David Begins Graduate Study

[This story is set in England in the last quarter of the twentieth century, before cellphones and the Internet, before GPS and WiFi, and before our present social acceptance of homosexuality, before AIDS, before IVF, before surrogacy. A certain well-known female politician was British Prime Minister, but politics do not figure at all in this romantic, rather rose-coloured story. What do figure largely in the story are science, religion, classical music, singing, student life, explicit gay sex and crude talk. If some or all of these topics do not suit you, do not bother to begin reading.]

Chapter 1 Jon

Two Weeks in Milapoli

My name is Jonathan Singleton, and this story begins early in September in a year in the last quarter of the twentieth century. I was sitting in a pavement cafe drinking a cup of espresso coffee in the small Italian seaside town of Milapoli. I was waiting for David to come back from the local churches, where he had been exploring and taking photographs. While I have no objection to churches as such, particularly Italian ones, nevertheless I found that too many churches in one day rapidly palled and became tiring. So I let David wander around on his own and take photographs to his heart's content.

The day was hot, the time was 4 pm and there were few people around. I cast my mind back to when we had arrived in Milapoli four days before. On the train to Milapoli from Venice-Marco Polo airport, David had looked tired and short of sleep, and we had spent most of our first morning in the town in bed. But three days of sun, Mediterranean food, hot sex and visits to nearby cities had restored his youthful looks. The busy final year of his degree course in Camford University had been exhausting, even for a boy of just 22. I myself was glad of a break after nearly nine months of hard physical activity on the house we were building at Ixton, a village deep in the countryside of central England.

David Scarborough has been my boyfriend for the last three and a half years. I dislike the word 'partner.' He is a beautiful, tall blond boy, who looks and sings like an angel, and I dote on him. At two metres tall, he is the same height as me, but more muscular and more heavily built. He weighs about twenty kilos more than I do, and his body is rather hairy, but as all the hair is fair, you have to touch him to feel it. He has a deliciously big uncut cock, which sticks out of his dense, fair pubic bush. He recently graduated at St Boniface's College, Camford, my own college, with a first class degree in chemistry and received a studentship to carry out research in the Pharmacology department for a Ph.D. He loves swimming and walking, but due to pressure of work has given up playing basketball.

I picked up a copy of the local newspaper that someone had left on the table, and began to read it. My spoken Italian is rather limited, but I did not have much trouble in reading the language. There was to be a local fiesta at the weekend, and one of the attractions was an open-air singing competition. I supposed that it would be some kind of karaoke, where slightly inebriated festival-goers would be able to show off their vocal skills, for the entertainment of all. Being Italian, of course, singing meant operatic singing. If one wished to sing, one had to enroll the day before. I thought it might be nice for David to have a try in the competition.

I felt a hand running through my hair, and a voice said "Hi." I turned round and found myself gazing into the sweet face of my lover, which was rapidly browning with the Italian sunshine. He smiled, and a wave of tenderness passed over me, and my heart nearly melted within me.

"Have you got all the photos you needed?" I asked.

"Yes," he replied "and I've decided which church I want to go to on Sunday. Sant' Agostino is a beautiful little church, with a mass at 10 am on Sundays. I hope they have a written order of service, because otherwise I will be lost with the Italian. I wish there were an English church in Milapoli."

I should explain at this point that David is a religious obsessive. It may seem odd that an atheist like me should be so attracted to someone who is a fervent believer, but David's sweet, faithful and forgiving nature makes him a good advertisement for the Christian faith. He has even been known to preach to me in bed. How someone like that can let me fuck him, suck him and rim him without feeling guilty is a great mystery to me, and has often led to theological arguments between us. It just goes to confirm the old Latin saying 'Amor omnia vincit' (Love conquers all).

If the topics of religion, music, singing and (wait for it) chemistry are too "highbrow" for you, stop reading now, because they will get in the way of the sex. This story is no ordinary piece of gay erotica.

I told David about the singing competition, and he said "OK, I'll sign up, so that the accompanist can get the music. But on the day, you'll have to get me tanked up, because although I know the words of the aria, I've never sung it in public, and I'll be a total bundle of nerves."

"You'll be OK," I said, "and even if you make a hash of it, and I know you won't, it's just a piece of holiday fun. Now, we've just got time for an hour on the beach before we go and get some food."

"How the hell am I going to practise it? I can't do it on the beach or in a public building."

"You'll have to do it in the apartment," I said. "As long as you don't go on for hours, no Italian will object to hearing your lovely voice."

We went back to the apartment, put on bathing suits and over them jeans and T-shirts, grabbed towels and mats and headed for the nearby beach. People from northern climates, especially if they work indoors, really need exposure to moderate sunshine to build up their vitamin D levels. That is why they have white skins. We lay in the evening sun for an hour before returning to the apartment, changing our clothes and crossing the street to the small trattoria where we usually dined. As usual, we had a couple of glasses of Prosecco before our food, and then an excellent meal, during which when not eating, we surreptitiously fondled one another under the table. We got back to the apartment at 9-30, and I said to David, "Before we start to make love, just run through your piece for Sunday."

"I've got no music, so I'll have to do it from memory," he said. He began to sing 'Un' aura amorosa' from Mozart's 'Cosi fan Tutte.' I shivered in delight at his beautiful voice. He sang with great confidence and had no problem remembering all the words (It is, after all, a very short aria).

'A heart that's nourished by the hope of love/

needs no better food'

The minute he finished, I was on my feet, my arms around him, smothering him with kisses. I dragged him into the bedroom, pushed him on to the bed and pulled off his sandals and shorts. He pulled his T-shirt over his head, and I pulled down his briefs, revealing his monster cock in all its rock-hard glory. I kissed it briefly and began to tear my clothes off. In no time I was naked, and I knelt and got hold of his big dick and pushed it into my open mouth, with no nuzzling or licking. I did my best to swallow it, and David responded by enthusiastically fucking my mouth. He grasped the back of my head and thrust mercilessly for several delightful minutes until he came with a giggle rather than a shout. He squirted a small volume of come into my mouth. I savoured it for a minute before swallowing it, but there was not much for me to swallow. After several days of hectic lovemaking, we were both nearly dry.

He bent and began to kiss my hair. "I love you so much, my skinny boy," he said. "You are the only man I know with the build of a teenager!"

"Be careful what you say about teenagers," I replied "It's only three years since you were one yourself! Certain people in my lab accused me of baby-snatching when they found out that we were fucking. Anyway, let's go to bed. We can't get up late if are going to spend tomorrow in Ravenna."

Ravenna is a fascinating city that for many years was the Italian capital. We especially liked the two early sixth-century churches with their amazing mosaics, both dedicated to Sant' Apollinare, built by the Byzantine Emperors and their Arian Ostrogothic predecessors. David spent an hour obsessively taking photographs.

Chapter 2 Jon

The Singing Competition

In preparation for the competition, David decided to get his hair cut. We visited the local barber, who obviously did not get many English customers. With some difficulty and repetition of the phrase 'dieci centimetri,' David finally succeeded in getting his hair considerably shortened (it had almost reached his shoulders).

Sunday soon came, and the singing competition began at 4 pm. Apparently these competitions were a regular feature of the Milapoli holiday season. This particular month, the competition was for men's voices. There were about a dozen entrants and three judges. There were a lot of people present, not just residents of Milapoli, but also quite a lot of visitors. The idea was that the three best competitors would be asked to sing a second time without any prior rehearsal or any accompaniment, a different song.

Jon sang the Mozart flawlessly and got enormous applause. From the applause it was clear that the audience knew quality when they heard it, and I felt enormously proud of my faggot-boy. The other two finalists sang arias by Verdi and Puccini and were also very good. One was a tenor, the other a baritone. Both were swarthy Italians, not unattractive, but not bedworthy!

When it came to the final, however, it got a lot harder. The other two sang first. The tenor sang 'Una furtiva Lagrima' by Donizetti quite beautifully, the baritone sang an aria from 'Il Barbiere di Siviglia'. David of course did not have much of a repertoire and was forced to fall back on the Handel aria that he had sung at the choir's first concert in Camford, 'Enjoy the sweet Elysian grove.' It was not an ideal choice for an Italian audience as it was in English, but he sang it very well and the applause was good.

The judges conferred and David was ranked second. He got a fake silver medal and and an elaborate certificate. However one of the judges gave him a card with contact details and wrote on it 'Bravo!' He told David in heavily accented English that he should consider professional voice training and that if he did, he should contact a certain professor at the Royal Academy of Music in London, and mention his name. I urged David to make a careful note of the London professor's name.

The holiday continued just as enjoyably as it had begun. Our lovemaking became less frenetic as well as less frequent. We both acquired deep suntans (mine was merely reinforcing the tan that I had already acquired working on the building site at Ixton in the previous few months). We visited Verona, La Città dell'Amore, the city of love, where Romeo fell in love with Juliet. David insisted that we walked it hand in hand, and the romance obviously affected him deeply, because he was more than usually affectionate to me that night. Then we went to Bologna, Florence and Venice, we consumed lots of Prosecco and other wines, and returned to England much refreshed. We both vowed that one day, when we had enough money and time and especially if we had children, we would get a house in Italy.

My lover however found himself in a dilemma. Should he continue in his chosen path, or should he consider music college? My own reaction was very mixed. Much as I wanted him in my bed for the next three years, using his God-given talent to the best of his ability was part of the promise I had made to his father.

Chapter 3 David

Singing Lessons and New Jobs

We returned to Camford after a wonderful couple of weeks in Milapoli. I had a few days to spare before I was due to start work in the Pharmacology lab, so on Jon's insistence I rang the RAM professor's secretary and arranged a meeting in London, mentioning the name of the Italian judge.

I turned up at the College in Marylebone Road in a state of apprehension. I was received very kindly by the professor and asked to sing the aria I had sung in Milapoli. After that I was taken into a room with a piano and the professor asked me to sightread a test piece, a song by Vaughan Williams. After this we went back to his office. I explained that I was just about to start a Ph.D. in pharmacology, but that I would like to continue lessons in singing, preferably in Camford on a part-time basis. I told him that I had passed Grade 8 in flute.

"Your musical skills are well up to those needed for admission to professional musical training," he said, "but I can understand that with your background you may not wish to become a professional singer.

"Accordingly, what I advise is lessons from Dr Marcello Fabioni, a part-time tutor in the Camford University Music Department. He is not a cheap teacher, but he could develop your vocal skills at a more leisurely pace than fulltime professional training."

I thanked him and returned to Camford, still in a state of indecision. When I told Jon about it he said "If you want to have lessons with Fabioni, I'll pay for them. I promised your father that I would do all in my power to foster your talent. But are you sure you want to continue with doctoral training?"

"I'm a scientist," I said "and that's the way I want to earn my living. But I would like to continue with singing lessons, so although I don't want to be your kept boy, I gratefully accept your very kind offer and I love you more than ever. Do you feel like a fuck?"

"No! I'm not after immediate gratification! I want what you think is best for yourself. I know you well enough to respect your judgement. You're not a teenager any longer." And with that, he kissed me affectionately.

I decided to approach Dr Fabioni by letter. In reply, I got a phone call from him giving me an appointment for an audition. This was fixed for the end of October, and on the first of October, I started my new job as Ph.D. student.

While all this was going on, Jon had been busy with frequent trips to Ixton. Work was well advanced on what we later started to call "the Afterthought," the frontage extension to the building, and it was hoped to get the stonework and slate roofing complete before the bad weather began, after which work could resume on fitting out the building. At the end of September, Jon bade farewell to the builders and left the site knowing that future visits would be short and mainly at weekends. He gave his phone number to Don, the gay apprentice on the site, and told him to get in touch at once if he had problems with his relationship. On the first of October, he also started his new job as postdoctoral assistant in the chemistry Department.

Jonathan Singleton is my lover and life-companion. He is tall but thin, with dark, crewcut hair, considerable wealth inherited from his late father, a beautiful speaking voice and great personal charm, which, because of his reserved and introvert nature is not apparent to many people. His black body hair is sparse except round his pubes, where it is very thick and his average size, circumcized cock peeps out of the dense bush. His shoulders and hips are narrow, but muscular, and the neatly rounded globes of his arse make me constantly want to run my hands over them. He is a skilled chemist, computer expert, founder and funder of two charitable foundations, and has helped me enormously in my personal development during my student time. He is currently a postdoctoral research worker in the Camford University Chemical Laboratory. I owe him undying gratitude for all that he has given to me, including himself, and I feel honoured as well as uncouth and unworthy to be his fancy-boy. No amount of crude comments about me being a faggot or a kept boy can upset me. My relationship with Jon enriches and enables me and I am proud to be loved by such a man. Moreover I am grateful to God for giving me a man like Jon to love me, inspire me and care for me. To have such a friend is the nearest experience one can have of the love and care that God has for all of us, and human love is a great treasure just because it foreshadows the joy that God's love can bring to human beings.

Chapter 4 Jon

Life in Camford

Because the interval between finishing his Master's study and resuming in the lab had been so short, David had no difficulty in settling down and beginning his doctoral research. He still went on the weekly trips to the pub that were the custom in his laboratory. Because we were both working relatively long hours in the lab, we only cooked at home about once a week and on the other nights ate in the Sparrowhawk (our local pub) or at a student restaurant. After the hecticness of the need for David to complete his Master's dissertation and our holiday in Italy, back in Camford life seemed rather humdrum and routine.

David had decided not to go back to playing basketball, but to concentrate such leisure time as he had on singing. He was accepted into the Camford Bach choir without an audition and had to spend one night a week practising with them. We still dined in college twice a week. There was some doubt as to what David should wear in Chapel: because he was technically no longer a scholar, he wore his scholar's gown instead of a surplice and looked a lot less pretty.

The oral examination for his M.Chem. degree passed uneventfully without any problems, and he arranged to take it at the same time as his bachelor's degree in the December degree congregation. I would be present at the same congregation to take my M.A. and Ph.D. degrees.

At the end of October, David turned up at the University music Department for his first lesson with Marcello Fabioni. On this occasion, he was not allowed to sing a number of his own choice, he was asked to sightread three separate pieces representing a variety of different styles of tenor singing. Fabioni did not make any concessions over linguistic knowledge: one piece was in English, one in Latin and one in Italian. He arranged for David to use the practice room in the University music rooms, so that he was not obliged to practise at home very often, although that possibility still existed. It was arranged that David would have lessons once every two weeks, and these were arranged to be at 5 pm so as to prevent interference with his work in the lab. He soon fell into a routine, because he was able to practice on one lunch-hour during the week and on Saturday morning. We both were obliged to spend time in the lab on a Saturday morning, and our Saturday morning swimming was shifted to the afternoon. This meant that our afternoon sex had to take place on Saturday evenings.

My laboratory project was rather different from my doctoral work, although it involved the same techniques, with a good deal of desk and computer-based work. However, like David I was still working in the old laboratory with the old colleagues so there was no dramatic change in my daily activities. Just as it had been during my Ph.D. studies, I was able to work from home on one or two days a week. There were a few comments from my colleagues about whether I missed my fancy-boy.

Chapter 5 Jon

Robin's Visit

One of my major interests (some people might say obsession) is the planting and promotion of new woodland in England. To that end, I had established with a hefty donation a Trust to promote new woodland planting. Because of my new job, I did not have time to visit the afforestation sites, so I summoned Robin Banks to Camford to report on progress on the Derbyshire site. Robin manages the planting and advises on the acquiring of additional land by purchase or lease. He is a closet gay. By now his boyfriend Arnold had graduated from Exminster, and I was curious to know whether he had got a job and what plans the two of them had. I said that we needed a full day to discuss things and suggested that he drove up on a Wednesday early in November, and stayed in our spare room for two nights, returning home on the Friday. I had arranged for a day off from my work in the lab. We had both just got in from our respective labs when he arrived. To my embarrassment, he greeted me by embracing me and kissing me on the lips. He then did the same with David.