The Adventures of Urlen – Chapter 7
He was a year older than me but seemed far more mature. When Thierry was captain of the rugby team he was the blind-side wing-forward and his solid play was sometimes overlooked on account of Thierry's open-side brilliance. Moreover in the changing rooms and showers he was one of the shy ones, wrapping himself tightly in a towel on the way to and from the shower and modestly turning his back when he got changed. He had very dark hair, dark brown eyes and a superb physique. He was good at all games and was one of those guys who never said very much but whom you listened to with close attention when he spoke. His full name was Victor Lunt, and when we wanted to tease him we called him "Sir Pricked Her Cunt" because this always annoyed him. But all he said was "You'll grow out of it one day."
I remember scribbling a piece about what it was like to masturbate. There was spunk all over the place, if I recall it rightly. Unfortunately I left it on my desk and Vic found it there one day when he came to have coffee. He smiled wisely and said that every one went through a phase like that. In my innocence I understood him to mean that by the time you reached 20 most young men, including him, had given up wanking long ago. I sometimes wondered what he did instead, as I never saw him out with a girl or heard of any girlfriend. He seemed a private sort of person and was much influenced by his father, who was a farmer and who had attended the same College about twenty five years earlier. He had told his only son not to get entangled in romantic feelings and to be a responsible member of the College community. Vic certainly did his best to follow this advice. He obeyed the rules of our community but the strength of his hormones gave him problems and it must have given him hell when he found that he couldn't help finding me attractive. He held out valiantly against these feelings but I knew how he felt because he came to my room almost every day when we were free of classes, sometimes just sitting there and letting me do the talking. I liked him very much but at first I didn't think of him in a sexual way. I was busy experimenting with sex with one or two others at the time and would have been mightily embarrassed if Vic had found out. I saw him as a role model, somehow pure and very, very masculine and I came to depend on his presence and friendship.
The denouement arrived when our last rugby match together had been played and the Easter vacation was about to start. His father expected him home to help on the farm and I was due to leave by train for my home in the north of England. While I was packing my things into my suitcase he came to my room and sat down at my desk, watching me. When I was ready to go he stood up, came over to where I was lingering by door, took me in his arms (though I was carrying my case) and kissed me clumsily on the lips. I suppose it was his way of confessing his pent-up emotion, but at the time I was stunned. Mighty, wonderful Vic had so far forgotten himself that he was admitting to feelings he had been repressing for at least a year. But he was murmuring in my ear … "Come and stay with me during the vac …..I'll ring you up." I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I didn't know how I felt : all excited, puzzled, worried, anxious, but above all CONFUSED. But I trusted and liked him very much (admired would be a better word to express my feelings) and I stammered that yes, I'd like to come and hurried out of the room to catch a bus to the railway station. I was so confused that I forgot my overcoat and had to return to my room to find it. He was still there, sitting down again at my desk, looking so sorrowful that my heart went out to him. I just managed to say a husky "Goodbye again" before leaving, tears pricking in my eyes. It was an emotional moment.
On the train journey home I thought about him a lot and I wondered if he really would phone. I reckoned that once he was back at home, he'd think better of his invitation. I felt less confused – with time – though I knew I would go if he asked. I was therefore quite surprised when he came on the phone after only a few days of the vacation, saying he had asked his parents if I could stay; they were happy to have me and suggested I spend five days with them, helping "down on the farm." So it was agreed and the following Monday I took the train south and was met by Vic and his mother at the station closest to their home.
She was a lovely, vivacious person – quite young, pretty in a dark kind of way, with Vic's dark hair and eyes. She told me later that she would have liked to have had more children but that there were complications at Vic's birth and she had been advised not to have any more. Vic drove us in a Landrover to the farm, with its long approach track across fields full of cows. There was a large kitchen, warmed by an Aga, which served as the main living-room. The house itself was quite small and when I was shown up to my room I found that it was Vic's bedroom which I was sharing and that an extra bed had been put in along the length of the room so that my head was not far from his feet, as it were. Soon it was time for tea and to meet Vic's dad, who had been out in the fields. He was an imposing man, tall, with a serious demeanour and a farmer's air of being continually busy. Like Vic he didn't speak much, but what he said counted. He seemed pleased to see me and his wife rapidly made me feel at home. It was Vic I was nervous about – he seemed ill at ease, though obviously happy that I was there and I wondered what turmoil was going on in that deep, deep mind.
The evening passed mostly in conversation with his mother about our lives at College and how much it prepared one for life afterwards. She was wholly unsuspicious of any feelings (which she would have thought of as "unnatural") between Vic and me and wished us "Goodnight" with warm hospitality when the household went to bed. I went to the bathroom first to wash and by the time I got back to our bedroom, Vic was in his pyjama trousers and left to take my place in the bathroom. I got into bed with just my underpants on (I'd given up wearing pyjamas) and started reading a book and Vic came back and got into his bed. He didn't say much – just "Did I read for long?" and I said I'd be ready to put the light out in about ten minutes. I couldn't see him because my back was towards his bed, but I could visualize him leaning on his pillow, glowering and fighting with his inhibitions. I reached the end of my chapter and looked round for the light switch which was by the door. To get to it I had to get out of bed, so I jumped out and switched it off, but not before I had seen Vic, glowering just as I had imagined. And he had seen me. His eyes followed me as I returned to my bed but he made no movement and a long silence ensued. I remembered his kiss and his look of sadness when I returned for my coat and I was happy just to be there with him. I've omitted to say that he had a superb body, with wide shoulders, a slim waist and powerful thighs, and while the silence went on and on I thought about what I really knew of him : that he was to be depended on and that in his reserved way he really cared for me. I'd seen him once taking a shower when he was unaware that I was looking. He had low-slung balls, lots of black pubic hair and a dick with a long foreskin which in its unaroused state looked somehow shrivelled. Probably one of those that swell up hugely when they get excited! So when he suddenly broke the silence with almost a gasp of pain, I was completely unprepared for what he said. "Urlen" (almost a croak) …. "Urlen" (now low and urgent) …. "Come here."
"Vic?" I replied, as if doubting what he had said.
"Come here" he said, with low-voiced desperation.
I hesitated. He wanted me to join him in his bed and I wanted to join him. I had been moved by his arms around me at the end of the Easter term and the kiss he had given me.
"You'll be gentle with me, won't you?" I said – words which must have been spoken a million times before when a seduction has been agreed to.
"Of course" he said.
And with that I got out of my own bed and went to his. His strong arms pulled me in beside him and I lay clasped closely to him, extremely excited and thinking "God, this is Vic …. VIC!" I felt oddly embarrassed that my dick was pressing into his lower belly and I could feel through the thickness of his pyjamas and my pants the hardness of his rod pressing up against me. He was pressing himself closer and closer and fastening his lips on mine and I was ready to burst with the excitement. So apparently was he, because suddenly he let go the pressure and cursed (a rare thing with him) "Bloody hell, I've made a mess of my pyjamas, I'll have to go to the bathroom" and began to clamber out of the bed over my body. To begin with I was not sure what had happened and was just sorry the excitement had come to an end so suddenly, but then I realized that he had had a premature ejaculation and had gone to clean up. This was a shame for both of us, but Vic must have felt rotten. After so much restraint to make such a mess of things!
I realized that it would be better to return to my bed and when he came back from the bathroom he got quickly back into his bed, growled "Goodnight" and we both went to sleep.
The next morning he scarcely looked at me, he was so downcast. But I was cheerful, especially as his parents had planned a full day of activities for us on the farm and he soon resumed his normal quiet but dependable self. Looking back on it after thirty years I think we were both a little in love with each other in our different ways. Though he seemed so mature, he was in fact still maturing; whereas my admiration was for someone to whom I looked up and for whose manly and caring attention I was grateful. But of the strength of the feelings involved, immature or not, there was never any doubt : they were intense and sharp.
The day improved as it went on and even his father was quite talkative at the evening meal. Vic and I both knew that bed-time would bring us a new kind of test – to avoid the catastrophe of the previous night and to keep ourselves from being completely overwhelmed. We went to bed just as we had the night before, but with a heightened consciousness of what was to come; and it was not long before I put my book down, got out of bed to switch the light out - and went straight to Vic's waiting arms. He pressed himself against me and I could feel how aroused he was. With his arms round me he kissed me, then drew his hand down to my waist, resting his fingers on the elastic of my pants for a moment before exploring for my dick and then holding it through the cotton material. "God, it's long" he breathed, "How do you get hold of it?" For answer I dropped my pants to my feet, took out my 8 inches and let his hand feel for it. He suppressed a kind of moan as his hand closed round it, then moved his fingers up to my foreskin and gently eased it back. "It's wet" he exclaimed as he came in contact with the glans, all slippery with pre-cum. "Have you come off?"
Maybe he thought I, too, had had a premature ejaculation, but I told him that it was a preliminary fluid "that came before the main charge, as it were." He listened intently and then said that he never got that. I took this as an invitation to start my own explorations, so I, too, put my hands on the waist band of his pyjamas and copied the movements he had made on me. With a sigh he rolled over onto his back and helped me undo the button that held his fly, then guided my hand down to his dick. If he'd been surprised by my length, I was amazed by his thickness. I gently peeled his long foreskin back. It was loose and moved easily and I discovered that his glans, the outline of which was difficult to trace when his dick was limp, was small in comparison with the girth of his shaft. I eased my thumb and forefinger over the head, which was dry and smooth and then down to that splendid shaft, wrapping my hand round its astonishing thickness. Gently I stroked it, up and down. It had a lovely easy motion (so much for my theory that he had outgrown wanking!) and it seemed to have a mind of its own, swelling even larger, then relaxing a touch, then swelling again. I could tell he was on edge and suddenly he grabbed my hand, took it away and replaced it with his own. He gave a few quick strokes, groaned through clenched teeth "I'm going to cum" and then the force of his orgasm made his whole body shudder. No premature ejaculation this time! When his spasms were spent and his hand had stopped moving he rolled onto his side and clasped my body to his so that the juice on his stomach was sandwiched stickily between our two skins. It felt wonderful - and we lay like that until his regular breathing told me had gone to sleep.
Carefully I crept out of his bed and back to mine, feeling that a wonderful thing had happened. And I went to sleep quickly and happily – no orgasm for me that night!
In the morning we were all smiles. Vic's mother popped her head inside the door and asked if we had slept well and we both chorused "Yes!" Then it was time to get up and start the day's activities. I remember that we went to a swimming pool and that we both had such untameable erections that we had to keep diving into the water for fear that others would notice. That night, Wednesday, was just as wonderful and so was Thursday. On one of those nights I asked him if I could put the light on so that we could have a look at each other, but he said "No". He was modest and seemed to prefer sexual activity in the dark under the sheets. He always brought himself to his final climax and let me do so too, making no attempt to bring me off himself. On the Friday night (our last together) we were so passionate that we both came off twice - the second time together. After falling asleep in each other's arms we found, when we awoke in the early hours, that we were almost glued together by the dried sperm. We had to move gingerly to separate.
The following morning (Saturday) was our last together and when his mother put her head round the door we were still asleep (in our own beds!) She said "Breakfast in half an hour". "OK" we said, wearily. Vic got up first to go to the bathroom (he had a lot to wash off) and when he got back I had just got out of bed and was standing in my underpants looking for the clothes I would travel back home in. He took off his dressing gown and stood there in his underpants – a wonderful sight with his strong, lithe body and the exciting "bulge" which I had got to know so well. "I'd better say 'Goodbye' now" he muttered, and advancing over the room towards me, he put his arms round me and kissed me for the last time, pressing that wonderful body up against mine. Instantly our dicks stood to attention and then he did a surprising thing : he sank slowly to his knees so that his head was level with my stiffened rod and gently lifted my underpants out and over the tent which my dick was making and dropped them to the floor. He took my dick lovingly in his hand and whispered "God, it's wonderful … lets lie on the bed for one last time."
This time we lay on mine (he felt fairly sure his mother would not come in unless we were late for breakfast) and so for the first and only time I saw his engorged dick – thick, massive and urgent. Quickly I peeled back that long foreskin and gently moved it back and forth, up and down that superb shaft. As before, as he felt his climax approaching, he removed my hand and worked himself to orgasm with his own. And what a show he put on as he "came" : jet after jet of thick white cream landing in long ribbons on his belly. It was difficult to believe after the night before that he could still have so much spunk in him!
Now it was my turn. I liked to keep my foreskin retracted, leaving the glans exposed and massaging the sensitive spot under the head with my pre-cum. Vic watched in fascination as I worked myself up to a climax, not as spectacular as his but extremely satisfying. None of this took very long and it was two quiet and rather subdued young men who took their places on time at his mother's breakfast table.
When we got to the railway station Vic looked vacant (as well as exhausted!) as I got into the railway carriage. He didn't show any emotion in front of his mother but it was a sad moment. For just short of a week we had been in love with each other and done things the world told us were wrong but which we had found compellingly natural. And now it was all over.
In fact we were never to see each other again because he pulled out of his College course the following term. However, not long ago I received a College magazine which noted the careers and families of the students in our years and I saw that he was still a farmer, living at the same address and that he was married and had two daughters. I have no doubt that he is a loyal and loving husband and a devoted father. He had a great capacity for love and he respected the rules and conventions of our time – all except for that amazing week of sexual abandon when he was in his last year at College. Even at the height of our excitement during that week I knew that those heavy hormones of his were just waiting for the right girl to come along and that I would be consigned to history as part of his sexual development. I was sad, but I had College to return to and my life before me, while he had to start on his full-time work on the farm. We were young enough not to let those five days of passion interfere with out future lives. But I have never forgotten him and treasure the memory of those days to this day.
He was a great guy.
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