The moment our lips met, I knew we had crossed a line that we could never un-cross. I felt the strength in his arms and back as he crushed me to him, and for a second I felt manhandled, dominated, wholly off-kilter. But then I felt the smoothness of his cheek, which I had always attributed to fastidious attention to shaving, if I had thought about it at all, and we evened out, holding tight to each other. One moment I was kissing a man. The next I was kissing a woman. Here I am kissing my valet. There I am kissing my darling. I felt as though I were embracing two different people at once, but it was just Jeeves, just like it always was, just like it always would be. We fumbled and stumbled, and soon enough tumbled right into my bed.
If he’s a man, there’s a man in my bed, which is wrong.
If she’s a woman, I’m impinging upon a lady’s virtue, which is wrong.
But as long as this is Jeeves, then this must be right.
I pinned him beneath me on the bed. Our legs entangled, bodies pressed together. Two pairs of trousers, two starched collars. Two tightly tied ties were swiftly untied. I panted into his open mouth. My chest felt constricted. I felt lightheaded. I felt so aroused that I couldn’t imagine how we’d ever stop.
I needed a moment to breathe, to think. I sat up and gazed into his eyes, searching for what was inside. Jeeves stared back at me.
“Are you trying to figure out who I am, sir?”
I nodded, feeling weak.
“I’ll show you,” he said.
I helped him take off his jacket, his trousers, his shirt. He looked slender in his underwear and two or three layers of tight undershirts that I never would have guessed were there.
“Don’t you get hot in the summer?”
“Yes, sir.”
I kissed him, partly to swallow up that “sir,” which was beginning to disturb me in this context, and partly because I was afraid of those undershirts coming off. I tried to comb my fingers into the glossy hair atop his head, but I was stopped by his sticky pomade. I tried to run my hands up and down his body, but I didn’t want to feel the texture of the cotton, I wanted to feel his skin.
I felt nearly too overwhelmed with anxiety to continue. But then I kissed his neck and inhaled his sweet scent, so distinctive: that gave me all the reassurance I needed. I helped him peel off his tight shirts and then he was bare beneath me. I saw the parts of him that were kept bound so tight, the lines of his clothing never even hinted at them. They looked so natural and right on his long, slim frame. He looked terrified and vulnerable, defiant and beautiful. The magnitude of what we were doing hit me; I didn’t feel worthy of this. I felt that it should surely be handled by someone much more intelligent than myself, someone with much more experience in these matters. Or any experience at all.
Tentatively I reached out and stroked his chest. Capable, masterful, imperturbable Jeeves looked like he was on the verge of shattering just from one light touch. I gripped and groped and he moaned, a sound of surrender and unbelief. Following some primal directives within me, I lowered my head and sucked on his nipples, pulling ecstatic exclamations from him. I kissed a trail down his sternum, his abdomen, his belly, and came to the silk waistband of his underwear. I hesitated for only a moment before pulling it down and pressing my lips to the dark, thick hair underneath. If I had any last doubts that this man was different from other men, now I knew for sure. And if I had any questions about whether this experience was something I wanted to pursue, those questions were answered, too. I licked at him, moving downwards, gently exploring, following the sound of his cries as they rose. I focused my attention on whatever spot made him loudest, made him twitch and arch high off the bed. The wetter he became, the more delicious he was. I drank him down like nectar. My universe narrowed down to this one small place for an immeasurable time and I lost myself in the rhythms of my actions, his reactions. I only came back to reality once he tugged me up to lay face-to-face once more. His map was tear-streaked and dreamy.
He kissed me hard and then used those strong arms to roll me onto my back. I had a fair bit of the teary and dreamy going on, myself. Even though he has undressed me thousands of times, this one felt like the very first. He climbed on top of me and hovered above, straddling my hips, a miraculous sight in itself. He grasped my eager readiness. On some level I still couldn’t really believe that he doesn’t have one of his own. For a few clumsy moments, we tried patiently to fit together the pieces of this new puzzle. When the pieces finally moved into place, we both gasped. I groaned his name and it was another long, hypnotic while before I stopped. Reggie. Reggie. Reggie.
____
When we properly discussed it, he said that, at the end of the day, he still thought of himself as truly a woman. I said he didn’t need to pick one or the other, and added that I would love him no matter what. But she said that she was sure.
For a while, we talked about what could be different now, what possibilities would open to us. She could grow her hair out and get a whole new wardrobe. We could actually be normal, common, boring. With my money and her homemaking skills, we could be perfectly intelligible to society, as long as no one knew about our past. We could get married and our union would be recognized or at least understood in every corner of the earth. We could dance in any music hall in Europe and no one would call us abominations. They’d call us Mr. and Mrs., Sir and Madam, gentleman and lady. I started getting quite excited about all the opportunities that would suddenly be available to us.
But the morning after that talk, she rolled over in bed to face me. Very hesitantly, she said she had thought a little more about living as female for the first time in decades, as an adult woman for the first time in her life. She worried about giving up her friends, my family, our routine, our status quo. On top of all that, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be seen that way. She realized that perhaps the decision she had made all those years ago was not chosen out of mere practical considerations, but rather spoke to a deeper internal drive. She said it was all too much to contemplate at once. She apologized, saying she was sorry for changing her mind, sorry for dashing my dreams of normalcy, sorry for choosing the more difficult path.
I kissed him and told him not to worry about trying to decide. Certainly not right now, and certainly not for my sake. I spoke clearly to be sure he heard me: “You have absolutely nothing to apologize for.”
Fill: The Unusual Situation, Part 2
If he’s a man, there’s a man in my bed, which is wrong.
If she’s a woman, I’m impinging upon a lady’s virtue, which is wrong.
But as long as this is Jeeves, then this must be right.
I pinned him beneath me on the bed. Our legs entangled, bodies pressed together. Two pairs of trousers, two starched collars. Two tightly tied ties were swiftly untied. I panted into his open mouth. My chest felt constricted. I felt lightheaded. I felt so aroused that I couldn’t imagine how we’d ever stop.
I needed a moment to breathe, to think. I sat up and gazed into his eyes, searching for what was inside. Jeeves stared back at me.
“Are you trying to figure out who I am, sir?”
I nodded, feeling weak.
“I’ll show you,” he said.
I helped him take off his jacket, his trousers, his shirt. He looked slender in his underwear and two or three layers of tight undershirts that I never would have guessed were there.
“Don’t you get hot in the summer?”
“Yes, sir.”
I kissed him, partly to swallow up that “sir,” which was beginning to disturb me in this context, and partly because I was afraid of those undershirts coming off. I tried to comb my fingers into the glossy hair atop his head, but I was stopped by his sticky pomade. I tried to run my hands up and down his body, but I didn’t want to feel the texture of the cotton, I wanted to feel his skin.
I felt nearly too overwhelmed with anxiety to continue. But then I kissed his neck and inhaled his sweet scent, so distinctive: that gave me all the reassurance I needed. I helped him peel off his tight shirts and then he was bare beneath me. I saw the parts of him that were kept bound so tight, the lines of his clothing never even hinted at them. They looked so natural and right on his long, slim frame. He looked terrified and vulnerable, defiant and beautiful. The magnitude of what we were doing hit me; I didn’t feel worthy of this. I felt that it should surely be handled by someone much more intelligent than myself, someone with much more experience in these matters. Or any experience at all.
Tentatively I reached out and stroked his chest. Capable, masterful, imperturbable Jeeves looked like he was on the verge of shattering just from one light touch. I gripped and groped and he moaned, a sound of surrender and unbelief. Following some primal directives within me, I lowered my head and sucked on his nipples, pulling ecstatic exclamations from him. I kissed a trail down his sternum, his abdomen, his belly, and came to the silk waistband of his underwear. I hesitated for only a moment before pulling it down and pressing my lips to the dark, thick hair underneath. If I had any last doubts that this man was different from other men, now I knew for sure. And if I had any questions about whether this experience was something I wanted to pursue, those questions were answered, too. I licked at him, moving downwards, gently exploring, following the sound of his cries as they rose. I focused my attention on whatever spot made him loudest, made him twitch and arch high off the bed. The wetter he became, the more delicious he was. I drank him down like nectar. My universe narrowed down to this one small place for an immeasurable time and I lost myself in the rhythms of my actions, his reactions. I only came back to reality once he tugged me up to lay face-to-face once more. His map was tear-streaked and dreamy.
He kissed me hard and then used those strong arms to roll me onto my back. I had a fair bit of the teary and dreamy going on, myself. Even though he has undressed me thousands of times, this one felt like the very first. He climbed on top of me and hovered above, straddling my hips, a miraculous sight in itself. He grasped my eager readiness. On some level I still couldn’t really believe that he doesn’t have one of his own. For a few clumsy moments, we tried patiently to fit together the pieces of this new puzzle. When the pieces finally moved into place, we both gasped. I groaned his name and it was another long, hypnotic while before I stopped. Reggie. Reggie. Reggie.
____
When we properly discussed it, he said that, at the end of the day, he still thought of himself as truly a woman. I said he didn’t need to pick one or the other, and added that I would love him no matter what. But she said that she was sure.
For a while, we talked about what could be different now, what possibilities would open to us. She could grow her hair out and get a whole new wardrobe. We could actually be normal, common, boring. With my money and her homemaking skills, we could be perfectly intelligible to society, as long as no one knew about our past. We could get married and our union would be recognized or at least understood in every corner of the earth. We could dance in any music hall in Europe and no one would call us abominations. They’d call us Mr. and Mrs., Sir and Madam, gentleman and lady. I started getting quite excited about all the opportunities that would suddenly be available to us.
But the morning after that talk, she rolled over in bed to face me. Very hesitantly, she said she had thought a little more about living as female for the first time in decades, as an adult woman for the first time in her life. She worried about giving up her friends, my family, our routine, our status quo. On top of all that, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be seen that way. She realized that perhaps the decision she had made all those years ago was not chosen out of mere practical considerations, but rather spoke to a deeper internal drive. She said it was all too much to contemplate at once. She apologized, saying she was sorry for changing her mind, sorry for dashing my dreams of normalcy, sorry for choosing the more difficult path.
I kissed him and told him not to worry about trying to decide. Certainly not right now, and certainly not for my sake. I spoke clearly to be sure he heard me: “You have absolutely nothing to apologize for.”