International Java Service is a forward thinking company. Unlike the IT companies run by accountants or self-serving bureaucrats; this one in run by Phillip Spector, who was programming Java when it was Java 1.0, and before that he had programmed in APL, and even (though he was less proud of this) Cobol. He understood that ‘resources’ were ‘things’ and people were valuable. A person with two legs and two arms who understood a customer detailed requirements and their business strategy was not to the same as an outsourced, far away random person at the end of a phone who had no understanding of the business, the application or (some of the time) the language.
So Phil – as he liked to be known – introduced the £4000 p.a. personal development budget. Within reason (“no pole dancing classes, Mandy ... Oh I don’t know though” - he was that kind of boss who could get away with a comment like that.), anything was acceptable. Of course, most people would choose Oracle DBA exams or something. Mandy chose German, including a week at a German language school in Duesberg. And why not? Half their customers were German, the more German speakers, the better. Kerr’s mother was German, he spoke it like a poorly educated native – in other words his German was a little simplistic, but eminently adequate. He had taken, and passed, Sun’s Java certification exams at his own expense. That had been one of the reasons for the introduction of this plan. It was plain that people like Kerr could move on, then who would be able to say “Oh yes, Symbiotic Embolisms Ltd had that problem, you need to close down, clear the interface settings and make it reset them at start up. It should sort the problem” Knowledge was vital in a knowledge based industry. IBM or HP or whoever just poached people to get the skills these days, they didn’t understand the need for experience in depth. Kerr also knew one end of a database from the other and he wrote the book on IJS Server, the product that had made the company name – by ‘he wrote the book’, I mean he literally wrote the design (the redesign), the training manual, and the internal technical documentation.
So, when Kerr chose to take an MA in Medieval Studies through Littlehampton University, Phil just thought ‘why not?’. It meant Kerr was happy, and it didn’t make him more employable in IT, so less risk of poaching. Phil Spector was a canny lad.
At the end of Year One, they had their summer school. Two weeks at the Littlehampton University Centre for Medieval and Architectural Studies. LUCMAS was renowned across Europe for their work; Kerr had been interested in history for a while; his ex-wife had introduced him to it when she did history A-level at an evening class. He wondered for a long time whether his interest had been a factor in driving her away. She had been pleased at his interest at first, but then started to be intimidated. He read more history than her, he stopped checking her essays as she objected to her challenging her factual inaccuracies. Perhaps he should have maintained his distance. But that wouldn’t have stopped her having an affair with her history teacher would it? No, he finally saw her leave with a sigh of relief, he didn’t like confrontation.
Kerr booked his two weeks holiday to attend the summer school (there was a limit to Phil’s largesse, Kerr understood that, the trip to Germany for Mandy was a clear benefit for the company; this not – though Kerr did point out that customers liked consultants that didn’t only talk about bits, bytes, and megaflops (“Like Everton? Ha ha” said Phil, Kerr supported Everton – since he supported Barnsley, it was taken in good heart).
The train down – Kerr didn’t like to drive if he didn’t have to – was good, even the weekend in London on the way was fun, the new National Theatre production of The Merry Wives of Windsor had more (but welcome) nudity than he expected, but it was still a good production. The only naked torso he could have done without was Toby Belch. Anyway, on down to the south coast and two weeks with no Java, not computers (except to write essays) and no bloody customers!
“Welcome, welcome. Collect your name badge at that table, please wear it at least for the first couple of days, so everyone gets used to you, register, and collect you agenda for week 1” The course supervisor was energetic, enthusiastic, and as camp as they come. There had been an Easter long weekend, but a customer crisis had meant Kerr couldn’t attend, so this was the first time he met the tutors and the students. “My, you’re a man!” said Malcolm MacClaren (“Two ‘C’s I keep telling them!).
“Top marks for observation, what gave me away?” Kerr smiled, he was just noticing that the majority of students were female. Certainly all the ones registering at the moment.
“Well, we weren’t sure you see. And as you can see, the rest of the students are female”
“All of them? I’m the only man?”
“Well, yes. Apart from me of course” ‘and you are as camp as a ... very camp thing’ thought Kerr, his imagination failing him for a comparison for a man with a pink shirt, embroidered trousers and a rainbow silk scarf tied as a cravat, Malcolm - ‘call me Mal’ - also had a tendency to wave his arms in broad, elegant circles.
Registration complete, they were directed behind the modern buildings towards the listed structure that was ‘graduate accommodation’. It was actually only used for conferences and special events; there had been ‘events’ happening there. The university were hoping the recent refurbishment would help.
The building was – to a load of history students – fantastic. It was built into the remains of the Littlehampton Nunnery. At the evening reception, Professor Chirk regaled them.
“Yes, the nuns had a certain reputation. It was one of those reputations that enabled Henry the Eighth to close nunneries. In this case, there does seem to be plenty of evidence that the nuns, umm [he looked at the daughter who had accompanied her mother, mentally shrugged and continued] provided a service to visiting dignitaries that extended beyond a bed and refreshment. The monastery nearby appears to have provided regular custom as well. The nuns supported an orphanage and we have some evidence here that they provided a lot of the custom for that as well.
One can only guess at the surprise the younger novices may have felt when they discovered what their life of service to the church might include. But, it is also true that such institutions provided a safe and secure environment for, well, for prostitution; both for the clients and for the workers. In exchange, the nunnery received many benefactions from well-wishers and that in time proved its undoing. The King was keen to obtain the many valuable objects that the nunnery had.
Much of the nunnery was demolished to provide building material for Littlehampton House, the house of Sir Roger Mandible. Sir Roger, incidentally, took his sister – who was the erstwhile mother superior – and two of the younger nuns into his care. They were reputed to have provided a useful medical treatment centre for the peasants for many years; they also appear to have provided Sir Roger with about twelve children, since three were born within eight months of each other, we hardly need speculate on the identity of the mothers.
He continued in similar vein for some time whilst the students wished he would shut up so they could get another glass of wine/coke/beer. At the back, Lavinia was asking her mother, Natasha, some questions that she was struggling with.
“Did he mean that the nuns were selling this sexual favours, mother? I thought nuns were dedicated to God? And did Sir Roger what’s his name father a child with his sister?” Natasha was dressed like an earthmother type (flowing clothes and henna tattoos, that kind of crap), but it appeared that didn’t extend to free love as she was having a problem with explaining what the nuns were up to. Kerr smiled and moved away, ending up talking to a sixty-five year old woman.
“Fancy! I wonder if the nuns were willing or simply submissive. There is a ruined nunnery near Oxford where Henry the second met one of his mistresses, so it is definitely documented that this kind of thing went on.”
“Perhaps, in a violent world, there were more women than men? A nunnery was a satisfactory place for them. They might not have been entirely dedicate to that life though. Weren’t there women only commercial communities too?”
“Belgium had a few, and yes, now you mention it, Nottingham? Lincoln? I can’t remember. The memory isn’t as good as it was. That’s part of the reason for doing this course, it keeps the grey matter working, hopefully. You weren’t at the Easter meeting were you? You didn’t miss much to be honest”
“No, work got in the way” Kerr explained about the education budget and how work still had to take priority. “That’s why I took this as holiday willingly; holiday trumps work trumps education trumps holiday”
“Kind of rock, paper, scissors? Still, I’d have loved to have worked for such a forward thinking company when I was working.”
“There aren’t many around sadly. Too many think that all training has to be tightly geared to squeezing an extra dollar out of the customer. But you don’t look young enough to have retired. That isn’t a chat up line, though it does sound cheesy; its true”
“Yes, early retirement, medical issues” she didn’t offer to elaborate, and, of course, he didn’t ask. Even if she hadn’t been female, he wouldn’t have asked; but female and medical problems are two things that together constitute a triple lock.
They chatted inconsequentially over some wine and then headed back towards the accommodation. A stone wall had been tastefully used as the outer wall for a new set of modern rooms inside. Only one part of the original had survived, it had been used as a barn. This had been converted onto a common room, with rooms occupying the other side of the ground floor and the floor above. From a distance, the wall looked like a ruin, the floors inside being hidden perfectly. Ivy had been allowed along part of the wall.
Wishing everyone goodnight, Kerr made his way to his room upstairs his was roughly where the superior had had her larger room. The footings and internal wall joins had still existed, so this had been created as a larger, double. Two other doubles were available, Natasha and Lavinia had one. He slept well, with dreams that woke him and then vanished as soon as he woke. In the morning he rose, rested, with a significant erection. “That won’t do, the women won’t want to see that” he said to himself; an inner voice said ‘oh, I don’t know’ and he smiled at the idea. He dressed in a dressing gown and went to the showers. The rooms were not ensuite, they each had a sink, but the showers and toilets were downstairs, there had been concern about plumbing the whole space too much apparently. Still, the showers were individual, so he was able to shower in warm water (not losing the erection) and then switch to cold at the end for that astringent (and deflating) effect. It worked a treat. He shamefacedly peed in the shower and washed it well away, dressed, and went back to his room before returning downstairs and across to the canteen. Breakfast was a buffet, some people were already there, but he was at least one of the first. Natasha and Lavinia turned up and immediately started a whispered argument over whether Lavinia could have smoked salmon with her scrambled egg. Natasha was, of course, vegetarian. “Darling, it will be farmed salmon, it’s awful. The drugs they have to take.”
“What drugs Mummy? What drugs do salmon take”
“All intensive farms use lots of drugs”
“Oh! Don’t be silly, you know I mean unnatural drugs!”
“I’m having salmon. End of!”
And so it went on. Kerr couldn’t see who won.
The morning was taken up with introductions to the agenda, to the area, to the lecturers. Then in the afternoon they had a tour of the remains of the nunnery. Ridges showed the layout of walls; it had been an extensive, rich establishment; no wonder Henry closed it. Dr Foster, the lecturer, gave them some of the stories that surrounded the nunnery. Some of the stories – that the young novices had to satisfy the mother superior before they were allowed to stay, that the nunnery was allowed to spirit away some of its wealth to France (or Ireland), and finally that they managed to hide some of their valuables and had never been discovered.
“But these are all stories of course. The truth is that the religious houses were often the only sources of learning or health...” he continued as they went around, explaining the influence the houses had and the problems that arose when they went. “But,” he explained “in time this spawned the rise of the grammar schools, established by local merchants because they recognised the need for education”
“Interesting first day” said Kerr to Natasha, who he found himself sitting opposite. “And what did you do?” he said, addressing Lavinia. She looked at him, and mumbled something. “Sorry?”
“I watched TV”
“That’s what I said” interjected Natasha, “There is so much to see”
“But it’s all, like trees and cows and stuff.” said Lavinia, like she had said this a hundred times before.
“I imagine that could be a bit boring for you. So you watched Jeremy Kyle?”
“Noooo! He’s poisonous. I watched CBBC, and a couple of old films. ‘My Favourite Wife’”
“Ha! I know that film!” laughed Kerr, “It’s terrible”
“I know! They were awful to the second wife, she did nothing wrong!”
“I think it’s what was called a ‘screwball’ comedy” he actually made the quotes. She had brightened up, not all these people were boring losers perhaps. Margaret, the sixty-something year old women, joined the conversation.
“They aren’t meant to be taken too seriously, they were kind of like our formulaic TV comedies I think. Rolled out for the masses. Still, interesting to see the attitudes that were acceptable...”
“And the cars” added Kerr. “I like the cars”
Natasha had found a yoga class and decided to “pop along for a recharge. Sure you won’t come poppet?” Lavinia declined.
So, sitting with Kerr and Margaret in the common room, she opened up as to why she was there.
“Mummy, well, she was into more free relationships when she was younger, so I don’t know who my father is, but that’s okay, except that I have to be here. No offence, this isn’t my thing. I would usually have gone to stay with Granny and Grandpa, but...” she tailed off. “This wouldn’t be so bad if Mummy didn’t try to get me on her ‘wavelength’. I mean I want to read Katherine Mansfield, not Jonathan Livingstone Seagull or some such” Neither adult pushed, later she returned to it. “Grandpa has been arrested ... he ... he’s accused of doing things with girls, you know young girls. He never ... with me ... but, well, it’s difficult.”
“That must be really difficult for you” said Margaret. Something apparently nobody else had thought about. It was all, ‘keep her safe’, but she was torn up inside about what to think. She loved her Grandpa and he’d never touched her. “Perhaps that’s what you need to focus on. I’m guessing Natasha would love you whatever you did. Perhaps you love Grandpa the same? If you can’t visit, why not write to him? I’m sure he’d appreciate that.”
She brightened up a little.
“Stay there.” Kerr went off, and came back with his laptop. “Ever played Plants Versus Zombies? No, I thought not.”
She watched as the games started, “But that’s stupid”
“I warn you, its addictive. You can borrow the laptop tomorrow if you like”
That night, the same dreams, just out of reach when he woke. Perhaps, he thought, it is because of all these women. There were twenty people on the summer school, and only one of them was male. Half were younger than thirty – these were still looking for careers and this was something to get an MA and also interesting (teachers, mostly); the other half were older and a few were in careers many were married and had time on their hands, one – Margaret – was retired. Around half the total group were currently married. Many were divorced, perhaps working part-time and receiving alimony. There were a lot of attractive women wondering around in night clothes in the late evening.
Kerr usually slept naked, but, realising that this was mixed accommodation, he had brought pyjama bottoms and a dressing gown. The dressing gown was large and towelling, it did him no favours. He was fifty two, admitted to forty five because he could still get away with it, and fit. He’d enquired about the sports centre and the following morning he got up earlier and spent an hour on running machine and weights. He walked back in his sports gear, dripping with sweat. A couple of early risers watched him walk through the common room and up the stairs “Roaaaaw” said Kirsty, quietly, she was forty and recently divorced. She missed having a man. That’s what she said. She meant (though she hadn’t really thought that this was what she meant) that she missed having a man fucking her at the weekend. Her husband had been a shit in so many ways, but he had committed to his marital responsibilities bigtime.
“Kirsty!” laughed Andrea “You are incorrigible”, but she still watched his tight bottom, no flab, walking up the stairs. Andrea was married, satisfactorily, not too successfully. Certainly the bedroom had become rather deserted in the last ten years. They had both blamed having children, they were too tired. But really they had lost interest in each other.
They had both had strange dreams last night and blamed Dr. Foster’s talk about naughty nuns.
The day proceeded with lectures, and their first assignment – an essay on the significance of agriculture in Medieval culture. The early evening was spent by most in research. Lavinia gave Kerr back his laptop “Can I borrow it tomorrow, if you aren’t using it? I’ve reached the fourth level. It’s getting harder”
“You are wasting your time with silly games.” said Natasha, but it was half-hearted. She was enjoying the lectures and, to be honest, was grateful not to have a bored teenager to think about. Lavinia went into the TV corner and watched a re-run of Top Gear, concluding for the umpteenth time that Jeremy Clarkson was just a schoolboy in big clothing.
Some of them spent a little time in the bar after dinner and another hour of research. All were in bed by eleven. Kerr got up and went down to the toilets.
When he returned, there was something different. Yes, there was someone in his bed. “Have you come to the wrong room?”
“No, yours is the only one with a man in it. I need to discuss the assignment with a man” replied Kirsty.
“Right ... well.” He had discarded the pyjamas earlier because he was too hot. “Only, I haven’t anything on under this” He still wasn’t joining all the dots. Like the fact that women don’t get into bed to discuss essay assignments.
She fiddled around, and then pulled her nightdress over her head. “Do you want me to take off my knickers too?”
“No! I mean, no. Not yet” He took off the dressing gown and got into bed, trying not to brush her with his very stiff penis. He needn’t have worried, she reached down to check it for herself. Then they spent half an hour talking about the division of labour in Medieval peasantry. Then they spent half an hour discussing the role of sex in cementing the village structure. Then Kerr pulled Kirsty’s panties off, stroked her wet labia and then her inner lips and then her clitoris as she reached a very satisfying orgasm. He rolled onto her without even asking; he was passed caring whether she wanted him to do that or not; luckily she did. He sprayed her insides with semen and she smiled gloriously ‘yes, she still had it’. She slipped down the bed and sucked him clean. Then he wiped her clean with her panties. Then he rubbed her with her panties, then she climaxed into her sticky panties, adding some more female fluids to the messy underwear. They slept for a while, and then made love all over again. Once again her panties were the cleaning rag of choice.
Despite being up half the night, both awoke at 6am refreshed. She climbed out of bed, put her nightdress on – which did little in the horizontal sunlight to hide her breasts or her unshaven pussy. She headed back to her room before anybody saw. And he headed for the gym. They both knew this was a one off. Just an itch that needed scratching. Turned out there were a few itches going around.
The following night, another head appeared around his door. He never locked it, which Andrea was pleased about, she wanted to ask his advice about the essay, she said. It was due in the next day. Actually she’d finished it, but well, maybe ... Before he could say that he wasn’t wearing anything, she said “It’s chilly can I get in?” and she pulled back the sheet and slid in. “Ooo. You aren’t wearing anything, sorry”
She didn’t offer to remove her pyjamas, like Kirsty had her nightdress; and they did talk about history for a short while. As they talked, her hand started stroking his arm. And he took the hint and slid a hand into her pyjama top. “Ooo, what are you doing? No, I didn’t say stop.” He undid her top so he could get at both breasts, tweeking the nipples until they stood up hard, and then sucking on them. ‘My husband never did that, was it because he’d seen me suckling the children?’ she wondered. He sucked hard, and then gave her deliberate lovebites around the nipple. She gave little gasps and then giggled. It was like being a naughty schoolgirl again – she had enjoyed having boys suck her tits then, but never let them do what Kerr did next. He pulled her pyjama bottom and panties down to mid thigh and told her he was going to drink her nectar. She didn’t even understand such allusions, until he lapped at her vagina and made her jump. This was actually a first. Brian didn’t do oral and neither had her other lover many years ago ‘oral wasn’t discovered until 1991’ she told herself, though she knew that wasn’t true. She gurgled as Kerr tried to keep up with the fluid coming down her vagina, he told her later it was like a flood, though it was actually more of a dull rivulet. He didn’t like the taste, which was why he was struggling to cope, more than because of the amount. She let out a kind of long gasp, like a tyre being deflated rather than a balloon being popped. No less enjoyable than an explosive orgasm, she assured him. She’d always come in that way; always, that is, if she did it herself.
She made to slide down to reciprocate. “No, sister, I want your cunny now” said Kerr and mounted her roughly and very thoroughly. He thrust into her like she was unwilling, and he and she both loved it. She was enjoying being an object of overwhelming lust and desire; and he was enjoying ramming himself so hard into her that her tits were bouncing up and down and up again with each thrust. He let fly with some satisfaction. It was days later that Andrea wondered if she might still be fertile. It was also only in the morning that he wondered why he’d called her sister. She assumed it was some strange incest fancy he had. He was convinced that was not it. He didn’t have a sister for a start, so fucking her would have been a double fantasy. And actually the idea of incest was quite abhorrent to him.
Margaret spoke to him after the dinner that night. “Lavinia is enjoying Plants Versus Zombies, it’s by far the silliest game I’ve ever seen, but it isn’t some kind of murder, mayhem shoot-em up game, which is good.
I had the strangest dream last night. I dreamt I was the mother superior here. I won’t tell you what I was doing.”
“I think I can guess. I told myself I was getting ‘that way’ because I was surrounded by attractive women. But two of them have visited me recently.”
She looked at him. “You mean to... ?”
“And you’re saying they made the running? Come on, that never happens. You must have led them on somehow”
“Look, I’m fif- forty plus and in good shape, but not John deLorean, I don’t mean him do I? Jack de Manio? No,” he was getting tongue tied, men don’t usually discuss their sex appeal with women this way “Anyway. I’m not first prize that two, TWO, separate women would come into my room and take off their clothes and get into bed with me without me even asking. I didn’t make this happen, I’m not saying they did either. Though neither seemed to be complaining.”
“Well, you’re safe with me aren’t you? I mean you won’t be overwhelmed by lust for me.”
“Why not? You’re good looking”
“And at least ten years older than you, twenty if we accept the estimates the younger ones have come up with – they’ll have a sweepstake by the end of the trip, I’m sure of it. Also...”
“Unless ‘also’ is you are a lesbian. I don’t think any of that signifies. You are attractive. Given the opportunity I’d...” What was he saying? He was having a friendly chat with this woman and telling her he’d like to boff her.
“I’m not all here, you know. But I don’t deny I miss sex” What was she doing? She was telling an almost stranger that her husband hadn’t had sex with her for a long time.
“Mother Superior? Shall we repair to my chamber?” He was starting to believe the nuns were channelling through these women.
“Are you sure? I mean, yes please!” They left separately. Officially she slept downstairs, there was no reason to go up the stairs, but, as luck would have it, no-one was around on the staircase as she scooted up. He held the door slightly open so she didn’t need to knock or even turn the handle. He shut it quietly and, in the dark undressed himself and then her. “What is the etiquette in these circumstances? Should the man be naked first or second?” she asked
“Fuck knows” was his Anglo-Saxon response.
He reached for her and realised what she had meant. She had only the one breast. “I had a mastectomy when they found a lump. The doctor wanted to take both, but I pleaded with him to let me keep one. So far it hasn’t shown any sign of carcinoma. Are you horrified? I understand.”
“Margaret, not to put too polite a point on it. I’m after your cunt, not your tit” He never spoke so rudely, so bluntly. She burst out laughing.
“Well, it’s a bit of a rusty hole I’m afraid, you inelegant swain. Still, I suppose I must succumb if you wish it sirrah”
“Ah, madam. I have here a most expedient lotion to make my entry full easy” He had brought KY Jelly with him. Not for sex, he explained, it was because he had a condition that made him very constipated sometimes and...
“You KY your finger and poke it out? My, you are as open as me tonight” she said. It was true, it was as if there were no secrets. As it happened, there were no unplumbed female spaces either. Having mentioned digital invasion of his own anus, she suggested he try hers. She’d never been fingered, she said, not there anyway. She thought the days of her orgasms were long gone. But the vaginal fluids might have stopped, the nerves in her clitoris hadn’t given up. When he pushed gently in she sighed with pleasure, when his finger reached round and pushed into her anus, she gasped with surprise at the feeling. When his friction started to excite her, she endeavoured to keep up (and he endeavoured to slow down). When he pushed a second finger in, she opened her eyes wide and gasped “Fucking hell! Another!” and another pushed her over the limit as it did him.
‘I’m fucking a pensioner’ he thought. ‘A wrinkly old person’
‘I’m being fucked by a toy boy’ she thought ‘I could get used to this. But I think I’ll buy a vibrator and an electric toothbrush; in case hubby doesn’t take the hint and get some new lead in that pencil’ After he had completely lost interest, around the time, but not (she admitted) only because she had lost a breast, she had spent some time pleasuring herself. Now he’d taken early retirement too – heart condition – she had little opportunity to lie in bed late and finger her ‘lala’ to a pleasurable state. She had a plan, she would give him one more chance to start fucking her again else she would join him to the golf club for Christmas. He was obsessive enough to take it up in a big way; then she might have her time back.
Meanwhile, she wondered at herself for exposing her naked, deformed (as she saw it) body to this younger man. He might have been disgusted at the wrinkles, the hanging, lonely breast, the unkempt garden between her legs (didn’t young people mow it, trim it, shape it, or even shave it?), but he wasn’t. He had squeezed her one breast like it was one of a pair, he had sucked on its lonely nipple until it was standing up like a hard peanut (a phrase she had read once, she liked the idea of her nipple being a honey roasted peanut, delicious to the taste, she enjoyed seeing a man once more sucking on her breast like a suckling baby; not for the first time, she wondered if they were subconsciously disappointed not to get a mouthful of milk. She wished she had some honey. Then he produced some Cadbury Dairy Milk, he pushed the bar between her legs! What was he going to do? Surely he didn’t think a square bar of chocolate would fit in there? She needn’t have worried, when it was completely soft, he brought it up, unwrapped it carefully so as not to get any on the sheets, and smeared her breast with it; and then sucked and licked it all off, kissing her the while with chocolate smeared lips. Later she found herself doing the same with it and his penis. He made love to her like she was the sweetest, sexiest, twenty year old!
‘She makes love to me like she’s the sweetest, sexiest, twenty year old novice’ thought Kerr. ‘Wait, novice? Do I mean novice at sex or novice at being a nun? There is something weird about this place. Weird, but I’m not objecting to it’
By the end of the night, Margaret was sore. Sorer than she had ever been, she thought, even in those first heady weeks of marriage when her husband had been up for it several times a night. Then she had been young and fit, she wasn’t used to being ridden front ways, backways and then with her on top all in one glorious fuckfest! She was very, very sore, and very, very, content. Content, not least because Kerr was lying beside her with a big smile on his face. A man had fucked her to oblivion because he wanted to, not out of pity, or obligation. She moved and felt the sore, raw space between her legs again, and smiled.
At breakfast, Kirsty and Andrea looked at Margaret and smiled. They were a club. The one-night-stand club. Andrea whispered to Margaret. “Do you feel a slut? I do. It’s lovely” They all giggled with each other and went to have a lecture on The Rise of Venice in the Medieval World – the World Power City State.
It was becoming clear that there was something odd about this building. Some of them asked Professor Macadamian, who had called in to see them. She had set up the part time Masters courses, and had been aware of many ‘goings on’ in her time, no matter where the accommodation was. Summer Schools were like school trips, the normal rules of behaviour got slackened. She was aware, she said, of four marriages that had foundered after Summer School affairs; and five marriages that had resulted from them. So, on balance, the verdict was just in favour. “But this particular block?” someone persisted. Ah yes, well, when it had been graduate accommodation, there had been a higher than average number of partnerships, pregnancies and affairs, it was true. But that was probably because it was away from the main campus. She discounted any ‘spirit influence’ - saying that she hoped no intelligent person would put any store in such stories. Nevertheless, the college no longer used the rooms for long term accommodation. It was as if they hoped that short stays would mean people didn’t get inoculated by the effect.
A cleaner was more forthcoming “They do say that the nuns got up to all sorts, and that they still haunt the building. Lady Maria Mandible was the Mother Superior when it was closed. It was said she hired the nuns out or that they enjoyed the freedom of unmarried sex with no condemnation. Once, in Victorian times, the owner of Manley Mansion bought the right to remove the remainder of the stone. His wife had a miscarriage, then so did his sister. A spiritualist, who was a friend of Arthur Conan Doyle, said the nuns were angry. When Mr Smythe announced that he would protect the ruin as it was, his wife gave birth successfully, and then so did his sister. ‘Course it’s only stories.”
Kerr was sleeping in the rebuilt room exactly where the mother superiors cell had been.
Whatever the cause, whether simply freedom from home or slavery to a nun’s whim, that night a young, happily married, woman stripped off and slid into his bed without a ‘by your leave’ and let him rim her tight little anus before holding her buttocks wide for him to pummel it. Then she sucked him clean. She loved the decadent, musty smell of her bottom on his cock. Not once had he asked a woman to come to bed with him, unless you count the conversation with Margaret which had been the tone of someone asking about the weather or some innocuous subject and the subject matter of sex.
He expected it now, and was not disappointed the following night when the Indian – Shama – dressed up in her sari; came to his room and virtually did a dance of the seven veils for him. She was very good at it; by the end he was barely able to stop himself from throwing her on the bed and raping her hard and violently. She was actually willing for him to throw her on the bed and fuck her vigorously and hard; which was nearly the same thing. ‘I danced that for my husband on our wedding night’ she thought, ‘I never did it again, though. He loved it. I got embarrassed, but then I do it for this stranger and it’s clear that it works. I’ll do it again for him when I get back’ She went back to her room at 5am with the taste of semen and chocolate in her mouth, and the feeling of juices leaking from her vagina. Margaret was returning from the bathroom, Shama looked at her, getting ready to put a stern ‘I don’t care’ face on if Margaret condemned her with a look. Instead Margaret’s face lit up with a smile “Good for you” she said and touched Shama’s shoulder as they passed.
At breakfast, the smiles extended. Even those who hadn’t made the trip to mother superior (as Kerr was now nicknamed) found that a gentle stroking of the groin of a night was more enjoyable, relaxing, and satisfying that it was at home.
Sunday was the only day in the two weeks that nothing happened. Sunday was reserved as a relaxation day. People went walking, one or two went to church, a few even had visitors. And that night, nobody visited Kerr. He wasn’t surprised, it was as if he expected it. Nuns, of course; even these rather debauched nuns, might have seen Sunday as a day to avoid the pleasures of the flesh. He stopped himself, he was starting to believe the stories of ghostly nuns. It was said that the nuns were seen on August 1st. That had been the night they had had to leave. Henry had sent his soldiers to expel the nuns, but they had failed to arrive until night. Still, people didn’t cross Henry, so they told the nuns to leave. On the stroke of midnight – it was said, but then how would anyone know since they didn’t have watches – the nuns filed out of their nunnery. Sir Roger took his sister and two of her young favourites to his house. The rest disappeared. Many probably died on the road, some took up their hobby as a profession. Most looked back on the days in the nunnery with fondness.
The Thursday of the second week was the 1st August, people began to talk of staying up until midnight. It was all rubbish, of course, but then it was also nearly the end of the school, why not have a barbecue? The lecturers all opted out. They had careers which didn’t include progression through watching for ghosts. So the students organised themselves.
Finoula and her new lesbian friend Karen crowded into Kerr’s bed to confirm that lesbian sex was better than heterosexual sex. They tried a variety of positions. Finoula had to admit that having her girlfriend licking her cunt from the front while Kerr’s meaty point pinioned her from behind was actually better than lesbian or heterosexual sex. She came with a shout that woke a couple of others. They listened to her ecstatic, orgasmic, shrieks ... and smiled. A couple slid a finger or two down for a second relaxing frottage through their damp panties. Karen was definitely and exclusively lesbian, she tried to let Kerr enter her but found it too horrific. As a ‘forfeit’ she had to lick Finoula again whilst Finoula sucked off Kerr. It was hardly a ‘punishment’ since she liked doing it, and Kerr came in double quick time as he watched Karen’s head between Finoula’s legs. Finoula pulled Karen up and kissed her, transferring her mouthful to the lesbian, who swallowed with alacrity. It was only the act of male penetration she found abhorrent, she explained, his salty jelly was fine. Then she was laughingly pushed down to finish off Finoula. In the morning, they slept late, missed breakfast and the first lecture. The cleaner walked in, scoffed at the display of naked arms, legs, genitals and tits and started up her vacuum cleaner. She ignored them as they slid out of bed, trying to cover up what she had already seen. She was heard to say “Well, I can’t say I blame them, I would” as Kerr’s naked buttocks were covered by a towel and he rushed to the showers. The lecture room stopped Dr Foster’s lecture by a spontaneous round of applause when they tried to creep in unobserved. Even Lavinia was in the lecture (it being a more interesting subject than normal), and laughed at the antics of the grown ups.