“Jeeves,” I said as calmly as possible, “do you need any help?”
“Sir?”
“You know, ironing things, polishing things, doing, um, things.” The steam coming from the sink wasn’t helping. The intoxicating fragrance floated in the air. I forced myself to sit down at the kitchen table, even though I wanted to hurl myself at the man.
“That is very good of you, sir, but the chores will go more swiftly and with less destruction if I perform them unaided.” He gave me a small smile then turned back to his scouring. Unable to help myself, I stood up and suddenly found myself standing behind him. Those broad shoulders, that lovely bottom...I’d never noticed Jeeves’s bottom before. It was lovely. I wanted to squeeze it. Put my—my—between his buttocks—oh, goodness gracious—
“Sir?” He looked over his shoulder. “Can I assist you in some way?”
“No, no, Jeeves! I think I, um, will betake myself to the piano.” I felt like a fruit fly peeling itself off flypaper. With iron will, I ankled out of the kitchen and sat down at the piano. I decided to play “Blue Skies”. But instead my fingers betrayed me. I couldn’t help playing and singing George Hannah and Meade Lux Lewis’s song “Sissy Man Blues”. Midway through, Jeeves materialized by the piano, the strangest expression on his face. Unable to stop, I slammed both hands down on the piano keys. I was gasping for air. If only Jeeves would stop standing there and smelling like that!
“Jeeves,” I gargled, “come sit with me. We can play a duet!”
“I don’t know that song,” Jeeves said carefully.
“We’ll play something else!” I gasped. “Cole Porter!”
“Very good, sir.” Jeeves sat beside me on the piano bench, careful to sit several inches away. Again, I couldn’t help it. I sang “You Do Something To Me”. Jeeves played accompaniment. That smell! The eau de lust! I scooched closer. Rather than moving away, Jeeves scooched closer to me. Mutually scooched, I mean to say.
“Jeeves, I—“ Words failed me. I grabbed him by his broad shoulders and stuck my face against his strong neck. Closing my eyes, I tried to speak but I could only make animal noises, most unbecoming to a gentleman. My—you know, there—was as hard as rock. To my astonishment, I felt a large hand, um, there. The other large hand guided me to his, um, there. It was quite as hard as mine. And then we were kissing furiously, tongues in mouths, lips against lips, frantically rubbing each other through our trousers. His arms went around me as we continued kissing. The cologne was all around me, driving me mad.
“Jeeves,” I gasped, “that cologne—you—“
“Indeed, sir,” he said and sucked my tongue into his mouth.
Things got quite savage from there. I’m happy to say that things have stayed savage, even without the cologne. However, I have forbidden Jeeves to wear it outside the flat. It’s far too dangerous.