The Choice (3 page)

‘Yes, that’s me, or it will be once I get my feet on the ground.’

‘Somehow I don’t think that’s going to take you very long.’

She was so easy to talk to that I was tempted to explain my grand plan, but at that moment somebody knocked on the door. She went to answer it, opening the door with her normal casual, friendly manner, only to suddenly stiffen and move hastily out into the tiny lobby between our doors and the ‘oak’ as she called the big door leading onto the staircase. I only caught a glimpse of her visitor, but enough to see that it was a man, of middling height, in his thirties and so almost certainly too old to be a student. What really struck me was his face, which was calm and distinguished but with a hint of something else; amusement, even disdain.

It seemed very likely that he was her tutor, but her obvious embarrassment at his visit and the urgent whispered conversation between them made me wonder if they were having an affair. I couldn’t resist listening, but the heavy door and their low voices made it impossible to catch more than the
occasional
word so I soon gave up. After a moment staring at the wall, I found myself scanning her bookshelves as I tried to work out what she’d been reading while she was playing with herself.

All I could remember was that the spine had been black with white letters too small to be easily read and that there had been some sort of abstract art design on the cover. Several looked about right, but all of them belonged to a collection of French classics I’d never heard of but at least one of which was presumably quite juicy.
La Femme et le Pantin
by Pierre Louÿs seemed the most likely candidate, but I wasn’t even sure what the title meant and if it was in the original language there wasn’t much point in borrowing it, as my schoolgirl French couldn’t get me much further than asking the way to the post office.

I was just wondering if I dared sneak a closer look when Violet came back in. She looked agitated, and while I didn’t want to seem pushy I felt I ought to say something.

‘Was that your tutor?’

‘My ex-tutor.’

She didn’t sound too happy about it, and immediately changed the subject, leaving me intrigued.

For the next few days I had very little time to speculate on Violet’s private life and not a great deal of time to see Violet. Freshers’ Week is the week set aside for new undergraduates to find their feet, to meet their tutors and colleagues, join whatever societies interest them and generally find out about college life and the university. I knew exactly what I needed to do or, at least, what Dad had told me I ought to do. All his life he’d been a Liberal, always the main opposition party in our neck of the woods, where most people distrusted Labour and thought that Conservatives had cloven hooves concealed
within
their highly polished shoes. That was all very well, but the chances of belonging to a party in government were close to nil and, besides, I had to go my own way.

The question was: which way? The two main parties were a lot closer than they’d been in Dad’s day, so if I was going to abandon his ideals it wasn’t easy to decide which way to jump. The Conservatives were on the way up, but with three years before I graduated and perhaps as long again before I could expect to make any real impact it was all too likely that my first chance to challenge for a nomination would come just as they started on their way back down, with maybe ten more years until the situation reversed once more. Labour were unpopular and likely to be out of power within the year, but I might well be able to ride their fortunes back to the top.

I had a week to make my choice and held back, keeping my own opinions to myself while I tried to decide who to join. Meanwhile, I took the opportunity to ignore another piece of Dad’s advice, not to let myself get distracted by the boys. Not that I intended to let myself get distracted, but it was obvious to me that I’d have a much better chance of success in my chosen career if I was with a wealthy and supportive male. I had three years to make my choice and, while I didn’t want to get a reputation as a slut, I could see no reason not to start early.

The tricky bit wasn’t finding a suitable man, but choosing between them. Just walking around the Freshers’ Fair presented me with a bewildering choice of first-rate masculine talent. The boat-club stand alone was enough to leave me weak at the knees; crowded with lean muscular young men, not one of them under six foot and some of them in kit that left very little to the imagination. Given a free choice I’d have picked four or five of the best and invited them back to my room to take turns with me, but even if they’d been likely to go for it
I
just couldn’t risk that sort of thing, not unless I could cope with one of them publishing some ‘interesting reminiscences’ twenty years later. I couldn’t, but testing them out one at a time was a different matter. Nobody is expected to be celibate nowadays. In fact, too puritanical an image can do almost as much damage as the reverse, especially when it comes to getting male colleagues to give you a friendly leg up.

I was still trying to choose between a blond man who might well have been used as the model for a Greek statue and another, darker, taller and with an intense expression and the most piercing eyes I’d ever seen, when my mind was made up for me. Both moved away from the boat-club stall within a few seconds of each other, the blond young god to the Gay Soc stall, where he immediately kissed the man running it, and the tall dark man to a stall dealing with commodities trading and run by a man who looked like a highly intelligent weasel with glasses.

My tall dark man immediately asked a question which triggered a complicated explanation from the weasel. I moved closer, listening with what I hoped was an intelligent expression and waiting for my moment. Eventually the weasel stopped talking and turned to me to speak.

‘Can I help at all?’

‘This seems unusual for a society.’

His voice was dripping condescension as he replied. ‘Not really, although it is really only for the wealthier students.’

‘How does it work?’

‘Essentially, we form an investment co-operative, allowing us to trade in stock, futures and so forth while keeping our overheads to a minimum and gaining experience on the markets. It’s really aimed at students who are going into finance and the minimum investment is ten thousand pounds.’

The last comment was obviously intended to put me off, and as that was more than Dad had given me for the entire year it would have done, if I’d been remotely interested in the first place. I nodded and put a question to my tall dark man.

‘Do you think it’s a good idea?’

‘Yes, undoubtedly, although more for the experience than as a way of providing income. It’s also a chance to make contacts in the city.’

‘I’m hoping to go into politics, but nevertheless …’

I trailed off, hopefully leaving them with the impression that investing ten thousand pounds was at least an option for me. The weasel went back to his explanation, now making an effort to include me, but I’d made my opening move and left after a couple more minutes. My tall dark man stayed put for at least ten before moving on to the coffee machine. I made straight for him.

‘What do you think? Are you going to join them?’

‘I think so, for a year at least.’

‘I’m not so sure. It seems risky and I’m really looking for a different set of contacts.’

‘I’d advise against it then.’

‘Thanks. I’m Poppy, by the way, Poppy Miller, first year PPE at St Boniface.’

‘Stephen Mitchell. Hi.’

He extended one huge hand, which completely enveloped mine as I took it. It was all too easy to imagine that same grip on my hips or shoulders. Persuading him to take me to bed was going to be a pleasure, but I didn’t want to rush.

‘What are you studying?’

‘Chemistry, at Emmanuel.’

‘Not economics?’

‘No. I applied for my strongest subject, which was the best way to get in.’

‘That’s what the careers advisor at school suggested.’

‘But you went for PPE?’

For a moment I thought I’d made a mistake by implying he was less intelligent than me and I backpedalled hastily. ‘It was a risk. Maybe a stupid one.’

‘Not if you want to go into politics. It’s very hard to switch courses onto PPE.’

A lie seemed like the best answer. ‘I didn’t know that.’

‘Yes. If you’re on a popular course you can change to almost anything, but it’s next to impossible to switch onto a popular course, otherwise everybody …’

I let him talk, although Dad had explained it all to me a dozen times, and watched his eyes, hoping they’d stray to the front of the bright tight cashmere sweater I’d chosen that morning with the deliberate intention of attracting male attention. Sure enough, he was having considerable difficulty talking to my face and not to my tits, despite his best efforts to be polite. I folded my arms to give him a better view and flicked my hair as if to get it out of my eyes. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed and I knew he was mine.

Social conventions are such a pain. In an ideal world I’d have responded to his interest by pulling up my top and bra to let him have a proper look. He’d have given me a squeeze and a kiss on each nipple to say hello, then it would have been off to bed for an afternoon of good rude sex. Unfortunately, I had to play by the rules.

It took me two days, first a drink together, then an afternoon watching him on the river followed by dinner at Browns. He put his arm around me as we crossed St Giles and I responded, more than happy to show interest. Emmanuel was closer than St Boniface and we soon reached the lodge.
I
knew I should kiss him goodnight, with just enough passion to leave him eager, but I was feeling mellow and horny.

There were a lot of people around, but that’s never bothered me, just the opposite, and as he took me in his arms and tilted my head up to make our mouths meet I couldn’t help but let my lips come open. He needed no further encouragement, his grip tightening and one big hand slipping down to cup my bottom. I let him squeeze for a moment and then gave him a gentle pat of admonition as I broke away. There was doubt in his voice as he spoke.

‘Coffee?’

‘Why not.’

He wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but I was. Having – hopefully – shown him that I wasn’t easy, it was time to show him that I was good. I didn’t want any coffee either, because one more cup and it was going to be coming out of my ears.

His room was in a Victorian annexe at the back of his college, one of a line ranged along a top corridor that looked like something out of Dickens. He kept his arm around me even as he unlocked the door, and kissed me again as soon as we were inside. This time I let myself melt, giving way to my urgency as our mouths opened together, willing to let him touch where he liked, or to strip me, even to put me straight down on his cock the way really forceful men sometimes do.

I wanted it, but he held off, cautious. He was responding to me though, his cock firm against my tummy as he held me close and getting rapidly firmer. That broke what little resistance I had left. I wanted to see, to hold him, to take him in my mouth. As I detached myself from his grip I looked down.

‘You’re proud of yourself, aren’t you?’

He gave an embarrassed shrug, unable to deny the state he was in.

‘Let me see.’

His beautiful eyes grew a little wider in surprise, as if he could hardly believe his luck when I drew down his zip and burrowed my hand inside. He was rock hard, and big, making it difficult to tug him out of his fly, but I soon got him showing, his balls too. I took him in my hand, tugging gently as we kissed once again and tweaking open the buttons of his shirt until it fell open across his chest. He responded in kind, tugging my top up and spilling my breasts free of my bra, his huge hands pawing at my flesh, clumsy and too eager but still exciting.

Only when he began to get really rough did I pull away, moving slowly down his body to brush my lips over his neck and the hard muscles of his chest. He groaned as he realised what I was going to do, and I couldn’t help but tease, flicking my tongue over the smooth lines of his six-pack with his cock still held in my hand. I was hoping he’d take me by the hair and make me do it, but he seemed frozen, as if the slightest movement or attempt to take charge might scare me off. That wasn’t so bad, allowing me to indulge in one of my favourite pursuits – worshipping a cock.

He was worth it too, really magnificent, both long and thick, very pale and very straight, with firm heavy balls, like the statue of some priapic love god. I’ve always liked to be at the feet of a well-endowed man, worshipping not him, but his masculinity, licking and kissing at the huge virile member that is about to be put into my body. Now I had a real beauty, and I had no intention of wasting it, first folding my breasts around his shaft and letting him push up between them a few times, before at last taking him in my mouth.

I was squeezing and stroking his balls as I sucked, my urgency now so great that it was hard to hold back, but I had no intention of ending up with a mouthful and nothing else. He was groaning softly and had begun to push, but I forced myself to pull away, instead taking him in my hand and licking at his balls as I pulled gently on his shaft, lost in dirty admiration for his sheer virility. I was down on my knees, adding to my feelings of worship as I began to nuzzle my face against him, drinking in his male taste and scent.

He finally took charge, taking a firm grip in my hair and feeding himself back into my mouth so that I had no choice but to suck. I looked up, straight into his beautiful eyes, now full of lust and I knew immediately that I was going to get what I wanted. Sure enough, he spoke a moment later, growling out his words.

‘I’ve going to have you, Poppy. I hope you’re safe.’

I nodded around my mouthful and he immediately let go. Now there was no more waiting. He picked me up and tossed me onto the bed as if I weighed nothing at all, turned up my skirt and pulled my knickers down in two urgent motions, hauled my legs up and twisted the little scrap of cotton around my knees to hold me in place as he guided his cock to my sex, and in. I cried out as he rolled me up, shocked at being handled so roughly and stripped so quickly, and a second gasp escaped me as I was filled.