Author’s notes: the setting should be familiar to anyone who shares my alma mater, and I’ve tried to be accurate. Dinner is one I had, but not at Downing; the flat exists, but Hazel never lived there; my old room is accurately depicted.
Hazel herself exists.
The events? I’ll leave you to guess.
Most work trips away from home, I dislike. Unfamiliar beds mean I don’t sleep well; hotels are often a bit soulless; and I don’t have my bits and pieces around me.
This work trip threatened, when I booked it, to be more of the same. A conference, at which I wasn’t presenting anything, improved by being in my old university city, where at least I’d be able to see friends, and stay with them, rather than in another hotel.
My grumpy prognosis of the trip improved when I managed to invite myself to stay with Hazel: an invitation that, due to some excellent timing, included dinner in the college hall, seated at High Table, as she was now a Fellow (as it were).
I arrived early that morning, by train, and headed to the conference venue. I yawned my way through the morning sessions; went sparingly at the buffet lunch (mindful of a Porterhouse Blue-inducing dinner ahead of me); networked resolutely over coffee; and managed to extract some use from the afternoon symposia.
As the conference wound to its conclusion, I picked up my bags, and walked the short distance across the city to Downing College. Summer treats the college kindly, with its vast grassy expanses. Unlike most of the Cambridge colleges, Downing has more of a campus feel, rather than the courtyards of the old, medieval institutions. I wound my way round the main buildings, past the Hall that would be the scene of dinner, and across the Fellows’ gardens.
Hazel had the run of a ground floor apartment in one of a run of houses backing onto the College: a fellow of only a year’s standing, she wasn’t senior enough for a wood-clad set in the old buildings. As an undergraduate, I’d lived for a year in a room that had once been the college’s first library. The college had since had at least two newer libraries, as its collection had expanded and increase: this one was in the oldest court of the college, on the third storey. Only slightly attic-like (albeit imbued with an ancientness hard to credit most student digs), it did have disadvantages. The staircase was beautiful, oaken, and extremely creaky, meaning late-night returns where heard by all. The kitchen was tiny and shared my neighbour, and thus also with their culinary disasters. The floor had its own sense of levels, and every piece of furniture stood, slightly drunkenly, at its own angle.
So, if less historic, there was a lot to be said about Hazel’s apartment. By the time I arrived, she’d made it home from what appeared to have been a busy day in the University Library, tracking down something obscure in the miles of shelving.
“After such a dusty, dismal day, I thought a drink was called for,” she informed me, holding out the tall glass as I returned from depositing my case in her spare room.
“A fine plan,” I affirmed, sipping. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
“Yes, though it might have raised more questions than solved, annoyingly. I’ll probably spend the rest of the week digging up second-hand references, trying to figure it all out. How was your thing?”
“Dull, necessary, and pleasingly finished,” I grinned. My aversion to such events was well known to Hazel.
“I’m sure you only came because you wanted a collegiate dinner,” she guessed, “You can’t get so many opportunities, now.”
I’d left Cambridge at the same time she took up the fellowship, moving into the private sector to escape a life in the laboratory.
“It certainly helped persuade me!” I replied, teasingly toasting her with the glass. “What time do we need to get there?”
“The usual; drinks at 7, dinner at half-past. Did you bother bringing a gown?”
“No, no-one will expect it, I reckoned,” I explained. I finished my gin: “I’ve got time for a shower, then, if that’s ok?”
“Of course: you know where everything is.”
I took advantage of the aforementioned modern plumbing, and made myself presentable for the evening. Suit and tie are sine qua non; although, as a graduate of the University, I was technically eligible, and expected, to don an academic gown for formal events, there would be plenty of other guests and visitors who wouldn’t, so I hadn’t brought one.
I came back down, and found Hazel rummaging for something or other in a handbag. She smiled as I came in:
“You always do scrub up alright, I suppose.”
I bowed, mockingly, enjoying the long friendship we’d had since our early undergrad days. Hazel, unable to escape her college post, was wearing her doctoral gown over a black dinner dress. The gown, of course, was designed for a centuries-old academia that was the preserve of men, and hasn’t seen much change. The hem, therefore, fell rather further down maltepe escort Hazel’s shapely legs than her dress, which was cut slightly above her knees, asymmetric, and snug around her hips, waist and bust.
“You’ll do, I suppose,” I allowed, grinning back. She sighed at me, rolling her eyes.
“We should get going; I think I’ve got everything.”
Dinner, as I had come to expect from these occasions, was tasty, plentiful, and convivial.
I found myself sat next to a Fellow I’d not met, and a post-graduate in a field tangentially related to my own academic past.
I probed the post-grad’s research over the starter (pea and coconut velouté) and fish course (never my favourite part of a meal, so I was surprised to love the smoked salmon and mozzarella terrine). Eventually, though, after a full day of other people’s research, I tired of this, so I politely switched my attention to the Fellow. Having no mutual professional interests, this was a rather more freely roaming conversation (over a sous vide beef tournedos, on a bed of red cabbage, with potatoes Parisienne and a celeriac purée). Having eaten more dinners in the Hall than I’d care to calculate, he led me, still seated, round the portraits and art visible from the top table; skirted some literature; medical ethics; and, perhaps aided by the rather fine claret, a discussion of the relative merits of the seven deadly sins.
It’s amazing what you find to talk about.
Hazel, sat opposite me, occasionally broke in, and I’m sure she was silently giggling through our decision that either lust, or greed, was our preferred mortal vice. Although it was still a bright summer evening, the softer lighting of the hall had its usual flattering effect, and I caught myself admiring by dining companion throughout the meal. Her dark, almost black, gently curling hair bracketed a face that seemed to smile constantly, animated in her conversation with those around her. I was distracted from her delicate hand, around the stem of her glass, by the arrival of a final confection of chocolate and salt caramel.
One of the advantages of this kind of dinner is the post-prandial decantation into one of the Fellows’ lounges. After a final grace had been said, we trooped through to another setting of food and wine, and this time I was sat next to Hazel, instead of opposite her.
The reason for only lightly grazing at lunch was reinforced by the presence of no less than three cheese, fruit, and a new suite of dessert wines (my favourite was a venerable port; Hazel seemed to prefer the Reisling).
We took our time, leisurely sampling the desserts, while I stole the occasional, as-subtle-as-I-could glance sideways at her. Despite the length of our friendship, things had never proceeded any further, hampered by stretches where one or both of us were involved with other people, or work took precedence, or something inchoate held us back. We caught one another up on our work and lives, and family and friends, and meanwhile I didn’t think she’d noticed the look in my eyes, in the dim light.
As these things tend to, the evening only wrapped up when one of the senior dons pointed out that the college’s staff would want to get on with clearing up. We stumbled out into the deepening dark lawn, and started the walk back across to Hazel’s flat.
“You were right, it’s been a while since I had a dinner that good.”
“Told you. You should come up more often,” she remonstrated, leaning slightly on my arm as we navigated the last path to her gate.
Hazel let us in, and excused herself to change, pleading sore feet, while I made us a coffee.
While I was hunting for sugar (a sweet tooth isn’t something we share, and her sugar is always hidden away) at the back of a cupboard, Hazel emerged from her bedroom down the hall. In some ways, there was little change, and it took me a moment to realise that she had, in fact taken off her academic gown and dinner dress, and replaced it with a black nightie. It’s always warm (some might say hot) in any room Hazel can access the thermostat, so it wasn’t surprising, in that sense, that she was wearing so little. It was, though, a very slight garment, high at the bottom, and low at the top; I think it was inevitable I stared, really.
“Which one’s mine?” she asked of the two mugs.
“Left; though I haven’t found the sugar to actually make a difference. Where’ve you put it this time?” I asked, watching carefully as she padded across the room and collected her mug.
“Up here,” was the answer, as she opened the right cupboard and reached in. I watched intently as she stretched slightly and her hem rose up, and my stomach gave a matching jump. She turned back to face me, passing the sugar, and I busied myself in sweetening the drink. On opposite sides of the kitchen, we leant on the side; her gazing into the mug clasped between her hands, me stirring the sugar in and watching.
A thoughtful, mecidiyeköy escort undecided sort of look was on her face; had been since she came in, though it can’t have been entirely about which coffee was hers. Hazel seemed to reach a conclusion; took a swallow of her coffee; placed the mug on the side; came over to stand a foot away from me.
“I’m glad you came up today: it’s given me an opportunity I’ve been looking for.”
Gently pushing my mug-holding hand out of the way, she closed the final gap between us, stretched up, and placed a kiss on my lips. For a moment, I didn’t move, petrified by surprise. My heart sped up, and my stomach lurched, but some quicker-thinking part of me came alive, and I kissed her back. Realizing, after a moment, that I still held a scalding-hot coffee, I put down the mug, and put my hands on her shoulders. She pulled away slightly.
“I’m glad you kissed me back: I was terrified I’d make a fool of myself, after this long.”
I laughed, “I wouldn’t worry, I’d been thinking about doing so all evening!”
“Well, if I’d been sure of that, it would’ve been less worrying,” she complained, but took the heat from it with a smile, and leant her face in to mine. Her hands on my waist, and her lips on mine, I stroked my hands down, one resting on her waist, while the other, tentatively, smoothed her night-gown over a buttock.
A little sigh escaped her as her hands came round to my shirt buttons, and started working their way up, undoing them. I couldn’t share her sense of urgency, as my other hand dropped to meet the first, and then went lower to nudge the skirt of her negligée up and cup her bare backside in both hands. She pulled my shirt from my shoulders, and it dropped to the counter, joining the tie I’d taken off while the kettle boiled. Her hands exploring, she lowered her face to my chest, as I returned one hand to her slight waist.
“Now that we’ve got that cleared up,” she said, looking up at me with dancing brown eyes, “You don’t really want to spend the night on my guest bed, do you?”
I tried, really, I did, to formulate a suitable answer. After a moment of slack jawed uncertainty, she took pity, and laughing led me by the hand to her bedroom.
Hazel pushed me back, so I was sitting on the edge of her bed, and quickly sat astride me. Our heights now better equalized, she drew my face to hers once more. I took advantage of her raised arms, and quickly ran my hands up her flanks, grazing the swell of her chest and onto her back. Nuzzling her face into my neck, one hand snaked between us and started to release my belt and trouser fastenings, as I fought to kick my shoes and socks off without dislodging the slender brunette on my lap.
My trousers finally loosened, Hazel pushed me back, recumbent on the bed, and dragged them from me. Leaning back over me for a final kiss, she hooked fingers into the waistband of my shorts, and with a grin, pulled them down. Tossing them to one side, her eyes roaming over my now naked form, she crossed her arms to the shoulder straps of her gown, and pulled upwards.
I drank in the sight as she slowly unveiled her body. I’d been sneaking glances and glimpses of her, not just tonight, but for years, never satisfying, never complete, never long enough. Now, though, the skirt inched upwards from long pale legs. Upwards, revealing slender hips, and between her legs a doubly exposed mound: visible for the first time to me, and trimmed to a tidy patch above her cleft in her name colour. Upwards, across a taut stomach, and then up past ribs pushed out by her arms held above her. Upwards, grazing dark nipples on small breasts. Upwards, as her head came free in a mass of dark hair, bracketing again the wide smile I know well.
Judging my thoughts perfectly, she spun round on one foot with one arm extended to drop the puddle of silk on the floor beside her. Hazel grinned as she bounded forwards to straddle me again, planted an enthusiastic kiss on me, and said
“It’s been long enough: like what you see?”
“More than you know,” as I answered her with a deep kiss. My hands, free from supporting me, were able to roam unconstrained, as I began a thorough expedition across the new territory above me. Up a thigh, and over the firm arse, then up her back, over a shoulder, and round to cup one small, delicate breast: I gently rolled her nipple between finger and thumb; felt it tighten and harden as she gasped gently. The other hand starting in her hair, and then toying with the curls down her back, to hold her by the hip. Gently, I pushed her body sideways, rolling her onto the bed, and holding my weight off her. Leaning on one elbow, I began to explore with my mouth down her neck, and over a collar bone.
I came to her small breast, nipple now proudly to attention, and circled it with the tip of my tongue. Moving across to her other side, I repeated the process, and pulled gently on the tip with my lips. merter escort I smiled, silently, into her tit as a little shudder went through her body, and continued my progress down her ribs and onto Hazel’s smooth, flat stomach. I left one hand reaching up, above my head, to pinch and stroke her dark little nipple.
Down, bestowing kisses down the midline of her body, I went. My mouth found her trimmed mound, and I inhaled the musk of her arousal. Extending my tongue, I delved into the top of her cleft. Hazel’s back arched, and I heard an intake of breath as I found and nudged the nub of her clit. I brought my unoccupied right hand down to her hip, and manoeuvred her to the edge of the bed, kneeling between her legs. With one hand cupping her butt, and the other reaching up to play with her left tit, I played out a rhythm with my tongue.
Hazel’s breathing quickened, and her hips started to rock on their own volition. My ministration continued, with long licks from her warm opening, up an engorged lip, and round the sensitive bud of her clitoris. With a long moan, her hips bucked; once, twice, thrice, and with a slight gush from her cunt, she pushed herself onto my face.
As her breathing steadied, I brought myself back up to her level, and her eyes opened to glance at me,
“God, it’s been a while.”
“Is that why you tried to break my nose with your pubis?” I asked, ruefully but with a smile, forcing myself not to massage it.
“Oh, sorry: I guess I pushed back a bit hard,” she grinned wickedly, “Allow me to express my contrition.”
She reached down, grazing across my skin and finding my balls, which she cupped. Squeezing gently, Hazel kissed me deeply and swung her leg over me, straddling my hips. Adjusting her grip to my erection, she positioned my head at the entrance to her cunt. I could feel the heat of her as excruciatingly slowly she edged me into her. I fought, hard, against the desire to thrust upwards into her tight embrace, or to pull her pelvis down onto mine. The full length of my cock was finally sheathed in the stretched grip of her pussy, and I fought—and lost—the new battle to remain silent, as a long sigh escaped me.
“Sorry, not trying to tease you; it’s just it has been a while,” she murmured into my ear.
I didn’t care. As she buried her face in my neck, and I mine in her softly scented hair, she began to smoothly swing her hips, pulling off my shaft, and then burying me again, deep inside her. Her little tits, just above my chest, rubbed against me, as I ran my hand down to the junction between us. Conscious of her recent orgasm, I lightly stroked her tender cleft. Hazel increased her tempo as my finger flickered across her clit, driving her cunt onto my cock as, once more, her breaths came faster.
Hazel rocked back on her hips, almost sitting up now, but with my dick still impaled root-deep in her. Eyes screwed shut, she bit down on her lip as I responded with increased pace on her wet, swollen clitoris, and came, again, bearing down onto my crotch in a frantic attempt to push my cock deeper into her pussy. A long, drawn out moan was dragged from her throat, as she ground to a halt atop me.
She chuckled down at me: “That wasn’t very contrite, actually, was it?”
“I’ll cope, at a pinch,” I replied, drinking in the sight of her, flushed and flustered, her dark hair framing her blushed face, and the feel of her, wet and tight around my penis. I didn’t much care, really, that her apology had actually involved her getting off: far from it. That said, the dull ache in my balls was demanding some release.
I wrapped my arms around her slender torso, and pulled her down onto me, before rolling her (not for the first time, I realized) onto her back. Darting in for a final kiss, I shuffled us down the bed, with her butt just resting on the ledge. A tall bed, the angle was nearly perfect: I dragged a pillow over, and she cooperatively lifted herself to let me position it beneath her.
Hazel, a smile on her lips, tilted her head back and closed her eyes, as I placed my hands on the backs of her thighs, just above her knees, and spread her legs. Looking down, I sank the head of my cock into her, relishing again the incredible warmth and tightness of her twat as I filled her. Hazel’s right hand snaked across her chest to rest on her tit, playing gently with the nipple, as the other reached above her to brace on the bed.
I started slow, drawing out the pleasure of pulling out, and then stretching her pussy around my cock once more. The insistency, though, of my beckoning climax pushed me on, though, and I built the pace, steadily. Rhythmically, now, I fucked her in long strokes, as she pushed back down onto me with every blow, her hand clawing on the duvet as she built to her own, consecutive orgasm.
Sinking my shaft deep into her enveloping, glorious embrace, I felt my balls tighten up into me, as the electric spasms started, and my cum burst deep into Hazel’s pussy. A gasp broke from Hazel, as she greedily came again, her cunt answering with its own, pulsing ecstasy.
The post-orgasmic languor broke upon me, and I released her legs, which wrapped around me and drew me close. I all but fell forward onto my lover’s slight body as she folder her arms and legs round me.