David’s Final Undergraduate Year

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BOOK IV. David’s Last Undergraduate Year

[Books I to III should be read first]

Chapter 48 Jon

When I investigated my pet topic of drystone walling, I found that organisations already existed to promote repair and training in drystone walling, so that a trust along the lines of the Afforestation Trust was not necessary. What was necessary however, was a trained mobile team to investigate the need for the repair of walls nationwide, to identify the owners, and to provide repair teams who would provide rapid repair, particularly in emergencies, on a shared cost basis, the charity providing some of the repair funding. Tim and I reckoned that our Derbyshire site could be the first place to be dealt with, and when complete could serve as a model to show other landowners what could be done. It still needed an enthusiast who could begin to survey and report on needs, and to assemble, equip and find headquarters for an action team.

It proved difficult to find such a person with a background in rural science or agriculture, so we turned to the building trade, which was undergoing recession at the time, and found a man with some of the right skills called Michael T, who was a construction industry trainer with an enthusiasm for the countryside. We paid for him to undergo a six-month full-time training course in drystone wall construction and maintenance. He was rather older than Robin Banks, being in his late thirties, but he had the right enthusiasm for the job and was still young and fit enough to get hands-on experience in the nitty-gritty of the process. In conjunction with existing organisations, he assembled a three-man team, including himself, to begin repair work on our Derbyshire fields. I hoped that by the following summer the repair of the walls and the drainage work (under Robin’s supervision) would be complete, and planting could begin.

David was now at work on his final year laboratory project in the Pharmacology department. This meant that I did not see him at lunchtime daily any more. However, undergraduates were, for health and safety reasons, discouraged from evening and late-night work in the labs, and as he no longer had regular tutorials with Dan C, we were able to spend time together most evenings, even if sleeping together was difficult, although he did tend to do that about once a week, and sneak into college and rumple his bed before breakfast. I guess that his bedder probably knew that his bed had not really been slept in, but she seemed to be discreet and understanding. He had finished regular basketball playing, so we tried to increase our weekly swimming sessions from once to twice and spent at least one evening a week at the pool. We also usually went to the Rialto about once a week.

My thesis was now essentially complete and just needed further proofreading before it could be submitted to the faculty office. Ed S, my supervisor, had approved the draft and was consulting with the head of Department, Professor Kristensen about the appointment of suitable external and internal examiners for my work. It seemed unlikely that the examination could take place before I started assisting the builders in Ixton, and eventually a date in March shortly before my birthday was fixed on. David was very helpful in in assisting me to proofread the thesis. Word processing was still in its infancy in those days, and the software that I had to use to produce the thesis was by present-day standards incredibly primitive. However the finished product would still look considerably better than the typed and carbon-copied theses that had hitherto been the norm in Camford University.

David seemed to be enjoying working in his new department. It did not take very long for his colleagues to discover that he was gay, but he did not experience anything other than a small amount of teasing. Indeed, he was invited to go with the group from his lab on their weekly visits to the pub. We were lucky to be working in such an intellectually demanding but at the same time understanding and permissive environment as Camford University. Although he was still taking most of his meals in college, David signed out regularly once a week and I cooked a meal for us, as by then I had virtually given up working in the laboratory. One day, he came home from the laboratory (he had to pass my flat on the way to college) and said, “I forgot to tell you that I had signed out for dinner tonight, is there any chance of us eating here?”

“Yes, if you don’t mind eating a thawed-out instant meal,” I replied.

“We seem to have made some significant progress in the lab today” said David, “which makes a change, but before we eat I am in desperate need of a fuck.”

“That’s okay,” I said “but it means that we will have to eat later. I’ll open a bottle of Prosecco while you get undressed.” David went into the bedroom and began to take his clothes off. I took two instant meals out of the freezer and left them in the kitchen to thaw out before I joined him in the bedroom. I casino siteleri poured out two glasses of the delicious fizzy wine and we both took a hefty swig.

“How about undressing me?” I said.

“Okay,” he said. Unlike David’s college room, my bedroom had a large mirror and I was able to watch David undressing me. It was great fun seeing the struggles that he had disentangling my rockhard prick from my silk briefs. No sooner were the briefs on the bedroom floor than my prick was in David’s mouth. By now he seemed to have learnt all the necessary skills to give a good blow-job. “Go slowly,” I said “I don’t want to come into your mouth, I want to save it for your gut.” I bent forward and buried my face in his lovely blonde hair and began to kiss the crown of his head. I thought of the lines from MacHeath’s aria in ‘The Beggar’s Opera,’ (except of course the female would have to be changed to the male):

‘Roses and Lilies his Cheeks disclose, But his ripe Lips are more sweet than those. Press him, Caress him, With Blisses, His Kisses Dissolve us in Pleasure, and soft Repose’.

David, having lubricated my dick with his saliva, rolled a condom on to it. He grabbed the bottle of lube from beside the bed and plastered it over the sheath. He then handed the bottle to me and spread his muscular legs with their beautiful blonde hair to give me access to his crotch. I lifted his legs onto my shoulders, applied lube to my fingers and spread it in his crack before poking two fingers into his arsehole. I lubed that well, and by now he was beginning to get impatient. “Fuck me, fuck me, now!” he cried, and I obliged by entering him firmly and steadily. Once past his sphincter, I paused and kissed him on the chest, neck and lips and sucked his right nipple. The hair on his chest felt silky-soft in my mouth. He groaned with pleasure. “That’s lovely,” he said “but please keep busy down below!” I quickened the pace of my moving tool and grasped him by the shoulders. I suppose that the fuck lasted about seven or eight minutes before I shot my load, and David convulsed with pleasure. I could feel his warm body and the pulse of the blood in his upper body.

After I had come, I pulled gently out of his hole and lowered his legs from my shoulders, so that I could lie on top of him and rub his rockhard dick with my belly. He thrust his pelvis upwards and also rubbed himself and in a couple of minutes he climaxed with a moan. His man-juice squirted over both our bellies, and we lay there, pleasantly sticky for ten minutes, kissing and murmuring endearments. I muttered to him the lines I have just quoted from the Beggar’s Opera by (the appropriately for us named) John Gay, and he giggled in delight. He also made the predictable joke that maybe Gay should have written the ‘Bugger’s Opera,’ and I replied that Rochester had already written that, and called it ‘Sodom’.

However, we could not indulge in soft repose for very long, as both of us were quite hungry. I had just obtained a microwave oven. These devices had only just come on the market and were quite novel, but I found them ideal for dealing with frozen food.

We cleaned ourselves up with a damp flannel and went into the kitchen. I placed the semi-soft ready meal into my new machine, and before we had had time to empty our glasses of Prosecco, our food was ready.

Chapter 49 David

Knowing that after Christmas I would only see my lover at the weekends, we tried to maximize the time that we spent together during the Martinmas term. Jon was nearly done with his thesis, and had more leisure than I had ever known him have previously. The Chapel choir had now a totally different membership from when I first joined it three years before. As the senior member, I had been assigned by the Organ Scholar the job of organizing a tour of Belgium in July. I did not have any contacts, so I wrote to the Anglican Chaplain in Antwerp asking for help. He at once offered his church as a venue and promised to find hosts for the choir members. He also gave me the names of various contacts in Flanders.

One night in late October we went to a piano recital in S College. It was an all-Mozart programme, and the artist was a well-known female pianist. She was a really outstanding player, and her subtle and sensitive interpretation of Mozart’s melodies moved me nearly to tears. Jon also seemed very impressed. It seemed natural that after such an emotional experience, we should both feel loving, without feeling like fucking.

We went to my room in college. It was about 10 pm, and we sat beside one another on my sofa with our arms round each other’s shoulders and our lips pressed against the other’s lips. “‘Music is the food of love'” I said, “but words can’t really express what I feel about you, Jon. I only wish that as well as loving me, you could come to love God.”

“I love you because my eyes, my ears, my nose and my prick are all telling me that I have a beautiful boy in my arms, a boy that is mine for the rest of my life and to whom slot oyna and for whom I will gladly give all that I possess. How can any God, even if such a being exists, mean more than that to me?”

“Because my existence and your love are both due to Him. The love that you feel for me and I feel for you are living evidence of God’s love for all humanity. Every joy that we experience in our lives is enhanced when we know that it is a gift of God. Love exists to show us what we owe to our Creator and Redeemer. Love is mental and spiritual self-giving. Fucking, which is also a sort of self-giving, exists to show us that the union of two human beings is a model of the union of each of us with our Creator. OK, so fucking can have a procreational function, but as I’ve told you many times before, procreation is NOT the prime purpose of fucking, and in homosexual relationships that is obvious. Of course I am not denying that there is much more to sexual relations than physical union, and procreation and nurture of offspring are vital roles for both sexes if they are to experience something of what God must feel for His creation.”

“How can God feel ANYTHING? Surely He must be impassive, as emotion is a human faculty.”

“God became Man, and in so doing, took on all that a man can experience, and that includes emotions. Jesus wept when His friend Lazarus lay cold, stiff and beginning to rot in the tomb. In addition to the horrors of death by crucifixion, God suffered the agonies of death and separation from those whom He loved.”

“You make Christianity sound almost human,” said Jon.

“If by that you mean that Christianity is a human invention, then you’re wrong. But if you mean that by becoming Man, God could completely identify with human emotions, hopes and fears and aspirations, then you’re right. Thomas Traherne uses classical gay imagery to relate humanity to God. We are

‘His Ganymede! His life! His joy! Or He comes down to me, or takes me up That I might be His boy, And fill, and taste, and give, and drink the cup. … I am His image, and His friend, His son, bride, glory, temple, end.’

“You know that Ganymede was not only Zeus’s cup-bearer, but also his fancy boy? The ‘bride’ bit in Traherne’s poem tells it all!

“But let’s not get tied up in theological arguments. Here endeth the sermon. We were both enormously moved by the music, and I always think of music as being one of the principal ways that we can glorify God. To change the subject, would you like a drink?”

“Let’s have a glass of Belgian beer,” said Jon. “What have you got in your cupboard?”

“I’ve got a couple of bottles of a red beer called Rodenbach,” I said. “The man in the beer shop said that it was a very special beer.”

“It is indeed,” said Jon. If you’ve never had this beer you will get a surprise, because it will taste totally different from anything that you’ve ever had before. It’s what they call an acid ale.” I poured the two bottles of the red–brown beer into two glasses and I tasted mine very curiously. It was wonderful. It did not take long for us finish it, because it came in small 250-ml bottles.

“I see that I’ve still got a lot a lot to learn about beer,” I said. “When are you going to submit your thesis?”

“That’s what I was going to tell you,” said Jon “it’s all ready. Four copies came back from the binder’s today. I had it bound by a little man who works at the University press, but who does bookbinding in his spare time. I am planning to take it to the University Registry on Thursday. So please, will you contact Tom and Steve and see if they can come out with us for a drink on Friday to celebrate the end of my lab work?

“I’ve taken a ridiculous length of time to get the damn’ thing finished, because, as usual, I am trying to do too many things at the same time. I’ve still got to organize the hire of a caravan to use when I’m at Ixton, and I may need to get Arthur to apply for temporary planning permission if I want to site it at his farm. Fortunately, the builders are mainly locally based and will be able to go home each night.”

“Why don’t we pop round to see Tom and Steve now?” I said.

“Okay, let’s do that,” said Jon. We went downstairs and walked across the quad to Tom and Steve’s room. We could see that there was a light on as we approached, so we went up the stairs and knocked on their door. Tom opened it.

“Why, it’s Jon and David!” he called to Stephen.

“Invite the them in for a drink then,” called Stephen in reply. We entered the room. The two boys had been sitting side-by-side on the sofa, and to judge from their disordered clothing had been indulging in some heavy petting. “I think that there’s still some drinkable beer in that small plastic container that we got from the beer shop at the weekend” said Stephen. Jon and I knew that Tom and Steve shared our tastes for decent beer. No rice-containing rubbish beer or mass-market lager would be served up by our friends. Tom poured out four half pints of locally brewed canlı casino siteleri beer into four tankards which we consumed with relish. “We’ve come to invite you to come for a drink on Friday to celebrate the end of my work in the lab” said Jon “I’m taking my thesis to the Registry on Thursday.”

“Why don’t we go to the Carp at Stubbington?” said Steve. “We’ll need bikes with lights though, because the clocks go back at the weekend and it will be dark before dinner on Friday. Why don’t we sign out for dinner and eat at the pub?”

“That’s a good idea,” said Jon, “but let’s go on the bus, and I’ll pay for a taxi to bring us back.”

So the next Friday evening found the group of four of us sitting at a table near a roaring log fire each with a pint tankard in front of us filled with West London bitter and looking eagerly at the menu. We had an excellent meal, and consumed a considerable amount of beer. We were all very happy and relaxed and when Jon and I noticed that Tom and Steve were holding hands, we did the same. After the meal I stood up and proposed Jon’s health and wished him success in his Ph.D. submission. Jon then did something amazing and wholly untypical, he stood up, moved his chair round the table so that he was sitting between Tom and Steve, put an arm around each of them and kissed each one. The rest of us found this highly embarrassing, and we looked round anxiously to make sure that none of the other pub customers was watching. I felt extremely uneasy. This behaviour was so untypical of Jon, who always laid such an emphasis on restraint, that I could only assume that either he had had far too much to drink, or that he was beginning to tire of me, and getting interested in other men.

Chapter 50 David

When we got into the cab, I decided to go home with Jon and spend the night there. We dropped Tom and Steve at St Boniface’s and carried on to Fountain Street, where I paid the driver. Jon walked upstairs with some difficulty, and we used my key to enter the flat. I locked the door and said to Jon “What the fuck do you think you were doing at the pub? If we had let you, you might have started to pull those boys’ pants down!”

“David, I think I had too much to drink, and the alcohol made me feel lonely.”

“But if you wanted to kiss someone, why not me? Have I done something to displease you? If so, please tell me what.”

“My darling faggot boy, you’ve done nothing wrong. I’ve just had too much to drink, that’s all. Let’s go to bed and discuss it in the morning.”

I slept heavily, due to the alcohol, but I was conscious that Jon got out of bed to visit the toilet several times during the night.

Next morning, being Saturday, I did not have much to do in the lab. I did not have to worry about my bed in college not having been slept in, because the bedders only came in at the weekends during conferences. Accordingly, I felt able to cook some bacon, eggs and black pudding for breakfast and bring them to Jon in bed. He seemed to be quite hung over. “However much did you have to drink last night?” I asked him.

“Seven pints of beer and a glass of red wine,” he said.

I gasped. I had never known quiet, self-restrained Jon drink on that scale before. But I felt that as it was a special occasion, it was a one-off occurrence. But I still felt worried about his behaviour. This was a guy who up to a year and a half ago was trying to conceal the fact that he loved men, and now he was kissing men in public! “Do you want breakfast?” I asked him. “Or do you want a cuddle or a suck or a fuck?”

“Let’s start with a cuddle,” he said, “then you can feed me some bacon and a few spoonsful of scrambled egg.”

I did as he asked. I put my arms round his naked body and smothered him with kisses. “You may not want me,” I said, “but after we’ve eaten, I want you to suck me off. Do you feel like going swimming this morning?”

“I’m not sure. I’ll tell you after I’ve eaten, shat and showered,” he said. I cut the bacon up into thin strips and fed them to him with my fingers. I took a spoon and fed him spoonsful of scrambled egg and then a few strips of bread soldiers. Then I gave him a slice of black pudding, which he ate in three mouthfuls. I wiped my hands on a tissue and resumed kissing him. Eventually, he managed a tender smile after burping noisily. “I’m sorry that my face is so rough,” he said “it must make your lips quite sore.”

“Darling Jon,” I said, “you’re a man like me. Your face is rough first thing in a morning, so is mine. No big deal. You fart first thing in a morning, so do I. No big deal!”

“I must go for a shit,” he said “then we’ll see about that needy cock of yours!” I lay back in bed and listened to the explosive sounds coming from the bathroom, with frequent flushes of the toilet at intervals. Then I heard the washbasin water running and the sound of a razor scraping. Presently Jon emerged. “I’ll shower later on with you,” he said. “I feel a lot better now. It’s amazing the effect that proper beer has on your bowels.” He rubbed his freshly shaven face against my chest. I could smell the scent of his shaving gel. I reached out and ran my hand down his back and kissed the top of his head. “Please suck my tool, Jon,” I said.

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