Wonderful World
by Notatrog
Chapter One. Aunt Jane’s Maid
Alan’s life had not followed the usual course. Born to Margaret Haversham, a retired history teacher, and her grey haired husband Edward who had been a Colonel in the army, then something in politics, Alan’s arrival was both a miracle and a burden. They had thought that the possibility of having children was long behind them and had long since resigned themselves to living in a quiet and childless house. They loved him fiercely.
His early years were not marked by luxury but by devotion. His laughter was cherished as he played in their garden during his pre-school years. It was at the local toddlers group that he first met with Will, a boy who was to become his long term friend. Together the two boys scuffed their knees and shins climbing trees and got gloriously grass stained and muddy playing football on the village green.
For a while Alan seemed every inch the boy that his father had hoped for. He ran hard, shouted loudly, and showed no fear of bruises. But then small signs of another side to him began to show themselves. Alan was drawn to fabrics, especially the texture and shine of silks and satins. He was fascinated by the dresses in his mother’s wardrobe, particularly the ones with sparkly sequins. At the school fete face-painting booth he declined the lions and tigers and asked to be made up like a lady with eye-shadow and lipstick. Despite his young age this brought on a thrilling clarity that he could not explain to himself or to his parents. Sometimes, when he was alone, he would drape himself in his mother’s shiny scarves and admire himself in the mirror, curious about the strange pleasure this sparked.
As the years passed he did not change outwardly. Still obsessed with football, still up to mischief with his best pal Will, he also showed an interest in female clothes, how they hung or clung, how they enhanced or concealed the female form. Then his parents, by now both in poor health, discovered that he had purchased and was wearing female underwear, and was secretly experimenting with makeup. They struggled to understand. Margaret worried in silence. Edward grew impatient, his voice sharp not from cruelty but from helplessness. It was this helplessness that led them to confide in an old friend whom they had known for many years, the eccentric and avant-garde Lady Jane Fullerton-Jones. Although she wasn’t a relative she’d been part of Alan’s life for as long as he could remember so that he always referred to her as “Aunt Jane.” In fact all of the children in the village referred to her as such.
She lived at the edge of the village in The Grange, a sprawling old house half-hidden behind a tall privet hedge which concealed its tall leaded light windows and ivy clad walls. To the rear a picturesque garden overflowing with foxgloves, roses, and unruly lavender backed onto open fields. The house was part Elizabethan with a gabled roof and an interior full of oak beams, low ceilings, antique furniture and hints of past mysteries and untold tales. Inside, everything smelled faintly of beeswax polish and dried herbs.
Aunt Jane had lived at The Grange for years and was something of an enigmatic mystery herself. Apparently she had once been either a fashion designer or a war correspondent. It was said that she had once lived abroad where her husband had been killed in a coup d’etat and she had remained single ever since. Or she was the fourth wife of an Arab prince. She was a cougar. She was a lesbian. She was a rich entrepreneur. She was a penniless emigre. She was all or none of these things. What was certain was that she was incredibly good looking and was always elegantly, if somewhat unconventionally, presented for a lady of early middle age. Her hair was always immaculately coiffured, and she had a penchant for dressing in skintight latex. Sometimes leggings, sometimes pencil skirts. Always tight blouses that revealed more than they concealed. What was true was that she had an incredibly engaging personality, was heavily involved in village affairs and was on the parish council where she was not only deeply respected but also seemed to be attracting the attention of the vicar of St. Giles, the Reverend Mayfield Greene. As soon as the Havershams finished their explanation of their plight Jane offered to take Alan to live with her, almost as if she had been expecting this before they had even approached her.
As soon as he arrived, Jane showed Alan to his room. There, to his surprise, she opened the wardrobe to show him a selection of girl’s clothes, all in his small size. “You are very welcome here, Alan. While you are indoors in my house you may wear whatever you want. Whatever makes you happy.” She pointed to a vanity unit in the corner. “There is a full selection of makeup there and I will teach you how to use it.”
Of course Alan was still a child. This was just dressing up but with a feeling of satisfaction and release that he could not understand.
Years passed by and Aunt Jane had a way of encouraging Alan to explore parts of his personality that he had never previously recognised. In her house he found a freedom he hadn’t known before. Alan was now acknowledging that he had always felt a quiet pull toward wearing clothes that, to the outside world, were “meant” for girls. With Aunt Jane’s patient encouragement, he began to dress the way he felt most himself—slipping into dresses, experimenting with wigs, and learning to apply makeup with a careful hand and Aunt Jane’s assistance.
When Aunt Jane suggested he help her around the house wearing a neat maid’s uniform, he surprised himself by saying yes.
Aunt Jane showed him a pretty maids’s dress with a tight black bodice, short puffed sleeves and a short black skirt, all trimmed with white lace, and to go with it lovely black frilly, lacy knickers adorned with satin bows. Under the skirt were several layers of frilly white, lacy petticoats to make the skirt spread out from the waist.
“Alan, darling, you will be able to be dressed as a pretty maid all the time that you are not at school. Every evening and all weekend. That would be wonderful, wouldn’t it?”
The thought of being dressed as a girl all the time that he was at home was a little intimidating, but then the alure of the soft fabric of the maid’s dress with its frills and lace was too much. Jane helped him put on the dress and finally completed the effect with a small white apron tied with a beautiful bow at the back, the loose ends of the ties hanging down to his calves.
It felt like stepping into a role, but also like revealing a truth. She fitted him with a gorgeous red wig of flowing curls and topped that with a pretty white headband. “This is not pretending,” she told him, “but exploring. There are many facets to you that you have yet to discover.”
The Reverand Greene was a frequent visitor to The Grange and was not at all perturbed by Alan, who Jane referred to as her nephew, working around the house in his maid’s uniform. In fact the cleric was more than accepting, he was positively supportive.
By now Alan’s body was more mature, but unusually for a boy, with a petite, slim, supple and feminine appearance. Jane introduced him to a tightly laced corset and padded bra that gave his body an even more female shape. Then she presented him with a new maid’s outfit. All shiny black latex, the bodice pulled tight over the corset, with a scandalously short skirt worn over a profusion of multi-layered white lace petticoats which caused it to flare out from his waist to display his legs which were now encased in shiny stockings, the supporting suspenders of which were visibly on display. The whole ensemble was topped off by a white maid’s headband fastened to the flowing red locks of his favourite red wig. Alan looked in the mirror and saw something new. Something delicate, pretty and unashamedly feminine. What he saw in the mirror thrilled him, but it also made him tremble at the thought of anyone else seeing him like this.
These days Alan saw less of his friend Will than he had when they had lived close to each other as children and this saddened him immensely. Some while ago Will, tired of his parent’s constant drunken arguing, moved out from their house in the village and rented a flat in town. Alan had never been able to find a suitable excuse to account for the fact that he also had moved out from his own parent’s and now lived with Aunt Jane, so he never mentioned it. Will was the kind of mate who’d been by his side through football games, exams, and long afternoons doing nothing in particular, but they had never pried into each other’s private lives. They had sat through dull history lessons together, trudged home in the rain and celebrated exam results with takeaway chips. Will was steady, good-humoured, and quick to laugh—the sort of friend Alan could always count on, but these days they only met when they played for the same team at the Saturday afternoon football match.
Will was by now just old enough to own an old banger of a van. It was a battered Fiat Doblo who’s most recent owner had been a fishmonger and judging by the smell inside it still had some of his stock lingering in some hidden compartment. No amount of air freshener seemed capable of combating it. The paintwork had long since given up any pretence of being white and still bore the faded logo of an even earlier owner, Bobby’s Bouncy Castle Hire. The picture of a bouncy castle was so faded that what was left looked like one that had burst, and part of the first letter was missing so the ‘B’ read as a ‘D’. Hence Will christened his vehicular companion ‘Dobby’. To open the sliding side door a particular nudge of the hip was required, but what sold it to Will was the roof rack. This could carry a ladder, and this permitted him to earn some extra cash after school and at weekends by cleaning windows. Now, for some reason Aunt Jane had asked Will to include The Grange on his round.
The first time Will was working there he caught sight of the maid moving about inside, a lovely figure with a waterfall of red hair. As she flitted about dusting shelves and arranging flowers in their vases Will was totally captivated by the graceful way she moved. She was petite, slim and attractive. There was a delicacy to her features and a softness about her that caused his chest to tighten unexpectedly. He felt a heat rising in his cheeks and realised that he had been staring for far too long so he made an effort to get on with his cleaning. Over the coming months he often saw her going about her duties but never dared stare too much. He thought her beautiful. More than beautiful, totally captivating.
One bright afternoon Will came to collect his month’s payment. As usual he made his way to the back door and knocked. Alan was busy cleaning in the kitchen with Aunt Jane and she, with her usual twinkle of mischief, suggested that he should answer the door himself—in his maid’s uniform. “Darling, it’s only William. It’s time. Just go and say Hello. He’s got to see you in your uniform sooner or later. Just answer the door.”
Alan froze, nerves clenching in his chest. What would happen when Will recognized him? What if he laughed, or worse? But Aunt Jane’s voice was warm and encouraging, and something inside Alan wanted to stop hiding.
So he opened the back door.
Will blinked at the figure before him. The maid’s outfit gleamed in the sunlight, the red wig tumbling past her shoulders framing her decolletage. Will caught a glimpse of the curve of painted lips and the flutter of long eyelashes. He quickly looked away, embarrassed, trying hard not to stare at this vision of loveliness standing in the doorway. But Alan spoke. “Hello Will, it’s me, Alan!”
The voice, familiar but trembling, prompted Will to look up at the face in front of him. His eyes widened and recognition dawned.
“Alan?” he whispered, incredulous.
Alan’s heart thudded. He wanted to vanish, but instead he nodded. “It’s me.”
Will took a step backwards, his brain busy processing. A long silence stretched between them, broken only by the sound of a distant lawn mower. Then Alan drew a shaky breath and spoke. “I… I like dressing this way. It’s not just a costume. It feels right. I’m comfortable like this. I should’ve told you before, but I was scared.”
Recognition was followed by a period of confusion. Will’s mouth opened and closed as he searched for words. Then it twitched as if there were words but they were struggling to get out, and then it curved into a small, incredulous smile. “Blimey. I wondered how come Aunt Jane had managed to hire such a pretty maid, and it turns out it’s you! You look incredible. You should have told me, Alan, but it’s fine. It’s absolutely OK.”
Relief loosened something in Alan, and before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out: “There’s more, Will. I’ve always liked dressing like … like this but recently I’ve come to an understanding … I think … I think I’m bisexual. In fact I know I am.”
He’d started so he had to finish but struggled to get the next words out. “And I… I know we’ve always been mates, but for a while … I’ve realised that … I’m attracted to you. If I’m honest, I think that I’ve been attracted to you for a long time.”
He paused, his hands nervously stroking the smooth latex of his skirt. He scanned Wills face looking for any sign of response. Will’s face was frozen and gave no hint of his thoughts so Alan took a deep breath and continued.
“At first I wouldn’t admit it to myself and when I finally did, I didn’t want to admit it to you. Our friendship is precious and I didn’t want to risk breaking it. That’s why I’ve been keeping out of sight whenever you were here, but now you’ve seen me like this I must be truthful. It’s only fair to you.”
His words hung in the air like thunderclouds. Will’s brows rose, and for a moment his face remained unreadable. Alan braced himself for rejection. For a heartbeat Will looked anxious. Then he shook his head, not in rejection but in kindness. “Alan… I won’t lie. When I thought you were a pretty young girl, a maid, yeah, I was attracted. As a girl you look amazing. But me—I’m straight. I can’t return that kind of feeling.”
Alan’s throat tightened, but before disappointment could take over, Will went on. “That doesn’t change anything. You’re still my best mate. And actually… I’m glad you trusted me with this. It makes me feel closer to you, not further away.”
Alan blinked against sudden tears. “You mean it?”
“Course I do,” Will said firmly. Then he grinned. “Though you’ll have to forgive me if it takes a bit of time getting used to the pretty maid that I fancied turning out to be my best mate!”
Alan laughed then, real laughter, the knot of fear in his chest finally unravelling. The two friends stood together, face to face in the doorway - different to how they had been before, but stronger for it.
And inside Aunt Jane was still in the kitchen listening, unseen, with a knowing, satisfied smile, She had always believed that truth and honesty, when spoken with courage never destroyed a friendship. It only deepened it
The next day, Alan and Will met in the village square as they always had done in the past. Alan was on his mountain bike and Will pulled his own out of the back of his van. Here they were as they had been so many times in the past, two pals with bicycles and nowhere particular to go. Yet something between them had shifted—not broken, not strained, but deepened.
And for the first time in his life, Alan felt as though he could begin to live not as one version of himself or another, but as a whole.
Chapter Two. Confidences in the Garden
The summer in the village seemed to move at its own pace. Days stretched lazily, marked by the hum of bees and the toll of the church bell. The boys left school, Will to be a full time window cleaner, Alan to be a full time maid, where he found himself falling into a rhythm at The Grange: mornings spent helping with laundry, afternoons dusting or polishing and bringing his Aunt’s tea tray to her sitting room. Evenings they would prepare and eat dinner together, but Alan would always be the maid and serve his Aunt. This differential in status suited them both and they both enjoyed it.
He began to notice the confidence that came from wearing the uniform and wig. At first it had been a secret pleasure, something thrilling and private just between him and Aunt Jane. Then Reverend Greene knew. Now Will knew. Now it felt like stepping into a role he could almost believe in. When he saw his reflection carrying a basket of laundry or arranging flowers in a vase, it was like catching sight of a truer version of himself—someone he hadn’t dare imagine before. He now felt safe to be seen by visitors and tradesmen. He even spoke on some occasions. His voice had never really broken and he practiced modulating it to be acceptably feminine.
This did, however, lead to a particularly awkward occurrence one hot sunny day when some landscape gardeners were working outside. Aunt Jane had business to do in town so she’s asked Alan to look after them, therefore like a good maid he served them with lunch. First he laid the garden table with plates of sandwiches and scones, and when they were all seated he began filling their tankards from a jug of ice-cold beer. At just this moment Reverand Greene arrived.
“Ah, Alan. Lady Jane said she’d printed the minutes of the Parish Council Meeting. Might you know where she’s left them?”
“Yes Reverand Greene. They’re in her study. I’ll fetch them.”
Alan’s heels clicked on the paving and his short latex skirt reflected the sunshine while displaying his stocking-tops as he led the vicar indoors.
ALAN!
The workmen looked at each other in dismay and immediately turned their conversation to tractors and rugby in order to demonstrate their masculinity to each other and show that they hadn’t actually been getting horny over the pretty girl who was actually a boy. Luckily they were from away, so for the time being Alan’s secret remained safe from the village.
Aunt Jane, of course, encouraged him with her usual mix of practicality and amusement. “Stand tall, darling,” she would say, straightening his apron ties. “If you look like you belong, then you do.”
But Alan’s newfound confidence was fragile. Though Will’s earlier acceptance had lifted a weight, Alan still woke at night wondering what his friend truly thought. Would Will laugh about it with someone else? Would the secret spread through the village? Every time Alan ventured near the back door in his maid’s dress, a flutter of nerves took him.
It was Will, in his usual easy way, who steadied him.
One afternoon he parked Dobby at The Grange and armed with his bucket and ladder, humming tunelessly to himself as always, began attending to the windows. Alan, peeking through the lace curtain, debated whether to hide. Instead, he forced himself to open the door.
“Alan, you look drop-dead gorgeous as usual.” Will said cheerfully, leaning on his ladder. His grin was mischievous but kind. He looked at Alan’s shiny latex dress. “Can I give you an extra polish?”
Alan laughed, relief spilling out in the sound. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“Not a chance.” Will smiled. “Listen, Alan. It’s because we’re mates that I’m happy to take the piss, just a bit. It’s if I didn’t do that there would be a problem But don’t worry. It’s just between us. Cross my heart.”
And with that, the tension dissolved.
Later that week, the two friends sat in Aunt Jane’s back garden, sharing her delicious homemade lemonade and watching swallows dart above the hedgerows. Alan had taken off the wig, leaving his own short hair tousled by the breeze. Aunt Jane always used a visiting hairdresser who had now also attended to Alan, and his hair was now dyed a vibrant copper colour and styled into an androgynous pixie cut. He still wore the maid’s uniform—he hadn’t quite gathered the courage to present himself to Will while wearing other female clothes.
Will sipped his drink, thoughtful. “You know,” he said, “I keep thinking about how scared you were, opening that door. Like you expected me to run a mile.”
Alan’s hands tightened around his glass. “I was terrified. You’re my best friend. Losing you would’ve been…” He trailed off.
Will nodded slowly. “Yeah. Well. I guess what I’m trying to say is—you didn’t lose me. And you won’t. Not over this. I think you are extremely brave and I respect you for it. I can’t return your feelings, but I can and always will return your friendship”
Alan felt something shift then. A new kind of trust, solid and warm, like sunlight on stone.
From the kitchen window, Aunt Jane watched them with quiet satisfaction. She had always believed that friendships, like gardens, needed tending—but once rooted, they could weather any season.
That evening, when Alan carried in the tea tray, Aunt Jane caught his hand before he could leave.
“My dear,” she said softly, “you’ve taken a brave step. But this isn’t the end of your journey. It’s only the beginning.”
Alan frowned, puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“You’ll see,” Aunt Jane said with a knowing smile. “Life has a way of opening doors—when you’re ready to walk through them.”
Alan wasn’t sure what she meant. But as he lay in bed later that night, he wondered if perhaps Aunt Jane was right. His life—so small and secret before—was opening into something larger. Something yet to be discovered.
Time passed. Alan balanced two lives. Outside, football and trips to the King’s Head with Will, and indoors, his life in the safety and security of The Grange with Aunt Jane.
Awesome start
Two more chapters can be found at the end of the post.
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