During the three years I spent at University some of my most enjoyable time was spent playing for the College rugby football team. Rugby is a tough, physical contact sport requiring courage, fitness and specific talents. It's no wonder that after a game there's a good deal of horseplay in the changing-rooms and a lot of badinage and boasting about sexual conquests. The showers and changing-rooms are not places for the shy or the faint-hearted and a lot of virile manhood is put on display. You quickly get to know who has what, who is especially well-hung (like Phil) and who is a bit shy about standing naked in front of others. The team comprised players from all three or four years of the students and looking back on it all after thirty years I suppose I must have teamed up with about forty different players and it still amazes me that I got to know four them - intimately!
The captain of the team in my first year was a guy named Thierry and he was respected by everyone. Not only was he an outstanding wing-forward but with his round baby-face, bright blue eyes, mischievous smile and perfect manners he charmed everyone. When he was talking to you he made you seem special, giving you his whole attention and listening carefully to what you had to say. No wonder team spirit in that first year was so strong! He never talked tough but he was a human dynamo on the pitch and his speciality was seizing on a breakdown when our opponents got the ball, kicking it up field and outracing the defence to touch down for a try. This technique helped us to convert what would have been several narrow defeats into wins. He wasn't shy about displaying his manhood in the showers afterwards, but he didn't take part in either the boasting or the teasing. He was nearly three years older than me; his mother was french and his English father worked at the UK embassy in Paris, but he had been brought up in England and sent to an expensive public school, which in England means a fee-paying, private boarding school catering for boys aged between 13 and 18. He used to fly back to Paris for his university vacations, which seemed exotic (like his name) to most of us, who usually caught a train from the railway station to our homes, often hundreds of miles away. Having a non-English mother myself (mine was Danish) promoted a bond between us, which was cemented by my not taking part in the virility culture either. Not that either of us had anything to be embarrassed about, you understand - we just didn't like the boasting. "Wankers" was - and still is - a term of scorn applied to young men whose impulse to seduce every girl in sight is deemed to be weak, whereas I suppose every man-jack in those changing-rooms continued to wank when other excitements were not on hand, though they would have denied it, if asked directly. In my three years with the team I only ever heard one of them refer directly to wanking, when he told a friend (in my hearing) that he'd had a wank the night before and hoped it would not affect his performance on the pitch. I remember that he said "The harder I try not to do it, the more I want to and last night I just couldn't stop!"
In the macho world of rugby, Thierry was a major talent and later went on to play for one of England's most prestigious London clubs. He was always good-tempered and conversational, but the most remarkable things about him were his vitality and the fact that he just oozed sexuality! Was it because of his boarding school education; or because he just fancied me; or because nature had given me a longer cock than average that he seemed to take a special interest in me? I remember him on one occasion staying behind to talk with me in the communal bathroom after a practice session, long after the others had departed. I was lying in a small, tub-shaped bath and, having had his own bath, he positioned himself so that my dick was fully in his view. So much he did give it his undivided attention that I turned over so that he could not see my swelling erection and he talked for what seemed hours as the water got colder and colder. I did not dare to sit up to turn on more hot or get out of the bath. Eventually other students came into the bath-house and I seized a moment to stand up and grab my towel to cover my erection before he could get a good look at it, but the truth is that I should love to have had a good look at his, only in private. He had a wonderful body and after my experiences with Steve, Ollie and Phil, I badly wanted to know what it was that drove him on to be so vigorous, so unbelievably sexy.
After that scene in the bath-house he lost few opportunities to talk with me and he always tried to sit next to me on the coach to away games. When the rugby season came to an end in March we transferred our playing activity to the game of squash - which involved just the two of us and in which I was marginally the better player. There was a significant moment when racing for a drop-shot I had played he crashed into me in his attempt to reach it and we both fell to the floor. We ended up in a tangle of limbs and he left his arm, which he had flung round me as we fell, in place for much longer than was necessary before we picked ourselves up. His face was flushed as he looked into my eyes and said "Urlen, you know, I'd like to …." But he felt unable to complete the sentence, and though I knew what he wanted to say, I couldn't complete it for him either. Much as I loved his attentions, I was too much in awe of him for that.
After he had taken his final exams at the end of the summer term but still didn't have the result, he prepared to return to his parents in Paris, moving out of College and taking a room in a hotel for a couple of nights. He knew, of course, where my room in College was and I was asleep in my bed when I awoke to discover a hand pushing under the bedclothes and resting lightly on my chest. His hand! My excitement was enormous, but so was my sense of danger. What would my mates say of me if they were to discover that I allowed him to seduce me? As Thierry's fingers edged their way down to my waist and were only inches from my hard-on, I placed my hand over his and stopped him. I wish now that I had whispered to him to take off all his clothes and jump into bed with me. I really did want to embrace him, but I didn't think of it at the time. When he realised that I would not let his probing hand reach my cock he said "Lets go for a walk!" He had brought with him a bottle of rum (another exotic and forbidden touch) and his breath smelt of it as he knelt on the floor by my bed, whispering in my ear.
