Lue at University

[Earlier chapters should be read first]

[In one respect all my stories are unreal: they lack the element of violence that creeps into many events involving man-man sexual relationships. Although this is a shortcoming which I acknowledge, I make no apology for writing soft and romantic (as well as highbrow) stories that make the reader, as well as myself, feel happy, even if the language is crude in places.]

Chapter 41

Luke and Tom's second year begins

When we got back to England, Cathy had already resumed school. She was now in her last year and would be doing A Levels and application to Oxbridge, with other universities as a second string.

Pop very kindly came to Rockwell's Barn and helped us in the 4x4 to move our stuff into our new college room. The contrast between the move this year and the previous year was striking. Then I had been dumped on the pavement outside Buckingham and left to fend for myself. Now not only had I a lover carrying some of the bags, but Pop solicitously assisting! We greeted the head porter cheerily as we collected our keys and headed for our new room in the eighteenth-century part of the college. To our surprise, the room had been redecorated rather attractively, and secondary double-glazing installed, making it warmer and draught-free. There were comfortable window seats at the base of each of the big first-floor windows. The en-suite bathroom meant that we could both use it at the same time if we wished.

The big news both at home and in the University was the appointment of Uncle Edward as Parker Professor of Ecclesiastical History, which carried with it attachment as Professorial Fellow of Sanguis Christi College, so he would be leaving Boni's, to the great regret of Pop and Dad who would miss their frequent Sunday night High Table evenings. Pop and Dad would still dine in Boni's regularly, but the absence of their old friend would be deeply felt, and the college would be looking for a new chaplain.

In Buckingham, Tom and I could now dine at formal dinner each night if we wished and could whoop it up with the choir in Hall after Sunday Evensong. There was almost always an air of alcoholic celebration by the choir after our hard work singing the Sunday office. Tom and I created a small stir among our choir colleagues when we turned up at the first evensong of the term in our new surplices. I have to admit that Tom did look slightly awkward in his surplice, which is not a very macho garment, but I loved him for insisting on wearing it.

Buckingham was a small college with only around 100 undergraduates in each year. The Hall for instance would only hold 200 persons at a sitting. The college's intention was to expand its graduate student number, which was cheaper as it was not essential to provide graduates with accommodation. At that time, the college had 100 or so graduates on its books. The buildings consisted of two large quadrangles joined together, one dating from the seventeenth century, the other from the eighteenth century, and there was no space for further building. It had always been a poor college, unable for example to help the Royalist cause in the Civil War, until the twentieth century, when the militantly gay, wealthy, enormously popular modern artist Paul Zebedee, an alumnus, left the college £10M when he died of an infection following AIDS in the late nineteen eighties. In modern terms such a sum does not go far, but it had been wisely invested in city centre property in Camford, and brought in a significant and relatively secure and stable income. One of the conditions of Zebedee's bequest had been that the college should remain a men-only institution, and that such a policy should be enshrined in the college statutes. This of course seriously offended the radical feminist movement, but it was clear that nothing could be done to upset the condition except Parliamentary intervention, which was not forthcoming.

Buckingham had basically two types of undergraduate. There were the aesthetes, the most intelligent students who made the biggest contribution to the position of Buckingham in the academic 'league table' of the colleges. Many of this group were gay. The other type consisted of the hearties, the muscular, sporty, hard-drinking products of English 'Public' schools, of whom only a very small proportion were openly gay. They were into rowing, rugby football and other rough sports, rather than men. They were archetypal heterosexual alpha males. The aesthetes did not feel threatened by them, because when sober, the hearties were always polite and well-mannered. It goes without saying that the two groups did interact to some extent, but really only sexually! This of course is a crude oversimplification, but serves to summarize the college. It is however a big strongpoint of the collegiate system that Buckingham could hold the loyalty and commitment of both these two disparate groups, and neither Tom nor I ever felt uncomfortable anywhere in college. In making the distinction of course, it was very important not to go by appearances, since while my slight and skinny build fairly characterized me as a member the aesthete group, Tom looked from his hairy muscularity much more like a hearty than an aesthete. It was not of course possible to know how much sexual activity actually took place in college, and the bedders (lady bedmakers) were very discreet, even if occasionally they had to deal with messy situations. The 'young gentlemen' were nearly always generous with their end-of-term tips for the bedders.

Tom was making great strides as a singer, and one quiet evening I produced a piece of paper and asked him to sing what was on it without accompaniment. It was the words and music of Dad's favourite encore item and his personal gay anthem, 'Dear pretty, pretty youth' by Thomas Shadwell, set to music by Henry Purcell. I knew that it would appeal very strongly to Tom, because of his attachment to my father.

'Dear pretty youth, unveil your eyes,

How can you sleep when I am by?

Were I with you all night to be,

Methinks I could from sleep be free.

Alas, my dear, you're cold as stone:

You must no longer lie alone.

But be with me my dear, and I in each arm

Will hug you close and keep you warm.'

He loved it and sang it faultlessly. "You'll definitely NOT be singing that in the choir!" I joked. That academic year, we had a new Organ Scholar, and he was keen to make the choir better known, by performing in Camford outside the chapel and even by short tours of the choir round parts of Europe. Years ago, my father had been deeply involved in such activities in St Boniface's, but then it had been mainly tours in Northern Europe. The new organ scholar was looking at Italy or Spain.

It was only at this time that I realized that Tom and I would not after all be able to occupy our new room for two successive years, because my third year would be spent at an Italian university, as an obligatory part of my degree course. I had decided to opt to go as an Erasmus student to the University of Bologna, for a number of reasons, the main one being that it was the oldest university in Europe, and possibly in the world. The Erasmus scheme allows free interchange of university students within the European Union. As we both had four-year degree courses, rather unusual in Camford, it was decided that Tom would move into the flat in Fountain Street and share it with my parents for that year. By then, Cathy would be at University. When five of us were in the flat, it was overcrowded! He and I would move back into college for our final year. When Dad was off on tour, Tom and Pop could either cook for one another or share their loneliness over a beer and a meal at the Sparrowhawk. That, I thought, should stop Tom relapsing into the lonely depression of his first Camford term, which might happen if he were living in a single room in college.

Although it was impossible for either of us to get a good night's sleep if we shared a narrow college bed, that did not prevent us after daytime or early evening sex from cuddling up together in bed to talk. I told Tom that although my parents never of course talked directly to me about their sex-life, they did at times let odd facts slip. Pop told me once that before he came to faith, and was still an atheist, Dad would frequently argue with him about belief and would even, as he put it, preach to him in bed. I told Tom that although I too would like him to come to belief, I was not good at preaching in bed! Tom's reply was to kiss my hair and caress my chest.

Although, as I have said, Dad's family is very kissy-kissy, a phrase I first heard my grandfather use, no-one could kiss me like Tom did. For a person who claimed to have no sexual experience, his lovemaking skills impressed me enormously. More and more I was realizing how good my choice of man had been. Instinct is often a better guide to choosing a partner than conscious deliberate choice! Besides, sharing a room with another man without intimacy is difficult, and if only one of the two is gay, nearly impossible. Looking round in college, even I, with my poorly developed sense of gaydar, could see several men who were obviously items with their neighbours or roommates, and Buckingham being the college it was, no-one found it strange or worthy of comment.

One of the results of Tom's summer job at the Men's Fitness Centre was that he was enrolled as a temporary employee, rather than an intern, or a casual worker, the understanding being that he was a regular August holiday relief worker. This entitled him to the employee benefit of using the facilities for an hour on a Tuesday after the Club had closed at 9 pm, even when he was not actually working. Employees were also allowed to bring one guest, providing that he was male. So most Tuesdays found us with perhaps ten or a dozen others using the pool for that hour. Most of the male employees who invited guests to this after-hours event were gay. Indeed one wondered if it was a place to which they invited the men that they had picked up. It was probably not advisable to visit the toilets during this period. There was inevitably some sexual tomfoolery in the showers after the swim session, but there was a definite terminus at 10 pm when unbribable security guards came round and rapidly saw all the pool- and fitness room-users off the premises.

Chapter 42

Academic topics

In the preceding couple of years, Pop had taken on an additional tutoring job, this time in the Chemical Laboratory rather than a college. The failings of the twenty-first century school educational system, and the complexities of the Camford dual admission system, meant that many first- and even second-year chemistry undergraduates without A Level mathematics had weak numeracy skills, and Pop had been recruited to teach these otherwise very bright teenagers some essential techniques in the field of mathematics that had been neglected at school level. They seemed to know very little for example about logarithms, which are essential in any understanding of thermodynamics and the concept of pH. As a direct result of this job, in the course of the previous year Pop had become acquainted with a handsome, very intelligent post-doc called Colin Vaughan, who was anxious to get some teaching experience. As soon as Pop heard on the grapevine that Buckingham was looking for a chemistry tutor at junior fellowship level, he urged Colin to apply for the job. The appointment had been made urgent by the fact that the first year intake at Buckingham included five men wanting to read chemistry. Colin was offered and accepted the job just before the beginning of the Martinmas term.

When we arrived in college, Tom found waiting for him a note from Dr Vaughan asking him to attend a meeting with him and the new first year students for coffee in his shared college teaching room on the first Wednesday of term. Colin Vaughan was a Camford chemistry graduate, so he was well acquainted with the tutorial system and its workings and knew that understanding of the individual skills and needs of each of his supervisees was key to successful undergraduate teaching. At the meeting the six undergraduates were told that they could expect to continue with Colin as tutor until they graduated. The third and fourth year chemistry students would continue to be taught by the emeritus Fellow whose retirement had precipitated the emergency appointment of the rather inexperienced man who had taught Tom in his first year. After coffee, the first individual sessions for the six men was fixed, Tom being the first on the Friday of the same week.

Normally, Colin would hold his tutorials in his office in the Chemical Laboratory, not in college. He used Tom's first tutorial to find out more about Tom as a person, then to check out his competences as a chemist using material from the first year of the course. Tom told me how different the encounter had been compared with his unsatisfactory experiences of the previous year. Colin had asked him about his home life and his interests and social activities. Tom said he wanted an assurance of confidentiality before answering. He said he did not want details of his life to be spread round the college. He told Colin that gays, in which Buckingham was rich, are notorious gossips. This was another example of how he had changed. Asked about his life a year before he would just have clammed up and refused to utter a word! Receiving the requested assurance, he reminded Colin that they could not address one another by their first names, even though he was about to disclose personal information. Camford has a rigid etiquette that must be used in all contact hours between faculty and undergraduates, in which formal address, (Mr, Miss, Dr, Professor etc.) must be always be used, both for teacher and taught, however well the parties might know one another. It was sometimes difficult to maintain this discipline in the informal twenty-first century, but the reasons for it are obvious.

Tom told Dr Vaughan that his mother was dead and that he no longer lived with his father, but with the parents of his boyfriend, who had offered him a home when his father's fancy-woman had thrown him and his possessions out. He said that he had a permanent relationship with me, who shared his duplex room in college. Asked about his interests, he said swimming, drinking beer, foreign-language cinema, classical music and the college chapel choir and (although this is scarcely credible) he added "Oh, and sex with my boyfriend of course!" and grinned knowingly. I nearly collapsed with embarrassment when he told me! "I liked this guy so much, he seems really approachable, he had promised not to repeat what I told him, so I saw no reason to be evasive!" Tom told me.

"What happens if, knowing that you're gay, he makes a pass at you?"

"It's more than his job is worth, we know that! Besides, we don't know that he is gay. If we meet him at the Fitness Centre, then there's a good chance that he's into men, but in the meantime, I have to assume that he's straight."

"He's an attractive guy though. If he'd been a few years younger, I would have called him beautiful, but he's a bit too mature for that description." I wondered if Colin Vaughan's appearance, rather than his skills as a chemist, was what had made Pop first notice him.

Chapter 43

Classes, social life and a big disappointment

You will not have failed to notice that for several long chapters there has been no explicit sex. You won't have to wait long now, it will come within a few pages. So please be patient and enjoy the story. If you're male and your prick is hard in anticipation, don't stop to give yourself relief now. If you're female, do whatever you need to do to feel comfortable.

The term continued. I had chosen some interesting lecture topics for my second year. I tended to be particularly venturesome with French, which has never excited me as a language, so I chose topics like 'The problem of anglicization of modern French' and 'The development of French in francophone Africa.' I was more cautious with Italian, and stuck with more run-of-the-mill topics like 'The poetry of Tasso' and 'The literature of the Risorgimento.' Dr Cagliari, though more formal in his approach than Dr Vaughan, continued in successfully motivating and stimulating us. Tom's second year concentrated heavily on lab work. He had lab classes of up to six hours on four days per week, and on most of those days also a lecture either at 9 am before the class or at 5 pm after the class, so I very rarely saw Tom during the day.

Tom and I had a similar pattern of weekly activities together as in our first year. Tuesday evenings we had an hour in the pool at the Fitness centre, Thursday evening was chapel choir practice, Friday evenings we went drinking with Tom's fellow chemists, Saturday mornings we went swimming, we ate out of college in the evening, and then went on to the Rialto, if they had a decent foreign language film. On Sundays, I would be up early to take the sacrament in Chapel before we went in to breakfast. It was the only day that I did not act as Tom's alarm clock! If the weather was good, we might go for a walk before lunch, for example along the towpath of the Camwell to a riverside pub called the Carp at the village of Stubbington. If the weather was wet, as the bedders did not come in at the weekend, we might spend the morning making love. Sunday night involved singing evensong before drinks in the beer cellar and dinner in Hall. I was usually able to get my tutorial work done during the day, but some evenings Tom had to work on his and we could not go out together. In this way, the term went rapidly.

One Sunday it rained cats and dogs. After breakfast we went back to our room and Tom went into the bathroom for a shit. When he came out, he found me undressed, lying on his bed. "Do you have to do any work today?" I asked him.

"No," he replied.

"Come and talk then," I said. He got on to the bed beside me, still dressed. "You know how much I love you. There's something that I want to ask you. How long have we been fucking together now?"

"It will be about seven months since that first time when we had the scallops and Mosel wine," he replied, and nuzzled the hairs on my chest.

"I'm not asking for it right now, I said, "but would you mind if sometime I took a turn at being top? I know that I've got a pretty big dick, and that initially I would have to take care to be gentle, but I really want to fuck you sometime soon. I'm just as much a man as you are! I've not been in a rush to ask you, because I wanted you to get your self-confidence fully developed by your demonstration that you're as good, in fact better, than any of those private school prats."

"My darling Luke, you should have asked me before. You've got so much money that you can give me anything I ask for. How could I refuse when you ask for something from me? I've often wondered why we've never tried it with you on top. When do you want it? Now?"

"Not right away. The rain has eased off. Let's go out and buy some takeaway food. I've got some really delicious Belgian blond beer. Then we'll settle down, lock the door as if we were out, drink a bit and then shag a bit and then eat a bit! It won't be the big event that my deflowering was, no silk sheets, no fancy food, but what the fuck, we've got each other, and that is the all-important thing. I'll put some clothes on and we'll go to that useful Morisco Supply convenience store and get some nice cold food!"

There were few people on the streets. A few bedraggled tourists looking for somewhere to have lunch huddled up under umbrellas and a few miserable-looking cyclists struggled through the deep puddles spreading across the road. We got the food and returned to college. I locked the door and we undressed. I poured us a glass each of the Estivale beer. It was delicious. Tom put his arms round me and kissed me firmly but chastely on the lips. "My sweet fag-boy," he said, "even if anything goes wrong today, remember that we are soulmates. Nothing can hinder our love for one another. You will always be mine and I will always be yours."