A new book of erotic measures arising from grown up ideas

The Discrepancy within a Valet's Touch

I was helping him put on his dinner jacket. "Are you sure you don't wanna come with us, Deetz?" Angus Reese asked.

Standing behind him, just to his right, my hands lightly dropping the dinner jacket over his broad shoulders, just like my father, the valet to Angus's dad, had showed me; one of the few things I tolerated my father teaching me about his vaulted profession – how to dress a man; undressing was something I already had down pat. "No, those society functions are not my cup of tea," I said while brushing imaginary lint off his arms and back – an excuse to touch him just a little longer. "Those were always your friends." I put the brush down, looking for some other way to maintain the ruse that I was helping him dress, like what was going here was a throwback, a reflection of our old times playing at valet and Earl – as preparation for some future posting – like when Alfred prepared Batman to play Bruce Wayne. Only Angus was only four years my senior and I was much more interested in him as a lover than my employer.

"Still, you would know some of the people there," Angus said. True – we grew up together on Morganwg just outside of Cardiff, the ancestral estate of the Glamorgan clan. The males of my family were servants of some close capacity to the Earls of that land since the Boxer Rebellion, when Tison Reese and Jakob Mac Innes secured trade with China to fill the family's coffers and Hong Kong to add another jewel to the Crown. Because we were close in age, Angus and I were allowed to play until early adolescence when it was time for us to be groomed for our respective roles. He went to Eton and I would have trained at one of the top butler schools then him at college had this not been the 21st Century and the dedication to service hadn't degenerated into an overly romanticized component of a BBC television series.

"Your hair tie is off-center," I said to change the subject. "If you're going to have long hair, at least tie it properly," I teased. It was just another excuse to touch him. He had taken to wearing it long and binding it like someone out of a Jane Austen novel – said it made him look dashing and dangerous, all at the same time. I dislodged the shiny black ribbon, and his thick auburn strains fell effortlessly just past his shoulders. I gathered a batch of it in my hand, for just a moment, combing it through my fingertips to release the echo of sandalwood conditioner lingering therein. I had to brace myself, maintain the needed self-control to keep from rubbing the soft, silkiness against my cheek.

"You have a point," he said, startling me out of my moment of fancy, "the ladies do like it when it's tied up and when I take it down." He smiled at his reflection. He had every reason to be slightly vain for he had grown from a cherub-face, cute kid into a hard-bodied, handsome statue – from an awkward teen living in his daddy's shadow to a well-known playboy, minted in his own right. He was, in every way, the leading man, with 5:30 pm shadow that looked like it came straight out of a casting call for Miami Vice. One would have to see behind the lush lashes that draped casually over his eyes to glimpse the sweet, kind human underneath. My clairsentience abilities told me that despite the long list of models, movie stars, heiresses, and titled whores decorating his arm in the tabloid photos, there was a longing for someone to bring out the emerald hue of his eyes. "Still, I'd have more fun if you were there," he said, pleading again.

"I'm sorry mate," I replied, quickly retying his ponytail then turning him around to straighten his bow tie. "This skinny body of mine looks silly in one of your monkey suits." I became frustrated and wondered (hoped?) he'd screwed this stuff up on purpose just to tease me. We hadn't seen each other in many years however my reputation for rather leisurely, unspeakable sexual exploits had to have reached him. The world of the ridiculously rich and its hangers on was a small one and I had run into many of his Eton buddies while I lived in Thailand studying Mu Tay and they tasted the Lady Bois I'd just tossed off. "Anyway, I've got a new biography of the Baal Shem Tov I want to finish tonight."

"Argh! More philosophy?"

"16th century Jewish mysticism actually." I smiled at him noticing that he was smiling back and not mocking me; Angus was one of the few people who knew and respected my desire to join the rabbinate. For just a moment, his eyes sparkled with encouragement and his lips, parted ever so slightly, made me wonder how his moustache would feel against my shaven face.

"By the way, mate," he added, "you're not scrawny. You've got that Bruce Lee thing going. You know, lean and tight all around."

If only he knew. I looked down to hide my blush – somehow around him I was just that young boy again, hanging on to a torch that got heavier with each passing season. "Right. You'd better get off or Linus will be asleep at the wheel."

"Yeah," he said, grabbing his trench coat. I started walking toward the door before he did but his hand on my shoulder stopped me. Angus asked, "Are you sure you don't want to come. I feel sorta bad just leaving you here. I mean, we haven't seen one another is a while. We should hang out together."

I shook my head. "You haven't been home in a while. I'll be here for another week. We'll have plenty of time to catch up." I didn't give him a chance to say anything more as I exited the room hastily. I quickly made my way through a set of hidden back steps often used by servants to exit quietly from the master suits. It was rumored that many of the Glamorgan earls and their valets were lovers. Considering the lusty thoughts in my mind, such an escape route seemed appropriate. When I got to my old room near the attic, I was ready to bust a nut and was dying for some sort of release.

I dropped my pants and left them atop of my shoes and got into the bed. I grabbed at the lube on the nightstand at my left and squirted a glob on my hand, I imagined its warm creaminess was his fingers. Which fantasy was I going to use this time? Sometimes Angus would be fucking me, sometimes it was he fucking one of the mindless belles that kept throwing themselves at him. "I didn't want his money but forever would be nice," I thought aloud as I ran my right hand slowly up and down my cock. This was the third time since I'd been back that I found myself doing this and each time it less and less fulfilling. My dick was hard but frankly unconvinced. I thought of giving up when there was a knock and my door opened with Angus's head peeped around.

"Oi! Sorry Mate!" He said as his eyes lingered just a moment longer than proper. "I thought you were reading."

Embarrassed, I quickly got under the covers and tried wiping the goop on the sheet. Faking a nonchalant stance, I responded, "No problem. Was Linus already asleep down for the count?" I sat up as if I was a child who'd just been tucked in and was waiting for his bedtime story. "No need to hide. I'm decent now."

He came around the door and slowly entered the room, I noted an odd pallor on Angus's face. He definitely knew what I was doing and had to realize that it came quite close to our previous conversation; he was no fool. So, did that red on his cheek mean he was just embarrassed or did he like what he saw?