5 comments/ 6819 views/ 2 favorites Luke at University Pt. 04 By: WittePiet [If you are a new reader, you must read Part 02 first, otherwise you will never understand about Luke's two families.] Chapter 51 Consequences of Luke's indiscretion I realized as soon as Nic Aspergini had turned up dating one of Tom's fellow chemists, that the gay world of Camford was potentially dangerous to our relationship and much better avoided. In particular, I needed to be careful at the Fitness Centre to do nothing more than chat to any men I met who looked as if they wanted a date. Lots of gays lead very open lives and have many sexual contacts. My Christian belief prevented me from going down such a route, which is in any case incompatible with a quiet life or academic study. Moreover the incident with Nic had shown me Tom's emotional vulnerability, and served to warn me that I had inherited some undesirable genes from my philandering biological father. My parents and grandparents had always warned me against contracting casual relationships, and of the damage that breakup can cause. I felt guilty about the minor deception I had practised with Tom, and resolved that I would never get myself into such a situation again. Tom's home life had left him so hungry for my love that even if his dog-like fidelity and fierce jealousy were sometimes a bit irksome, his essential sweetness and total reliability were too precious to harm by me playing away. Besides, he made love so beautifully that life with him could never be routine or boring! However, I wouldn't want anyone to think that the bond between us was purely sexual. Although slightly younger than me, he was wise beyond his years, and had a natural caution and common sense that were very valuable to our relationship. On the night of the encounter with Aspergini, we went back to college and undressed rapidly. "Have your way with me stud-boy!" I told him, "I'm yours to use exactly as you wish." Tom took me in his arms. He was so much broader than I was, that I always felt enwrapped when he did that. I just let myself melt into his embrace and relax as I gave myself to his desires. Perhaps it is unmanly to enjoy being passive in a coupling, but Tom stirred up in me such a sense of loving dependency that I was always ready to do whatever he wanted. He laid me on my bed on my belly and began to kiss my arse. People who use the phrase 'kiss my arse' outside the sphere of lovemaking, do not understand what a delightful experience arse-kissing really is, whether you are the one kissing or the one being kissed. "I love your arse," he said, "it's just the right shape and size to really turn me on," and he began pull the cheeks apart and push his face into my crack. I pushed myself up on to my knees, to open up the crack to him and he was soon nibbling, licking and tonguing the whole area. Fortunately traces of Storing pour Homme were still detectable. During this time his hands were caressing my belly and my balls. It was delicious and although I had given myself up to him, I could feel my dick steadily hardening. Small grunts of contentment came from Tom as he ran his lips over the cheeks of my arse, sounds that told me more about love than spoken words. He reached for the condom that was ready beside the bed, and withdrew his mouth for a couple of minutes to roll it onto his cock. I could feel the tip of his rubber-encased manhood touch my arse and the momentary contact of his lips with my lower back before he started to apply lube to my crack and hole. When that was done, he turned me over on to my back. I put my legs round his waist and clamped them on his hips. Soon he was gently but firmly pushing his long and slender man-stick into my anus, gazing at me with possessive, but loving eyes. Once inside, instead of rushing into fucking me, he bent forward and started to kiss my face and hair. I reached up and ran my hands over his shoulders and chest and gently tweaked the hair round his nipples. He smiled at me in such a forgiving way that my guilt feelings were banished by the love that he radiated. "Fuck me, please, Tom," I said, and he started work with his tool. As his thrusting speeded up, the sweat began to drip from his armpits. It smelt deliciously of Storing pour Homme. "Harder!" I said to him and he pushed further and further into my gut, bending from time to time to kiss my face. When he had fucked me for some time, he suddenly speeded up and with a quiet shout he shot his load into the sheath deep within me. I pulled Tom down on top of me and we lay there together for a few minutes before his shrinking dick caused him to pull out. He rolled off me, got off the narrow bed, pulled the condom off his cock and knotted it, dropping it on the floor before he pushed me against the wall, climbed into the space where I had been lying and pulled me back on top of him. Once again we lay there for a few minutes, before I raised myself on to my knees, put my leg over him and turned myself round to face his feet and shuffled backwards until my rock-hard dick was within reach of his mouth. I knelt on all fours over him as he took my man-stick into his mouth and he began to lick, suck and chew it. It felt wonderful. No-one could give head like my stud-boy. Every so often he would remove my dick from his mouth and lick and suck my balls, while at the same time caressing each of my buttocks with his hands. This was a new position for me, and it was bliss. My scientific boyfriend seemed to know every trick to give me maximum pleasure. He had been blessed by God with an expert instinct for understanding what a man wants from sex. Eventually of course I came and filled his greedy mouth with my seed. While he was swallowing it, I climbed off him and squeezed into bed beside him. We lay side by side, close up against each other, and instead of our usual conversation, we both fell asleep. I later awoke to find myself on the very edge of the bed and reluctantly kissed my sleepy boy and went to my own bedroom. Not for the first time, I missed our queen-sized bed at Rockwell's Barn with its silken sheets. Chapter 52 The choir Soon after Christmas, the members of the Chapel Choir noticed that Tom and I were an item. This was mainly based on the fact that we always sat next to one another at dinner after evensong. They were on the whole very nice about it, no-one muttered words like 'faggot' or 'fairy' or 'poof.' Moreover our example led to another couple of choir members coming out. Steve and Alex were, like Tom and me, a tenor and a baritone, although no assumptions about our sex roles should be made from the pitch of our voices! Unlike us, they were first-year students, and must have found one another very early on in their residence in college. We started doing things together, like going to concerts and recitals and drinking in the beer-cellar. Out of a choir complement of twenty, four gays might seem a high percentage, but then you must remember that Buckingham College attracted gays. We started sitting together at one end of the table that the choir habitually occupied in Hall on Sunday nights, and that end became known (to our amusement) as 'poof's corner!' Much homophobia comes from ignorance. Obviously there was some homophobia in the college, but the boarding-school background of most of the hearties meant that the phenomenon of gayness was quite familiar to them, as it is in all communities where adolescent males are cooped up together, and we generally experienced no hassle. As a result, none of the gay men in college was prickly about derogatory words for gays. We were amused and quite happy not just to hear words like 'poof' but even to use them ourselves. After dinner on Sunday nights, we would not always go to the pub with the rest of the choir; we would sometimes go and have coffee either in our room or in Steve and Alex's room. In that way we got to know more about one another. Steve was reading English and Alex was reading Agriculture and Rural Economics, two subjects as different as those of Tom and myself. Although they had been to different schools, they had become friends before they came up to Camford, and had specially requested to share a duplex room, which the college authorities were, surprisingly, willing to oblige. They were not particularly attractive, neither Tom nor I would have looked twice at them if we had met them in the street, which was good, because it meant that we could become friends without involving any emotions, temptations or jealousies. It also helped to remind us that gay men are just ordinary people, and do not necessarily differ from any other man in the street. In spite of my categorization of Buckingham men into two groups, hearties and aesthetes, gays are not necessarily possessed of different qualities from other men, and our behaviour and way of life may well be just the same. Some like beer, some like football, some like both! Fortunately for us, Alex and Steve were not football obsessives. However, they did like their beer, and sometimes I would regale them with special Belgian beers, which can be a dangerous form of refreshment if you imbibe too much, as most are 7 or 8% abv., but then students never worry about the dangers of alcohol! Unlike us, Steve and Alex made regular visits to the gay pub near the theatre where Tom had rescued me from a predator. Maybe once or twice a term we went with them, and certainly felt more comfortable as a foursome. One of the attractions was to see if there was anyone we knew among the clientèle. I was worried that we might meet Nic Aspergini there, but maybe as an Italian, he did not like English pubs. Chapter 53 The visit to Nice I told Tom to forget about his home town, and to move with me to Rockwell's Barn for the whole of the Easter vac. Unlike Tom, I had exams the following term: four written papers to finish off my study of French at Camford. So I had to spend the last couple of weeks of the vac revising. I told Tom that he needed a holiday, and that in addition to coming with all the family to Nice, the two of us should go on from there to Italy and visit my mother and her family. We didn't need to impose on her hospitality: the little town had a comfortable hotel with a pleasant garden and outdoor swimming pool. I had considered us staying at the house in Montecatini-Terme, but according to Pop, who visited it briefly every six weeks to check on building progress, it was still not ready for habitation. My idea was to spend as much time as possible in the open air, to get Tom a suntan. There was little chance of getting his skin the same colour as my own, but his handsome body looked unhealthily white with his lack of fresh air and sun the previous summer. The two weeks we had spent at MT in September had helped a little, but the feeble brownness he had acquired had rapidly faded over the winter. We had both, according to our tutors, met the standards of performance expected as college scholars in our Progress Tests at the end of the Candlemas term. My parents, always keen enthusiasts for rail travel, had decided that we should travel to Nice by train from London. Since the opening of the full Eurostar service, the journey could be accomplished swiftly with a single change to the 'train à grande vitesse' in Lille. OK, it meant a journey of ten hours, but would at least give me the chance to practise my spoken French on the way. My sister Cathy had decided that she needed to stay at home and revise for her A level exams. She would take one meal a day with the Rockwells, so that they could keep an eye on her, and the rest of the time she would fend for herself or eat at the Jellycotes Arms. She had received a conditional offer from her chosen college in Oxbridge. My parents owned a two-bedroomed apartment in West London, which Dad used on his frequent gigs in London. It was within walking distance of Fennington station. We travelled to London by train from Ixfordingworth, spent the night at the flat and the next day, accompanied by a big picnic basket for the four of us, we took a cab to the Eurostar terminal. Half an hour later, the train left London en route to the Channel tunnel, and by late evening we had reached out hotel in Nice. We were too late for dinner but had some snacks sent up by room service. The four of us had two adjacent double rooms. Next morning we took Tom to meet my (adoptive) grandmother. We warned him that it might be a strange experience, and indeed so it turned out. The first thing that she did was to ask where her granddaughter was. When told that Cathy had stayed at home to work for her exams, she sniffed. My parents did not attempt to explain that their daughter was very keen to get into Oxbridge. Mrs Singleton looked at Tom with the same kind of sexually appraising look as a 25-year-old might give him. "Nice muscles!" she said, and I silently giggled, remembering that Pop had said the same thing when he met Tom the first time. Tom blushed. "Is he good in bed?" she asked me. "Yes, he's fantastic! He makes me very happy indeed," I said. Poor Tom was totally scarlet and could not utter a word. "Has the cat got your tongue, young man?" she asked. "Obviously it's not as active as your cock!" She had grown less ladylike in her speech in recent years! I noticed that Pop and Dad were grinning. "Luke and I are very happy together, and sex is good for our academic performance. We both got scholarships in our exams last summer. The College only gave six scholarships out of a hundred students, and we got two of them!" Tom replied. "You should see Luke in his scholar's surplice. He looks really sweet! I dote on him. When I went up to Buckingham College, he was the only person who did anything to make me happy and settled in Camford. I am proud that he belongs to me." "Haven't you met any nice girls in Camford?" she asked. "You might find one that you prefer to my grandson. He's a bit girlish in his interest in clothes." "He's not very girlish in his interest in beer!" Tom replied with a grin. "I like an occasional glass of Guinness myself," replied my grandmother. "I wouldn't describe you as exactly girlish!" retorted Tom. "And nothing I do will stop Luke being interested in men, certainly not me chasing women!" "OK, OK, I suppose that I have got to get used to a family of men. I don't wonder that Cathy wants to get away from you all. I bet that you all four belch and fart after every meal! She needs more ladylike surroundings! I hope that she has her own bathroom!" "She does in Ixton, and in Camford when only she and Pop are there. We hope that she will get more ladylike surroundings when or if she goes to Oxbridge." "She needs someone to educate her taste in dress," said my grandmother, "at least Luke here has some taste for clothes!" (I was wearing white chinos and a green silk shirt. When in France, I avoided tight-fitting jeans, which made me look like a matchstick man out of a Lowry drawing). "Where are you going to take me for dinner tonight?" "I thought that we might go to the Metropole," said Pop. "No thank you," said his mother "They were very rude to me the last time I was there." I caught Dad's eye and noticed that he was grinning. "What about the Excelsior then?" asked Pop. "Yes, that should be all right," she replied. "Luke will ring the hotel and book us a table. He needs all the conversational practice he can get," said Dad. "You can use my Minitel terminal to get the number," said my grandmother. Having booked the table, the four of us took our leave and returned to the hotel, where there was just time for us all to have half an hour in the pool before getting ready to go out. We made our way on foot to the Excelsior. Mrs Singleton arrived in a taxi shortly after we got there. The meal, rather to my surprise was a great success. The food and wine were superb, the service attentive and it was fascinating to watch the other guests enjoying themselves. Mrs Singleton made it known that she wished Tom and me to visit her on our own the next morning. It was quite late before Tom and I got to bed. "Tom, my darling, I want you!" I told him. He grinned. "OK, big-prick boy!" he said. "I hope there's room in my gut with all that French food that we've just enjoyed!" I started to undress him, and a few minutes later we were both sprawled naked on Tom's bed. "I wonder what your grandmother wants to see us for tomorrow," he said. "Nothing much, I don't suppose," I replied. I could not have been more wrong. I put a rubber on my cock and lubed up Tom, before starting to kiss him as he lay on his back, starting at his feet and working upwards, as in Donne's eighteenth 'Elegie': 'Shall at her fair Atlantick Navell stay; Though thence the Current be thy Pilot made, Yet ere thou be where thou wouldst be embay'd, Thou shalt upon another Forest set, Where many Shipwrack, and no further get. When thou art there, consider what this chace Mispent by thy beginning at the face. Rather set out below; practice my Art, Some Symetry the foot hath with that part Which thou dost seek, and is thy Map for that' ........... When I had had my way with Tom, I started to nibble his foreskin after sucking and licking his scrotum. Before I knew what was happening, he grabbed my head and thrust the whole of his man-stick deep into my throat and began to fuck my oral cavity as vigorously as I had fucked his rectum only a few minutes before. Considering the amount of food and alcohol that we had imbibed, we were neither of us feeling unduly sleepy. Within a couple of minutes, he gave a last shuddering thrust and squirted his love-juice deep into my mouth. I gave a final suck on the glans of his cock before pulling away and swallowing his delicious ejaculate. It was not, I add by way of explanation, particularly sweet or salty, it was the knowledge of the loving desire that had propelled it into my mouth that made it so delightful. I collapsed beside him and cuddled up against his side, kissing his shoulders and chest. In this position, we both soon fell asleep, glad that we were in a decent-sized bed! About 10 am the next morning, Tom and I set off for Mrs Singleton's apartment, leaving my parents enjoying themselves in the pool. When we arrived, Pop's mother made coffee for us and led us in the warm spring sunshine to her balcony, where she told us to sit down. "I'm getting on for eighty," she told us, "and I've got a lot more money than I need. Jon and David have no need of money, so I have decided to give you two boys €75K each. I've ensured that French taxes will not take money away from you when I shuffle off; the tax will be paid by the rest of my estate. All I need are your bank account details, and when you both get home, the money will be at your disposal in your bank accounts. I know that you have an allowance from your parents, Luke, and a hefty trust fund that pays you a regular income, but I know that Tom only has a couple of bursaries to support him. So, Tom, this money will see you through comfortably until you get a job, and it will make you independent of Luke's family financially. The money will always be yours even if you and Luke break up and go your own ways. You are a bright boy and I like your muscles, even if I'm too old to get you into my bed! And if I'm still alive when you two have your civil partnership ceremony, I want to be there, so make sure that it's in the summer. You can both use this money better than I can. I'm going to give the same amount of money to Cathy, but as she was too busy to turn up to see me, she will have to write to me with her bank account details, before she gets a cent!" We both kissed the old lady enthusiastically and thanked her profusely before she told us to go off and join Luke's parents in the pool. Chapter 54 Tom and Luke visit Luke's mother and brother Luke at University Pt. 04 Still reeling from the shock of our sudden acquisition of wealth, Tom and I took the train from Nice to Verona, 'La Città del Amore' (the city of love) as Dad called it because of its association with Romeo and Juliet, and continued on the short rail trip to the small town where the Mascagnolis lived. Tom said to me, "It will be nice to meet your other family without the presence of Dad and Pop. In particular, your brother seemed a nice boy." The hotel was only a short walk from the station, and after we had checked in, I called my mother on my cellphone to say that we had arrived. She immediately invited us to dinner, so after showering and changing our clothes, not without some sexual fooling around, we set off on the short walk to Via Guglielmo Marconi. The weather was gloriously warm, compared with the damp, cool weather that we had left behind in Ixfordshire. It was about 5 pm, and my brother Alessandro was home from school and he came excitedly down the stairs to let us in when we rang. I greeted him with a kiss and he greeted Tom with a handshake. I always felt uneasy when I met Massimo, my mother's husband, as I was a walking reminder of my and Sandro's biological father, a man whom Massimo had every reason to resent and to wish to forget, the man who had twice seduced the woman who became his wife! This however did not seem to worry him. He was sitting with my mother on their beautiful broad balcony, adorned with pot plants and creepers and shaded by two trees in big pots. They were drinking Prosecco, and we were immediately offered a glass each after Tom and I had kissed my mother and shaken Massimo's hand. Tom was rapidly getting used to the kissy-kissiness of the Scarboroughs! Also it seemed less unusual in Italy than it did in England. It was a wonderful evening. We spoke in English much of the time, though I often had to translate things into Italian for Sandro and sometimes into English for Tom. The Mascagnolis were obviously very pleased to see us. Tom came out of his shell in a way that surprised me, he was obviously very taken with my mother, and went out of his way to chat to her, leaving me to talk in Italian to Massimo and Sandro. She in turn welcomed the opportunity to speak her native language after years of speaking nothing but Italian. We arranged to spend most evenings with them and the whole of the coming weekend. They said that they would take us on the Saturday to Verona to see 'Aïda' in the great Roman arena there. When I told them that I was to spend the better part of the following academic year in Bologna, they said that I should spend most of the weekends with them, which I thought was very generous of them, especially on the part of Massimo, who had no good reason to be nice to me. But to Italians, family is very important, just as it is to my grandparents, and I was after all, his son's brother and technically if not legally his stepson! Tom had taken a great liking to my mother. He was beginning to give her the same kind of adoration that he had hitherto reserved for her brother. It seemed possible that she might become for him the mother figure that all gays are supposed to have, but that I had never missed! We spent most of the week exploring the town or sunbathing in the hotel garden. On the Saturday Massimo drove Tom, myself, my mother and Sandro to Verona. Massimo's daughter Bianca went to stay with friends for the day. The open-air opera performance started at 4 pm in the ancient Roman amphitheatre. It was magnificent. Even without his favourite artist, Tom was deeply impressed by the singing. There was quite a long interval when most of the audience including ourselves tucked into a picnic of ham and cheese panini with white wine. Sandro seemed to enjoy it too. He had seen more opera than even a very musical English boy of his age would have experienced. We returned late and tired. On the Monday, Tom and I paid a visit to Verona and we kitted him out with some casual clothes from Giorgio Armani and Dolce and Gabbana, including a beautiful blouson jacket in green soft leather. When Tom complained about the prices, I told him that I would pay half the bill. "You're a wealthy man, now!" I told him. Two days later we flew back to Bristol from Valerio-Catullo airport, and took a train from Bristol back to Ixfordingworth. Cathy was back at school, Pop was in Camford and Dad had flown to Amsterdam for a short recital tour of the Netherlands, where Brian was to join him. Tom and I were left with Rockwell's Barn to ourselves for ten days. I would get up early, cook eggs or bacon and serve them to Tom in bed. After breakfast, I retired to study, Tom did household chores and then fifty lengths in the pool. After lunch he would go for a walk, and I would continue revision until 4 pm, after which I would take a turn in the pool while Tom cooked dinner. After eating we would watch television. Each day I got some music from Dad's extensive library and accompanied Tom in singing two songs. It was interesting to play the piano after years without practice, but I managed well enough. Tom's voice was very good and the object was merely to get him used to singing the kind of test piece that he would get in his audition for the Bach Choir. This routine would vary with dinner at the Jellycotes Arms on some days. But merely the bliss of a decent-sized bed and silk sheets was in itself enough to make the period memorable for both of us. However in no time at all we were back in college. I resolved that I should make Tom get a few decent clothes, not necessarily fashionable brands, but smart and durable male garments, so one Saturday we took the train to London and paid a visit to Savile Row. Chapter 55 Jealousy and its consequences The Pentecost term began. I had stopped going with Tom on his Friday night pub visit with his fellow chemists after Nic Aspergini had turned up at one of them. I did not want to meet Nic again. So I would usually stay in on Friday nights and either practise our piece for Sunday evensong, or do some work, especially on my French. One Friday, about 10 pm, I heard Tom's key in the lock and the sound of voices. Tom entered the room, accompanied by a rather attractive girl. "Hi, Luke, this is Margaret," he said, "Please could you make us some coffee? I can never get the hang of that machine of yours." "What sort of coffee?" I asked. "Espresso for me, cappuccino for Margaret, he replied. "I'm not sure if we've got any milk," I said, but I found a little in our small refrigerator. It took a few minutes to make the coffee and Tom continued to chat animatedly with the visitor. I was amazed. No tongue-tied monosyllabic talk on Tom's part, but lively chat in the same way as he had talked to my mother, the conversation of a man fully at ease with himself and the world around him. Tom was no longer the 'strong silent man' with whom I had fallen in love. He had fallen victim to the worldly society of Camford. At the same time as I was thinking these stupid thoughts, my common sense was telling me that instead of resenting the attention that Margaret was receiving, I should be congratulating myself on my success in integrating Tom into the academic world of the university. I tried to put away jealous thoughts and made an effort to be as charming as I could. It turned out that Margaret was a first year chemistry student who had just plucked up courage to go to one of the chemists' pub sessions. In conversation with Tom, it turned out that she was having difficulty with some thermodynamic problem that her tutor had set her, and Tom had shown her how to do it. He had then invited her back for coffee. It was not clear to me whether or not she knew that Tom was gay. It turned out that she was keen on classical music and Tom had invited her to go with him to a song recital in M College later that week. She had accepted, apparently with alacrity. Most of the girls she knew were pop fans. We spent a pleasant hour or so chatting before Tom offered to see her back to her college, which was only a couple of streets away. When they had gone, I started to get ready for bed, trying to decide what if anything I should say to my boy when he got back. I decided to say nothing, and leave any comment to Tom. I did not want to seem jealous or to admit to secret fears that Tom might be bi. When he came in, he said nothing, just kissed me goodnight and went into his room and shut the door. Nothing more was said about Margaret for the next few days, until the evening of the recital. We ate together in Hall as usual, and Tom then rushed back to our room and changed his clothes. Instead of wearing 'casual,' he had moved up to 'smart casual' including his new green leather jacket, as he left for his date. I sat down and did some final revision work for one of my French papers, feeling jealous and excluded. I knew that it was irrational: even if Tom were so gay that he was unable to get it up when offered the opportunity to fuck a woman, and in spite of knowing that we each had lives of our own and could not live in each other's pockets, I still could not forget about him and concentrate on my work. I poured myself a glass of Rochefort 10, an ultra-strong (11.4% abv.) Trappist beer, and tried to get on with the work. As 11 o'clock approached and I had consumed a further two bottles of beer, and there was no sign of Tom, I started to feel a bit anxious. Suppose he was invited to spent the night in Margaret's bed? Suppose that he took a liking to cunt sex, and lost interest in me? Suppose that Margaret turned out to be transexual? Suppose that she was into SM or bondage? My imagination, fired by alcohol, envisaged more and more sexually lurid ideas. By midnight he was still not back, and made sleepy by the alcohol, I went to bed. When my alarm clock went off the next morning, I staggered out of bed with a slight headache and went to waken Tom. I went into his room. He lay asleep, snoring gently. I knelt beside his bed as usual and gently kissed him awake. The cross he had given me and which I always wore round my neck, tickled his neck as he awoke. He smiled at me and pulled me down on top of him. He kissed me passionately on the lips, and opened his mouth so that I could my tongue in. He wrapped his arms tightly round me, and pulled away from my mouth and said, "I love you, darling Luke!" I felt very relieved. Whatever he had done the previous evening, he had not forgotten me! By now my common sense had reasserted itself. I did not ask what Tom had done the night before, but over breakfast he mentioned that he would be seeing Margaret again the following week for another recital, this time in the University Music Department, where years ago Dad had had his singing lessons from Marcello. I decided that there was probably nothing sexual about Tom's friendship, in which case it was none of my business. We had our own lives to live. If any sex happened with Margaret, I trusted Tom to tell me. But I could not put the girl out of my mind. From time to time I still had lurid visions of her and Tom in bed together and Tom going to meet her with condoms in his pocket. I had always considered Tom to be the possessive one in our relationship, the one who insisted that I belonged to him. But now that he had wakened up to a social life outside our close-coupled relationship, I was jealous, frightened that this girl might take him away from me! Every moment I had to remind myself that I was being irrational and selfish, and that getting Tom adjusted to the Camford world was actually more important than me getting laid! Tom and Margaret seemed to go to a concert or recital every week, so towards the end of May I asked him if he wanted to invite Margaret to his birthday party early in June. I knew that if he said yes, if he had not already told her that he was gay, that he would have to do so at or before the party. He said that he would think about it and let me know before I made a booking, which of course failed to resolve the situation from my point of view. In the end, I decided that I would seek advice about how to deal with my jealousy problem, and I E-mailed Edward Bairstow, asking for an appointment for some spiritual counsel. I did not actually have a spiritual director, but Edward was my godfather and a man whose judgement I respected. He asked me to come to his rooms in Sanguis one day at 5 pm. I explained that I was suffering from pointless jealousy. After further discussion about my daily routine, he said, "Your problem is simple. You and Tom are seeing too much of one another. You don't sleep together, but you eat together twice a day, you do cinema visits and choir activities together, you swim together twice a week. What are you going to do next year when you will not see one another for months on end? And more to the point, what is Tom going to do? Many of his regular activities will disappear when you go to Bologna, and unlike you, he will not be doing much else in its place. He needs to break out of this now, and seeing Margaret is from his point of view, the first step in widening his activities. Maybe you should encourage him to go to the cinema or swimming with Margaret. Or maybe, if she sings, they could audition for the Bach choir. Maybe he should stay in college rather than going to live with Jon in Fountain Street. There are all sorts of possibilities. But you need to know more about their relationship. Get some beer in one night and discuss it with Tom! "Now do you need absolution? I don't think so, I think you need a blessing and a prayer for God's guidance." And Edward blessed me and prayed for God's help for me. I thanked him and went back to college in a thoughtful mood. That same night, Tom said that he was not going out or doing any work, could we go for a drink together? I replied that I had some beer in my bedroom and could we stay in for an hour, as there was something that I wanted to discuss with him. We settled down with a couple of bottles of White Shield, and I said that we should discuss next year. It was clear that we were going to miss one another very much, and I wanted to discuss what was best for him. For example, maybe he should go out with Margaret more often. Did she for example like swimming or foreign language cinema? And was it really best that he should go and live in Fountain Street, or would he be better living in college? "I'm glad that you've raised the topic," he said, "because I am not sure that moving to Fountain Street is the best thing for me." "That's not a problem" I replied, "living with a man in his fifties is not necessarily what someone of our age would want to do. Moreover, the fact that Pop is a faculty member in your department makes it even more undesirable. A gay man of his age might well be suspected of wanting a relationship with a young undergraduate, which would be disastrous for his career. Pop got a four-year ban on teaching when Dad moved in with him. He would certainly not want to lose his fellowship now. The more I think about it, the better it seems that you should stay in college, provided that you do not fall into loneliness and depression. Maybe, if you think it appropriate, I should ask Margaret to keep an eye on you. Or is that the last thing that you want? I don't want to upset your friendship. I don't know how close you are. Does Margaret sing? If so, you could both consider joining the Bach Choir." "She's already a member," Tom replied, "but I don't think I'm good enough!" "How do you know, without an audition? Ask Margaret to fix one up for you. Tenors are always needed." "I'm a bit frightened of getting too close to her." "Why, haven't you told her that you're gay?" "No, I thought that it would scare her off!" "But can't you see that unless you tell her, you may be giving her false hopes of a relationship? And that is a form of deception. Or maybe YOU want a relationship. Maybe you're bi! Telling her the truth about you and me will only upset her if she fancies you in bed. Don't forget that a lot of women like to be friends with gays, because they don't feel threatened or tempted. It all depends I suppose whether she has any other men or women in her life. Decide what you want from Margaret. If you want to experiment by having sex with her, I don't mind, as long as you tell me. If you just want to be friends with her, and she feels the same, no problem. But you have to tell her about us. If you want to finish with me and become hetero, I would be very upset, but I would respect your decision. But you need to lay your cards on the table with Margaret. You don't know what she gets up to when you are not around, any more than she knows that you spend a lot of time poking me up the bum! That is not the basis of honest friendship." "I'm frightened that if she knows I'm gay that she will stop going out with me." "That will only happen if she fancies you. And then you have to make a decision about your own sexuality. You think you're gay, I'm telling you that you might not be, you might be bi or straight. If then, knowing that she wants you, you want to continue going out with her, you will have to finish with me. I would be upset, but you have to be honest with yourself. Has Margaret mentioned any boyfriends?" "No, but then if she fancied me, she wouldn't mention other boys." "It looks bad to me, it looks as if she does want more than friendship. Have you decided about your birthday dinner? You've got to tell her you're gay if you want her to be there!" "I suppose that I've got to put my cards on the table. But I like going out with her!" "It's good that you should. We can't live all the time in each other's pockets. And you will need company next year. So let's hope that she just wants to be friends. Whatever the outcome, Tom, I will stand by you and do whatever you want, except cancelling my time in Bologna." Tom had arranged to go out with Margaret to a concert the following Monday. My exams were only two weeks away, lectures and tutorials continued, so I needed time in the evenings to revise. But that night I found it difficult to concentrate. I struggled with my French literature and kept stopping to drink coffee. About 11 pm, Tom came in looking very happy. "It's all OK!" he said exultantly. You'll never believe this! She just wants to be friends with me, no sex, because she's a LESBIAN and has a regular girlfriend! The only snag is that her girlfriend doesn't like classical music, so she needs someone to go to concerts with. Not only that, she knew that I was gay. She said the minute that she saw you look at me, she knew that we were an item. Her gaydar must be very strong. And she is coming to the party, so she will be company for Cathy!" "Tell her that she'll need glad rags, because we're not going to the Venezia, we're going to the Magic Python!" I said, naming Camford's Michelin-starred restaurant, "and it will be a black tie do! Dad is flying back from Munich, where he's singing in 'Fidelio,' specially for his big fan-boy's birthday!" Chapter 56 Tom's twentieth birthday I wanted to ensure that Tom's birthday dinner was a special occasion, because this year he had no exams, and we were still celebrating in a way his confident success in the previous year. Although he hated fuss, and was embarrassed when money was spent on him, I wanted to make this a big event to express my love and celebrate his newly found social confidence. We went back to the hire-shop for his dinner suit, Cathy went out and bought a new outfit, and Margaret was equal to the occasion with a very smart calf-length maroon dress. My parents pulled out all the stops: Dad even wore the insignia of his C.B.E. Two surprise guests were Edward and his wife and Brian and his daughter, also appropriately dressed, Edward in clerical evening dress. Marcello and Caterina, in spite of now being in their eighties, were unfortunately away in Italy for their granddaughter's wedding. They were determined to go on what might be their last trip abroad. Luke at University Pt. 04 It would have been the sort of event to feature in glossy social magazines if it had not been for Pop's blanket ban on media publicity. However, we were our own paparazzi, and produced a number of excellent pictures. As befitted the venue, the food was excellent and although the event was very expensive, my beloved Tom was worth every penny. I footed the bill personally, my parents did not contribute anything except their presence. We were in a private room, equipped with a grand piano for later in the evening. There were no speeches, and no toasts, because it was a family celebration. When we had finally finished the seven-course 'menu surprise' and were drinking coffee, Brian got up and went to the piano. Dad sang the Brindisi from 'La Traviata,' 'Libiamo, libiamo ne'lieti calici' and Mozart's 'Panis vivus.' Tom and Margaret nearly made their hands sore with clapping. Then I nodded to Brian and went up to Tom. "Stand up, Tom," I said "It's your turn to sing. You're going to sing Dad's favourite, 'Dear pretty, pretty youth.' Tom looked dismayed, but Dad came over and said, "Go on, Tom, you are not going to make a fool of yourself. You can sing perfectly well!" So Tom sang Dad's gay anthem, and made a very good job of it, with Brian accompanying him on the piano. We all gave him enormous applause, and he turned bright red and sat down hastily. "Bravo, my love," I said, "don't forget to ask Margaret to arrange an audition for you for the Bach Choir. I'll speak to her myself about it." And I did, there and then. In fact I spent the next half hour talking to her. I told her what a fool Tom had been in not revealing to her the fact that he was gay. She replied, "But I didn't tell him that I was gay too!" "But if you thought that Tom was gay, there was no reason not to tell him that you were gay as well." "Well, I might have been wrong. All I knew was that you thought that he was yours. He might have been bi." "But if he had fancied you sexually, how would your girlfriend have reacted? I was eaten up with jealousy when he started going out with you, jealousy that was totally stupid, because he made no secret that you were going out together. If he'd wanted to bed you, he wouldn't have been so open with me. Did you tell your girlfriend that you were going out with Tom?" "Yes, I had to really, because she knew how much classical music meant to me." "It might be nice for the four of us to do something together, even if only a film or something. Would you like that? I'm hoping that you will be able to keep an eye on Tom while I'm in Italy next year. Even with mobile phones and E-mail, there's no guarantee that he will tell me if anything is the matter with him. You must think that I'm a fool for being so besotted with him. After all, he's not very extrovert." "I can entirely understand how you feel. He's sweet. He never makes a pass at me, he never says anything suggestive, he's thoughtful and gentlemanly. Everything that a gay girl could wish for!" "And everything that a gay boy could wish for as well!" I replied with a grin. "Although I guess that I'm not looking for the same things as you are!" "It will be nice to get him into the Bach Choir. I'm sure he will pass the audition." "I hope so. He needs to get out more and do more things." We fixed that the four of us should meet for a drink in the Lion pub the following week. At the end of the evening, I gave Tom my present. Brian and his daughter left early to get back to Fitchey, followed shortly after by Edward and his wife. After a few more cups of coffee and petit fours, Cathy and my parents left for Fountain Street, and I paid the bill, leaving a generous tip and taking care NOT to let Tom see it, and we then escorted Margaret to St Etheldreda's, her college, before returning slowly on foot to Buckingham. I said to Tom, "I guess that you want your other birthday present now!" "No," he replied, "I've eaten and drunk too much. Let's go to bed and if I feel like it in the night, I'll waken you up!" We undressed from our formal clothing and hung the suits up carefully. I washed, cleaned my teeth, said my prayers and got into bed... About 4 am, I awoke to find Tom kneeling stark naked beside my bed and kissing me. "I'm ready for my present now!" he said, carefully laying an unwrapped condom on my bed table with a tube of K-Y gel. I pushed back the bed covers and he climbed on top of me, his rock-hard dick sticking out in front of him. "'How can you, can you sleep, when I, when I am by?'" he giggled. I got hold of the condom and rolled it onto his tool. I spread my legs so that he could lube me up and in no time at all he was inside me, and simultaneously bending and kissing my chest and neck. It was wonderful to feel the warmth of his body. I couldn't see much of course, as it was still well before dawn. Gently but persistently he fucked me until the male miracle happened. When he had had his way with me, I kissed him and whispered that I did not need relief. I was too sleepy to get excited. He just kissed me gratefully, removed and tied up the rubber and pushed me against the wall, lay down beside me and pulled me, face upwards, on top of him and clasped me in his arms. Then he pulled the bedclothes back on top of us and the two of us fell asleep, as Tom murmured "'I'll hug you, hug you close and keep you warm.'" Our meeting with Margaret and her girlfriend was a great success. The partner was called Sarah, and to our surprise she was not in the slightest way butch. "That will teach us the think in stereotypes!" said Tom. No-one would have thought that the two girls were gay, until one noticed the way that they looked at each other. We all four felt that there was scope for us to go out together sometimes, to see a film or drink in a pub. We felt that if we all got to know one anther, the possibilities of jealousy and suspicion were greatly reduced. Chapter 57 After the exams I did my last French exam on the Wednesday afternoon after the end of term. At 5 pm I came out of the Examination Schools, to find Tom, among several others, sitting on the steps holding a bottle of Prosecco and two plastic glasses. In total surprise, and oblivious of anyone else, I kissed him gratefully. "My sweet boy, how nice of you," I said. Having opened the bottle with a "pop", he poured us each a glass. No silly shaking and squirting of good wine by my careful Yorkshireman! It was a nice afternoon and we sat there in the sun, with countless idiotic young men and women throwing champagne at one another. "When we've finished this," said Tom, "we are going to the Fitness Centre to swim twenty lengths each with Alex and Steve, and then we are all going to the bar there, where we will have a couple of pints and then go to eat at the Hang Zhou." (There was no dinner service in Hall out of term). "We're celebrating the end of your exams in a different way! When do you get the results?" "Early in August," I said. "I've arranged to see my French tutor the day after the results, to get some feedback. He can say things face to face that he could not put into an E-mail. While the exam is strictly a pass/fail exam without any classification, it counts towards my final exam in two years time, so I need to know how the marks will affect my performance then." "I'll be working at the Fitness Centre when your results come out," Tom said, "so we'll have to celebrate when I'm on a day shift." I was sure that I was not the first person ever to turn up at the Fitness Centre still clad in examination sub-fusc and wearing a gown! Tom had brought my sports bag and swimming trunks so that I had no need to return to college. The swimming was not a race, and we tried to keep reasonably together, so that we would all finish at roughly the same time. Then we adjourned to the showers to wash off the chlorine from our bodies. It was interesting to see the other two boys naked. Both were a lot less hairy than Tom. Alex had light brown hair, whereas Steve was very dark, like me. Both were slim and fit with decent, though not obtrusive, muscularity and flat bellies. I also inspected, as unobtrusively as possible, as I did not want to get an erection, their genitals. They were both reasonably well hung. Tom noticed me looking and grinned. I guess he felt confident that his equipment was as good, and possibly better, than theirs! They had not discovered Storing pour Homme, which is not surprising, as most of those who used it when it was the height of gay fashion, were now elderly queens! Although it costs the earth, I let them both try the shampoo, but not the shower gel. Tom had remembered to bring a T-shirt and jeans as well as my swimwear, so I could pack suit, tie and gown into the sports bag. We then adjourned to the bar. It had been an insistence of Pop's that the Fitness Centre bar should always stock at least two cask-conditioned beers, and this had proved a major attraction among the clientèle. It was an essential philosophy of the centre that it was for all men, and that while it was gay-friendly, all men concerned about bodily fitness and a place where they could relax away from women were welcome. That meant that the bar had to stock 'fairy drinks' (cocktails and alcopops), even if there was not much call for them. Quite a lot of the Buckingham 'hearties' frequented the Centre. Alex and Steve were also regulars. Tom and I had always preferred the college beer cellar, or pubs, because the Centre bar seemed always to be full of people talking about soccer or rugby. But because most undergraduates had gone home by now, the place was very quiet, and I was able to take the opportunity, when Tom had slipped out to the toilet, to ask Alex and Steve to keep an eye on him in the following year. If they noticed an absence from meals, or him not turning up to choir practice, I asked them to let me know without delay. While it was easy to keep in touch, it was not practicable for the two of us to talk every day, and indeed would be counter-productive. We needed to be able to concentrate on our day-to-day activities, especially Tom, who had his major exams at the end of his third year. Fortunately, he had passed the audition for the Bach Choir, and that would get him out of college for one evening a week, and I was going to arrange with Dad to see that Tom came round once every couple of weeks during term. During the vacations of course, Tom would be at Rockwell's Barn. We then moved on to the Hang Zhou Chinese restaurant, where we had an excellent meal. Steve and Alex were leaving the following day for their respective homes, and Tom and I were getting ready to move to Rockwell's Barn, where we would stay until Tom had to start work at the Fitness Centre. Chapter 58 A Welsh interlude There were about three weeks before Tom was due to start work and Dad asked us if we would like to come with him for a few days to Llandewi Mawr in mid-Wales, where he had accepted an invitation to be a judge at the Llandewi Mawr International Singing Competition. Llandewi Mawr is a small town set in beautiful countryside with excellent walking, totally neglected by tourists except once every five years when the Festival was held, which filled the pubs of the town and the few hotels, also all the camp sites for miles around. However, Dad knew a small village called Llanmerthyr Fach some way out of the town with an excellent pub with rooms, where he had stayed years before, and which still remained unknown to most visitors. He had managed to secure a couple of rooms at the Fiddler's Arm there for a week's stay, and we accepted the invitation with enthusiasm. "You don't need to come to the Festival every day. There are several beautiful walks round Llanmerthyr Fach. You could take a picnic lunch and be out all day. There are lots of easy hills to climb, and even if it rains, it's healthy to be in the open air. The food at the pub is excellent. The pub holds great sentimental interest for me, because we stayed there back in the nineteen-eighties when I won the competition, which was in effect the beginning of my professional career. I've never had time to go back there since. They have women's voices in the competition now. In my day it was male voices only!" We drove to mid-Wales on a beautiful warm July day and checked in at the pub late in the afternoon. There was just time for a shower and a change of clothes before dinner. We agreed with Dad that we would attend the festival for two days, the day that the tenor class was held, and the day of the final, when the overall champion would be decided. The other days, Tom and I would be walking. There were only a dozen guests in the hotel that day. It only had six letting rooms, and except during the festival itself, which started the following day, they were not fully booked. At the next table was a pair of attractive girls, and when we went for coffee in the bar after dinner, we got into conversation with them. They were from Cardiff and I guessed their age to be about twenty-four or thereabouts. Like us, they were combining a visit to the festival with a walking holiday. They had already been there a couple of days and done a few walks. We asked them which were the best walks for a full day's walking, and they told us a couple and showed us them on our map. We bought them some drinks and had a very pleasant evening chatting to them. Dad had gone to his room to look at the names, CVs, and listen to short .mp3 excerpts of the voices of the competition entrants, particularly of those for the next day. The next day, the weather was good and taking a packed lunch that we had ordered from the hotel, we set off uphill though fields of sheep and beautiful woodland. We found an ideal spot for lunch: a hillside with large overhanging rocks where we could sit and eat. We sat close together beneath the shadow of the rock and I could not resist the temptation, even when we were eating, to put my arm round Tom. However kissing someone with your mouth full of sandwich is not to be recommended! When we had finished eating and drinking, we both started to feel one another. The sun was warm and we removed each other's shirts. Then we started undoing our belts and reaching into each other's jeans and getting hold of the other's tool. It was the first time that we had ever made love in the open air, and we were reluctant to get fully undressed. We were sitting on a waterproof sheet, which protected us from spiky plants, twigs and to some extent, stones. Tom lay back and muttered invitingly, "Suck my dick please, fag-boy!" I pulled his jeans and underpants down to his knees, lay on my side and set to work on his cock with my mouth. I spent the next few minutes nibbling Tom's foreskin and suddenly recalled the vision of the holy thirteenth-century Austrian bagijn, Agnes Blannbekin, whom I regard as the patron saint of fellatio. My father, who holds vigorous views about how the presence of God can only be recognized via the emotions and the senses, and that His love can only be perceived in the same way that human love is perceived, had told me the story of Agnes when I was about sixteen. I had not really believed him, and had to have the story confirmed by Uncle Edward. Because my mouth was otherwise engaged, I decided that when I had Tom in a receptive mood, I would tell him the Agnes story. I spent some time licking the sides of his shaft and nibbling the hair on his scrotum. He lay there kissing my hair gently from time to time and stroking my shoulders. I then took his cock into my mouth and started to use my jaws as well as my lips and tongue. Tom started to moan with pleasure. Only a man can understand what a joyful experience this form of lovemaking can be. I knew exactly how my darling boy was feeling. Oral sex is the deepest expression of trust and tenderness that can occur between human beings. Within a few minutes the miracle happened. Tom shot his load into my willing and receptive mouth and I swallowed it eagerly and greedily. With his jism still on my lips, I kissed his lips and his cheeks and worked my way down his neck and chest to reach his belly-button, where I stopped and gazed close at hand at his slowly shrinking manhood with the last few drops of life-juice dripping from the tip. Suddenly Tom spoke. "My precious boy, my own sweet love, will you be my partner for life?" I was so startled that I shot upright and stared at him. I had not expected a proposal under a rock halfway up a Welsh hill! "I've now got money of my own, not enough to buy a house for us, but enough to mean that I'm independent. I've no idea if your grandmother intended the money for this purpose, and it's not enough to keep you in the style to which you are accustomed, but it's enough to make me feel able to ask you to be mine for good." I scarcely knew what to say, my surprise was so great, but I did not hesitate in replying. "Yes, YES, of course I will, stud-boy!" And I turned round, threw myself on top of him, clutched him round the shoulders and kissed him as hard as I could. We both got pretty rough as we embraced. When men get passionate, they are not very tender. Breathlessly I whispered, "Are you going to let me take a turn?" "Now that you're mine, you can have me at any time that you want. Just get your dick out, and my mouth will be open!" In great haste, I unzipped my jeans and pulled them and my underpants down. After the close encounter of a few minutes before, I was as hard as nails. Tom pushed me onto my back and started to kiss my belly-button before working slowly along my treasure-trail. When he reached my pubes, he started to chew the hair before moving on to my bollocks. As usual, his lovemaking was unbelievably delicious. I really have run out of words to describe the pleasure that he could give me every time that we shagged. I knew that I could not imagine a life without this wonderful man. Without him, I think that I would consider permanent celibacy. No woman could ever offer me what Tom could give. "When we get back to Camford, we'll need to get engagement rings," I said. "Just shut up for a while, garrulous!" said Tom, "my mouth has other things to do at present!" and he slid along the shaft of my tool and engulfed the glans in his mouth. The next few minutes were paradise on earth. It still baffles me even many years later as to how he became so skilful at giving head. He claimed to have no sexual experience before we met, so I can only conclude that some chemistry between us enabled him to press the right buttons as far as my sexual response was concerned. He sucked, chewed and licked my male organ and I nearly swooned with delight, and after several minutes of pleasure I came violently and emptied myself into his welcoming mouth. He smiled happily as he swallowed my seed. "You're my fiancé, now!" I told him. "We're together for life. And unlike my parents, we won't have to wait twenty years to tie the knot!" The rest of the walking that day has left no impression at all in my memory. My thoughts were centred on my stud-boy and the fact that we would be buying drinks for Dad that evening. We thought that we might even look in a few jeweller's shops in Llandewi when we went to hear the tenors compete the following day. We covered another 10 km or so in the afternoon, stopping every mile or so to embrace, before we were back at the Fiddler's Arms. By the time that Dad came in from the Singing Competition, we were already in the bar celebrating our engagement. We bought him a pint and excitedly broke our news to him. There in the bar, he could not kiss us, but he shook both our hands warmly and said to Tom, "Welcome to the family, son-to-be! So from what you say, my difficult mother-in-law has done the pair of you a big service! She will be pleased to find that she has been useful in her old age! My own parents will be delighted. In celebration, we'll have some Champagne tonight, and the most expensive dishes on the menu!"