Okay, so, women’s underwear.
Assured, from only partially understood conversations and the occasional eavesdropping, that women’s underwear was somehow conducive to effective masturbation, Jimmy had taken it upon himself to obtain a pair of silky lilac knickers from the most recent ‘upstairs’ wash basket.
Post-wash, naturally. He couldn’t see the appeal in wanting them with…anything on them. And carefully selected for size so that Jimmy could be assured he held in his hand the underwear of Edith or Mary rather than the Countess. Although, if he wasn’t very much mistaken, there was something to be said for a young man appreciating an older (especially more powerful) woman. By the shape of them they were clearly designed to be loose and airy, cutting just below the buttocks and flaring out a little from the hip, so Jimmy couldn’t quite be sure to whom they belonged to.
But that wasn’t important, not really.
What was important was that he had gotten his hands on women’s knickers.
Now he just needed to work out what to do with them.
Standing in his bedroom, clad in his pyjama trousers as his candles burned low in the night, Jimmy hooked his fingers in the waistband of the knickers and pulled, stretching them out to their full extent.
Holding them up he traced over the delicate hems with his eyes, waiting for the sight to work some kind of magic in his crotch.
No such magic was forthcoming.
Frowning, he bundled them up in one hand and headed for his bed.
Lying down with his legs stretched out in front of him, Jimmy ran the fabric of the knickers through his fingers, wondering what he ought to do next.
He couldn’t help but notice the way the silk felt on the pads of his fingers, cool and smooth, and undeniably pleasant.
So that was it.
Happy to have cracked the mystery, Jimmy tugged at the cord on his pyjama trousers, loosening them enough to push them a little way down his thighs.
Putting his hand inside the knickers as though into a (very oversized) mitten, Jimmy wrapped the decadent fabric around his penis and stroked.
It felt good.
He hardened rapidly, caught between the eternal dilemma of whether slow and steady or sprint and crash would be preferable, rubbing the tantalising slippery smoothness over his skin.
As his movements became more firm and forceful, he found it increasingly hard to keep the knickers lodged between his hand and penis. All too often a hint of rough finger or palm would slip in unexpectedly, ruining the ecstasy.
Frustrated, he abandoned the endeavour momentarily in order to fathom a solution. How could he keep the silk where he wanted it?
Well, he wanted it against his crotch. And the item of clothing composed of the silk was designed to be worn over the crotch.
So really the solution was simple.
Jimmy kicked off his pyjama bottoms to the foot of the bed, drawing his knees in to his chest to enable him to get the knickers over his feet to pull them up.
The waistband was sufficiently elasticated to slide without too much effort over the curve of his buttocks, and the cut of the knickers sufficiently flared to fit him like a pair of loose shorts (very short shorts, but shorts nonetheless).
Smiling in triumph, he teased himself for a little while with light caresses of the belly and thighs before sliding his fingers over the fabric to rub against his erection.
The feeling was electric even with the complication of the garment restricting the freedom of his penis.
In fact, Jimmy found he quite liked the feeling of the fabric slipping over his skin, concealing what lay within but only very superficially impeding access to it.
He found himself sliding his fingers under the seams of the knickers to tease the flesh beneath.
As he gently rolled his balls between finger and thumb, feeling the hem of the underwear cutting into the side of his wrist as he did so, Jimmy closed his eyes in contentment, thinking on how women must feel being fondled in such a way.
Jimmy’s finger moved lower, below his balls, as he mused on the goal of men who slide their hands inside ladies underwear…
‘Sorry, I know it’s late, but I wondered if I could just…Oh my God!’
Jimmy’s eyes flew open.
Alfred’s horrified face greeted him from the doorway.
‘It’s not what it looks like!’ Jimmy asserted, jumping up off the bed, aware that whipping the knickers off in front of Alfred would most likely be deemed inappropriate, but also unkeen to stand there wearing them; his erection tenting at their front in a most obvious manner. ‘I’m not trying them on or nothing!’
Alfred was lost for words, standing gaping at him, transfixed as one might be by a train wreck; traumatised but unable to look away.
‘I was just…you know…having a bit of me time. And the silk felt really nice against my…you know…but then they kept falling out of my hands so I decided it would be best if I just…’
‘I don’t…’Alfred stuttered, finally able to close his eyes, fumbling blindly for the door knob. ‘I don’t want to know. I don’t need to…’ He didn’t finish the sentence. The second his fingers found the door knob he retreated back into the corridor, closing the door tight behind him.
It had been a pig of a day, Jimmy thought to himself as he climbed the stairs the following evening.
The funny looks from Alfred had been annoying enough, but it seemed that the entire Crawley family, along with Carson and Thomas, had taken it upon themselves to irritate and exhaust him as much as possible.
It was the sort of day that justified treating oneself to full, no frills, masturbation.
Jimmy undid his trousers, electing to remain in his livery for the task as a form of protest rather than changing into his pyjamas, pushing down the hem of his long-johns just enough to free his penis for some much needed attention.
Leaning back against the wall by his door, Jimmy stroked himself up and down as he cursed each and every member of the Crawley family, cursed Carson and especially cursed Thomas.
Jimmy had taken hours polishing at the silver set, only for Thomas to walk in at the last minute, criticise his technique, and order him to do the whole lot again.
Jimmy continued to pump his hand as he conceded that Thomas had been kind enough to stay and help, polishing over half of the items himself, truth be told; his hands moving with dexterity and purpose over the lengths and details of each item…caressing them to shine…handling them with delicate firmness…rubbing hard only when necessary…preferring to gently coax with nimble fingers…
‘Ah!’ Jimmy hunched forwards in agony, a burning sensation not unlike wetting oneself with boiling oil throbbing at his groin.
He whinnied, dropping to his backside, pulling his legs tight in against his chest as he waited for the worst of…whatever it was…to pass.
At length, his eyes watering in pain and shock, Jimmy slowly straightened out his legs.
There was blood. On his penis and his hand (and now on his trousers and shirt) there was blood.
It wasn’t much blood. But given the involvement of his penis Jimmy was inclined to panic.
Forcing himself to maintain something resembling calm, he looked down at it.
And quickly looked away.
Breathing heavily, hyperventilating to be fully honest, Jimmy bit his lip and wondered what on earth to do.
The thought popped into his mind.
Ask Alfred. He’s a level headed sort of chap. He’s a pain in the arse, but we are close. (And he’s already seen me in women’s knickers so…)
Rising to his feet with difficulty, Jimmy grabbed the hand towel from his washstand and bundled it up gingerly over his wounded penis, disinclined to attempt to get the buttons of his trousers done up.
He stepped out into the corridor, praying there would be nobody about.
‘You think you’ve done what?!’ Alfred said for the second time, looking at Jimmy in disbelief.
‘I think I broke my penis.’ Said Jimmy miserably. ‘Look…’ He moved the towel away.
‘No, no, no.’ Alfred exclaimed, twisting away from the sight, begging Jimmy to put it away with frantic motions of his hands.
‘Alright, alright!’ Said Jimmy quickly, pressing the towel back into place. ‘But what do I do about it?’
‘How the bloody hell should I know!?’ Said Alfred, taking a few more steps back as though Jimmy’s affliction were somehow catching.
‘I need help, Alfred.’
‘Then go and see the bloody doctor!’ Alfred retorted, almost at the point of climbing out the window to be free of the conversation.
‘Oh of course!’ Said Jimmy scathingly. ‘I’ll just go and knock on Mr Branson’s door and ask if he can drive me to Dr Clarkson’s and get Mr Carson to telephone ahead to wake him up shall I?’
‘Well…yes!’ Said Alfred desperately.
Jimmy gave a pained hiss as the roughness of the towel caught on a particularly raw bit of skin.
‘And how the hell do I explain this?’ Said Jimmy, grimacing against the hurt. ‘Sorry Mr Carson, I had a little accident while I was beating myself off…?’
‘Jimmy I don’t know what you expect me to say…’ Alfred began miserably. He halted and thought for a moment, his eyes suddenly lighting up. ‘Mr Barrow!’ He said, happy to have settled on a solution if only to get Jimmy and his bleeding penis the hell out of his room as quickly as possible.
‘Mr Barrow?’ Said Jimmy dumbly, staring at Alfred as though he had gone mad.
‘He knows medical things doesn’t he?’ Alfred asserted. ‘He was a medic after all.’
‘Are you honestly suggesting I go to Mr Barrow about a problem with my penis?’ Said Jimmy incredulously.
Alfred slapped his hands down against his sides, giving an exasperated toss of his head. ‘Well the way I see it, it’s either him or Carson.’
‘Oh Jesus.’ Jimmy muttered, closing his eyes for a moment, nodding lightly. ‘Thom…Mr Barrow it will have to be.’
‘Brilliant!’ Said Alfred brightly, eager to have Jimmy on his way.
‘Come on then. Let’s go wake him.’ Said Jimmy, heading for the door. ‘What?’ He said as Alfred hesitated over by the windowsill. ‘It’s not like I’m visiting Mr Barrow about this on my own.’
Thomas was asleep, or at least quite close to it, when they knocked. It took a few moments for his groggy face, topped with dishevelled hair, to appear in the doorway.
Jimmy could have sworn he saw a hint of fear in Thomas’s eyes at seeing him and Alfred standing at his door in the dark corridor, but it passed as soon as he glanced down curiously at the towel that Jimmy had bunched up at his crotch.
‘Can we come in?’ Said Alfred, given that Jimmy seemed to have temporarily lost the power to speak.
‘Okay.’ Said Thomas softly, switching on the light as he motioned them inside. ‘Is everything alright?’
Jimmy shook his head vigorously. ‘No Mr Barrow. You see, I’ve got a problem.’ His voice cracked miserably on the last word, drawing a very concerned look from Thomas.
‘What’s happened?’ Said Thomas, glancing to Alfred to silently implore him to give a speedy explanation.
‘I hurt my penis.’ Jimmy blurted out.
Thomas blinked, the concern falling from his face. ‘You did what?’
‘I hurt my…you know…’ Jimmy said, unable to say it a second time, instead trailing off in embarrassment.
Thomas’s eyes widened. ‘And this has what to do with Alfred?’ He said, sounding a little like he was trying not to laugh. He glanced over at Alfred, who pointedly met Thomas’s gaze before looking uncomfortably down at the floor. ‘Oh I see…’ Said Thomas, taking a deeper than usual inhale to clear his head before turning to the matter at hand.
‘So what happened?’ He said, as matter of factly as he could.
‘Well…’ Jimmy began. ‘…I was having a bit of ‘me’ time, and my hand…slipped. And now there’s blood and it really hurts.’ He concluded, his cheeks flaming pillar box red.
Thomas nodded, grimacing. ‘Well I think I know what you’ve done.’ He said, resetting his face into a reassuring smile that failed to reach his eyes. ‘And it’s not serious.’
‘Really?’ Said Jimmy hopefully.
‘Really.’ Thomas concurred, rubbing awkwardly at his chin. ‘But I’m afraid I’m going to need to…see it…to be sure.’ He said apologetically.
‘Right. Of course.’ Said Jimmy in a small voice.
Jimmy’s hesitated for a moment, shocked as Thomas moved to crouch down on his knees on the ground in front of him.
Alfred had already directed his gaze to the wall in preparation.
With a deep breath, Jimmy let his hand fall away.
‘Jesus Jimmy, what the hell were you thinking about?’ Said Thomas as he surveyed the damage.
‘Women.’ Jimmy immediately replied, biting his lip against the pain as he willed himself into any situation other than his present circumstances.
‘Naturally.’ Said Thomas dismissively. ‘Jimmy, can I…?’ He raised his hands to the height of Jimmy’s groin, looking questioningly (and again apologetically) up at him.
‘Just do whatever you have to do.’ Jimmy grunted, biting down on his tongue.
Thomas gently lifting Jimmy’s penis with his finger and thumb, manipulating the blood streaked foreskin for examination.
‘I was right.’ Said Thomas from the floor. ‘You’ve broken your frenulum.’
‘My what?’ Jimmy frowned.
‘It’s the bit of skin that connects the foreskin to the…’ Thomas saw Jimmy screw up his face in disgust. ‘…Never mind.’ Thomas said, climbing back to his feet. ‘Just keep it clean, and don’t be doing none of…’ Thomas cleared his throat loudly. ‘…what you were doing when it happened…for a while. And for Alfred’s sake…’ Thomas continued, looking over at the man rocking back and forth, pale as a sheet, at the other side of the room. ‘…never mention this again.’
After three nights of enforced personal celibacy, Jimmy was about ready to burst.
He had cheated, or at least attempted to cheat, on the second night and go at it very slowly. But there was such a sharp glow of pain the moment he attempted to roll his hand over the tip of his penis that he was forced to abandon the endeavour; fearful of causing more damage. And another trip to Thomas.
No, that wouldn’t do at all.
Jimmy pondered to himself, tossing about on his bed in frustration; glad that the solitary life of a footman meant he had no wife to speak of (i.e. to explain the situation to).
‘Sorry love, not tonight, I’ve broken my frena…frenu…thingy.’ Jimmy said to himself, giggling at the notion.
It’s alright for Thomas’s lot, he thought to himself, if one of them gets put out of action they could just switch. There’s always their…
He was suddenly struck with a crazy upon crazy idea.
‘Alfred!’ Jimmy whispered, tapping frantically at the door. ‘Alfred!’
‘Jimmy?’ Said Alfred warily as he opened the door, relaxing a little upon seeing that Jimmy was safely clad in his pyjama bottoms with no suspicious towel anywhere about his person.
‘Alfred I…I did something stupid.’ Said Jimmy, looking perilously close to tears.
‘What?’ Said Alfred slowly.
‘I lost my pen lid.’ Said Jimmy, speaking so quietly for fear of eavesdroppers as to render his words almost incomprehensible to Alfred.
‘You’ve come to my door at one in the bloody morning to whisper to me that you’ve lost your pen lid?’ Said Alfred, confused but lacking in the energy to give too straws about it.
‘The problem is where I’ve lost it.’ Said Jimmy miserably.
Alfred raked a hand through his hair, shaking his head to indicate he didn’t understand, looking dully at Jimmy to make it clear to him that he was expected to very speedily get to the point, or get out.
‘It’s…in…me.’ Said Jimmy, unable to meet Alfred’s eye.
‘You what?’ Said Alfred, having a horrible feeling he hadn’t misheard.
‘It’s in my arse.’ Jimmy responded at a barely perceptible whisper.
‘Well I was using the pen to…’
‘No. No, no, no, no, no.’ Alfred exclaimed, perilously loudly for the hour, covering his ears with his hands. ‘Jimmy, I don’t want to know.’
‘I need you to come with me to Mr Barrow’s, please?’ Said Jimmy, his voice cracking as tears of intense embarrassment started to make their way down his cheeks and chin.
‘You can go by your bloody self.’ Alfred said firmly, pacing about the room in an effort to drive highly unwanted images from his mind.
‘Please.’ Jimmy repeated softly.
‘You’ve done what?’ Said Thomas incredulously, staring in utter disbelief at Jimmy. ‘Why would you…?’
‘Can you just help me, please?’ Said Jimmy weakly, unable to look up from the floor.
Alfred stood beside him, unable to look down from the ceiling.
‘Well…’ Said Thomas, scratching his head. ‘…not to be funny or anything, but something that small should probably just resolve itself the way things…usually come out.’
‘It’s got stuck at a funny angle.’ Jimmy said, his voice hollow. ‘And it’s dug in tight.’
Thomas took a very deep breath.
‘Then my recommendation is that you visit Dr Clarkson at the clinic tomorrow morning.’ Said Thomas with an uncomfortable twist of his mouth.
‘But…No…’ Jimmy said. ‘…I can’t go to Clarkson about this!’
‘Well, you should.’ Said Thomas bluntly. ‘You get torn down there on the inside and you’re liable to pick up a very nasty infection.’
Jimmy’s tears renewed their efforts to dampen his face as he closed his eyes in despair at Thomas’s assessment.
‘Thomas, please?’ Said Jimmy softly.
‘It’s ‘Mr Barrow’.’ Said Thomas, shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other. ‘And what is it you expect me to do?’
‘Can you get it out, please?’ Said Jimmy, so quietly that Thomas would have had to ask him to repeat himself had he not already had a very strong suspicion of where the conversation was heading.
Thomas tilted his head back, pinching the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes in a silent prayer for God to deliver him from the present situation; wanting to simply refuse, but at the same time worried about the consequences if he did.
‘You do realise what that would involve, Jimmy?’ He heard himself saying.
‘Yes.’ Said Jimmy hesitantly.
‘And even if I do agree to…try…I still might not be able to.’
‘Will you please try?’ Jimmy implored meekly.
‘Well I’ll be leaving you two to it then.’ Alfred interjected, making hastily for the door.
Thomas sighed again. ‘Alfred, I’m going to need you.’ He called, halting him in his tracks.
Alfred turned back with a look of utter terror. ‘I’m not getting my fingers anywhere near…’
‘I’ll need you to hold him down.’ Thomas said sharply, cutting Alfred off mid-sentence.
‘Hold me down?’ Jimmy repeated, taking an involuntary step away from Thomas.
‘Hold me...?’ Jimmy went to repeat again.
‘It won’t be particularly pleasant Jimmy. But remember, there’s always Dr Clarkson if you’d prefer.’ He added, voicing it as a genuine option rather than as an undesirable alternative.
Hoping Jimmy would take it.
‘Alright.’ Said Jimmy, nodding his head. ‘Where do you need me?’
A short while later, the desk in his bedroom relocated to the middle of the floor, Thomas pulled up a chair to sit at Jimmy’s rear, while Alfred stood at Jimmy’s head; bent double over him to press Jimmy’s shoulders down still on the table, burying his nose in Jimmy’s back so as to avoid having to look at what Thomas was up to.
Jimmy cried in alarm as Thomas tugged down his pyjama bottoms.
‘Jimmy, for God’s sake, did you honestly think I could do this with your clothes still on?’
‘It’s just…’ Said Jimmy, his nervousness painfully apparent to Thomas in the twitching of the muscles at his thighs and rear. ‘…tell me before you do things, yeah? Give me a bit of warning.’
‘Right. Of course.’ Thomas said gingerly. ‘Sorry.’
‘That’s okay.’ Said Jimmy, his voice muffled under Alfred’s torso. ‘Just…tell me.’
‘So…’ Thomas began slowly. ‘First I’m just going to have a little look.’ He said, not liking how those words sounded at all. Tugging gently to part Jimmy’s cheeks, Thomas reasoned that he probably hadn’t needed to tell Jimmy that; but he felt he should all the same.
Thomas didn’t think he’d ever seen so tightly drawn a hole before; despite having a reasonably sizeable sample set to work from.
‘Oh God.’ He mumbled to himself without thinking.
‘What? What is it?’ Jimmy called back in concern.
‘It’s just…’ Thomas said reluctantly. ‘…this is going to be quite difficult.’
‘Oh God.’ Jimmy echoed.
Alfred made a muffled noise that was somewhere between a groan and a wail.
‘Right. Now I’m going to see…’ Thomas swallowed, already feeling the need to wipe his brow as he recalled Clarkson frequently doing so during intricate surgical procedures. ‘…if I can feel it…with a finger.’
‘Okay.’ Jimmy eventually said.
Dipping his finger in a pot of oil (grateful that neither Jimmy nor Alfred had elected to question why he kept such a thing to hand) Thomas tentatively brought his hand up to rest the tip of his finger at Jimmy’s entrance.
Jimmy tensed instantly.
‘Jimmy?’ Said Thomas, finger poised and ready, waiting for a response before continuing. ‘Think about Carson riding a pink elephant.’
‘What...Oh!’ Exclaimed Jimmy as Thomas’s finger took advantage of his brief moment of distraction to slip in past the tight ring of muscle. ‘Bastard!’ He said without venom.
‘I know.’ Said Thomas, briefly smiling to himself before returning to the more serious matter of locating the lost pen lid.
Just as his finger slid past the two-thirds mark, Thomas felt the edge of it; as far as he could tell partially embedded in the wall as Jimmy had predicted.
But that was good.
It meant he could reach it.
‘I found it Jimmy.’ Said Thomas, realising he had been quiet for a while.
‘Great.’ Said Jimmy enthusiastically. Although Thomas could feel his nerves and discomfort from within as powerful muscles repeatedly clenched and unclenched around his finger.
‘So…’ Thomas said, feeling awkward about keeping his finger inside Jimmy while he spoke. ‘…I think I can get it out. But I’m…’ He swallowed nervously. ‘…going to need two fingers.’
‘Christ.’ Whimpered Alfred.
Thomas wondered if perhaps he should have wadded up something to shove in Alfred’s ears.
‘Okay.’ Said Jimmy weakly.
Thomas nodded to himself, grimacing as he thought over how best to proceed.
He knew, of course, that it was well within his abilities to make the experience…less unpleasant…than it needed to be. But he was also intensely trepidatious about it seeming as though he were doing anything above and beyond what was specifically necessary to complete the task.
With a very deep breath, he began to move his finger, easing the way for him to add another, hoping to find an acceptable middle ground between the two extremes; hoping that Jimmy would forgive him for declining to describe in detail what he was doing.
Some very tense, and uncomfortable (for all concerned), minutes later, Thomas eased the offending article out with an intense sigh of relief.
‘Do you…um…want it back?’ He said, the pen lid clutched between his fingers.
‘Definitely not.’ Jimmy mumbled.
Thomas threw it over into the bin.
‘You can let him up now.’ Said Thomas to Alfred. ‘And leave, if you want to.’
Alfred didn’t need telling twice.
Before Jimmy had even succeeded in pulling himself fully upright, Alfred had crossed the room and fled.
‘Thank you, Mr Barrow.’ Said Jimmy sheepishly, pulling up his pyjamas.
Thomas nodded in acknowledgement.
‘Jimmy…’ He said slowly. ‘…you can talk to me, you know. If there’s something wrong.’
‘Nothing’s wrong.’ Said Jimmy quickly.
‘I’m not saying there is.’ Thomas said. ‘But it’s just…you keep hurting yourself and…I’m worried about you.’
Jimmy sighed and looked down at the floor.
‘I just want you to know that if there’s anything I can do to keep you from…you know…mistakes, you can talk to me.’ Said Thomas.
At a similar time in the morning, approximately three weeks later, Alfred was again roused from his sleep by a tapping at his bedroom door.
‘Hello Alfred.’ Thomas whispered as he answered. ‘Sorry to wake you, but I wondered if you might have some scissors I could borrow?’
‘Scissors?’ Said Alfred sleepily.
‘I think so…’ Alfred said with a frown. ‘I think they’re in my nightstand.’
‘Brilliant.’ Said Thomas, looking intensely relieved. ‘Could you please have a look? If you could bring them to my bedroom door that would be grand.’
Alfred nodded, not entirely sure he was fully awake.
Shortly after, scissors in hand, Alfred crept across the corridor towards Thomas’s room.
‘Mr Barrow?’ He said softly, giving a light knock on the door before pushing it open.
‘Just leave them outside the door, there’s no need to come…’ Thomas began to franticly call.
Alfred was greeted by the sight of very disgruntled Jimmy, naked, hands secured above his head to the railing at the top of the bed by what looked like a tie; a tie which had evidently been pulled so tight as to render it impossible to undo the knot.
Thomas, half-way across the floor, evidently in an effort to prevent the door from being opened, gave Alfred a very apologetic look.
‘Oh bloody hell…!’ Alfred exclaimed, dropping the scissors on the nearest available flat surface before darting back out into the corridor as though the devil himself were after him.