Chapter 22 - 1980: The Day After the Ball

I woke, the morning after the ball, feeling, well, better than I thought I would.  Although I had had quite a lot to drink the night before it had been spread over many hours.  What I really felt, as I reached for my watch, was hungry.  It was nearly ten in the morning.  I hated waking up late, even if I had been late the previous night or, rather, early in the morning.  It had been about four when we got to bed.  We.  I turned and looked at C’s ginger hair, just peeking over the top of the duvet. The previous morning I had had J lying there.  I wondered how J felt this morning and whether she had caught her bus to Cambridge.  Maybe she was still in College.  

I slipped out of bed and got dressed, looking at C throughout the process and hoping she wouldn’t wake up. I went downstairs, opening the fire door almost opposite the door to my rooms and gazed down the slightly vertiginous wooden stairs.  My last full day in my first year rooms.  I would be out of college and in the annexe the next year, which would be a lot less convenient.  I walked across the paved area next to K and C’s staircase, through the archway past the organ scholar’s room and into New Quad where they were already disassembling the marquee, I crossed the end of the quad and went up the stairs to H’s room.  I stood outside the door and hesitated. Perhaps they were still asleep?  But I knew J’s bus to Cambridge was in the morning.  

I knocked on the door.  No reply.  I knocked on the door again, slightly louder.  Still no reply. I looked across the corridor at the nice bathroom.  The door was open.  I looked inside.  Someone had been in the bath this morning, anyway. but there were five other rooms on the staircase. I went back and knocked again; louder still.  No answer.  I wrote a note to H, recording when I had come around and said I would be there at midday as she suggested. Everyone had pieces of paper stuck to their doors with a pencil blu-tacked next to it so people could leave notes to each other. In pre-mobile phone days there was often a frustrating amount of to-ing and fro-ing as people kept missing each other and left more and more notes. I had been told off by the scout once, as C had written ‘where the FUCK are you?’ on my door.  I said it wasn’t me that left the note.  He told me it was offensive and I had to change the piece of paper.

I went back downstairs and visited the gents. Looking at the condom machine reminded me of J. I hoped that I would see her soon.  Maybe I could arrange a visit to Gloucestershire over the long summer break. I passed the chocolate machine and wished I had brought some change as I could have bought C a Lion bar as a peace offering, although why it should be me seeking peace was not really apparent. When I got back to my room she was up and dressed. She was in a panic as her mother and brother in law were picking her up at twelve.

“I need to pack!” she said.  She had done hardly any packing, whereas I had virtually finished mine and my mother wasn’t due until midday the following day. She opened the door.

“Don’t forget your glass!” I said, handing her the commemorative ball Guinness glass. She smiled and gave me a kiss.

“Let’s meet up soon in the holidays!  Can I come and stay?” she asked.  I was a bit surprised but agreed. I said I could help her pack but she said I would get in the way. I offered to see her off but she declined.  She obviously didn’t want me meeting her mother,  I looked at my black painted fingernails.  Maybe that was why.  I closed the door and heard her jumping down the stairs three at a time, as usual. The last time she would jump down those particular stairs. 

After C had gone, even though I had got dressed, I decided to go and have a shower in the subterranean bathroom. One thing I would not miss about my current staircase. The bathrooms in the annexe were much more modern and there was one on every floor.  No more descending into the frigid depths in winter.  I couldn’t really go out anywhere with my back nail varnish, anyway.  I really needed H to remove it for me.  It wasn’t warm in the bathroom (it never was) but it wasn’t too cold and I enjoyed a little play with myself, thinking about the last few days with J.  I just had to see her again.  I couldn’t let her disappear from my life as other girls I liked had in the past.

As I came back up the stairs from the basement bathroom I ran into K who had just come down from my room where she had been looking for me to say goodbye, as her father had arrived to collect her and her things. I asked if they wanted any help, given the area where our staircases were located was at the furthest part of College from the gate.  Unlike C she said that it would be good.  I said I’d just take my washing stuff back up to my room.  She followed me up.

“Now we can have a proper goodbye kiss!” she said.  We did and her tongue slipped into my mouth.  I put my hands on her taut little bottom and pulled her against me. I nuzzled my knee between her slender thighs.  We kissed for about fifteen seconds before she pulled away.  “That was an improper goodbye kiss!” she laughed, wagging her finger at me. 

“The best kind!” I said. We raced back downstairs thinking her father would be wondering what had happened to her. I knew K’s father and stepmother, of course and they greeted me warmly. He shook hands with a very firm grip.  I have never liked shaking hands and find it a rather odd thing to do but some men seem very keen on it, especially those tragic people who use it as some sort of finger crushing virility display. I tried not to look pained as he completely unnecessarily squeezed my hand.

“I take it this is something to do with the ball!” said her stepmother, grabbing what was left of my hand and looking at my fingernails. K said it had looked very stylish with my dinner suit. “Not so good with a crimson jumper, though!” said K’s stepmother.  They were a very traditional family and not at all unconventional, like my mother was.  I explained that H would be removing it at lunchtime.  K asked her family if she could have H to stay over the summer and they readily agreed.  They had met her on a previous trip.  Everyone liked H, she was a very life-enhancing girl.  Except C of course.  I wondered if C wouldn’t have disliked her so much if she had a smaller bust.

Even with four people it took quite a few runs to take all of K’s stuff to her parents’ car, a big blue-green Rover, parked in the square.  Girls seemed to have so much more stuff than boys.  It wasn’t just clothes either.  Great loads of cosmetics and other bottles of expensive nonsense.  And shoes, of course.  So many shoes.  I had one pair of shoes which, of course, I was wearing.  I felt sorry for the parents of N, a language student with a room in the same staircase as K and C, as her bed was entirely covered with soft toys. Not just two or three but about two dozen.  It must have taken her ages to clear her bed at night.

Eventually we finished packing the car and K’s stepmother said I must come and stay again too, over the summer. K and I decided to see if there was an interesting exhibition on over the summer we could go to. Of course, without the internet, this was rather more difficult than today but we agreed to look out for any adverts in the Sunday papers. Having waved them off and got another, family friendly, kiss from K, I went back into College and looked at my pigeonhole.  There were two identical envelopes printed with a girly floral design.  Different handwriting on each, though. I went inside and sat on one of the benches in the quad, next to the staircase the principal’s rooms were on.  Men were taking out bits of the marquee to a couple of lorries parked in the square.  I sat there to look at the notes but the real reason was to be able to hover there in case C appeared, heading to the entrance.

I opened the first note.  It was from H. Given the identical envelopes and the different handwriting it didn’t take Hercule Poirot (H loved Agatha Christie) to work out the notes were from the sisters. ‘Can you come at 12.30 instead of 12.00?  Don’t worry if you don’t get this but I may be out earlier. I will do lunch.  Bring French wine! Kisses. H.'  I wondered why she hadn’t left a note on her door.  Perhaps she didn’t expect me that early. I looked at my watch.  It was about 11.45.  I didn’t have my wallet so would have to go back and get it.  I could then nip across the road to Oddbins.

I opened the second note which was, of course, from J. ‘Thank you for having me! J x’ was all it said.  I laughed out loud, although I did feel that, really, she had had me. I was reminded of the Beatles song, Norwegian Wood. Neither note had an address on it. I walked back to my staircase.  Just as I got into New Quad I saw a middle aged man carrying a cardboard box, which contained C’s desk lamp and her plant.  I was rather surprised when C acquired a potted plant that term (which she called ‘Plant’) as she was not a nurturing sort of girl.  I can’t remember what sort of plant it was as then, as now, I had no interest in horticulture. I seemed to remember it had some sort of variegated leaves. Like me, Plant, was treated to very inconsistent care and attention. Sometimes she would talk to it (in preference to me) and tell it how attractive some man was or how lovely she looked that day.  Sometime she would get cross with it if she was trying to reach something on her desk and its rapidly increasing size got in the way. “Fucking plant!’ she would cry. Gradually its official name evolved into ‘Fucking Plant’ which she would delight in telling other people (like her scout) in order to shock them. It should be remembered, of course, that her scout, who was in his sixties and coming up to retirement, would have been born during the First World War. He did not expect young ladies to use such language.  Quite a few of the scouts didn't really approve of women being admitted to College at all.  The first erotic story I wrote, for my then girlfriend, some years later, featured a character called Firkin Plante, as a direct result.

I didn’t know who the man carrying her things was (it turned out to be her brother in law).  I expected C to follow behind but she didn’t appear.  I climbed up to my room again.  My room in the second year was also going to be on the top floor, annoyingly. I picked up my wallet and launched myself down the stairs again. It was a large, bright stairwell, at least, with a glass roof.  The stairs in the second year were much tighter and more difficult if you met someone coming the other way.  They weren’t as bad as some of the ones I had been to in a modern annexe of another college (St Edmund Hall, I think) where I actually felt claustrophobic in them, as they were so narrow.

As I left the staircase I saw C, coming out of her staircase with someone who I assumed was her mother.  She looked quite old compared with my mother, who was a young looking fifty. C spotted me and gave me a gesture which was half wave and half ‘go away’. I took it she didn’t want me to approach her mother.  I stayed back and let her go.  She didn’t even look back. I followed at a distance, to leave college for Oddbins, and saw her being driven off in a car. I checked my pigeonhole.  She hadn’t left a note.  Any slight guilt I felt about J or H evaporated. She really could be an unfeeling, unpleasant bitch. I stomped off to Oddbins and decided to get H and I a really nice bottle of wine.  Oddbins had opened that year and was a lot more convenient than trudging to Sainsbury's, as I had to do in the first term.  I chose a Châteauneuf-du-Pape, on the basis that my father used to get it if he wanted a nice wine.  The man in Oddbins gave me an odd look when I paid for the wine.  I really had to get my nails cleaned.

I looked at my watch and saw that it wasn’t quite 12.30.  I didn’t want to trek all the way back up to my room and then back down again so I went and sat in New Quad for a while.  The marquee had almost gone now and revealed a very badly flattened lawn underneath. There were more people about now and quite a few of them seemed to be on their way home; carrying boxes of stuff through college.  T appeared and sat down next to me.  He asked how my head was feeling.  I said I felt OK.  He said he didn’t feel too good and had made the mistake of drinking port after the ball had finished. I asked him how his girl from Selfridges enjoyed the ball. He replied that she had just left but was very embarrassed to be wearing her ball dress.  I congratulated him and said how lovely she was.

“So.  Who did you end up with?  Saw you dancing with three of your four women!”  I told him that I couldn’t possibly say but three of them had now gone home.  He asked if I wanted to have lunch but I told him I was going to see H so she could remove my black nail varnish.  He said I really needed to get rid of it as quickly as possible, although he had admitted that the Selfridge’s girl had admired it. He was leaving that afternoon.  “See you next year!  Tell me what else H removes for you!”

I knocked on H’s door about five minutes later.  She asked me in with a smile.  She was wearing one of her soft cotton sundresses, with a slightly plunging neckline.  She was wearing a gold chain around her neck and was barefoot, I noticed.  She put her arms around me and kissed me softly on the lips and then kissed me again.   Keen to explore what the situation was between us, given everything that had happened over the previous few days,  I kissed her back and stroked her bottom.  She carried on smiling.  I relaxed. I wanted to find out about her sister but thought that might look very rude, first off. Instead I asked her how she was.  She replied that she was much better than her sister who had thrown up in the bathroom shortly after I left.

“At least you didn’t have to mop up the sick!” she said, as she led me over the corridor to the bathroom, holding a little bottle of clear liquid, cotton wool and, oddly, some silver foil. I sat on the loo, with my fingers over the washbasin and she painted stuff on the nails and wrapped them in tin foil for a few minutes. I noted that it didn't smell of sick and she said that was because she had opened the window and got the scout to spray disinfectant everywhere.  The nail varnish remover smelled so strong I wouldn't have noticed it anyway.  She said it was basically acetone.  Something I remembered from Chemistry at school, although I had given up Chemistry in favour of Art for O level.  'His decision to give up Chemistry was obviously wise' noted my form teacher on my school report next to my grade D.  

H removed the foil and rubbed the nail varnish off with cotton wool.  It worked amazingly well and when I washed my hands to remove the chemical smell my nails were completely clean.  While we did this, H told me about J having mixed pills with too much wine.  She had seemed better that morning and H had taken her down to the bus station so she could get her bus to Cambridge. I told her that I had seen K off and she had wanted H’s address so she could invite her up to London for a couple of days.  

“That would be fun.  We could meet up too,” she said.  She wrote out her address for me to send to K. Excellent, I thought.  I’d have to look it up in my mother’s road atlas to see exactly where it was.  I still had no idea where Gloucestershire was but I could now write to J.  

“You’re all packed!” I said.  Her room had always had a lot of stuff in it but now there were half a dozen cardboard boxes on the floor containing books, rolled posters, crockery and other stuff, including the picture I had drawn of College. There were two suitcases standing by the door as well.  I only had one but she was a girl, I supposed.  There was also the inevitable bag of shoes. The room looked rather bare now.  Her window seat cushions, which J had been sleeping on, were back in place, overlooking the High.  The beanbag and the other big cushions were still on the floor and at least the chairs were clear now. “I hope it all goes in the car!”  She said that that was why her mother was not coming to collect her as well. She asked me to sit down and I sat in one of her window seats.

“I’m afraid it’s bread and cheese again for lunch,” she said, brandishing a baguette in one hand and a bread knife in the other. “How do you like it? Horizontal or vertical?”  I raised my eyebrows, cheekily.  She laughed.  “That does sound a bit dubious, doesn’t it!” We agreed that slices would work better with brie otherwise it was just a sandwich and they were tough to eat elegantly. She told me to put some music on.  I looked at her cassettes, which now sat on an otherwise bare shelf. On the floor she had a big cassette carry case, ready to pack them in, and I decided that I needed to get one of those over the summer.  I chose a recording I had got as well; Georg Solti’s recording of Ravel’s Bolero, Debussy’s La Mer and L’apres-midi d’un faune.  It had come out a few years previously and had had rave reviews for the quality of the recording.  It was also, not coincidentally, a record featuring a lot of gently sensual music.

“Have you ever seen ‘10’?” asked H.  I admitted I hadn’t. “In that they say it’s the best music to have sex to!”  I did know that.  There had been a  lot of discussion about it when the film came out and sales of Ravel’s Bolero had rocketed. “Is that how it goes?  Start slowly and get more and more worked up?”  It was how I liked it, I thought.  I liked to take my time.  J had not been a great one for foreplay but C usually was. Normally I would have loved to talk about sex with a lovely girl like H but I was very conscious of the whole situation with her sister. I wanted my focus to be on H, not J.  I changed the subject and asked her about her room next year.  

She came over and sat next to me in the window seat, holding two plate loads of sliced French bread, Camembert and tomato.  I’d forgotten about the wine, which I had put on the desk.  I got up and opened it with the corkscrew she had left there.  She had put out two glasses as well.  I handed her her glass and she gave me another kiss.  I was enjoying the amount of kisses I was getting and was glad any lingering resentment towards me over her sister seemed to have subsided.  She sat up in the window seat, parallel with the leaded glass and rested her bare feet on the side of my thigh, companionably.  She said her room in the second year was about the same size as just her bedroom in her rooms now.  My room was smaller too but because it was square, rather than two long thin rooms together it seemed more spacious. The College annexe for second years was about five minutes walk away from College,  It had six staircases in it.  Three were built in one block and the others were separate houses but all on the same site. H was in one of the houses.  I was in the main block, on the top floor, again.  She would be much closer to me than we had been in the first year.

“At least I don’t have to go down four flights of stairs to reach the bathroom!” I said. And the bathrooms had heating in the annexe, although there were no actual baths. 

“I’m going to miss this bathroom, though!” said H.  I agreed that it must have been great to have the nicest bathroom in College across the corridor from her room.  She said that the problem with it was that it attracted people from the rest of College which made it difficult to get into, sometimes. I thought of the number of times C and I had used it.  C never worried about the other people living on the staircase not having access while we lingered in the bathroom for an hour. 'There are loos downstairs,' C had said.  'They can just go to bed dirty.'

We chatted about the ball and both decided that while we hadn’t really enjoyed it we agreed that it was something that had to be done.  H said she had enjoyed dancing with me but felt that both C and her sister were watching us like hawks. She had put her empty plate on the floor but had finished her wine so I took her glass to refill it.

“I should have brought my drawing things.  That would make a great picture,” I said, looking at her sat in her window seat leaning against the wall at the edge of the opening with her feet on the cushion.

“I meant to ask you to bring your drawing things, although I have a pad of paper,” she said. “Maybe later!” I thought that sounded like an excellent idea.  “Why don’t you sit on the beanbag? It’s more comfortable.” I handed her her glass and put mine on the floor.  I wasn’t that experienced at getting into the beanbag chair.  They weren’t very common in Britain then. Hers was only the second I had experienced. Within ten years they would be cheap and student favourites but at this time they were still expensive.  H’s was covered in soft leather, not the cloth the cheaper ones of later years were made from.  It was all about approaching it from the right angle, I decided. Too low and you fell out of the front of it.  Too high and you risked going over the back. Or at least I did. “No, no!” she laughed as I threatened to slide out of the side.  She put her glass down, hopped over and grabbed my shoulders to heave me back into position, although that was never going to work as I was already sliding the other way.  I would just have to get up and have another go. 

I slid onto the floor and H slid with me, ending up on top of me. She looked at me for a few seconds.  I expected her to laugh at my ineptitude.  She didn’t. She started to kiss me or, rather, snog me. Her hands were all over my shoulders and chest and I responded by caressing her back.  She got astride my hips and started to move them over my crotch.

The second thing I thought was that this was just what J had said shouldn’t happen between me and H. I had promised not to pursue H as a rebound consolation.  Unfortunately, the first thing I thought was that this was fantastic and I wondered whether she would mind me grabbing her bottom. I did and even worse, started to slowly pull her dress up her legs so I could get at her knickers.  H started to undo the buttons on my shirt and was soon kissing my chest.  I felt her hand on my crotch.  I was already stiff and she was rubbing against me. I started to undo the buttons at the front of her sundress and she started working on my belt buckle and flies.  I was worried about knocking our glasses of wine over so rolled her over onto her back, away from it.  We started rolling and writhing about on the floor, tugging at bits of each other’s clothes. I slid my fingers under the waistband of her knickers, as her dress was now up around her hips and felt her soft bottom. As if at a mutually agreed point, however we both paused.  She sat back on her haunches and looked at me.  She grinned. And wriggled.

“That was unexpected!” I said.

"Really?  Did you think I just invited you around for bread and cheese?"

"I thought it was to remove my nail varnish," I said.

"Honestly.  Yes,  I suppose.  Sorry to jump you.  I was waiting for you to make the first move!" she said.  She was breathing hard and I had undone enough of her buttons to watch her cleavage heave. 

"Well it was fun!" I said.

“More fun in a minute!” she picked my glass of wine up off the floor and handed it to me.  I sat up. She picked hers up and swigged quite a lot. 

“I need the loo!” She stood up and buttoned up the front of her dress, disappointingly. “Don’t go away!” she left the room.  This enabled me to deal with a pressing problem; that of removing my shoes and socks.  If she decided to remove my jeans I didn’t want them getting stuck on my shoes. While she was out the room I wondered where I should be when she returned. On the floor would be best, as regards resuming where we had broken off.  But was that too pushy? I decided to sit back in the bean bag chair, this time adjusting my angle properly so I didn’t fall out. I had a couple of big mouthfuls of wine too.  She couldn’t be drunk, surely?  She had only had a glass and a half of wine.  They weren’t big glasses.  At this time the big glasses common nowadays hadn’t really taken off.  I looked at the bottle.  We had only had less than a half of it.  I topped up her glass, slightly disgracefully. 

When she reappeared she came over and sat on my lap in the beanbag too.  She was about five inches taller than C and I remember thinking she was a lot heavier.  It was easier for her to get into a comfortable position than in my armchairs back in my room anyway. She sat across my lap with one arm around me.  She gave me a kiss. I carefully handed her, her wine which I had placed on the floor.  These full glasses of wine were starting to get me stressed.  I don’t like people putting drinks on the floor as they inevitably get spilled.  Any major damage to anything in our rooms would see the College levying a fine.  Fortunately, she knocked back the wine pretty rapidly.

“Shall I take your glass?” I asked anxiously.  She said not to worry and took both and put them on her desk, thankfully.

“I need to talk to you about my sister!” she said, sitting back on my lap.  Oh dear.  This was not what I wanted at all.  I wanted to carry on kissing and caressing, not having some serious conversation about H or, worse, relationships.  Well it turned out not to be a conversation at all but a monologue at which I nodded at appropriate points.  “I’m sorry I was cross with you about J.  I love my sister but...”  What followed was a long story of an outgoing, confident elder sibling and a shy, quiet younger sibling.  For her whole life H had felt dominated by her sister. J was, she maintained, always prettier (I did interrupt at that point as I loved H’s elfin beauty which was more subtle than her sister’s), more sporty, more popular and more academically successful than H.  Although her family were comfortably off, H always had to wear her sister’s hand me down clothes and school uniform; a particularly sore point as J was three inches taller than H who often felt swamped in clothes that were too big.  J was the one the boys always went for, to H’s annoyance, especially as she felt they had the same figure.  The reason H applied to Oxford was because her sister was at Cambridge. By this point she looked to be on the verge of tears.  Women were so emotional.  I had been gently stroking her lower leg where it emerged from under her dress. She wriggled on my lap slightly and her legs parted a little.  I stroked up inside one knee.  The whole thing culminated in her saying that she had been so pleased when I had agreed to have a Pimm’s with her and kissed her down by the river.  She had been talking to K about me who, of course, brought up the whole C issue.  She knew C and I had been having problems but she thought K wanted me.  She had backed off from me and then, of course her sister had arrived and ‘thrown herself at me as she always does when I find a boy I like’. "Do you know the song A Lonely Singing Doll by Twinkle?" she asked. I shook my head.  She began to sing: "I am just like other girls I want to find a boy to love!" I recognised the melody, H was a good singer and was in the college choir with K.

"Poupée de cire, poupée de son!"  I said.  I told her it had won the Eurovison song contest in 1965 but she had been too young to remember it.  I hadn't heard the English version.

I told her, truthfully, how attracted I was to her and how lovely she was but the whole thing with C had made me wary of girls (actually, that bit was a lie).  The thing with the creep from Magdalen was just the final straw in a terminally deteriorating situation. This seemed to put her in a sympathetic mood and we started kissing again. She slid a hand inside my shirt and I slid my hand higher up the inside of her thigh.  I started to stroke the soft skin there, gradually moving my hand a little higher each time.  She opened her legs a bit more, invitingly.  My fingers touched her knickers briefly, before starting their descent back down to her knee again.  We carried on like this for some time.  She wriggled about on my lap.  I pressed my fingers against her pussy.  She was very hot. I stroked her cotton clad crotch.  She began to stroke my erection through my jeans. She sat up.  My hand recoiled from between her legs as I thought I had gone too far. She started to undo the buttons of her sundress.  All of them. I shrugged out of my shirt, to encourage her, as much as reveal myself. She shrugged out of her dress too.  She was wearing plain white cotton knickers and a white bra but that didn’t matter as her body was just superb. It didn't need any embellishment.  She sat back down on me but astride my hips this time.  I enjoyed stroking her bare back and soon had my fingers inside her knickers again. Given she was gradually undoing my zip I didn’t feel shy about working my fingers further into her underwear. I stroked her perineum and she gasped, gratifyingly. I started to kiss her collarbones and cleavage.  She reached behind her back and unhooked and removed her bra.  Controlling myself, with some difficulty, I did not immediately start sucking her nipples but just carried on kissing the upper surfaces of her breasts, gradually getting closer and closer to her pale teats. I put my mouth over one of her nipples at almost the exact moment that she managed to get my fly button undone.  I felt her fingers dart inside and stroke my tip.

“Shall I...?” I began, pushing at the waistband of my jeans.  Now was the time to be assertive, I figured.

“No!  I want to do it!” She started to pull my jeans down and I lifted my bottom off the floor to help her.  To my surprise she pulled my pants down at the same time.  I moved about to help and she had to yank quite hard but within seconds I was lying in her bean bag chair completely naked. She knelt up and grinned at me. She then caressed her own breasts which I thought might make me come just by looking at her.  She leaned forward and started to kiss my erection, as she had in my bed, before her sister stopped her. She took hold of me and started to pump me gently.  Looking at me and grinning the whole time as if thoroughly delighted with her game.  I stroked her bust.  She wriggled up for a kiss but didn’t let go of me.  I got my fingers inside the front of her knickers and felt her wet parts for the first time. She wriggled back down again and this time took my knob into her mouth, properly.  She was very gentle and I stroked her neck as she started to slurp, quite wetly.  She seemed quite good at this and I remembered she had told us of an Austrian boy she had sucked off, to her sister’s surprise.  She stopped after a while and went back to just using her hand. She put the fingers of her left hand inside her knickers.

“Ooh!” I said, encouragingly. I reached down and stroked her wrist and she started to rub her pussy a bit. I found this very exciting indeed.  C had sometimes caressed herself under her skirt or in bed and I found the idea of a girl being that excited that she would do something so personal and intimate in front of me, unbearably erotic.

“I want to make you ejaculate!” she said.  I wondered what J would think about that statement given her expressing the exact same sentiment had ended our three in a bed fun the night before last. Sadly, faced with a lovely girl with a big smile on her face wanking and sucking me, all my resolve, expressed to her sister, dissolved as easily as the black nail varnish.

It was not a consistent build up.  Not how C used to do it, by starting quite slowly and just gradually increasing her speed.  H would suck me a bit and then massage me. Then she would pull my foreskin right down and lick around underneath my knob.  Then she would kiss it, then just gaze at it for a bit before popping her wet mouth over it again.  I got close several times but she wouldn't keep up a steady rhythm; stopping and starting and wriggling up to kiss my lips, then sliding down and setting to work on my cock again.  She pumped me with her hand, kissed my balls and giggled. "How do I make them pump?  With my hand." she asked, looking at me with an expression of sheer delight.  I stroked her cheek and grinned at her.

“You can squeeze a bit harder!” I said.  She did.  “And move faster!” She did that too.  It didn't take her long. “Oh! H!” I said and started to come.  Given I had been pretty sexually active the last few days I was surprised by both the volume and the pressure.  I guess I shot about six inches up in the air.  There were several subsequent ones which flowed, rather than squirted, and ran over her hand.

“Gosh!” said H.  “It’s like cream!” She wiped her spermy hand on her bust, entertainingly. She bent down and sucked my cock again, licking up my spunk, which was rather more salacious than I expected her to be.  “I like it!” she said, licking her lips. “You’re delicious!  I like eating you!”

“I like it too!  Maybe I should eat you!”

“Oh!  You mean...  Not done that!” she replied.  She frowned.  "It's a bit..."

“We don’t have to!” I said, not wanting to push her.  Her sister really would kill me if I ate H’s pussy, I thought. The problem was that the more I thought about not doing it the more I wanted to.

“I.. I have quite a strong taste!” she said.  That sounded hopeful.  At least she knew what she tasted like.  I thought of C and her comment about Germaine Greer saying that most women hadn’t tasted themselves.

“Sounds good!” I said.

“Alright!” she said.  I gently pushed her onto her back on the floor and started to kiss her body, starting at her collar bones.  I took some time to cover her body with kisses, avoiding the area around her knickers.  If she was nervous I thought I should work up to it slowly and perhaps give her a chance to change her mind.  I worked down to her feet and kissed her toes then started to work up again, inside her legs. I had just got to her hipbones when she lifted her bottom.  I grabbed the waistband of her knickers and pulled them down to below her knees. She pulled one leg out of her knickers and kicked them off the other leg.  I pushed her thighs apart and started to kiss the inside of her legs.  I could smell her now; she was very musky.  I licked her belly button and slid my hand over her soft fur finding her clit with my finger and making her gasp.  I worked my way down her lower body again and put my face into her groin.  I parted her labia with my fingers, stuck my tongue straight in and started to lap away.  “God!” she said. She had bigger parts than her sister, that was for sure. They protruded from her slit, which I liked. I delved into her hot entrance with the tip of my tongue for a bit and then went to work on the shaft of her clit.  I really loved licking pussy, perhaps, I was starting to think, more than actual fucking.  Her hands were on my shoulders and she was breathing hard, gently gyrating her hips. I slid a finger tentatively up inside her, conscious that she was a virgin and not wanting to hurt her.  There was no resistance so I began to tickle the top of her cunt.

“Aah!” she said grabbing my wrist “Stop!  Please stop!” I didn’t as she was writhing around like a landed octopus.  “Stop!” she said again.  I pulled my finger out, disappointed.  It was like sexual momentum had carried her this far but now she was thinking rationally. She leant up on her elbows and looked at me.  “Kiss me!” she said.  I did.  “Do you like my taste?” she asked.

“You are delicious!"  I replied.  See actually was reminiscent of A's prawn cocktail taste when I had my first taste of pussy.  Not quite as musky as C although I now realised that an individual woman's taste wasn't always the same. 

“Good! Now you can get back to it!” she patted my back.   I set to work with my tongue and reintroduced my finger.  I added another one.  Unlike her sister, it was easy to tell that she was getting worked up.  She was breathing faster and making little vocalisations.  Her hand was around my wrist as I finger fucked her, gripping really tightly. I carried on for what felt like an hour but was probably only ten minutes; enough for my tongue to be getting tired anyway. “Oh!” she gasped and her whole body stiffened.  She went into something of a spasm; her thigh muscles quivering.  I lapped at her even harder.  “No!  Too much!” I didn’t stop. She was almost crying now. I gripped the bunched muscles inside her thighs and started to rub her anus.  The whole area was soaking wet with her juices. I pulled my face off her clit, thinking that it must feel like my knob when I had just come and maybe it really was unbearable.  I kept rubbing the top inside of her vagina with my fingertips, though.  I wanted to see if I could make her come again.  She clamped her thighs shut over my forearm and I felt a rush of liquid. I stopped moving my fingers and pulled them out.  “Christ almighty!” she gasped after a while.  I wriggled up so I could kiss her on the lips.

“Was that nice?” I asked, still not sure if she had enjoyed it or not.

“Nice? Nice?” she said.  Her chest was heaving and I stroked her bust, lying next to her on my side. She laughed.  “Yes it was nice!  Very, very nice! Honestly! You’ve just exploded my brain! I’m a shuddering wreck! Golly!”  She climbed on top of me. “I know I’m second to my sister again but I did see you first!  And I kissed you first!”

“You’re second to none!” I replied. “And I kissed you!”  I remembered kissing her down by the river.  It seemed like weeks ago but was only a few days.

“So you did!” she kissed me again and we set to on another snogging session. We broke apart grinning at each other. “Put some more music on!” said H. I stood up and went to look at her cassettes. The fact that she still had her cassettes all out when she had packed everything else up meant that she was like me in that music was really important to her. I always packed my music away last too. It was mid afternoon. What music to have mid afternoon? She had Sibelius 2nd which was restful and calm. I popped in the cassette and turned to look at her. She was sat in her bean bag with her legs slightly apart. She didn’t look shy now. “Do you know what my room next year needs?” she asked.

“What?  Not more stuff?  You’ll have trouble getting everything in as it is!”

“A naked man.  Just to walk around and be distracting!” she laughed.  She was bouncing one knee out to the side and back, inadvertently (or perhaps not) flashing her bits.

“Can I volunteer?” I asked.

“I’ll have to interview you some more.  Give you some tests!”

“I wish I had my drawing things!” I said again, looking at her sprawled on her bean bag. She got up and produced an A4 pad of drawing paper.  She then rooted around and found a pencil but it was a 2H. I told her it was too hard and I needed something softer.  She laughed and patted my prick, saying that she much preferred hard.  In the end I sat down on one of her big cushions and used a ballpoint pen. H was surprised at this but I had seen something about the wildlife artist David Shepherd on TV and he used ballpoints for sketching.  I started to practice with them and it gave a wonderful, loose quality to the drawing.  H didn’t close her legs for the picture and it turned out to be quite an erotic drawing.

“Hah! If J could see that!” said H.  "Or my mother! Oh my God!"

“I’d be in big trouble with your sister in particular!” I said. H asked why and I told her about J warning me off her.

“What a bitch!  Warns you off me and then has you for herself.  Bloody typical!”  I realised I probably shouldn’t have said anything and so pointed out why J thought it would be a bad thing for H.   That she was trying to protect her sister.  “It’s not up to her!  It’s up to me! Maybe I want to be a rebound girl!  Anyway, let’s say that you and I never have any intimacy ever again.”  Oh, no, I thought. “Would you regret what we just did?”  I shook my head. “Me neither.  It was lovely!”  She stood there with her hands on her hips.  Eyes blazing. Gorgeous.

“You look like a warrior queen!” I said.

“A Viking queen!” she said. We had a naked hug and I started to get stiff again to H’s delight.  She rubbed my cock and got me all the way up.  She stepped back and looked at me.  Do you know what's better than having a naked man in my room?"

"What?"

"A naked man with an erection!" She laughed and came and gave me another hug, my cock pressing against her tummy.  “Do you know what I fancy right now?” she asked, rubbing my cock.

“What?  I might need to recover a bit longer.”

“Tea and scones!” she said unexpectedly.  Initially I thought it might be a euphemism for some sort of sex act I wasn’t aware of but then I realised I had been reading too much Men Only magazine.  We got dressed and I told her to leave her knickers off which she thought was really naughty, except she then made me do the same, which wasn’t so comfortable in denims.

"Don't be surprised if I dribble down my leg!" she laughed. as she lifted the hem of her dress and looked at her lovely, fluffy pussy.

"I'll lick it up later!" I said.

As we walked through the quad we ran into L, the gossiping student who had, inadvertently, caused a lot of issues between C and I.

“You’re still here!” she said, brilliantly. H told her we were going for tea, Oh no, I thought.  The last thing I wanted was for L to attach herself to us. “Has C gone home?” she asked, pointedly, given H had her arm through mine, a level of public intimacy in College that C would never have accepted.

“That was rude!” said H after we had, thankfully, broken away from L and headed for the porter’s lodge.  “Asking about C in front of me.  How insensitive!” I said that given it was the end of term at least she wouldn’t be able to gossip to that many people. "If she had only known what we had just been doing!" We stepped out into the square, where a number of people were packing stuff into their parents' cars. “Let's kiss!” she said.  We did.  Might as well add to the potential gossip, I supposed.

She took me to the Wykeham Coffee House, opposite New College.  C and I used to walk past it on the way to the Law library but I had never been in there. It was very pleasant and we ordered a cream tea each for the reasonable price of seventy four pence a head. The fact that I had had tea with her sister after our night of passion was not lost on me.  Was there, I wondered, anything wrong in seeking out rebound girls?  I wasn’t forcing them to do anything. Except they had both really made most of the running and any encouragement on my part was due to C’s behaviour with the creep from Magdalen. Anyway, H was a very different prospect from her sister.  Her sister had been slightly intimidating whereas H was someone I had always liked.  Someone I felt comfortable with.  Would I have been intimate at all with H if her sister hadn't been after me?  I didn't feel any guilt towards J, as she had made it clear that I wasn't her boyfriend and it was just a cheer ourselves up fling.  I did feel a bit guilty about having promised J not to touch H.  I couldn't remember what I had actually promised.  Was it no intimate contact or was it not to take H's virginity?  Well, I hadn't done the latter so that was alright, I supposed.  H kicked my leg under the table.

“What?” I said, realising that I had been gazing out of the window.

“What are you thinking about?”  I told her that I was just thinking that I had always liked her from the moment I met her and was so glad we were getting to know each other better. She laughed and said that was one way of putting it. 

The tea and scones arrived and we had the eternal debate as to which went on first, jam or cream.  This is a source of much argument, especially in Devon and Cornwall. We both went for cream first as the cream acts as an adhesive to the slippery jam. Another thing we agreed on. We fed each other bits of scone, as we had with crisps at the Head of the River. We discussed meeting up in the holidays and wondered if K might agree to us both staying with her at the same time.  

We walked back down Holywell Street after tea and I went into Blackwells music shop.  H said she needed to get some things in the shops and said she would see me back in her room in forty five minutes. She told me to get my drawing things from my room.  Another lovely kiss and I descended the stairs into Blackwells. I wondered about buying a cassette for H and I was soon lost amongst the shelves.

The problem was that music was very personal.  The number of times I have had somebody say that something was excellent and when I listened to it, it just left me cold, particularly most rock music, choral music or chamber music.  The worst, though was lieder.  It always provoked an image of a fat opera singer screeching in German while someone played the piano.  The College had an annual classical chamber concert and that year it had been some opera singer singing lieder.  C and I decided not to go.  One of our law tutors harangued everyone the following week as, apparently, only about twelve people had turned up, to the College's embarrassment.  'Shouldn't have had rubbish music, then,' said C to the tutor.  He thought she was a philistine.  I said something more diplomatic but made my view equally clear.  The College learned its lesson, however, and the following year they booked Andrew Lloyd Webber's cello playing brother Julian (he had had a hit crossover album, Variations, a few years before) who played to a packed Hall.

Also I didn’t know if H’s cassettes were her whole music collection or just part of it.  I had around three hundred records and only brought a selection to College. Given her other music and the fact that she liked folk I went for Leonard Bernstein’s recording of Copland’s most famous works. I left the shop, which had eaten more of my grant than any other thing, even more than C, in my first year, and wondered about buying her something else.  Flowers would be pointless as she was leaving tomorrow.  I had already bought wine.  Chocolates?  Corny but usually welcome.  I headed off to Selfridges.

It was actually closer to an hour when I returned to her room, having picked up my drawing things too. She was delighted with both the Copland and the chocolates, which she immediately opened.  She gave me one but said we must save them for later.  I always felt guilty eating chocolate as my father used to say that ‘chocolate was for children’. Something I agree with more and more, as I never really had a sweet tooth. I always felt guilty if I ate chocolate as it seemed a childish thing.  Or a feminine thing.  Chocolate was a food for women, like fruit and yoghurt.  I would rather have had a bag of peanuts than chocolate except, oddly, if I had a cold and then I would crave it.

“I have planned the rest of the day!” said H, helping herself to another chocolate.  They were Swiss ones (from the days when they weren’t massed produced rubbish) and I could see them not lasting very long.

“So what does the next part of the day consist of?” I asked, hopefully.

“Drawing me naked!” she said.  She unbuttoned her sun dress and dropped it on the floor.  She was wearing black Dior hold up stockings which, I guessed, she had just bought. She had dispensed with her bra too.  I told her that, technically, she wasn’t naked.  She laughed and said that I had to be naked.  “Strip for me!” she said, sitting down on one of her big cushions. She looked fantastic.  Like a Klimt or a Toulouse-Lautrec model.  I took off my clothes (ensuring I removed my shoes and socks first, of course) and didn’t worry about my partial erection, even though it was unprofessional in an artist model relationship. “Can you get it all the way up?” asked H. I took hold of myself and gave myself a few firm strokes.  It didn’t take much.  “Oh my gosh!” said H.  “I love it!”  She asked if I could concentrate in that state and I said I would try.  She got up and took me in hand again.  We kissed.  She tasted of chocolate. She asked where she should pose and I told her on the window seat.  “But I’m naked!” she said.

“No you’re not!” I pointed out.  She gave me a naughty smile and sat down in the window seat.  In fact the leaded windows probably didn’t show much from the outside and the rooms on the opposite side of the High were mainly student rooms above the shops below.  Given it was the end of ninth week they were probably empty.

“I’m naked in public!” said H.  “What fun!” It was certainly fun to draw her sat on the seat with her feet up on the cushion.  It was the picture I had wanted to do earlier but the stockings added a certain bohemian effect.  C always wore stockings with suspenders not hold ups but I was quite converted to the look by H’s long, black covered legs.

I took my time on it and produced a more finished drawing than just a sketch. She crouched down next to me to look at it. She claimed it for herself, of course, which was a shame as I wanted to keep it. I put my arm around her waist. “Let’s have a bath together and then go out to dinner!” she said.  At least it was the end of the year but I wasn’t going to have a lot of money left to cover four months of summer holiday.

It felt strange being in the bathroom opposite H’s room with her, rather than C. I did suggest a candle, even though it was still light outside. H had some bubble bath and started to fill the bath.

“Don’t forget you don’t need as much water for two!” I said.

“You are obviously an expert!” I wished I hadn’t said anything.  “Did you have J in here?” I said no, truthfully.  I didn’t mention our shower. “What about C?” I admitted to once or twice although it was actually rather more than that.  “What about K?”  I explained that our relationship was just as friends.  “Good!” she said.  She took off her dressing gown and sat on the edge of the bath, having turned the taps off.  She removed her stockings and climbed into the bath. “Should have brought the chocolates!  Damn it!” I volunteered to go and get them, although I felt that a hot bathroom was not quite the best environment for chocolates.  When I returned she was sitting in the bath.  The bath foam covered her breasts and she had put her hair up too. I was reminded of a still of Sharon Tate in The Fearless Vampire Hunters. I fed her a chocolate as her hands were covered in foam.  Well I fed her a chocolate eventually, as she sat there for ages deciding which one to have.  She pointed and I held it up for her.  She took the whole thing into her mouth and chomped away (it must have been some sort of nougat) while I stripped off again.

I lifted the seat of the loo up and began to piss.  There was a choking sound from H. I looked at her and saw her face registering total shock.  C and I were so matter of fact about pissing in front of each other that I had quite failed to consider that H might not be like that.

“Oh my goodness!” she said, eventually.

“Sorry!” I said.  “I just didn’t think!” I couldn’t really stop at this stage.  She could shut her eyes but she didn’t.

“That’s OK.  It’s just that...  Well I am seeing a lot of things I have never seen before today and they all seem to involve your penis!” she said.

“Sorry!”  I said again.  Her eyes were fixed on my prick.

“It’s OK.  It’s fascinating, I suppose.” She frowned and then smiled. I shook myself.  She giggled. “Is that all you do.  You don’t wipe?”  I hadn’t thought about that. Did other men? No of course they didn’t or public urinals would have loo paper next to them.

I was slightly worried that she might now consider me dirty and not let me into the bath but she pulled her legs up and I sat at the tap end. The water level increased alarmingly.

“Close!” I said.  It hadn’t quite gone over the edge.  I pulled the plug out and let a couple of inches drain away.  She started playing with me under the water almost immediately and asked where we should go to dinner. “You choose!”

“Chinese.  I like Chinese!” she said.  Usually I would have liked somewhere a bit cheaper, like pizza but it was the last day of my first year, she was a lovely girl who I hoped would become a full on girlfriend next year and she was tickling my balls.  She could have anything she wanted, I decided.

“I’ve been to The Opium Den.  That was good!” I said.

“Nowhere you’ve been with anyone else!” she said, exhibiting a rare flash of concern at my past romantic life. "It's bad enough with the bath!"

“I’ve always wanted to try the Peninsula up the road!” I said.  It  was in the same street as The Opium Den and wasn’t far from Sweeney Todd’s, where I had been with K. It was one of the pricier Chinese restaurants in the city and popular with actors who had appeared in the New Theatre, just across the road. It was managed by a tutor at Oxford Poly so was student friendly (some restaurants were not keen on students taking tables in the evenings and ordering all the cheapest things on the menu).

We washed each other, rather languidly until the soap had made all the bubbles disappear and our fingers had got wrinkled.  H climbed out of the bath and we dried each other. She unlocked the door to the bathroom, still naked.

“Let’s make a dash for it!” she said, grabbing her dressing gown, stockings and room key.  It was a quiet staircase and you hardly ever saw anyone on it but it still felt like a big risk to run across the corridor naked.  It was even worse when she fumbled getting the key in the lock, leaving us stranded outside the door for a few heart-pounding seconds. We tumbled into the room. laughing and were immediately all over each other. I pushed her up against the door and we kissed and caressed.  Her hand went straight to my burgeoning cock and my hands were on her lovely breasts.  She parted her legs slightly and I started to rub her pussy.  She pushed me towards the bean bag and we fell on top of it,  She kissed her way all down my upper body and started to suck me. She pulled off with a smack.  

“I wanted to do this in the bath but thought you might taste soapy!”

“No doubt about it!” I said, stroking her breasts. She wriggled up me for a proper kiss.  She did seem to enjoy kissing a lot, which I found wonderful.  Lately there had not been much kissing from C, even while we continued to have sex. She was astride me and I could feel her hot pussy on my cock.  I reached down between us and positioned myself so that I was pressing my shaft against her labia.  I  rubbed my cock against the outside of her wet bits.

“Oh God!  That’s so nice!” she said, moving her hips in time.  I put my hands on her bottom and gently pulled her cheeks apart.  I put my finger on her perineum again.  I could easily pop myself up inside her. I got my knob pressed against her entrance.  “No!  Not now!” she gasped. “Too soon!” I was disappointed but didn’t want to stop moving as it might appear I was throwing a sulk and what we were doing was very enjoyable anyway.  She slithered down me and started to suck me again, using her hand as well.  

“I’m going to come!” I warned her, after a few minutes.  She looked at me but didn’t pull off so I came in her mouth, although there wasn’t much there, I suspected. She kept going on me, until I had to gently push her off. I didn’t notice if she had swallowed but she must have done. I tried to get her onto her back so I could get to her pussy but she stood up and said it was time for dinner.  I wondered whether she had used the fellatio to defuse what was becoming a ‘close to doing it’ scenario.  She didn’t seem annoyed or unhappy, though.

“I’m just really hungry!” she said by way of explanation.  Although she had had a scone for tea she hadn’t much for lunch, I supposed. “Stockings or not?” she asked, holding them up.

“Stockings on.  Definitely!” I said. 

It was Friday evening and the restaurants were busy.  I was worried we might not get into the Peninsula but we did and walked down the narrow stairs into the basement. Unlike C, H knew exactly how to use chopsticks which was impressive but not as impressive as her speaking to the waiter in Cantonese. As a result we got given some extras. Her family had lived in Hong Kong for a while, it seemed.  H was very interested in all things oriental; especially Chinese and Japanese culture. I didn’t know much about China but I knew a bit more about Japanese history and art.  She said that someone had told her that there was an exhibition of Japanese prints opening at the British Museum the following week.  Desperate to see her again as soon as possible I suggested we go and see it. She said she had been thinking the same but thought that it might not appeal to me. I said that I had actually done some Japanese style pictures of samurai in pen and ink so I could be very keen indeed. She said maybe we could see it with K, which was not really what I wanted but said that that would be lovely.

H certainly seemed keen on feeding me; wielding her chopsticks to pass me pieces of chicken in black bean sauce.  As with C we didn’t have any alcohol and stuck to green tea.  Dinner was more relaxed than with her sister.  I suppose I had been trying to impress J more, as I didn’t really know her and she seemed sophisticated and worldly wise, whereas I had got to know H quite well in the preceding year, although I pretty much only saw her, until very recently, with K.  I suppose, if I was to sum up the difference, it was that H was softer and more romantic in her attitude; not so aggressively sexual as J.  J was a woman H was still a girl.  This was both good and bad, I supposed, but she had certainly demonstrated her sexual side that afternoon, somewhat to my surprise.  I couldn’t complain that she didn’t want to do It, really. She was still only eighteen.  I would be twenty one at my next birthday.

One of the nicest things about the evening was walking back to College with my arm around H’s waist, something C rarely permitted in public and never in College. As soon as we stepped through the College entrance she said that she had to telephone her parents to confirm what time her father was going to pick her up.  She told me to meet her back in her room in half an hour and stepped into the phone box in the lodge.  

I was relieved as I had been worried that that might have been it for the evening but I was hoping for some more kissing at least.  I asked her if I should get any wine and she said more Rose d’Anjou would be nice.  I nipped out again to Oddbins and, fortunately they had a bottle in the chiller. I went back to my room and cursed myself for buying the wine too early as it would warm up.  Given how few people were left in College I risked putting it in the fridge in the scout’s pantry.  Although I had had a bath that afternoon I went and had a quick shower, cleaned my teeth and changed my clothes.  Of course we might just sit and talk, as I sensed maybe our sex games had gone too far too fast. I decided not to be forward with her but to let her make all the running.  If there even was to be any running.

My fears disappeared when I arrived back at her room.  All the lights were out and the room was just lit by candles. Some orchestral music was playing which I didn’t recognise.  It wasn’t classical and sounded like film music (it turned out to be the soundtrack to Dr Zhivago, H’s favourite film).  There was also the distinctive smell of incense sticks.  At junior school we only had female teachers until the arrival of Mr C, who my father described as a hippy because he had a beard and rather longer hair than was usual.  Even worse he burnt joss sticks in class.  I mentioned this to H and said I thought they were Indian but she said they were Chinese and that was what these were.  She had got them from somewhere in the Covered Market.

Most impressive, however, was H herself. She was wearing a beautiful black silk dressing gown, embroidered with Chrysanthemums.  The dressing gown was untied and underneath she was wearing some sort of black silk and lace camisole, the hem of which reached her upper thighs.  She was still wearing the black stockings.

“Hello,” she said, rather shyly. She was obviously presenting herself to me and the total effect was completely wonderful.

“You look...” I began.

“Like a Chinese prostitute?” she said.  She later told me that she thought that she had overdone it and was about to get changed again when I arrived.

“No.  No.” I was actually at a loss for words.  She came over to kiss me and I could smell a scent on her.  An expensive scent, I thought, having been tutored on it by C. I had the bottle of wine in my hand so couldn’t embrace her comfortably as I wanted, to.

I opened the wine and poured her a glass.  She had settled in the bean bag, one leg extended to reveal a glimpse of bare thigh above her stocking top. I sat on one of her big cushions next to her. We touched glasses.

“I wish it was the beginning of the year not the end of the year!” she said.  I told her I felt exactly the same way. We sat and drank our wine and chatted about what we were going to do in the holidays.  I was going to the Lake District with my family.  She was going to Sweden.  Unfortunately, she was going for two months, following my holiday, so we wouldn’t be able to see each other except at the beginning of the vacation.

There was some sort of mysterious undercurrent in the room.  She wasn’t unfriendly.  We caressed each other and kissed but she appeared to be holding back and not letting loose as she had done earlier.  I wondered if she had spoken to her sister when she phoned home. Perhaps she was just having second thoughts.  C had said that having an orgasm in front of someone was as intimate, revealing and emotionally exposing as anything you could do.  H seemingly had had a huge orgasm earlier, unless she was faking it, which was not my sense at all.  Perhaps she just wanted to back off.  Although I would have loved more intimate activity I didn’t want to pressurise her into anything.

“Are you OK? I asked.  She gave me one of her lovely smiles.

“I’m on the edge of a cliff!”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”  We sat in silence for a while.  “I feel uncomfortable dressed like this.” she said.

“You look very comfortable.  You look fantastic!  But perhaps you should put something else on,” I said, dreading the response. 

“No. The problem is that I am dressed like this and you have too many clothes on.” 

“Why don’t you take them off then!” As with Mandy the hairdresser, this then left it up to her as to how far she wanted to go.  She positively jumped out of the bean bag and started on my shirt, kissing me and stroking my skin.  This was better. I made her take my shoes and socks off next.  I just stood there as she removed everything, pulling my pants down and kissing my already rigid cock.

“I think I love your penis more than anything else on earth right now!” she said.

“It certainly likes you!” I said.  She laughed and took hold of me, kneeling down to start sucking me.

“Is there anything sluttier than kneeling in front of a man and sucking him?” she said, while continuing to massage me. “Wait!   There is!  Kneeling in front of a man and sucking him while only dressed in black stockings!” She stood up and took her dressing gown off.  Then she took the hem of her black camisole and lifted it slowly up to her belly.  She wasn’t wearing knickers.  She pulled it over her head and tossed it on top of her dressing gown. She stood up again and stepped back, looking at me. 

“Come with me!” she said holding her hand out to me.  I took it and she led me into her bedroom.  There were candles in there too.  She sat on the edge of the bed and sensuously removed her stockings, very slowly.  “We need to be somewhere more comfortable than the bean bag!” she said.

“Good idea,” I said, my heart pounding, my cock throbbing.  She threw the duvet back and got into bed.  It was a large one, like mine, maybe even bigger.  Almost a full double.

“Come here!”  I climbed into bed next to her and we kissed and caressed, tentatively.  Almost as if it was our first time exploring each other.  She massaged my cock and I gently fingered her pussy.  I kissed her breasts and she fondled my balls. “Here!” she said guiding me so I was lying on top of her, between her thighs. She took hold of my cock again. “We’re going to make love!”  This was exactly what J had told me not to do; despoil her baby sister while I was in rebound mode. We had already, no doubt, crossed the line by J’s standards.  I had decided not to have any more relationships with girls in college.  It was too intense.  I really liked H but K would be horrified.  I didn’t want to lose a friend for a few minutes passion.  I mustn't. No.  My resolve lasted fully for one or two seconds.

I wriggled up and used my finger to guide myself into her hot, wet cunt.  I pushed gently but there was no tightness or resistance with her either.

“Fuck!” she said, quietly.  She was not usually one for swearing, unlike her sister.

“Alright?” I asked. She nodded and smiled.  I gently pulled out and then pushed back in.  Very slowly, although she didn’t really need warming up as she was hot as hell. One thing I knew was that I wanted to make it as nice as possible for her.  This was not about me but about her.  I kissed her and stroked her cheek.  I stroked the sides of her breasts and the underside of her thighs, gently getting her to pull her knees back towards her shoulders which enabled me to get a bit deeper inside her.

“This is lovely!” she said.

“It really is!” I replied. I wondered how long I could go without coming.  I’d have to pull out beforehand, of course.  I was very, very excited.  The lovely H!  I had dreamed about her many times.  I put my head down and kissed her breasts. I slipped my hand between us and felt where I was penetrating her.  I rubbed her clitoris.  She moaned quietly. She was now starting to move her hips in time with my thrusts. It was all just perfect. “I’m going to have to stop for a bit!” I said, frustrated.

“Why?”

“I’m about to come!”

“Come inside me!” she said.

“Too big a risk!”  She reached out for her bedside table.  I was immediately envious that she had a bedside table.

“Here!”  She handed me something.  It was a Durex in a packet. “I got them earlier.” She must have got them, I supposed while I was in Blackwells.  She had planned it.  Just like her sister had.   I ripped open the packet and was glad of the candlelight to help me get it on. I slid back inside her.  “All safe!” she said.  

The break in the action had calmed me down again so I was able to set to again. I was able to speed up a little and I could feel her excitement increasing but I knew I was going to come before her. I felt myself spasm but I did what had sometimes worked with C; I just kept going, trusting that I would retain enough of an erection to function.  I was slightly worried that the Durex might leak, though, given my reduced girth so I put my fingers around it at the root.  Perhaps it was the sight and feel of an obviously close to climax H that kept me stiff but she was breathing hard now and had clamped her legs around my hips. I helped her by rubbing her bud with my thumb but she pushed it away after a few seconds.  I felt her internal muscles clamp on me even as I thought that I had lost too much stiffness to continue.  She exhaled in a long breath.

I gently pulled out of her, crumpling the Durex in my hand and then realising that I didn’t know what to do with it.  The thing about a regular, rather than a new, lover, I thought, was that you didn’t have to worry about such things. Girls usually had a box of tissues on their bedside table but I couldn’t see anything.  Perhaps she had packed it.

“What are you looking for?” she asked.  I told her. “Oh!  For the...thing?”  I nodded.

“Give it to me. I need the loo anyway!” she said.

“Me too!” I said. She looked at me and smiled.

“We’re not going in together!” I laughed.

“I’ll take it to the loo then!” I said but she insisted on taking it and I insisted it was revolting but she held out her hand so I placed it on her palm. “It’s not revolting.  It’s a memoir of a very special event.”  I suddenly had a weird vision of her pressing it in a book, like a flower.  She disappeared and came back a minute or two later.

“There.  Flushed.  A bit sad really.  All those wiggling sperm!  Down the drain!” she said.  I kissed her.  She was so sweet and I had just taken her virginity.  I felt guilty; more from what I had promised her sister than from what I done.  We had done.  She really had made all the running.  I got up and picked up my shirt and jeans but she told me just to put on her dressing gown.  I said I didn’t want to as I was a bit sticky and it was silk.  She got her towelling dressing gown out and I nipped across to the bathroom.  

I gave myself a bit of a rinse down to remove the rubber smell and taste as much as anything.  When I returned she had extinguished the candles in the living room.  There was some music playing, quietly.  I recognised it.  Water bearer by Sally Oldfield.  She was in bed.  I joined her.

"Alright?" I asked.  She looked wistful in the pale yellow light. 

"I jumped off the cliff!" she said. I hoped she wasn't having second thoughts.  Too late anyway. "I really wanted this.  A target for my first year!"  C had said the same.  I waited for the 'but'.  It didn't come.  "I never thought it would be you.  You were so obviously with C!" 

"Not any more!" I said, despite what C had herself said yesterday.

"Now we are together!"  I remember thinking how much of a nicer way of expressing it was than "you're mine", which was what C used to say.  So possessive.  We rolled towards each other so we were on our sides and embraced.  I slipped my thigh between her legs and found she was hot again.  "Will you stay the night?"

"Of course!"  I slid down her body, kissing as I went.  She parted her thighs before I even got down there.  We spent half an hour kissing, licking, sucking and caressing by which time I was stiff again.  She reached for another Durex.  "Why don't you go on top?" I suggested.

"I think I'd rather be underneath.  Feeling small and dominated," she answered.  Not like her sister. This time she guided me inside herself.  "It really is the best thing in the whole world ever!" she said.

I had to agree.  Especially with lovely, sweet, curvy H.  The summer holidays were going to be frustrating but now I had something to look forward to.  I started to gently thrust and she wrapped her legs around my hips again.  My second year at Oxford was going to be fun.