In my thesis for my degree in social studies I had argued that many of our social 'rules' regarding extra-marital sex, adultery and incest had been formed by a heterosexual male-dominated ruling class. In the cases of both pre-marital sex and adultery, it was outlawed by that class, represented by religious leaders, in order to protect a husband's 'property.' On the one hand protecting the 'purity' of his daughters and on the other, protecting his wife from disgrace. Also, of course, protecting himself from the humiliation of cuckoldry.
As regards incest, I argued, the prohibition was specific to preventing the genetic defects possible as a result of in-breeding. I drew the analogy that some religions banned consuming pigs and shellfish, mainly because experience showed that these foods could cause disease. Similarly, the children of incestuous relationships were often defective.
But, I went on, in each case the ruling class didn't consider non-reproductive sex. There can be no offspring from a sexual encounter between lesbians, for example, and therefore the prohibitions of incest, extra-marital or adulterous liaisons need not apply in the context of lesbian relationships. Religion, however, largely rejected the concept of sex being simply good fun, and, in most cases, viewed same-sex relationships as inappropriate at best and a mortal sin at worst.
I accepted that certain relationships were justifiably proscribed: underage sex and the attendant risks of emotional and mental health impact, relationships between those in authority and those subject to that authority for example.
"So," asked my tutor, Professor Elizabeth Grade, "if I am in a position of authority over you, it would be inappropriate for us to fuck, regardless of the fact that neither of us would get knocked up, is that what you're saying?" She had the Australian's natural frankness.
I fancied my Prof. She was 45, tall, manly, handsome with short grey hair and ferociously gay. She knew that I was gay too.
"Sadly, I believe it would." Her arched eyebrow suggested that my use of the word 'sadly' interested her. "Because it is possible that someone would suggest, when I get my incredibly well-earned first-class degree, that it had been awarded because of your interest in me and your consequent help to get me that degree. Were you not open about your sexuality, there might be the added concern that I had obtained your help by blackmail."
"So, what you mean is that because I could enhance your prospects or you could damage mine, any sexual relationship between tutor and student should be outlawed?"
"Yes, I do."
"What, though, if my enhancement of your prospects was driven by a desire to see you succeed because I, chastely and secretly, loved you?"
"In that case, I agree, the possibility exists but the student would not be complicit."
"And what if I were a tutor who had no influence over you if, for example, I worked in another faculty?"
"I suspect the college authorities would still fear the possibility of some opportunity for you to exercise influence, or that all teaching staff, whether directly connected to me or not would be seen as in a position of authority."
"I agree. The good old days when everyone fucked students are long gone. I reckon most of my colleagues took to academic work partly because they got to fuck them. Aside from the college's view, would you feel coerced if I or another tutor fucked you?"
"We both know that you'd never allow your personal feelings to have any impact on a student's results, nor would you ever coerce someone to have sex with you.
Elizabeth stubbed out the cigarette she was smoking. "Brandy?"
"I'd love one, thank you."
She got out of bed and, naked, went through to her study and returned carrying two glasses. Her short, black hair shone in the light of the bedside lamps. She placed a glass on the table by my side of her bed, kissed my mouth, then went to her side of the bed and got back in.
"Of course," she said, "you're right. Too late now though, isn't it? Your thesis is very good, incidentally. There are things that need to be developed and improved but we'll get to them."
Her mouth tasted of brandy when she kissed me again. "But now, inappropriately using my authority over you, I demand a little lingual attention."
Needing no second bidding, I slithered down under the duvet and, as she opened her long legs, I let my hair brush over her thighs and licked her cunt. It was a thing of beauty in my eyes and I lingered, enjoying her taste, my tongue gently and slowly tracing her lips and the little valleys either side of them. I knew she wanted me to be firm but I was toying with her. Eventually she'd get frustrated by my softness and urge me to greater pressure with her hands in my hair or, with a show of simulated anger, she'd drag me back up, slap my arse and fuck me. Either was good. It was the hair grip this time. Her fingers gathered my long, chestnut hair into her fists and she pulled me to her. I gave token resistance. Her hips lifted as her arms pulled and I gave in and concentrated on getting her to a wet, noisy conclusion.
My tongue pressed into her, then licked up to her clit and rubbed it as a finger delved into her, curling, stroking her inner walls. Lifting her knees, she encouraged me as she usually did with her body language and her words.
"Suck my clit, girl. Don't fucking tickle her, give her a good thrashing." I worked hard, my tongue firm on her clit, now two fingers inside her. "Don't forget my arse. I haven't forgotten yours." So she went on, vocally urging me as she, I knew, approached her climax. I delayed touching her arse until that point because, as I had learnt, it brought things to a delightful outcome. It arrived, as so often, suddenly and she convulsed and stiffened and let out a cry of orgasm. I kept going, just as she had taught me. She loved the secondary orgasm, the little one that followed the first. She savoured it, relished it and loved that I was an enthusiastic student, in bed as well as out of it.
"Get up here."
