. And always would be. And it was time for them to share that love.
Her Valentine's gift to her nephew wasn't the card nor the new Louboutins boots she'd given him, even though he'd squealed with delight as she'd zipped him up to the thigh when he'd tried them on that morning. It was the meal she'd booked in town for him and Will that evening, and that she'd instructed Will to bring a little overnight bag with a toothbrush, a razor, clean socks, underwear and shirt. She'd provide the other essentials. They would be alone in the house together tonight. If Andrew didn't have a glow on his face in the morning, she'd be disappointed. She liked to think of him wrapping those boots round Will's waist as they finally consummated their passion. She knew exactly what her boy really needed.
Now she just needed to decide whether she was going to be spending her evening with Mayfield or Chantelle. Decisions, decisions.
But first she was going to need to change her blouse. She couldn’t take Mayfield to lunch with Andy’s mascara smeared all around her neck. She might change her pants too. The colour of Andrew’s roses had inspired her. Tan was nice, but you couldn’t beat cherry red and they’d go so well with her red Loubous. Yes, red PVC pants for seeing the vicar.
Part 2: Tea on the Terrace
After the highs of the morning, Andy felt listless. The afternoon sun had come round to the rear of the townhouse and was now shining through the gap in the partially drawn curtains. Even indoors in February, he could feel some warmth in its rays. He gave the bookshelf another desultory flick with his feather duster and stared idly at the dust particles floating and glistening in the sunlight. They drifted aimlessly.
He was tired and bored. It was proving a long day. It seemed an age since he’d got up to make Jane’s breakfast. It was fine Jane expecting her first coffee in bed at seven-thirty, but he needed to get up at least an hour earlier to shower, tidy his hair, do his make-up and dress. Aunt Jane had taken The Sisterhood’s messages to heart: she expected him to be properly dressed as her sissymaid when serving her. He didn’t mind. He was always happy to serve his Auntie, but it did mean an early start. But at least The Sisterhood had allowed him to stop wearing pink all day. It felt good to be back in black. Black latex. Black was much more suitable for a maid than pink. Why had he ever complained to his Aunt when she’d first put him in a maid’s dress when his luggage had got lost on their trip to Paris? Black latex suited him exactly like the ladies in the shop had said at the time. So did heels.
He’d been working hard ever since they’d arrived at the townhouse that morning, and there was still much to do. It was nearly eight hours since he’d got up that morning at Fullerton Hall. They hadn’t been to the townhouse for nearly a month and Jane had wanted it given an early Spring clean before they had guests. Jane found it easier to have some of her business meetings in town: it was only a short walk to the station and saved visitors the journey out to Fullerton Hall.
Another flick of his feather duster. More shimmer in the air. More aimless drift, much like he felt. It all seemed so pointless. It was all very well, Will sending him roses for Valentine’s Day but he was going to be cooped up in the townhouse all day. He so longed to see Will, but he needed to do his chores for Jane. Besides cleaning he would soon need to start on dinner preparations. Even if Will tried to come calling, he’d go to the Hall and find the gates locked with no sign of him nor Jane. It was so unfair. It was fine for Jane to leave him working while she went out to lunch with Mayfield. She’d even changed into her tight red PVC pants to see the Reverend, but it was his fault getting mascara on her blouse this morning. Maybe she was right to change: he did think her red pants looked good with her black stole. And no doubt Chantelle would find an excuse to drop by this evening. He’d be left serving them and playing gooseberry. It was worse than unfair. But he needed to get on. There was always the risk of an inspection visit from The Sisterhood and he didn’t want to cause trouble for his Aunt, or be back in pink again.
He fetched his cloths and sprayed polish on the old oak shelves. The fine ostrich feathers of his duster might collect some dust, but they tended just to move it around. Aunt Jane would expect better. Even if she was out, he needed to be a dutiful maid. A dutiful sissymaid. Did Will really love him even though he knew what he was? He set to work bringing out a deep rich shine but took care not to catch a nail.
He heard the front-door opening. Jane was home. He always preferred it when she was near him. He skipped lightly out of Jane’s study, as much as he could skip in 5” heels, and then stepped carefully down the stairs in as ladylike manner as possible, exactly as he’d been trained at Knightley Towers since he never knew who might be with Jane. Fortunately it was only Reverend Green. He’d nearly reached the foot of the stairs as Jane strode into the Hall. “Hello Andrew,” she said, “my busy little bee.”
Andy tried to compose himself. “Good afternoon, Auntie,” he said. “Did you have a nice lunch?” he asked, trying to display his maturity and avoid showing his pique that she’d been out gallivanting while he’d been working - gallivanting on Valentine’s Day with her boyfriend, if it was appropriate to call Reverend Green “her boyfriend”. He suspected that she had invited Mayfield out for a Valentine’s Day lunch rather than vice versa. She was always in control.
“Very nice, thank you,” said Jane. “Would you bring Mayfield and me tea on the terrace, please Andrew? And put on the patio heater too. Have you got out the garden table and chairs and taken off the covers?”
“Yes, Auntie.”
“Oh well done, darling. You’re such a good boy. Isn’t he a good boy, Mayfield?”
“Hmmm, er, yes, er very good,” stumbled the Reverend. He was always rather lost for words when Andy was in his full maid’s outfit. But the boy seemed very happy living like this with Lady Fullerton-Jones so why should he feel uncomfortable.
Andy couldn’t hold back any longer and blurted: “Auntie, could I call Will, please?”
“Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary,” said Jane rather dismissively.
“But Auntie …..” protested Andy, trying to stamp his foot but just making his heel chime rather sweetly on the hard wood stair.
“That’s quite enough, dear. Just make the tea, and then go to my boudoir. Vanessa will be here soon.”
“Why’s Vanessa coming, Auntie?”
“To do your hair, nails, and make-up, of course! What does Vanessa always do?”
“But why here rather than at the salon? And why today? My appointment isn’t due for another week.”
“Don’t you want to look nice for Will?”
“What?” exclaimed Andy.
“Will’s picking you up at six-thirty to take you to Tutto for cocktails and then dinner. I thought your blue skinny PVC pants, crop top, and lose the hair piece and go back to your pageboy cut. Will that be OK, Andrew?”
“Oh Auntie!” squeaked Andy.
“And I think I’m going to be out tonight,” said Jane giving a knowing glance over her shoulder to the Reverend Green who looked suitably embarrassed, “so you’ll have the house to yourself.”
“What ….!”
“I hope you like your Valentine’s surprise. Now come here and give your Aunt a nice Valentine’s Day kiss.”
Andy didn’t need further invitation; he was already skipping towards her to give her the biggest kiss
ever.
.jpg)
