Pride and Prurience

Author's Note: This story is loosely inspired by the works of Jane Austen. It is set in the Regency Era; it includes references to various common objects from the period. However, it was not my intention to create a story that could stylistically pass for being written during that time. It's too damn difficult and not nearly as fun. If you are looking for an off-kilter tale wherein an excessive focus on propriety leads to public humiliation, this might be your proverbial cup of tea.

Captain Hugh Fernsby stared at the bucolic scene in front of him: verdant hills, blooming wild flowers, and a small azure stream serpentining in the distance. He had recently returned from the sea, where he had been working for the past several months. In that serene moment, he appreciated feeling grounded - connected with the soil.

He had not been to Chattingham House since he was but a boy. He recalled those memories with fondness; he thought about the first time he'd successfully stalked a deer with his uncle. He had been overjoyed at having been able to demonstrate his aptitude to his father, who had always been critical of him.

After a lengthy journey, Fernsby was only a few kilometers away from his destination. It was unfortunate circumstances that had brought about his return. He had received a letter, upon disembarking, from his cousin - Miss Jane Hampton. She had written to inform him that her father had died, leaving her alone with her younger sister, Mary; her mother had died during childbirth many years before.

Fernsby had missed the funeral, which had occurred two months prior. He was hoping to offer his dear cousins his deepest condolences and provide them with support during this difficult time. Jane was twenty years old; she had yet to marry. He had heard that a local merchant had asked for her hand, but that she had declined.

Fernsby's efficient gig sped over the last hill leading to Chattingham House. He could see the charming estate coming closer into view. It was not particularly large, but it had been well-maintained. The estate's small garden appeared more unkempt. He thought that perhaps it had been overlooked in the grief of the past month.

"Captain Fernsby, it is so lovely to see you," Jane said as he hopped down from his gig. "My! You look quite different, but I suppose that is to be expected after ten years."

Fernsby thought about how Jane had been just a child when he'd last seen her. She'd been eight years old, still playing with dolls and wearing ribbons in her hair. He imagined that, at twenty and seven years of age, he must look very changed indeed. He was six-foot-one with a muscular frame. His time at sea had afforded him the ability to engage in many activities that had kept him strong. He had dark black hair, cobalt eyes, and sun-kissed skin. He had been told that he did not have a particularly rough-hewn visage, though, in spite of his sharp jawline and oft-steely gaze.

"It is good to see you as well, Miss Hampton," he said. "I was deeply saddened to learn of your father's passing. Sir Hampton was a good man. I know that he will be missed by many."

"Yes, it was quite tragic," Jane replied, letting out a small whimper. "I am still trying to find my way without father here."

"Where is Miss Mary Hampton?" Fernsby asked, trying to distract his cousin from her grief.

"How kind of you to ask. She has gone to Lyme. Her constitution has been declining in recent weeks. Lady Evans, who had been a close acquaintance of my mother, was kind enough to invite her to stay. We both feel that the fresh air and sea bathing will assist her in recovery."

"My sister now lives in Bath with her husband," he offered. "They routinely go to Lyme to benefit from the sea. I do hope that your sister finds her experience to be transformative as well."

Fernsby thought his cousin Jane looked preoccupied. He assumed that she must be feeling lonely talking about her father's death and her sister being so far away. He worried that he would just exacerbate her grief if he tried to comfort her; he decided it would be best to give her some time without disturbances to collect herself.

"I am quite exhausted from the journey," he said. "Would it be permitted if I were to rest before the evening?"

"Yes, you should lay down. It has been quite a journey for you. I want to give you ample time to recuperate before supper. Lord and Lady John Dashwood, and their companion Mr. William Abbey, will joining. They have been staying for the past week. Lady Dashwood has been such a god-send."

After being dismissed by his seemingly-dazed cousin with an errant, "It's the second door of the left," Fernsby climbed the stairs leading to the guest quarters. He entered the room in which he would be staying. A few paintings of the countryside hung on the wall; there was an unassuming bed and a small desk-set. He was indeed tired from his journey. He had not even been able to visit his sister after returning from his voyage before traveling to Chattingham House.

Fernsby decided that he would try to sleep before supper. He removed his jacket, hanging it over the desk chair. He started working his fingers through the buttons on his waist coat. He noticed that it was snug in the arms and shoulders; his increased physical activity at sea had caused his shoulders to broaden and his biceps to increase in size. He was able to quickly remove his shirt after doffing the waist coat, leaving his torso exposed.

Fernsby looked in a mirror on the wall. He had sparse black hair sweeping across his pectoral muscles. His small nipples appeared more visible due to the contrast between their soft pink tone and his dark chest hair. His vascular biceps reacted to his movements, flexing in response to each motion. He had mild muscle definition on his stomach; he could see his abs below a small layer of padding.

Fernsby noticed the uncomfortable dried sweat on his skin now that he was unrobed from the waist up. He had spied a washbowl and pitcher in the corner of the room when he'd first entered. He walked over to find that there was lukewarm water, as well as a damp cloth, on the table. He thought that perhaps his cousin had brought it up, prior to his arrival, anticipating that he would need to wash up.

Sitting on the desk chair, Fernsby took off his boots; this further sullied his hands with dirt. He swiftly removed his pantaloons, tossing them onto the bed. He was down to his stockings and small drawers. He looked in the mirror; the small drawers were riding up his large thighs, creating creases in the fabric. His legs had a thick coating of black hair; the stockings appeared as if they would burst from trying to contain his bulging calves.

Fernsby lowered his small drawers, stepping out of them. He draped them over his waist coat on the back of the chair. He could see himself in the mirror, standing nude aside from the white stockings covering his feet and calves. He looked at his dick; it swayed between his thighs. It was sixteen centimeters flaccid, and of significant girth. A blue vein ran down the length of the shaft. His pendulous nut-sack swayed in time with his penis when he moved. He had bushy black pubic hair, which extended a few centimeters over the base of his cock.

Fernsby traipsed over to the washbowl and pitcher, his back facing the door. He began to press the tepid washcloth into his chest. He gently massaged his pecs, wetting the black hair that covered them. His nipples hardened as the edge of the moist fabric stimulated them. He plunged the rag into the bowl, sopping up more water.

He raised his right hand to his neck, using his palm to caress his collarbone with the washcloth. He tilted his head to the side as he pushed the wet fabric around the curvature of his neck. He pressed it into his nape with greater force. He felt some of the water leaving the rag; it was trickling through his fingers.

Unbeknownst to Captain Fernsby, Mr. William Abbey had just finished his midday stroll through the garden. He was returning to his room to finish writing a letter to his mother. He had left it partially completed on the desk before leaving to partake in the splendor of the outdoors.

William opened the door, stepping inside. He was shocked to see that an unfamiliar nude man was using his washbowl to clean himself. He watched as a light trickle of water flowed from the washcloth; it slowly traveled down the man's rippling upper back along the curve of his spine. It subsequently flowed into the cleft at the top of the man's ass cheeks, where it disappeared into his firm, well-muscled behind.

"And what do you think you are doing, good sir?" Fernsby heard a voice behind him ask in an upset tone.

Fernsby was overcome with terror. His hand spasmed, dropping the cloth to the floor. He quickly spun around while covering his quivering manhood with his hands at the same time. He saw a young man standing in front of him. He appeared to very angry; his arms were crossed in front of his chest and a large scowl covered his face.

Fernsby could not believe that a stranger had walked in on him while he was bathing himself. He knew that this was not some worker or servant; he was not wearing a workman's attire. He watched as the young man scanned his body from head to toe; he pressed his cupped hands more closely against his manhood in hopes of limiting his exposure. The young man walked towards him, stopping a few feet in front of where he was standing.

"Well, I can see WHAT you are doing," William said. "I suppose the more apt question is, who are you?"

"Hugh," Fernsby replied, temporarily forgetting formality in this very intimate moment. "Captain Hugh Fernsby," he corrected himself.

He was not assured of what to do next; he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. A rosy hue spread across his cheeks and upper chest as his body responded to the embarrassment he was feeling. He glanced over towards the desk, looking to see where he had left his various articles of clothing.

"Mr. William Abbey," said the young man, extending his hand. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

Fernsby looked at his outstretched hand; he wondered if Mr. Abbey was going to hand him something with which to cover himself. He thought that surely the young man would want to assist him in protecting his modesty. But he just stood there, looking into Fernsby's blue eyes.

"Are you not going to afford me the dignity of a proper introduction?" asked Mr. Abbey. "I am aware that I may not be of the noblest class, but I hope you do not view me as so below you that you won't shake my hand."

Fernsby was shocked and mortified; he had never been accused of failing to comply with social convention. He worried that he had greatly offended the young man. He himself had been snubbed by others because of his modest background before he had acquired his title of captain and amassed his wealth. He could not let Mr. Abbey think he would act in such a foul manner.

Fernsby removed his right hand from over his manhood while desperately trying to shield his virile member with his remaining hand. He looked past Mr. Abbey to see that the door to the room was still open, meaning that anyone could walk by and observe him in his precarious state. He could only imagine the scandal it would cause if his cousin or Lady Dashwood were to come upon this situation.

Fernsby started to shake Mr. Abbey's hand; he had a firm grip and smooth skin. He looked at the young man with greater attention. Mr. Abbey appeared to be around twenty years of age. He was only a few inches shorter than the rugged captain. He was slenderer as well, though Fernsby he could not discern to what extent since he was still wearing his morning coat. He had light blonde hair and hazel eyes. Fernsby thought the young man had a soft face; his lips were a plump pink, his cheeks were rounded, and he had nary a wrinkle on his skin.

"Captain Fernsby, where do you come from? I believe I have heard Miss Hampton speak to the fact that you have been out to sea for quite some time, but that you spend time in Bath with your sister's family when you are not away. Is that correct?"

Mr. Abbey still looked less than pleased with the situation. His brow was furrowed and his lips were pressed together when he wasn't speaking. Fernsby thought about interjecting with the request that he be allowed to dress. Then he considered how offended Mr. Abbey had been when he'd thought Fernsby was refusing to shake his hand. He could only image the response he would receive if he did not engage in a small conversation introducing himself before asking the lost young man to leave his room.

"Yes, I have been working with a shipping merchant for several years, importing various commodities to our fine country," he said.

He attempted to withdraw his right palm, feeling that they had completed the ritual of shaking hands. He experienced resistance, as Mr. Abbey continued to hold it in place even after he had stopped shaking. Fernsby felt himself, again, becoming more aware of his predicament. He looked at the door, praying that nobody would pass by.

"And...?" asked Mr. Abbey.

"Oh, yes, my apologies. I do visit with my sister and her family when I am not away. She recently had another child - a little boy named Jack. They live in Bath, as they value being able to make regular journeys to go sea bathing."

Mr. Abbey nodded as he listened to Captain Fernsby speak. He looked around the room, seeing that various items of the captain's clothing were scattered on the desk chair and the bed. He gazed down, seeing that the naked man's stomach muscles were reacting with slight shifts in definition as he spoke. He saw Captain Fernsby's left hand slide down a bit as he focused on offering details about his background. He had already been able to see the curly black bush of pubic hair, but now he could see the top few centimeters of the base of his cock as well.

Fernsby noticed that Mr. Abbey was looking down. He realized that his hand had moved, causing him further exposure. He was mortified; what must Mr. Abbey think of me? He did not want to give off the impression that he was some sort of prurient person. He managed to withdraw his right hand from the young man's grip, placing it back in front of him. He was pleased to have regained even the smallest semblance of modesty.

"I'm feeling quite unwell, and I was hoping to lay down to recover before supper," Mr. Abbey said.

Fernsby felt bad for the young man, but was pleased to hear the news, since he wanted him to leave so he could put on clean clothing in privacy. He watched as Mr. Abbey walked over towards the door. He followed, since he expected that he might need to close it after the gentleman departed.

They both stood staring at each other in front of the open door. Fernsby could feel his heart begin to pound. He wondered why Mr. Abbey was not taking leave. He would not have followed him closer to the hallway if he had known that he was going to linger. He thought he heard a floorboard squeak in the hallway; his entire body tensed. Luckily, nobody emerged from the stairwell or exited one of the closed doors in the hallway.

"Captain Fernsby, do you not understand that I am feeling unwell? I am hoping to lay down since I am quite unsteady on my feet."

Fernsby was not sure what Mr. Abbey meant. He didn't know why the young man would not just leave and return to his room, were he genuinely unwell. Then it hit him: perhaps the young man was asking for his help but he was too ashamed at his need for assistance to state it directly. Fernsby knew that there were only two other rooms for visitors: the one next to his and one several doors down near the far end of the hallway.

He debated whether it would be acceptable to not help him. He had already started off on a bad foot with Mr. Abbey after making him feel slighted. He figured he would have to risk embarrassing himself even further in order to avoid assuredly causing more difficultly in his future interactions with the young man.

"Which one is it?" asked Fernsby, in a quivering voice.

Mr. Abbey had spoken with Lady Hampton earlier that morning, as she was putting some wildflowers into her cousin's room; as such, he knew it was the one at the end of the hall.

"It is the one down there," he said, pointing a few doors down the corridor.

Fernsby watched as Mr. Abbey's demeanor suddenly changed; he started rubbing his hand into his temple with great force. His face turned sour, and he took a step back from Captain Fernsby while shaking his head from side to side.

"Captain Fernsby, do you not listen?" he exclaimed. "Have you been stricken deaf? I return from my regular promenade in the garden, expecting to have some peace as I begin to feel unwell. Then I arrive in my room to find you bathing! I try to remain courteous and let you realize your mistake, so that you might leave..."

Fernsby was petrified. He looked around the room; he saw a half-written letter on the desk, a large wardrobe trunk in the corner by the bed, and several other personal effects. He wondered how he could have been so oblivious as to not notice that he had gone to the wrong room. He watched as Mr. Abbey rubbed his palm even deeper into his temple. He thought about how his ignorance had increased the time the young man was having to hide his pain while waiting for him to leave.

"...me in peace," Mr. Abbey continued. "I was with your cousin this morning when she was preparing your room. There is a wardrobe in the corner with a variety of men's clothing items that belonged to her father. I beg of you, Captain Fernsby, please go to your room and find something fresh to wear while I recuperate! I will return your personal items before supper!"

Fernsby was dumb-struck. The young man was shaking and appeared on the verge of tears. He did not know what to say. He thought about quickly running into the room long enough to acquire his clothing, but he knew he couldn't ask Mr. Abbey to let him dress as he continued to suffer. He thought it was far easier to hurry down the hallway to his actual room and dress in some of his uncle's now-unneeded clothing.

"I sincerely apologize Mr. Abbey," he said. "It was not my intent to cause you pain. I shall take my leave."

Fernsby backed towards the door, not focusing on where he was going. He was too pre-occupied with his thoughts. He was worrying about being caught in the hallway. He wondered what he would say to his cousin or Lady Dashwood if they were to find him. He could imagine the shock on their faces as they screamed, finding him wandering the hall in nothing but his stockings.

Fernsby sensed that his feet had started to slide of from under him. He had tripped on the edge of the rug in the hallway. He tumbled backwards, falling flat on his back with a loud bang. He felt a sharp pain in the back of his head, as he pulled himself into a position where he was reclining on his elbows with his hands pushing into the floor to steady himself.

Fernsby watched as Mr. Abbey crouched by his side. He could not ascertain what he was thinking or feeling from his stoic expression. His eyes were still red after having filled with tears a few minutes earlier.

"Don't move, Captain Fernsby," Mr. Abbey commanded. "You have taken quite a fall. Let me check you for any signs of serious injury."

Fernsby was too disoriented to reply. He watched has the young man placed his right hand around the back of his head. He felt his soft fingers sliding through his hair. Mr. Abbey's hand slid down to Captain Fernsby's nape. He manipulated his fingers in an attempt to find any bumps or cuts.

Mr. Abbey started to wobble in his crouched position; he appeared as if he was going to topple onto his side. He shot his hand down at the floor to steady himself. Captain Fernsby felt the young man's soft hand plant firmly on his thigh. He looked down to see that it was resting perilously close to his cock.