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Bertie
A little more than a week had whiled away the rose colored glasses of dawn, or, er, thingum, since Jeeves and I had begun the Glossop cure for sodomites in good earnest. We had hied forth from the metrop, transporting a fair proportion of the Wooster and Jeeves goods and chattels to a spacious flat in Paris at the recommendation of Sir Roderick Glossop, eminent loony doctor and friend to Wooster. I woke as Jeeves shimmered in with a tray bearing two cups of tea and a toast rack. Placing one perfect cup by my side of the bed, he oozed over to his side, climbed in, and commenced to scraping marmalade and munching.
“Jeeves?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Are you getting crumbs in the bed?” I felt a stiffening of the Jeevesian spine and looked up to see a rather stern and awful looking stuffed frog casting an offended look Woosterward. It would have sent frog-eating creatures of all modes and manners of ferocity haring off for the nearest underbrush. In the old days, before the Glossop cure, the heart would have quailed in the breast, sending the knees knocking and the thumbs twiddling. The Wooster fortitude, however, had become equal to face any and all of the Jeevesian stuffed frog looks upon learning the location of his most intimate ticklish spot, which was located in a region only I and he could access.
“If you will excuse…” he began to shimmer up as Wooster lost control and emitted a snorting giggle into the pillows. Jeeves quirked an eyebrow, set down his piece of toast quite deliberately, and oozed down under the covers, pulling the willowy corpus against him and slipping the arms about the slender waist. “Are you funning with me, sir?” he asked, slowly unbuttoning the heliotrope pajamas from stem to stern and caressing the skin beneath in a highly welcome lingering fashion. My giggles were cut short as he stroked my person in a very, er, personal area, which stood to attention at these ministrations and kindly requested additional accommodations from the Jeevesian digits.
“Please don’t call me sir, not when we’re like this.” I gasped, and he pressed me close against him. The Jeevesian nose burrowed a bit at the base of the Wooster neck and kisses were lavished downward toward the top of the back as he eased the pajama top from the slender shoulders.
“I apologize, darling Bertie. Now, tell me why you were funning with me, please.” He nipped a shoulder playfully.
“Because I like to play with you now that you act like yourself with me.” He paused, and gently pulled me so I was facing him, running his hand along one side of the dial and kissing the forehead and each cheek then gently brushing the lips. I wrapped the arms about his neck as we kissed slowly and with feeling.
“Ah, Bertie, you melt the very heart within me.”
“Does that mean we may have an extra dose of cure today?” His pupils dilated and he stroked my bare chest, pausing to bestow some extra attentions on my taut nipples.
“We were instructed to take things slowly at first. Have you had any ideas for further activities, or would you like to stroke each other intimately as we have done thus far?”
Rosy blushes stained the Wooster cheeks. “I am not sure what else to suggest,” I stammered.
Tender caresses were bestowed upon the golden hair, and the Jeevesian tone grew soft. “Have you not looked at the books I purchased for us?”
The cheeks grew a hot and unpleasantly uncomfortable red. “I am, er, so, embarrassed by them.”
“Perhaps we can look at them together, but for now, what would you like?” I crowded up against him, my straining member poking out of my pajamas and rubbing against his equally alert counterpart, still trapped in the recesses of staid navy flannel. “Very good,” he breathed as I grunted a bit, rubbing on him somewhat shamelessly and kissing the Jeevesian throat. “Ah, that is very good.” He fumbled for our jar of ointment and let me remove the rest of our pajamas and look at him and touch him, all over--even in his ticklish bit--before we pressed together again. “Your touch is just heavenly.” He let me rub against him until we were both quivering and shaking, then he wrapped his hand around our phalluses and squeezed just enough to enhance our mutual pleasure.
“Ah, Reg!” we came off together, breaths heaving, and he bent to join the lips. I could still taste the marmalade on his mouth. We rested together and then drank the lukewarm tea and ate the cold toast.
“Are you getting crumbs in the bed, Bertie?”
A sense of bewilderment overtook the mental capacities. “But we change the sheets every time we muss them like this.” Jeeves winked at me, eyes twinkling. I grew as stern and indignant as it was possible to be in the spent and trembling afterglow of our climax. “I believe you should call me ‘sir’ when you chide me for getting crumbs on previously mussed sheets.” I waved a finger at him in emphasis, but the effect was marred by the way he burrowed against my neck, showering me with tender kisses.
“Even when we are naked?” He grinned. I reciprocated the kisses in kind and with some added emphasis.
“Perhaps you could offer some other solution?”
“I’ll run us a bath.” He shimmered out, leaving me with a tantalizing view of the firm, round Jeevesian buttocks. Scrumptious. Suddenly I wished I could read the books he had bought, but most of them showed a chap and a filly, and casting the peepers across such things filled the slender frame with shudders of revulsion. A realization slowly built up in the Wooster brain, bursting forth like Aunt Agatha in search of stolen pearls. Jeeves was running us a bath. I wondered how that would be and the thought made me swallow and wriggle in anticipation.
Jeeves
My deep and heartfelt gratitude to Sir Roderick Glossop was not to be measured by human means. I was utterly, deeply, and I would later find, irrevocably, in love with Mr. Wooster. I had long believed as Marcus Aurelius indicated, that one should “Accept the things to which fate binds you, and love the people with whom fate brings you together, but do so with all your heart.” I had endeavored to do so, and found that my feelings for my employer were near to becoming unmanageable even before our new relations. With each caress and every kiss, the tender feelings I had long harbored for my young master seemed to multiply exponentially, like the stars in the sky or grains of sand on a beach. I only wished that the weaker part of my nature, the tendency to take offense and be wounded by his innocent questions or desires for truly revolting pieces of clothing, would be as quick to dissipate as these other feelings had been to blossom. In after years, I realized that it was just as well that the Glossop cure for inverts was as much sensual contact as desired, as I was sorely in need of a cure myself.
We had relocated to Paris, following Sir Roderick’s suggestion that residency abroad would be advantageous during the early months of the cure. I shudder to think of the difficulties we would have faced in repressing our giddy, and glowing countenances in the rush of affection that was binding us ever closer together. Mr. Wooster had uttered not a word of question or complaint on seeing the spacious flat, which lacked many of the amenities he was used to enjoying. Thankfully, I was able to find him a piano, although I soon discovered that one of the more unwelcome effects of my besotted state was a tendency to hum along with him while he sang. Even such atrocious compositions as “Forty-seven Ginger-headed Sailors” and “Ever so Goosey,” would undoubtedly have appeared more acceptable, although, thankfully, they had not yet been composed and I had regained my senses by that time.
The only little rub, as Hamlet would have phrased it, was that Mr. Wooster’s innocence had limited our activities to petting and stroking. Were my own feelings to be consulted, this would have been more than sufficient for the nonce. However, Sir Roderick’s instructions had been quite specific. We were to increase the intimacy of our connection in an incremental fashion, making some new advance each week. Thus far, we had been remiss in this particular. Much as I did not like to alarm Mr. Wooster, I feared for our safety and continued connection if Sir Roderick was to learn we had not been adequately intimate. Mature consideration some months later revealed that I had been in an unwarranted state of panic, which can only be attributed to my generally heightened emotions.
Bertie
I had never had a bath with another chap before and I felt a bit squirmy and trembly at the thought of having one with Jeeves. He called to me when the tub was ready and I ankled it over, naked as the day I was born, although slightly more erect in certain areas. A pleasant scent wafted out to greet me as I neared the doorway to the bath. Somehow, Jeeves had already thoroughly washed, and his hair dripped slightly. He moved to the rear of the tub and opened his legs to make a space for me. The willowy limbs quaked a bit and Jeeves reached up to steady me, wrapping the arms about the corpus like and affectionate and handsome python bent on pleasuring rather than eating its prey.
“Bertie, are you unwell? You’re shaking.”
“I’m a bit nervous,” I admitted.
“Ah,” he scooted me forward. “Let me see to your back.” He scrubbed and rubbed in a dashed pleasant and comforting way, turning the limbs to a highly pleased and relaxed jelly. I rested back against him and he shifted us so that we were half reclining. His erect member rested between my legs as he slowly began to lavish attention on the front side of the Wooster corpus. I was still coated with ointment in the needful regions from our earlier activities, which provided a welcome slickness as Jeeves gently rubbed at the tip of my erect phallus with his palm. I reached for him.
“If you will, just relax and let me do this for you. I’d like to watch you take this pleasure from me.”
I flushed deeply. It seemed a bit wanton, but Jeeves had been allowing me to take rather a lot of liberties with his naked form, and I supposed it was all fair play and whatnot. “Ah, er.” Then he rubbed again, murmuring tender endearments into my ear, and I was once again as jelly in his dashed capable hands. I could feel him growing larger and harder between my legs as he stroked me lingeringly, easing back each time I neared a climax.
“Please don’t stop,” I whispered at the third pause.
“It will enhance your eventual pleasure,” he assured me, rubbing his hard length into the sensitive place between my legs and watching me wriggle and arch my back. I felt extremely exposed and terribly naughty. “You are so beautiful,” he breathed, stroking me lightly. No one had ever spoken to me like that before. I suddenly began to climax, almost convulsively. I don’t know how he did it, because the whole wheeze took me by surprise, but he kept a firm hold on me, steadily reassuring me of his affectionate regard as I cried out then collapsed against him, nearly senseless. He must have washed me off when I was like that, because the next thing I knew, he was pulling me up from the cooling water and wrapping me in a toweling robe, then holding me firmly against him. I was still trembling, and he seemed nonplussed for a moment, but I pulled him back toward the bedroom. “But,”
“It’s not as if it wasn’t us,” I managed to gasp and he bundled us under the covers, wrapping me in his arms and nuzzling the damp hair much the same way as he had our first night together.
“You are so precious to me,” he said, and I fell asleep against him. When I woke, we were both covered with crumbs, and I was quite certain that none of them had been attached to the toast Jeeves had been eating.
Jeeves
My first thought on awakening was that I did not know how I would manage to maintain an appearance of equanimity the next time Mr. Wooster became involuntarily engaged. My impulses of passion and protectiveness would have led me to any manner of immoderate acts to keep him safe and happy and mine. The next thought I had was that we needed both a wash and clean sheets. I wondered how Mr. Wooster was able to sleep with crumbs in the bed in London.
“But there are no crumbs in the bed in London, Reggie,” he said, that darling look of befuddlement passing across his beloved face. I could have snuggled him like a precious lambkins and covered him with yummy fairy kisses. Fortunately, my long habits of restraint and fortitude were enough to prevent me from making a complete and utter fool of myself by voicing such drivel in front of the man I loved. “Perhaps I should do a bit more with this increase in your duties and whatnot.”
“Duties?” I was nonplussed. “This is not a duty.” To my profound horror, my voice wobbled.
Mr. Wooster hastened to hug and reassure me. “Gods, no, not that, Reggie. I meant all the extra baths and sheets to bundle up and beds to make and suchlike and so on and er, whatchamacallit. Please do not be upset.” How could I remain upset with such a completely endearing uggy woogums? Once again, I had cause to thank my long training in repressing the more embarrassing manifestations of sensibility. I showed him how to remove and bundle the sheets and change the bed linens, which therefore took only three times as long to complete as if I had done them myself. We then cooked and ate a more substantial breakfast and I ministered to a few small burns we sustained when Mr. Wooster accidentally set the dishcloth alight.
At my suggestion, we went out to order more bed linens and then partook of an educational opportunity, in this case, the Louvre. We ate a meal together in a delightful bistro along a less fashionable part of the Siene. Mr. Wooster seemed to glow with happiness, and he bought two large bunches of flowers along the way. I chose some wine and the components of a light dinner, and we returned to the flat. Once inside he waited until I had set down my purchases and handed me the flowers.
“They will make a handsome arrangement for the front room,” I said.
“No, no, Reggie,” said Mr. Wooster earnestly. “These are for you. I bought them for you, to show you some appreciation….”
My heart nearly burst with affection. “I love you,” I gasped. He came to me and cupped the back of my head in his hand and kissed me.
“I know, Reggie. You said so any number of times this morning in the bath. I could never have brought myself to let you see me like that if I didn’t know…” My mouth fell open and the tears streamed down my face. He brushed at the tears, obviously in some distress himself. “Don’t cry, dearest. Please, don’t cry.” Of course, this had me sobbing. Gently, he took the flowers and set them aside and then gathered me into his arms. “Hush, Reggie.” I was more mortified than if I had called him a lovey-dovey-dinkums, which I had been tempted to do at the distressed look on his face when he set the dishcloth on fire. He led me to the divan and held me until I calmed myself.
“Reggie, I am afraid that this emotional upheaval is not good for you. What am I to do? How am I to do my duty as your master and protect you while this is going on?”
I took his hand. “How do you feel about me?” I asked, trembling in fear.
“Ah, Reggie, you know I cannot live without you. And now, there are simply not words to express it.”
The words came out of their own volition. It was not my place to ask such a thing, but my heart was swollen with love and fear and tenderness. “But, do you love me?”
His face softened and his eyes grew moist with unshed tears. “The mere word does not begin to cover it, Reg. I… I never knew that feelings like this existed.” He kissed me, and I nearly broke down again.
Then I grew brisk. Mr. Wooster looked almost amused, bu he let me have my way. “Let me put the groceries away and arrange the flowers. There is something we should do together now.” I was grateful for his good-natured acquiescence to my request. He followed me into the kitchen and insisted on arranging the flowers for me. The somewhat lopsided product warmed my heart, as did the uncertain look he gave me when he had finished. I took his hand and brought him to the divan and took up one of the books.
“Oh, Reg, I, that is…” Mr Wooster went pale. “Looking as a beazel that way, simply turns the…” he slammed the book shut, shuddering.
“Perhaps I could describe the acts to you?”
“Knowing that you are looking at…I just can’t, Reg.”
“Have you had any fantasies you would like to enact?”
Mr. Wooster colored then, a deep, flaming red. He rose and went to the bedroom and came back with a much folded piece of paper. I looked at the image and then at him. It was an advertisement for summer union suits, an advertisement I had admired very much at the time, showing a man with a fine physique, bent over to show his shapely rear as he fastened a bag.
The image had haunted my more sensual dreams for some years. How I had longed to smooth the single layer of fabric over the crotch of my imagined beloved. “Oh, I have always found this most pleasing…” I looked up at Mr. Wooster and the passion in his gaze could have burned me had I not returned his feelings entirely.
“I have one.”
“Sir?” The word popped out of my mouth from long habit.
“A summer union suit. I found a similar one before we left London. It’s just your size, I think.”
I swallowed. “Shall we?”
“Will you allow me to feel the single thickness of cloth through the crotch?”
“With the greatest pleasure.”
“And might I…” he flushed most becomingly.
“Might you?”
“Might I do for you what you did for me this morning in the bath? I would like for you to feel how terribly utterly corking it was. I can’t hold you up, but perhaps we could use the bed?”
“If you would permit me…May I wear the union suit?”
“If you like, certainly, although I would like to unbutton it all the way during proceedings. The sensation of being wantonly exposed to your gaze was most pleasurable.”
“That would be absolutely lovely.”
Mr. Wooster rose and took me by the hand, then he kissed me tenderly. “Dearest darling,” he murmured. “I can never thank you enough for helping me in this kind way.”
“Ah, Bertie, I feel exactly the same way.”
"And, yes, Reg, I do love you."
We wandered back toward the bedroom, pausing to kiss each other once or twice, secure in the knowledge that we had found something much more than a cure for sodomites.
Epilogue
A few days later, Sir Roderick Glossop slipped a card into his breast pocket before Lady Glossop could see it. “Roderick! Who sent this lovely arrangement of flowers?”
“I did a service for a friend and he remembered that you liked roses, my dear.”
“Roderick, you look positively sinful.”
“I would like to show you exactly how sinful I feel, my darling.”
“Hush! Honoria and her young man are in the next room.”
The next morning, Sir Roderick, wearing a look of satiation, burned the card in his ashtray.
What ho.
Events progressing dashed delightfully.
Feeling much improved.
Toodle pip
BWW