Aunt Jane’s Skirt
by
Skinnie Stallion
The embarrassment was excruciating. How could he have been so foolish? How had he not heard her on the stairs?
"Oh Andy, don't cry. I don't mind, honest," said his Aunt sincerely. "There's nothing to worry about."
"You won't tell anyone, will you?" he pleaded, still hanging his head in shame, unable to face his Aunt.
"No, of course not. It's just between the two of us."
"Thank you, Auntie."
"And a word of advice, Andrew, if I may...."
"Yes, Auntie?", he said finally turning to look at her.
"You need to remember, Fullerton Hall is a bit of a creaky old house. I could hear you in my bedroom down in the Drawing Room. And when there were clicks, I kind of guessed what you were doing. I've walked across that parquet floor beside my closet often enough to know what a pair of heels sounds like."
"Sorry, Auntie."
"No need to say sorry, Andrew. You should just have asked if you wanted to try them on. And can I suggest that while Jimmy Choos look good, I think you'd better in Louboutins."
"Really?!" asked a surprised Andy.
"Would you like to try a pair? The red ones or the white ones? Either would go well with blue denim. Start with the 100s, I think you'll find them a bit easier to start with."
“Hundreds? What are they?” asked Andy, putting on a quizzical face.
Aunt Jane furrowed her brow. “I think you know quite well, young man. I know how much you follow fashion. Ladies fashion.” Andy blushed, if that was possible given his current shade of embarrassment. ‘Hundreds are how Louboutin refer to the heel height of their shoe. One hundred millimetres or about four inches. Personally, I prefer one twenties, but hundreds are good for everyday wear or if I’m in business meetings all day.”
“Yes, Auntie, I did know,” he admitted.
“I thought so. You spend so much time looking at my heels or admiring my friends’. Sometimes you get quite distracted.”
“Sorry, Auntie. It’s just a thing I have. I just like the look of heels. There’s something about them.”
“And you wanted to try for yourself?”
“Er, yes.”
“And the skirt? My skirt?”
Andy had hoped his Aunt would forget about the skirt. His embarrassment returned, only worse. “Er, well….” He couldn’t find words. How could he tell her that he really wanted to try on one of her skirts? “I wondered whether the heels would look better with a skirt than jeans.”
“Oh, is that so.” Jane looked at the array of skirts spread across her bed: a black maxi leather, a black knee length leather, a black pencil leather, a black mini leather. “You like black then?”
“Yes, Auntie, it goes with anything.”
“Black leather?”
Andy paused before replying. How could he say that he loved the way leather accentuated the curves of his Aunt? “It’s so shiny,” he retreated to a more anodyne answer.
“But not as shiny as latex. “I see you wanted to try my black pencil latex.”
Andy’s head hung in shame. “Er, yes. Latex is so… so,” he was momentarily lost for words. He wanted to say, ‘so tight, so shiny, so figure hugging. He wimped out: “…so … so.. special. Sorry, Auntie.” He was close to tears.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Jane said. He looked so sorrowful and ashamed. She just wanted to hug him and hold him. But inwardly she was relieved. Finally, he was admitting to himself his true nature. With no prompting from her, he was finding his feminine side. There was no point in telling him that she’d heard him in her bedroom on other occasions. She’d guessed he was going through her closets and drawers. But today she could tell it was different. He’d spent so long up there and then the click of heels on the wooden floor. Time for a chat with her nephew.
“But Auntie…..”
“No buts, daring. And nothing to worry about. You look great in that skirt. It suits you.”
“What, Auntie? You’re not annoyed?” How could she not be annoyed at finding him standing in her bedroom wearing one of her expensive William Wilde skirts and a pair of her Jimmy Choos? “I feel terrible.”
“Terrible for trying on my skirt? Or terrible for me finding you in my skirt and heels?”
“Just terrible,” he cringed. “Oh, I don’t know. I don’t know.” Tears were starting to fill his eyes. “I shouldn’t have done it Auntie. I’m sorry, Auntie.”
“It’s OK. Nobody’s hurt. No harm’s done,” Jane tried to reassure him. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
“I’m so sorry,” he continued to bleat.
“Don’t cry, darling. I understand darling really.” He felt her hand against his waist. “There is something exciting about wearing Auntie’s skirts isn’t there?” Andy whimpered an acknowledgement. Jane continued, “Something she has worn close to her skin ……. that smells of her.”
Andy turned away. He didn’t know what to say. How could she know? How was it possible? Had she seen him holding her skirts close to his face, inhaling the aroma of leather, breathing in the heady scent of latex, and thrilling to her intoxicating fragrance that permeated all her garments. He adored his Aunt. He loved how she looked. He loved how she was: charming, witty, youthful, graceful, elegant, stylish and, he had to admit, sexy. The embodiment of sexy. She might be thirty years older than him, but she had an allure. An allure like no other woman he’d ever met. He loved being with her. He loved their games together. He always loved the way she’d let him play with her make-up. Would wearing her clothes make him more like her? Would wearing her clothes make him more like how he wanted to be for her? He wanted to be pretty for her, ever since she let him experiment with her make-up when his parents were away and he came for a sleep over.
He waited to be scolded. “Sorry, Auntie.” The tears came back. “I’m so sorry.”
“Oh Andy, don’t cry. I don’t mind, honest,” Jane repeated. “I really don’t. I always thought this day would come.”
“What?” A surprised and relieved Andy turned to her, his face brightening. “But how?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Call it an Auntie’s intuition.” Inwardly she thought, ‘That and hearing you rummaging through my things. That and the way you read my copies of Vogue and Harpers. That and the way you play with my make-up and admire yourself in the mirror. That and what you draw in your sketchbook.’ He’d always been a very special boy.
“Really?”
“Yes, honey. Now, why don’t you try on that pair of Louboutins? But I think we should go with black. You can try red or white later, particularly if you decide to go back to wearing your jeans for the rest of afternoon. And we can do better than scruffy white t-shirt. Let’s see what you look like in some different tops.”
“Yes, Auntie,” he said in disbelief. “Can I? Can I really?”
“Yes, honey, but first I’m going to do your make-up. We need to see what you really look like if you’re going to be trying on skirts and dresses.”
“And Andrew?”
“Yes, Auntie?
“You know that concert we’re going to next weekend?”
“Yes, Auntie. The Eras Tour. How could I forget?”
“Well I think I have the outfit for you.”
First Dance
By Skinnie Stallion
Andy sheltered behind the camellias. At least he was away from all the children running around and the clamour of the party. Away for a while: he knew he'd have to come out when the cake was being cut. He wished he had his phone so he could catch up on Instagram with what Paris and Kylie and the other party girls were doing. But he had no phone with him. His dress had no pockets, and Auntie had made him leave his iPhone in the BMW. Listening to the exultant shrieks and whoops he'd never felt less like a party girl.
He looked over at Marjorie's summer house. 'Shed' she called it. It was as big as the Scout Hut. Bigger. That was where Jane was. Enjoying herself with all the mums. That was where he wanted to be. Some of the mothers looked very pretty. Yummy mummies. A few couldn't be much older than him. Well not more than ten years. But none of them were going to look at him. None of them were they going to give him the time of day. Not wearing a dress. And definitely not this dress.
Jane had sprung that surprise on him this morning. It was all well and good saying that they were going to Marjorie's for her twins’ birthday party. He could accept that, especially when she brought out a new pink pair of Kates as a consolation treat for him. A sweetener. "A lovely pair of new heels for you," she'd said. Only an 85mm heel: something practical for wearing about Fullerton Towers during the day, he’d thought. Of course he'd said yes. And then she'd brought out the dress. A matching dress. A matching pink latex dress. "Your party frock," she'd said. He was trapped. He had to go.
Andy steadied himself against a branch of the bush, and leant forwards trying to shift his weight on to the soles of his Kates to stop his heels sinking into the lawn. He couldn’t work out why he was struggling: his Aunt seemed to have no difficulty in her 120s. But Jane was always graceful and smiling. And she had more experience. A lot more experience. He needed more practice. Not on the parquet floors and thin rugs of the corridors and day rooms at Fullerton Hall: he was used to them when he was cleaning. Nor stone floors: he spent enough time in the tiled kitchen. But on the thick carpets in the lounge. They would probably present the best challenge when wearing heels. Silently he wished he could be walking on the hard wooden floor of the Shed rather than languishing in the shadows on soft grass.
He didn’t know which was worse: the shrieking kids or the laughter emanating from the Shed. With the sun going down, tea had clearly given way to prosecco, and the bubbly was having its effect. The ladies were letting their hair down while their children played. That’s where he’d prefer to be. With his Auntie. He’d always prefer to be with Auntie, but he was frightened the ladies would laugh at him. A boy in high heels. A boy in a dress. A tongue tied boy who couldn’t talk to them. A boy who wouldn’t play with the children but was too nervous to talk to the adults. Jane had done this to him.
Surely the cake would be served soon? Bedtime must be approaching for the younger children. They would need to go home. He shuffled round the bush, branches to see what was happening. The entertainer had packed up and gone. He’d been spared that humiliation. The children were still playing. He caught fragments of conversation leaking from the open doors to the Shed:
“…. you won’t believe next term’s school fees ……”
“…. I liked him in Luther. Such a hunk……”
“… latex? Really? Latex? I’ve never tried …”
“…. I’m sure I saw Bunty with her fitness instructor in Lurgashall, yesterday ….”
“…. a top up would be nice, thank you …..”
“…. yes, we’ve already booked Courchevel for January. Gstaad is so passé….”
“…. holding hands ….”
There was a louder voice amongst the hubbub:
“…. he’s so silly. Won’t play with the children. Won’t come in to say hello. Moping outside, I guess….”
With horror, he recognised his Aunt’s voice, and it was getting louder.
“I’m sure he’d like to meet you. I’ll go and find….”
He tried to retreat behind the bush but it was too late: Jane appeared on the verandah and immediately spotted him.
“But first I need to get him playing with the children.” She gave him a look. “He’s been so self-centred.”
Children clustered round her as she came forward. They loved their Aunt Jane. Their kind Aunt. The Aunt who gave them lovely presents. The Aunt who always dressed that bit differently from their mums and their other Aunts.
Jane stopped to speak with one of the boys who seemed especially keen to talk with her. Unlike the rest of the children, he was smartly dressed in collar and tie, with a classic blonde fringe and polished shoes. Very preppy. The boy pointed at Andy who was rooted to the spot. It wasn’t just Andy’s heels that were sinking; now his heart was sinking. What could he want?
After a brief exchange, Jane walked purposefully towards him while the boy lingered. "Why are you standing here, darling? You can’t hide behind the bushes all the time." She took his hand. Any other time, he’d have been happy to hold his Aunt’s hand. He liked holding hands with her: it made him feel special. But he knew what was about to happen and cringed. He tried to shake his hand free. "Why don’t you come and socialise?” She started to draw him forward.
“Auntie, please. I can’t. Not like this. Can’t we go?”
“Nonsense, honey. Not before the cake’s been cut. And there’s going to be a little disco after. You should see all the lights Marjorie’s put up.”
“Must I, Auntie?” he scowled.
“Oh, you silly boy! Of course you must. You look so sweet when get petulant,” she teased. Andy straightened his face immediately. “He was already resigned to what was going to happen. What Auntie wanted, Auntie got. “And there’s someone here who really wants to meet you.” She beckoned to the blonde boy to come forward. “Let me introduce you to Liam. Liam, this is Andy, my niece. Andy this is Liam. He’s a little shy but has something to ask you."
The boy seemed tongue tied for a moment before bursting out: “Your Auntie says you’re a boy, but I don’t believe her because you are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen and … and … will you dance with me, please?”
“Oh no, I couldn’t” said Andy looking helplessly at his Aunt.
“Sorry, Liam. I’m afraid she's very shy with strangers! Perhaps you could help her. I'm certain she and the girls will have plenty of areas of interest in common, if only boys and fashion!" Andy blushed.
"Boys and fashion....Yuck!" exclaimed Liam. Apparently he didn't share any of those way too girly concerns.
“Andy’s a bit of a fashion expert,” interjected his Aunt. “He reads all the magazines.”
"Auntie, please!" protested Andy.
"None of that sweetie. You will go with Liam, and I want you to have fun! But do take care of your new dress and heels!"
Andy looked down at Liam. “But Auntie, I’m much older than him.” He had to be at least four or five years older than Liam.
“Honey, since when has that mattered with us,” replied his Aunt. Andy blushed. He’d never thought of it like that. “Liam just wants to talk and have a dance. He tells me he’s going to be an investment banker like his daddy. Be nice and just talk to the children. It’s not difficult.” Jane brought Andy and Liam’s hands together. “Now Liam, take Andy over to meet your friends before the disco starts. And don’t let him eat too much cake. I want him to still fit in that dress.”
“Yes, Auntie Jane,” said Liam. It wasn’t only Andy who referred to Lady Jane Fullerton-Jones as Auntie.
“Be good both of you,” said Jane looking back over her shoulder at the two boys “…and Liam…”
“Yes, Auntie Jane?”
“I’m sure Andy will let you have a dance at the disco. Won’t you, honey?”
“Yes, Auntie,” he said disconsolately.
“Golly! Thank you, Auntie Jane,” said Liam looking adoringly at the older woman. It looked like Christmas had come early for him.
“But be aware,” a slightly sterner tone entering her voice, “I’m having the last dance with Andy.”
“Yes, Auntie Jane,” said Liam. “And can I have a dance with you Auntie? Please Auntie?”
Andy gasped. He couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. Liam might be shy, but he’d never have had the courage at Liam’s age to make such a request.
Jane stopped and turned back to look at them both. “My, you’re not such a shy boy are you, Liam! I can see you’ll make a good investment banker, schmoozing and flattering your clients. Of course you can.” She looked directly at Andy. “See Andy, that’s how it’s done. You only have to ask.”
Andy felt sheepish but decided to seize the day. He might as well given how the day was turning out. “Well then, please can I have the First Dance, Auntie?”
“Naturally, honey. I thought you’d never ask. I always like to have the first dance with the prettiest girl at a party.” With that, Jane pivoted on the sole of her Louboutin and swept back up to the Summer House.
‘She’s nice, isn’t she?” said Liam when Jane was out of earshot.
“Yes,” agreed Andy.
“I like her leather pants,” added Liam.
“Yes,” mumbled Andy.
“I saw you behind that bush. You look very pretty. Why do you wear a dress if you're a boy?” asked Liam. “Do you want to be a girl?”
“It’s er. …. it’s a ….. it’s a bit complicated,” muttered Andy. “Let’s go and find where the cake’s being cut,” he said changing the subject. “I’ll race you there.”
“I’ll win easy,” responded Liam already letting go of Andy’s hand and starting to sprint towards the marquee. “Girls can’t run!”
Not in these heels, thought Andy, pleased that the moment had passed. His mood was brightening. He’d got out of that scrape and was already looking forward to his dance with Jane. He was wondering who else he could ask to dance. How many of the yummy mummies would want to dance with a boy in a latex dress and high heels? He would only find out if he asked.
Jane looked back from inside the Summer House and saw Andy tearing after Liam across the lawn. Her boy was learning. If he danced nicely, he might get a treat when they got home. And it wouldn’t be more cake.
*************************
