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TITLE: GOBSMACKED
AUTHOR: XScribe
RATING: NC-17
CLASSIFICATION: Mulder/Original male character; Mulder/Phoebe Green SPOILERS: Fire
SUMMARY: Mulder had more than one reason behind his reluctance to discuss his experiences at Oxford. He preferred not to acknowledge the outcome of his failed liaison with Phoebe Green, nor was he willing to share the account of the very deep relationship that developed between him and his best friend. ARCHIVE: I'd be honored; just please let me know. DISCLAIMERS: No infringement intended on the legal ownership of these characters. NOTES: Innumerable thanks to Siberian Skys for flogging me into writing this fic, for all the wonderful assistance and effort she's provided along the way, and for her ever-so-helpful beta. Also, a special thank you to my long-time friend, TeenaMarieW, for her one but truly inspiring suggestion for this fic and for the invaluable help from Red Scully and Chica. FEEDBACK: Please. I really appreciate hearing from readers. xscribe123@yahoo.com
GOBSMACKED
WEDNESDAY--OCTOBER
PERRY
Fox was one of those intrinsically good sorts. The kind one came across only once in a lifetime. A genuine genius, he'd impressively aced his first year at Oxford, despite the fact that he was essentially a stranger in a strange land--an American on British soil for the first time in his life.
There was no denying that he did study a lot. University, he took very seriously. That and a few other things he shouldn't have. Not himself, though. It was an odd combination to find someone with his brains and sense of humor all together in one person. It was that easy-going nature and the fact that he didn't take himself too seriously that made him so likeable. Almost everyone who knew him liked him. Which was why he was the last person in the world to deserve the trouble he was so dead-set to create for himself.
It had been my father's life-long dream for me to become a barrister in the family tradition. My goals in life were a lot less rigid. I'd taken after my mum who'd studied art. Despite that her family didn't have all the affluence of the Elden-Becks, her talent earned her a successful career as a set designer for stage and eventually film. But, to please my dad, I dutifully studied law at Oxford like my older brother had--so long as I got to squeeze in a couple of art classes. For incentive, my dad promised to buy me a motorcar of my own choosing when I graduated, so in the end, I agreed.
It was through the law courses that I came to know of Phoebe Green and through the psychology courses that we all came to know of each other. I knew more about her than Fox did, though, because I shared more classes with her.
During our first year, Fox and I lived at the same hall and became mates. The second year, we were neighbors. I helped him with maths, which he said was one of his weaker points, while he helped discipline my swotting and essay-writing for my law courses.
It was art where my passion lay. According to my mother, before my earliest recollections, I was always taking crayon, pen, pencil--any medium I could find--to paper. In the event that I had no paper, I'd use the walls and furniture, which our housekeepers were never too keen on.
As students in art are encouraged to practice their skills as much as possible, we were to choose our own subjects to perform this exercise outside of class. My dry law textbooks could serve me better as doorstops, for all I cared. So I imposed upon Fox to be my model. With his striking good looks and fantastic, toned body, he was perfect. His immediate reaction, of course, was to think I was barmy. Though I didn't say as much, I fully understood; I shared exactly the same sentiments, when my fellow classmates put the same request to me. Thus, I had to execute my practice in stealth, reading and taking notes from my books, as I should, until he'd become engrossed in his own studies. Then I'd open the binder I'd tucked my sketchpad in, and furtively attempt to capture his lovely features with my pencils. Being no idiot, he caught on fairly quickly and was none-too-pleased. It took time to attain his begrudging cooperation, but being as we were study-mates, he didn't have much choice.
It always bothered me that a good bloke like him, for all his intelligence, went and let himself get mixed up with Phoebe Green. The fact that she was a rich snob wasn't even the worst of it. Truth was she was something of a slag. There was rumor she'd slept with a tutor who'd mysteriously disappeared over the Christmas holiday and never returned because, we were told, he'd found another job. Perhaps that was really all there was to it, but all rumors start out with some kernel of truth. Just because she returned the next term didn't mean her rich family hadn't paid off the university to overlook the incident.
Most of it didn't have to be rumor, though--a lot of students dated her and could give first-hand reports about her. There was no denying she was pretty. She could probably have been a fashion model if she'd tried. Despite that, I'd never been tempted to ask her to sit for me.
I didn't see when it came about, but somehow or another, Fox fell for her. If I had seen it, I would have intervened in a heartbeat. As soon as I figured it out, I told him about her reputation. By that time, it was too late for him to listen--he jumped on me in her defense. I knew the only thing I could do then was back off. For his sake, I looked out for him. I don't know why--for some stupid reason, I went and appointed myself as his guardian or something when I should have known better.
Though it was some time in our first year at Oxford that the sordid affair started, I had the impression they hadn't had one official date until the second year. Why that fact alone didn't put him off didn't make any sense to me right off. Then I realized that like all geniuses, Fox had a serious blind spot in some category--and it wasn't in maths. He was even more of an idiot than I when it came to romance.
FOX
Once again, her persuasive looks and promises made after class dissipated like fragile gossamer into disillusionment. Empty echoes fading down the ancient, stone halls of Oxford.
I waited more than an hour at the library for Phoebe at one of the vast, imposing tables while everyone else around me studied. Every time someone would walk by, I'd look up. She'd done the same thing before--making promises she didn't keep. But still, somehow, whenever she'd flash those expressive blue eyes at me, I'd feel winded. I'd have to remind myself to breathe. It was like the best adrenalin high I'd ever experienced. And as during all adrenalin highs, coherent, logical thought would fall to the wayside. All I knew was, the crap they said about love was true. It was like every other ephemeral experience out there--it all seemed like so much hypothetical bullshit--until it happened to you.
Phoebe was incredible. She was absolutely beautiful, alluring, exciting, vibrant, assertive...and confident to the point of dangerous. I wasn't like other guys. They dated all the time. I didn't know how to talk to a girl. Despite all my well-meaning classmates, I pretty much ignored their suggestions. I guess I never saw enough reason to play the game. I knew I'd get turned down, anyway. So why put myself through that? I'd always been skeptical about the whole "falling in love" thing. I'd developed a theory that the whole concept had been invented by men as a ploy to coax women into having sex with them. The other theory was that the idea had mainly been developed and honed to serve commerce. Business entrepreneurs were always trying to find some angle to part the average sucker from his money. I learned different.
My first year at Oxford was killer. The educational system was a lot different in the U.K. A student couldn't hope to coast through simply by passing some screw-around courses to meet graduate requirements. A student really had to apply himself or herself a hundred percent to the chosen subject.
I've always enjoyed studying and learning, so that wasn't a problem for me. It was merely a matter of getting used to the program. What I did miss were basketball, baseball, swimming--all the sports I used to go out for. They kept me busy and focused on something I really enjoyed when I wasn't reading and studying. There in England, their sports programs were different. Cricket was nothing like baseball and I've never been able to compete at football. From what I knew about rugby, it was doubtful I could compete at it, either. The only activity they did have I could have pursued, was running. The problem was, I'd have to join a club and I'd never been one for getting involved in social cliques. Which was just as well, anyway, because I wouldn't have had any time left over to spend with Phoebe.
I think it started with the way she looked at me. Through her gaze, alone, she could make me forget everything else. I couldn't begin to guess all the messages she conveyed in each look. I already knew she was brilliant from her comments in class and the scores she earned. That a girl like her even noticed my existence was amazing.
It was just before exams that she came up and talked to me for the first time. All through the summer, I worried that she'd probably forgotten our parting words. That didn't turn out to be the case at all. She hadn't forgotten me. From then on, we began studying together. Every second I spent with her was like an illusion. Her intelligent commentary was stimulating. Well, everything about her was. Maybe it was her effort at theory and analysis that I admired. Yet despite that I knew she was perfectly capable, I found myself doing more than half the writing on her term papers. As if I didn't have enough of my own work to do.
Contrary to what my friends thought, I knew I wasn't being taken advantage of. Considering the way their thought patterns worked, it took no stretch of the imagination to understand the reasoning behind their accusations. Being guys, they were of the belief that everything that transpired between a man and a woman of the right age group had to be about sex. As attracted as I was to Phoebe, the mere fact that she willingly spent time with me was enough of a shock to my system. I might have wanted it, but didn't dare hope for anything more. Her signals suggested she wanted to be more than friends, but evidently, she'd been brought up like I had--with old-fashioned values. I deeply respected her for that. She wasn't at all like some of my acquaintances tried to intimate.
Illuminated by the reading lamp on my desk, the words in the textbook scrambled into a blur. All I could think about was the captivating scent of her perfume, the lilt of her refined British accent, the grace of her motion in something as simple as tossing her hair from her eyes. God, I was beginning to think about her in corny greeting card phrases. It was impossible not to hate myself for my weakness. A weakness that made me look for her in everything. A weakness I couldn't control.
Tired, I rubbed my eyes beneath my glasses. It was time I overcame my hurt and disillusionment and studied. I should have been used to being stood up by her.
A rap on the door interrupted my superficial scan of the pages. Even if they didn't make sense at the moment, I knew I could recall them when I had to.
I held my breath. The anguish I'd been struggling with instantly evaporated. If I had any sense, I should have ignored her, like she had me. That was a laugh. Instead, I got up so fast I nearly dropped my book and ran into my chair in my rush to get to the door.
Even before I opened it, I was ready to forgive her.
Instead, I found one of my classmates waiting in the corridor. Holding his sketchpad, a textbook, and a notebook, Perry was in good spirits. "Hey, I just got the latest MSG, AC/DC, and U2 tapes. Thought you might want to lessen the drudgery of swotting by giving them a listen." Attempting to invite himself in, he saw I hadn't moved, and paused. "Oh, I'm sorry. You've got company."
In an attempt to dismiss my disappointment, I released my breath. "Nothing like that." I stepped out of the way so he could see I was alone.
Back at the desk, I slid the portable stereo over for Perry's access. While he set up the music, I tried to resume studying.
"Stood up again, eh?" he commented.
Perry was cool and we'd become pretty good friends over the first year, even though sometimes, he could be an annoying know-it-all son-of-a-bitch. He didn't like Phoebe. Since they were both studying law, he had more courses with her, but that didn't make him an authority on her. Admittedly, he was impressed with her looks, but had no interest in her. Some time ago, he'd made up his mind that she was arrogant and self-obsessed. He was one of the acquaintances who'd tried to convince me that she slept around a lot. He didn't have a clue. "Stood up?" I lied. "I didn't have any plans--"
"Oh, then that wasn't you talking to Miss Green in the hall today. Must've been some other bloke I saw her with, then. My mistake."
"We were just talking," I enunciated stiffly, readjusting my glasses to focus on the page. "We didn't make any plans about studying together tonight."
Without a word, Perry went to switch on the bedside lamp then threw himself onto the bed. Eventually, I glanced back and saw him scribbling in his sketchbook instead of studying. It wasn't any business of mine, but the guy would never get his essays done in time at the rate he was going. Maybe he was right about the music--I was able to read again. Until out of the corner of my eye, I saw him shift to the nearest corner of the bed. Then I felt his gaze exchanging between me and his sketchbook
"Would you mind kind of turning this way a little?" he suddenly asked.
Modeling for him unnerved me. Even though he'd explained it to me in a way that made sense, I still wasn't comfortable about it. "The light's better right where I am," I said.
"Then...would you mind taking off your shirt?"
I made no mystery of my disapproval. "Aren't you sick of drawing me? Hasn't your tutor told you to find another subject by now? Say a still life? Try the bookcase, for a change." That would have to provide far more interesting results.
"It's a life drawing class, you dumb git. Besides, you know I get plenty of experience drawing other subjects in class." Holding the sketchbook out, Perry returned to the desk to show off his last assignment, a nude female.
Once again, I was reminded of his skill as an artist. Talent like that shouldn't go to waste. "Why don't you go ask one of the other guys to model for you, for once?"
"Who?" Perry kidded, returning to the bed. "Waltham the walrus? Come on. Off with it."
In fact, the guy was a hell of a looker and wouldn't do bad to invest in a full-length mirror so he could draw himself. At something like six feet three inches tall, with curly, golden-blond hair and brilliant blue eyes, along with an incredibly tight, lean-muscled body to match, he'd make a hell of a model. That was territory best left untraveled. I kept my mouth shut. Besides, the suggestion was completely impractical for a student. In support of his talent, I removed my glasses then took off my pullover. That done, I replaced the glasses and turned back to my book.
Maybe fifteen seconds later, Perry spoke again. "Mm, now the rest. Then bring the book over here and you can study on the bed."
"Hell no."
"Why not?" Perry baited. "Don't want me showing off your assets in class?"
We'd had the argument before. I didn't bother to answer.
"With your book in front of your face," he chided, "no one's going to know it's you."
I sighed. "First of all, I don't have any assets. And second, you know I don't like the idea."
"Oh, if you only knew half what you got..."
"Evidently nothing women want." Damn, I hadn't meant to say it out loud--it just came out. Thinking about it hurt enough, let alone saying it. Ultimately, I feared Phoebe was really only looking for some geek dumb enough to write her papers for her. She knew I had a high grade point average. Any romantic interest I liked to imagine she had in me could have been nothing but pure fantasy, on my part. With the help of my studies in psychology, thus far, I tried to make sense of it. I'd not reached any revelations.
Not looking up from his sketchpad, Perry laughed. "That's not the way I see it."
"What do you know about women?" I muttered. "All you know is you like dick--particularly when it's stripped."
"What was that?"
Deliberately, I'd spoken beneath the volume of the music. Still, Perry had a way about him. Affable and laid-back, yet assertive and cool. Neither demanding nor manipulative, but still persuasive in the best possible way.
I gave in and humored him. To fully undress, I took off my sneakers and socks, first. Then stood up to shed the rest of my clothes, except my glasses. I needed those. With book and notepaper, I went to the bed to sit against the headboard. Ordinarily, being naked didn't bother me--it was the idea of modeling that made me feel awkward. Knees up, I held the book in front of my face. "Mind you, I'm only doing this for the sake of your practice. Draw all you want--just not my face."
"Not behind them window panes, anyway. Look, I can't see a thing if you don't lie out. Otherwise, it's all shadow, isn't it?"
While he angled the work lamp on the desk and turned the chair around, I obeyed. Reluctantly.
"If you're going to go about throwing yourself into a mood every time you get stood up by a girl, you'll have ulcers before you reach twenty-five."
It was pointless to discuss a subject outside his realm of experience; I didn't answer.
For a short while, I traded between the book and my notebook to jot down notes. Every time I caught a glimpse of Perry he was busily scribbling away, trading his gaze between me and his paper, and different pencils from his mouth. My book blocked the view when he dropped the U2 into the stereo, next. Then I felt the bed give.
Inevitably, the knowledge of the lust behind his scrutiny couldn't help but arouse me at least somewhat. The combination of flattery and anticipation got to my libido, which I had about as much control over as I did my emotions about Phoebe.
Putting aside the sketchbook, Perry took my semi-erect cock to pull and pet. I about dropped my book on my face, which could have done a number on my glasses. Rather than risk that, I gave up studying for the time being and set my things aside, as well.
Left to my own devices, it would have been a safe bet that I may never have had sex. Call me an idiot, but I had no idea there was anything wrong in finding males just as sexually stimulating as females until prep school where the rage was to insult everyone by calling them homos and faggots. Even when I found out what it meant, my sexual tastes weren't fazed. It didn't matter, anyway--it hadn't begun to occur to me to seek a sexual partner. I kept quiet about my interests and meant to leave it at that until whenever. The next thing I knew, guys started coming onto me through prep and high school. Needless to say, I was thoroughly confused. It was rare, but it happened. I didn't respond--I didn't know how. The method was rough--mostly cruel teasing and contrived circumstances for furtive groping.
At Oxford, I noticed a slightly different atmosphere. Sure, in general, British males were like Americans in a lot of ways--they played macho and threw around insults like "girls", "faggots", and "Marys" to deride other males. Despite that, my circumcised status earned me some fairly blatant gawking, in the communal showers. The truth was, I was as equally fascinated by their uncut cocks--I just did my best not to stare. In American, no one would, unless he didn't mind being ostracized as queer for the rest of his years at the given school. Having grown up accustomed to those social mores, the first time I came across some less-than-clandestine sexual activity going on in the communal showers among my Oxford hall-mates, I about fell on the floor. I guess because I didn't run off and report them, that meant it was "safe" for them to mess around in front of me. Once again, all I could do was avert my gaze and pretend I didn't notice a thing. That wasn't the end of it, by any means.
It wasn't long before I got approached. That couldn't have been merely because I didn't report them--apparently, no one who was aware of it did, either. Or if it was reported, it didn't stop. And, since the number of students to share bathrooms--or lavatories--was limited, after I was determined to be "safe", it wasn't any hardship to keep track of who was into it, who wasn't, and who was ignored. Curious as I was, I found myself too nervous to give in to the advances.
Until it happened with Perry. By then, we'd already developed a friendship. Aside from being in one of my classes, he roomed across from me. Of all my hall-mates, he was the one I had the hardest time not gawking at and I sure as hell wasn't the only one. Even our rigidly straight hall-mates would look at him. And he was one of the ones I'd find looking me over. I'd learned soon after we started hanging around together that he accepted the idea of sex between two members of the same gender as casually as if it were the norm. That open-minded, level-headed rational acceptance of different ideals that the British possess, as a whole, is where our cultural similarities come to an abrupt end.
Even though I knew that much about him, the first time he came onto me, I was so stunned, I didn't know how to act or react. Yeah, we were friends, and I found him extremely attractive, but I flustered. Conversely, even though my brain was going haywire, that didn't interfere with my body's instantaneous response to arousal. Not that that was the first time he'd had that effect on me.
When he took me in his mouth, I raised my knees again, and held them apart while my heels dug into the mattress. Having my shaft pulled and nuts gripped while my cock was crushed between his palate and tongue had this tendency to make me forget everything else. My prior mood was successfully obliterated--for the time being, anyway.
Gripping my pillow under my head, I was near writhing by the time Perry let me go. I popped right out of his mouth to full mast. Just like I loved playing with and teasing his uncut piece, he'd always gotten a kick out of toying with me for the opposite reason. I didn't watch but I enjoyed his exploration of my trimmed cock. Then he tucked my knees up to tongue my ass. I have to admit--I never would have guessed foreplay like that could feel so good. Once he got me good and slippery, he tucked his finger in and rubbed, taking my hard-on back onto his mouth. That was it--my cock and balls throbbed too hard to hold back. I planted my feet back on the bed so I could thrust to explode.
Abruptly, Perry got over me, trading his finger for the head of his fully exposed penis. For someone who wasn't used to seeing cock in its natural state, I was always doubly impressed by this phenomenon; it looked so damn good, plus I couldn't get over the knowledge that I was the one responsible for having coaxed it out of hiding.
Panting, he prodded my ass with his erection, ready to push in. "Come on, then... Let me--let me have at you..."
Being over twenty, and not having had intercourse with anyone yet, it wasn't something I advertised. Not when the male ideal was to have scored at the youngest possible age. Somehow, my lack of experience seemed apparent, anyway.
Growing apprehensive, I relaxed beneath him. I wasn't sure I was ready to go this far with a man before I'd accomplished as much with a woman. Was I really that much of a loser? Maybe if I was purely homosexual that thought would never have entered my mind. But, I wasn't.
Persuasively, Perry slipped his finger back up my ass.
Instantly, the pleasure spread right into my nuts, to head of my cock. Gasping, I shut my eyes in ecstasy.
"If you think that feels good, wait till you feel the real thing..."
The thought of the "real thing" was intimidating and would have to hurt. I was tempted, yet equally not.
When he tried to pull me onto his lap, I resisted. Leaning over me, he ground his organ against mine and I shot right back up. Before I could caution him to grab something to keep from messing up the bedcover, he was rhythmically pumping his cock against me. Looking down his perfectly-chiseled chest, the dark gold curls on his breastbone, then down the awe-inspiring ridges of his washboard abdomen, to see my shiny glans just before he trapped it between us, I wasn't about to stop him for anything.
Thursday after class, during which I'd tried to ignore Phoebe since she'd made no effort to talk to me or explain herself, I heard her calling me in the hall. Trying to act casual, I glanced back. Resolutely, I made up my mind to turn down another study session with her, no matter what.
"Fox," she said, appearing all-innocent. "Have you got any plans for this weekend?"
Suspiciously, I hesitated. "Why?"
"I thought it would be fun to go to the cinema." She readjusted the books in her arms.
If she thought I was going to offer to carry them, she had another thought coming. "Are you inviting me?"
"Course, you silly."
"Who else is going?" I was still suspicious. The thought of going on an outing with her and a team of her friends didn't sound inviting.
"No one." Seeming surprised, she looked around them. "Just you and me."
It was my turn to surprise. "You mean like a date?"
Nudging me forward, we proceeded down the hall to the exit. "If that's all right with you."
All right? I felt lightheaded.
Revamping, she caught my arm. "Was it improper for me to ask you out instead of the other way around?"
"N - no. That's perfectly okay." As if I could ever work up the nerve to ask her out.
"Good, then," she smiled. "Saturday night. Let's find out what's playing."
Being as my parents weren't in the habit of factoring in extra funds for me to spend on dates, I couldn't afford to take Phoebe to dinner, too. However, Howeshe proposed dinner then insisted on paying for it. After that, we went to see "Blade Runner" which I, in turn, insisted on paying for.
When the lights went down, I put my glasses on. The last thing I wanted was to appear like a dork in front of her, but if I didn't wear them, I was bound to get a headache.
Evidently, the glasses didn't put her off at all. She leaned real close to me. Then in the middle of the movie, beneath the cover of her coat, she took my hand and guided it beneath her skirt to her lap. I couldn't believe it. She wasn't wearing any underwear. I went hard instantly.
Willingly, she opened her legs and let me finger her all I wanted. Boy, did I want. Much as I'd wanted to see the movie, I didn't care that my concentration was devoted elsewhere. We were interrupted only once when someone in our row got up, but she put my hand right back as soon as it was possible.
For the remainder of the movie, I pretty much kept my hand up her skirt. The fact that she got wet and slippery turned me on so bad I had to back off a few times for my own sake. If I thought I'd been lightheaded before, that was nothing compared to the way I felt when we got up to leave. At the last second, I remembered to hold my own coat in front of me, in case my hard-on could be detected.
The bus ride back to her hall seemed to take an eternity. I couldn't think of anything but the fact that she was naked and wet under her woolen skirt. Then when we got to her room, she meaningfully kissed me on the mouth, but sent me back to my hall. Sure, I wanted to protest, but I saw her point. Technically, it was only our first date and I couldn't blame her for not wanting to rush things.
During the next week, she invited me to go to the college bar with her one evening. I hardly ever drank, but I jumped at the chance. After the trip to the movies, I forgot all about all the times I'd been ditched.
She didn't. When I got to her room, she was ready and waiting.
We argued only briefly over whom would pay for the drinks. If I did, I knew I could wind up eating in the dining hall the rest of the month. The food was good, so I couldn't really complain. Still, since her parents didn't have to pay extravagant fees for her education, they could afford to send her a nice allowance. I let her pay.
Cigarette in hand, she leaned by my ear. I was met with the subtle fragrance of her perfume. "I'm going to let you in a little secret," she whispered. "I'm not wearing any knickers."
The following weekend, she invited me to the movies again. If I'd been paying for all the entertainment, I would have had to write my parents for more money. Despite the approaching end of the Michaelmas term, and our neglected studies, I agreed to go. We sat way at the back where we'd remain fairly isolated and I knew I was bound to get a headache, even with my glasses. I didn't stay focused on the movie long enough for that to happen. Before I knew it, she tossed her coat over her lap and invited me to feel up her naked lap. About the time her quiet squirming and gasping were really getting to me--halfway through the movie--she rushed me out of the theater and straight to her hall.
In her tastefully decorated room, I was in such awe I just stood there, unmoving, while she took a seat on the edge of her bed. "Don't just stand there," she urged, lifting a foot. "Help me off with my boots."
With minimal effort, I eased her slightly muddied, knee-length boots off her. Only then did I finally get a look at the heavy, sweater-knit leggings that went up over her knees.
Lying back on her elbows, she raised her knees so her skirt fell back. Between her pale thighs, I saw how slick she'd become from my toying.
"I'm going to teach you something most men have no concept of," she said. "I'm going to show you how to satisfy a woman. Give me your hand."
Totally entranced, I dropped my coat on the floor. Without hesitation, I got on my knees in front of her and fully surrendered my hand into her educated guidance. She took my forefinger, and together, we slid back the hood of foreskin to reveal her clitoris.
"Eat me," she breathed. Releasing my hand, she stretched her inner lips wide apart. The pearly interior glistened.
God, did I want to, but more than that, my cock lunged to sink into the minute aperture that promised to provide sucking, nut-wrenching stimulus beyond my wildest imagination. Still, I obeyed as instructed. It was important that she trust me, implicitly. The salty flavor made me jerk again; it was the similarity to the taste of cock that got to me. While she told me where and when to lick, I hardly heard her. The deeper I explored, the more her instructions gave way to pants, moans, and gasps. When I slid my fingers up inside her without receiving prior authorization, her vocalizations of pleasure intensified.
Feeling the tight contours inside her made the throbbing in my cock pound harder. Evidently, it did something to her, too, because soon her vocalizations rose in urgency. I hadn't noticed when she'd stopped giving instructions, but all of a sudden, she spoke again. "Rub my clit with your right hand and put your left fingers inside me."
Instantly, she took over as navigator again and pressed my thumb with an exact amount of pressure on the shaft of her rigid little organ. Through my touch, she ground my touch against it, demonstrating the necessary rhythm. With the muscles in her crotch clamped down, her panting and gasping mounted in desperation. Right in front of my eyes, I saw her juices run down to coat her rear entry and that was more than I could endure.
Drawing my left hand from her hot confines, I unzipped. If I didn't do something, I was going suffer a lousy climax and worst of all, in my pants.
"Wha...?" she gasped, strained. "What are you doing? Don't take your fingers out."
I could do better than that. For a moment, I recovered my right hand to unfasten my belt and waistband.
"Oh, no, no," she admonished. "Don't stop now. I was almost there. Quickly. Give me your hand back."
"But, Phoebe --"
"Hush and give me your hand."
The moment I touched her clit again, she seized control of my hand to stimulate herself, in a frenzy.
In breathless excitement, knees still up and wide apart, she further commanded, "Now the other hand -- in and out with your finger like you're fucking me."
To hell with that. Lying back on the bed, her knees up and wide open, she couldn't see what I was doing, anyway. While she worked my forefinger over her, I popped out of my briefs. Just then, she caught her breath and cried out. Violent, rhythmic waves from her orgasm rocked her pelvis, matching each stroke we made.
The sight threw me over the edge and I caught myself in time to make it pleasurable when I shot all over her bedcover and spread vulva. Figuring she'd be upset, I winced. But, she was too wrapped up in her own ecstasy to notice.
DECEMBER
Standing behind Phoebe as she transferred my hand-written notes onto paper, I studied her exquisite bare neck and shoulders with the added magnification of my glasses. She was wearing one of those blouses with the wide collars, so it slid down to expose plenty of her pale skin. No unsightly bra straps showed, indicating she wore nothing underneath. If I looked over her shoulder, I could see slight cleavage and the rise of her sweet, little breasts.
"What are you doing after exams?" I finally dared ask.
It took her a few moments to answer. When she ceased typing, she paused to take a hit on the cigarette smoldering in the ashtray on the desk. "I'll be going home for the holidays, of course. My family is expecting me."
Hedging, I toyed with my bottle of room temperature ale. I didn't like the taste of beer or ale much as it was, and it was even worse at room temperature. But, that was the Brits drank it, and I was getting used to it. "I...I guess I'll be sticking around here..."
Leaning forward to set the cigarette down again, then fix an error on the paper, Phoebe mused, "Haven't you got family at home waiting to see you?"
"I went home last year for the holidays and it's pretty expensive. They're paying enough for me to be out here at all, you know..."
"I'm sure it is," was all she said, sounding vague.
Not yet had she let me go any further than to practice bringing her to climax. I couldn't help it--I'd come into her bedspread, which she must have noticed, but never said anything about. I fully understood that she wasn't ready to go that far, yet, though I don't know what she told the scout.
While Phoebe finished typing out her paper, I ran my hands over her shoulders until one of her tits threatened to show. She let me. Exposing her, I pulled and played with her nipple and eventually the other one, too. This didn't last too long; once more, she stopped typing.
"What do you say you open us another couple of ales? This one's done." She emptied her bottle, at once then stood up.
Papers forgotten, we reconvened on the bed. She brought her freshly opened bottle of ale and another cigarette and the ashtray. Then let me completely undress her. Beneath her skirt, she wore a minuscule pair of sheer thong panties.
I loved the way she acted when drunk. I liked the way I felt, too. She'd grope me through my pants and giggle. At the most, she'd unbutton my shirt, rub my chest and tug on my hair, and pull on my nipples, in turn, but she wouldn't undo my pants. Then it was time to shift my attention to her.
With exams coming up, I knew time was running out for our trysts. Then she'd be gone for a whole month until Hilary term began. Lying on her, trading back and forth from one of her thick, jutting nipples to the other, I pressed my clothed erection against her crotch but all she panted was, "Oh God, Fox, eat me."
Once again employing self-control, I worked my way down her body to do as asked. By all means, she had every right to maintain her virginity and I had no right to expect anything more.
Down on my knees on the floor, I watched her slide down to the edge of the bed, blushing tits standing out. I drew off her pants. Her lips already sparkled in anticipation. Lifting her knees far apart, she put a hand on the dark curls on her prominent pubic bone and spread herself wide open.
I dove. Sucking, licking, exploring. The more I did, the more honey she put out and the more she gasped, panted, squealed, and moaned. She kept her volume in check, but not her enthusiasm.
Like an idiot, I'd worn jeans. Damn. Difficult to get out of and near crippling on a hard-on and taut nuts. Maintaining steady attention on her while I struggled to undo my pants wasn't easy, but she'd protest if I showed any signs of distraction. So I centered on probing her clitoris with my tongue, thus freeing my hands. When I sucked, she really went wild. Catching her hands beneath her knees, she submitted herself impulsively, squealing and panting anew. I drew her into my mouth.
With all that, I had to let my zipper go to grab myself through my jeans. I was getting desperate enough to jack off right through the heavy denim and deal with the wet consequences later.
A harsh, burning smell cut through my sex-muddled daze.
The sight of gray tendrils of smoke curling up from the side of the bed had me instantly on my feet. I yanked Phoebe off the mattress with me, and shot to the far side of the room.
"Fox!" she remonstrated, struggling not to trip.
On the rumpled bedcover, I saw the ashtray with crushed cigarette butts and ashes. Her last goddamn cigarette must have fallen out and off the edge of the bed. There were only two exits--the hall door and the window. The window was closer. In a blind panic, I tried to rush her to the window.
She wrenched from me. "Are you daft?" She raced back to the bedside, naked, except for her heavy, knit stockings. Ripping the cover from the bed, she threw it over the fire in attempt to smother it.
"Phoebe!" I threw open the window and climbed onto the sill. "Get over here! Now!" The threat of a scant two-story jump to the frozen ground was nothing compared to the alternative.
She burst into laughter.
Poised to escape, I dared look back. The smoke had diffused to a mere haze. Totally calm, Phoebe picked up her bottle of ale and headed for me, still laughing.
"My goodness," her eyes widened, mocking. "What are you on about? It was all of a spark or two. You could have put it out if you'd spat on it." She laughed harder.
Waiting for my pounding heart, shuddering lungs, and cold sweat to resolve, I couldn't move.
"What is it?" Phoebe prodded, taking a drink from her bottle. Her gaze dropped to my groin. "You weren't taken short, were you? Come now. And what happened to that nice, hefty package of yours?" She traced a finger over my crotch.
I jumped down from the sill to avoid her reach, but it was too late.
"Oh, my," she remarked. "Are you a phobic, Foxy? Have you got a fear about fire?" Leaning past me, she shut the window, making no effort to cover her nudity. At night, with the lamps on inside and the campus lights on outside, she could well have been seen.
I yanked her aside of the window. "Someone's going to see you!"
"But, it's freezing cold," she stated, "and you weren't closing it. Besides, a minute ago, you were ready to send me shimmying down the drainpipe without a thing on."
She was right. I was so terrified a minute ago, I hadn't even thought about it. As we were still in front of the window, I hastily drew the curtains closed.
"So, tell me, then." This time, she felt me up with uncharacteristic presumptuousness. "Are you phobic?"
Instantly, I knocked her hand away. Banter I was used to, but this crossed into the boundary of vicious mockery. She'd already set my sense of masculinity back a few years, but now she seemed bent on completely castrating me.
"Well," she stated. "Aren't we the touchy one all of a sudden? You were all very willing for me to give you a hand job a few minutes ago." She nodded toward the bed. "And here I was, all but convinced to let you make love to me." Pacing away, she drew her robe from the hook in her closet and wrapped it around herself.
My knees nearly buckled. I wanted her so bad, and I'd ruined it. My stupid, idiotic terror and panic had overcome me. She'd never look at me the same, now that she'd seen me like this.
"Well, then," she enunciated, tying the sash of her robe, "if you've got nothing to say, you may as well leave. I'll take care of the bedcover, myself. While I was rather thinking this episode might advance our psychology studies by leaps and bounds. It seems you may well harbor an actual phobia, yet you refuse to analyze it. Whereas I was thinking it might be quite educational for the both of us to dissect and examine this dysfunction of yours."
Just because I saw her point didn't make it easy to cooperate. At least I managed to step away from the window, though I left a wide berth between myself, and the burned area. Despite my studies in psychology thus far, I'd never seen my incompatibility with fire as a phobia. It was just common sense. Who in their right mind wouldn't be afraid? Now that she'd pointed it out, I had to wonder if her diagnosis might be accurate. "I-I don't know if you could call it a phobia..." I allowed.
"Not that I'm any sort of an expert, myself," she said, toying with the lapel of her robe, "but if you'd only seen your reaction...I'm sure I can submit your pallor, dilated pupils, and obviously accelerated respirations for analysis to our tutor. But, interestingly, I don't recall reading anything about penile retraction. Let's have a look, shall we?" Pouting in condescending manner, she bent to unzip me.
It was then I knew she was still mocking me. I had to get out. In the hallway, I leaned against the wall, trying to catch my breath. Beyond her door, I could hear her near hysterical laughter.
The afternoon before turning in my first two papers, a couple of days later, I poured over them at my desk, looking for errors. If anything, the knock on my door grated on my nerves; even if it was Perry, I knew he couldn't do shit to alleviate the way I felt.
When the door didn't rattle, I knew it wasn't him. That meant whomever it was I had even less desire to waste time with.
Opening the door, I started when I found Phoebe standing in the hall. Ordinarily I would have been thrilled, but instead all I felt was humiliation and shame.
To add insult to injury, she smelled fantastic and looked better than ever. Bundled up in her coat against the cold, her cheeks were flushed and her alluring eyes sparkled.
"May I come in?" she asked.
"What for?" I countered, dropping my gaze to the floor.
Her voice lowered to a stage whisper. "To apologize. I'm so dreadfully sorry. Please forgive me."
Wary, I met her gaze again, but only for a moment. Her sorrowful eyes and full-lipped pout were irresistible. "Forget it," I exhaled. "You were right. I guess I do have some sort of a stupid--"
Pushing into the room, she kissed me, shoving the door shut behind herself. Before I could do anything, she kissed me again, turning her head, working to get her tongue in my mouth.
Shocked, I pulled away. I was still hurt from the crap she'd just put me through and was certain she was back to inflict more damage. I couldn't look at her and I couldn't cuss her out. "Don't," I said. "I think you'd better go."
"Please, Fox," she persisted. "I was very tipsy. I said and did stupid things. It was all a mistake. I'm so terribly sorry..."
With near-zero experience with women, I was at a loss. However, I had lots of experience with hurt, confusion, humiliation--you name it. I wandered back to the desk, still averting my eyes. "I'm working on my papers. I'm kind of busy--"
"You've helped me quite a bit through this term; I'd like to help you."
"Don't worry; you've given me a deeper understanding of psychology..."
"That inebriated reaction was a grave error on my part. Please give me another chance..."
Hearing the fall of heavy fabric, I glanced back and saw she'd dropped her coat to the floor. Underneath, she wore a short, wool shift, no blouse, and heavy stockings. The shift's narrow shoulders and very low-cut neckline made it obvious it wasn't wearing a bra, either. I turned back to the desk, immediately.
Suddenly behind me, her arms slipped around my waist to unfasten my trousers. "I think it's time," she said," I satisfy you..."
No games, no humiliation. As I was still wary and smarting, she had to fight and bribe me to unzip my trousers. The glimpses she'd allowed me of tit and snatch instantly overcame my psychological reluctance; physiology took over, so thankfully I wasn't drawn when she unzipped me. In my chair at the desk, I suddenly realized she'd never seen me before. After the incident in her room and in my indiscreet circumcised state, uncertainty hovered. My male classmates had made it pretty clear they weren't used to seeing cut cock.
I fought a little to remain hidden, but she was already hell bent on exposing me. "Oh, my," she cooed. "There we are. And aren't we lovely?"
My cock convinced before my brain engaged. Idiotically hypnotized, I slid way down in the chair and let her wrestle off my socks and shirt. The pert bounce of her little tits threatening to reveal nipple from behind her skimpy shift straps was enough for me. I went way too hard. She seized me and thrust me deep in her mouth.
Well, at that point I ceased caring if she had any tricks to spring on me. Particularly after I felt her throat grip and swallow me. That was an unbelievable sensation. Was fellatio an innate ability in women? She hardly coughed and didn't choke. Working me into the tight, hard, slick recesses of her throat, she gripped my testes a little too tight, but the deep-throating made up for it.
Hooking my legs over the arms of the chair, I hoped she'd finger-fuck me the way Perry did; I was so excited, I could overlook the difference in the length and strength of her fingers. Laying her forefinger alongside the underside of my shaft, she wet it. The next thing I knew, it poked at my asshole and thrust in.
My turn for instinctive behavior. With a little effort, I soon had her stroking inside me in the same place Perry did. What proper etiquette was in these circumstances, I didn't really know. No "facts of life" discussions had ever transpired between my parents and me. I did know what I wanted, though. Clumsily, I reached to drop one shoulder of her shift. She caught on, and bared both shoulders down to her waist.
With my legs wide apart by peering down her shoulders, if I was lucky, I could catch a glimpse of her swinging little breasts capped with the prominent prongs of her standing tits. That wasn't all; as she was up on her knees, I figured out she had a hand thrust beneath the hem of her shift and was eagerly masturbating.
I couldn't help it; I came. Stumbling to keep from gagging, she swallowed, and that only added to my ecstasy. The opening and closing of her throat on me introduced me to a whole new kind of stimulation--one I couldn't have dreamed existed. All through it, she kept swallowing, and stroking out my ejaculate, masturbating herself all the harder. In complete awe, I let her do whatever she wanted, even after I was spent. Her strong sucking and tonguing kept me hard, though it threatened to become too intense. Then judging by her dramatic, stifled vocalizations on me, and the slowing massage at her crotch, I knew she'd climaxed.
In backing off, she gave me one last slurp, which I felt down to my testicles.
Recovering her hand from beneath her hem, she carefully got up, clearing her throat and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Well, Mr. Fox, you are no disappointment, indeed." Chest shuddering, she righted her shift to cover her jutting nipples. Making me self-conscious, her gaze was glued to my wet dick, which now stood at better than half-mast.
Abruptly, she snatched her coat off the floor. "Well, I'm off." Flashing me a smile, she bundled up then rushed out the door, shutting it behind her.
PERRY
Still in sub-fusc attire, save for the mortarboard, I went round to Fox's room after exams. I felt bad for him, hanging around the university with the few other stragglers, missing the holidays. And worse, I knew he'd be pining over that Green slag the whole time.
He was doing nothing at all. In fact, he'd not even changed out of dress, himself. As academically oriented and conformist as Fox had seemed at first, I'd learned a while back that he was, in fact, an anarchist at heart. We almost never attended formal dinners if we could help it, so it was uncommon to see him in his formal attire. I'm sure he thought the same of me. Still, he was right cute, all dressed up.
I followed as he trudged to his bed and collapsed on it.
"What are you brooding about?" I taunted. "Think you forgot to dot an 'i'?"
"I don't give a shit if I washed the whole term."
It wasn't my imagination--he sounded truly despondent.
The shades weren't drawn, keeping the room dim, even after midday. "I'm about packed to leave. My dad will be here soon with a lorry. Mind giving us a hand?"
Hesitating only briefly, Fox sat up. "Sure."
"Maybe you want to change," I suggested.
He looked down at himself. Then at me. "What about you?"
"Yeah, I'll change," I volunteered. Mainly, I wanted to watch him strip. He was beautiful. He had the kind of body the Greeks would have had wet dreams about when they made up their gods. Sleek and slender curvaceous muscles, little hips and fantastic abdominal and pectoral muscles.
In my room, while I changed, he played with my artist's manikin instead of packing it. Fascinated with the thing, he'd pick it up practically every time he came into my room. "You're really not going home for the holidays?" I queried, casually.
"I'll be fine," he said. "My father doesn't get into Christmas all that much, anyway."
For the last couple of weeks since I learned he'd been considering staying here at the university, I'd come up with a crazy idea. I'd already broached my parents about it and they agreed wholeheartedly. They did exactly as I knew they would and got all sorry for Fox.
Turning to face him as I pulled on an old jumper, I caught him looking down me. "How 'bout spending the holiday with me and me folks?"
"I-I can't do--"
"Like my parents' couldn't afford it," I scoffed. "Don't worry about exchanging gifts. They know you're a student with a budget to keep."
"I don't know them." He busied himself taping up one of the last boxes. "They don't know me. Why would they want a stranger living in their house at Chris--?"
"That's what the old Christmas spirit is about, isn't it? Anyway, I've asked them already and they were all but ready to send you a gilded invitation."
"Oh, so you painted me out to look like a homeless vagrant?" Fox took his turn at bantering, which he was quite good at.
"Oh, yeah," I readily retorted. "I told 'em your father was Ebenezer Scrooge incarnate and your mother had died givin' birth to ya. Broke me parents' dear old hearts, it did. They were both bawlin' their eyes out by the time I got done with the story."
Wryly, Fox twisted his mouth. "Seriously..."
I came to assist. We both picked up the telly to place it by the door. "Well, I had to make something up, didn't I? You've never told me much about your family."
"There's not much to tell. They're just your typical, run-of-the-mill mother and father."
"I hardly call having your father send you away to England to be rid of you, typical paternal behavior."
He thought a moment. "I think it may have been fifty-fifty; I wanted to be away from him, just as much."
Fox was the first American I'd ever met who had no trouble coming to understand British. Or at least who caught on, quick enough. In class, it was easy, as students who didn't speak the Queen's English were constantly reprimanded. I was among the few. I'd grown up with a mum who'd come from a working class family. I'd always loved the lilt of her accent, as opposed to my father's proper, formal one. Both my brother and I had taken to her accent when we learned to talk, up until primary school. From then on, we were taught to talk like our father. In third form, my brother began to lapse back; it turned out his rebellious mates had adopted an informal, slang-riddled, Cockney-based speak. For my brother, it came natural, since he'd always been a non-conformist and the lingo and pronunciations were closer to the way our mother spoke. I couldn't help but take to it, too.
When I was younger, I carefully balanced the two--proper English in class and the cool, informal speak, outside. In time, my own rebellious side won out and I ceased to make the differentiation. At Oxford, however, my informal speak wasn't well tolerated by tutors and I ignored the number of posh students who looked down their noses at me for using it. My classmates could all sod off, for all I cared--it was only for the sake of my education that I resorted back to proper English in class. As soon as my classmates learned I was actually as well educated as they, I suddenly had plenty of mates.
At first, Fox had a bit of trouble understanding me outside of class. I didn't even think about it, and therefore it struck me as odd that he had no trouble communicating with other Britons--including the tutors. That was admirable for an American. Rather than ask questions, he did his damnedest to learn my language. I wasn't the only student there who spoke it, though we were in the minority. That effort and his acceptance of my choice of speak were a couple of the reasons I first got on with him.
"It can't be all that bad," I said. "You went home last Christmas."
"Mainly for my mom. I went to see her. My parents are divorced."
If he wasn't kidding, my own dear heart was going to break. "Not really?"
He nodded with a closed look.
"I'm sorry to hear that. What about your mum, though? What's she like?"
"I don't know. She's like a mom. She's a lot more open and communicative than my father. I get along with her just fine."
I knew he was being vague on purpose. He didn't want to talk about it. I already knew he'd had a sister who'd been stolen away from the family when he was twelve. That, I hadn't told my parents. Which was what made the separation of his parents all the more heart-felt. Perhaps I'd better not reopen any more wounds. "My parents' are going to want to know about them," I had to point out.
"Like I said, there's not much to tell. My father works for the state. My mother was a housewife until they divorced. She got the house and alimony, and took part-time work."
"What does your father do for the state?"
"I don't know. I never did."
"You don't know?" I laughed. "I thought you said they were typical. If they were all that typical, you'd know what your father does at his job."
"All right, so he's not typical. The thing is he never told us what he does. I asked him a billion times, but he'd never explain his title or position. All I know is he's some sort of chief of staff or executive."
"Working for the state is like working for the public sector, right? Yet he gets paid well enough to support himself, send your mum alimony checks, plus send you to Oxford? Wow. Why did I have the impression public sector employees in the U.S. didn't get rich? Sounds like they pay your department managers like royalty over there."
"I've often wondered about that, myself."
Checking my watch, I nudged him. "Hey. We'd better hurry and get you packed, then."
"I don't want to be an imposition."
"When my dad gets here, I can assure you, he's not going to take no for an answer."
FOX
Sure enough, Mr. Elden-Beck wouldn't have taken no for an answer. He was a lot of things that my father wasn't. The two most notable differences on first impression were that Perry's father was animated and talkative. A long time ago, my dad used to be more like that but by now I'd all but forgotten. It was that forthright cordiality that cured me of any uncertainty I had about imposition. Still, I was left with the discomfort of knowing I had no way to repay the generosity. The traditional hospitality my mother had taught me was that magnanimity was not about expecting absolute reciprocation, but still, when not repaid to some extent, violators were cast in doubt for the rest of their lives. I didn't know what the British rule was, but then I wasn't given the option of backing out.
Their large house was upper middle class with a carved wooden staircase, fireplaces, and a library, but more comfortable than presumptuous. Mrs. Elden-Beck was so gracious she kissed me on both sides of my face when she met me, surprising me. Like I was her long-lost son or something. What the hell had Perry told them about me?
Though secretly I'd longed for an invitation to Phoebe's house for Christmas dinner at least, I knew realistically it was an improbable hope. At the very most, she might tell her parents she had a boyfriend.
The Elden-Becks offered me a guest room, but Perry rejected that plan and opted for us to room together. I thought that might seem weird to his parents, since it was unnecessary.
"You said you didn't want to be any trouble," he argued, soundly. "If we share up, that'll be one less room for Dorothea to look after." Dorothea was their housekeeper.
On entering his room, though, I discovered there was only a double bed present. Not only was I unused to sharing a bed, the issue of sheer propriety for the sake of Perry's parents was at stake.
His dad was prepared. "Well, there's an old camp bed up in attic, but it might not be so comfortable any more. Or we can pop one of the singles from the guest room in here, quick as you please."
"Nah, leave it," his son responded, waving a hand. "One bed's enough. There's plenty of room for Fox, skinny as he is."
"We'll see to putting some meat on the both of you," Mr. Elden-Beck remarked, blithely accepting the proposed sleeping arrangement as though it was perfectly normal. "You don't look like you've had more than a bite or two since you left for last term, yourself, Perry. There'll be plenty of food over the holidays to make up for your wasting away at University."
In shock, I unpacked beside Perry. All I could think of was how bizarre and unacceptable our sleeping arrangements would have come off in the states.
The main reason I hadn't gone back home was about expense. Every round-trip plane ticket cost hundreds. Since I'd be going to Greenwich to stay with Mom, she'd pay for it and would probably have to ask Dad for the extra money. He'd either give excuses about being too busy with work to visit over the holidays, or he'd show up, and act tense and obligated. I didn't want either of those circumstances. But most of all, it was the money. They were both spending more than enough on my schooling. As it was, I knew Mom would send me some expensive gifts and pack them up airmail. I couldn't stop her from doing that.
Had I gone home, though, I knew I wouldn't have had to spend the break exercising my best behavior in front of Perry's parents. That didn't really turn out to be the case. Once the initial welcoming was over, we weren't expected to hang around with them. They were perfectly okay about it, too. And since they had various kinds of hired help, Perry wasn't immediately put to work tending chores like I had to do at my house. Taking out the trash, shoveling the sidewalk and driveway, chopping wood for the fireplace--we didn't even have to pick up our dishes after meals. I'd felt bad for Mom when I first left for school, but she assured me she'd found someone to do a lot of those things for her, so I relaxed about it. Although again, it was an added expense for her. I had to keep reminding myself that I couldn't expect to stay home and do those things for her forever, but at least once I started working, that would untie a lot of her funds. It really hadn't been my idea to go overseas to complete my education--that had been my father's idea. He insisted that I have nothing but the best, but that was bullshit. I could have gone to Harvard or Yale--I'd been accepted at both. At least I would have been close enough to drive home every weekend and help Mom out. That's why I pretty much figured his main motive was to get rid of me.
Over dinner, Perry's parents asked all about mine, as I'd been warned. I understood why, though; it made perfect sense that they'd want to know the background of any guest they'd invited to stay under their roof.
I'd always felt stupid admitting I didn't know much about my father's occupation. Fortunately, I'd learned to explain it away as "classified" when I was in high school. Evidently, it was, and that always impressed inquirers. I just left a lot out--such as how, over the years, it had turned my father increasingly cold and unfeeling, as well as into an alcoholic. Certainly, Perry's parents didn't need to know any details. It was best to describe the situation as superficially as possible.
After a lengthy discussion of university and academics, Perry effortlessly ended the inquisition with a simple, "We're kind of tired after exams and packing and all," and we were immediately excused.
Because I wasn't about to ask my parents for a TV for my room at the hall, I got a kick out of watching Perry's. Despite the limited programming in Great Britain compared to what I was used to, the withdrawals were horrible; in no time, I was grateful to watch any televised programming. It wasn't much, but it could be a lot more informative than American TV. With less commercials. On the BBC channels, there were none, and fewer than I was used to on the other channels. That was going to spoil me, when I got back home. There was also a means of information through what they called Teletext--something that didn't exist in the states.
Casually, we hung around Perry's room, watching TV and talking till his parents looked in for the night a little before 10:00 p.m.
Right after that, Perry went wild. I'd barely slipped under the blankets, when I was attacked. Not quite that naive, I'd known this was his ulterior motive. We were both soon naked between the sheets, teasing and stroking each other. I couldn't help it; I got so distracted playing with his foreskin, I had a hard time keeping quiet. Covering my mouth, I buried my face against his shoulder.
"Don't worry," he supplied, quietly. "Their room's at the far end of the hall. They can't hear a thing."
"How can you be so sure?" I whispered.
"These walls are brick," he chided. "I never hear a peep out of them with their door shut unless I'm right in front of it. But, if you want," he suddenly spoke up, "I'll try calling them 'round and see if they come. Oh, Da-ad --"
"Shh!" There I was, lying right on top of him. Immediately, I slapped a hand over his mouth.
Turning me onto the mattress, he abandoned that effort in favor of running his mouth over my chest. Until he began tickling me, which had me struggling to keep quiet again.
Evidently, Perry was right about the brick walls. Despite our muffled giggles, laughter, gasps, and moans, we weren't interrupted. He didn't even get caught when he snuck out for a towel.
There was something exciting about maintaining a perfectly normal camaraderie in front of Perry's parents while indulging in sex with their son, behind their backs. Sleeping with a partner was a whole new experience for me, but I quickly got over my reluctance to share a bed; the reward of having sex on a daily basis was downright addictive.
Though I understood Mrs. Elden-Beck was gainfully employed, she didn't go anywhere to work the first week I stayed there. She did, however, make and receive a lot of phone calls pertaining to her work. A few days later after lunch, which she'd apparently eaten in the study, she called Perry in before we could find something to do. Inside, she was on the phone again, standing between the desk and her drafting table in front of the window.
One of the distinct things about Mrs. Elden-Beck was that was the kind of a mother who almost didn't look like one. Thick, brunette, shoulder length hair, and a youthful figure. It was his dad who had the curly, golden blond hair. Both of Perry's parents were good-looking, so it was easy to see why he was. She tossed him her set of keys then covered the mouthpiece of the phone. "Can you go down the shops for me?" she asked. "A couple of things are all I need."
Now, Perry struck me as the type who was far too independent to readily agree to waste the afternoon playing errand boy for his mother. I expected some degree of dissent, although in the end, he'd probably give in because he did respect his parents. As for me, I'm the kind of sucker who wouldn't have argued, no matter how much I disdained shopping. Which I did.
He looked to me appearing surprisingly agreeable. "Let's go."
It kind of made sense that his mother was the one who drove an MGB, since she was the eccentric in the family. Not that that made the outing thrilling for me. The ride was uncomfortable and noisy. At least the heater worked; the heavy cloud cover kept the temperature low. Perry offered me the chance to drive the car on the way back. I really wasn't and have never been that much a car buff. So the offer didn't make a major selling point for me. Furthermore, I wasn't used to driving a manual transmission. For the most part, my parents had owned nothing but automatics. And the time I'd spent in the U.K. had rusted my driving skills; it was completely unnecessary for me to ever get behind the wheel. Add to that the fact that I was in a strange country where they drove on the opposite side of the road dotted with unfamiliar traffic signs. I knew that sounded really lame for a guy and Perry's smirk only reinforced that fact. That meant he'd insist I drive back just for the opportunity to garner every possible ounce of pleasure in making fun of me as I flustered and stalled out the car. What the fuck? We weren't doing anything else, anyway. I may as well provide some source of humor for the afternoon.
What I did derive pleasure from was the view of London at ground level. The Elden-Becks lived about twenty miles outside of London where they both worked, and only some twenty-five to thirty miles or so from Oxford. My whole experience of London consisted of the route from Heathrow to Oxford by bus.
Seeing my awe I guess prompted Perry to show off a little of London. Since his mom told us she had a dinner to attend that evening and an appointment to get her hair done beforehand, we didn't have much time.
The traffic seemed all the nightmare I'd imagined it would be in a small MGB, as opposed to a bus. The markers on the road were confusing enough, but Perry--and many other drivers--seemed to take liberties and dart around on the narrow, crowded city streets as recklessly as possible. There didn't seem to be much order, anyway. No wonder he hadn't insisted I drive yet--I would have gotten us both killed, for sure.
Aside from that, the city--like Oxford--looked spectacular to an American citizen. I was used to seeing plenty of historical landmarks throughout New England, but these ancient, historical buildings were of a whole other culture. Despite the cold, I had to lower my window to lean out and take in the city through every sense I could. Perry ribbed me of course, but then concluded he was sure he'd hang out the window, too, if he ever got the chance to visit my country.
In between the abbreviated sightseeing tour, we took care of his mom's shopping. It had to be the first time I'd ever enjoyed the activity other than as a kid at toy stores. I was too enthralled observing all the differences between the British and American shops to have time to get bored. I swear, I didn't even notice what we'd been sent out to buy.
Until we got to the "chemist's". That was when I realized Perry's main motivation for the trip. I felt pretty dumb. He dragged me just past the feminine hygiene products, to the sex aids.
"Help me find the lube," he urged. "Do you see the K-Y?"
As if I'd know anything about it. I wasn't keen on taxing my eyes without my glasses--especially for something outrageous like that. "You think I'd know what it looked like?" I quietly demanded, itching to wander off and explore some other part of the shop.
"Well, I'd rather not stand here gawking or someone will come 'round and ask if we need help. So let's hurry and find it."
"How are you going to explain the difference in change to your mom?"
Unruffled, he continued to scan the shelves. "She's not going care now, is she?"
From the chemist's he made me drive back. Naturally, my protests of reluctance went unheard. He just cast me a knowing look with those irresistible, sparkling, light sapphire eyes of his and stepped out onto the street to climb into the passenger side.
Bracing myself, I slipped into the uncomfortably small car. I admit--I always did like the smell of the genuine leather seats. After cranking the engine to life, with one foot firmly on the brake even before I released the parking one, I lay a hand on the stick shift knob. Fuck. I hadn't driven a stick shift since high school--and that was only rarely. I had a friend who had inherited his father's old stick shift pickup when he bought himself a new one. My friend hadn't really had to teach me how to drive it, though he had let me practice. I'd never understood how it was that I somehow intrinsically knew the mechanical basics of driving that pickup.
Some three years later, I thought I'd probably have to learn all over again from scratch. But, I didn't. Perry teased me about easing slowly from the curb like an old lady, rather than bolting out to miss the next barrage of traffic. Like hell I would. First I had to get used to synchronizing the clutch and accelerator while shifting gears.
To my relief, it all came back to me nearly like second-nature. Having a photographic memory and all the perks that go along with it has saved my ass many a time. Unfortunately, it couldn't do a thing to help me navigate London traffic.
Just as I figured, the foreign-marked roadways and roundabouts fucked with my head. My confusion earned us flak from the other drivers, but Perry laughed it all off. Even when I nearly got us sideswiped. Leaning out his window that time, he yelled after the motorist. "Bloody well learn to drive, ya prat!" Collapsing back into his seat, Perry whooped harder when he saw the look on the other driver's face.
After that, I couldn't help but calm and allow myself to see the humor in the situation. How could anyone stay agitated for long around Perry? He had a great laugh, too--a little dumb-sounding, to the point of being cute, and when he'd bite his tongue to keep from laughing too hard, that was even cuter, making it impossible to remain sober. Part of my anxiety was also invested in the notion that if we survived the trip, his parents would probably kill us if we put so much as one scratch on his mother's MGB, but once again, his casual, assured attitude put me at ease. Pretty soon, we were both laughing off the traffic and I was taking chances I never would have taken on my own.
That evening, we couldn't leave the dinner table fast enough. While Mr. Elden-Beck watched TV downstairs in the great room, I was upstairs with his son, wrestling for the use of the K-Y jelly first. We wound up making-out on the rug on the far side of the bed, grinding our unbridled hard-ons together, me on top. Struggling to hold Perry's foreskin closed over the tip of his glans while it lunged in response was one of my favorite games. The object was to make him fight until he got so turned on, the lubricant seeped out. He could protest all he wanted but the game enhanced the enticement. I loved squeezing the crystalline drops from his foreskin. He could tease the hell out of me all he wanted out in the open--that was part of his charm. I knew he'd succumb to my teasing in bed.
In his room, I concentrated on wresting down Perry's trousers, then poking a jelly-covered finger between his legs to find his entrance. His erection shirked its foreskin as he gave in to the prep. He surrendered the rest of his clothes. Then with what looked like a nervous glance at my cock, he raised his knees and held his breath.
In other words, he was letting me take the first honors. Right then, I learned that the concept of ass-fucking wasn't given the credit it deserved. I didn't know what it would feel like to sink my dick into pussy, but I didn't see how it could beat the crush of rock hard muscle that wouldn't have yielded if not for the slippery coating. Perry's erratic breath-holding, panting, and gasping intensified as I spread that ring of muscle open around me. As I slid in, I saw his pouch loosen some. Delirious, I plunged deeper, still. The hot, slick interior gripped me. Within, the stroking was unbelievably seductive.
From then on, I pretty much lost track of what I was doing. If ever an appropriate word had been dreamed up to describe the sensation I felt, it was "rush". Blindly, I seized Perry's long, lean legs up to openly expose his crotch to watch as I pumped in. All his muscles had tensed up; he panted, open-mouthed, appearing astonished. With each thrust, his full nuts and arcing, semi-sheathed penis bounced hard, adding to the appeal as a sense of power. Overwhelmed, I lost control and didn't care if I never regained it. When I came, I practically saw stars. Afterwards, all I could do was collapse on him.
"Oh, God," Perry gasped. His strong muscles forced me out.
My sentiments exactly. When I finally revived enough to think, I felt his soft organ trapped against my hot skin. I backed to cool off and lick up the anticipated puddles, but didn't feel any. All I found were his relaxed nuts and hooded cock. Only a glimpse of the very tip could be seen.
Puzzled, I blinked.
Slowly, he sat up on the rug, wincing. "Hoo, that's a bit of rod to take on all at once."
I didn't get it. So I sure didn't know what to say. It had only been the best fucking climax I'd ever had, but he hadn't enjoyed it? He'd being trying to persuade me to go this far for some time, and I'd been so tempted. Disappointed and dazed, I sat on the rug with him a few moments.
Hearing someone on the stairs, I threw Perry's pants over his lap and got up in a hurry. Just in time, I managed to grab my robe off the back of the door and was tying it shut when his Dad knocked and looked in. "How about us boys--?" He paused on sight of my robe. "Awfully early to be turning in for the night, isn't it?"
"I-I was on my way to take a shower," I explained, feebly.
"Where's Perry?" he asked.
Not daring to turn around and check, I swayed slightly, holding my breath.
To my relief, Mr. Elden-Beck brightened, focusing past me. "Ah, there you are, son. What are you doing back there?"
"Nothing," Perry answered. I heard his soft, bare footsteps as he approached. "Just faffing about."
Since his father seemed unperturbed, I had to assume Perry had successfully replaced his pants in time. "Well, look," Mr. Elden-Beck went on. "I was about to invite you and Fox to the pub. Just us boys, since your mother's off at her meeting. What do you think?"
While I freaked over the bizarre and untimely invitation, Perry answered, "S-sure."
I was granted my shower. Still confused and uncertain, I returned to the bedroom to put on clean clothes. Perry had redressed and was on his way out of the room when I entered. His uncomfortable expression didn't bode well.
"We still going?" I asked him.
"Yeah," he said, over his shoulder.
In hastily redressing, I sort of searched for the K-Y tube. First, to make sure it was good and hidden, and second, to determine if Perry had thrown it out. Not finding it in the bin, I had only to open the nightstand drawer on his side to locate the tube. With a shade less trepidation, I quickly finished dressing.
In an effort to dry my hair, I toweled it one last time before combing it out. At the length it had grown to, it took longer to dry. Getting regular haircuts during term was a bottom priority task. Anyway, Perry's was shaggy like mine, and he looked fantastic. It was just the years of scolding my mom always gave me about running out in freezing cold with my hair wet that stuck with me.
While I was in front of the mirror with my comb, he looked in.
"Come on, already," he urged. "Dad's waiting."
Before I could say anything, Perry was gone again. Not that I knew his dad well, but so far, I hadn't seen him demonstrate impatience about anything.
It was raining when we got into Mr. Elden-Beck's dark blue Mercedes, where he did just about all the talking.
I felt weird. Deliberately, I avoided looking at him. From the backseat, that meant dodging the rearview mirror. All I could think of was that I'd just had incredible sex with his son. And not just something that could be passed off as harmless, experimental foreplay. I'd just experienced a monumental milestone in my life, and I'd done it with Mr. Elden-Beck's son. There was no question that the couple had no idea their boy had homosexual tendencies. If they had, they would never have permitted us to sleep in the same room together.
While I remained fairly silent in the backseat, wiping the fog off the window with my coat sleeve, Perry acted a little more subdued than normal beside his father. I hoped it would be attributed to fatigue and his father wouldn't become suspicious.
Over dinner, we'd discussed my brief visit to London. On the trip to the pub, I tuned in to hear Mr. Elden-Beck suggest Perry and I spend the whole next weekend sightseeing. It had been my intention to one day take myself on a tour there before I finished up at Oxford. His offer was way better. That was, if Perry's cordial consent wasn't just an act in front of his dad. By then, I'd learned Perry could act casually about anything. Usually, it wasn't an act--that was just his nature. But when he did act, he could be damn good at it.
My anxiety only got worse when we got to the pub. Not only did I have to face his dad, but I had to drink with him. Since I didn't drink much, I sure as hell wasn't used to doing so around my friends' fathers.
We weren't the only ones there despite that it was a weeknight. Mr. Elden-Beck paused briefly to socialize with a few acquaintances along the way before we got to a wooden table and chairs. There, we shed our coats to the fourth chair and he ordered up pints for all of us.
The first and only thing I wanted to do was down enough of the tepid ale to relax. While we were waiting for the waitress to return, though, Mr. Elden-Beck noticed the silence between us, while he lit a cigarette.
He looked to Perry. "Something wrong, son?"
Shaking his head, he started to sit up in his chair, but not by much. "Bum a smoke?"
The question seemed to surprise Mr. Elden-Beck as much as it did me. "You smoke now?" he asked, nevertheless, producing another cigarette from the case.
"Once in a while," Perry responded, gesturing vaguely.
I'd forgotten about it in the interim, but the first couple of times Perry and I went to the college pub, he'd smoked. Only cigarettes he'd "bummed" from friends there. We didn't go there often and as we spent more time together, he seemed to have stopped smoking altogether. I'd never said a word about it. I guess in light of the circumstances, I couldn't blame him. He had to be as weirded out as I.
In proper etiquette, Mr. Elden-Beck extended the case toward me, next. I shook my head.
To my relief, the waitress arrived soon, giving me an excuse not to talk. While I calmed my mild revulsion over the taste of the warm ale, Perry's dad laughed and patted me on the shoulder.
"Why you're the first American I've ever seen not to whinge over the taste of warm draught."
"You missed all his whinging," Perry supplied. "He's not much of a drinker, but he's gotten used to it."
"He's not, is he?" Mr. Elden-Beck remarked. "There's a good lad. But you've no classes to attend in the morning. You may as well drink up while you can." In toast, he touched his glass to mine.
Guilt hovered claustrophobically; I took another drink.
It came as no surprise that his father's talkative nature was compounded by alcohol. By the time he asked me about the state of my romantic affairs, I was leaning back in my chair, too, pleasantly drunk. Because I'd never actually had a girlfriend before, I practically tripped in my excitement to answer. But, before I got too far extolling upon Phoebe's numerous virtues, I caught a glimpse of Perry's abrupt attitude shift. Suddenly, he was toying with his glass, frowning at the table. That was when I remembered how much he disliked her.
Cutting myself off, I promptly rounded up my response. Knowing Perry, if I antagonized him on a subject too long, he'd break in and make rude comments. Considering the subject and the fact that this was his father, that seemed like a worst-case scenario to me.
"Have you talked to her since you've been staying on with us?" Mr. Elden-Beck asked.
"Uh, no," I replied.
"You've got her number, don't you?"
"N-no," I went on. "I thought she'd be busy with her family over the holidays, you know?"
"Oh, now, it'd be a tragedy if you went the whole break without ringing her," he said. "What's the family name again? I'll call around and find you her number. You'll be inviting her to go to London with you. And surely, you've got to see her on Christmas Day."
Once more, I was floored by the Elden-Beck magnanimity. I hadn't expected to see Phoebe until Hilary. "Green," I instantly supplied. "No 'E' at the end."
Perry spoke up then. The subtlest of acidities punctuated his tone. "Maybe you'd prefer to have her show you 'round London, instead. She must know it just as well." He glanced up at me, blue eyes iced.
"If you've got the funds," Mr. Elden-Beck said. "Being as you're a full-time student and all, I know how it is. If you go with Perry, too, of course, I'd be more than happy--"
"I understand, sir," I immediately explained. I knew that meant I wouldn't be taking a tour of London with Phoebe, which was too bad. Not that I'd expected to. Though we'd talked at length about the reputedly haunted Tower of London, we'd never made any plans to go there together. For the time being, such an expense was unrealistic for me, even if I went on my own. I'd meant to do some saving beforehand.
"More than likely," Perry said, searching for the waitress, "she'd turn you down, anyway. And sure as shit, she wouldn't pay both your ways. I'm ready for another glass."
Pained by the astute remark, I flustered. Fortunately, his father came to my defense. "What sort of talk is that? We raised you better than to expect a lady to provide her own funds, let alone that of her fellow's."
"It's not a lady we're discussing, though, is it?" Perry inferred. "If Fox prefers to go with the likes of her, let it be his loss, then."
"Now that's enough of that, Peregrine," his father rebuffed. "I won't hear another word against Fox's lady friend. He's your guest. Now, if you had a girl, you'd invite her along, too, wouldn't you?"
Perry caught to the waitress' attention. "Who says I don't?"
His words sliced through my agitation over his accurate assessment of Phoebe's response. He had a girlfriend? I wasn't aware of it. I'd never seen him spending time with any one particular girl. If I'd known he had a girlfriend that would have been different. I began to feel ill. He hadn't enjoyed what had just transpired between us, and therefore, needed an excuse to promptly terminate that aspect of our friendship, right then and there.
Instantly, his father relaxed. "Well, why didn't you say so? Who is she? Tell me about her."
The waitress arrived, keeping his father and me in suspense a few moments longer. In the interim, I was becoming exponentially queasy. I was sorry when she withdrew to bring the next round of drinks.
Before going on, Perry took a long drag from his cigarette. "I'm not stupid enough to obligate myself to some girl by inviting her to London with us. What would I want to do that for?"
"In other words," his father observed, "you're not interested in getting to know her. You'll never get yourself a girl if you chose not to spend time with her."
"On the contrary," Perry answered, gaze on the ashtray as he tapped off some ashes. "I have no trouble getting girls. I just can't think of a one I'd care to take to London."
"That's precisely what I mean. I'm talking about someone you would care to take about. Someone you'd want to settle with. Someone who'll ground you." His father leaned closer and quietly added, "And for Christ's sake, I hope you're being responsible and not shagging around."
"Look." Confused, disturbed by his father's accusation, particularly in view of the perimeter of territory my relationship with his son had just crossed, and unwilling to hear more, I struggled to appear unaffected. "I wouldn't want to impose on Phoebe to spend time away from her family, anyway. It's Christmas. She's probably got all kinds of relatives to visit and catch up with."
"That sounds like her." Perry smirked. "Always giving of herself."
I didn't know what to say or how to respond, so it was just as well his father took charge of the conversation again. "I'll leave you boys to map out the details. I wouldn't worry about it, Fox. You'll see. Your young lady will be much more delighted to spend time with you than she would a barrel full of aunts and uncles. I'll get that number for you. Give her a ring and see if it isn't so."
Because Mr. Elden-Beck had to be at work the next morning, we didn't stay too long. Which may have been for the best or I may have gone on drinking. By that time, Perry was at least talking to me again, even if most of it was teasing.
Returning from the bathroom after preparing for bed, I found Perry lying on top of the covers, still fully dressed. It took me a few moments as I changed, but finally, I asked, "Are you going to sleep like that?"
The way he started indicated he'd probably been asleep. Trying to wake himself, he frowned. "I would, but I need a bath...what, with the way you sweat all over me..." Slowly, he dragged himself to the edge of the bed to sit up.
With his back to me, it was a little easier to address him on the subject. "Look, it was your idea. We never have to do it again, if you don't want to."
Drunkenly, he pulled off his shirt. "Just be up when I get back, 'cause I'm already planning to do it again."
PERRY
It was just like Fox to get such a batty thought in his head. Unlike most blokes, he had a heck of a conscience. Not like a twit, but he had his smarts and genuine compassion about it. I guess he must have seen that I wasn't all that comfortable, afterwards. He sure didn't notice a thing during--not the way he was going at me. I couldn't really blame him, though, considering his virginity. I mean, he never stated as much, but it was pretty obvious. Not that I was all that well-rounded about it, myself. So I wasn't exactly prepared for the pain all over again--particularly when it was being delivered by a fellow as nicely-endowed and anxiously eager as Fox, a somewhat painful combination.
Afterwards, while I struggled to gain back my senses, I saw him doing the same. That explained what he'd been looking so worried about, since. Still, it was downright barmy for him to think I wouldn't want it any more. The ale had both numbed the discomfort and made me randy. The only thing I needed right off was a good shower to revive me.
Beneath the spray of the water, I couldn't help thinking about my dad's insistence on getting Fox that scrubber's telephone number. Or about the way Fox had carried on over her like she was the Christly Holy Virgin Mary or something. Never mind that he'd just fucked me, an hour earlier. Had he just pretended I was her, while he went at it? It would serve him right if I never let him stick that unwieldy gut-raker up me again, the prick. Not if he was going to go about dreaming it was her he was having it off with. Right, and if it was her he was thinking of every time we were together, then he wouldn't get so crazy over my handle and knackers, would he? And he got crazy, all right. Obviously he liked boys. All right, so I already knew he was bloody "in love" with her and I was just for getting off on.
As for my father, I had no doubt he'd find the bug-eyed cow's telephone number, too. In his line of work, with his connections and cocksure manner, he could ring up the Queen, if he had a mind to. That was what made him so effective at his job. That was just the problem. It hadn't been a whole week, but at least Fox had ceased his moping about. Not only was I sick of her, I had no mind to spend a minute with her, let alone a whole weekend. There was no way to explain that to Dad, though. He'd get that rotting number and after that, the rest of the holiday would be down the pan. Once Fox started chasing that slag around again, I'd turf him out. He was staying on out of the goodness of my heart, after all.
Seeing no light under my folks' door, I nicked a towel and went straight back to my room. Fox was under the covers in his nightclothes, the lamp burning on the opposite side of the bed. I thought he may be asleep; as he was turned from the door, I couldn't be sure. No matter, I'd wake him up and make his cute little backside my own. He could marry the cunt if he was so fucking determined, but that was one thing she could never do.
He wasn't asleep, though. He watched me through his lashes till I switched off the lamp. Sliding under the covers and up against him, I felt his warm, bare skin from his hip, down.
Enticed, I felt up the thin hair on his chest and ran my mouth over his pecs to suck on his titties. They stood right up for me.
"You didn't..." he murmured, "...you didn't seem to like it..."
"Don't be daft," I assured him.
All my licking and mouthing seemed to do the trick. In no time, he turned to me. Entangling, our erections nudged each other--or, in our enthusiasm, they'd miss and we'd grind into each other's bellies. Finally, I reached to the night table for the K-Y and he wrapped himself around me from behind, his lengthy prod poking my biffin. All right. I'd let him have at me again. I'd said as much, after all, though I'd really been hoping to have a go at him.
Though his long fingers were coated with K-Y, I jumped when he introduced one up my sore backside. It wasn't recently that I'd last been done in such quick succession and it hadn't been by someone of his caliber. Once I got over the initial discomfort, the feel of his warm breath, his lips, and his soft bites on my backside, while he stroked inside me, I forgot all else. I scarcely remembered to put the towel under me.
Then he traded off his finger for his bellcap. As beautifully tapered and streamlined as it was for the job, it hurt. I gripped my pillow and took him, holding my breath until the head of his cock made it through my ring. Then as he bore in, blind pleasure swept over me; I pressed back into him. He attacked me.
Back at the pub he'd been so subdued and proper, no one could have imagined he could act so wild. He drove me right to the edge of the mattress and up on my knees. I was beginning to wonder if bedding the well-hung American wasn't something of a mistake. Ramming away in me, he felt even longer. Then he reached around and yanked me. Whether or not he was just getting off on his fascination with my uncut piece didn't matter; my cock jerked so hard in his hold it almost hurt. With his pulling my prick while he stroked my insides, I went right stiff in his hand. He tended to be a little rough on my exposed head, but when he played at me through my proper skin, his heavy fondling was perfect. At any rate, as I tried to keep from being shoved off the edge of the bed, I struggled to get him to ease up and wank me the way I liked it on my bare bellcap. Pretty soon, my arse was numb to any pain. I just wanted him to fuck me harder and faster.
There was no guessing where the towel had gone to when I couldn't hold back any longer. Because I was falling off the bed, I was pointing at my chest, I realized, as that was where my first load of mettle hit. Fox spontaneously launched into his orgasm with the onset of mine. With his mad thrusting, I think his embrace was the only thing that spared me from being thrown to the floor.
As I spiraled down from climax, I pressed back against his heated body and we settled on my pillow. It was odd, but it was the first time I'd ever felt so content I didn't mind being hot and exhausted with someone literally wrapped around me. So content, in fact, I fell asleep.
The usual muted morning commotion stirred me awake. Dad rushing around to get ready for work--doors opening and closing--footsteps hastening to and fro on the hardwood floors. Half asleep, I expected him to poke his head in my room and ask me what I was doing lazing about in bed when I had classes waiting.
Soon as I turned onto my back I felt Fox and was reminded I was on break from uni. Fortunately, no one would be looking in unless it got around to 11:00 or something if I'd still not shown up for breakfast. Dot would be antsy to do the breakfast dishes and make up the beds.
Waking up next to a mate wasn't a common experience for me. He was a pleasant sight in the mornings. When I happened to wake before him, I liked watching him sleep. He was a hell of a fine-looking bloke. Innocent and sweet, like a little boy. His wavy, golden-tipped hair would be a mess, I could see the length of his lashes on his cheeks, and depending how he lay, his full staff could well be seen poking up the bedcovers.
That morning he lay facing me, making it impossible to see his erection, but the sight of his bare shoulders reminded me he was naked beneath the covers. All night I'd dreamed about having sex with him; I sure hadn't forgotten that. Sometime during his lovemaking, he'd stripped off his shirt.
Shifting up close, I kissed his bare shoulders and worked toward his neck, then his jaw. I really liked the sensation of our whiskers scratching against each other's. Before I knew it, I went for his naturally pouty lower lip. He tipped his head to me and we started kissing.
Other than for brief brushes, I'd never really kissed a bloke straight on the mouth. Girls, yeah, but that came as a prerequisite for a hope of getting into their pants. Blokes were different. With me, kissing and sex didn't go hand-in-hand at all. But, that wasn't how I felt with Fox.
All of a sudden, I wanted to kiss him. I didn't know why. It was a deep-rooted, strong urge that didn't make any sense, but I couldn't stop myself. The next thing I knew, I was sucking hard on his tongue. Catching on, he stole atop me, his long, impressive morning stiffy pressing into my cock and lower belly. Just then, I remembered I had to piss, but the prospect of sex could make me wait forever.
Vaguely, I felt the shift of his come inside me. I must have slept pretty sound and stayed on my side or belly all night. But as he stayed atop me, I was pinned on my back. It was going to trickle out if I didn't do something. So I rolled him onto the bed beside me.
"Got to go to the loo," I murmured in a last fleeting kiss. The thought of Dot's surprise when she came in to make up the bed, if I didn't make it out in time, wasn't a pleasant one. Seeing Fox frown, I quickly added, "I'll be right back," on my way to grab my dressing gown off the back of door.
It had been the same, the evening before. I wasn't all that used to this sort of inconvenience, so when it hit me I was nearly taken unaware. I'd been about ready to break in on Fox's bath last evening, but he returned, just in time.
Bloody hell. I was reminded of how much it had hurt to be skewered twice so soon in a row. In the midst of my pained grimacing, Fox came in, wrapped in his dressing gown. Quick as I could, I went straight to the shower and turned on the taps.
We'd long been used to showering together in hall--we just couldn't do it in my parents' home as it might seem rather queer of us. Using the lav, however, while the other showered was perfectly normal.
"You're going to shower, too?" Fox asked, sounding annoyed.
Despite how cheeky it was in my parents' house, I ventured, "You want to have a shower together?"
"Your parents--"
"They won't look in," I assured him. "Dad's in too much of a hurry to get to work and expects us to sleep in on holiday. Mum won't be up for at least another hour."
Bathing together at home turned out to be a whole other experience. Maybe it was our assured solitude, knowing a hall-mate or scout wasn't going to come traipsing in, or maybe it was the graduation of our friendship to another level. Other than for gesture, we'd never really washed each other. Somehow, we both took to it like it was the most natural thing in the world. We soaped each other's hair and bodies down to every last detail. In using him as my model, I'd caressed the planes and lines of him with my pencils--but using my hands gave me the deepest pleasure.
The better I got to know Fox, the less enjoyment I found in taking advantage of him. Way back, he'd been awful fun to tease about sex, but out of nowhere, the amusement in that began to slack off.
Before I should lose every manner of sense, I had to stop him from giving me head right there in the bath. Leaning on the wall, my ripe prick was up at full attention in Fox's hands, while he knelt. A sharp rap hit the door and we both must have jumped a mile. My father called in something like, "I'm off, then. I'll see you both later tonight."
That evening, we discussed the weekend trip in my room instead of watching telly. When Dad had come home, he'd not said a word about the Green slag or her phone number, which was for the best. I decided to play it like she had no part in the plans. Most every American tourist wants to get a good look at the Tower Bridge and Buckingham Palace, but Fox wasn't interested in that kind of stuff. He already had some places in mind. It didn't surprise me that he wanted to see as many London museums as we could, being as he was the brainy sort, and I was more than willing to take him. In fact, when he brought up the allegedly haunted wartime museum and the exhibit of the cursed mummy, I was reminded of his fascination with the supernatural. Growing up, I'd always enjoyed a good ghost story, but didn't know how much I believed to be true or just rot. In his infectious, intelligent way, Fox turned me around about it. He was always reading up on every related subject. At first, I'd begun to think of him as an amusing kook in that aspect, but as I got to know him better, I realized he wasn't really a kook at all.
In fact, he had a whole itinerary of spots he wanted to visit, all over London. After ripping into the box of his few possessions from his room at the hall, he lay open a book of British hauntings he'd obviously studied long and hard. Some of the places I'd heard of when I was a boy--some not. Fox had done his homework, as usual, and knew exactly what he wanted to see. I promised I'd take him to every one of them, time allowing.
WEDNESDAY--DECEMBER 9
It was the next day when Dad came home to the dinner table, that he dropped the bad news. Not that it was bad as far as he was concerned. He was beaming like a regular Cheshire cat when he set the notepaper before Fox. It had two telephone numbers under the title Superintendent Green under Dad's bold print.
"Wasn't the least bit hard to locate the Greens," Dad announced. "In fact, I'm acquainted with her father, being as he's a police superintendent with Scotland Yard." Proudly, he clapped Fox on the shoulder. "If she's anything like her father, she's quite a girl. Sharp and dedicated."
Suddenly, I lost my appetite. Sharp, I knew she was--like a razor. But dedicated? To what? The aim to fuck every bloke on campus? I wondered what old Superintendent Green would think if he knew what his princess did to amuse herself between classes.
Of course, Mum, the romantic, seated at the table, piped up. "Who's that you're on about?"
Still grinning away, Dad took his seat at the head of the table and leaned to peck her cheek. "Turns out Fox's girlfriend is the daughter of an honored police superintendent. Isn't that something?"
"Really?" Mum remarked to Fox. "You never let on."
Stunned, Fox shrugged and gestured his own surprise.
"Now, there's the type of girl you should be looking for," Dad said to me, attacking the plate Dot set before him. "That should be a lesson to you not to listen to rumormongers. Whereas I looked to reputable sources for information."
To hold back a smart retort, I took a drink from my water glass, first. "I think my sources pretty much knew their subject, considering that they'd dated her."
"What do you know about her?" Mum asked me.
"Mm," Dad intervened before I could open my mouth. "Bawdy talk and rubbish. The tales of a bunch of young scalawags who only just learned to shave, yesterday. I knew plenty of boys like that when I was your age, and as little as it speaks for the evolution of mankind, there always will be. I wouldn't listen to a word of it."
"I won't deny that," I replied, "but I know these blokes well enough to differentiate between the ones who make up stories from those who don't."
"What did they say?" Mum persisted, curious.
"That," my dad went on, "is what's known as hearsay and you know it. There's good reason it's inadmissible in court, and I think you're bright enough to figure how it applies here."
After dinner, Dad followed Fox from the table, badgering him about ringing the Greens. Before he could answer, I interrupted. "Leave off him, already. Why is it so important to you?"
"I thought Fox rather fancied the girl," Dad pointed out. "Why don't you use the phone in the study?" he suggested, stalking us out to the stairs.
"Well, I--" Fox began.
On the first step, I stopped to cut Fox a heated look. Then frowned at my father, who was halfway toward the study doors. "Look, Dad, if Fox wants to ring her, I'm sure he wouldn't appreciate you hanging around, having a listen."
"Right. Of course he wouldn't." Tugging his tie loose, Dad nodded and started for the great room. "Help yourself to the phone, lad. I think I'll go catch the rest of the evening report on the telly."
When Dad was safely out of sight, Fox continued up the stairs past me, making no move for the study. Then I saw him slip the number into the pocket of his jeans. I suppose he thought he'd just hold off till I wasn't watching, then sneak behind my back and invite her along. By that time, it would be too late for me to put up a protest, especially with my dad's blessing.
Behind the shut door of my room, I braced myself, watching him back to the bed and remove his shoes. "Let's have it," I bristled.
"Are you kidding?" he scoffed, chuckling softly. "I don't remember your dad saying anything about running her number by you, first."
"If I leave it with you, like as not, you'll ring the tart and arrange for her to come meet you somewhere in London."
Incensed, he got to his stockinged feet. "I'm getting real sick of your attitude. You don't even know her. So you've had a few classes with her? How does that make you an authority? I have plenty of classmates, but I don't profess to 'know' them, just because of that. Why is it you hate her so much? Did you ask her out and she turned you down?"
"Like I'd be wanting a case of VD."
Even though I was ready for it, I was reminded how quick he was. Pouncing, he knocked me to the floor, but I blocked his strike.
"You don't know the first thing about her," he spit.
"I don't care what my father says," I argued. "I know those blokes a lot better than he does."
Incredulous, he got off me. "Why? Because you've had sex with them, too? How does that make them exempt from lying?"
Surprised, myself, and expecting he might tackle me again, I sat up. Considering the lot we were discussing, I couldn't help but laugh. "They're all straight. I don't know any other bi's dumb enough to bang her."
That time he hit me. Right in the mouth, as I was too busy being amused to pay attention. Then he grabbed my collar, threateningly. "If that's what they said, they lied. I'm sure she refused to sleep with them. I can guess what kind of self-inflated egotists they are, like most of the jerk-offs at Oxford. They couldn't cope with the idea that they weren't as irresistible as they thought, so they made up a lot of crap about her."
Much as my mouth smarted, I wasn't about to rub it and give him the satisfaction of seeing he'd inflicted pain. My tooth must have cut the inside of my lip, because I tasted blood. No less threatening, I knocked his hands away. Truth be told, I had no physical proof of her scrubber ways. She'd flashed her skirts at me, and I'd seen her do it with other blokes, but that wasn't enough evidence. I didn't want to tell Fox she'd flirted with me, when he was so batty about her. My dad was right--all I really had was hearsay. I thought. "What makes you so sure the rot she's been telling you is gospel? Don't you know that every girl tells the bloke she's banging that he's 'only one'?"
"She's never said that to me." He looked away.
"Then what are you on about?" Gingerly, I touched my mouth where he'd cuffed me. "If anyone's doing any lying, I'd say it's you--"
"How the fuck do you think I know what I'm talking about?" he snapped, still on his guard, coiled to strike again at any moment. "I know she's nothing like they said, because she's never done it with me."
Suspicions confirmed, I eyed him a moment, then got up to wander toward the bed, still carefully checking my lip. It didn't make any sense, but that was a woman for you. How could she be having it on with every other bloke at Oxford but Fox? He was easily one of the best-looking, best catches at Oxford, from what I'd seen. I knew blokes could be intimidated by girls with brains, but I didn't know it could work the other way around.
Settling on the edge of the bed, I took off my own shoes, then unbuttoned my shirt. Part of me was relieved to learn for a fact that he wasn't having sex with her, but at the same time, I felt for him. If it had been one of my other mates, we would have traded a few choice words about the cunt, then gone on to discuss strategies for finding him another girl. Fox was different. I don't know why, but it made me despise the bitch all the more.
After battling with myself a moment, I let my breath go. "Even so, if she should show up this weekend, you're on your own. I won't care if we're in the middle of Westminster Abbey or Stonehenge; I'll ditch the both of you right there. I'll not sit back at the hotel and listen while you try shagging her on the other bed. And don't bother coming back here afterwards, either."
Getting up on his knees, he was a fetching sight, but again, I quickly turned my gaze aside. "Fuck it," he said, "I won't call her."
That was what I was aiming for, but I couldn't relax until I got that number from him. "I'm supposed to believe that?"
Hair in his eyes, he stood. Despite the bitter pout that made him look like a sulking schoolboy, the pain in my lip and tailbone were convincing testimony that he was no kid. "Why don't we just screw the trip, if you're going to act like an asshole?"
Taken aback, I blinked at him. "I'm acting like an asshole? You're the one throwing punches."
He didn't say anything.
Exhaling, I sat down on the edge of the bed, shirt undone. "In other words, you don't want to go unless she comes along?"
"I didn't say that." Passing around to the opposite side of the bed to take a seat, he could avoid eye contact. "I don't even know if she'd come if I called her, anyway, so fuck it."
I undid my trousers. "She'd have to be a bloody idiot not to," I mumbled.
"You don't want her there, anyway, so what the hell do you care?"
"Look, I don't want to go if you don't want to."
"I didn't say I didn't want to!" he raged. "I want to go, dammit!"
"Shh," I quickly admonished. "You want my folks to come poking 'round? All right, we'll go, just like we've been planning." I'd leave him keep the bloody number. It wouldn't make any difference. With our moods right buggered, I couldn't see how the trip was going to be worthwhile, anyway.
THURSDAY, DECEMBER 10
The next day we spent sorting out an itinerary. It wasn't easy with all the places Fox wanted to visit. And neither of us was near as excited as we had been about it. Somehow, we managed to get through the day without another scuffle, though we did lapse into a few verbal rows.
In the middle of the day, Dad rang to tell us he was arranging the hotel reservation. His generosity surprised me a bit--I hadn't expected anything posh, but then he inquired about the attendance of the "young lady." I supposed he'd meant to impress her and her family. He was ready to set us up with a suite.
Thankful I'd left Fox in my room pouring over maps, I could give my dad any answer I chose. "She won't be coming. Fox changed his mind about the whole thing."
"Oh." Dad sounded disappointed. "I'm sorry to hear that. Did he call her, then?"
"Nah, he didn't even bother. He just decided against it."
"Perhaps he's worried her parents might not understand. Tell him I'll give them a ring on his behalf--"
"No, nothing like that. See, it's not like they're all that serious. We plan to go pubbing where there'll be lots of girls. We decided it might be more fun that way. We want to have a good time, you know?"
Because I'd handled Dad right, he didn't mention "Miss Green" at all, over dinner. Of course, he did inquire about the bruise on my lower lip. By that time, I'd already lied to Mum and told her I'd hit it on a cupboard door. To my surprise, Fox volunteered that it had been his fault, though he didn't say he'd done it with his fist. I guess he may have felt a little guilty, because he really didn't have to take any blame. I told my father the same story, including Fox's part in it. With both of them present, I kind of had to. Other than that, we discussed the progress on our London itinerary.
When we went upstairs for bed, Fox made it clear his mood wasn't any better. He settled against the headboard behind his glasses and the latest Sherlock Holmes novel he was reading. Apparently, he was planning to shut me out another night.
Right after Mum said good-night and shut the door, I switched off the telly and dove under the blankets next to Fox. It wasn't Holmes I had anything against, but it was my guess Fox had become a fan on account of Miss Green. I'd seen her carrying around and reading different Sherlock Holmes novels, from time to time.
Choosing a paragraph at random, I started reading aloud.
Annoyed, he shut the cover down. "Go get your own book."
"Is that what you really want to do?" Beneath the blankets, I groped at his lap.
"What does it look like?" He raised his knees higher, pulling from me to open the book again.
Strategically, I left him be for a bit, waiting for him to relax. At last he loosened up some while he continued to read. Slipping my hand beneath the shirt of his pajamas, I tickled him.
He gave me a sharp rap on the head with the book. "Leave me the fuck alone!"
FRIDAY--DECEMBER 11
Come the morning, he didn't give an inch, either. Just as I feared, he was going to give me the same treatment over whole the weekend. Maybe I deserved it, but my interest in the trip continued to dwindle. We put up a front around my parents, but Fox was still a little more enthused about it than I, in private. Except if I said or made any sexual advances. He wouldn't have any of it. It was pretty clear I'd only be attending strictly as a tour guide. I no longer cared to go, but there was no backing out at that point. I had no idea how to explain to my parents why I'd suddenly decided to forego the whole thing.
We packed and had lunch. Mum saw us off in her car, kissing us both, fussing a little over my lip. "That pretty face of yours should never be marred," she'd said, taking my chin. "And here you are, going out this very weekend all roughed-up."
The wound wasn't all that noticeable, and anyway, I rather thought it made me look cool--like I'd been in a bit of a brawl. I drew from her and worked the gearshift into reverse. "We'll see you, Mum."
"Give us a bell," she called after us, waving.
The drive was nowhere the lark I'd been counting on. The weather was cold, but relatively clear. At least it wasn't raining or snowing, though a thin layer of clouds blocked out the sky. I sped towards London, saying little. Fox did likewise, until we got close to town. Then he proceeded to reiterate the first day's itinerary verbatim, like he was reading it. Only he wasn't reading a thing.
The first time I'd ever heard him do that, I was amazed. I'd played around with him, testing him, and he didn't miss a thing. When I remarked that he had to be a true genius, he denied it, assuring me it was nothing more than an abnormal glitch in his brain. It allowed him to be able to take a snapshot of any image and recall it down to the tiniest detail, any time later. The rest of us should be so lucky to have a glitch like that, I'd told him. It was just like Fox not to give himself much credit.
I was also said to have a high I.Q. and a remarkable artistic talent and all that sort of rot. The only thing I knew for certain was that I'd never been the type to hold a grudge for any length of time. That day was no exception. Like Fox, all that stuff didn't mean much to me. It had gotten me into Oxford, though I honestly would have preferred to attend art college. As fate had ordained, though, my entrance into Oxford had introduced me to Fox Mulder.
In utterly genuine manner, he took on like a kid in candy store. He marveled over everything. It was odd, but I soon came to feel I was viewing the same old, diehard exhibits I'd seen many times as a kid, for the very first time. Eventually, we lost track of the schedule for tarrying too long at each site. I knew I was supposed to be the tour guide, but if my guest wasn't concerned, neither was I.
In the evening, we went pubbing, all right, but not in the sense I'd led my father to believe. It was specters Fox was on the prowl for--not girls. Being a virgin with women, one would think he'd want to get some practice in so he'd not have to face Miss Green a right twit, in the event she ever opened her legs for him. Which still bothered the hell out of me. If she couldn't see what a great specimen he was, it was a wonder how she passed her exams. Perhaps she'd banged the administrators, too. Whatever the case, she deserved to have her ass flogged. I don't know why he'd had to focus on that particular twat when there were plenty of other women around, but he had. I could only imagine that Miss Green best preferred her cock belong only to the absolute upper British crust--the types who excelled at narcissism above all else.
At the first pub we stopped in, we took a quick dinner along with drinks. After all, my aim was to get a smashed, not eat.
In ghost-hunting through the pubs, I started out kidding Fox whenever he'd claim to "feel" something. I'd read some of his books and articles on the subject, but had yet to be thoroughly convinced. Still, it'd be a lie to say I didn't feel a thing, but it had nothing to do with any spooks and spirits that were supposed to be hanging about. After a few pints, I think his infectious prompting got to me. A nasty chill did sweep through me at one point, but I laughed it off. Back in the middle of the pub with another drink, I soon put the experience aside.
Seated at a table, he leaned across to me. "Look, if you want to talk to them, go do it, already."
"Pardon?" I queried, baffled. The formality of my response, spoken out of reflex, felt awkward. To compensate, I deliberately botched my grammar, lowering my glass. "Talk to who?"
"You know who."
I glanced around. That was when I saw two pretty girls at the bar openly looking us over and another in a booth with a bloke using a little more discretion, but eyeing, just the same. "What makes you think I want to talk to them?" I queried, bemused.
Sans his coat, Fox had his elbows on the table, sleeves pushed back. His long hair had become ruffled over a long day of intrepid sightseeing. He was fucking beautiful, lashes lowered as he gazed into his glass. "Because those two and ten billion other women have only been gawking at you, everywhere we've been. You're bi. It's only natural for you to want to."
In all honesty, I hadn't really noticed any women gawking or otherwise. I supposed that was because I'd been too busy gawking at Fox. I had to laugh. "What makes you think it wasn't you they were looking at?"
"Are you kidding? Look, you don't have to pretend. Like you told your father: you have no trouble finding women. Obviously, they're as attracted to you as you are to them."
Both amused and charmed, I watched him steadily a moment. "I was humoring my father."
"That's bullshit and we both know it. Way back, you said you were bi, too. Plus, you have a lot of female acquaintances. Whenever we go to the college pub, invariably, girls you know show up and flirt with you."
"Is that what you call it? I thought they were just being friendly. I get on well with my classmates, I guess."
Stunned, the argument he was about to pose died on his lips. He wasn't wrong, though. They flirted, all right, but I didn't take up many. When he found his tongue again, he advanced, "So, are you saying you're not interested in picking up any girls?"
"I hadn't noticed them until you pointed them out."
With that, he finished off the rest of his glass. When he lowered it, he drummed his fingers on the table. "So, do you like women or was that bullshit?"
Pretending to debate, I set an elbow on the table, too, and thoughtfully leaned on it. "I'd have to say I find them just as attractive as I do men, given the individual, of course."
Unsatisfied with this answer, he frowned. Then leaned closer, still, to be heard over the general din. "Have you really ever slept with a woman?"
"I think you misunderstood what I meant about humoring my father. I'd prefer he didn't get any ideas about my bisexuality, because I don't think he could handle it, but I've never lied about any of it. I've simply never let on that I like blokes, to my parents. If it came down to it, I'd tell them. And, no, I don't have trouble getting girls and yes, I've shagged more than a few, whether my parents would approve, or not."
He waited. Only so long, until he couldn't keep from putting forth the nagging question. "You didn't like it?"
I straightened and emptied my own glass. "Are we off, then, or do you want another pint here?"
"Hence, you're ignoring the five or six women who've undressed you with their eyes at this pub, alone."
Laughing, I dug into my pocket for the keys to the MGB. "That many? I'd wager there are at least as many undressing you." I paused. "Look, if I didn't like it, there wouldn't have been more than a few, would there have? So, would you like me to chat them up so you can have at them, too?"
"Not me!" he flustered. "I'm not about to do something like that with a total stranger!"
That strong moral fiber in Fox was just one of his many charms. "And I'm not so rude I'd think of leaving you to sleep out in the car park while I took them up to our room to have it off with them. Let's be on our way, then."
Once the pubs closed up, we straggled back to the hotel. By that time, I was bloody shattered. I'd done all the driving and basic tour-guiding which took more out of me than I would have expected. After a hot shower, I was ready to collapse. Our lavish accommodations were equipped with two double beds, which made plenty of sense to Dad, I suppose. That was because he couldn't possibly have anticipated the sight I stumbled in on.
Towel about his shoulders, Fox sat upright upon the bed, nearby lamps blazing while he perused the brochures we'd collected along the tour. Other than for his glasses, that was all he wore--except for a semi-erection. Drying hair falling over his glasses, he looked up when I came in. "Let's make sure we get to Tower of London later in the afternoon so by the time we do the Jack-the-Ripper route, it's dark."
Considering the topic, I didn't think his arousal had much to do with the next day's schedule. Standing between the beds a moment, pretending to be reading over his shoulder, I took in the view of his perfect, velvety prick, instead.
Handing me the brochure he'd been studying, he paused a moment. Between the strands of his mop of messy hair, behind his lenses, I saw him discreetly look down my body. Then busied himself with the clutter on the bed. While he was preoccupied, I watched his piece fill out further.
Enticed, mine did likewise. Quickly, I turned away so he'd not see it, and drew back the blankets on the other bed. If he really wanted something, he'd better come after it. How was I to know for sure he wouldn't cuff me again? "I don't see why not..." I yawned, tossing my wet towel to the carpet before swiftly covering up as I slid onto the mattress. Chances were, he was thinking about all the prospective snatch we'd left behind and wondering if he'd made the best decision in not encouraging me to go after it. I shut my eyes, wondering if I could get to sleep when I knew very well he was wanting in the other bed. He'd probably prefer if I drifted off so he could have himself off, fantasizing about the bug-eyed tart, if not the ten billion other girls who, according to him, had been looking me over, during the course of the day.
To my surprise, I was awakened when Fox climbed into bed with me. The room was darker--only the lamp on the far side of the other bed was on. He'd doffed his glasses. Without a word, he uncovered me to play. There was nothing coy about it--he took me deep into his mouth while he worked my shaft, fondled my balls, and stroked toward my backside to get me to open my legs.
Before I could think to rebel, I gave in. I'd come to associate his over-excited pulling, tugging, and biting with pleasure. Leaning over me on his knees, he reared back a moment and prompted me to bend my knees and get my legs up. I was granted a striking but fleeting look at his impressive body and full, blushing erection, just before he went down to lick my entry. I knew he wanted to have me, and I knew it would hurt, but god, did I want him.
With new sympathy, I pulled my knees up tighter to make it easier for him. He went crazy. The tonguing wasn't enough for him, though it was making me throb, so he slid a couple of fingers in me as he got up to mount. My unabashed hard-on made my interest clear enough by jerking and spilling over in anticipation.
Much as I loved sex, with Fox it was a trial. He was only just learning how to do it and with his lack of finesse, his good-sized member could be more of a liability than an asset. This time, he went at it with nothing more than spit as a lubricant. His initial, titillating crush of my prostate stopped me from kicking him off, until he sunk well beyond it.
To minimize the discomfort and maximize my pleasure I slid down further and gave him full access. Yielding to innate male instinct, he gathered me up on his lap and leaned over me in full rut. Much as the sight of his standing muscles, tendons, and nipples got me on, to forget my discomfort, I had to seize myself and wank. With that view and the rhythmic pumping up my backside, I was ready to climax so soon, it surprised me. Watching me gush all over myself, Fox held his breath and thrust harder. Deep inside me, I felt him do likewise.
Both of us still pleasantly intoxicated, we made out again in the lav. When he was washed off, I backed him up beside the lavatory to