Chapter 11

The summer finished and I was due to fly back to America. Now I wasn’t sure. I really liked being with her.

“Don’t be stupid, this is what you’ve worked for. And I don’t expect you to be celibate whilst you’re there. I won’t be.” she looked at me.

“I wouldn’t expect you to be.” I replied and she smiled. I’d passed the test.

“Actually I shall be, I don’t expect you to be, boys are different – they are designed to spread it far and wide; but I shall treat myself to a couple of toys, and wait for Christmas.” I could have argued the point with her, with documentation and detail, but that seemed dangerous. She liked me for myself, and I didn’t ever want her to think I’d chemically altered her to find me attractive.

Back at Aunty Jean’s the first thing to do was pay the rent. I never said that, but I did kind of think of it as giving something back for her kindness. I was getting used to enjoying voluptuous women too. I liked the word ‘voluptuous’, she did too. So much better than ‘fat’. It was while I was squeezing her massive mammaries that I found the lump. It wasn’t big, but it was there. She was nervous and wouldn’t visit the doctor alone; which was an odd situation for the doctor to find herself in. Aunty Jean asked me to go in with her; and, although they performed the examination behind a screen, I was in the same room as my aunt, naked from the waist up. I don’t think Doctor Melissa Thurne had ever a case like this before; I mean family members often came, but they waited outside. Things happened quickly after that: biopsy taken, options discussed, breast removed, chemo-therapy started. The doctor never understood why Aunty Jean was so grateful to me; we never tried to tell her; that way probably would result in visits from the FBI, the CIA, the National Family Standards Committee, the Re-Elect the President by Pretending to Care Force, the Catholic Institute for Ethical Behaviour, the Baptist Union of Mothers. Okay, I made some of that up.

Even when I went to Brown, I came back often to support her. She was brave and strong and reacted well. She credited me with saving her life by finding the lump early. Her bridgeclub came round and demanded breast examinations too; “and the rest” laughed Aunty Jean. She was very brave. So were her bridge club – and so was I for the examinations I was encouraged to perform.

She opted not to have her breast rebuilt, she wore a bra with lots of padding. One weekend I decided it was time, and used the spray. She kept her bra on, but admitted that the sex had done wonders for her self-confidence. That was the idea. So my super-power really could be a power for good as well as for satisfying my every sex-fantasy. Aunty Jean stayed in bed for the rest of the day after we’d finished an afternoon, evening and morning session. She was exhausted; exhausted and very happy.

You’ll be wondering about university. I mean half the students are ready to go horizontal if you so much as look at them aren’t they? Well, not so much it seemed. This was becoming the age of sensible, nearly celibate young people. Not all, but a lot. And students were paying a fortune for their education, they wanted their money’s worth. I was surprised. But then I had a scholarship, a full one, with accommodation costs! There wasn’t even much drinking. I tried a bar or two, but they wanted to ID me, and I was underage in the USA (but not in the UK, how does that work?), so I was out. I gave up, bought a big bucket with a lid, and started making my own beer. The first batch was the colour and taste of crap (and that was my review; other people were less polite). But I did improve.

I tried out a couple of freshers, both of them just assumed that they were hot for sex because they were away from home. Which was partially true anyway. I was determined to be cool, not become ‘Mr Sleaze’ for the number of girls found under my sheets. I was lucky that I wasn’t sharing. My room was a two person, but the other guy got a better offer (I did wonder what a better offer meant, Brown being a very, very good university) and pissed off the week before term started. I don’t know what the better offer was, but I wished him well. It was too late to fit someone else in apparently, the computer program couldn’t deal with last minute adjustments. They had tried it last year and it had gone into meltdown and re-assigned every single student (several to share the same bed!). They didn’t wish to risk that so they apologised and said I couldn’t have a room mate. You can imagine I wasn’t too upset. I actually thought ‘oh, so Aunty Jean could visit’. I think I’m pretty thoughtful sometimes. Anyway. I wasn’t ploughing (or plowing) through all the freshers, or the glee club, or the girls beach volley ball team (yet! - man! You should see the bouncing boobs when they play in their little tee shirts and tight shorts). But the first real university experience came with two graduate students. They were tall, slim, could have been sisters. Long blonde wavy locks; tight jumpers over prominent breasts; rounded, pert bottoms in tight jeans; and an attitude of superiority that was galling to a great degree.

JJaney was doing a history PhD in some ridiculously abstruse subject like the effect of financial independence on the social network of Chinese populations in America in the 19thC. Okay, so that was exactly what she was doing, I pretend I didn’t pay attention, but she would never fucking shut up about it; quoting statistics about the pay gap between Chinese men and women in San Francisco or the amount of money shipped back to China by these populations. I did discover an effective way to shut her up, we’ll get to that. And that was no mistyping at the start of this paragraph, she spelt her name with two Js; she thought it made her special.

Min (never did bother to find out her real name, until ... we’ll come to that) was a Chemistry graduate, which should have marked her out as something special anyway. She was, she told me, from the East Coast, “one of the Boston Spelzas” like that meant something. Apparently this family arrived on the seventh ship to arrive in Virginia. She was proud of being able to trace her ancestors back to Aristide belSpelza, who seems to have been in England because Italy, Spain and France were all keen to talk to him about some minor infractions concerning creating gold plated lead coinage. Poacher turned gamekeeper, he became the treasurer on the ship. I suggested he probably was taking a cut of the proceeds, she didn’t like that. It wasn’t like I was calling her Dad a crook, this was a while ago, several generations back. My great-great-Grandad did time for running off with the Christmas Fund or something. I quite like the idea of having a bad egg or two in the box. She didn’t, she told me that I was insulting the USA and I should “go back if I didn’t like it here”. People can be very touchy. She didn’t know that she was playing with fire.

JJaney and Min were good friends, so they both looked daggers at me every time they saw me. Since Min was an assistant in our undergrad practicals, she saw me a lot, and she always had some criticism of my technique; some of it was justified, I won’t lie. But she was also just being a bitch because she hated my guts. Even Steph – Stephanie, who I paired up with in the sessions, noticed that she had, as she put it “picked a loser, Min hates you, what did you do? She’ll make sure you get bad marks, and therefore so will I.” I tried to explain that my English sense of humour hadn’t translated. “You idiot! Don’t you know anything? Daughters of Plymouth take themselves very seriously. And then you go and say ‘yeah, but your ancestor was a thief’.”

“I only said probably. It was a joke.”

“So will your marks be on this practical. And so will mine! You are a very clever, but stupid fucker, you know that, right?” I thought that if she wanted to meet really clever but stupid, she should probably meet Jerry.

You’ll be wondering about Steph. She was, is, lovely. Built like a Russian tank; unsophisticated, tough, heavy, robust, but with a strangely attractive appearance in a medieval way. She was one of the few people who made Aunty Jean look sexy (I can say that, because that is precisely what Aunty Jean said to me when she met Steph.) She (Steph) was, is, and I suspect always will be, a virgin. She is married to chemistry. It isn’t that she is brilliant, but she is so dedicated that sheer hard work has gained her a well-earned place in a very (very, very) large chemical company. She told me recently that she turned down a promotion because it would have moved her from the laboratory bench that she loves, she doesn’t want to manage people, she wants to manage chemicals. Even if she had been the most attractive woman on the planet, I don’t think I could have brought myself to cuckold her first love – chemicals.

But the other two, well, Min anyway. They were different. I suppose JJaney just irritated me because of her stupid name and that she and Min were friends and that she just took Min’s side and told people I was a shit (okay, she was a loyal friend, but see the Aesop’s fable about the heron and the crows, fly with the crows, get caught and killed as one of them; what can I say? She was also very attractive). Oh and she called me a “fucking Limey Prick” when she was drunk once; yes, I was drunk too. I had just explained to her that her nation had practised genocide in the good old USA, just like we did in Australia (okay, and a few other countries), she just launched into me with the accusation; like it was all my fault! I was being nice! I might have forgiven that if it hadn’t been for the other things ... and the fact that she was slim, sexy and blonde. Yup! I was thinking with my prick too.

By the way, they were just good friends, Min and JJaney. Not lesbians. I did ask during one of their sessions with me, they weren’t in a position to lie, well they were lying in a position where lesbian experience would have been useful, I suspect. They took a while to work out how to deal with each other; they told me that they had only ever seen each other in bra and pants, nothing less; until now.