A story within a story... *G*
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indeedsir_backupAbout a week ago, Xaxres posted a truly scintillating question: Where does Jeeves sleep? It was the subject of much debate. (83 posts worth! - although most seemed to revolve around the related question of obtaining Bertie and Jeeves and extorting sexual favors from them. I'm shocked, absolutely shocked! And please make sure my name is at the top of the list - thank you.)
Xaxres - you are about to find out the answer to your question! I only hope that the answer won't come as too much of a shock to you or any of the other gentle readers of this LJ...
Title: Valet in a Bottle
Pairing: Jeeves/Wooster
Rating: PG-13, possibly R
Disclaimer: All hail the genius Wodehouse, from whose brain Wooster and Jeeves sprang, fully-formed. I pray he isn't rolling in his grave at what I've done to his characters! I certainly don't own them, but if anybody finds them for sale on eBay...
Caveat: At one point in the story, I needed a certain situation from the books to refer to, but didn't have the right names, actions, people on hand, so I did what the television series does at times and threw some names and situations into a blender and used what came out to refer to. My apologies ahead of time. And lord knows this won't measure up to some of the great fic I've seen here - but I hope it entertains. *S*
Acknowledgements: Depending on how well this is received... or not... tootsiemuppet may (or may not) be thanked for encouraging me (or was it ordering me? *G*) to write this story.
Summary: Bertie wonders about Jeeves' sleeping arrangements...
It’s a universal truth that, whenever one thinks that everything is well in the world - tip top, bally-ho, ginger pop - something comes along to burst the bubble. Yes, there you are buzzing merrily along, everything hunky-dory and spiffy-ho, when life bounds up behind you and gives a good sharp nip on the heel.
It happened to me one evening at home as I was leaning back in my chair, the very epitome of satisfaction and content, watching my faithful gentleman’s gentleman lay out my linens for the night with his usual smoothness. Without warning, a sudden thought hit the old bean, the very oddness of it compelling me to say it aloud.
“Jeeves…”
Jeeves made a final brush to remove the last wrinkle from the garments before straightening up and pivoting noiselessly, one eyebrow arched slightly. “Sir?”
“A question occurs to the old Wooster bean, Jeeves. Where do you sleep at night?”
The other eyebrow rose slightly to join the first on that noble brow. “Sleep, sir?”
“Yes, Jeeves - sleep, slumber, hit the hay, lower the eyelids, stretch out the old frame - sleep! When I’m tucked into the old fourposter at night - where do you sleep?”
“Sir, there is no need to be concerned with my sleeping arrangements. I assure you that I rest quite comfortably, sir. “ Jeeves inclined his head slightly, eyes averted and began to turn towards the door.
“I say - Jeeves!” Jeeves’ back stiffened. My tone surprised even me, but this was unheard of - Jeeves, avoiding a question? This was no way for a gentleman’s gentleman to act. If there was a problem, it was dashed important that I know about it. And so I stood up, arms folded, back straight, and stepped into the breach. “Jeeves, I am disappointed. I asked you a question, a simple, honest question, and I do not think it too much to expect you to answer it - where do you sleep?”
Jeeves faced me, sighing deeply. “I was afraid this day would come, sir. I sleep… there.” I followed my man’s slight nod to find he was looking in the direction of the portable bar.
“You sleep in - the BAR?” I ejaculated disbelievingly.
“Not precisely in the bar, sir,” Jeeves answered, as unperturbed as ever.
“Ah, I see,” I answered, relieved.
“I sleep in the gin decanter, sir,”
Silence, somebody said, is golden. If so, this one was 24 carat and straight from the jeweler’s store - and stretched out for a minute short of eternity.
When I had recovered somewhat, I found myself only able to repeat Jeeves’ words. “You sleep in the gin decanter.”
“Precisely, sir.”
“My gin decanter.”
“Yes, sir.”
I felt the old grey matter melting and flowing out my ears, while small birds seem to have decided to chirp merrily around my head. Obviously, the world had gone completely and utterly bonkers, ga-ga, and cuckoo - not to mention insane. The only course of action available was to go along with it.
“Why, Jeeves?”
Jeeves deigned to emit a small cough behind his closed hand. “I… am a genie, sir.”
“A… a… a what?”
“A genie, sir. A spirit servant, ordained to follow the orders of the owner of the bottle in which he resides.”
“You… you… guh…”
The room grew dim and vague before my eyes, but I had an impression of Jeeves shimmering out of the room, only to return shortly with a tray.
“Drink this, sir… it has certain revivifying properties.”
I quickly downed the drink and felt myself reviving forthwith.
“A genie,” I stated with slightly less of a waver than before.
“Yes, sir.”
“But… but… I don’t recall rubbing any lamps… making any wishes… seeing you… disappear into a bottle…” The room seemed to start to dim again.
“Sir, perhaps you recall the day you called for the services of a valet? The same day upon which you purchased the portable bar, sir?”
The fog around my senses seemed to clear slightly. “With… the gin bottle?”
Jeeves gave a hint of a gratified smile. “Precisely, sir. Which, I presume, being dusty, you polished -”
The air became crystalline in its clarity. “And heard a knock on the door… why…. it was your knock, now that I recall, Jeeves…”
His noble head inclined in a nod. “I see you understand completely, sir. It was when you dusted off the bottle that I was summoned into your service.”
“Well, knock me over with a feather! And to think it took me… how long did it take me to realize this, Jeeves?”
“13 months, 7 days, and 3 hours, precisely, sir,” Jeeves said crisply.
“Er, yes… quite some time, apparently,” I said, slightly irked by the hint of superiority in his proclamation. “Well, blimey. But - I say, old spud, what about all of that wish-granting business, eh? Shouldn’t you be summoning things and granting things and what-not?”
A smile seemed to quirk at the ends of Jeeves’ mouth. “Sir? And what would you wish for?”
“Wish for? Well, let’s see… I’d like a… well, no, I already have two of those… although it would be nice if I didn’t have to… actually, I don’t… I’d really like to… no, no, I’m doing that next Saturday…” I threw up my hands. “I’m stumped, Jeeves. I can’t think of anything I want that I don’t already have. I do what I want, when I want, with a nice refreshing g&t at hand anytime I want, all my needs taken care of…” The old Wooster jaw dropped, metaphorically, to the ground. “Jeeves… you ARE a genie!”
A trace of a shadow of a smile crossed Jeeves’ face, as he briefly nodded. “Yes, sir… as I have said. Would you be needing anything else tonight, sir?”
My eyes fluttered, as the heavy ease of sleep called. “No, not tonight. A genie, eh? Who would have thought… “ I shook my head and gestured him off for the night. “Jeeves… a genie… astonishing…”
Never let it be said that we Woosters are ill-equipped to deal with change. In a surprisingly short time, the old bean was able to come to grips with the idea of Jeeves the genie and embrace it. Indeed, it served to explain a number of facts about my noble manservant that had hitherto fore remained unexplainable - such as his ability to shimmer noiselessly about the flat, his amazing solutions to the most trying of problems, and, not the least, his supernatural power in removing the stubbornest of stains from dinner jackets. Certainly I had much to thank a certain dusty gin bottle for. And, despite my best efforts, I was unable to think of anything to ask for that Jeeves did not already provide me with. The time passed happily.
Remember what I spoke of previously? About thoughts that pop into your head when everything seems to be flowing smoothly? And so it happened to me again.
As the clock hands moved the final second towards six o’clock on the dot, I looked up from my reading material to find Jeeves gliding towards me with puma-like stealth, the shining tray in his hand bearing the standard libation. With a sigh as of one doomed, I clasped the icy concoction from the tray and took a sip.
“Something the matter, sir?” Jeeves inquired kindly.
“Jeeves, “ I said with another brief sigh, “I think we should have a talk.”
“Yes, sir?” Jeeves asked, head cocked, all attention.
I summoned my courage. “You know, Jeeves, I’ve been giving this genie-thing a lot of thought lately. Certainly, I grant you that you have given more than satisfactory service, meeting my every need before I even think of it, bending your great mind towards solutions to knotty problem after knotty problem…”
“Thank you, sir.”
“But,” I countered, rising out of my chair, gesturing with my glass of cheer, “there is one problem, one fly in the ointment, one not so perfect pearl in the oyster. You see, having a genie as one’s manservant would, one would think, make finding the proper girl to marry and whatnot something of a breeze, eh what? And yet,” I continued somewhat frostily, “every time I find the girl of my dreams, the apple of my eye, something seems to happen - invariably I end up being arrested for stealing one bizarre artifact or another, getting diagnosed as a loony, insulting her father to his face or whatnot… and in every case - invariably - it is because of one of YOUR schemes. Don‘t try to wriggle out of it, now, you know I‘m right! Now - what do you have to say for yourself?” I stared at Jeeves with what I considered to be eyes of steel.
To my surprise, there was no change of expression on Jeeves’ mug whatsoever. After a few seconds, my steely stare faltered into a look of puzzlement. Jeeves coughed gently. “Sir, trust me when I say that these actions, regrettable as they may be, were unfortunately necessary.”
“Necessary? Necessary?!” I sputtered, abandoning all pretense at politeness. “You call me being thrown into the nick and branded as a cow creamer thief necessary?”
“Sir, you may recall that you yourself had requested my assistance in getting your friend Mr. Little out of trouble…”
“Yes, but was it absolutely NECESSARY to embarrass me in the process, ridiculing me in the eyes of kith and kin, my peers, not to mention all and sundry?” I fumed.
“Yes, sir,” Jeeves stated calmly.
“I said, was it absolutely - what?” I stopped, stunned.
“Yes, sir, it was absolutely necessary to besmirch your character in the presence of your” Jeeves made a moue of distaste “future father-in-law.”
“But- but- JEEVES! You’ve done so over and over again - WHY?” I cried out in despair.
“They were not suitable for you, sir.” Jeeves patiently explained.
Well, this was just about the last straw. “Not suitable - for ME? And just what girl do you think WOULD be “suitable” for me?” I said, in a voice fairly dripping with so-called sarcasm.
“Sir,” Jeeves continued, “a gentleman of your quality requires somebody steady and calm, an anchor for your high spirits, one who could provide for your needs, help you through life’s everyday battles - someone with your best interests at heart.”
“I see… “ I replied, lips curled in the hint of a snarl, “and just WHERE on earth would I find such a paragon -” I paused, mouth open, the scales dropping from my eyes, so to speak. “You - you’re not talking about a girl, anymore, are you, Jeeves?” Suddenly I felt strangely calm. “At least, that certainly doesn’t sound like any of the hounds of hell I seem to be acquainted with. In fact, that sounds like somebody completely different.” How odd to find myself looking straight into Jeeves’ eyes and seeing them suddenly mild and intense at the same time, with a warmth I had not noticed before. I admit that I felt startled and flustered all of a sudden, and found myself taking a step back.
“You, Jeeves?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, I must admit… the thought of the joys of eternal bachelorhood had crossed my mind.”
“Indeed, sir.”
“And, well, the thought of hearing the ghastly sound of the pitter-pattering of little feet through one’s abode does give one quite the shivers…”
“Quite, sir.”
“And I seem to have more than my fair quota of aunts and uncles to deal with already, without throwing in fathers and mothers-in-law, aunts-in-law and the whole kit-and-kaboodle-in-law…”
“Well said, sir.”
“Which would mean… I suppose…” I drew myself up with a deep breath and faced Jeeves, “that I owe you my thanks, Jeeves - for saving me from those frighteningly irrational creatures called girls.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Carry on, Jeeves!”
“As you wish, sir.”
And so life went swimmingly once more - mornings lying in, afternoons at the Drones Club, evenings on the town, and the occasional week in the country - all the while taken care of by my own personal gentleman’s genie, Jeeves. No longer did I feel impelled to play the field or surrender to the wiles of every doe-eyed heiress who fluttered her wily lashes at me. Not for me the weariness of the hunt and the inevitable capture. No, the affable company of the lads and the soothing company of Jeeves was all I craved.
Or so I thought. For, as I am sure you are wondering at this point, doesn’t Bertie ever… get any? Now, now, there’s no need to be coy - I’m sure you understand what I mean. And the fact is, Bertie had not been “getting any” for quite some time, and the last time he had “gotten any” was beginning to fade into the mists of pre-recorded history. And so, Bertie - that is to say, I - found myself getting rather restless around the old castle, the lion’s lair - my abode. Such restlessness lead to a number of unfortunately faddish hobbies - such as playing the trombone, collecting stamps, and joining the Drones banjo--ukelele band - which were quickly picked up and just as quickly dropped.
So it was that, on one particular evening, I was feeling more than usually tetchy - so much so that Jeeves felt it advisable to draw a hot bath, complete with bubbles and rubber duck, and lure me into it, in order to calm my nerves. Perhaps it was the soothing feeling of the hot scented water, relaxing my muscles, but I was feeling strangely in the mood for a confidant that evening, and therefore turned to the one confidant I could trust - Jeeves.
“Jeeves…” I said, eyes closed and relaxing, my face just above the water, as I heard him puttering about the tiled chamber, “I was wondering if you could help me out with a problem.”
“Certainly, sir,” Jeeves replied, turning and grasping a nearby step stool, dusting it off, and placing himself neatly down upon it near the bath. I reached for my ducky, which was resting on the lip of the bath, and pushed it lightly to and fro across the water, watching as it glided blithely along.
“You had a question, sir?” Jeeves prompted after some moments had gone by. “You don‘t mind if I help you soap up your hair, sir, do you?” Jeeves asked, taking off his coat and rolling up his sleeves past the elbow.
“Umm….no… not at all,” I replied, relaxing into the luxury of a well-done scalp massage. “Well, yes, then - as I was saying,” I replied, snapping out of my revery, “I’m having a bit of a problem with this bachelor-life thingy.” I felt my face reddening a bit, and hoped that it would not be visible from Jeeves‘ angle of view.
“Yes, sir.”
“Well… it’s just… *sigh*. Blast it, Jeeves, it’s not a very easy thing to talk about!”, I exclaimed, tossing ducky to the watery depths at the end of the tub. “You see, Jeeves, we Woosters… well… we Wooster men, that is… we… we have needs!”
Without the batting of an eyelash, Jeeves calmly replied, “Needs, sir? Pardon me, sir, but if you‘ll simply dunk your head… yes, thank you sir,” he finished as I rose back up out the water, gasping, head rinsed.
As soon as I had caught my breathe and cleared my eyes, I continued, whilst Jeeves attended to scrubbing my back. “Well, yes… physical…. needs…. Jeeves…. Bally physical needs! Needs that I find myself attending to more and more frequently on a regular basis, I might add.”
“Precisely what kinds of needs might those be, sir?” Jeeves inquired, head craning about to face me while rinsing off my back.
I threw the man a look of complete disbelief. “You know bally well what kind of needs! The kind of needs that find a man taking relief in… in… in choking the chicken… spanking the monkey… saluting the royal navy… you know bally well what kind of needs!” I found my voice rising unevenly as I spoke, sputtering indignantly.
“Sir, sir… no need to get excited, sir,” Jeeves spoke calmly, placing his hands on my shoulders and rubbing gently.
My, but was there anything this genius of a genie couldn’t do? I found myself relaxing, almost growing limp as Jeeves’ fingers worked their magic on my shoulders and shoulder blades. My eyes closed as I moved back and forth with the strokes of his hands. “Marvelous, Jeeves… that feels bloody marvelous! How is it you’ve never done this before? Mmmmmm….” I quickly found myself becoming putty in the hands of a master artist as his hands moved back up along my ribs, over my shoulders, and down my arms as the rested on the sides of the tub and I leaned against him, feeling the long strokes of his hands up and down my arms. It was bally wonderful… I completely forgot what we were talking about and offered no resistance at all as the hands loosened the knots in my shoulders and traveled down my chest… in fact, I found it hard not to emit a few rather unmanly gasps of delight. This was unheard of… incredible… absolute bliss… and now he reaching down to touch my -
Water jettisoned over the sides of the bath as I jerked up into a sitting position, my hands suddenly crossed over an area which I had hitherto fore considered too personal for touching by anybody by myself - and the occasional woman of the female persuasion. To say that I stared at Jeeves would be an understatement - I positively goggled at the man.
“JEEVES! What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?!?!?!” I sputtered.
“Attempting to relieve you of the apparent cause of your physical stress and restlessness, sir,” he replied, as self-composed as ever, brushing off water droplets from his half-drenched clothing as if he were dusting off my clothes for tea.
“But… but you … you were touching my… my…-”
“Yes, sir.”
“But you’re not supposed to be touching my… my…-”
“I don’t see why not, sir. You seemed quite satisfied to allow me to touch every other part of your body, and, as your personal valet, I feel quite offended that you would not entrust me to attend to your needs in a manner most suitable,” Jeeves answered, an expression of hurt and disappointment, invisible to any who did not know him well, apparent in his otherwise stoic face.
“But… I’m not… sure that you should… I mean… yes…. Personal valet, but….”
“Believe me, sir, when I say that the members of the Junior Ganymede club would be right behind me on this one.” The tone was one of absolute confidence. Could this be true? Could Jeeves only be doing what was expected of every other gentleman’s gentleman - and all this time, I hadn’t known?
“Jeeves - you are certain that… that this is… expected?”
“Oh, yes, sir… absolutely. I was only waiting for you to ask, sir,” Jeeves answered eyes averted slightly, so as to avoid causing embarassment.
I hesitated. Mind you, I was feeling rather awkward, not to mention embarrassed by the fact that I was cowering in the corner of the bathtub as if in fear of my own valet! I felt torn, but - apparently this was something that was not covered in the adverts for gentleman‘s gentleman, and was therefore unaware of it. After all, how would one word it in the adverts for a gentleman‘s gentleman? The mind boggled.
“Well, Jeeves… If you insist upon it…” I said hesitantly, sliding back into the water, shivering despite the still-heady temperature.
“Very… good, sir…” Jeeves said, eyes still averted, biting his lip as I lay back down before him. His eyes slid over to glance at my face, without turning. “I shall begin, then, sir.” I shakily nodded my head as those hands once again slid onto my chest, slowly circling. I willed my eyes to close as they moved lower… and lower. Despite my best intention to remain steadfast, a gasp escaped me as I felt the first brush of fingertips. I stifled a moan as I felt myself encircled and gripped, then stroked up and down. I cannot begin to describe the ecstasy of that feeling - nor was I able to respond to it with any but the most nonsensical utterances. My breaths grew deeper and deeper… then faster, twisting into groans and cries. Finally, I could stand it no longer and I opened my eyes - only to see my gentleman’s gentleman, my personal valet - my confidant - gazing raptly down at me as he twisted and gripped and stroked until my hips were thrusting up into his hand. Without thinking, my hand nearest him reached out to grip his upper arm through his shirt, whereupon he flinched in surprise. Never had I thought to see a look on Jeeves’ face as the one I saw then. Why, one might even call it - passionate! His cheeks were on fire, his eyes alive yet glazed with a certain wantonness that suited him surprisingly well. And his lips - open slightly and so full. I had never noticed what full smooth lips he had before. I leaned in closer to take a look, never taking my eyes off of them, until reluctantly closing my eyes as my lips touched his. Such a fire, such hunger - how long had I been wanting this? How long had he? And yet I’d had no clue. All I knew were my fingers digging into his arms, my mouth open to his hot, sweet breath and…. Ohhhhhhhh…. A sudden incredible release that left me gasping and weak and resting in his arms as I leaned across the lip of the tub, soaking his clothes even further, feeling his lips on my neck, licking the water off, kissing and sucking, groaning softly “Sir.”
It was some time before I began to feel that I could use my muscles again and even contemplate moving, but eventually the cooling water and the awareness that only one of us had found “release of physical stress”, as far as I know, drove me to take action.
“Jeeves,” I mumbled into my manservant’s formerly stiff collar.
“Ye- yes, sir?” I heard gasped.
“Don’t you think… you should be getting out of… those wet clothes?” I spoke softly into his ear.
“Ye-yes, sir,” he replied automatically, reluctantly moving as if to get up and leave on his own, his face hidden from me.
“Jeeves!” I called, and he turned, face slightly befuddled and flushed. I grinned at him in a manner similar to that of the cat that ate the budgerigar. “Don’t you think you ought to take ME with you to help take off those wet clothes?” A relieved smile brightened his face, swiftly turning into what one would definitely classify as - yes - a smirk. “Yes, sir. I think that would be MOST appropriate.”
“Then, dash it all, help me out of this bally tub before my skin turns all pruney. My legs seem to have developed a strange resemblance to overcooked spaghetti!” I said, reaching out my arms to my wonderfully tousled valet.
“Very good, sir,” Jeeves replied, wobbling a bit as he helped me out and I, in turn, pulled him close. We started to make our way to the bedroom, snagging a couple of useful towels along the way and leaning heavily upon each other when - as fate would have it - I was suddenly brought up short by yet another of those blasted thoughts. I straightened up and turned to look at him, my face suddenly serious.
“Jeeves? What you said earlier, about everybody in the Junior Ganymede doing this - doing what’s “expected” - you - you didn’t mean that, did you?” I asked, somewhat falteringly.
“Sir,” Jeeves answered quite contritely, “I must confess - I lied.”
“You, Jeeves! Lied?!” I gasped, astonished.
Jeeves gave a short cough to clear his throat. “Yes, sir - a first time for everything. Or, to be more accurate, as the poet says - “All’s fair - in love”, sir.” And those dark brown eyes looked at me with such candidness that I resolved forthwith to forgive this slightest of lapses. I smiled.
“By the by, Jeeves, if you don’t mind… perhaps you’d consider a change in sleeping arrangements from now on… unless, of course, you’re terribly attached to snoozing in a decanter…?”
Jeeves’ face seemed to absolutely shine. “I thought you’d never ask, sir.”
Good man - I mean, “genie“- that Jeeves. I think I’ll keep him.
Xaxres - you are about to find out the answer to your question! I only hope that the answer won't come as too much of a shock to you or any of the other gentle readers of this LJ...
Title: Valet in a Bottle
Pairing: Jeeves/Wooster
Rating: PG-13, possibly R
Disclaimer: All hail the genius Wodehouse, from whose brain Wooster and Jeeves sprang, fully-formed. I pray he isn't rolling in his grave at what I've done to his characters! I certainly don't own them, but if anybody finds them for sale on eBay...
Caveat: At one point in the story, I needed a certain situation from the books to refer to, but didn't have the right names, actions, people on hand, so I did what the television series does at times and threw some names and situations into a blender and used what came out to refer to. My apologies ahead of time. And lord knows this won't measure up to some of the great fic I've seen here - but I hope it entertains. *S*
Acknowledgements: Depending on how well this is received... or not... tootsiemuppet may (or may not) be thanked for encouraging me (or was it ordering me? *G*) to write this story.
Summary: Bertie wonders about Jeeves' sleeping arrangements...
It’s a universal truth that, whenever one thinks that everything is well in the world - tip top, bally-ho, ginger pop - something comes along to burst the bubble. Yes, there you are buzzing merrily along, everything hunky-dory and spiffy-ho, when life bounds up behind you and gives a good sharp nip on the heel.
It happened to me one evening at home as I was leaning back in my chair, the very epitome of satisfaction and content, watching my faithful gentleman’s gentleman lay out my linens for the night with his usual smoothness. Without warning, a sudden thought hit the old bean, the very oddness of it compelling me to say it aloud.
“Jeeves…”
Jeeves made a final brush to remove the last wrinkle from the garments before straightening up and pivoting noiselessly, one eyebrow arched slightly. “Sir?”
“A question occurs to the old Wooster bean, Jeeves. Where do you sleep at night?”
The other eyebrow rose slightly to join the first on that noble brow. “Sleep, sir?”
“Yes, Jeeves - sleep, slumber, hit the hay, lower the eyelids, stretch out the old frame - sleep! When I’m tucked into the old fourposter at night - where do you sleep?”
“Sir, there is no need to be concerned with my sleeping arrangements. I assure you that I rest quite comfortably, sir. “ Jeeves inclined his head slightly, eyes averted and began to turn towards the door.
“I say - Jeeves!” Jeeves’ back stiffened. My tone surprised even me, but this was unheard of - Jeeves, avoiding a question? This was no way for a gentleman’s gentleman to act. If there was a problem, it was dashed important that I know about it. And so I stood up, arms folded, back straight, and stepped into the breach. “Jeeves, I am disappointed. I asked you a question, a simple, honest question, and I do not think it too much to expect you to answer it - where do you sleep?”
Jeeves faced me, sighing deeply. “I was afraid this day would come, sir. I sleep… there.” I followed my man’s slight nod to find he was looking in the direction of the portable bar.
“You sleep in - the BAR?” I ejaculated disbelievingly.
“Not precisely in the bar, sir,” Jeeves answered, as unperturbed as ever.
“Ah, I see,” I answered, relieved.
“I sleep in the gin decanter, sir,”
Silence, somebody said, is golden. If so, this one was 24 carat and straight from the jeweler’s store - and stretched out for a minute short of eternity.
When I had recovered somewhat, I found myself only able to repeat Jeeves’ words. “You sleep in the gin decanter.”
“Precisely, sir.”
“My gin decanter.”
“Yes, sir.”
I felt the old grey matter melting and flowing out my ears, while small birds seem to have decided to chirp merrily around my head. Obviously, the world had gone completely and utterly bonkers, ga-ga, and cuckoo - not to mention insane. The only course of action available was to go along with it.
“Why, Jeeves?”
Jeeves deigned to emit a small cough behind his closed hand. “I… am a genie, sir.”
“A… a… a what?”
“A genie, sir. A spirit servant, ordained to follow the orders of the owner of the bottle in which he resides.”
“You… you… guh…”
The room grew dim and vague before my eyes, but I had an impression of Jeeves shimmering out of the room, only to return shortly with a tray.
“Drink this, sir… it has certain revivifying properties.”
I quickly downed the drink and felt myself reviving forthwith.
“A genie,” I stated with slightly less of a waver than before.
“Yes, sir.”
“But… but… I don’t recall rubbing any lamps… making any wishes… seeing you… disappear into a bottle…” The room seemed to start to dim again.
“Sir, perhaps you recall the day you called for the services of a valet? The same day upon which you purchased the portable bar, sir?”
The fog around my senses seemed to clear slightly. “With… the gin bottle?”
Jeeves gave a hint of a gratified smile. “Precisely, sir. Which, I presume, being dusty, you polished -”
The air became crystalline in its clarity. “And heard a knock on the door… why…. it was your knock, now that I recall, Jeeves…”
His noble head inclined in a nod. “I see you understand completely, sir. It was when you dusted off the bottle that I was summoned into your service.”
“Well, knock me over with a feather! And to think it took me… how long did it take me to realize this, Jeeves?”
“13 months, 7 days, and 3 hours, precisely, sir,” Jeeves said crisply.
“Er, yes… quite some time, apparently,” I said, slightly irked by the hint of superiority in his proclamation. “Well, blimey. But - I say, old spud, what about all of that wish-granting business, eh? Shouldn’t you be summoning things and granting things and what-not?”
A smile seemed to quirk at the ends of Jeeves’ mouth. “Sir? And what would you wish for?”
“Wish for? Well, let’s see… I’d like a… well, no, I already have two of those… although it would be nice if I didn’t have to… actually, I don’t… I’d really like to… no, no, I’m doing that next Saturday…” I threw up my hands. “I’m stumped, Jeeves. I can’t think of anything I want that I don’t already have. I do what I want, when I want, with a nice refreshing g&t at hand anytime I want, all my needs taken care of…” The old Wooster jaw dropped, metaphorically, to the ground. “Jeeves… you ARE a genie!”
A trace of a shadow of a smile crossed Jeeves’ face, as he briefly nodded. “Yes, sir… as I have said. Would you be needing anything else tonight, sir?”
My eyes fluttered, as the heavy ease of sleep called. “No, not tonight. A genie, eh? Who would have thought… “ I shook my head and gestured him off for the night. “Jeeves… a genie… astonishing…”
Never let it be said that we Woosters are ill-equipped to deal with change. In a surprisingly short time, the old bean was able to come to grips with the idea of Jeeves the genie and embrace it. Indeed, it served to explain a number of facts about my noble manservant that had hitherto fore remained unexplainable - such as his ability to shimmer noiselessly about the flat, his amazing solutions to the most trying of problems, and, not the least, his supernatural power in removing the stubbornest of stains from dinner jackets. Certainly I had much to thank a certain dusty gin bottle for. And, despite my best efforts, I was unable to think of anything to ask for that Jeeves did not already provide me with. The time passed happily.
Remember what I spoke of previously? About thoughts that pop into your head when everything seems to be flowing smoothly? And so it happened to me again.
As the clock hands moved the final second towards six o’clock on the dot, I looked up from my reading material to find Jeeves gliding towards me with puma-like stealth, the shining tray in his hand bearing the standard libation. With a sigh as of one doomed, I clasped the icy concoction from the tray and took a sip.
“Something the matter, sir?” Jeeves inquired kindly.
“Jeeves, “ I said with another brief sigh, “I think we should have a talk.”
“Yes, sir?” Jeeves asked, head cocked, all attention.
I summoned my courage. “You know, Jeeves, I’ve been giving this genie-thing a lot of thought lately. Certainly, I grant you that you have given more than satisfactory service, meeting my every need before I even think of it, bending your great mind towards solutions to knotty problem after knotty problem…”
“Thank you, sir.”
“But,” I countered, rising out of my chair, gesturing with my glass of cheer, “there is one problem, one fly in the ointment, one not so perfect pearl in the oyster. You see, having a genie as one’s manservant would, one would think, make finding the proper girl to marry and whatnot something of a breeze, eh what? And yet,” I continued somewhat frostily, “every time I find the girl of my dreams, the apple of my eye, something seems to happen - invariably I end up being arrested for stealing one bizarre artifact or another, getting diagnosed as a loony, insulting her father to his face or whatnot… and in every case - invariably - it is because of one of YOUR schemes. Don‘t try to wriggle out of it, now, you know I‘m right! Now - what do you have to say for yourself?” I stared at Jeeves with what I considered to be eyes of steel.
To my surprise, there was no change of expression on Jeeves’ mug whatsoever. After a few seconds, my steely stare faltered into a look of puzzlement. Jeeves coughed gently. “Sir, trust me when I say that these actions, regrettable as they may be, were unfortunately necessary.”
“Necessary? Necessary?!” I sputtered, abandoning all pretense at politeness. “You call me being thrown into the nick and branded as a cow creamer thief necessary?”
“Sir, you may recall that you yourself had requested my assistance in getting your friend Mr. Little out of trouble…”
“Yes, but was it absolutely NECESSARY to embarrass me in the process, ridiculing me in the eyes of kith and kin, my peers, not to mention all and sundry?” I fumed.
“Yes, sir,” Jeeves stated calmly.
“I said, was it absolutely - what?” I stopped, stunned.
“Yes, sir, it was absolutely necessary to besmirch your character in the presence of your” Jeeves made a moue of distaste “future father-in-law.”
“But- but- JEEVES! You’ve done so over and over again - WHY?” I cried out in despair.
“They were not suitable for you, sir.” Jeeves patiently explained.
Well, this was just about the last straw. “Not suitable - for ME? And just what girl do you think WOULD be “suitable” for me?” I said, in a voice fairly dripping with so-called sarcasm.
“Sir,” Jeeves continued, “a gentleman of your quality requires somebody steady and calm, an anchor for your high spirits, one who could provide for your needs, help you through life’s everyday battles - someone with your best interests at heart.”
“I see… “ I replied, lips curled in the hint of a snarl, “and just WHERE on earth would I find such a paragon -” I paused, mouth open, the scales dropping from my eyes, so to speak. “You - you’re not talking about a girl, anymore, are you, Jeeves?” Suddenly I felt strangely calm. “At least, that certainly doesn’t sound like any of the hounds of hell I seem to be acquainted with. In fact, that sounds like somebody completely different.” How odd to find myself looking straight into Jeeves’ eyes and seeing them suddenly mild and intense at the same time, with a warmth I had not noticed before. I admit that I felt startled and flustered all of a sudden, and found myself taking a step back.
“You, Jeeves?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, I must admit… the thought of the joys of eternal bachelorhood had crossed my mind.”
“Indeed, sir.”
“And, well, the thought of hearing the ghastly sound of the pitter-pattering of little feet through one’s abode does give one quite the shivers…”
“Quite, sir.”
“And I seem to have more than my fair quota of aunts and uncles to deal with already, without throwing in fathers and mothers-in-law, aunts-in-law and the whole kit-and-kaboodle-in-law…”
“Well said, sir.”
“Which would mean… I suppose…” I drew myself up with a deep breath and faced Jeeves, “that I owe you my thanks, Jeeves - for saving me from those frighteningly irrational creatures called girls.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Carry on, Jeeves!”
“As you wish, sir.”
And so life went swimmingly once more - mornings lying in, afternoons at the Drones Club, evenings on the town, and the occasional week in the country - all the while taken care of by my own personal gentleman’s genie, Jeeves. No longer did I feel impelled to play the field or surrender to the wiles of every doe-eyed heiress who fluttered her wily lashes at me. Not for me the weariness of the hunt and the inevitable capture. No, the affable company of the lads and the soothing company of Jeeves was all I craved.
Or so I thought. For, as I am sure you are wondering at this point, doesn’t Bertie ever… get any? Now, now, there’s no need to be coy - I’m sure you understand what I mean. And the fact is, Bertie had not been “getting any” for quite some time, and the last time he had “gotten any” was beginning to fade into the mists of pre-recorded history. And so, Bertie - that is to say, I - found myself getting rather restless around the old castle, the lion’s lair - my abode. Such restlessness lead to a number of unfortunately faddish hobbies - such as playing the trombone, collecting stamps, and joining the Drones banjo--ukelele band - which were quickly picked up and just as quickly dropped.
So it was that, on one particular evening, I was feeling more than usually tetchy - so much so that Jeeves felt it advisable to draw a hot bath, complete with bubbles and rubber duck, and lure me into it, in order to calm my nerves. Perhaps it was the soothing feeling of the hot scented water, relaxing my muscles, but I was feeling strangely in the mood for a confidant that evening, and therefore turned to the one confidant I could trust - Jeeves.
“Jeeves…” I said, eyes closed and relaxing, my face just above the water, as I heard him puttering about the tiled chamber, “I was wondering if you could help me out with a problem.”
“Certainly, sir,” Jeeves replied, turning and grasping a nearby step stool, dusting it off, and placing himself neatly down upon it near the bath. I reached for my ducky, which was resting on the lip of the bath, and pushed it lightly to and fro across the water, watching as it glided blithely along.
“You had a question, sir?” Jeeves prompted after some moments had gone by. “You don‘t mind if I help you soap up your hair, sir, do you?” Jeeves asked, taking off his coat and rolling up his sleeves past the elbow.
“Umm….no… not at all,” I replied, relaxing into the luxury of a well-done scalp massage. “Well, yes, then - as I was saying,” I replied, snapping out of my revery, “I’m having a bit of a problem with this bachelor-life thingy.” I felt my face reddening a bit, and hoped that it would not be visible from Jeeves‘ angle of view.
“Yes, sir.”
“Well… it’s just… *sigh*. Blast it, Jeeves, it’s not a very easy thing to talk about!”, I exclaimed, tossing ducky to the watery depths at the end of the tub. “You see, Jeeves, we Woosters… well… we Wooster men, that is… we… we have needs!”
Without the batting of an eyelash, Jeeves calmly replied, “Needs, sir? Pardon me, sir, but if you‘ll simply dunk your head… yes, thank you sir,” he finished as I rose back up out the water, gasping, head rinsed.
As soon as I had caught my breathe and cleared my eyes, I continued, whilst Jeeves attended to scrubbing my back. “Well, yes… physical…. needs…. Jeeves…. Bally physical needs! Needs that I find myself attending to more and more frequently on a regular basis, I might add.”
“Precisely what kinds of needs might those be, sir?” Jeeves inquired, head craning about to face me while rinsing off my back.
I threw the man a look of complete disbelief. “You know bally well what kind of needs! The kind of needs that find a man taking relief in… in… in choking the chicken… spanking the monkey… saluting the royal navy… you know bally well what kind of needs!” I found my voice rising unevenly as I spoke, sputtering indignantly.
“Sir, sir… no need to get excited, sir,” Jeeves spoke calmly, placing his hands on my shoulders and rubbing gently.
My, but was there anything this genius of a genie couldn’t do? I found myself relaxing, almost growing limp as Jeeves’ fingers worked their magic on my shoulders and shoulder blades. My eyes closed as I moved back and forth with the strokes of his hands. “Marvelous, Jeeves… that feels bloody marvelous! How is it you’ve never done this before? Mmmmmm….” I quickly found myself becoming putty in the hands of a master artist as his hands moved back up along my ribs, over my shoulders, and down my arms as the rested on the sides of the tub and I leaned against him, feeling the long strokes of his hands up and down my arms. It was bally wonderful… I completely forgot what we were talking about and offered no resistance at all as the hands loosened the knots in my shoulders and traveled down my chest… in fact, I found it hard not to emit a few rather unmanly gasps of delight. This was unheard of… incredible… absolute bliss… and now he reaching down to touch my -
Water jettisoned over the sides of the bath as I jerked up into a sitting position, my hands suddenly crossed over an area which I had hitherto fore considered too personal for touching by anybody by myself - and the occasional woman of the female persuasion. To say that I stared at Jeeves would be an understatement - I positively goggled at the man.
“JEEVES! What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?!?!?!” I sputtered.
“Attempting to relieve you of the apparent cause of your physical stress and restlessness, sir,” he replied, as self-composed as ever, brushing off water droplets from his half-drenched clothing as if he were dusting off my clothes for tea.
“But… but you … you were touching my… my…-”
“Yes, sir.”
“But you’re not supposed to be touching my… my…-”
“I don’t see why not, sir. You seemed quite satisfied to allow me to touch every other part of your body, and, as your personal valet, I feel quite offended that you would not entrust me to attend to your needs in a manner most suitable,” Jeeves answered, an expression of hurt and disappointment, invisible to any who did not know him well, apparent in his otherwise stoic face.
“But… I’m not… sure that you should… I mean… yes…. Personal valet, but….”
“Believe me, sir, when I say that the members of the Junior Ganymede club would be right behind me on this one.” The tone was one of absolute confidence. Could this be true? Could Jeeves only be doing what was expected of every other gentleman’s gentleman - and all this time, I hadn’t known?
“Jeeves - you are certain that… that this is… expected?”
“Oh, yes, sir… absolutely. I was only waiting for you to ask, sir,” Jeeves answered eyes averted slightly, so as to avoid causing embarassment.
I hesitated. Mind you, I was feeling rather awkward, not to mention embarrassed by the fact that I was cowering in the corner of the bathtub as if in fear of my own valet! I felt torn, but - apparently this was something that was not covered in the adverts for gentleman‘s gentleman, and was therefore unaware of it. After all, how would one word it in the adverts for a gentleman‘s gentleman? The mind boggled.
“Well, Jeeves… If you insist upon it…” I said hesitantly, sliding back into the water, shivering despite the still-heady temperature.
“Very… good, sir…” Jeeves said, eyes still averted, biting his lip as I lay back down before him. His eyes slid over to glance at my face, without turning. “I shall begin, then, sir.” I shakily nodded my head as those hands once again slid onto my chest, slowly circling. I willed my eyes to close as they moved lower… and lower. Despite my best intention to remain steadfast, a gasp escaped me as I felt the first brush of fingertips. I stifled a moan as I felt myself encircled and gripped, then stroked up and down. I cannot begin to describe the ecstasy of that feeling - nor was I able to respond to it with any but the most nonsensical utterances. My breaths grew deeper and deeper… then faster, twisting into groans and cries. Finally, I could stand it no longer and I opened my eyes - only to see my gentleman’s gentleman, my personal valet - my confidant - gazing raptly down at me as he twisted and gripped and stroked until my hips were thrusting up into his hand. Without thinking, my hand nearest him reached out to grip his upper arm through his shirt, whereupon he flinched in surprise. Never had I thought to see a look on Jeeves’ face as the one I saw then. Why, one might even call it - passionate! His cheeks were on fire, his eyes alive yet glazed with a certain wantonness that suited him surprisingly well. And his lips - open slightly and so full. I had never noticed what full smooth lips he had before. I leaned in closer to take a look, never taking my eyes off of them, until reluctantly closing my eyes as my lips touched his. Such a fire, such hunger - how long had I been wanting this? How long had he? And yet I’d had no clue. All I knew were my fingers digging into his arms, my mouth open to his hot, sweet breath and…. Ohhhhhhhh…. A sudden incredible release that left me gasping and weak and resting in his arms as I leaned across the lip of the tub, soaking his clothes even further, feeling his lips on my neck, licking the water off, kissing and sucking, groaning softly “Sir.”
It was some time before I began to feel that I could use my muscles again and even contemplate moving, but eventually the cooling water and the awareness that only one of us had found “release of physical stress”, as far as I know, drove me to take action.
“Jeeves,” I mumbled into my manservant’s formerly stiff collar.
“Ye- yes, sir?” I heard gasped.
“Don’t you think… you should be getting out of… those wet clothes?” I spoke softly into his ear.
“Ye-yes, sir,” he replied automatically, reluctantly moving as if to get up and leave on his own, his face hidden from me.
“Jeeves!” I called, and he turned, face slightly befuddled and flushed. I grinned at him in a manner similar to that of the cat that ate the budgerigar. “Don’t you think you ought to take ME with you to help take off those wet clothes?” A relieved smile brightened his face, swiftly turning into what one would definitely classify as - yes - a smirk. “Yes, sir. I think that would be MOST appropriate.”
“Then, dash it all, help me out of this bally tub before my skin turns all pruney. My legs seem to have developed a strange resemblance to overcooked spaghetti!” I said, reaching out my arms to my wonderfully tousled valet.
“Very good, sir,” Jeeves replied, wobbling a bit as he helped me out and I, in turn, pulled him close. We started to make our way to the bedroom, snagging a couple of useful towels along the way and leaning heavily upon each other when - as fate would have it - I was suddenly brought up short by yet another of those blasted thoughts. I straightened up and turned to look at him, my face suddenly serious.
“Jeeves? What you said earlier, about everybody in the Junior Ganymede doing this - doing what’s “expected” - you - you didn’t mean that, did you?” I asked, somewhat falteringly.
“Sir,” Jeeves answered quite contritely, “I must confess - I lied.”
“You, Jeeves! Lied?!” I gasped, astonished.
Jeeves gave a short cough to clear his throat. “Yes, sir - a first time for everything. Or, to be more accurate, as the poet says - “All’s fair - in love”, sir.” And those dark brown eyes looked at me with such candidness that I resolved forthwith to forgive this slightest of lapses. I smiled.
“By the by, Jeeves, if you don’t mind… perhaps you’d consider a change in sleeping arrangements from now on… unless, of course, you’re terribly attached to snoozing in a decanter…?”
Jeeves’ face seemed to absolutely shine. “I thought you’d never ask, sir.”
Good man - I mean, “genie“- that Jeeves. I think I’ll keep him.
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