Cock Worshipper

by Jason Kason


Part 5

It took us ages to find each other.  The building site was way bigger than I'd expected and David Hetherington hadn't specified where he wanted to meet me.

     I wandered about trying to dodge the night watchman and getting soaked through to my skin from the endless freezing rain.

     I wound up thinking I'd been stood up and was heading back towards the gap in the fence.  I felt like a total nonce, getting so cold and so sopping wet for the sake of wild goose chase.

     Hutchy did that as well sometimes.  Say a time and a place and then tell me next day that something else – probably something with a fanny – had come up.

     I was nearly back at the fence when I saw a figure hanging around behind one of the finished houses, his body in silhouette from the security light behind him.  The houses up this side were all built and ready for the plasterers and chippies to start doing stuff inside, but they didn't have their doors and windows in yet.

     I thought it might be the night watchman – an old fella who would march you home and tell your mam where he'd caught you – so I was careful about being seen.  Then I saw it was David Hetherington wearing a blue cagoule of the sort that I would have worn if I'd had half a brain in my head.

     I walked over to him and he called out in a low voice, "There you are, Kasey!  I thought you'd bottled it."

     The rain made a sound like radio static as it drummed against his plastic cagoule.

     "I never pass up a good offer," I muttered.

     I hadn't realised until I heard myself speak how much my teeth were chattering.

     He nodded and gestured me into the doorless back entrance of the house.

     "We can go in here," he said.  "The floodlight at the back is bright enough for us to see what we're doing."

     I wondered if he'd done this before; whether maybe I wasn't the only cock worshipper on our estate.  I wasn't sure I'd like that; having a competitor muscling in on my patch.

     "Why are you not wearing a raincoat?" David Hetherington asked.  "It's absolutely peeing down... are you soft in the head or something?"

     "I dunno," I shrugged, my hoodie dripping wet all over the concrete floor in the house.  "I wasn't really thinking straight."

     I told you how I get: once I get a cock dangling in front of my face, like a carrot on a stick in front of some dumbass donkey, I can only really think about that.  All rhyme and reason goes to the dogs.

     "Let's get you out of that top," he said, helping me to pull my wet hoodie off.  "You'll catch your death."

     He wasn't especially affectionate – maybe I'm making it sound like he was – but he definitely had a far more caring attitude towards me as a potential bum-chum than both Bulmer and Hutchy put together.

     "You're shivering," he told me.  He pulled off his cagoule and his curly black hair was wet at the front where the hood hadn't quite kept out the rain.  He pulled off his V-necked jumper, too, and passed it to me.

     "Put this on for now.  It'll warm you up."


I pulled David Hetherington's jumper on, enjoying his smell on the wool.  He had a nice, almost fatherly smell: musky and fragrant, perhaps with traces of that deodorant that they made especially for men.

     I just loved the way he talked.  To your ears, he'd probably sound quite broad North East, but to me his accent seemed deliciously posh.  His dad worked up in the council offices in town.  He wasn't anything high up, just some faceless pen-pusher, but compared to mine his family were very well-to-do.

     David Hetherington pulled his cagoule back over his head and then said, "Alright then, Kasey, so you want to do some stuff with me?"

     I nodded.  Why the hell did he think I was here?

     "Will you suck my dick?" he asked, surprising me by getting straight down to it.  He probably had some programme on telly he wanted to get back for.

     I nodded again.  I was still feeling icily cold from being wet right through and even the thought of having David Hetherington's nice posh knob in my face wasn't proving enough to warm me up.

     "Why do you always refer to him as David Hetherington?" Philip asked.  "Why not Hethey or Hethers or some other derivative of his surname, the way you use nicknames for the other lads you describe?"

     "I dunno," I shrugged.  "I've never really thought about it.  Maybe it was because he was older than me – it could have been a mark of respect, or something.  Some lads were just always called by their full names.  David Hetherington was one of them."

     Philip nodded, deep in thought.  "In some languages, elders of the community have their names inflected differently when spoken to by people who are younger.  Perhaps your use of his full name is an example of something similar."

     "Maybe," I said without any interest whatsoever.  Trust Philip to miss the whole point of the story: the cock that was currently being unzipped from David Hetherington's jeans.

     He pulled his trousers and pants right down to his ankles, which struck me as a bit odd even in my shivering state.  The other two lads I'd done proper sex stuff with up until then had pretty much pulled their knobs out through their flies and at most had pulled their keks down around their thighs.  But I figured if posh lads like to let their bollocks get a bit of air while they're being seen to, well so be it.

     He said, "What I want you to do, Kasey, is to suck my cock and make it hard, then I'll wank it while you lick my balls.  I love having my balls licked and girls won't do it.  You will, though, won't you?"

     I nodded.  Girls could be so prissy.

     His cock was lovely: not too long but nice and thick.  It hung down, totally limp, and I could see that the head of it was much fatter than the stem and almost completely round.  Dangling there, it reminded me one of those wooden hammers the people use to play the xylophone.

     "Have you ever been presented with a penis that you didn't find 'lovely' or 'magnificent' or 'amazing'?" Philip asked.

     I thought back through my long and glittering career.  After trawling through just about every cock I'd ever seen, I replied, "Actually, now you mention it, no."

     "Then there's no point in you describing them at all, is there?  We'll take it as read that, to you at least, they're always pleasant on the eye."

     I shrugged.  "I wouldn't be a truly orthodox cock worshipper if I didn't properly glorify my idol."

     He shook his head and raised his eyes in exasperation.

     I noticed David Hetherington was wearing clean and expensive-looking briefs; I couldn't tell what colour they were.  They looked pale orange in the sodium glow from the security light outside, but I dare say they were probably a crisp, bright white.

     I knelt down in front of him, starting to finally warm up.  It was probably the thick wool of his jumper but I'd to think I was basking in the divine glow from his nice, thick cock.

     "Just suck it nice and smooth like you would a lolly," he said.  "But, while you're doing that, work your lips gently up and down the shaft."

     I looked up at him, almost offended.  "I have sucked a cock before, you know."

     "Yeah, I know that," he nodded.  "Bulmer's.  But I don't expect a lad like him needed much in the way of finesse.  He probably just rammed it down your throat and then shot his load."

     I couldn't really argue with that.

     I did as he asked and lifted his floppy warm cock up from his large, stretched-looking balls and, with his foreskin still covering the large, distended head, put the whole of its plump, round tip my mouth.  I wanted to try something new with David Hetherington, just to get the reaction of someone who clearly knew what constituted a well-executed blowjob.

     I sucked gently at the bulbous head of his cock, tasting how salty it was in comparison with Bulmer's, and then pushed my tongue underneath his foreskin and swirled it around between the skin and his sensitive bell-end.

     "Oh, yeah!" he gasped.  Even with his knob in my mouth, I managed a smile.  I knew he'd like me doing that.

     I felt his cock starting to grow in my mouth.  It's a wonderful feeling, having another male's most expressive body part becoming aroused and inflamed against your lips and tongue.  I gently sucked it as it started to press upwards against the top of my mouth, its shaft lengthening so that its head slowly expanded into my throat.

     Best of all, I could feel the skin on its underside stretching against my tongue.  It felt a bit like the texture of an elastic band being slowly pulled taut; the surface going from feeling loose and rubbery to steadily becoming firm and smooth.

     I unzipped my own fly: my cock was hurting as it strained against the best pants I'd especially worn.  Funny that I thought to change into the bulge-enhancing underwear I'd bought from the market but it hadn't occurred to me to put on my mac as I'd stepped outside into the driving rain.

     Releasing my hard-on, I gently wanked myself as I sucked him, loving the rich, salty taste oozing from the tip of his shaft and how the hairiness of his balls was tickling my chin.

     "That's right, Kasey.  Wank yourself off!" he said, looking down at my hand rubbing away at my cock.  Unlike Bulmer, David Hetherington obviously liked it that the guy servicing him was turned-on by what he was doing.

     I worked his foreskin slowly back with flicks of my tongue, so that the taut purple skin of his big, round cock head was rubbing against my tonsils.

     "Oh, Jesus!" he called out, grabbing my head to keep lengthening into my mouth.  "I'm sorry for telling you how to do this, Kasey.  I had no idea Bulmer could have taught you so much."

     I pulled back from him and spat out a stray pube.  "Bulmer didn't teach me nothing.  Only that gayboys get spat on after dickheads like him have cum."

     David Hetherington looked down at me and seemed genuinely horrified, with his now mostly-erect cock arching upwards towards my face.

     "That's awful... I didn't know.  I won't do anything like that, I promise."

     I smiled up at him.  I knew he wouldn't.

     He said, "And I won't tell anyone about any of this.  Not like he did."

     I chuckled.  "I don't mind if you do.  When Bulmer did it, it was like... you know... free advertising, wasn't it?  You wouldn't be here now if he hadn't spread word around about me being up for stuff like this."

     I sucked him a while more, with him working his hips back and forth in time with my mouth.  We were both gentle and unhurried with each other: he didn't like to thrust in and out of me too quickly and if I tried to speed up my pace or make my technique a bit more strenuous, he pulled back and said, "Slow down, Kasey!  I don't want to cum too soon!"

     When he'd had enough, he pulled out and said, "Right, so now I'll wank off and you can lick my balls.  That's what I really like."

     I was disappointed that I wasn't going to get to feed on his seed as it surged out of his big, drumstick-shaped bell-end, but I nodded.  If that was what he liked, that was what I'd do for him.

     "What about what you liked?" Philip asked.  "Where did that come into it?"

     "I was happy back then to be led by others.  I didn't really know what I liked and what I didn't.  These days I'm a bit more... well... assertive, although the wishes of the cock I'm worshipping always come first."

     I started licking his bollocks – they were lovely and saggy with his big nuts rolling around inside them – and he slowly jerked his foreskin up and down his thick, stiffened shaft.

     "That's nice, yeah," he said, pushing my shoulders a little lower down and opening his legs a bit wider to push his knackers further upwards against my face.

     As I worked my tongue behind his balls rather than around them, as that seemed to be what he was trying to get me to do, he said, "I shouldn't have brought you here like this, Kasey.  We should have done this somewhere better."

     I figured that me telling him about being spat on by Bulmer had genuinely shocked him: he was now feeling bad that he too, in a lesser sense, wasn't showing me respect.

     Thinking that he might be about to suggest we do this in his bedroom in his nice, big house when his parents were away, I kept working my tongue deeper into the hairy valley behind his bollocks as this was obviously the place he wanted me to go.  He squatted down a bit further and pushed my shoulders forwards, then he grabbed the back of my head and eased my face even further into the murky tangled crack between his legs.

     The taste on the wrinkled skin of his bollocks had been sweaty and a little bit pissy from where his knob must have dribbled, but the place he was pushing my nose towards was far more odorous; becoming increasingly raunchy and dirty.

     Starting to wank himself more quickly and pressing my head more firmly between his legs as he squatted still lower, he told me, "My dad rents a garage out up near the council offices.  We could have gone there."

     So no invite home for the limp-wristed bollock-licker, then.


I suppose a garage is one step up from a building site.  I should be grateful for small mercies.

     "Do you think David Hetherington was gay?" Philip asked.  "Compared to the... er... brusqueness of your previous intrigues, his manner towards you seems almost tender."

     "He probably was, yeah.  But he was totally under the thumb of his parents.  If his mother wanted a daughter-in-law followed by grandbairns, that's almost certainly what she would have got."

     "Do you think, under different circumstances – I mean, if the world had been more accepting back then – he'd have wanted you as his boyfriend."

     "Naah, I was too rough for him.  He'd have wanted a nice posh lad like himself."

     "A 'nice posh lad' might not have wanted to have face pushed towards the... er... orifice where I strongly suspect yours was heading."

     I laughed at how sharp Philip could sometimes be.  "You'd be surprised at the things that nice posh lads get up to.  For all their good manners and clean-cut appearances, once they get their kit off they can be absolutely fucking filthy."

     "That's it!" David Hetherington called out, pushing my head up more firmly between his squatting legs.  "Go further back!  Right behind my nut-sack."

     He was wanking off quite quickly by now, enjoying where my face was heading.

     I kept licking back here, stupidly wondering where this was taking me.  I worship cocks, you see, so what's out back behind the bollocks hadn't really figured on my radar until then.  Except for that time with Edgy, I suppose, when I pushed my hand underneath him, but that was more curiosity: I hadn't been particularly attracted to finding out what other lads have lurking between their bum-cheeks.

     His taste back here was becoming a bit rough now.  The gully of hair was getting really coarse and wiry where the tops of his thighs joined, and I could smell the pungent whiff of his hot, moist arsehole.

     He pushed me further underneath him, shuddering from how fast he was now wanking himself, and angled my head so that his ripe, slimy hole was slap bang above my nose and mouth.

     "Push your tongue out, Kasey," he said, his forearm frantically whacking at his dick.  "Push it all the way out!"

     It suddenly dawned on me.  He wanted me to lick his arsehole.

     "Well, fancy that," Philip smirked.  "Always the quiet ones, eh?"

     I chuckled and he asked, "So what did you do?"

     "What do you think I did?  I pulled back as quick as I could.  I was a lover of cocks, not of chowing down on posh lads' dirty brown rings."

     "But you do indulge in rimming," he asserted.  "You've told me that before."

     "Yeah, but that was my first time," I explained.  "Until you've tried it – which obviously I did – it seems like it would be worst thing you could ever do.  And even now, licking some fella's fudge chute doesn't come anywhere near to worshipping his cock.  It's not even on the same scale.  It's just... I dunno... a nice aperitif once in a while."

     David Hetherington stopped wanking as I emerged from underneath him.

     "I'm not doing that," I spluttered, trying to get the hairs from his arse-crack out of my mouth.  "Jesus, what the fuck would you ask me to do that for?"

     "You'll like it," he insisted.  "I've done it to a lad and it's not the way you'd think."

     "I'm not licking your butt-hole, David Hetherington!  It'll taste of shit."

     "It doesn't!" he said.  "I didn't shower but it's clean."

     "You didn't shower?" I asked.  What the fuck?

     "You never shower before doing it.  It's the sweatiness back there – the sort of crude, seedy smell – that makes it really sexy."

     What the hell had I got myself into here?

     (It wouldn't be the last time I ever had that thought, by the way.)

     "Look, Kasey," he said, trying to be as authoritative as he could with his trousers and pants around his ankles and his now only half-hard-on poking outwards.  "If you lick my bum for just one minute – and I promise you'll like it – I'll let you fuck me."

     "Fuck your arse?" I asked.  Now I was interested.

     "Of course my arse... there's nothing else down there you could use," he pointed out.

     "Proper bumming?" I sought to clarify.  "I mean you bending over and me behind you, knobbing you up the arse 'til I spunk?"

     "Absolutely," he nodded.  "And I won't ask you to rush.  You can just take your time, really enjoy yourself and do all the things you like to do when you're dicking a lad's butt."

     I didn't tell him it would be my first time at 'dicking a lad's butt'.  I worried that he might get freaked out that I was a virgin in that respect, and now that an offer like that had been put on the metaphorical table, I wasn't going to do anything which might risk him whisking it away.

     "Not even refusing to lick his... er... somewhat savoury behind?" Philip asked.

     I nodded.  "I'd asked Hutchy quite a few times if I could have a turn shagging his arse – he found it very funny that a sissy-boy like me would want to try what he thought of as the 'proper lad's' position – but the answer had always been a stubborn 'no'."

     Philip smiled and I went on, "So now that I had the chance of an actual butt-fuck right in front of me, I'd have probably done a lot worse to David Henderson than just licking his arse."

     "It really was that important to you?"

     "When you've been bent over in countless grubby backstreets, around the bins of every chip shop and behind just about every shed up at the allotment and had some lad banging away at you and grunting about how great it feels, you kind of start to wonder what it might be like to get a go at it yourself."

     Philip chuckled.  "Fair enough.  So you agreed to 'chow down on the posh lad's dirty brown ring' as you put it?"

     I laughed.  "Of course I did, but it wasn't dirty or brown.  Like everything else in there with that sodium light outside, I imagine it would have looked orange."

     "And you went the whole minute?"

     "Make that about five," I nodded.

     When I agreed, on absolute one-hundred-percent binding scouts' honour from him that he wouldn't weasel out on me, David Hetherington turned around and bent forwards for me.

     I couldn't believe I was going to do this.  Unlike cocks, which I've always had an innate and consuming attraction towards, bums have only been of passing interest to me.  I sometimes liked to look at the fellas in the catalogue standing in their briefs from behind, but it was the far more beguiling bulges around the front that had always brought my own cock to a sticky, white finish.

     So my first thought on seeing the sight he was presenting me was: Oh my God, how the fuck am I going to do this?

     I mean, this was a proper bloke's arse that was right in front of me.  That might sound silly – because, obviously it was – but what I mean is, it was big and hairy and had his huge dangly pair of knackers swinging underneath it, and it just reminded me at that moment of the fellas in the campsite showers, bending over to get dried and showing the whole changing room their flabby splayed-open arses.

     David Hetherington's bent-over arse looked a bit better than some of those, I have to admit, but it was still a big beefy pair of butt-cheeks and a densely forested arse-crack with those fat knackers of his hanging down below.

     I had to do this, though.  I had to lick the fucking thing.  Even if it smelled like a big pile of steaming shit, I had to do it and keep at it for as long as I could.

     "Come on, Kasey," he urged me.  "Once you get your face in it, it won't be that bad, I promise.  You don't even have to go the whole minute and I'll still let you fuck me."

     "On your mother's life?" I checked again.  "I get a proper go at your arse with my dick right up it and can nut off inside you?"

     "Absolutely," he said.  "I just love having my bum licked but girls won't put their faces anywhere near it."

     Yeah, well, on this one they've got a point.

     I leaned forwards and took a sniff of it.  When he'd been squatting over me trying to push his face into his crack, it hadn't been that bad, actually: a bit rough, like I said, but sort of earthy and bitter, more like some of the weird coloured powders on my mam's spice rack that was only there for decoration.

     Up closer and with me able to properly focus on it and appreciate it more fully, I actually found it quite interesting.  It wasn't shitty, like I'd expected, but more like that laddish, funky whiff I used to really enjoy in the changing rooms after PE.  How the room smelled when everyone was peeling off their mucky football shorts and sweaty briefs: full of moisture and countless pheromones from bobbing ballsacks and hairy butt-cracks, filling up the tiled confines before the showers had been switched and the perfumes from gels and shampoos would drown it out. 

     For those precious few minutes, while we'd all been boisterously undressing, I'd love having that rich laddish odour wafting over me, manly and musty from so many pairs of dirty undies as we chucked them onto benches or hung them up with our clothes.

     In the early days at school, our combined scent had been more sharp and pissy: the acrid bite of all our dribbly dicks and the sweat-soaked gussets of our underwear.  As time went on, the odour steadily changed and a much richer, sexier flavour came to dominate.  It must have been something to do with our hormones and the fact that more and more of us were wanking off every night: the room soon reeked with a smell that was totally masculine, not just wafting from our newly hairy places but seeping from every over-worked pore on our developing bodies.

     It was something I realised I missed now that I either avoided PE altogether or dawdled so much that I got there when all the other lads were already shouting and laughing through the steam in the soapy showers.  That was part of Bulmer's legacy: I didn't get strip off with 'normal' lads any more.

     And yet here it was again, hiding away back here in the most unlikely of places: right between David Hetherington's big beefy buttocks, lurking among the tangled fug of his butt-hair.  I sniffed at it a few times and then moved in a little deeper, grabbing my dick which was now stiffening up again.  It was surprisingly horny, doing this: like being able to sniff the gathering boy-stink of the changing room but have your cock and stroke it at the same time.

     He chuckled, seeing my cock rise up, "I knew you'd like it."

     I pulled back and told him, "Yeah, it's not that bad, actually."

     "I think it's something only guys like."

     I could see it might be: I couldn't imagine many girls getting off at the smell of a fellas' changing room; all those ripe, skanky socks and sweaty, stained pairs of pants.

     He said, "Sniff up and down it, right down to my balls, and then lick around the hole.  I'll wank off, but I won't cum... not if you're going to fuck me."

     He must be like me, I figured: enjoy being fucked.  And once I'd stuck my face back into his huge, muscly, manly arse, I realised from how stretched and swollen his hole was that he must get to enjoy it quite often.  It was much wider and more puffed-up than mine, and mine was already getting noticeably bigger from taking Hutchy's knob about once a month.

     It must be his usual deal with lads he'd hook-up with: lick my bum for a minute and then you can have your way with me.  Mind, I suspected that most times he'd end up getting way more than the minute.

     I pushed my nose and mouth right into his hairy arse crack, not really believing I was actually doing this with another lad.  His body started shaking as his hand took up a rapid rhythm on his straining hard-on.

     "Ah, that's it, Kasey!" he called out breathlessly.  "Now push your tongue into my crack... lick between my bum-cheeks!

     I swept my tongue up and down his long, hairy butt-cleft, from the crease between his big swollen nuts right up to where bum-cheeks opened out into his back, each time especially enjoying the raised, puckered circle of his arsehole.  It was so interesting to feel it swelling outwards against my tongue every time it passed by, that soon I wanted to concentrate my efforts completely on that particular spot.

     I pressed my tongue into the middle of the inflamed O-shape his arse-ring was making, and it opened up ever so slightly for me to work the tip in a little.

     "Fuck yeah!" he panted, whacking himself off faster and faster.  "Rim me, Kasey!  Rim me nice and deep!"


I figured that's what this must be called: that what I was doing, here in some barely-built house, was to be rimming quiet respectable David Hetherington's well-fucked arsehole.

     The taste inside was actually quite fascinating.  It was like that musky smell back in the changing rooms, only distilled into a concentrated form you could lap at with your tongue.  It made me want to wank off too, so I did that as I rimmed him, beating my own cock as fast as David Hetherington's fist was slamming away at his.

     "And did you both climax like that?" Philip asked.  "It would be quite ironic if you had, given the importance to you of the deal you'd made."

     I smiled.  I noticed he wasn't asking anything about the rimjob.  A straight guy would have been intrigued by what it had been like to have your tongue up another lad's arse, but I'm getting more and more sure that my counsellor is gay and that he's had his own face buried between a few pairs of big hunky buttocks not to dissimilar from David Hetherington's.

     "No," I said.  "It might well have been more ironic that way, but in reality the whippet did end up getting the rabbit."

     I pulled back from him when I could feel my cock was getting near to exploding, and stood up behind him while he stayed bent over.

     "I reckon you've had your minute," I said.  Like I said, it had felt like he'd well more than that.  "So now I'm gonna bum you."

     He kept wanking himself.  "Yeah, fucking go for it!"

     I found his big puffy entrance with my pounding jeb-end and slid myself quickly up him, his passage feeling nice and slippery from my spit.

     Ever since then, rimming and fucking have always gone together like that.  Rimming always goes before a fuck, but only when you want to make it something a bit special.  I've never rimmed a guy just for the sake of it, that's what I'm saying.  It's never seemed like a main course for me: more like the tinned oxtail soup my mam would dish out on Christmas Day like it was a fancy starter.

     But then, like I've told you, I'm not a worshipper of bums.

     "What did it feel like," Philip asked, "having sex with another lad for the first time as the active participant?"

     "You mean what did it feel like, knobbing him up the arse?"

     I'm trying to get him to cut the crap.  It's funny that I'm trying to change his behaviour as much as he's trying to change mine.

     "It felt absolutely amazing," I told him.  "Like nothing I could have imagined."

     I should clarify, though, that the feel of it inside him wasn't that great, if I'm honest.  It was hot and slimy and I could feel my bell-end pushing against something firm and I was pretty sure I could figure out what it was.  But then, like I said, bums aren't really my thing.

     It was the act itself that felt so incredible, maybe I should have put it like that to Philip.  Holding onto this well-built lad by the hips and being joined to him as another male, our bollocks smacking together as I worked myself in and out and feeling from how fast he was beating off how horny I was making his magnificent cock.

     "So, once again," Philip cut in, "it was all about the cock?"

     "It's always 'all about the cock'," I retorted.  "Jesus, how many times have been to see you and you go and ask me something like that?"

     But it was, when I think about it, a bit more than that.  I knew then that this kind of sex was totally right for me.  This was what I wanted to do from here on out.

     Lads could talk all they liked about getting girls on their backs and having them open their legs for them.  That might work for them, but for me this was far, far better.  Getting another guy to bend over so I could push my cock between his arse cheeks: that, I was suddenly heart-and-soul sure, was the way I would always want to do it.

     I looked down and watched my dick sliding in and out of him, knowing I was getting dangerously close to cumming.  I pulled his shirt and cagoule up his back a bit so I could see his whole massive backside with the hairy crack down the middle of it and my cock working back and forth from his gaping hole.  It might be a lad's big, grungy bum looking pale and orange in the glow from the sodium light, but to me at that moment it was utterly beautiful.

     Before I came, I told him to stop tossing himself off so I could reach round him and grab at his precum-soaked dick and take over the job for myself.  I wanted him to shoot off with my fingers around his shaft; worshipping his cock as well as I could while I fucked his arse.

     And I'm well aware of how silly it sounds, but I actually thought I'd invented that position.  I thought that it would never have occurred to any gay lad before me to reach round his partner's body and wank him off while he ploughed away behind him.  Stupid, I know, but when I saw someone doing it in a porno years later, I wondered how the fuck they'd managed to copy what I'd thought up.  Until then I really believed I was the only one who did it.

     I can be a total prick sometimes.  You've probably realised that.

     He loved having his dick beaten off at the same time he was fucked.  He kept gasping, "Ah, yeah!" and really jabbing his bum against my thrusts, the way that I do when Hutchy's banging away at mine.

     I jerked him as fast as I could, rubbing my thumb across his big donger of a bell-end.  It felt so wet and slimy and throbbed so stiffly in my fist: I loved that it was my cock doing this to him; that it was me, knobbing him so deep up his big blokeish arse, making his hard-on just about purr like a spoilt cat.

     "Do you like this?" I grunted over his shoulder behind him.

     "I fucking love it!" he panted and then, probably more through force of habit, added, "It's just girls won't do it."

     No shit, I thought.

     I felt David Henderson's cock get really hard in my hand and then it made little twitching movements as it started firing off over the concrete floor.

     Jesus, this would soon become some nice family's living room, it suddenly occurred to me, as my own started jizzing off inside him.  They'll all be sitting around this fireplace watching 'Emmerdale Farm' or some such, unaware that a few weeks earlier two lads had been bodging away like rabbits in here, one spunking his nuts up over where their expensive new hearth rug was now laid.

     "How was David Hetherington with you afterwards?" Philip asked.

     "Quite sweet in an awkward sort of way," I said.  "He obviously felt embarrassed that he had a thing for having his butt licked and probably even more uncomfortable that he'd made it clear he loved a dick shafting him up his arse, but all that aside, he was as nice as he could be."

     Philip nodded and I went on, "He said I could borrow his jumper to walk home in and then put it in his locker in school during class next day.  He'd leave it open after registration."

     "Did he want a repeat of what you'd done?" Philip asked.

     "He became an occasional hook-up for me, yeah," I nodded.  "Never at the building site again; I think he thought he'd been a bit mean arranging to meet up with me there as a sort of 'first date'.  We did it a few times in his dad's garage up near the council offices like he'd said and once, when his parents were out, in his own garage that was attached to their house.  Never inside the house, though.  He didn't want his mam's carpets getting messed up by my scruffy boots."

     So that's this week's journal entry all done and ready to print.  I've tried to put more in about how I felt about things to give Philip something to munch over when he's doing his 'transpersonal analysis' bit.  So hopefully he'll like it more than the last one.

     I think all this stuff is turning out really useful to write up.  Yeah, really, I do.