Chauffeuse
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

“Actually, I thought you were a woman when you first applied,” said Elspeth Mabey, as she sat in her drawing room sipping her tea. “You put your surname first, you see: Bonnie Keith. And here you are, Keith Bonnie.”

“I have been in Europe, Ma’am, where they write their names that way,” the newly recruited driver replied. “Were you looking for a woman?”

“Not really,” Miss Mabey said. “It is just that it is an all-female household. Just a small group here in the townhouse, just Mrs. Bull my housekeeper, Nadine the cook, and Maria my lady’s maid. But I think having a driver who is male is a good thing. I am not suggesting that women are not good drivers, but I like a man to open my door for me.”

“I can do that,” he said with a warm smile.

“There are some men on the staff up at the country house, but I don’t go up there that often these days, I am a city dweller at heart. You don’t mind being surrounded by women, do you?”

“No,” he said. And there was no temptation. The cook was in her forties and did not live in, Maria was from El Salvador – plain and very religious, and Mrs Bull was pretty much as her name suggested. The most attractive was Miss Mabey herself. Past middle age, although quite how old he could not guess, she was one of the heirs to an established and successful beauty business. She was very wealthy, and presently unmarried.

“As a man in the house you may be called upon to perform duties you are better suited too. I take it that presents no problem?”

“The position called for flexibility,” he said. “I assure you that I can put my hand to anything. I have waited tables, helped in the kitchen, decorated interiors, whatever you require.”

“Your primary responsibility will be the Rolls Royce and the Maserati,” she said. “Keeping them in order and driving me. Other staff and really bound to the house, but if I require anybody to go out and do things for me, that will be you.”

“I understand,” he said. “When do I start? To be honest, the live-in post is a real attraction as I have nowhere to stay at the moment.”

“Straight away if you like,” she said cheerily. “I can show you where your room is. Don’t worry about your belongings, I have a uniform for you, and Maria can make any alterations that are needed.”

Bonnie was more than relieved. It was a borrowed suit and shoes – not a great fit but good enough. He could not even afford a haircut. He pushed it back, saying: “I should probably get a haircut too.”

“Don’t”, she said. She struck him as a kind and gentle person, but somebody who knew how to give directions. He would do as she instructed.

The room was in the top storey of the grand old house. There were two bedrooms looking out on the street, and a storage room. One room was for Maria, who greeted him warmly. He could see that her room was largely bare, with just a crucifix on the wall above her bed, and a bible on her writing table. Next to hers was the room allocated to him, and it was the very opposite. It was papered in patterned pink with lace curtains and a large dressing table.

“The last occupant left a lot of stuff behind,” said Miss Mabey. “I am not sure that you will be able to use much of it, but you may take anything you need to wear. That includes anything in the bathroom that you share with Maria. None of that is hers.”

“This is great,” he said. It was ridiculously feminine but somehow felt warm and inviting. “Thank you Miss Mabey. Thank you for the opportunity. I will work had, I can assure you.”

She smiled approvingly. “Maria will take your measurements,” she said. “I have eaten but Mrs. Bull has made you some sandwiches.”

It was just as well, he was starving. He followed her back downstairs.

“I really should look at the garage,” he said. She approved of his organized approach. She showed him the internal access and then excused herself.

Both cars were late models. The Maserati was a grey Quattroporte Gran Lusso, and the Rolls Royce a blue Phantom VIII. There also a red Porsche Boxster under a cover at the back. The keys for all three were on a board beside a range of car care products and a toolbox that looked untouched. Bonnie took manuals from all three machines back up to his room with the plate of sandwiches.

He needed to get his suit off. He hung it up for return. His underpants had a gaping hole in the crotch and had to be tossed. He had some others in similar condition in the bag he had left at the hostel. He needed to take a shower, but first to look for something to wear tonight and tomorrow.

The wardrobe was half full, and the other half made empty for him. What was in there was only women’s clothes. The chest the same, empty drawers for him and other drawers full of women’s clothes – underwear, nightwear, hosiery, leggings, feminine tops. There were no empty drawers in the dressing table. One drawer contained stationery, and all other drawerss were filled with cosmetics, scents, hair accessories – nothing of use. He took an apricot coloured lace trimmed robe from the wardrobe to go to the bathroom. There was just one empty drawer and all other drawers filled with lotions and similar products bearing the logo of the company owned by Miss Mabey’s family.

Bonnie showered and used the family soap and shampoo, both heavily scented but pleasant.

He flicked through the automobile manuals until he felt sleepy, and then rather than crawl naked between the fresh sheets, he found a nightie in the drawer which he thought might be the least girly, and he put that on. It fitted him well and was soft and comfortable. He slept as soundly as he ever had.

Maria knocked on his door in the morning to wake him. She had adjusted his uniform and it was hanging outside his door. It was very old fashioned, but he liked it. It was dark grey with a high collar and double breasted front. The pants were tapered. There was a hat too, and shoes in his size. He just needed to find something to wear under it. Underpants and a top, and socks. He could use anything he could find in the room, so he did.

It felt good, and it looked good. There was a full-length mirror in his room. His clean hair looked a little full under the cap, but apart from that he looked manly. Nobody could guess that underneath he was wearing a silk blouse and red woman’s panties and black half stockings. It was not as if he had much choice. That was all he could find. None of it was visible under the uniform. The shoes were patent black loafers, designed for comfort, with a slight heel to rest close to the gas pedal.

Bonnie went down to the kitchen with his books to complete his study of them over breakfast prepared by Nadine, with Mrs. Bull and Maria. It was the best food he had eaten for a long time, and the three women were totally different and good company.

Mrs. Bull was intelligent, severe, but kind. Nadine was a little silly, good natured and kind. Maria was just lost, but hard-working, and kind.

Bonnie was handed a phone and shortly afterward he received his first text message from Miss Mabey with just a time she expected him to be outside the front door and the vehicle he was expected to drive. He was ready when she stepped outside.

“You look very smart, Bonnie,” said Miss Mabey. “Just tie back that hair rather than cut it, and use some of our D&M cream on that face of yours. You can use it all over if you like.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he said, closing the door behind her and jumping in the driver’s seat. “Where to?”

He had intended to go back to the hostel after he had dropped her off, but for what? Somehow everything he had no longer seemed to belong in his life. It was all worn and filthy, and here he was, clean and with the feeling of silk against that clean skin, sitting on a leather seat, with a job, and a pay packet not far off. For now, he could make do with what he had.

He could have gone shopping. He had time and could have found the money, but somehow he thought that he could make do. Why bother for now?

That very evening was Wednesday, and Miss Mabey had dinner in the kitchen with staff on Wednesday. Nadine cooked something hearty and tasty rather than fancy, but she had culinary training and a genuine feel for food. She did not live in but quite close, and she had plenty of time off.

“Would you help me, Keith?” she said. “Ability in the kitchen is always useful.”

Why not? Bonnie felt that Mrs. Bull and Maria seemed to be so busy compared to him. The house was large, and he only had two cars to look after – three if you include the sports car.

They sat down together, and Miss Mabey talked about the frustrations of her day.

“But, with all of these problems,” she said, “I consider myself fortunate that I am helping to make the world a more beautiful place. That is what our family business is all about, making people beautiful.”

Mrs. Bull smiled politely. Nadine nodded eagerly. Maria just looked confused. Bonnie just considered what she was saying. Yes, beautiful women do make life seem happier. Miss Mabey was not just enjoying the fruits of the family business – she believed in it. It was just a pity that her own household seemed such a poor reflection of those thoughts.

Bonnie could not help thinking: ‘After Miss Mabey herself, I would have to be the next most beautiful’.

The D&M cream was in the bathroom upstairs. Unlike some of the other products from the business in the cabinet and the drawers, these pots were unlabelled, just with “D&M” written on them in marker pen. Bonnie guessed that it should just be applied before bed. It felt so soothing on his face that he took up her suggestion and applied it to his legs and arms too, and his shoulders and tummy. It tingled a little as he lay in bed, but it was not unpleasant. It became a nightly routine.

His daily routine was picking up and dropping off Miss Mabey, and also running errands for Mrs. Bull and collecting supplies for her and Nadine. He was also happy to help Nadine in the kitchen and Maria in her workroom, where she had a cutting table and a sewing machine. She had skills which he admired. She had made his uniform from scratch, and she now made him a second one, in dark green.

By the time the weekend came around he had intended asking Miss Mabey for an advance on his wages, but for what? Where would he go? What would he buy? He was entitled to time off, but he thought that for now he should just be on hand and make himself indispensable.

So, on Saturday morning he put on a clean pair of panties from the packed drawer of them, and reached for some of the half stockings that served so well as socks. It was only then that he noticed that his legs were completely hairless. His arms too. Come go think of it, his razor had run over a very smooth face that morning. Even the bottom half of his eyebrows seemed to have fallen away. And looking at them he realized that his eyebrows were as far up as he had applied the D&M cream.

He used his phone to search the web. “D&M Cream - Depilation and Moisturization”. He needed to look up “depilation”. He was momentarily horrified. Momentarily, because as he stroked his smooth cheek and chin, he felt strangely comfortable. The only issue was the eyebrows.

He got a text from Miss Mabey. She wanted to go up to the country house.

“I had no idea that the D&M cream would be so effective,” he said to her as they left the city. “I have lost some of my eyebrows. She leaned forward to view him in the driving mirror.

“I can fix that for you,” she said. “But look at your skin. It has responded so well. Be sure to keep out of the sun. You should use the T Formula face cream from now on. And the J Formula on your hands.”

The drive was not so far once he was on the freeway, and the connecting roads were good, all laid out on the GPS showing a commonly used route. One of the remotes opened the wrought iron gates, and Bonne steered the vehicle up to the main door. The house was massive, and whether old or modern, was built in the style of an ancient stately home. The man walking across the lawn towards them added to that. He was dressed like the gamekeeper of literature, in tan pants and a olive green plaid jacket.

He got to her car door before Bonnie, and greeted Miss Mabey.

“Good morning Stan,” she said to him. “This is Bonnie. Perhaps show him where the car belongs.”

Bonnie put out his hand and Stan took it gently, rather than delivering the firm handshake the driver expected. Stan’s hand seemed so rough in his that gripping it hard seemed inappropriate. Stan smiled warmly, his eyes sparkled in a way that Bonnie found unsettling.

“Sure,” he said to Miss Mabey. “I can show her the garages. You go straight inside.”

The pronoun was almost lost on Bonnie, but not on Miss Mabey. She laughed, and said: “Bonnie is not a woman, Stan, although she would be a very attractive one.”

There was no mistaking the look Bonnie saw on Stan’s face: Crestfallen disappointment if not shock.

Rather than get in the car he walked ahead of it around the side of the house to a large garage. There was a late model SUV, a more rugged looking 4WD, and a small collection of classic cars under covers at the back, plus space for the car he was driving, and others. It was very roomy.

Stan managed the property, land and buildings. There was a cook and a maid living in the house, but under his direction. He had a cottage and there was accommodation in the stables for a groom for the horses and gardeners or groundsmen. Bonnie would happily have taken a bed there, but Miss Mabey insisted that he stay in the spare maid’s room.

“I’m staying overnight, so find something comfortable to wear if you want to look around,” said Miss Mabey. “But first I’ll get my maid to tidy up those eyebrows of yours.”

A few minutes later Bonnie was looking in the mirror with a better understanding of how Stan could have mistaken him for being female. There he was standing without his cap on. His hair was a little long, but looked full and shiny, no doubt due to the shampoo in the bathroom. His face was smooth and clear, and his brows were thin and arched. Even his lips seemed to have color, and his uniform with the tunic, straight pants and loafers, was distinctly gender neutral.

Looking around his borrowed room, he could find nothing to wear that could reassert his masculinity. Just like his room at the city house, all the clothes were female, except that in this room the décor also screamed femininity.

The best he could do was to find a fairly plain blouse and a pair of tight riding pants and some boots to go with them that seemed to fit well. Again, the clothing was gender neutral, but it seemed thoroughly appropriate for a walk around the estate.

He met Stan by chance, behind a large barn out of sight from the house, on his way back from a lengthy solo walking tour. He heard the sound of wood being chopped, and he came around the corner to see Stan standing shirtless, with an axe in his hand.

“I’m surprised that Miss Mabey doesn’t buy her wood chopped already, or have someone other than her manager do that,” said Bonnie. “There seems to be so much money.”

“I do it because I like it,” said Stan. “Its constructive, in that I make a neat woodpile; it’s useful in making fuel; and it’s violent enough to work out some frustrations.” And with that he swung the axe down on another round of pine tree.

“You’re frustrated?” Bonnie had to ask, for whatever reason.

Same stared into his eyes. He was not sure if it was hostility, but somehow it seemed deep. “Yes,” he said, bringing the axe down again.

“It’s getting dark,” Bonnie observed, for some reason making small talk. It occurred to him that Stan was not in a mood to discuss whatever was on his mind.

“You’re right. Miss Mabey has guests tonight, so I will need to scrub up and play butler. But then there will be leftovers in the kitchen for our dinner, if you can wait.”

“Will I need to do anything? In the city I help in the kitchen.”

“Good,” said Stan. “Let me get my shirt. Follow me back to the house.”

The cook was glad to have the help in preparation. She was only cooking for six, but it was to be a 5-course meal. The leftovers were outrageously good.

“Tomorrow she will want to inspect the back block,” said Stan. “I drive her usually, so perhaps you can help the cook with her traditional Sunday High Tea. Do you bake?”

“Why not?” said Bonnie. The truth was that he liked to be doing something. This was an easy job in pleasant surroundings. He had never had it so good. He was keen to stay, but he was also keen to learn new skills that might be useful in the future. He had never baked before, but he was keen to learn. He remembered the smell of the muffins his grandmother made. The best memories are smells.

He talked with the cook until it was quite late. He went upstairs and took a nightie from the drawer, barely looking to search for another option. As expected, the company’s product was in the dresser drawer. He applied formula T to his face, and Formula J on his hands, just as Miss Mabey suggested.

It the morning he needed to find something else. There were no pants, but there were “jeggings” - leggings in the form of jeans. There was a white singlet with a red patterned blouse to wear over it, and red and white striped plimsolls. If only he could run across to the stables in his underwear to borrow some real clothes, but his underwear consisted of frilly panties. He would have to get by with this.

“A nice ensemble,” said the cook. “But you will need to wear a pinafore over that to keep the flour off those pants. And I have something that will go perfectly with those colors. But take that shirt off.”

The pinafore was fine red and white stripes so that it looked pink, and it wrapped around at the back. From at least three angles it looked as if he was wearing a dress.

“It’s practical,” said the chef.

Despite himself, Bonnie loved it. It was so comfortable. His hairless bare arms seemed free to get about his work under the instruction of the cook.

The cooking smells drew Miss Mabey into the kitchen. She saw Bonnie hard at work.

“You should take that outfit home with you,” said Miss Mabey. “In the town house you’ll fit right in wearing that. Compared to here, in the city we keep a very feminine household, I suppose.”

The cook nodded. She had several more like it in other colors. She called it “The complete household working outfit”. Bonnie was to discover that was so true.

The high tea was served on the veranda, and all the staff and two maintenance guys were in attendance, with Miss Mabey holding court.

Bonnie perched on the veranda rail, in his pinafore, letting the slight breeze run through his hair. He looked across to see Stan staring at him. He smiled at Stan, but he did not get a smile back. It did not concern him. Soon after this he would be back in his uniform, driving back to the city.

When he went to collect the car a few hours later, Stan was in the garage working on a car in the back.

“I just drive them,” he said. “You obviously know much more about cars than I do.”

“Leave this sort of stuff to me,” said Stan. “You just keep wearing pink. It suits you.”

Was it supposed to be an insult? An accusation that Bonnie looked like a fag? It seemed explicable as that. Here he was, up until a few minutes ago a grown man prancing around the house in leggings and a pinafore. As Bonnie got into the car, he thought that it might be, but as he saw the look on Stan’s face in the rear vision mirror, he doubted that. Stan looked sad to see him going.

He drove Miss Mabey back to the city. They talked about the rural estate and also about Stan. She said that he was a widower with a son and a daughter, twins, both grown and at college out of state. She said that he was competent and thoughtful, and highly valued by her. “But a little lonely, perhaps?” she said. Bonnie felt sad for him. Not just a thought – a real feeling.

When they got back there was time to clean the car and still have time to offer help to Nadine in the kitchen.

“I have some clothes suitable for cooking,” said Bonnie, presenting himself.

“That looks gorgeous,” said Nadine. “When you are not in uniform you simply must wear color.”

He looked at himself in the mirror near the door to the dining room. He liked the way he looked in that pinafore. He pulled the tie from his hair. It fell beside his face, soft and shiny. His smooth face, and those eyebrows in a feminine arch that somehow he had not noticed before. He barely looked like a man at all.

“We keep a very feminine household” is what Miss Mabey had said. Had the house changed him?

“Yes, you’re gorgeous,” said Nadine, “But we have work to do.”

They did. ‘Gorgeous’. Bonnie felt warmth where perhaps he should have been appalled with what he had seen. Somehow he had never been particularly attractive as a man – the shape of the face or the eyes too big or too wide set, perhaps. But yes, if you could imagine for a minute that this person was a woman, gorgeous seemed the right word.

He spun around with a smile. He went about his chores with a new energy.

That night he spent more time in front of the mirror. Initially he viewed himself naked. Slim and now hairless. His groin looked out of place. He rummaged in the drawer for the best garment to conceal the incongruous. There was something. Thick panties high waisted and in a nude color that seemed made to conceal his maleness. They even made his butt look fuller.

He decided that his lips needed a little color. It was just to see how feminine he could look. Where is the harm in that? The drawer of the dresser was full of the stuff he needed. And those eyelashes needed a little more darkness. Just a little.

But the outcome of such a small effort seemed so drastic. That was a woman in the mirror. A flat chested woman. There was another drawer full of bras, and some stockings to roll up and stuff inside.

After a while he put on his nightie and cleaned his face, applying a night cream. He slept and dreamed women’s dreams, as if nothing was more normal. But you don’t choose your dreams. They happen. Sometimes you wake in a cold sweat, and sometimes you open your eyes to the morning light and you feel enriched by the experience. Every morning now seemed like that.

Bonnie decided to use a little color on his face every day. Perhaps a little more each day. Nobody disapproved. If anything the comments were how good he looked – how he appeared happier and healthier – which is exactly how he did feel.

His cellphone rang. He was surprised that it was Stan. They had traded numbers but had not called one another.

“I am coming to the city,” he said. “I will be staying at the house, as I usually do when I come. I will only be staying one night – or perhaps two. Mrs. Bull knows, so I am expected, but I am calling you to ask you whether you would do something for me while I am there?”

Bonnie was somehow excited at the prospect seeing Stan again. “Sure,” he said. “Whatever you want.”

“Please wear the pinafore, or something similar,” said Stan. “Just nothing masculine.”

A week or so before he might have responded by shouting something down the phone and hanging up. But now that did not seem such an unusual request. And he wanted to see Stan. He wanted Stan to see him. To see the small changes that he had made to his appearance. Would he notice? Would he approve?

He found himself waiting for Stan’s arrival as a child waits for Christmas.

He wanted to be in the kitchen or the garage when Stan arrived. He had the impression that Stan worked hard and that he thought a driver’s job was far too relaxed. He wanted to show the older man that he was useful and making a more extensive contribution to the household, even though it was Mrs. Bull who was running the city establishment.

“Pink suits you … nothing masculine”. The words had him in a quandry. His wardrobe was full of pink. Not much was masculine except his uniform (which looked increasingly unisex) or overalls, which now on him, looked more like a jump suit. He was mindlessly trying on almost everything, when the doorbell rang.

He did something only a man would do. Without thinking about what he was wearing, without even checking his hair, which hung around his shoulders, he ran down the first flight of stairs, appearing on the second-floor landing when Mrs. Bull opened the door.

Stan looked up and smiled. At the top of the stairs he could see Bonnie, wearing a pink dress, looking breathless and slightly dishevelled, and gorgeous.

“Hello,” he called up to the figure, with a confused Mrs. Bull having followed his gaze.

“Hi.” The single word out of his mouth in reply, sounded feminine and hopelessly shy.

Mrs. Bull smiled. “Am I interrupting something?” she said. And in the silence that followed she realized that she was. She bustled off leaving them alone.

“You look wonderful,” said Stan.

Bonnie looked down, suddenly aware of how he was dressed. He seemed almost naked. His legs were bare, and strangely hairless. The dress was slightly crumpled, so he smoothed it. He was wearing women’s clothes. He wore them all the time, in his room, as he has done since he had arrived here, but now he was in public, standing at the top of the stairs, in full view of this man.

And the man was looking at him. And saying that he looked wonderful. Wonderful!

“Thank you,” he said. But he was just being polite, surely. “I haven’t had time to dress properly”.

Miss Mabey appeared, evidently advised of Stan’s arrival, coming to greet him warmly. But she too followed his gaze up the stairs.

“Well, Bonnie,” she said. “Don’t you look so pretty in that dress? It seems to me that you were born to wear clothes like that.”

“It’s just something I threw on, Miss Mabey,” he said. “You know that I don’t have a lot to choose from in the way of clothes at the moment.”

“Quite right, dear,” she said. “We’ll have to fix that.”

She turned to talk to Stan, buts she too could see that there was something in the gaze being shared by her two employees that was extra-ordinary. She thought for a minute.

“Stan is here to take me to the Mandeville Society AGM and lunch,” said Miss Mabey. “To be honest, I don’t care for the AGM, but the lunch is a very fine affair; wealthy landowners from upstate, but always good food and conversation. You should join us Bonnie. You and I can let Stan go to the AGM and take the time to get appropriately glamorous.”

“You don’t need me to drive you?”

“Goodness no. Stan will drive us. Just put some shoes on. We can leave straight away. I will meet the costs. My treat.”

Sensing the uncertainty, Stan stepped forward to the bottom of the stairs and called up: “Would you?”

“I’ll get my shoes,” said Bonnie. So, he did. A pair of sandals. Something in keeping with the dress.

As he put them on, he started to wonder what was happening. How long had he been working here? Could it be that long? What had happened to him over that time? He was not this person when he arrived, so why was he now wearing a dress?

“We keep a very feminine household” were the words. He had been surrounded by women. Had it really been that long? It seemed that the only man he had even talked to in ages was Stan, and his feeling for him was not friendship, it was something very different. Admiration perhaps? Even more than that?

He decided that he needed to get out of the house, and now he had that opportunity. It seemed that today he was not going to be a servant as he was every day, but something more like Stan was to Miss Mabey – a senior employee – closer to a partner.

He descended the stairs and helped Miss Mabey exit the house and climb into Stan’s big SUV.

“Take us to the Juniper Salon on Spring Street,” Miss Mabey instructed Stan. “You can go to the AGM around the corner, and we will join you for lunch.”

Miss Mabey had arranged everything. She was that kind of person. Not only was the salon booked to give them the works, but she had a nearby boutique arrive to measure them both and display a range of dresses while their hair and nails were done.

It was new to Bonnie, and fascinating. ‘If this is how the rich live then I like it’, he thought. Somehow the experience flowed over him and wrapped him in something warm and pleasant. Somehow the chatter of Miss Mabey and the staff of the salon seemed comforting, like an easy conversation with close family.

“That is the dress for you,” said Miss Mabey. “And those shoes are essential, but you will need to practice a little walking in heels.”

Somehow that did not seem odd, especially when he had the opportunity to view the full look. His hair was up, styled into a mass of curls high at the back, the make up perfect for a daytime function. The dress was black, and elegant, and according to Miss Mabey Bonnie was not over- dressed for the lunch.

“Although this is the kind of outfit that you could wear right through to the evening.” Which is exactly what he did, although by the end of the evening, he was no longer he.

They walked to the function, in the dining room of a nearby exclusive club. Stan was already there, networking with other members of the Mandeville Association. They approached him from behind. When he turned around, he was close enough to smell the scent Miss Mabey had recommended – a reputed “man-magnet”.

His mouth fell open. His pupils dilated. Bonnie could sense his desire. It changed everything.

“My God,” he said. “I can’t believe it’s you. Who are you?”

“Bonnie,” she said. “Bonnie Keith, the Mabey Chauffeuse.”

The End

© Maryanne Peters 2020