The following is a story about life at the University to Oxford. This story is completely fictional and all resemblance to any persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. This story contains descriptions of sex between men. If the subject matter offends you or it is illegal to read or download such things in your jurisdiction please do not continue.
All rights reserved. No part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the Author.
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Single at Oxford by Jeremy Allen
Part 4
I woke up when I felt Ed clamber over me. Opening my eyes felt too much like exertion but, nevertheless, I made a modicum of effort and rolled onto my side facing outwards towards his room. A drawer rumbled as it opened and I half opened one eye. I saw his pert ass disappear behind a towel and he walked out of the room. Throwing my arm somewhere near the vicinity of my face allowed me to grasp the time was vaguely ten o'clock. That was enough effort. Sleep.
The sound of scrabbling with the lock and the door opening brought me back into the world of the conscious. A quick sense check feeling for headache, nausea and sore throat told me I wasn't hungover but a slightly loose feeling in my arse and a very hard dick reminded me of what happened after the drinking last night. I wanted more. My eyes opened to see Ed's muscular torso being consumed by the t-shirt descending over his body. His equally enticing lower half was already hidden away in a pair of jeans.
'Morning,' I said. 'Morning,' he replied. 'Do you want a shower?'
Ah, so no round two...
'I'll do it back at college, no point getting clean and then putting on dirty clothes.'
I collapsed off the arm I'd been using to prop myself up for the post-coital not-quite pillow talk and flopped onto my back. I would definitely rather have another hour asleep and then another hour in bed with Ed and his amazing dick but looks like that wasn't going to happen. Whatever his plans were 'til lunch, it was clear they didn't include me. I pulled my clothes on and tried to make my hair lie flat. I lingered just a tad at the door as I opened it in case he wanted me to hang around. 'Thanks for letting me crash,' I said. From the other side of the room he replied 'come again!' with a smile and stretched to put a hoodie on. As I closed the door I caught an awesome view of his pecs and abs peeking from beneath his tee.
I got back to college and still felt a little groggy, but the cycle went some way to blowing out the cobwebs. A blitz in the shower with some powerfully smelling Lush products did the rest. I sat at my laptop with the intention of pulling up some revision but a new email marked urgent caught my eye. 'Dear Anthony, I hope you don't mind me contacting you out of the blue but I got your name of the OUMS register and desperately need your help. I'm the musical director for the performance of West Side Story on at the OFS this week. One of my percussionists has dropped out ill and I urgently need to replace her for our final performance tonight. Are you available? And are you up for sight-reading Bernstein/know the repertoire? It's quite challenging so only say yes if you're up for it. I've sent the same message to every percussionist on the register as I need a sub asap. Please get in touch if you can help out...' I pondered it for a moment. Sure I had mods coming up but playing with an orchestra again would do wonders for my stress levels. There's something about it that's really good for me. Maybe it's because it's such an all-encompassing activity I can't think about anything else while I'm doing it. It's just me, the conductor, blending with the rest of the sound and a lot of counting. Yes, this would be good for me. I do not need to get caught up in my head thinking about Ed. This is fun, this is casual, this is sex. I don't want a boyfriend but he is just so incredibly hot. Why was he... No. Stop, Anthony. Stop over-thinking it. I called the number in the email and it answered on the first ring. A very haggard sounding voice on the other end opened with 'Please let this be good news.' 'Hi, this is Ant Petersen. is that Gloria?' 'Ant... The percussionist at Hilda's? Are you calling to say you can play?' 'I can play but I have a few questions.' 'Sure, sure, ask away.' 'First, what parts need covering, second, can I have access to the pit for practising today and third, what time is the performance?' 'Okay, okay. Um, yes, it's the mallet parts. Can you do mallet? Marimba and vibes mostly. Some glock. Perhaps a few secondary parts as well, I'm not too sure how the others divvied it up. I can get them to call you if you want. As for practising, we have the space so you can take all the time you like but it's locked up so I'll need to let you in. And the third? What was your other question?' 'What time...' 'Oh yes,' she cut in, 'curtain's at seven' I did a quick mental calculation and decided a bit of procrastination and some lunch first was in order, then I could learn the part. 'Could you let me in at two?' 'Sure. Thanks for stepping up. See you at front of house at two. I have to make a few calls now. Bye' She rang off and I turned back to my computer. I caught up with the latest minutiae of my friends' lives with a quick scan of my news feed on Facebook and cleaned up my inbox, reading JCR notices and deleting the spam from Student Beans. After a shower I wondered down to the JCR to see if anyone fancied a heart attack on a plate from tick tock, the least greasy of greasy spoons but who still fried an egg like a champ. With no one around I settled for a toastie from the buttery and chatted aimlessly with the third year on duty I recognised but couldn't be confident was called Julie. Sometime after midday I began to get the slight queasy feeling reminding me I still had a lot of work to do before taking mods. I really didn't feel like doing much work, however, and I wouldn't have much time to do anything of substance. That said, I still hadn't drawn up a revision timetable. An hour of 'work' under my belt, I headed for the OFS on George St and saw a brightly dressed, but slightly harassed-looking young black woman waiting outside. She had some trendy looking glasses on and some amazing suede boots that hugged her legs up to her knees. They were complimented by a brown miniskirt and long sleeveless cardigan. I felt quite under-dressed in jeans and a college hoodie. She saw me approach and eyed my stick bag. Even if you didn't know what a case for a percussionists various sticks and mallets look like, you'd probably recognise the Zildjan branding if you've been anywhere near a good drum kit. 'Anthony?' The stress evaporated from her face and was replaced by a slightly-too-happy smile. 'Call me Ant,' I said, proffering my hand. 'Ant. Thanks again for stepping up at such short notice,' she said, clasping my hand with the perfect amount of pressure. 'This way.' As she led me into the building listed off instructions about dress, arrival times and my fellow performers. 'Rob's on kit, I think, he's at Catz. Dave's doing a lot of the secondary and Elle's doing the rest along with timps. You're replacing Josie. Norovirus, I think so alcohol your hands before you eat: highly contagious from droplets and makes you shoot out both ends for days. You planning on staying til curtain? Let yourself out the fire escape if you want out but I can't let you back in as I'm mid essay crisis. Here you are. Music's on the stand and marked up who's doing what. At least that's what Dave said. Right. Must dash. See you at quarter past seven. Sharp.' She turned on her heels and strode for the door, leaving me reeling and unsure if I had said more than two words since introducing myself. I shook my head to clear the daze and walked over to the vibraphone. I bent down to turn it on and snapped up when I heard a voice cry 'oh!' Gloria's heard popped round the corner. 'Almost forgot, cast party after the show at Thirst. You are, of course, invited and first drink is on me as a thank you. The crew never come and the cast have to change so the band is the advanced guard. We normally end up at a house afterwards. Cheers!' and she was gone again. I thumbed through the parts and, as expected, they were tricky and often exposed. The iconic Jets' leitmotif was a vibes solo and so well known that if I messed it up, even in the slightest, anyone with a modicum of musical knowledge would catch it. I rolled up my sleeves and started to practice. I love music. From time to time you hear people talk about things which are greater than the sum of their parts' and music really is that, particularly large shows. Listening to each part individually or just having the dances or dialogue is nothing compared to the rich, complex and altogether captivating experience of the ensemble. Being part of that is a soothing activity to me. Playing my part, listening to the others and adjusting accordingly and articulating the rhythm of the conductor's baton is an activity so all-encompassing that I can't think of anything else. For three hours it was just me and my instruments. At about a quarter to five all my stresses had melted away, I'd plugged my iPod into the sound system of the theatre and had America on full blast, singing along and dancing between stations as I hit drums, shook maracas and made the marimba sing. Just as I was getting really into it with an Aye! Aye!' and clapping the Shark girls' flamenco, I was stopped short in my tracks as I saw a tall slim guy standing in the aisle of the auditorium with a bemused look on his face. He was looking directly in my eyes and for about three seconds neither of us moved. I decided to knock back into the piece hit the big, bongo-like timbales. His bemused look turned into a smirk and he came down into the pit and joined in, alternating between various pieces of wood, metal and drums. The space was tight so we had to practically dance around each other as we alternated desks. In fact, the space was so tight the dancing was a little closer than you'd find between two people at a club who hadn't interacted other than sharing a three second awkward silence. I did not mind at all though. This guy was pretty hot: slim but not skinny with ropey tone to his arms and quite a chiselled face. He had messy, slightly curly blonde hair underneath a loose woollen hat that would make him look angelic if he didn't pull off that hip/bad boy look. He was wearing a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing some pretty nice arms and some black moleskin trousers that showed off quite a pert arse. Like I said, shimmying past him to reach the timpani was not something that gave cause to object. When the music finished we turned to each other and hi fived. You must be Ant,' he said, grasping my hand in a firm grip and clasping my forearm with his left hand. Dave?' I asked Yep, I see Gloria gave you the rundown on who's who. You know you're mallet, right? Were you just having fun with the other parts?' Yeah, I've been here for nearly three hours and decided to let my hair down before dinner and heading back to college to change.' Cool, I just swung by to see if you were still here and wanted to join us at Noodle Bar at 5:45.' Err, yeah sounds good. I'll head back to college and change and see you there.' I collected up my sticks and reset the desks then we walked out the back door together making small talk. Dave told me he was a third year chemistry student at Wadham and had been recruited to the firm through the OUMS register as well. We agreed that the register was brilliant for players doing contact-time intensive subjects. Anyone who played an instrument or sang could sign up, indicating their instruments and level of skill so that conductors and musical directors could recruit them in times of need. You couldn't rely on everyone hearing about auditions, or even being available for the auditions so it made sure you could fill your orchestra and people playing rare instruments, like percussion, brass or the more esoteric strings and woodwind could sit back and let the requests come in, waiting for the right time, work-wise, and a programme you'd want to play. Dave was getting angsty about his finals next term so had quit the university philharmonic and I told him I hadn't signed up as I was worried about workload for the first two terms. For some reason, the law faculty had us do our end-of-year exams at the end of Hilary, the second term, rather than Trinity, in the summer, i.e. actually at the end of the year. We said farewell as I unlocked my bike and I sped back to college to change. I pulled out a black shirt, black trousers and black shoes; the standard uniform of any instrumentalist, and thought about rubbing one off before dressing. I was in my underwear walking from my wardrobe to my drawers and caught the fact that I had a small love bite on my neck. I got back to thinking about last night with Ed and how hot it was, but then I also thought about Dave and... well let's just say if I were Catholic, I'd be confessing to my priest that I had had wicked thoughts.' I'll admit I was surprisingly horny for someone who'd had sex the night before but decided against having a wank just then. I probably had time, but wouldn't have time for a shower afterwards and I didn't want to find I'd missed a bit at a key moment in the orchestra pit. I dressed, checked out my arse in the mirror and headed off to Noodle Bar. The meal was standard fare and the company was good. I was introduced to Rob, the fat hairy drummer and Elle our timpanist, an English lit fresher, also from Catz. Rob had lots of sage, but un-asked-for advice on how to be a good percussionist for me (Elle mouthed sorry' as he launched into Bernstein 101 for the second time). Dave was mocking of Rob in a rather subtle way. I sensed that Rob thought it was praise as he swelled out his already large girth when Rob said well, anyone who's had to retake their first year music exams is bound to know a lot about 20th Century composers.' Ouch. The show went well and I managed not to mess up any exposed bits, but as it was the real thing our desks had been set up so there was not much need to move between them so no chance of rubbing past Dave, but a blessing as I didn't have to go near Rob who began to sweat profusely. The afterparty was at Thirst, a very cheap cocktail bar that charged £3 for its house cocktails, but didn't skimp too much on the alcohol. Our reserved area filled up with the orchestra and I spent the first half hour chatting to Elle and Dave, trying not to let Rob tell us anything about Why He Was Right, his favourite topic. At some point, Gloria bustled over, planted a kiss on my cheek and thrust something liquid, alcoholic and brightly coloured into my hand. Ant, thanks so much again for stepping up. I see you three are getting on well. House party at Jennifer's on Great Clarendon Street, show up from ten-ish or so I should think. Right, just spotted Hugo, must dash, see you later,' and with that she swept off to another part of the bar. `We've been calling her hurricane Gloria,' Elle said into my ear from behind, her arm snaking around the small of my back. I turned to my right to see her looking up at me, directly in the eyes and realised she'd been flirting with me since we met. Fuck. I took a sly step back which brushed off her arm and, probably, blushed a tomato shade of red. As a small well of panic began to set in I couldn't think of what to say or do and just laughed dorkishly. I'm terrible at flirting, even with men, and worse with letting someone gently down. She stepped into me again. 'Hey' she said as she looked up into my eyes. 'What do you think this is?' I asked, gesturing to the cocktail Gloria had given me. 'I dunno,' she replied and then, in a manner I'm sure she intended to be seductive, took a draught through my straw and looked into my eyes again. 'Elle...' Dave's voice caused her to snap round and throw him a look of daggers. 'Don't steal Ant's drink. He worked hard for it. A whole afternoon of practice.' He laughed as he stuck his straw in and sank half the cocktail himself. "C'mon, let's get a fishbowl and then hit up the house party." The night continued much in the same vein; Elle would try out an ill-conceived seduction tactic and Dave would cockblock in a gentle and humorous way. The fun moved from the bar to a house in Jericho, a student-y area just to the North-West of the city centre, popular with rahs, arty types and those at Somerville College. We Hildabeasts generally lived in East Oxford where the houses are bigger for the same rent so the cramped rooms and low ceilings were a surprise to me. Whilst the atmosphere was good, the weather was bad so only smokers were out in the garden leading to a very squashed feel. At some point in the small hours I decided enough was enough and said my goodbyes. Elle looked positively sad whereas Dave had an odd look of satisfaction on his face and that same amused grin I saw on his face (which was looking all the more handsome the more I looked at it) when I first laid eyes on him. 'Ant, my man, it's been real. What's your number, I may need some more drummers at some point in the future.' 'Ach, I've got my mods...' I began, wait, give him your number you idiot Anthony, you like playing music and he's not bad to hang out with. He could even be a potential squeeze. I recovered, 'but make sure you hit me up come Trinity.' 'I will do.' He shook my hand again and this time, instead of grasping my lower arm, he placed his hand on my upper arm. Was that a squeeze of my bicep? Elle gave me a rather-too-long hug and I stumbled out into the cool spring air. I had a bit of a walk ahead of me to get back to college and that would help sober up... as would chips and cheese. Eyes out for a kebab van, Ant. Eyes. Out. I walked through Jericho and got back into the centre of town. As I walked along broad street I came across Gloria who was also walking home. She looked about as drunk as I felt and had her baton stuck into her hair at an angle that made it look like he was penetrating her skull. 'Mr Petersen Helloooo! I didn't expect to see you here, I was sure you'd be... oh yes, I suppose that would have you on broad street... but not alone. Hmph, you do have that single vibe though.' She cocked her head to the side and I was sure I had no idea what she was on about. Standing perhaps ten feet away from her, I stopped in my stride, also cocked my head to the side and simply said 'huh?' 'What?' she asked. 'I mean what the hell are you on about?' 'Oh, nothing I just assumed you'd be balls deep in Elle by now, and if not you'd be having all the sex with Dave.' Sobriety rang through me like a bell. 'Come again?' 'Well Elle's been after you all night and Dave's been cockblocking. They made a bet in the interval as to whether you were gay or not and both have the hots for you. Elle went for the forward approach and I think Dave was hoping you'd see him as a knight in shining armour and run off with him. Anyway, here you are, alone so you can walk me back to Queen's' Dave was into me? Hey-hey! I've still got it. I took the arm Gloria proffered and accompanied her the few minutes back to her college. A certain spring in my step carried me to my own in what felt like no time at all and after a pint of water I fell into bed a great deal happier than I'd been this morning. – It was my bladder that woke me up and my headache that kept me from going back to sleep. I sorted out my basic needs: peeing, painkillers and checking my phone to see if I'd drunk dialled or texted anyone, but it seemed I'd kept all my faculties last night as well as my memories. I felt warmed by the thought that Dave had fancied me. I felt inspired to go for a cycle to make the best of this positive energy so I had a shower, a light breakfast and headed up to the canal. The sun was making a rare appearance so I wore just a good-fitting tank top and cargo shorts that hugged my arse well. A pair of Fossil sunglasses topped off the package and I tore up Banbury Road to get to the canal path. It was a truly glorious morning and my good attitude had me planning to hit the library when I got back. I cycled out past the ring road and hit the proper countryside before turning around. At some point I must have gone over something sharp because by the time I was back on Banbury Road I noticed I had a flat. I pulled onto the pavement to have a proper look at the wheel and had just found a small piece of metal sticking out of the tread when a shadow fell over me. I turned to see Ed looking down on me. 'Ed!' I said, surprised. 'Hey, problem?' he asked. I stood up and took in the sight. He was wearing a light blue t shirt that was almost entirley soaked through with sweat; he'd clearly been on a run. His chest was heaving, his sideburns glistened and the veins in his neck were bulging out of his skin. Wow. 'Um, yeah, err... I've got a flat.' 'Bugger, what a bitch. Lock it here, I've got a spare inner tube. No point in wheeling it all the way back to Hilda's' 'Wow, thanks!' 'No worries, but can you run with me back there? I've gotta finish this circuit' and he rand down Norham Road. I took off after him but never quite caught up. He was propping open the gate to LMH when I arrived and cocked his head, gesturing inside. He took off at a light jog again up to his building, and then up the stairs. When he opened the door to his room, he let out a huge sigh and stripped off his shirt. His damp torso gleamed in the sunlight filtering through the window and with every deep breath his muscles bulged like they were trying to tear through his skin. I was dumbstruck. He smirked and and flicked his glance down his body and then back to looking me straight in the eye. I was rooted to the spot, my mouth probably hanging open and letting out a sound somewhere between a gasp, an exhale and a chuckle. Ed just walked straight towards me and stopped inches away. Standing in my space, his body less than and hand's width from mine, he leaned over me and his arm reached behind my head to close the door. I could feel the heat radiating off him. The door fastened on the latch with a click and he placed the palm of his hand on my right pec. He gave it a light squeeze and through his arm, applied pressure, pushing me back. Two steps and I was pressed against the door. Without moving his hand he leaned in and kissed me. I could smell the masculinity pouring off his skin, the fresh smell of sweat, before it gets contaminated by b.o., mingled with a herbal, spicy deodorant. He pulled my tank top over my head, but then looped it back behind my neck so it clung to my arms then grabbed my pec, forced me against the door and kissed me again. His tongue was perfect, dashing across mine in between sucking or nibbling on my lower lip. I could feel his cock poking my thigh. His strong right hand suddenly went from squeezing my hard pec to twisting my erect nipple and I let out a gasp, throwing my head back. I opened my eyes to see his mouth open and lips curled into a devilish grin. His left palm slid behind my head and pulled me forcefully into him, our bare chests slapping against each other. I could feel his fresh sweet slick against my body, his right hand now in the small of my back, mashing me into him. His dick had snaked out of the bottom of the leg of his shorts and its engorged hardness had lifted the material and he was pointing straight out to the right, with only my thigh ground against his keeping it from impaling me right through my gut. It was like steel and would have no problem drilling a hole through the wall let alone my stomach, hard as my abs were. His hand left the back of my skull and caressed my shoulder, then I felt a pressure downwards. His hand gripped like a vice and his arm pushed firmly down, the force running through my core. I let my knees buckle knelt down before him. His cock was throbbing, just like every other muscle on his body, and a jewel of precum was forming at its crest. I liked up the underside from the ballsack to the tip and let the bead of precum roll down my tongue, tilting my head up to look at Ed. His face was a picture of bliss, his eyes closed and his head bowed forward, leaning against the door. I opened my mouth wide and took him whole, easily letting his head break through my gullet and nestle in the tight, wet confines of my throat. His gentle 'mm,' of pleasure from my tongue action became a shout of 'oh!' when I swallowed him down. I set to work, using the swallowing muscles of my throat to pleasure him further as the standard action of my mouth moving up and down his shaft provided the basic pleasure of a blow job. When I needed to breathe I brought him out and kept just the top half of his dick in my mouth, continuing to move up and down but now swishing my tongue all round the sensitive head of his uncut, pulsing meat. He could no longer cry out, but only gasp as he drew breath for the waves of bliss emanating from his member. For someone so in control of when we did this, I found it empowering to know that I had him entirely in my power at this point. This surge of ego spurned me to suddenly swallow his whole dick again and my nose dived straight into his pubes. ' Oh god!' he gasped, barely able to articulate a sound. 'Ah! Ah! Ah!' he let out in high pitched gasps with every bob of my head, but as I slowed to give a more sensual caress, his pitch dropped and his presence returned to the room. With a low pitched 'aww!' as I pulled back he yanked me up by the tank top still stretched behind my head. He held my head close to his and growled 'get those sorts off.' As I undid my flies he walked over to his bedside table and got out the usual apparatus. Watching me undress he brought the square packed up to his teeth and and ripped it open. He threw me the bottle of lube and started to roll the condom up his swollen girth. Thanking the stars I'd douched to get rid of last night's post-booze effects jabbed two slick fingers up my arse and began to stretch them apart quickly. Ed clearly was a man possessed and it was just lucky he'd fucked me only 36 hours ago as a properly tightened up hole would try and fail painfully to put up some resistance to his fuck. I threw the lube back at him and in a firm voice said 'lube up well, I'm going to need it.' He grinned as he used his whole fist to slick himself up as he advanced on me. He spun me around by the shoulder. I was still by the door; facing it, I lent forward, bracing against it with both hands as I bent forward to open myself for him. Two strong hands clenched my hips and I felt steel press against my bud. Steadily, it pushed forward and a burn announced his advance inside me. He didn't let up and just drove steadily to the hilt. I sucked air through my teeth to ease the entry and as I felt his crotch press into my arse he bit down on my shoulder. I instantly forgot about the pain further down as this new sensation made me shiver through my whole body. I relaxed, he pulled back and began to slide in again. It was slick and slow and I sighed with satisfaction. He must have taken that as a sign as the next inward motion was a real thrust. He buried himself in me and then sent a tightening to his cock, flexing it and stretching me wider. I moaned. He held himself there, keeping me stretched to the full, flexing and releasing his cock. I responded trying my hardest to clamp down on him and return the favour. He let out a deep, guttural breath and pulled out again, almost leaving me empty. But then he drove back in, this time pulling back and driving in and out in a steady rhythm. Thrust after thrust hit me in all the right places, and with each drive I felt a shot of pleasure drive from deep within. Ed flicked his hair and I felt beads of sweat land on my back, each one a pinprick of sexual excitement. His fingers were digging into my hips and his thrusts getting more forceful. Each time our bodies collided a slap of flesh-on-flesh stung the air. I allowed myself to moan out loud and his low hum of satisfaction joined me. Little by little his strength forced me further towards the door and I found my face squashed against it. The cool varnished wood against my chin contrasted with the hot sweat on my brow and I'm unsure if I was making any vocal noise or not: I was just too caught up in the sex. He pulled roughly back on my hair, wrenching me from the door and his pace picked up. He started drilling like a rabbit and now I was sure I was letting out one long cry as I felt a surge inside me. My dick was rock hard and flailed about. Ed began to cry out too: a long moan over his piston power-fucking which transitioned into a shout as he he drove forcefully in with a thrust like a jackhammer. I lost it, mentally and vocally as I orgasmically collapsed back onto him. My dick shot a load of cum at top speed right over the door, again and again as Ed's thrusts pounded into me one by one. Just as my load began to tail off he threw one final thrust into me and buried his steel hard cock as far is it would go. His cry became a sigh and he slowly rubbed his cock in and out, teetering off the afterglow of his orgasm. I wrapped my arm back around his neck and leaned onto his slick, hard chest. We kissed and I realised I was weak at the knees. Ed's heaving chest lifted me up and down as our tongues danced and he slowly drew his softening cock out of my arse. He broke of the kiss, patted me on the shoulder and said 'thanks.' He turned around and went over to the sink, whipping the condom off and then splashed his face with cold water. I stood there mesmerised by his hard glistening naked body. I snapped out of it as he threw me a a towel, which I just managed to catch. He smiled cockily at me and said 'you've got a great arse, inside and out.' He sauntered over and grabbed whilst he kissed me again then pulled back and patted me on the cheek. He stepped around me to his wardrobe and pulled out a small box. 'Inner tube,' he said passing it to me, 'but better put these on first,' he said, flicking my boxers up at me with his foot. 'I'm going to shower, there's a mini-wrench in the box, just pidge it to me when you're done.' He wrapped a towel round his waist and walked out, leaving me naked; well fucked, but a little stunned. With nothing to do but finish cleaning up, dress and leave, I did just that..
This story is my first time writing fiction, erotic or otherwise, since my creative writing assignments in school. I've been getting great feedback, bar one bitchy widower who was offended at my direction in part 3, but I'd love to get more and will continue to write if it's more positive than negative: dotcomme@gmail.com
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Thanks for reading,
Jeremy