Thursday, 29 June 2017

1980: The Summer of our Discontent - Part 1



Dramatis personæ 

In this episode:

Women at College
C my petite redheaded girlfriend
K C's best friend at College
H a language student
L another female law student
E a female law student

Men at College  

D a law student with the room next to mine
A a law student friend
L a law student friend
F a male law student having a relationship with E

Men from elsewhere

a school friend at another college





"Why won't you ever do what you're told?" C shouted at me in fury.

"I'm do.  I just don't like dancing and a ball is about dancing by definition," I answered.

"I like dancing and you have to do what I want.  Don't be so fucking timid!" she said.

"I'm not going to dance!" I said, standing up to her, for once.

The ball issue was dominating our lives.  The College Ball, which only happened every three years, was in ninth week, for a start.  This meant that I would have to stay up at college an extra week, when what I really wanted to do was get home to my family.  You might have thought that the extra time with my lovely, if volatile, girlfriend might be welcomed but, increasingly she was becoming depressed and erratic. She still enjoyed sex and, in fact, we were doing it more often, as she seemed to need it.   A need for confirmation of her desirability, I thought. It was almost as if she couldn't control her passion.  One part of me (guess which) was enjoying her new drive but another part of me realised that this was an attempt to compensate for  some sort of other hole in her life.

"If you don't take me to the ball I'll get someone else to take me and then I'll have sex with them and you will be forgotten, you useless bastard!" she said. She started to cry.  This was another increasingly common situation.  Passion followed by tears. 

It had all been going so well.  After May Day, C was in a very good mood, buoyed by her excellent results in our exams. That weekend we had had our first really nice weather at Oxford. We went shopping and C bought me a book of Arthur Rackham's illustrations for Wagner's Ring.  This was a lovely present and I bought her some antique lace in Little Clarendon Street, which she was going to use in  a pair of French knickers she was planning to make.  We had soup for lunch in The Nosebag (one of the few places to eat in Oxford then that is still there today) opposite the Oxford Union. She gave me a soupy kiss at the table, surprisingly.

In the afternoon, C and I walked in the sunshine to the river, through Christchurch Meadows and watched all the idiots rowing up and down.  C worked herself up by imagining, out loud, what their communal showers were like afterwards and by the time we got back to College she was ready for 'a rough one' as she put it.  We didn't even go up to my room, as she decided we would do it in the showers at the basement of my staircase.  I knew what she was thinking about!  Our height difference made stand up sex difficult but we solved this by her standing in the shower stall and me standing on the floor next to it.  I only had to bend my knees a bit to enter her sopping pussy.  She certainly was worked up. Neither of us came but she enjoyed it, especially when I put my hands under her bottom, lifted her up so that she could put her legs around my waist and banged her against the tiles.  We finished each other off up in my room with me holding her wrists again.  She seemed to like being restrained.

"So how many of the crew did you get through, in your mind?" I asked her.  She laughed.

"Just one.  One per fuck.  You have to take me eight more times to manage the whole crew!"  She thought it would be fun to be tied up and we looked at the rope fire escape in my bedroom but the rope was too thick, old and inflexible to go around her small wrists.  She wanted to rub the rope between her legs but we decided it was too grubby.  She said we needed to find a nice crew of girls for me to fantasise about.  "Nine naked girls in the shower, all rubbing their soapy bodies  up against you.  Stroking your cock, fingering your arse and licking your balls.  They'd probably be stroking each other and themselves while you take the first one up against the tiles."

"Sounds like you should help me out in there!" I said.  She thought that this was an excellent concept and then we discussed the College ladies first eight which had a number of very attractive girls in it.  One was another redhead (well, more of a strawberry blonde) with long legs and C fantasised about them sixty-nining each other.  I wan't sure how easy it would be for the five foot two (nearly) inch C to service the five foot nine inch S but didn't say anything.

Saturday evening I told C to put a nice dress on (she had brought some different ones from home for the summer, although she complained most were still in storage) as I told her I was taking her out to dinner.  She overdressed again, in a floaty, grey chiffon number with more sequins on it.  I didn't tell her where we were going but took her to La Sorbonne.  I was a bit worried about this, as it had caused the bust up between us when I took K but she was delighted.  I had had to book in advance, of course, as you couldn't get a table if you just turned up but C liked the fact that it was a surprise.  The restaurant was packed, again, mainly with Americans, this time,  I had grenouille, for the first time, which C thought was very brave of me but they were delicious, although they looked odd as they were so patently pairs of little legs.  They were served in batter with garlic butter.  Then we both had steak au poivre, which I had not had before.  This was a huge piece of steak (no nouvelle cuisine in those days), which we had with ratatouille, one of C's favourites. We finished with Crêpe Suzette, which was a speciality of the place.  We drank a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape, which cost an eye-watering £9.50, although they had a bottle of Chateau Margaux on the list at £145.  The whole meal cost just over £40 and although C offered to pay half, as K had done, I wouldn't let her, to her obvious delight.  We had another energetic one back in my room afterwards, although we both stank of garlic, despite a lot of teeth cleaning, so avoided too much kissing.

We did it about six times that weekend (I couldn't manage nine) but Monday to Wednesday we had to get our heads down on the Tort and Contract. However, several other social events, in what was an academically less pressured term, reared their (to me) ugly heads.  There was a proposed Tort versus Contract first year's darts match in the bar.  Fortunately, there were four of us, including C, A and L ,who had never even held a dart let alone thrown one.  We did not relish having to do this for the first time in front of a bunch of drunken rugby players in the bar.  None of us went to the subterranean College bar, largely because it was full of drunken rugby players.  I think I only went there once in my three years. 

Next up was the proposed first year versus second year lawyers cricket match.  C, A, L and I (who were now known by the other lawyers as 'The Gang of Four') all thought that this was an even worse prospect than the darts match.  I had never played cricket, except once at junior school where I remember being hit by the ball (I had no hand to eye co-ordination) and it being very painful.  Cricket, I decided, was dangerous if you didn't know what you were doing.  I avoided it at senior school by doing athletics instead.  C was even less sporty than I was but the other girls in the year had all played rounders, hockey or lacrosse at school.  We thought that given there were four of us we could effectively sabotage this ghastly proposal, as there were only eleven lawyers in each year.

The next issue was more problematic, because unlike darts and cricket this was something C did want to do.  Punting.  With the warm weather the punts had appeared at Magdalen Bridge. Punting looks easy but isn't.  D, the person with the room next door to mine, had fallen into the river that weekend from a punt and he was president of the punt club.  One of the other first year lawyers had done it that weekend and said 'never again', having pulled just about every muscle in his body.  The sticky mud at the bottom of the river would snatch the pole from your hands, people would try to pull it up and invariably fall into the river.  Also, collisions were common, whereupon people would fall into the river.  Some people fell into the river just trying to climb into the punt.  Everyone else in the punt got showered with water as the pole was pulled out of the river.  The problem was that C really wanted to sit in  a punt in a flowery dress and have a man propel her effortlessly across the water.  It was all part of her Brideshead Revisted image of Oxford.  She loved Brideshead Revisted, a book I hadn't read and had no desire to read, and she was always going on about it.  In the end C cajoled L, A and some others to go punting.  I stayed in College.  A fell into the river.

The work that week was very intense and we spent most of our waking hours in the College law library.  One of the lawyers, who had matriculated the previous year but had dropped out and had come back for our year, was making an Airfix model kit of a Flying Fortress in the college law library.  We hung it up from the ceiling of the law library  but it was soon removed by some of the third years, who had no sense of humour.

Things went from bad to worse on the ball front when we discovered that we had to form tables of eight for dinner.  K was going but suggesting we join her table didn't go down too well.  Our other close friends, A and L, didn't have any girls to go with and were going home at the end of term. The tickets were going on sale that week and I was still wavering, hence C's outburst at me.

"You can forget about any more sex until you buy the ticket and I am not paying half!" she said, that Thursday.  Having just paid £13 for my new law book and £40 for dinner I wasn't too keen on the outlay for something I knew I would hate.

"It's probably worth it just to calm her down," said K a couple of days later.  I had done her a pen and ink drawing of college for her birthday present and she was deciding where to put it on her wall.  H, a very pretty language student, turned up and admired my drawing and wondered why I hadn't done art instead of law.  I was starting to wonder the same thing.  H, had long brown hair, a delicate, almost elfin face and, in her summer dress, an extremely impressive bust.  She was one of those rare slim girls with large breasts.  I tried not to look at them but she was displaying them quite assertively and she caught me looking at her and grinned.  She commissioned me to do a similar drawing of College for £15.  This would pay nearly half of my ball ticket, as K pointed out.  H said that they were looking for another couple to fill their table at the ball and would hold the place for us.  I knew when I was beaten, so went to the Lodge and bought the ticket. That afternoon I went to Selfridges and Debenhams department stores and bought some things for C.

"Where's my ball ticket?" hissed C at dinner.  "They are selling out  If we miss out I will never speak to you again!"  After dinner I invited her up to my room but she said she didn't want to go.  I told her I had something for her.  She asked, as usual, whether she could eat it and whether it was brown.  I said yes, so she grudgingly trudged up the stairs to my room. I gave her a half pound bag of chocolate coated Brazil nuts from Selfridges and she perked up immediately.

"Take your clothes off!" I said.  She said sex would cost a lot more than a bag of chocolate coated Brazil nuts.  Even a half pound bag. I told her that if she didn't take her clothes off I would take them off for her.  She dared me to try.  I grabbed her leg and tipped her over onto the rug.  She squirmed and wriggled and even scratched as I pulled her skirt off and removed her knickers.  She kicked me in the leg, so I spanked her, quite hard.  She yelled.  I stopped.

"Don't be useless!" she said.  "Work harder!"  I sat astride her hips and undid the buttons of her blouse and pushed her bra up to reveal her breasts.  She looked aroused and excited. "Are you going to ravish me?" she asked.

"I haven't decided!" I said.  She undid the buttons of my shirt and then promptly scratched my chest with her sharp fingernails.

"You little bitch!" I said, meaning it.  She bit the fleshy part of my thumb enough to leave teeth marks. "Right!  That's it!" I said.  I leant across and opened my desk drawer and took out the bag from Debenhams.  I pulled out the red curtain-tie cord I had bought earlier.  It was about half an inch in diameter and was like silken rope.

"You're not going to tie me up!" she said, giving me a look which said that was exactly what she wanted.  I rolled her over onto her front and pulled her blouse and bra off so that she was naked.  I sat astride her lower back and tied her wrists together, over her head.  She struggled until I was finding it difficult to tie the knot and then she helpfully stopped moving until she was secure.  I stood up and looked at her lying on the floor.  She was sweating and looked pink.  Sh spread her thighs and presented her pussy and anus to me.

"Get up!" I said.

"It's difficult with my wrists tied!"  I stuck my hands under her armpits (she had started shaving them over Easter because of the sleeveless dresses she had brought back) and yanked her to her feet.  I pushed her into the bedroom and made her sit at the foot of the bed.  I then tied her wrists to the top of my metal bedstead. with her arms over her head.  She pulled at her bonds but she was actually very tightly tied and the bed was heavy.  She spread her legs again and thrust her orange pussy at me.

"I'm going out!" I announced.  She said I couldn't leave her like that.  I said I could and would.

"I'm going to get a Yorkie," I said, planning to visit the chocolate vending machine and let her wriggle for five minutes.

"Get me a Lion Bar!" she said, as I closed the door on her.   I went downstairs and walked across the quad to get to the vending machine next to the law library.  I ran into A and L who invited me for tea,

"Where is C." asked L,

"She's tied up," I answered.  I told L I could only stay for one tea as I had things to do.  We talked about the cricket match and L told me that the lawyers had found some other first years to take our places on the team, which was a relief. I spent about forty five minutes there and thought I better get back to C.  Then I ran into H who wanted to show me the exact view of College she wanted me to draw.  This involved leaving the College and going into the square so she could show me the view she wanted.  We then discussed the size and whether she wanted it in pencil or ink.  On the way back we ran into K, who stopped and chatted.  She asked where C was.  I told her she was a bit tied up.

"Not literally, I hope!" said K.  I must have blushed as she squealed.  "These two's love life is just too much!" she said to H.

"So I gather," said H. looking at me curiously.

By the time I got back to my room I had been gone well over an hour.  I half expected to find an empty room and C, Houdini like, gone, leaving the pile of red curtain rope behind.  But, no, she was still there tied to the bed. I went into my room and the first thing I saw was a wet pool on my lino floor.

"You were so long that I had to piss!" said C. She had just gone all over my floor.

"You could have waited!" I said, appalled.

"Didn't know how long you'd be.  I knew you were punishing me for being a bitch.  You could have been hours.  I didn't want to hold it as it's bad for the bladder.  I don't want cystitis or something."   I sighed and went down to the scout;s pantry for some paper towels.  This wasn't like her little piss on the rug before.  This was a huge one. I made her sit in it while I sluiced hot water on the floor from the kettle.  "Shit! That's hot!" she said as some of it flowed to her bottom.  Eventually, I cleared the mess up, wiped her down too and then took her down to the shower in my dressing gown and washed her bottom half, making sure she went under the water when it was still cold.  She squealed again. "I'm sorry if I have been  a bitch about the ball," she said, when I had got her washed and dried and back into my room. "I just really, really want to go!"

"And now you shall go to the ball!" I said, opening my drawer and pulling out the ticket which I waved at her.  She squealed with delight.

 "Come here and have a kiss!" she said.  "Or shall I go straight to dicking you?  Or would you like to take me up the arse?"

"A kiss would be lovely!" I said, pulling my dressing gown off her.

Over the next weeks C would blow hot and cold.  Some days she was affectionate and friendly and some days she was distant and tense.  She would explode at imagined slights and not just with me.  K persuaded her to go to the doctor who diagnosed clinical depression and gave her some pills.  These seemed to work.  Her mood, like the weather, became sunnier,  We both found the hot weather effected our libidos.  Even when we were working hard on an essay she would pop over to my room for a 'frolic'.  She had a series of sundresses with tight tops, underneath which she didn't wear a bra so she would, basically, be wearing just a dress and knickers. She would come and sit on my lap and I would put my hand up her dress and slip my fingers past her knicker crotch and frig her.  She would come, give me a kiss and leave to go back to work.  I even did this to her in the Bodleian Law Library once; frigged her to climax and then we both went back to our desks, my fingers reeking of her musky smell. She stopped wearing the knickers, even, so that I could get access to her at all times. We were having sex twice a day, every day, except at the weekends when it was three or even four times.

Because our tutorials were on Fridays it meant we could have the weekend off.  We took a bus out to Abingdon, a little market town and had lunch.  We went to some antique shops as she was looking for a chamber pot although we couldn't find one and eventually got one in Oxford.

"Are you going to put plants in it?" asked the lady in the antique shop.  "That's what many people do."

"No, it's so we can piss in it after sex without having to go downstairs to the loo," C answered.

"Oh!" said the lady.

"Let's try it out!" said C when we got back to my room. "Let's make love first, though!"  Interestingly, she was now using the term, 'make love' much more than 'having sex' or 'fucking' (which she tended to reserve for 'rough ones', especially when I tied her to the bedstead, which she really enjoyed, especially if I teased her with the feather first.   I called her 'lovely' much more and told her I loved her and she glowed with pleasure. That afternoon we had a long gentle session with lots of kissing and stroking. She came first while I licked her lovely pussy and came again when I penetrated her.  We lay in bed, afterwards, and she told me about the ball dress which she had decided to make herself, not having found anything suitable in her diminutive size.  She and K had found one suitable dress but it was over £175 so she didn't get it.  She had brought some dark copper coloured silk, which certainly set off her hair and pale skin.  It was going to be off the shoulder with a big full skirt.  She had lovely shoulders and delicate clavicles. "Time to try out the pot!" she said, sliding out of bed.  I stayed in bed while she went into my living room.  "You have to watch me!" she called out. I climbed out of bed and found her squatting over the pot with her knees apart. I could see her stream going into the pot and she grinned at me all the way through the process.

"It's much more genuinely nineteenth century artist's garret," I admitted. She nodded approvingly.  She knelt in front of me and held the pot up for me.  By the time I had finished there was quite a lot in there.  She put the pot down, carefully and sucked my prick into her mouth.

"Salty!" she said, popping off.  We had to carefully empty it into the Tupperware piss flask and take it down to the loo in its Athena bag, though.  "In the old days you'd just throw it out the window!" she said.  Given that someone in college had gotten in trouble for knocking their milk carton out onto the High, I said that that probably wasn't a good idea. We swilled some boiling water around in it and put it under my bed, where I hoped the scout wouldn't notice it. C suggested I do a drawing of her on the pot which I said I would,  She reminded me that it was her pot, though, and I was just looking after it for her.  I readily agreed and had no desire to own a chamber pot.  It was all just part of her exhibitionism.

We had already had to decide if we wanted to become a solicitor or barrister and apply to either bar school or law school.  This was a bit odd given we had only done Roman and Criminal Law when we had to decide.  The next stage of our ongoing legal education was getting articles to a law firm for two years after law school.  All the big firms visited Oxford to try to attract the best candidates and C and I went to a number of these presentations.  I found them very depressing, as the City law firms made it clear that you worked fifteen hour days and over the weekend.  All the young lawyers they brought with them looked tired and stressed and the job seemed impossibly high pressured.  They kept emphasising how competitive it was and I thought it didn't sound like my sort of thing at all. C thought it was just her, although they did keep saying how you needed to be able to get on with people, which I thought would be a problem for her.  She had had to apologise to her scout for snapping at him and calling him a 'fucking idiot yokel' when he accidentally knocked something off the precarious pile of stuff on her desk. Her tutor had called her in and said the scout had complained.  He then gave her a lecture about keeping the standards of her work up as less able students were writing better essays.  This had sent her into a cold fury.

"What a fucking cunt!" she said to me as we sat outside at the Head of the River pub. after the law firm presentation." I'm sick of people telling me what to do!"  I knew the feeling.

"They do it because they care about you," I said.

"No they don't.  No one cares about me!" she said.

"I care about you!" I said.  "A lot."

"No you don't.  You only like me because I'd open my legs for you but you have been nice lately."  She gave me a gin flavoured kiss.  "Let's get you home and pump some spunk out of you!"

I was finding that Tort and Contract, while dense, I was quite good at and my tutorials were much easier than the previous term's work.  Still difficult but easier.  The fact that the work was in English not Latin helped, of course.  C went back to Birmingham for a weekend, half way through term and I found myself with  a free weekend.  Oddly, I missed her but also was relieved she wasn't there, being demanding, for a few days.  I decided to take my camera down to the river and take some pictures.  It was another nice day and just as I was leaving College I ran into H, the busty language student, who was wearing another, even more low cut, summer dress.  I made a conscious effort to look at her face.

"Do you like my new dress?" she asked, giving me a twirl.

"It's lovely!" I said.  "Very colourful (it was, like many women's clothes of the period, a floral print).  Fits you beautifully!" I said, rather naughtily.  She looked down at her bust and then up at me and grinned.  I hadn't spent a lot of time with H on her own before but I had delivered the drawing of college to her the previous week and she was delighted with it. She told me that she had had it professionally framed. C, when she found out that H had commissioned a picture from me, wanted one too.  I'd asked her what she would like, a ballerina or a picture of college.  'A chariot race', she had answered.  In pen and ink.  It would take me over a year to complete.  As we went down towards the Botanical Gardens we spotted an ice cream van and I bought H a Mr Whippy 99 cone with a chocolate flake in it.  I half hoped she would spill some on her bust but she didn't.  As we watched the rowers training she said that it was Eights Week the following week and and I should go to the college boathouse to watch.  I told her about my miserable rowing experience at school and that I wasn't interested in rowing.  When they discovered which school I had been to, several people from the College boat club tried to persuade me to join, on the basis that even my limited experience at one of the top rowing schools in the country was still better than the people who hadn't rowed anywhere.  Our boat club wasn't exactly a rowing powerhouse.  All the good rowers (some from my school) went to Oriel or St Edmund Hall.

"It's not really about rowing, it's just an excuse to dress up and drink Pimm's said HC and I were due to go to the Oxford Law Society strawberry and Pimm's party but I had no idea what Pimm's was.  H said it was a lovely summer drink but when she said it had bits of cucumber in it I wasn't at all sure.  She said she would get me one right now and we walked on to the Head of the River, where she bought us two half pints.  It tasted like lemonade but had a kick and the glass had fruit, cucumber and mint in it.  It really was lovely.  We had another one and got quite inebriated (Pimm's is much stronger than it tastes).  The Head of the River was on the Thames but a few hundred yards along the bank the River Cherwell joined it and this was the river that led back to the Botanical Gardens and Magdalen Bridge.  We walked back along the path under the trees. We sat on the bank under a tree watching the people punting.  H took off her sandals, pulled up the hem of her dress and dabbled her feet in the water.  It reminded me of sitting with A at Runnymede, four years previously.  Maybe it was those memories of past passions (as well as the Pimm's) that made me, daringly, put my arm around H's waist.  She didn't flinch or object.  We sat, waiting for someone to fall off their punt.  We didn't see anyone, although we heard someone up the river going into the water with a splash.  She turned to me and laughed and I leant in and kissed her. She kissed me back and we sat and kissed for a minute or so. She smelt of warm body and a light floral perfume. She put her arms around my waist but I decided I better not touch her too much.  I stroked her cotton clad thigh. She brushed her hand over the straining groin of my trousers.

"You're lovely!" I said, desperately wondering if I could risk stroking her bust.

"You have a girlfriend!" she answered. "Albeit a difficult one." She patted my leg and stood up.  "Time to go!"  When we got back to college I invited her up to my room for tea and biscuits.  "I've had a lovely afternoon but I think we both know that would be a very bad idea," she said, squeezing my arm.  She looked around warily and gave me a quick kiss.  I went up to my room on my own, disappointed, conscious of the effect of the Pimm's and put the kettle on.  I thought about H and was just thinking about taking my trousers off and having a nice wank, while thinking about her bust, when there was a knock on the door. I panicked that it was C and went into my bedroom to look at myself in the mirror to see if I had any lipstick in my face, except H hadn't been wearing lipstick   I suddenly felt guilty.  I hadn't been dealing with some girl who had made a move on me; I had initiated the kissing.  Fortunately, it was K.

"I hear you have been having  a lovely walk and drinks with H," she said.

"Please don't tell C, whatever you do!" I said, in a panic.  C at least liked K but didn't like H and the way she 'flaunted her bust'.

"How lovely a walk was it?" asked K, suspiciously.  She told me that H seemed quite drunk and kept saying how nice I was.  "C might actually kill you.  Crime of Passion.  I wouldn't put it past her!" said K.  I told her that we had just had too much Pimm's and we weren't used to it. "You don't realise the effect you have on women!" said K  She told me about another girl in College who had been asking her if C and I had broken up or whether we were still seeing each other.  "Be careful!"

C returned from Birmingham in a grump again.  She really didn't get on with her mother.  She said she didn't want to have sex as it was her period and she felt awful and had stomach cramps.  Usually she was very aroused during her period so I took it as an excuse and let her be.  I told her that H and I had had a walk down by the river and said that I would take her to Eights week and buy her Pimm's.  She ignored the H comment, fortunately,  other than saying something about 'all tits and no brain'', but started to make plans for her Eights Week outfit.  I said that hats for ladies were de riguer and she got very excited. We went down to college dinner and her mood gradually lightened. It turned out that she hadn't eaten for twenty four hours, so that might explain the stomach cramps.

"Different pain," she said but was in a better mood after dinner and we went back to K's room for a glass of Port.  She gave me a nice goodnight kiss and said she would be ''accessible' in a couple of days.  I told her not to worry and wait until she was ready.  In the interim she had another depressive patch and we didn't have sex for some time.

The beginning of Eight's Week was the following weekend and we were both staggered by the number of people crowding into the College boat houses along the river.  You could stand on the roof or on balconies and watch the racing.  The river was narrow, so racing was done by letting ranked boats go at timed intervals.  The aim was to catch and overlap the one in front which would give you a 'bump'.  Sometimes the boats did actually hit each other. People running and on bikes would charge along the towpath trying to keep up with the eights. People in the boathouses would shout and cheer and drink lots of Pimm's.  C had a new multi coloured summer dress on with a straw hat and had woven fresh flower around the brim.  She drank a lot of Pimm's and flirted with men and women.  The College boat club Pimm's was a lot stronger than what we had got in the pub and C was getting quite flushed and loud. K and I managed to get her back to College before she completely embarrassed herself,

The following Saturday my mother and sister came to see me for the day and we had lunch without C, who decided to make herself scarce as she was frightened of my sister.  After my family had gone C and I went for a walk along the river, where I had been with H.  I felt a slight frisson when we passed the place where H and I had kissed.  C was in a good mood until it started to rain.  It didn't just rain it absolutely poured.  We ran back to College, completely soaked to the skin.  We hung her white summer dress over a chair and put the gas fire on to try to dry it.  There was a knock on the door and when C heard it was K she invited her in, even though she was completely naked.  K looked at her and shook her head. K made C put my dressing gown on.  I had already changed. C said that she and K needed to go punting as there was a place on the Cherwell called Parson's Pleasure where men went to sunbathe naked and you could float past it.  K thought this sounded awful but C, as ever, was insistent. There used to be a similar area for women but it had closed about ten years earlier.  K and C did get along to see it but C, who had been expecting fit, naked rowers found that everyone there was an elderly don, to her disappointment.

That night Lincoln College had their Summer Event (they didn't call it a ball) and the pounding music from right next door drove C from her room.  My room was no quieter so she disappeared to the room of one of the girl's who had a room in Old Quad and slept there.

The next day the weather was better so C and I went to the Law Society strawberries and Pimm's party at Lady Margaret Hall,  On the way we passed an exhibition of paintings up on the railings of the University Parks.  C pointed out that most of them weren't nearly as good as mine. My reputation for being the College artist was growing and I got several commissions to do drawings, which helped my income. Lady Margaret Hall had lovely gardens that went down to the river and C, now wary of the effect of Pimm's, confined herself to two small plastic cups. She was in a good mood again when we walked back to college, although she still dropped her arm from mine when we got into Radcliffe Square.

That night we managed to get into the nice bathroom again and had a candlelit bath.  C used the soles of her feet to massage my cock, which was a new one.  I was conscious it was my turn to think of a new 'kink' as C liked to call them.  She was getting less and less interested in normal sex and wanted to be tied up, spanked and treated roughly.  Although I had enjoyed some of these sessions it wasn't what I wanted to do.  I preferred slow, gentle foreplay and kissing but we seemed to have less and less time as the end of term approached.  C seemed less keen on kissing, too.

One evening we couldn't get into Hall as the netball team had won the Oxford cuppers and they were being given a special dinner.  We went out for a Chinese at the Opium Den in George Street, which was very good and at £8 for two a lot cheaper than La Sorbonne. C was impressed that I could use chopsticks and I showed her how to use them.  We walked back down New Inn Hall Street and she seemed to be looking for something.  There was an unlit alley down the side of the Methodist chapel and she pushed me in there for s kiss.  We snogged away for a bit and then she started to fumble with my fly.

"Take me here!" she said, unzipping me.  I told her that we were out in public, next to a church and someone could appear at any moment. She squatted in front of me and started to suck my flaccid prick.  She wasn't drunk as we had only had green tea with dinner. It was dark down the alley but the main street had people going up and down it as it wasn't that late.

"We mustn't!" I said.

"Yes we really must!" she said. She bent over and flicked the bottom of her dress over her naked bottom.  She wasn't wearing knickers again.  "I'll brace on the wall and you take me from behind!" I pushed myself back inside my trousers, as I was too alarmed to get stiff and dragged her out into the light.  "You're a coward!" she shouted and stomped off.  We had been having such a nice evening until that point. I decided not to chase after her but went back to College by another route. My heart was pounding and when I got back I saw her light was on but decided not to go and find her.  I crept up past her room to see K and tell her what had happened.  K told me to go up to my room and she would come up in case C heard us talking from below. K told me that C had stopped taking the pills her doctor had given her.  She didn't want to become reliant on them, which I sort of understood, but the mood swings were returning.

The next day C acted as if nothing had happened.  We went to see my school friend S at Magdalen, for tea.  He had a friend with him and I took an instant dislike to him.  He was a smarmy, public school type and C flirted with him outrageously.  Worse, he flirted back and ignored me completely.  He invited C, not me, to dinner at Magdalen.

"What a creepy git!" I said, as we walked back up the High, afterwards.

"I thought he was charming!" said C.

"He was oily and insincere.  I take it you aren't going to dinner with him," I said.

"I am. You take me for granted. He would be very attentive!" she said.  "I'm sure he is a good dancer!"

On the last two days of term everyone had to attend Principal's Collections: a short, verbal report on your work to date.  You had to wear your gown and go into Hall, individually, where the principal, the Chaplain and the senior tutor sat at High Table.  Your subject tutors were also there and then gave a brief summary of your progress, or lack of it, to the Principal, not you. You were referred to in the third person. This was easily the most terrifying experience of my life to date.  I had to walk up the length of Hall and stand in front of High Table, facing the tutors.  The Principal had a distractingly delicious looking sandwich in front of him.  The Chaplain was there, I assumed, in case you broke down in tears.

The tutor I didn't like, who had snubbed me before the holiday when he had wished C a good vacation, talked about 'disappointing essays' and 'lack of engagement'.  Fortunately, my new tutor, the one with the Piranesi prints and the boxed sets of Haydn, stood up for me and said my work was increasingly good and even 'impressive' of late.  The Principal looked at the two tutors and indicated that there seemed to be a difference of opinion.  He asked the third tutor, who had taken me for Roman Law in the first term, for his view.  The College Senior Tutor (who was not a lawyer), who had looked bored until this point, looked interested as there seemed to be some stress between the law tutors. The Roman Law tutor (the one who C fancied) said that my Roman Law, considering I didn't have good Latin, had been rather good.

"However," he continued, "that is not the issue with him.  He is not the best lawyer in College but neither is he the worst.  More worrying is his intense relationship with C."  He called her Miss E, rather than using her first name.  I was shocked by this statement.  What had it to do with my academic performance?  He then went on to describe C as quite the most promising lawyer to join College for years.  Her academic background was impeccable and her entrance exam and interview had been stellar.  Our 'relationship' was well known but he feared that this relationship was 'detracting her from top academic performance' and it would be better if she be allowed to reach her full potential 'without distraction'. The horrible tutor nodded in agreement.  The nice one frowned.  I was flabbergasted.  I had not expected this.  I looked at the Chaplain for moral support but he was looking away, no doubt because I didn't go to chapel.

"Do you have anything to say?" asked the Principal having agreed about C's potential.  The Principal was a lawyer too.

"No!" I replied.  "Thank you," I nodded at the nice tutor, ignored the others and walked out, shaking.

"How did it go?" asked C, waiting outside.

"You'll soon find out!" I said.  She looked puzzled.  I went out into the quad to get some air.

C came out later and I could tell by her face that she had had a similar discussion. She looked furious.

"How did it go?" asked the Airfix kit building lawyer.

"Piss off!" said C. He retreated, quickly.  Everyone knew about her moods.  I had overheard someone suggesting, once, that she actually had an evil twin and the two alternated living in College.  We stood outside hall in Old Quad as our tutors left to go into the Senior Common Room, just behind us.

"Let's go and have a bath together!" she said loudly to me, as they walked behind us.  She knew they would overhear her.  As we went back to her room to get some bubble bath, knowing that no-one would be in the nice bathroom at lunchtime, she told me that they had, indeed, banged on about our 'intense relationship' too, saying she was wasting a precious opportunity.  She had been a lot more forthright  than I had and had told them that it was none of their business who she had a relationship with,  We had a nice bath and then went back to my room and had sex all afternoon until it was dinner time.  "Tell me that you love me!" she said again, her head on my chest.

"I do love you.  You are lovely!" I said again.  I was now coming to the conclusion that I didn't love her at all; not by her all consuming, emotional, definition, anyway

"Just keep saying it!"

"Tell me about your ball dress!"  This cheered her up and she told me it was progressing well but it was taking an age to make as she had to hand stitch it as she hadn't got her sewing machine. Still, we had nearly a week until the ball.  I intended to get all my holiday reading done.

The next day the nice law tutor caught me in the lodge and invited me back to his study.  I was nervous and wary but he gave me a glass of sherry and put on Haydn's 'Hen' symphony, which it is impossible to feel tense to.  He apologised for the Principal's Collection and said he had spoken to the Principal about me.  I thanked him for sticking up for me.  He told me, that as I no doubt knew, C had said, during her Principal's Collection, that I was actually the only thing  keeping her together, as she had real stresses in her home life.  I explained that she was, essentially, homeless, as her mother, hadn't found a house still and much of her things were in storage.  She would have to go back to another rented house over the holidays.  I didn't mention the mood swings and the prescription anti-depressants as, anyway, lots of people at Oxford, especially the women, seemed to be on those, due to stress.

C, actually hadn't told me that she had said that I was the only think keeping her together but it was nice to know, I supposed.  After I left his room I went to Sainsbury's and bought some strawberry's and cream and a half bottle of rose wine.  I spotted something else there and got that too.  I put the cream and the wine in the fridge in the scout's's pantry and hoped no-one would pinch them.

C appeared at my room at about four o'clock, announcing that she had come for tea and biscuits.  I told her I had something nicer and went down to the fridge and brought up the wine, cream and strawberries.  She was delighted   She sat cross-legged on my floor, eating her strawberries and cream, looking at my May Playboy and admiring a shot of Martha Thomsen caressing her pussy.  We soon knocked back the half bottle of rose and I wished I had bought a whole bottle but the Sainsbury's half bottles were good value for 99p.

"I should have saved some cream and I could have put some on your cock!" she said.

"Wait here!" I said.

"Have you got more cream?"

"Yes!" I shot downstairs. I ran back up again and went into my room, brandishing the can of aerosol cream I had bought in Sainsbury's.  C was already naked, still sat cross-legged on my rug. She had only been wearing a sundress with no underwear, again.

"What fun!" she said, beaming.  We decided against playing with the aerosol cream on my rug as it would be difficult to get it out but C reasoned that my sheet would be easy to wash, so we pulled the pillow and duvet off the bed and set too, spraying each other and getting covered in the sweet (actually too sweet for me, really) stuff.  "Next time we must get one each!" she said as I carefully squirted a spiral pile on one breast before licking it off.  Since she had been on the pill she had gone up a cup size.

"I don't know if I could eat a whole can of it," I said after giving her a creamy kiss.

"Do my bottom!" she said rolling over.  I squirted her round cheeks and kissed and licked away. "Here!" she pointed at her anus and parted her legs,  I sprayed a blob on it but the cream was starting to get warm and it dribbled over her perineum and pussy too.  I added another squirt.  "Now lick it all up!"  I lapped away at her pussy first and worked my way upwards to the fleshy bridge of her perineum,  She giggled and said the cream really added something to the process. My tongue started to flick over her anus, for the first time.  "Fucking hell!" she sighed.  "That's excellent!"  I'd soon lapped away all the cream but kept licking her sphincter.  I slipped a finger up her arse and started to move it in and out while carrying on licking her rim.  It became the first and only time I made her come through anal stimulation alone.  "How could I ever give you up!" she said, eventually after I extracted my finger. She rolled over and I licked my finger.  She grinned and asked if there was any cream left.  I shook the can.  There seemed to be a bit, still.  "On your back!  I am going to turn your cock into an eclair!"

An hour later we were down in the subterranean laundry room, putting my sheets into the washing machine.  I had a clean one in my wardrobe but the under sheet had got soaked too so we decided to put everything in.  On the way there we ran into A coming out of the adjoining staircase. He looked at the Sainsbury's bags and knew what that meant.  It was the same for everyone.

"Washing day?" he asked.

"Just his sheets!" said C.  "They're covered in cream!"  A looked baffled and then shocked and we left him standing there.

Although I usually left my normal washing in the machine to go and do other things, there had been a couple of incidents of sheets disappearing recently, so we stayed in the laundry. It was hot and had a particular smell which was a combination of washing powder and damp.  There were a couple of wooden chairs and I sat down on one and C sat on the other and we talked about what we would do in ninth week and the ball. We knew there would be steel band but we hadn't heard of either of the other bands playing. The much reviled Keble, for example, had the famous Ronnie Scott jazz group and sixties favourites Georgie Fame and the Blue Flames. C was trying to calculate how much time finishing her dress would take and how much time she would have for doing the holiday reading list.  The washing machine finished and C took all the bedding out and put it in the spin dryer,

C came over to my chair and sat astride me, facing me, so we could kiss.  I ran my hand up her thigh under her dress and cupped her bare bottom.. As we kissed, I gently fingered her pussy, which was in its usual dripping state.  She reached down and started to unzip my trousers.

"We can't!" I said.

"What have I told you about being timid!" she said, undoing the button at my waist, she had her hand delving inside my pants,  I was already erect so she only needed to raise her bottom, wriggle forward and drop onto me.  I had my fingers touching her entrance where I was sliding in and out of her, as I liked feeling where I entered her.  She started to bounce more assertively and I slipped my finger up her arsehole again.  "Fuck, fuck fuck!" gasped C.  The door banged open,  It was F, the first year lawyer who was having a thing with another first year lawyer, E.  We were the only two couples amongst the lawyers in all three years.

"Oh my God!  Sorry!" he said, staring at us.  I couldn't do anything as I was literally in the process of spurting up inside C.

"AAH!" said C, her insides gripping me. The spin dryer had just stopped, winding down in a descending whine.

"I'll come back in twenty minutes!" said F.

"Five! said C nodding at the spin dyer.  "We're all done!"

I thought C would be appalled that we had been caught 'at it' but she seemed excited and delighted.  I ventured that F probably wouldn't tell everyone, given he was in a relationship within our law year group too.  He and E hadn't been quizzed by the tutors but maybe they didn't know about them.  C said she hoped he did tell and that it got back to the tutors.  She thought she might mention it to L as then everyone in the College would know within the day.

"Does that mean I can hold your hand in College, now?" I asked.

"Forget it!" she said. I sighed.

Friday, 2 June 2017

1980: Easter and May Day



Dramatis personæ 

In this episode:

Women at College
C my petite redheaded girlfriend
K C's best friend at College
L another female law student a
E another female law student

Men at College  

D a law student with the room next to mine
F a male law student having a relationship with E

Women from elsewhere

P, my  chool friend's girlfriend at art  school

Men from elsewhere

O my school friend at art school
E a former schoolmate of mine at another college



The day after K, C and my 'Berlin Nightclub evening', as I called it, to C'e amusement, was our last full day before the end of term.  C had a hangover and was not in an affectionate mood.  She disappeared off to her room first thing in the morning and said she wasn't having breakfast.  I didn't have a hangover so did go to breakfast.  There was no sign of K either.  I read a letter which had arrived from my school friend O, who was now at art school.  They were having an exhibition at the end of their term and he asked me to go and see it, in Kingston.  I would be back home by then and wondered if C might go with me.  I went back to my room to start to pack, as my mother and sister were coming to collect me the next day.  We didn't have to take everything out of our rooms, fortunately, as they didn't use my room for visitors over the Easter holidays.  The girls had to get everything out of theirs, though, because as they had washbasins and modern bathrooms on the staircases, they were used a lot by visitors in the vacation.  C was going to put all her stuff in my room but she was going to stay on a few days so was also going to live in my room. I was worried about her blowing up the room trying to light the gas fire.  She did not seem to have the knack of striking matches.

We spent all afternoon, when she eventually surfaced, looking fragile, moving her stuff from her room up to mine.  Well, she didn't do much moving.  She supervised (i.e. sat and ate chocolate) while I went up and down the stairs dozens of times.

"Are you finally moving in full time?" D, the lawyer in the next room to mine, asked C (she later told me),  "Best way to keep an eye on him, eh?"  C was not amused.

It was only when we had got all the stuff that she wasn't taking home, into my room that I realised quite how much she had, compared with me.  

"If you can call it a home," she moaned.  I told her that she was starting to sound like Marvin the Paranoid Android from The Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy.  We both liked the radio show and I had bought the LP version, which I had recorded so I could play it on my cassette player. Douglas Adams had done a book signing of the novelisation in The Paperback Shop and he signed copies for me and C.  C got me to read it aloud to her, as she liked being read to. One of the things about studying Law was that you got reading fatigue.  You just couldn't bear to read any more after 12 hours a day of solid reading. Today, I tend to only really read on aeroplanes and I am unable to read anything dense or challenging as I am read out, basically. My reading is confined to historical novels, history or art books.  My sister always derides me for 'only reading books with pictures in them'.

We met up with K for dinner, who told us never to let her drink so much again. We had tea in my room afterwards and K and I agreed to meet up to see the Vikings exhibition in London, which C didn't fancy at all.  K was going home first thing the next day, Saturday.  

"We're going to have our last night together before the holidays," said C to K.  "You can join us or watch!"  K opted to disappear, although she looked amused rather than offended.

"Actually, tonight I am glad she is not here," said C after she had gone.  "You have been a very good boy and you can do anything you like!"

Well. we went through our complete repertoire.  Beginning with her sucking my cock, particularly wetly, in front of the fire. Then I licked her for a bit before I swivelled around so we could sixty-nine each other.  I was on top and when I pulled my cock back from her mouth I accidentally pulled out to far and I started to ejaculate outside her mouth; emptying my balls all over the lower half of her face. I expected an appalled comment but she licked up my spunk with her tongue and laughed.

"Sorry!" I said.

"I liked it.  This time!" she said, nevertheless getting up to wipe her face with a tissue. in front of my my wardrobe mirror.  "I wonder what K would think if she could see me with your sperm all over my face!" 

"Perhaps she'd like to lick it off!" I said. 

"That's not the part of my body I'd like her to lick!" said C.  "Now get on your back.  I'm going to cover your face with my juices!"  She knelt over my face, but was facing towards my feet so I licked her pussy and tickled her arsehole with my finger.  "I'm empty!" she said.  I slowly pushed my finger inside her, deeper than I had ever gone before.  "Mmm!" she said, encouragingly.  I started to gently push my finger in and out of her soft, moist rectum as I resumed licking her.  She had a big, 'spasmodic one', as she called them, when her thighs went into spasms and she sat right down on my face until I worried I couldn't breathe so I had to gently push her off.  She rolled over onto her back with her legs spread wantonly, her vulva was pink, swollen and wet.  I couldn't resist it so I went down and started licking her again.  "No!" she said.  "It's too much!" I didn't stop, though,  "Stop it!" she said again, so I did.  "Not really!  Back to work!" she said.  She came again within a few minutes.  I gave her a pussy juice flavoured kiss.  "Excellent!" she said. I lay next to her on the rug. She looked at my ceiling.

"Are you alright?" I asked.  She was still being moody.  She was feeling the stress of her domestic housing situation as well as pressure from the tutors to do well.

"Yes.  Do you know what you need?" She was always telling me what I needed, whether it was Cabaret on cassette, another white shirt (she had a think for men in white shirts), packets of Lebkuchen biscuits, a bottle of gin, a different hair cut etc. etc.  All designed around her personal preferences.

"What?" I asked, resignedly. 

"A thicker rug!  This one isn't very comfortable!  You need a sheepskin!  Or a tiger skin.  She recited a poem:

Would you like to sin 
With Elinor Glyn 
On a tiger skin? 
Or would you prefer 
To err with her 
On some other fur?

I had no idea who Elinor Glyn was, so she told me about the English writer who later moved to Hollywood and invented the concept of 'It'; that charismatic indefinable something that some people had and most didn't.  C considered she had 'It' in spades. of course.  All this time she was fondling my genitals and it didn't take very long before I was stiff again. I rolled on top of her and she guided me inside her.  I thrust away gently until she told me to go harder and faster.  She started to scratch my back and clamped her legs around me, pushing back with her hips. I grabbed her wrists and held both of them in one hand over her head.

 "Ravished! ravished" gasped C.  I kept pounding away, not even feeling close to coming, given I had emptied my balls only half an hour before. I felt a flood of warmth around my cock root and down my balls. I slowed down and pulled out.  There was a big wet patch on the rug.  "Oh dear!  I think I have just pissed on your tiger skin!"  And she had too.

She was distraught, very apologetic and washed me down with some damp tissues.  She then dabbed away at the damp patch in the rug with more tissues, which seemed to make no difference at all.  I went down to the Scout's pantry and got some thick, industrial paper towels.  These did a much better job and soon we had a Sainsbury's plastic bag full of wet paper towels.  As ever, we were amused by the 'It's clean, it's fresh, at Saisnbury's' writing on it.

C said I shouldn't have to mop up her pee and I said I didn't mind as it was hers and I loved all her emissions. She gave me a kiss and went back to pressing the paper towels onto the rug.   C sluiced hot water from the kettle over the patch. We didn't know what to do with the wet paper towels. C wanted to put them down the loo but we thought they might block it,  She wanted to put them in the Scout's pantry bin but he wouldn't be there until Monday and we were worried about what the smell would be like by then.. In the end we put them in the bin in the bathroom in the basement on the basis that it was so disgusting in there already it wouldn't make any difference. While we were down there we had a shower and C scrubbed away at my cock and balls, using lots of one of her expensive soaps.   She soon had me stiff again and so we went back upstairs and had a slow gentle one in bed, with me on top.  This time I did come, inside her, although I suspect there was not much in the way of spunk.  Afterwards she made me lie on my side and clamped on my back like a monkey.

"I'm going to miss you over the holidays.  You must come and stay!" I said.

"I won't be able to sleep in your bed, though!"  I could feel her breath on the back or my neck.  It was little things like that I would miss almost as much as the more intimate moments.  I nearly said something about my mother not minding and then stopped myself, worried about revealing anything about A.  Then I started to worry about what my mother and my sister might say about A and J, from Finland.

"The spare room is right next door to mine!" I said. She started stroking my genitals again although I had no chance of getting erect at that point.

"I think we need a book of positions?" she said, suddenly.

"A book?"

"Yes. Of sex positions.  Like the Kama Sutra.  It's usually you on top and you are a lot bigger than me and I feel squashed, sometimes!"

"You go on top sometimes, like just now.  I like that.  You can do it more!" I said.  To be fair, I was conscious of our size difference.  I was nearly a foot taller than her and three and a half stone heavier.  "Where would you get such a book?" I asked.

"I don't know.  Soho?" she suggested.  I thought of all the dubious looking places A and I had seen when we went there a few years before.  She didn't say anything more about it and we drifted off to sleep.

The next morning C didn't want to get up.  She pissed in the 'piss flask' and got back into bed.  She wanted to 'play' and was in an active mood; squirming. wriggling and crawling about in her otter like way.  I enjoyed it but wanted breakfast and to get my packing done as my mother and sister were due that morning.  My mother would probably be early as she would be so keen to see me.  I didn't want her to discover a naked C in my room, although she probably wouldn't mind.  My sister, was a different matter, however.

"You're not being very relaxing!" I said, as she pushed my head down towards her orange pussy.

"Don't want relaxing!  Want to come before breakfast!  Don't worry I won't piss in your bed.  Probably not, anyway!""   We just made it to breakfast before they stopped serving.  I had a cooked one, as it was Saturday.  "He needs to regain his strength!" said C to K.  K giggled and some of the other students grinned.  I was annoyed because she seemed to be treating me as a pet, again.  After breakfast we went to the Lodge where C told them that she didn't need the room that she had been allocated for ninth week, as she was going to move into mine.

"Of course," said the Porter giving me a look which said 'we all know what you are doing.'  I was probably imagining it.

"Did you think that the Porter gave us a knowing look?" asked C as we went back to mt room.

"I don't think so," I replied. "You were imagining it!"

"He did.  He knows we are doing it!  Everyone knows!"

"K didn't," I reminded her.

"Now K knows you do it with me she will want to do it with you too!"

"I thought you liked the idea," I said.  She had mentioned it more than once.

"Only if I am there as well. Joining in.  Not the two of you on your own.  No groping in the Vikings exhibition!" she said, waving her finger at me. As we were about to go through the archway past the organ scholar's rooms our Criminal Law tutor emerged and wished C a nice holiday.  He ignored me.

"That was rude," I said.

"He's jealous because he know we are going back to your room make love again!" she said.

"Are we?" I said.  It was gone nine and although my mother said she wouldn't be there until eleven she could well be early.

"Don't you want to?  Or would you rather get between K's skinny legs?  Thrusting away in her hot little cunt!"

"C!"  I said.  "Shh!"  there were lots of people about, as most of them were going home that day.

We went back to my room and had a 'quickie' on my chair.  She didn't get undressed and I just pulled my trousers down to my knees. I opened the window as the room now stank of sex,  C looked happy and we swapped her bed clothes for mine.

"I'm going to lie in your bed with my legs apart, like a Men Only, girl diddling myself!" she said, as I put the last of my clothes in my case.

She was well behaved when my mother and sister arrived.  Polite, even. The college had opened the square so parents could get their cars in.  C even helped carry my stuff to the car.  My mother then invited C to join us for lunch.  Which she did, to my sister's dismay.

"I hope you can come and stay for a few days over Easter, now you live so much closer!" said my mother. My sister was sitting next to C and I saw her jaw clench.

"How lovely!  That would be every nice.  I am so keen to see his bedroom!" she said.  I kicked her under the table. "You can learn a lot about someone by looking at their books and records!" she added, smoothly.

"Science fiction and Wagner!" said my mother.

"Interesting!" said C.  The term 'geek; was not in use in Britain then but you could tell by looking at her face that that was what she was thinking.

We walked back to the car from the Turl and C said goodbye to us.  She gave me a rather more lingering kiss than I would have preferred in front of my family and my sister screwed up her face.

We drove out the square and C waved us off.

"What a relief!" said my sister.

"Don't be horrid!" said my mother.  "She is very nice.  Very pretty.  Such lovely hair!"

"She's weird.  She looks at you in a weird way!" said my sister.

"She is very short sighted.  She didn't put her contact lenses in this morning!" I said.

"How would you know, that!" said my sister.  "Hasn't she got glasses?  Really ugly, National Health glasses!"

"She probably didn't wear them as she wanted to look her best and impress you!" I said.

"She didn't!" said my sister.

C wrote to me the next day, Sunday 17th March, telling me about all the men in college she had been flirting with and warning thatas  now she was living in the south she would be able to keep an eye on me and K.  She said I could go to the Vikings exhibition with K but nothing else (underlined).  She asked if I could bear to go around the Post Impressionists exhibition again, with her.  She was fed up because her sister and small nephews would be coming to stay for much of the Easter holidays.  Worse still, their hot water wasn't working properly so she had lukewarm baths 'just like college'.   She apologised for the less than happy tone of her letter and wrote: 'I need you to cheer me up, in fact I really need you to make love to me.  When?' However, her brother in law was going to try to get her a holiday job with the legal department of his firm, so she might not be free to come and stay with me.

What I also hadn't appreciated was that her 'new house' was only a rented house and that her mother was going back to Birmingham for a week.  Her mother expected C to try to find a house for them to buy and so C was trudging around town looking at houses with estate agents who didn't take her seriously and treated her like a little girl.  That first week back at home it was cold and there was heavy snow.  I wrote back to C to suggest some dates when she could come over to my house and said, if it was alright, I would rather not go around the Post-Impressionists exhibition again.  It had been expensive and I had spent a lot of money that term so needed to horde my money for the expensive Contract and Tort books we would have to buy at the beginning of the following term.  I told her I was still going to the Vikings exhibition at the British Museum with K and did she want to join us at that?  I was not expecting the letter that followed.

She wrote back and said she was very disappointed with the tone of my letter and suggested that I obviously just saw her as a friend and not anything more. She said I needn't worry about taking her to an exhibition as that was 'obviously the sort of thing I did with K'.  C felt she was, to me, apparently, 'the slutty one', while K was the 'favoured one'.  She said she would not come over to my house and 'lie on my bedroom carpet and be a K cunt substitute'.   She would come over if I could bear to see her 'without my vagina'.  Oddly, the second half of the letter was all about some material she had bought and how she was going to make a blouse with it over the holiday.  It was all rather schizophrenic.  I was shocked.  Where had all that come from?  I didn't really have anyone to discuss it with.  None of my school friends, certainly, as talking about relationships with girls with them would have been very weird. Not my mother.  Certainly not my sister.  There was only one person.

"Well, of course," said K, after we had been around the Vikings exhibition the next day and were sitting in Pizza Express in nearby Coptic Street, having a tea, "She has been talking to her mother about the whole La Sorbonne thing!"  C had spent a couple of days with her mother before she had returned to Birmingham.  "Her mother has been winding her up and telling her you have treated her badly for some reason!"  We both agreed that C's mother sounded a little odd.  I told her that I knew that C read all my letters to her and had criticised me in the past for talking about K.  K was supportive and friendly and, fortunately, there was no hint of the brief sexual frisson we had had between us.  I was finding one girl more than a handful.  K advised me to write C a loving, supportive but surprised ('don't get sharp with her, you know what she is like!' ) reply.

It took three attempts to write an appropriate rejoinder to C's weird letter.  Well, perhaps I didn't write an appropriate response as that would have begun 'what on earth are you on about you schizo bitch'.  Instead I began my letter,' My dearest, darling love' on the basis that you could never pile it on too thick.  I expressed surprise at the tome of her letter and apologised (again), for the La Sorbonne incident and there was no question of any rivalry with K as C was 'my only true love'.  'Say 'love' a lot', K had advised, as C was reading all these books on courtly love in medieval times.  I posted the letter in the village post box and waited, with some trepidation, for a reply. One day, two days. three days.

"Your dyed redhead is on the phone!" said my sister one evening, as I sat upstairs, putting some more of my records on tape.

"Hullo!"  I held my breath.  She sounded bright and happy.  The blouse she was making was going well and now she decided she wanted to make a suit but she needed to find some material in London and perhaps we could meet up there the next day.  There were no odd comments, no recriminations.  Maybe someone was listening and she would tell me what she thought of me the next day.

My mother dropped me off at the station the following morning, so I could get the train to London and I waited for her at Waterloo Station under the famous clock; a rendezvous point for couples for decades.   I didn't have long to wait because, as it turned out, she was on the same train as me but I had got on at the front and she was at the back so she hadn't see me on the platform.  She was wearing her fur coat as it was still cold.  We started an epic trek around West End department stores looking at material and we stopped for something to eat in a cafe near Oxford Street.  She stroked my leg, under the table, and was generally affectionate.  After  a long day we got the same train home but it was rush hour so there was no opportunity for any kissing, other than one when I got off the train.   I went home in a very good mood, much to my sister's annoyance.

Two days later a letter arrived, addressed in her beautiful script, which I opened, nervously.  It was only a side and a half, worryingly. She said that she thought I had been very noble in trailing after her while she chose her material (which her mother didn't like) and that: 'I am going to be very good to you as a reward.  Perhaps I will lick around the base of each of your toes and then suck over the top of them.  Perhaps I will let Noel (her ghastly pine marten fur stole) stroke them longly and lovingly. Perhaps I will take that most beautiful soft-hard part of you and lick it very gently all over and blow-dry it with my breath.  perhaps I will take it and put you inside me and be perfectly still, joined together for half an hour before we begin.  Perhaps, afterwards I will wrap you in your quilt and sit against your wall and cradle your head against my breast like a baby.  What would you like?'  There was a brief description of a fox fur that her sister had bought at an antiques fair which C was going to turn into a stole like Noel.  She finished by saying that she had to go up to Birmingham with her mother on Easter Saturday so probably wouldn't see me again. She apologised for the short letter but said that 'unless I disclose some more of my ideas of what to do with your beautiful body I shall have to finish here and I would like to keep a few surprises.  I love you (little drawing of a heart) C.'

Well, I was delighted by this complete volte-face from the previous letter.  Maybe, as K had suggested, it was all down to the influence of her mother.  I went into the bathroom and masturbated happily, having not felt like doing it for days since I had had her negative letter. Having pumped out an enormous amount of spunk and feeling brave and generally in a good mood I went downstairs and did something I never did.  I telephoned her.  Her mother answered and sounded grumpy.  I gave her my name and heard her call out.  'I think it's thingy!'  I heard C say, 'go away mother!  No listening!'

I told her that I really enjoyed her letter and was desperate to see her again.  I told her about my school friend O's end of term exhibition at Kingston Art Schoolsand we would be able to go the next day, just before they finished for Easter.  C was delighted by something so spontaneous and I told her how to get there by getting the train to Clapham Junction and then changing for the Kingston line.  I could go on the bus like I used to with A.

Next day I met her at Kingston Station and we had a late lunch at The Mulberry Tree cafe in Bentalls Department store.  The entrance to this was in an old medieval looking set of buildings at the back of the main store.  It also contained their famous pick 'n' mix sweets area in the food hall.  I had to buy C a huge bag. C then dragged me around the store looking at clothes.  She had no intention of buying anything but liked to get ideas.  Bentalls had a big selection of dressmaking patterns, however, and she spent an hour looking at these. to my despair.

Eventually, we made our way over to Kingston Art School and met up with O and looked at the student art exhibition.  There was all sorts of different styles of art by the students on display and I realised that, technically, I wouldn't have had any problem attending, as I had wanted to at one point. One of the projects that they had had to work on that term was pop up books, which was really more about engineering than art, although I was very impressed with one of O's friends who had produced a huge pop-up Salisbury Cathedral.  It was amazing. O kept steering us away from one corner of the exhibition but C soon caught on to this and dived back on ourselves, behind a display board.  One of the students had produced a number of collages featuring pictures cut out from what looked like Men Only or Club International.  There were lots of spread thighs and displayed pussies,  O looked embarrassed.

"Excellent!" said C, looking at them closely.  The artist, a girl, with short, punk hair and wearing black dungarees appeared and she and C had an animated discussion about the 'beauty of cunts' and the expression of female sexuality.  O introduced me to his new girlfriend who was at college with him.  She was a bubbly blonde and O told her that I had actually been the best artist at school but had gone to Oxford instead.  Blonde girl looked impressed and asked if I had seen The Light of the World at Keble College which, of course I said I had. I suggested that O bring his girlfriend, P, up to Oxford for a day or two in summer term, which they thought would be great.

O had a car (an old Ford Cortina) and after the exhibition he drove us all the way back to Staines so C could get a direct train back to her house.  C kissed him and his girlfriend on the lips, to her evident surprise. S squeezed my groin as we said goodbye. O dropped me off at home on his way back home and we said we would arrange a visit when I worked out what my work schedule was back at  College. C had been good company, again, and I hoped her strange earlier letter had been a one off.  You never knew, with her.

Over the Easter holiday my family went down to see my aunt and uncle in Kent and went to a point to point horse race, which I found very tedious.  I wrote to C explaining what it was and she wrote back from Birmingham and said that she was insulted that I thought she wouldn't know what a point to point was and that she was a very good horse rider and she bet I didn't know how to do a rising trot.  One of my classmates from school had taken part in that year's Boat Race over Easter, where Oxford just beat Cambridge (who had a then unknown student called Hugh Laurie in their crew) and C had recognised his name when she saw it on the TV coverage and wanted to go and meet him when we got back as he looked 'hunky'.  She told me that when she had got back from our Kingston trip she was so tired that she went straight to bed and didn't wake up until ten the next day.  We had both had really bad colds and were ill for a number of days, Surprisingly, she didn't blame it on me.  Our short, eight week terms were so high pressured that we all found that when we got home at the end of term we all went down with bugs and slept all the time.  She apologised for the lack of erotic content in her letter (I had told her about masturbating, thinking about her, after reading her sexy letter, which she had enjoyed and 'wished I could have been there') but her snivelling nose made her not feel very sexy.  She did, however, promise to bring some 'immodest' summer dresses up with her for the summer term.  She told me I wasn't to 'wank for several days' before I got back so I had 'balls full of spunk' for her. She then went into al ong diatribe about how her mother had failed to buy her an Easter egg. She said she could sort of understand not remembering her birthday every year but the shops were full of chocolate eggs and there were two Bank Holidays either side.

Trinity Term started on Sunday 27th April but I arrived on the Thursday before, as we had to meet our new subject tutors on the Friday (although one of them, the one who had ignored me before the holiday, we had had before).

"I thought I was going to have to ravish you in front of your family!" said C, pulling off her clothes in my room.  She had appeared while I was having tea with my mother and sister and exuded impatience so my family left soon afterwards.  I had to write to them and say C was sorry if she made them felt thy had to leave.  She said nothing of the sort, of course.  All of her things had gone from my room, I was relieved to see and she had got some of the other male students to move all her stuff back to her room by flirting outrageously.  She had just removed my clothes too and was massaging my erection when there was a knock on the door.

"It's me.  I know you're both in there!"  It was K.

"We are literally just about to have sex.  Come back in an hour or come and join in!" said C, still not giving up on a threesome with K.   K laughed and said she would come back.  Having had two letters from C talking about toe-licking I set to work on her feet, much to her delight.  She reciprocated and we had a lovely foreplay session.  As she had mentioned in her letter, when I entered her I didn't move and just lay on top of her.  She started to squeeze me with her internal muscles and she was so good at it and I was so excited she made me come inside her without me moving a muscle.  "Good boy!  Lots of spunk!" she said.  I must have squirted about seven times as I emptied my balls into her. We left a very damp patch on my clean sheet.  Not long afterwards K returned.  I got dressed while she waited outside but C just put my dressing gown on.

"Oh dear!  The smell!" said K opening my sash window.  "Still getting along then?" K asked C while I put the kettle on.

"Yes. Why shouldn't we?" asked C, frowning.

"Time apart and everything!" said K.

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder!" said C.  "And the pussy wetter!"

"C you are an animal!" said K.  C growled like a big cat.

"That reminds me!" said C.   "Off to the chocolate machine!  I need to talk to K!"  I left and shot downstairs (there were so many stairs I tended to jump them three at a time) heading towards the vending machine near the law library.  Some of the other law students were there and we all congratulated each other on our results. Someone asked where C was and I said in my room.

"Getting to know each other again, eh?" said one of them and I could feel myself blushing.

"Still friends then?" asked L, the lawyer who had started all the trouble about K and I the previous term.

"Of course!" I said, annoyed.  She had caused a lot of stress and trouble.

I picked up three Lion Bars and managed to get a free one, as I knew C would chomp her way through them in short order.  She was not an occasional chocolate eater.  K could have a bar on her desk for days without touching it (her stepmother was still sending her slim bars of Cadbury's Dairy Milk every week by post),  C however, ate any chocolate she had as soon as she got it.  When I got back to my room C was dressed again and, as I suspected, she later confirmed that she had dropped my dressing gown and displayed her naked body to K before getting dressed again.  She said that standing naked in front of K had got her almost as excited as making me ejaculate.  C ventured that she bet K didn't diddle herself.  I knew differently but I wasn't going to say anything.  That had been a private confession by K to me.

At dinner that night, the talk was of two things; the planned College Ball, at the end of term, and May Morning.  Most Colleges had a ball every three years and this would be the only one at College while we were there.  C of course, assumed I would take her despite it being £33 for a double ticket.  I was not keen at all, given it mainly seemed to be about dancing.  I didn't dance.  I felt uncomfortable, clumsy and thought it was ridiculous (as I still do).  This was not the time or the place to have that argument with C, however. The other topic of conversation was May Morning which was the following Thursday and, apparently, madrigals were sung at dawn from Magdalen Tower and everyone turned out to hear them,  C, of course, wanted to go.

With all this in prospect, C was in a very good mood after dinner.  K went off to see someone at another college and C went back to my room where she stripped off immediately and stood in front of my mirror admiring herself.

"Do you think I need to lose weight?" she said, looking at her bottom in profile.

"Of course not!  You are perfect!" I said.

"Perfect naked, yes," she agreed (of course) "but to look good in clothes you have to be super skinny!  I need to look good in my ball dress!"  She pinched some flesh at her hip and frowned, I asked her if she had a particular dress she needed to fit into but she said no, she would have to get  a new one.  I suggested that she just buy one that fit and there wouldn't be a problem."That's what L would do.  Buy a tent to fit her!"  She didn't put her clothes back on but made me strip off too so we could both look at ourselves in the mirror.  She said I was fit and trim and didn't need a diet.  I told her that she didn't need a diet either.  "Don't you want me as skinny as K?" she asked.  I said no, of course not, I loved her curvy figure (in those days 'curvy' had not become a politically correct synonym for 'fat', as today).  I said that while K looked great in tight jeans she would undoubtedly look like a stick naked.  "See!  You said she looks good in her jeans!  Because she is super skinny!  I need to diet!"

"You really don't!" I maintained.  We didn't eat a lot, any of us, given the paltry servings at College mealtimes.  I often paid for a double lunch (although you only got one third more food) to keep my strength up.  Even C did sometimes (although not of it was the dreaded Boston Baked Beans -cheap watery beans with under-cooked strips of pork fat lurking under the surface like decaying carcasses in a swamp).

The next day all the exam results had been posted in the Porter's Lodge and I was relieved to have passed them all (especially Roman Law), as did all the other lawyers in College, although we later found out that many people in other colleges had struggled with some of the papers and they would have to do re-sits. Fortunately, however much we moaned about our college tutors, they were pretty much the best Law tutors in Oxford. C had done well enough to get her scholarship renewed, to her delight, as it also had a monetary aspect to it. That day we met our tutors for our reading lists for Tort and Contract.  Not only had we got our exams out the way but we only had eight, not twelve essays to write that term.  I was relived that I didn't have C as a tutorial partner although she was not.

Saturday was nice and sunny and after working in  the library until lunch time (it closed at one as term wasn't properly started) C and I had a walk in the Botanical gardens, although I didn't think their flowers were as good as in my mother's garden.  My mother had left me with some bread, margarine (which she thought would keep better out of the fridge than butter) and some ginger marmalade so I toasted it in the morning for C and I.  The gas fire would toast bread in thirty five seconds.  We went round our favourite shops and I tried to get a new boxed set of Mozart symphonies played on period instruments by the Academy of Ancient music but the man in Blackwells Music Shop had said that they had sold out in four hours.  I did buy the new Arthur C Clarke paperback of the Fountains of Paradise for £1.25.  I had worked out that I had spent £50 on books and records the previous term so decided to limit myself a bit, especially as one of our new law books was £13.

Sunday, C and I did a bit of reading together in her room and stopped for a quickie before going out to lunch at the Turl Bar. We had slept together every night since we had got back but usually didn't on Sunday, although this time she said she wanted to.  After dinner we went to the nice bathroom near the college law library and had a candlelit bath again.  This time, unlike on previous occasions, we weren't so lucky when we came out and not only ran into the tutor who was on the staircase but two of our fellow first year lawyers, E and F, who were at the bottom of the stairs.  These two had hooked up during the Easter holidays, the ever gossiping L had told us, and we gave each other some conspiratorial grins.

"It is the only nice bathroom in College!" said E, taking in our flushed faces and my wet hair.  C had worn her flowery shower cap which made her look like a seventeenth century wench, I thought.  "We should try it!" she said to M.

"I prefer a shower!" he answered.

"Not so romantic," said C.  "Especially if you have candles!" said added, pulling one out of her bag.

"Candles even!" said E.  "We need to try harder!" she said to F, who looked resigned.

We managed to extract two for one Lion bars from the vending machine again, to C's delight.

Having had the gas fire on before dinner the room had stayed warm as it was getting cold outside again.  It certainly didn't feel like the summer term. I switched it on again.

"Can I have a Lion bar now?" asked C.

"Beg!" I said, uncharacteristically.

"Beg?" she said, sounding surprised.

"Yes.  On your knees.  Naked!"

"Excellent!" she said, starting to strip off.

"Keep those on!"  She had been wearing thigh length woolen stocks held up with suspenders.  I suppose they could have been called woolen stockings but they were thick and ribbed like socks.  I thought they were superlatively sexy.

She knelt in front of me, just dressed in her long socks.

"Please can I have chocolate?" she begged, holding her curled hands under her chin, like a small mammal.  I unwrapped the Lion Bar and held one end. I teased her by putting it near her lips and then pulling it away.

"Cruel person!" she said.  I brought it up to her lips again, the thick, knobbly bar placed on her pouting lower lip.

"You can suck it but not bite it!" I teased.  She wrapped her lips over the end, looked up at me and started to faux fellate it.  "Hands behind your back!" I ordered, as she started to stroke my thighs.  The bar was starting to melt and she soon had chocolate around her mouth.  I pulled it away and kissed her.  A big, wet, chocolatey kiss.

"Mmmn!" she sighed.  I could smell her musky scent.

"On your back!"  She lay down obediently and I teased her nipples with the Lion Bar. I ran it down her belly and left brown marks on her alabaster skin. I pushed her thighs apart and slid the chocolate bar down her labia.

"Oh God!" she said, smiling.  I slid the bar over her perineum and left another brown mark,  She spread her legs wider and I prepared to rub it between her pink petals again.  Her entrance was swollen and red.  Instead, I slid the bar into her cunt, getting some three inches into her. "Fucking hell!" she sighed.  I started to push it in and out.  "Fucking HELL!" she cried, loud enough to alert D, next door.  The bar was becoming a sticky mess and I had chocolate all over my fingers.  White goo was coating it now and dribbling down over her anus.  I changed hands and slid a chocolate coated finger up her rectum.  She came almost immediately, clamping her legs around my hands.  She relaxed and I pulled out my finger and the Lion Bar.  I held the chocolate up to her mouth and she bit the end off.  I had a bit too.  I did think that the combination of her juices and chocolate were almost the taste quintessence of her.  I looked at her swollen parts and licked the chocolate off. "Christ!  Too much!" she said, gently pushing my head away.  I lay down next to her, still fully dressed.  I stroked her orange thatched mound while she finished the Lion bar and gazed at me in that shorr sighted way of hers.  "So," she said, eventually.  "Which do you prefer?  Cunt flavoured chocolate or chocolate flavoured cunt?"

"Less chocolate more cunt!" I answered, feeling naughty just saying the word, which had become one of C's favourites.

C couldn't stop talking about the 'chocolate fucking episode' as she referred to it, in subsequent days.  I had obviously met one of her spontaneous sex standards.  She asked if I had planned it and I said no.  I told her I just saw her all spread and pink, realised I was holding a phallic object and given it was her favourite food...

"You just shoved it up me!  Terrific!" she grinned and gave me an unexpected kiss, given we were outside in college in the paved area between our two staircases.  She must have been in  a good mood as she still usually didn't display any signs of affection within College.

Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday we worked hard but on Wednesday evening we went to find my school friend E.  However when we got to his College we found out that, basically, he had had a nervous breakdown and was taking a year off and would start again the following year.  Somebody said that the Oxford University History course had the highest suicide rate of any academic course in the world other than the Japanese civil service exam.  We doubted this but it did indicate the pressure we were under.

"I'm glad I have you to support me.  It is much easier to cope with everything," I said to C on the way back to College.

"Oh!" said C.  "What a lovely thing to  say!" She stopped dead and pulled me into a kiss in the narrow confines of Oriel Street. The kiss turned into a snog and she didn't stop, even when an embarrassed looking middle aged lady edged past us. "Come on!" she said, pulling away at last. "I'm wetting my knickers!"

Afterwards, lying in C's cramped bed we realised that the next day would be May the First and we wanted to go and hear the madrigals from Madgalen Tower.  We didn't know what time it was, other than dawn.  We went to bed early, in my room, and set the alarm for four fifteen in the morning.  C hopped out of bed for a pee and looked out the window but it was still dark.  I asked her if I should reset the alarm for five but she said she was awake now and I should get the gas fire on.  I got dressed and went to fill the kettle and use the bathroom.  We had some toast and marmalade and left the college at five fifteen, as I could see from my window overlooking the High that people were starting to walk down towards Magdalen  There were quite a lot of people about already and when we got to the High we found several hundred people.  They were a strange mixture of students, tourists, French schoolchildren and the Oxford punks.  The Oxford punks used to congregate around a memorial in a little cobbled square on the corner of New Inn Hall Street,  They had multi-coloured hair and pins through their noses and were already looking a bit old fashioned.  They appeared a bit intimidating at first but as soon as you heard them speaking in their yokel Oxfordshire accents they appeared a lot less scary.

We made our way towards Magdalen Tower and although it was bright it was getting colder and colder.  A few hundred people soon became thousands as the entire High Street was choked as far as you could see. Although C had her fur coat on she only had a light summer dress on underneath and she was shivering.  I put my arms around her to try to help her keep warm and, surprisingly, she didn't pull away.  Some people started to climb the outside of Magdalen Tower,  Eventually  twelve very small choir boys walked up the street under police escort and we heard them sing for about five minutes through loudspeakers attached to the top of tower.  And that was it.

We made our way back down the High to College; a distance of four hundred yards.  It took us half an hour to work our way through the dense but good-natured crowd.  There were people dressed in full academic dress, evening suits, tailcoats, sports gear and blazers and straw boaters,  There were several people in Father Christmas outfits and many of the girls were wearing hats with flowers around them, something C wished she had known about. There was a jazz bands and a punk band playing on small stages set up in the middle of the street and a whole group of English Civil War re-enactors from the Sealed Knot with fifes and drums.  All the pubs and restaurants opened at  six am to serve breakfast and there was a lot of activities going on. There were Morris dancers in Radcliffe square who C thought looked ridiculous but I always found them a bit sinister.

C and I went back to bed (separately) to get some more sleep and met for breakfast at eight, where everyone was in a very festive mood, considering most people had been up for hours.  C and I had to finish essays that day for tutorials in the afternoon so missed out on most of the May Day activities although I finished my essay by three thirty so got to see the Sealed Knot do a pike and musket drill.

I was worried about the tutorial with my new tutor but he was, unlike the other two college Law tutors, a delightful man.  He had a massive collection of boxed sets of classical records in his rooms and I was really impressed that he had some genuine Piranesi prints on his wall.  He was impressed that I knew that they were Piranesi prints and we got on well as a result.

However, over the next few days C and I would have another stressful period between us.  All caused by the College Ball that term.