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[Historical Note for this story: Section 28 was a legislative provision by the Thatcher government in the Local Government Act of the United Kingdom Parliament in 1988, forbidding local authorities from promoting homosexuality as a normal way of life in any area under their control, which included most schools. It was repealed by the Labour government in 2000.]
[Chapters 01 and 02 should be read first]
Chapter 61 David
Two weeks to dispel stress
I packed a couple of weeks’ supply of underclothes and socks, a couple of changes of outer garments, a few T-shirts, a bible and prayer book, two pairs of swimming trunks, a pair of basketball shorts, a pair of gym shoes and my toilet things one morning when Jon was out. Leaving him a note, I took a cab to Camford station and was on the 1 pm Eurostar train from London to Brussel-Zuid. From there I took a train to Hasselt. From Hasselt a bus took me into the woodlands of Belgian Limburg and the Covent of the Holy Cross.
At the convent, the sisters of the Order of the Divine Love had a small retreat house, with room for up to six guests. I was to stay there for a week and at the time I was the only guest. Silence was enjoined on all the guests, except for 30 minutes after each meal. The guests, in this case myself and any day visitors, dined in the refectory with the sisters, eating the same food, but at a separate table. Because it was Belgium, the food though plain, was very good. During the meal, one of the sisters read from the scriptures or from a devotional book in Dutch, and I listened attentively as I had no distractions.
I attended all the daily offices when I was not out, except for the night office. I got to be quite familiar with the Psalms in Dutch. When the service was sung, which was at terce and vespers, I joined in the singing, which startled the sisters at first, as the only male voices ever normally heard in the chapel were those of priests. When I was not in the chapel, I was out walking in the woods. During the walks, I thought mainly of Jon and prayed for him and for my sister that she would come safely and happily through her coming confinement. I prayed for the child in Dorothea’s womb and prayed to become his or her father. I even prayed for my unrepentant Nazi-loving grandfather. Sometimes I would be out all day without eating anything. There was beer available at lunch and dinner, but I restricted myself to water only. The weather was good, the air fresh, and I slept like a log at night in my narrow little bed, waking to feel the absence of Jon’s warm body beside me with an ache of regret. He would have ‘hugged me, hugged me close and kept me warm’!
The second week of my blanking out was a total contrast. I had signed up for a ‘Sportieve Kuur’ at the world-renowned watering place of Spa, the town that has given its name in Belgium to fizzy mineral water, and the birthplace of the fictional detective, Hercule Poirot. Spa has the misfortune to be in Wallonia, rather than Flanders, and my French is not good, but fortunately the group that I was in had a majority of Dutchmen in it.
The group members, all men, mainly Dutch with some Germans, stayed in an opulent hotel, where we had exclusive use in the mornings of all the hotel’s exercise facilities, and were also able to play basketball, squash, badminton or tennis, and in the afternoons we could swim in the pools at Les Thermes, taking hot treatments or massage if we wished. Or most enjoyable of all, we could play water games (‘thermoludism’) in the water from the Clementine Spring.
One day in the shower after a vigorous game of basketball, one of the younger Dutchmen saw me using ‘Storing pour homme’ shower gel and said “Je bent toch geen flikker? Dat spul is het parfum van homo’s. Wist je dat niet?” (You’re not a poof are you? That stuff is a gay perfume: didn’t you know?). I replied that I was indeed gay. It made me realize that Jon must have known that we were using a gay trademark!
Without Jon, I did not dare try the naturist facility, but consoled myself by thinking that it would probably be full of obese Germans. The whole week was tremendous fun, and although the group collectively drank quite a lot of superb Belgian beer in the evenings, there was so much healthy exercise that I was too tired of a night even to wank myself off.
The only thing I missed was Jon, who would have loved every moment. One or two of my fellow group members made passes at me, but I tactfully warded them off. It was flattering to be approached though. I suspected that I would need all the practice I could get at avoiding male overtures when Camford’s new Men’s Fitness Centre was opened!
In my letter to Jon, I had mistakenly quoted August 15 as the date of my return, but it was actually the date that the ‘kuur’ ended. I was back in Brussels in the evening, but had to stay overnight and take the first Eurostar to London the next morning. By noon I was on the train from Fennington to Camford, and I took a cab from the station to Fountain Street.
Thinking casino oyna that maybe Jon was out, I unlocked the front door and left my bags in the lobby. I climbed the stairs quietly and unlocked the door of the flat. I was greeted in the living room by a big bowl of white roses. I heard a sound, and there in an armchair was Jon, snoring gently. He was wearing only a T-shirt and his silk underpants, and there was 30 hours growth of beard on his face. A wave of tenderness swept over me, so intense as to make me feel faint. Here lay the man whom I regarded as the one who looked after me, who was strong and firm when I was rash and impetuous, who judged with his head rather than his prick. I suddenly realized that he needed me as much as I needed him, my role was to care for him as much as he did for me, and I remembered my promise: ‘to love and to cherish, till death us do part.’ My brother Jeroen had said when I told him about Jon and me being partners that he was glad that Jon had me to look after him, and I realized how little consideration I had given to my darling boyfriend when I had run away to Belgium. I approached him quietly and knelt down beside him and brushed my lips through his bristly beard until I reached his lips. I kissed his lips firmly but tenderly and he opened his wonderful brown eyes, which were red-rimmed through lack of sleep. I pulled away from his lips and he smiled sleepily. “Kiss me again, stud-boy!” was all that he said.
Chapter 62 David Reunion and hot sex
I did as I was told, I pressed my lips to Jon’s mouth, which he obligingly opened and my tongue entered, to engage in sparring with his own. I put my hand on his head and pressed him closer to my face. After five minutes of facial contact, I said “Don’t move!” I went into the bathroom and found his razor and some ‘Storing pour homme’ shaving gel. I ran hot water into a bowl and carried it to where Jon was lying sleepily.
“Kiss me again,” he said.
“Not until I’ve shaved you!” I said. I spread a towel over him, I soaked a flannel in the hot water, and wet his face. and rubbed the gel into his beard with my finger tips. I dipped the razor in the hot water and began to shave him, beginning with his upper lip and chin, before going on to his neck and cheeks. After each area had been shaved, I gave it a kiss, with another kiss on the top of his head. “I feel like Figaro!” I said as I rinsed his face with the flannel, and began to dry it. It was hardly a professional job: Figaro would have done better, but I had never shaved anyone except myself. However it served its purpose of freeing the lovemaking areas of bristle.
“Fag-boy, that was one of the most erotic experiences you have ever given me!” he said, as he grabbed me on my return from the bathroom. During my absence from the room he had removed his T-shirt and underpants and was sitting there naked with a major hard-on sticking up between his legs. I immediately knelt down and engulfed his dick in my mouth. “Don’t work too hard on it, pretty youth, I don’t want to come in your mouth!” he said. So I just licked each little lump and vein and ran my tongue round the rim of his glans while he bent forward and buried his face in my hair.
After a minute or two, he grabbed the box of condoms and opened the foil wrapper of one, which he gave me to slide on to his well-lubricated cock. He then picked me up and carried me to our bedroom, where he laid me on the bed on my back, and began to remove my clothes with great impatience, particularly when it came to getting my shoes and socks off. He dragged my jeans and underpants down together and I kicked them off over my bare feet. I was quite sweaty: I had not showered for 36 hours, but it did not worry him in the slightest. I opened my legs and he squeezed out some K-Y gel on to his fingers and inserted first one, then two and finally three into my anus to stretch the sphincter, which indeed had stiffened up though lack of penetration for the last couple of weeks. He wiped his fingers on the condom and started to kiss my belly-button. From there he worked downwards to my pubic bush and nuzzled it gently. The delicate touch of his lips on my belly nearly sent me crazy and my tool became almost instantly iron-hard. He licked it and moved down its length until he reached my scrotum. He licked the hairs on my left ball and took it gently into his mouth. The loving desire that he exuded seemed almost physical. I felt that some superhuman (divine?) power was passing from him to me. “You smell and taste delicious!” he muttered before attacking my other testicle in the same way. Although I know almost nothing about women’s lovemaking techniques, I am certain that no woman could give such pleasure as Jon could give me.
He then climbed on top of me and knelt between my wide open legs and lowered himself till we were face-to-face. He began to smother my face with his kisses. How I had missed those kisses in the last couple of weeks! Then he moved to my right nipple and began to nibble it gently, more with lips canlı casino than teeth. Again I felt as if an electric current was passing into me. He slowly moved down the length of my body with his lips, before ending once more in my pubic hair. He licked the precome from the end of my cock before lifting himself up and lifting my legs to straddle his hips, one on each side. “Stand by for entry!” he whispered and pushed his man-stick gently into my hole. My sphincter was still stiff and resisted, but he persevered gently and eventually passed through the muscular ring and gained access to the treasure house of my gut. Once inside, he lowered himself and began to kiss my chest. His breath was warm and sweet, and again I realized what I had been missing in recent weeks, not just through absence, but also through stress. I just relaxed and let him start to fuck me.
He increased the pace of his thrusting, and my state of relaxation was suddenly broken when he hit my prostate. I convulsed with pleasure and sensation and my precome oozed even more copiously. He slowed for a moment, paused and kissed my chest. His inadequately shaven chin scraped rather enjoyably against my nipple and I gave a grunt of pleasure. He resumed his thrusting with increased vigour, and I found the lower half of my body responding violently as small convulsions shook me and I shouted “Stud-boy, you’re mine!” as I squirted my white blood over our two bellies. Jon’s thrusting now began to get violent for perhaps twenty seconds and then he in turn came into the rubber inside me. Gasping for breath, he wrapped me in his arms, his dick still stiff inside me, and kissed me repeatedly. I pulled him down on top of me and began to kiss his face as his prick began to soften.
When Jon finally and gently withdrew from my man-hole, I experienced a quite enjoyable sense of emptiness, just as if I had just passed a giant turd! I did not tell him that, as it was distinctly unromantic. But the emptiness was almost as good as the sense of fullness that I had had when he was inside me. He collapsed onto the bed beside me and grasped my right hand with his left. The chestnut-flower scent of my jism was all-pervasive, and we sniffed it with delight as we lay there, not speaking, each just enjoying the presence of the person we loved most and with whom we had just joined in an act of union that seemed almost sacramental. After five minutes or so I broke the silence. “Thank you, thank you, stud-boy, you are so good to me!” I said.
“Thank YOU, slut-boy, you are the best fuck in the whole universe!” he replied.
“How do you know? Have you ever fucked an extraterrestrial being?” I asked.
“Yes, you!” he answered facetiously, “sex with you is out of this world!” I giggled at the feeble joke and put my left arm round him, shuffled towards him and began to kiss him. He also began giggling. “That little squirt of yours just now obviously wasn’t enough, in spite of the mess it made!” he said, “I guess that you want a turn!” “Quite right!” I replied. “So you’d better get that thing off your dick and find a flannel to mop up some of this spunk!”
Chapter 63 Jon We are still both hot and randy
The desire that had, albeit unconsciously, built up over the last two weeks had not been satisfied by a single ejaculation. David was determined to have his way with me. From what he told me later, it was clear that he had gained in fitness from a week’s abstinence from alcohol and a week’s vigorous exercise at Spa. More lube and condoms were forthcoming, and we reversed our positions and David began to lube me up, chatting as he did so. “Jon, I missed you so much while I was away. A week with 100% female company that I was not allowed to talk to, then a week with 100% male company, which was OK, but with too much talk of women and football, both of which as you know I find boring. But you would have loved Spa. We MUST go there together sometime soon. Your French would come in useful.”
“I’m glad that you find football so boring!” I said, “Otherwise you would be sermonizing to me in bed about the offside rule!”
David, having put a condom on, instead of kneeling upright, lay down on top of me. “I just want to lie here for a few minutes and feel the warmth of your body, and your heartbeat,” he said. “It felt so cold in bed without you in my arms.” It was so nice to feel his warm and sweet breath on my face, and I kissed him repeatedly. After a few minutes, to my relief he knelt up. His weight was beginning to feel uncomfortable. He moved backwards slightly and aligned his iron-hard dick up for entry to my arsehole. He knew that the size of his member meant that he had to take special care to enter me, but we were both well lubed up and he slipped in with only gentle pushing. He then bent forward and kissed me again several times before starting fucking movements. I reached up and stroked his chest tweaking the hair round his nipples with my fingers. He smiled blissfully and continued thrusting, until after five minutes or so (time is not something kaçak casino that you think about during lovemaking), he came violently and shot his load repeatedly within me, muttering my name as he did so. He then bent forward again and smothered the upper part of my body with kisses before gently withdrawing from my back hole.
He turned over sideways and lay beside me. He got hold of my hand, raised it to his mouth and began kissing it. He sucked each of my fingers in turn. “You’ve no idea how much I’ve missed kissing you in the last couple of weeks!” he said. “There’s something I want to ask you. Why didn’t you tell me that ‘Storing pour homme’ is a gay trademark? You let me think that it was just a scent that you liked. I’m extremely glad that I refused to wear it at work. It would have shrieked ‘Poof’ to anyone recognizing it!”
I grinned, “I thought that as an exponent of gay pride, you would be proud to wear it. It’s not advertised as a gay perfume, but its use is widespread among male homosexuals.”
“A laboratory is not the place to proclaim individualism,” David replied, “Nobody wants to work next to a guy in tight pink jeans and a leather jacket. Nobody wants to listen to a classical singer who looks and behaves like Boy George. I’m proud of being gay, but I don’t like camp clothes or behaviour. I’m an opponent of Section 28, because I just want gays to be seen as ordinary people, not extraordinary ones!”
“David, David, instead of preaching the love of God to me in bed, you’re now proclaiming gay politics! I think that I prefer God-talk to politics. And be honest, you know how much I like the scent of ‘Storing pour homme’ and I think that you do as well, otherwise you would not have agreed to wear it! Let’s not get into violent argument after such a wonderful few hours together. I love you, even without perfume. Indeed your own scent is a thousand times better than ‘Storing pour homme.’ It’s just that ‘Storing’ enhances your natural scent. Give me a kiss, please!” He obliged, very, very affectionately.
Then he said, “Jon, I owe you an apology. I really should not have gone off like that without telling you before I went. I have subjected you to needless worry and concern. I really am very sorry,” and he hugged me and kissed me again. “Before we go to get something to eat,” he continued, “I just want to go into the spare bedroom to say a prayer of thanks. Would you like to come with me and hold my hand, or would you prefer to wait here? You’ve got to get dressed in any case.”
To my amazement, I heard myself saying, “I’ll come with you, my love.” We went into the spare room and David knelt down and opened a book. I sat on the bed beside him and held his hand. He prayed silently for about three or four minutes, and then started to recite something from the book. It began ‘We praise thee, O God…’ and went on for quite a long time ‘all the earth doth worship thee, the Father everlasting. To thee all angels cry aloud..’ and ended after quite some minutes with ‘O Lord, in thee have I trusted, let me never be confounded.’ It was quite moving and beautiful, though I did not understand all the words. David told me later that it was an ancient Latin hymn of thanks to God called the ‘Te Deum laudamus.’
David looked up at me with tears in his eyes and smiled. “God loves you, Jon. Never forget that! Now go and get dressed. Don’t bother about showering, we can do that when we’ve had some food. I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast in Brussels at 7 o’clock British time!” Ten minutes later at 4 in the afternoon, we were eating in the bar of the Sparrowhawk, washing our food down with some excellent draught beer.
Chapter 64 David The Zwolldijk International Singing Competition
Late in August, what would be my last paper was accepted, and I was ready to begin writing my Ph.D. thesis. I was going to use the same pattern of submission as Jon had used, with a series of published papers preceded by a general introduction and followed by a concluding discussion. However, the thesis had to contain a certificate from Charlie Crabtree to testify as to the proportion of the work that I had personally devised and carried out, so that it was clearly marked out from other contributing authors to the papers, and this could only be done once the thesis was complete.
After a week in the library, I had identified the major references that I needed to write the Introduction, and I got photocopies made. It cost quite a lot of money, but it was worth it to make me essentially free of the library so that I could work at home. I said to Jon that since he only needed to be in the lab three days per week, why did we not spend the remaining four days at Rockwell’s Barn? So we did, and as the weather was warm, we could sunbathe, nude if we wished, on the rooftop sun terrace of the house. Of course, I had to be in Camford for my lessons with Marcello, which were now weekly until the Zwolldijk Competition in mid-September. Both Jon’s and my funding would finish at the end of September, but Jon’s funding was to be continued on a part-time basis and he could work at home on the computer, and this would be compatible with his nanny job with the Crabtrees. My future was uncertain until after Zwolldijk.
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