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[This is the continuation of ‘David the Graduate Student Ch. 01,’ which should be read first]
Chapter 31 Jon
A weekend in London 1
As the Pentecost term progressed, I suddenly realized that when I was not in the lab or doing calculations on the computer, I was continually engaged in manipulating people. And poor David, bless him, was being pushed around, either by me, or by Fabioni or by Charles Crabtree. When I was not running his life, I was involved in the Fitness Club, or the Afforestation Trust, or the drystone walling. At least I did not have the builders to deal with any more. So as May 12, our anniversary, drew near, I said to David, “We need a weekend off. What would you like to do and where would you like to go, bearing in mind that we only have about 60 hours? We could go to the house, we could go to London, we could go to Amsterdam or Antwerp, we could visit Arnold and Robin in Reading or we could do something entirely different. As long as we have time to eat and drink and privacy to fuck, I will go anywhere that you want.”
David said, “Let’s go to London, take a suite in an expensive hotel, go to the Opera and visit this exhibition that I’ve been reading about ‘The male nude since 1600’ at the National Gallery. Let’s eat in your pet Italian restaurant, have lunch in a pub, have room service breakfasts and shag ourselves silly. I’m only a poor student, but I’ll pay for the lunches and dinners and my super stud can pay for the rest! I can’t suggest a weekend of high living and leave you to foot the bill, I would feel like a rent boy. And I love you so much that anything that you want of mine, you can have for free, as often as you want!”
“Right,” I said “I’ll get on the phone to Covent Garden and try and get seats for the Friday night performance with us eating there beforehand, and we’ll eat at my Italian restaurant on both Saturday and Sunday, and do a second opera on the Saturday night. You can go to All Saints on Sunday morning, and we’ll do the exhibition on Saturday or Sunday afternoon. We’ll eat early on Sunday night and spend the evening in bed. For the first time for years St Boniface’s choir will have to do without you! We can get a train back about 9 am on the Monday and you’ll be in the lab by noon. How’s the work going, by the way?”
“Not too bad,” David replied. “We’re writing a second paper at the moment. I’m enjoying this enzyme work. But I could do with a break, from both the lab and from singing. The idea of listening to someone else singing appeals to me enormously!”
I also telephoned and booked a suite for us at the Caroline, a five-star hotel in Mayfair for three nights and booked the restaurant.
We left Camford on the 2 pm train to Fennington on the Friday. The train was quiet, and for the first time for weeks I was able to sit back, relax and enjoy contemplating the sweet face and prick-raising figure of my boy. I reached out and got hold of his hand (we were in facing seats). David smiled at me so sweetly that I at once felt my cock stiffening in my pants. He was still feeling elated at having got into the Dunchester competition. Apparently Fabioni was not the slightest bit surprised: he told David that he didn’t enter his pupils for a competition unless he knew that they were certain to pass the audition. He told David that the sudden switch of numbers at the audition from his stated item to the reserve item was a trick of some adjudicators, to try to undermine the confidence of the best candidates by springing a surprise on them. He also said that he knew that it would not work with David, because David knew ‘Panis vivus’ much better than he imagined. It seems that the wily old teacher knew David better than David knew himself!
The Caroline Hotel was only a short distance from the train terminus, and as our bags were not heavy, we walked there, which would have surprised the man in the reception if we had told him that when he enquired whether we had a car. A bell-boy took our bags up to our suite, and I unselfconsciously tipped him. By now it was 4 pm and we had booked our table at Covent Garden for 5-30, so we just had time for a quick shower and change of clothes before leaving. The meal was good and we had time for coffee before the performance began. The opera was ‘Carmen,’ something we might not have chosen to watch if we had had a choice, but it had an international star cast and was extremely enjoyable, even if we tended to sum it up as being about the problems of falling in love with the wrong person. “It’s a good job that the audience is not expected to like the characters in opera,” David said to me, “because the only likeable character in ‘Carmen’ is Micaëla, and even she seems a bit wet.” My only reply (I regret to say) was that there were some nice boys in the chorus, one or two with nice arses.
We rode back to the hotel on the Central Line, decided not to drink in the bar but to go straight to our room and slip out of our suits (we had been sitting in the stalls at the opera and felt obliged poker oyna to dress smartly). I poured us each a glass of beer from the mini bar (nothing special) and filled in the order card for room service breakfast at 9-30 am and hung it outside the door. Undressed, we sat on the sofa in the sitting room and gazed through the window at the lights of the city below.
I put my arm round David and began to nibble his neck, inhaling the mixed scent of ‘Storing pour homme’ and that of tobacco smoke, which pervaded everything in those unenlightened days, even though our suite was non-smoking. I pushed to one side the chain of his crucifix with my lips, and he giggled as my nibbles turned into gentle bites. “That’s nice!” he said, “don’t stop!” I moved my right arm to encircle his waist and got hold of his cock with my left hand. It started to stiffen at once as I continued to chew his neck. My own dick was as stiff as a ramrod and oozing pre-come. David suddenly pulled his head away and bent forward and started to lick the clear liquid from the tip of my glans. I ran my hand down his back until I reached the cleft of his arse and gently pushed my finger into the crack and wiggled it in through his anal sphincter. Then I pulled him upright and started to nibble his left nipple. I made him lie down on the sofa, half sitting up, his back against a cushion. I then knelt on the sofa, straddling his chest so that my rampant tool was within a centimetre or two of his face. He grinned and took it into his mouth, rubbing his tongue against the rim of my ‘copper’s helmet’. He began the licking, sucking and chewing that made his blow-jobs so delightful. It was amazing how his technique of giving head had improved over the last five years. We had not made love for a couple of days, so it did not take long for David to bring me to the point of orgasm. “I am gonna come,” I muttered to him, “Do you want me to squirt in your mouth or over your face?”
“Mouth, please,” he said, “I love the taste of your come!” It did not take long for the miracle to happen. I shot a massive load of seed into David’s eager and welcoming mouth. He smiled blissfully as he savoured the mouthful before swallowing it.
“My turn now!” he exclaimed, as I took his stiffening cock into my mouth. A deep sensation of love and desire seemed to spread from my mouth through the whole of my body to my fingers and toes, almost like an electric current. I sucked hard at his slimy, lumpy manhood and rubbed my tongue against the rim of his glans, and wiggled his foreskin with my tongue. David grunted with pleasure, “My darling Jon, I love you so much!” he muttered as he caressed the back of my neck and held my head against his crotch. I tried not to get too active with my mouth, because David obviously wanted to prolong the blow-job, but after a couple of minutes, he could hold back no longer and violently filled my greedy mouth with his fuck-juice. It was quite thick and it took some time for me to swallow most of it, just retaining a little on my lips to give back to him when we kissed. This we did for some minutes, enjoying the taste and feel of each other’s lips, and eagerly exploring each other’s mouth with our tongues.
By now it was approaching 1 am, and we were both feeling sleepy, so I set the alarm for 7-30 and we settled down wrapped in each other’s arms in one of the two king-sized beds.
Next day we got up, washed, shaved and made love (in the unslept-in bed) before breakfast. David humped me rather energetically and I replied by letting him suck me off once more. When breakfast arrived, we polished it off and spent the rest of the day at the National Gallery. The admission charge to the exhibition ‘The Male Nude since 1600’ was expensive, but well worth the money. There was a long queue for admission, which gave us ample opportunity to survey the viewers. There were a lot of obvious gays among them, as well as several discrete male couples like ourselves, although there was no shortage of females either. It could scarcely be described as pornographic or even erotic, since there was not a single erection to be seen among the exhibits, although the same could not be said about the viewers!
The exhibition consisted of sculpture as well as paintings, and in many ways the sculpture was more arresting. David commented to me quietly about the size of the dicks on most of the sculptures. “Why have they all got dicks that look like those of little boys?” he asked. “Why don’t they have something realistic?”
“I can’t answer that,” I said, “but you’re quite right. But we’re not supposed to be here to look at genitals so much as to look at shoulders, bellies and legs: that’s where the artists have been most successful and impressive.”
About 5 pm we left and went to ‘my’ Italian restaurant. We had a booking for a performance of ‘The Mikado’ at the Coliseum at 7-30, but at this early hour we had no difficulty in being served promptly. We were greeted with great cordiality by Paolo, the proprietor, and again we were invited canlı poker oyna to partake of a dish that was not on the menu and gratefully accepted the recommendation. I asked about Alberto (the beautiful son). What was he doing these days? Paolo replied that he in fact had got a job as an apprentice chef at a big-name Italian restaurant in the West End where he was making good progress (and, I guessed, fucking his way to success as a chef).
An opera in English was a total change from the Carmen that we had seen the night before, but in many ways just as enjoyable, if not more so. “I don’t see Gilbert and Sullivan as a medium for your operatic talents!” I said to David with a grin.
“Why not? Some of Sullivan’s melodies are fantastic and Gilbert’s words are enormous fun to sing” he replied.
“Yes, but Gilbert and Sullivan is the preserve of so many amateur singers. I know that you are currently a sort of amateur singer, but you do have professional aspirations and I think it is the kind of thing that you should leave behind.”
“Wait till my singing career is established, and then I’ll sing what I fuckin’ well like!” he replied.
“If you want to sing popular items like ‘Panis angelicus,’ you’ll need to have a record label. No-one’s going to hire you to sing things like that in recital,” I said. And I realized that if David did become a professional, he would have to have a recording career, which might cost money.
By now we had walked almost all the way back to our hotel. We entered and went into the bar. To our amazement, they actually had cask beer on tap in the bar, and we ordered a couple of pints of Oulde’s. “You would think that they would only sell expensive cocktails here,” I said “Isn’t cask beer a bit downmarket?”
“Hardly, at the prices they charge for it here!” replied David. As a poor student, he was much more price-conscious than I was.
We adjourned to our suite and undressed. David said to me “Jon, do you consider sex to be an absolutely private thing between the two of us or would you ever want to get involved in a foursome with a couple of our friends?”
“David, I wonder what makes you suggest that. We both know that there is a sacramental aspect to shagging, because we have both felt it, and you are conscious of it whether you are on top or underneath. It doesn’t matter what your role is: there is an almost supernatural element in fucking. If you involve other parties, it could undermine the relationship, by getting both us and them interested in sex with other parties, which I think goes against our agreement to permit only individual acts of infidelity. So I do consider sex to be an absolutely private thing between the two of us. Moreover, I’m sorry to bring up the religious thing, but I think that what you are suggesting is not in keeping with Christian love and respect for our exclusive relationship.”
“Jon, you’re right. It was an impure and unworthy thought even to consider such a thing. It would devalue what we do together by turning it into what would be in effect a multi-party circle jerk. You are really a very moral person in spite of your scepticism about the Christian faith.” I put my arms around David and kissed him firmly on the mouth. I could feel his heart beating against my chest and his lovely golden hair covered my face. Who would ever want a more delicious experience than to make love to this blonde-haired wonder, my dear pretty youth?
“Come on, let’s go and have a shower,” I said. The suite had a luxurious bathroom with a good double shower and we had a very pleasant twenty minutes cuddling, fondling, kissing, soaping and caressing one another.
“Bend over,” said David, “as we are under the shower, I don’t think that I need a condom to shag you.” He rubbed some soap on his dick, which had been half erect for some time, and with the handling rapidly stiffened. As instructed, I bent over and he gently inserted it into my arse-crack and proceeded to fuck me gently, kissing the bones of my vertebrae as he did so. He continued for several minutes before he reached his climax and with a gentle shout shot his hot man-juice deep into my gut. “Jerome is reputed to have thought that it was possible for married couples to have too much sex. He and Augustine were the most appalling despisers of one of God’s greatest gifts, and how they both came to be canonized is a reflection of some of the worst aspects of Christian history.”
“Look,” I said, “I want to make love, not to have a lecture on mediaeval theology! But thanks for the shag, I love your dick in my gut.”
“Do you want a turn?” asked David.
“No thanks, I’m a bit tired, I just want to go to bed with your arms around me.”
“Okay” said David “we’d better have breakfast a little earlier tomorrow because I want to go to High Mass at All Saints’ Margaret Street at 11.”
I opened the bottle of ‘Storing pour homme’ shampoo and began to wash David’s hair. Having rinsed it thoroughly under the shower, we cleaned ourselves up and dried internet casino ourselves. I made sure before leaving the bathroom that I had farted out all traces of David’s jism, as it would have been very embarrassing to have left telltale stains on the hotel sheets. Shades of Oscar Wilde at the Savoy once again! It took me quite a few minutes with the hairdryer before I got David’s hair properly dry, and he then said his prayers and we got into bed and soon fell asleep.
Chapter 32 David
A Weekend in London 2
We decided to celebrate the fifth anniversary of our coming together with a weekend in London, just as we had done four years before, but this time staying in a fancy hotel. The first evening we ate and saw ‘Carmen’ at Covent Garden before returning to the hotel for a suck session before bed. We got up early the next morning and had a fuck session before breakfast. We spent the day at the National Gallery drooling at pictures and statues of naked men, before eating at Jon’s Italian restaurant and watching ‘The Mikado’ at the Coliseum (English National Opera). After a drink in the hotel bar, we retired to our room, where I bummed Jon under the shower. I had made an unworthy suggestion to him about us getting involved in a sexual foursome, and he had rightly put me in my place for suggesting such a degrading activity.
I felt extremely ashamed at having made such a suggestion and made full use of the confession at High Mass at All Saints’, Margaret Street the next day to ask forgiveness for such unworthy thoughts. The service was wonderful: I had hoped for a Mozart mass setting, but instead it was one by Schubert, but the choir sang superbly, and I wished that I were one of them.
I met Jon for lunch at a pub off Oxford Street, where we enjoyed a couple of pints and some excellent jacket potatoes. The weather was wonderfully warm for May: the trees in Hyde Park were just coming into leaf, and we wandered hand-in-hand through the park, getting a few askance looks from passers by, before sitting down in the sun under a tree. “No kissing!” warned Jon. “I think it’s warm enough to take our shirts off,” he said. “As long that is as we don’t start to paw or fondle one another, much as we might want to!” We lay there in the sun for about an hour and then, putting our shirts back on, we slowly wandered in the direction of the underground.
By 6 o’clock we had reached Paolo’s restaurant. He had a nice table ready for us in a corner and a bottle of Prosecco was already chilling. After all the fresh air in the park we were both quite hungry and decided to have the full menu. We started some very nice antipasto followed by a small helping of ravioli. For the main course Jon had saltimbocca and I had a fish dish. We accompanied the meal with a full bottle of Piemonte, although Jon insisted on having a glass of Barolo with his veal.
We had just started our desserts when a couple entered the restaurant. I looked up and recognized Barbara, the girl in St Boniface’s choir who had recognized that I was gay before I knew it myself, and whom I had not seen since she graduated two and a half years before. She was with a tall well-built rugby-playing type who did not attract me in the slightest. When she recognized me, her eyes lit up and she came across to us. “Good heavens, it’s David and Jon! she said. “How are you getting on?”
“We’re doing fine thank you,” I said. “How about you? What are you doing now?”
“I’m working in publishing now,” she said. “Come across and meet my boyfriend Alistair.” We walked across to their table and Barbara said, “Alistair, I want you to meet Jon and David, both contemporaries of mine at St Boniface’s.”
“I’m very pleased to meet you both,” he said. “What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a research student in pharmacology in Camford,” I said, “and Jon is a post-doc in chemistry there.”
“Two scientists, eh?” he replied. “Come and join us for coffee after you’ve finished your meal. We are only going to have a single course before going on to a nightclub.” We returned to our table and finished our desserts, accompanying it by a glass each of dessert wine. Paolo asked us if we wanted coffee and we said yes, and please would he serve it at Barbara and Alistair’s table, which he did. We moved across and joined the other two.
“I’m still singing in St Boniface’s choir,” I said “after six years. Do you do any singing these days?”
“Yes,” she said, “I’m in the London Philharmonic choir!”
“That’s great! I’ve started professional singing training with Marcello Fabioni,” I said, “just as a sideline in case there are no permanent jobs in science when I finish. My university career has already been so long that I’m not sure that I would like to be a professional academic for the rest of my life.”
“Why don’t you come along with us to the nightclub?” asked Alistair.
“I don’t think that either you or the clientele would appreciate a pair of gays dancing around!” said Jon, “Moreover, neither of us are at all keen on dancing and we’ve had plenty to drink already. We would be totally sloshed within half an hour if we started drinking. So thanks very much for the invitation, but I think we’ll go our own way.”
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