They weren’t exactly forced into the small wooden shed. There was no real necessity for haste, as they had nowhere important to be, and the rain had ceased. No, there was no obligation to stand back to back in the small shed in Chuffnell Regis, pressed tightly together, but they both pretended there was. They both slid into the shed with resigned looks on their blushing faces and pretended to be greatly inconvenienced by this odd turn of events.
Of course, in reality, they were both ridiculously pleased that the rain had soaked them right down to their underthings and that, for fear of catching a cold, they would have to change somewhere. ‘Going all the way back to Chuffnell Hall seems a bit silly, doesn’t it, Jeeves?’ ‘Indeed, sir.’ ‘I’m sure there’s some place on the road where we can change, what?’ ‘If I may make a suggestion, sir: that shed over there, although far from perfect, seems adequate.’ ‘Quite right, Jeeves.’
So they stopped the car, retrieved their clothes from their bags and entered the small wooden shed. It was so small that even with their backs to each other their shoulders still touched – just barely, but still enough to make them pretend to be uncomfortable. Of course, in reality, they were giddy with excitement and near-adolescent infatuation.
They both thought themselves very clever, if a bit wicked, for agreeing to change in the same tiny shed where their shoulders touched. Each thought the other oblivious to the chaos of contradicting emotions roiling in his chest – joy and shame and lust and guilt and delight. They started unbuttoning their shirts at the same time, although they couldn’t see each other. They peeled their wet clothes off their bodies slowly, deliberately, as if savouring this sweet forbidden moment of slight indecency.
Now before you hear the rest, you must know a thing or two about these besotted blighters.
Bertram W. Wooster was a man who liked to think of himself as a preux chevalier. He did everything with honour and – to some extent – courage. He tried not to harm anyone, not on purpose anyways, and he tried to be kind and respectful to all. He would certainly never take advantage of his personal valet, no matter how tempting it could sometimes seem.
Reginald Jeeves was a decent man as well. He lived his life quietly, and he often enjoyed helping the poor unfortunate souls of the world solve their problems. He was polite and courteous and always fed the birds that came hopping onto his bedroom’s windowsill. He would certainly never abuse the trust of his young employer, no matter how blue-eyed and thin-waisted said employer was.
But both Bertram Wooster and Reginald Jeeves were only human – yes, yes, even Jeeves. And so here is what happened:
Jeeves lowered his trousers and pants and bent down to pick up his dry clothes. While bending down in this manner the thought struck him that, should Bertie turn around just now, he would be staring right at Jeeves’ derriere. Better; Bertie’s cock would probably brush Jeeves’ bottom. In fact, Bertie would be in the perfect position to grab Jeeves by the hips and ravish him savagely.
At the same time these thoughts were striking Jeeves, Bertie had just kicked off his underthings and was being struck by thoughts of his own. If Jeeves turned around now, his naked chest would press against Bertie’s back, and his arms could easily slip around Bertie’s waist, and his hands might even find Bertie’s cock…
And so, honest men as they were, they did something they were both quite ashamed of. They peeked.
In reality it happened quickly, but to these two love-struck fools, the entire scene played in slow-motion. Jeeves, still bending, turned only his head towards his master, at first getting a lovely view of the younger man’s shapely calves and thighs and his wonderfully firm buttocks. Then Bertie, poor overeager sod, turned around completely. He hadn’t meant to, mind you. But his excitement exceeded his caution, and, well, ‘Jeeves isn’t going to see me anyway, right?’ he thought.
See him, Jeeves did. In fact, he saw every glorious inch of him. Something like panic filled the small wooden shed, and for a moment neither of them moved. Jeeves was staring right at Bertie’s hard cock, and Bertie was staring right at Jeeves’ alluring bottom, and both cock and bottom were staring at each other.
They both spoke at the same time. ‘I am terribly sorry, sir!’ ‘Didn’t mean to do that!’ ‘I was simply –’ ‘I needed to –’ ‘But surely you –’ ‘…and it isn’t what you think!’ ‘…because if you want it, sir…’ ‘I never dared –’
Then they both stopped talking and Jeeves straightened up and Bertie pressed his back to the wall and they kissed, deeply, hungrily, madly; they kissed until they were breathless.
‘It’s the rummiest thing, Jeeves, but I suddenly don’t feel like getting dressed at all.’
FILL: Please Carry On, Jeeves
Of course, in reality, they were both ridiculously pleased that the rain had soaked them right down to their underthings and that, for fear of catching a cold, they would have to change somewhere. ‘Going all the way back to Chuffnell Hall seems a bit silly, doesn’t it, Jeeves?’ ‘Indeed, sir.’ ‘I’m sure there’s some place on the road where we can change, what?’ ‘If I may make a suggestion, sir: that shed over there, although far from perfect, seems adequate.’ ‘Quite right, Jeeves.’
So they stopped the car, retrieved their clothes from their bags and entered the small wooden shed. It was so small that even with their backs to each other their shoulders still touched – just barely, but still enough to make them pretend to be uncomfortable. Of course, in reality, they were giddy with excitement and near-adolescent infatuation.
They both thought themselves very clever, if a bit wicked, for agreeing to change in the same tiny shed where their shoulders touched. Each thought the other oblivious to the chaos of contradicting emotions roiling in his chest – joy and shame and lust and guilt and delight. They started unbuttoning their shirts at the same time, although they couldn’t see each other. They peeled their wet clothes off their bodies slowly, deliberately, as if savouring this sweet forbidden moment of slight indecency.
Now before you hear the rest, you must know a thing or two about these besotted blighters.
Bertram W. Wooster was a man who liked to think of himself as a preux chevalier. He did everything with honour and – to some extent – courage. He tried not to harm anyone, not on purpose anyways, and he tried to be kind and respectful to all. He would certainly never take advantage of his personal valet, no matter how tempting it could sometimes seem.
Reginald Jeeves was a decent man as well. He lived his life quietly, and he often enjoyed helping the poor unfortunate souls of the world solve their problems. He was polite and courteous and always fed the birds that came hopping onto his bedroom’s windowsill. He would certainly never abuse the trust of his young employer, no matter how blue-eyed and thin-waisted said employer was.
But both Bertram Wooster and Reginald Jeeves were only human – yes, yes, even Jeeves. And so here is what happened:
Jeeves lowered his trousers and pants and bent down to pick up his dry clothes. While bending down in this manner the thought struck him that, should Bertie turn around just now, he would be staring right at Jeeves’ derriere. Better; Bertie’s cock would probably brush Jeeves’ bottom. In fact, Bertie would be in the perfect position to grab Jeeves by the hips and ravish him savagely.
At the same time these thoughts were striking Jeeves, Bertie had just kicked off his underthings and was being struck by thoughts of his own. If Jeeves turned around now, his naked chest would press against Bertie’s back, and his arms could easily slip around Bertie’s waist, and his hands might even find Bertie’s cock…
And so, honest men as they were, they did something they were both quite ashamed of. They peeked.
In reality it happened quickly, but to these two love-struck fools, the entire scene played in slow-motion. Jeeves, still bending, turned only his head towards his master, at first getting a lovely view of the younger man’s shapely calves and thighs and his wonderfully firm buttocks. Then Bertie, poor overeager sod, turned around completely. He hadn’t meant to, mind you. But his excitement exceeded his caution, and, well, ‘Jeeves isn’t going to see me anyway, right?’ he thought.
See him, Jeeves did. In fact, he saw every glorious inch of him. Something like panic filled the small wooden shed, and for a moment neither of them moved. Jeeves was staring right at Bertie’s hard cock, and Bertie was staring right at Jeeves’ alluring bottom, and both cock and bottom were staring at each other.
They both spoke at the same time. ‘I am terribly sorry, sir!’ ‘Didn’t mean to do that!’ ‘I was simply –’ ‘I needed to –’ ‘But surely you –’ ‘…and it isn’t what you think!’ ‘…because if you want it, sir…’ ‘I never dared –’
Then they both stopped talking and Jeeves straightened up and Bertie pressed his back to the wall and they kissed, deeply, hungrily, madly; they kissed until they were breathless.
‘It’s the rummiest thing, Jeeves, but I suddenly don’t feel like getting dressed at all.’
‘The feeling is mutual, sir.’
‘In that case… please do carry on, Jeeves.’