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,
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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.
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My coninued thanks to John and Michael 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.
I am trying to use terms that were used by us who were young in the UK at that time, and not to use anachronistic terms, like gay, blow job, wank, and cum. It is surprising how difficult it is.
If you want to comment on the story then do contact me on Jeffyrks@hotmail.com. I aim to reply to all messages.
Two Jubilees and One Spitfire.
Resume:- Trevor was born in the slums of the East End of London. He was adopted by a Austrian Jewish refugee from Hitler's Europe. He gained a scholarship to Cambridge.
Part 23
Trevor enjoyed his three years at Cambridge. He worked hard, and played hard. He was rewarded with encouraging remarks from his tutor. In his second year he was in the Beaufort first boat with Paul. They scored three bumps in the second year so they were placed third in the first division. This meant they had a chance of going head of the river in Trevor's final year.
The University of Cambridge has its own way of controlling undergraduates in town. Every evening the streets are patrolled by a Proctor escorted by two fit and able men, always called `bull dogs' by undergraduates. Any student found misbehaving, or out on the streets late at night when he should have been in college, was liable to be stopped by the Proctor. If the undergraduate tried to run away the bulldogs gave chase, and brought the culprit back to the Proctor. Then the ominous words were asked, "Are you a member of this University, Sir?" For most breaches of discipline a fine was extracted that had to be paid in the Senate House, over a glass of sherry. After all, the undergraduates were gentlemen and were supposed to behave as such.
The friendship with Paul remained as close as ever. Nothing sexual happened between them. They talked. and argued, laughed and rowed together. Almost every night they had a hot drink together before retiring to bed. Before they parted they always gave each other a hug, and nothing more.
Trevor was a frequent visitor to Winchfield Manor, and Paul became a frequent visitor to 37 Chelmsford Road, Leytonstone. Paul fitted in to life in the small suburban terrace house as easily as Trevor had fitted into life in Gloucestershire. Paul slept in the smaller third bedroom. On a few occasions Isaac was present for some of the time, but he was spending more and more time in Germany, and his visits home became more infrequent.
The friendship with Brian lasted into the second year. When Trevor came back to Leytonstone for the Easter Vac. he went round to Brian's and dropped the usual note into his friend's house. That evening he expected Brian's knock at the door. He heard the letter box click. He went to the front door and found a letter on the mat.
Dear Trev, Thanks for letting me know you are back home. I have to tell you I have found a friend I can see whenever I want, and he would not like me to be seeing you. Thank you for all the good times. Hope all goes well with you,
and you find someone else. Yours truly Brian.
Trevor went back into the living room and sat in a chair. He was disappointed and not a little hurt, as he had been looking forward to spending some time with Brian. His last time had been with Isaac some nine weeks before.
He sat in the chair thinking. Yes, he was disappointed. But he thought how he would have felt if it had been Fergus who had delivered the note. He sat reviewing all the relationships he had had. Closest and most special was his relationship with Isaac, but there was so much involved there. That was such a complex relationship, they meant so much to each other. He asked himself who was next to Isaac. He examined his friendships and relationships in several ways. Who did he most enjoy making love to? The answer to that question threw up a significant distinction. How far could his activities with Brian be honestly described as making love? He thought `having sex' was a better description. He liked Brian, he enjoyed the sex with him, but he realised he did not love him. He asked himself how he would feel if Fergus died. He realised that Fergus meant a great deal to him. Paul kept coming into his mind. What was the place of Paul in his life? Nothing sexual had ever happened with Paul. Slowly he realised that he liked, no, he needed a stronger word than that. He loved Paul. Paul was a very special and dear friend. He looked further back over his life. There was Harry down in Somerset. He wondered what had happened to him. He realised that there was still a special corner of affection in his heart for Harry. He wanted to hold the Spitfire in his hand, but he had left it back in Cambridge.
He rose to his feet and went to the telephone, and made a call through to an Edinburgh number. Eventually a familiar voice came on to the phone. "Can I come up to Edinburgh for the weekend?" It was soon arranged. He knew he was being extravagant travelling all that way for such a short time,
but he justified it by knowing that he had not spent all of the previous term's budget.
With a slight feeling of guilt he poured himself a glass of whisky. and in silence drank to absent friends. He went up to bed and under the bed clothes, with a kaleidoscope of images in his mind, he resorted to the time honoured method that men have used down the centuries to find some degree of sexual relief and consolation.
Three days later, on the Friday, Trevor caught the 10.00am, Flying Scotsman from King's Cross to Edinburgh, and to Trevor's delight it was pulled by the record breaking `Mallard' that morning. He sat in a corner seat and marked his progress by the sight of Peterborough Cathedral in its ruddy coloured strength, and the smaller Selby Abbey dominating its small town, then the feminine beauty of York Minster, the largest gothic building north of the Alps, and finally the masculine strength of Durham Cathedral, standing with the castle on its imposing site, strong and secure against any marauding Scots. It was about 4.00pm when the Scotsman steamed into Waverley Station. An enthusiastic Fergus was there to meet him.
As they walked to his lodgings Fergus put his arm round Trevor's shoulders.
"What's the problem, Trev? Why this unexpected flying visit?"
"Want the truth?"
"Of course."
"I'm sex starved, and I need someone I love."
"Isaac?"
"In Germany."
"What's happened to the local man you were seeing? Brian, his name?"
"Found someone else."
"Good to see you. A weekend of sex it'll be," said Fergus with a leer on his face. "I'm glad Brian has ditched you. I had a furtive toss off with a guy down a wynd about six weeks ago, and since then it has all been the solitary stuff."
Fergus' room was on the fourth floor. They climbed up the necessary flights of stone steps. Fergus unlocked a door, and they entered his room.
It was a good size for a medical student's room. It was untidy, clothes, books and papers everywhere. Trevor realised that he was thankful for Isaac's training. Fergus shut the door, and locked it. Immediately they were into each other's arms. Their mouths found each other. The kissed strongly. Tongues touched and played together.
"It seems an age, Trev."
"There are too many miles between us."
"We must make up for lost time." Fergus put a hand down to Trevor's groin.
"Is that a revolver you've got in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?"
Trevor laughed. "Glad to see you, Mai West."
Fergus knelt down and undid Trevor's flies. He pulled his cock out and kissed the head. "Hallo, old friend. Come up to Edinburgh for some play,
and to meet your friend?" Fergus kissed and began to suck.
Trevor reached down and tried to take off Fergus' jacket. "Let's get all these clothes off."
Fergus got onto his feet, and they raced to remove their clothes. Naked, they looked at each other for a moment. Each delighted in the sight of the other's nakedness. They knew each other well, but they stood looking at each other admiring the other one's male beauty. Then fell into each other's arms. Their full erect cocks met, and rubbed together.
"That feels good," said Trevor. "Worth travelling four hundred miles for."
With his hands he cupped Fergus' buttocks.
"I love your hands on me. It always does something special to me. I think my cock gets an inch longer when you're around."
Treor laughed. "So does mine."
Fergus pulled Trevor on to the bed. Trevor fell on top of Fergus, they kissed and humped their crotches together. They were both trying to get closer. Then Trevor pulled back. He made Fergus lie on his back, and then pulling Fergus' knees apart he knelt between and buried his head in Fergus' crotch. He nuzzled his face between the Scotsman's equipment and his thigh. He began to lick and kiss. He buried his face in Fergus' perineum enjoying both the man scent and the groans of appreciation.
"Trev, you're a marvel. You turn me on one hundred per cent. But swing round so I can get at you."
With his lips holding Fergus' cock firmly in his mouth, Trevor moved round so his knees were either side of Fergus' head. He lowered his cock toward Fergus' face.
Fergus' mouth received Trevor. He put one hand up to caress lightly Trevor's balls. The other hand reached round and searched for the orifice that he wanted to be his own cock's final destination.
Trevor's fingers were active following Fergus' actions.
They were both immediately sensitive to each other's rising passion, even though it was some months since they had last made love together. No words were needed. The cock of the Highland Scot hardened even more, and the Cockney Englishman responded. Both knew what was happening in the other one. They were almost simultaneous in their climax. The full reservoirs of spunk shot out, and the pent up emotions were released. They both sucked the final drops, and the two cocks softened.
"That was worth the journey," said Trevor.
"Good," replied Fergus. "And that was just the first instalment. My next load is going to be in your other end."
They lay side by side, with arms round each other. They kissed several times, and dozed briefly.
Fergus was the first to come to. "Shall we go out for something to eat?"
"Fine by me."
They cleaned themselves up and dressed. They made their way to a fairly cheap eating place that Fergus knew just off the High Street. They sat and caught up with each other's news.
"How's Isaac?" asked Fergus.
"Fine. He's got himself a German boy friend."
"Has he? I am surprised that he's done that after the holocaust and so on."
"He's a nice chap. Called Heinie. Several years older than me."
"You've met him then?"
"Yes. He came over and stayed with us for a week."
"Where did he sleep?"
"With Isaac."
"Did he? How did you feel about that?"
"I insisted on it. After all Isaac let me sleep with you whenever you've come down to London. I thought it should be the same for Isaac with his friend."
"And you were happy about it?"
Trevor breathed deeply. "Yes and no. My head is happy, but my heart is not so sure." He paused for a moment before continuing. "There is something in all of this that makes me not like me. My head tells me it is fine. My head is happy for Isaac, that he's got Heinie in Germany. I don't think I'm jealous......but perhaps I am. I don't like jealousy. It is a nasty thing."
"One of the seven deadlies," muttered Fergus.
"You sound like Paul."
"Your Theolog. friend?"
Trevor nodded.
"Is your relationship with Isaac beginning to loosen? I know he'll always mean a lot to you. But you've grown up. He's living in Germany. He's talked about you forming other relationships. He did that when we became close friends, didn't he? "
Trevor nodded.
"Perhaps the time is coming when you are both moving on," suggested Fergus.
Trevor thought for some while before replying. "Maybe you're right. Yes, I am older. I'm independent now. Isaac's in Germany, well away from me, whether Heinie is on the scene or not. Then there's Isaac's nephew Joseph.
They have become very close. They write to each other very frequently. Joseph keeps asking Isaac to go out to Israel. I know Isaac wants to go. Several times he has said he would quite like to live in Israel. You may be right. Perhaps our paths are going to diverge even more."
It was a very thoughtful Trevor that walked back through the moonlit streets of Edinburgh.
Both men enjoyed their weekend together. They spent a lot of time on the bed, but they went out to eat, and did manage a little sight seeing. On the Sunday afternoon they climbed to the top of Arthur's seat. It was a bright clear day. They looked down on the panorama before them. Fergus pointed out the sights. He pointed over the Forth Bridge towards Dunfermline, the ancient capital of Scotland. He pointed out the sites of various battles against the marauding English. It was as though the history of Scotland lay before them.
But all too quickly Monday morning came. Trevor caught the 10.00am Flying Scotsman back to London. As he sat in the train he thought about the future of his relationship with Isaac.
In the autumn of 1956 there occurred one of those rare events that convulsed the placid calm of English University life. In the summer Col Nasser the ruler of Egypt had nationalised the Suez Canal. The largest share holder was the British Government. Anthony Eden, the Prime Minster, who had stood resolute against Hitler and Mussolini in the uncertain 1930s, saw Nasser as the potential Hitler of the Middle East, and the nationalisation of the canal as something to be resisted as Hitler should have been when he sent his troops into the Rhineland in March 1936.
On 29th October 1956 the Israelis, actively encouraged by the British and French governments, attacked Egypt The British and French promptly sent in troops [that were conveniently to hand] to occupy the Suez Canal, to `protect' it from the Israelis!
Nation and press were divided. In the country as a whole most students were strongly opposed to the Governments action of invading Egypt. In Cambridge with so many undergraduates having a Public School background which naturally led them to support the Conservative Government the student body was more divided. Trevor with his left wing sympathies was outraged. He was ashamed that a British government should invade another country. Paul with his Public School and Military background was a government supporter. They argued loud and long.
Trevor joined the anti-government demonstration in town, and on the following Sunday went to hear Mervyn Stockwood preach in Great St Mary's.
At the same time the Russians sent their tanks into Budapest to put down a move to liberalise the regime in that country. It was as though they took the opportunity when the eyes of the West were on Egypt to tighten their grip on one of their satellite states.
There was another student demonstration against the Russians. This time Trevor and Paul stood together shoulder to shoulder.
Over the next few weeks Trevor and Isaac corresponded about both international events. They agreed about Hungary, but strongly disagreed over Suez. It was the first time that they had disagreed over a political issue.
The end of Trevor's Cambridge days approached fast. There were the exams. He had done well with the first set of exams at the end of the second year, and he was expected to do well in his finals. His tutor started discussing the future with him. Trevor was uncertain about what career he hoped to take up.
"Have you thought about doing research? What about a Ph. D.?"
"Do you think I'm up to that?" he asked.
"Unless you have a breakdown in your finals you should get a first. The world is yours."
"What on exactly?"
"You're going to end up with a good degree in Modern History. In your work you have shown an inclination towards Economic History. Then there is that other high card you so much keep hidden up your sleeve."
"What's that?"
"Your modern languages. Your French and German. I have often wondered why you didn't do the Modern Languages Tripos."
"Learning them was fun. My Guardian taught me when I was a kid. I didn't like studying them at school. I enjoy reading and speaking them, but having to read Moliere or Goethe? Not for me. I will read them to enjoy, but not to end up taking an exam in them."
His tutor smiled. "I think I have the answer for you. There is an eminent economic historian at Nottingham. She specialises in European economic history."
"O. O'Brien?"
"Yes, the formidable Olga O'Brien. She is often referred to as O.O', or Double O'. You'll know why when you see her."
"Formidable?"
"She has a fearsome reputation, but she's good. Doesn't suffer fools gladly. Works her students hard. She is careful about the research students she takes on. But if she likes the colour of your eyes, you'll never regret it."
"That sounds some reputation. Do you know her?"
The tutor laughed. "Yes. We have crossed swords a number of times. She likes people who stand up to her. Shall I write to her?"
"Yes, please."
Ten days later Trevor received a post card in the mail. In almost illegible handwriting he read:- `Russell, Come and see me on Friday April 12th at 2.00pm in the Trent Building. Porters will tell you my room.' There followed an illegible scrawl, which seemed to consist of two overlapping circles followed by a wavy line: Trevor presumed this was the signature of Olga O'Brien.
Trevor made the complicated train journey from Cambridge to Nottingham. He took the corporation bus out to the University and made his way up the hill to the imposing Trent Building. He asked the way to Professor O'Brien's room. The porter told him that she had just rung through and she would be delayed, and would he go into her room and wait. He went up the stairs to the top floor and found her room. It was an untidy mass of books and papers. All the chairs had something on them so he stood and waited.
The door suddenly burst open and Trevor turned to see a short woman barely five feet tall, and that was reached with the aid of high heeled shoes. She had bright ginger hair, that looked as though it was from a bottle. Her dominant feature was her bosoms. On a six foot woman they would have looked large, on her they were massive. They were tightly constrained by a white blouse. He realised at once the secondary, or was it the primary reason, why his tutor had referred to her as Double O'Brien with a grin.
She took off the gown she was wearing and flung it over a chair.
Two piercing blue eyes glanced at him quickly. "Russell?"
"Yes."
"So you want to come slumming at a Redbrick University?"
"I'd have hardly called Nottingham a slum. I was brought up in a slum so I know what one is like."
She turned and looked at him properly. "You don't sound like a slum kid. You sound as though you come from a London suburb."
"I were born in Lime'ouse in ver East End, and lived vere until I were twelve. Ven I lived in Leytonstone, not far away, but a world apart." The cockney accent returned with ease.
Professor O'Brien removed a pile of books from a chair. "Sit down." Trevor sat, and she perched on the edge of her desk. "So you're not one of those toffee-nosed chinless wonders from some fee paying Public School who got to Cambridge because of the school for which he paid, or because of Daddy?"
"No. I went to a primary school in Limehouse. When I was adopted and went to live in Leytonstone, I went to what became a secondary modern for a short while. Fortunately I was spotted and transferred to the local Grammar School. The rest is history."
"Scholarship to Cambridge?"
Trevor nodded.
"I see you have some story. Do you think the Schumann Plan will lead to greater European integration?"
Trevor took a deep breath and thought quickly. That was straight into the deep end. "Yes, and we should be a part of it."
"Don't be ridiculous. Our destiny is with the English speakers the other side of the Atlantic not with continentals."
"But we are Europeans. We deny it at our cost. There's no European movement that has not affected us profoundly, whether the Renaissance, the Reformation, the Enlightenment. We have been involved in every major European war except one."
"Which one's that?" snapped the Professor.
"The Thirty Years War," replied Trevor sharply.
For ten minutes the slightly heated discussion continued.
"I hear from your tutor that you have German and French at your finger tips?"
"I speak and can read both, but I'm not so good at writing them."
"That's unusual. Schools often concentrate on the writing, and the oral comes way down the list of priorities."
"I didn't like them at school. Did the minimum required to pass, and dropped them for Higher School Cert.
"Where did you learn then?"
"My guardian is a Jew, an Austrian refugee who came over here before the war."
"He taught you?"
Trevor laughed. "I suppose you can say that. When I first met him I discovered he could speak and read German. I thought he was a spy for a very short while. I asked what something was in German, and he told me. I remembered easily. Being a cockney I have a strong streak of mimicry in my make up. It was a game. I picked both German and French easily. We usually spoke one or the other at home, and only used English when necessary."
"So I must expect you to mimic me then?" asked O'Brien.
"Maybe!" Trevor flashed her one of his cheeky grins.
"You'll do. I'll hear your story more fully when you come up here. Start at the end of September?"
"Fine by me."
"But you must get a first in your finals. That is a condition."
"That gives me a real incentive to get my head down."
"I expect those who work with me to work hard. But I also expect them to keep fit. Sport?"
"I row."
"There's rowing on the Trent. Bit wider than that ditch that runs through Cambridge."
"It's not that narrow!" expostulated Trevor.
"But you can only race one after another," teased O'Brien.
"We hope to become Head of the River this year."
"And if you do, you will celebrate like a lot of pagans by burning a boat?"
"Tradition," explained Trevor.
"That's what you call it? I wish you success in that as well as in your finals." She held out a hand. Trevor stood and shook the outstretched hand.
The Easter Vac. was mostly spent in revision. The exams came and went. Then the results were published. Trevor had got a first, making it a prized double first, when taken together with the first set of exams. All that was required was the ceremony in Senate House when he became Trevor Russell B.A. - Bachelor of Arts. This entitled him to wear a longer gown than the short undergraduate gown, and also the white fur lined hood of a Cambridge B.A. It would be a further couple of years before, on the payment of a fee, he automatically became a Master of Arts. Paul had not done so well, he had got a top division second, commonly known as a Two One.
Isaac came over from Germany for the ceremony. He was full of pride at Trevor's achievement. He also shared with Trevor a plan of his nephew Joseph, who was trying to get Isaac to go to Israel in the autumn. Paul's parents also came up from Gloucestershire. They were fulsome in their congratulations. On Graduation Day Isaac took the three Driffields and Trevor out to lunch.
All that remained was to see whether Beaufort would become Head of the River. Beaufort began the week third on the river. On the Monday they succeeded in bumping the boat ahead of them, so placing them second. On the Tuesday they managed to catch up about half a boat's length on the leading boat, but they were seriously threatened by the boat they had bumped the day before, and it was only some skilful coxing that stopped them being bumped. The next two days they rowed the course, neither threatening nor being threatened.
It came to the last day of racing. There was a lot of talking and planning how to approach the final day. The Revd. Dr Percival Crampton-Brown was to the fore in all of this. During the twenty four hours he spoke words of encouragement to each member of the crew. It was widely believed that he spent the rest of the time in prayer and fasting in the college chapel. One man even suggested he had donned a hair shirt in an attempt to persuade the Almighty.
The afternoon of the final race arrived. Beaufort got a good start and were very quickly half a length away from the leading boat. They held it there until the final quarter of the course. Then suddenly they piled on the pressure. They were a quarter of a length up before the lead boat realised it. Slowly Beaufort began to draw closer. The vital bump was scored in the final feet of the course. Beaufort College were Head of the River. Crampton-Brown, in spite of all his years, jumped up and down on the tow-path. "Just as we did it in `07!" he shouted. The cox was thrown into the river, and once the eight were on the bank they were all giving each other hot sweaty hugs.
There was a marvellous dinner in the college hall to celebrate, and the pagan ceremony of burning an old boat was carried out. Trevor, as an oarsman in the winning boat, was presented with his oar, suitably inscribed.
"Where shall I keep it?" he asked Paul. "There's no room at home big enough for it."
"I know," said Paul. "It can go with mine down to Winchfield, and you can have it as soon as you get a room big enough to take it."
Trevor now had three months with no work to do, with no shadow of exams on the horizon. He spent a large part of late June and early July on a cycling holiday with Paul in France. They made an agreement that they would write to each other once a month. There were two weeks in Scotland with Fergus. Then he spent three weeks in Germany with Isaac. They went off to visit the Black Forest and parts of southern Bavaria.
Jeff at Jeffyrks@hotmail.com