David Begins Graduate Study

In Jon's case, he took his M.A. first. The M.A. degrees of England's two ancient universities are anomalous, and are hated by European legislators obsessed with study duration and academic credits. This is because seven years after matriculation, providing you pay a fee, you just turn up and collect your M.A. degree, irrespective of class of bachelor's degree, without any further residence or study. There was a bit more ceremony attached to Jon's M.A. Candidates knelt in a row before the Vice Chancellor and were gently hit on the head with a copy of the University Regulations.

The conferring of his doctorate was even more elaborate. Appearing in his new M.A. gown, he was presented individually and given a parchment bull, with the University's seal attached in red embossed plastic (replacing the wax formerly used). He then had to re-enter wearing his violet/purple doctor's dress gown. The entire ceremony took up most of the afternoon.

Then followed a half hour of photographs, after which Jon took us all out to an early dinner at Camford's only Michelin two-star restaurant, which he had booked two months before, he and I still wearing sub-fusc. As we were young, we had no difficulty in eating a second substantial meal, well up to Michelin standards, but our wine consumption was moderate and by mutual agreement with my parents, we separated about 10 pm.

Jon and I walked briskly back to Fountain Street holding hands. Whereas an older couple would have been sleepy, we were burning with lust. We entered the flat, locked the door, rushed into the bedroom and started to tear our clothes off. Jon got his off first and I gazed admiringly at his still sun-tanned body as I struggled with my tie and shirt. As I watched, his tool got bigger and stiffer, and as I bent down to step out of my underpants, I gave it a kiss. He grabbed me, put his right arm round my shoulders and his left arm round my arse and squeezed me tightly up against his nude body. He pressed his lips against mine, and I opened my mouth in surrender. We spent several minutes exploring each other's mouth with our tongues while feeling the throb of each other's heart in the warmth of our mutual grip.

Jon steered me across the room to the bedside locker, opened it with one hand and pulled out lube and rubber (we always kept one unwrapped just inside the drawer). He made me bend over the bed and without any bidding, I pulled my arse-cheeks wide apart so that he could apply the lube. The sensation of his fingers in my hole sent me nearly wild. "Push it in, push it in, I need you up my arsehole NOW!" I felt his berubbered cock tickling my arsecheeks, and in a moment he was sliding gently and smoothly into my fundament. He started to kiss my back between the shoulder blades and I could feel his sweat starting to drip from his armpits. His arms were tightly wrapped round my chest and belly, and his left hand was fingering my erect dick. His thrusting began, gently at first, but gradually accelerating and pushing deeper and deeper into my rectum. Once or twice his thrusts actually reached my sensitive spot and I was convulsed with desire. "Need a towel," I gasped and Jon grabbed one from beside the bed. I pushed it under my belly. Jon continued to fuck me for perhaps another minute before I convulsed again and shot my load onto the towel. Jon carried on thrusting and shortly afterwards he too came and I felt his jerk as he squirted into the prophylactic.

His movements slowed down and he began to kiss me gently along my backbone, slowly withdrawing from my back passage as he did so. His kisses continued lower and lower until he reached my sweaty crack. He knelt down, pushed his face into the crack and began to rim me. I could feel my cock starting to stiffen again as his tongue rubbed against the walls of my crack. After a few minutes of lingual exploration of my hole, he moved out of the crack and continued his chain of kissing over each of my buttocks in turn. People who use the crude phrase 'kiss my arse' do not know how enjoyable arse kissing really is. I wriggled in enjoyment as his sweet lips ran all over my behind, and murmured in delight at his gentle and imaginative lovemaking. Eventually though, I stood up and wrapped my arms round him. "I want to see and touch your front," I said, and we remained standing, locked in a tight embrace. I kissed his hair, his cheeks, his nose, nibbled his ear-lobe and then violently and greedily attacked his lips with my own, my tongue forcing its way into his mouth. I moved my arms down his back and started caressing his arse, my lips still locked against his. "My own true lovely Jon, my treasure, my possession and my possessor, I love you so much!" I said, having withdrawn my lips from his mouth and I quoted from the 'Song of Songs' "'My beloved put his hand by the hole, and my bowels were moved for him.'"

"Is that another of your crude comments?" Jon asked.

"Not at all, it's Holy Scripture!" I told him.

"We both need a shower before bed," he said. By now it was 11-30 pm. We cleaned each other up under the shower, and I put the spunk-soaked towel to soak in cold water.

"What shall we do tomorrow?" I asked.

"Invite your parents to coffee here at 10-30" he replied, "and then we'll walk along the river to the Carp, and have lunch there. In the afternoon we'll take them on a tour of the colleges, and in the evening I've booked a table at the George. On Sunday you can take them to church somewhere, and of course in the evening there's the Bach Choir Advent Carol Service. I'm sure they'll want to hear you sing!"

"I've got some good seats, near the front of the Town Hall," I said.

The weekend programme went according to plan. When my parents arrived at the flat for coffee, made with my fancy Italian coffee machine that Jon had bought me when I lived in College, Jon kissed them both emotionally and thanked them for giving him their son, and for becoming his real family. He was as near to tears as I have ever seen him. He's not as prone to tears as I am. Term had now finished, so there were no college chapel services, so on the Sunday we attended choral Matins at the University church and in the evening the three of them heard the Bach Choir perform Advent hymns and excerpts from the 'Messiah' and yes, I did sing 'Comfort ye, my people' and 'Ev'ry valley shall be exalted', and Jon was again near to weeping.

I was surprised after only a couple of months in the choir to have been asked to sing a solo number. I felt sure that among the six or so tenors in the choir there was someone better than me. But Justin, the music director, assured me that the choir's policy was to let every choir member who was willing take a turn at singing a solo number, though he did not explain why he had asked me to perform at my first concert. So I got practising my recitative and aria. I am not a natural performer, I hate putting myself forward and I can't ever see myself as a professional singer. Hence my desire to be a scientist, as well as serving God and being Jon's besotted lover. Jon maintains that I can do all these just by singing, that my voice is God's gift and needs to be employed to praise Him. This is strange attitude for one who claims to be an atheist. (The other thing that I would like to do is to bring up Jon's child. But I never wish that I were a woman. I am a man, with a man's desires, even though I need to fuck Jon less often than he needs to fuck me.) After the concert, as we were leaving, Dr Fabioni came up to me and said 'Bravo'. I introduced him to my father and mother, before we went off to dine at their hotel. The following day they left for home, with the knowledge that we would be joining them for Christmas within a couple of weeks.

Christmas arrived and was passed in the usual enjoyable way of several previous Christmases. My little brother Jeroen was now 12, and showing the first signs of puberty, as well as experiencing a rapid spurt in growth of his arms and legs. The only notable fact that happened was that my sister Dorothea admitted that she had finally acquired a boyfriend. He was not a scientist, or linguist: he turned out to be an engineer. She showed us a photograph of him. He was of medium height and fairly heavily built, not the kind of man that was attractive to other men, and it seemed a bit strange that Dorothea liked him enough to tell us about him. I asked Dorothea if they were dating on a regular basis, or whether she had not finally made up her mind about their relationship. She said that she had not actually made up her mind, which is one reason why she was not ready to introduce him to anyone.

Chapter 9 David

Winter and a new Term

After Christmas there followed a mild spell in January and so Jon, who had hired a car for us to come to my home for Christmas, decided that on the way back to Camford we should visit the two sites tentatively selected by Robin Banks as possible sites for new woodland planting. One site was in Lincolnshire, the other was in Norfolk. On the way to the first site, we drove through the Ancholme valley, a large area of flat reclaimed marshland, with very few trees. Although not a site that we had originally considered, it looked as though it would benefit from a few patches of woodland. The Lincolnshire site that we had been considering was on the very top of the Wolds, very exposed, and the ground was not even very suitable for grazing sheep. A significant area of about 3 hectares was involved and it was clear from the neglected appearance of the hedgerows and the number of weeds in the fields that the land was of insignificant agricultural value, in spite of the fact that lower down the hills, winter wheat was already beginning to sprout. We decided that that was a definite possibility and we then drove south from Lincolnshire and eventually reached Norfolk.

The Norfolk site was quite different. It consisted of an area of drained marshland beside rich potato-growing fields and it seemed as though we could reasonably plan a long thin strip of woodland between the cultivated area and the drainage dikes which had made the agriculture in that region possible. Jon said that he would ask Tim Ingledown, his man of business, to open negotiations for purchase of both sites, to look for a further site in the Ancholme valley, and to take a hard bargaining line with the landowners. We were at that point about 200 km from Camford, and it was beginning to get dark. Accordingly, we decided to drive only as far as Ixton and to see if the landlord of the Jellycotes Arms had a room for us. This would offer us an opportunity to see Rockwell's Barn, which I had not seen since we got back from Italy in September. We got to Ixton about 7 pm, and there was indeed a double room available, and we settled down to an excellent dinner and some beer.

Next morning, we went to see how our new house was getting on. We greeted Alec, the site foreman and had a good look round under his guidance. The Afterthought was in the process of being integrated into the existing floors and each floor landing led to a bay window in the new extension. When the integration had been finished, there would be window-seats installed in each bay. The plumbing and the interior woodwork in the upper floors was now complete, and we could start thinking about furnishings and decoration. The ground floor was not nearly so far completed. The pool area was ready for tiling, as were the toilets and changing rooms, but the heating, circulation and water supply were still not begun. In the interests of fuel economy, we had decided that the pool services should be entirely separate from the heating and plumbing in the rest of the house. The latter had been installed but had not yet been tested. The kitchen with its dining area and adjacent bathroom and store-room, were essentially complete, except for the built-in furnishing and equipment.

An early decision had been made that a shaft should be drilled at the end of the building nearest the road for a lift that would enable people with walking difficulties to access the upper floors and to facilitate collecting post and deliveries from the street-level door. That shaft of course had been completed and lined and was now ready for the installation of the lift.

We reckoned that allowing time for us to select furniture and decorating materials, the house would be habitable in about six months, even if by then the pool area had not been completed. Moving in and getting our possessions installed might take a couple of weeks, so we reckoned that we would have to forgo any holiday that summer. Moreover, we would have to get a car, to facilitate much moving to and fro between Camford and Ixton. No longer could I expect long undergraduate summer vacations, and some commuting between Ixton and Camford was going to be necessary. Jon would have to face the problem of finding secure garage space for the new vehicle somewhere in Camford.

Two weeks later, the Candlemas term began, and with it a big change in our habits. We had previously dined together in college twice a week, on Sundays and on one weekday. Now we could no longer eat together. Jon as an M.A. was obliged to sit on high table; as student, I could not sit there except maybe on a special occasion at a guest evening. Moreover, although in principle Jon could sit with the students if he chose to remind the college that he was a substantial financial benefactor, we both felt that to be inappropriate. It would not only draw attention to his benefactor status, which he did not wish to be generally known, but also it would be drawing attention to the fact that he was using his status to benefit his fancy-boy. So we gave up eating in college during the week, and ate at the separate tables on Sunday nights. After Sunday dinner we had coffee together in the Middle Common Room, a facility that Jon had not made much use of when he was a Ph.D. student. Then we would either go out for a drink, by ourselves or with members of the choir, or go home and make love. Indeed, there were spells when our weekend evenings were real fuck-festivals! Outside term, we usually cooked on Sunday nights.

I had refused Jon's offer to buy me a brand new B.A. gown and hood. There seemed little point when I would only wear the outfit for three years, and would be quite likely to spill beer or food on the gown, so he gave me his own old robes, which he no longer needed. They had had little wear, and I was delighted to wear his hand-me-downs. It was sometimes a struggle to prevent Jon throwing money around. I absolutely insisted in paying a monthly contribution to the running costs of the flat and for food, because I said that if I lived with Jon at his expense, he was effectively paying me in kind for allowing him to fuck me. Besides that, I pointed out that if monetary benefits were to change hands, he was entitled to claim a rebate on the occasions when I fucked him! Moreover, I told him that as a taxpayer, he was already contributing to my upkeep in the form of my study allowance, which was not intended as pocket money.

Chapter 10 David

The College Chapel Choir

I was now in my fifth year as a member of the Chapel Choir in college. It was a choir of volunteers. Only the Bible Clerk and the Organ Scholar were members of the establishment, the rest of us were there for the pleasures of singing and (I hope) of glorifying God. We only sang once a week during term, at Evensong on Sundays, although Matins and Evensong were said daily in the chapel during term. When I lived in college, I often went to one or the other, but since I was living with Jon, my chapel visits on weekdays were very infrequent, though I did sometimes go on a Saturday morning, if we were up early. I was of course one of the most senior members of the choir, as the maximum duration of most undergraduates was four years, and most of them graduated after three years.

At the time that this story takes place, we had a new Chaplain and a new Organ Scholar, and both were keen to extend the choir's repertoire and make it better known. In my earlier years in the choir, we had had very successful concert tours in the Low Countries, but these had never been followed up. The Chaplain now wanted us to extend our singing season into the summer vacation by visiting cathedrals and churches with permanent choirs to fill in during the long choir holidays. This required an adequate number of our members to be available during the period of July and August, which was of course not easy, as Camford students are well-known for doing things other than studying in the university vacations. However in this particular year, the choir had reached an all-time record level of 24 members and between 16 and 20 of them said they could make themselves available for the first week of August, and it was arranged that we should sing all the services for seven days in Durham Cathedral during that period, staying in one of the Durham colleges, with our accommodation costs partially met out of a little-known college fund, with individual contributions capped at a reasonable level. I think a number of well-heeled student parents made a sizeable contribution. If the experiment proved successful, the following year would see the choir doing a fundraising operation to keep the activity going.

This prospect had energized the choir's activities, and we found ourselves as a group growing closer together. In consequence, I was not lonely during Sunday dinner in hall, as the choir as a group started sitting together, though I did not usually participate in the Sunday evening pub visit that followed, unless Jon wanted to join us, which he sometimes did. Jon and I both felt that it was important not to live in each others' pockets, because we both had independent lives to live.

Some of the younger choir members, especially the men, tried teasing me because I was gay. They soon found however that I had none of the traits that are supposed to mark out male homosexuals, so a lot of their comments fell wide of the mark. I was not interested in clothes or fashion or dancing or theatre or design, I did not drink typical 'fairy' drinks, but consumed only beer and wine and I did not visit gay bars. I found myself getting much more at ease in female company and soon was on good terms with several of the older women. The college was slowly starting to shake off its male chauvinist image and beginning to accept that all Camford colleges would be co-educational in the future.

[To be continued]