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At first, Thomas thought he was dreaming.
It wouldn’t have been the first time, or even the hundredth. Even now, after nearly two years of platonic friendship, a small part of Thomas longed for something more with Jimmy. During the day, Thomas could muzzle this part, squash it down and push it aside like he did with so many aspects of his person, but after dark, it had free rein. Rare was the night Thomas didn’t dream of Jimmy coming into his room, of him saying that he’d changed his mind, that Thomas had won him over after all and that he longed to share everything with Thomas: his body and his soul and his heart.
So when Thomas opened his eyes to see Jimmy standing over him, Thomas assumed at first it was one of these particularly vivid dreams. “Jimmy.” He sighed happily. Thomas could never bring himself to feel guilty about these nocturnal episodes. What Jimmy didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, and he would never do anything to hurt Jimmy.
Jimmy looked down at him, his face blank and his eyebrows furrowed. “Wake up, Thomas.”
“Mmm.”
“I mean it. Wake up.” His voice was a rough whisper, quite unlike the sultry voice Imaginary Jimmy usually brought into Thomas’ room. “I need your help.” The words cut through Thomas like few other could. He sat up so quickly his head spun.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Thomas’ voice was too loud. “What’s wrong?” He repeated, lowering it. His heart beat quickly and his body tensed, as if he might be called on to fight or run away at a moment’s notice. “Why are you here?”
Jimmy looked miserable. Thomas could tell that much even in the thin moonlight that filtered through the window. It made him feel ill. He wanted to reach out to comfort Jimmy, but that wouldn’t be well received. Or would it? A treacherous voice said. He’s here, in your room, at night, of his own accord. But it wasn’t his own accord. As much as Thomas would wish otherwise, he could see Jimmy hadn’t chosen to be here. Jimmy felt awful about it. The emotion was clear on his face, which meant something serious had led him to this extreme measure.
Jimmy looked at Thomas, meeting his eye. “I have to tell you a secret. I don’t want to, but I haven’t got a choice.”
“All right. But don’t look so glum.” Thomas smiled, trying to cheer him up. “It can’t be as bad as all that.” Whatever it was, it wouldn’t make an ounce of difference to the way he felt about Jimmy.
Jimmy sighed, heavily. It racked his body and made his shoulders slump. “It’s bad.” His eyes came up, meeting Thomas’ again. “You have to promise you won’t tell anybody. I mean really promise. Swear it.”
“You can trust me, Jimmy.” At one time, Jimmy couldn’t, but Thomas liked to think the past months of friendship had erased that original transgression. He was Jimmy’s friend. Thomas looked out for Jimmy and helped him and made sure he was always at the front of Mr. Carson’s mind, in a good way, just in case any opportunities for promotion happened to arise. “Whatever it is, we can solve it together.”
Jimmy closed his eyes, just for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice wavered. “I don’t deserve you, Mr. Barrow, truly I don’t.”
Thomas’ heart, already in a precarious state, melted entirely. “Come on.” He shifted on the bed, leaving room for Jimmy. “Sit down and tell me what it is.”
Jimmy sat, but he didn’t speak. Thomas let the silence stretch. His hands itched to touch Jimmy, to rest on his shoulder or better yet to gather him into an embrace, but he did nothing. Finally, just when Thomas thought he could stand it no more, Jimmy pulled off his shirt.
It happened so quickly, Thomas didn’t have chance to ascribe any motivations to it. Jimmy’s chest was wrapped like a mummy, in thick white bandages of the type Thomas had used in the war. Thomas could see no blood, but nevertheless, his breath caught in his throat. “Are you hurt?”
Jimmy began slowly to unwind the bandages.
Thomas couldn’t understand what he was looking at, even when they were staring him in the face. He’d never seen bare breasts in person, and he’d certainly never expected to see them on a man. Which Jimmy was. A man. He dressed like a man and sounded like one, and Thomas was passionately attracted to him. That alone was absolute, irrefutable proof of Jimmy’s maleness. It had to be.
“Let me explain,” Jimmy said. Thomas said nothing. He was speechless. “I never felt like a girl, never.” Then it’s lucky, Thomas thought, that you’re not one. “I always wanted to dress like a boy and play with the boys. My mother didn’t mind. My father died when I was little and after that we rather…kept away from other people. She liked having a boy about the house.” So this was a dream after all. Any moment now, Thomas would wake up alone in his room, probably with a morning stiffy he’d try to ignore, get up and go about his day. “When I got older, I tried to be a woman, but it never felt right. I looked for a job as a maid, but they wanted to pay me next to nothing. And the way men looked at me, like I was there for their entertainment…” He shook his head. “It was disgusting. I felt disgusting. So I went back to being a boy.”
Thomas’ voice returned. “You are a boy, Jimmy.”
“I have breasts, Thomas.” He held them up. “These are breasts.”
Thomas swallowed. “I’ve read medical texts.” There had been nothing else to do, for long stretches of time at the hospital during the war. “I’ve heard of certain abnormalities, some medical conditions…”
Jimmy stood and pulled down his drawers. There was nothing there. A thatch of fair hair and two smooth, creamy thighs with nothing dangling between them. “Do you believe me now?”
No. Thomas would never believe it, because it wasn’t true. He’d spent time with Jimmy every day for more than two years. He’d lain on top of Jimmy. He’d kissed him. He would have known if Jimmy was a woman.
Jimmy pulled up his drawers and sat back down. “I never would have told you, but I need your help. I can’t trust Dr. Clarkson, and I know you were a medic.” He turned, and Thomas saw a wound on his right side, at the base of one…breast. The gash was nasty, about three inches long and surrounded by abrasions, but there was no sign or smell of infection.
Thomas took a deep breath and pushed aside his roiling feelings, just as he had done during the war. “You wear those bandages all the time?”
“Nearly always. I take them off at night. Sometimes.”
“Then it’s probably just from where they rub against your skin. I can get some salve from Dr. Clarkson, It should heal up in no time. But you should try and take them off more. If you can.”
“Right.” Jimmy reached out suddenly and grasped Thomas’ hand. “Thank you. I’m so sorry. You do understand why I couldn’t speak up to help you, don’t you?” There was an earnestness in Jimmy’s expression, as if this really mattered. The thought hadn’t crossed Thomas’ mind, it hadn’t had time, but as soon as Jimmy mentioned it, he realized it was true. If Jimmy was a woman, then Thomas’ darkest hour, the mistake that had nearly finished him, hadn’t been a criminal act but merely an ungentlemanly one.
“I understand,” Thomas said, although he understood nothing. Jimmy squeezed Thomas’ hand, pulled on his shirt and was gone, leaving Thomas alone in the dark.
***
Even though Thomas knew just what to ask for, Dr. Clarkson, of course, insisted on being difficult. “You know as well as I do that one can’t properly examine oneself, Mr. Barrow. I will have to see you before I can prescribe you any medication.”
Thomas sighed. Nothing in life was easy. “It’s not for me.”
“Then who is it for?”
“A friend.” Thomas knew that wouldn’t be sufficient. “A lady friend,” he added, not pausing to reflect on the truth behind the words. “And she’s not in a position to see a doctor herself. If you know what I mean, Dr. Clarkson.” He looked at the doctor, his expression heavy with meaning.
The entire situation was nearly worth it for the look of pure shock on Dr. Clarkson’s face. “Oh. I…oh.” He blinked and breathed out, his ridiculous moustache riffling in the breeze. “Well, I can give you this.” He reached into his cabinets and produced a small jar. “But your…ah, your friend really ought to see somebody. You’re not a doctor.”
“No, sir.” Clearly. He couldn’t even recognize a girl when he was in bed with one.
Thomas kept the little jar in his pocket until he had chance to see Jimmy by himself. The opportunity didn’t come until the end of the day, after most of the staff had already gone to bed. Alfred and Jimmy were playing cards in the servants’ hall. They’d asked him to join in, but Thomas had felt a sudden reluctance to do so. Instead, he sat smoking and re-reading the newspaper until Alfred said, “Well, I’m bushed,” and Thomas and Jimmy were alone.
“Here.” Thomas passed over the jar. “Put it on the wound two or three times a day. Or as often as you can manage, really. Let me know if it doesn’t start to improve soon.”
“Thank you, Mr. Barrow.” Jimmy smiled, one of the dazzling smiles that, just a day earlier, would have gone straight to Thomas’ heart, stopping first at his groin. Now, Thomas forced himself to ignore it. He stood, just as Jimmy held out the cards. “Can I interest you in a game?”
“No, thank you. Good night.” He ignored the disappointed look on Jimmy’s face, as well, and headed up to his room.
It was like Jimmy was dead, or had moved away. No, Thomas thought, it’s worse than that. If Jimmy had truly gone, one way or another, he wouldn’t be staring Thomas in the face a hundred times a day, from the moment Thomas sat down to breakfast to the minute he retreated to his room, earlier and earlier each evening. Seeing Jimmy and knowing it wasn’t Jimmy brought a pain to Thomas’ chest he couldn’t abide and before long, the others began to notice.
“You’re not back to quarrelling, are you?” Alfred asked in an overfamiliar tone one night, as they brought the dishes down from the dining room. Jimmy had attempted to engage Thomas in conversation, making a remark about Lady Rose’s astonishing headdress. Thomas had all but ignored him. “Because I’m not going through all that again.”
“Mind your own business,” Thomas snapped.
He couldn’t be so direct with Mr. Carson. “You haven’t mentioned James’ performance to me in days,” Carson said. They were in his office, going over the accounts. Thomas couldn’t think where the comment had come from. Had he really spoken about Jimmy that much? “Has he slipped below par?”
“No, sir. There’s nothing to complain about.”
“Nothing to remark on either, it seems.” Thomas had known Mr. Carson for over a decade, but he still couldn’t read the look on his face.
“No,” Thomas said. They dropped the subject after that, for which Thomas was grateful. It wasn’t a subject he wished to explore with Carson; it wasn’t even a subject he wished to consider alone.
The worst of it was, Jimmy didn’t seem any different. Thomas watched him, scrutinized him even, but Jimmy was nothing like Ivy or Daisy or any other girl Thomas knew. He walked like a man, he talked like a man. Jimmy seemed like a man in every possible way. He fooled everybody into thinking he was one, but now Thomas knew better.
Still, Jimmy pulled it off flawlessly, and Thomas couldn’t help but feel some admiration. He couldn’t imagine passing himself off as a woman. Nobody would believe it, not for a moment. Well, Thomas thought, maybe Molesley would. This led to horrifically ludicrous imaginings of a lustful Molesley pursuing him through the hallways, and Thomas put the idea aside.
Other thoughts weren’t so easy to shake. Thomas had built his life on being different. It hadn’t been his choice, but once he’d come to terms with the fact he couldn’t escape it, he had embraced it. Being the “way he was” set him apart from others, kept him from ever belonging and ever truly being accepted, but it was a part of him. After all he’d been through, after all he’d suffered, he couldn’t give in and love a woman now. If he did, then what had it all been for?
Late one night, a week after Jimmy’s revelation, Thomas lay in bed smoking and trying to focus on a book. There was a knock, so quiet that he wondered if he’d heard anything at all, then the door creaked open.
He glanced up, then back at the page in front of him. The words swam. “You can’t be here.”
Jimmy was in his nightwear, his feet bare on the wooden floor. He came into the room and shut the door behind him. “I wanted to thank you again for helping me. I’m doing much better.”
“Good. That’s good.”
“And I wanted to apologize again.”
Thomas let his eyes flick up. “There’s no need.” He knew what it was to have a secret, after all. One had to protect oneself. Even if he’d known it at the time, Thomas would never have expected Jimmy to sacrifice himself on his account.
Jimmy came further in. Thomas blew out a mouthful of smoke. “You should go.” He didn’t. Instead, Jimmy stood for a long moment before he said, “I’m the same person I was before, Thomas.”
Thomas didn’t answer. Apparently taking this as encouragement, Jimmy came further still, and sat on the edge of Thomas’ bed. Even staring hard, Thomas could see no swell of bosom beneath his shirt. He disguised himself very well. “There’s no part of me that’s female except my body,” Jimmy said. “And I know you aren’t only interested in my body. We’ve been friends for two years. I know you love me. I love you, too.” Even knowing what he knew, Thomas felt his heart swell at that pronouncement. He couldn’t help himself. “And do you want to know something else?” Thomas was quite sure he did not. He stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray. “If I’d been more…typical, I would have gone with you from the start. But I didn’t know if I could trust you, and I didn’t think I was what you wanted.”
“I would never say that, Jimmy.” The words escaped from Thomas’ mind of their own accord, helped along by his treacherous throat. Jimmy smiled. Thomas held up his book, as if to defend himself, and Jimmy leaned in and kissed him.
It was what Thomas had always wanted, and never thought to get. It wasn’t kissing a girl, it wasn’t kissing a boy, it was kissing Jimmy, and it put every other kiss in Thomas’ life to shame. Thomas heard a distant thump as his book hit the floor, and then his arms were around Jimmy, pulling him close. Jimmy’s lips were soft, but his tongue was demanding. It pushed past Thomas’ lips, every stroke like lightning through Thomas’ body. When Jimmy pulled away, they were both breathless. As they sat panting, a thought struck Thomas, sudden and unwanted.
“I don’t know what to do.”
“You don’t have to do anything,” Jimmy said, as he slid down Thomas’ body.
Jimmy went slowly, kissing his way lower and lower until he reached his goal. Thomas couldn’t remember the last time another person had touched his cock. When dinosaurs roamed the Earth and men lived in caves, or so it felt when Jimmy pushed down Thomas’ nightclothes and kissed him in the most intimate of ways.
He began slowly, fondling Thomas’ balls gently. He lay a series of pecks up and down Thomas’ shaft, but this sweetness didn’t last for long. Jimmy slid back Thomas’ foreskin with one hand; the other, he left on Thomas’ hip, stroking and petting as Jimmy enveloped his cock in delicious wet warmth. Thomas groaned, a louder-than-expected sound, and clamped a hand over his own mouth to dampen it.
It didn’t take long. Jimmy slid up and down once, then again, and again after that. His hand slid around to Thomas’ backside, squeezing and kneading. He pressed his tongue against the head of Thomas’ cock, more firmly than Thomas would have expected, and moved his hand back to trace light circles on Thomas’ thigh. Thomas tried to warn him, reaching down with his free hand to nudge him away, but Jimmy stayed where he was. Thomas bit down on his own fingers and came, barely registering the feeling of Jimmy swallowing over and over.
“I love you.” It was Jimmy’s voice, hoarse and full of emotion, but it may as well have been Thomas’ own. Thomas reached down and pulled Jimmy up to lie beside him, pushed close together in the confines of the narrow bed. Thomas stroked a hand through Jimmy’s glorious hair and kissed his forehead. He would have expected to feel an erection pressing against his hip at this point, evidence of Jimmy’s arousal, but of course there was nothing. Thomas was less frightened by this than he would have expected to be. Carried away on a wave of love and gratitude, he even went so far as to say, “I want to do something for you,” then immediately regretted it as a wave of anxiety threatened to swamp all other feeling.
“You don’t have to,” Jimmy repeated, his breath warm on Thomas’ neck. “I know you aren’t experienced in that way.”
Thomas bristled at the words, and just like that, anxiety gave way to irritation. “I may not be experienced, Jimmy, but I like to think I can learn a thing or two.”
Jimmy shrugged, the picture of unconcern. “All right.” He took Thomas’ hand and guided it down, along their bodies to Jimmy’s waistband.
Thomas slipped his fingers inside and simultaneously lost his nerve. Jimmy kissed him, on the cheek and then on the mouth. “It’s just like fingering a bloke up the arse,” he whispered, his lips against Thomas’ ear. It wasn’t the most romantic sentiment Thomas had ever heard, but it restored his courage.
It wasn’t exactly like that, in fact, but it wasn’t as frightening or off-putting as he would have expected. It was fine, it was good, because it was Jimmy, and when Jimmy clamped his thighs around Thomas’ hand and moaned quietly into his neck, Thomas was as satisfied as he’d ever been to feel another man come into his hand. That’s what he is, Thomas thought, his mind rendered hazy by love. A man. A different sort of man, but so am I.
They lay together for a long while afterwards, Jimmy’s head on Thomas’ chest. Thomas smoked a cigarette and wondered if he’d ever felt better.
“I’m glad you don’t wear your glove when you’re alone,” Jimmy said, holding up Thomas’ injured hand.
“I wasn’t expecting to receive company.”
“I always have to expect it.” Thomas supposed he did. It seemed a dreadful thing, all of a sudden, never to be oneself even when alone.
“You can take the bandages off when you’re with me. If it doesn’t bother you.”
“I’m afraid it might bother you.” Jimmy looked at him. Thomas shrugged. He’d opened the door now, he might as well see how big the room was. “And if we were caught…”
“If we were caught,” Thomas said, “we’d have bigger problems.” Jimmy didn’t deny it.
Eventually, he stirred, sitting up reluctantly and running a hand through his disarranged hair. “I should go.” Jimmy sighed.
“I know.” Thomas didn’t want him to.
“I’ll be back, though. Tomorrow night?”
“If you like.” Thomas tried to sound cavalier, debonair, but he didn’t pull it off. He sounded as desperate as he felt, and Jimmy smiled.
“I would like it very much.” He took Thomas’ hand and kissed it, then stood up.
“Just one thing.” Thomas had a thousand questions, but at the moment, only one was important. “What’s your name? Your real name.” It seemed impossible that Thomas didn’t know it.
“Funny enough, it’s Jimmy. But it’s not James.” Thomas blinked. “Jemima,” Jimmy said, smiling, and tiptoed towards the door.