A Boy’s Name
By
Skinnie Stallion
1. Parish Visiting
Mayfield was perspiring freely as he approached the front door. He ran his finger round the elasticated collar of his black turtleneck. A little ventilation was necessary on the hottest day so far this summer. He wanted to take off his jacket, but it didn’t seem becoming, not on his first day. He was regretting his decision to walk to Fullerton Hall rather than take the car. It didn’t seem far from the Vicarage to the gates to the Hall, but he hadn’t realised that its estate was going to be so large, nor its curving drive so deceptively long. He should have checked the map of the Parish lands. Still, needs must. His predecessor, Reverend Dogwood, had told him that Lady Jane Fullerton-Jones was the Parish’s largest benefactor, so it seemed sensible to meet with her on his first day on the job.
Rounding the front circle with its fountain, he was grateful for the shade of the porch. He straightened his jacket and adjusted his crucifix on its little silver chain. He was surprised to see that the front door was open and that there were dust sheets covering the floor of the entrance. Inside was darkness Flecks of dust glistened in the air catching the sunlight sneaking through the window blinds. There was a smell of brick dust and plaster. He didn’t know whether to strike the front door knocker or pull the metal handle attached by staples to the red brick wall. He pulled the handle. A bell echoed distantly within, then silence. No movement. Not a sound apart from the cooing of doves in the dovecote above the stable block. He felt like he was back in some Jane Austen novel.
He waited. Nothing. He turned and looked back at the estate and the snaking row of poplars lining the drive. It must be at least a quarter of a mile long. Lady Jane certainly commanded a vast estate. He pulled the handle again and waited. He didn’t feel he could just walk in, not when he was still a stranger in his new Parish. He was starting to walk away disconsolately when a head poked round the corner of the house. “Would you be wanting her Ladyship?” asked a rather wizened old man wearing a battered soft felt hat, moleskin trousers, gardening smock, and heavy brown boots. Maybe more Thomas Hardy than Jane Austen he pondered?
“Yes, I was calling round to see Lady Jane Fullerton-Jones.”
“She ain’t here. She got the builders in. She be down at the cottage with the young Master.”
The young Master? Mayfield didn’t know that Lady Jane had a son; Reverend Dogwood had never mentioned him. “Thank you. I’m Reverend Green, Mayfield Green. I’m the new Vicar. And may I ask your name, sir.”
“I’m Wilkins. I does the garden and the borders. ‘Ave done these sixty years. Worked for Fullertons man and boy.”
“Oh. That is a long time. You must like it here.”
“The Fullertons is good people. Miss Jane be good too. She mayn’t be a proper Fullerton but she’m good too. The best we have,” he ruminated. “All we have since we lost his Lordship,” he added.
Mayfield recalled Reverend Dogwood telling him about the tragic disappearance and death of Lord Fullerton twenty or more years ago. “And will I see you in Church on Sunday?”
“Sorry, Vicar, I goes to Friends Meeting House. But I comes to the Church Fête, and the Christmas Panto.”
“Never mind, my son. Worship how you choose. All are welcome in the house of God.” My son? Mayfield felt embarrassed as soon as he said it. Wilkins must be at least forty, maybe fifty years older him,. “Where can I find the cottage?”
“You passed it when yous come in. It’s behind gatehouse at the start of the drive.”
“Oh dear. Well at least it’s on my way back. And she’s down at the cottage with her son?”
“Not her son. Her nephew. Master Andrew. Nice boy. Lovely, he be.”
“Oh, thank you. It was nice meeting you, Mr.Wilkins.”
“Nice meeting you too, Reverend. And it’s just Wilkins. Tell young Jane that I’ve bedded out the pansies, will you?
“Certainly, Wilkins. Bye for now.”
“G’bye Vicar.”
Mayfield made his way back. At least the poplars afforded some shade. There was a roar of an engine and tires on the gravel. He stepped back hastily on to the verge as a battered van with ‘Davies & Son: Builders’ crudely stencilled on its side sped past him heading towards the gates. It raced along the parched drive kicking up clouds of dust. He stopped to wipe his brow. When he rounded the bend, he saw a sleek limousine glide out from a side road and turn out of the imposing iron gates. It moved silently. Mayfield despaired. Surely he hadn’t missed Lady Jane? But he could hear voices. Somewhat raucous voices.
2. Gatehouse Cottage
Andy was laying out the tray - milk jug, three cups and saucers, sugar bowl (the large sugar bowl, he knew what builders were like), strawberry jam, clotted cream, three plates, teaspoons, knives, paper napkins – when Jane bustled into the kitchen. “That looks nice, darling,” she said. “I’m just off to the village. I need to run some errands.”
“Yes, Auntie,” he said while trying to suppress a faintly quizzical look. Andy wasn’t surprised to see that she was wearing one of her pairs of black leather pants. That was normal, at least for Jane, but he was surprised that she was wearing one of her best pairs of Balmains. A tight pair of Balmains complemented by a white a silk blouse, and light cerise Chanel bolero jacket. His Aunt always dressed to impress but this was hardly normal wear for running errands, not even for her. And not on a warm summer’s day.
“I’m going to HotHouse to see if Lois can replace the pump on our vacbed. Now the weather’s warmed up, it’ll be nice to get you all hot and sticky. And I’ll book you an appointment at Doll’s House.”
“Oh, goodie,” said Andy, pleased at the prospect of some relaxing primping and prissification, and an exciting spell of squirming and teasing in Jane’s vacbed. But he was even more puzzled by Jane’s wardrobe choice: it hardly seemed necessary to dress up for seeing Madame Stella.
“And I’ll be dropping by the Vicarage to meet the new Minister. They start today.”
“Oh!” That explained it: the new Minister, a replacement for crusty old Reverend Dogwood. The Parish Council had been lobbying for someone who would be more in tune with life in the village. Reverend Dogwood had never seemed to develop a rapport with Alice when she became his new curate. Andy was hoping that they might get a young female deacon. He didn’t know what his Aunt was hoping for. Whoever it might be, it looked like she was determined that they would start on her terms.
Outside he heard a vehicle crunch to a halt and car doors slamming. “Anyway, must run. Give us a kiss, darling.” There were steps outside and loud voices: the boys had arrived for their afternoon tea break. Andy leaned forward on his heels to give his Aunt a peck on the cheeks. “Not like that, darling, you silly goose.” Jane took a pace towards him, pulled him close and kissed him full on the lips. He could feel the hard underwiring of her Gossard Superboosts pressing against his chest. Someone wanted a good embonpoint and it wasn’t him with his little training bra hiding the disappointing flatness residing beneath his black latex maid’s dress. Their tongues met fleetingly. There were wolf whistles outside. Andy looked up to see Tom Davies and the Smith brothers leering through the kitchen window. “Never mind them, darling,” said Jane pulling back. “You can have more of that later darling. That’s if I don’t have you underneath a layer of tight latex sheeting as soon as I get home.”
As Jane moved towards the door, Andy hoped that Auntie Stella, as Andy referred to Lois Watkins (Madame Stella being much too formal) had a spare pump: an hour or two being plugged and restrained in the vac bed would be a nice break from his maid duties, and a perfect prelude to what Jane might want to do him later. What he didn’t want was one of those evenings when Jane invited Chantelle round and left him immobile and isolated while still able to hear the two of them having fun together. Trapped within the tight latex capsule sucking on a penis gag and being helplessly aroused by the soft vibrations of his Hummingbird was nice when Jane was playing with him, but the height of edged frustration when he knew Jane was playing with someone else.
The kettle started to boil. While the tea was brewing, he took six scones from the wire gridle where they’d been cooling and put them on a serving plate. He placed the tea pot and the plate on the tray. After taking a deep breath, he carried it outside where the workmen were lounging on the patio. He’d been at school with Tom Davies. He was beyond worrying. He might be wearing a dress. He might be a sissymaid. But he had Aunt Jane. What was there to care about? “Tea’s up, boys,” he announced.
More wolf whistles. “Thank you, Miss Andy,” said Bill Smith in an exaggerated way.
“Is Lady Jane still fucking you, then?” asked his brother, Jim.
“Or has that William still got the hots for you?” added Bill.
“Or is a cute girl like you getting fucked by both of them?” Andy blushed.
“Shut up you two!” interjected Tom. “Leave him alone! You’re just envious.”
“Oooh, get him!” exclaimed Jim. “Fancy him yerself, do you Tom?”
“Piss off! Just be pleasant. Lady Jane has given us this job. My dad will be mad at us if we lose the contract because of you two idiots insulting the staff. Just be grateful for the nice cream tea Andy’s provided. This is better than just a mug of Rosie Lee.”
“The tea’s still brewing,” said Andy, grateful to Tom for defusing the situation. He looked at Tom who turned away quickly. Did Tom fancy him? He had to wonder, even if William was his heart’s desire. Why had he never noticed when they were at school? “Help yourself,” he said to the workmen gesturing at the tray.
“Tom can be mother,” said one of Smiths sarcastically.
Tom coughed and nodded sidewards. The Smiths followed his glance and fell silent.
“Hello,” said a voice. Andy turned. A minister of the Church in dark jacket and trousers, and black turtleneck was standing behind him on the patio. No dog collar but a silver crucifix dangled from his neck. The gentleman was sweating profusely. He must have come round by the side of the cottage. How long had he been stood there? How much had he overheard? “Good afternoon, Miss. Good afternoon boys. I was looking for Lady Jane Fullerton-Jones. I was told by the gardener that she’d be here.”
“That’d be Wilkins,” said Andy adopting his formal maid persona walking towards the clergyman and trying to shield him from the builders. “I’m afraid Lady Jane has just gone out.”
“Oh dear, I wondered if that was her car pulling out earlier. What a shame. I’m Reverend Green, the new vicar. I had hoped to meet with Lady Jane.”
“I think she was planning to drop by the Vicarage on her way back so you may still catch her.”
“I have rather messed this up,” said Mayfield. “I’ve come to see her, and she’s gone to meet me. And you are….?” he asked, surprised at seeing such an attractive girl wearing tight frilly latex on a hot day.
“I’m Lady Jane’s maid,” said Andy.
“So sorry I missed Lady Jane by a few minutes. I should have made an appointment, but since I was passing by, I thought I'd take the opportunity to pay my respects. Please young lady, perhaps I could at least meet her nephew. Mr.Wilkins said he was staying here too .... ..what was the boy's name?.....Andrew I think? Is he around?”
“That be Andy,” intruded one of the Smiths earwigging their conversation and pointing at the nervous maid. Andy quivered, it was one thing many in the village knowing about his preferences and guessing at his proclivities, quite another for the new Vicar to find out in this way. He wished Jane was here to explain.
“Andy? That’s a boy’s name,” interjected Mayfield.
“Yes, I’m Andy, well Andrew,” acknowledged Andy. He might as well get it over and done with. The Vicar was bound to find out sooner or later.
“You!” exclaimed Mayfield. “But I thought you ….”
“Yes, I quite understand,” said Andy. He could hear the Smiths sniggering in the background despite Tom trying to shush them. “I’m Andrew, Andrew Watson. I’m Lady Jane’s maid.”
“But you ….. you’re ……your dress ….. on such a hot summer’s day?”
“Oh, this? The thing is Vicar, I like wearing latex. Latex and high heels. Auntie has trained me to be a good maid.”
3. Two Years Later
Andy felt they were living in chaos. Work was frenetic for both him and Jane. The pace, relentless. So this is what it was like trying to grow a brand. On top of that, they were having to move out of Fullerton Hall while it was receiving emergency treatment for woodworm. Gatehouse Cottage would be their home for the next fortnight while the oak panels and joists were fumigated and preserved. To make matters worse, Jane was also having building work done at the cottage. She wanted an attic conversion for a fourth ‘bedroom’ where special visitors could be housed (‘or restrained overnight’ Andy had mused.)
He paid the driver and got out of the taxi. As it pulled away from Gatehouse Cottage, he rummaged in his Chanel tote and began to curse. He knew that they were going to be in the cottage while the conservators were doing their work, so why had he forgotten to pick up his keys before setting off that morning? He’d remembered well enough when ordering his taxi. He rang the bell and waited, hoping the builders would still be working. A forlorn hope: they’d already knocked off. Part of him regretted lingering so long outside B⚥y? signing autographs after the store closed, but he couldn’t disappoint all the young girls and boys who’d come specially to see him. They were the future, and future B⚥y? customers. What would they think if B⚥y?’s most prominent brand ambassador wasn’t prepared to spend time with them?
He pondered what to do. Auntie wasn’t going to be back till the evening. He could walk over to Fullerton Hall and get his keys to the cottage, but he didn’t have a face mask. He’d need one to protect him from the toxic fumes if he was going into the Hall. And it would mean walking nearly three-quarters of a mile in his Loubislings. He didn't fancy that: five inch heels weren't going to be good on the gravelled drive nor the grass verge,.
He sat down on one of the patio chairs and closed his eyes to think. With all the cushions locked indoors, the unpadded seat was hard on his bottom. He was simply glad to sit down after being on his feet all day for the brand promo. He needed a good rest before he did another event later in the week at B&K. He wanted a nice relaxing day tomorrow but doubted he’d get one with the builders still working. Maybe he could persuade Auntie to give him some vacbed ‘therapy’: that would keep him off his feet.
He tried to settle on the seat. He wished he had his Hummingbird. He imagined it humming inside him. A smile formed on face as he thought of Will and the weekend. Will had been so helpful with all the packing, the boxes and the dust covers before the conservators and builders started. Auntie had been kind letting Andy lather and shower him after such hard sweaty work. And allowing Will to stay overnight, and share their bed. Andy wriggled his bottom, bucking his head slightly as he remembered the warm sensation of them sharing him. He wanted to recapture the glow inside. Moments of pleasure. Moments of ecstasy. Moments with Auntie but even better with Will: hard like Auntie but even nicer. Moments of love.
He rested his elbow on the table and leant his head on his hand. It eased the weight on his tight little bum. What was he going to do? He was longing to tell Jane how the ‘Meet and Greet’ had gone at B⚥Y?. Many people had admired his Superlock™ catsuit from the new ‘Feeling Feline’ range, though only a few had noticed its back zip and back padlock. They tended to be older ladies: mature ladies who gave him knowing glances. A back zip. Rear access. Locked rear access. They knew what that was all about. So many girls had wanted him to sign their copies of the new B⚥Y? catalogue. He'd lost count of the times he'd written "Love Andy xxx" during the day. It wasn’t just boys who’d wanted a kiss.
The peonies and trailing roses filled the air with their sweet scent while the soft buzzing of bees have a soporific effect. As he listened to their drone, his mind drifted back to the first time he’d met the Vicar, here, at the cottage. Back then, he’d been worried by the Vicar seeing him dressed as a maid. Would he understand? Andy had been annoyed that the Smiths had blurted out his secret. At least they’d calmed down since then. Bill Smith had the hots for Kitty and was anxious to impress her, while his brother Jim was going out with Nikki. And Tom? Poor old Tom: it seemed he still held a torch for Andy, even though he knew Andy would never be his. Perhaps Andy should introduce him to Liam.
The Vicar had been so kind and understanding. He’d not blenched at seeing a boy in a dress. Not any dress: a maid’s dress, a latex dress. A boy in make-up. A boy in high heels. A totally feminised boy! A boy as a maid. Lady Jane’s latex sissymaid.
He’d had a nice chat with the Vicar. After he’d made him some tea, of course. He found he could talk to the Vicar. Talk to the Vicar about his Aunt and how much he loved her. Talk to the Vicar about Will and how much he loved him. Talk to the Vicar about how much he loved being a girl for both of them. A very feminine girl. The Vicar had understood. The Vicar didn't judge. He was cool. He accepted. Yes, there might be some issues, but love was love. People were people. God loved all his children. At that moment Andy had known that Mayfield would be the perfect Vicar for the Parish.
The clouds parted. That was it! The Vicar! He could call Mayfield. Did Mayfield have a spare key? He wasn’t sure. Auntie had always been a bit cagey about these things. He’d always wondered when she disappeared some evenings. Were there midnight assignations? Very Lady Chatterley’s lover. Or was Auntie just meeting with Chantelle and not wanting to disturb him? He liked to think it was Mayfield. It had been so many years for her since Henry.
He opened Contacts on his phone. He ran down the list till he reached ‘Green, Mayfield’. “Hello Vicar. It’s Andy…… Yes, Andrew ……”
“Oh, hello Andrew. How can I help you?”
“Sorry to trouble you Vicar, but I’m a bit stuck.”
“Stuck? What do you mean stuck? You’ve not tried a size too large again, have you? Do you need more lube? Or the Fire Brigade?”
Andy thought he could hear a chuckle in Mayfield’s voice. “No Vicar,” replied Andy blushing at his indiscretion two months ago when ambition had exceeded capacity and he’d tried for the XXL: not too difficult on the way in; impossible on the way out. Jane hadn’t been able to resist telling that story to all her friends. “I’m at Gatehouse Cottage and locked out. Auntie isn't going to be back till this evening. Do you have a spare key?”
“Er, yes.” Andy’s clenched fist punched the air and he gave a silent whoop. So Auntie might be getting what she needed. You couldn't beat the real thing, and he should know. “Do you want me to drop round with it?”
“That would be really helpful,” replied Andy.
“I’ll be about ten minutes. At least it’ll give me a break from trying to write this week’s sermon. I’m struggling for ideas.”
“That would be great Vicar. When you’ve let me in, I’ll make you some tea. I’m sure I can find some biscuits.”
“That’d be nice. See you soon, Andrew. Bye for now.”
Andy leant back and tried to doze. Only five minutes passed before he heard the rumble and putter of the Vicar’s little old Mini.
Mayfield smiled as he saw Andy walk towards the car. He wound down the driver’s window. Andy looked a tired but confident in his shiny black catsuit and heels, so different from the nervous young maid he’d first met. It was nice to know that he was in a settled relationship with William: such a sensible fellow and stalwart of the village cricket team. Whatever the Church allowed, he hoped that one day he’d be able to bless their partnership and not just when batting together. Happiness and love incarnate. “Hello, Andrew!” He held out the keys. “Here they are.”
“Thanks Vicar. You were quick. Take a seat while I go in and get the kettle on.”
“Thank you, Andrew. Happy to help. Your Aunt gave me a spare in case I ever have need. We are being asked about housing refugees in the Parish. She is such a special lady, and happy to put in extra capacity here. I can never quite put my finger on what makes her so remarkable.”
‘And that’s despite all her enticements’, thought Andy. The poor man must be slow, or very devout. Perhaps Mayfield needed to talk more to his sister: Tori would surely be able to provide guidance to a lost soul. “Yes, she is very special,” affirmed Andy. He went into the cottage only to emerge a few minutes later. “Sorry, Vicar, no tea. The water’s been turned off. There was a note on the kitchen table. The builders have gone through a pipe upstairs. I tried the kitchen tap but they’ve turned off the water at the stopcock.”
“How annoying,” said Mayfield.
“They’ve called a plumber but they won’t be able to fix it till tomorrow.”
“What a bother!” exclaimed Mayfield.
“I don’t know what we’re going to do. Auntie’s not going to be back till late. I wonder if The Fullerton Arms has any rooms available?”
“Look, I can’t have you both staying at The Arms when there’s plenty of space at the Vicarage. I’ve got Victoria and Jessica coming later in the week but you’ll both be very welcome for a night or two.”
“That’s very kind Vicar. But the water ought to get fixed tomorrow. And are you sure you want me staying at the Vicarage? I don’t want to get you in trouble with the Dean or some of the Parish. I know tongues still wag about me, and about me living with Auntie, and about me and Will.”
“Oh don’t worry about the that. All should be welcome.”
“Thank you Vicar. That is very kind. Let me grab a few things. I’ll do a holdall for Auntie too. And Vicar …”
“Yes, Andrew?”
“You know you said you were struggling with your sermon.”
“Yes?”
“How about ‘The Good Samaritan’?” said Andy as he scuttled back into the cottage. He was already wondering about the rooming arrangements. Would he have his own room? Would he be sharing with Jane? Would Jane be sharing with the Reverend, or would that be a step too far?
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