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Jeeves and the Lovey Dovey Dinkums

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Bertie

As some chap said, life takes the oddest twists and turns or, er thingummy. Take my current sitch, for example.  After years of unrequited thingness for my man, Jeeves, I had been plunked on the Glossop cure for sodomites, which required that I, er, get rather cozy with my man Jeeves on a regular basis. This is known in circles in the know as ‘the Glossop cure.’ We had hied forth to Paris where chaps being with chaps was not frowned upon. One might think all was gay and sunny as a gay sunny day, but alas, strange things were afoot. You see, all was not quite as rosy on the other side of the sheepfold as it would appear in the grassy glasses.

I had been undergoing the Glossop cure for sodomites for about two weeks when I noticed something rather rummy about the flat.  Jeeves had started talking deuced oddly at times and he had become very preoccupied with the young master’s clothes.  Of course, it was his job, but he had started to cut up rough if I tried to wear the ‘wrong’ underthings with certain suits and ties.  This might have made some bally sense if I had different types of underthings to wear under the splendid raiment, but alas, I did not. Deuced unsettling, what?

Had we not already been sending regular reports to the eminent looney doctor, Sir Roderick Glossop, I would have hied him thither post haste and with all due speed and evidence to the contrary notwithstanding.  As it was, we were already under his close watch, like little micro-things under a telescope, and the blighter simply shot off a bally annoying telegram when I phoned.

CARRY ON WOOSTER. STOP. YOU ARE DOING SPLENDIDLY. STOP. PLEASE SEND MORE REPORTS. STOP. PS WHAT BRAND OF SUMMER UNION SUIT? STOP RG.

Really.  There was no aid or succotash in such a communication, even for such a limited intellect as Wooster’s. And Jeeves was at it again.

“I say, Jeeves?”

“Yes, munchky wunchkin?”

“Jeeves, why are you speaking like this?”

He did a sort of stuffed frog with an overlay of his schoolmarm face, which only made the whole thing more dashed uncanny. “I do not understand you, pookie-wookums.  My vocabulary and grammar are much as they have always been.”

“I, er, Jeeves, does it occur to you that your mode of address, as it were, and ah, whatsit, might be a bit, ah, well, soppier than usual?”

The stuffed frog grew a shade stuffier. “No, dinky-winkums.  If you will excuse me, our lunch is nearly ready.  Will we take dinner at home this evening?”

I was as the burned child faced with the spilled milk. “Ah, erm, no, Jeeves.  I believe I will stop in at my club.  Perhaps you might want to visit at yours as well?”

“That is an excellent notion, love muffin, I thank you for suggesting it.”

Jeeves

It is not in the nature of a gentleman’s personal gentleman to complain about personal slights or grievances.  However, it does leave something to be desired when a lover neglects to see to his partner’s pleasure.  Mr. Wooster is young and inexperienced, and his occasional lapses are few, and , of course, given that we are engaged in seeing to Mr. Wooster’s carnal needs for medical purposes, I should put my feelings aside, even if he did tell me that he loves me. And in the main, I would not mind a few lapses as I can easily see to myself while I attempt to correct his behavior through gentle leadership. However, my emotional state has become increasingly unsettled and I have been experiencing the most distressing symptoms whenever my release is delayed. 

I sound even soppier than Miss Bassett, who sets a very high standard for sentimentality of speech. The words popping out of my mouth are enough to kill me with mortification, and even Seneca has been no consolation in the face of these terrible verbalizations.  Sir Roderick has been absolutely no help.  His last telegram was appallingly self-centered.

ARROW SHIRT SUIT MUCH ADMIRED BY LADY GLOSSOP. STOP. RATHER BREEZY WHEN UNBUTTONED. STOP. RG.

When qualified psychological practitioners become obsessed with novelty underthings, it is a sad day for those of us involved in their cures. 

Bertie

I ankled from the flat looking more oofa-cum-spiff than usual, as Jeeves was extremely chuffed that his “bonnie binkums”—by which I believe he meant the young master—would have a chance to make some new ‘friendsy-wendsies.’  The club was reassuringly free from baby talk of all sorts, even if it was full of French blokes whose valets all seemed to let them wear pink or purple socks if they liked.  I steamed with envy not only of their socks but of their clump-footed, tea-spilling valets who did not call them ‘snuggle dumplin.’

“Is that Bertie Wooster?”  I turned to see my old pal Gussie Fink-Nottle. “Gussie!  How are you?”

“I could be better, Bertie, and it’s good to see you.  Do you think you could help me figure something out?”

“Of course, old top.”

“It’s rather personal.  You see, I have been having trouble keeping Emerald happy and she has started using the most upsetting baby language.”

“Happy?  Is she unhappy? Are you some sort of brute?  Neglecting her for the newt tanks?”

“Oh, no, not in general.  It’s more of an, er, intimate, issue.  You see, I tend to fall asleep before I satisfy her, and then, it’s all baby talk for days on end.  At least, I think that’s what it is.  I’ve thought through everything else.”

A sort of electric current passed through the willowy frame.  Perhaps this was what was wrong with Jeeves!  “Old top, perhaps we should consult with Jeeves.”

“Good idea, Bertie!”

We ankled back to my flat and had a blasted good time singing comic songs until Jeeves came back in, then we laid out the problem before him.  It was such a relief to hear him call me “sir.”

With a very pointed look at Wooster, Jeeves fetched the books of sexual tips he had asked me to read when we first went to Paris.  I could not stomach the pictures of beazels and it was a dashed blessing to see them go to a good home.  “Perhaps, Mr. Fink-Nottle, you might find these books of use in finding ways to give some pleasure to Mrs. Fink-Nottle.”  Gussie thanked Jeeves and shot off like the dickens for home.

“Jeeves?”

“Yes, oogie woogums?”

“Have I been falling asleep before you have been adequately seen to?”

“It is not my place to complain, lovey-dovey-dinkums.”

“Is that a yes?"

He sighed. “Yes, snuggle bunny.”  

Jeeves

I never thought I would be happy to have one of Mr. Fink-Nottle’s problems brought home, but he did help Mr. Wooster understand at least part of my difficulty.  The only potential rub, as Shakespeare might say, was that my young employer would then need to determine how to address the situation.  The heart trembled in my breast for I was in no condition to offer my share of the solution.  My emotions had exploded out of all control and I was becoming increasingly irrational.  I took to polishing items not generally in need of polishing, so great was my distress.

Bertie

“Ah, erm, ah.  Jeeves, that is to say, I think that I perhaps have an idea, but I am not sure how you will like it.”

Jeeves drew himself up. “Perhaps you could make the suggestion, baa-lamb, and then we can determine the best course forward.”

I ankled into the bedroom and pulled out the new “shirt suits” I had acquired by stealth while in London. Sir Roderick or some fellow at the Drones had mentioned them. They were pink shirts attached to pink undershorts that unbuttoned up the back of one leg for easier access. I thought the pink color was fruity even if the buttons were dashed inconvenient.  I didn’t think it would be much trouble, though, for what I had in mind.

When I trickled back into the sitting room, Jeeves had disappeared.  I found him in the kitchen polishing things. I was not aware that books or broom handles required polish, but it seemed too trivial to mention.  “I er, Jeeves, I must apologize for my neglect and whatnot. It is inexcusable.”

“No, snookums, it is really not at all a problem.”

“Ah, er, I believe, Jeeves, that it is.  And I have, well, er, these.” I flapped the shirt suits at him. Jeeves took one look at them and gasped.

“Sir! If you think I am that sort of valet…. I have never been so insulted in all my life.” Throwing the back of his hand across his forehead like a heroine in one of the more gripping Rosie M Banks novels, Jeeves burst into tears ran off.  He locked himself in the servant’s bedroom, leaving Wooster with flapping jaw, holding a limp shirt suit in either hand.

 

The next few days were blasted uncomfortable. Jeeves was strictly professional and did not utter a bally word, just shimmered about looking red-eyed and puffy. He tried to insist we take the cure, but he refused to speak with me and I pretended not to understand him. Of course, then he would run into his room crying, back of the hand pressed across the brain-filled forehead. It was awful, especially as I was simply aching to hold him and snuggle, but there was not an ounce of comfort to be had from him. I was ever so deep in the soup. I’d fallen so deeply in love with him, and here he was refusing to speak with me at all, and all over those blasted shirt suits.  I could have burned the things, but they had bally well disappeared.

I spent a great deal of time at the club and wandering up and down the banks of the Seine carrying a dismal whangee. Gussie was in rare form. Apparently the books had done the trick. I couldn’t share my own problems, but it was a comfort to have someone to toss cards into a top hat with for an hour. I ankled home on the third night, stewed to the gills, and realized that I had forgotten my key only after I had walked into the door twice.

Jeeves, no doubt roused by the sound I made toppling to the floor, opened the door and I staggered up and tipped over onto him. The sense of comfort was enormous as he caught me and held me up while he got the door closed again and I tried to get control over the pins. “Are you all right, love?” He pressed the willowy form against his more substantial person.

“Oh, sorry, Jeeves, most…I, that is… I miss you. I’m so sorry.” As the words popped out of the Wooster mouth, I began to weep brokenly against his manly chest. “I miss you. I love you. Please don’t be angry with me.  You can even keep talking that terrible rot. Just let’s be friends again.”

He folded the golden head against his breast.  “There, there, now.  I am sorry.”  He helped me to the bedroom and disposed us over the bed and let me have my cry out.  “I do apologize for causing you so much distress.”

“No, it’s all my fault.  If I could only satisfy you…” I paused for breath and started sobbing. “I am just sensually negligible!”

“There, there.  You are not at all negligible, and particularly not in that regard. Hush, hush, darling.”

The absence of the word “dinkums” caused Wooster to perk up a bit. “Are you still pipped with me?”

“No, I am sorry.  I overreacted.”

“Er, ah, why?”

“What kind of valet would ever consent to let his gentleman go out in public with his undergarment showing like that?  Let alone a gentleman whose affections he would like to retain for himself?”

“I, er, meant for us to wear them in the flat.” 

“I realized that this afternoon when I started to prepare to burn them and noted that one was in my size.  Apparently, you were quite correct in thinking this emotional upheaval is not good for me.  I have been half out of my mind with passion and anxiety.  I do not know what to do.”

The sitch was novel.  Jeeves had never before admitted to needing any type of help, but Wooster never let down a friend. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“Perhaps we should be more attentive to each other.”

I turned a bright red. “You have seen to me most generously.”

Jeeves pinkened in his turn.  “If I could attend better to your state of arousal, perhaps it would be easier for both of us.”

“But at first…”

“That was before I fell in love with you.  I’d thought I was, but clearly I had underestimated the powers of your considerable charms. Now I am getting so caught up in your pleasure…" He turned the color of a ripe tomato. "You are so beautiful...Ah, it is difficult.”

“I’m in love with you as well, old top. Head over heels and all that. I could happily call you every soppy name you have called me this week.”

“Please don’t, Bertie. I could simply die of shame when I think of how I have been speaking to you. It’s worse than breaking down crying in front of you.”

I snuggled him and kissed him soundly. “No, no.  There is no need to feel that way, Reg.  I realize my fault in all of that.  And on occasion it’s quite cute.  It was just the concentration, if that is the word I want.” We snuggled together for a few moments.  “Reg?”

“Yes, Bertie?”

“Are we friends again?”

“Yes.”

“The bean is throbbing like a stubbed toe.”

He kissed the golden pate and shimmered off to find me some aspirins.  Then he helped me get undressed and snuggled me until I fell asleep. 

Jeeves

I cannot ever be thankful enough for Mr. Wooster’s generous and forgiving nature. He was so good to me, instantly accepting my apology and affection even after I had behaved like a harridan to him for days.  How can I ever make this up to him?

Bertie

In the morning, Jeeves was like a bally ministering angel.  I felt terrible and he set me up with that drink he makes and then returned to the bed to nestle me against the muscular chest and whisper sweet nothings, but er, manly ones—none of that ‘dinkums’ rot—into the Wooster ear.  “Jeeves?”

“Yes, Bertie?” He stroked the golden hair and kissed the forehead tenderly.

“This is dashed soothing.”

“It is.”

“Might we, perhaps, have some cure now?”

“It would be my very great pleasure.”

“May I see to you first?”  He accepted and I did, and he fell asleep immediately upon climaxing, out like a light and snoring fit to peel the wallpaper from the walls.  Apparently he had been up all night watching me sleep.  Of course, being Jeeves, he realized what was wrong the first time I called him a lovey-dovey-dinkums, and he tended to me right on the spot, which was dashed exciting.  It took some doing but over the next few days, we got better at the whole wheeze and were coming off together pretty regularly. Jeeves was pleased as punch.

“We might be able to progress further,” he said one day.

“Further?  But what else could we do?” Jeeves explained about, er, ah, some things.  I nearly died of shock and mortification and other embarrassing things. “It just seems a bit, er, well, wanton, Jeeves.  Are you sure?”

“Yes, pet.”

“Ah, no, Jeeves, please don’t.”

“I am sorry, Bertie.”

“Do you really want to?”

Jeeves considered this for a moment and then turned a bit pink about the ears.  “Perhaps we could actually engage in the behavior you are ostensibly being cured of.”

“Er, ah, whatsit?” He explained about sodomites. “Ah, yes, well, that sounds far preferable to covering each other with ‘tiny fairy kisses,’ what?”

“Indeed?” 

I caught the hint of warning in his tone. “Don’t you, er, want to be a bit more, er, robust, as you say? Manly?  Strapping and whatnot?”

The Jeevesian pupils went very large. “I see your point, Bertie.  Might we snuggle after?”

“I adore snuggling with you, Reg.”

“Very good.”

Jeeves

Mr. Wooster has proven to be a robust and energetic lover, and far more taken with athletic exertions than I might have thought possible.  I do look forward, however, to the day where I can cover him, all over, with little fairy kisses.

London

“Roderick!  Whatever has gotten into you?”  Lady Glossop giggled as her husband of so many years covered her, as he said, ‘with little fairy kisses.’  He had been a bit worrisome this last week, insisting on wearing some highly impractical undershorts joined to shirts, but this new behavior was delightful, as was his new choice of union suit with a single thickness of cloth through the crotch, as he kept demonstrating at odd moments.

“I am just feeling young this week, my dear.”

“Whatever case this is, Roderick, I do hope it lasts.”

“As do I, my dear.”

He had let some telegrams fall from his pocket, but when Lady Glossop picked them up she could make nothing of them.

 

COOPER IS THE BRAND, WHAT. STOP. NO NOT WHAT QUESTION MARK, WHAT WHAT WHAT. STOP. TOODLE PIP. STOP. BWW.

SHIRT SUITS ARE MOST UNHYGIENIC. STOP. RECOMMEND BURNING. STOP. RJ.