David's Third Year at College

A gay story: David's Third Year at College Book III. David’s third year at college

[Books I and II should be read first. Those readers who are familiar with gay history will be aware that the era in which this story takes place was one in which the dangers of AIDS had not been realized. So you will realize that we were rather farseeing in our use of condoms. In fact to some extent, our use of condoms was related to minimizing mess rather than protection from viral diseases. However our lack of indiscriminate sexual contacts was of course also a protective factor of some importance. Note also that this is “highbrow” porn, featuring academic life, culture and religion as well as sex].

Chapter 33 David

Soon it was necessary to move from Jon’s flat back into college. Of course this time I did not need to take all my possessions, just all my books, my (unused) bedlinen, most of my clothes, but not all, and a duplicate set of toiletries. In the time that I’m writing of, not all college rooms had been modernized, but as a Scholar, I was entitled to an en-suite room. The staircase was in one of the oldest college buildings, dating from the 17th century, so the floors were irregular and the steps crooked. It had cost a lot of money for the college to put in plumbing, central heating, electricity, telephone wires and category five cable into a listed building. If I wanted a phone, I would have to pay the college a large extra sum, which Jonathan very kindly offered to pay for me. Not all the furniture in the room was new, the old furniture being quite substantial was still perfectly serviceable, but the room was large, and because it had been modernized, it was well heated. Fortunately the bed was modern and comfortable. The en-suite bathroom was small but adequate, toilet, washbasin and shower, shelf space and a towel-rail. Jon was impressed. “Much better than the grotty room I had as an undergraduate” he said.

“Yes but you were a Commoner” I replied. “These old rooms have stout walls with good sound insulation. We’ll be able to make love without the occupants of the adjacent rooms hearing anything. I should have this room for six terms” I said, “though of course I’ll be back in your bed for the period outside term, unless I go home.” Camford terms were so short that students who needed library facilities needed to spend several weeks in Camford out of term time, and college rooms were often not available, due to the conference trade.

The academic structure of the Chemistry School was unusual. The bachelor’s degree could be obtained in three or four years. All undergraduates took the third year examinations. Those not intending to become academics or professional scientists could get a classified honours degree after three years. Those wishing to take their studies further did a fourth year, essentially a lab research programme. They did not get a classified degree on the basis of the third-year exams, they had to wait a further year and write a short dissertation on their laboratory project to get their class. If they continued their research through the two short vacations and two months in the summer (an extra 20 weeks) they could also get a Master’s degree.

A consequence of this was that in the third year there were more lectures and less laboratory work, so I could actually spend study time in the science library or in my room. Another result of the return to college was that Jon and I only ate together at lunchtime in the lab canteen, and at the twice-weekly dinner when Jon signed in to dine in Hall. Tom and Steve had also moved back into college and shared a double room on another staircase. I often ate dinner with them when Jon was not dining in college. Sleeping on my own took a short while to get used to, and I missed Jon at times. I also tended to drink more, as the college beer cellar had excellent beer (though not open pub hours), and was conveniently near my room. I also had a very kind and helpful bedder, who washed up as well as cleaning the room and making the bed. I kept a framed photograph of Jon by my bed, which must have told her that I was gay.

My evenings were pretty much as they had been in the second year, I went out with Jon twice a week, and Saturday was still sex and swimming day. I still only saw him on Sunday evenings, even though he had got rid of the financial chores of his family business.

Sometimes I would sign out of dinner and eat with Jon at home, especially if one or both of us urgently needed some sex. Fortunately the days when I spent all day longing for a fuck were relatively few, otherwise I would never have got any work done. I was in my final year of basketball. I decided that I would not play in my fourth year.

That academic year was notable for a big influx of women undergraduates. My tutor Dan C told me that it had not been deliberate policy by the college admissions tutor, it just happened that the women applicants got extremely good A-level grades. To the amazement and pleasure of the chemists, there was even a first-year girl reading chemistry. In Hall, the women students tended to sit together, unless they were particularly gregarious or had formed a relationship with one of the men. But the chemists of all years went out of their way to welcome Carol, to make sure that she sat with the men chemists. She was bright, self-assured and quite attractive, though not strictly beautiful. Not all chemists sat together to eat of course, and many signed out, sat in other groups or went into the early, less formal dinner sitting. Carol opted for formal dinner most nights, in that way she met more men. She quite deliberately sat next to a different man each night so that she might get to know them. When my turn came to be sat by, she said to me “You’re one of the gay ones aren’t you?”

“Yes” I said “you will only see my boyfriend on Tuesday or Sunday nights, because he’s a Ph.D. student. You will be safe with me. Women like gays because they don’t constitute a threat or a temptation.” She told me that she came from an academic family, her father was a professor at Oxbridge, but a modern linguist, not a chemist. She had a sister at Southampton University. I invited her for a quick tête-à-tête cup of coffee in my room after dinner.

“Okay,” she said, “but I have to leave at 8-30 to go to a meeting.”

“No problem” I said.

Jon had insisted on buying me a sophisticated Italian coffee machine, because he said that he needed decent coffee on his visits to college. I made coffee and we sat and chatted. She told me that she was thinking of joining the choir. She was an alto, we were short of altos, so I encouraged her to approach the Organ Scholar. I found it difficult to decide whether she was attractive or pushy. She was very good company though, and obviously destined to have a great time in her four years in St Boniface’s.

To me she represented a great challenge to my sexual identity. She was great fun to be with, but I couldn’t see myself in bed with her. My experience is that most men think of women in sexual terms—-what are they like naked etc, and indeed I felt similar feelings myself, but in my case I got the same feelings, but stronger, with an attractive man. In particular whenever I looked at Jon’s hair and figure, I felt a stiffening between my legs.

Just before 8-30 Carol left. After she had gone, I settled down to some work for an hour. I had a half completed essay to finish. At 9-30, I rang Jon at home. He answered promptly and I said, “It’s your fag boy speaking. Would you like to come round for a fuck?”

“You or me?” He asked.

“You” I said, “tonight I want to do it.”

“Okay, I’ll be around in 10 minutes” he replied. My cock started stiffening the minute I heard his voice, and it was like an iron bar by the time that I heard his footsteps on the stairs. “I brought my bike inside”, he said, “in case I stay late. I’m not spending the night though, the college single beds are not big enough for two of us.”

“Just get undressed,” I said, making sure the door was locked. I had already removed my shoes and socks. I went up to him and interrupted his undressing by throwing my arms around him and kissing him passionately. Then I reached down with my left hand and felt his crotch. His dick was as hard as nails. I let him loose and he put the rest of his clothes on the sofa. By now I was completely nude and was rubbing my right hand over his smooth white arse, while my left hand held his tool. I led him into the bedroom, where a towel covered the bed. I pushed him down on his back, lay on top of him and resumed kissing him on the lips. We were both copiously oozing pre-come. I opened the bedside drawer and pulled out a condom that I’d opened earlier and rolled it onto my tool. Jon lay there grinning broadly. “Who would have thought that just over six months ago I was an anal virgin and you were pleading with me to let you have a go at fucking me? Now I welcome your monster dick up my back passage. It’s over a month since you last penetrated me!”

“Shut up, and spread your legs!” I said, getting the K-Y gel out of the drawer and spreading it over the rubber. I applied gel copiously to his perineum and pushed it into his hole, kissing his chest at intervals as I did so.

“My paper with Ed has just been accepted by the Journal of Organic Chemistry,” he said. “Only a couple more and I will have enough for my Ph.D.”

“Don’t talk shop when we’re fucking” I said, “I entertained a female first-year student for coffee here a couple of hours ago. I fantasized about what it might be like with my cock up a woman’s cunt. It really didn’t appeal to me. For a start, men smell nicer than women, and you smell delectable” and I kissed his lips and opened my mouth to his tongue.

“Yes” he said “I put on some fragrance before leaving the flat. I’m glad you like it.” He sighed with contentment as I slowly pushed my tool into his man-hole, and started fucking gently and slowly…

As I began to play a more active role in our sexual relationship, I began to share Jon’s sense of awe and gratitude that another human being ever could enter into the joy and tenderness that a good sexual union brings, and I felt I should reserve my crude comments for afterwards. Such comments seemed inappropriate during what was beginning to feel more and more like a sacramental act. I also began to feel an increased sense of unworthiness, that this man who had so much wealth loved me so deeply. I knew that I was not just a sex-object. If he had just wanted someone to fuck, he could have hired every single rent-boy in Camford. The fact that he had never fucked anyone until he met me shows that he wanted a soulmate rather than a catamite.

After I had come, I lowered his legs and lay on top of him withdrawing my dick from his hole, and I began to rub my belly on his tool while gently nibbling his neck and shoulders. After half a minute or so he came and we lay there with a glutinous mass of come sticking our bellies and chests together. “My darling Jon” I murmured, “why do you love me so much? What have I done to deserve someone like you?”

“All you’ve done” he said “to echo my mother’s words to you in Nice, is just to be yourself. It’s you, not what you’ve done or will do, that I love.”

“I’ve got some Orval in the cupboard” I said. “Would you like a bottle, or is it too bitter at this time of night?”

“Is it young, or old?” Jon asked.

“It’s this year’s” I said.

“It will be okay then,” he said “not too bitter”. I took two skittle-shaped bottles and poured them carefully into two glasses. Jon drank his with relish.

“Trappist beer is lovely” he said. “Your knowledge of beer is advancing as fast as your knowledge of chemistry.”

“I found a specialist beer shop” I said.

“Oh yes, out on the Squidgley Road. Yes, it’s very good. They will deliver if you buy a crate. It’s time I went back. I’ve still got a few things to finish at home.”

“And I’ve got an essay to finish” I said “I hope that you get no discomfort from your bike saddle in that hole of yours that I’ve just been up” I said.

“No, I don’t think so. It’s only half a mile back to Fountain Street.”

“Oh, and congratulations on getting your new paper accepted.” I said. “Sex is obviously good for you, just as it is for me!” I went with him while he collected his bike and let him push it out of the small side gate of the college, which was the locked entrance and exit after midnight. Before he left he said, “Tell your bedder that you’re going away for the weekend. I’ve hired a car, I’ll pick you up in it outside the main gate at 9-30 on Saturday morning. You’ll be back home in time for Chapel and Hall on Sunday night. Sign me in for dinner on Sunday.” And he mounted his bike and rode off into the night.

Chapter 34

Saturday morning found me at the main gate and promptly at 9-30, Jon drove up. “Put your bag in the boot” he said “I’ve booked a double room at the pub in Ixton for tonight.”

“Where’s Ixton?” I asked, as he drove off.

“Where our new house is going to be” he said “I bought an old barn on a farm in Ixton in last summer, and planning permission has just been granted for conversion to a five-bedroom dwelling house with indoor swimming pool. Ixton’s about 70 miles away, so we’ll be there in a couple of hours. I’ve got a big metal tape measure with me to check measurements. I want your opinion about everything, because you are going to be co-owner with me of the house.”

We stopped for coffee and a pee at a motorway service area on the M40, and about 11-30 arrived at the pub, the Jellycotes Arms in Ixton. “They don’t do a lot of overnight business, because Ixton is a bit of a backwater, but they are very nice people.”

Our room was very nice with old-fashioned furniture and a good modern bathroom, which even had a bidet. We had a sandwich lunch in the bar with a pint of beer each and about 1-30 drove to the barn. To reach it by road, you had to drive down an unsurfaced farm track about 800 metres long. “I’ve got the key” said David. We approached the huge barn doors and discovered that there was a small locked door within one of the big doors, just as in a Camford college. We unlocked the small door and stepped over the 30 cm high threshold into the building. The massive building was very dim. It was mainly open right up to the roof, like a giant atrium, but at one end there was a floor at first-floor level reached by a wooden ladder. Jon went back to the car and came back with a large, very bright torch, and by its light, we climbed up to get some idea of how high the building was. “This level is about right for the first floor,” said Jon “and there is room for yet another story under the roof. We might need to put some dormer windows or rooflights in.”

“Oh, dormers with window seats” I said. “The walls are so thick that all the windows will have window seats.” The roof, which was made of solid stone slabs was supported by massive oak beams embedded in the stonework of the walls.

“The roof supports might need reinforcing,” said Jon and we’re going to need girders to support the floors up there. Also it’s clear from the state of the floor that the roof leaks in a few places. It will be a lot of work breaking through these thick walls to create windows. I’ve got plenty of ideas about layout, but we need an architect to determine whether it would be possible to install a lift. Also the foundations need to be looked at to see how deep they go, if we’re going to dig a hole for a pool.”

At this point the discomfort in my bowels that had been building up since lunch got too much to bear and I noisily released the built-up gas. “You windy bugger” said Jon and kissed me affectionately. “This place has reverted to its old use, you’ve made it stink like a stable!”

“Sorry” I said, and farted again.

“Let’s hope that’s the last of it!” grinned Jon. I threw my arms round him and kissed him passionately. He ran his hand over the seat of my jeans. “Suck me, please Jon,” I said and I unzipped my fly and dropped my jeans and briefs to the floor. Jon knelt down and took hold of my semi-stiff tool. It started to swell immediately and he began to lick the tip and play with my foreskin with his lips. I put my hand at the back of his head and started to enjoy the sensations he was giving me with his lips and tongue. Although he had never had experience of fucking when we first met, he had obviously given quite a lot of blow-jobs, and seemed to know exactly how to make a man very happy in the cock department. I had about five minutes of sheer ecstasy with Jon’s jaws and tongue before I came violently into his mouth. I watched him savouring the taste of my seed before swallowing it. Jon let my cock slip out of his mouth and said: “It’s hard to believe that I have just sucked off the guy who 18 months ago told me that there were lots of things in life besides sex! If you really believed that, we would be measuring the inside width of this building. You’ve changed from being a religious obsessive to being a sex obsessive!”

“You want it just as much as I do!” I replied. “OK, let’s get measuring. I pulled up my lower garments and zipped up my fly. We measured the internal length and width of the building.

“We can only get a rough idea of the height” Jon said “if we have a line of sight on the top of the inside walls and can measure the angle from the vertical with a plumb line. We can hang the plumb line from the upper floor level.” He sent me to the car where I found a spanner in the boot. Jon had a three-metre length of string to which we tied the spanner and fastened the string to the top of the ladder.

“How are we going to measure the angle without a protractor?” I asked. He pulled a small telescope out of his pocket.

“This may give us a rough idea,” he said. With much difficulty, using a piece of cardboard and a marker pen, I marked the vertical of the plumb line and Jon lay on the floor. When he had the top of the wall in the centre of his field of view I marked the angle of the telescope on the card. “All we need now is the distance of the plumb line from the wall,” said Jon. We measured that, not without some difficulty. “When I get home I can measure the angle on the card and we can do a rough estimation of the height of the walls,” he said.

We walked round to the back of the barn and looked down on the road below. “I think it might be possible to drop a shaft down through the earth to road level for a lift-shaft or steps to create a street-level entrance,” said Jon. “I would envisage it as only being in use for pedestrians and post deliveries. Do you want space for a garden?”

“Not particularly,” I said, “as long as people can’t look into the ground floor windows.

“It’s private land belonging to Arthur,” said Jon, “so we’re OK.”

“What about the access road? It might be nasty in the winter.”

“Yes, we may have to get it improved,” said Jon, “particularly to provide access for the builders, and that might be expensive. Let’s go back to the pub and sketch out some ideas.”

As we drove into Ixton, Jon said, “I’m sorry not to be able to offer you a turn at driving, but the hire firm prohibits for insurance reasons anyone under 21 from driving. Even I, five years older than you have a loaded hire rate because I’m under 26.” “Well, although I have a licence, I’ve not had much driving experience,” I said.

When we got back to the hotel about 5 pm, we went into the bar, bought beers and went into the small residents’ lounge. Jon spread out some sheets of blank paper and got out a pencil. Eventually we drew up a scheme. The ground floor would have kitchen with large dining area, bathroom, toilet, cloakroom, pool, separate male and female changing rooms with toilets and a pool-viewing area. The first floor would have a large and a small sitting room, and two of the five bedrooms. The top floor would have a big study, the other three bedrooms and a small room set at my disposal, which I planned to use as a chapel/prayer room. All bedrooms would have en-suite bathrooms. Jon said, “When we get back to Camford, I’ll ask Tim Ingledown to find us a good architect to mastermind the conversion.”

Next morning I got up early to attend the 8 am Eucharist at Ixton parish church. When I got back, Jon was in the restaurant eating breakfast. I sat down and joined him. “I thought that we could have a final look round the barn this morning” he said “then come back here and check out, have a sandwich in the bar, leave the car in the car park here and explore the countryside round here on foot and leave about 3-30 to drive back to Camford.”

The countryside round Ixton was beautiful unspoilt agricultural land with lots of public footpaths and seemed a wonderful place to live. We got back to college in time for me to sing with the choir in chapel.

Chapter 35 Jon

Once David had seen the barn at Ixton and approved it, I phoned Tim Ingledown and asked him to come to Camford as soon as he could. I could accommodate him in my spare bedroom for a couple of nights. Tim arrived on a Thursday, and I arranged with David that the three of us would go out to eat at the Sparrowhawk.

Before we left for the pub, I explained to Tim the nature of my relationship with David. He said to me: “Irrespective of anything we may discuss tonight, I would seriously advise you, as soon as David graduates, to make a will naming him as a beneficiary, otherwise should you die or be killed, your estate will go to your mother. But DO make absolutely certain that David really does want to be with you for the rest of his life. He’s still very young for a permanent commitment: not even 21 yet.”

“OK,” I said, “point taken.”

We had a good meal at the pub and returned to Fountain Street to discuss our plans for the barn. Tim and David got on very well. Tim pointed out that we had not made provision for a garage, pointing out that we would need a four-wheel drive vehicle. So we pencilled in a lean-to garage, built in synthetic stone. “I know an architect with experience of old buildings,” said Tim “he’ll probably want to make a preliminary visit before submitting some kind of estimate.” “That’s fine. Ask him to ring me if he wants the job.” I said. “He, David and I can then do a site visit.”

Towards the end of the Martinmas term, research students in St Boniface’s got invitations to a sherry party with the President. Research student numbers in that era were quite small, the Middle Common Room in St Boniface’s consisted of only about 30 persons, of whom 25 were men and only five women. This proportion of women was about the same as the undergraduate complement. The President had only been in office a year or so, and I had not met her before and it was interesting to see that she had brought her husband along for the occasion. The President was a woman of great charm and intelligence. She asked each of us our names, even though we were each wearing lapel badges indicating our names, so she knew who we were because our department was also indicated on the badge, but it was clear listening to her that she had in fact heard of certain of the people present, including to my surprise, myself. When she came round to speak to me, she said rather surprisingly on a totally social occasion “I hear that you are no longer allowed to teach in the laboratory because of your relationship with an undergraduate.”

“Yes that is so” I said, “but to be frank I don’t think that I am losing out by missing the experience and in fact it is probably better that research students who are less well off than I am should have the opportunity to teach in the labs.” That might sound a conceited or even snobbish reply, but I was somewhat on the defensive about my relationship with David.

“Do you think,” she asked, “that the percentage of women in the college should rise to 50%?”

“Not at all” I said firmly “for hundreds of years Camford has been a uniquely male institution, and while I accept that this should change, I think that our present rate of progress is quite fast enough. After all, for the last sixty years or so the women’s colleges have been doing an excellent job. You were at one yourself, I believe.”

“That sounds like a reactionary and slightly anti-feminist comment” she said to me.

“Yes, indeed it is,” I said.

“At least” she said, “the fact that we now have women means that the repertory that the chapel choir can sing is much wider, as it does not have to be confined to men’s voices.”

“Yes indeed” I said. “As you probably know, my boyfriend sings in the choir and he feels that an entirely male voice choir would not be capable of singing a vast range of traditional church music and the influx of women is to be welcomed.” The President smiled at me and moved on to talk to someone else.

A few minutes later, Mr. M, the President’s husband came up to me and offered me another glass of sherry (hospitality in the Lodgings was apparently a reversed-roles situation). He refilled my glass and said to me, rather casually, I thought, “Are there a lot of queers in the college?” I found myself wondering why I had been selected for this question.

“That is a question that people in Camford do not ask” I replied. “Most people feel that sexual orientation is a matter of private life.”

“But suppose a tutor was found to be interfering with one of his students?” He said. “Isn’t that grossly inappropriate behaviour?”

“It all depends whether the student is over 21,” I said.

“I’m not talking about students over 21” he said. “For younger students, the college stands in loco parentis. How would you feel if your son were seduced by one of his teachers?”

“I would ask him what he hoped to achieve by giving in to his tutor’s advances,” I said. “I would also ask him whether the relationship would lead to anything other than good essay marks. Moreover, I would ask him if he had enjoyed it and whether he saw the relationship as a youthful fling or whether he felt that he was 100% homosexual.”

“Wouldn’t you ask him if he thought that having sex with a man was unnatural and immoral?”

“No, I would not. That is not a question that you ask in this university. You’ll excuse me saying so I hope, but the world of Camford University is not like the world of business. The expansion of human minds and human knowledge is not like the expansion of human pockets and human wealth.”

He moved away and I went and talked to a friend doing research in Italian history. I thought to myself: I hope that guy never puts similar questions to David. He sounds like a tabloid newspaper editor. You can just imagine the headline: ‘Camford University riddled with poofters.’ David would be sure to put his foot in it. David is twenty years ahead of his time in striving for gay rights and needs to be more cautious in expressing his views. I also wondered if there would be a tête-à-tête follow-up discussion on my views in the President’s Lodgings later that evening. I felt relieved that Mr. M had no role on the Governing Body of the college and that his wife seemed to have very different views.

Shortly thereafter, term ended and as it was near Christmas I went home with David. We had come to the arrangement that each year we would spend Christmas with David’s family and Easter with my mother.

Christmas at David’s was quite different that year. I was now treated as one of the family, in fact as David’s elder brother, the only difference being that I was not expected to go to church. Jeroen was growing up and about to change schools, but he was still an affectionate little boy and welcomed me with great enthusiasm. Dorothea also seemed pleased to see me. She told me that it was because I had made her brother so happy. I had never met anyone like David, who seemed to positively blossom from having regular sex. Mind you, I was pretty happy myself to be privileged to be in love with such a beautiful young man. Just to rub my face in his lovely blond hair sent shivers of delight through me.

I also realized that my initial impressions of David’s father and siblings less than two years ago had been quite wrong. As I get older, I realize increasingly that I am not a good judge of people, and am lucky to be able to pay someone like Tim Ingledown to advise me. David had a most kind and thoughtful father as well as a charming and lively mother. I realized that they were rapidly becoming the family that I had never had when I was younger. David helped me to choose Christmas presents for his family. We bought Jeroen T-shirts, Dorothea a book token, and I also got book tokens for Mr and Mrs Scarborough. I had great problems with a suitable present for David. Neither he nor I wanted him to wear more jewellery, so in the end I bought him a good quality digital watch, rather than a fancy, expensive and unreliable designer-style watch. I sometimes wondered whether I should be buying him attractive designer clothing, but decided that it would upset him and certainly would have upset his parents if I wasted large sums of money on clothes for a boy who would look just as beautiful in clothes from a multiple high street store. This era was before the days of interesting and exciting computer accessories, which are a certain guarantee of success as a present for a man.

We made the most of having the top floor of the house to ourselves. On days when David was feeling energetic, he would ride my erect tool. One day, I asked him if he would like me to ride him. “Oh, yes please,” he said, “you’re much lighter than I am.” He lay on his back, his monster dick sticking up like a pole, I unrolled a condom and fitted it over the projection, squatted over him, straddling his chest, and gently lowered myself until his tool engaged with my anal passage. To my amazement it was a totally different sensation from penetration in lying or standing positions, and I realized that in fact his manhood was touching the region of my prostate gland. Holding on to the bed-head I started to move myself up and down. It took a bit of time to learn how much vertical distance I could move without him slipping out of my hole, but though demanding on the leg joints, it was an extremely enjoyable experience, particularly as it accorded me the opportunity of seeing the expression on his face as he got more and more excited and finally came.

On January 2, I went back to Camford. David would follow about ten days later, a few days before the beginning of term. I had taken quite a few photographs of him at Christmas, and I selected a particularly attractive one of him wearing an orange T-shirt, which I had printed and framed to put beside my bed. He had arranged with his parents that he would only come home for a few days at Easter, because by that stage preparation for his summer examinations would be extremely important, and we also had to allow five days for the visit to my mother in Nice.

Chapter 36 Jon

Although it was not ideal weather, being January, when Dick Hallatrow, the architect identified by Tim as a possible candidate for the design of our house contacted me, I arranged for him and me to do a site visit just before the beginning of the Candlemas term. David said that he was too preoccupied with study to come with us. Dick said that installing modern facilities in such an ancient building that had been designed to house hay or cattle rather than human beings represented a real challenge to him. “At least” he said “the barn is not a listed building, although I would strongly advise you to make no changes to the outside apart from the creation of windows. We may need to underpin the foundations with concrete, and it may be necessary to think of some way of reinforcing the walls, although they are quite thick. I will go away and produce some preliminary drawings within a couple of weeks and fax them to you for your opinion.” I decided that if his ideas were good, we would give him the contract.

My research work, which up to that time had gone well, took a turn for the worse. Every approach that we tried in the lab ended without results, and it got a bit depressing. I could not even seek a break in sex: David was deep in lectures, labs and tutorials, and it was essential that he should not be distracted by my continual sexual demands. So I spent quite a few long, sad evenings at home drinking beer and sometimes wanking in front of my photograph of my faggot-boy.

One evening I was watching television with a glass of port in my hand when the doorbell rang. It was David. “Come on up” I said, pressing the door-release button.

David came in and put his arms round me. “I want to sleep in your bed tonight,” he said. “It’s been a bad day, and I’m wondering whether I should be studying chemistry at all.”

I kissed him and poured him a glass of port. “I’m not feeling very cheerful myself,” I said. “Let’s try and console one another.”

“I don’t want to fuck,” said David, “I just want to undress, get into bed and kiss and cuddle. I feel pissed off with chemistry, I long for something to think about other than bloody thermodynamics.”

“How about some dirty talk then?” I said. “I’ve got a book of nude photos. Let’s look critically at some of them.” I got the book from the study: it had lots of high quality colour photographs of males of all ages above 18. Some were posed in provocative postures such as bent over, but in all pictures the models had their cocks displayed to best advantage. In those days, pictures of men with erections were regarded as incredibly obscene, so it was significant that I had bought the book in France. Not all the men in the pictures had stiffies, but more than half did. The picture quality was very high and you could see every detail of skin and body hair. Not all the pictures were attractive, some were of men with overdeveloped musculature, others of old and wrinkled men, but the pictures had been carefully selected to avoid obese or grotesque subjects.

There was a special section of photos of men with big dicks, and I turned to it. “You can tell that this is a European book,” I said, “because the men are not circumcized. If it were American, most of them would be cut like me.”

“Why were you cut?” David asked.

“A whim of my mother’s doctor” I replied. “He said it was more hygienic, which is rubbish. What about all that sensitivity you are taking away from the boy when he gets older?”

“Pull your pants down,” ordered David, “I want to have a close look at your dick.”

I giggled. “This reminds me of primary school,” I said. “Do you remember how little boys would pull each other’s pants down and inspect their friends’ willies?” Anyway, I obliged by pulling down my trousers and underpants.

“I won’t get hold of it,” said David “because you would get an erection. I just want to look at it.”

“This is strictly I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” I said. “Okay” he said and pulled his pants down too. I have to admit that in spite of various activities that we got up to in boarding school, I had not spent a lot of time inspecting the cocks of uncircumcized boys, so it was very interesting to note that in its normal flaccid state the glans of David’s cock was totally covered and indeed the hole at the end of his foreskin seemed to be quite small.

We started to compare our own tools with those in the photographs and decided that in spite of the high quality of the male models in the book, our own equipment compared very favourably.

Although most men would not admit it, it is actually a very nice sensation to have someone fingering your tool. I reached out and took hold of David’s cock and gently rolled back the foreskin. As I fingered him, I could feel his tool beginning to stiffen. He smiled at me. “That’s nice,” he said “carry on.” I knelt down and took his cock into my mouth. I could feel it expanding in width and hardness as it came into contact with my tongue. He suddenly got excited and started to fuck my open mouth. He stood up and I reached behind him and cupped each of his buttocks in my two hands. He reached out and put his right hand behind my head. He slowed down for a bit and whispered tenderly, “I’m enjoying this so much that I don’t want to come just yet. Oh, Jon, I love you so much.”

It felt so good kneeling there, David’s rockhard man-rod in my mouth, my hands caressing his hairy arse. He slowly resumed his pushing and withdrawing of his tool in my mouth but very shortly speeded up, and with a shout shot his load into my mouth. At the same moment, his buttocks parted and an enormous fart blasted out of his back passage. Although I swallowed most of his come, I could feel a little of it dripping out of the corners of my mouth, so I stood up and kissed him and he licked up the remainder of his own come.

“I bet you feel a lot more cheerful now,” I said. “And you’re probably more comfortable inside after farting out all that wind. Have another glass of port.”

“You’re right” he said “I do feel better, but I should have apologized for farting. There are only a few months to go till the exams, so it would be stupid to chicken out now. Oh, Jon you are so good for me. I thank God every night for giving me your love. By the way, in two weeks time I’m going on a retreat for the weekend. Most of the time will be spent in silence and a lot of the time I shall be thinking of you.”

“Shouldn’t you be thinking of God, not me, on retreat? Doesn’t your religion forbid lying with a man as one would with a woman? Aren’t you committing the forbidden sin of buggery by doing unmentionable things with another man? Isn’t a retreat a time for penitence and confessing your sins?”

“Strictly speaking, it’s you who most of the time are committing buggery, I am just your willing victim. Jon, we love one another and we are expressing our love in the same way as a married couple. Sinners can love God as well as saints. Jesus forgave a woman who slept with another woman’s husband. We are not deceiving anyone. The fact that we have to use the anus as entry point rather than the vagina is just a fact of anatomy. The mediaeval church knew that married men often buggered their wives, but chose to ignore it. I have enough things on my mind just at present without feeling guilty about loving you and being fucked by you. No-one would criticize our being in love, so why should they criticize what we do in bed?”

“But anal sex can never lead to procreation, and isn’t that the purpose of fucking?

“NO, the purpose of fucking is to unite couples in love to express their love in action. Only the Pope and his cronies think that ‘Cresce et multiplica’ is a divine command and that limiting family size is a sin. You’ve been deceived by Vatican propaganda. Ask any Catholic couple why they don’t have 16 children, and if you’re really nosy ask them what they do to prevent them having 16 children! Once again, it’s the ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell’ system that serves humanity so well. Anyway, let’s go to bed. I need to be up early in the morning if I’m going to creep into college for breakfast!”

We went to the bathroom, peed, washed, cleaned our teeth, David said his prayers and we went to bed. I curled up on my side against his chest and in five minutes we were both asleep.

Chapter 37 David

The retreat was held at an old manor house on the outskirts of Camford. It was easily reachable by bicycle or by bus, so it was perfectly possible for us to attend there for most of the day while sleeping and breakfasting in college. There was an assorted group of about a dozen of us on the retreat. A few like myself were members of the Chapel choir, the others were drawn from the more “religious” members of the college, or were intending to be ordained. The retreat opened and closed with acts of worship based on Franciscan daily prayer. The rest of the two days, Saturday and Sunday consisted of a talk in the morning and one in the afternoon followed by periods of meditation carried out in silence. Conversation was allowed during the lunch break, which was exactly one hour. Otherwise we were not expected to speak to one another or to anyone else.

We were not assigned any topics for meditation but it was clearly expected that our thoughts should be dominated by what was said in the daily talks. It was a warm spring day, which meant that we could also use the open air, as there was a large attractive garden, where one could be alone with one’s thoughts. Most of the people on retreat were third-year students and with the exception of myself and one other, would be leaving Camford in the summer and making their way into careers in the wide, wide world. Clearly for them this represented perhaps a last opportunity to think back over their spiritual development during the last three years and to decide how they hoped their lives would develop in the future. In my case the course of the next year was already mapped out, but I still saw it as an opportunity to look back over the previous two and a bit years and consider how my life had changed and to think and to weigh the benefits and the disadvantages (if there were any) of my relationship with Jon.

Needless to say, Jon came out of the review very favourably. I had benefited enormously from his advice, his experience, his wisdom, his affection, his knowledge and the self-confident way in which he made decisions about his life. I not only thought about Jon, though, I prayed for him as well. I asked God to bless him and watch over him and bring him to belief.

In my own case, I had to think about what I would do at the end of the following academic year. I had basically, as I saw it, two opportunities or if you prefer to put it that way, two career paths. These were, assuming that I got a good enough degree and a suitable postgraduate award, to stay on for a further two or three years for a Ph.D. or to consider changing my field of career altogether, and perhaps consider study to be a professional musician. The latter path, although romantic sounding and possibly much more suitable for a young gay man, seemed to waste the four years that I had spent studying chemistry. It is difficult to envisage any kind of logical or other, connection between chemistry and music. The musical career would probably have to involve singing, as I had at least pursued that during my four years as an undergraduate, rather than playing the flute, which I had scarcely done since leaving school. Of course, I was not in a position to make any decision at this stage. However the major attraction about research training in chemistry was that I would remain with my boyfriend in Camford, whereas if I were to become a musician, I would almost certainly have to go to London or Manchester to pursue musical studies.

You might ask what all these considerations had to do with spiritual matters, and I have to admit that the connection was fairly tenuous, but nevertheless the existence of two days set aside from everyday concerns was an extremely valuable experience, enabling me to take stock of my spiritual, educational and physical development. The challenges that Jon made to me to consider carefully whether there was any conflict between the service of God and my love for him had been extremely valuable in making me think through the relationship between morality and homosexuality, and to come to a conclusion in which I could affirm the goodness of deep and faithful love for a fellow human being, whether male or female, while hating any kind of connection with unfaithfulness or promiscuity (both of which are prevalent in the gay world).

At Christmas, I had found out when Jon’s birthday was. It turned out to be 25 March, which that year was just before the end of term. After much poking around in jeweller’s shops in Camford, I found a nice silver-gilt locket on a robust gold chain, and after much fiddling managed to get a photographer to reduce a colour photograph of me to a size that could be cut to fit into the locket. I booked a table at a nice Italian restaurant for the day and told Jon that he must finish in the lab by 6 pm.

After a hasty wash and change of clothes in my college room, we walked to the restaurant, which was in the town centre, near Laurifax. There were not many other customers, as it was so early, so we got good service. After we had sat down, I watched Jon pour a bottle of Valpolicella, and looked across the table at his tall, thin, athletic-looking figure, with just a hint of black shadow on his face and cheeks with a happy and loving smile on his face. I felt affection and desire welling up inside me and I longed to wrap my arms round his slim and elegant figure and rub my lips across his rough, spiky face. I felt tears coming as I caught his eye, and I hoped that my eyes would convey the message of love that words were unable to do. I was not unaware that my own appearance attracted people: men as well as women, so I could understand that Jon had fancied me at first sight, but I still felt extraordinarily privileged that a man of such charm, grace and ability, as well as having a fit and attractive physique, could want a lifetime relationship with me. It seemed amazing that a tête-à-tête birthday dinner aroused feelings of joy and love perhaps best summed up by the old student song ‘Gaudeamus igitur, juvenes dum sumus’.

During the dessert I gave Jon my present and I stood up and put it round his neck. “I wouldn’t advise you to wear it while swimming,” I said. “I doubt if it’s waterproof.”

“It’s too precious to me to take the risk,” he said with a happy smile. I longed to kiss him, but by now had learned discretion. We had an espresso each at the end of the meal and walked slowly and discreetly hand-in-hand back to Fountain Street about 9-30 pm, by which time my earlier euphoria had subsided, but my desire remained.

When we got in, I asked Jon if he felt somnolent. “Not at all,” he said, “Do you want to undress me?”

“Yes,” I said, “remember how on my birthday you gave me two presents? I want to do the same to you now, if you feel like being shagged.”

“You know by now how much I love that king-size cock of yours,” he said. “Feel free to fuck the hell out of me!” I undid his shoes and he pulled them off, then his socks. I continued until he was stark naked with his tool sticking out like a shelf bracket. I kissed the tip of his tool without taking it into my mouth, and let him take my clothes off. During our stay in the Netherlands, I had stocked up with the extra large condoms that I liked so much, and Jon now began to unroll one over my dick. “Bend over the bed,” I said “you’re going to need lots of lube,” and I spread the gel over the inside of his crack and used two fingers to push it into his hole.

Without boring you with excessive detail, let me just say that energized by the healthy Mediterranean food, I slammed into his hole and for about ten minutes fucked him vigorously before I came violently and blasted a massive charge of male ammunition into the rubber sheath deep in his guts. I slowly withdrew from his hole, removed the rubber from my dick, lifted his legs on to the bed and turned him over on his back. He smiled tenderly at me as I lowered myself on top of him and kissed him gently. He opened his mouth and I stuck my tongue in and rubbed it against his. His cock was quite soft, and I lifted my head and asked him if he needed a suck or a wank. “No,” he said, “just lie beside me and stroke me for a few minutes, and then we’ll have a drink.” I did as he said and stroked his chest and shoulders and kissed his arms and belly. We then got dressed, embraced and kissed, and Jon opened a cupboard and got out two bottles of Frank Boon kriek, and poured out the red liquid into two glasses. “Sweet like you, enjoyable like you, moderate in alcohol like you,” he said teasingly as we sat naked beside each other on the bed.

Chapter 38 David

As term drew to an end, I was increasingly conscious of the imminence of exams at the end of the following term, and Jon kindly offered the hospitality of his flat and his bed to me, rent-free for the Easter vacation, so that I could keep up with my revision and reading. We had arranged to fly to Nice on the Wednesday before Easter for a one-week stay.

To our amazement, Jon’s mother met us at the airport and drove us to our hotel. She kissed Jon and then me, and treated me as a son (in-law). She had booked seats for us at the opera on Easter Monday. One evening she even cooked dinner for us, and on another evening she came as our guest to dine at our hotel. There were no more embarrassing questions about what we did in bed, and by the end of the stay I had completely revised my opinion of her. She explained her behaviour of the previous year as due to jealousy of me supplanting her in her son’s affections, which did not convince us. However it was an enormous relief to both of us that both our families had accepted our relationship with understanding and love, in an era in which homosexual unions were disparaged or frowned on as unnatural, unless you happened to be a prominent musician in either the classical or the pop worlds.

The Pentecost term was the last for most of my contemporaries in college. For me, with another year ahead, albeit of reading and lab work rather than lectures and tutorials, there was less sadness, particularly as I had Jon to rely on for support when I needed cheering up. Basketball ended for me, although other social activities continued. We spent more time in the open air, in our case in the college garden.

Jon had accepted the architect’s designs for the conversion of Rockwell’s Barn, as the house was to be called, and preliminary site work (investigation of the foundations) had already begun. Jon tried to manage a site visit every two weeks or so, and sometimes I would go with him. His financial support for his Ph.D. work had come to an end, and he was increasingly spending time in the library or writing on his expensive, yet by modern standards primitive, computer at home. There was still some laboratory work to round off and he hoped to submit his thesis by Christmas, after nearly four years. Two further papers had been accepted for publication, (which had been the excuse for two nights of drinking), so the degree was a near certainty. His supervisor had offered him a three-year postdoctoral job, and he had accepted it on condition that he could start after a nine-month break, during which time he could work with the builders on the barn conversion.

Chapter 39 Jon

When the new term began, David was massively preoccupied with last-minute preparations for his examinations. I missed him when he moved back into college: the sudden change from having the warmth of his body next to me to an empty bed was disconcerting. My main concern was to ensure that he did not have any major distractions to the overall priorities of study, eating, sleeping, and fresh air. We still went swimming and had sex on Saturdays, and we still ate together on Tuesdays and Sundays in college.

I was also busy, there were last-minute experiments in the laboratory to finish off and I was still occupied in reading for my thesis. Just as David had a deadline for his examinations, I had set a deadline of Christmas for the submission of my Ph.D. thesis. The format that I adopted for the thesis was one that had only just at that time become accepted, which was a general introduction followed by the individual papers as they had been accepted by the journals in which they had been published, and followed by a general discussion. This makes a much simpler construction, and facilitated the putting together of the work.

The pressures that we were both under meant that when we were able to meet and make love, our activity was more intense and less relaxed. Most of the time I did the fucking, but every so often David took his turn to fuck me. We found also that while not actually drinking to excess, we were drinking significantly more than we usually did. The weather in that May and June was warm and pleasant and we tried to take time in the evening to walk for at least half an hour along one of the rivers or footpaths, which interweave the Camford colleges. My timescale was longer than David’s, and I tried to make things as easy for him as possible.

Eventually in the last week of term and the first week of the summer vacation, the examinations took place. David had a total of six three-hour papers, and on each day that he had an exam, we made love in the evening. My idea was to enable him to relax as much as possible and forget momentarily about the stress of the next exam.

Once David’s examinations were over, there were a series of parties. The third-year chemists organized a big one and I went along as David’s recognized partner. Massive quantities of beer were drunk and it looked as though the evening was going to end up with drunkenness, brawling and vomiting in the street. After we had about four pints of beer each, David and I decided that it was time to leave. Tom and Steve took the same decision, and the four of us decided to go to a pub to have one final drink and an end of term chat. We all adjourned to the Lion for that final pint. Our conversation, albeit somewhat fuddled, suggested that Tom and Steve were going to have difficulty in finding jobs together. Of course, a lot would depend on the outcome of the exams, so until that stage, everyone was relatively relaxed, because no final career decisions could be made.

With a good 50% of the third-year group in Chemistry departing, it seemed likely that we would spend more time in the company of Tom and Stephen in David’s final year. That year however would be curtailed as far as he and I were concerned, because from Christmas to September I planned to live in a caravan in Ixton and to work with the builders on the house. Even so, I would spend every weekend back in Camford.

David was remaining in Camford for a couple of weeks until his exam results were published, so of course we had to remove his possessions by taxi back to the flat. He had arranged to see his tutor as soon as the results were known, to fix up his laboratory project for his final year. Those students on the four-year course only received a general indication that they had satisfied the examiners, but it was sometimes possible to get a hint of the result unofficially from one’s tutor.

Dan C told David that his exam performance had come up to the college’s expectations, which as he was a Scholar meant that he had done quite well. David told him that he wanted to do some lab work related to the synthesis of biologically active materials, so Dr C suggested a placement in either the Biochemistry or Pharmacology departments, and suggested a couple of possible supervisors, one in each department. David went to see each, and finally opted to work with man called Charles Crabtree, a postdoc in Pharmacology, who had just been appointed a Junior Fellow at Rochester College. He gave David some reprints to read (this was long before the days of the Internet) and suggested that he start in the lab a week before the start of the Martinmas term.

Chapter 40 Jon

Having settled his fourth-year programme, David went home, intending to go on from there to his uncle’s cafe in Amersfoort on the ferry from Hull. His stay would be only a month this year because it would be early August before he started work there, and he wanted a couple of weeks at home before coming back to Camford. During his time in the Netherlands, he would become 21, but he would postpone the celebrations till he got back home. On the morning that he was due to leave, we kissed for about 10 minutes and only stopped when the taxi driver who was taking David, with suitcase and backpack to the station, rang the bell.

In addition to the thesis, I was also occupied with things in Ixton. I arranged to see Arthur Rockwell and his son to see how the new woodland was getting on. I needed to report on progress to the trustees of the Afforestation Trust.

In order to attract the very best trustees, Tim Ingledown and I decided to pay each trustee a modest honorarium to compensate them for the time lost from their day job. We succeeded in recruiting a person from Kew, one from the Woodland Trust and one from the Forestry department at Camford University. The other trustees were Tim and myself. The trustees were anxious to purchase more land for planting, rather than using land on long lease. As our financial reserves were increasing, that seemed a sensible policy, and we purchased quite a large hectarage of land at two sites, one in Shropshire and the other in Derbyshire.

We then had to recruit a suitably qualified first employee to oversee drainage and planting. We identified a man called Robin Banks, who had recently completed a postgraduate course in Applied Forestry and offered him a three-year contract. He accepted our job offer, although we made it clear that the aim of the Trust was conservation and not exploitation of woodland. He was currently living in Exminster, from which University he had graduated. As the Trust had as yet no premises from which he could work, he would have to work from home, although he would need to stay in a hotel or bed-and-breakfast establishment when he was working on site. He would be responsible for finding and supervising subcontractors for the drainage and planting work. We had considered seeking volunteer labour, as we were a charity, but decided that at this stage a professional forestry firm would get the job done more quickly, if well supervised. Robin had a clean driving licence, but as he was under 26, we arranged that the trust should insure his car for him. He and I went to see the work that Arthur had done, essentially in his spare time, and were very impressed. I decided that we should appoint Arthur as consultant with an honorarium of £1000 per year plus expenses.

Robin Banks was about my age. He had had a few years of hands-on forestry work until he went to University. He was tall and solidly built, but there was something about the way he looked at me that was rather endearing. I did not know if he was gay, and had no intention of making advances to him, because if I were wrong about his sexuality it would destroy any working relationship. Besides, I had David to consider. Even if it were to turn out that Robin was gay, it would be gross disloyalty to David to have sex with him. Unfortunately, being in a deep relationship had taught me that sex with another person is infinitely better than sex by oneself. A solitary man never needs to feel sexually frustrated, but somehow wanking seemed to be less and less adequate as a means of satisfaction.

When we were looking at what Arthur had done at Ixton, the three of us spent an evening together drinking at the Jellycotes Arms. Arthur seemed to have the knack of getting Robin to unfold and he became quite chatty. My less than adequate social skills prevented me from seeing exactly how Arthur had achieved this result, and as time went by, spending more than an hour with Robin when we were not working seemed to become increasingly tedious.

However in spite of these personal communication slowdowns we had really started to make progress. Arthur came with us on our first visit to Shropshire. The land that we had purchased was essentially barren, scrawny grassland, without the flora of heath or bracken or any of the lushness associated with grazed meadowland. Soil analysis revealed a nutrient-deficient soil, which would not be a problem in supporting woodland, providing that there was an established mycorrhizal population. Arthur made some very helpful comments about the siting of particular species, and advised us not to choose certain species that would not flourish away from damp locations.

Chapter 41 Jon

A few weeks later I took two or three days off from thesis-writing to go with Robin in a hire car to Derbyshire to examine the site that the Trust had purchased there. My attitude to him began to change when I discovered that he was as uninhibited about farting as I was. The first time it happened, I was a bit startled when I heard the loud and unmistakable rumble of escaping wind coming from the guy sitting beside me. “Sorry about that,” he mumbled. “No problem,” I said, “I’m just as bad. Feel free to fart whenever you need to, and I will do the same.” I felt that even if he was inhibited about conversation, he was quite relaxed about bodily functions.

The Derbyshire site was another site of land of low agricultural value, relatively high up on the High Peak, but just outside the National Park, so the land-use and conservation restraints were not so rigid. We decided that the most important thing was the establishment of deciduous woodland and Robin was very knowledgeable about the choice of suitable species for the purpose. The site in Derbyshire was a series of adjacent fields, each bounded by dry-stone walls, most of which were in very poor condition. “It looks to me,” I said “as though we need to do something about those walls, because they could afford significant protection to the saplings during the early stages of their establishment.”

“Yes,” said Robin “we need to get a dry-stone walling expert in.”

I agreed. “I must contact Tim Ingledown and see if he can find an expert on dry-stone walling. We need such a person in any case, because of the other trust that I have set up to promote the repair and restoration of traditional agricultural dry-stone walling.”

Robin must have been curious as to how I came to be in the position that I was. But I did not enlighten him about my income or the way that I chose to spend it. I did not want anyone to be interested in me because of my money. The delightful thing about David was his total obliviousness to the fact that I was quite wealthy. And that of course is how I wanted it. Because David had never had to suffer hardship and had had a relatively comfortable and loving upbringing and education, (although he had the skills to earn a living and was indeed going to do so), he was really oblivious to my personal fortune.

The evening before we left Derbyshire, Robin and I were sitting in the bar of the pub where we were staying, drinking some rather nice locally brewed beer before dinner. We had the place to ourselves. Without any words, Robin reached out and took my hand. “Are you gay?” he asked. As I made no attempt to release my hand from his grasp, the answer was obvious, but I had no chance to answer him before he stood up, walked round the table and bent over and kissed me on the mouth. It’s a good job there’s no-one behind the bar, I thought.

“It’s only fair to tell you that I’m in a relationship,” I told him, “so anything we do can’t lead to anything.”

“I’m in a relationship too,” he said “I just feel that I need some human contact.”

“I’m not sure that this is a good idea,” I said “we don’t really know much about each other and sooner or later you are going to meet my partner. And I’m not going to deceive him by not telling him what I’ve done. Tell me a bit more about yourself and your boyfriend.”

“I met him when I was at University,” he said. “Before I went there, I had had a couple of relationships with girls which left me disgruntled and pissed off with women. They all want to run your life for you, and a lot of them want kids and I don’t. Besides, they always complain when you fart. In my jobs I don’t meet a lot of women, and I noticed that I was fancying some of the men, but it wasn’t till I got to college that I came out. I went to gay bars, I joined the student Gay/Lesbian/Bisexual group, but the idea of fucking or sucking just any man who was gay didn’t appeal to me. It wasn’t till I met Arnold that I was attracted sufficiently to fall in love. He’s a couple of years younger than me, and he’s so cute. I miss him enormously.”

“So why aren’t you living with him now?”

“Because he’s still a student. He doesn’t graduate till next year and so he’s stuck in Exminster. But when this job came up, it was too good an opportunity for me to ignore, so I had to leave him during the week. I worry about what he gets up to while I am away.”

“If you don’t trust him, then that’s a very poor start to a relationship,” I said.

“I don’t think he loves me as much as I love him.”

“In that case you should be working to strengthen the relationship, not considering sleeping with someone else.” I said.

“I’m very bad at talking to him about how I feel,” he mumbled “so much of the time we have sex and then just fall asleep.”

“Are you considering him as a long-term partner, or is this just a faithful but short-term affair?” I asked.

“I don’t know” he replied.

“Then before you try to get up to anything intimate with me, I think you should clarify your feelings and intentions about Arnold.” I said. “Try phoning him and discussing it. I’m going to ring my boyfriend David and ask him how he feels about me sleeping with someone else.”

Fidelity in men is a complex business. Once you have had sex with another human being, it can be so enjoyable that wanking seems a poor substitute. And many men who are deeply in love seem to have no worries about having loveless sex with a prostitute or rent-boy. As far as I was concerned, there were two problems: first that I would be being disloyal to David, who would take a much more stringent view of infidelity, and secondly that I felt sorry for Robin, and that might lead to emotional involvement and later adversely affect our working relationship.

I took Robin’s hand and said to him “Look, we’re leaving tomorrow. I really think that anything beyond a touch or a kiss or holding hands should wait until you have clarified your emotions and had an open and frank talk with Arnold about how HE feels. It may be that just talking to me has helped you to decide how you feel. Remember that love can cause much misery as well as much happiness. If you like, ring Arnold after we’ve eaten. I’ll pay for the call if you put it on the hotel bill. I ring my boyfriend ever day. I need to hear his voice.”

“OK” Robin replied, “I’ll do that.”

The more I thought about Robin’s situation, the less desirable it seemed to get emotionally involved with him. He had major problems about expressing himself, and unless he could resolve the situation with his boyfriend, he was going to end up emotionally damaged, because I suspected that Arnold might well be two-timing him. However much he might need a blow-job, and however uptight he might be feeling about separation, he needed to get his relations with Arnold properly sorted out.

“Are you living in Exminster at the moment?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“So I suppose that you see him at the weekend then?” I asked.

“Oh yes, every weekend,” he said.

“And you can’t get by five days without seeing him?”

“That’s right,” he said.

“You really must be desperately in love,” I said. “How does Arnold feel about your absence during the week?”

“He doesn’t seem to mind,” said Robin.

“You’ve got to talk to him and see exactly how he feels about your relationship,” I said. “If he’s lost interest in you, or even worse is two-timing you, then however much it hurts you, you’ve got to walk away from him. I’ve just thought of something: if you take Friday off work and turn up suddenly at the place where he lives, you will have a good idea about how he feels about you. If he is delighted to see you and is prepared to drop anything that he is doing to be in your company, then he’s in love with you. If he is less than pleased to see you and makes excuses about previous engagements or activities, then it’s fair to conclude that he’s not in love with you. Obviously, what action you take after that is entirely up to you, but you should seriously consider ditching him.”

“Oh, thank you,” said Robin “I promise you that I will try and get matters sorted out this weekend.”

“I know that you have a lot of problems in communicating your emotions to people, and obviously Arnold is not an intuitive person, so you really do have to lay your cards on the table and make it clear to him what kind of relationship you want and whether he is happy with that or not. Any further action after that will depend entirely on you. Now let’s go and have dinner, and after dinner you ring Arnold, but don’t tell him that you are going to turn up at his place on Friday.”

I bought us another pint of beer each and we went into dinner. After dinner, Robin went up to his room. I went into the lounge and started to read the newspaper. After about half an hour, Robin came back, smiling happily. “He sounded ever so pleased to hear my voice,” he said. “So I hope that all will go well on Friday.”

“That’s good,” I said “do you want another drink?”

“Yes I think I do,” said Robin. We had a further pint each and then went to bed. We arranged that I would drive the hire car back to Camford and Robin would take over the wheel and drive it to Exminster, where he would drop it off at the hire firm’s depot.

So the next morning we set off, and it was with some relief that I got back to the flat, and was able to have a more extended talk over the telephone to David than would have been possible at the exorbitant rates that hotels and pubs charged their residential customers in those days. I told David the full details of my conversation with Robin and told him that while I felt very sorry for the boy, I really had no interest whatsoever in starting an affair with him. It didn’t matter to me whether he was a good fuck or not, David was my partner and I was not going to be disloyal.

Chapter 42 David

I felt the usual wrench about leaving Jon in Oxford, but after a couple of very enjoyable weeks with my family, it was good to go back to the familiar streets of Amersfoort once again. My uncle and aunt welcomed me with more enthusiasm than usual, and I think this was because I was I was palpably getting more mature, a fact that I attributed to my partnership with Jon. In order to prevent any unpleasant incidents of the type that had marred my visit the previous year, it was arranged that I would work in the front bar of the café. I still got regular phone calls from Jon, but they were not as frequent or as long as in my first year, because Jon was extremely busy, not only with the thesis-writing but also with the Afforestation Trust. The work in the bar was pretty exhausting, and although my aunt fed me well, I actually lost a little weight. I used to collapse into bed at night feeling quite exhausted, with not even energy to wank myself off.

Apart from Sundays, I had one day off a week, usually on a Thursday, and I used to employ this to visit museums and historic buildings all over the country, as rail travel in the Netherlands is cheap and fast. One Thursday, I was visiting the Frans Hals Museum in Haarlem, and feeling rather exhausted, adjourned for a sandwich and a cup of coffee in the Museum’s café. The café was quite busy and the only place where I could find a seat was at a table with one occupant. “Mag ik even hier gaan zitten?” I asked (is it okay to sit here?). “Jawel” (yes) replied the occupant, a youngish man with brown eyes and long hair. He was of the height of a typical male Dutchman in his thirties, namely 2 metres. We got into conversation. It turned out that he was, perhaps not surprisingly, a postgraduate art student. He told me also that he was a film enthusiast, and that there was a good Italian film on that evening in Haarlem. I had had experience of art-house cinemas in the Netherlands, and their programs typically start at 9 or 10 pm, which would have meant that the program would not finish till after midnight and I had no desire to be hanging around on railway stations in the middle of the night to get back to Amersfoort, particularly as I had to go through Amsterdam on the way and change trains. But he told me that in fact the film would start at 7-30 and he suggested that we left the gallery when it closed at six and went and got something to eat before going to see the film. I had a pretty good idea that the guy was gay, but I did not see any reason why I should not go with him to a cinema, even if he tried to hold my hand.

We went to an Italian pizza restaurant to eat. “Would you like something to drink?” I asked. I ordered two glasses of red wine. We talked about cinema and Italian cinema in particular. He commented on my slightly strange accent, and I explained that I was not a native Dutchman by birth but came from Britain. He looked amazed that an Englishman could speak Dutch, but was rather less surprised when I explained that my mother was Dutch. I did not find him particularly attractive, and couldn’t help wondering what my response would be if he tried to make a pass at me. On the other hand, he had not made any overt indication that he was gay, so perhaps I was mistaken. I asked him where he was studying, and he said that he was at the University of Leiden.

During a quiet moment, I caught out of the corner of my eye a glimpse of him looking hungrily at my crotch. The guy was gay all right. We walked the short distance to the cinema, where he insisted on paying for both of us. A sprat to catch a mackerel? I wondered.

The cinema was not sophisticated. Tickets were sold in the bar, where the patrons spent their time during the long interval. The stranger told me that his name was Hans Anders: always cautious, I merely told him that mine was David. As I had expected, he got hold of my hand during the film, and I let him do it. The auditorium was fairly sparsely occupied, so no-one saw what was going on, so I felt him reach out and get hold of my crotch. When I did not resist, he unzipped my fly and pushed his hand inside and started feeling around for my cock. He pulled it out of my underpants and started to tickle my balls. This was something that Jon had never done, and I found myself enjoying it. My cock began to stiffen, and I was soon fully erect. He ran his hand along it and tried to encircle it with his finger and thumb, and of course they failed to meet. “Je hebt een enorme pik (you’ve got a huge dick)” he whispered and kissed my cheek in the dark. The next minute he had slipped silently out of his seat and was kneeling on the floor with my cock in his mouth. I felt very uneasy. This guy, of whom I knew next to nothing, could hurt me. However, my common sense reasserted itself, helped by the fact that, like Jon, he was an expert sucker. By now I had stopped reading the subtitles and was beginning to enjoy this guy’s tongue. It was not long before I came. I had to work hard to stop myself panting, gasping or shouting as I filled Hans’s mouth with my hot spunk. He’s got to swallow it, I thought, and indeed he did as he climbed back into his seat and gently eased my moist and sticky cock back into my underpants and rezipped my fly. He then kissed me gently on the cheek and resumed watching the film.

When it ended, he asked me if I wanted coffee before my train. I said yes, and we went into the cinema bar. “You’ll need a drink to wash away the taste of spunk!” I said to him.

“I love it,” he said. We drank coffee and I thanked him for the blow-job and said that I must catch the next train. He gave me a card that had a phone number on it and asked me to ring him the following week. As I rode home on the train, I thought about what had happened. I guess that I had been disloyal to Jon, but I knew that I still loved only him. Hans was a sexual encounter, not an attraction.

Chapter 43 Jon

One night I was busy manually sorting out the references for my thesis, when the phone rang. To my amazement it was David. “Jon, I ‘ve got a confession to make,” he said. “I’ve just given a stranger a blow-job.”

I did not know how to reply. Here was I, worried about the possibility of finding myself sucking off Robin, and David had let a stranger suck his cock. “The most important thing,” I said “is DO NOT, under any circumstances let him fuck you. Lots of very nasty diseases can be caught that way. If you must let him have sex, make sure that it’s oral only. And DON’T give him your full name or phone number. And don’t forget that whatever happens, I won’t stop loving you. You are my own darling faggot boy, and right now I wish you were here in my bed!”

I heard a faint sob over the phone. “Oh, Jon, I don’t deserve you. I wish you were here right now with your dick up my arsehole.” Typical David, so beautiful, so loving, so talented and so crude in his language about the near sacramental physical experience of sex! “David, fag boy, hang up and I”ll ring you back.” I dialled his uncle’s number and we were swiftly reconnected. “I understand if you want to try sex with someone else. I don’t claim to be the world’s best gay lover. You might want to try sucking someone else’s dick, particularly as you haven’t actually seen this guy’s love stick. It might be a lot bigger than mine. It might even be a curved one! I won’t think any worse of you if you want an adventure, but I do advise you to be very careful. There are a lot of kinky and twisted men about, and there are a lot of drugs in Holland. I trust you, but do take care. Remember: I love you!” Shortly thereafter we hung up.

Chapter 44 David

I felt better after I had talked to Jon, and I spent several days trying to decide what to do. In the end, I decided that I would play for safety and not make contact with this guy Hans.

By now my stay was nearly at an end, and early in September I was wondering how I would get back home when Jon telephoned. “I’m flying to Schiphol airport on Saturday. The thesis is pretty well finished except for the typing. I want to spend a few days in Holland with you, and then we will fly home to Leeds-Bradford and belatedly celebrate your twentyfirst with your parents. I want to take you out for a meal with your uncle and aunt. Will they be able to get a night off?”

“I should think so,” I said.

I asked my uncle if I could have Saturday afternoon off to go to Schiphol airport to meet Jon. He agreed. I asked him too about whether he and his wife could come out to dinner with Jon and me on the Sunday evening. He said yes and that he would book a table at a nice restaurant for Sunday. He also told me to bring Jon to eat with them on the evening of his arrival. He said that he could arrange extra cover in the bars for the Saturday evening. He also said that I need not work that night and that if I wanted to spend the weekend at Jon’s hotel, that was fine. “I expect that he has a special twentyfirst birthday present that he’s dying to give you!” he said with a knowing grin. I blushed.

At Schiphol airport I got off the train just at the moment that Jon’s plane touched down. By the time that I had got to the Arrival gate, the first passengers were emerging. It was another five minutes or so before Jon came out, and throwing discretion to the winds, I ran up to him and threw my arms round him. “No kissing!” he hissed and grinned at me as I let him loose. He put down his bags and put his arms round me briefly. “Let’s go and have coffee,” I said. We went into a coffee bar, ordered two coffees and sat down. “I’ve booked a double room for us at an hotel in Harderwijk,” he said.

“Right,” I said “let’s go there and check in and then go on to Amersfoort.” When we got back to my uncle’s, he was waiting for us behind the bar. He shook hands with Jon and poured us both a beer. He told us that the only draught beers that he sold were G and H, and that all other Dutch beers were worthless (something that I of course knew already). “But I’ve got a couple of good Belgian beers for us during the meal,” he said.

The meal was a festive occasion. It was a sort of farewell, because we all knew that the following year I would have a degree and a living to earn, and would not be working there again. David’s aunt had cooked an excellent meal, and we had an appropriate Belgian beer with each course. At the end of the meal I stood up and made short bilingual speech in which I thanked my uncle and aunt for all their hospitality over the last four years and mentioned that although I had come of age three years before, it was now legal under English law for Jon and me to have sex. We left about 9 pm for the hotel with my uncle’s parting words in our ears: “I expect you want to go and exercise your legal rights!” I felt the blood rush to my cheeks as both my uncle and Jon grinned broadly.

On the train back to Harderwijk Jon said to me “You asked for that parting shot you know, by talking about sex! Any way, you’ll get your twentyfirst birthday present shortly!” When we got back to our hotel room, we locked the door, and feverishly began to tear our clothes off. As soon as we were both naked, we locked ourselves in each other’s arms and began to kiss passionately, mouths wide open, tongues working furiously, pricks getting more and more rigid as they rubbed against the other’s body. I could feel Jon’s right arm sliding down my back and caressing my buttocks. I nearly died of desire as I pressed my mouth against him and began to chew his shoulder. “Oh, Jon, I’ve missed you so much. I know it’s only been seven weeks, but it has seemed like eternity.”

“My own delicious bum-boy, you’ve no idea how much I’ve longed for you,” he said. “How do you want the first fuck? I’ll do it whichever way you find best.”

“On my back so that I can see your face and touch you” I replied. I got on to the bed and spread my legs. Jon was busy rolling a condom on to his cock. He spread the lube on it and I lifted my knees so that he could lube my perineum and poke the lube into my hole. The mere feeling of his fingers up my hole sent me shivering with anticipation. He lay between my legs on top of me and began to cover my face with kisses. The friction of his slightly rough face was wonderful. I grabbed the back of his head and kissed him back quite violently. The sensation of his chest and belly rubbing against my own nearly made me crazy with delight. I put both my hands in the small of his back and pulled him closer. The warmth of his body and his nice male scent overwhelmed me.

“I’m going in now,” he said and began to push his manhood into my anal orifice. There was a moment of slight pain as he squeezed through the sphincter, but that was soon forgotten in the delightful sensation of fullness in my gut. He began to ram me in and out, an expression of great tenderness on his sweet face. He continued briskly, pausing from time to time to kiss my mouth or chest and soon came very violently without any noise or shouting. My dick was rockhard and after kissing me again, he withdrew his cock gently, slid down the bed and began to suck my cock. As usual, his skillful tongue played with my rolled-back foreskin and he continued his wonderful tenderness till I came violently and with a series of gasps shot a huge wad into his mouth. He swallowed it greedily and grinned at me. “That was well worth waiting for!” he exclaimed. “Between your legs hangs the best mouthful ever!”

I merely replied, “I love you so much, Jon,” and put my arms round his shoulders.

“I must just get this rubber off my prick,” he said, and pulled it off and tied it up neatly and dropped it on the floor. He rolled over and lay beside me on the bed. “You know I fell in love the first time I saw you, weeks before that evening at the Town Hall. Everything about you attracted me: your lovely hair, your sweet face, your muscular body, your masculine arse, your voice and last but not least when I finally got to see it, your monster dick. I am incredibly lucky that not only do you love me, but your wonderful family has accepted me and made me an honorary son-in-law.”

“I have just as much to be grateful for” I replied. “You have taught me so much, you have shared your flat and bed and shower with me, you are building a house for me to share with you. Every night I thank God for you and ask Him to protect you. I love your hair, your slim figure, your trim arse.”

We adjourned to the bathroom, as we both needed a piss. I watched with loving attention as the powerful urine stream poured out of Jon’s cock. Mine seemed slow and intermittent in comparison, and to my embarrassment, I farted loudly. Jon grinned and kissed me. “That’s what I like to hear,” he said. “I love it when you let off.” His ‘rhubarb’ began to rise again, and as I watched it visibly swelling, my own began to follow suit. By the time we had washed and cleaned our teeth, we were both ready for it again. A quick frot and then bed,” said Jon. The bathroom was warm and had a warm cork-tile floor, so we stood naked wrapped in each other’s arms and passionately began to rub our bellies together. “This is just like our first sex together,” I said “before the first time that you fucked me,” and I kissed him hard on the lips before grabbing hold of both our ironhard pricks and rubbing them together with my hand.

After an extremely enjoyable few minutes, we both managed to time coming so that we came together, and after some more kissing, we cleaned ourselves up and Jon got into bed. I knelt and briefly said a few prayers before getting behind him in one of the king-size beds that the hotel kindly provided in its twin rooms. Jon curled up in my arms and we went to sleep.

Chapter 45 Jon

Next morning, I slipped out of David’s embrace and poured two glasses of fruit juice from the mini bar. “Wake up, my boy,” I said. “Let’s go for a swim before breakfast.” So we grabbed our swimming cozzies and headed for the hotel pool.

“I can’t go to church this morning” David said as we swam up and down the pool, “there’s no Old Catholic church nearer than Amersfoort, so I guess that we have the day free, but I must try not to do anything godless. Let’s get a train to Apeldoorn and spend the day till teatime at Het Loo. In the train you can tell me about Robin and Arnold.”

“What’s Het Loo?” I asked.

“It’s a famous royal palace, built as a hunting lodge for King William III of England, who was also Stadhouder of the Dutch Republic. Don’t be fooled when you see the name written down, it’s nothing to do with toilets.”

After breakfast, as we walked to the station, I told David the recent developments with Robin and his boyfriend. As agreed with me, Robin turned up unexpectedly at his boyfriend’s house in Exminster in the early evening of the Friday after our return from Ixton. His friend Arnold was delighted to see him, and Robin took him out for a meal and they spent the rest of the evening drinking before going back to Robin’s place for a shag. The subsequent weekend went very well. Robin put Arnold on the spot by asking him whether he wanted a long-term relationship or not. As might be expected from a teenager, Arnold was unable to come to a decision, but said that he thought he needed time to think about it before committing himself. “So the situation, while better, has not really resolved itself,” I said. As long as it does not affect Robin’s performance in his work, I think we’ll just have to let things take their course. However, I don’t know what you think but I did wonder whether it might be interesting to meet the two of them.”

“I think that would be nice for Robin” said David, “because he will be showing Arnold what a fixed relationship can be like. Arnold on the other hand, might be properly scared off by the site of two people who are such a fixed item as we are. Why don’t we just get them to Camford for a day one Saturday? If they’ve got a car, Camford is only a couple of hours drive from Exminster.”

When we arrived at Apeldoorn station I suggested that we took a bus to Het Loo. Although not far out of the town, it was clear that it was going to be an extremely hot day.

When we arrived we took a quick look round the interior of the palace for about three quarters of an hour and then went out into the grounds. In the distance we could see an attractive tea pavilion, so we walked through the gardens and sat ourselves down on the terrace. David ordered a beer for me and a coffee for himself. There were not many people around: it was about 11 o’clock and apart from two elderly ladies drinking coffee, the only people on the terrace were two men at the far end. David was sitting with his back to them. I noticed as we sat down that one of the men with long brown hair was staring intently at David. His companion looked to be a nasty piece of work, heavily built and tattooed, the sort of man who might serve as a bouncer in a pub. David was chattering away happily and I was sipping my beer.

After 10 min or so, David had finished his coffee and got up to go to the toilet. I did not expect that he would be more than five minutes or so. I noticed that the men further along the terrace had got up and apparently left. After a further ten minutes, it seemed to me that David had been gone rather a long time, even if he had gone for a shit. So I got up and went along to the toilets. The men’s toilet was down a long corridor and there was absolutely no one in the vicinity. I entered the room and to my dismay found David kneeling on the floor, he shoulders tightly held by the heavily built man that I had just noticed, his face pressed up against the crotch of the man with long hair. “What is going on here?” I asked in English. David heard my voice and with a struggle pulled the brown haired guy’s cock out of his mouth. “That thug hit me!” he cried. The heavily built man let go of David shoulders and the guy with long hair hastily pulled his cock into his jeans and zipped them up. “Get the hell out of here you two!” I shouted. The two men departed with great haste. “Are you hurt?” I asked David.

“No, he replied “he thumped me very hard on the shoulder which I think is a bit bruised and he also kicked my leg but fortunately he only struck it a glancing blow.”

“Did you know them?” I asked. “Yes,” he replied “the man with long hair is called Hans Anders, at least that is the name he gave me, and he is the guy who sucked me off in Haarlem. I am not sure, but I have the feeling that the heavily built guy is the same person who assaulted me last year, but I can’t be certain. I had just finished peeing when they came into the toilet and the thug hit me on the shoulder and said, ‘You owe my friend Hans a suck! Do it now!’ And he forced me to kneel down.”

“Why didn’t you bite him?” I asked.

“Because it wasn’t Hans who hit me,” I replied. “He obviously keeps rough company, but he has not done me any harm.”

“I’m not going to let you out of my sight until we get back to England,” I said, and I enfolded him in my arms and kissed him.

“Be careful, Jon,” he said, “my shoulder’s very painful”.

We decided that as I had rescued David in the nick of time, and he was not seriously hurt, that there was little point in pursuing the matter. Accordingly we resolved to forget about it and to continue to enjoy the beautiful surroundings of the Palace. We wandered round the gardens, which were still pleasant in September with dahlias and Michaelmas daisies. An hour later we went back to the pavilion and ate an uitsmijter for lunch, along with a glass of beer.

At 3 o’clock we left the Palace and by 5-30 we were at David’s uncle’s bar. We hastened to David’s room to change clothes and clean ourselves up and at 6 pm we were sitting down in the chic restaurant that David’s father had booked. On the international scene, Dutch restaurants do not have a very high reputation, but the meal we had was of the highest quality. David particularly enjoyed seeing his uncle and aunt in quite different surroundings from usual and thoroughly enjoying themselves. The wine flowed very freely and we all had a very good time. The restaurant officially closed at 10-30 pm, but the management were quite happy for us to remain and drink coffee as late as we chose. About 11 o’clock we all left on foot, David’s uncle and aunt returned to their bar and we headed for the station, where we got a late train back to Harderwijk.

By the time we got to our room, we both felt to full and too tired to engage in lovemaking and David was feeling rather sore as a result of the assault. “Since I have now officially finished work,” David said “I don’t have to get up the crack of dawn, but let’s set the alarm for 7-30 and book a room service breakfast for 9 am. That will give us time to make love or go for a swim in the pool or both. When are we going back to England?”

“I have booked a flight for Wednesday to Leeds-Bradford airport,” I said “We’ll rent a car there and drive to your parents’ and we should be there in time for tea. We can say goodbye to your uncle and aunt on Tuesday night, so that we can catch a through train to Schiphol airport first thing on Wednesday morning.”

The alarm went off at 7-30. I reached out and switched it off and snuggled back into David’s arms. He kissed me sleepily and ran his hand over my buttocks. “Just a quick wash to waken ourselves up and a piss” he said, “we can always shave and shower later on.”

Now thoroughly awake, I told David to bend over the bed. “I feel like a doggie style fuck,” I said and fumbled in his suitcase to find the condoms. I brought the packet of condoms and the bottle of lube and handed them to him. “But first you might need to suck my cock in order for me to get hard enough,” I said. He took my limp dick into his mouth and pulled it out slightly until his lips fitted round the base of the glans. He then tickled the tip with his tongue, tasting the pre-come as he did so. I could feel the blood slowly engorging the penile tissue in his mouth and before very long my man-rod was like an iron bar. He then removed it from his mouth well lubricated with saliva and began to roll a condom onto it. “Back to bending over,” I said, “and spread your legs so that I can get in there with the lube.” He did as he was told, and within a short while my cock was deep in his guts. “Here we go, here we go, here we go!” I said, and rammed away at him furiously for several minutes, my arms around his waist and my lips kissing and licking between his shoulder blades. With a shudder, I came violently and filled the condom with my man-juice. I gently withdrew from David’s fuckhole and pulled the rubber off my limp penis. I tied it off quickly, put it on the bedside table and lay back on the bed. I pulled him on top of me, face down and kissed his sweet yellow hair. “Lie with your dick on my belly and start to rub it on me” I said “and see if you can hit my mouth when you squirt!” Unfortunately there was not sufficient jism in him to fly further than my chest. He bent forward and began to kiss my mouth furiously. “Time to shower, my treasure,” I said. We entered the shower and had a wonderful time soaping each other’s bodies and pushing shower gel into every hidden crack. At 8-55, I got myself hastily dry and into a bathrobe, just in time to receive the breakfast delivery. When the waiter had gone, I put the ‘Do not disturb’ card on the outside door handle and we settled down to eat. In spite of the previous night’s gourmet meal, we were ravenous from our exertions and soon finished off the scrambled egg and bacon and ate three croissants each, before starting on the Danish pastries. There was a large pot of coffee and we soon finished that also.

The rest of the day passed in holiday fashion. We shaved and then went for a swim for an hour in the pool, we went out to a café for a beer and an uitsmijter at lunchtime, and in the afternoon we walked along the shore of the IJselmeer. The following day we paid a visit to David’s old lab in the Chemisch Laboratorium at Harderwijk University and greeted his friends, and in the evening we bade farewell to David’s uncle and aunt and the following morning left the Netherlands.

Chapter 46 David

Our return to England went smoothly, we arrived at the predicted time and carried our bags up to our room on the top floor. My mother had told us that we would dine about 7 pm just before Jeroen had to get ready for bed. “You can do what you like until then,” she said with a grin.

“Well here we are,” I said to Jon. “Sex first and then shower or shower first and then sex?”

“Sex first,” said Jon “I want to ride on your dick.”

“Okay” I said, turning the key in the bedroom door. “My mother said that Jeroen was playing in a football match at school and that his father would bring him home about 5-30, so we’ve got about an hour because when he comes in he’s bound to want to see you.”

“Half an hour to make love, and half an hour for a shower,” Jon said.

We took our clothes off and lay on the bed. Jon took my limp cock into his mouth, and he worked like a true sucking expert until it stiffened and grew. He continued to work on it until it was rockhard, and then began to roll a condom over it. He got off the bed, bent over and applied as much lube as he could to his anus and perineum and poked a finger full of lube into his hole. He spread more lube on my berubbered dick. He then got onto the bed on his knees and placed them one on either side of my chest, straddling me. He gently lowered his rear end until it touched the top of my cock and then pushed down until it was firmly engaged in his hole. He then began to move up and down quite vigorously, and as he was facing me, I watched with great pleasure as his own dick flapped up and down with the movements of his body. He could see me grinning and grinned back at me and said, “It’s all right for you to grin, I am the one who is doing all the work!” I reached out and grasped his hips with my hands, and it was obvious that he was enjoying very much my passive fucking. “That’s great,” he whispered “it hits my prostate and the sensation is fantastic.” It took quite a while before I joined in by pushing my pelvis up and down and it was just as well that there was plenty of lube, as there was considerable friction. Eventually however I reached behind his shoulders and pulled him down towards me and gently said his name as I violently came into the contraceptive. I then reached out and started to fondle his tool, which was copiously covered with pre-come. It only took a minute or two of gentle fingering before he came violently and sprayed both of us with his man-juice.

We lay there for some time, totally exhausted. I then removed the prophylactic from my cock and tidied up. “Time for a shower,” I said. We went into the bathroom and I flushed the condom away and turned on the shower. Before we got under it I unlocked the bedroom door. By now it was 5-15. We coated one another with shower gel and washed away the grime of travel, as well as our male body fluids. I stepped out of the shower and was just beginning to dry myself: Jon was still washing his hair, when the bedroom door burst open and Jeroen came rushing in. “Hello, little brother,” I said “you can’t see Jon just yet: he’s still in the shower.”

“Jon!” shouted Jeroen.

“Hi, Jeroen” replied Jon, emerging from the shower and wrapping the towel around himself “You’re going to have to wait until we’ve got ourselves dry. Tell us how you are getting on at your new school.”

“It’s great,” he replied “I’m enjoying it. We are learning all sorts of new things.” And he went up and kissed my naked friend affectionately.

“It looks to me, David,” said Jon “that Jeroen is going to do well at school. Look here, Jeroen, if you do well in your exams at school each year, I will buy you a special present.”

“Every year?” said Jeroen.

“Yes, every year.” Jon replied.

“Oh, thank you,” the 11-year-old said, “I hope that you won’t forget.” We both got dressed rapidly and took Jeroen downstairs, the boy still prattling away 19 to the dozen. We went into the dining room and greeted my father, who kissed us both affectionately. We then went into the kitchen and exchange similar greetings with my mother, except that I kissed her rather more thoroughly than Jon did. We then sat down and had drinks, Jon and I drank beer, my father and mother had Campari-orange and Jeroen had plain orange juice.

“Dorothea will be home in time for dinner. She’s been having a singing lesson” said my mother. My sister has not figured very much in this story. She had just finished school with outstanding A Levels, and was going to Holyrood College, Oxbridge in a few weeks’ time to read modern languages. “We’re going to celebrate your twentyfirst tomorrow night,” said my mother. Although adulthood in Britain had begun at 18 for at least 10 years, a lot of people at that time still celebrated 21 as the true age of adulthood. I had deliberately chosen when I became 18 not to make much of that birthday, but to reserve celebration until I was 21. “We thought that you would both prefer something informal,” she said, “so we’re going to dinner at the White Elephant”, (our local gastro pub, where we had gone before Christmas the previous year).

“I’m going to be allowed to stay up late!” announced Jeroen with a happy smile. Dorothea came in at that stage. “Hello, David”, she said and kissed me. “Hello, Jon,” she said and looked at him hesitantly. “Hello, Dorothea,” he said, and kissed her. She looked happy that Jon felt that she was a sort of sister. “Well, congratulations on getting into Oxbridge” I said. “Was the interview tricky?”

“Yes, somewhat,” she said. “They asked me about travel and study abroad. I said that I was very keen to spend some time at an Italian University. So the interview continued from that point in Italian. That was a struggle for me, but I managed it OK. But I was never warned that that might happen. The offer they made me was a steep one, but I got the grades OK.”

“You are a very bright family!” said Jon. “You’re lucky to have been able to learn Italian at school, especially as David tells me that you’ve only been studying it for two years.”

“Yes, it’s wonderful to have such talented children,” said my mother, “and now Jon with you, we’ve got a fourth one!”

“I’m lucky rather than brilliant,” said Jon. “I only got into St Boniface’s by the skin of my teeth, because I did not treat the interview very seriously, but my A Level grades were what they asked for.”

Our first meal together was a simple one: ham and salad with huge dish of potato salad, followed by a delicious apple crumble. We drank Soave well-chilled, except for Jeroen, who had more orange-juice.

The next day we got up early and at breakfast I was presented with a heap of gifts. My parents gave me a building society book with a large sum of money in it: to help my finances in my final year, they said, realizing that my college bills were quite hefty. Jon gave me a Hewlett Packard RPN calculator, one of the earliest and most expensive pocket calculators, which were just becoming popular. (This was the days before most personal computers). “No more slide-rules or log tables!” he said.

Our dinner at the pub was a wonderful family occasion, being also a celebration of Dorothea’s success and a sort of farewell to her, as she would be off to Oxbridge within a few days.

We then had three quiet days there, before Jon and I returned to Camford and the beginning of my final undergraduate year.

THE END

[to be continued in Book IV].