If you have been waiting for the sex to happen, this episode will make you happy, but make sure that you have read Parts 01 and 02 first.
Martin gets an unexpected offer
Now that Martin was a research student, he was no longer confined to university terms: indeed he was expected to work at his studies for 46 weeks of the year, and early in July as he sat deciphering an Etruscan inscription in his room in the graduate annex, he received a phone call from the Master of Sanguis’s secretary, asking him to call in at the Master’s Lodgings the following morning. He arrived at 10 am and was offered a cup of coffee.
“Mr Robinson,” said the Master, “a vacancy has come up for a junior fellowship, and as we have no less than three
freshmen coming next year to read classics, we need to strengthen our teaching team. I am offering you the fellowship for a probationary year. If your teaching is satisfactory, the appointment will be extended by four years, which will give you the chance to complete a Ph.D., because you will only be expected to teach first-years, and the teaching should occupy not more than one day a week during term-time. The stipend will make provision for your higher degree fees. Are you interested in the job?”
Of course Martin was interested. This was his opportunity of a lifetime, one to be grasped with both hands! He thanked the Master gratefully and was told that his job would begin on October 1, subject to approval. “I will put your name before the Governing Body, and they will ask to interview you, but I have no doubt that my nomination will be approved, as you come with many positive recommendations from both college and Classics Department.”
Martin could now concentrate on his work and his relationships, without repeated and fruitless attempts to get national funding for his research. Sanguis was a small college and had the policy of concentrating on academic excellence rather than sporting achievement. It managed to hold its own in inter-college sport, but had long since abandoned any attempt to get seriously involved with university-level sport. It was thus an exceptional achievement for Martin to get a college appointment at pre-doctoral level, but it meant that it was essential for him to take his B.A. as soon as possible. He was told that although he lacked an M.A., he could dine on high table on Mondays to Saturdays, but not on Sundays
The interview with the fellows of Sanguis Christi went smoothly. No awkward questions about his sexuality were asked, although the fact that he was gay was common knowledge. He was told that he would have a short induction course from both his old tutor and another from Buckingham College. Martin phoned his parents and Tommy and told them the good news, and arranged with Tommy for them to go drinking the evening after the interview.
Now that it was summer, the pubs of Camford were no longer full of students: the students had been replaced by tourists and conference attenders. This was welcomed by landlords, because they spent more money than students and were less liable to get blind drunk! Mindful of what had happened in Leuven, Martin kept a close eye on Tommy, who was now living at home.
Martin gets another unexpected offer
Although I frequently say and write things that sound sluttish, I am far from being an expert in the art of seduction. Indeed, I was brought up in a family that believed that men and women get on best by speaking frankly to one another. So although I was determined to get Martin to have sex with me, even if only a blow-job, I really had no idea how to tackle my approach.
My first step in Operation Seduction was to purchase on-line a small bottle of Storing pour Homme, the Belgian perfume that for fifty years had been a favourite of gay men. It had become a gay trade-mark, if I might use such an unfortunate term to describe this popular indicator of the wealthy gay, and the stock-in-trade of the upmarket rent boy. It cost a great deal of money, but fortunately that was not a problem. To have impoverished myself and then failed with Martin would have been the stuff of lurid romances! I hesitated about using it on a regular basis, because while it was extremely effective at enhancing male body aroma, it did nothing for women. I hoped that just maybe, it might cover up female aromas.
My next problem was to get Martin on his own. During the vacs, he spent every weekend at Octavia Avenue, and even during the week quite often spent the night there in bed wth Tommy. However, there was a two-week window when Tommy was Cleobury. I resolved to go to Camford for a day during Tommy’s absence and catch Martin at work in his room. I just hoped that he would not be in the Wilsonian.
For my last birthday, my parents had given me a car. It was a three-year-old model with 40000 km on the clock. Of course, I did not take it to Camford during term time. For students, car ownership is a liability rather than an asset. beylikdüzü escort But it was ideal for a quick one-day visit. I could park at the Park+Ride and go into the city centre by bus. While on the bus, I rang Martin’s cellphone number. He answered at once. I told him that I was in Camford for the day, and would he like to go out to lunch. He said yes, because he had some exciting news to tell me.
I arrived at his college annex room about 11 am, and Martin had coffee ready. “I’ve got news for you!” he said. “I’ve got a college junior fellowship that will fund my doctorate, even though the teaching time will reduce my time for research.” I congratulated him and put my arms round him and kissed him. To my astonishment, he did not shrink from my embrace. In fact, he kissed me back. “Eleanor,” he said, putting his arm round my waist and guiding me to a seat. “I was very harsh with you in the Candlemas term. Tommy has told me that you were quite upset when I refused to go out with you. It was because I was jealous. I thought you were trying to take Tommy away from me. He’s mine, and if a man had tried to get his affections, I would have beaten him to pulp. But Tommy has told me that you are just as keen to befriend me as him. I’m sorry that I cold-shouldered you. What could I do to make you feel happier towards me?”
I nearly collapsed with amazement. Pulling myself together, I said calmly, “You could let me give you a blow-job! I want to show you that women can give just as good BJs as men!” We were sitting together on Tommy’s sofa, and I reached out and put my hand over the crotch of his jeans and held it there. After a few seconds I could feel his cock stiffening. I squeezed the lump in his clothes and then reached and unzipped his fly. He was wearing a nice lemon-yellow pair of briefs, and I could see a small damp patch beginning to develop on them near the tip of his fairly stiff penis. A look of surprise was still on his face as I kissed him on the lips. I opened my mouth, wondering if he would respond. After a short lag, I felt his tongue enter my mouth. I put my right arm round his shoulders and brought my tongue into contact with his. He then, rather to my amazement, opened his own mouth and let my tongue enter. After some minutes of oral exploration, I reached for the waistband of his briefs and pulled them down his belly sufficiently to release his cock, which by now was fully hard. It only stuck out a few centimetres above the elastic, but enough was exposed for me to get hold of it. It was quite slimy, but his waistband pressed it firmly against his belly. “Stand up!” I whispered. Surprisingly, he obeyed and I was able to pull his lower garments down below his knees. He resumed his sitting position, so I was able to grab his cock and stroke it gently, lubricated by his precome. It was now decision time. Should I give him a hand job or a blow job? I decided that the best thing to do was to ask him, so I whispered in his ear “Hand or mouth?” If he had been Tommy, he would have blushed scarlet at such a question, but Martin just grinned at me and said, “Mouth please!”
He opened his legs as far as he could with the constraint of trousers and briefs round his ankles and I knelt on the floor and gently guided his dick into my mouth. I recognized the aroma of Storing pour Homme from his crotch. I had hoped that he might be extra well-hung (euphemism for having a big cock and balls), but to my slight disappointment, his cock was about the same size as Tommy’s. I took it into my mouth, my lips in the rim of his glans and then began to nibble his retracted foreskin. The expression on his face, when I had time to look up, was a mixture of pleasure and surprise. “That is so GOOD, Eleanor, you give a wonderful blow-job.”
The cock-play continued for several minutes, and I noticed that he had detected the Storing pour Homme that I was wearing. It mingled well with his own perfume and his natural manly aroma. In due course his excitement reached a climax, and with a series of loud grunts, discharged a big load of fuck-juice into my willing mouth. I savoured it in my mouth before slowly swallowing it. Once again, there was no taste of honey or nectar, just a slight salty flavour as the white slimy DNA-rich ejaculate slipped down my throat. He grinned with delight and said, “I suppose I shouldn’t say this, but you are nearly as good as Tommy at sucking me off! Now, how about another cup of coffee to wash away the taste of spunk?” I wiped his dick with a tissue from my handbag and helped him to pull up his underpants and jeans and secure his belt. He poured us another cup of coffee.
I said to him, “Now it’s my turn to thank you! It was hard work getting you going, but in the end, you were as good as Tommy at fucking my mouth. You’ll be able to compare notes with him about my performance. He was the first man that I sucked off, and you are the second. As no-one has taught me how to do it, I was quite a virgin, and I just had to rely on instinct for what I should do. I was so glad when you both beylikdüzü escort bayan seemed to enjoy it. The dildo you lent me helped a bit, but for oral use, it’s a poor substitute for a penis!
“You’ve been using Storing pour Homme, haven’t you?” he said in an accusatory tone. “Didn’t you know that fragrance is for gay men only?”
“I thought that it might help you adjust to my female aroma,” I said. “Many men, and not just gays, are said to dislike the smell of cunt!”
“I love it when you say dirty words!” Martin said with a grin.
“I was taught by my father to call a spade a spade!” I replied. “Clinicizing words for which there is a perfectly good English word is ridiculous. Everyone knows what they mean, so why avoid them? The fact that most have four letters is often taken to indicate that they are crude, but between intimates, they seem to me to be preferable. Only if you are talking to a doctor do you need to use such polite words as faeces and urine, penis and vagina. On the other hand, I think that the word ‘pussy’ is babyish, like ‘willy’. By the way, feel free to discuss my performance with Tommy. I will not get any better at sucking unless you give me feedback!
“Remember too, that I am always ready to sleep with either of you (menstrual state permitting) if the opportunity arises. Tommy told me once that before he met you he had a girlfriend with whom he used to sleep sometimes at Octavia Avenue. He used to fuck her in her college room most Saturday afternoons. I am available on Saturday afternoons, which might interest you after Tommy moves to Cleobury! Even if you don’t like women, understanding how their bodies work is a valuable male skill. I’m not asking you to give up your bf, nor to be unfaithful to him. I just want to share love with the two of you. I know that my behaviour is most unfeminine, indeed some people might term it unnatural. I’m not even a typical fag-hag. Fag-hags want safe male company without sex. I want safe male company with sex, and with the promise of children when we are older and all in secure jobs.”
Martin smiled more tenderly than I had ever seen before. “Tommy was the victim of a predatrix in his first year in college. I thought that, intelligent though you are, that you were just another huntress, looking for more male scalps (perhaps cocks would be more appropriate) to add to your collection, and that you had picked Tommy and me as a special challenge because we were gay.”
“Has no-one except Tommy loved you for yourself?” I asked him, without really expecting an answer. “Time to go out and eat!” I exclaimed. “Instead of the Sparrowhawk, let’s try somewhere new. New places to eat seem to spring up in Camford nearly every week. Do you know any good new ones?”
We chose a pub near the river. It was not new, but was under new management. Martin seemed to be a bit edgy. “If anyone I know sees me with you, I’ll never live it down! ‘He must be bi!’ they will say.”
“Don’t be silly, Martin!” I said. “You don’t really give a shit as to what people think about you. If you did, you’d be in the closet!” And I took a sip of my beer. I had always been a female beer lover, but only in the last year had I taken to drinking in pints rather than halves, which men think is more ladylike. But I didn’t care about what people thought. Drinking slowly in pints saves a lot of extra visits to the bar. I was always sorry that buying draught beer in pitchers has never caught on in England. Martin told me that Tommy was the beer expert, and that he himself had needed education about the different types and styles of beer. He told me that the beer I was drinking was tasteless gassy rubbish and that he would show me what a good beer tasted like. So he bought the next round, and I have to admit that the beer he chose for me tasted a lot nicer. I smiled at him happily. “Martin,” I said “you have made me very happy! Not because of the beer, but because you let me give you head! I’m getting quite keen on sex!”
We ordered a ploughman’s lunch each, which came with pickle and potato crisps as well as bread and four varieties of cheese. I noticed that Martin was looking at me quite intently, as if he had not seen me before. I wondered if he would make some kind of sexual approach, but nothing happened, except that he said that the scent of Storing pour Homme suited me. This change of attitude to the scent suggested to me that his reserve about women was beginning to crumble. We took one of Sanguis College’s punts and spent the afternoon on the river. About 5 pm I kissed him goodbye at the bus stop for the park and ride bus.
As I drove home, I felt reasonably satisfied with my efforts. I had now sucked both boys off! I regarded this as the first step towards going to bed with them, either singly or together. I was very happy.
A walking holiday with some unladylike behaviour
Eventually, the end of August approached and we began our walking holiday. We had pre-booked the accommodation, a double beylikduzu escort and a single room, in several different hotels. As we were not constrained by the financial stringency that is usual for our age group, we elected to stay in comfortable hotels, rather than in bed-and-breakfast establishments. We were able, in the three weeks, to do quite a lot of walks in the North Yorkshire Moors, the Tees Valley and along Hadrian’s Wall. In order to avoid restrictions, we took two cars. For some walks, we would drive both cars to the end point of the walk, preferably near a pub or restaurant, leave one car there and drive in the other to the starting point. We would then embark on our chosen walk, usually not less than ten and not more than twenty-five km. At the end of the walk, we would then return in the car to the the starting point to pick up the other car before returning our hotel. On other days we would simply do a circular walk using one car.
One day in the first week, we went a walk that involved climbing a hill with the curious name of Roseberry Topping. About 1 pm, we stopped to eat our packed lunches, sitting on the ground with our backs to a big rock, when Tommy, suddenly and without warning, farted loudly. He blushed scarlet, and said, “I’m terribly sorry, Eleanor, that was rather rude of me.” I grinned, and I noticed that Martin also grinned.
[If you prefer not to read about people farting, feel free to skip the next five paragraphs. If you do read, I assure you that there will be no nasty smells!]
“Don’t worry, Tommy!” I told him. “We all fart from time to time. I’m not one of those women who gets offended when a man farts. My mother used to complain at home when I or my father farted. She used to tell me that ladies don’t fart in company. My father never minded me letting one go.”
“We’ve both been brought up in all-male company, so of course we don’t mind when either of us farts,” said Martin. “However, I know that women are much less relaxed about farting, and pretend that it doesn’t happen. But Tommy and I do have one rule: we give each other advance warning before we fart, in case it turns out to be a stinker!”
“That seems a very sensible rule,” I said. “I will adopt the same principle, so please don’t make any rude comments next time you hear me let one off!”
I noticed that both men’s flatulence seemed to develop in the afternoons, and before long, I started to join in the anal chorus. The first time I did it, I warned them that it was about to happen and both grinned and each of them kissed me. “Welcome to the farters’ club!” said Martin.
Soon all three of us would relieve ourselves after lunch by releasing one or more noisy anal emissions. Eventually this led to embarrassment being replaced by humour, with all kinds of ribald comments from the boys like “that was an award winner! or “would you mind repeating that comment?” or simply “better out than in!” I noticed too that it would get each of them sexually aroused, at least so far as to develop a pronounced lump in the crotch of their trousers.
By the end of the first week of the holiday, we were as comfortable in each others’ company as if we were brothers and sisters. That made me very happy. I had always missed having siblings. However, that family comfort was not enough for me. I wanted the intimacy of sex. So early in the second week, as we were exploring a walk in the Swaledale valley, I said to the boys, “Please will each of you spend a night in bed with me?” This sounded, as I said it, to be the most whorish sentence that I had ever uttered. Nice girls never ask verbally for sex!
“We’ve known for ages that you wanted one of us to fuck you!” said Martin, “But shouldn’t a nice girl like you be saving her virginity for the man she wants to marry? You are, after all, destined for the priesthood. Clergy do not sleep around!”
“I know! I have been wrestling with my conscience about this for some months. I hate hypocrisy, and I think that my behaviour is incompatible with a priestly vocation. So, big news, you will not destroy my vocation by fucking me, because I have decided not to go for ordination! I can’t bear the prospect of setting an example of chastity! Moreover, I don’t think that I could marry either of you, because I want you both, and I can’t promise before witnesses to love and live with one man exclusively. That would be a prize example of hypocrisy. But that does NOT mean that I don’t want you to fuck me. I enjoyed sucking both of you off. I now want, or maybe my cunt wants, the experience of being fucked!”
“Are you sure that you can’t make do with the dildo? I’m sure that it gives you quite a thrill!”
“Don’t be silly, Martin!” I said. “It’s not just about the sensation, it’s about the contact with the whole of a human being, not just a dick. I want to be part of a relationship between the three of us, not merely to be fucked.”
So the next night at the hotel in Richmond, I slipped out of my bedroom, having said my prayers and got ready for bed, and tapped gently on the boys’ door. Tommy peered round the door and opened it at once. He was stark naked. I hopped into his bed while Martin lay grinning in the next bed. “I’d rather that you didn’t watch, Martin!” said Tommy, and climbed into the other side of the bed.