Not the One

Not the One, Part Four

Notes: The hose are not ladies nylons or silk hose. They were more like fine woolen socks. Just remember that they didn't have elastic topped socks then. Dishabille--The state of being partially or very casually dressed. Casual or lounging attire. An intentionally careless manner. Notions Small lightweight items for household use. kanurd--drunken, dickey--a man's detachable insert (usually starched) to simulate the front of a shirt.Not the One by ScribePart Four
SeductionOn the ride back to the school, Jonathan sat forward, putting his face near the open coach window. Jamey watched him, amused. "Good lord, Harker, don't tell me you're tipsy?"

Jonathan, looking a little sheepish, sat back. "Well, I had wine with supper, and then that drink at your club. I'm not used to spirits."

"Then you need to begin cultivating your tolerance. Social drinking is an important part of most business, Harker."

Jonathan glanced sideways at Jamey. "Surely not? Surely people would be more confident in a sober businessman."

Jamey sighed dramatically, as if saddened by Jonathan's naivety. "Of course they won't want to do business with some gin soaked sot, but..." he held up a finger, as if making a point, "they don't trust a man who won't drink with them. You know very well that every society dinner ends with the women going to the parlor for sherry, and the men indulging in brandy and cigars." Jonathan wrinkled his nose, and Jamey laughed. "No, you don't have to take up cigars, bur really, you must learn to hold your liquor. We'll start your education tonight."

They were dropped at the school, and Jamey gave a discrete rap at the door. A voice from inside called, "Yeah?"

"Open up, you sodding git. The wand'ring boys are home." There was a laugh, and the door was opened by the same houseman who had come to Jamey's room earlier. As he locked the door, Jamey said, "Did you get it?"

The man turned back to him with a cheeky smile, and Jonathan wondered at the man's boldness. It was true that Jamey wasn't as class conscious as some of the students, but... Jonathan remembered the quick way he'd put the waiter in his place, and wondered that he allowed the servant this familiarity.

"Did at that, guv'ner. It's up in yer room..." he tipped a smile at Jonathan, "awaitin' your pleasure."

Jamey didn't scowl, but there was something warning about his expression. He tossed the man another coin. "Good. Get to bed, then, and be quiet about it. Come along, Harker."

At the first landing Jonathan said hesitantly, "I've had a splendid time, Jamey. Thank you."

"What? Oh, no, Harker, we're not done for the night yet." He took Jonathan's arm and pulled him toward his room.

"But Jamey, it's almost midnight."

"So? It isn't as if you'll have anyone routing you out of bed in the morning. We can lie about till luncheon if we see fit. In any case, I'm not ready to let you go yet. Come on, and I'll tell you all the high society gossip." Jonathan started to say something, and Jamey waved the statement off. "Yes, yes, I know--you don't gossip. But I'd wager your little friend Mina does, and wouldn't she just hang over you if you could tell her a few juicy tidbits?"

Jonathan allowed himself to be led into Jamey's room. "All right. It will be nice to visit for a bit before I go to bed."

"Yes, yes. We don't get to be alone together to just talk nearly often enough." He locked the door. "Alwayseoneeone bursting in." He took off his jacket. "Come, come, Harker. It's rude to be more elaborately dressed than your host." Jonathan obligingly removed his own coat, then, a bit more slowly, removed his vest when Jamey did so, also. Jamey untucked his shirt. When Jonathan hesitated, Jamey quickly reached over and jerked the tail up from his waistband. "I'll not have you sitting about constricted, Harker. It makes me jolly uncomfortable. Now to see what our below stairs friend left us. Do the tie, too." Jonathan unknotted it, but left it threaded under his collar, the ends dangling. Jamey sighed and rolled his eyes. "I suppose I should be grateful that you don't insist on a dickey and cummerbund."

He turned down the coverlet on the bed, then reached under the pillows that he'd revealed. "Ah-hah!" His voice was triumphant as he pulled out a bottle of brandy. He smiled at Jonathan. "You're looking at me as if I were dangling a snake."

"Jamey, you could get in so much trouble! We both could."

Jamey shrugged. "We won't. A generous quarterly tip insures that treferefect gives the room only a glance when he does inspections. Now then, I expect you'd rather not drink straight from the bottle. Glasses, glasses..." He opened the door in his nightstand and took out two thick white porcelain mugs. "I suppose cups will have to do."

He kicked off his shoes and hose, and climbed up on the bed. Sitting cross-legged he said, "Well, don't just stand there. Hop up." Jonathan started to climb up, and he pointed, voice severe, "Take off your shoes and socks, you daft boy! The liquor can be concealed easily enough, but if you get street grime on the sheets there will be a fuss."

Jonathan knew that the casual dress was supposed to make him more comfortable, but it was really having the opposite effect. He wasn't used to being so dishabille, and it made him a bit nervous. He felt as if at any moment one of the teachers might walk in and scold him for appearing downstairs in such a careless state of dress.

As if reading his thoughts, Jamey said, "For God's sake, relax, Harker. No one is going to burst in and dress you down for not dressing up."

Jamey leaned over to his nightstand and got a small penknife, which he used to cut away the wax seal. The knife was replaced, and he next came up with a small corkscrew. Jonathan couldn't help smiling faintly as he watched his friend twisting the screw into the bottle's cork. "You have stationary, ointment, a penknife, a corkscrew, mugs... You have a veritable notions store here."

Jamey grinned as he eased the cork from the bottle, "Harker, you have no idea what I have here." He poured golden liquid into both cups, corked the bottle, then offered a mug to Jonathan. "But all shall be revealed--eventually."

Jonathan lifted the cup to his lips, then hesitated. "Go on," Jamey urged. "Just sip slowly." Jonathan took a swallow, then coughed. Jamey nodded. "Good effort. Have a bit more." When Jonathan gave him a doubtful look, Jamey offered, "It will get easier--believe me."

They talked, Jamey telling Jonathan society gossip, as he had promised. Jonathan listened attentatively, sipping at the brandy. His cup never got more than half empty before his host refreshed it. Jamey was right--it did become easier to drink it. The burn in his mouth andlet let lessened, and he had to admit that a most pleasant glow seemed to have settled in the pit of his stomach, and started to spread out. In fact, a delicious lightness had moved into his head, while conversely his limbs felt heavy.

His attention began to wander to the interesting sensations, and he was only half aware of Jamey's chatter. "...insisted on hiring a female secretary. Well, his wife went directly to her solicitor to see if she had grounds for divorce. She didn't, of course." He snorted. "These days she'd need eye witnesses to flagrant infidelity, a black-and-blue face from abuse, and proof that he'd tossed her out into the streets. You know, my uncle said that the time was coming when most secretaries would be women. Something about their dainty fingers being better suited to the typewriting machines. I don't see it, though. I don't think the wives would allow it, and are you listening to me at all, Harker?"

"Hm?" Jonathan looked up vaguely. He blinked owlishly, then said slowly, "I'm sorry, Jamey. I think I may have drunk too much."

Jamey cocked his head, interested. "Do you, now?" He took Jonathan's mug and set it on the nightstand with his own. "Let's find out." He climbed off the bed. "Stand up."

Jonathan obeyed. Rather, he tried to. He got his feet on the floor and went to stand up. Something went wrong. It felt like he was floating, and as he neared upright, the floor suddenly seemed to tilt. He sprawled back on the bed with a small yelp of surprise.

Jamey laughed. "Oh, dear! Yes, I do believe that you're kanurd." When Jonathan made a questioning sound he said, "Drunk to you, you nit."

Jonathan struggled upright, and put his hand out quickly to brace himself against the wall. "Oh..." He shook his head, but that only made it worse, and he had to put both hands on the wall to stay standing. "I heard jokes about the floor tilting, but I always thought it was exaggerated."

"So, now you know. What do you think of it?"

"I'm not sure." Jonathan turned to put his back to the wall, tipping his head back and gazing at the ceiling. "The room feels as if it's revolving," he said matter-of-factly.

Jamey laughed softly. "Harker, you're past kanurd into pickled." Jonathan pushed himself away from the wall and very fullfully walked to the foot of the bed. He picked up his jacket and examined it, frowning, as if he were trying to work out a puzzle. "What are you doing?"

"I should go to bed." After a moment's study he found the armhole and managed to slip his left arm into it (after two attempts) only to find that it was actually the right sleeve.

Jamey pulled the jacket away and turned to toss it on the chair with Jonathan's vest. When he turned back, Jonathan was fumbling with his tie, trying to wind it into a passable knot. "Stop that!" Jamey scolded. He pushed Jonathan's hands away and quickly finished untying it, jerking it free. "You'll strangle yourself in the state you're in. Look, Harker," he gripped Jonathan's shoulders, his voice confiding, "Let's be sensible. You're in no shape to climb those stairs. You'll end up at the bottom, with a broken neck. Just think of how that will annoy the headmaster."

"I could crawl up," Jonathan said.

"Please! A gentleman does not crawl about, no matter how soused he gets. He calls a servant to help him along. No, Harker, you'll just have to spend the night here."

"I could go sleep on the davenport in the library," Jonathan offered.

Jamey took Jonathan's face in his hands, staring straight into his eyes, and said, slowly and clearly, "You can break your neck just as easily on those stairs as you could on the others."

"Oh. Yes, of course."

"You'll sleep here. There's plenty of room in that bed for both of us." And if you suggest one of the other perfectly good empty beds on this floor, I'll just tell you that they're not made up, and the servants would be annoyed. That should be enough to convince you. "You're staying." It was a statement, not a question. Jonathan nodded. "Right. I suppose I'd best get you something to sleep in, then. I don't suppose you sleep nude?" A slow flush n ton to creep up Jonathan's cheeks. "No, I didn't think so. I'll..."

"Actually, I do." Jamey gazed at Jonathan, eyes widening. The blush heightened. "Not when I'm here at school, because it's against the rules, but when I'm away..." He trailed off. "The nightshirts just seem strangling sometimes."

"I quite agree."

"But if you have a shirt to loan me, I'd be grateful."

Jamey bit back a sigh. No, of course it couldn't be that easy. "Well, I'm like you in that respect, Harker. I only wear them when I must. But I have a spare you can use."

He went to the dresser and returned with two voluminous nightshirts, tossing one to Jonathan. Jonathan reached up to catch it, and missed. It settled over his head, and he just stood there for a moment. Jamey burst out laughing, imagining the baffled expression that nightshirt must conceal. He was proved right when Jonathan pulled the garment off his head. "Hurry and get undressed, Harker. You need to lie down before you fall down."

Jonathan dropped the nightshirt and began to unbutton his shirt. It was rather odd to see those slim, elegant fingers moving with such clumsy slowness. Jamey watched, not bothering to try to hide his interest, sure that Jonathan was too drunk to notice, or attach any significance to it if he did.

Again he appreciatively considered the pale skin, the well-formed body. Jonathan wasn't the hearty, husky type that embodied this era's image of masculinity. He was a bit slender, but the muscles flowed smoothly and firmly. Without his clothes he didn't look the least bit weak. He was fine-boned, but it was the lean elegance of a thoroughbred.

Jamey suddenly realized that Jonathan, his hands on the fastenings of his trousers, was looking at him, puzzled. Oops, caught staring. Not good. Jamey quickly began to strip out of his own clothes, and Jonathan went back to disrobing. Once his attention was back on his own actions, Jamey went back to observing the other boy.

He was disappointed when, after removing his trousers, Jonathan slipped into the nightshirt. His hopes rose, though, when the boy slid off his drawers and deposited them on a chair, with the rest of his clothing. Jonathan sat heavily on the bed again, and Jamey resumed undressing, moving with deliberate slowness. He hoped that he would be able to attract Jonathan's attention, much as the boy had attracted his own. Jonathan didn't stare--he had rather expected that. Oh, but he did look. His eyes would flick back to Jamey now and then, before darting away again. Oh, there's curiosity there, yes indeed.

Jonathan tried to concentrate on the way the room seemed to be gently swaying back and forth, but he was distracted. It wasn't as if he'd never been around other men disrobing. He shared a room with three other boys, after all. But somehow this was different. There were only the two of them, and he had just spent the evening socializing with Jamey. Somehow it seemed much more intimate.

He blushed furiously and looked away as Jamey casually pulled off his drawers, but still he got a glimpse of the thick, pale cock, resting against a wiry tangle of sandy hair. He felt weedy next to Jamey's height and breadth. Roswell looked elegant in his clothes, but unclothes he looked... primitive. There was something very raw and almost overwhelmingly male about him.
There was the rustle of cloth, and he heard Jamey, amused, say, "You can turn back around, Harker." When Jonathan looked, he was buttoning up the shirt. "I haven't struck you blind, have I?" He didn't know what to say, and Jamey just shook his head. "Oh, go on. Get into bed. I'll dim the gas."

Jonathan crawled under the sheet while Jamey turned the gas jet by the door down till it was only a tiny blue speck. Then he went to the one by the bed and turned it down till the room was lit by only a dim glow. He went to the trunk and rummaged in it, then came back, carrying two objects. "I want to use some of that lotion my mother sent me, and I promised to show you this." He handed the slim book to Jonathan.

Jonathan eagerly opened the book to the first page, then frowned. "Les Affaires d'un Notoire Jeune Homme. Jamey, it's in French! I won't be able to read it."

Jamey opened the jar and dabbled his fingertips in the cream. "It means The Affairs of a Notorious Young Man. You don't have to read it--just look at the pictures."

Jonathan perked up. "Oh, it's illustrated?"

"Yes, indeed. There are even color plates."

Jonathan turned the pages slowly and carefully. "Yes, here's one. This must be the young man in question."

"Yes, I remember that." Jamey rubbed lotion into his palm, working his hands together. "A fairly comely boy. Keep looking." I can't wait to see what you make of the next one.

Jonathan turned pages. He stopped suddenly, and a pink flush crept up his cheeks. "Jamey, what sort of book is this? This... there's a drawing of a woman with bared breasts here."

"That would be the chambermaid who first seduces him."

"This is about... about carnal acts?"

Jamey laughed softly. "What did you think it would be about, Harker? It's called the affairs of a young man. Did you think it would be a listing of routes and business meetings? Don't act so shocked--it's just a bosom." Jonathan gave him a worried glance, but kept turning the pages. He quickly dropped the book, eyes flying wide open. "Ah, you've reached the picture of the picnic."

"Jamey, they're both naked! You can clearly see his member. He's..." Jonathan almost choked.

Jamey remembered that the young man in that picture had been rampantly aroused, his sex swollen out of proportion with his body, a hand wrapped around it. And since that book did not fall directly over your lap, I can see that you're beginning to get into the same state, my dear. Jamey simply nodded.

Jonathan tried to make him understand. "He had his head between the woman's legs, he was looking right at... at her sex."

"Oh, he was doing more than looking at it, Harker." When Jonathan looked puzzled, Jamey quickly wiggled his tongue at him.

Jonathan's expression was both fascinated and horrified. "No! I refuse to believe it. No one would do something like that."

"Oh, it's not so bad, as long as she's clean." Jonathan's mouth dropped open. "Yes, I have. But it's not what I prefer. Keep looking."

"I couldn't!"

"Oh, go on! How are you going to make your way in the world if you don't know what's out there?" He rolled his eyes. "Dewey naiveté is prized in maidens, Jonathan, but it's a liability to a man. Now, go on. It won't bite you."

"Jamey..." Jonathan protested.

"I said go on. There's only one more." Jamey's voice was firm. Jonathan blinked. His entire life had been spent obeying people with that tone in their voice, and he was too befuddled now to remember that this older boy had no authority over him--that he did not have to obey him. He slowly picked up the book again as Jamey stood up and reached for the gas jet.

The book fell open to another color plate. The image presented was so alien that for a moment Jonathan honestly could not comprehend what he was seeing. He thought that it must be another image of simple coitus, though it did seem odd to him that the woman would have her feet up over her lover's shoulders. Then several facts struck him. There were no breasts. The supine partner's chest qui quite flat, though there were two dark spots that had to represent nipples. The active partner's member seemed to enter his lover's body at an awkward angle. Then one other fact suddenly struck him like a thunderbolt. There was a thick, stiff cock lying flat along the bottom partner's belly. Jonathan realized that he was looking at a carnal act he'd never even imagined--sexual intercourse between two men.

The light went out, all save for the two blue specks of the dimmed gas flames, and he felt the bed dip beside him. A hand passed before his face, and he blinked slowly. "Good Lord," Jamey drawled. "I've stunned him." The book was removed, and firm hands pressed Jonathan back till his head touched the pillow. "Lie down, you innocent. You'll survive."

Jonathan stared up at the unseen ceiling, his thoughts a kalaidiscopic blur. He squeezed his eyes shut, only to have an image of the last picture form in his mind. How was that possible? He found himself wincing. Didn't that hurt? Would anyone ever submit to such a thing willingly?

He found himself fidgitting, feeling far too warm, wishing that he dared strip off the strangling nightshirt. It was true that he did not usually sleep nude, but sometimes...

His attic room at the vicar's had sometimes been sweltering in the summer, even with the windows left open. There were times when, hoping for a breeze, he had stripped and stood in the open window, gazing out at the night. The window opened onto the back garden, there were no near neighbors, and the vicar and his sister had been abed early, so there was no chance of being seen. He would stand there, staring up at the stars, feeling the cool brush of air against his naked skin, and think of his future. He would imagine travelling far away: beyond the places that most British considered exotic enough--Paris and Italy. He wondered what it would be like to roam the older parts of Europe, close to the old Persian empire. What would it be like to explore the Balkans? What sort of people would one find there?

His mind was pulled back from his contemplation of the past when Jamey shifted beside him. Jonathan swallowed, finding himself very aware of the weight of the body on the other side of the mattress. *Why am I so warm? Is it the brandy?* Yes, he remembered the burn as it traced its way to his belly, and the glow that had started in his belly. But this... this was different. This was lower, heat pooling in his crotch.

He flinched when he felt a hand on his arm, and Jamey whispered, "What's wrong? Can't sleep?"

Jonathan rolled his head on the pillow. He could just make out Jamey's face. So close. Have I ever been this close to anyone? He spoke before he realized he was going to say anything, and he knew his words made no sense. "I don't understand."

Jamey smiled at him softly. "I know, and it's all right." Jonathan closed his eyes in relief. He felt a hand card through his hair, almost like his mother used to do when he was restless, and it was soothing... comforting. Jamey's voice was husky. "I'll take care of you, Jonathan."