Chapter 7. Passing the Test
Author's note
: For the benefit of non-British readers, universities in the UK offer places to students based on the grades they are required to get in their 'A'-level exams, taken around the age of 18. These are normally stated as 'Three As' or 'An A and two Bs', as most students specialise in just three subjects at this level. So a student might say 'I've had an offer of three Bs from Bristol', for example. (Nowadays, A grades are much more common than they used to be, so there's the added component of 'with Merit' or 'with Distinction'). If a university really wanted a particular student, they would make an 'unconditional' offer - the place was there regardless of grades achieved. Oxford and Cambridge colleges, and some other prestigious establishments, also had their own entrance exams and interview process.
*****
My interview was scheduled for 11:15. I arrived for breakfast around eight and sat with Phoebe, who was already there, looking a little dishevelled but still, in my eyes, pretty. We kissed.
"Yolanda doesn't seem too happy this morning," I remarked, looking across at the curvy blonde.
"Yes. She told me she took two of the rugby types back to her room last night," Phoebe replied.
"Two? Wow! That's adventurous."
"Yah, but she said it didn't live up to her expectations," Phoebe replied with a smug smile on her face.
"How so?"
"She said they both fucked her, but they couldn't make her come. It was only when one of them ate her pussy that she had an orgasm, and then not a strong one. She said his moustache kept tickling her and put her off. Meanwhile, both of them came in her mouth, and she said the taste was nasty."
"Whereas mine was delicious, according to my local cum connoisseur," I smiled back at her.
"Well, 'delicious' might be taking it a bit far, but yah, I told her. And that we'd both come three times."
"What? You told her about us..."
"Of course! Just because she's pretty, she seems to think she's entitled to great sex. I wanted to show her that she was wrong about you, and probably about me too. I think she thought I was just a virgin geek. I guess she might be a little disappointed that she swapped with me last night."
I would have found the look of self-satisfaction on Phoebe's face somewhat irritating if it hadn't been put there by my success in giving her - and myself - significant sexual pleasure. I smiled back.
When she was called for her interview at ten, I pondered some more on what to say when I was called. I'd lain awake until about two AM, alternately grinning like an idiot, remembering my impromptu sexual adventure with Phoebe and then agonising about the upcoming interview. Now I applied a technique Jill had taught me - and the whole class - called 'Mind Mapping'. It was a great way of summarising your thoughts, playing the game of consequences that led to the ultimate revelation. This aspect of the problem (or solution) leads to this, leads to that - and so on. By eleven, I realised I had the makings of a coherent answer to the question "Why do you want to come to this college?"
The panel comprised two of the people I'd heard speak the night before and one or two I hadn't previously seen. There were several crusty old men, and also a couple of middle-aged women. They had name-cards in front of them but they didn't bother to introduce themselves. I scanned the panel to see who I should focus my answers on; obviously the chairman, or whoever asked a question, but I felt one of the ladies might appreciate my boyish charms and slightly rakish look.
They asked me about my background, why I'd chosen History as a subject, my interests and hobbies. Finally, they got to the question I'd been anticipating. I glanced down at my mindmap, looked the chairman in the eye and started.
"I won't insult you by quoting Santayana, but a sound understanding of history is crucial for anyone capable of shaping the future of their employer, their country or the world - even shaping themselves. It's not sufficient to
know
history. If we don't
understand
it, we can never really learn from it. Every action is that proverbial stone dropped in a pool of water; if you like, one move in a game of consequences. The ripples will go out and on to affect things that were never meant to happen, and only by having a firm grasp of not just what happened but
why
it happened and its full consequences can we hope to shape the future."
So far, the reaction seemed good. I next looked at Professor Edmonds.
"And shaping the future is what this establishment, and every other one like it, is about, isn't it? You, sir, Professor Edmonds, said last night that the college was ready to enter the 21st Century. But while
you
will shape
us
, it is
we
, the students, the next generation, who will ultimately seek to shape the century ahead of us. Right now, I'm eighteen. I currently have no clear idea of how I could best employ a History degree from Oxford. I'm hoping that, over the next three years, that will become much clearer. But I do know that whichever path I choose - politics, journalism, the civil service, the diplomatic corps, academia, teaching - I will, in some way, shape the future, if only by influencing others. That's a powerful responsibility, and one of which I'm acutely aware."
I was watching for the body language. The odd contemplative pout, the slightest nod of the head. Yes, I felt I was getting there. One of the women I'd identified earlier seemed to be looking at me with interest, so I directed my gaze toward her and continued.
"My wonderful History teacher helped mould me with care, but I'm still a blunt instrument, lacking maturity and edge. I'm hoping this college, with its excellent reputation for producing great historians, effective politicians and above all
thinkers
, will give me that edge. I would like to sharpen my skills to the point where I can cut a way through the future with knowledge and perception, and not have to beat a path through sheer perseverance. And in so doing, I hope to carve a legacy that both I and this college can be proud of." I felt I could see a few nods and the odd expression that seemed to say 'He's thought about it and appears to understand what this is about.'
When I left the room, I was confident that I'd done as well as I could. I sought out Phoebe.
"Oh, I'm worried," she said. Her face bore a rather concerned expression.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"When they asked me about my ambitions, I started stammering. I mean, I'd done all the preparation, and I felt confident going in there, but I got the impression that they didn't like me. Maybe I just talked too much."
I thought that there was a distinct possibility that she could be right, but I wanted her to win her place as much as I wanted my own. What we'd done the previous evening felt not only special but something we both wanted to repeat. I liked her. She was fun, and also a spectacular fuck - not something I would have thought when she'd appeared beside me at the meal on the previous evening. Any disappointment I may have felt at having been unable to test my charms on the sexy Yolanda was washed away on a tide of Phoebe's pussy juices as her ankles bounced on my shoulders. Any doubts I may have had about this entitled, upper-class geek, were removed when she screamed 'Fuck my slutty cunt!' (Or, to be phonetically accurate, 'Fack may slatty kant!') Frankly, I wanted more.
"Hey, Phoebe, you aced the entrance exam, I'm sure you did well enough in the interview, and they'll make allowances for nervousness. You just need your grades now, and I guess that'll be a formality."
"I guess so. Can we - can we go somewhere?"
"OK. Just let me change my clothes. I feel overdressed in a suit and tie."
I changed into a t-shirt and jeans and joined Phoebe at the gatehouse. She still had on the same short summer dress she'd worn at the interview (I guess as a tactic to interest the panel's male members' male members). We left our bags with the porter and headed out.
The 'somewhere' we found was a punt-hire place on the Cherwell, just down from Magdalen College.
"Come on," I said. "Let me be a gentleman and punt my lady friend along the river." She smiled. I smiled back.
And then we were drifting down the river, with me occasionally dribbling river water from the end of the pole onto my jeans and trainers, while she lay back on the cushions in the bottom of the shallow craft, stretching out her long, skinny legs for me to admire. Her cute mini-dress just seemed to accentuate the length of those legs.
And then - and then she reached under the skirt and pulled down her panties, sliding them off. She lay back, lifting the hem of her skirt to her waist. "Cunt in a punt?" she said, looking at my expression, which must've been one of undisguised lust.
I found a spot to beach the punt, avoiding the side with the footpath, and scurried up the bank, slipping behind a tree and some bushes. It was a Tuesday afternoon near the end of term, so there were fewer people around than we might have expected. My back was against the tree as she came within a hair's-breadth of sucking me off. Then she stood as I knelt, holding her skirt up as I again demonstrated my vaginarian skills. There's something unbelievably sexy about licking a bald pussy that you don't get from pushing your tongue through a mat of hair. Phoebe certainly felt the benefit of all that plucking.
And then she did something that few girls could do. She lifted her leg so it was vertical, her face pressed against her shin. "Fuck me like this," she breathed, hoarsely. I retrieved my last condom, and moments later, I slid into that tight, wet little hole. Maybe it was my fingers rubbing her clit, maybe it was her whispering filthy expletives into my ear, maybe it was the position or the risk of discovery, but neither of us lasted very long. I was palming her nipple, rubbing her clit and thrusting as deep as I could in that weird, standing position, my cock going in at almost ninety degrees from the normal angle, and she was moaning and gasping. And then she sighed "Oh yes, I'm coming!" And I let go, pressing my body tightly against hers.
