8 comments/ 39028 views/ 5 favorites David's First Year at College By: WittePiet [This story is set in England towards the end of the twentieth century, when attitudes to homosexuality were very different to those of today. The ancient English universities were still adjusting to the revolutionary concept of coeducational colleges. Sex between men was only legalized in 1966, and even then the age of consent for gay sex was set at 21. (This was changed to 16 early in the following century). Some of the strange or emotive language reflects the legal terminology in use at that time]. Chapter 1 David I have decided to begin this story on a day in December 19--, when I was approaching the end of my first term as an undergraduate at the University of Camford. I was just 18 when I came to Camford after a very happy upbringing and education. In consequence I had to decide when I arrived at St Boniface's College in what way, now that the decisions were entirely mine, I should organize my life. Until then I had had a very broad spectrum of activities but a rather limited experience of things like theatre and film, although I had read very extensively. I felt that it was important to have a focused life during the short (in comparison with a lifetime) stay that I expected in Camford. Accordingly, I decided to concentrate on my academic study (which to the surprise of my parents and many of my teachers was chemistry) and regular attendance at Chapel when work permitted, including singing in the Chapel choir. Other participatory musical activities such as other choral commitments and my flute-playing would be suspended for the coming four years. Additionally I continued to play basketball, but only at college level, and to attend concerts and recitals. My idea was that I would devote 80% of my waking time to these activities, allowing the rest for the inevitable beer and coffee drinking, chat, film and theatre visits that are an essential part of university life. If this introduction sounds boring, stop reading now. Religion and classical music are not popular topics in modern erotic fiction, and if you read on you will find that these, along with science, figure very frequently. If you want to read about sex, you will not be disappointed, but the lives to be described in the following pages involve the heart and brain as well as the penis. I did not have a large circle of friends in my first term. No one else in my school had come to Camford and I therefore developed friendships slowly in the various circles which I was active: the Chemistry Department, the College Chapel and the college basketball club. St Boniface's had only a few female students ("token women" they called themselves), though the college did have, to the total amazement of the academic establishment, a female President. On election she had declared that she was not a feminist, and that the growth of the number of women students in the college would be very gradual. She was of course married, but her husband worked in industry and did not darken the doors of the President's lodgings between 8:30 am and 7 pm. He was rumoured to be a cultured man, but not one who spent his his waking hours in the college, though he was seen regularly on the squash court. So I was building a collection of friends of both sexes, but predominantly men, with whom I had common interests, but none that were extremely close, despite signs by some women friends that they fancied me. When the story begins I had been to an orchestral concert in the Town Hall given by a distinguished foreign orchestra. There had been a particularly moving performance of a Mozart piano concerto by an artist of international repute. As I came down the stairs afterwards, a man I recognized came up to me and said "Wasn't that a fabulous performance of the Mozart?" I could only agree with him. He was tall and thin, with dark crewcut hair, and I recognized him as a chemistry research student whom I had seen in Hall on several Sunday nights during the preceding term. "Yes," I said, "have you heard him before?" "A couple of times in London," he said. "Come and have coffee and tell me about them," I said in a friendly, if offhand way, because he seemed to be a person worth getting to know. However, when we reached the street, it was raining cats and dogs, so we immediately plunged into an adjacent pub, one which I had not previously visited. It was not particularly busy and we found a table in the corner. "What will you have?" asked my new acquaintance. "A pint of bitter" I replied. "Any particular sort?" he asked. "I leave it to you" I said. He came back with two pints what turned out to be excellent beer of a sort that I had not had before. "My name is Jonathan Singleton," he said. "I am David Scarborough" I replied, "I'm a first year chemist." "I know, I will be demonstrating to your class next term" he replied. I made a complementary remark about the beer. "Yes," he said. "They sell a very good pint of X's here." We sat sipping our beer, and I was conscious that he was eyeing me in a sexually appraising way. This of course is not a new experience for me. I was 18 and had learned to live with such looks from both men and women. He told me that the pianist we had heard had given exceptionally good performances when he had heard him before. He explained that he had to make frequent visits to London in connection with the affairs of the family firm, whose nominal control he had inherited a couple of years earlier on the death of his father. We chatted and it turned out that he had signed in to dine in Hall on the following Wednesday. We arranged to meet before dinner in the beer cellar. There would be no further opportunities, because after my college Progress Test on the following Friday I was leaving Camford the next day to go home for Christmas. We consumed a second pint, and by now it was approaching closing time. "Sorry I can't invite you back to my place for coffee," he said "but I have to make a brief visit to the lab to switch off some equipment." "That's okay" I said, "I'll see you on Wednesday." We walked together along St Mary Street and parted company at the end. I walked thoughtfully into college and before going to my room stopped off for a pee in one of the men's toilets. He was an interesting person, I thought, obviously highly intelligent, with an extremely pleasant voice, and an expert on things I knew little or nothing about. As I drifted off to sleep in bed I thought of Jonathan Singleton's very slender figure and dark hair, which at the time struck me as pleasant but not particularly arousing. The following week was very busy, lectures, final labs, final basketball match and work on my progress test, a kind of oral exam that Camford colleges subjected their students to every term. Wednesday afternoon was the final college basketball match, which was more exhausting than usual, and we lost 5-0. I felt limp and tired as we showered afterwards, but felt rather better during the walk back to college where I was just in time to meet Jonathan in the beer cellar. "How did it go?" he asked. "The match?" I said. "Yes," he said. "Not well. We lost and I feel knackered." "Who plays in the college first five?" he asked. I named them. He asked a few questions about fellow team members, from which I suspected that he was trying to find out if I had any special, or not so special, relations with any of them. But I told him that the team's relationships ended with the pub visit that followed each fixture. We sat next to each other at dinner and then went for coffee in my room. "There's an Ingmar Bergman film on at the Rialto," he said, naming a small "art-house" cinema famous for its foreign films. "Would you like to go and see it?" We finished our coffee and strolled in the direction of the cinema. We stopped for a pee at the public conveniences in Long Street and arrived at the cinema. The film was 'Ansiktet', one of Bergman's most famous and most enigmatic films. I had not seen a Bergman film before, not even on television. The beauty of the Swedish language filled my ears with delight. I wondered if Jonathan would touch me or attempt to hold my hand, but he kept himself firmly to himself. On emerging from the cinema, we went into a nearby pub and consumed a pint of West London bitter, Camford's local brew. "Come and have coffee at my place" Jonathan said, but I refused on the grounds that I still had work to do, and we parted company at Laurifax. The progress test went well. From the hints that were dropped it looked as though I might be in the running for a scholarship, which would please my parents and assure me an en-suite room in college. On the Friday night, the chapel choir had its end of term party with with the choir, Bible clerk, organ scholar, Chaplain and Prof Smith, a learned, yet young and trendy theologian. The choir, as all university organisations do, varied in size and composition from year to year. That year there were 12 men and eight women. St Boniface's "token women" comprised about 10% of the college's complement of 550 resident members (undergraduates, graduates and the governing body, and so included the president). Yet women comprised 40% of the choir. This is not an untypical situation, and in any case was essential for the right spread of voice ranges for church music. Some of the male members seemed to be there not out of religious considerations (they were good singers of course) but in order to meet the women. The women in the choir however were less promiscuous than most of the St Boniface women---they did not do one-night stands. Some indeed were plain and unexciting. I got on well with the women, as I never made chauvinist remarks and never attempted to chat them up. The chaplain and Prof Smith left early, as did the more rowdy (and randy?) male members, leaving about a dozen people, about equal numbers of men and women. There had been a nucleus of good wine, courtesy of the college, and we had all taken along bottles, so between the 12 of us there was a lot of alcohol. At first it was good, the non-drinking women choir members sipped fruit juice and ate the vol-au-vents, and a lively conversation, partly on music, partly on churchy matters went on. By midnight, as most of us were leaving the next day, the non-drinking ladies and the more pious men had gone, leaving three men and five giggling women. We continued to drink and to talk, although by now everyone could only be described as drunk. Two of the men wandered off with two of the women, saying "Good night, see you next term" as they staggered away. I was left with three women, still giggling, one of whom at least was, I realized, probably in a bad way. She looked as if she might throw up at any minute. The college function room, where we were, was furnished with easy chairs and sofas, we were all sitting on a sofa. I was still sipping a glass of white wine while the girls were giggling. I put my glass down on a table and put an arm round each of them, the off-colour girl barely conscious in the corner. "This is nice," I said "I could sit here all night." "And even if you did, nothing would happen" said one of the girls, whose name was Barbara. "Why should anything happen, I asked "unless you want it to?" "We know about you," she said "you must be queer, or think that you are CR." (She named a well known popular vocalist who was supposed to be celibate). "I can't imagine the artist you have named singing in a choir" I said. "Do you want me to fondle your breasts or something?" I asked. "Just because I don't sleep with every woman who fancies me doesn't mean that I am queer or someone like CR. I wonder how often CR wanks," I remarked indiscreetly, and at once regretted my drunken bad taste. "Here are you two, sitting with a man who is behaving himself and respecting your bodily integrity and you suggest that he is gay. I'm one of the half-dozen choir members who go to non-choral services. I go because I believe, not because I can sing, and I don't go whoring around." Another remark of the type that I would never have made if I had been sober. Perhaps the CR comparison was not so wide of the mark... I then kissed each of them and said "We're going to have to help Amelia back to her room. Can you walk Amelia?" I shouted. She opened her eyes. "Wanna go to bed" she said. The other girl Margaret helped Amelia to her feet. We got each of her arms round each of our shoulders and escorted her to her room, which fortunately was nearby on one of the staircases that St Boniface's reserved for its female students. We got her upstairs with some difficulty, where we helped her onto her bed. I left in some haste. I returned to the function room to make sure that it was not too much of a mess, and suggested to Barbara that she should go to help Margaret get Amelia undressed. Her reply was totally amazing. She reached out a hand and crudely felt my crotch. "Well at least you've got something there" she said "even if only men turn you on." And with that she was gone. I put out the light, closed the door and walked very unsteadily to my room, where I drank half a litre of water before going to bed. Fortunately my train did not leave until noon the next day. Chapter 2 Because Camford is in the middle of England, and is not important enough to be a terminus, the principal trains all depart between 11 am and 3 pm, as they run from places like Bournemouth and Norwich to places in the North and West of England. On the train heading northwards, without a headache thanks to the water (one learns some things very quickly at University), I found myself thinking about my sexual orientation. Was I really gay? I had never felt attracted to any of the boys at school but then even the girls I had gone out with had left me cold. I decide that the question had to remain undecided at least until I got to know Jon Singleton better, but I couldn't help wondering how to reconcile my sexuality (if I were to turn out to be gay) with my beliefs. I had had a sensible liberal theological education, and I knew that most of the old Testament teaching on homosexuality had been misinterpreted, and the Jesus had been silent on the topic. So while I was convinced that a homosexual relationship was not sinful, I felt that the same high standards of lifelong fidelity should apply to unions of men with men as well as with those of men with women, the only problem being to be convinced that such a union was God's will and not one's own selfishness. I had not been consciously homesick in my first term at St Boniface's, because I had been too busy, but it was marvellous to be home again. My mother met me at the station because my father was still at work. It was wonderful to see her again and I threw my arms around her and kissed her on the station platform. "Wat mooi om je weer te zien (Great to see you again)," I said. My mother is Dutch by birth and whenever we are alone we speak Dutch. As my father and sister speak no Dutch and my little brother only a few words, we never use the language in the family. She asked me how I was getting in in Camford, and I told her that both study and leisure-time were going well. Then she asked if I had met a nice girl yet, to which I said "No," that I would tell her when (or if) it happened. You will gather that my mother is not a stolid Dutch lady: indeed my religious convictions come mainly from my father. I asked how things were with my sister and little brother. My mother replied that Dorothea hoped to do well in her examinations in June and Jeroen was getting on well at his primary school. My younger brother Jeroen/Jerome is 10 years younger than I am. I've always been very fond of him, almost as if he were my own child. It sounds stupid for an 18-year-old to think in these terms, but I was lucky with both of my siblings. Christmas passed very enjoyably. My father, Dorothea and myself went to midnight Mass at our parish church where father is churchwarden. My father and mother took a slightly reluctant Jeroen to the morning service on Christmas Day, leaving my aunt and me to keep an eye on the turkey and Christmas pudding. On Boxing Day I went a long walk with my father. Without him asking, I reassured him that I had not fundamentally changed after my first few months of university. Little did I realize what the next six months would bring. Soon it was time to go back to Camford for the Candlemas term. I saw Jonathan regularly that term, we dined in Hall together twice a week and regularly went to a film each week, usually at the Rialto. The multiplex cinemas of Camford offered the same programme of multiple rubbish as all the rest of the cinemas all over the land. But at the Rialto I was introduced to the riches of French, Italian, Swedish, Bengali and East European cinema, as well as British and American classics. From Antonioni and Bergman to Wells and Wilder I saw some magnificent films rarely if ever seen on television or satellite. Similarly we heard music that I would never have thought to go to on my own. Jonathan played a terrific role in my cultural education. In return, I tried inadequately and hopefully to tell him of the riches of the gospel, but he gently replied (A) that he was an agnostic and (B) that he had work for the firm to do on Sundays and did not mind my absence at three church services on Sunday as long as we could drink and eat in the evenings. Jonathan did indeed demonstrate to our organic chemistry classes that term. He was never the remote demonstrator sitting at a desk letting us get on alone: he was there at the bench, giving a hand to male and female students alike. As I got to know him better, he confessed once over a drink that he had difficulty in forming relationships. His father, owner of a prosperous and efficient small engineering firm had also made money through shrewd investment in property. He had died some years earlier, leaving the firm and quite a lot of money to Jonathan and a comfortable income to his widow, who lived in the South of France. Jon's parents had played little role in his upbringing: he been at boarding school from the age of eight. The school he told me without details had had an unsympathetic regime: no abuse of the pupils, but a very unreasonably harsh regime designed to damp down their sexuality. Jonathan had spent Christmas with his mother in France, but had not enjoyed it much. He spoke fluent French as far as I could tell. He certainly had a lot of French books in his study. Yes, late in the Candlemas term I finally saw his flat. It was very nice, full of books. I inspected the books, and what I saw supported my suspicions of his sexual orientation. There were a lot of classic French novels, a lot of book titles banned or unavailable in England at the time, much chemistry, mathematics, computer books and what I suspected (although I dared not look at: why I don't know) to be a porn section. A suggestion of what Gerard Reve calls 'Greek principles' was a very beautiful Greek male nude statuette in the bathroom, but there was no overt indication on Jon's part that our friendship with anything more than platonic: indeed one night after seeing an opera, we had a highly philosophical discussion about the portrayal in 'Cosii fan Tutte' of sexual infidelity as normal. I suppose you could say that really 'Cosi' paints a picture of human frailty, that even the most conscientiously faithful man or woman can fall if tempted sufficiently---was that not also the theme also of 'Les Liaisons Dangereuses'? But we both felt that lifelong fidelity was an achievable objective for most people, even though so few people seem prepared to try it. Early in March before we left Camford, we went for a swim at the new Camford Olympic pool---Olympic only in its size, I hasten to add. One cannot imagine Camford as an Oympic venue. I had suggested going for a swim, as we had done nothing "physical" together apart from easy walking. I only got a glimpse of Jon's body as we undressed, but after swimming 20 lengths each---he was a faster swimmer than me, although five years older---we adjourned to the men's shower-room. I had shampoo, he had soap, so we had to share. The showers were in alcoves, three showers on one side, three on the other without partitions. Quite deliberately we took our places on opposite sides facing, rather than beside each other, reaching across soap or shampoo as we needed it. We had of course removed our swimming trunks. Mine were rather juvenile-looking shorts, his very brief cutaway French trunks with a three-quarter back, in an attractive shade of yellow. He was tall (a good 2 metres), and I realized, rather thin perhaps 70 kilos in weight, with broader shoulders than I had expected, quite muscular, ribs reasonably well covered, with very narrow hips, flat belly and muscular but slender legs. His buttocks were unbelievably small and neat and his circumcized tool perhaps smaller than I might have expected. He was not unduly hairy, which is just as well, because his hair was very dark. To my relief there was none on his back or shoulders, his chest was reasonably hairy for a man of his age, and the lower parts of his body were quite hairy, except his arse, which was almost hairless. There was a dark treasure trail running from his bellybutton down to his pubic hair, which was abundant and covered the root of his tool. Part of his pubic hair was visible outside the swimming briefs. What I saw attracted me, but not enough, fortunately, to give me an erection! David's First Year at College I decided to invite Jon to stay with us at home over Easter. As Easter was extremely early that year, he was able to travel home with me at the end of term on the train. He did not possess a car, because he said he didn't need one in Camford and it was expensive to garage it. So he travelled to London by train, using bus or taxi in Camford and tube or taxi in London. The flat in London where he stayed was just a 'pied à terre' he said, belonging to the firm---a bedroom, bathroom, small kitchen and minute sitting room with a television set. No computer. He took a laptop with him if he needed it, which he often did. I often wondered how he was able to do so much, before I realized that going out with me was the only recreation he had. When I was at choir practice, basketball-training or -playing, he was at home (or at the lab) working. He went out on his own to eat usually, though he did sometimes warm up convenience food on a microwave. He could cook, he told me, but didn't have time. He kept fit by walking or cycling everywhere, with a swim once a week if he had time. At home it was a revelation. He got on with my parents like a house on fire, and was very nice to my little sister and brother. My sister fairly obviously fancied him. I thought: you are wasting your time, young Dorothea, he only likes men---though in fact I had no firm evidence for this statement, except my instinct, which was probably none too reliable. Big emotional mistakes can be made about sexuality. I realized that I was becoming attracted to him. Suddenly I found myself thinking of him at times when there was no reason to, and when he left on the Wednesday after Easter with the fervent request of all the family to come again, I felt a void, an ache. I missed him. One of the symptoms of love? Maybe. He had been extraordinarily charming to my parents, and he did have a beautiful voice, though as I found later when he spoke from his rear end, the sound was less beautiful. Chapter 3 I continued to miss Jonathan right up to the beginning of term. He telephoned twice, once to ask if there were any books I needed for the forthcoming term and once to ask what train I was coming back to Camford on, as he would meet me at the station. In both cases, we chatted for longer than was strictly necessary. I arrived at Camford station on the day before the Pentecost term began. Jonathan met me on the platform. He said "Hi," took my luggage, put it down and then shook my hand in a way that felt as if he were holding it. "I've got a taxi waiting," he said. "Waiting?" I said "what if the train had been late?" "It would only cost me a few bob" he said. The taxi took us to St Boniface's and Jonathan paid the driver. He took two of my cases, leaving me to bring the rest and carried them up to my room. "Would you like a cup of tea?" I asked. He said yes. He looked tired. "You look a bit under the weather" I said. "Just tiredness," he said. "I had a series of late nights meeting various deadlines. But that is now over. Would you like to go out?" "Yes, but I need to be back for dinner." "No problem, let's walk through Jesserod Meadow." We walked out into the meadow. It was a beautiful day in early May when most of the trees were showing pale green leaves, but the ash and oak were still grey. I had a university examination that term and Jonathan asked how my work was going. "Okay" I said, "my progress test last term was good. I felt myself wondering if Y" (the charming chemistry tutor --an able young unmarried organic chemist with an impressive grant track record and a great future ahead of him) "fancies me. He looks at me in a very lecherous way sometimes." "Y? I don't think so. He's engaged to a professor's daughter." Duh! There was my faulty gaydar again. "Oh, the Albert Woods of the later 20th century then?" "You could say so. But you must be used to being eyed up by women, and men too, I suppose. A lot of people find you very attractive you know" he said. Did that mean "including me?" "I'm not the only fair-haired man in college" I said shortly. "You need a girlfriend, even if not very serious---non-sleeping I mean---unless you want to get a lot of unwelcome attention in college from both men and women" he said. "Rubbish," I said "this isn't the Middle Ages. I can look after myself." I thought I detected a note of anxiety and possibly jealousy in his voice. "There are lots of things in life besides sex, even though many 15 to 30-year-olds don't seem to be aware of it." "Don't start on about the need for the gospel among the youth" he said. "You make me sound like Christian Union member," I said. I'm not a member and I don't subscribe to their views, so it's irrelevant to bring them into the discussion. I've learnt a lot from you, Jon in the last few months. Don't start on about something you do not know anything about. Christianity is a much more diverse and enlightened religion than you think. Who are you, the solitary hermit, to go on about human needs for sex? Sex is a small part of our lives, even if a nice one, or so I'm told." "Are you a virgin then?" he asked. "I wouldn't answer that question from anyone else," I answered, "but you are different. Anyway I won't tease you by keeping you in suspense, yes I am. I'm waiting for the right person to come along, and then it will be serious and permanent. I've never done it with either boy or girl." I felt myself going red. "I want a relationship, not one-night stands." "You must be undersexed then" he replied. I couldn't believe that I had heard that. He was obviously trying to provoke a reaction from me, but it didn't work. I needed him to be more forthcoming about himself before I would say anything about my lack of sex life. "Look," I said "what I do on my own is my business. Anyway what about your sex life?" This embarrassed him. "I'd rather not talk about it just at present," he said. "I will tell you one day though." "Jon," I said to him "why the sudden obsession with sex? You know a lot about chemistry, money, computer programming, films and literature. We can and do talk for hours on any of those topics. Why need we talk about my sexuality?" "I just wanted to get you thinking about it" he said. "Jon" I said "I missed you enormously in the last three weeks. Our friendship is quite deep, considering that I've only known you for six months." I dared not say more until I had thought more deeply about the whole thing. We arranged to meet and eat in Hall on the Wednesday. The beginning of term is a busy time, but I had to consider my position in relation to Jon as a matter of urgency. I knew a quiet suburban church that curiously in these days was kept open without supervision. It could be reached via the Brookside walk. My lab class was over by 4 pm on the Tuesday and after it I wandered along slowly through Brookside and reached St Clement's church. I went in. It was very dim inside. I walked to the front of the nave and sat down quietly in a pew. I began the standard physical exercises supposed to make you open to the influences of God... Half an hour later I was walking back to college and my thoughts were clear and organized. I knew for certain that I was in love with Jon, and although I knew that the relationship that I was contemplating would meet Aelred of Rievaulx's first test of false friendship ("friendship for carmal pleasure" in his book 'Spiritual Friendship'), I felt certain that God would bless our relationship, as he does of any unselfish act. I rang Jon at home. "I'll see you on the Hall steps tomorrow" I said. "I don't want to drink any beer." The next day was difficult. I had a lecture at 9 and another at 10, a tutorial at noon, which lasted till 1-30. As I was in college I was able to get a sandwich in the beer cellar and a glass of fruit juice. As it was Wednesday it was basketball, but luckily only practice. I was not at my best and missed a couple of easy goal shots. I showered hastily afterwards and refused to go with the rest of the team to the pub. I relate these details because they are the details of the most momentous day of my life so far, the day I was to admit to myself that I was gay. The menu in Hall I cannot remember. I ate it, being hungry from the afternoon's exercise and drank fruit juice again. Jon had a pint. "Let's not bother with coffee" I said, "it's a beautiful evening and I want to talk. Let's walk to the Carp at Stubbington along the Camwell towpath." We set out. "What's the matter with you David?" Jon asked. You've not drunk any alcohol. Have you been bitten with a temperance bug or are you trying to lose weight?" he said with a grin. In reply, I just took hold of his right hand and held it with both of mine. "Jon" I said "I know that you are a good person, and if I am mistaken about your feelings you will not tell anyone about this but clearly you want to know how I feel. Well, I love you." I hadn't dared look at his face while speaking, but now he stood stock-still and I looked at him full in the face. "David," he said "that's the most wonderful news I have ever had in my life. I've wanted you desperately ever since I first met you in the Town Hall. He grabbed my hand, led me through an open gate and behind a hedge where we were out of sight, and he then threw his arms around me and we kissed passionately. I can't really say that it was the first time I had kissed a man. I kiss my father perhaps a dozen times a year, and I often kiss my little brother. But sexual kissing is quite different, and sexual kissing another man quite different from kissing a woman. A man's face is always rough, no matter how well shaven he is. But the experience was tremendous. I felt as if I were falling into a deep abyss of joy. And that the emotion was genuine, I knew because I had taken no alcohol, my judgement was not clouded and I was sure that God approved of what I was doing. I opened my mouth and Jon's tongue entered it. I caressed and rubbed his back and buttocks, his neck and shoulders. After what seemed an age, we stopped, breathless, with massive bulges in the crotches of our trousers. "We had better go back to my place" said Jon, "it's more private there." I can remember nothing about the walk back to Fountain Street where Jon's flat was. We entered, and he checked that the door was locked. "Come up to my bedroom" he said. Romantic stories with pretensions to artistic or literary merit stop at the bedroom door. But this is sexual fantasy, and the prurient reader (as well as the prurient writer, me) will wish it to continue. Some of the language will get crudely explicit, because that is how men talk to one another in real life. Right, so this then is pornography, but pornography where the story is as important as the sex. "Let's undress each other" I suggested. This is always an erotic experience and can be made as slow as one wishes, to build tension as in striptease. But we were both in a great hurry. However, we removed our shoes and socks and then started to undress each other. We pulled our shirts off, and naked to the waist, we we hastily unbuckled and unzipped each other's trousers and pulled them down, throwing them on the floor. I was wearing pale blue briefs, and Jon a yellow g-string: a front bag to hold the genitals with just a strap round the waist and a thin strap running from this between the buttocks to the crotch. We both had a massive "tent" in front where our erect manhood was struggling to escape. We pulled down each other's undergarment and and stepped out naked and fell into each other's arms. "Listen" said Jon "lovemaking between men can be very messy, especially if you've not had a wank recently. It was traces on the sheets at the Savoy noted by the chambermaid that got Oscar Wilde convicted of gross indecency." "Did that mean 144 times?" I asked facetiously. "I'll get a big towel" said Jon and pulled one out of a drawer. "We can clean our persons under the shower, but I don't want my sheets in a mess." He pulled off the duvet and spread the towel on the bed. As he bent over to do so I knelt down and started to kiss his arse. Finished, he jumped onto the towel and I lay beside him kissing his ribs and hips. I pulled him onto his back and began to kiss his nipples and nibble them. I nearly went crazy. I kissed his midriff, his bellybutton and his belly and began to kiss his hard and slimy prick. "Get on top of me with your prick between my legs" said Jon. I did so, and he closed his legs, as I straddled him. He knew just the optimal pressure with which to squeeze my prick, as I moved it in and out of his crotch. His cock was hard and slimy and pressed against my belly. I lay forward and began to kiss his nipples again and he put his hands on top of each of my buttocks. "The technique is to try to time things so that we both come at the same time" he said. I clutched his upper arms and shoulders and we began. I rubbed my belly as much as I could against his tool, but it looked as if I was going to beat him to it. I slowed down a little and felt him respond under me by pushing himself upwards. I resumed my movements with great speed in and out until eventually I came violently, but I kept moving and even gave his tool a helping hand with my finger. After a minute or so he moved his hands to my shoulder and lunged forward and I felt his hot squirt spread over my diaphragm and chest. I remained in position on top of him and lay still, kissing his chest and upper arms. "I love you, Jon," I said tenderly. "You know" he said, "I thought I was falling in love with your mother until I realized that the reason that I felt so tender about her was that she reminded me of you. I had intended to let our friendship stay platonic for a few months longer, but I just couldn't wait that long." "But by that talk that you gave me the other day, you forced me to think about my sexuality, and I now know that I'm gay." "But the way you have just been kissing me, David, shows that you wanted me even before you were conscious of it! Roll off me" he said. I lay on my back beside him, my hand on the bush of hair around his prick, which was now limp. However it was all disagreeably sticky and we agreed that we needed to shower. "We can both get underneath the shower together" he said "if we press up close." So we did, and with a little soap, the love-juice was soon washed off. The shower was lovely and warm and we soon began to fondle one another again. "You know that time at the swimming pool" I said "when we were eyeing one another up? What I most remembered about you is your delightfully small arse. I regret that mine is rather big." "What struck me about you" he said "was your magnificent uncut cock. Of course I'd only seen it limp at that stage, but it certainly is a beauty." "Have you had sex with a boy before?" I asked. "Three or four times," he said. "when I was at boarding school. I'll tell you all the details one day. One was a boy who invited me to stay with him at home in the school holidays. We shared a bathroom, and I think that he wanted me to fuck him so that he could blackmail me. He knew that I had money. But I refused to fuck and all I did was to suck him off. I never felt attracted to him at all. I resolved that when I did find the right person, sex would be tender and mutual." "What about when you were an undergraduate? Surely you must have had the odd short affair with someone?" "Just once. We sucked and messed around, but didn't go the whole way." "What about women? Have you ever fucked a woman?" "No, I'm not interested in women." "So you've never fucked anyone then?" "No," he replied. "Have you ever wanted to?" "Lot's of times. What man hasn't wanted to?" he answered. Maybe some men just want to be fucked, I thought, but I said nothing, I just put my right arm around him round the chest and kissed his shoulder. He suddenly enfolded me tightly and kissed me repeatedly on the mouth. "Don't stay in college next year" he said "come and live here with me. We can sleep naked in each other's arms every night." "When you put it like that, how can I refuse?" I answered, "but I shall move back to college in my third year." As he put his arm around me once again, he suddenly let a loud fart. "Pardon me for not warning you" he said, "if you come to live with me you're bound to hear me do that. And of course you are free to do the same. If you share my bed you have to be free to fart in it, as I will. If the thought repels you, then it's not too late to change your mind. But it would be idle to pretend that neither of us ever gets gas in our guts." By now I was crazy with lust and pushed my prick between his legs from behind and started working it in and out. "Don't let off again," I said "or you'll blow me out of the shower!" "Do you realize" Jon whispered to me as I put my arms round his chest and pushed my prick between his legs "the you are just about to commit a second act of indecency with a male person?" "The first one was pretty good," I said "and I still have some more juice in me. Quit talking and squeeze my prick with your legs." He did so and I had a wonderful time pushing and pulling it and reaching round his hips to tickle the tip of his tool at the same time. "Remember," I said "no more farting until I've come, or you'll blow me away." At the moment that I came Jon pulled his legs apart and my prick surged forward and shot my seed so hard that it hit the walls of the shower cell. "Now you're doing it on the wall of my bathroom" said Jon. "Just like Onan son of Judah," I replied "who spilt it on the ground rather than beget a child for his wicked brother Er." Jon turned round and began to rub his tool against my buttocks. I opened my legs as he had done and we did it again for his benefit, except that his load ended up all over my legs. All this time, the shower had been running. I turned it off and Jon passed me the only towel. "Now that we have undergone sexual union," he said "you can share my towel." As I dried myself I asked what time it was. "About 10-45" he said. "I'd love a drink" I said." "You can't go to the boozer now," he said "it would be like visiting a whorehouse on coming out of church. I've got some nice Trappist beer downstairs. Just pass me the towel, I must get dry." He dried his legs and feet and went downstairs and came back with two bottles and two brandy glasses. "Two bottles of Blue Chimay" he said "pour carefully to avoid disturbing the sediment." He carried on drying himself. I put the glasses on the windowsill and opened the bottles and poured them carefully. "Sniff the bouquet before drinking" he said "that's what the brandy glasses are for. I don't drink brandy, but I don't have a complete set of the right glasses for every Belgian beer I buy." He put the toilet lid down and sat on it with his glass. I squatted beside him on the bidet holding mine. "Here's to us" I said, "I love you, I love you, I love you." "Come on" he said, "a bit more macho, please. You are a basketball player, not a wimp. I don't want you as a sex toy, I want you as a man. I want you for that treasure hanging between your legs." "Well" I said "you seemed the other day to want to set up as my protector. If I do move in here, I want to pay rent, I don't want to be your kept boy." "Suits me" he said "I want to keep our relationship secret, if you don't mind." "No, I don't mind" I said, "I'm proud to be yours, but I don't necessary want all the basketball team and chapel choir to know it. It's none of their business. We'll do our best to keep it quiet, but sooner or later we'll be found out. It's like a fart that you let quite soundlessly, but eventually the smell reaches people in the vicinity and they know that you have let off." I tasted the beer. It was excellent. David's First Year at College "Have you any more of this?" I asked. "Yes," he said "but go steady: it's 9% ABV. I think your comparison of our relationship with a fart is rather bad taste" he said. "That's because I'm a dirty-minded slut!" I replied. "And just how does being a slut fit in with your Christian belief?" he asked. "I'm your slut, not anyone else's. God will forgive me that." We had another Chimay each, and about an hour later I kissed Jon goodbye and walked back to college. I undressed and got into bed, but it took a long time to get to sleep. I kept turning over in my mind the events of the most momentous day in my life---more momentous than my grade 7 flute, than my A-level results, than my acceptance at St Boniface's, and the day that my uncle said that I spoke Dutch like a native. It was the day---12 May 19-- ---that I gave myself to the man I loved. At the time some people might have said that I had been led into dirty practices by an older man, ignoring the fact that it was I who had made the advances. Jon told me later that he had been afraid that he would lose me if he made any sexual advances. But how can honest love be a vice in the sight of God? I eventually fell asleep. Chapter 4 David I awoke the next day wanting to see Jon, but knowing that it would not be until evening at the earliest. I dressed, shaved and went to Morning Prayer in Chapel. I wanted to give thanks for Jon and our new relationship. You must all remember what it is like to be very deeply in love. It is very difficult to concentrate on anything. Your mind is continually wandering off to the one you love and you think about little else but when you will see him or her again next. I signed out of dinner, and after my lab class had finished about 4-30, I went to Jon's lab. He was surprised but pleased to see me. We arranged to meet at 6 pm and go to eat. In the meantime I went to the science library to read up some material that was urgent preparation for my coming examinations, although my concentration was not at its best. We ate in a pub, the Sparrowhawk. While we consumed a pint, Jon said "Do you have any work to do tonight?" "No" I said. "Then either we can go to a film or we can go home and make love. I think that we should go to the film and leave love-making till the weekend. They have James Ivory's 'Maurice' at the Rialto. Films on homosexuality are not all that common. Let's go and see it and hold hands." So we did. It was interesting: in the first part of the film Maurice expresses his homosexuality just by kissing and cuddling. But like all true men, love that does not involve the male organ is only half passionate---affection, but no passion. "You ought to read the book" said Jon "it's the only novel where Forster is open about gayness." He held my left hand in his right hand for most of the film, except occasionally when he reached down to touch my crotch. We left the cinema rather furtively holding hands and walked back to college. I made coffee and Jon consumed a cup and then left after we had kissed passionately. Again I ached with emptiness when he had gone. On the Saturday, I went round to Jon's flat about 12 noon, to see if he wanted to go out to lunch. "Sit down," he said, so I sat down on the sofa while he saved what he had been doing on the computer. He then came and sat down next to me, put his right arm around my shoulder, kissed me on the lips and then with his left-hand unzipped my fly. He put his hand inside and felt around and eventually succeeded in getting hold of my cock, which he held firmly. "The advantage of being a man rather than a woman" he said "is that men are not cyclic. A woman does not always want to be fucked, she has to be wooed and persuaded. A man always wants it. Moreover with women you have to observe the proprieties and not say or do anything unromantic. For example if you were a woman and I needed to fart, I would have to make an excuse and leave the room. But with a man you can be blunter and coarser without creating any offence---at least I hope so---I hope you are not a shrinking violet." "No" I said "remember that I'm a dirty-minded slut! I promise that if I need to fart, I will do it, and you can let off as often as you like. But I agree that lovemaking is easier between men than between a man and a woman, because what pleases women is difficult for an untrained man to find out, whereas you always know what a man wants and if you don't, you can always ask him. Also crude speech and behaviour, which can be quite enjoyable, are taboo where most women are concerned." As his grip tightened on my male member, I kissed his cheek and put both my hands on his shoulders. He undid my belt and the top button of my fly, and started to pull down my trousers. I stood up so that he could pull them down to my ankles, but they could not be removed without first removing my shoes. He then pulled my T-shirt over my head and removed it, leaving me in my underpants with my trousers round my ankles. Jon only had on a T-shirt and underpants. His feet were bare. I pulled off his T-shirt before I bent down to remove my trainers, and step out of my trousers. We both had a big bulge in the front of our underpants, and Jon had a damp patch at the tip of the bulge marking his penis. "Get 'em off!" I said, and we both stood up and dropped our underpants to reveal our manhood sticking up proud and sticky. Jon made me lie on the sofa and started to kiss my belly. His lips followed my treasure trail down into my fuzz of pubic hair and along the shaft of my cock and licked the head before nibbling my foreskin with his teeth. After a few minutes he opened his mouth wide so that I could push my prick in. There is something about cock-sucking that is very important in a relationship. If you've never done it, all you think of is the taste of sweat and stale urine and the taste of seed as it squirts into your mouth. But it is symbolic of deep trust---the man who lets you suck him off is putting himself in your power, whether you are a man or woman---you can inflict deep pain and physical injury in an embarrassing quarter, so the man trusts you implicitly. No one ever had offered me his mouth before, so I was a bit taken aback. However Jon seemed content to kneel beside the sofa and let me push as hard as I could at the back of his throat. He made chewing movements and used his tongue in a sensitive way and I moaned with pleasure. Eventually I came with a shout of ecstasy and shot my load into his welcoming mouth. Most recipients spit it out, but Jon swallowed my cum and resumed kissing my bellybutton. His cock was still stiff---what was I to do? Suck it? Wank him off? I got hold of it. "Come and sit on the sofa" I said "and spread your legs." He did so, and I got up, knelt before him and started to kiss his cock. Not only was it rigid, it was slimy. I slid my lips down the length of his shaft and buried my mouth in his pubic bush. I then moved down to his balls and licked his hairy scrotum before taking each ball into my open mouth in turn. My lips then slid up his veiny shaft and I began to lick the head of his cock and embraced it with my lips before opening my mouth and taking the first few centimetres of his manhood inside. It wasn't a big stretch, because the diameter of the shaft was only about 5 cm. As I tasted his precome, I made chewing movements and sucked, and he groaned in ecstasy. "Keep on, David, it's wonderful. What have I been missing all these years? I've never known anyone as tender and loving as you." I pushed myself forward, mouth wide open, taking the whole length of his tool inside and moving so that it kept rubbing against the inside of my mouth. He smelt warm and musky. Jon began to get excited and started to put his tool to work. He thrust it to and fro, deep and shallow in my mouth, muttering endearments as he did so. The novel sensation of this moving tubular object in my mouth, its warmth and sliminess, was totally enjoyable and gave me great satisfaction in addition to the thrill of pleasuring Jon... Fortunately the pub served food all afternoon, because it was 3 pm before we were cleaned up and dressed. I decided that giving (and receiving) head were even better physical experiences than swimming or basketball. As we ate in a quiet corner of the bar, I said to Jon "Even though we are keeping it secret, I'm going to have to come out to my parents sooner rather than later." I said. "I know my mother will understand, but I'm not sure about my Dad. But you made such a good impression on them that at least all that I have to do is to tell them that I'm sleeping with you." I just hoped that my parents would be able to deal with what to tell Dorothea and Jeroen. Chapter 5 David In spite of the emotional upheavals of that month, we both had many commitments that meant that we only made love once or twice a week, usually on a Saturday. In my own case, important exams were due just after the end of term, and Jon was looking at possible places to live in the countryside outside Camford. In the week of the exams, most of the other first years would go out drinking every night, as late revision is always a waste of time, but I went round to Jon's flat and got laid. One night we showered together and I dried him off. I then bent him over his bed and started to kiss his sweet round arse. I pulled his cheeks apart and began to explore his hole with my tongue. He nearly went crazy: moaning with pleasure as I pushed my tongue into his sphincter as deeply as I could. I reached round his loins and got hold of his tool with my right hand and his balls with my left. He moaned with pleasure as I played with his cock. It was my first experience of rimming, and I was desperately keen to give Jon the greatest pleasure and satisfaction that I could. "I think that the arse is greatly underrated as a love site," I said "if cocks are for coming, then arses are for kissing" I said, burying my face in his crack. The last night of the exams, all the first-year chemists from St Boniface's and a few from other colleges met in a pub to celebrate. By now I knew enough of them to count them as friends and a comfortable group of about eight of us, all men, sat in a corner to talk and drink. It was our last meeting of the academic year and one or two people used it as an opportunity to announce future plans like vacation jobs/activities, plans for travel, where they would be living in the second year etc. Suddenly two of the quieter boys, Tom and Stephen said that they were now an item and would be living out of college next year. Predictably, this announcement was greeted by various disapproving reactions by some of the others, with mutters of "faggots," but I stood up and went across and shook hands with them and wished them happiness, and bought each of them a drink. I was glad that they chose beer rather than some kind of fairy drink. I rather wished that I had been able to make the same sort of announcement. Immediately after the exams were over, I moved in with Jon. My college room was needed for the conference trade during the Long Vacation. Jon paid for a big taxi and came to help me pack all my things and load them into the cab. He had assigned me the small guest bedroom with its own facilities, so that I would have space for study and to store my clothes, but we both knew that I would be sleeping in his king-size bed, and we would both be using the big bathroom. I got the exam results just before I was due to go to Holland to work for six weeks in my uncle's café (bar). I had done it each summer since I was 16, which is why I speak Dutch so well. The exam results were better than I expected, considering the distraction caused by being in love, but regular sex was obviously good for me, because I got a scholarship which guaranteed me an en-suite room in college and the right to wear a surplice in Chapel. It was an era when the supply of lodgings outside college was drying up as a result of commuters pricing students out of the market, and any undergraduate who could arrange rooms outside college was welcomed gratefully, so the college was happy to let me defer my room choice until my third year. My six-week stay in Amersfoort would mean a long separation from my boyfriend. I was very fed up at being separated from Jon, but we both knew that life was like that. It was the days before mobile phones and Skype, so we knew that we could only talk on the phone a few times per week or my uncle's phone bill would be sky-high. Jon however said that if I could arrange to be available at a particular time, he would ring me every night unless he was prevented. Chapter 6 Jon My name is Jonathan Singleton and I am the other character in the story. My recollection of events begins early in the Martinmas term of 19--. It was the first Sunday evening of full-term and I was dining in Hall, a thing that as a graduate I normally only did about once a week, but almost always on Sunday nights. I was with a group of final year chemists and a couple of research students and during a lull in the conversation I looked across the hall (I was sitting with my back to the wall facing across the room) at the corresponding table on the far side. It held a number of first-year students and some second and third year sporting characters, and a couple of women. I was at once struck by one of the new students who was sitting in front of an oil painting of a liverish-looking 18th-century professor. It was a boy of breathtaking beauty. He was tall enough to be quite visible even when sitting down. He had curly fair hair, just slightly long (in other words what would look short on a woman) with fairly broad shoulders, and one look at him made me ache with desire. I wanted to embrace him, to cuddle him, to undress him, to kiss him all over and fondle him. This is a summary of my first reaction. It does not mean that I viewed him as a sex object, but as a very interesting person. Now I am a very busy person. Not only have I extensive theoretical work for my Ph.D. to get through each week, with three days of laboratory work, but three evenings and most of Sunday are spent on the accounts and computer operations of the small engineering firm in London which I own, and for which I wrote the computer and stock control software---a thoroughly boring six months. I will never become a systems analyst. I was unable to make an opportunity to meet this young man for most of the term, though I gazed wistfully at him on Sunday nights. Then early in December, I finally got the chance to talk to him. By now I had discovered that he was a chemist, so I would probably see him in the labs. His name was David Scarborough and he was exceptionally tall---almost 2 metres---and already played in the college basketball team. That appealed to me. If you are interested in someone's body, you like to think that they do things with it. Besides, although some would say that he looked girlish, basketball is a very male activity, and I am not attracted by effeminate men. I try to make time to go to concerts, but in Camford it is difficult. However I had managed to get hold of a ticket for a particularly good concert at the Town Hall at which A-- B-- was playing Mozart's xxth piano concerto. It was a ravishing experience. Properly interpreted, Mozart gives sensuous delight greater than anything: even a great beer, a great painting, a beautiful landscape, a warm bed, good sex, pall in comparison. Indeed I have heard of men having an erection during the performance of Mozart's music, but that could just be due to uncomfortable seats. I also heard at school a story of a hyperaesthetic youth who actually came during the slow movement of the 21st piano concerto---a sort of Mozartian waking wet dream. As we went down the steps afterwards, I caught up with David, who was also on his own and made a fairly obvious remark about the pianist's performance to someone who was obviously artistically sensitive. We got into conversation and adjourned to a pub, where I discovered that young as he was, he had a good appreciation of beer, that rather masculine drink. The taste of beer appeals much more to men than to women, but the advertising industry has done beer a disservice by promoting its macho image. For that reason gays are suspected of not liking beer, which could not be further from the truth. I bought him a pint of X's, which is a classical example of a distinguished beer that hides its light under a bushel. He sipped it with evident relish, which gave me great satisfaction, as did the sight of his tall and beautiful figure in the chair opposite me. Our friendship developed rapidly in the Candlemas term. We went to a film together once a week, we ate together in Hall twice a week and occasionally went to the small concerts or recitals of which Camford is full. I never heard him sing in Chapel or went anywhere near the gym where he played basketball. My ways of keeping fit are cycling, walking and swimming. As the evenings got longer, we would usually, late on Saturday go for a walk---often along the river Camwell towpath, ending up with a drink at a riverside boozer, before returning to town to eat or visit a film. These walks along the riverbank were to me delightful experiences. David had a wonderful sense of observation and humour. Even though I was filled with powerful lust, I wanted at that stage our relationship to remain a friendship, and nothing more. I am not an experienced homosexual, anxious to lead astray any and every attractive youth. I am a busy scientist, with a lonely personal life, who was seeking a life companion of the male sex. But David was young and indeed below the age of homosexual consent (which at that time was 21), and I wanted him to make his own decisions and choices in sexual matters. One day early in March it was warm and sunny, and David suggested that we went for a swim---not at the outdoor pool, but Camford's spanking new Olympic size swimming pool, constructed partly on the proceeds of the National Lottery and partly from the benevolence of a local industrialist. I agreed, secretly delighted that the proposal had come from him. We got changed in one of the small communal male changing rooms with lockers inside it. I made the most of the opportunity to see him naked, as he did me. We swam 20 lengths each. He was a good swimmer, as I expected. We came out, adjourning to the main shower room before getting dressed. We removed our swimming trunks and stood under the showers, facing one another across an alcove, sharing his shampoo and my soap. His shoulders were not as broad as you would expect from a basketball player and his arm and chest muscles not so overdeveloped that he looked as if he had breasts. I estimated that his weight must be about 85 kilos. His body was not unduly hairy: there was none on back or shoulders, little on his chest, but the usual amount on the lower half of his body though it was less conspicuous because it was fair. A fair-haired treasure trail led down his flat belly from his bellybutton down to his pubic hair, which though abundant was also fair. His hips were not as narrow as I expected, but not unduly big. His buttocks were muscular and hairy and the hair was densest round his crack. His tool was big for an 18-year-old, as you might expect from someone of his overall size. His legs were delightful---muscular and long, and his feet were quite big. He was quite clearly appraising my body at the same time. But any man would. It didn't mean that he had gay tendencies. We dried and dressed and decided to get a snack in the coffee bar at the pool before cycling back to college. One of the advantages of male friendships is you can quite legitimately appraise your partner by seeing him naked in a sporting/changing room context before there is any question of sex. With heterosexuals, there has to be a commitment of some kind before you see your partner naked.