Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> From: <mrspraycan.an@edtec.com> Subject: "Good Lord, Jeeves, It's Her!" by MrSpraycan Disclaimer: Adults only, whatever that means wherever you are lucky enough to be reading this. If you don't like vulgarity, this isn't for you. My suspicion is that PG Wodehouse would laugh, but neither you nor I know, so let it be. Fans will recall that these characters lived in a seeming timewarp and never aged, and that situation prevails here. This item is of fictional nature. All persons and places in it are imaginary and no resemblance to real or historic characters is intended. No illicit behavior is endorsed or condoned. Art and/or Entertainment is the idea. *Copyright* is claimed, 1997 by Baton Rouge ThoughtScapes, and for the author, Mr.Spraycan, who chooses to be 'anon'. For entertainment purposes only. No commercial use is warranted without permission. Do not repost. Store only with this notice intact. This is MrSpraycan Story No. 43. ** FEEDBACK is a darned fine thing, chaps. Don't be shy, now. ** TALES FROM LITERARY LONDON, Pt.1 Or, "Good Lord, Jeeves, It's Her!" by Mr.Spraycan Bertie Wooster is spending a quiet afternoon at his central London club, The Drones. A haven for aristocratic youth and old gentlemen in a world turned inexpressibly vulgar. Bertie is reading The Times, a much-worsened newspaper, tutting over various tales of foolishness described within its pages. "A visitor, sir, asking for you by name. They asked me to come and check with you first," says Jeeves, his butler. Jeeves often visits The Drones to play whist and other daring games with friends below stairs, and to see Bertie home safely if he partakes of a little too much liquid cheer. "I'm not expecting anyone. See who it is, Jeeves. Be a good fellow." A few minutes pass. Jeeves returns. "Sir? It's a large gentleman who says," he consults a small slip of paper, and resumes: "that he's 'the baddest-ass niggah in the 'hood and he has come to cut you white pussy head off.' Yes, that's about right. Ah, should I ask if there is a translator available, sir?" "No, I think I get the drift of his message. Hostile is he, eh? Well I believe I know this gentlemen. We met at the Club Zambesi last night. And, is he alone, Jeeves?" "Well, no sir, there is a . . . ah, young lady with him. She says . . . well, it's a little delicate, sir . . ." "What?" "Well, sir, if I may be quite direct, she is rather underdressed for the time of day. She says she is a 'cock-hungry fuckslut' and that she wants you to 'do like you was told, and prong her ass properly right on the stage.' " "Oh? My word!" "Might i inquire sir, what manner of establishment this, Club Zambesi might be? It's not like the Drones club? Not at all, might I surmise?" "Well, ah no not really. No, not a bit, in fact," Wooster gabbles. "Well sir, might I suggest some advice? Whenever a situation like this arises, discretion is often considered the better part of valor, sir. We might expeditiously make an exit down the rear stairs, and leave the building via the servants' exit by the kitchen . . ." "Run for it, Jeeves?" Wooster is quite outraged. "Blast it man, what has come over you? A Wooster, run? Why great-uncle Cuthbert was with Kitchener at Omdurman, and my grandfather, Wilberforce Wooster, personally disarmed the Bhindi of Rajahpoor at the mutiny in Lucknow . . . why even my aunt Gladys, on the New York subway . . ." "Sir, the gentleman in question has one of those large rifles from the former Soviet Union, quite popular with the homicidally inclined. I believe they are called AK-47s?" "He can't bring that in here!" "The hall porter made the same point, although there was some heated discussion about it not fitting in the umbrella stand . . ." There's the sound of several shots, in rapid fire. Wooster looks up sharply. "Well, perhaps we had better think about, um, yes I see your point . . ." A half-hour later, they're in Wooster's pied-a-terre, waiting for the tea to infuse properly. Safe and sound after a rush across Bloomsbury in a taxi. "Now, sir, perhaps you would care to explain a little more of how you came to meet up with two such disreputable people. And why they would be so annoyed with you as to wish to disturb the piece of the Drones Club. I mean, it is rather rare that we have such scenes. I do hope the membership committee is not informed . . ." Jeeves says primly. "Oh rather, Jeeves. Me, too. Think of the stink when Catsmeat Potter-Pirbright 'came out of the closet' last year . . . dear me!" "It was when he got 'married' to that Turkish wrestler chap, Abudi, that the real trouble began, sir . . . his other peculiar habits, the women's clothes, etc., well we might just put that down to Harrow, too much rugger at Cambridge and his family's known eccentricities," Jeeves consoles. "His mother, you mean? I would prefer it if we didn't discuss Lady Pirbright and her notorious cucumber video here. The yellow press have had far too much to say on that subject, in my view. Poor woman needed a hobby after the old codger kicked the bucket . . ." "Yes, sir, indeed. but I should like to hear more about the Zambesi Club." "Uh, that's, Club Zambesi . . ." "Quite. . . So, where is it, sir? not in Mayfair, one presumes . . ." "No, it's in Brixton . . ." "Oh." From Jeeves, this is a single word worth a few volumes of Gibbon, the whole of Emile Zola, and the bulk of that Proust fellow. "Yes, Brixton." "If i might be so forward, sir, that's not quite the kind of environment where one might normally expect to find a member of the, well, better classes, is it sir?" "Unless one is collecting gambling debts or seeking fallen women to rescue, perhaps not, Jeeves. Ha ha. I know. I was slumming." "Ah. So, were you . . . taken to the aforementioned club? Or did you find it yourself?" "Oh, I had a postcard thrust into my hand by some grubby cockney wretch outside Brown's Hotel on Dover Street. One adorned with a photograph of the young lady in question . . ." "If I understood correctly, her name is Kamikaze Slitt, is that correct?" "I believe so, when she works as a 'performance artiste.' Though I was later given to understand that her real name is Dora Winterbotham, or something like it . . ." "Oh, hmmm. And what was the nature of the message conveyed by this, postcard, you were given?" "Well, I'm ashamed to say this Jeeves, but it was somewhat unequivocal. The young lady -- she is quite attractive, don't you agree? -- was pictured in rather fewer items of clothing than one would anticipate at this time of year . . ." "Fewer than Lady Stephanie Blodgett on her last visit here sir, when I brought you tea at an inopportune moment one afternoon?" Jeeves asks with a twinkle. "Jeeves, I wish you would stop raising that subject. But yes, considerably fewer than the delightful Stephanie, god bless her . . ." "Yes, sir, indeed . . ." ". . . In fact, none at all, and a message about 'Non-Stop SlittMania Tonite' at the Club Zambesi . . ." "You took a taxi, I presume?" "Lord yes, I don't even know where Brixton is, other than south of the Thames, Jeeves. I believe one may pass it on the way to places like Lewisham or Sevenoaks, should one look out of the window of the train." "I'm sure." "And, well, when I got there, I found it was a very small, crowded basement. Somewhat aromatic with strange herbal medicines, and music so loud that it would stop a clock. A rather grim place, frankly. And the clientele left a little to be desired in terms of salubriousness and personal hygiene, Jeeves." "What they call the underclass, I believe, sir." "Yes, I believe so. Many people of rather unclear parentage, and from various Commonwealth nations as place of origin. And many of today's youth, in their strange drab clothing. With ponytails, or with those 'lice doctor visit' shaved heads . . ." "I am familiar with the types, sir. We employ some as gardeners, you will recall. And was Miss Slitt there?" "Not immediately. There were other, uh, performers . . . tea, Jeeves? Nice pot of Earl Grey." "Young ladies, sir?" "Yes, or ladies who certainly acted as though they were young, and um, affectionate in nature . . ." "Were they as well dressed as Miss Slitt?" "Similarly attired by the time they had danced and made themselves comfortable. I think it's a fact of nature that strenuous dancing does tend to raise the temperature -- think of how hot one gets at the Chelmsford hunt ball after a brisk foxtrot! -- but they ingeniously dealt with this problem of unbalanced thermal equilibrium by removing their clothes . . ." "Clever things," Jeeves agrees, sipping his tea. "Certainly. very shrewd." "Engineers, almost." "Anyway," Wooster resumes, "I managed to get served a glass of perfectly horrible beer -- would you believe that there was no port of any vintage, anywhere to be found? -- and waited for Miss Slitt to appear. I ask about her, and the bartender is happy to tell me a few things, rather personal in nature. He even conveys to me that her name is not really Kamikaze Slitt, but is Dora Winterbotham, as I had indicated to you earlier." "You had developed one of your little fascinations for her, I can detect, sir." "Well, to a certain extent," Berties agrees. "Yes, a nice young lass, she seemed." "Was it based upon her, um, mammary attainments?" "No, Jeeves. Let us not vulgarize things, if you don't mind. No, it was a certain look of intelligence and vivacity in her eyes. Oh, I'll concede that her center of gravity is higher than most, and her bosom is rather imposing, but no, it was nothing so low or carnal that motivated me." "I'm relieved to hear it, sir." "I merely hoped to engage her in conversation," Wooster adds, sensing disbelief. "Yes, sir." "Anyway, after a half hour or so, just when I am beginning to think I will be coerced into buying another glass of this horrible Sheep Dip beer, the music changes, and Miss Slitt appears, with a gentleman introduced as John Wayne." "The American film actor? I believe he is deceased, sir." "To the best of my recollection, the aforesaid J. Wayne was a large gentleman of what they call caucasian origin in the former colonies. No, this J. Wayne, ibid., is a colored gentleman of considerable proportions in all directions... wearing, on this occasion, a pair of size seventeen army boots and literally nothing else. No cowboy hat." "Oh, considerable proportions, sir?" "Yes, Jeeves. He is the size of a mahogany wardrobe, and the same color. His 'thingamajig' was, if I may say so without fear of being accused of exaggeration, perhaps the size of my own right forearm . . ." "Gosh!" "Quite." "Ahem, that's, very large," Jeeves murmurs, turning pink. "Well, yes, phew! I'd say so," Wooster says. "Spot more tea?" A pause. "And it was, if I may confide something indelicate in you, in the saluting position!" Wooster says. "As one would no doubt anticipate when confronted with a young lady of Miss Slitt's attributes, even in a public arena." "Yes, quite. I must say my own, procreative device, was exhibiting similarly vertical tendencies, I must confess." "Sir!" Another long pause. "And then what happened, sir?" Jeeves probes. "Well, the two began to, uh, dance, rather closely . . ." "Dance?" "Wriggle, more like it." "Was she wearing anything?" "Nothing of note, beyond jewellery." "Is it possible sir, that they were, uh . . ." Jeeves makes a certain gesture. "M-m-mating, Jeeves?" "Thank you sir, I couldn't say it . . ." "Well, hmmm, yes, I suppose they could have been, now you say it. Well, I'll be damned! Why didn't I think of that?" "Understandable sir. Remember, you are, after all is said and done, a public school-educated gentleman." "Ah, Jeeves, you are mocking me!" "Not at all, sir." "We do know all about the birds and bees, Jeeves." "Especially the birds, sir." "I shall choose to ignore that. Anyway, these two are 'dancing' and the crowd is clapping and cheering, saying things that, well, I frankly found myself unable to decipher at the time. Rather like the people one sees at football matches, or at the races. Very excited, indeed, and highly involved. The music was so loud I could not think, some sort of bombastic ranting over the usual jungle rhythms, with all manner of strange special effects . . ." "I thought you were fond of Mr Ellington and Mr Basie's music, sir?" "Oh, it wasn't the least bit like those fine fellows, Jeeves! Something far more primeval, undisciplined, frenzied . . . called 'Wrap.' " "Oh. I can only imagine . . ." "And, yes, Miss Slitt is showing signs of, what can I call it, other than religious rapture? Oh, I'm so happy for her. She's shouting out at the top of her voice "Oh, God!! He is coming!" just like one of those women from the revivalist sects. The ones Parson Brown thinks so little of . . ." "Ah yes, sir. And Mr. Wayne?" "He seems similarly possessed, but more concerned about some female tribal deity who is also apparently about to manifest herself: 'She is going to come!' And now, I see there's a fellow with them on the stage. By the way it's much tinier even than the one at Chipping Barstow village hall . . ." "The one you fell off last Christmas at the carol service, sir?" "Yes, don't remind me . . . This fellow has a microphone, and he's taunting the audience, mocking them about 'hey, can you do better?' " "Ah." "I see him pointing at individuals who laugh and reject his comments. And then he's pointing at me! 'Hey you big honkie schoolboy, can you do better?' " "Well, one hates to be publicly jeered -- I mean, I'm wearing the old school tie, and who knows who else is there? -- so I pound my chest and shout out, at the top of my lungs, "I'm D___d sure I can, my fine fellow!!" "And with that, three or four of these scruffy men around me have grabbed me, without a word of explanation, and begun to pull my clothes off . . ." "Oh, my word, sir!" "My reaction entirely. I'm shouting 'unhand me you blackguards!', 'Leave me be!', 'How dare you?' But all to no avail. . ." "Outnumbered, even the boldest hussar must fall to the skirmishing gang of shabby guerillas, yes," Jeeves says sagely. "Exactly. And soon I'm standing there in just my shoes and socks, and being lifted bodily on to the stage . . ." "How embarrassing, sir!" "Quite, I don't recall anything quite like it since I was debagged by the fourth form bullies at St.Wilfred's..." "A traumatic experience, I'm sure. . ." "Indeed, as was this. But throughout, because of my deep regard for Miss Slitt, I must confess, I have retained a shamefully stiff thingie, Jeeves . . ." "Yes, sir? Without any manual assistance? Remarkable!" "Well, I did give it a tiny little bit of help, Jeeves. . ." he blushes. "Yes, I can understand that." "And, the two 'dancers' are looking at me, laughing . . ." "Well, merriment is where you find it sir, but I personally don't see the humor in a gentleman standing on stage with his divining rod pointed rudely at the ceiling. Quite the opposite . . ." Wooster nods. "I concur heartily. 'Little Bobby' was by no means the smallest love trumpet in the guards regiment, but to them he seems rather silly, next to Mr.Wayne's Brobdingnagian appurtenance. So laugh they do, and I hear Miss Slitt say, 'don't just stand there you big wanky fool, stick it in, shove it up . .' ." "Stick it in? Oh sir, I believe I see what she meant . . ." "I thought so too, but with the two dancing in such close proximity, there was little opportunity to undertake the mating manoevre I believed she was referring to . . ." "Sir? You didn't . . ." "So I walked around them, judged my moment carefully and, acting I believe with immense precision and elan, I thrust my English lance home in the way that we were taught at St.Wilfred's. Hurrah for England and St.George!!" "Oh sir, I think . . ." "And then, pandemonium breaks out. A riot, Jeeves. An absolute riot. Mr Wayne is bellowing something about 'I'll kill him' and Miss Slitt is having what appears to be an apoplectic fit . . ." "Sir, may I interrupt?" Jeeves asks anxiously. "Yes, Jeeves, if you must." "Am I to deduce sir, that you performed the manoevre known as the 'bum thrust' in lieu of, ahem, invaginating your erect penile member in the young lady?" "Well, of course Jeeves. but don't look so disapproving, man! Oh, I wouldn't be so coarse and barbaric as to do the 'bum thrust' on a young woman to whom I had not even been formally introduced. Shame on you! No! What do you take me for! A Turk! Heavens above!" "Oh, sir. . ." "No, Jeeves! Good lord, no! I'd have been drummed out of the regiment! No! I did the 'bum thrust' on the person of Mr.Wayne, of course. Ha ha. They do teach us some useful things in public school, whatever you might think, Jeeves!" Wooster is triumphant, convinced of his genius. "Oh, lord." A long pause. Jeeves stirs his tea, sips. Thinks. "Is something wrong, Jeeves?" "I believe so sir, if you will permit me to make some observations? And I believe that you might perceive what is amiss yourself if you give it a moment's thought. Something must have aroused the rage and ire of this terpsichorean duo, am I right? For I believe now that Mr.Wayne must have been the other visitor to the Drones earlier, wouldn't you agree?" "It seems highly probable, now you mention it, yes." "Well, if I might inquire discretely, sir, what happened next?" "Ah, well, excuse me Jeeves, but it's a little delicate. I .... well, that is to say, well, uh . . ." "Did something physiological happen to, um, unstiffen your noble sword? May I put it discretely like that?" Jeeves asks, turning pink again. "Yes, Jeeves. Very diplomatic of you. There I was, astride this fellow like a Cretan dancer on the back of the Minotaur . . . Let's just say, a rapid conclusion was reached, and I decided that it would be best if I did what I needed to do to disengage myself and, make a dignified exit . . . since there was such controversy." "Was Mr. Wayne in a state of rage?" "A total frenzy, but several other patrons interposed themselves and suggested I run. 'Run like fuck,' whatever that might mean." "And?" "So I did, unfortunately, leaving behind my raincoat, which must have contained some identifying materials which allowed them to follow me to the Drones today. . ." "Oh, sir . . ." "Yes, it was a Burberry. An old one though." Jeeves is slumped in his chair. "Jeeves, you seem disappointed," Wooster observes, trying to cheer him up. "Rather, sir." "Meaning what? That you'd rather I stayed home with you, and we practiced our 'handicrafts' together? I though you wanted me to get out occasionally, too?" "Yes, sir, I do. Well, first I'm a bit upset that you got into such a situation in the first place. And then that you botched an opportunity to demonstrate the valor, nobility and courage of his convictions than make an English gentleman, and instead conveyed to this audience of churls and lowbrows that men of quality in England nowadays are nothing but a bunch of bumthrusters . . ." "Jeeves! I say! Please!!" ". . . Hear me out, sir! When they might otherwise, with a little thought, be seen as versatile and heroic warriors of the boudoir, happy to anally gratify a pretty young woman in her direst need, and to share her joy with another chap, even one from a totally different cultural background . . ." "Dash it! You're saying I- I-I let the side down? Is that it, Jeeves?" "I'm afraid so, sir." "Then what on earth can be done. Oh, how awful! And they'll probably hang around outside the Drones, telling all and sundry who'll listen about my disgraceful performance. Oh my word!" "My deepest fears, exactly, sir." Wooster leaps to his feet. "Then it's clear, Jeeves!" "What is?" "What we must do!" "Ah, 'We', sir?" "I, then, Jeeves, I . . . oh what a clot I am! I'll go immediately to the Drones and see if they are there, and render my full apologies to Mr.Wayne for so rudely surprising him. Perhaps I should even offer him the opportunity to reciprocate on me . . ." "Steady on now sir, remember his dimensions!" "Oh that's a good point, Jeeves," Wooster agrees with a shiver. "Well at least I can offer to make amends to them, at the Club Zambesi tonight. And sternly unveil the standard bearer of the proud shire family of Woosters and thrust it vigorously into young Miss Slitt's, ah, orifice of choice. I can do no less and be considered honorable!" "Yes, sir . . ." "And will you accompany me, Jeeves?" "Sir?" "To guard against any other cultural faux pas?" "Well, if you insist, sir." Wooster is putting on his jacket. He pats his pockets, reaches in. "Look, in my pocket. What's this? Ah, see? I've found her postcard. Look, Kamikaze Slitt. Here, take a look, Jeeves, see if it doesn't fill you with enthusiasm yourself!" "Oh, my lord." "Now what is it, Jeeves?" "I felt that I was familiar with the name Dora Winterbotham, but hoped it was a coincidence . . . such names are so common in the Midlands, you know . . ." "But what is it, then? Are you saying you know her?" "Indeed I do, sir," with a shake of the head. "Indeed I do. At least I know of a Dora Winterbotham, who is a maidservant to another lady of quality that we both know . . . But our Miss Winterbotham is a much older woman, and this, sir, is most certainly not her." "So, someone is using her name?! An imposter! Outrageous! Oh, stop being so mysterious, Jeeves. Who is she, then?" "Well, can you envisage her without the blonde hair?" "Um, you're saying it's not genuine?" "Well, sir, do you have any evidence to support that it is?" "No, Jeeves, the young lady in question had, ahem, shaved or otherwise rendered herself smooth in the 'genuine hair color' regions of her anatomy . . ." "Well, imagine, just for a moment that she had shorter, black hair, in a rather page boy cut . . .and a lot less make-up . . ." A long, stunned silence. "Oh my god!!! Jeeves!!! It's Stephanie! I must have been blind! I thought there was something familiar about her . . ." "Yes, I believe it is indeed your erstwhile, and somewhat boisterous fiancee, Lady Stephanie Blodgett, Mr. Wooster." "Oh, what on earth has got into her?" Wooster splutters. "Quite a lot, I'd say sir, quite a lot . . ." "And quite a lot more tonight, Jeeves! Call for a cab. Dash it! Tallyho! Lancers forward! I'll give randy young Stephie a pronging she'll remember, while the filthy Brixtonians stand around and sing 'Land of Hope And Glory. . .' You'll see! By jove, I'll give her 'wanky fool.' We'll get to the bottom of this, you see if we don't! Why, dammit, I've got a mind to . . . ." /to be continued, soon/ Note: To get a recent catalog/manifesto, list of stories . . . whatever, send an e-mail to <catalog.mrspraycan.an@edtec.com>. No further text is necessary. If you want to talk to the author, in a virtual sense of the word, send e-mail to <mrspraycan.an@edtec.com>. You'll probably get a reply. [ Via EDTec Anon Remail Service: <infos.an@edtec.com> ] -- Story Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> Newsgroup FAQ: <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/faq.html> Archive site: <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/> (Not pretty yet)