Rod was a carpenter by trade. His grandfather had taught him the basics. While other kids of his age were merely playing with their toys, young Rodney was actually making them. Ironic then, that a craftsman au fait with shaping a mortise and tenon to fit like the proverbial glove, would now be installing ready-made bedroom furniture delivered in a flat pack. He consoled himself with the fact that support batons still needed properly fitting, and beading and finishing strips still needed precision cutting and mitering. He rejected any notion that such work was in any way demeaning for one so skilled.
Rod was a happy man, conscientious, trustworthy and well-liked. His customers were invariably delighted with what he produced – especially the ladies, who as one might expect, frequently confessed to being over the moon with their freshly-appointed boudoirs. Rod thus built for himself a reputation, amusingly, for being ‘good in the bedroom’.
Sadly for Rod, the commonplace meaning of the phrase never seemed to apply these days. He was divorced, and reluctant to make any further commitment in that direction. But he was still a catch, being only late thirties, ruggedly masculine, muscular, with large workman’s hands, and a copious amount of black chest hair, though thinning a little on top. Also in his favour was that it was not generally known that he habitually indulged an overwhelming fetish for ladies underwear.
He hadn’t deliberately chosen to work in bedrooms, where drawers full of unmentionables were more likely than not to be found, it was just the way it had coincidentally turned out. Anyway, the lady of the house would normally move out everything wearable to safekeeping prior to the upheaval of a new installation. But not always…
Jennifer was an only child. With the recent passing of her mother, she now had lost both parents, having devoted her best years to looking after her widowed mum. Her own body clock had by no means ticked down, but she had given up any ambition of having a family of her own – looking after infirm parents, with the associated running around, worrying, waiting in hospitals, cooking, cleaning and nursing, seemed a more than adequate substitute for motherhood, albeit without the joy. And she had long come to accept that she was not spectacularly attractive, being petite with a sharp nose, thin eyebrows, a small mouth, and devoid of eyecatching bodily features normally associated with the female stereotype of mans’ desire. But she had inherited the family house and residual wealth, and was set for a comfortable existence. And first thing on the agenda was a new fitted bedroom.
The Davisson Renaissance-style full-height wardrobe, with corner extension, built-in dressing table and bedside units would be a two day job, Rod informed her. Jenny should clear out the contents of the drawers and cupboards of the existing free-standing units prior to his morning arrival. He would deal with their removal, and begin the new construction work. The people delivering the new bed would arrive on the day following. He applauded her choice of pear-wood finish. Not that pear-wood was any better than anything else, it was the standard way of alleviating customers’ anxiety that they’d made the right decision.
On day one, Rod turned up, dead to time. Jenny offered him a cup of tea, which for the moment, he declined with thanks. So, she ushered him straight to the double bedroom destined, hopefully, to become metaphorically, and literally, the place of her dreams. He noted that she had piled up clothes on the top of the bed. This was not a good idea – there inevitably would be dust and debris resulting from his drilling. But with the old bed not due to be collected until the next day, he figured that she probably thought that was as good bahis firmaları a place as any until she could find somewhere better. And in the pile, Rod couldn’t help but notice, there were several items of lingerie! He neglected to advise her to shift the pile elsewhere.
By mid-morning, progress was well underway, and Jenny brought Rod some coffee. “I have to go out for a meeting with my solicitor about mum’s will,” she said. “Is it alright if I leave you to it for two or three hours? You know where the kitchen and bathroom are. Feel free to use the facilities.”
Yes, it fitted in with Rod’s plan. Very well, in fact. Rod wasn’t a devious person in any other respect than that of organising the management of his secret fetish. If he was obsessive about luxuriating in female undergarments, he was equally obsessive about minimising the chance of ever being found out. He would buy lingerie new or used, from charity shops or department stores, but never in the vicinity of where he lived – there always was the chance that someone in the shop knew someone who knew someone else who knew him, etc etc, and his foibles would get him denounced as an undesirable weirdo. As if anyone cared.
But Rod cared, and therefore planned such shopping sorties around visits to bustling London or to other towns. Even mail order was dicey, he believed. There was a lady courier who often would deliver to houses in the district, chatting on doorsteps as she did her round. “You know that chap at number 23? I don’t know how many parcels of sexy undies he’s had delivered, and he lives there on his own…” would be the gossip, as Rod imagined it.
Right from the moment he espied Jenny’s pile of garments on the bed, he figured that should he get a clear hour to himself, he could have a good rummage, a feel, and perhaps try on a few items. He would be able to disguise the fact that the heap had been rearranged, by claiming to have relocated it to protect it from the dust. Something he probably should, and would have done anyway. “See you later,” Jenny called as she slipped out the front door to her car parked in the street. Rod watched through the window as the car pulled away.
It was soon time for a break. Things had gone well. Rod took off his overalls. He sat on the edge of the bed and started to sift through the pile – skirts, dresses, slacks, blouses, tights, stockings, bras, panties, slips, dressing wraps, nighties, and some rather austere foundation garments. Certainly a large selection of items, he thought, even if they weren’t exactly Agent Provocateur products. A few nice pieces though. Go for it, he told himself, stripping off. He started with the silky white stockings – a rare find in this day and age, and carefully, though ultimately clumsily, pulled them on. He enjoyed their clinging feel and cooling effect, although they came up a bit short on his thigh.
A multi-panelled black corselette seemed to be the ideal support for them, but after painstakingly securing a number of hooks and sliding it round his midriff, he realised that without adjusting the suspender lengths, the clasps were not going to reach the stocking tops. And that was going to be too risky, in terms of restoring things to their exact original state. So he let the suspenders dangle, and completed the ensemble with a generously-cut bottle-green bra, which again was well short of the size needed to span his chest, so he chose to let it hang from his shoulders while he caressed his man-breasts through the delectably soft satin. All the time, he kept an eye on his erection. Soiling anything would be fatal, and was a must to avoid.
Finally, he selected a pair of plain black cotton briefs, and held them to his face. Yes, he discovered, they still had that odour of woman, tinged with Eau de Cologne…
“Having kaçak iddaa a nice time?” Jenny asked.
Oh God. Who knew how long she had been standing, leaning against the door frame, observing the spectacle? Rod had kept an eye out and an ear open for her return, but had obviously missed detecting it, possibly as a result of his state of euphoria. How could he have known that an emergency caused her solicitor to cut short her appointment?
It was like driving into a brick wall. Irreversible. His life was over. Exposed. It was the finish. Of everything. So many things raced through his brain. He would have to move away. He would face prosecution, for something or other, indecency, at least. And now his customer was about to unleash her justifiable fury, disgust, and possibly physical violence and screaming. He would be sued. He would be outed. He would be a laughing stock. His mugshot would adorn the local papers. His name would be mud. He wanted the earth to swallow him up. His face burnt crimson with shame and embarrassment. His eyes started to well up with remorse. “I’m so, so sorry,” he blurted.
There was little else he could sensibly say. There was no excuse he could offer, or even invent. He couldn’t bring himself to look her in the eye, and remained bowed-headed, completely at her mercy, and prepared to accept anything she had to throw at him.
“Best way to put on silk stockings is point your toe downwards as far as it will go, start with the stocking rolled up, then unroll it up your leg,” she said, very calmly, and smiling.
He heard her, but didn’t respond. He just knew this was the build-up to her completely losing her wool. “And start with the bra back to front, get it hooked up first, then slide it round your body before you slip the straps over.” He nodded. It seemed only polite to acknowledge he could hear her. “Oh, and green is SO not your colour.”
“Look,” he said, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I know I am totally out of order. I am in your house. I have abused your trust. I have dirtied your clothes. I have…”
“Oh them?” Jenny interrupted. “They’re my mum’s. I piled them there ready to go off to the clothing bank. I was going to ask if you wouldn’t mind using your van to drop them off – there’s a skip in Tesco’s car park. Mum won’t be needing them any more, bless her.”
Oh Lord. As if things couldn’t get any worse. He’d not just got caught trying on lingerie, he’d got caught by someone trying on lingerie belonging to their dear-recently-departed mother. And why is Jenny so laid back about it? He cursed fate. He could have happily taken the clothes to the dump for her, sorted out what to keep for himself, and what to bag up for the skip, and she would have been none the wiser. Then he cursed his stupidity – the size and style of the clothing should have told him they weren’t Jenny’s. He had never felt so wretched and helpless, and to add to his shame, he began to weep.
Jenny was anything but upset. It was not just that she found the situation amusing – she felt a strange inverted empathy for Rod, in that his handsome, macho exterior belied his innermost cravings, whereas her own plain, prim exterior belied her capacity to exude love and affection. She sat by him on the bed and stroked his face. “It’s OK,” she said. “It’s no big deal. Really. Mum was a daft old bat, she’d probably have had a good laugh about it. I’m going to make us a cup of tea. Are you going to finish off my wardrobes, or what?”
By early afternoon the next day, the new bedroom was taking shape nicely. The delivery guys were assembling the new bed while Rod supervised and finished off the bedside cabinets. Nothing had been said about the previous day’s incident. Rod could hardly accept he had got off so lightly. He even kaçak bahis felt relieved in a perverse way, that things had come out in the open, like a criminal on the run at last being captured. He still couldn’t believe that Jenny had been so sweet and understanding. Was there going to be a sting in the tail?
It was done. It looked magnificent. Jennifer couldn’t have been more delighted. “Avoid touching the tops and those lower sills for 24 hours or so, while the sealant cures. And I can pop back anytime if you find something not quite perfect,” Rod assured her. “All you need to do now is make your bed.”
“It’s really lovely,” Jenny said. “I’m ever so pleased with it. Thank you so much.”
Still nervously aware of his guilt, Rod smiled sheepishly and nodded. He began collecting up his tools and the offcuts.
“Off home for your dinner now?” Jenny asked casually.
“Yup,” Rod answered, feeling that a prolonged conversation would be presumptuous on his part. “Just a packet meal. Night in with the tele.”
“Doesn’t sound very appetising,” said Jenny. “I’m doing a chilli. There’s plenty to go round if you’d care to come back and join me. Do you like it hot and spicy?”
Rod duly returned in the evening, smartened up and bearing a decent bottle of Rioja, having noted earlier in Jenny’s kitchen her propensity for Spanish wine. He not only felt it an obligation to accept her kind invitation, as some sort of penance, but he realised too that her ‘hot and spicy’ comment confirmed she was a fun person to be with. Anyway, if she was going to privately tease him mercilessly, then so be it. He had it coming. It crossed his mind that he might arrive to find a house full of her female friends, all of whom having been briefed, laughing at him. But he couldn’t see such a cruel side to her nature. And there wasn’t one.
They enjoyed their meal together, as the empty wine bottle testified. Rod helped with the washing up. With a playful glint in her eye, Jenny tossed him a frilly apron – “Don’t want to spoil your best jeans,” she said.
As they finished in the kitchen, Rod asked: “Found anything that still needs sorting out in the bedroom yet?”
“Hmm, no I don’t think so,” she replied. “Oh, there’s just one little thing. Here, let me show you.” She took his hand, and led him there. Everything looked resplendent, with new curtains matching the pear-wood, and gathering perfectly, and with fresh bed linen and duvet atop the turned-down bed.
She turned to face him, reached round her back, unzipped her dress, brushed it from her shoulders and let it slip to the floor, revealing her diminutive body adorned with a sumptuous Leavers lace-trimmed Charmeuse bra-slip. “Wondered if you’d help me christen the new bed?”
Rod didn’t need to be asked twice, and as they kissed, Jenny felt like a tiny silk doll in his powerful arms. They fell together onto the bed, and his hands were quickly all over her. It didn’t matter that she was relatively flat-chested – it made no difference to him. Her breasts were soft and the nipples were hard. He could feel them perfectly through the fabric.
After several minutes of stroking, kissing, caressing, and petting, Jenny slipped off her panties, keeping them in her grasp, raised her slip and opened herself up. It had been quite some while since she had last experienced the rare opportunity of such wanton abandon, and she relished it. Her willing partner quickly divested himself of his remaining clothes and eagerly climbed aboard. And as he inevitably began soon to breathe more heavily and show signs of nearing the edge, she draped the French knickers over his face and widened her eyes, sharing with him the sudden rush of ensuing ecstasy.
As he lay replete on top of her, she looked upwards over his shoulder, admiring not just how quickly she had managed to kick-start her changed life-style and adapt to its new-found freedom, but in particular… her beautiful new bedroom.
“Thanks mum,” she thought.