(It was 1892 and I, David Shaw, then aged 19 joined 'Maynard and Son, Purveyors to Gentlewomen and the Aristocracy' on Upper Richmond Road, Putney. The job involved providing 'underskirt services' to single women. This was my third day with the firm)
***
I was given the following address by Mr. Maynard's secretary and arrived there promptly at half past two. Lady Gertrude Flaxenworth, 12 Glebe Street, Kensington. I parked my bicycle near the servants' entrance of this ornate Victorian crescent and rang the bell. A pretty young housemaid in her early twenties let me in and took me to the housekeeper.
"Ah Maynard's, good,good," she said as she read my calling card, "Lady Gertrude will see you presently," she said as she returned my card. I stood there admiring the framed prints of views of Rome and Naples. The hall clock ticked solemnly and I noticed that this had an Italian movement. Everything in the house appeared to be Italian.
I heard a bell ring from below stairs and the housekeeper led me up to the second floor.
"You will take off your clothes here please," she said as I stood outside Lady Gertrude's boudoir.
I pulled my shirt out of my trousers and removed my vest. Down came my trousers and finally my underpants and socks. The housekeeper, Haynes, picked them up and handed them to the young housemaid who whisked them away. Haynes looked me up and down as if she were examining a joint of meat at the butchers.
"I need to spray you with perfume as Lady Gertrude dislikes the smell of men," she told me in a factual way.
From a drawer on the landing she fished out an atomizer and sprayed me all over with a thick cloud of expensive perfume. It stung my balls and penis and I felt as if I was no longer a chap, and that part of my manliness had been eradicated in the haze of strong smelling femininity.
"I must warn you that Lady Gertrude does not suffer fools gladly and if you fail to provide satisfaction she has a network of friends who will drag Maynard and Son's reputation through the mire. Understood?"
I told her that I understood and that so far in my career as 'underskirt boy' I had received nothing but praise.
"Good, good. Let's keep it that way then shall we?" she concluded and the young housemaid suddenly appeared at my side.
Grace Haynes knocked on the heavy door and awaited a reply.
"Come," said a regal, educated voice from within.
The housekeeper escorted me in, followed by the pretty young housemaid, Kathryn Fields.
It was a small room and was mainly filled with a large ornate bed covered in an Italian silk bedspread. The widows were framed by heavy silk curtains and there were several decorated plinths supporting carvings in stone and wood of Greek and Roman gods. Above the mantelpiece, and dominating the room, was a monochrome print of the famous painting by Francois Boucher entitled 'Odalisque'. I stared at the artwork and felt my manhood begin to rise.
The room was very dim owing to the curtains being partially drawn. Presumably light wasn't required for what we were about to do together.
Lady Gertrude must have been sixty years old and wore her grey hair in a spiral bun with soft bangs accentuated by a red ribbon to complement her red dress.
She sat on an armchair near the window and looked at me in a warm, almost motherly way. If the truth were known she was almost old enough to be my grandmamma. Her dress was huge. From her tiny waist it flared out in several tiers ending in a series of tailored flounces which almost appeared to fill the room. I wondered how many petticoats she was wearing. Ladies of her age were known to wear far more underskirts than younger women who favoured the more modern bustle.
My penis was now stirring to embarrassing proportions and I was pleased when the housekeeper, Haynes, left me with the housemaid, Kathryn Fields, and Lady Gertrude.
"Step forward boy," I was ordered by the now aroused Lady Gertrude. I now read passion in her eyes as she stared at me and at my half distended erection. She asked me whether I knew her name and reputation and I said that I had never heard of either.
"So much the better boy, so much the better," she nodded at me then nodded at Kathryn Fields.
Miss Fields clearly knew what to do as I wager that I was not the first 'underskirt boy' to set foot in her boudoir.
The framed print by Boucher kept catching my eye. The buttocks of the woman in the picture seemed to pull me into the lewd scene like a magnet.
The bedspread was pulled back by the housemaid whom I now understood to be Lady Gertrude's personal ladies maid.
Two long pillows, which extended from one side of the bed to the other, were carefully positioned half way down the sheets, but further towards the lower end. Both sheets and pillows were made of deep pink satin.
I was told to lie on the bed, on my stomach, so that my head rested on the first pillow. My face lay buried in the satin and I moved it to one side, and then tilted it upwards so that I could breathe more easily. There were no brass rails at the foot end of the bedstead so I was able to dangle my legs with relative ease.
Because I was so short and puny Fields, however, placed an ottoman at the bottom of the bed for me to kneel on which I found perfectly comfortable and agreeable.