Tommy's Third Year at College Pt. 02

Chapter 62 Tommy: The Easter vacation

Padua university finished teaching two weeks before Easter. Rather than return home so early, we had arranged for Martin to come to Padova. The bed in my room was big enough to accommodate two of us. Leo had gone home for Easter, but Matteo was remaining in Padova to do one or two week's reading before going to his home near Rome. The three of us used to eat together in the evenings, and of course Martin insisted in going to the opera as often as possible. Matteo and Martin got on like a house on fire and were soon good friends, which was a great relief to me. Consequently, it was only a matter of days before we found ourselves discussing a threesome. Both Martin and I were a bit reluctant at first, but after Matteo said that he was quite happy with oral, and that indeed he was not keen on rear entry, we all decided to give it a go.

We went out for a meal at the local taverna and had a bottle of wine among the three of us, just to relax us, and returned to the apartment, nicely full of food and made extremely randy by the alcohol. We undressed and watched a gay video on the television set in the social room. I was in the middle with one arm round Martin and Matteo, encircling their bodies and holding each of their cocks. Appropriately, the video featured a gay orgy with a mixture of men of different races doing all the usual things.

Once we were all hard and oozing precome, we switched the video off, and adjourned to my bedroom, where Martin began to roll a condom onto his dick. I lay on my back on the bed, my mouth in close proximity to Matteo's big curly cock, as he knelt at my head on the bed. I spread my legs so that Martin could get easily into my arsehole. He got lube on his fingers and started to apply it to my hole, gently stretching it.

I opened my mouth to let the precome dripping from Matteo's tool fall into my mouth. Martin was busy kissing my belly and playing with the hair round my nipples. I could smell the scent of Storing pour Homme from Martin and of sweat from Matteo. Matteo's balls were just in the right position for a spot of 'tea-bagging', so I started to lick first one, then the other and finally took one into my mouth. He groaned with delight. "È bono, bono," he murmured. Martin grinned. "I taught him how to do that, Matteo!" he said. "I'm about to go in!" he continued and gently began poking his tool into my shithole.

Matteo by now was oozing precome copiously, and I reached his dick and took it into my mouth. It was my first experience of being penetrated at both ends at the same time, and it was delicious. The sense of satisfaction was redoubled by the thought that I was pleasuring two men of whom I was very fond, both at the same time. They both were obviously enjoying something that neither had done before. It was a situation over which I had no control, so I just lay back and let myself be fucked. However, I did a bit of work on Matteo's prick, which was satisfyingly fat as well as curved, and inevitably he was the first to come.

Martin was hammering away at my prostate as if he had never fucked me before, and soon he too shot his load. As he did so, in his orgasm he let a huge fart escape from his rear end. Matteo grunted in delight. "Scorregiare mi piace!" (I like farting) he said.

I wished that I had known that before, because although Matteo and I were not shy at farting in each other's company, I had not realized how much he must have enjoyed it when he heard me backfire! As Martin also enjoyed farting, we realized that we had no need to struggle to restrain our flatulence.

We wound up the evening by Matteo sucking Martin off, after which, weary from wine and sexual exercise, we all three fell asleep in my bed. It was a bit crowded, but we were too sleepy to care. Our awakening the next morning was accompanied by a veritable anal chorus as first Martin, then Matteo, then myself relieved ourselves of overnight flatulence!

Chapter 63 Tommy: The Belgian beer festival

One day in March, I received an unexpected phone call from Dad. "Tommy," he said, "can you spare a weekend off at the end of April? Easter will be over, and you will be back in Padova. Jon and I are going to the Zythos Bierfestival in Leuven, which is the home of Belgium's oldest university. It's just the sort of thing that would suit students like you and Martin. Martin will square things with his bedder and take the time off. He would find it difficult to get official permission, but if he's gone for only three nights, no-one will make a fuss. It's not as if he regularly goes AWOL, and he is keen to go. There are hundreds of beers available to taste, and the ambience in Leuven, which is full of students, is very nice. If we can't get an hotel in Leuven, we can stay in Mechelen or Antwerp and go on the train to Leuven. What do you think? You would have time to spend in bed with Martin!"

"Of course, Dad!" I replied. "No-one will miss me if I'm I'm only gone for three nights. But one thing. Can I bring a friend? My housemate Matteo is a beer lover. If he can spare the time and can afford it, I would like to bring him along. I'll book flights from Marco-Polo-Venezia to Maastricht tomorrow. It's easy to get from there to Leuven. We should be able to get back here for a lecture on the Monday afternoon. I'll ring you back to confirm that Matteo is coming with me." Matteo responded enthusiastically to the invitation.

So Easter being over (I had spent it with Martin at Rockwell's Barn), on the last Friday in April, Matteo and I alighted at Maastricht airport, and within an hour were on the train to Antwerp, where my fathers had booked two double hotel rooms and a single. We checked in, and found at reception that the rest of the party had already arrived and were waiting for us in the bar. The public nature of the place meant that I could only shake hands discreetly with my fathers and boyfriend. It was not an occasion in any case for passionate greetings: we had only been separated for little more than a week. We went out for a meal to a typical Flemish pub and enjoyed a typical Flemish dinner, with the accompanying beers carefully chosen for each dish.

That night, my stud-boy and I went to bed early. My fathers completely understood without being told that Martin and I needed each other. Poor old Matteo was left with my parents.

Next day we were on the train to Leuven in good time for the opening of the festival in the Brabantshalle. The hall was already crowded with beer lovers from all over Europe. The Zythos festival is quite unlike other beer festivals. The objective is not to drink as much beer as possible, but to taste small samples of 100 ml of each chosen beer, from stalls run by the brewers themselves. We arrived early enough to secure a corner of a table, because seating is aways at a premium at beer festivals.

In the middle of the afternoon, on my way back to our table from the toilet, I heard voices speaking Italian. It was a group of four men, obviously students. It was clear that they really had no idea which beers they should try, even after consultation of the multilingual tasting notes. "Excuse me for interrupting you," I said in Italian, "but I think that you need help with choosing beers. Would you like me to suggest some good ones?" They looked up in surprise, but gratefully accepted the offer. I asked them what styles of beer they liked. They did not seem to know, so I marked in their programmes half a dozen different styles: blonde, dark, acid ale, lambic, stout, pale ale and Trappist, and suggested that they try those first.

I resumed my place at the table with Martin, Matteo and my fathers, and some time afterwards the four Italian boys came and took some newly vacated seats at our table. They were enthusiastic about most of the beers that I had suggested, especially the Trappist style, and Jon showed them how to use the classified index in the tasting notes to identify other similar-style beers. I had not heard him speak Italian for a long time, and I was impressed by how much he remembered from his early lessons before I was adopted. In turn, he was impressed by how much I had learned in my few months in Padua.

In fact, it was not so much the increase in my vocabulary that was spectacular: it was the increase in my self-confidence. Throughout my teens I had been diffident and unforthcoming, due to the humiliations of my childhood by my birth parents, and the overprotection after my adoption by David and Jon. I could see now that I had benefitted enormously from life in college, and that most of my gain in confidence was due to Carol and Martin. I was confident that I could have a close friendship with Matteo without falling in love with him.

Round about 4 pm, the whole group of us (including the Italian students) decided that we had consumed enough beer and that we would return to the town centre in search of an interesting pub where we might eat and find more beer.

An hour later the party found an interesting home-brew pub in the centre of Leuven. We had a couple of drinks and soon after 6 pm were enjoying a meal. The Italians had some difficulty in deciding what to eat. North European cuisine seemed a bit unusual to them. After the meal, the four Italians left us to go on a pub-crawl, we returned to the station and caught a train back to Antwerp.

Chapter 64 Tommy: Humiliation in Antwerp

We continued drinking in Antwerp for the whole evening and towards the end of it, the alcohol had induced in me the kind of lust in which I just wanted to grope any male within reach. I happened to be sitting next to Matteo and Martin and as Matteo was nearest I put my right arm round him and began to finger his crotch with my left hand. My parents and Martin could not fail to notice, and looked on in horror as I began to kiss him and unzip his fly. Matteo, to his credit, resisted my advances, taking hold of my roving hand and rezipping his denims. Martin leapt to his feet and said, "It's time that you were in bed, Tommy. You are not in control of yourself."

Jonathan called a taxi, into which we all squeezed, Jonathan having paid our bill. I remember nothing until the following morning, I when I awoke to find myself in Matteo's single room. I staggered out of bed, pissed copiously and began to shave. There was a knock on the door. I opened it to find Martin there. "Matteo spent the night in my bed! Can he come in, as he needs some clothes out of the wardrobe?" Matteo followed Martin into the room and took what he needed from the drawers and hangers and promptly disappeared. "Come with me!" said Martin, "your fathers want a word with you!" He escorted me firmly to the adjacent room, where Dad and Pop, already dressed, were sitting in the two easy chairs.

I was made to stand in front of them, and Jon, who was apparently the judge, said, "Tommy, we are all ashamed of you. We know, and Matteo knows, that you love Martin. How can you behave so childishly and immaturely? You're no longer a teenager, you're twenty now. Don't you realize that groping someone in public is a far worse symptom of drunkenness than puking in the gutter? And what do think Martin thinks after seeing you make passes at Matteo in front of all of us? I have to admit that, unlike Martin, you were overprotected while you were younger and not allowed to make teenager's stupid mistakes, and Dad and I must carry responsibility for that. But you're a man now, Tommy, and have to carry the can for your own stupid behaviour! We warned you when you went up to college that you had to learn to drink in moderation. You have let us down!"

Martin appeared to be counsel for the defence. "We all love you, Tommy. But remember the old saying Never shit on your own doorstep. If you have to behave so stupidly, why on earth did you do it in front of your parents? Matteo and I could have dealt with you without all the trouble and upset that you have caused us and them!"

Jon resumed. "In mitigation, Tommy, I have to admit to a similar unhappy incident in my own past when I kissed two other men in David's presence under the influence of drink. But nevertheless although we all forgive you, you have to bear in mind that alcohol can destroy relationships." And he stood up and came over and kissed me. David, Matteo and Martin followed suit.

However, after pronouncing forgiveness, Jon said, "But there is a punishment. You will spend the day alone in Antwerp and miss the second day of the festival. We'll all eat together tonight before we catch our flights tomorrow. If you feel like it, we can drink together tonight, but in moderation."

After breakfast, they left for the festival. I wandered about the town and looked at the magnificent cathedral. Early in the afternoon, my phone rang. It was Martin. "Tommy, I'm leaving the festival early, because I want to talk to you. Meet me at 2 pm in the café opposite the railway station."

When Martin came into the café, he hastily embraced me. "Tommy," he said, "you are mine and I love you very much. You are my Ganymede. In the role of an eagle, I carried you off from your girlfriend and made you mine! But what happened last night is a big warning to you! Anything like that happening in a couple of years' time would finish your career as a teacher. As it is, many parents are very wary of gay teachers. They think that their little darlings might be at risk. And at secondary school level, your life as a teacher would be made a misery as soon as word spread that you were gay. Many men can cope with that, but I'm not sure that you could. Pull out of that Dip.Ed. course that you've applied for!"

"NO!" I told him. "There are schools where there are no behaviour problems, and there are always primary schools. Employment law does not allow employers to discriminate against homosexuals, and as long as I'm not in the closet, I will find a job. If I can't get one in England, I know I can get one in Italy, as a teacher of English. Moreover, I can speak Italian fluently, which is a big advantage in the job market, so even if teaching is not my future career, I want to try it."

"It's your decision," said Martin, "and it's not as if you are ever going to need unemployment benefit! You need to make your own decisions. I still love you, and I won't see you again till August, so let's go to bed. I bet you need a fuck!"

We returned to the hotel, went to our room and got undressed. "I had a nice night with Matteo. We didn't fuck, but I gave him a BJ. He's good in the cock department! I loved his curly tool!" said Martin. I was a bit taken aback that the two had had sex while I lay in a drunken stupor, and a pang of jealousy shot through me. I protested, but Martin told me firmly that it was my own fault, and I had to admit that he was right. I still had more growing-up to do. I lay back and let my darling boy have his way with me. He was rather rougher than usual, but I could not complain. "I like Matteo very much, so I don't mind what the two of you do together when you get back to Padua as long as you tell me about it." said Martin. "I trust you not to deceive me. I'm going to be quite busy in the next few months. I've got to do a module in Advanced Classical Greek. I'm determined to read as many homoerotic texts as I can find!"

Nothing further was said that evening about my behaviour the evening before. Next morning, we checked out and took a train back to Maastricht. On the train Matteo and I talked in Italian as we had no desire to be overheard. I asked Matteo if he was content with a relationship which could not get any closer, or whether he wanted to break it off and seek someone else for a longer term relationship. He said that he was happy to continue as we were, in other words, fairly frequent BJs, but otherwise just close friendship. That suited me ideally, because we both had a lot of work and exams in the following few months.

Chapter 65 Martin: A gay tenor

That summer, I missed my boy Tommy. A summer term in Camford without exams is often an excuse for idleness. But lacking my boyfriend, I spent little time on the river, though I sometimes made up a threesome with Ken and Adam. The two of them seemed now to have become an item, and both of them seemed a lot happier as a result.

Much of my spare time was occupied by last-minute preparations for the University Opera Club's production of Die Entfürung aus den Serail, which was to take place in Week 6 of the term at the Hippodrome Theatre in Camford. We in the chorus did not have an exacting role and we had the time to observe the rest of the cast. The usual procedure was to hire professionals for the leading roles, but that year the tenor role of Belmonte was taken by a man called Gregory Rushford, who was a graduate student doing an M.Mus. He was an extremely nice guy, who told me to my amazement that he was a pupil of David Singleton-Scarborough. "That's incredible!" I said. "It just so happens that his son is my boyfriend, so I know David quite well. In fact, out of term, I'm living at Octavia Avenue"

"It's strange that I've never seen you there," said Greg.

"That's because we use a different entrance to the house to David's pupils!" I said. "He likes to keep business and family separate. Have you got time for a drink after the rehearsal?" He agreed, so when we were free, we went across the street to the nearby pub. Greg told me that he was entered in the forthcoming International Mozart Singing Competition at Dunchester in July, and was considering the aria Wenn der Freude tränen fließen as one of his chosen test pieces. "My boyfriend Tommy told me that David came second in that competition in the nineteen-eighties! Did David tell you that?"

"No, he didn't."

"Die Entfürung is a pretty demanding opera," I said. "Are you going to be able to manage climbing up and down ladders as well as singing?"

"Oh, yes! You mentioned that you were dating David's son, so I assume that, like him, you are gay?"

"Yes, gay as a nine-pound note! Two of his three children, who're adopted of course, are gay."

"Are you keen on opera?"

"Yes! It's almost an obsession."

"Then why not come to Dunchester and hear me sing? Your boyfriend's father is going to be there. You might get a lift in his car."

It seemed a good idea. The term would be over by then, and my darling Tommy would not yet be back from Padua. I sent an SMS to David, who replied that it was fine for me to go with him, but that he was only staying two nights. I decided to stay for the final, a total of three nights which I was happy to pay for myself. I managed to get the last available room in an hotel in Dunchester, which is a pretty small place, with not a lot of accommodation.

I told Greg and he said that he was glad that I was going to be there to support him. His friends at the Royal Academy of Music were tied up in other activities and couldn't be there, and his parents were opposed to him becoming a professional singer, so he had had no further contact with them for several years. "What about your girlfriend? Surely there is a woman in your life, or even several?"

"No, I haven't got a girlfriend, I'm gay."

"You didn't tell me that when I said that I was! But surely you have a boyfriend or several, who might come and support you?"

"No, I'm a one-night stand guy."

"I had better watch out then! I'm in a relationship, which doesn't rule out sex with other men, but limits it."

"So you can suck but not fuck?"

"That's it, more or less."

"I bet you're a top!"

"No, I'm not, I'm versatile."

...

The opera performances went well. Greg sang beautifully each night, and got tremendous applause. The professional who sang Constanza was magnificent, and the whole production was a great success, covered its costs and raised a few hundred pounds for charity.