This is a story that involves sex between males. if such a story is offensive, or illegal for you to read where you live, then do not continue, go and surf elsewhere.
This is a work of fiction and in no way draws on the lives of any specific person or persons. If there is any similarity to any real persons or events it is entirely coincidental.
The work is copyrighted (c) by the author and may not be reproduced in any form without the specific written permission of the author. It is assigned to the Nifty Archives under the terms of their submission agreement but it may not be copied or archived on any other site without the written permission of the author.
My thanks to Brian who have read this through and made a number of corrections and suggestions. Any remaining errors, grammatical, spelling or historical or whatever are entirely my fault.
Resume:- Phil, the narrator has made contact with Inky White 30 years after they were schoolboys together. Emails are being exchanged, but Phil is thinking back over his own life, and in particular what happened after gaining his first degree at Manchester University; and he was looking forward to continuing his studies there and living with Bob, his partner.
Inky White Chapter 5
I know that this is meant to be telling you about my relationship with Inky White, but as you will have gathered, there was a period of about thirty years when we were in no contact at all. So I will continue to tell you something about myself in those years, before telling you what happened when Inky and I were back in contact again.
Last time, I told you how I had got my degree, a first. My Prof had spoken about doing my Ph. D. at Manchester with him. I was looking forward to it, and so was Bob, my lover and landlord. But it was not to be; I never got that Ph.D.
Four days after learning about my degree, I received a letter. It was from the Professor at Oxford, who had been the external examiner.
"I think, I owe you some sort of apology for that final question at your viva. I was so impressed by both your written work and the answers you gave at the viva, I decided to ask it. You gave an admirable answer. You may, or may not, know that question centred on my own special field of study. I have spoken to your Professor, and he has consented to me approaching you with the suggestion of you doing your D. Phil at Oxford. You may wish to continue with your plans at Manchester, but if you are interested, I suggest you come down to Oxford and spend at least twenty four hours here, getting to know me and the department, before deciding."
I showed the letter to Bob.
He looked at me sadly. "You must say, 'yes'. It is too good an opportunity for you to miss. If you say 'no', you will spend the rest of your life wondering, and probably regretting."
"But I don't want to leave you!"
"And I don't want you to leave. But we have talked all this over from our first few days in Harlech. We said that we may be special friends for the next stage of our life's journey. We both thought it unlikely to be 'till death us do part.'"
"I'll feel as though I am deserting you."
We talked it through over a weekend. I also talked about it with my Prof, looking at it from a career and academic point of view. He was most emphatic, that I should consider it very positively.
I also popped down to Bristol, to talk it over with my family.
I paid a short visit to Oxford, liked everything I saw and heard, and said, 'Yes'.
Bob and I had a fortnight on an idyllic Greek island, enjoying the sun, mostly in the nude, enjoying the swimming and the food, and above all enjoying each other. On the last evening, we sat watching the sun go down over the mountains.
"Home tomorrow, and then three days, and you will be off to Oxford," said Bob.
"I know. I am excited at the prospect of Oxford, and sad to be leaving Manchester, and in particular you."
"We're both moving on. Since that first evening in that cellar, we have been faithful to each other. We have meant a lot to each other. But I don't expect you to keep only to me when you are down there; and to be honest, I'm not at all sure I can be faithful to you, with you so far away."
"I don't expect you to be."
"I think we should, sort of, release each other. I need to give you permission to find another man, or men. I hope you do. I would be very sad if you were down there pining for me."
"I hope you find somebody, Bob, but not the day after I have gone."
Bob laughed. "No, I think I will need sometime before I can resume the life I was leading before you came on the scene."
"But we'll still be in touch. It is not as though I was going off to the Antipodes."
"I hope we'll see each other from time to time, probably sleep together, but both knowing there are others."
"Ever since I met up with Inky, there has always been someone special at hand; Inky himself, Godfrey and Adrian, and then you. It will be like it was before I thrust my hand into his trousers and held his cock. I wonder how I will get on looking for someone?"
"You'll get on fine, a sexy young man like you."
We both stood, and lit by the final beams of the setting sun, we hugged. We then went in and made love. It was a beautiful, gentle love making, but it was tinged with sadness.
X-x-x
I found Oxford an exciting place. My fellow research students were all very bright and ambitious. The Prof ran his department well, fostering sharing and talking amongst all members of the department, staff, his research students and undergraduates. While I was enjoying that side of life, the side which you, my readers, are really interested in was not so happy. I missed Bob. We spoke on the phone, and I went back to Manchester for a weekend, but somehow it was not the same as it had been before for both of us.
Just before Christmas, I went to a pub in Oxford, reputed to be gay friendly. I found that it was. I picked up a freshman, and went back to his room in college. He was a Public School man, and had led the usual privileged life that the rich buy for their sons. The sex was good, I got the relief I was wanting, but he seemed so very young and immature.
In the new year I had a proper one night stand, when again I met a man, slightly older than me. We went back to his apartment. It was all right, but not so good that I wanted to repeat the experience with him.
It must have been in April, when the evenings were drawing out, that I felt fed up with work and the city, and decided to go for a bike ride, out into the country. It was good to get away. The daffodils were nodding their yellow heads in the slight breeze, and the hedgerows looked as though a green mist had been caught in them. I was cycling through a Thames-side village and saw a pub, and immediately felt thirsty. I locked my bike and went in.
The place was nearly empty. A couple, who looked like a farmer and his wife, were talking to the barman, who broke off the conversation to serve me my pint of bitter. I took it, and went over to sit on some seats. The only other person in the bar was an older man, who was sitting with his back to me, reading a paper. I was judging him to be old, as all I could see was his white hair. I sat drinking my pint.
Then I decided I needed to let some out before I took any more in, and went off to the loo. When I got there, I was somewhat surprised to see the older newspaper-reader was there before me. I had not seen him get up to go to the loo. There were four stalls there, and he was peeing at one end, and I went to the other. He glanced at me as I came in, but otherwise his attention was totally on what he was doing. He finished peeing before me, and went to wash his hands at one of the two basins which were there. When I had finished peeing I went to wash my hands, and he was just finishing.
"I must warn you, the water is scalding hot," he said.
"Thanks." I turned on the tap, and it was hot, really hot. "Thanks for the warning. Too often, places don't put up a warning when it's as hot as that."
"True, but it's good to have hot water to wash your hands, and not the more frequent freezing cold."
I finished washing my hands, dried them and turned to leave. The man held the door open for me. He followed me back into the bar, and I ordered another pint. He ordered another one too, so we stood alongside each other while we were being served.
"Are you local?"
"No. I have cycled out from Oxford for some exercise and fresh air."
"I didn't think I'd seen you before. It is quiet in here at this time of the evening; it gets a bit busier later, but never gets really crowded or noisy."
"You don't like it like that?"
"No; I like to able to think, and hear any conversation without having to shout in a person's ear."
We turned from the bar, and as if by mutual consent, we sat at a table.
"Are you at the Varsity?"
"Yes. I'm in my first year of post-graduate work."
"I was a college fellow until I retired a couple of years ago."
The conversation now went on to University, departments, subjects. I know I told him my degree was from Manchester.
After twenty minutes or so I asked him. "How are you finding retirement? It must be a very different existence."
"You can say that again. I retired slightly early, had made great plans, but they all went pear shaped."
"Oh?"
He looked at me and paused, before continuing. "I had a 'special' friend. We had been close friends for nearly twenty years. We decided that when he could retire, I would retire, and we would buy a house out in the country. He was a couple of years older than me, but I could afford to retire two or three years early. We had great plans. We intended to get the house in order, and then go round the world. We had any number of holidays planned in our minds. Six weeks after we moved in, Charlie went to the doctor. Within three weeks, he was diagnosed with cancer. It was inoperable. He died six months after the initial visit to the doctor." Frank looked up at me, great sadness was in his eyes. "Does all that shock you, to find you are talking with an old queen?" he asked.
I paused before saying softly, "Not at all, one day I expect I'll be an old queen."
Frank's eyes opened wider in surprise, "I had no idea. I'm not as good at picking up the little signs, as I was twenty or more years ago." He smiled. "So you're one, too?"
"Yes. For my last two years up in Manchester, I lived with my 'special'. He's called Bob. Deciding to come down here was hard. I was all set to remain up there for another three years."
"Until you got an offer you could not refuse."
I nodded.
The bar was beginning to get more full, and we were having to drop our voices lower as there were people now sitting quite close.
"It is getting difficult to talk in here. Can I invite you back to my house for a coffee? It's about fifty yards from here,"
We adjourned to Frank's house. I wheeled my bike along, and left it in his front garden. Once inside Frank showed me into a sitting room, and went off to make the coffee. There were several paintings on the walls, but one over the mantelpiece of a man in his forties caught my eye. I was standing looking at it when Frank came in with the coffee.
"That's Charlie, about twenty years ago. It was painted by a friend. I think it's good; Charlie was not so sure. I've got a photo of him upstairs." He walked over to a bookcase, and picked up a photograph and handed it to me. "That's Charlie shortly after we got together." The photograph showed a young man sitting on a bicycle, wearing some rather short shorts, with a broad smile. He was fair haired.
"Blue eyes?" I asked, for the photograph was black and white.
"Yes, cornflower blue."
"He looks very attractive, very sexy."
"I found him so." Frank laughed. "Do sit down, Phil." He signified for me to sit in an arm chair, not on the sofa. I didn't think anything of that until I was cycling back. He sat in another arm chair.
We spent the next hour talking very openly and freely about ourselves. I told him about Inky and the trouser pocket, and about Godfrey and Adrian, and finally in much more detail than I had in the pub about Bob.
It was eventually time for me to go. We both stood.
"I have enjoyed this evening," said Frank. "I don't know when I last talked so openly to another gay man, certainly to a young gay man."
"So there's been no one at all since Charlie died?"
"No, no one. I didn't want another man after Charlie had gone."
"I can understand that. But Frank, you are not past it. You must not stay in permanent retirement."
"I'll give the matter some thought." He smiled, there was a pause in our conversation. "Would it be too forward of me to ask, if you would like to come round for a meal? I'm going to cookery classes; and I could practise on you."
"I'd like to come. I too have enjoyed talking with you."
We arranged for me to go for a meal a fortnight later.
I cycled back to Oxford with many thoughts going through my mind. I liked Frank, he seemed a gentle, kind man. He had made no sexual advances. There was not even a shake of hands or quick hug when I left. Was I sorry about that, relieved, or what? I had never made love to a man over forty years older than me. He was old enough to be my father, even my grandfather. Did I want that possibility? He was attractive. He had a ruddy complexion, probably from the hours in the garden. He had a trim figure, with only a slight thickening in the midriff. I wondered what it would be like to be with him, naked on a bed. The thought was not totally abhorrent.
Two weeks later, on an early evening with a blustery wind and the threat of rain, I cycled out to Frank's. He was wearing an apron when he answered the door.
"Come on in, and come through to the kitchen. We can talk while I finish getting the meal. I'm afraid I'm very old fashioned, I still like a sherry before a meal; but what can I get you?"
Sherry was not my usual aperitif, but why not?
The food needed another few minutes, so I sat on a stool in the kitchen, while Frank finished the cooking. We talked generally about what we had been doing over the last two weeks. Then we went through to eat in the dining room. It was an excellent meal, and Frank encouraged me to tuck in. We drank a very good bottle of Merlot with the meal. After the meal Frank told me to go through to the sitting room, while he tidied up in the kitchen, putting as much as he could in the dishwasher. This time I sat on the sofa. Frank came back with the coffee. He offered me a liqueur, and I chose a Cointreau. He came and sat beside me.
I asked him some questions about his early days as gay man, when it was all illegal. This I found very interesting. He and Charlie had had to keep everything under cover for many years. I asked him about living in the village as gay men, and what had happened when Charlie had died, about the funeral.
"The Rector was wonderful. He visited when Charlie was ill. Charlie came out to him, 'You know we're a couple of gay men, don't you?' He grinned. 'I've been putting two and two together and made four. It isn't a problem with me at all. I've a couple of clergy friends who are gay. But I'm married and the father of four, so presumably I'm fairly straight.'"
As we talked on, openly about our sexuality, I was wondering if Frank wanted to take it further. I began to think he was holding back, afraid to take a step further than he thought I would want to go. I stretched and relaxed, and allowed my leg to rest against his. Oh, I know that is a corny way, but it usually does the trick. He did not pull his leg away. I put a little pressure on my leg, and he kept his leg firm. Then I rubbed my leg against his slightly. He responded by doing the same. We then looked at each other and smiled. I moved closer to him, and then it was like one of those films, our heads moved towards each other and we kissed.
"You happy with it, Phil?"
"Yes, and I presume you are too."
We kissed again for longer, and tongues explored lips and gained entry. I think, I made the next move and put my hand on his thigh. He opened his legs, so I moved my hand higher. He now put his hand on my thigh. I moved my hand up and stroked his chest, before inserting a couple of fingers between his shirt buttons. He undid several of the buttons, so the whole of my hand could go in. I found a nipple and played with it. It immediately hardened. We continued to kiss, and his hand moved up to cup my cock and balls.
"There's something nice, hard and strong in there, Phil."
"It's all yours, Frank." I undid my belt and the top button of my jeans. He pulled down the zip, at once his hand was in holding my cock. I then turned my attention to his crotch.
He too undid the belt and top button of his grey trousers.
My hand went in. I could feel a warm hard cock, it was of good length and thickness. I bent over and put it in my mouth.
"Phil, that's wonderful. I had forgotten how wonderful it is to have a sexy man suck my cock."
"Well, you've got a very suckable one, and the pre-cum tastes good too."
He extracted my cock from the confines of my jeans, and kissed the head several times before sucking me.
Soon our jeans and trousers were down around our knees, and our shirts open.
"Shall we move upstairs, I always find a bed better than a sofa?"
"Lead the way, Frank"
We stood, and clutching our trousers and jeans, Frank led the way upstairs into his bedroom. The room was dominated by two things; a large bed, and a beautiful black and white photograph of a naked man lying provocatively on a beach. I gazed at the photograph.
"That's Charlie, as I like to remember him."
"He is certainly a good looking guy. I wouldn't turn him out of bed."
Frank laughed "And I don't think he'd turn you out of bed, either."
"How do you think he'd be about us?"
"He'd approve. We talked a lot in those months when we knew his time was nearly up. We'd kept completely faithful to each other. Several times he stressed that I was to try and find another man. 'If you bring some luscious young man back here, I will be looking down on you and giving you both my blessing'. I used to say I didn't want anybody else. But he would go on saying that maybe I didn't then, but my sexual drive would reassert itself, and I'd want some more. He even said I was to be prepared to play the field, until someone special came along."
"Have you played the field?"
"No, Phil, you're the first man in this room since Charlie died. And he died in the hospice, so don't think he died here."
While we were talking Frank's hand was rubbing my back; he then began to fondle my bum. I turned towards him. We kissed, and began to hug. We had been holding up our jeans with our hands coming upstairs. They now fell around our ankles. We pulled up our shirts so we could press cock to cock against each other. I then began to complete the undressing of Frank, and he did the same to me. Naked, we climbed on to the bed. We rolled around, each trying to get closer and more intimate with the other. Hands and fingers ventured into intimate places. This must have gone on for quite a while.
"Phil, will you fuck me?"
"If that's what you want, yes, of course."
"Only occasionally did I fuck Charlie, I was the passive one, or the bottom as it is increasingly termed."
"How do you want to do it?"
"I'll lie on my back with legs around you, then I can see your cock go in and watch your face."
With some embarrassment he reached over to the bedside table and from a drawer removed a brand new tube of KY jelly. "I'm afraid I bought this during the week, hoping this'd happen."
I laughed. "You must have been a boy scout, 'Be Prepared'."
"Hope springs eternal."
We prepared ourselves, and got into position. I placed the head of my cock on his anus.
"I expect I'll be tight. No cock has gone in there for a long while."
"Say if it hurts." I pushed, and I did have to push quite hard, but then with a jerk I was in. My cock slowly sank into Frank's depths.
"Phil, that's wonderful. You don't know what it is like to have a man in there after such a long while. Take as long as you can over it."
"I often cum quite quickly the first time." I did manage to take about a quarter of an hour before I could hold back no longer. I thrust in as far as I could go, and I felt my love juice pour out in a series of shots.
Frank lay there, his eyes closed, a slight smile and a look of utter contentment on his face.
I held my position, with my cock deep in, but I could feel it shrinking. Eventually it shrank, so it was too small to stay inside. It slipped out. Frank opened his eyes. "That was utter bliss. Thank you, Phil."
"Thank you, Frank. If you enjoyed that half as much as I did, you were doing well."
He handed me a hand towel and I wiped myself and then I wiped him. We lay down side by side. We kissed and hugged.
"Do you think Charlie approved?" I asked.
"Oh, yes, he'd approve one hundred per cent."
We lay cuddling and kissing, sometimes talking softly, but often in a companionable silence. I was young then, and after a while I felt a movement in my cock. It was hardening again. Frank felt it, and put a hand on it. Immediately my cock completed its erection.
"Can we do it again?" asked Frank.
"Love to. How do you want me this time? Same again?"
"No, I'll kneel on the bed and you can stand and get in."
Frank reckoned he was lubricated enough; I put some more KY on my cock, and this time it entered immediately and easily. This time, as I was standing, I was able to thrust more, I would pull my cock until only the very tip was inside his sphincter, and then I would push right in, with quite a lot of weight behind me. There were many murmurs of appreciation from Frank, and a request for more. As I had already downloaded once, I could last longer. Frank also was able to move to change the angle of penetration. It was quite a while until I shot my second load in a paroxysm of thrusting. We collapsed together on the bed.
Nothing had been said about me staying the night, it just happened. We hauled the duvet over ourselves, and fell asleep in each other's arms. I woke about four o'clock when Frank got out of the bed to go to the loo. I held up the duvet for him to get in. We were immediately cuddling and kissing. He turned his back to me, and thrust his buttocks against my cock.
"Are you wanting me, Frank?"
"If you would like to."
I reached for the KY and lubed myself. This time we lay spooned against each other. This time it was much slower, and much longer. My arm held him close, and my hand felt his cock. This time I wanked him as I thrust. We didn't quite cum together. I shot first, then a few minutes later, Frank came. This time we fell asleep with my cock still inside him.
When I woke in the morning, the sun was shining into the bed room, and the other side of the bed was empty. I felt the need to relieve the pressure on my bladder. As I walked across to the bathroom I smelt toast.
Frank must have heard me. He called upstairs, "Don't come down, I'm bringing up breakfast." He brought up a tray on which there were boiled eggs, toast and marmalade, fruit juice and a rich smelling coffee. But also, to my interest, he was stark naked.
"This is the first time I've been served breakfast in bed by a nude waiter."
"There is a first time for everything."
"I hope this is not the first and only, Frank."
We looked at each other meaningfully. "I hope it isn't, too."
"The trouble with toast in bed is that it leaves crumbs in the bed."
"Don't worry, the bed clothes will need washing with all the semen that was produced last night."
We ate our breakfast, sitting up in bed as close together as we could. There was a maximum amount of touching. When we had finished, Frank rolled on to his side to deposit the tray on the floor by the bed. His arse was beautifully exposed, and my hand felt a buttock. He stayed in that rather awkward position so I could continue. Then he rolled back, and we kissed. That made us both hard yet again.
"I think we've got time for once more, that's if you've got the stamina?"
"Oh yes. How shall we do it this time?"
"I'll ride you jockey."
So it was that we had our fourth fuck in twelve hours, and the last was as lengthy and enjoyable as any of the others. It was about eleven o'clock when we eventually decided that it was time to get up. The bed looked in complete and utter chaos.
I got out of bed and stood in front of the photograph of Charlie. "Do you think he enjoyed watching all that?"
Frank came and stood beside me, with an arm round my waist. "Yes. He would have thoroughly enjoyed it all, and I do believe he's getting a hard on!"
We laughed, and so began our day.
That was the start of my relationship with Frank. I think it meant a lot to him. We soon fell into a pattern; I would arrive on a Friday evening and stay until early on the Monday morning. As Frank was a Varsity man he knew I had to work hard. Over the weekend we usually aimed for me to have one non-working day. It varied. If it was fine, we went for a good walk. Sometimes we went to the theatre or the cinema. Every Sunday morning Frank went to church for the early service if we were going walking, and the later one if we were staying in. Sometimes I went with him, but churchgoing was not really my scene.
I always brought work to Frank's, and he would just let me get on with it, only interrupting to bring in coffee or other refreshment at suitable intervals. He never said anything when he came into the dining room, he just left the cup or glass by my side.
XXX
Frank encouraged me to come out to my parents. We talked it over for a long while.
My mother was always asking if there was a girl in the offing. "I hope you don't leave it too late," or "I long to see you settled." and, "Your brother and sister will be married and with children before you even start looking, I fear."
I aimed to go down to Bristol for a long weekend every three months; Christmas was one of the visits. It was hard, as Frank almost had no one, just a sister who invited him for three days, more out of keeping a promise to their mother, than any real concern and love for him.
It was just into the New Year on one of those visits, that mother started again.
I decided to deal with it once and for all. "Mother, I think there is something you need to realise; I am not going to get married."
"Not going to get married? What do you mean? How can you be so sure?"
"Mother dear, I think you need to know that I'm not the marrying sort." I purposely used that old way of putting it; I could always explain more plainly if she did not get it. I could almost hear her mind working it out.
She put a hand to her mouth, and there was astonishment in her eyes. "Are you saying, what I fear you are saying?"
"Yes, mother dear, the truth is I'm gay!"
She promptly sat down on the nearest chair. There were tears in her eyes. After a moment she spoke again. "Are you sure, Phil?"
"Yes, Mum. I'm now in my mid twenties, I think I should know myself that well."
There were some further tears. "Thank you for telling me. That explains a lot. I am sad in one way, but I do wish you happiness in your life. I don't know much about these things. I was always hoping you'd be like Inky, and suddenly find a nice girl."
We talked for quite a long while.
"Have you told your father?"
"No, but I want to tell him, and I think it better that I tell him, don't you?"
She nodded. "I don't know how he'll take it."
We ended up giving each other a cuddle and a kiss.
That evening after we had all eaten, Mother worked it so that Dad and I were left alone in the dining room. I came out to him.
He looked at me for what seemed a long while. "Thank you for telling me, Phil. I believe that life can be very hard for men who are like that. I am, and always will be your father. I hope I've always been there for you; and I'll always be there for you. In some ways, I feel that everything has changed, but then a moment's thought soon tells me nothing has changed. I just know something, fair enough, something important, about my elder son, which I did not know a few minutes ago."
We both stood, and he gave me a long hug. We were not a very demonstrative family, especially between the male members. That in itself was highly meaningful.
I think I began to get closer to my parents from then on. Something vitally important for me, I had kept hidden from them. They were pleased to know, and I was pleased that they did know.
I was one of the fortunate ones with accepting parents. I had heard so many grim stories about what had happened to my fellow gays when they came out to their parents.
XXX
Frank and I did not always make love as frenetically as that first weekend. How could it be? But it was always very good.
We both knew there was a time limit on our relationship. It was highly unlikely that I would stay on in Oxford. We were realistic about it. I decided, I wanted to stay into University work, and during my third and final year I began to look for posts in my speciality.
I owe a lot to all my friends. Inky for those wonderful early days. Bob for his loving kindness and encouragement. Frank for his wisdom and help in the dark days of doing research, when you don't seem to be getting anywhere.
I managed to complete my thesis on time. I had to get it typed up, and printed. It went off to be examined, and I got my D. Phil. I also got a post as assistant lecturer at Southampton University.
I bought a small two bedroomed house in the back streets of Southampton. Frank was a great help in my move. The pressures were really on that final summer in Oxford, he did many of those routine things like getting the house surveyed, estimates from removal men, and the hundred and one other things.
We had always known that I would move on, away from Oxford. We talked about it increasingly as the time drew closer. I encouraged him to join OGG, Oxford Gay Group, which was the city gay group and not to be confused with OUGSoc. Oxford University Gay Society, which was the University society. There was very little contact between the two. He soon found friends, some of whom he already knew in OGG. When I left, he made several friends, who he brought back to his house, and they were inspected by Charlie!
What happened to me at Southampton? The first couple of years were busy preparing lectures. I enjoyed giving them, and enjoyed tutorials with individuals of small groups of students. In the course of my years at Southampton, I had a couple of books published, and wrote a few articles for learned journals.
But I made sure it was not all work and no play. I joined a gay group, and I would go to one of the gay pubs once or twice a week. Sometimes I would go back to a guys home, at other times I brought back someone. One or two of these relationships lasted over several dates; but none lasted long. I kept in touch with Bob, and made a point of going up to Manchester once a year, not only to see him, but to renew contacts at the University. It was different with Frank. Oxford was quite close to Southampton. Sometimes I went for a day, but it was usually for at least one night. We always shared openly what we had been up to. We always slept together, and it was always good. I used to visit Frank every few weeks or so.
I was in Southampton for nine years, and then I got the chair at Exeter. Unless something happened entirely out of the blue, I knew that that was likely to be my last post.
XXX
Jeffrey Fletcher at jeffyrks@gmail.com