Luke at University Pt. 02

"You really do talk nonsense sometimes, my stud-boy!" I said. "You are tough and resistant, you can frighten off anyone who threatens you. You are clever, you can sort out the most complex scientific problem. You may not know it, but God is smiling on you, sustaining you with His love and helping you to recognize the reality of the man that you are, the man that I love deeply and for whom I will do anything. You need to learn to be dependent on God, not on your sex-doll Luke! You may not realize it, but it is He who is sustaining you, not me.

"I hope that Pop and Cathy have been nice to you while I've been away. They may not love you as much as I do, but they DO love you and you can always turn to them for support. Pop is the wisest man I know, and I suppose that I am trying to do for you what he did for Dad, but I'm not wise like he is. He will give you any help you need. And make the most of Cathy's company. In a year's time, she'll be off to Oxbridge. Now get on and ravish me. Shoot your loaded weapon into my gut! And don't make a lot of noise when you come. Hotels do not have walls as thick as those in Buckingham College!"

........

Next morning, I awoke about seven, disentangled myself from Tom's sleepy grasp, went to the mini bar and poured us each a glass of orange juice. "Wake up, sleepyhead," I said to him, "sex first or shower first?"

"Sex first of course," he said, "but I need a piss and a fart." He staggered into the bathroom, and after a couple of anal blast-offs, I heard a noisy piss-stream hitting the water of the toilet. Then I heard him splashing water on his face. He came out grinning, his dick fully erect, and lay on the other bed, the one that we had not slept in that night. He closed his legs and rolled a condom on to his man-stick and beckoned me to straddle his hips. He poked more lube into my man-hole, which still bore traces from the night before.

"I hope that the Vacation Station provides good stout beds for its guests," I whispered as I supported myself on the bed head and lowered my rear-end onto Tom's prick. When the connection had been made and he was fully inside me, I started, with the help of leverage from the bed head to work myself up and down. Tom was smiling blissfully as I did so, and in spite of it putting a little strain on my knees, the up-and-down motion worked as smoothly as a well-lubed piston in a cylinder. Suddenly Tom seemed to wake up and started to push his dick upwards as I pushed down. We developed between us a steady pumping motion and within a couple of minutes Tom came with a muffled cry. I slowed down and squatted there gently as the blood ebbed out of his penis and it slipped out of me. I pulled my left leg over him and collapsed beside him, breathless and stiff-legged. I started to smother his neck and shoulders with kisses. I could smell Storing pour Homme faintly mixed with the scent of his sweat. It was intoxicating. "Take me in your arms," I whispered. He obeyed, and I lay there on top of him in his warm embrace. It was bliss. He kissed my hair tenderly and I stroked his hair and face. He began to play with my tool with his hand, and as it stiffened I began to rub it against his sweet hairy belly as we kissed. A few minutes of friction and I came violently. We lay for ten minutes in the sticky mess, just feeling each other's closeness, the condom still adhering, but only by the merest few millimetres, to Tom's tool. I then got tissues from the bathroom and wiped us dry.

We washed and showered and when our breakfast arrived, we ate it slowly, just delighting in the other's close presence. Then we had a 69 session, and Tom could scarcely swallow my huge ejaculate. "You taste wonderful!" he said, "I'd forgotten how nice your come is!"

We left at noon on a train to Gatwick airport, where there is one bar that sells decent beer. We had a couple of pints, and at 2 pm I checked in and said goodbye to Tom before going through security. We merely embraced quickly, without any kissing. After all, we would be seeing each other again in a couple of weeks.

Chapter 40

Montecatini-Terme

Montecatini-Terme is the archetypal holiday resort/spa town, one of many popularized in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries across Europe. You could call it the Italian Harrogate or Marienbad. There are about seven different hot springs at different points on the side of a gentle hill. The whole of the spa area is beautiful parkland with mature trees.

The house that my parents had bought in the last decade of the twentieth century had once been a small hotel. This meant that it had a series of very large rooms on the ground floor and on the upper floors, many small rooms. It really needed a lot of refurbishment to make it suitable for domestic use, but my parents had never had time enough to get plans drawn up and builders to do anything about it. It had been let, with its original furniture, to a series of tenants and was in none-too-good a condition. The house was looked after when empty by a family who lived nearby, and I phoned them from Pisa-Galileo Galilei airport to announce my imminent arrival. They said that they would make up a bed for me and air the house. I caught a train from the airport, changing in Florence and arrived at about 6 pm.

.

My original idea of getting a job had proved impractical due to the shortness of my stay, so I decided to use the time to catch up with my vacation reading-list. We were expected to read between eight and ten titles on a list of 25. I had two of the books with me and I expected, as they were all standard classics, to buy another six or so, if not in MT, as we in the family had started to call it, then in Florence, which was a short train-ride away. I also went to the spa and bought two-week season tickets for the men of the family. Cathy had decided not to come with them to MT, but to stay on her own in Fountain Street. She was, after all, now seventeen. Our parents had agreed, subject to two provisions: no Facebook postings and no parties. She was quite happy with these restrictions, we had both been brought up to know where the limits lay.

On my first day, I wandered round the bookshops and picked up works by Dante, Pirandello, Goldoni and Tasso. That was enough to be going on with. A short distance from the house was a large, beautifully landscaped, thickly wooded park, and there, lying shirtless in the sun, screened by shrubs, I began a two-week journey through the masterpieces of Italian literature. It was not entirely boring: some of Goldoni's plays were very funny. Each evening I would eat in a different trattoria and mentally grade each one to guide us when Tom and my fathers arrived.

They rang from Pisa Airport and I was able to meet them at the station, from where we took a cab to the house. We organized the beds and then went out to eat. My books were put away until we got back to Camford! The next two weeks were pure holiday. We spent a lot of time swimming in the spa waters and ogling the Italian boys, but we obviously made several day trips to Florence and other cities round about. We managed one trip to the opera in Florence, not Milan. We went up the funicular to Montecatini-Alto, and explored the hills around the the town. We ate excellent meals in trattorie, we were not going to waste time in home cooking! We drank a lot of espresso and a lot of wine and tended to go to bed early, but not usually to sleep! The house had a nice, if somewhat neglected garden, where we could sit and read, drink wine or coffee, and sunbathe, though it was not private enough for outdoor sex.

Midway through the stay, we made the trip to see my mother and her family. It was a pity that Cathy had not been able to come, but it was a moving experience to see Dad greet his long-unseen sister. I think that Massimo was interested to see his brother-in-law and partner and I was certainly proud to present to him the two men who had brought me up. Tom must have felt very awkward, both as a non-family member and as a non-Italian speaker, but Sandro greeted him with great friendliness, because it gave him a chance to practise his English, which was pretty fluent as far as vocabulary was concerned, but heavily accented. Little Bianca chatted away happily to both my parents, and even she came out with a few words of English. All of them were pressed to visit us when they came to England, and we all felt that a happy resolution had been made of twenty-year-old family problems. Dad insisted on taking us all out to dinner, and we had a very enjoyable evening before driving back very late to MT in the car that we had hired for the journey. He gave Massimo and Dorotea tickets for his Monteverdi recital in Verona. Massimo was immensely amused by the thought of a group of English singers touring Italy! We did manage, before we left, to get to Dad's opening concert in Florence. I was amazed to find that Tom loved 'Il Combattimento di Tancredi e Clorinda,' which I had found a distinctly unexciting piece.

The other important thing about our stay was that I convinced Pop that the family should spend money getting the house completely renovated, so that by the time I graduated there was somewhere in Italy where I could live, if I could find a job or a study opportunity. It would probably take the full two years to get the job done, particularly as Pop would only be able to come every couple of months to check on progress. A phone call to Uncle Tim Ingledown in London elicited the name of an honest Italian 'fixer' based in Florence. Tim assured them that the man was not into tax evasion, money-laundering or other dubious activities. Pop and Dad contacted him and found him likeable and efficient. His name was Agostino L. He found both an architect and a reliable building contractor for us and after an afternoon of discussions, plans were drawn up that would be sent to us when complete for our approval before submission for planning approval. Tom made a lot of very sensible suggestions and impressed Pop enormously.

After a very hectic two weeks, we flew back to Bristol, and drove from there to Rockwell's Barn, to get our things together for the move back to college three days later for the commencement of the Martinmas term.

TO BE CONTINUED