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Laments of an Icarus

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Mr. Wooster was seldom a quiet man unless there was something specific troubling him that he believed to be embarrassing or serious in nature. It had been a chilly evening in the mid of November and throughout the hours between returning home from his usual club to the present moment he had been unnervingly silent. Although I was an individual that enjoyed a tranquil atmosphere, I had grown fond my employer’s chatter and desires to pull me into conversation.

He had been sitting on the couch with legs crossed and both hands wrapped around his third requested drink, staring into the murky amber liquid with his bottom lip pulled between his teeth.

I had been predicting him to inevitably confide in my person as the hours weaned on, but it still looked as though he intent on harbouring what had occurred internally so I decided to take matters into my own hands.

“If you may permit my inquiry, sir,” I said and a look of surprise graced the boyish features of my employer, “but perhaps I can be of assistance if you were to explain what is currently occupying your thoughts,”

“Ah, rather,” He murmured, his eyes seemed to soften at my concern. His fingers tapped the edges of the glass with a nervous energy, “Well, I suppose, I could,” He trailed off for a moment before looking down in the amber liquid once more.

He took a deep breath, “Have you ever made love, Jeeves?”

It took every last bit of mastery I had of masking surprise under a facade of neutrality to contort my expression into such at his inquiry.

“I say, that rather, it comes off ungentlemanly of this Wooster to ask, I just, you see a bunch of chaps were discussing that act of lovemaking, and I know that the proper thing to do is wait until marriage,” His face turned slightly sour at his own words, “but most of these fellows were not, in fact, married and felt like a fool because I don’t know a single thing about it and you know what the worst part is, Jeeves? I don’t desire to make love to a woman, not a one.”

I chastised my thoughts for allowing myself to feel a sick pleasure at his last sentence, “It does not make you a fool, sir, to not comprehend something you have not experienced.”

“But have you had this experience?”

I considered his inquiry. Indeed, I had been with a number of individuals throughout my years sexually. Both men and women, each a different but still enjoyable experience. I never quite understood the societal construct that condemned homosexuality as the Greeks themselves had practiced it and there was no logic that could explain to me how an act of personal and consensual pleasure could be deemed as horrific or illegal. Making love, however, implied an emotional connection beyond the desire for sexual release and I had never been with anyone with that concept in mind. I assumed that Mr. Wooster did not differentiate the two and simply was ever the gentleman through and through with his softer choice of words.

“Indeed, I have, sir,” If I was a better man, I would have lied to him then, but I am not infallible and I had a selfish desire to observe his reaction.

He watched me with a peculiar wonder and then shyly returned to fidgeting with tumbler, “Was it… nice?”

“It is a unique experience that is difficult to summarize in its entirety, but it is nothing that you lack from your life, sir, if you are not currently in love,” I said. He seemed to ponder it for a moment and I was hit with a sudden rush of fear, “It is not something you need to seek out just solely for the understanding of the act,”

“No, I wouldn’t,” His face flushed red, “I say, that is not on my list of things to accomplish. I just felt a bit silly today, rather.”

“Very good, sir, it is not advisable,”

He took a long sip before speaking once more, “Have you ever been in love, Jeeves?”

The light created golden hues off his honey coloured hair, his eyes had the depth of ocean, its blue was a vibrant and inviting spell that drew you near much like a current, the curve of his mouth that was expressive and alluring along with hidden dimples that came alive when he smiled. It felt like my entire world began and ended with him and as long as I was a part of his I could remain intact, alive, and content. I would die for him, I was certain. I would kill for him, of that I was certain as well. I would never have him, but love was a foolish, irrational thing and I wouldn’t trade any one of the days I’ve had in his axis for anything in this universe.

“No, sir,” Yes, I have been and always shall be, since the day I walked through that door and until the moment I find myself breathing my dying breath, and even past that until I exist no longer, in any form, “I have never been in love.”