David's First Year at College

"Have you any more of this?" I asked.

"Yes," he said "but go steady: it's 9% ABV. I think your comparison of our relationship with a fart is rather bad taste" he said.

"That's because I'm a dirty-minded slut!" I replied.

"And just how does being a slut fit in with your Christian belief?" he asked.

"I'm your slut, not anyone else's. God will forgive me that."

We had another Chimay each, and about an hour later I kissed Jon goodbye and walked back to college. I undressed and got into bed, but it took a long time to get to sleep. I kept turning over in my mind the events of the most momentous day in my life---more momentous than my grade 7 flute, than my A-level results, than my acceptance at St Boniface's, and the day that my uncle said that I spoke Dutch like a native. It was the day---12 May 19-- ---that I gave myself to the man I loved. At the time some people might have said that I had been led into dirty practices by an older man, ignoring the fact that it was I who had made the advances. Jon told me later that he had been afraid that he would lose me if he made any sexual advances. But how can honest love be a vice in the sight of God? I eventually fell asleep.

Chapter 4 David

I awoke the next day wanting to see Jon, but knowing that it would not be until evening at the earliest. I dressed, shaved and went to Morning Prayer in Chapel. I wanted to give thanks for Jon and our new relationship.

You must all remember what it is like to be very deeply in love. It is very difficult to concentrate on anything. Your mind is continually wandering off to the one you love and you think about little else but when you will see him or her again next. I signed out of dinner, and after my lab class had finished about 4-30, I went to Jon's lab. He was surprised but pleased to see me. We arranged to meet at 6 pm and go to eat. In the meantime I went to the science library to read up some material that was urgent preparation for my coming examinations, although my concentration was not at its best.

We ate in a pub, the Sparrowhawk. While we consumed a pint, Jon said

"Do you have any work to do tonight?"

"No" I said.

"Then either we can go to a film or we can go home and make love. I think that we should go to the film and leave love-making till the weekend. They have James Ivory's 'Maurice' at the Rialto. Films on homosexuality are not all that common. Let's go and see it and hold hands."

So we did. It was interesting: in the first part of the film Maurice expresses his homosexuality just by kissing and cuddling. But like all true men, love that does not involve the male organ is only half passionate---affection, but no passion.

"You ought to read the book" said Jon "it's the only novel where Forster is open about gayness."

He held my left hand in his right hand for most of the film, except occasionally when he reached down to touch my crotch. We left the cinema rather furtively holding hands and walked back to college. I made coffee and Jon consumed a cup and then left after we had kissed passionately. Again I ached with emptiness when he had gone.

On the Saturday, I went round to Jon's flat about 12 noon, to see if he wanted to go out to lunch.

"Sit down," he said, so I sat down on the sofa while he saved what he had been doing on the computer. He then came and sat down next to me, put his right arm around my shoulder, kissed me on the lips and then with his left-hand unzipped my fly. He put his hand inside and felt around and eventually succeeded in getting hold of my cock, which he held firmly.

"The advantage of being a man rather than a woman" he said "is that men are not cyclic. A woman does not always want to be fucked, she has to be wooed and persuaded. A man always wants it. Moreover with women you have to observe the proprieties and not say or do anything unromantic. For example if you were a woman and I needed to fart, I would have to make an excuse and leave the room. But with a man you can be blunter and coarser without creating any offence---at least I hope so---I hope you are not a shrinking violet."

"No" I said "remember that I'm a dirty-minded slut! I promise that if I need to fart, I will do it, and you can let off as often as you like. But I agree that lovemaking is easier between men than between a man and a woman, because what pleases women is difficult for an untrained man to find out, whereas you always know what a man wants and if you don't, you can always ask him. Also crude speech and behaviour, which can be quite enjoyable, are taboo where most women are concerned."

As his grip tightened on my male member, I kissed his cheek and put both my hands on his shoulders. He undid my belt and the top button of my fly, and started to pull down my trousers. I stood up so that he could pull them down to my ankles, but they could not be removed without first removing my shoes. He then pulled my T-shirt over my head and removed it, leaving me in my underpants with my trousers round my ankles. Jon only had on a T-shirt and underpants. His feet were bare. I pulled off his T-shirt before I bent down to remove my trainers, and step out of my trousers. We both had a big bulge in the front of our underpants, and Jon had a damp patch at the tip of the bulge marking his penis. "Get 'em off!" I said, and we both stood up and dropped our underpants to reveal our manhood sticking up proud and sticky. Jon made me lie on the sofa and started to kiss my belly. His lips followed my treasure trail down into my fuzz of pubic hair and along the shaft of my cock and licked the head before nibbling my foreskin with his teeth. After a few minutes he opened his mouth wide so that I could push my prick in.

There is something about cock-sucking that is very important in a relationship. If you've never done it, all you think of is the taste of sweat and stale urine and the taste of seed as it squirts into your mouth. But it is symbolic of deep trust---the man who lets you suck him off is putting himself in your power, whether you are a man or woman---you can inflict deep pain and physical injury in an embarrassing quarter, so the man trusts you implicitly. No one ever had offered me his mouth before, so I was a bit taken aback. However Jon seemed content to kneel beside the sofa and let me push as hard as I could at the back of his throat. He made chewing movements and used his tongue in a sensitive way and I moaned with pleasure. Eventually I came with a shout of ecstasy and shot my load into his welcoming mouth. Most recipients spit it out, but Jon swallowed my cum and resumed kissing my bellybutton.

His cock was still stiff---what was I to do? Suck it? Wank him off? I got hold of it.

"Come and sit on the sofa" I said "and spread your legs." He did so, and I got up, knelt before him and started to kiss his cock. Not only was it rigid, it was slimy. I slid my lips down the length of his shaft and buried my mouth in his pubic bush. I then moved down to his balls and licked his hairy scrotum before taking each ball into my open mouth in turn. My lips then slid up his veiny shaft and I began to lick the head of his cock and embraced it with my lips before opening my mouth and taking the first few centimetres of his manhood inside. It wasn't a big stretch, because the diameter of the shaft was only about 5 cm. As I tasted his precome, I made chewing movements and sucked, and he groaned in ecstasy.

"Keep on, David, it's wonderful. What have I been missing all these years? I've never known anyone as tender and loving as you." I pushed myself forward, mouth wide open, taking the whole length of his tool inside and moving so that it kept rubbing against the inside of my mouth. He smelt warm and musky. Jon began to get excited and started to put his tool to work. He thrust it to and fro, deep and shallow in my mouth, muttering endearments as he did so. The novel sensation of this moving tubular object in my mouth, its warmth and sliminess, was totally enjoyable and gave me great satisfaction in addition to the thrill of pleasuring Jon... Fortunately the pub served food all afternoon, because it was 3 pm before we were cleaned up and dressed. I decided that giving (and receiving) head were even better physical experiences than swimming or basketball.

As we ate in a quiet corner of the bar, I said to Jon "Even though we are keeping it secret, I'm going to have to come out to my parents sooner rather than later." I said. "I know my mother will understand, but I'm not sure about my Dad. But you made such a good impression on them that at least all that I have to do is to tell them that I'm sleeping with you." I just hoped that my parents would be able to deal with what to tell Dorothea and Jeroen.

Chapter 5 David

In spite of the emotional upheavals of that month, we both had many commitments that meant that we only made love once or twice a week, usually on a Saturday. In my own case, important exams were due just after the end of term, and Jon was looking at possible places to live in the countryside outside Camford.

In the week of the exams, most of the other first years would go out drinking every night, as late revision is always a waste of time, but I went round to Jon's flat and got laid. One night we showered together and I dried him off. I then bent him over his bed and started to kiss his sweet round arse. I pulled his cheeks apart and began to explore his hole with my tongue. He nearly went crazy: moaning with pleasure as I pushed my tongue into his sphincter as deeply as I could. I reached round his loins and got hold of his tool with my right hand and his balls with my left. He moaned with pleasure as I played with his cock. It was my first experience of rimming, and I was desperately keen to give Jon the greatest pleasure and satisfaction that I could. "I think that the arse is greatly underrated as a love site," I said "if cocks are for coming, then arses are for kissing" I said, burying my face in his crack.

The last night of the exams, all the first-year chemists from St Boniface's and a few from other colleges met in a pub to celebrate. By now I knew enough of them to count them as friends and a comfortable group of about eight of us, all men, sat in a corner to talk and drink. It was our last meeting of the academic year and one or two people used it as an opportunity to announce future plans like vacation jobs/activities, plans for travel, where they would be living in the second year etc. Suddenly two of the quieter boys, Tom and Stephen said that they were now an item and would be living out of college next year. Predictably, this announcement was greeted by various disapproving reactions by some of the others, with mutters of "faggots," but I stood up and went across and shook hands with them and wished them happiness, and bought each of them a drink. I was glad that they chose beer rather than some kind of fairy drink. I rather wished that I had been able to make the same sort of announcement.

Immediately after the exams were over, I moved in with Jon. My college room was needed for the conference trade during the Long Vacation. Jon paid for a big taxi and came to help me pack all my things and load them into the cab. He had assigned me the small guest bedroom with its own facilities, so that I would have space for study and to store my clothes, but we both knew that I would be sleeping in his king-size bed, and we would both be using the big bathroom.

I got the exam results just before I was due to go to Holland to work for six weeks in my uncle's café (bar). I had done it each summer since I was 16, which is why I speak Dutch so well. The exam results were better than I expected, considering the distraction caused by being in love, but regular sex was obviously good for me, because I got a scholarship which guaranteed me an en-suite room in college and the right to wear a surplice in Chapel. It was an era when the supply of lodgings outside college was drying up as a result of commuters pricing students out of the market, and any undergraduate who could arrange rooms outside college was welcomed gratefully, so the college was happy to let me defer my room choice until my third year.

My six-week stay in Amersfoort would mean a long separation from my boyfriend. I was very fed up at being separated from Jon, but we both knew that life was like that. It was the days before mobile phones and Skype, so we knew that we could only talk on the phone a few times per week or my uncle's phone bill would be sky-high. Jon however said that if I could arrange to be available at a particular time, he would ring me every night unless he was prevented.

Chapter 6 Jon

My name is Jonathan Singleton and I am the other character in the story. My recollection of events begins early in the Martinmas term of 19--. It was the first Sunday evening of full-term and I was dining in Hall, a thing that as a graduate I normally only did about once a week, but almost always on Sunday nights. I was with a group of final year chemists and a couple of research students and during a lull in the conversation I looked across the hall (I was sitting with my back to the wall facing across the room) at the corresponding table on the far side. It held a number of first-year students and some second and third year sporting characters, and a couple of women. I was at once struck by one of the new students who was sitting in front of an oil painting of a liverish-looking 18th-century professor. It was a boy of breathtaking beauty. He was tall enough to be quite visible even when sitting down. He had curly fair hair, just slightly long (in other words what would look short on a woman) with fairly broad shoulders, and one look at him made me ache with desire. I wanted to embrace him, to cuddle him, to undress him, to kiss him all over and fondle him. This is a summary of my first reaction. It does not mean that I viewed him as a sex object, but as a very interesting person.

Now I am a very busy person. Not only have I extensive theoretical work for my Ph.D. to get through each week, with three days of laboratory work, but three evenings and most of Sunday are spent on the accounts and computer operations of the small engineering firm in London which I own, and for which I wrote the computer and stock control software---a thoroughly boring six months. I will never become a systems analyst. I was unable to make an opportunity to meet this young man for most of the term, though I gazed wistfully at him on Sunday nights. Then early in December, I finally got the chance to talk to him. By now I had discovered that he was a chemist, so I would probably see him in the labs. His name was David Scarborough and he was exceptionally tall---almost 2 metres---and already played in the college basketball team. That appealed to me. If you are interested in someone's body, you like to think that they do things with it. Besides, although some would say that he looked girlish, basketball is a very male activity, and I am not attracted by effeminate men.

I try to make time to go to concerts, but in Camford it is difficult. However I had managed to get hold of a ticket for a particularly good concert at the Town Hall at which A-- B-- was playing Mozart's xxth piano concerto. It was a ravishing experience. Properly interpreted, Mozart gives sensuous delight greater than anything: even a great beer, a great painting, a beautiful landscape, a warm bed, good sex, pall in comparison. Indeed I have heard of men having an erection during the performance of Mozart's music, but that could just be due to uncomfortable seats. I also heard at school a story of a hyperaesthetic youth who actually came during the slow movement of the 21st piano concerto---a sort of Mozartian waking wet dream.

As we went down the steps afterwards, I caught up with David, who was also on his own and made a fairly obvious remark about the pianist's performance to someone who was obviously artistically sensitive. We got into conversation and adjourned to a pub, where I discovered that young as he was, he had a good appreciation of beer, that rather masculine drink. The taste of beer appeals much more to men than to women, but the advertising industry has done beer a disservice by promoting its macho image. For that reason gays are suspected of not liking beer, which could not be further from the truth. I bought him a pint of X's, which is a classical example of a distinguished beer that hides its light under a bushel. He sipped it with evident relish, which gave me great satisfaction, as did the sight of his tall and beautiful figure in the chair opposite me.

Our friendship developed rapidly in the Candlemas term. We went to a film together once a week, we ate together in Hall twice a week and occasionally went to the small concerts or recitals of which Camford is full. I never heard him sing in Chapel or went anywhere near the gym where he played basketball. My ways of keeping fit are cycling, walking and swimming. As the evenings got longer, we would usually, late on Saturday go for a walk---often along the river Camwell towpath, ending up with a drink at a riverside boozer, before returning to town to eat or visit a film. These walks along the riverbank were to me delightful experiences. David had a wonderful sense of observation and humour. Even though I was filled with powerful lust, I wanted at that stage our relationship to remain a friendship, and nothing more. I am not an experienced homosexual, anxious to lead astray any and every attractive youth. I am a busy scientist, with a lonely personal life, who was seeking a life companion of the male sex. But David was young and indeed below the age of homosexual consent (which at that time was 21), and I wanted him to make his own decisions and choices in sexual matters.

One day early in March it was warm and sunny, and David suggested that we went for a swim---not at the outdoor pool, but Camford's spanking new Olympic size swimming pool, constructed partly on the proceeds of the National Lottery and partly from the benevolence of a local industrialist. I agreed, secretly delighted that the proposal had come from him. We got changed in one of the small communal male changing rooms with lockers inside it. I made the most of the opportunity to see him naked, as he did me. We swam 20 lengths each. He was a good swimmer, as I expected. We came out, adjourning to the main shower room before getting dressed. We removed our swimming trunks and stood under the showers, facing one another across an alcove, sharing his shampoo and my soap. His shoulders were not as broad as you would expect from a basketball player and his arm and chest muscles not so overdeveloped that he looked as if he had breasts. I estimated that his weight must be about 85 kilos. His body was not unduly hairy: there was none on back or shoulders, little on his chest, but the usual amount on the lower half of his body though it was less conspicuous because it was fair. A fair-haired treasure trail led down his flat belly from his bellybutton down to his pubic hair, which though abundant was also fair. His hips were not as narrow as I expected, but not unduly big. His buttocks were muscular and hairy and the hair was densest round his crack. His tool was big for an 18-year-old, as you might expect from someone of his overall size. His legs were delightful---muscular and long, and his feet were quite big. He was quite clearly appraising my body at the same time. But any man would. It didn't mean that he had gay tendencies. We dried and dressed and decided to get a snack in the coffee bar at the pool before cycling back to college. One of the advantages of male friendships is you can quite legitimately appraise your partner by seeing him naked in a sporting/changing room context before there is any question of sex. With heterosexuals, there has to be a commitment of some kind before you see your partner naked.