A Curious Beginning

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When Stoker and I returned to the snug in the Belvedere, I poured us each a stiff measure of whiskey, but when I attempted to introduce the subject of the latest developments in our adventure, he held up a repressive hand.

“No.”

“No?”

“Not tonight. As you noted earlier, we have been the victims of a thwarted abduction, swum halfway across the Thames, received cryptic revelations from Mornaday, and I cannot speak for you, but my head throbs. I am going to drink this and then go to bed, where I intend to sleep at least twelve hours. We have all of tomorrow to bat theories around like so many shuttlecocks. Until then, I am my own man.”

With that pronouncement, he took his glass and stalked off to the sofa, where he arranged himself with some difficulty, his long legs half-hanging over the arm.

“All right,” I agreed amiably. “We shall not speak of the murder or any of its attendant questions.”

We were silent awhile, companionably so. Stoker read a journal of zoology while I occupied myself with my own mammalian studies. I had become aware of an annoyingly insistent biological demand, which I had initially attributed to the excitement of our recent adventures. The urge for physical congress is closely linked to that of survival, I reasoned, and we had been fleeing from danger.

It had also been, I thought sadly, far too long since my last erotic indulgence. I began to count backward on my fingers to my last journey, but the task soon proved depressing. To say that I longed for a little male companionship would be an understatement so extreme as to be criminal. I fairly vibrated with need, and I knew from experience that my body’s demands would only grow more urgent unless they were slaked. And while Stoker might be a little lacking in finesse, I had little doubt he could employ his admirably nimble hands and well-proportioned frame to great effect. He also had the advantage of proximity, I reflected.

Too great a proximity. He was a fellow countryman, and therefore entirely out of bounds to me, I reminded myself with mingled disappointment and relief. I would have appreciated the satisfaction of a carnal paroxysm—in my experience, they bring a sparkle to the eye as well as brightness to the complexion and a spring to the step—but using Stoker to achieve that end was a means I could not begin to contemplate. Tumbling in the sheets with a man was one thing; facing him the next morning over the toast rack was another matter entirely.

Still, I found myself curious about how he managed his own physiological needs. He had shown himself immensely responsive—even against his will—to Salome’s efforts. And during our brief embrace in the shadows, he had given every indication of an extremely passionate nature held firmly in check. I pondered the question for some time before my curiosity got the better of me.

“It occurs to me, Stoker, I have made no secret of the fact that I am accustomed to a certain amount of regular and health-giving exercise of the intimate variety whilst abroad,” I began. “And I think I must arrange a trip abroad soon if my health is not to suffer the consequences. It has been too long.” I tipped my head as I looked him over from tousled hair to scuffed boots. “How long has it been for you?”

He turned a shocked face to me. “That is bloody well none of your business!”

I shrugged. “Why? We are both scientists. I see no reason we cannot speak frankly of biological things. I find myself quite often distracted by such thoughts, and I merely wondered how you managed. Is there a technique you find effective in managing your urges?”

He raised his hands as if to ward off evil. “Stop. Now. I beg you.”

I blinked. “You mean you do not wish to talk about it?”

“That is precisely what I mean.”

I gave him a repressive look. “Oh, come now, Stoker. Don’t be coy. Tell me. How long has it been for you?”

To my astonishment, he blushed. “It has been some time, years in fact—” He ground to a stop.

“How very extraordinary,” I murmured.

“Is it? A gentleman is supposed to hold himself to a certain standard,” he reminded me coldly.

“And yet you go to such lengths to pretend you do not deserve the title in other respects, it is curious you should cling so tightly to your scruples in this.”

“It is not when you consider—” He broke off.

“When I consider what?” I prodded gently.