Date: Sat, 2 Apr 2011 18:02:32 +0100
From: Jeffrey Fletcher <jeffyrks@gmail.com>
Subject: Inky White and I Chapter 4.

This is a story that involves sex between males.  if such a story is
offensive, or illegal for you to read where you live, then do not continue,
go and surf elsewhere.

This is a work of fiction and in no way draws on the lives of any specific
person or persons.  If there is any similarity to any real persons or
events it is entirely coincidental.

The work is copyrighted (c) by the author and may not be reproduced in any
form without the specific written permission of the author.  It is assigned
to the Nifty Archives under the terms of their submission agreement but it
may not be copied or archived on any other site without the written
permission of the author.

My thanks to Brian who have read this through and made a number of
corrections and suggestions.  Any remaining errors, grammatical, spelling
or historical or whatever are entirely my fault.

Resume:- Phil, the narrator has made contact with Inky White 30 years after
they were school boys together.  Emails are being exchanged, but Phil is
thinking back over his own life, and in particular what happen after
gaining his appointment at Exeter University.

Inky White and I    Chapter 6.

Exeter is surrounded by some beautiful countryside.  I took my time finding
the sort of house I wanted.  I lived in rented accommodation for nine
months.  At last, I found the place, I felt could become a real home.  It
was an old farmhouse on the edge of Dartmoor, called Becket's Farm, but it
had been converted from a working farmhouse some years before.  It was not
too far from the University.  There were views across a valley, and from
one of the bedroom windows on a very clear day, and with a certain twisting
of the neck it was possible to see the sea.

The first months in Exeter were arid from a sexual point of view.  In
Southampton there were men working on the liners and in the docks.  Exeter
had much the feel of a respectable county town.  There seemed to be very
little in the way of gay life, and I was hesitant about exploring it.  I
was now a professor, and felt I had to be more careful, when I was close to
home base.  I still went to see Frank when I could, and did have a couple
of weekends in London, and experienced some of the delights of the Quebec.

I moved into my new home in the Easter vac.  Frank came down to help me,
but he was now feeling the effects of the passing years and could not help
move anything big.  But he unpacked cutlery and crockery, and some of the
books, and that was all a great help.  When term started he returned to
Oxford, and I was again on my own.

My friendship with Andy started in an unusual way, and had quite a long
slow take off.  My home was about half a mile from the village. There was a
farm about a hundred yards further up the lane.  There was also a small
cottage that used to be a the summer base for a shepherd many years before,
this was a couple of miles or so beyond Andy's farm, on the very edge of
the open Moor.  Though I did my main shopping at a supermarket in Exeter,
there were often some items which I had forgotten to buy. The village shop
was well stocked.  Its main draw back was that everything was considerably
more expensive.  If the weather was good, I would walk down to the village.

That particular Saturday afternoon I was walking up the narrow lane,
enjoying the peace and quiet of the countryside, when there was the noise
of a tractor coming up the lane behind me.  When I was in my car, I always
dreaded meeting another vehicle on that last half mile, as the lane was
narrow, and deeply cut into the hillside.  The passing places were few and
far between.  I stepped aside into a gateway leading into a field, and the
tractor came round the bend.  There was a man about my own age driving it.
When he saw me, he stopped.

"Hi!  Are you the man who's moved into Becket's Farm?"  This was spoken in
a rich Devon accent, that was a delight to hear.

"Yes.  Just got things more or less straight now."

"I'm Andy.  I live in the farmhouse a little further up the lane."

"I'm Phil."

He bent over, then looked at his hand and wiped it on his dusty jeans, and
extended it towards me.  We shook hands.

"Want a lift?"

I saw that this would involve standing on the tractor beside him, a rather
precarious perch.  But I decided it would be churlish to refuse his offer.
I climbed up onto the the tractor.

"This is against Health and Safety, so cling on tight."  I put the plastic
bag with the few oddments of shopping to hang from my wrist, and with my
left hand gripped the mudguard of the tractor, and with the other held on
to the seat.  We started off and lurched our way up the narrow lane.  I was
conscious that my right hand on the seat was also against Andy's bottom,
and I must confess that certain thoughts went through my mind.

It was after about four hundred yards, that Andy stopped outside my
property.  I climbed down.

"Thanks, Andy."

"Pleasure.  If there's anything you need; you know where I am.  It can
sometime be quite lonely up here, especially in the winter time."

"Thanks again."

He moved off, giving a wave over his shoulder.

I thought little more of the incident, beyond the fact that it was good to
meet a neighbour.  I just assumed that he was married and with a family.  A
farmer without a farmer's wife just did not have a place in my picture of
rural life.

It was two weeks later that I decided to go down to the local pub, the
Francis Drake.  I had been there a couple of times with Frank for a
bar-meal and a drink when I moved in.  I was welcomed by the innkeeper, who
was behind the bar.  He knew exactly who I was.  In such a small community
everybody knew everybody's business.  I went and sat down by myself, as I
was new to the area I thought I knew no one else there.  Then Andy who had
been sitting with his back to the bar, turned and saw me.  He was talking
with a group of five men at a table. He beckoned me over, and introduced me
to the other men.

They were a friendly lot.  They all knew each other well, all lived in or
near the village.  They all spoke with that rich Devon burr.  I was asked
about myself, and what I did.  I think they had little or no idea what a
University professor actually did.  But when I asked questions about the
community or about farming, they spoke freely.  It was about half past nine
when the party began to break up.

"Did you come down by car, or walk?" asked Andy.

"Walked.  Needed some exercise."

"Want a lift back?"

"Please."

We went out to his car.  It was used mostly for work.  There were all sorts
of things in the car, and I don't think either the interior or exterior had
ever been cleaned.

"Excuse the mess," said Andy, removing some papers from the front seat.

It didn't take long driving up the lane.  I have forgotten now what we
talked about.  I know I invited him in for a night-cap.  He declined saying
he had to be up at five for the milking.

"I usually go down to the Drake on a Saturday evening.  Meet the lads, have
a chat.  Feel free to join us any time.  Those who live on the Moor stick
together.  You're living on the Moor now, so you're now one of us."

Whenever I was free on a Saturday evening I would go down to the Drake.

The second time Andy asked me, "How do you find living alone?"

"I've lived alone on and off since I left home, many years ago."

"I found it hard at first, but have got used to it now," said Andy.

"Do you know, I assumed you were married for some reason.  A farmer without
a farmer's wife just does not fit into my picture of rural life."

"I was married, but she walked out.  Preferred suburban life with a
salesman."

"How long were you married?"

"Just a couple of years.  It wasn't working,when she walked out."

"Any kids?"

"Fortunately not.  She's had three with her salesman."

"Have you ever married?"

"No."

At that stage we reached my place, and we parted.

It was several weeks later when we moved forward the next stage.  It had
been a wet day, the fine drifting drizzle that can afflict the West
Country.

About half an hour before I was expecting to go down to the Drake the phone
rang.  "Hi Phil." It was Andy.  "Want a lift down to the Drake?"

"Please."

"I'll be about half an hour."

Thirty five minutes later I was ready.  The drizzle had eased, and as I had
not been out all day I decided to walk up to Andy's.  I knew that the main
door at the front was only used on formal occasions like funerals, so I
went round to the back, and knocked on the door.  I had to knock twice,
before I heard Andy approaching the door.  He opened it and stood there,
his usual wavy light brown hair was plastered to his scalp, and body hair
glistened with drops of water.  He had a towel wrapped round his waist.

"A minute earlier, I wouldn't have heard you, as I was under the shower."
He held the door back for me to enter, and then made his way upstairs to
finish drying himself and to get dressed.  I admired his muscular figure.
All his farm work made him fit, he was a fully mature man.  He had dark
hair all over his chest, and quite a lot on his back too.  What were my
thoughts that evening?  I know, I mentally admired his body.  Was I
sexually attracted?  You may not believe it, but I am fairly sure sexual
thoughts barely entered my mind.  I am sure my thoughts were saying, he has
been married, so he is straight; and in any case, he was a friend, who I
was coming to like more and more.  If he knew I was gay it would probably
be the end of a promising friendship.

He was soon back downstairs, and we went off in his car to the local.
There were not as many as usual, and we came away earlier than on most
Saturday evenings.  He stopped outside my place, and we sat talking.  He
was not in the usual hurry to get home and to bed as it was just after nine
o'clock.  I asked him some questions about the farm, which he answered.

"You don't know much about real farming, do you, Phil?"

"No, I've lived all my life in towns or suburbs.  This is the first time
I've lived in a house surrounded by fields."

"Well, living up here on the edge of the Moor, you ought to know the facts
of farming life.  When you've got a spare day, come and spend it on the
farm with me.  I'll show you what it is really like, especially if the
weather is as it's been today."

I laughed. "I'd like to.  I'm free next Saturday."

"Good, half past five in the morning then!"

I gulped, that was a very early hour for me.  I was only up at that time
when I had to go on a journey, or catch an early morning flight.  "Okay,
then.  Five thirty next Saturday it is."

XXX

I was up, dressed in some old clothes, welly boots on my feet and knocking
on Andy's door at five twenty-eight.  It was a beautiful still, sunny
morning, a joy to be alive.

He opened the door with a broad grin.  "Well Professor, did you know this
hour of the morning existed?"

"Hardly!  Any way it is a wonderful morning."

Andy looked at the sky and sniffed the air.  "It won't last.  There'll be
rain before the afternoon's out."

"But there's not a cloud in the sky."

"Not now, but I know the weather on the Moor.  But, my ladies need
attending to."  He led the way over to the milking parlour.  Cows are good
creatures when it comes to milking.  They were waiting, slightly
impatiently, outside.  Andy let them in, and they made their way to the
stalls.

"They know where to go?"

"Yes, they prefer to go to the same stall.  They get slightly annoyed,
sometimes very annoyed, when you have to direct them to another stall."

So began a long day.  After the cows were milked, we went back into the
house for some breakfast.  Then the milking parlour was cleaned.  Some of
the jobs, in particular the liberal use of the hose was handed over to me.
Mid morning there was a quick coffee.  Lunch was sandwiches and an apple,
followed later by milking the cows again.  We also had to tramp across some
fields to repair a fence.

At some moment, a quick cup of tea was snatched in the afternoon, but by
this time the sky was overcast, and there was a distinct cold damp feel to
the air.  At four o'clock a typical fine Dartmoor drizzle set in, with the
misty rain drifting in descending columns slowly across the land.  We just
carried on working, and getting wet.

"This time of year there's no point in trying to keep dry, as long as you
can have a shower, and get into dry clothes when you finish for the day."

It was gone six o'clock when we stopped working.  I was exhausted after
such a long day engaged in manual work.

I had asked a lot of questions so I learnt a lot about farming that day.
We got on well together.  I realised what a lonely job farming was,
especially for Andy who lived and usually worked alone.

"Some days I never talk to a soul.  Though sometimes of an evening I give
my sister a ring, just for someone to talk to."

Andy thanked me most profusely, as I prepared to trudge the hundred yards
back home.  "I don't know about you, Phil, but I have enjoyed today.  It is
great to have some company, and thanks for all the help."

"I've enjoyed it too.  I think I'll sleep well tonight."

Andy laughed.  "If you want to do it again, you're more than welcome."

"I'll probably take you up on that.  I shall probably nod off at the Drake
tonight."

"Pick you up in an hour?"

Three weeks later I spent another day with Andy on the farm.  I felt the
exercise did me good, and I certainly enjoyed his company.  I was now
considering him a close friend.  I wondered whether that friendship would
come to an abrupt halt if ever he should learn about my sexuality.  When he
drove us back from the Drake on that second evening I invited him for a
meal the following day.  He accepted.  We arranged for seven o'clock, as I
knew he liked to get to bed at a reasonable hour.

XXX

I did a simple meal; roast chicken with roasted vegetables, all easy and
done in the oven.  I opened a bottle of wine, and we had a leisurely meal.
I cleared the table, and we sat down by the fire for a cup of coffee.  Andy
had been the one asking most of the questions, mainly about my work and my
academic subject.  The contrasts between our occupations were many, his
largely manual, mine everything but.  His working hours demanding 'early to
bed, early to rise'. Often I worked into the early hours, when preparing or
writing, It was a time of day when I would not be interrupted.

It is amazing how easy it is for a conversation to go from safety into the
quicksands.

"Thanks for that meal, I really enjoyed someone else's cooking.  How long
have you been living alone?" asked Andy.

"Ever since Manchester days."

"Were you in college or residence, whatever they call it up there for the
whole time?"

"I was in hall for the first year only."

"So were you house-sharing with a group of other students?"

"Not exactly."

"What do you mean by not exactly?"

"I was sort of house-sharing."

Andy caught my hesitation in answering.  "Sorry if I'm being nosey."  He
gave me a grin.

I thought, shall I tell him?  He may be a typically homophobic rustic!  He
had been married so he was likely to be straight.  Should I risk
sacrificing the friendship on the altar of truth?  I decided the truth was
at this stage important; I would come out to Andy.

"I lived with a guy for two years, he was more than just my landlord."

Andy's eyes were now wide open staring at me.

"Yes, I'm gay."

His reaction was totally unexpected, he just roared with laughter, and
rolled around for two or three minutes laughing his head off.  Eventually
he got control and managed to speak.  "The truth.....the truth, my dear
Phil...... is I'm gay too!"

I just stared at him for a moment, and then roared with laughter.

How could it be that two gay men, who had got to know each other so well,
each counted the other as a friend, and yet the gaydar of neither of them
had registered the possibility?

"I'm glad that is now out in the open," I remarked.

"I'd been fearing that somehow you'd find out and that'd be the end of our
friendship."

"Same here!"

I think we sat there just looking at each other, grinning like a couple of
Cheshire cats, trying to work out what this meant for us both.

"So what are we going to do about it?  I'm afraid that if we do things
together the chemistry may not be right, and that will break the
friendship."

"Not necessarily.  We can carry on, knowing that that side of things is a
blank."

"I suppose so.  But if we don't do something, we'll always be wondering if
we are missing some tasty icing on our cake of friendship."

We sat looking at each other, I think we were both wondering who, and how
any move should be made.  I know, I saw him afresh.  He was a sexy man,
with his well built body, his longish light brown hair, his blue eyes, and
frequent cheerful grin.

Andy made the first move.  He sat there in the arm chair, opened his legs
and undid the zip on his jeans, all the time watching me.  My eyes were not
on his face, but on his hands.  His right hand reached in and pulled out
his cock.  "That's what's on offer, Professor."  It was of average length,
about five and a half inches in its semi flaccid state, but it was thick,
very thick, certainly the thickest I had ever encountered or seen.  As he
held it, it began to harden and grow a further inch.  He was uncircumcised,
and as he held it the head began to appear out of the foreskin. It looked
magnificent.

I slipped off my chair, and on my knees covered the short distance between
our two chairs.  I looked up at him, and with my right hand held his cock,
it was so warm and hard by now.  I bent my head, and first kissed the head
and then slipped it in my mouth.

"You approve?"

"Oh yes!"  I put it back in my mouth.

"Don't I get a kiss?  Or are you only attracted to my cock?"

I moved so I was almost lying on top of Andy, and gave him a kiss.  It was
the first of a series of long slow kisses, soft, warm with tongues meeting
and exploring.  His hands reached to hold my head, and I moved so we could
kiss more comfortably.

"So far the chemistry holds good," said Andy.  "But I want to see what you
have to offer."

I moved and stood up in front of him.  I went to unzip myself, but he
pushed my hands aside.

"Let me discover for myself.  He pulled down my zip, and then undid my belt
and the button at the top of my trousers, which he pushed down.  I stood in
front of him, showing my well tented parts.  His hands felt my cock and
balls.  "You feel good.  Now for the sight test."  He pulled my pants down,
revealing my cock, standing out hard and proud, with more than just a drop
of precum on the head.  He now lent forward, kissed it and placed it in his
mouth.  One of his hands gently stroked the underside of my balls.

"Andy, sitting rooms are good for starters, but bed beds are better for
taking things further."

He looked up at me.  "Lead on, MacDuff!"

We pulled together our clothes, and I led the way upstairs to the bedroom.
There was no undressing of each other.  Silently we both undressed, and
slipped under the duvet at the same time from opposite sides of the bed.
We met in the middle, arms around each other, kissing deeply.

"I never expected the evening to end like this," said Andy.

"Me neither."

Our love making, and it was real love making, was gentle.  There was not
the frenetic activity there had been the first time with Inky, Bob, or the
evening dealing with all of Frank's pent up frustrations.  It was love
making, not just sex, certainly it was not pure lust. I think that it was
for both of us an expression of a friendship that had built up over the
previous weeks.  Sometimes I was on top, sometimes Andy, often side by
side.  I know we kissed a lot, and we talked a lot, Sometimes it was
murmurs of pleasure, and those expressions of endearment that are so
natural at such times; there even occasional snatches of
conversation. Somehow we found found ourselves side by side, head to tail,
giving each other a sixty-nine.  Andy's cock was indeed thick, but I could
get it in my mouth, though I must confess my mouth ached the next day.  I
think he downloaded first, and I was soon after.  When we had slightly
recovered we lay head to head, side by side, arms round each other in
blissful contentment.

Andy stirred, reached for his watch and look at the time.  "It's nearly
eleven!  I'm afraid I need to get back.  My ladies will be wanting to be
milked all too soon."

"And you need to recover from your milking!"

"Exactly."  He then started tickling me.  I had not been tickled for years,
and was surprised I was still ticklish.  This led on to lots of laughter,
and a final bout of kissing.  We dressed and he was gone.

The next day, when I had eaten, I went round to Andy's.  He had just
finished work.

"Hi, Phil.  Good to see you," he said as opened the door.  "Come on in."
He smelt of the farm and hard work.

"I thought, I would just check that you got home all right last night."

He grinned.  "Yes, not quite believing what happened had happened."

"I know, unexpected, wasn't it?"

"Unexpected, and good."

"So you're not averse to doing it again?"

"No.  I would suggest it now, but as you can probably smell I'm not in a
fit state to do anything intimate with you."

"Yes, but a young boy, like you, needs some supervision when showering, to
make sure he cleans everywhere."

His grin broadened.  "Are you suggesting something, Professor?"

I nodded.

"Anyway who's the older of us?"

We compared birthdays, and I was the older by five days.

"If your shower is big enough to take two, I think I should make sure you
soap yourself everywhere."

"Everywhere?"  He looked down at his crotch which was already beginning to
tent.

"Yes, and especially down there; and when I've soaped you, you can soap
me."

"Come on, then."

We went upstairs, removed our clothes and got under the shower.  I think it
was one of the longest showers I have ever taken.  There was a preliminary
hug as the water began to wash us.  Then I soaped him, paying particular
attention to his very hard cock, and his balls and crack.  He enjoyed it
all.  Then he soaped me.  Then we stood run rubbing our very soapy cocks
together, while we held each other in a firm embrace.  We both came, and a
large quantity of soap and cum was washed down the drain.  We dried
ourselves, both of us having greatly enjoyed the half hour shower.

So started my relationship with Andy.  Early on we discussed the
possibility of living together, but our working hours would have made it
difficult.  But we saw each other frequently.  Usually it was for a meal
and then some fun.  Occasionally the shower routine.  We did sleep together
at times, but he had to rise early; and I was never my best at that hour.
We could enjoy ourselves sufficiently.  One of the advantages of living
close to each other, up a lane that only led up to one other small cottage
a mile further on at the edge of the Moor, was that very few people came up
there.  There were no nosey gossipy villages to see the frequency, or the
unusual hours of some of the coming and going between our homes.

X-X-X

Frank was getting more and more frail.  My visits to him became more
frequent.  He could no longer drive, be became dependant on carers, coming
in at first once, then twice and finally three times a day.  He refused to
go into any form of full time care.

One of his carers phoned me on a Tuesday morning early.  I cancelled
lectures and meetings for the next few days.  I was with him by one
o'clock.  He was very weak, and confined to his bed.  There was now a nurse
almost full time at the house.  It was late on Wednesday when he slipped
away, dying peacefully in my arms.

I owed a lot to Frank.  He had been a good friend, and very helpful when I
was working at my D.Phil.  He had wanted to put a picture of me alongside
Charlie, but I had objected.  I didn't want to make love in front of
myself!  He left me a tidy sum of money from his estate.  I took the
painting and photographs of Charlie.  I had not the heart to throw them
out, as they had meant so much to Frank.  When I went through his
possessions I found a portrait of himself matching the one of Charlie.
They hang on opposite walls in my study at Becket's Farm.

X-X-X

But I had kept Andy fully informed about my finding Inky's email
address. We had talked over together whether I should reply, I kept him
fully in the picture with all that happened.


XXXX Jeffrey Fletcher at jeffyrks@gmail.com