Awake With Jake

By Robert Furlong

 

Contents
Part 1     -     Part 2     -     Part 3     -     Part 4

 

 

Part 1

"So, tell me about you and Marcus," my dad said after he'd sat himself down opposite me with his glass of white wine.

     "What's there to tell?" I asked with a shrug after taking a deep gulp from the beer he'd handed me.  I was more used to being passed a glass of coke or Sprite but now that I'd spent my first term at university and was seen as 'all growed up', he was finally letting me join him for a proper father and son drink. 

     "How did the two of you... well... 'get together' I suppose you'd call it?" 

     I smiled.  He could be such a gumby sometimes. 

     "I told you," I said.  "We were playing Jenga – a whole group of us lads, pissed – and I chose the block that said I had to lick the butt of the guy sitting next to me.  Which happened to be Marcus." 

     "I suppose it's your classic boy-meets-boy story," my dad observed dryly.  He thought he was so funny. 

     "There's not much more to tell," I said, putting the glass down on the table.  "I licked his bum with them filming me on their phones, and I found I actually liked it.  I didn't show how I felt to the others, though.  I made out like I was about to ralph.  After that, though –" 

     "About to 'ralph'?" my dad cut in. 

     "Yeah, you know... vomit.  I was retching like it was the most manky thing in the world, but all the time I was really enjoying it." 

     "You got aroused?" 

     I laughed.  "Of course I did!" 

     My dad smiled back.  "Didn't you find, though, like I often do, that your excitement was difficult to conceal?  I know that we're... er... similarly built out front, you and I." 

     I chuckled at his fuckward way of saying things.  If he felt the need to point out that we both have big dicks, why didn't he just say it? 

     "I was crouching behind him," I explained.  "And in any case, the other lads' eyes were on how far I was pushing my tongue between Marcus's butt-cheeks.  I could have had my knob out and been stroking it and they probably wouldn't have figured." 

     My dad smiled but I could see he was embarrassed that I'd referred to masturbation.  I couldn't understand why as we both knew how often we both did it – Jeez, it was just something that was going to happen when you have two over-sexed males living together. 

     Just that morning, when he'd sleepily shuffled towards the bathroom, a quick glance through the half-open door of my bedroom had told him how his son's day was starting.  And ten minutes later, when I was clumping downstairs for a coffee, the rapid thumping of his duvet from his bedroom door had confirmed that he too had woke up horny. 

     Guys wank.  Get over it. 

     "So what happened after that?" dad asked.  "You said that Marcus had stayed over with you and that the two of you had... well... experimented together." 

     "I dunno if you wanna hear it, dad!" I laughed, reaching over to pick up my beer again.  "I mean if you're gonna blush at the mere mention of me rubbing my dick, you'll have a heart attack at the sort of stuff we got up to!" 

     "I'm sorry," my dad said.  "You know what I'm like about masturbation... I'm just a bit old fashioned, I guess.  Blame your grandma." 

     "It's okay," I grinned, and then took another long swig from my glass. 

     "I'm actually not so hung up about sexual stuff as I once was," he went on.  "A year ago I'd have curled up and died with embarrassment at the thought of having a conversation like this with you, but... you know... things have moved on a lot for me since then." 

     "Are you sure you wanna hear about the two of us guys though?" 

     He smiled.  "You know what happened during my first time with a member of my own gender.  I'd very much appreciate hearing about yours; for comparison purposes only, of course." 

     'For comparison purposes only'?  Who was he trying to kid?!  We both knew why he wanted to hear this and how much his dick would be growing in his trousers as I told him.  Why does he always try to dress things up? 

     I glanced over at the TV which was still on, though the sound was on mute.  It looked like some American show was on but it wasn't one I knew. 

     I decided to exploit my dad's interest for my own gain. 

     "You know, I actually don't know much about what went on in that hotel," I pointed out with a smirk.  I knew vaguely what had happened between him and Guy Leeson – that it had involved a lot of whiskey and a certain amount of uncharacteristic spontaneity on the part of my dad – but not the details.  Now was the perfect opportunity to find out. 

     "Well, to cut a long story short," my dad began, "Guy hadn't had a woman in a while.  He was quite flagrantly aroused and asked me to... you know... help him out.  Eventually I agreed that he could... er... make use of my mouth." 

     "You gave him a blowjob," I said, cutting to the chase. 

     Dad smiled over at me, his cheeks flushing pink.  "That's a less elegant way of putting it, yes." 

     My dad, with all his prim and proper ways, had ended up going down on my friend's dad's cock!  Him on his knees sucking off a horny plumber! 

     I suppressed a smile and asked, "And then what?" 

     He took a drink from his wine.  I could see this was difficult for him but as he clearly wanted to know about my own first time (for comparison purposes only, of course), it was only fair that he dished the dirt on his own. 

     "Well, in spite of the fact that my only sexual experiences up until that point had been with women – your mother, mainly – I found that I really liked the smell and taste of Guys' testicles." 

     He blushed a little redder at how personal that revelation was and I smiled with as much encouragement as I could to compel him to continue. 

     "I kept sniffing them and licking them, and I found my face moving lower between his legs, working my way behind his balls into the rather wonderfully odorous crevice right behind them." 

     I chuckled at his language: I too loved licking other guys down there but I would never have thought of saying that any of them had a 'wonderfully odorous crevice' lurking just behind their nads. 

     "I kept pushing deeper between his legs," my dad went on, "until I had my nose and mouth level with his... well..." 

     "Arsehole?" I suggested. 

     "Yes, that's the one," he agreed with a slight look of disapproval.  "And to my amazement, I was fascinated by it – the smell, the taste, the whole sensation of having my face back there on another man's most private, and alluringly hairy, place." 

     "So you enjoyed it?" I asked. 

     "Let's just say that within a very short space of time, Guy had an arc of stickiness reaching from the back of his head all the way down to his bum." 

     "And I'm guessing the headboard of the bed ended up similarly covered by him?" 

     He chuckled.  "No, not really.  To be brutally honest, most of his ended up down my throat." 

     "Oh, nice one!" I laughed.  "Waste not, want not, eh?" 

     He smiled back at me.  "I've taught you well." 

     "You have indeed!" 

     My old man gulping down my mate's dad's jizm!  Now that was something you didn't hear about every day. 

     He took another sip of his wine, now more amused than embarrassed, before going on, "Come on, then, Jake.  Let's hear about your first time.  I've told you mine so it's only fair..." 

     I nodded.  "Okay."  And I thought back to what had happened that night. 

     Except that wasn't my first time: well, not really. 

     It was my first time at going the whole way with another lad, granted, but it wasn't my first gay experience: that had happened a year or so earlier. 

     My very first gay experience – proper gay experience – was when I'd wanked off with a mate of mine called Craig in his bedroom on the way home from college and things had gone a bit further than I'd expected.  To be totally honest, I'd wanked off with a few other lads before then but it had never been anything serious and most of the time we hadn't even touched each other.  It was pretty much like taking a piss at the urinals standing next to a mate – we were both just relieving ourselves and happened to be doing it at the same time. 

     With Craig it had been different: I'd known that it would be when he'd invited me to his house when we'd been walking home that afternoon.  He was as camp as fuck – I mean, everyone called him 'Queer Craig' – and I'd pretty much figured out what the score was when he'd suggested we could "listen to some music" and had added, with a funny sort of smile that I'd figured must be a gay thing, that his mum was having to work late. 

     He was out to get up to some crump with me – that much seemed smack-in-the-face obvious – but I went along with him, partly because he'd been a friend since primary school but mainly because, well, I was a bit curious, I suppose. 

     I'd always felt slightly protective towards Craig, the two of us went so far back.  Other lads would always be dicking with him for being different from the rest of the sheep, but that would make Craig just play up to his image all the more.  I once had words with him about something he was wearing – a stripy yellow vest and three-quarter length jeans which made him look, at least to me, like a screaming queen.  I'd said, "Come on, mate, you can't wear those.  Everyone'll take the piss and stuff," and he'd turned to me with a smirk and said with total sincerity, "You know what, Jake – I couldn't give a fuck." 

     Anyway, when we'd gone up to his bedroom, he closed the door and I'd sat on his bed, scrolling through the tracks on his MP3 player while he farted about with his computer.  Pretty soon he was showing me some porn he'd downloaded – all straight, but it was kind of noticeable that the dudes were all majorly well-hung – and when I'd made it clear how much I was enjoying it – the chicks, that is – he suggested that we get our knobs out beat ourselves off together over it.  It struck me as a bit unusual for him to propose we should wank off together but not so far out of the ordinary as to seem outright gay.  I'd made out like I was reluctantly agreeing to whack my dick off with him just because it was something to do and – you know, let's face it – I was so fucking bored. 

     In truth, I enjoyed showing myself off to other guys.  I liked to flash my big fuck-stick to the rest of the team after football training and would quite often get a hard-on just to show them how massive it is.  Once, while I was really laying it on and some of them filming me on their phones, I'd proven that I could lean forwards enough to get my mouth around my own humongous bell-end.  I couldn't believe how hot it felt to suck my own dick with them all laughing and cheering and pointing their phones at me.  I'd got so well into it, thrusting my cock in and out of my mouth and showing them how I was feeding on my own precum, that I'd realised way too late that my balls were about to let loose.  So, yeah, there's these videos which do the rounds from time to time, with me nutting off as I suck my own cock; my face suddenly turning serious and my cheeks going bright red as I had to swallow really fast to keep up with the torrent of spunk that I was so not expecting. 

     As Craig's taste in porn showed that he enjoyed the sight of a massive bone-on, I wanted to give him a look of mine in all its twelve-inch glory to see how horny I could make him.  My cock wasn't just long, it was really thick as well: the shaft was about seven inches around according to my well-used ruler.  As soon as I yanked my boxers down, I could tell from his face that I didn't disappoint: his eyes almost popped out of his head when my gigantic horse-dick sprang forwards like some weird third limb. 

     A teacher at school had once jokingly called me 'Jake the Peg with the Extra Leg' in the changing rooms after football.  I think it was from an old TV show but I've never been arsed enough to look it up. 

     We'd climbed on his bed, face-to-face, with our trousers hitched down and our underwear around our knees.  Craig's cock had poked upwards, small and thin, with a bright red mushroom on the end of it which looked almost nastily slimy.  His bollocks hung down between his hairless thighs, his scrotum sagging and wrinkled and reminding me of an old lady's neck. 

     As you can probably tell, I wasn't really into other dudes' junk back then. 

     Anyway, we'd grinned at each other and started wanking ourselves off to one of the movies he had on his computer.  It was actually quite cool cracking one off with a mate I'd known since we'd been kids: we'd played Hide and Seek and stuff as little boys and now we were playing far more enjoyable games as much bigger boys. 

     It turned out that the movie was a lot tamer than I was used to but I found myself becoming increasingly turned on by the way Craig was focussing on me all the time instead of looking at the screen.  He seemed fascinated by my huge pair of knackers: he kept laughing at how much bigger they were than his and the way they jiggled around between my legs to the rhythm of my fist.  I made a play of parading them for him – they were like an over-ripe pair of plums in comparison with his grape-sized nuts – and thrust my hips back and forth to make them swing around like a pendulum as I swept my hand up and down my stiffening dick. 

     As he wanked his tiny cock, still staring at my much larger version, he reached underneath himself with his left hand and rubbed behind his own bobbing ball-sack. 

     "What are you doing?" I asked and he smiled at my question. 

     "Don't you do this too?" he asked back.  "It feels really good.  It's called your 'taint' and it's nice to rub your fingers up and down it while you're wanking off." 

     "Why's it called your taint?" I asked, not really believing him.  He'd always just make stuff up like that, ever since we'd been kids. 

     "Cos 't ain't your balls and 't ain't your arsehole!" he laughed. 

     I laughed back and reached underneath myself with my left hand.  I rubbed the hairy ridge between the back of my jiggling bollocks and the puckered entrance behind it, and found that, as Craig had said, the sensation was extremely pleasant. 

     I beamed at him, enjoying being coached; it seemed I could learn some useful stuff from this guy.  If he was gay – and I was, by now, becoming certain that he was – he'd clearly found out things about the male body that I had no idea of.  Gay guys had their uses – I'd made a mental note to remember that. 

     We kept wanking together, my eyes half on his computer screen but his firmly fixed on my cock as I pumped it.  I soon realised that he was reaching even further under himself and that both his hands were moving rhythmically; one on his cock, the other between his legs. 

     He gapsed, "Oh God, yeah!" – the way he said it sounded so effeminate that I nearly laughed – and I asked him, again, what he was doing. 

     "I'm fingering myself," he declared with a mischievous smirk. 

     I must have just looked at him blankly because he grinned more broadly and explained: "I'm fingering my butt-hole, Jake!  Pushing my middle finger in and out of my arse!" 

     I think I must have grinned back at him.  "Really?" 

     "Yeah, and it feels really hot!" 

     I looked down at his hand, pushing deep between his legs.  He was working it in and out of himself in time with the pumping of his right hand on his cock.  It was like watching a girl frig herself, but the cock out front made it weirdly clear that this was another lad and I could already smell that it wasn't a pussy he had his finger knuckle-deep in. 

     "Don't you ever do this when you wank?" he asked. 

     I shook my head.  "I've never really thought about it.  Isn't it a bit... you know... skanky?" 

     "Kind of... yeah... but it feels amazing!" he revealed, before adding, "Your finger needs to be wet though, otherwise it hurts a bit." 

     He pulled his hand out from between his legs, raised his bum-streaked finger up to be copiously spat on and then returned it back underneath his balls to resume pleasuring himself. 

     I sniffed the air as his finger took up its rhythm again, now with a much louder slurping noise, between his legs. 

     "It smells a bit whiffy, Craig," I told him.  "Is it always like that?" 

     "Yeah," he grinned.  "I think you kind of come to like it, though.  It's a raunchy smell... it can be quite sexy sometimes." 

     I threw him a disbelieving look, continuing to wank myself, as I sniffed the air again.  "How can a smell like that be sexy, Craig?  What sort of sex can produce a smell like that?" 

     "I dunno," he shrugged.  Then he added, as if the thought had just occurred to him: "Maybe it's the smell you'd get if two guys were... you know... doing it together..." 

     "Doing what together?" I asked, still wanking myself. 

     "I dunno," he repeated.  "Maybe... butt-fucking!" 

     He said 'butt-fucking' with a deliberate emphasis: in spite of him feigning inexperience, this was something he'd thought intently about. 

     I smiled at him.  "You reckon?" 

     "Yeah," he nodded.  "Stands to reason.  Same cause and effect." 

     We kept wanking together – my hand was starting to slide more quickly up and down my long, thick shaft – as I sniffed at the air inquisitively, starting to enjoy the intensifying odour of what Craig was doing to himself behind his nut-sack.  The smell he was making was quite pungent but had an undeniably erotic component; knowing the orifice that it came from seemed, absurdly, to fuel rather than stifle the growing intrigue I was feeling. 

     Craig stared at me, a slight smile on his face, as his left hand pumped back and forth more vigorously between his legs.  The sounds from his hole had grown much louder and moister: they sounded nasty but I liked them – as he'd pointed out, they were the fascinating sounds of a fellow male being fucked. 

     I was wondering if he was imagining that it was my cock inside him; whether he was using the feel of his finger to fantasize about having me work my much wider girth in and out of his hot, slimy bum.  For some reason, the idea of that was making my boner get fully hard and I jacked myself as fast as I could, sniffing the air again to enjoy how it would smell if I really were fucking my friend's arse. 

     "Okay... so it is quite a horny smell," I admitted at length, my rapidly pounding fist making any other claim seem futile.  "I'm starting to see why you like it." 

     "The smell's only part of it," he said.  "It's the feel of it that's the best.  Having a finger sliding in and out of you while you're wanking... it's fucking immense, Jake!  You gotta try it!" 

     I shook my head and pulled a face.  "It sounds heinous, man!  I'm not shoving my finger up my butt!  I don't wanna feel that!" 

     We wanked together for a little longer, with Craig's left hand driving back and forth underneath his balls to finger himself more quickly, noisily and – and to my rising interest – odorously. 

     At length, he plucked up the nerve to ask me: "Do you want me to do it for you?" 

     "Do what?" I asked, staring at his hand as it worked away between his thighs. 

     "Finger your butt." 

     Before I could reply he quickly added, "I mean, I totally get that you wouldn't want to do it to yourself." 

     He stared at my face, as if scanning for a sign that I might be about to go bat-shit at his suggestion.  He seemed relieved when my only reaction was to laugh. 

     "You'd actually do that, Craig?  Wouldn't it be, like, really grim to shove your finger up another guy's arse?" 

     He smiled conspiratorially.  "To be honest, mate, I think I'd quite like it." 

     Yeah I bet you fucking would, I thought.  I knew you were gay; I've thought it for years. 

     Craig's sexuality didn't bother me – just because he was gay didn't mean I was, even if we were messing around together like this.  I felt turned on that I was turning him on, if that makes sense, and I liked it that he was probably fantasising about bending over for me to shove my cock up his butt.  I didn't want to fuck him, but it excited me to think that he might want me to.  

     "So do you want me to finger to you?" he persisted.  "Show you what it's like?" 

     I smirked at him naughtily.  I thought I did. 

     I lifted my large, heavy scrotum upwards to give him access to the hot, dank crack behind them and pushed my hips out towards him.  I chuckled at the eagerness of his expression and said, "Go on, then, Craig, wank my arse off!" 

     He pulled his finger out of himself and lifted it back to his mouth for him to spit on again.  It looked pretty rank: I couldn't believe I was about to let him push it into me. 

     I was too intrigued to stop him, though: I knew full well that this was the sort of thing which the PSHE teacher at school would call "highly inappropriate behaviour" but that only made it more fun. 

     He pushed his hand between my legs and I stopped jerking my dick while he located my arsehole.  Why was I letting another lad do this to me?  My cock was straining with excitement, its head almost bursting from how hard it was throbbing: that, I suppose, was my answer, if one were needed. 

     When he found my hole, his eyebrows arched upwards in amused surprise.  "You're well slimy back here, mate!" 

     "Easier for you to slide in!" I suggested. 

     "Yeah, but this is probably gonna make a massive stink!  A lot stronger than mine." 

     "Is that a problem?" I asked, rather thinking I knew what his response would be. 

     "Of course not," he laughed, confirming what I'd suspected.  "It'll be red hot, Jake!  Fucking well toasty!" 

     He pushed into me with a wet-sounding squelch and I gasped at the sensation of being penetrated for the first time. 

     He grinned at me expectantly.  "How's it feel?" 

     "So far so good," I replied with a nod.  "How's it feel for you?  Like a big, wet pussy, I suppose?" 

     He recoiled and looked almost disgusted by the comparison.  "It feels like what it is.  Another lad's arsehole!" 

     "Does it feel okay, though?" 

     "It feels proper horny," he smiled.  "Nice and ripe!" 

     "Just how you like it?" I chuckled. 

     "Exactly how I like it!" he smirked. 

     I suddenly realised that I'd always been wrong about Craig.  I had always assumed him to be gay – and it was now abundantly clear that he was – but I'd thought that, as a sensitive and effeminate young guy, his fantasies would be centred around being dominated by tougher, more masculine males.  I suppose I'd assumed that, if Craig were to fantasize about having sex with me, he'd be the one eagerly bending over to receive me, wanking himself off at the feel of my cock pounding in and out of him. 

     Now it dawned on me that I'd got it the wrong way around.  In spite of his campness and his girlish manner, Craig was very much into other boys' bums and if there was any fucking to be done, he'd want to be the one to have his cock buried up to its hilt.  I now realise, although I'd have had no idea back then that such a term existed, that Craig was an effeminate top. 

     In spite of the fact that there was no way I was going to let him bugger me, I was suddenly fascinated by the idea that he might want to.  For some reason the contrast between his delicate manner and his obvious preference to be sexually dominant appealed to me and I grinned at him as he pushed his finger deeply into my hole. 

     "You like that," I said.  It wasn't a question. 

     He smirked back at me and I saw that he'd been waiting for this for some time. 

     "It's good for starters," he said with a chuckle. 

     Once his finger had pushed up as far as it could inside me, he told me to masturbate quickly.  "It'll feel awesome having something up your butt when you're wanking off," he explained.  "When you cum, you won't believe it!" 

     I started pumping my organ again and he worked his finger in and out of my backside.  He was right again: it did feel really good. 

     "You're nice and hairy back there, Jake, I like that," he said and I laughed. 

     "You like my butt," I said, again as a statement rather than an inquiry. 

     "I fucking love it," he revealed, as his finger took up a steady rhythm inside me, working my hole as confidently as might finger the more silken and folded opening of a girl. 

     Craig was, I realised, a lad just like me.  For all he was gay, his sexual needs were the equivalent of mine: he wanted someone else's hole squeezing around his cock, but in his case the object of his interest was other guys' arseholes. 

     He started frigging me more quickly, the ball of his hand thumping back and forth against my hefty balls.  We smiled at each other and I sniffed at the air, surprised at how much stronger my bum smelt as he fingered me compared to his. 

     "Smells good, doesn't it," he muttered, as his right hand started pounding at his own erection.  "That's the smell of me fucking you.  The smell of you bending over and me screwing your arse while I wank you off, Jake!" 

     "Is that what you want, Craig?" I asked him, surprised by how excited I was growing at what he was saying. 

     He didn't reply but instead leaned towards me, his lips reaching outwards as he homed in on mine. 

     I turned my neck to one side, repelled by the thought of having another boy kiss me, and he pushed his face against my cheek, his breath hot against my ear. 

     Our bodies pressed together as we wanked ourselves as quickly as we could.  Craig's finger was jabbing roughly in and out of my rectum, filling the air around us with their rough, earthy odour.  Whereas his own scent had been indistinct and musky, mine was much coarser and uncompromisingly anal.  His whole bedroom seemed to be reeking of this pungent declaration that I was having my first taste of anal pleasure, and the more I enjoyed it, the more it seemed to stink. 

     "God, I want to bone you, Jake!" Craig grunted into my ear.  "I really want my cock up your arse!" 

     "Yeah?" I gasped, finding the idea inexplicably electrifying.  The thought of this gentle, camp young guy, grabbing my shoulders from behind as he pounded at my hairy butt-crack, was, for some reason, an incredible turn-on. 

     "Let's do it, Jake," he panted, his voice sounding like a woman over-doing it in a crappy porn film.  "Come on, it'll feel so good... I promise!  Let me fuck you... right now!" 

     His girlishness contrasted heavily with what he was saying but it no longer seemed funny.  I was by now finding it surprisingly erotic: to hear such a lust to use me sexually expressed in such unlikely tones. 

     He nibbled at my earlobe and I felt nervous energy coursing down my spine.  I hadn't even realised my earlobes were erogenous: it had taken Craig as a fellow male to show me how exciting it could feel to have them teased during sex. 

     "Jesus, it smells so fucking rough!" I grunted.  I was thinking of his mother coming home from work to find the house stinking of our sex. 

     "Your arse is beautiful," Craig gasped in my ear.  His finger was a blur in and out of my hole.  "Just think, though... it'll be even better with my cock inside it!" 

     I called out with surprise as a powerful orgasm overwhelmed me.  I fell into Craig, who supported me, as the finger up my bum made my balls tingle in a way that reminded me of my first ever solitary climax many years earlier and sent surge after surge of my spunk shooting out from them. 

     Craig seemed initially disappointed that I'd spent myself – I think he really thought he might be about to wangle a fuck out of me – but once my orgasm had subsided and my cock had stopped soaking us with the thick, white cargo from my bollocks, he pounded at his own, determined to follow my example. 

     "What I said when you were cumming," he panted, his fist beating up and down his small, stiff cock.  "All that stuff about wanting to fuck you... it was all just talk, you know.  None of it was real." 

     "I know that, mate," I smiled, knowing precisely the opposite. 

     "I mean, I don't really wanna do anything like that," he gasped. 

     "It was just what guys say, Craig... I get that." 

     I reached out and, suppressing my disgust, fondled his wrinkled scrotum while his hand thrashed away on his dick. 

     "Come on, mate," I urged him.  "Shoot your wad!  Imagine you've got your knob up my arse!" 

     He threw his head back and started gasping at the ceiling.  White strings shot from his deep red cock-head, covering his shirt in a gloopy mess. 

     Having never talked a guy into a climax before, I was surprised at how easy it was to get him to cum.  If only girls could be so predictable: the world, I felt, would be a far more harmonious place. 

     As he was coming down from his excitement and was panting against me, his head on my shoulder, we heard the door slam below us as his mother came home. 

     "Shit!" Craig said, pulling his finger out of my bum with a revolting squelch.  "She's early!  We better clean up... fuck!  She'll be coming upstairs in a minute." 

     We clambered off the bed and Craig reached for a box of tissues, desperate to clean up not only our cum-splattered shirts and trousers, but also his finger which reeked of where it had been. 

     And so ended, somewhat indelicately as my dad might say, my first real gay experience. 

     Talking of my dad, I looked over at him from my armchair and saw that he was waiting for my story to begin.  He took another sip from his wine and then placed it back on its coaster with a small cough.  I noticed him glance disapprovingly over at my beer: I'd totally ignored the matching coaster he'd laid out for it and had placed my glass on the bare wood of the coffee table. 

     I didn't correct my mistake.  There seemed no point; if the beer was going to stain the wood, it would have done so by now. 

     "After the other lads had gone back to their rooms," I began, "it was pretty obvious that Marcus was in no state to go anywhere.  He was used to sleeping over with me when he was too pissed to make the journey across campus, so by the time I'd brushed my teeth he was flat-out, face-down on my bed." 

     I'd pulled his boots off for him, laughing that I was undressing him like he was a kid even though he was unconscious, and then had reached underneath him to undo his belt and the button and fly on his jeans.  It was when I'd been pulling his jeans down, exposing his arse-cheeks looking tight and round in his orange boxer trunks, that I'd become aware again of how attractive his scent back there was. 

     I'd checked that he was definitely passed-out and then had leant over to sniff the back of his underpants.  At first I'd been pretty careful – keeping my nose well back from him and sniffing around both cheeks rather than what was between them.  When his only response was to start snoring gently, my confidence grew and I pushed my nose right into what my dad had just termed the "wonderfully odorous crevice".  Behind the soapy smell of laundry powder, or whatever it was on the material of his shorts, there was that same distinctive pungent scent that had aroused me so much when I'd been carrying out my dare in front of the guys an hour or so earlier. 

     It had an equivalent effect on me this time that it had on me previously: my cock quickly swelled to full size and I felt a strong compulsion to work it with my hand while I had my nose pressed into my mate's butt-crack. 

     Why the hell was I getting so boned-up with my face in Marcus' arse?  What was it about the smell of this guy's butt that was making me want to jerk off? 

     "So what happened next?" dad asked with a certain amount of impatience. 

     "I stripped down to my t-shirt and briefs, and got into bed with him.  That was pretty normal for us – I mean, just because we sometimes crashed out together in the same bed, it didn't mean anything more than that." 

     "Yeah, I know how it works," dad smiled.  "It wasn't that long ago that I was young enough to have mates sleeping over with me." 

     "You have mates staying over with you now – only not the sort of mates you keep your underwear on for," I pointed out.  "I'm just making it clear that for me and Marcus it was totally non-sexual." 

     "At least until then," dad observed. 

     "Well, yeah..." I smirked.  "Things were about to change pretty drastically." 

     I'd snuggled into Marcus' back, still running a serious hard-on which was poking into his butt.  All the time I kept thinking over and over of that amazing smell lurking right there between his cheeks and wishing my cock was able to sniff the place it was nuzzling into.  I put my arms around him, hoping I could manage to get to sleep with us spooning like that, but he abruptly regained consciousness and muttered, his voice sounding gravelly, "You've got a stalk-on, Jake!  You're just about knobbing my arse, mate!" 

     I'd muttered some quip like, "You wish I was, you fucking gay boy!" and then had gripped him more firmly, enjoying the way he was pushing his butt back against my raging dick. 

     He'd muttered, still sounding half out of it, "Why've you got a hard-on, anyway?  You're such a fucking jerk-wad sometimes, Jake..." 

     I'd said, "It was having my face in your arse, mate.  I've been running a woody since then."  I'd sniggered like it was such a great joke; that it was so ridiculous it couldn't possibly be true. 

     Then he'd surprised me by admitting, his voice sounding slurred by the amount of alcohol he'd drank, "I actually really liked the feel of you licking my butt when we were playing that game.  I mean, I probably wouldn't say that if I was sober, but I only stopped you because I was getting a stiffie myself." 

     I'd laughed into the back of his head.  Whatever shampoo he used smelt really nice; much better than my Head & Shoulders stuff. 

     Then he said, "Jesus, mate!  Your dick feels fucking massive!  Pity I'm not gay – I'd be loving having your knob rubbing against my arse!" 

     Strictly speaking it was his arse rubbing against my knob: I wasn't sure if he was aware of it, but he was gently working himself back and forth against my erection. 

     I'd gripped him more firmly and had whispered, "You say you're not gay, but you just admitted you were getting a boner with my face in your butt." 

     "That's different," he giggled.  "It was just a reflex.  My brain didn't register if you were a girl or a boy." 

     "So you were in bed together," dad prompted me, eager to move things on.  "What happened next?" 

     "Well, Marcus kind of half woke up and told me, still pretty drunk, that he'd like having my face in his butt.  Then I ended up admitting that I'd liked having it there." 

     "So I assume it ended up back there?" dad suggested with his wine glass poised at his lips. 

     "You actually liked licking my arse?" Marcus asked, incredulously.  He was sounding a lot more awake now. 

     "Since you're admitting enjoying having me do it, then... yeah... I'll admit I enjoyed having my face there." 

     "But you liked the taste of it?" he persisted.  "You liked having your tongue licking between my arse-cheeks?" 

     "A bit," I conceded.  "Yeah... it was kind of... well... intriguing, I guess." 

     "Your knob's fucking throbbing!" he chuckled.  "It's grinding into me, man!" 

     It didn't stop him working his arse against me even more.  For a guy who kept saying he wasn't gay, he sure enjoyed having a stiff dick poking into his butt. 

     "It's the thought of your bum, mate," I grinned.  "It's making me get as horny as fuck!" 

     I'd meant it sarcastically but Marcus took it as straight-up.  Which was fortunate, really, because it moved things on nicely. 

     "Well, if you enjoyed it when you did it first time," he said, "I wouldn't complain if you wanted to try it for a second." 

     "Yes, my face ended up back there," I told my dad.  "He pulled his orange shorts down and I burrowed my way down underneath my duvet to continue what I'd started doing earlier." 

     My dad threw me a broad grin.  I could tell what he was thinking: 'a chip off the old block'.  A chip off the old block!  I kid you not: that really was just the sort of old school phrase that would pop into his head. 

     "And obviously you liked it?" he asked. 

     I smiled back at him. 

     I worked my way between Marcus' cheeks, loving the way I could now smell him properly without having to worry about how I might look in front of our mates' eager faces.  I pushed my tongue into his crack and got to feel again the amazing sensation of having another lad's arse sending countless electrical impulses surging from my taste buds. 

     Why had I never thought of doing this before?  Surely it was obvious how incredible this would be?  So many lads I'd been friends with all these years; so many arses I could have had my tongue burrowed into! 

     I knew from stuff my dad had told me that what I was doing to my friend was called 'rimming'.  Marcus was having his butt rimmed, no doubt for the first time, and, as I was the one who had his tongue licking back there, it was me who was rimming another lad's arse. 

     It sounded weird to apply that verb to what the two of us were doing.  Rimming had always seemed like a weird fetish of my dad's – I'd always thought how horrible it must be to push your mouth and nose between another guys' butt-cheeks – but what I was doing to Marcus felt exciting and sexy, so much so that my cock was throbbing with the big brother of all hard-ons. 

     Was this really 'rimming'?  I figured it was.  It seemed that I'd just have to accept that I was a guy who liked rimming other dudes' butts now! 

     I pushed deeper into him, the tip of my tongue making circles around his hole.  Marcus groaned and his little throbbing ring opened for me.  He was inviting me in; he wanted me to lick him inside. 

     "When you rim a guy," I asked my dad, "do you just lick his arse – you know, around the hole – or do you actually stick your tongue inside?" 

     He took a sip from his wine, staring into the middle distance and mulling over the question as if it were some deep philosophical conundrum. 

     "I suppose," he began, putting his glass back on the coaster, "rimming could be argued to be the most intimate thing you and another male can do together.  Even more so than... well..." 

     "Screwing each other's bums?" I asked him with a grin. 

     "Indeed," he agreed.  "I take it, from what you said in the car on the way back from uni, that you and Marcus have experimented with anal penetration?" 

     "Experimented?" I chuckled.  "We've become pretty accomplished actually." 

     "Really?" he smirked back.  "So it's a pretty regular thing?" 

     "Every night," I exaggerated with a laugh.  "Or at least as often as you'd expect from a couple of lads who've discovered that sex can still be fun even when it doesn't come with strings attached in the form of girlfriends." 

     He grinned broadly at me.  He liked that answer. 

     "Anyway," he went on, resuming his reply, "it seems to me that, as much as I enjoy experiencing full anal intimacy with other men –" 

     "You mean shagging blokes' arses?" I sought to clarify. 

     "That's right, Jake," he said with a patient smile.  "Well, as much as I enjoy that – and believe me, I really do enjoy that –" 

     He allowed himself an indulgent chuckle and I couldn't help but do the same. 

     "It seems to me," he continued, "that anal sex is really just a way for the two of us men to achieve release.  The real pleasure for me, and the part which I savour, is the mutual rimming we indulge in beforehand.  That's the moment of intense togetherness; that's the part where I feel there's a powerful fraternal bond between me and the other man." 

     He looked smug at how eloquently he considered he'd phrased his response.  He looked so self-satisfied that it was like he thought he should be up to receive the Booker Prize for poetry or something. 

     "So what's the answer to my question?" I asked him. 

     "Oh... er..." he stumbled, his smugness quickly replaced by puzzlement.  "What was the question again?" 

     "When you rim a guy, do you stick your tongue up his butt?" 

     He lifted his glass and rolled his eyes a little.  There were to be no prizes for poetry coming his son's way any time soon. 

     After taking another drink, he said, "The point I was coming to, Jake, before I managed to distract myself, was that, penetration with the tongue lifts the male-to-male sexual experience to its highest form – at least for me it does."   

     "So that's a 'yes', then?" I confirmed. 

     "That's a 'very much so'," he clarified before asking, "So did you do that to Marcus?" 

     "What do you think?" I grinned. 

     I pushed into him tentatively at first, unsure as to what I was going to find, but then, enjoying the richness of his taste and the darker pungent bite once my tongue was inside him, I worked myself gently into him, flicking the tip of it in and out like Craig had done with his finger. 

     Marcus had enjoyed that and had muttered, "Ah yeah!" in his appreciation.  I'd felt his hand on the back of my head, urging me to tongue him more deeply, and his other took up a gentle rhythm on his dick, not really wanking it properly but just squeezing it and sliding his foreskin back and forth over his bell-end to intensify his pleasure. 

     "Stick your tongue into me," he'd whispered.  "Lick me out, man!" 

     I was already onto it, working my tongue as far into him as I could push it.  His taste was amazing: I'd never experienced anything like it.  It was a bit on the rough side, that much I'll grant you – I mean, it was blatantly clear what I pushing my tongue into – but at the same time, on some weird base level, it was off-the-scale exciting.  My own cock was throbbing in my briefs – literally aching for me to beat it off like it sometimes gets when I'm looking at some really steaming lesbian porn.  How the hell could sticking my tongue up another lad's arse do that to me?  What was it about doing this that was just so fucking horny? 

     "You've thought about this a lot since, haven't you?" dad asked, draining his wine glass. 

     "Sometimes, yeah," I nodded.  "At... er... certain times." 

     Dad grinned at me: we both knew exactly which times I meant. 

     I wondered at that moment how often my dad thinks about other men when he masturbates.  Whether, like me, he mainly thinks of females but just occasionally – when he's in the right mood – he lets his thoughts turn to his own gender and have a good tug at the thought of how much fun a guy's butt can be.  Or whether he's cranked it up a few notches and now mainly thinks of getting balls-deep with other blokes when he tosses off. 

     Needless to say, I wasn't about to ask him.  If I did, he'd just spin me some crap about "moments of togetherness" and "fraternal bonds" or whatever. 

     "I actually meant," he explained, "that you have, perhaps, relived the moment over and over to try and work out what was so exciting about it." 

     "Is that what happened with you?  After the night you and Guy first did it?" 

     He nodded.  "Yes.  I couldn't understand how something that should, in the cold light of day, be so utterly revolting could elicit such a... well... dramatic state of arousal.  I even did some research on it in the town library... not that I found much, aside from a particularly hostile librarian." 

     "I wasn't that freaked out," I told him.  "But then I suppose I'd seen you go through everything you did, and the way you started meeting guys for sex and stuff.  I'd kind of come to terms with it for you, so I guess that made it easier to accept in myself." 

     Dad nodded and smiled.  At times like this he looked almost proud.  Can a guy feel proud at seeing his own bisexuality expressed in his son? 

     Then he asked, "So what happened after you'd rimmed him, or is the answer to that too obvious for us to dwell on?" 

     I chuckled.  "We didn't cum together, if that's what you mean.  Well, not while I was under my duvet with my face stuck in his butt.  We had a bit more fun that first night... and a lot more the next morning." 

     I looked at his empty wine glass and my beer which had barely a couple of swigs left in it.  "You probably don't want to hear it, though.  It's getting a bit late... maybe we should get to bed." 

     "I'd very much like to hear it, but only if you're willing to share such personal moments with me." 

     "Yeah, I don't mind," I shrugged.  "Do you want me to top us both up?" 

     "It couldn't hurt to have a little drop of scotch as a nightcap," he smiled, and passed me his empty glass to put in the sink. 

     I pulled away from Marcus' arse and pushed the duvet to one side.  The air in the room smelt clean and fresh compared to where my nose had just been. 

     "You gotta fucking try this, mate," I told him.  "You gotta rim me, see what it's like!" 

     "Is that what it's called?" he laughed, still sounding drunk.  "Like that guy from 'Red Dwarf'?" 

     I pulled my t-shirt off, I was feeling so hot.  I knew it couldn't be the university heating – they were always kept it at the bare minimum to save money. 

     "Come on, Marcus," I insisted.  "Rim my arse!" 

     He laughed again.  "Is it called that because it was in an episode of the show?  Did Rimmer lick someone's butt or something?" 

     "I don't know, mate," I said.  "I don't watch it.  Maybe it was called that before 'Red Dwarf' even went out.  I don't know." 

     I yanked off my briefs and repeated, "Come on, mate, do it to me!  I wanna know what it feels like." 

     I was going to be naked on my bed with another lad, which felt kind of momentous as far as my view of my sexuality went, but I no longer cared.  I wanted to feel his tongue up my arse: nothing else really mattered at that moment. 

     He giggled again.  "I don't know if I want to, Jake.  I mean it's your bum, mate.  You shit through it and stuff." 

     And stuff?  What the fuck else did he think I did through it? 

     "I know that, dude, but it's nothing like you expect it to be.  Trust me, mate, it feels amazing to get your face stuck in there.  I would never have believed it, but it really fucking did!" 

     He laughed again but agreed that he'd try.  "I'm so gonna chuck up.  If I do, it's your fault, okay?" 

     "Yeah, whatever," I snapped, and climbed up onto my bed, facing away from his head. 

     "Lie flat," I told him, positioning my feet on either side of his body and squatting over him.  He giggled again, unsure of what I was doing in the near-darkness of the room, and said that something felt ticklish when he felt my bollocks nuzzle against his chin.  Then called out in horror when he realised what I was doing, struggling underneath me as I lowered my splayed, hairy arse-crack down onto his upturned face. 

 

 

 

Part 2

"You shouldn't have poured me that much," my dad said the way he always did after I'd already brought him a nightcap.

     "There's a funnel in the cupboard," I reminded him.  "I could pour half of it back into the bottle." 

     "Ooh no!" he winced.  "You can't mix poured whiskey with unpoured.  I've told you that before." 

     You certainly have, I thought.  On many, many occasions. 

     I sat back down and poured the top half of a bottle of beer into my glass.  It made the sort of head that would get me sacked if I worked in the union bar, but I had plenty of time to let it settle. 

     "So did he get to try rimming you?" dad asked, swilling his whiskey and ice cubes around in the tumbler. 

     "Whether he liked it or not," I replied with a smirk. 

     At first he was reluctant. He kept trying to pull back and coughing and spluttering. I'm not saying I forced him, but I had to push my butt-crack into his face quite insistently and hold his head steady with one hand before he would lie still for long enough to see what it was really like. 

     When he did, though, he quickly found that he enjoyed it far more than he expected to.  His muffled objections turned to surprised mutterings and eventually, as his nose started sniffing and his tongue started licking, grew more emphatically into eager grunts. 

     I gasped in appreciation: so this was what it felt like.  This was what my dad had found so incredible that he'd taken his profile off the dating websites he used to try to meet women on. 

     Marcus didn't feel ready to penetrate me with his tongue, but he enjoyed getting his face stuck into my backside with very much the same enthusiasm as I had with his. 

     "And how did that feel?" my dad asked. 

     "How did it feel the first time someone did it to you?" 

     Dad peered up towards the top of the curtains above me, looking like he was studying the way they were hanging but really trying to remember the occasion that had happened.  "I think that was when I was being fitted up for a pair of trousers," he muttered with a small, almost nostalgic, smile.  "It was certainly very pleasant, I remember that much." 

     "Well, it felt pretty good to me, too.  I think, though, that I enjoyed rimming more than I enjoyed being rimmed." 

     "Me too," dad said.  "I've always taught you that it's better to give than receive." 

     Most of the pleasure for me, squatting over Marcus as he lay on my bed, was how unutterably naughty it was for us to be doing this together.  It was a nice sensation – don't get me wrong – to have another guy's tongue lapping into my butt-crack and exploring up and down it, but it was more the act of what we were doing together that made me feel excited enough to want to jerk off. 

     Marcus was pumping his dick fast and hard like a piston.  As his tongue swept up and down the full length of my cleft, tasting my different flavours from what Craig had called my taint right up to where the wiry hair in my crack petered out to become a softer fuzz, his hand was whacking his cock off as fast as he could.  He liked to beat off really quickly – I knew that from when he'd stayed over before. 

     We'd ended up wanking off together one night after staggering back from town, not exactly rat-arsed but definitely a little worse for wear.  As we'd pulled our clothes off, the fronts of our underwear had made it blatantly clear that we were both horny and, as we'd lain side-by-side in my bed with two obvious mounds lifting the duvet, one of us had suggested – him, I think – that we jerk off before sleeping. 

     I'd quickly agreed and we'd yanked down the fronts of our underwear and soon the quiet of the room had been replaced by the double drum beat of our fists against the duvet.  Marcus' rhythm had quickly sped up from a quiet stroking to a loud hammering so fast and so strong that the cheap bedframe had started shaking and creaking. 

     "What the fuck are you doing, mate?" I'd asked him, pumping my bigger dick at more leisurely pace. 

     "I've always wanked off like this," he'd said, frantically slamming his hand up and down his shaft. 

     "But you can't enjoy it if you're just beating it up and down like you're shaking a fucking bottle of sauce!" 

     "I'm not doing it to enjoy it, Jake!" he'd laughed.  "I'm doing it because Annabelle's had her tits in my face all night and now I'm hard as fuck and I need to spunk up before I can sleep – that's why I'm doing it!" 

     The bed had been making a noise like a lumberjack sawing logs.  My flatmates would joke next morning that they'd heard us ending our night by boning each other's arses on my bed.  It had seemed kind of funny at the time and it was even funnier in retrospect, since by the end of that term, the two of us were ending a lot of our nights by doing precisely that. 

     "You wanna take it easy, Marcus," I'd advised him as my own fist worked at myself at about half the speed of his.  "A good wank is something to be appreciated... like a fine wine..." 

     Realising how much like my dad I sounded, I quickly added, "or some such shit!" 

     "Oh God yeah!" he called out, and I thought for a second that what I'd said had come as a welcome revelation.  But then the smell of our cocks being jerked was joined by a more acrid odour and he said, unceremoniously, "Pass me something to clean this up with, mate." 

     After wiping himself down with one or other of our discarded socks, he'd turned over to face the wall and asked that I hurry up to finish off 'enjoying' myself. 

     With him lying underneath me, licking up and down my arse-crack and whacking himself off with that same, relentless rhythm, I felt compelled to reach over and steady his wrist and to tell him that I would show him a better way. 

     This was like Craig teaching me: now I was going to teach Marcus about how to pleasure himself. 

     He took his hand from his cock and I replaced with my own.  I caressed it as sensually as I could, stroking my fingers up and down the shaft and enjoying how hard it felt throbbing against my skin. 

     I wet my thumb with his precum and worked it across his helmet-shaped head, making it slick and shiny and then adding a gob of my own spit to help lubricate his shaft.  I worked my fingers right around his organ, making it as silky and slippery as I could, and he groaned to show his enjoyment as he kept flicking his tongue against my arsehole, egging me on as I took up a slow and deliberate rhythm on him. 

     I was actually surprised how much I liked it: there was a lot more to a dick than there was to a pussy and the sharp smell from its head was strangely appealing.  I stroked it steadily up and down, kneading his balls with my other hand.  The skin of his scrotum was soft and yielding and the paired mounds of his testicles inside it were larger than Craig's had been. 

     I'd always treated masturbation as a sort of art form, always keen to try out different approaches on myself and fascinated to find out how better to arouse my cock.  Now I applied the same approach to Marcus' dick, stroking him in varying ways to find out what worked for him and trying to refine any techniques that he enjoyed.  Once I'd figured out what he liked, I smiled as his organ swelled up to its full, impressive hardness and marvelled at the way the head of it started gently pulsating against the swirling patterns I was making with my thumb. 

     The best part was that it was making my own cock throb just as hard against my stomach.  Who could ever have believed that wanking another lad's knob off could be so much fun? 

     But then, I suppose it was kind of obvious that it would be actually.  After all, I'd always greatly enjoyed playing with myself – right from that very first time after my dad had explained to me how some weird-sounding activity he called "masturbating" was supposed to work. 

     He seemed to find it all very embarrassing, as he usually did when he talked our "private parts", and I hadn't really been able to work out what the hell he was on about the way he'd couched things in convoluted language and dressed things up so much. 

     I could figure out that there was some connection between a recent spate of wet pyjama bottoms I'd had to dump in the laundry basket each morning and whatever it was he was saying I had to do with my willy.  Something about "manipulating" it each night before I slept – the way he was moving his fingers up and down in the air between us and talking about my foreskin made me snigger a whole lot more than I understood what he meant. 

     Finding it difficult to get to sleep that night as I was being hassled by a hard-on that just wouldn't give up, I heard my dad come up the stairs to bed and had an idea.  Perhaps this "masturbating" thing he'd been talking about might be something he sometimes did to his own 'private parts' before sleeping.  It was possible that if I snuck a look at him, I might find out exactly what he meant by that weird up and down hand motion that had so embarrassed him. 

     I crept along the corridor between our rooms after I'd heard him lie down on his bed so I could take a sly peek at what he was doing.  I figured that the noises I sometimes I heard at night when my boner was stopping me from getting to sleep – a sort of gentle thumping sound which was usually followed by the same smell as the stuff that had soaked my pyjamas – must be him doing to his own dick whatever it was that he'd been saying I should do to mine. 

     That same noise was going on tonight.  It had started up just after I'd heard him lie down on his bed.  A low, gentle rhythm which was getting steadily faster. 

     I've often wondered if he knew I was spying on him as he masturbated that night.  I've never felt able to ask him, but I've sometimes thought that maybe he felt more at ease to show me how to jerk myself off than he had trying to explain it to me in his half-cocked way. 

     He'd left his door open – which wasn't so strange – and his light on – which was – and he was lying on his bed with his pyjama bottoms around one foot, and I'd figured when I'd seen him splayed out like that, that maybe he was making a show of what this 'masturbation' thing should look like and hoping that I'd learn from what he was doing. 

     I couldn't see his face from where I was standing, so I don't know if he saw me there.  All I could see was his knees, bent and spread open, his whacking great dick poking upwards between them with his hand sliding quickly up and down it, his bollocks thumping around and looking grotesquely swollen and, beneath those, the hairy crack of his arse between his open thighs. 

     Not the most flattering angle I'd ever seen him from. 

     The first thing that struck me was what a massive cock my dad had.  For a modest, quiet bloke who always got so embarrassed about nudity, he was lying there stroking a piece of meat that looked big enough to have its own postcode.  I mean, I'd known it was bigger than my friends' dads dicks – I'd got to glance it a couple of times – but now standing here and being able to look at it properly, the thing which had helped to produce me way-back-when seemed ludicrously huge – almost impossibly proportioned.  It wasn't just long but it was so damn thick – the sheer girth of it meant he could hardly get his hand around it. 

     I immediately wanted my own dick to grow as big as his, which in time, thankfully, it did.  I knew it'd be a struggle to fit something that big inside my underwear, yeah, but just think of how awesome it would be to lob something like that out in the locker rooms after PE and how other guys would be so jellied when they saw what a humungous fuck-off monster cock I had swinging between my legs. 

     It was the head of the thing that most fascinated me.  Apart from how huge and bloated it looked – right then it looked to me bigger than the whole of my own cock and balls put together – its surface was wet and shiny and its colour a deep, dark purple.  It was almost scary, the way it looked, like something weirdly alien, throbbing and glistening and weeping a steady trickle of clear, thick liquid every time my dad's foreskin swept back and forth across it. 

     Anyway, I just stood there watching him slamming his fist up and down his enormous shlong, wondering if he was maybe showing me – without actually stating that he was showing me, of course! – how a guy masturbates.  It looked pretty gross, with all the wiry hair and his saggy bollocks and that deep sweaty crack between his arse-cheeks.  But I figured that if he was trying to teach me something, I should do my best to watch him and learn from whatever it was he was doing to himself. 

     You sort of grabbed your foreskin and slid it up and down the shaft of your cock, doing it faster and faster until your balls were bobbing around. 

     It suddenly occurred to me, from the shape and movement of his hand, that this was what some of my mates had joked about and called 'wanking off'.  It sounds stupid but I hadn't realised until then that the thing my dad had talked about as masturbation, and said we should be open and honest about even though he was barely even able to say the word without blushing, was the same as what everyone else called wanking. 

     Wow!  So this was wanking, was it?  And here was my dad wanking his dick off right in front of me! 

     So my dad was a wanker, was he?  I smiled at the realisation. 

     Okay, so to wank yourself off – or masturbate, as my dad would say – you kept jerking at your foreskin, pulling really quickly across your bell-end and then sliding it back upwards, all the time speeding your breathing up until you were panting like a dog. 

     I wasn't sure what the point of it was – it seemed way too much effort for me to want to do it to myself. 

     I felt for my own dick and found that the boner that had been keeping me awake was still going strong and was sticking upwards through the fly of my pyjamas.  I was surprised that having to look at my dad's saggy nuts and sweaty butt-crack hadn't softened it, but there you go. 

     I wrapped my fingers around my hard-on – it seemed so small compared to my dad's – and yanked the foreskin up and down it a few times like he was doing.  I was blown away by how good it felt – especially when I held it really tight and jerked the shaft of it quickly. 

     So that's why guys wanked their dicks off, or masturbated as my dad would say.  Because it felt nice. 

     And obviously my dad thought it felt nice too, otherwise I wouldn't have heard him doing it so often. 

     I wondered if he actually did this every night; if he would lie like this wanking off while I was in bed in the next room.  I thought he probably did.  Every time I'd been awake this late I'd heard this same dull thumping sound coming from his room. 

     My dad wanked his knob off like this every single night!  He came up to bed and lay like this, pounding his hand up and down his colossal beef-pole! 

     Wow... just, like... wow! 

     I had another thought: maybe that's why the thing had grown so huge... 

     I watched him grab his bollocks and gently fondle them while his hand whacked faster and faster up and down his huge shaft. 

     Was that part of it too? 

     I tried it on myself – yeah, that felt pretty good.  One hand rubbing your dick, the other playing with your knackers. 

     My dad was teaching me how to masturbate and he obviously knew his subject really well!  After all the years he'd been lying here like this, jerking himself off every single night, I supposed it was little wonder. 

     He suddenly grunted like a tennis player – it seemed strangely out of character – and then long white strings of liquid started shooting from his cock.  At first I was a bit freaked out – what the hell was that stuff? – but soon I realised, mainly from the smell, that it was the same liquid that had been soaking my pyjamas each morning for the past few weeks. 

     I mentally joined the dots with what we'd done in Biology and figured out that this was my dad's sperm.  I was actually looking at the stuff that had, at least in part, produced me!  So many millions of tiny little sperm cells just like the one that I'd come from and there they all were, squirting out of his cock! 

     How cool was that? 

     Again it occurred to me that my mates had a word for this.  I knew that when a guy wanks off for long enough, he eventually spunks up.  So I figured I was watching my dad spunking up.  Part of showing me how to wank had been to show me what it looks like when a guy spunks up. 

     I felt pretty flattered that he would let me see this.  It was obviously extremely personal – secret, even – and yet here he was doing it in front of me so that I could learn from watching him.  I would never have thought someone as uptight as my dad would let me see him releasing sperm – let me watch his actual white jizz as it shot out from his cock – but here he was releasing a pretty massive load all over himself while I looked on. 

     Once his spunk had stopped shooting and the last few spurts were just kind of oozing out of his slit, his hand slowed down and eventually stopped its pumping. 

     So that's how it worked, was it?  You got all your sperm out from your balls and then you stopped jerking your dick.  In that order.  This was all good to know. 

     I could see how making yourself spunk up like this was better than it happening in your sleep.  It was just as messy but at least it could be controlled and more easily wiped up.  I noticed my dad had tissues on his bedside table at the ready for this specific purpose – and there was me all these years thinking his nose must really run in the night! 

     Assuming the lesson was over, I crept back to bed and tried out what I'd learned for myself.  I left my bedside lamp on in case my dad wanted to take a look in on me.  He might want to check out that I was following his lead correctly and doing to my own smaller dick the same stuff that he'd just done to himself. 

     I lay on my bed with the covers pulled back and enjoyed my very first hand-job.  I thought my dad would probably be proud of me if he were to see me like this: masturbating myself in the way he'd just shown me.  It was like I was becoming a man, starting to wank my dick off just like my dad obviously did each night. 

     Girls at school around that time would get together to have 'period parties' as a sort of celebration that they'd reached womanhood.  I liked the idea of me and my dad having the male equivalent; getting a few mates around to have... I dunno what you'd call it... a 'jerk-off jamboree' maybe? 

     I have no idea if my dad looked in on me: he went to the loo which is just along from my bedroom door so he might have done.  If he had, I hope he liked the sight of his little Jakey with his back arched upwards tugging away at his pud for the very first time.  He would probably have seen the look of pure enjoyment on my face as I realised, just as he once had in his own bed at my age, how utterly fantastic the simple act of pumping your own hand up and down your cock was.  I hope he stuck around for long enough to see my surprise and excitement when my own gloopy strings shot out from my bright red bell-end and covered my chest; to smile at how my outpouring was less copious but just as odorous as his own. 

     Getting back to the story – and I'm sorry I keep drifting off like this but I hadn't realised how difficult it would be to write about this kind of stuff – my dad took a drink of his whiskey and winced at the strength of it. 

     "More ice?" I suggested. 

     He smiled.  "It'll be okay." 

     As I took a drink from my beer, he asked, "So what did you do while he was rimming you?" 

     I put my glass back down and replied, "To be honest with you, and I don't really know what possessed me, but I ended up bending forwards and sucking his dick." 

     He grinned broadly.  I could see in his eyes that it really was pride he was feeling that I'd been able to just let loose with Marcus and do stuff with him that my dad wouldn't have been able to at my age. 

     It seemed strange that he'd be proud that his son was a cocksucker, but that was what he was like these days.  He could be such a weirdo but he'd do really inappropriate stuff in such a polite and well-mannered way that he could kind of get away with it. 

     Having been able to suck my own cock since... well... I suppose since not long after I learned how to jerk it off, it was pretty obvious that I would end up putting my mouth around Marcus' while he was rimming me.  I'd practised enough times on myself to know all the moves inside out and I was far, far better at sucking myself than any girl who I'd managed to persuade to have a go. 

     He groaned as soon as I put my lips around the head of it – he loved the feel of it as much as I thought he would.  He went on and on about how girls would never give him a blowjob so I knew he would appreciate some attention of that sort from me.  I quickly developed a rhythm up and down his shaft, impressed by how much easier it was to suck someone else's cock than it was to struggle to arch my back enough to try and blow my own. 

     His dick was a bit smaller than mine, so that was also less of a strain, but it tasted totally different – much sharper and with a distinct saltiness to his precum – which made it way more interesting. 

     I treated him to a few of the tricks I like to use on my own and had him squirming with enjoyment at some of the stuff I could do.  I know how sensitive the underside of the head is – right where that thin strip of skin joins with the slit – so I teased that with the tip of my tongue, and I tightened my lips around his shaft while I blew him to give just the right amount of pressure to have his precum trickling out of him like a leaky tap. 

     "Oh God, Jake," he called out, briefly pulling his face away from my arse.  "Suck my fucking cock, man!  Suck it deep!" 

     I went down on him like a pro, sliding my lips up and down his stalk with a quickening rhythm while my tongue did its magic on the dribbling head.  His bollocks smelt really nice, every time my nose got close to them, and I wondered if it was his sweat or some hormonal thing. 

     He gasped again, "Jesus, you're so fucking good at this!" and I reached back to grab his head and reapply his face to my butt crack. 

     It felt good to be with him like this in a sort of weird sixty-nine: me sucking away at his dick while he licked so eagerly around my arsehole.  I was surprised at how much my cock was throbbing as I was doing stuff like this with another lad: it was straining stiffly between our bodies, dribbling a little puddle of slimy ooze onto Marcus' heaving chest. 

     I obviously had a gay side that I hadn't fully embraced – perhaps the way I enjoyed showing my knob off to other lads had always been a part of that but I hadn't realised it. 

     I dismissed such thoughts for the time being.  What we were doing was too good to dwell on what it meant for me in the long-term: it was time enjoy the moment and leave the post-mortems until afterwards. 

     "It's not as bad as you might think," my dad commented after taking a much more cautious sip of his drink.  "Giving fellatio, I mean." 

     "I actually quite like it," I told him with a shrug.  "I've developed quite a knack over the years." 

     "Over the years?" dad asked with obvious concern.  He obviously had visions of me blowing the football team in the locker room after practice. 

     "Yeah... in my... er... bedroom," I sought to reassure him, hoping I wouldn't need to spell out exactly what I'd been doing all those times he'd walked in on me hunched under my duvet and emerging red-faced. 

     "Oh right," he said, his own face reddening a little.  "I see." 

     I pulled off Marcus and said, "There's something I want to show you, mate." 

     "I'm enjoying this," he complained.  "I'm getting really close." 

     You're not the only one who needs to cum, I was going to say, before realising how much like Ellie, my girlfriend, I would sound. 

     "Sit up with me," I said instead.  "Face-to-face so that our dicks are touching." 

     I wanted to show him what Craig had shown me.  The way Marcus had enjoyed me licking his arse, I knew he'd love me doing that to him. 

     "So after you'd... er... orally pleasured him," dad said, "what happened next?" 

     "Are you into frot?" I asked him. 

     I only knew what it was called because I'd looked it up online a few days after Marcus and I had started doing it.  Since then I'd done it with a few other lads and I'd found that, like Marmite, guys either love it or hate it. 

     Dad looked intrigued.  "I'm not sure.  What does it involve?" 

     "You have sex with your cocks.  Wanking them together and rubbing them against each other and stuff." 

     "Oh that," he said dismissively, making it clear which side of the fence he was on.  "It's okay, but I'm very much a bum-man, as you know." 

     "A butt monkey," I reminded him. 

     He smiled.  "Quite." 

     "Well, we did that for a while, squatting in front of each other while I held both our dicks, and then I used my free hand to... well... finger his butt." 

     My dad's eyebrows shot up.  "Oh!  That sounds like it might be fun!" 

     "It was!" I laughed.  "A lot of fun, actually." 

     "We should do this more often, Jake," he suggested.  "Swap stories and exchange notes.  We can probably teach each other a lot with our different experiences." 

     I smiled at the idea.  "Some fathers and sons bond by playing golf or going for hikes or whatever.  We swap stories about the blokes we've shagged." 

     "Well, it could work for us," he grinned. 

     "It could, yeah, but that doesn't make it any less odd," I said with a smirk. 

     We squatted together and I grabbed both our dicks and wanked our foreskins up and down inside my fist.  I could hardly get my hand around my own cock it was so thick, so two together was really pushing it. 

     "How does that feel?" I asked him, enjoying the sensation of our two knobs being worked together. 

     "I liked what we doing before that better," he whined.  "I want you to suck my cock again.  And take my balls in your mouth – I love it when a girl does that." 

     "I'm not a fucking girl, man!" I snapped, for the first time of what would be a long string of regular reminders. 

     "I know that, mate.  I just meant I like having my balls licked, that's all." 

     I reached under him with my other hand and caressed the hairy ridge behind his balls. 

     "What are you doing?" he asked me warily.  He knew full well where my finger was headed; he knew from we'd done in the kitchen, in front of the other guys, how much I liked his arsehole. 

     "Just enjoy it, Marcus," I tried to reassure him. 

     I pushed my finger into the warm wetness further back and felt how soft and yielding the flesh was around his hole.  I rubbed my fingertip around the middle of his ring.  Just the slightest pressure had it opening to invite me in; the wetness of my spit gave me all the lubrication I needed. 

     "I don't know if I want you doing that, mate," he said.  "I don't think I'll like it." 

     "Just try and see," I persisted.  "If you don't, I'll stop.  If you do, you can do me as well.  Same as I'm doing to you." 

     I slid my finger into him, enjoying where the slipperiness of my spit gave way to something more viscous and unyielding.  This was going to get smelly, just like it had when Craig and I had done it.  I didn't think that mattered: I figured Marcus had liked the smell of my butt when he'd had his face in it so much that he'd probably get turned-on a few whiffs of his own. 

     I slid my finger slowly in out of him, enjoying how the stickiness inside his backside clung to my finger as I worked it back and forth. 

     Marcus pushed back against me, working with my rhythm. 

     "Ah yeah!" he gasped.  "That feels really nice!" 

     I sped up my finger a little and pushed it as deep as I could into him as he panted and giggled at how good it felt. 

     "I can't fucking believe this, mate!" he chuckled.  "I actually like getting my butt fingered – I had no idea!" 

     I grabbed our cocks more tightly and he thrust himself up and down, using the gap between my clenched fist and the back of my dick to wank himself off. 

     "Come on, work it, Jake!" he called out, jabbing his arse down onto my finger more firmly.  "Pump my fucking hole!  Be really rough with it!" 

     I laughed and pulled out and then managed to get two fingers into him. 

     "Give me more, mate!" he urged me, his voice half-laughing half-gasping.  "Come on, frig me off properly!" 

     I pulled out again and pushed three fingers together.  His arsehole strained to open wide enough to take them but with a downwards shove they slurped into him. 

     I took up a faster rhythm and he slammed his arse up and down against me, still working his cock back forth against mine. 

     "Ah yeah!" he panted into my face as his body bucked up and down in pleasure.  "This feels fucking awesome, dude!" 

     It suddenly occurred to me that his was a guy who was going to love having a cock up his arse.  And, right on the heels of that thought, was that I was probably going to be the one to do it.  This was my first male fuck, squatting right here in front of me.  This was the guy whose arse I was first going to nail, and probably quite soon. 

     He wasn't like I'd thought he'd be.  If I'd had to have picked a guy to be my 'first', I'd have thought it would be someone a lot more... well... masculine, I guess.  Someone tall, like me, and hairy.  Maybe with stubble or a goatee or something, but definitely a big hairy chest and a huge set of junk.  A real bloke of a guy; someone on the university rugby team or something. 

     I'm making it sound like I'd thought this through in great detail, which I hadn't. 

     What I mean is that, if I had thought about it, I'd have wanted my first time with a guy to be totally different from anything I could experience when I was with a girl.  I'm not saying I'd want to be treated like another lad's girlfriend.  Definitely not – I'd want us to have sex as two equal males.  We'd both have to be dominant and well-hung, both out for what we could get and both rock-hard horny. 

     I'd do stuff with him that I couldn't do with a girl.  Enjoy the differences of having another lad in my bed with me for all it was worth.  I wouldn't just want to fuck him – what would be the point of that?  I could do that any night with Ellie (or as often as should would let me) and, while I knew butt-fucking another dude would be different from the girlie flavour, I'd seen enough stuff on the web to know it wouldn't be that different. 

     I'd want to have a lot of fun with his cock – that was why, in my vague fantasies about this, I always imagined that he'd probably be packing a dick as big as mine.  I'd want to wank it and sniff it – see how different it was from mine – and then taste it and suck it.  Yes, sucking a big cock would be something I'd really want to do. 

     I liked the idea of rubbing our dicks together and making them slick with our precum.  I thought it would be cool to have sex with another guy like that; humping each other's knobs and having mine leaking its stickiness onto his hairy stomach. 

     Bollocks were a bit of turn-on for me too.  In spite of how weirded out by Craig's wrinkled little nutsack I'd been, the thought of playing around with a guy who had a really solid pair of big, hairy knackers was kind of intriguing.  Massaging them while I sucked his dick; having him push them into my face like two fat, ripe plums.  I'd want to take them into my mouth, one by one, and to lick them and kiss them, knowing all the time that they were churning out the hot, white spunk that would soon end up splashed all over me. 

     But it was the prospect of having another dude's big, thick cock to play with that fascinated me the most. 

     My dad had said he was a 'bum-man' but I was definitely a 'dick-man'.  I loved the thought of getting my hands and mouth around another lad's boner to see if it reacted like mine when I did stuff to it.  Pulling the foreskin back, tasting the head of it, sucking his precum from his slit.  I was even quite keen, if I was in the right mood and he wanted to, to see what it felt like for him to stick it up my butt. 

     I'd even wanked off imagining it sometimes. 

     Can you believe that?  I haven't told anyone that before now!  I've actually lain there in by bed whacking off at the thought of this hairy, muscular rugby playing dude shagging me up the arse.  Not the other way around with me doing him – that would be too similar to what I could get from a girl – but always with me bending over while he went at my butt with a pole like a tree-trunk and those huge, swinging nads of his smacking into my thighs. 

     That's not to say I wouldn't have turned down a turn on his arse if it was offered, it's just that my guy-focussed jerk-off sessions, which to be honest didn't happen that often, had always involved me getting shafted by this bigger guy's massive, ringpiece-splitting dong. 

     So if I'd had to guess how my first gay session at uni might go, that would have pretty much been it. 

     It wouldn't have been here like this, with Marcus Cunningham, some posh boy from Surrey who was about as masculine as afternoon tea.  That's unfair of me, actually: he isn't at all effeminate or camp or anything; he just doesn't ooze maleness like I'd subconsciously hoped my first male lover would.  He isn't hairy for a start – even his butt-crack isn't as furry as I'd like it – and, while he's well-toned and athletic, he's hardly what you'd think of as beefy or muscular. 

     But this was it: this was the guy I'd ended up with in my bed.  Not that I'm saying there was anything wrong with him.  He could be a dickhead, like most dudes, but he was a good laugh to be with and could be a good mate. 

     He just wasn't the guy I'd fantasized about: that was all. 

     "Did he enjoy you fingering him?" my dad asked.  "And... er... how many fingers did you use, out of interest?" 

     I smiled at him.  "He definitely enjoyed it – there was no doubt about that – and I got up to three." 

     My dad nodded with his eyebrows raised in admiration.  "That's pretty good for a first time... are you sure it was his first time?" 

     "Yeah, I think so." 

     In spite of my apparent confidence, I wasn't at all sure it had been his first time.  He'd always insisted it had been, but he'd gone to an all-boys' school, after all... 

     "Oh Jesus, Jake!" Marcus gasped.  "This is so fucking amazing!" 

     He hammered his arse down onto my hand so quickly and roughly that my fingers started making squelching sounds as they slurped in and out of his hole. 

     "Do mine while I do yours," I directed him and he briefly stopped bobbing up and down while he groped underneath me to find my entrance. 

     "Smells a bit rough, though, doesn't it?" Marcus commented, for the first time noticing the odour of my fingers up his butt. 

     "It's a nice smell, I like it," I replied, thinking of how much I sounded like Craig.  Funny how things come full circle, as my dad would say. 

     "Well, you'll like it even more in a minute," he pointed out.  "It'll be twice as nice." 

     "You bet it will," I laughed. 

     Dad took another drink from his tumbler; only a couple of mouthfuls were left now in spite of him protesting that I'd given him too much. 

     "So did he return the favour?" he asked, putting the glass dutifully back down on its coaster. 

     "Yeah," I smiled, before gulping my beer down to a similar state of near-emptiness.  I wouldn't be suggesting a third drink together; even if he wasn't getting tired, I was. 

     "We did it to each other," I told him.  "We worked each other's butts while we rubbed our dicks together." 

     "That sounds like a lot of fun," my dad grinned over at me. 

     "It was," I agreed.  "Explosive fun." 

     "Oh, I see," he laughed.  "That much fun!" 

     We pressed against each other, thrusting our cocks upwards so they slid against each other as we both frantically fucked the fist my right hand was making.  My other hand was driving three fingers into Marcus every time he slammed his arse down onto it; his was inside me with a similar cluster of fingers working noisily in and out of my wet hole. 

     We were panting together like sprinters, both totally enrapt by the pleasure we were feeling.  Not only did it feel great to rub our cocks together inside my hand – the swollen heads pressing together and making us squirm and gasp – but the sensation of anally masturbating each other was truly intense. 

   

A few weeks later, Marcus had admitted that our first sex had been "mind-blowing".  I'd laughed and agreed with him – I'd actually chosen to describe it with the phrase "totally off the fucking scale" – and had asked him how his first sex with a girl had gone.  He'd shrugged and said, "A bit forgettable really.  That's not to say I don't like straight sex, mate – don't get me wrong – it's just that, as first times go, that bum-wank thing you and I did that night blew everything else out of the water!" 

     If the feel of it was amazing, the smell was even better.  We both stunk of sweat – our bodies heaving together as we bucked our hips towards each other – and our precum had a sharp, acrid tang as it made our cocks slippery and shiny.  But it was the stronger odour from our fingers as we squatted our butts up and down on them that really stood out.  It was that which made the sex we were having totally different from anything either of us did with girls.  It was pretty crude, I admit, but at the same time incredibly sexy: it was the smell of two lads having pretty raunchy sex together using their bums and, for some reason, it made the two of us as horny as rabbits. 

     Marcus pulled back, gasping, as we kept pounding our cocks together, the slurping of our fingers underneath us becoming louder as we drove into each other more roughly and quickly. 

     "Oh Jesus, Jake... that sound... the smell... I'm getting close, mate!  I'm gonna fucking cum!" 

     Abruptly he leaned forwards and kissed me on the lips.  Unlike when Craig had tried to do it, I didn't turn away: I pressed into him and worked my tongue into his mouth, kissing him back as eagerly as he was trying to kiss me. 

     "We kissed," told my dad to see his reaction.  I'd never seen him actually kissing a bloke and I wondered if it would shock or repulse him to find out that his son had been getting his tongue into other lads' mouths. 

     He just smiled at me, though.  It clearly wasn't an issue for him. 

     "We kissed quite deeply," I elaborated.  "It was nice... it was very nice, actually.  A lot better than I would have expected." 

     "It is very pleasant," he agreed, downing the rest of his whiskey.  "Like you, I never thought I'd ever want to kiss another man, but when Bradley first put his lips to mine – in this very room, as it happens – I couldn't believe how erotic it felt." 

     We kissed each other as deeply as we could, still slamming our cocks against each other and bobbing up and down with our butts becoming sore.  I kept telling myself as our lips ground against each other and we panted and slavered into each other's mouths that what we were doing was just a bit of fun.  That we both liked girls, but this was something different for us to enjoy together; something sexy and exciting without really meaning anything. 

     Just a couple of lads messing about; the way my dad messed about with his mates.  Just a couple of drunk guys getting a bit bawdy together; it didn't mean we were gay or any bullshit like that. 

     We wrestled our tongues together, gasping noisily for air which was becoming overpowering with our hot, fetid stink.  We kept pounding our cocks upwards against each other, the waves of pleasure coming from their plump, slick heads intensified many times by the sensations from our bums being fingered. 

     I called out, "Oh, Marcus... fuck!" 

     And then I felt his wetness – momentarily hot and then quickly cold on my skin – and he was moaning into my mouth, his breath fast and short against my lips. 

     He seemed to push his hand into my more deeply – a reflex reaction, no doubt – and I felt my own balls tingling before my juice joined his all over our chests and stomachs. 

     Then we fell apart, still panting and shuddering, with our sweat, like our semen, feeling suddenly icy in the cold of the room. 

     We'd just had sex together as two males.  Gay sex, but not gay sex, if you see what I mean. 

     Do you see what I mean?  For that matter, do I see what I mean? 

     For fuck's sake, what the hell had we just done? 

     I stumbled over to the door and clicked on the light. 

     Marcus was still kneeling on the bed, recovering himself from what had clearly been an overwhelming orgasm. 

     "Fucking hell, Marcus," I muttered.  "We just had sex, mate." 

     He looked up at me and smiled.  Actually smiled! 

     Then he said, "Yeah, that means we're boyfriends now." 

     "Fuck off!" I snapped.  "We just had fucking sex!  Don't you feel... I dunno... like maybe we shouldn't have?" 

     He shrugged and reached for his discarded socks.  "Felt pretty good at the time, Jake.  It's not like it was serious.  Just the two of us being curious, I guess." 

     He wiped the cum from his torso using his socks.  Even in my suddenly anxious state, I felt pleased that I wasn't the only guy who did that. 

     I walked over to the clutter of my desk and grabbed some tissue, and then wiped the cum from my own chest.  I noticed his cock was already shrivelled and flopping down over his bollocks: mine still drooped outwards at half-mast looking nearly as big as it did when it was stiff. 

     "Do you want me to go, mate?" he asked.  "I'm not that drunk any more – I can walk back to my place if you'd prefer me to." 

     I shook my head.  "Don't be a prick, Marcus.  I'm just a bit freaked out but it'll pass.  It's like one minute we were just having a laugh – pissing about together – and the next we were... well..." 

     "Yeah, I know," he nodded.  He stood up and pulled his orange boxer trunks back on.  "I don't know why I'm not freaked out myself – it was my first time at doing stuff like this too, mate." 

     I think that was the first time I wondered if it actually had been.  I didn't say anything but just followed suit and pulled on my briefs. 

     "I can sleep on the floor," he offered.  "I mean, if you'd be more comfortable with that." 

     I sat down on my bed and looked over at him.  I felt the guilt that had so suddenly come over me start to ease almost just as quickly.  He was just a lad, like me, who'd got himself more deeply involved with a mate than he would ever have intended. 

     "Don't be daft, mate," I said.  "It's not I think you're gonna try to take my innocence in the night, is it?" 

     "There's not really a lot of that left to take," he observed. 

     I chuckled and we got back into bed together.  I was now able to put on more of a chilled-out front, but the agitation I'd felt was still there niggling at me, making me feel that I'd just done something I'd always regret. 

     "How did you feel about it afterwards?  That first night, I mean." my dad asked, as if reading my mind. 

     "A bit fucked-up to be totally honest," I replied.  He winced at my use of the word 'fuck'; even after what we'd just been discussing, he still wasn't comfortable with hearing me swear. 

     "It took me ages to get to sleep; I kept going over things round and round in my head.  I couldn't believe what I'd just done and kept thinking that it must signify something deep and meaningful, if you know what I mean." 

     "I know exactly what you mean," my dad nodded, finishing the last of his whiskey. 

     "It's kind of weird though," I went on, "because by the next morning I'd pretty much got it sorted in my head, but then Marcus started getting all freak-shit about it... by then I was the one having to calm him down." 

     My dad looked at the clock on the mantelpiece and then announced, "I think, though, Jakey, that that part of the story is going to have to wait.  It's getting very late and we're going to Buxton tomorrow morning.  I don't want to be too tired, or too hungover, for the drive." 

     "I can drive us if you like," I suggested brightly.  "We can put the 'L' plates back on..." 

     My dad smiled.  "Not on those narrow country roads.  We'll go out for some practice during the holiday, I promise, but not tomorrow." 

     I finished off my beer and stood up, reaching out for his empty glass. 

     "I'll sort out down here," dad said, "you go up to bed." 

     I yawned.  I was quite tired, even though I'd slept until nearly eleven that morning. 

     "We'll have to get you a double bed," he went on.  "Your room is big enough to take it – just – and it'll be much better now you're bringing your... er... friends home with you." 

     I thanked him and said goodnight, and then went up to bed. 

     It was going to be a squeeze sleeping with Marcus in the single bed I'd had since I was a kid but we were now pretty used to it.  After our first night of sex, and once we'd talked things through the next morning, we'd started staying over with each other most nights of the week.  As we both had single beds, we'd quickly got used to sleeping in close contact with each other and I actually enjoyed – looked forwards to – sharing a bed with him. 

     I'd slept with a few other lads since that first night, of course, but I found them more difficult get comfortable with than Marcus.  They were always elbowing and kneeing me during the night, or getting horny and poking their jeb-ends into my side.  Now, more often than not, after having a bit of dick fun with a guy I'd make the walk back home or suggest that he slept on my floor with a spare blanket over him. 

     As I undressed in the dark so as not to wake Marcus, the wedge of light from the hall spreading out like a searchlight across the mess of the room, I saw that he was sleeping on his side, facing the wall.  That was how I liked him; facing away from me so I could snuggle up behind him and put an arm over him.  I could press my face into his hair and nuzzle my knob into his butt-crack: that was how I really liked to be with him. 

     It had been different that first night – we'd slept on opposite sides of the bed and hadn't touched each other at all in the night.  It was bizarre that after the incredible sexual intimacy we'd just enjoyed, we spent the following few hours getting as far apart as the single bed would allow.  I think we were both kind of clinging to our edges of the mattress as if we were trying to prove to each other that we weren't in any way 'gay' for each other: we were just two lads forced to share a bed for the sake of convenience and we weren't even going to accidentally brush our legs against each other in case it could be misconstrued. 

     The next morning, though, brought us firmly back together and it was then that we became, I reckon, as sexually close as two guys can be. 

 

 

 

Part 3

I got into bed with Marcus, having to push him to one side so that the two of us could fit into the single bed.

     "Move over, you dick-munch!" I whispered to him, when it was clear that I'd awoken him. 

     We might have sex but we're not that big on sweet talk. 

     "What time is it?" he grunted, moving across and making some space for me behind him. 

     "A bit after one," I replied, climbing in and getting under the duvet with him.  "My dad has a tendency to ramble." 

     "That's what you'll be like in twenty years, mate," he chuckled. 

     "Not bloody likely." 

     I snuggled up behind him with my semi nuzzling into his arse.  His bum felt nice and firm through the thin material of his shorts and my cock wedged snugly in the warm valley between his round cheeks. 

     "You don't fancy a quick one, do you mate?" I asked him on the off-chance. 

     "What, an actual fuck?" he whispered, no doubt aware of what was poking into him and where it was poking into.  "Here, with your dad right next door?" 

     "He'll be fast asleep by now.  He's had a bottle of wine and a pretty large whiskey down him since we ate." 

     I didn't want to tell Marcus that my dad would, in any case, have no problem with hearing the two of us lads having sex in the next room.  It seemed a bit weird to just announce out of the blue that, like us, my dad swung both ways.  I mean you expect it from young guys our age, with no-one really caring these days who gets off with who, but when it's an older bloke dating a woman while he's screwing just about every guy he meets behind her back, it seems kind of... I dunno... improper, maybe.  Double standards, I know, but that's how it feels. 

     That's why I didn't tell Marcus, anyhow. 

     "I'll be really quick," I persisted, pushing my cock more firmly against him so he could feel how hard it was getting at the thought of easing itself properly between his muscular cheeks.  His hot, sticky tunnel was right there between them; just a quick fumble of our underwear would have me sliding in and out of him. 

     "If you want," I whispered in his ear, "I'll push my tongue up it to get it nice and wet!" 

     "I'm actually really tired, Jake.  It's not that I don't want to..." 

     I was going to say, "Come on, mate, you sound just like Ellie", aware of how comparisons with my girlfriend can piss him off ("I'm not your fucking boyfriend, Jake!  You can't compare me to her!").  In the end, though, I stopped myself: I could push that joke way too far sometimes. 

     So I ended up saying, "It's okay, mate.  You've had a shit day.  I get that." 

     "I mean, normally I would... you know how horny I usually feel..." 

     "It's okay – honestly.  As long we have a really good one tomorrow night.  The full works.  You on me, me on you.  Every which way – all the good stuff." 

     "With your dad in the next room, though?" he queried again. 

     What was the biggie about my dad being in the house?  I wondered again if I should tell him about my dad's 'gentlemen friends'.  But no – it would sound too bizarre.  I'd let him find out in his own time; see how things panned out. 

     "It'll be okay," I reassured him.  "He's a very deep sleeper." 

     "Well, if you're absolutely sure," Marcus said hesitantly. 

     "Yeah, I am," I asserted, working my fat, pudgy helmet between his cheeks through our underwear.  Even if I wasn't getting a fuck tonight, I like to sleep with it poking into him, as if it was sniffing at the hole it so often got to enjoy. 

     "That's nice," he sighed.  "I like it when you do that." 

     I kissed the back of his neck.  "You'll like it even more when it's properly up there.  And when I bend over for you to do the same to me." 

     "Okay... you win," he conceded, making it sound like he was giving in to me far more reluctantly than I knew he really was.  "The full works tomorrow night... you've got yourself a date, fella." 

     "Nice one," I whispered, kissing him again.  The back of his neck always smelt so good.  Musky and male, but really nice. 

     "It'll be pretty cool to do it in your old bedroom with all your stuff around from when you were a kid." 

     I smiled into the skin of his neck with my nose nuzzling into his hair.  I hadn't thought about it like that, but I figured he was right.  My old Arctic Monkeys poster had never got to witness the delights of a proper butt-fuck, although I had wanked off with my finger up my arse in here more times than I could count since Craig had shown me how.  It would be pretty cool for the bedroom I'd had since I was little to see its occupant finally doing the deed with someone – and not the sort of someone it would probably have expected. 

     I said, "Night then, mate," and then I wrapped my arm more tightly around him and snuggling against his back, hoping I'd be able to nod off like that in spite of the fact my cock was now running a full-on boner. 

     I thought about the part of my story that I hadn't yet told my dad.  How Marcus and I had woken up the morning after we'd first had sex and, once I'd made the two of us some coffee, we'd sat on my bed in our underwear talking about what we'd done. 

     I'd expected it to be difficult – I'd worried, actually, that we might part from what had happened and end up having little else to do with each other – but things turned out far better than I could have hoped. 

     For a start, we'd ended up having sex a second time.  And for a better start, we'd ended up going a lot further together – pretty much as far as it's possible for two guys to go. 

     Marcus had started the ball rolling by saying, "Look, Jake, whatever happened last night, it doesn't mean that either of us is gay." 

     I'd laughed at that.  "I know that, mate!  I'm not a total fucking div!" 

     He'd looked surprised by my reaction; a bit hurt, even.  He went on, "It's just... you know... when two guys get sexual together, it's the obvious supposition that at least one of them might make." 

     I knew he was saying that because of the way I'd been so freaked out after we'd both cum.  I'd had a sudden shot of self-reproach – a feeling that what we'd just done had been totally and irreparably wrong – but it hadn't lasted that long and, after lying awake mulling things over for an hour or so after we'd gone to bed, I'd actually ended up having a better night's sleep than I'd expected. 

     "I'm in love with Ellie," I told him, and then, thinking that was maybe too strong, corrected myself to, "Or at least I like her a lot.  I fancy girls, not boys – that's the point I'm making." 

     "Me too," he agreed.  "But the point I'm making is that we had sex last night." 

     "We didn't have actual sex," I refuted. 

     "We had our fingers up each other's butts and we rubbed our dicks together.  We spunked up over each other.  I'd pretty much call that having sex, mate." 

     "Well, okay then, so we had sex," I conceded, suddenly realising that it didn't really matter to me. 

     It was as if all the mixed-up thinking I'd that had troubled me before I'd slept had suddenly resolved itself into a clear and coherent acceptance of what we'd done.  I knew in at that moment how I wanted to play this: that what had happened was, pretty much, just boys being boys. 

     "We were both horny," I went on, "and we found that we enjoyed doing stuff together that we might not have expected to.  It doesn't mean we want to get married or anything – we were just two lads with hard-ons helping each other out!" 

     Marcus stared at me glumly and had gradually nodded.  "If you're sure it's that easy, Jake." 

     "Of course it is, mate.  It's the only way.  I mean, we're not gonna end up as, like, 'boyfriends' or anything just because we screwed around with each other." 

     "I agree with you – of course I do," he said.  "I was just trying to play it carefully.  I just thought... you know... after the way you were last night, you'd be all, like, 'What the fuck did we do?' and stuff." 

     I chortled.  "You should know me better than that, mate!" 

     I liked the way his dick looked in the orange boxer trunks he was wearing from the previous day.  The way he was sitting, with his legs open, gave him a cute little bulge in the front of the shorts: not like my cock which always makes an obscene, gratuitous mound no matter how shrivelled and limp it is. 

     "Okay," he said, still looking far too serious.  Now that it was morning, he was clearly a lot more troubled about this than he had been last night.  "So where do we go from here?" 

     "Where do we go from here?" I laughed.  "You make it sound like something momentous has happened!" 

     "It's not every day two guys – two straight guys – end up doing the stuff we did," he insisted. 

     "Come on, Marcus – it was basically a wank!  That's all it boils down to.  We did that before with no deep and meaningful discussions afterwards.  What's so different this time?" 

     "Well, I dunno... let me think... perhaps the fact that we had our faces in each other's butts.  And our fingers inside each other as well.   And," he shuddered at the memory, "the way we were kissing as well.  We were kissing when we came, Jake – that makes it pretty different from just two dudes having a wank together, doesn't it?" 

     I laughed again: it was funny how, to him, it seemed that kissing was the most scandalous thing we'd got up to. 

     He scowled at me for laughing: he was a lot more upset about this than he was trying to let on. 

     I made my face more serious and restated my case.  "But the point remains, Marcus, we were just using each other for relief when we were horny.  No strings attached.  What's the biggie, mate?" 

     "Well, I suppose it's not a big deal.  I just worried that you might –" 

     "Stop trying to pin whatever you're feeling on me, Marcus!  We dicked around together and that's all it was.  We're not going to date each other – I don't want... I dunno... candlelit suppers with you or any shit like that.  We're just close enough mates to give each other a bit of help when we're both feeling boned-up." 

     For a brief second, I'd wanted to tell him about my dad.  To explain to him how he'd gone from dating the occasional godawful woman to having much more regular sex with like-minded men.  Men who, like Marcus and me, found themselves getting horny more often than the women in their lives could handle. 

     A moment's reflection told me that it was wrong to draw my dad into things, though.  This wasn't about him and I didn't want Marcus to think I was using what my dad had been through to explain how I had behaved the previous night.  I mean, I didn't need to justify myself by pulling in my dad's sexuality. 

     "Okay," Marcus agreed with a nod.  "Yeah, I suppose I'm okay with that." 

     His cock and balls really did look cute in his orange shorts.  Not too big but not too small.  Making a nice package but not totally in-your-face, if you know what I mean. 

     I glanced further down, underneath his balls, where the material of his shorts disappeared between his legs and into his butt-crack.  It had been such a turn-on to have my nose sniffing at the material back there last night.  I could feel my cock fattening up a little from just the memory of how hot and raunchy it had smelt between his cheeks. 

     "What about the kissing, though?" he asked.  "That was kind of... intense..." 

     I smiled at him, picking my coffee to take a swig of it.  I'd pretty much forgotten I'd made it.  "We got carried away, mate," I reassured him.  "Put it down to that." 

     He nodded and picked up his own mug which he must have similarly forgotten about. 

     "Kissing's pretty serious, though," he persisted, taking a sip from his drink and pursing his lips with pain.  I'd made it way too hot.  It's always difficult to get it right when it's black coffee. 

     "It doesn't have to be," I countered and, as we drank our coffees, I told him about something that had happened to me about six months earlier back at home. 

     Me and a few mates had been out in town at a nightclub which was like the big wide world at the time but now seemed tiny and quaint compared to those I was more used to in Leeds. 

     This joke had started up – and I honestly don't remember exactly how – that me and mate Dan were there as a gay couple.  We were all sitting round in a sort of semi-circular booth, four of us lads and a couple of girls.  I think one of the girls might have fancied Dan and he was trying to get her to back off, but I don't really know.  It just kind of ended up that the two of us were pretending to be gay together, much to our mates' amusement and to the girls' mock-disgust. 

     It had started out with us holding hands and getting close to each other in a jokey sort of way. 

     "There's no way you two are gay," this girl kept saying.  "Well, he might be," she added, looking at me, "but you're definitely not." 

     "I'm fuckin' well gay, me," Dan insisted, in a deep burly voice that made it seem even more funny.  "And I'm shaggin' his arse!  Every fuckin' night!" 

     "And I'm shaggin' yours back," I was quick to chip in.  I didn't mind us bullshitting around that we were gay, but I didn't want these girls getting the idea that I was his butt-boy or something. 

     "Okay, if the two of you are gay," the girl said, "prove it by groping each other up." 

     We'd laughed at that – it was just like joshing around together, the way we often did after football practice. 

     Dan had fondled me through my jeans and I'd reached across to have a feel of his.  I'd enjoyed the look on his face when he'd realised how massive my dick felt inside them: he'd seen it loads of time in the sports centre showers and when I'd stayed around at his house but I guess he'd never really took in what a King Dong schlong I'm packing away. 

     I found to my surprise, as we felt up each other's pricks, that I really enjoyed it.  I told you that, as far as guy stuff goes, I'm definitely a dick-man and groping Dan that night was, I reckon, was the start of my interest in other lads' meat.  I liked the feel of my mate's knob through his trousers: it was smaller than mine and kind of tapered off in thickness towards the tip, but the differences made it all the more interesting and I was fascinated by the sensation of touching another lad's most private place. 

     And, needless to say, I liked the feel of his fingers on mine. 

     It actually wasn't at all like groping each other after football practice.  In the locker rooms, we did it quickly and roughly; just a brief grab of each other's crotches to make the other guys laugh.  This was altogether more deliberate and sensual; the two of us caressing rather than just snatching at each other, appreciating the size and shape of each other's dicks rather than lunging in and then pulling our hands away. 

     Our mates laughed at the sight of Dan and me with our hands fondling each other's crotches.  Dan started rubbing back and forth along the ridge of my cock through my jeans in an overtly sexual motion, so I did the same to his.  We both grinned across at our mates, opening our legs wider and flaunting our crotches to show off that we were, in effect, wanking each other off. 

     I made a face like I was cumming and bucked my hips rhythmically into his hand and he laughed and worked his dick firmly against my fingers, the whole time with the ridge of it getting thicker and harder as I jerked it through his trousers. 

     Mine was getting a bit fatter too: I could feel it steadily growing as Dan's fingers squeezed it and rubbed up and down it. 

     The lads found it all hilarious but the girls weren't impressed, though.  The more assertive one – the one who liked Dan – said she still didn't believe us and that if we really were gay we should prove it by kissing each other. 

     "And not just a quick peck," she clarified.  "I mean, a proper, deep kiss – a Frenchie.  Tongues and everything.  And doing it like you really mean it." 

     We'd grinned at each other – this would be even more fun.  

     We shuffled a little closer together on the seat and moved our faces towards each other.  We were both trying not to laugh to make it seem more like we were doing this for real, but it felt so weird and funny to be lunging in to kiss each other that we couldn't help but suppress our giggles. 

     Our lips touched and I suddenly found it a lot less funny.  Dan did too: his face became almost instantly more serious. 

     We opened our mouths and pressed the tips of our tongues together, the taste of Dan's beer breath hot and moist.  He worked his tongue into my mouth, gently teasing mine and flicking it against my teeth and I was like, "What the fuck?!"  It felt way too good, vying a guy take control and kiss you like you were a girl.  It felt so good I could feel my cock growing really quickly now.  I was getting a full hard-on with my mate's tongue in my gob! 

     I didn't tell Marcus this part, of course.  I made out like it was just a joke that me and Dan had been having.  That guys sometimes kiss for laughs and when they do it means diddly fuck. 

     Dan had put his hands on my shoulders and angled his face against mine so that he could work his tongue right into my mouth.  The girls giggled and the guys laughed uproariously: this really was a proper snog we were rolling out for them.  I gave into him, blown away by how good this felt and sensing from his quickening breath that he was too. 

     My cock was straining in my jeans; fully hard and oozing against my underwear.  I wanted him to reach down and grope me again; pull it out and wank me off properly.  I'd do the same to him, jerking his stiff dick as he kissed me like I was his girlfriend, and then I'd dip down to suck him off while he worked a finger up my butt. 

     But we didn't do any of that, of course.  We were in the middle of a fucking nightclub for God's sake! 

     Instead, Dan pulled back and whispered, "This is way too good, mate.  I'm gonna have to stop."  I looked down and saw the mound of his hard-on poking upwards on one side of his fly. 

     "Yeah," I agreed.  "It's, like, scarily good." 

     He glanced at my crotch and saw that I was also bulging, though far more prominently. 

     The upshot was that the girls were now convinced.  Our friends were throwing us odd looks too but fortunately our straining crotches went unnoticed. 

     "Okay, so maybe kissing's not so serious," Marcus agreed, buying into my somewhat adapted version of the story.  "We just had a wank together and we helped each other out as best we could.  Like you say, there's nothing more to discuss." 

     "Exactly," I smiled. 

     I could have dropped it there – the two of us just getting dressed and going into the kitchen to hang out with the rest of the guys – but I couldn't help but make occasional glances at his shorts.  I was curious to see if I could push things a bit further with him and I figured if I didn't make a move now, I might have to wait weeks to get another shot. 

     So I added, "Except for one thing, though." 

     "What's that?" he asked, his face the model of innocence. 

     I smiled more broadly.  "What else we can do to help each other out in future?" 

     "What do you mean?" he asked, taking a drink from his coffee which now seemed to have cooled. 

     "I assume we're gonna get horny together again," I explained before gulping down some of mine.  "I'm just kind of wondering what other things we could do to give each other... you know... a bit of occasional relief..." 

     I knew I was taking a risk, moving things on so soon after our first hook-up, but it seemed like it was the right time to do this.  It seemed, at that moment, like it was now or never. 

     After staring at me uncertainly, he asked by way of clarification, "You wanna do some stuff again?" 

     "Why not?" I asked with a nonchalance I didn't really feel.  "We've agreed it's not serious, so what's to stop us having some fun again when we're both in the mood?" 

     He kept staring at me and I might have chickened out – pretended like I was only joking and headed the fuck off for a cold shower – if I hadn't have seen the front of his orange boxer briefs twitch a little, as if something inside was stirring at the image that had formed in its owner's mind. 

     So I held out for his answer, my confidence rising slowly like the front of his shorts. 

     "Nothing... I guess," he said hesitantly.  "But... er... how often were you thinking?  What sort of timescale are we talking about?" 

     "I'm always up for a bit of fun," I replied.  "It would be nice to have someone around who's a bit more... you know... co-operative than Ellie.  Who doesn't say 'no' all the time... who wants it as much as I do." 

     "I guess the same goes for me too," he nodded.  The bulge in his underwear was growing steadily bigger.  Mine was too, come to that. 

     "So what else do you think we could offer each other?" I asked him again. 

     I was thinking of his butt: I fully admit that.  After what we'd done the night before, I really wanted a fuck: I'll admit that too.  I liked the look of his cock in his boxers, but at that particular moment I liked the thought of what was lurking further back a whole lot more.   

     The sight of the material underneath his balls disappearing between his legs was getting me horny and I wanted to make use of the little hole he was hiding there properly this time.  I mean, it had tasted nice enough when I'd rimmed him on my bed, but I was sure it would feel a damn sight better when he had its puffy pink ring clamped around my cock. 

     "I dunno," he hesitated.  "Whatever it is, I'd have to get the same from you that you got from me.  I'd better make that clear from the start, mate – this would have to be a two-way thing." 

     He was also thinking of butt-fucking: that much was clear.  He was telling me that if I wanted to fuck him, I'd have to be prepared to get fucked back.  I was up for that – I told you I'd been curious about what it would be like to have a guy root my arse – and I was quite willing for my bum to get poked just as much as his would. 

     Apart from anything, his cock was quite a bit smaller than mine so it would be a much easier fit. 

     Did guys always, I wondered, consider such anatomical details when negotiating matters of sex?  Did conversations like this happen in prisons and on oil rigs and stuff with both guys checking out each other's crotches and wondering how their bits were going to fit together? 

     "So if we did stuff again," I clarified, "but this time I was using a very... er... personal part of your body to help me out, you'd be okay with that as long as you got your own turn afterwards?" 

     "Or before," he said.  "Sometimes I'd want first dibs." 

     Jesus Christ – he made is sound like Scout camp. 

     "But you'd be okay about taking turns?  As long as we both got to... well... enjoy ourselves?" 

     "Yeah," he agreed.  "What you did last night felt good so what you're suggesting now can't feel too bad either.  Like I say, though – as long as I got to take a turn myself." 

     Yeah, we were talking about fucking.  The two of us were sitting here on my bed in our underwear drinking coffee and going through the terms and conditions about how we would butt-fuck each other.  And on a regular basis. 

     Life could be funny sometimes. 

     I thought I'd cut the crap. 

     "You feeling horny now?" I asked. 

     He smiled at me.  His shorts were giving him away – I needn't really have asked the question. 

     "Kind of, yeah.  What about you?" 

     "I'm always feeling horny, mate.  Just because my dick isn't pushing up the front of my shorts like yours is, doesn't mean I'm not ready and willing." 

     "And you wanna... you know... fuck my arse in exchange for fucking yours?  That is what we were talking about wasn't it?" 

     I was half-tempted to recoil with horror and claim that he'd totally misunderstood the gist of our conversation.  That all the time I'd been talking about releasing our tensions through taking turns to pace each other at the student gym and how on Earth could he even think about us shagging each other?! 

     But it was too important a moment to make that kind of joke.  So instead I'd just nodded and said, "Yeah, that was pretty much where we were headed." 

     We smiled at each other.  So it was out in the open: we were going to become the sort of guys who other blokes would joke about.  'Bum chums' me and mates would call lads who we suspected were bending over for each other behind their girlfriends' backs.  I preferred to think of Marcus and me as 'fuck-buddies' – I don't know why but it made it sounded less gay. 

     Not that there was anything wrong with sounding gay.  It's just that I didn't think either of us were gay.  Instead, we were two mates who weren't too fussy about where we got our kicks.  To me that didn't make us gay – just a bit over-sexed. 

     Eventually Marcus said, "So when you say you're 'ready and willing', do you mean now?  Do you actually want to... you know... be intimate together... I mean get erotic with each other... right now?" 

     His cock was really poking up inside his boxers by now.  Did I already say it looked cute?  If I did, I've got to say that it looked even cuter when it was fully hard and making a wet patch on his shorts. 

     "I don't want to piss around, Marcus.  If you wanna do stuff with me, I just want you to just come out and say it.  This has to be casual for both of us – no emotional stuff, no feeling awkward thinking of how we're gonna phrase stuff with each other or anything.  If you wanna fuck, just tell me.  We both know why we're doing it, what our reasons are, so let's not dress it up with flowery language and all that shit." 

     He smiled at me; so broadly that his teeth showed.  He had good teeth – nice and white and all fitting together like they should. 

     He seemed genuinely pleased that I'd said what I'd said.  That unlike Annabelle, the girl he'd been seeing on-and-off, he didn't need to think about how he was wording everything up before he said it.  If he wanted a fuck, he just had to say it.  With another lad, he just needed to tell me he was horny and I'd do what I could to help him out. 

     "Okay," he said.  "I want to fuck your arse, Jake.  You can fuck mine too.  I don't mind which order we do it in." 

     I grinned at him and then I laughed. 

     He laughed too but then he corrected himself: "Actually, since we're being totally honest, I'd prefer to go first.  Yes, I want to use your arse before you use mine." 

     "The trouble with that," I said, "is that you're the one who cums first.  You're totally spent and feeling unhorny and then you're having to bend over while I bone you." 

     "Hmm..." he nodded.  "I see what you mean.  So you think it's best to go second?" 

     "I dunno," I pretended.  "It's not like I'm an expert at this." 

     Except actually I was.  I'd seen my dad take on all comers in every configuration and I'd pretty much figured out what worked and what didn't. 

     "But if we do it the other way," he said, "the same goes for you too.  How do we decide who goes first?" 

     "I think," I started, choosing my words carefully so that he wouldn't realise how much I knew about this kind of stuff.  "I think I might have read somewhere that the guy being nailed enjoys it too.  I wouldn't know the details, but I think it's to do with the prostate gland or something." 

     "Oh yeah, that makes sense," he said.  Like he had a fucking clue.  "Well, I'll bend over for you, as long as you'll bend over for me afterwards." 

     Lying in my cramped bed at home underneath my Arctic Monkeys poster, Marcus pushed back against me and I grabbed him closer to me as I struggled to get to sleep.  His bum felt so nice against my cock.  I was still semi-hard and, in spite of the beer I'd drunk, I wasn't able to relax enough to nod off. 

     I wondered how much Marcus liked having another lad hold him as I did while he slept.  When he was drifting off to sleep, he seemed quite happy to have another male hold him like a girlfriend and kissing the back of his neck.  But even when he was asleep he seemed content to have me behind him, nuzzling the fat head of my dick into the crack of his arse in the same way that I'd snuggle it between the tops of Ellie's thighs when she was in the same position. 

     As his breathing became slow and deep and he pulled slightly away from me as if my breath was tickling his neck, I heard a familiar dull thumping coming from my dad's room, betraying to the whole house that he needed some late-night relief.  

     "Waxing the carrot with a guest in the house, Mr Furlong?" I thought with a combination of amusement and disapproval.  But then it occurred to me that what I'd suggested to Marcus about how we should end our evening would have been far noisier and way more impolite. 

     Not that my dad would have minded, of course: he'd have enjoyed hearing the two of us going at it.  He'd probably be wanking a lot more energetically at the sounds that my bedsprings would have made with the two of us beating the cheeks with each other. 

     I wondered about putting on a show for him the following evening: yeah, that would be pretty cool.  Really going to town for him with the two of us grunting and gasping; my cock pounding Marcus so hard that my headboard would be hammering against the wall.  He'd probably sneak along the corridor and watch us just like I did with him when he had one of his 'friends' to stay over.  I'd enjoy performing for him, showing him that I'm not a kid anymore. 

     Once we'd finished our coffees, the actual getting down to sex with Marcus proved to be way more awkward than I'd expected.  Having never had sex with another lad before – well, not proper up-the-arse stuff – I wasn't sure how exactly to go about it. 

     We'd stripped off – Marcus was full-on horny but I wasn't at all – and talked about how we wanted to do it.  It was weird chatting like that with another guy – trying to make it sound casual and ordinary when we were discussing, for real, how we were going to fuck each other's arses. 

     Marcus wanted to do it on the bed but I thought it would be better if he squatted on my chair.  Marcus thought we should use KY jelly but I thought Vaseline might be more effective. 

     I'd never seen this part of it when I'd sneaked a look-in on my dad.  By the time I got to his bedroom door, the party had always been in full swing.  I had no idea whether he also had conversations like this, discussing the practicalities of how two male anatomies could be made to fit together. 

     In the end I got so freaked out by having to try and figure out what the fuck we should do, that there was no way my cock was going to be good for anything.  So we decided – well, I accepted – that it was Marcus who was going to get 'first dibs' as he'd put it. 

     We did it on the bed and we used Vaseline: a kind of compromise, I guess. 

     It was so painfully awkward, though – having to bend over for him and show him my arse while he knelt behind me and levelled up his dick with the lower part of my crack. 

     I had no idea what to say – how to make this become more sexy and fun.  It just seemed sterile and horrible, as if he was going to carry out some invasive medical procedure like shoving one of those disgusting things up my butt that my dad has to use sometimes after a really heavy session.  You know the ones I mean: the ones with little strings on them. 

     I thought about backing out and telling him that I couldn't bring myself to do it.  That maybe we could try again some time when we were both half-spun and it would seem more like the kind of thing drunk lads get up to when they're dicking around, just as it had the previous night. 

     But I worried that, having come this far, if I welshed on him, he'd take it as a pretty serious rejection.  He'd feel as if he'd been the one who'd been so up for it that he'd just about pushed his dick against my butt and I'd been the sensible voice of reason who'd had second thoughts and had ended up telling him no. 

     Could we stay mates after something like that?  I didn't know whether we could and I sure as hell didn't want to find out. 

     So, even though I was starting to think this was one big fucking mistake and that it was probably the most unpleasant sex I was ever going to have, I bent forwards and spread my legs as wide apart as I could, while he lined his oily cock up with where he thought my hole was. 

     When I felt it slide, warm and wet, between my arse cheeks, something suddenly occurred to me. 

     "Actually," I said, "I don't wanna break the sexy mood we've got going on here, mate, but I reckon I should probably take a dump before we start." 

     "Oh yeah," he replied.  "I probably should too." 

     I got up from the bed, pleased for the distraction and pulled my dressing gown on. 

     "I'll go first," I told him. 

     He smiled at me, still kneeling on my bed holding his hard-on, like this was all so everyday. 

     "Do you think this is how sex always starts out for gay guys?" he asked with a chuckle.  "With the two of them taking craps so that they can take each other's cocks?" 

     "I have no idea, mate," I replied.  I thought back to my dad: did he always use the toilet before entertaining his 'evening callers'?  I wasn't sure – such things would never have occurred to me before this – but I thought not. 

     Talking of my dad, his rhythm was really picking up.  If he was concerned that Marcus might hear him jerking off, he made no attempt to be discreet about what he was doing. 

     Perhaps he liked the thought of the two of us lying here listening to him.  Perhaps it turned him on to think of my blond-haired uni friend hearing him whacking himself off. 

     I wondered what he was thinking about.  I knew I should really be trying to empty my mind, to think of sheep or whatever you're supposed to, to make me nod off, but I couldn't help but speculate on what might be fuelling this particular masturbatory session that my dad was getting so into. 

     As the two of us had just been talking about sex, and specifically that first night I'd spent messing around with Marcus, it seemed likely that at least some of that imagery would be featuring pretty heavily in his musings.   

     I wondered if he was thinking of me.  Do fathers think about their sons when they're wanking?  I thought in most cases probably not, but my dad can get pretty freaky sometimes.  He pretends he's this boring, square bloke with a lame-ass job who's into wine and classical music, but when you live with him you realise how totally obsessed with sex he is.  He seems to constantly be wanking off – God know how many times he does it each day – and the stuff he leaves behind in his internet history would, believe me, make a Scunthorpe slapper blush.  And yet he breezes in like he's so prim and proper, telling me off for using the word 'arse' because 'bottom' is more polite. 

     Once – I kid you not – he was chatting while I was having my tea about some guy he'd met and he mentioned something which, if I hadn't actually heard him say it, I wouldn't have believed that even he was capable of.  He was dressing things up the way he always does – talking about "gratifying" another man and being "indulged" by him so he didn't have to swear or sound crude – but the gist of it was how much he'd enjoyed fucking a bloke's arse with the same guy's spunk trickling down the backs of thighs as it leaked out of his own. 

     There – I've shocked you!  I fucking have – admit it! 

     To be honest, even I had to double-take, with my ravioli on toast poised on my fork in front of my gaping mouth.  He just stood there after he'd said it, smiling sweetly and looking like butter wouldn't melt, and I was thinking, "Jesus fucking Christ, I've got my paper two Biology exam tomorrow.  I really do not want to get stuck with that image in my head." 

     Another time, while I'd only been half tuned-in to whatever it was he was going on about – something about "pleasuring a couple of friends" and "the joys to be had in receiving two at once" – he'd said, while he was rooting around in the cupboard for some pasta, "I tell you what, Jake, by the end of it my rear quarters looked like a yawning hippo." 

     And I'd been like, "What the actual fuck?!" 

     So, to boil it down, yes: he could well be jazzing off thinking of me and what I'd done with Marcus.  I wouldn't put anything past the dirty sod these days. 

     How did that make me feel, I wondered, to have my dad thinking of the stuff I'd done with my friend while his hand was thumping away at the front of his pyjama bottoms? 

     I wasn't sure, to be honest.  From the sounds he was making – oh God, I could actually hear him panting – he was obviously enjoying whatever it was he was thinking of.  So I guess, in a way, I should be flattered if I happened to feature in the little show that was playing itself out in the seedy theatre inside his head. 

     I assumed it would be the thoughts of me rimming Marcus or Marcus rimming me that he was finding so pleasant.  He had a compulsion about rimming – a sort of one-track focus on it at the exclusion of all the other flavours of sex you could have with guys – and so it was very likely that it was my bum or Marcus' bum that was being licked at this very moment in his pervy brain while his hand did its work. 

     Back in my student flat, sitting there on the toilet, I thought about what I was going to do with Marcus.  I was about to let another lad fuck me: that's what it came down to.  I was about to have my arse porked by some guy I'd known for just a couple of months and, worse than that, I was about to do it stone cold sober. 

     When you think about having sex for the first time as a kid, you imagine doing it on your wedding night in a room full of candles and rose petals and all that shit.  You don't think about bending over on your creaky university bed while some posh boy from Surrey grabbed your hips and shoved his lubed-up cock up your arse. 

     I'd have to get out of this somehow.  I'd have to do it cleverly so he'd think it was him who was backing out.  Yeah, that was how to do it.  Come on, Jake, I thought: work those fucking brain cells, mate.  You got yourself into this, now get yourself the fuck out of it. 

     My dad was pulling his pud faster and faster.  There was no way I could get to sleep now: I had to hear him finish before I could even start to relax.  I was going to feel like shit in the morning, I knew that much.  We were going to some stone circle Marcus had said sounded "interesting" which probably meant standing around in the freezing cold while he pissed about measuring things.  This was the drawback of having an archaeology student as your fuck-buddy: plenty of hot sex but the occasional necessary bout of getting cold thrown in too. 

     Marcus was snoring by now.  I wondered if that was another negative of having a male lover.  Ellie didn't snore but Marcus was a pain for it. 

     I thought that my dad was probably thinking of Marcus' butt.  He wouldn't be thinking about mine – that would be way too weird.  He would be thinking about my tongue, and that was okay, and maybe thinking about Marcus' cock being tugged while I did my thing behind him.  But his attention would definitely be centred slap bang on the bullseye of my friend's bum. 

     I suddenly had a fun thought: what if I left a pair of Marcus' discarded underwear in the bathroom for my dad to find?  I'd position them behind the door, as if Marcus had accidentally left them there after taking a shower.  I could imagine that my dad would probably borrow them for a short while so he could take them to his room and "interact with them" as he would put it. 

     I thought back to how many times I'd found his friends' underwear in the bathroom after they'd stayed over.  Bradley's, Guy's, that bloke Deshi's who he used to hook up with.  Every time one of them had stayed over their dirty briefs or boxers would be lying in the bathroom the next morning. 

     Perhaps he'd been doing for me what I'd just considered doing for him: giving me a little sniff of what I'd missed as a sort of consolation prize for the loser in the house.  If he had, I hadn't let them go to waste.  Especially Bradley's: those had been put to very good use with my bedroom door firmly shut. 

     Usually I'd use the front – like I told you, I'm very much a dick-man when it comes to guys – and wank off with the smell of another guy's cock and balls over my face.  Sometimes, though, if I was in the mood, I'd use the back, and imagine that the rougher smell where the material had rubbed against his hole was being made by my dick fucking him up the butt. 

     With my dad, though, I had no doubt about which side of Marcus' shorts he'd be more interested in.  I'd make sure the back of them were nice and flavoursome and I knew that rimming my mate's arse would be at the forefront of my dad's mind when he had them pressed to his nose and was 'interacting' himself off. 

     When I'd traipsed back to my room from the toilet, I gave Marcus my dressing gown so he could similarly nip out to prepare his bowels for their imminent invasion.  If this was what butt-fucking involved – having to shit every time before you had sex – I couldn't see me getting into it.  The awkwardness was bad enough, but having to remember to take a crap every time you felt horny – that seemed way too involved. 

     "Look, mate," I said, "maybe this isn't such a good time to do this.  I mean, you've probably got stuff to do and I know how hungover you get after a heavy night..." 

     "Naah, I'm free all day, mate," he said, pulling on my dressing gown.  "And I feel fine – not even a headache.  If you're having second thoughts, though, just say..." 

     "Me?  No... I'm well up for it... of course I am!"  The state of my dick was saying otherwise, but I didn't want him to think I was backing out. 

     He smiled at me.  "Let's just go for it, then, Jake.  I mean, after all the stuff we've said – you know, actually discussing fucking each other – it's gonna get really uncomfortable between us if we don't do the deed." 

     "I know that... but when we first woke up you were a bit freaked out about it.  I don't want to push things too far and too fast for you." 

     He nodded, tying up the belt to secure the front of my dressing gown.  His hard-on made the material rise upwards but he didn't seem to care. 

     "I was mainly worried how you were feeling, to be honest, Jake.  Since then we've laid down the ground rules and it feels okay to be doing stuff together... from what you said earlier, it makes good sense." 

     I wanted to say something but he put his arm on mine and stopped me.  "Look, I'll just pop to the loo, mate, and then we'll get started.  You'll feel better once we're doing it.  It'll be fun... I promise..." 

     He left the room and that was when I first wondered if he'd done this before.  He'd been to an all-boys' boarding school so it wasn't totally impossible that he'd played around a bit after lights-out.  He seemed remarkably calm for someone about to have his first fuck with another guy, and how the hell could he be so sure that it would end up being fun for me too?  How could he know something like that? 

     I sat down on my bed wondering how I was going to get out of this.  What could I say?  Sudden stomach trouble?  A phone call from a dying aunt?  What the fuck was I going to say to make him piss off without feeling too pissed off with me? 

     My dad was spunking up.  I could hear his gasps and, perhaps only by suggestion, the splashing of his cum onto his stomach and chest.  I wondered what mental picture had brought him to his climax: maybe me with my hairy arse-crack lowering itself down onto Marcus' face, or the thought of the two of us snogging like a couple of love-birds while we fingered each other. 

     Or perhaps he'd imagined us fucking.  Yes, he's a big fan of anal sex so it could well have been that in his mind.  He wasn't too bothered about which way around he "partook" as he called it.  When I snuck a glance into his room when he had a bloke to stay-over these days, I was just as likely to find him on all-fours readily taking it as I was to find him banging away at an eagerly-splayed arse. 

     It was bizarre how he'd gone from being pretty much celibate, barring the attentions of his own hand and the occasional nutty woman he'd meet on a dating site, to bringing back men two or three times a week and regularly disappearing off with an overnight bag.  Quite often they seem to be random hook-ups – God knows how he met them – but among his callers he has a few recurring faces: men who, like him, might not call themselves gay but nevertheless have a thing for sex with their own gender. 

     He didn't seem to have anyone in particular who he'd formed a special bond with, the way I had with Marcus.  Well, he'd formed a friendship of sorts with the first bloke he'd got together with – the dad of my friend from school called Guy who he'd talked about downstairs – but, other than that, men just seem to come and go for him like ships in the night or whatever the saying is.  It's just a sexual thing for him: a way of emptying his bollocks into someone or over someone with nothing more to it than that. 

     I suppose it's a bit like that for me too, but the difference is that I know or half-know most of the lads I cop off with.  At the very least I know of them through a friend of a friend.  My dad just brings these strangers home with him – he actually gets their names wrong most of the time – and then the two of them (or three of them) have a few drinks downstairs before retiring to bed to do the deed with me listening in the next room.  The next morning we just move right on and the whole thing's quickly forgotten. 

     When Marcus came back from the loo, he threw my dressing gown on the floor to reveal that he was still rock hard.  He can be horny fucker sometimes, but on that particular morning it didn't seem like such a good thing. 

     He walked over to my desk and picked up my tub of Vaseline.  Smearing it on his dick he told me to get on all fours on the bed. 

     So that's what things had come to, was it?  Having another lad tell me to bend over so he could butt-fuck me. 

     There seemed no point in trying any other ways of getting myself out of this.  If I started coming up with any more excuses as to why he couldn't screw me, he was going to start getting salty and we'd end up falling out.  That really was the last thing I wanted: to lose a good mate for the sake of not letting him do something I'd really wanted myself just twenty minutes ago. 

     I'd just have to get through this as best as I could.  Lie back and think of England or whatever the expression was.  Except in my case I'd be bending forwards and biting the pillow while I thought of queen and country. 

     I got on the bed and got back on all fours, and he climbed onto it behind me, still smearing Vaseline onto his hard-on. 

     "Come on, mate, it won't be that bad," he said, trying to encourage me.  He was kneeling behind me with a cock coated in Vaseline, working out how best to slide it up my butt, and now he was trying to cheer me up.  Good strategy, dude. 

     "You seem really calm, Marcus," I observed.  "I'm tense as fuck – about to get shagged up my arse for the first time." 

     "Years of practice, mate," he chuckled.  "When I was at boarding school, I worked my way through every lad in my dorm!" 

     "What!?" I exclaimed, turning around in horror.  So he'd been lying, had he?  I knew it!  He'd been boning every butt in the fucking school! 

     He chuckled at my expression.  "Of course I didn't, Jake!  This is new for me too... I swear to God.  I told you before – it wasn't that sort of school.  I'm a total novice, mate... at least in this respect." 

     Persuaded he was telling the truth, I faced forwards again.  "Don't do that to me, Marcus.  Not right now... not like this.  It's not fucking funny." 

     "Okay, sorry," he said, and shuffled up behind me. 

     That was all I needed.  As if it wasn't bad enough that I was about to have my arse screwed, he starts clowning around just to make it even worse. 

     The insertion itself was brief.  He pushed his dick into me with one quick lunge – the Vaseline really did its job – and then, with a hand on my hip and the other holding my shoulder, we just stayed like that for a minute, as if we couldn't believe that we were actually joined together: two lads connected cock to bum. 

     "I'm fucking you, Jake," he whispered down to me.  Like I wouldn't have noticed; like I'd be really be that dippy. 

     But I was too wound up to reply; too wrapped up in the sensations I was getting.  It felt weird to have him inside me – to actually have his knob inside my butt – but at the same time there were lots of other feelings going on: electrical impulses firing off from places I hadn't known I had; shivers surging up my spine in way I'd never experienced. 

     It sounds corny as fuck – I know, I've read other guys' first-time stories – but I suddenly felt totally different.  Sexually reborn sounds too religious; sexually re-energised sounds like I'm a Duracel battery.  But that's the image I'm trying to convey: suddenly, right out of the blue, I felt like this was some totally new part of me that I hadn't known existed and I could tell that, once we got going, this was going to be cranked-up-to-eleven exciting. 

     He said, "Are you okay, Jake?  I can take it out if you like..." 

     "Just do it," I said, struggling with the sensations that were charging through me, eager to know what else I was going to feel.  "Just fuck me, mate.  Do it now." 

     He started easing in and out of me, slowly at first, and I shuddered with every stroke he made. 

     "If it's really that awful, Jake, just tell me and I'll stop, mate.  I don't want to hurt you, dude." 

     The feel of him inside me was incredible.  Every time he slid his cock into me, I had that breath-taking sensation tingling through me.  I'd told him about the male prostate gland and I figured that's what must be causing this: his dick must be rubbing against it inside me, making me tremble with excitement. 

     Was this how a girl felt when she had a guy inside her pussy, I wondered?  I had no idea, but I could feel that my own cock was responding to the feelings I was getting from my bum.  It was getting quickly longer and harder and starting to rise up between my legs. 

     Marcus paused with his dick buried right up me. 

     "Are you okay, mate?" he asked.  "I really don't want to do this if it's hurting you." 

     "Feel my cock, Marcus," I managed to whisper. 

     He leant down across my back and groped underneath me, quickly locating my growing hard-on.  He laughed at the feel of it, pleased that I was becoming aroused by what he was doing. 

     "I knew you'd like it, Jake!  I knew you'd enjoy it once we got started!" 

     "How?" I gasped.  "How did you know that?" 

     A suspicion that he'd done this before was still lurking at the back of my mind. 

     "You've seen gay stuff on the web, mate," he explained.  "You've seen how it works.  The guy getting fucked always ends up getting horny for it." 

     He fondled my cock, squeezing it and gently easing the foreskin back and forth, chuckling against my back at how fast it was growing in his hand.  He started fucking me again, more quickly and confidently now, and then surprised me by kissing me between my shoulder blades. 

     "This feels so nice, Jake," he whispered.  "Your arse is so tight... it actually feels better than a minge." 

     I'd laughed at that.  "Is that what you're thinking of it as?" 

     "Weirdly, no.  I'm thinking of it as your butt.  And I'm enjoying it as that; enjoying the fact that I'm fucking you as another guy and that I'm doing it up your arsehole." 

     And that's how it always went from then on when we had sex: we wouldn't think of each other as girl-substitutes; we'd have sex as two guys and enjoy each other's cocks and bums for what they were.  It seemed a whole lot better that way. 

     He took his hand off my cock and pushed himself upright behind me.  Grabbing my hips again, he started fucking me properly, making firm rapid thrusts and using the whole length of his dick. 

     It felt amazing to have him slamming in and out of me like that.  I writhed underneath him and heard myself gasping in pleasure. 

     "Oh Jesus!" he called out.  "This feels so fucking good!" 

     I pushed my bum back against him, pumping his cock with the tightness of my ring – wanking him off using my arse muscles.  I reached underneath myself and did the same to my own cock, only using my hand and a more conventional technique. 

     "It's totally unlike sex with a girl," he gasped, shafting me as roughly could and making his bollocks slap against my thighs.  "The feel of it... the smell of it... there's no way you could imagine this was straight sex, mate!" 

     I pushed myself upright so that we were kneeling together, my back against his chest.  He grabbed me tightly with both arms and drove even faster in and out of me.  Still wanking myself, I met his every thrust with a sharp jab of my butt-cheeks, working against him to maximise the pleasure we were both feeling. 

     I loved that I could do this to him: use my butt to really crank up the intensity of his fuck.  It would never have occurred to me that I could use my arse muscles to jerk off another guy's dick and, even more than that, what an amazing feeling I would get from doing it.  Every time he rammed his cock up me, I got this incredible sensation from pushing back against it and squeezing my butt-hole around it; it made jerking my cock feel way, way better than it ever had. 

     Panting against the back of my neck, he muttered, "Jesus, Jake – I'm gonna fucking cum!" 

     I bent forwards again to open my arse up for him and he grabbed me by the shoulders for better leverage.  His cock hammered in and out of me so hard that the bed started creaking in a way that would make it obvious to the whole flat that the two of us were having sex. 

     I suddenly wondered if I'd locked the door of my room.  If some smart-arse were to open it, the whole flat would see us in this, the gayest of all gay positions.  Me on all fours with Marcus upright behind me.  And my dick hard and throbbing while his drove relentlessly in and out of my splayed-open butt. 

     Everyone would know me and Marcus had done it butt-style but as Craig had said, I didn't give a fuck. 

     He started grunting like a pig and then I felt his hot wetness squirting up inside me.  He was shooting his spunk up my butt and it felt surprisingly pleasant. 

     "Aah!" he called out, between heaving breaths.  "Aah, yeah!  Jesus, yeah!" 

     He grabbed more shoulders more firmly and slammed his dick right up inside me, holding it there, buried to the hilt, while he discharged the last remnants of his cum from his balls.  I could actually feel it spurting up into my bowels; feel it shooting in surges up my butt. 

     Considering we'd both spunked up the previous night, his orgasm was incredibly copious.  But that became a recurrent feature of our sex: no matter how many times the two of us cum together, we can always manage one more and our balls never fail to deliver yet another bountiful load. 

     Like mine, his bollocks are good at working over-time, churning out sperms as fast as we can despatch up them up each other's butts. 

     In my bed at home, lying behind him, all these thoughts of that first morning we did stuff together were making my cock ache.  I can remember my first time with a girl – which guy can't? – but that first time with another guy never fails to get me horny when I think about it. 

     My cock strained against his backside.  It was going to need me to sort it out before it was going to let me get any sleep. 

     Especially if I were to keep thinking of what we'd done that morning.  After all, as far as I was concerned, the best part was yet to come. 

 

 

 

Part 4

I looked at the clock. It was going on for three. At this rate, I was going to need half a jar of coffee to get me going in the morning.

     I'd been enjoying having horny thoughts about the first time I'd hooked up with Marcus, and it had been nice to lie here snuggling into his back and rubbing my dick against his bum while I'd played through it in my head.  I'd thought that sleep would gradually take me, but as it hadn't and all those thoughts had left me with a hard-on that wouldn't quit, I realised I was going to need to get rid of it before I was going to be able to doze off. 

     Since Marcus was too out of it by now for me to risk waking him, I decided I'd have to nip off for a quick wank. 

     I got out of bed quietly and headed off to the bathroom. 

     If only Bradley or Guy was staying over with my dad and there was a nice raunchy pair of briefs lying in there for me to have some fun with. 

     But no, when I switched the light on and closed the door, the only pair that I found there were a pair of my dad's Calvins.  Pretty well-worn too, by the look of them.  I suspected he'd left them there hoping Marcus would take a sly sniff of them.  He could be such a sleaze-ball sometimes. 

     I pulled my own briefs down and sat on the loo.  This would have to be an imagination-only wank.  It had been a while since I'd had one of those.  Normally I'd switch on some porn to help me out when I was jerking off alone, but this time I'd just have to think nice thoughts. 

     I took up a steady rhythm – Jesus this bathroom was cold – and thought about what had happened that same morning after Marcus had cum up my butt. 

     After he'd pulled out of me and wiped himself off – I've got to admit that the mess was a lot worse than you get with a girl – he'd surprised me by immediately suggesting that we change positions. 

     I'd asked, "Don't you want to... you know... calm down a bit first?  Recover, maybe?" 

     "No," he replied.  "I wanna know what it feels like.  You enjoyed having me inside you, so I probably will too." 

     He grabbed the Vaseline and worked a gob of it into his arsehole, and then got on the bed on all fours like I had. 

     "Come on then, mate," he quipped impatiently.  "Do me like I did you." 

     I smeared some of the Vaseline all over my cock and got on the bed behind him.  It felt oddly exciting to be with another lad like this: him bent over with his arse sticking out and me kneeling behind him with my hard-on level with his butt-crack.  I knew it was the gayest of all gay positions and yet I kind of liked how it felt for us to be together like this. 

     "This is going to be a squeeze," I warned him, pushing my huge cock head between his cheeks, right where his tightly clenched hole would be lurking.  I was pleased I was running a full boner: getting my cock into another guy's butt would be almost impossible if I was even slightly floppy. 

     I found his puckered hole with the tip of my dick and pushed my bell-end firmly against it.  Even after several attempts, it steadfastly refused to let me in. 

     "Relax your butt like you're taking a shit," I told him. 

     "Aw, you say the cutest things, mate," he chuckled. 

     He made a deliberate effort to relax his hole and I managed to work the an inch or so of my massive purple helmet into him. 

     "Is it going in?" he asked. 

     "A bit, yeah," I grunted, surprised at how much effort this was. 

     "How does it look?" 

     "Like my dick going into your arse.  How do you think?" 

     He laughed and explained, "When mine was going into you, I thought it looked pretty cool.  Having my cock slowly disappearing between another guy's arse-cheeks, and the way your butt-hole was sort of consuming it... I dunno... it looked kind of hot to me." 

     "It probably will when it's a bit further in," I conceded.  "Now it just looks like one mis-timed fart would push it back out." 

     "I'll be careful, then," he chuckled and relaxed his hole further so I could ease a bit more of my bell-end into him.  The widest part was yet to come – the base of my dick head where there's a thick ridge like at the bottom of a helmet.  Getting that through his butt-hole was going to be a strain but once I'd worked it inside him, the rest of my cock would – I hoped – slide into him a bit easier. 

     "Actually, farting must be pretty common during bum sex," he observed.  I couldn't believe how he was just chatting away while he was slowly receiving a dick up his arse.  It was like we were just sitting have a coffee in Costa, talking bullshit together, rather than having our first butt-fuck together.  He was just so bizarrely relaxed about it. 

     I wondered again if he'd done this before.  For all he reckoned that the boys' school he went to "wasn't like that", he seemed too at ease with what we were doing for this to be his first time.  Surely, in even the most virtuous of boys' schools, a few pillows would get bitten in the dorms after lights-out?  In spite of his claims of absolute innocence, I wondered how many bite-marks Marcus' pillow had had on it. 

     "Maybe," I replied.  "Girls get a bit funny about farting during sex, but I don't suppose guys are too bothered." 

     "It's gonna happen, mate," he said.  "It's pretty inevitable." 

     I pushed forwards as he tried to relax further and the base of my cock head pushed through his stretched anal ring.  It contracted behind it, squeezing around the top of my shaft.  It looked, as Marcus had observed, quite appealing: munching on the girth of my dick as if it was slowly feeding on it. 

     "Oh... fuck me!" Marcus called out in pain. 

     "I'm trying to, mate – give me a minute!" 

     "Surely it's in by now!" he implored. 

     I laughed.  "Not even close.  The head of it's in but there's about eight inches of stalk left." 

     "Jesus," he winced.  "I've never felt anything like this." 

     If he had spent his school nights having his butt poked in the dorm, the lads who had sneakily pleasured themselves must have had dicks considerably smaller and thinner than mine. 

     "Do you want me to take it out?" I asked. 

     "No," he replied.  "Keep going.  Once it's in, you kind of start getting used to it." 

     "Are you sure you haven't done this before?" I asked.  I could well imagine him being the pass-around-pussy of his boarding house. 

     "Of course not," he chuckled.  "It's just that when you put your fingers up there last night, I soon got used to the feel of them, so it'll be the same with your dick... I hope!" 

     I pushed another inch of my cock into him with his arsehole struggling to take it. 

     If he had been the fuck-bunny for his school, all that practice hadn't widened his butt very much.  Maybe he was telling the truth: maybe this was his first time. 

     I eased a little more of my shaft through his straining hole.  The bloated head of my dick bored upwards through his hot, wet bowels, pushing everything aside like a huge battering ram.  I knew full well what it was encountering up there but the thought didn't bother me as much as I might have thought it would. 

     "Ah Jesus!" he called out.  "That's actually starting to feel quite good!" 

     "Yeah?" 

     "Yeah," he agreed.  "I mean, it feels like my ring is on fire and I need to take the mother of all dumps, but the sensation of feeling your cock up there is actually quite nice." 

     "You're a natural butt-boy, mate!" I joked. 

     "You enjoyed it too, Jake," he quipped, a touch defensively.  "When I did it to you, it made your dick get hard." 

     I smiled down at him.  My first male lover. 

     Lover?  Fuck!  Where the hell had that word come from? 

     I moved one hand up to hold his shoulder steady and eased some more of my cock into his backside. 

     "Oh, fucking Jesus!" he cried out.  "Tell me it's fucking in already!" 

     There was a good few inches that weren't inside him, but I figured this was as far as I was going to get.  It was pretty impressive, really: he'd taken quite a lot more of my shaft than Ellie was able to and, lets' face it, nature had intended hers to receive dicks. 

     "It's in," I told him.  "Well, as far in as it's gonna get." 

     "Thank fuck!" he called out.  "It feels like I've got a fucking bollard wedged up my arse!" 

     "Do you think you will get used to having me up there?" I asked.  "I mean, if we're gonna start doing this regularly..." 

     "We'll find out, I guess," he muttered while trying to manage his pain by controlling his breathing.  "Maybe it'll stretch a bit with practice." 

     As it happened, it did.  Within just a week or so, he was taking me with ease. 

     I looked down at my first taste of anal penetration, marvelling at my persistence and his determination.  It was actually quite obscene the way his butt-hole was so splayed open by the massive girth of my cock.  His cheeks were being pushed to each side, their natural roundedness distorted into a pair of crescents, while my humungous dick was rammed in slap bang in the middle, stretching the rim of his anus into a thin, tender-looking sheath. 

     "I don't think you'll feel yourself shit for a few weeks, mate," I told him bluntly. 

     "Is it really that hideous?" he asked. 

     "Your entire butt is now basically a huge, gaping hole with my dick filling it up," I replied with only a little exaggeration.  "You could just about give birth to a baby through it, put it like that." 

     "Oh Jesus, really?" he asked.  He sounded a bit worried but there was a heavy dose of amusement with it.  That pretty much sums up why I like him so much: he's always up for a laugh even when things aren't going his way. 

     "Yeah, my cock looks like a tree-trunk and your butt is sort of stretched around it," I went on.  "Your ring-piece looks as if it's about to snap.  It's, like, totally scandalous." 

     He reached forwards and grabbed his phone from my desk.  "Get a photo of it, mate!  Let me see it!" 

     I started up his camera app and angled the phone down to where my gratuitously swollen shaft was stretching his arsehole open.  It looked pretty appalling but kind of funny in a way. 

     I took a few snaps and passed him his phone back. 

     He chortled at the pictures.  "Oh Jesus fucking Christ!  That is, like, shocking, mate!" 

     "You wanna see it in the flesh.  It's like a third leg sticking out of your butt!" 

     He laughed, "You must be that guy... Jake the Peg with the extra leg, or whatever he was called!" 

     "Jake the Peg?" I asked, remembering the teacher who had long ago made the joke.  "Where's that from?" 

     "Come on, mate!  Don't expect me to start remembering the names of old TV shows when I've got a dick the size of a fucking limb sticking out of my arse!" 

     I laughed back, enjoying the distinctly pungent smell of our sex which was starting to waft up from his well-stuffed butt. 

     Marcus studied the photos from various angles muttering, "I can't believe this is my poor fucking arsehole!"  Then he giggled, "I'm gonna be walking like I've crapped myself for weeks after this... I'm gonna be farting like a donkey!" 

     "It's a pretty bitchin' photo, though," I chuckled.  "If I was you, I'd set it as my wallpaper." 

     "Yeah, right!" he laughed.  "'Oh, what's your background pic, Marcus?'  'It's my anus being destroyed by Jake Furlong's knob when he was shit-stabbing me.'  That's really gonna get me a second date with a girl, isn't it?" 

     I laughed back and he fiddled with his phone.  "No, I think I'll just delete those, mate, before anyone else ends up looking at them." 

     "Aw, come on!  I wanted a copy of those.  Here – pass me the phone again." 

     He handed it over to me and held it out at arms-length as far away from us as I could, eager to take a selfie of us fucking. 

     "Right, say cheese, mate!" 

     We both grinned at the phone as it clicked, like we were just messing around the way mates always do instead of having actual butt-sex on my bed. 

     After taking a snap, I took a look at it and laughed.  There we were, him bending over and me behind him.  The two of us grinning while we were joined together, my pubes tickling his arse-cheeks and my balls nuzzling into the backs of his thighs. 

     I was amazed at the sight of us; how incredible we looked together as two guys getting it on. 

     "What's it like?" he asked. 

     "As hot as fuck," I grinned. 

     I handed the phone to him and he laughed too. 

     "Don't delete it," I told him.  "I want a copy of that." 

     He handed the phone back to me.  "Pull out of my arse a bit, so it's obvious you've actually got your beef-pole up there.  The way you've taken that one, it looks like we could just be pissing about." 

     I withdrew from him a little further and positioned the phone to make it clear that the thick shaft of my cock was genuinely buried up his butt, and then I took another shot of us. 

     This one looked way better: there was no way that we could have staged it somehow to make it look like we were fucking.  My cock was quite obviously embedded halfway up his arse; there was no way it could be anything but. 

     And we were grinning together again, like a couple of naughty schoolboys.  That's what made it even better. 

     I chortled and passed the phone to him.  He laughed at the photo and said he liked it a lot. 

     "Pass it back to me," I requested.  "I've got another idea!" 

     I slowly worked my dick out of him – the farting he'd mentioned helped to propel me on my way – and then took a photo of my face tonguing the cavernous butt-hole I'd just vacated.  I took quite a few, actually.  Partly because it was fun to have some selfies of me licking out another lad's arse, but mainly because his massive, dick-cleaved hole looked so amazing next to my face.  It was so red and sore-looking and splayed so far open from having my cock inside it that it made the photos look really lewd and shameless. 

     I was grinning next to the butt-hole I'd just had my dick buried in; that much was obvious. 

     "Let me see them," he said, after I'd looked through them and giggled. 

     "This one's the best one," I told him, showing him one in which I was smirking and my tongue was undisputedly inside his inflamed and gaping opening. 

     He laughed, "I'm gonna keep that one and wank off to it.  That is so fucking horny!" 

     "I reckon I'll use it as my Facebook profile pic." 

     He laughed louder.  "I'd like to see that, mate!  Your dad would have a heart attack or something!" 

     He would, I thought, but not for the reason you would think. 

     Once we'd put his phone back on my desk and he'd applied a load more Vaseline to his bum, I grabbed his hips again and worked my dick back into him. 

     It was so much easier second time – from that day on, actually, it became progressively more straightforward – and soon I was able to fuck him properly.  I quickly got into a nice, rapid rhythm and found that using another lad's arse for sex was far more pleasant than I could have expected.  I was surprised by how quickly Marcus got into the feel of my cock sliding in and out him and was able to grip his stretched butt muscles tighter to make it even better for me. 

     I sat there on our toilet, with my hand getting faster up and down my cock.  This was a really good memory to fuel a wank; it never failed to get me off when I wasn't able to look at porn to help me out. 

     The first time with a girl was probably the worst sex I'll ever have; the first time with a guy was among the very best. 

     The second time with a guy, since we're on the subject, was with a lad called Nathan.  He lived in the next flat to mine and he'd only recently become a mate of ours as his girlfriend was on Marcus' course.  One afternoon, he'd walked in on me and Marcus in the middle of a standing-up fuck, but instead of getting freaked out or making a stupid joke or something, he'd just grinned and pulled his dick out – it was already hard – and had walked up behind me.  With only the briefest grope of my arsehole to check that I was loose enough to take him, he spat on his cock and then slowly worked it up into me.  After a few tentative thrusts and a backwards smirk from me over my shoulder, he reached past me to hold Marcus steady so that I could fuck and get fucked at the same time.  None of us said anything the whole time: even when he'd cum, Nathan just pulled his cock out of me, zipped himself up and just threw us a thumbs-up as he left the room. 

     That was a good memory too; always reliable to hurry along a quick candle bashing when I needed it to. 

     My third time?  To be honest, I'm not totally sure of the order things happened in after that.  I really should keep a diary or something. 

     It could have been a mature student I hooked up with in the library loos when I was bored one evening trying to finish an assignment.  It had been brilliant screwing him in a cubicle while he bent over the toilet.  It had seemed seedy and kind of sordid, and that had really turned me on. 

     Or it could have been another of my flatmates, Michael, who got pissed one night and told me, amongst spouting other religious stuff, that he thought it was "sinful" the way Marcus and I made my bedsprings creak at night and how disgusting my room smelt after our "acts of sodomy".  We'd chatted about what was so wrong with what I was doing and after we'd had a few more beers, he'd made a clumsy lunge at my lips with his, and we'd ended up committing several other acts of very smelly sodomy ourselves on his own bed which had creaked just as loudly as mine.  That was a good memory too, although it had turned a bit weird between us afterwards.  We either didn't speak at all – he wouldn't even look at me – or we were banging away at each other like a pair of boned-up dogs.  There was no middle ground with Michael: it was either zero contact or he was all over me trying to kiss me and with his dick digging into me. 

     Guys can be even weirder than girls sometimes. 

     After those times... well, I guess I sound like a bit of a tart, but it all pretty much blurs into one once you've copped off with more than three or four guys.  It's just too easy at university to meet other young lads who might not call themselves gay or even bi but who are still up for some sex.  You go to the union disco and all the guys are horny as fuck, but there aren't enough girls for everyone to pull so a few of the less picky lads discreetly nip off together.  It's just how it goes here and if you've got a high sex-drive (which you might just possibly have noticed that I have) it's almost inevitable that some nights you're going to end your evening with some dude who has a not-too-choosy prick rather than the girl you might have preferred. 

     If you don't mind taking a dick up your butt – which I don't – and you like the feel of your own pushing its way into some random lad's arse-crack, then there are so many opportunities for sex at uni that it would almost be a waste not to take advantage of a few of them.  Some of the guys are so fucking fit – I might not be gay, but I can tell when another lad is hot – and so if they're up for shag in return for letting you have your turn on them, what's the problem? 

     I've talked about it with Marcus and we both agree about this.  Although we're totally into screwing each other, since there's no emotional thing going on between us – well, no more so than if we were just good mates – we don't have an issue with either of us dicking around with other guys when the occasions arise. 

     Our rule is that we use condoms when we're shafting other dudes.  My cock goes commando on Ellie's pussy and Marcus' butt, but on all its other outings, I promised him that it would wear its raincoat. 

     On his side, I'm pretty sure he's got a thing going on with one of his flatmates, an Italian guy called Paulo.  I don't know exactly what's the two of them are up to, but there's always a familiar smell in his room after Paulo's paid him a visit. 

     I'd once asked him and he'd just said, "Come on, Jake.  He's got a scorching hot girlfriend and the way she looks at him, you can see she's always up for a bit." 

     "Yeah, and the way he looks at you," I'd remarked, "I reckon he's up for a bit of the other." 

     Marcus had just grinned but I noticed he wasn't denying it. 

     And I'm pretty sure he was fucking a lad he shared a tent with on an archaeological dig he went on: someone called Darren from Liverpool.  He's your real, stereotypical scally and you wouldn't have thought he'd do stuff with other guys except for glassing them or nicking their wallets, but Marcus took a whole wodge of condoms on that trip with him and, as far as I know, he got through the whole lot of them.  So someone's arse was getting a good seeing-to, and if it wasn't Darren's spotty scouse hole it must have been Marcus' more polished equivalent. 

     Still, it's just what lads do these days.  'Heteroflexible' some guys call it.  I prefer to say that I'm 'straight but open to offers' – that pretty much sums it up for me. 

     My dick was going soft: time to refocus, Jake.  I thought back to that morning, with me pounding away at Marcus' butt for the first time.  My very first anal sex – either with a guy or a girl – and how amazing it had felt. 

     And how amazing it had smelt – let's not forget that.  The smell was near enough as exciting as the sensation of it. 

     I was wishing I had a pair of Marcus' boxers with me so I could stick my nose into them and sniff, to some small extent, the scent of his sex.  I had a pair in my room at uni – stashed away at the back of a drawer.  I'd nicked them out of his laundry bag when he'd been out of his room and had used them on many occasions to stoke up a good wank when their former owner hadn't been available. 

     I glanced at my dad's briefs and momentarily considered using them for the same purpose.  I could see some stains on them and they looked like they'd provide plenty of 'inspiration'.  But no – that would be way too weird.  Not even my dad would consider doing something like that with my dirty keks, or so I hoped. 

     Instead, I thought back to how it felt that morning on the bed and felt my cock immediately twitching back to life. 

     I'd grabbed Marcus' hips and started driving long, spearing thrusts in and out of his arse.  In spite of his orgasm and how stretched open his butt was, he was gasping and laughing at the sensation of being fucked, pushing himself back against me and urging me to plough into him quicker and deeper. 

     His bowels felt hot and wet; his arsehole tight and firm.  I quickly developed a fast, forceful rhythm against him, pulling at his hips every time I plunged my cock into him, holding him steady as I rapidly withdrew. 

     I threw my head back and closed my eyes, revelling in how good it felt, with my heavy bollocks pounding against his smaller pair and making rapid slapping sounds with every thrust.  The sensation seemed to get better and better as he honed his skills at using his arse muscles, just as I had done, to squeeze and massage my cock as it slammed it back and forth inside him. 

     He was fucking me back as I fucked his butt: the two of us working together as fellow males to maximise each other's pleasure. 

     I got so carried away that I accidentally let out a fart.  Before I could apologise, I felt the dregs of Marcus' semen trickling down the back of my thighs.  It had been inside me all that time, sloshing around my innards. 

     I cried out, "Oh Jesus!" 

     The feel of his jizz spilling out from my butt while I fucked him was so exciting.  My dad was right: screwing a guy with his freshly-deposited cum dribbling out of your tush really was the cherry on the cake. 

     Marcus called back to me, "I'm getting a boner again, mate!" 

     I laughed at him, still slamming in and out of him, and the word I'd thought of earlier suddenly came back to me.  The two of us were lovers, plain and simple.  Even as I banged away at him getting steadily faster, I sounded that out in my head: I had a female lover in Ellie and now a male lover in Marcus.  I was a lad who took male lovers on the side. 

     I wasn't sure how I felt about that, but I knew my dad would be over the moon! 

     I reached under my newly-labelled lover and groped for his hardening cock, wrapping my hand around it and clumsily jerking his foreskin. 

     "Ah yeah!  Wank me, Jake!" he called out, his whole body moving with mine to maximise the pleasure he was getting from his bum. 

     I knew for a fact that my flatmates would be listening to this.  They had probably gathered around my door when it had been my turn to get fucked, grinning at each other and wondering what we were going to do next. 

     "Come on, mate, fuck me harder!" Marcus implored as his cock reached its full stiffness and I was able to start jerking it properly. 

     They'd probably started out thinking we were just messing around and were going to swing the door open and say the joke was on them, but now this had gone on for so long and our sounds were getting more and more intimate they'd probably be looking at each other, their smiles turning to curiosity as they realised they were hearing two of their friends losing their anal virginity. 

     And losing my anal virginity – if I can call it that – was like nothing I could have imagined.  It felt absolutely amazing, to be honest.  Not just the sensation of his arse ring clamped around my dick which was so much tighter than a pussy, nor the muscles inside him which would squeeze around the shaft, kneading my full length as I slid in and out of him.  But the thrill of being with him like that – of kneeling behind him and slamming in and out of his splayed butt-crack while he bent over for me – felt so hot and sexy.  I was getting more turned-on from the way we were joined together in that position; as intimate with each other as two male lovers can be. 

     That word again: lovers.  Was Marcus really my lover?  Was I really the kind of guy who had male lovers now? 

     I'd always recoiled from applying the word lover to someone of my own gender because I figured it was something a bit sissy and girlie. 

     But what the two of us were doing now was anything but that. 

     I moved my arms up to hold Marcus' shoulders, pulling his body tight against mine as my hips hammered back and forth against his quivering buttocks.  He took his own rhythm on his cock, beating himself off with his usual impatience, still calling out about how good it felt and how I should fuck his arse as roughly as I could. 

     This type of sex was something that I found I liked; having a male lover like this was something I could really get into. 

     The smell of our sex grew heavy in the air: the cloying odour of the sweat which was pouring off us and of Marcus' gobs of cum trickling down my legs; the cruder and more offensive reek of his slimy arse being shafted by my relentless cock.  I inhaled deeply, loving how rough the two of us were making my room stink. 

     There was nothing remotely sissy about this.  Our bodies were male, the position was male and the sheer power of the stink we were making was like in-your-fucking-face masculine.  Nothing I'd experienced with a girl had even vaguely approached the off-the-scale hotness I was feeling while the two of us made my bed creak so loud and so fast that it was like we were taking a hacksaw to its legs. 

     Yeah, I could really get into having another dude as my lover if this was what it involved. 

     "Jake Furlong: the lad who has a girlfriend but dicks around with a male lover on the side!" 

     Yeah, I'd like that.  That sounded pretty cool. 

     In the bathroom, I was jerking off pretty fast now.  That had been a damn good session: out there with the best. 

     It was a pity that Marcus hadn't filmed us on his phone.  He often did that: film himself having sex.  Usually he did it when he was being fucked – for some reason, watching himself getting shagged up the arse really got him going when he was having a wank afterwards.  He very occasionally got his phone out when he was the one on top, but he far preferred to position it on something to the side of himself when he was the one getting his butt stoked. 

     As far as I know, he never filmed himself with girls.  I think that was way too tame for him – he liked to look at hardcore stuff when he was jerking himself off. 

     I was once looking for something on his phone – something he'd asked me to find for him – and I came across a movie of him getting boned in what looked like a cloakroom among jackets and coats.  It was a bit blurry and there was constant vibration as if the phone had been placed on something mechanical so you couldn't really make out what was going on.  I could see that the guy fucking him looked about my dad's age – forty at least – and the two of them were fully clothed except that their trousers were hitched down around their thighs.  They were kind of squatting together, both bending forwards, with the older bloke's arms around Marcus' chest and his hips banging away against the bare buttocks which were being eagerly offered. 

     "What's this?" I'd said. 

     He'd grabbed the phone off me.  "Don't look at that!  It's private!" 

     "I wasn't snooping around.  I just opened it by mistake." 

     He closed the movie huffily and made a show of deleting it.  "I forgot I even had it." 

     "It's okay, Marcus," I went on, confused as to why he was suddenly being so whack-jack.  "What you get up to is your own look-out.  You know that." 

     "I know – it was just a mistake, that's all.  He's one of my old teachers – we shouldn't have done it." 

     "Your teacher... really?" I'd said, even more interested.  "Wow!" 

     "It wasn't like that," he countered.  "He's married and he obviously immediately regretted it.  It kind of fucked things up for us and I used to get on really well with him." 

     "I thought you said you didn't get up to stuff like that when you were at school," I reminded him.  "I thought I was your first." 

     The way I said that sounded a bit clingy, but I hadn't meant it to.  I was just pulling him up on what he seemed to have revealed to be a lie: I couldn't really care if I'd been his first, second or ninety-ninth, to be honest. 

     "You were my first!" he laughed.  "Well as far as dudes go.  The movie was filmed just a few weeks ago, after the two of us hooked--up.  He had a party at his place for some of our year-group who he used to teach.  I told you about it – I went back home for the weekend for it." 

     "Oh yeah," I'd nodded.  That had been a weekend when his stolen boxers had come in very handy. 

     "I'd had a few drinks and we were chatting on our own in the kitchen.  I told him that I was seeing a girl on and off but that I was also... well... kind of messing around with guys too.  He was really interested in that and admitted that he'd played around a bit too in his youth. 

     "Anyway, long story short, he starts flirting with me.  I'd always liked him so I guess I kind of played up to it.  Next thing, we're sneaking into his downstairs loo and right there – with my old mates in his lounge and his wife fussing about topping up drinks and stuff – he screwed my butt and said that, when he'd finished, we'd change positions so I could do his." 

     "Nice," I'd laughed.  "Sounds like fun, actually!" 

     "Not really," Marcus had said, shaking his head.  "After he'd cum he made out like he'd caught me in there going through people's coats seeing what I could steal.  Threw me out of the house – literally – in front of all my friends.  I couldn't believe he'd be such a cunt-job." 

     "Jesus," I said.  "You should have told me about it." 

     "I felt totally fucking cheated, to be honest, Jake.  I e-mailed him, apologising for leading him on – even though it was him who'd come on strong – and I just got a curt note back saying he didn't expect any further contact from me." 

     "What a fucking douche!" 

     "Tell me about it, mate." 

     "You shouldn't have deleted that video," I said.  "You could have told him you had it... turned the tables on him..." 

     He'd shrugged indifferently.  "I don't want to get into stuff like that, mate.  He's obviously got problems – I don't want to add to them." 

     Which was pretty nice of him; nicer than I would have been in his wrongly-disgraced shoes. 

     But anyway, what I was saying was that if he'd filmed us that morning I could have watched it back now.  That would have really sped things up for me and my dick: seeing how the two of our arses had left their virginity behind them. 

     Not that I'd had the sense to pick my phone up on my way into the bathroom, though. 

     I have a dozen or so movies on my phone that he's filmed and then sent over to me: him sucking my dick, me rimming his arse but mostly him bending over with me burying my schlong up his massive hole.  There's a really scorching one with me and Nathan in it, taking it in turns to go at his arse and mouth.  Nathan on one end, me on the other and then the two of us changing places while Marcus stays in the middle, on all fours like he's our cum dumpster.  That one's a firm favourite among all three of us, and I wouldn't be surprised if it's been seen by quite a few other guys too. 

     That's something Marcus keeps asking about from time to time: whether I'd be okay with him sharing a few of the videos he's taken in exchange for seeing what other guys get up to.  So far I've said no, but I've been kind of tempted.  There was this nice one of a mate of his called Ollie he showed me, where he'd positioned his phone so you could see him fingering some other's guy's butt.  You could see from his face that it was his first time, and you could see from his hand on his dick how much he was enjoying it. 

     So I've often come close to saying yes and seeing what other dudes get up to, but so far I've held out in case Ellie gets see the kind of stuff I do when she's not around. 

     I sat back against the toilet and stroked my with a nice, fast rhythm.  My balls were slapping against my fist so loud that both the other guys in the house would be able to hear me if they were awake.  I didn't care, though; it was too late for niceties.  My orgasm was getting nearer: that was all that mattered. 

     I'd always struggled to climax in toilets.  Screwing in a toilet, as I told you, had turned out to be a lot of fun, but trying to wank off in one has never been that easy.  I've had a lot of practice at it – the amount of juice my bollocks churn out has made masturbation in random toilets into a regular necessity over the years – but it never gets any easier. 

     Even when I was at school, I used to have to do it at break and lunchtimes – sometimes even between lessons when my nuts were really active.  I had a favourite cubicle in the boys' loos – right at one end where it was a bit more private. 

     Once, when I'd had to use a different cubicle with a dodgy catch on the door, I had some kid walk in on me, right in the middle of going full-pelt on my dick.  I was sprawled out on the toilet – just like I am now – hoping I could make myself shoot before the end of break, when the door swings open and there's this short, specky lad standing there looking in.  He must have been two or three years younger than me and he just stood there looking gormless, staring at my hand bashing up and down my knob and watching my bollocks slapping up against my fist just like they are now.  I peered back at him, shocked at being caught wanking off in the school loos but unable to stop my hand pumping at my dick as fast as it could. 

     He kept looking at me and at first I thought maybe he hadn't seen another guy jerking off before, but then his eyes caught mine and – to my utter amazement – he smirked at me.  He'd just caught an older lad sitting on the bog whacking off, and I swear to God he smirked at me as if he liked what he saw. 

     So – what else could I do – I smirked right back.  If he liked what he saw, then I guess I liked showing him it just as much. 

     He looked up at my face and we grinned naughtily together and then he turned his gaze back down to my huge cock which was now so hard it was shiny as my hand pounded away at it. 

     Then he laughed and said, in a voice that was surprisingly deep for his height, "Fuckin' yeah!" 

     He might just have been a gozzy-eyed kid but it was pretty clear he was no stranger to guys wazzing off in the school loos. 

     He kept staring at my knob as I worked my hand as fast as I could for him, slamming it up and down the shaft until my bell-end was puffed-up like a big, ripe plum.  

     Then he said, "Let's see you spunk up!" 

     "Yeah?" I'd grinned back, my hand pumping so fast on my cock. 

     "Yeah, I wanna see you nuttin' off," he'd said.  "Shootin' your jizz... come on, mate, make it spurt!" 

     And – needless to say – I had.  All over my trousers and shirt with that kid grinning and gawping at me and sticking his tongue out as my bollocks were emptied.  You'd think from his face that a fountain of spunk being jerked out of an older lad's dick was the coolest thing he'd ever seen. 

     So yeah – apart from that one time – I've always found jacking off in loos difficult. 

     I thought back to me and Marcus, screwing on the bed.  That would help to finish me off. 

     I pulled him upright with me so that I was staring into the back of his head.  I wrapped my left arm around him and kept wanking him off with my right as my cock battered in and out of him, my hips a blur against his flexing buttocks.  He seemed to like being masturbated by me: he seemed to appreciate the differences of my hand and my technique as a change from his own. 

     "Are you getting close?" he whispered as my hand swept up and down his cock.  In spite of how much smaller it was than mine, I found it surprisingly easy to stimulate it to his liking. 

     "Yeah," I grunted.  "Are you?" 

     "Really close," he whispered.  "I'm gonna go any second." 

     "Do you want me to cum up your butt?" I asked him, already knowing what the answer would be. 

     "Fuck yeah!" he laughed.  "Make me shit your spunk, Jake!" 

     If my flatmates really were listening outside of the door, I knew what they'd just heard would really floor them.  Well-spoken Marcus Cunningham, the soft boy from Surrey, telling another lad that he wanted to shit his spunk!  I almost laughed at how their faces would look: I could imagine the one we called Saint Michael would be blushing scarlet and probably crossing himself. 

     "You're a dirty fuck, do you know that?" I told him, my cock driving even faster in and out of his massively stretched arse. 

     "Come on," he urged me, "shoot your muck up my arse!" 

     I chuckled at that and grabbed him more tightly.  I was so close – both back then and now, sitting in the cold bathroom at home. 

     "You'd like that wouldn't you," I grunted into his ear.  "You'd fucking love it!" 

     Finding himself warming to talking crude during our sex, something he would get steadily better at each time we did it, he added, "I wanna shit white cream for the rest of the day, mate!  That's what I'm gonna fucking love!" 

     "It won't be fucking white, mate!" I whispered into his ear.  "Not where it'll have been!" 

     I gently bit his ear and then tongued his lobe.  As I'd expected from having had Craig do that to me, Marcus' cock started shooting its second load all over my bedding. 

     I kept banging away at him, egging my own orgasm on, when he surprised me by reaching under himself and yanking roughly at my heaving balls.  As if on cue, my cock started spurting, filling his bowels up with their hot, sticky load.  Just as the jets of cum were subsiding, he surprised me again by reaching further back and sliding a finger up my butt.  Spurred on by the intrusion, I found I suddenly hit another, equally powerful, climax and started pumping with renewed vigour a fresh outpouring of cum into him. 

     How the fuck had he known to do that?  The thought he might have been less innocent at school than he liked to make out popped back into my head as my second orgasm subsided.  

     On the toilet in the bathroom, I tried the same trick on myself as I beat myself off: yanked my balls roughly and then pushed my hand underneath me and drove a finger into my butt.  It had the same effect now as it had back then.  My cock started spurting but this time, in the absence of a convenient butt to fill, I had to grab a wodge of loo roll to catch my mess. 

     After filling his butt up with an even bigger volume of cum than I usually produce, we fell forwards together and we panted together, me on top of his back.  We stayed like that for what seemed like an age, with me still holding him by the chest as we caught our breath together. 

     "That was fucking awesome, mate," he eventually managed to say underneath me. 

     "It's been ages since I came like that," I muttered between his shoulder blades. 

     He struggled upwards, and I pushed myself off him to give him some space. 

     "Bloody hell, Jake, I hope today's laundry day, mate," he laughed, looking down at my soiled bedding. 

     A sudden, uncontrolled dribble of my spent seed slopped out of his arse, soaking both the duvet and under-sheet and making them even less palatable. 

     I chuckled.  "Naah... a few wet-wipes will bring the worst of it off, mate.  Laundry day's when I go home to my dad's." 

     After I'd scrambled up from the bed, I offered to make us both another coffee while he showered and cleaned up.  He nodded gratefully and sat up himself, letting out another stream of semen from his butt with a heinous-sounding fart. 

     "Sorry, mate," he offered, looking embarrassed but amused.  "I can't seem to stop myself – you've totally fucking shot my sphincter control!" 

     The bedding was now beyond salvation.  I was going to have to make a trip to the laundrette: there was no alternative.  My dad used to witter on about having to boil-wash really skanky things: I'd have to figure out how to set the machine up to do one of those. 

     "It better not be like this every time I shag you, Marcus," I said, my tone only half-serious.  "I can't be pissing around washing my fucking bedding every few days." 

     He chuckled, groping under himself, "I think I can feel my ringpiece again!" 

     "Well that's a good sign!" I suggested brightly. 

     "Yeah, the feeling's defo coming back, mate.  I'm back in control."  At which point he let a third and even more dispersive fart and, suppressing his giggles, blushingly apologised. 

     I left the bathroom room in our house far more scrupulously clean than we'd left the bed-sheets that morning.  Glancing at my dad's discarded briefs, I thought I'd leave them for Marcus to find the next morning.  I wondered if he'd take a sniff of them: I would if I was in his place and it was me finding his old man's dirty shorts in the bathroom.  I'd be unable to stop myself from having a little poke around to see how Mr Cunningham Senior compared with his nineteen-year-old son.  Whether the pouch that had held his cock and bollocks for a day had the same musky odour that I loved to nuzzle my face into; whether the much cruder smell on the back reminded me of the many times that my university room had been left with the same pungent stink. 

     I dare say I'd probably even set the shower going to drown out the noise of a quick wank while I moved them around on my nose, hunting out the most interesting spots. 

     I wondered if Marcus would do the same: jerk himself off with my dad's briefs pressed to his face.  I smiled at the thought: the image of him squatting like that, sniffing my old fella's skanky keks while he yanked away at his dick, was actually pretty funny. 

     Which part would he have his nose in when he came, I wondered.  The front, where he could compare the smell of my cock – which he always says has a pissy whiff to it no matter much I wash it – with my dad's?  Or the back, where he could see how similar we'd be if he were to give us both a rim-job?  From the state of my dad's briefs, I could see he'd find him the more... how should I put it... 'flavoursome' partner. 

     From what I knew of my friend, I was sure he'd have a quick whiffter at the very least.  More likely he'd have his face buried into them, snorting at them like poppers, while his hand pumped at his cock so fast that his precum would froth up into a white lather. 

     He'd once told me that at school he used to sniff his dorm buddies' underwear.  "On the front," he'd said.  "It wouldn't have occurred to me that the back could be fun too!" 

     "And did you wank off at the smell of their dicks?" I'd asked. 

     "Of course I did," he'd laughed. 

     "And didn't that make you think, 'Okay, so I might be gay'?" 

     He'd shrugged.  "Not really.  I just figured I had... well... an 'appreciation' for other guys' dick smells.  Whenever we had discos and stuff with the nearby girls' school, I'd be in their like a shot.  I never actually wanted to you... you know... 'do' anything with the guys whose briefs I was jerking off with." 

     "Did the other lads do the same thing – sniff each other's dirty keks?" 

     "I dunno," he'd said.  "But you know how boys' rooms get.  There were dirty pants lying all over the place with all the other mess we used to make.  If anyone had wanted to borrow the odd pair of briefs to speed up a quick wank in the toilet, no-one would have noticed." 

     I carefully got back into bed with him and snuggled up behind him.  I felt far more sleepy now from the brief upper body work-out I'd had in the bathroom and my cock was finally soft as it pressed gently against his bum.  It would be rock hard in the morning again, by then pushing more insistently between his cheeks and intent on claiming the prize that had been denied to it tonight, but for now it was slumbering just as I hoped its owner soon would be. 

     I thought back for one last time to that morning, hoping that sleep would take me before I got to the boring part of lugging my dirty cum-soaked bedding down to the launderette. 

     After I'd pulled on some fresh briefs and a t-shirt, I went out into the flat.  My flatmates were in the kitchen and they went quite when I walked in. 

     I made our coffee like nothing was up, even nonchalantly asking who was playing in the snooker match that was on TV. 

     Eventually Evan, the Welsh guy, came out with what everyone was wondering.  "Were you two guys doing what it sounded like, mate?" 

     "What did it sound like?" I asked, pretending like I was the crown prince of sweetness and innocence. 

     "Well... I mean," he went on, clearly uncomfortable.  "We thought the two of you were just joking around and stuff... but then... you know... it started sounding pretty... well... convincing..." 

     "What sounded convincing?" I asked with the same look of angelic virtue. 

     Toby from Lancashire cut in: "He means were the two of you fucking each other's arses, Jake.  'Cause if you weren't, I don't know what the fuck else you could have been doing." 

     I laughed over at them, sitting around in front of the TV and staring at up at me to see my reaction. 

     "We were trying some stuff out, yeah," I admitted with a sly smirk. 

     "What?  Butt sex?" Michael asked, almost grasping at his crucifix for strength. 

     "Among other things, yeah," I chuckled. 

     "It's not like it's a problem, Jake," Evan cut in over whatever it was that Michael had been about to add.  "We just didn't know you were gay." 

     I laughed again.  "I'm not gay.  Well, I don't think I am." 

     "So why the fuck are you having sex with other dudes, then?" Toby asked, maybe not unreasonably. 

     "I might not be gay, but... you know.... sometimes shit happens." 

     Evan laughed at that.  "I suppose it's a case of when the girls are away, the boys are gonna play." 

     "Something like that, yeah," I agreed, filling our cups with the hot water. 

     "So you and Ellie are still...?" Michael began. 

     "Of course we are," I was keen to stress.  "It's not like I want Marcus as my boyfriend or some crap.  We're just friends." 

     "Friends with benefits," Evan embellished. 

     "Exactly," I grinned. 

     Even Toby had to smile at that.  "I guess it's the best of both worlds, isn't it?  You've got Ellie when she's up for it, and a sub waiting on the benches for when she's not." 

     I grabbed our coffees and walked to the door.  "I wouldn't say Marcus is just a sub, guys.  In some matches, he'll easily be first choice." 

     They all laughed at that, even Michael. 

     "Kinda makes sense," Evan was saying as I left the room.  "I mean, if you don't mind a bit of give and take..." 

     I could see that he and I might be having a bit of fun in the not too distant future. 

     When Marcus got back from showering he asked me if the other guys knew what we'd been doing. 

     "What do you think, mate?" I replied.  "I mean, the noise we were making..." 

     "Michael just looked at me in the corridor like I was the devil incarnate." 

     "Screw him," I said, not realising that within just a few weeks I'd be doing that myself. 

     "What are we gonna say to them?" Marcus asked.  He looked genuinely worried as he dried himself off.  I couldn't help but notice how cute his cock looked soft. 

     "I've already said it," I answered him.  "I told them how things were." 

     He nodded.  "And did they get it?  I mean, I don't want word getting around that we're, like, a gay couple or something.  Jesus, I have a hard enough time with girls as it is..." 

     I smiled.  "I think they got the picture, mate.  Evan described us as friends with benefits." 

     Marcus chuckled at that as I pulled off my t-shirt and briefs, intending to shower myself. 

     "Yeah, I can accept that," he said.  "That sounds pretty cool." 

     I stood in front of him, as naked as he was, except that I stunk of our sex while he smelt of my Lynx shower gel.   

     I moved forwards so we were right in front of each other, my much larger cock gently rubbing against his smaller and cuter version. 

     "I think we're a bit more than that, though, aren't we, mate?" I said in a low voice. 

     He smiled.  "How would you describe us, then, Jake?" 

     I nuzzled our cocks together, enjoying feeling him harden a little against me.  "I'd say we're male lovers, you and me." 

     "Lovers?" he repeated, raising his eyebrows.  "That's a bit heavy, isn't it?" 

     I put both my arms around him, working my hands down his back until I was cupping his butt-cheeks with my fingers pushing into his crack. 

     "We just made love, mate, as intimately as two guys can.  I'd say lovers was a pretty accurate word for the two of us." 

     He smiled as I worked my fingers between his cheeks.  His arsehole was now huge: compared to the previous night I could now easily work three fingers into him.  I could have probably managed a whole hand if I'd felt like it. 

     "Well, I'm happy for you to be my lover, Jake," he chuckled, pushing his bum back against the gentle rhythm of my fingers.  "If that's what I am to you." 

     His cock was now hardening quickly; mine was staring to rise upwards and push against his balls.  It seemed like after just half an hour since a heavy climax he was up for having his butt poked again.  Ellie could take a whole week to similarly recover. 

     "Okay, so we're lovers," I confirmed, enjoying how the smell of his butt was becoming recharged in the air.  "No lovey-dovey stuff or commitment or whatever – just good mates, like we were, but a bit... you know... special..." 

     He smiled and moved slightly to allow his cock to spring upwards.  "Sounds good to me," he said.  "We're not boyfriends, we're just lovers." 

     I smiled back at him as my own cock rose upwards against him.  We both knew how we wanted to clinch the new terms of our friendship and it was going to mean that my bedding got even messier before it was washed. 

     "So what do you want to do today, then, my male lover?" I asked him with a grin.  "After we've finished up here, I mean..." 

     He started working his cock against mine, the two of us gently sparring with our dicks like we had the previous night. 

     "I thought maybe we could go back to my place," he suggested.  "Let my housemates know how things are between us, the same way that we let yours know..." 

     I laughed how horny he was.  I realised that, like me, he could be a total fucking slut. 

     "Sounds like a plan," I said, working my cock against his.  "But maybe we could do some different stuff.  I mean, I'm always up for a fuck but I reckon there's another few dozen positions we haven't tried." 

     I had in mind the idea of having him feed me with his spunk.  Of lying flat on my back and having his squatting over me, jerking his dick into my mouth as his cum was pumping out of it in surges.  With me sucking it from his bell-end and gulping it down like I was suckling on his dick juice.  That was the image that was making my cock wet his with its precum right then. 

     He chuckled.  "Okay.  But I reckon your flatmates haven't quite got the idea that we're lovers now, you and me, mate." 

     "Do you reckon?" I asked, my mouth a broad grin. 

     "Yeah, I think we need to give them another demo.  Both ways, this time – you going first." 

     "Both ways?" I asked with amused surprise.  I'd figured from the way he was munching my fingers with his butt that he just wanted me to fuck him. 

     "If you're up for it," he posed. 

     "I'm always fucking up for it, mate!" 

     "And with me on my back this time, my legs over your shoulders like they do in gay porn.  You know what I mean, don't you?" 

     I grinned.  I liked the sound of that.  "I know exactly what you mean, mate." 

     "Come on, then, lover boy," he laughed, pulling me back onto the bed.  "Let's make sure they know the score this time!  That we might not be gay but we make fucking good lovers!"  

     And by the time I'd finally gone back out to take the shower I'd intended, I was in no doubt, from the stink of our sex throughout the flat and the looks of astonishment on my flatmates' faces, that they'd got the message loud and clear. 

 

The End