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Martin the tutor
The new Martinmas term saw Martin begin his undergraduate teaching. He had had a brief induction of three days just before term began, which consisted mainly of him learning the fixed etiquette of the Camford tutorial and being warned of the dangers facing tutors who developed close relationships with their students. He was given a copy of the first year classics syllabus and the list of lecture topics in classics and related areas of study so that he could advise his first years as to what lectures they should consider. He also received advice about assessment methods and tips on setting and marking essays and other set pieces. It was emphasized however that he should develop his own teaching techniques. He was told that the senior classics tutor would sit in on one tutorial for each of Tommy’s four students, just to make sure that he was managing satisfactorily.
About the fourth week of term, I asked him how his tutorials were going. “Very variably!” he replied. “Most freshmen are totally bewildered by the dual teaching system of lectures and tutorials, and get alarmed to discover that they are expected to read books as well as attend classes. I emphasize to them that while lectures are important, all they are is an alternative way to reading of taking in knowledge. I explain to them that while they take in knowledge by these two channels, the tutorial is to find out how they have assimilated and processed the knowledge. I also tell the brightest ones that they can decide for themselves whether they prefer reading or lectures, depending on whether they find listening or reading more suitable for their own learning process. If they decide not to attend some or even all lectures, they will need to do a lot more reading to compensate. I also tell them that they can, if it suits them, use podcasts and text-to-speech software as alternatives to lecture-going and reading.
“I have four students, each is different in his or her skills (there are three women and one man). Each requires an individual approach. Twice a term, I get them together to discuss their progress and for them to tell the rest of us about what they have read. They each have to write an essay every two weeks, and I give him or her feedback the following week. I won’t be allowed this term to do their Progress Tests, my boss the senior classics tutor will do them, just to make sure that I’ve done my job in the first term.”
I couldn’t resist asking him if he found any of his students sexually attractive. “The man is quite sweet, but all the women leave me cold!” he replied. “I wouldn’t want to sleep with the man, though,” he said, “he’s too fat and keeps scratching his balls! Maybe it’s nervousness. Two of the women are quiet and shy and have to be encouraged to talk. The other is pushy and over-confident. I suspect that she is sporty.”
Martin has his way
When Martin needed male company, he would go swimming at the Men’s Fitness Centre with fellow graduate student Ken MacAlpin. Ken had finally found a regular boyfriend, the student on Tommy’s Italian reading party, Adam Williams. Like me, Adam was in his final year, and while the prospect of exams loomed in front of him, he felt an increasing need for sex, which Ken was happy to supply. Ken was now well into writing his thesis. He reckoned that it was about 50% complete, and was being checked by his supervisor on a chapter-by-chapter basis. He also was very happy with his relationship with Adam. I had never actually met Adam: all I knew was what Martin had told me. Gays are often indiscreet in
talking to fellow gays about their relations with men. Fortunately, Martin was not like that, except insofar as he told me things about other men’s gay relationships.
My experience in London had whetted my appetite for sex with Martin. As I had suggested to Martin earlier, by November we were fucking on Saturday afternoons when Tommy was not home for the weekend. We took turns to go to each other’s room, so sometimes Martin and I did it on my bed in my room in the first quad, the following week, we used Martin’s room in the graduate annex. Of course every so often, if it was the beginning of my period, we had to have a blow-job, and Martin asked regularly if I would let him in by the back door, and each time I temporized and said that I would think about it.
By early December however, I told him that the following week he could have his way and fuck me via the chocolate boulevard. He was delighted, but advised me to practise with the dildo, and to wash my crack thoroughly. The next week, he turned up at my room with all the additional equipment like lube that would be needed for an anal invasion. He also brought a box of chocolate cream mints and a bottle of sweet sherry.
“I really appreciate you opening your back door to me, Eleanor,” he said. “It might be uncomfortable for you, perhaps even a bit traumatic, so it’s important that we are both relaxed and comfortable before illegal bahis we begin. I guess we have about 5 hours before dinner, assuming that you do not have an essay to write!”
“No, the afternoon is clear,” I replied, as Martin opened the box of mints and poured two glasses of sherry. He knew from previous visits where the glasses were kept! “Why sherry and not beer?” I asked.
“It’s stronger and less likely to make us want to pee!” he replied. We drank the sherry slowly together and we then went into my bedroom and turned down the bed. He then kissed me and began to undress me. At the beginning of term, he had been very hesitant and clumsy about this, but now he knew the kind of garments I wore and how they were fastened, he was quite expert at getting my clothes off. He left my bra and panties until the last minute, and first took all his own clothes off. Fortunately, the heating in my room was excellent, as outside it was a cold and miserable day.
He put his arms round me and kissed me lingeringly on the lips as he loosened the hooks that held my bra in place. Having freed my breasts, he kissed and caressed them for a couple of minutes before he started to pull my panties down. He was quite good at foreplay. As I stepped out of them, he said, “For the first time, we’ll do it doggy-style, because it’s easier to lube you up. That will take a few minutes and will involve my fingers. Bend over the bed.” I did as I was told.
He knelt and began to kiss my arse-cheeks. He made grunting noises that indicated his pleasure. He then pushed his tongue into my arse-crack and used his hands to part the cheeks. After he had given the crack and my hole a good moistening with saliva, he opened his bottle of lube, took a dollop on his fingers and began to push them into my arsehole, first one finger, then two to stretch the muscles, then a third to make sure that I was well and truly lubed and open to penetration.
He gave each cheek a final kiss before unrolling a condom on to his dick, which, although I could not see it, was obviously dripping precome copiously. “I’m about to go in!” he said. “It will hurt for a couple of minutes, during which time, I won’t move my cock. The pain should then subside, and I will start to fuck. If the pain does not go away, tell me at once and I will stop.”
It happened as Martin predicted. It did hurt when he forced his prick through the anal sphincter, but having got in, he stopped pushing, and after two or three minutes the pain wore off, and I was just conscious of what felt like a big turd in my rectum. He then began fucking movements and continued for several minutes. It was not uncomfortable, but it was not as good as when he went in via my cunt. He continued until he reached his climax and came with a muffled cry into the prophylactic. While engaged in fucking, he had used his hands to caress my breasts, which I found much more enjoyable than what was going on down below!
Martin withdrew from my anus and climbed on to the bed and I climbed in beside him. He put his hand on my breasts and kissed me gently. “I hope you liked that,” he said.
“It was OK” I replied, “but I prefer to be fucked via the front door! Don’t forget that I don’t have a prostate to be hit from the bowel like men do.”
“I’m sorry, I never thought of that,” he replied. “I don’t understand women!”
“That’s not surprising,” I said, “not many men do. Unlike you, Tommy told me that from day one. He realized that for men, sex with another man is much easier than with a woman, because a man knows what gives pleasure to men. Women are more difficult, he said.”
You will have gathered by the fact that I had allowed Martin to commit the sin of Sodom with me that I had become rather fond of him. In many ways, in spite of his motherless childhood, he was very good with women, and I had no regrets about the time and effort that it had cost me to win his affection. But he didn’t have Tommy’s sweet nature. I reckoned that I could never live with Martin unless Tommy was there as well, because it was clear that Martin missed him very much. At times I found myself wondering if I was merely a plaything for him, to fill in the time until he could be with Tommy on a daily basis.
Christmas in Ixton
One day early in December, as I switched on my cellphone after leaving an early evening lecture in the history department, it rang. To my surprise, it was Tommy. “Eleanor, this call is to invite you to come for Christmas to Rockwell’s Barn again. You can go home for New Year, as you did last year. Actually that is only the excuse to ring you. I also wanted to tell you that I am expecting a niece in February. To my total amazement, my brother Luke has fathered a baby. Like Martin, I always thought that he could never manage to fuck a woman, but I was obviously wrong! Yes, Olivia, Luke and Tom’s live-in girlfriend, is pregnant with Luke’s baby! I have arranged to fly to Italy during February half term to see the baby, if she has arrived.”
I illegal bahis siteleri couldn’t help feeling deeply envious, but at the same time rather encouraged, by Tommy’s enthusiasm about gay fatherhood. Clearly, this development would help my long-term hope to bear the men’s children.
Before I knew it, term had ended. I got an alpha in my Progress Test and returned home with a big reading list. My parents commented that I looked fitter and happier than at any time since I had gone up to Camford. I did not of course tell them that I attributed this to fairly frequent sex!
Tommy had told me that his cousin Sandro and Sandro’s partner Lord Batley were coming to Rockwell’s Barn for Christmas, along with their two twin adopted daughters, Lady Anne and Lady Jane Ovenden-Mascagnoli, and the girls’ great aunt, who was their co-guardian with the two men.The two girls had just finished doing their GCSE exams at an expensive private girls’ school in Cheltenham and had entered the sixth form. Lady Jane was hoping to go to Camford to read biochemistry, Lady Anne to an Italian university. Both girls were bilingual in English and Italian. The modern language skills of Tommy and his relatives amazed me. Neither Martin’s knowledge of Latin, Etruscan and classical Greek and my limited knowledge of New Testament Greek and Biblical Hebrew were of any use to us in twenty-first century life, however good they may have been in sharpening our minds.
The presence of this party of five visitors required three bedrooms, and this placed extra demands on the accommodation at Rockwell’s Barn. It was agreed that Sandro and Dom (Lord Batley) would have to sleep on camp beds in the pool suite, while I would have to share a bedroom with the Tommy and Martin, a suggestion that might have raised eyebrows in many families, but Tommy and Martin had by now explained our threesome relationship to Tommy’s fathers. I was quite happy at the proposition! The alternative would have been a camp bed in the prayer-room, which did not appeal to me at all. It did mean that I would have to share a bathroom with the boys, but that was preferable to using the ladies’ facilities in the pool suite two floors below.
The Ovenden-Mascagnoli twins were nice girls. They are only about five years younger than I am. I joined them sometimes for swimming sessions (wearing swimsuits of course), after which we would have coffee with Tommy and Martin. Dom and Sandro were glad to have time away from their daughters. We did quite a lot of walking in the wintery countryside. Behind the garage was a drying room for dealing with wet or muddy clothing and footwear.
Although the twins were not old enough to drink alcohol, we all went to the Jellycotes Arms quite often. I quizzed them over their relationships. It turned out that like me at the same age, exam pressures and the confined atmosphere of their select boarding school conspired to limit their dating very severely. If I had been hoping for sisterly advice about my fag-hag relationship with my two men, I was doomed to disappointment. I found the lack of a really intimate friend very difficult when making decisions about sexual relationships, with no-one to confide in. The girls did talk to me about Tommy and Martin. They had known Tommy all their lives since they were adopted, and obviously idolized him. They told me how much more happy and outgoing he had become since he and Martin became an item.
On Christmas Eve, only Mr and Mrs Scarborough, David and Jonathan and Tommy and I went to midnight mass in Ixton Parish Church.
This year the boys bought me a joint Christmas present, a very beautiful red-gold cross and chain. Less ambitious than the previous year, I gave them two sets of tickets for forthcoming opera performances at Covent Garden. I picked operas that I knew Martin would want to see. He was not mad keen on Wagner. They were all for works being performed on Saturdays or during the school holidays, to suit Tommy’s work pattern. They told me that they had tickets for the three of us to attend a recital by David, Tommy’s Dad, in the Camford University Aula at the end of February, along with Caterina, a close friend of the family and tenant at Octavia Avenue.
Sharing a bedroom with the boys was rather fun, and we had one threesome, and each of the boys separately fucked me. By now I was getting used to having sex with another man in the room! But it did detract somewhat from the enjoyment. I had decided not to go on to the pill. Although I knew that the boys always used protection when they fucked with each other, as well as with me, I did not know about what they occasionally did with other men, and gays are a notorious reservoir of HIV. But it would have been extremely distrustful of me to make them both take HIV tests. Of course, if we ever decided to go for a baby, I would insist on them being tested.
On December 30, I went home to Winksey. My father read evening prayer every day at 4 pm in Winksey church, and when I was at home, I used to canlı bahis siteleri go with him, to provide a congregation. Sometimes a few old ladies also came. We used the time after the Office to discuss my future. My father advised me to give some thought to research topics, so that if I did decide to do a Masters. I would have a clear idea of my areas of interest. “I’m glad that you have decided not to be ordained,” he said, “and I’m sure that a man has come into your life that you have not told us about. Do you want to talk about him?”
“The problem is, Dad,” I replied “is that it’s not just one man, it’s two, and I will probably not marry either of them, because I want them both!”
“It sounds to me as though you are going to have a very complicated family life!” he replied. “Can I tell your mother about this?”
“Yes,” I answered, “but be discreet. Nothing important is going to happen until after the exams, which are my first priority.”
Eleanor’s future career
Some days later, term began. During the first week, I attended the drinks reception that the President of Boni’s gave for final year students, in which he would quiz them about their career intentions. I confessed that I hoped to do research, but he pointed out the importance of a second string, so that if opportunities or finance were lacking, I had a career or career possibilities in mind for the world outside Camford’s ivory spires or dreaming towers, to mix metaphors (as he put it, with his rather odd sense of humour). He suggested publishing or journalism.
I couldn’t see myself as a journalist, but publishing seemed a possibility, and I went to the Careers Service for professional advice. I was advised to do two things: to write solicitation letters now, and to be prepared to ask firms about unpaid internships. In both cases, I was anxious to avoid working in London, if at all possible. There were two major publishing houses based in Camford: the Camford University Press and the Logos Press, an international publishing group specializing in the arts and humanities.
I mentioned my career thoughts to Dr Smith, and he said, “I happen to know that Logos press is looking for a Hebrew copy editor/proof-reader. It’s not a full-time job, indeed it’s a zero-hours contract, but it would get you a foot in the publishing door. The job has been vacant for over a year, and I’m sure that if you expressed interest, they would hold the job until after your Finals. Your command of the language is pretty good, and your ability to handle New Testament Greek might also be useful. On an hourly basis, the pay looks good, but the pressures are high and the work sporadic, with weeks passing without any work. But it would give you time to work for an M.Th., though you would need an additional regular income to live in a pricey place like Camford. If you were any good, there would be prospects of other, more interesting jobs in publishing. It’s not suitable though for anyone looking for lifetime employment, so it would be an enormous contrast to the priesthood in that respect.”
When the schools’ February half-term came along, Tommy did not reappear at Octavia Avenue. He had gone to Italy to see his newly-born niece, so Martin and I continued to meet for a fuck session. As we lay in his bed in postcoital drowsiness, I asked Martin if he was missing Tommy. “More than you could ever believe,” he told me. “Absence really does make the heart grow fonder. I ache for him, and sometimes I can’t sleep for thinking about him, and I have to have a wank in the middle of the night.”
“Have you told him that you are having it off with me?” I asked.
“Of course,” he replied. “I wouldn’t dream of deceiving him: I love him too much for that. Every time we talk he asks how you are and whether I enjoyed my last fuck. I never tell him any details, except the time that we did it via your back door. He said that you had such a sweet twat that he never felt any desire to go anal with you!”
I was touched by what Martin told me, and my desire for a permanent threesome relationship was strengthened. Perhaps I was indulging in excessive wishful thinking, but I had given a lot of thought to how we might ultimately set up a ménage à trois when we all had jobs. Clearly we all needed to work in the same town. I reckoned that we would need two bedrooms, one for the men and one for myself, with the men taking turns to share my bed. I really did not fancy sharing with two men on a daily basis. Then we could work out a rota about who slept with whom and when, because, having tried it, three in a bed was not very satisfactory. But that was all a dream for the future…
I sent an E-mail to the Logos Press and obtained details of the job and an invitation to come for an interview. There would be a short period of training if I took the job, which paid £100 per hour. That seemed a lot, but the job was very demanding and subject to random checks by a Hebrew expert. I went along to see them, and they said that they would give me a test piece to do, and if it was OK, the job would be mine. I did the test piece the following week. It took me three hours. Within a week, the press contacted me to say that the job was mine from October 1.
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