3 comments/ 14638 views/ 3 favorites David's Final Undergraduate Year By: WittePiet BOOK IV. David's Last Undergraduate Year [Books I to III should be read first] Chapter 48 Jon When I investigated my pet topic of drystone walling, I found that organisations already existed to promote repair and training in drystone walling, so that a trust along the lines of the Afforestation Trust was not necessary. What was necessary however, was a trained mobile team to investigate the need for the repair of walls nationwide, to identify the owners, and to provide repair teams who would provide rapid repair, particularly in emergencies, on a shared cost basis, the charity providing some of the repair funding. Tim and I reckoned that our Derbyshire site could be the first place to be dealt with, and when complete could serve as a model to show other landowners what could be done. It still needed an enthusiast who could begin to survey and report on needs, and to assemble, equip and find headquarters for an action team. It proved difficult to find such a person with a background in rural science or agriculture, so we turned to the building trade, which was undergoing recession at the time, and found a man with some of the right skills called Michael T, who was a construction industry trainer with an enthusiasm for the countryside. We paid for him to undergo a six-month full-time training course in drystone wall construction and maintenance. He was rather older than Robin Banks, being in his late thirties, but he had the right enthusiasm for the job and was still young and fit enough to get hands-on experience in the nitty-gritty of the process. In conjunction with existing organisations, he assembled a three-man team, including himself, to begin repair work on our Derbyshire fields. I hoped that by the following summer the repair of the walls and the drainage work (under Robin's supervision) would be complete, and planting could begin. David was now at work on his final year laboratory project in the Pharmacology department. This meant that I did not see him at lunchtime daily any more. However, undergraduates were, for health and safety reasons, discouraged from evening and late-night work in the labs, and as he no longer had regular tutorials with Dan C, we were able to spend time together most evenings, even if sleeping together was difficult, although he did tend to do that about once a week, and sneak into college and rumple his bed before breakfast. I guess that his bedder probably knew that his bed had not really been slept in, but she seemed to be discreet and understanding. He had finished regular basketball playing, so we tried to increase our weekly swimming sessions from once to twice and spent at least one evening a week at the pool. We also usually went to the Rialto about once a week. My thesis was now essentially complete and just needed further proofreading before it could be submitted to the faculty office. Ed S, my supervisor, had approved the draft and was consulting with the head of Department, Professor Kristensen about the appointment of suitable external and internal examiners for my work. It seemed unlikely that the examination could take place before I started assisting the builders in Ixton, and eventually a date in March shortly before my birthday was fixed on. David was very helpful in in assisting me to proofread the thesis. Word processing was still in its infancy in those days, and the software that I had to use to produce the thesis was by present-day standards incredibly primitive. However the finished product would still look considerably better than the typed and carbon-copied theses that had hitherto been the norm in Camford University. David seemed to be enjoying working in his new department. It did not take very long for his colleagues to discover that he was gay, but he did not experience anything other than a small amount of teasing. Indeed, he was invited to go with the group from his lab on their weekly visits to the pub. We were lucky to be working in such an intellectually demanding but at the same time understanding and permissive environment as Camford University. Although he was still taking most of his meals in college, David signed out regularly once a week and I cooked a meal for us, as by then I had virtually given up working in the laboratory. One day, he came home from the laboratory (he had to pass my flat on the way to college) and said, "I forgot to tell you that I had signed out for dinner tonight, is there any chance of us eating here?" "Yes, if you don't mind eating a thawed-out instant meal," I replied. "We seem to have made some significant progress in the lab today" said David, "which makes a change, but before we eat I am in desperate need of a fuck." "That's okay," I said "but it means that we will have to eat later. I'll open a bottle of Prosecco while you get undressed." David went into the bedroom and began to take his clothes off. I took two instant meals out of the freezer and left them in the kitchen to thaw out before I joined him in the bedroom. I poured out two glasses of the delicious fizzy wine and we both took a hefty swig. "How about undressing me?" I said. "Okay," he said. Unlike David's college room, my bedroom had a large mirror and I was able to watch David undressing me. It was great fun seeing the struggles that he had disentangling my rockhard prick from my silk briefs. No sooner were the briefs on the bedroom floor than my prick was in David's mouth. By now he seemed to have learnt all the necessary skills to give a good blow-job. "Go slowly," I said "I don't want to come into your mouth, I want to save it for your gut." I bent forward and buried my face in his lovely blonde hair and began to kiss the crown of his head. I thought of the lines from MacHeath's aria in 'The Beggar's Opera,' (except of course the female would have to be changed to the male): 'Roses and Lilies his Cheeks disclose, But his ripe Lips are more sweet than those. Press him, Caress him, With Blisses, His Kisses Dissolve us in Pleasure, and soft Repose'. David, having lubricated my dick with his saliva, rolled a condom on to it. He grabbed the bottle of lube from beside the bed and plastered it over the sheath. He then handed the bottle to me and spread his muscular legs with their beautiful blonde hair to give me access to his crotch. I lifted his legs onto my shoulders, applied lube to my fingers and spread it in his crack before poking two fingers into his arsehole. I lubed that well, and by now he was beginning to get impatient. "Fuck me, fuck me, now!" he cried, and I obliged by entering him firmly and steadily. Once past his sphincter, I paused and kissed him on the chest, neck and lips and sucked his right nipple. The hair on his chest felt silky-soft in my mouth. He groaned with pleasure. "That's lovely," he said "but please keep busy down below!" I quickened the pace of my moving tool and grasped him by the shoulders. I suppose that the fuck lasted about seven or eight minutes before I shot my load, and David convulsed with pleasure. I could feel his warm body and the pulse of the blood in his upper body. After I had come, I pulled gently out of his hole and lowered his legs from my shoulders, so that I could lie on top of him and rub his rockhard dick with my belly. He thrust his pelvis upwards and also rubbed himself and in a couple of minutes he climaxed with a moan. His man-juice squirted over both our bellies, and we lay there, pleasantly sticky for ten minutes, kissing and murmuring endearments. I muttered to him the lines I have just quoted from the Beggar's Opera by (the appropriately for us named) John Gay, and he giggled in delight. He also made the predictable joke that maybe Gay should have written the 'Bugger's Opera,' and I replied that Rochester had already written that, and called it 'Sodom'. However, we could not indulge in soft repose for very long, as both of us were quite hungry. I had just obtained a microwave oven. These devices had only just come on the market and were quite novel, but I found them ideal for dealing with frozen food. We cleaned ourselves up with a damp flannel and went into the kitchen. I placed the semi-soft ready meal into my new machine, and before we had had time to empty our glasses of Prosecco, our food was ready. Chapter 49 David Knowing that after Christmas I would only see my lover at the weekends, we tried to maximize the time that we spent together during the Martinmas term. Jon was nearly done with his thesis, and had more leisure than I had ever known him have previously. The Chapel choir had now a totally different membership from when I first joined it three years before. As the senior member, I had been assigned by the Organ Scholar the job of organizing a tour of Belgium in July. I did not have any contacts, so I wrote to the Anglican Chaplain in Antwerp asking for help. He at once offered his church as a venue and promised to find hosts for the choir members. He also gave me the names of various contacts in Flanders. One night in late October we went to a piano recital in S College. It was an all-Mozart programme, and the artist was a well-known female pianist. She was a really outstanding player, and her subtle and sensitive interpretation of Mozart's melodies moved me nearly to tears. Jon also seemed very impressed. It seemed natural that after such an emotional experience, we should both feel loving, without feeling like fucking. We went to my room in college. It was about 10 pm, and we sat beside one another on my sofa with our arms round each other's shoulders and our lips pressed against the other's lips. "'Music is the food of love'" I said, "but words can't really express what I feel about you, Jon. I only wish that as well as loving me, you could come to love God." "I love you because my eyes, my ears, my nose and my prick are all telling me that I have a beautiful boy in my arms, a boy that is mine for the rest of my life and to whom and for whom I will gladly give all that I possess. How can any God, even if such a being exists, mean more than that to me?" "Because my existence and your love are both due to Him. The love that you feel for me and I feel for you are living evidence of God's love for all humanity. Every joy that we experience in our lives is enhanced when we know that it is a gift of God. Love exists to show us what we owe to our Creator and Redeemer. Love is mental and spiritual self-giving. Fucking, which is also a sort of self-giving, exists to show us that the union of two human beings is a model of the union of each of us with our Creator. OK, so fucking can have a procreational function, but as I've told you many times before, procreation is NOT the prime purpose of fucking, and in homosexual relationships that is obvious. Of course I am not denying that there is much more to sexual relations than physical union, and procreation and nurture of offspring are vital roles for both sexes if they are to experience something of what God must feel for His creation." "How can God feel ANYTHING? Surely He must be impassive, as emotion is a human faculty." "God became Man, and in so doing, took on all that a man can experience, and that includes emotions. Jesus wept when His friend Lazarus lay cold, stiff and beginning to rot in the tomb. In addition to the horrors of death by crucifixion, God suffered the agonies of death and separation from those whom He loved." "You make Christianity sound almost human," said Jon. "If by that you mean that Christianity is a human invention, then you're wrong. But if you mean that by becoming Man, God could completely identify with human emotions, hopes and fears and aspirations, then you're right. Thomas Traherne uses classical gay imagery to relate humanity to God. We are 'His Ganymede! His life! His joy! Or He comes down to me, or takes me up That I might be His boy, And fill, and taste, and give, and drink the cup. ... I am His image, and His friend, His son, bride, glory, temple, end.' "You know that Ganymede was not only Zeus's cup-bearer, but also his fancy boy? The 'bride' bit in Traherne's poem tells it all! "But let's not get tied up in theological arguments. Here endeth the sermon. We were both enormously moved by the music, and I always think of music as being one of the principal ways that we can glorify God. To change the subject, would you like a drink?" "Let's have a glass of Belgian beer," said Jon. "What have you got in your cupboard?" "I've got a couple of bottles of a red beer called Rodenbach," I said. "The man in the beer shop said that it was a very special beer." "It is indeed," said Jon. If you've never had this beer you will get a surprise, because it will taste totally different from anything that you've ever had before. It's what they call an acid ale." I poured the two bottles of the red--brown beer into two glasses and I tasted mine very curiously. It was wonderful. It did not take long for us finish it, because it came in small 250-ml bottles. "I see that I've still got a lot a lot to learn about beer," I said. "When are you going to submit your thesis?" "That's what I was going to tell you," said Jon "it's all ready. Four copies came back from the binder's today. I had it bound by a little man who works at the University press, but who does bookbinding in his spare time. I am planning to take it to the University Registry on Thursday. So please, will you contact Tom and Steve and see if they can come out with us for a drink on Friday to celebrate the end of my lab work? "I've taken a ridiculous length of time to get the damn' thing finished, because, as usual, I am trying to do too many things at the same time. I've still got to organize the hire of a caravan to use when I'm at Ixton, and I may need to get Arthur to apply for temporary planning permission if I want to site it at his farm. Fortunately, the builders are mainly locally based and will be able to go home each night." "Why don't we pop round to see Tom and Steve now?" I said. "Okay, let's do that," said Jon. We went downstairs and walked across the quad to Tom and Steve's room. We could see that there was a light on as we approached, so we went up the stairs and knocked on their door. Tom opened it. "Why, it's Jon and David!" he called to Stephen. "Invite the them in for a drink then," called Stephen in reply. We entered the room. The two boys had been sitting side-by-side on the sofa, and to judge from their disordered clothing had been indulging in some heavy petting. "I think that there's still some drinkable beer in that small plastic container that we got from the beer shop at the weekend" said Stephen. Jon and I knew that Tom and Steve shared our tastes for decent beer. No rice-containing rubbish beer or mass-market lager would be served up by our friends. Tom poured out four half pints of locally brewed beer into four tankards which we consumed with relish. "We've come to invite you to come for a drink on Friday to celebrate the end of my work in the lab" said Jon "I'm taking my thesis to the Registry on Thursday." "Why don't we go to the Carp at Stubbington?" said Steve. "We'll need bikes with lights though, because the clocks go back at the weekend and it will be dark before dinner on Friday. Why don't we sign out for dinner and eat at the pub?" "That's a good idea," said Jon, "but let's go on the bus, and I'll pay for a taxi to bring us back." So the next Friday evening found the group of four of us sitting at a table near a roaring log fire each with a pint tankard in front of us filled with West London bitter and looking eagerly at the menu. We had an excellent meal, and consumed a considerable amount of beer. We were all very happy and relaxed and when Jon and I noticed that Tom and Steve were holding hands, we did the same. After the meal I stood up and proposed Jon's health and wished him success in his Ph.D. submission. Jon then did something amazing and wholly untypical, he stood up, moved his chair round the table so that he was sitting between Tom and Steve, put an arm around each of them and kissed each one. The rest of us found this highly embarrassing, and we looked round anxiously to make sure that none of the other pub customers was watching. I felt extremely uneasy. This behaviour was so untypical of Jon, who always laid such an emphasis on restraint, that I could only assume that either he had had far too much to drink, or that he was beginning to tire of me, and getting interested in other men. Chapter 50 David When we got into the cab, I decided to go home with Jon and spend the night there. We dropped Tom and Steve at St Boniface's and carried on to Fountain Street, where I paid the driver. Jon walked upstairs with some difficulty, and we used my key to enter the flat. I locked the door and said to Jon "What the fuck do you think you were doing at the pub? If we had let you, you might have started to pull those boys' pants down!" "David, I think I had too much to drink, and the alcohol made me feel lonely." "But if you wanted to kiss someone, why not me? Have I done something to displease you? If so, please tell me what." "My darling faggot boy, you've done nothing wrong. I've just had too much to drink, that's all. Let's go to bed and discuss it in the morning." I slept heavily, due to the alcohol, but I was conscious that Jon got out of bed to visit the toilet several times during the night. Next morning, being Saturday, I did not have much to do in the lab. I did not have to worry about my bed in college not having been slept in, because the bedders only came in at the weekends during conferences. Accordingly, I felt able to cook some bacon, eggs and black pudding for breakfast and bring them to Jon in bed. He seemed to be quite hung over. "However much did you have to drink last night?" I asked him. "Seven pints of beer and a glass of red wine," he said. I gasped. I had never known quiet, self-restrained Jon drink on that scale before. But I felt that as it was a special occasion, it was a one-off occurrence. But I still felt worried about his behaviour. This was a guy who up to a year and a half ago was trying to conceal the fact that he loved men, and now he was kissing men in public! "Do you want breakfast?" I asked him. "Or do you want a cuddle or a suck or a fuck?" "Let's start with a cuddle," he said, "then you can feed me some bacon and a few spoonsful of scrambled egg." I did as he asked. I put my arms round his naked body and smothered him with kisses. "You may not want me," I said, "but after we've eaten, I want you to suck me off. Do you feel like going swimming this morning?" "I'm not sure. I'll tell you after I've eaten, shat and showered," he said. I cut the bacon up into thin strips and fed them to him with my fingers. I took a spoon and fed him spoonsful of scrambled egg and then a few strips of bread soldiers. Then I gave him a slice of black pudding, which he ate in three mouthfuls. I wiped my hands on a tissue and resumed kissing him. Eventually, he managed a tender smile after burping noisily. "I'm sorry that my face is so rough," he said "it must make your lips quite sore." "Darling Jon," I said, "you're a man like me. Your face is rough first thing in a morning, so is mine. No big deal. You fart first thing in a morning, so do I. No big deal!" "I must go for a shit," he said "then we'll see about that needy cock of yours!" I lay back in bed and listened to the explosive sounds coming from the bathroom, with frequent flushes of the toilet at intervals. Then I heard the washbasin water running and the sound of a razor scraping. Presently Jon emerged. "I'll shower later on with you," he said. "I feel a lot better now. It's amazing the effect that proper beer has on your bowels." He rubbed his freshly shaven face against my chest. I could smell the scent of his shaving gel. I reached out and ran my hand down his back and kissed the top of his head. "Please suck my tool, Jon," I said. David's Final Undergraduate Year He took my limp manhood into his mouth and began to pleasure me in his typical way. I nearly died of ecstasy as he nibbled my foreskin and chewed at my rapidly stiffening dick. My concern about him began to die away as I allowed myself to drift into a sea of delight. Every so often, Jon would take his mouth away and lick the mixture of saliva and pre-come from the tip of my now rockhard tool. Our lovemaking had become increasingly frequent as the end of term approached, and it took quite a long time before I came to a climax and Jon had to work quite hard with lips, jaw and tongue. As I shot my jism into his mouth, my whole body convulsed and my grasp round his shoulders got tighter and tighter. Jon swallowed my small ejaculate easily and smiled possessively as I relaxed my grip on him. "How was that, Ganymede?" he asked. "As usual, you know so well how to give head wonderfully," I replied. "David, I'm SO sorry about last night. I was totally stoned. It isn't as if, looked at objectively, I even find those boys attractive. It's just that the prospect of spending winter evenings shut in a cold caravan wanking myself off seemed such a grim prospect, that I wanted to taste their lips. And I have to confess that they both responded to my kiss. I feel ashamed of what I did, and I think of how I would feel if you kissed another man in front of my face." "I'm going to see them at lunchtime and apologize on your behalf," I said. "Who knows? You may have created trouble between them." It had never in the years that I had known Jon occurred to me that he could do anything that would not merit my approval. I owed him so much, and although he had trivial faults, I had never felt anything beyond mild irritation. Yet here he was, having done something stupid and pointless, merely due to drinking too much. That in itself seemed to me to be out of character, particularly as he was not at present under any kind of stress. We showered together, but without any intimacies other than a few kisses. Jon said that he did not feel like swimming, even though his hangover was wearing off. I said that I did not feel like any sex that afternoon, and we eventually agreed to meet at 5 pm, eat early and go to a film at the Rialto. It was the first Saturday since we came back from the Netherlands that we had not spent the afternoon fucking. I walked back to college, and about 11 am called in at Tom and Steve's room on the off-chance that they were in. As luck would have it, they were, and I apologized to them for Jon's behaviour. I told them how sorry he was and that I was minded to ban lovemaking for a couple of days. "I'll bet that really pisses him off," said Steve "he always seems such a randy stud." "I'm not going to discuss our private lives," I said. "But I hope that neither of you have been seriously upset by what happened." "Not at all," said Tom, "but what about you?" "I'll get over it," I said. "I love him too much not to be able to forgive him. He was very forbearing when I did something silly in Holland. I'm not jealous or anything, so I hope that you guys will feel able to forget about it. It may take me a bit longer to forget." "Think no more of it," said Tom. "Are you going in to the lab today?" "Just for a couple of hours after lunch," I said. "Have lunch with us in the beer cellar then," said Steve. After lunch, we walked to the lab, where I set up a thin-layer chromatogram and changed the desiccant in a vacuum desiccator, where I was drying some crystals. By now it was 3-30 pm, and it did not seem worthwhile to go back to St Boniface's, so I walked to Fountain Street and rang Jon's bell. "It's David," I said into the door phone. Jon released the door and I opened it and went upstairs. Jon was sitting on the sofa looking miserable. This was something that I had never seen before. I went across the room and threw my arms around him "My dearest boy," I said, "what's the matter?" "I'm still feeling awful about what I did last night." said Jon. "It's okay," I said "I've talked to Tom and Steve and they are not the slightest bit worried about your behaviour. I had lunch with them and walked up to the lab with them and it's clear that what you did has not been taken seriously. But please cheer up, my love. I hate to see you so miserable." "I have never drunk so much before in my life," said Jon. "Even as an undergraduate I never lost control of myself in the way that I did last night." "It's not altogether surprising," I said "suddenly the burden of your total work activity for the last four years has now been lifted from you and what faces you is the challenge and uncertainty of working for nine months as a labourer on a building site. It's not something that I would want to do myself, but I can understand that to a person who has spent his life at least since the age of 16 or so being preoccupied with business, finance and science, the idea of doing hard manual work at the worst time of the year does not necessarily appeal. Sooner or later you will have to start work, but it doesn't have to be right now during the coldest and wettest time of the year. It might conjure up the possibility of being trapped under a six-foot snowdrift in a caravan! I think that you should give up the caravan idea. Why not stay Monday to Thursday nights each week at the Jellycotes Arms? You could hire a car each weekend to come back here if there are no suitable trains. Think about the idea. "Shall I make us a cup of tea? I don't think alcohol would be the right thing for you just at the moment." "David, that's sweet of you. But before you do that, please let me give you a kiss." I put my arms around him and he kissed me passionately on the lips. Strange as it may seem, with that embrace my unhappiness and disappointment with Jon faded away. I realized that someone who was not wholeheartedly mine could never respond in the way that Jon had. So I resolved to put the whole matter out of my mind. We drank the tea and Jon went away to get dressed. He seemed to have spent the whole of the day in nothing more than a T-shirt and underpants. About 5-30 we walked into the Sparrowhawk just as they were starting to serve evening meals. I bought myself a half pint of beer and for Jon a fruit juice. "I don't believe in this hair of the dog that bit you business," I said firmly. I had lasagne and salad, and Jon had a small piece of salmon with potatoes and vegetables. Jon had ice cream and I had sticky toffee pudding to follow. The film presentation at the Rialto started at 7 pm. I have forgotten the film now, but it was by an Italian director from the 1970s and extremely enjoyable. It was a long film and in the middle was a 15 min interval. We went into the bar and had a cup of coffee each. "I wish I could speak Italian and then I wouldn't have to follow the subtitles," I said. "Can you speak Italian?" "Just a little bit," said Jon, "but it's not very grammatical and my vocabulary is not very extensive". "I'd love to spend some time in Italy with you in the summer" I said. "We could explore some of the beautiful Italian cities and buildings, we could sunbathe on the beach, we could drink espresso in the open air." "If all goes well on the building site," said Jon "we might be able to fit in a few weeks at the end of August. It will still be very hot then, but it's a good time of the year even so. Your future will be decided by then, and a holiday would almost certainly do you good." After the film had finished, I said "I think we might actually risk a drink now." We crossed the road and entered the pub on the other side. Jon went to the bar and bought two pints of the guest beer. "This is a new brew from the XXX Brewery," he told me "I've not had it yet myself, but we shall see what it's like." It was excellent, but we resisted the temptation to have a second pint and walked slowly back to the flat. When we got in I said to Jon "I feel like fucking you. Is that okay?" There lies the big difference between men and women. Women need to be wooed. A crude request like I had just made to Jon could never be made to a woman, and if it were, would be rejected with the plea of a headache. Men know what they want, and ask for it if is not offered. That's why I prefer men... "Yes, yes, yes!" said Jon. "I've been longing to feel your monster prick inside me". I undressed him and then undressed myself. I made him bend over the bed and pull his arse cheeks apart. I spread lube into the crack and poked it with two fingers up his bum. The site of his wide-open hole gave me an instant hard-on. I rolled one of my Dutch condoms onto my tool and began to anoint it with K-Y gel. I then tickled each of his buttocks with my berubbered tool. I felt him shudder with delight and anticipation. I kissed him between the shoulder blades and ran my lips down his vertebral column with each of my hands firmly grasping his nipples. As soon as I felt he was in a receptive mood, I pushed my tool firmly into his hole. He twitched slightly as it passed through his anal sphincter, but then he relaxed and I resumed kissing and holding his nipples. I started to get the feeling of awe and wonder that is almost the most enjoyable thing about penetrating a loved one. I realized that I could not feel any resentment about the silly things that one does when drunk, and how could I hold such a thing against a person whom I loved so much?" I fucked him hard for about 10 minutes before I ultimately came. I slowly and gently withdrew from his back passage and lifted his legs up onto the bed. I removed the condom from my tool, knotted it and dropped it on the floor and climbed on top of him. "Do you want me to suck you or to jerk you off?" I asked him. "Please suck me, Ganymede," he said. I worked hard on his tool for a few minutes and eventually he shot a small amount of jism into my mouth, which I immediately swallowed. For a few minutes, I lay beside him on my side, nuzzling the hair on his chest. Then I stood up and began to step into my underpants. "Well Jon,'' I said "I don't know about you, but I have got some notes to tidy up and a bit of planning to do for Monday's experiment. Moreover I don't want to spend the night here and have to walk to college for Chapel in the morning. I would rather spend the night in my own bed, even though I shall miss your strength and your warmth lying next to me." "You won't miss my farting I think," he said with a grin. "As tomorrow is the last Sunday of term, I'll come to Chapel for Evensong and hear you sing." We parted with a kiss and I walked back to college about 11 pm. Chapter 51 Jon I felt terribly guilty after that night at the Carp. I can hold my liquor pretty well, but that event had shown that merely holding your liquor is not enough, you need to be able to control your behaviour as well. I felt about three centimetres high. I had shown David that his idol had feet of clay, that the man he loved could do stupid things and was not the universal source of wisdom and leadership. I had disgraced myself in the eyes of the person in the world whom I loved the most, and I had no reason or excuse that could possibly justify what I had done. David, bless him, had attempted to find an excuse for me, but I myself knew that there was no excuse for relationship-destroying stupidity. Fortunately for me the two targets of my stupid behaviour had taken it in good part, and I had done their own relationship no harm. Just suppose that I had embraced and kissed an attractive-looking stranger...it did not bear thinking about. What's more, I knew that buying David a nice present would not buy me out of the disappointment that I had given him. At the same time though, I rejoiced that my boy had such a sweet nature that he had, in spite of his disappointment, forgiven me. Maybe there was some point after all in believing in a loving and forgiving God, if His followers could be forgiving too. Moreover his forgiveness had been swift, before my sense of guilt had died down. That fuck, administered within 24 hours of my offence, had been an act of absolution as well as of love and male desire. If there was a God, He was lucky to have a believer like my lover. My mixed feelings of guilt and relief kept me awake a long time after David had gone, but in the end relief triumphed and I fell asleep. The next day, I turned up to Chapel for Evensong, and sat in the stall where I had previously sat. David looked ravishing as usual in his Scholar's surplice with his golden hair. I felt even less worthy than ever of this boy's love. The words, 'we have done those things that we ought not to have done' struck a bitter chord. The singing was good, the sermon again was intellectually respectable, and things seemed back to normal as we went down the steps into the beer cellar for a quick beer before dinner. Chapter 52 David Fourth-year chemistry students were allowed to continue living in college during the short vacations in spite of the conference trade, providing that they all were prepared to move to a single staircase and temporarily occupy another room. I exploited my status as a Scholar to say that I preferred to keep my existing room and to my amazement I got my own way, provided that I only had breakfast in college. This was no hardship to me, as I usually had a snack lunch on the science campus and was quite happy to eat in a pub or student restaurant in the evening. Up to Christmas of course I could eat with Jon, but he would not be there after the Christmas holiday. It might seem strange, but his chastened and penitent behaviour after the evening at the Carp made me feel even more tender and full of loving care towards him. In a way, it strengthened our relationship, because it made me feel that our partnership was one of equality, rather than dependence or submission. That Christmas was the first time that Jon and I would be having the same holiday. We went home to my parents together and returned to Camford together after Christmas, before Jon began his weekly commuting to Ixton. Christmas followed its usual pattern, except that the first few days were taken up with interesting discussions with my sister about her first term at Oxbridge. Like my mother's interrogation of me three years before, I asked Dorothea if she had formed any attachments or whether she was still fancy free. She said that she had been out with a few boys, but had not found any that were particularly attractive. From what she said, it was fairly clear that she had settled in well, that she fitted in to the Oxbridge system happily and was making good progress with her language study. I was able to assure my father that I had not accepted any money from Jon, although we had arranged that any time that I spent at his flat would be rent-free. The family welcomed Jon as a son and brother, Jeroen was particularly happy to see him, and we had a wonderful few days. We stayed until January 2, when we travelled back to Camford by train. We had not long been back in Camford when there was a heavy snowfall, and snow remained on the ground for about a week. After a few phone calls, Jon learnt that a temporary halt had been called to the building activities, so we are able to have a very pleasant week together tramping through the snow to get to the lab. The icy period was followed by a rapid thaw, and work was able to resume on the house. Fortunately the complicated and expensive business of underpinning the 300-year-old walls of the farm were complete, and the concrete shell of the swimming pool had been completed before the cold weather had begun. The next stage of the construction involved the insertion of girders across the width of the building to support the two upper floors. Jon's role in the construction work was little more than that of a labourer. He was certainly not regarded as an agent of the architect, but he was able to make certain decisions that allowed the work to proceed more rapidly, and he was able to ensure that the architect or a representative of him visited the site regularly. The building workforce consisted of three building workers, a plumber/electrician, and as work proceeded of course, a carpenter. The senior builder was the foreman. Some of the woodwork would make use of second-hand materials like staircases, but a large number of the fittings were of course new, and Jon had specified that most of them should be in hardwood, which of course made the whole business really quite expensive. All the floorboards on the upper floors were to be oak tongue-and-groove boards, and the ground floor was to be floored with parquet. However as he said, such a construction job was a once-in-a-lifetime activity and he was determined to spare no expense in constructing a comfortable, durable and aesthetically attractive dwelling-house. Like all building site workers, most of the men except the plumber/electrician were young, basically between 19 (the young apprentice) and 32. It seemed to me strange that Jon who had led a very solitary life, should actually want to spend a significant proportion of time with a group of men with whom the only things he had in common were age and a liking for beer, although even then, they were unlikely to drink the same sort of beer as Jon. After what had happened at the Carp, I couldn't help wondering if sex somehow or other came into picture. Maybe he fancied some rough trade. Chapter 53 Jon It was a brilliant suggestion of David's that I should give up the caravan idea. After a sweaty and dirty day on site, it was wonderful to have a hot shower and sit down to a meal cooked by someone else. On Friday nights I took a cab to the station and caught the 6 pm train to Camford. I returned on the 7 am train from Camford on the Monday. The hazards of working on a building site are not insignificant, and I arranged with Tim Ingledown to take out extra insurance in case of my injury or death. It was not cheap, but with David to provide for, I could not afford to take chances. I also made changes to my will to provide for David. In the event of my death, the trust fund that provided my income would instead pay a proportion of its income to David, and the rest would be divided between the Afforestation Trust, the Drystone Wall Repair Fund, and a series of charities, to be identified each year by the trustees in consultation with David. If I died, David's father would be immediately appointed a trustee to act with the other trustees, and David's income was to be re-evaluated annually so that it was never less than three times the average national income after tax. This provision was basically a safety net that ensured that David was not so wealthy that he did not need to work for his living. If David should die, whether before or after me, his income was to be paid to any children that he might have and if he died childless, the income should go to Jeroen. I appointed Tim and David's father as executors. I did not tell David about these arrangements, and Tim had contacted David's father, who was also sworn to secrecy. Most of what I did on the site was fetching and carrying, holding and lifting, but I enjoyed doing some intellectually undemanding hard physical work. My muscles were getting flabby in spite of the walking and cycling in Camford. People in that era were not so fitness-conscious as they are now, and the building trade was not so mechanized. Much of my research work had been desk- and computer-based, and it was nice to do things with my hands (other than playing with my tool!). The local firm contracted to do the building work did not employ lazy and poorly-skilled workers. Every man in the team except the young apprentice was an expert at his job, and this showed very soon in the quality of the work being done and the lack of corner-cutting. The older men were very firm with the apprentice, and he was made to repeat jobs till he got them exactly right. To my amazement, I found that the lack of conversation while working was very enjoyable. It meant that one could concentrate on doing the job, and when during breaks, we did chat, I found that all my companions, in spite of taciturnity, were interesting people. David's Final Undergraduate Year Because I always did what I was told, I was not seen by the men as a representative of the bosses, and they were much more forthcoming with me, in spite of our different backgrounds. Every Wednesday night, I insisted that after we had finished work, the whole workforce should come back with me to the pub for a drink. At first, I paid for the drinks, but the lads insisted that they should pay their turns. The pub was not usually open in late afternoon, but the landlord was quite happy to open early if there was some business. The conversation did sometimes get on to the topic of sex, and I thought that nothing would be more guaranteed to freeze the atmosphere than an admission that I was gay, especially at the time that this story takes place, when sex between men had only been legal for a few years. Accordingly I did not say much. Basically, myself, the plumber/electrician, who was happily married with a couple of children and the 19-year-old said very little about our sex lives. The others were more forthcoming. Two of them were always ready to chat about their latest conquests, the other, the foreman, who had been sleeping around for some years had now finally met someone that he wanted to marry. One Wednesday night, after our first pint at the Jellycotes Arms, The 19-year-old apprentice, whose name was Don, went to the toilet for a pee. I followed him after a couple of minutes and when I entered the gents, I found him crying quietly as he zipped up his trousers. I went up to him and touched him on the shoulder. "What's the matter, Don?" I asked him. He clutched my arm. "Can I talk to you sometime?" he asked. "Come here on Friday night if you can," I said. "I can talk to you for about half an hour before I catch the train to Camford to see my boy. If that's not long enough, we can meet again some time next week." I spoke and realized that I had given away the secret of my sexuality. But Don made no comment and agreed to the appointment. Chapter 54 Jon On the Friday, being January, it was dark by 4 pm, and we all packed up and left the site. As I walked into Ixton, I heard footsteps behind me. It was Don. "Hello, Don" I said. "What's the problem?" "Sex," he replied. "I'm not an expert on sex," I replied. "No, but you're someone I can talk to without being laughed at," he said. "Tell me about it, then," I said. "I think I may be queer," he said. "That's something you need to be absolutely sure about." I said. "It's a hard life being gay, and you may merely not yet have met the right woman. What are your feelings when you look at a beautiful girl, and how do you feel when you look at a beautiful boy or man? In particular, what happens between your legs?" "I get a hard-on when I see a nice boy, but nothing happens when I see a girl." "Hmm, that is suggestive. Do you read porn magazines, and if so, what turns you on?" "I can't get porn magazines in Ixton!" he said. "Then I'll get you some in Camford," I said, "some of each kind, and we'll see how you react. I ought to tell you by the way, but please don't tell the others, that I'm queer myself. But I've been very lucky. I've met a boy who loves me, and we are fixed up as an item. So don't be frightened that I will try and seduce you! The worst that could happen is that I might kiss you. In fact, why don't we try a kiss now, and see what effect it has on you? Are you game to try it?" "OK," he replied. It was totally dark by now, and there was no-one in sight, so I put my arms round him and kissed him gently but firmly on the lips. He instantly went rigid, opened his mouth and I pushed my tongue into it. He put his arms round my shoulders and when I had withdrawn my tongue, he kissed me back very enthusiastically. "I'll get the porn mags for you," I said, "but it's obvious to me that you enjoyed that kiss. But you might be bi, rather than exclusively queer. We would need a nice co-operative girl to find that out." "Fat chance of that," he said, "but I'm looking forward to the gay porn mags." "They're not the sort of thing that you can get in WH Smith," I said, "but they can be got in Camford." "Thanks very much," said Don. "I'll see you on Monday then." I hurried into the pub to get my bag, and asked Ken, the landlord, to call a taxi to take me to the station. A couple of hours later, I was with David drinking beer in the Sparrowhawk. I told him about Don. "You seem constantly being asked to sort out the sexuality problems of gay colleagues!" he said. "I feel sorry for them" I said. "I remember the days when I was lonely and only had preoccupation with the business to keep me from being miserable. We'll go and get the grumble mags tomorrow," I said. "That scruffy newsagents in the alley off Queen Street has a good selection of porn mags, and we can get him some more respectable gay mags at the same time." "Jon," he said "I don't mind if you suck him off, as long as you tell me about it. After all, I gave that guy in Haarlem a blow-job. And you helped me to establish my sexuality, why shouldn't you help this boy discover himself? I trust you, as long as you tell me about it." Chapter 55 David By now, the Candlemas term had begun, and I was busy in the lab. I had been assigned the task of synthesizing certain materials labelled with carbon-13 for use as precursors for biosynthetic studies, and which were not commercially available. For this part of the work, I was back with most of the other fourth-year students in the big lab in the Chemical Laboratory. It was not frontier-pushing work, but it was a typical task to assign to an undergraduate, because it gave valuable synthetic experience. I had talked to Dan C about the possibility of continuing in research for a Ph.D., and he agreed to talk to the Head of Department about it. I also mentioned it to Dr Crabtree, my supervisor in the Pharmacology Department. I would need to approach as many people as I could, to explore all possible sources of funding. By now, the details of the Chapel choir's tour of Flanders in July had been substantially finalized. In addition to Antwerp, we would also be singing in Ghent, Leuven and Brussels. It had been a severe tax on my time and my spoken Dutch and had taken numerous phone calls and faxes to get these fixtures set up, not made easier by having to use Jon's fax machine, as students were not allowed to use college or departmental fax machines. Several of the host families in Antwerp had agreed to accommodate choir members for the whole duration of the visit, because the distances involved were short. I usually spent Friday and Saturday nights in Jon's bed, and because the bedders did not come in at the weekends, I had no problems, and it left Jon free to get up early on Mondays to catch the early train to Ixfordingworth, the station nearest to Ixton, without disturbing me. Jon was still a registered student, and the college was happy to let him dine in Hall on Sunday nights. He had a certain amount of influence, because I discovered that he was secretly donating several thousand pounds per year to College funds, one of the few examples of a College benefactor who was still what used to be called 'in statu pupilari'. I still would not let him give me money, although I did not pay him rent or board for the time I spent in Fountain Street. On the Saturday we bought the steamy grumble magazines that Jon had promised Don, and a couple of regular gay mags as well. Pornography in pre-internet days was quite difficult to get hold of, even magazines that were smutty rather than overtly sexual were relegated to the top shelves of the newsagents' displays. We then went for our usual Saturday morning swim, and I noticed that Jon's speed was faster. Physical labour was toughening him, and I wondered what effect it would have on his efforts in bed... As we stood under the showers after our swim, Jon looked round to check that no-one else was within earshot and then proceeded to fart noisily. "One advantage of working with a bunch of guys, mainly in the open air," he said "is that I don't need to check who is around, before I let off. And the others are just the same, if they need to fart, they just let rip." I patted his rear, gave him a quick kiss, stepped out of the shower and started to dry myself. Back at Fountain Street, I looked at the magazines that we had bought. Most of them were pretty soft porn, but one or two of them had some quite prick-raising stories. The regular gay magazines were pretty boring, most of the articles were on fitness, body development, men's health, and sexually transmitted diseases. Certainly there was very little to turn us on. "I think your young friend's going to be disappointed with these," I said. "You're right," said Jon, "I shall have to take him some of my harder stuff that I bought in France. This stuff is useless to diagnose homosexuality." We spent a very enjoyable afternoon in bed: I won't bore you with the details except to say that both Jon and I took a turn at fucking. Jon was, as I expected, considerably more randy and energetic than in the previous term. We ate in the flat and then went out to the Rialto to see a French film. Now that Jon was away for five days of the week, our Sunday activity pattern had changed. After my early morning Chapel in college I would return to the flat after breakfast and we would go for a walk or make love or listen to music until lunchtime. We usually had a snack lunch at the Sparrowhawk, or as the weather got warmer, the Carp, and in the afternoon went for a walk, unless I needed to do small jobs in the lab. Jon started coming regularly to Evensong in Chapel, after which we dined in Hall, had coffee in my room, and then Jon would return to Fountain Street and go to bed early, as he had to be up early the next morning. Chapter 56 Jon I took the books and magazines that we had bought back to Ixton in a carrier bag, and at the first opportunity gave them to Don. The two upper floors of Rockwell's Barn were now complete, although they could only be reached by ladder, and we had begun work on reinforcing the roof. That required additional scaffolding to insert girders unobtrusively in the roof space and bolt them together without disturbing the massive ancient oak beams. One night, I arranged with Don for him to come and have a drink with me at the Jellycotes Arms. He told me that the gay porn had really turned him on, but that the straight porn had produced if anything, an effect of revulsion. I asked him if he fancied any of his friends, as picking up strangers was not a good idea. I said that finding someone was fraught with problems, that it had taken me about five years after leaving school before I had found my lover. I also warned him about the dangers of going further than a blow-job, unless he was really sure of his partner. It would also be difficult coming out if he was living at home. What he really needed, and what I could not give him, was a relationship with an experienced man, who was not himself in a long-term relationship, or a few experiences with gay men that he knew. The latter was ruled out by him not knowing any. The only possibility seemed to be visiting a gay pub. If he decided on that, I would have to go with him for the first couple of visits, just to make sure that he did not get involved in anything nasty. Moreover, that would involve regular visits to Ixfordingworth, and could really only be done at the weekend. I advised him that concentrating on his work was most important, as he needed to complete his training to secure his future. Then the penny dropped. He spent one day a week on day-release courses at the tech college in Ixfordingworth. He would do better to keep his eyes open among his friends and fellow students. There was bound to be one or two queers among them. He said that he didn't know any, but would try and find out. I pointed out that his situation had now changed: that knowing his sexual orientation, he could motivate himself more positively. I also asked him what trades/disciplines were taught at the college. If there were any art and design students, he should try and get to know them, because that was where the gays were most likely to be found. My problem was that having spent five years looking for the right partner, I was too sympathetic with gay loners who had difficulty, as to some extent I did myself, in engaging with fellow human beings, whether male or female. I felt obliged to try to help them without getting sexually involved with them. Obviously helpfulness is not of itself a bad thing, quite the contrary, but getting involved in the emotional life of others, especially gay men, is fraught with danger. I just wished that I did not feel so sorry for these guys! Chapter 57 David One evening I was talking to Jon on the phone and said to him "You know that we said that we would invite Robin and Arnold to come up from Exminster for the day? How about next Saturday?" "OK, I'll phone Robin and get it fixed," said Jon. "It will give me a chance to see how they are getting on, and if they really look as if they want to be an item. I hope so, because I think that Robin will take it very hard if they break up." On the Saturday morning, the boys arrived in Robin's car about 11 am. They had left Exminster quite early and stopped for breakfast and a crap on the way. I had not met either of them before, but instantly felt at ease with Arnold, who was lively and outgoing. He was studying botany and agricultural science. He seemed to genuinely fond of Robin, though it was difficult to be sure that he was actually in love, whereas it was clear from the way that Robin looked at him that Robin was deeply smitten. We had coffee in the flat in Fountain Street, and then Jon suggested that we walked to the Carp for a beer and lunch, along the Camwell towpath, that walk that had had so much significance for him and me nearly three years before. Unlike that occasion however, this time we really did get to the pub. As it was early March, it was not warm enough to sit outside, and we found ourselves in the same part of the bar where Jon had made that exhibition of himself when he got drunk before Christmas. As Robin and Arnold would have to drive home, it was not possible to have a lot to drink. We had a pint each and a further half-pint with our food. The cuisine at the Carp was good without being outstanding, and the visitors seemed to enjoy it. We had an interesting discussion about what it was like to be gay in a place like Exminster, which was a relatively small country town, without the sympathetic history of male minorities that Camford had. Apparently there was a nasty history of anti-gay violence, called in those days 'queer-bashing' near the two gay pubs in the town. The boys had to be very careful if they went out late at night, and certainly dared not show any kind of affection in public. Arnold told us that he was in his final year, so I asked him what he was going to do after graduation, had he got a job lined up. He replied that he had applied for several jobs and had been put on the shortlist for three of them, but none was in the Exminster region. Jon said that Robin's job did not require him to live anywhere in particular, so if they wanted to set up home together, there should be no problem. The Carp had a small wharf at the end of its garden, where punts could be hired, and it was now late enough in March for them to be open, although only at the weekend, so the four of us hired a punt and took the two boys from Exminster for a cruise into the city and through the tangle of narrow waterways that crisscrossed the city between the ancient colleges. On the way back, Robin took a turn with the pole. He had never propelled a punt before, and found that it was not as easy as it seemed. The top end of his pole struck a bridge and he lost his grip and fell into the water, banging his head on the side of the punt as he fell. He was momentarily stunned, but fortunately the water was too shallow for him to get his head submerged. He was able to walk to the shore, and by use of the emergency paddle, we rescued the pole, got the boat to the side and were able to get him back on board in a slightly dazed state, with a graze on the side of his head. This fairly trivial incident however had a significant result. The expression of horror on Arnold's face as Robin fell and the speed with which he reacted, and the embrace when we got Robin back aboard the punt, told us all we needed to know about their relationship. These guys loved one another. When we got back to the Carp, the people at the boathouse were very helpful. They supplied Robin with an old blanket to get himself dry and with a couple of large polythene bags for him to sit on and put under his feet in the cab that took us back to Fountain Street. He got his wet and muddy clothes off and we lent him some jeans and a T- shirt of Jon's. After a shower and a cup of coffee, he was none the worse for the bump and the wetting, and the relieved happiness of the two of them was so obvious that all four of us were tempted to start drinking again, and were only prevented by Robin's determination to drive back to Exminster that night. As it was obvious that the two were desperate to be alone together, we did not dissuade them from leaving, but asked Arnold to ring us when they got back to Exminster, which he did. "Well, I don't think you need to worry about Robin any more," I said. "Those guys are both in love." "Yes," said Jon "all I've got to do now is to get Don sorted out." "Watch it! " I said, "You're getting the Emma Woodhouse syndrome. Be careful and don't try to manipulate the poor lad's life." Chapter 58 David Jon and I went to the Sparrowhawk for dinner, washed down by a couple of pints of excellent beer, and returned to the flat for an evening in, as we were both feeling quite randy after the emotional display of our visitors. We put on one of Jon's French porn movies, sat down on the sofa with glasses of Madeira, and watched a couple of handsome men engaged in a blow-job. I reached out, unzipped Jon's trousers and slipped my hand inside and felt around for his tool. As it was rapidly hardening, it was not a problem locating it, and I got hold of it and pulled it out through his fly. I kissed the tip and Jon stood up and dropped his trousers and underpants to the floor and I immediately pushed him back on the sofa and started to kiss his hard, flat belly. I followed his treasure trail down into his pubic bush and took some of the soft hair into my mouth. Although most of Jon's body was much less hairy than mine, when limp, his cock was almost lost in the enormous bush of black hair surrounding it. However just then its purple cut head was sticking up out of the surrounding bush. The faint odour of sweat was quite intoxicating, mixed as it was with the scent of shower gel. I moved my lips sideways and downwards and reached his balls. I opened my mouth and very gently nibbled the hairy bag. Jon grunted with pleasure. I licked the surface and ran my lips over each testicle before moving on to the shaft of his iron hard dick. I moved along it slowly and on reaching his rolled-back foreskin, I stopped and began to nibble it. I continued nibbling for several minutes before taking his cock into my mouth as deep as I could swallow. I chewed and sucked with all my might and Jon started to groan with delight as I worked on it. Because women are a mystery to me, I cannot say for certain, but it is my belief that no woman can appreciate fully the enormous pleasure that a man can experience from play with his sex organs. People who are obsessed with penetration ignore the delights that giving a man head can bring to him, along with playing with his ball-bag. As I have always known since I recognized my homosexuality, every man knows how to pleasure another man because he knows what a man wants and enjoys. And that does not just apply to sex-play. Love between men is deeper and stronger than love between the sexes, which is why many of the greatest love stories are about homosexual love, even if much traditional Christian culture makes such stories usually end tragically. We even have biblical testimony to the strength of man-man love: 'Your love for me was wonderful, surpassing the love of women.' (2 Sam 1: 26). The best Christian traditions, as exemplified by Aelred, have always valued and celebrated man-man love, although weakening and devaluing it, by frowning on its sexual expression.