by Robert Furlong
Part 17: Candid Cameron
Cameron and I met at The Fawcett Inn, an off-the-beaten-track pub some distance from where we work as we were both obviously keen that our chat should be spared the curious gazes of our co-workers.
He ordered a pint but I thought it best for me to stick to soft drinks as I was driving. The place was pretty quiet and we chose a secluded table well away from the other handful of other drinkers.
Cameron was a big guy: tall and with a sturdy, muscular build. He’d been chaining his bike to some railings outside of the pub when we’d met and his physique exhibited the prominent chest and powerful legs of a regular cyclist.
I marvelled at his hairline which seemed to start just above his eyebrows with an enviably luxuriant growth of jet black hair. He wore his hair cropped short with the fringe spiked up with gel. It put my own receding tangle rather to shame.
After a few minutes of slightly stilted small-talk, during which I let him know that most people call me Rob rather than Robert, I asked him how he’d recognised me as “a fellow butt-monkey” as he’d so neatly put it.
He chuckled. “You mean apart from finding you with your nose firmly wedged in Bradley Russell’s arse-crack?”
I chuckled, remembering back to when I’d been taking what I’d thought was a sneaky sniff of the IT technician’s splayed backside when he’d been on all fours under my desk fixing my printer. “Well, that could have been an accident.”
“Quite so,” he agreed. “But the way you cupped your crotch to hide the bone-on you’d grown in the front of your trousers… that kind of swung it!”
I smiled, in part from the memory of what had been a particularly awkward moment and in part from the term ‘bone-on’ which I’d never heard.
“Okay, okay,” I laughed. “Well, apart from all that…”
Cameron smiled and then took a long thirsty drink from his pint, downing more or less the top third of it.
“I saw the way you look at other guys’ bums,” he said, after he’d wiped the froth of it from his upper lip. “The way you drool over them when you think people aren’t watching you… the way you have to fiddle with yourself to try and disguise how turned-on you get.”
Although I was a little surprised by how perceptive he had been, I was grateful that he was speaking frankly rather than beating around the bush with euphemisms and intimation. I felt that our shared interest gave us licence to dispense with such niceties and speak with honesty to one another.
“And I thought I was being so inconspicuous,” I grinned, sipping at my J20.
“To most people, you probably were. I guess I recognised that look because I do it too… in fact you notice a lot of guys doing it in and around the office once you start looking for it.”
“There are others… like us… working in our company? Guys into rimming?”
He laughed. “There are legions of us! Well, maybe not legions, but it’s a lot more common than you probably realise.”
“And do you think we enjoy it because of some primitive evolutionary thing, like it described in that article you sent me?”
He shrugged, in the middle of taking another large drink from his pint. “I haven’t a clue,” he said when he’d replaced it on the table. “I just sent you that stuff so you’d know you weren’t alone and maybe to answer a few questions you were asking yourself.”
“Well, there have been plenty of those,” I agreed.
“How did you discover that you enjoy it?” he asked. “I’m guessing that time with Bradley wasn’t your first encounter with another guy’s arse?”
I told him about my night with Guy – without mentioning his name, of course – and how a reluctant drunken blowjob had progressed into a frenzied and enthusiastic bout of butt-licking. Even though I had been unable to tell my doctor the story of what had happened, I felt Cameron’s direct approach with me deserved my honesty in return. I was therefore as candid in my use of language as he was had been with me, and was frank about how excited I’d been by the smells and tastes of Guy’s cock, balls and between his legs when he was straddling over me.
Cameron smiled as I told my story and I could tell that he was rather enjoying it.
“How did you get into a situation where you started sucking him off? I mean, you were both straight, weren’t you?” Cameron asked when I’d finished describing how confused I’d felt the day after I’d rimmed Guy.
“Well, like I said, we were both a bit pissed from drinking the best part of a bottle of whisky,” I explained. “He was telling me about stuff that went on between the men he’d worked with on an oil-rig, and that kind of led to –”
“An oil-rig?” Cameron cut in. “You’re not talking about Guy Leeson, are you? The plumber?”
Surprised that he somehow knew Guy, I stammered, “Well… I… er… don’t want to get into naming and shaming. This… er… person hadn’t actually had sex with anyone on the rig himself…”
Cameron went on, “Well, we can’t be talking about the same person, then. Guy Leeson liked to put it about a bit on the rig from stuff I’ve heard.”
This was interesting: Guy’s claim to have kept himself to himself on the oil-rig had always struck me as inconsistent with his eagerness to become sexual with me.
“Was he into rimming?” I asked.
Cameron shook his head. “No, just getting his knob sucked and the occasional fuck. But it was always a one-way thing for him – no reciprocation – which didn’t go down too well with the lads on the rig from what I gather.”
I felt I couldn’t ask any more questions about Guy without making it obvious that he was the person I’d had sex with in the hotel, so instead I turned the focus back onto Cameron.
“So how did you get into rimming?” I asked.
Cameron chuckled, replacing his drink on the table after taking another swig. “It was in my student days. Me and Beth – my girlfriend at the time – had gone off in a camper van with my mate Ian and his girlfriend. Driving around Scotland… just mucking about and parking up each night wherever we ended up.
“Anyway, one afternoon, Ian and Paula, his girlfriend, were up front driving, and me and Beth were in the back. We were a bit bored and pretty horny, so we got into our bunk for a quickie. While I was screwing Beth – she’s my wife now, actually – I felt someone’s tongue licking my nuts and then work their way up into my arse-crack. I looked behind me, expecting to see Paula, but at the same time kind of surprised that she’d want to do that to me. Anyway – you’ve guessed it – it was Ian who was licking my backside. Paula was driving the van.”
“What did you do when you realised it was another guy licking you?” I asked.
Cameron shrugged. “Well I guess I must’ve looked a bit surprised, but Ian just gave me a grin and a thumbs-up and then stuck his face back into my butt-crack as I pumped away at Beth.”
“And how did you feel?”
“I think at first I was a bit self-conscious… you know, having another guy – a mate – with his face back there, wondering what he might find. But then I noticed he had his dick out and was beating himself off as he licked me, so I figured whatever he’d found he obviously liked. I shifted my position on Beth to open my legs wider – opened my arse up so he could get stuck in if that’s what he wanted – and he started licking around my hole and breathing heavily against it. Pretty soon he was pushing the tip of his tongue really hard against my opening and then, when I yielded to him, to my amazement he worked it right up inside me.”
“And did you enjoy it?” I asked, feeling my own cock starting to respond in its appreciation of the story.
He laughed. “Enjoy it? I was as turned on as fuck! I really got into shagging Beth and he really got into licking my arsehole – matching my rhythm with his tongue as he fucked me with it. I could feel his shoulder pounding against my thigh as he wanked himself; so fast and so hard.”
“Did Beth know what he was doing?”
He took another drink from his pint before replying, “No… and she still doesn’t know I’m into it.”
“You think she wouldn’t understand?”
He shook his head. “That her husband’s into other guys’ arses? Literally! Not very likely. Anyway, why take the risk? It’s only harmless fun… a purely sexual release.”
I nodded. I was going to tell him about Debbie and my own dilemma about whether to tell or not to tell, but he went on with his story.
“A couple of days later, me and Ian were alone in the van – the girls must’ve gone shopping or something – and I asked him why he’d licked my bum. He said that the smell and taste of a guy’s bum really turned him on. At first I was like, ‘Oh my God, how can you even say that?’ but he kept on about how horny it made you feel – how he’d bone up whenever he put his mouth on another guy’s backside and how he always needed to urgently wank himself when he did it.
“I guess he could see me starting to get curious because he suggested that I try it on him. I said there was no way I could do that – the smell alone would really repulse me. But he kept on about it not smelling or tasting like I thought it would; how it was a really erotic and intimate thing to do to another man. So eventually he got me so interested that I said I’d give it a try.
“He pulled his shorts and underwear down and sort of bent down in front of me. When I saw his bare arse right there in front of me, looking a bit spotty and with a really hairy crevice, I was like, ‘Whoa! There’s no way I can do this without throwing up!’ But he said, just put your face near me and see how it feels. So I did and it turned out that I liked the smell of him back there… I found it kind of interesting in a weird, raunchy way. I kissed his arse and we sort of laughed awkwardly about that – we were both pretty nervous, I guess – and then, after a bit more sniffing and licking, I pushed my tongue into his butt-crack to see how it would taste.
“Well, needless to say, I found I liked it… loved it, in fact. I went from just sort of tentatively licking at his crack to out-and-out feasting on his hole, holding his cheeks wide apart so I could get right in there. Ian bent down low and released my boned-up knob from my shorts which must have been making them stick outward I was so aroused. He started beating me off as I fed on him, working my tongue up into him like he had with me. I couldn’t believe how good it tasted – a really sexy, carnal flavour which was incredibly manly but somehow exciting in spite of that. He was laughing as he pumped my dick, saying ‘I told you so!’
“After I came – and fuck did I shoot! – he had me take off my shorts and underpants so he could get to work rimming my arse. It was amazing watching his knob grow so big – it’s length and thickness kind of doubling in just seconds – as soon as he put his mouth on my butt. As soon as he’d jerked one out for himself I was ready for another go on him. By the times the girls got back to the van, I’d whacked myself off five or six times, each time with my tongue a little bit deeper up Ian’s arse!
“Pretty soon the two of us were sixty-nining together – you know, licking each other’s backsides at the same time – and from there sucking each other was an obvious next step. After a while we tried butt-fucking each other and found that we both really liked it once we’d got used to the size of each other’s knobs.
“All through university, we’d be taking turns on each other behind our girlfriends’ backs. To our friends we just really good mates; two straight guys who were really close. I guess it looked like we enjoyed getting pissed together and crashing out on each other’s floors. But – Jesus – once the bedroom doors were closed we’d be at each other, eating and bellending each other’s arses like a couple of horny dogs.
I took a drink from my glass, hoping that I wouldn’t have to get up to buy a second round of drinks while my own ‘boned-up knob’ was making an aching lump underneath my right trouser pocket.
“So did you just get up to stuff with Ian?” I asked.
“Hell, no!” Cameron laughed, after taking another drink from own. “I mean, we’re still pretty regular fuck-buddies, in spite of us both getting married and having kids.
“But you get an eye for spotting other guys who might be up for some fun. Ian met a few other guys at uni – started playing around – and then I met a few of my own. I’d have the odd threesome, then I moved onto bigger groups and it continued from there.”
“And are all these other guys into rimming?”
“Not all are into rimming other men,” he replied, swallowing a mouthful from his pint. “There are quite a few guys who are just into getting blow jobs because anything else would be too ‘serious’ (he made a speech marks symbols with his fingers). But even a guy like that loves having a bloke’s face in his arse while he’s being sucked, and if that can work for him, it can also work for me.”
“With all the guys I’ve played around with,” he went on, “it hasn’t been about love or seduction or anything like that. I mean, there’s never been any romance between any of us. We’ve just had a mutual need for sex over and above what our wives or girlfriends are willing to supply. No commitments, no strings.”
I nodded in recognition of what he was saying. “That’s exactly how I feel,” I said. “I’m not gay – I don’t want to get into a homosexual relationship with another man. I’ve just been attracted, over the last couple of months, to the idea of having sex with another man… I thought there must be something a bit weird about me.”
“It’s not weird,” Cameron countered. “I’m sure quite a lot of guys enjoy sex together even though they’d be loath to identify themselves as being gay, or even bisexual. It’s just a way of expressing our sexual needs and exploring sexual fantasies without the restrictions most women impose. I, for one, don’t see anything wrong with that.”
I nodded and he went on, “A lot of the guys I know who are into it have been in the military, in prison or – like your mate – confined with other men for long periods because of their work. What starts out as an act of guilty desperation in the middle of the night for two men can, for an occasional one of them at least, develop into a regular pleasure – something he enjoys as well as, rather than instead of, his heterosexual love life.”
“You mean there are soldiers into this?” I asked, taking another sip of my drink.
He smiled. “Soldiers, sailors, tinkers, tailors… you name it. But, yeah, quite a few guys in the services – especially the navy for some reason – find that life in the barracks or at sea or whatever gives them a taste for a bit of fun with other men from time to time. And why not? Isn’t it just a natural expression of our sex drives?”
I said, nodding in agreement, “I can see where you’re coming from, and I guess it’s kind of a relief to hear you express what I’ve been feeling myself. Like you, I definitely want a woman in my life – I really miss the intimacy of that, actually – but I’m incredibly turned on by the idea of rimming another man and maybe doing some other stuff with him too.”
Cameron gulped down the rest of his pint and then glanced at his watch. Before I could apologise for holding up his journey home, he said, “I’m gonna squeeze in another half, if it’s all the same with you, Rob.”
As I made to get up, he gestured for me to sit back down. “No, I’ll get it. You’ve hardly touched your juice – it wouldn’t be fair.”
He got up and walked over to the bar as I enjoyed the view of his firm, curvaceous backside which was hugging the seat of his light grey work trousers. I wondered if perhaps I should take up cycling to improve my own rear view; it would certainly be feasible for me to cycle in to work each day. Or at least on sunny days.
While Cameron waited for the barman to pour his drink – which I noticed was another pint rather than the half he’d mentioned – he nodded over at a scrawny-looking young man sitting over near the door of the pub. The guy was in his late-teens or early-twenties and was dressed the kind of cheap suit that comes free with a shirt and tie. The girl he was with was giggling at everything he said and appeared, from their closeness and their body language, to be his girlfriend. The guy nodded back in acknowledgement and threw Cameron a small smile. Then he peered over at me with an interest which he made no effort to conceal. I threw him a reserved nod in what I hoped was a friend-of-a-friend sort of way. He didn’t reciprocate but just stared at me with the same flagrant curiosity, and then turned back to his girlfriend, saying something to her.
As Cameron paid for his second pint, I studied the couple, primarily for want of anything more interesting to do. The girl looked quite cute – she was blonde and had a nice, round pair of breasts which she showed off with a very uplifting bra and a low-cut top – and was no doubt capable of finding a guy far better than the smarmy-looking rat-faced one she was with. No doubt the guy held an appeal that wasn’t outwardly obvious.
When Cameron got back to his seat and had taken the head off his second pint (“Seemed a bit of a waste of a journey just to get a half”), he continued the conversation from where I’d left off.
“You say you might be interested in doing ‘some other stuff’ with a guy, Rob. What do you mean by that? What sort of things are you into?”
I shrugged, feeling rather like an inexperienced novice. “Well, I haven’t really done anything yet… apart from that one night in the hotel.”
I thought it best not to mention my brief but eventful sojourns with strangers; it might make me seem rather sleazy, especially if it slipped out that I actually paid one of the guys for what we did.
“Okay, so what sort of stuff have you read about?” Cameron asked. “What do you fantasize about?”
“I think I’m ready to have sex with another man… you know, the whole way. I’d like to try that.”
He nodded, gulping back another swig from his second pint. “Sucking, rimming, fucking – that kind of stuff?”
I nodded back. “I’ve never really liked receiving blowjobs, but apart from that… yeah… I’d be up for doing all of those things.”
He went on, “Would you let yourself be fucked?”
I shrugged. “I dunno… probably.”
He said, quite coldly, “I’ve got to say that most men would expect to have full penetrative sex with you, especially if you’ve already done that to them.”
“You mean we take turns?”
He considered this for a moment before explaining, “I think with gay sex – where there’s an emotional connection between the men – each man is attracted to certain things about the other and so each has a particular role that he favours. But with straight men it’s different – you and the other guy both have the same motivations, the same drive and desires, and so, yeah, there’d usually be certain amount of turn taking between the two of you. It’s kind of inevitable.”
The prospect of taking turns on each other appealed to me and I smiled. “I guess that’s fair. Yeah… I’m pretty sure I could get into being fucked.”
He didn’t smile back but instead went on with his questions, as though compiling a dossier of how far I would go.
“What about by two guys?”
I didn’t understand the question. “What do you mean?”
“Would you let two guys fuck you at the same time?”
“At the same time? How?”
He gestured with his hands on the table. “One guy lies this way, the other kind of lies like this. They push their knobs together and you climb aboard…”
I shook my head. “I’ve never thought about that. I think it would hurt too much.”
“So I’m guessing fisting wouldn’t be your thing?”
I shook my head more resolutely. “Definitely not. I don’t want to get split in two.”
“What about being fucked by a guy who was well-hung? I mean, some men have pretty big knobs.”
I shrugged. “How big are we talking here?”
Cameron spread his palms about to a length a good few inches shorter than my own organ was capable of growing to. He said, “Some guys, fully on bone, can be about eight inches long and be about this thick.” He made a ring with his thumb and forefinger which was, again, rather less substantial than my own girth. “Would that sort of size intimidate you?”
I smiled. Jesus – he had no idea.
“I can’t say that size would be that important to me, either big or small. I get more excited about what’s round the back rather than what’s out front.”
He allowed himself a smile in return. “You might come to change your mind about that. Mostly, well-endowed guys are pretty popular. It’s like Peter says in that ‘Family Guy’ episode: ‘Brent can’t fit in the glory hole; and that’s why we all like Brent’!”
He chuckled but I didn’t know the reference. I figured a glory hole must be the name for the hole between partitions in a public toilet like the one in the park (how did they get there, I wondered).
It occurred to me that Jake had just about every ‘Family Guy’ episode on DVD and watched them pretty regularly in his bedroom or with his mates. I’d assumed it was an animated sit-com like ‘The Simpsons’: I hadn’t realised that he was looking at this sort of stuff.
“Would you be into any group fun?” Cameron asked after downing another large swig from his pint. “Three or four men together, say…?”
I thought about the time I’d stumbled into being part of a group at the adult learning centre and how, even though we’d coupled up separately, I’d fantasized about us getting together more actively.
“Yeah… I’d definitely be up for that, but I think I’d prefer to keep it to just one guy to start off with… at least ’til I work out what I like and don’t like.”
He nodded. “How about toys?”
“Toys?” An image of two naked men playing with action figures sprang to mind.
“Yeah… dildos and anal vibrators and stuff.”
I shrugged. “I’ve never really thought about using stuff like that. I don’t think it would be something that would turn me on.”
“You said you’d like to fuck a guy. Would you felch him afterwards?”
“Yeah. You put your mouth on his anus and suck your own cum out of his arse.”
I hesitated, slightly repelled by the idea of doing that. It wasn’t something I’d seen anyone do on the internet.
I said, “Well, I suppose if he really wanted me to. Is that something that a lot of guys are into?”
“Not hugely. But some men like to felch the arse they’ve just fucked and then snowball the cum between the two of them…”
“Snowball?” I was starting to feel as if I looked childishly naive and perhaps a little stupid.
He nodded, matter-of-factly. “Yeah. You pass the wad of cum from mouth to mouth and both guys’ spit makes it grow, kind of like a snowball.”
I shook my head, rather disgusted by the idea. “No. I don’t think I could get into that.”
“Have you heard of scat?” he asked.
“Stamford College of Arts and Technology?” I suggested, rather pathetically. Jake had for a short time considered doing his A-Levels there.
Cameron chuckled. “No. Scatological sex. Sex involving shit. Is that something you could see yourself getting into?”
I almost recoiled. “Absolutely not! That’d be horrible… appalling! Are you into that?”
He shrugged. “No, not really. But I don’t mind it when arse-fucking gets a bit… you know… messy.”
“So why do you ask the question?”
“I’m just trying to get an idea of the stuff you’re into and what you don’t like. I know quite a big circle of men who are into a huge variety of stuff…”
“Jeez… I wasn’t expecting to infiltrate some kind of seedy ring,” I muttered.
“Infiltrating a seedy ring?” he repeated with a smirk. “I thought that was exactly what you were hoping for!”
I chuckled, taking a sip from my juice which was still more than half full.
He went on, “I could maybe introduce you to someone with similar interests – someone who you could have some fun with, without it getting too heavy for either of you.”
“That’d be good of you. Thanks.”
As if the thought had suddenly occurred to him, he surprised me by asking, “I don’t suppose you’re coming to the Christmas party at work?”
“I don’t normally. I’ve got my son, Jake, at home.” Then, thinking he perhaps saw the party as an opportunity for the two of us to hook up, I added, “But I could make plans for Jake if you want someone to go with…”
Cameron smiled and shook his head. “Sorry – that wasn’t my intention, Rob. I’ll be honest with you – I don’t think the two of us would be compatible. I’m into some pretty heavy stuff and I think it would freak you out right now.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean that,” I blurted out, realising how unconvincing I sounded. “I just meant –”
“I asked,” Cameron cut in, “because I know a few guys who are pretty new to this, like you, and I might be able to introduce you to someone there.”
“Oh, right,” I said, more cheerfully. “That’d be great.”
He smiled. “It’s kind of what I do. I don’t know why, but I’m pretty good at spotting men like us and I seem to have become a bit of a matchmaker.”
“Well as long as you match me up with another straight bloke, that’d be fine by me. I don’t want some gay guy who might get too clingy… you know… emotionally.”
“Oh, he’ll definitely be straight,” Cameron asserted. “All the guys I know who are into this are straight, actually. I mean, gay men must do it too but I guess they couple up together and form relationships. Like you say, that’s definitely not what I’m offering.”
“I don’t suppose Matt Strickson – on my floor – is into this kind of stuff, is he?”
Cameron smirked. “Like the look of him, do you?”
I smiled but felt my face flush at the implicit acknowledgment that I harboured sexual desires towards a specific man.
“He’s got a rather nice backside…” I ventured.
“He’s got an incredible arse,” Cameron asserted. “The trouble his head’s stuck so far up it that there’d be no room for anything else.”
I chuckled. “You could always leave an envelope on his desk…”
“Believe me,” Cameron said with smile, “if he showed even a glimmer of interest, I’d be in there like a shot. I mean, the guy must have one of the most fuckable arses in the company and, from the way he fills out those tight trousers he likes to wear, either he’s got a King Dong knob stuffed down there or otherwise he has a pair of wrecking-ball knackers.”
I nodded. It felt a bit odd to talk about other men like this – if this had been a woman’s sexual attributes we were discussing it would have seemed vulgar and chauvinistic. Nevertheless, I had to agree with him not only about how ‘fuckable’ Matt’s arse was (I’d have to remember that term – I rather liked it) but also how flagrantly well-packed the front of his trousers were.
“If it’s not about furthering his career or adding something to his CV,” he went on, “you can forget it.”
“Okay, so Matt’s not up for grabs. But let’s say you hook me up with someone else – what do you get out it?” I asked.
He shrugged and grinned. “Nothing much. The pleasure of welcoming another recruit to my cause. The pleasure knowing I got you started when I meet you at a party in a few months, with your arse up in the air and taking on all-comers!”
I laughed. “Ah… the simple pleasures in life.”
He laughed back and picked up his drink again, contemplating it like he might be about to down the remaining half of it as a way of bringing things to a close.
Before he could do so, I ventured: “Actually, if you’ve got another minute or two, I’ve got something else I’d like to ask you.”
“About… well,” I hesitated. I was thinking this might be a good opportunity to find out a few things from someone with his experience. “I’ve been with enough women to know what I’m doing on that score, but I’m kind of in the dark about what to expect with another guy… you know… the practicalities.”
He nodded, “Okay,” and put his drink back down on the table.
“Let’s say I get a guy back to my bedroom,” I began. “What happens then? Do we just undress and get down to it? Surely there are some preliminaries I should know about to avoid it feeling too… well… sterile…?”
“What do you normally do when you’re with a woman?”
“You know… kissing and cuddling and stuff. But that wouldn’t work.”
I noticed the young guy with the ratty face crossing the bar on the way to the toilet. He looked at us both intently and I waited until he’d gone through the swing-door to the gents before I responded to Cameron’s question.
“Well, like I said… I’m not into gay stuff.”
He laughed. “Kissing a guy doesn’t make you gay any more than screwing him does! It’s definitely a good thing to get things going… it helps to break down the natural guardedness which you get between men… gets the two of you bonding… establishes intimacy…”
I shook my head. “I couldn’t do that. It’d feel completely wrong to me.”
He nodded. “Okay. So what about the cuddling?”
“It still sounds a bit gay.”
He laughed again; I wasn’t sure that I liked the way he found my opinions and sexual preferences so amusing.
“Cuddling can be sexy without being romantic,” he suggested. “The two of you could strip down to your underwear and then get up close together. Like you found with your mate in the hotel room, a man’s skin has a sweaty, sexy musk to it. His underwear can smell really arousing too… something to do with the pheromones we produce…”
I smiled. I knew all about that.
“Around his knob and his nuts,” he went on, “and round the back where they’ve been riding into his arse. Just sniffing each other can really get you both going. Imagine a guy’s nose wedged into the back of your Y-fronts – that’s guaranteed to get you horny.”
I grinned at Cameron’s assumption that I was an old-fashioned Y-fronts wearer; he probably also thought I wore a velvet jacket at home and sat in my rocker smoking a calabash pipe. Nevertheless, the thought of having some fun with another guy in our underwear was quite appealing.
Cameron smiled back and then went on: “You’ve got to play it by ear, Rob. Maybe some of the things which worked for you with women won’t work with men. You’ve just got to try out a few things and find out what sails.”
I nodded, somewhat relieved to have at least one idea to help me avoid my fear of limpness and embarrassment, as he downed another large mouthful from his pint.
“I just wanted to check… you know… what kind of stuff it’s normal to do.”
When he’d put his pint back down he said, “There isn’t such a thing as normal. If the two of you are enjoying it, just do it. Don’t question it and don’t try to live by anyone else’s standards, especially not by the preconceptions you have as a hangover from stuff you’ve done with women. Sex with men is different: it’s less constrained… more liberated.”
“Why do you think that is?” I asked.
Sipping my juice again and starting to feel a bit sickly from it, I noticed that Cameron’s second drink was now emptier than my first: I was being lapped by him, though not in the way I’d fantasized about the previous night.
“Men are more horny, to put it simply. Our bollocks are full of spunk, our brains are full of testosterone and we’re out for all we can get. Guys are strong – we can get intensely physical with each other when we want to – and we have pretty filthy imaginations. So put two or more horny men together and… well –”
“Fireworks!” I suggested.
“Exactly,” he grinned broadly. “You know, Rob… come to think of it, sex between men isn’t for nancies!”
I chucked at his joke, suspecting that his tongue was being loosened by his second pint.
“I think there’s also the fact,” he went on, “that when you’re sexual with a woman, it isn’t always clear how much she’s enjoying it, even if she says she is. That’s certainly true of my wife! With another bloke, you can see straightaway whether or not he’s turned on – let’s face it, it’s blatantly obvious. I think that’s why men can be more confident when they’re being intimate together… more willing to experiment and to take things further, knowing full well that the other guy is just as into it from just a glance between his legs.”
I noticed that rat-face had emerged from the gents and was uncouth enough to still be zipping up his trouser fly as he crossed the bar. Once again, he stared over at Cameron and me, especially me, clearly fascinated by our conversation.
After he’d passed I asked Cameron who he was.
“Just some guy,” he replied, taking another swig from his pint and leaving just a mouthful in the bottom. “He’s called Wayne… the youngest of the Simm brothers, I think. I only vaguely know him.”
“Is that his girlfriend? She seems a bit too nice-looking.”
He smiled. “She’s probably the latest girl he’s managed to knock up. He’s very good at sewing his seed, in spite of the fact I don’t think he’s ever done a day’s work.”
“So why’s he in a suit?”
Cameron grinned. “Probably been up in court. If it’s not withholding support payments, it’ll be shoplifting from Poundland.”
I glanced over at rat-face as he sat back down with the girl and peered over at our table again.
“He seems very interested in us,” I observed. “He keeps looking in our direction.”
Cameron chuckled. “He probably thinks we’re hooking up together. Knowing Wayne, he’ll be desperate to get in on any action that’s going.”
“What, as well as screwing any girl who’ll have him?”
“Wayne’s one of those guys who loves sex and is into just about everything. His preference would probably be towards girls, but he’ll take whatever’s going from whoever’s offering it.”
I looked over at Wayne again, chatting with his girlfriend and still throwing the odd furtive glance in our direction.
“Surely he’s not into rimming?” I asked, rather incredulous that such a rough-looking youth could enjoy something which I had come to regard as quite a cultivated taste.
“Like I said, he’s up for whatever’s going,” Cameron said, before downing the last inch of his drink.
“You’ve seen him at some of your… well…” I fumbled for the right word before settling on, “… soirees?”
He shook his head. “No. He’s not into the scene. Maybe he will be in a few years but for now he’s still a bit young.”
“So how do you know what he’s into? Have you seen him… doing stuff with another guy?”
He paused, like he was studying the remnants of froth on his empty beer glass. Then he said, “Like you, I don’t like to kiss and tell. But yeah, I’ve seen him ‘doing stuff’. But with two other lads, actually. And with me.”
I let my surprise show. “Wow!” The lad was not much older than Jake and yet he was clearly very adept and impressively flexible when it came to matters of sex.
Cameron glanced at his watch. “I should be going, really.”
“Come on!” I urged him. “You can’t start a story and then not finish it!”
He looked again at his watch – studying it this time – torn between letting me in on whatever it was that had happened to him and, I assume, returning home. “Okay,” he said at length, throwing me a knowing smirk.
“A few months ago I got talking to a guy in a pub,” he began, with the merest trace of a possible Northern accent on the word ‘pub’ betraying how much he’d drank. “He was called Malcolm and I knew him through a friend of a friend. He seemed a nice enough guy and was reasonably attractive – tall, like me, but a bit more on the chubby side. Anyway, he was kind of prying a bit into what I do for ‘fun’ and behaving the way guys do when they’re up for it, and after we’d had a few drinks he asked me back to a council flat in Kettering. It was pretty obvious what he had in mind, so I went along.”
“How do you know when guys are ‘up for it’?” I asked, wondering if I might have had similar conversations with men and been oblivious to the sexual subtext.
Cameron laughed. “Come on, Rob! You just know!”
“That’s the point,” I laughed back. “I don’t think I do!”
“Okay… here’s an example. Has a guy in the street ever asked you if you’ve got a light?” he asked.
“Of course,” I shrugged. “Loads of times.”
Cameron grinned. “And all those guys were probably looking at you in a certain way when they asked you… checking you out…”
“Well, maybe, but –”
“And you’ve never wondered why so many guys who smoke would go out without matches or a lighter?”
I smiled. “So you reckon I was being propositioned?”
“Maybe not every time. But on some of those occasions, if you’d have replied you didn’t have a lighter but then had asked the guy if he had the time, you’d have found out what his real motives were.”
I allowed my face to show surprise, although I was highly sceptical of what he was claiming.
“Those guys were coming onto you, Rob,” Cameron laughed. “And you didn’t even know it!”
“Well… perhaps.” I was interested by the possibility that it might be true and wondered if I could really have turned away so many potential opportunities.
“Anyway, getting back to the flat in Kettering,” Cameron went on, with a grin. “That was where I first met Wayne, who turned up there with a couple of his mates soon after we arrived. I couldn’t figure the three lads out at first: they were just your average run-of-the-mill scallies – they were wearing tracksuits and fake Rolex watches and at least two of them had kids – but there was a closeness between them that made me wonder if maybe they’d sometimes play around together.
“Anyway, the five of us had a few drinks, smoked a few joints, chatting about nothing in particular. I didn’t say a lot – I was holding back a bit to see how things were going to play out. After a while, the conversation turned to sex – Malcolm kept pushing it that way – and Wayne and his mates were joking about how horny they were and how long it had been since they’d had a girl.”
I smiled at the memory of Guy using a similar technique.
“Well, pretty soon the three of them started messing about – groping each other, silly stuff – but it was pretty obvious from the bulges in their tracksuits that they were enjoying it. All the time they were doing it, they were watching me to see how I was reacting. I made it clear, by giving my own crotch the odd tweak, that I liked what I saw and so they got bolder and started pretending to gross each other out by pushing their crotches into each other’s faces.
“I was enjoying watching them mucking around together, grabbing each other’s heads and trying to push them into the bulges that were getting more and more prominent. I thought, though, that it would be interesting to see if I could push things a bit further and so I suggested that they should up the stakes by trying to rub their arses into each other’s faces. They found that idea hilarious and started wrestling around on the floor, trying to pin each other down to press their bums into as many of each other’s faces as they could. The three of them were getting really excited by it – their faces were scarlet and they were sweating buckets. By now their pricks were sticking upwards at full mast in their trackie bottoms – two of them looked pretty average, but Wayne… well! It was clear he was a big lad – I mean, bigger than me, and I’m not small.”
I smiled, enjoying hearing this immensely. “Wow!”
“Anyway, I told them they were amateurs and that I’d show them how to do it properly on Malcolm – the guy who’d invited me back with him. I got him to stand up and knelt down behind him – side on to three of them slumped on the couch so they could see what I was doing. Then I leaned forwards towards his arse in his jeans but, just when they thought I was going to push my face into him, I reached up and undid his belt and yanked his jeans and shorts down.
“Once I had his bare arse in my face, I turned to the lads and said, ‘This is how you do it, boys.’ With them staring at me in wide-eyed amazement, I went in for the kill – tongue outstretched, straight into the furry crack between his flabby cheeks. Rimming his hole like a pro, in spite of –”
Cameron paused and I prompted him. “In spite of?”
“Well, I suppose he didn’t know he was going to get rimmed in front of his mates, so his arse was a bit… how should I put it… ‘au naturel’.”
I smiled. “Isn’t that the best way?”
He smiled back and nodded. “I know what you’re saying – and in general I’d agree – but there are limits. And Malcolm was right on the limit; maybe slightly over it. However, I had a point to make so I just got on with it: stuck my face right in there in, pretending not to notice.”
“Was Malcolm embarrassed?”
He laughed. “Not at all. He opened his legs as much as the jeans around his shins would let him and bent over to let me in further. He was laughing and saying, ‘You dirty bastard!’ but he was pushing his arse back against my face, grinding it into me.
“I turned back to the lads as I licked his arsehole – horny as fuck in spite of how strong he tasted – and grinned over at them with my tongue in his hairy crack. They were laughing and pretending to be grossed out – calling me a deviant and a pervert – but the way they were rubbing themselves through their tracky bottoms showed what they really thought of it. Like I’d thought, these guys were used to being uninhibited around each other.
“One of them called out, ‘Look at Malc’s bell-end dribblin’! It’s like a fuckin’ tap!’ I got back on with rimming him but reached round to fondle his knob, which was boned-up and thick and smeared with the pre-cum which was streaming out of it, so I could wank him while I tongued his arse.
“Wayne jumped up and came over to us. He yanked down his trackie bottoms and his knob sprang up from his stripy underwear. He had a real porker between his legs, with a red, sticky end, and a big, juicy pair of bollocks.
“He said, ‘Do me,’ and turned around to show me his pale arse. I leaned towards him and pushed my face between his cheeks, licking up and down his almost hairless crack and sniffing his sweaty, musky odour. His taste was a lot less intense than Malcolm’s so I started flicking my tongue into his hole, feeling my knob straining against my trousers. He bent over, like Malcolm had, and worked his arse against me, matching the rhythm of my tongue.
“He called out, ‘Ah yeah, man! That is fuckin’ skill!’ And he started wanking himself while I gave him his first taste of a rim-job.
“After a minute or so, he pulled off me and said, ‘I wanna do it to you, mate. I wanna be proper dirty!'”
“So I stood up and hitched down my trousers and underwear. I noticed his two mates were still on the settee but they’d pulled their tracksuit bottoms down and were wanking themselves while they watched us. They took a good look at my knob at full mast – like I said, I’m pretty well-built – and grinned at each other, their hands getting a bit faster as they worked themselves. For all their stories about being straight, they certainly enjoyed looking at an older man’s big boned-up dick!
“Wayne got behind me and – very hesitantly, like guys always are when they first try it – pushed his face up to my arse. Finding that it wasn’t as grim as he’d probably expected, he became bolder and pressed his mouth between my cheeks. I could tell from the speed of his hot breath against my arse that he enjoyed it, and he tentatively extended his tongue into my crack.
“I looked at the others and saw that they were mesmerised by what Wayne was doing. Malcolm, who was still standing near us with his jeans hitched down, knelt down in front of me and took as much of my knob into his mouth as he could. The others liked that and called out their approval, enjoying watching me get worked on from the front and behind.
“Wayne got stuck right in. He was a natural – so confident that I wondered if he’d done it before, although I don’t think he had. He seemed to instinctively know all the moves and had me squirming and grabbing Malcolm’s head so I could face-fuck him properly while Wayne’s tongue worked its magic.
“He was beating himself off while he rimmed me. I could feel the pace of his hand working his stiffie from the rhythm of his stubble moving against the cheeks of my arse.
“Just when I was really getting into it – hurtling down the home straight – Wayne pulled off me with a laugh and said, ‘This is fucking well hot, man!’ He stood up and called over to his mates, ‘You guys wanna try this! You’ve gotta try this!’
“He turned around and splayed his arse out to them, rubbing his finger up and down his slippery crack. ‘Come on lads, come and see what it’s like to lick out a dude!’
“And they did. And they proved that, while they might have been newcomers at rimming, they were more than willing to give it their best shot. More than that, though, they loved trading blow jobs – all three of them were obviously well-practised with each other, like I’d supposed – and were even up for fucking each other’s arses, although one of them – the other guy with the kid, I think – wasn’t prepared to take it.
“That might be a bit too ‘gay’ – d’you know what I mean?”
I smiled. I did.
“Malcolm and I… well… we kind of did our own thing. We were older than the others and not so desperate for quick gratification. He was cautious about rimming me – not like Wayne – but he enjoyed being taught. We had a lot of fun taking our time on the couch, slowly working the moves on each other’s knobs and arses and swapping places every time we got close.
“The lads were on the floor, going hammer and tongs at each other, all sweat and impatience. They were trying to outdo each other in how fast and how rough they could be, but they were also urging each other on to prove they were hard enough to take whatever pounding their mates could give them.
“It was a good night,” he concluded with a grin. Then he stood up and, pulling his jacket on, said, “And now it really is time I was going, Rob.”
I stared at him, stunned that the story had ended so abruptly and that he was leaving.
“I was just getting into that, actually,” I muttered.
He grinned. “I’m sure you were but I should’ve left here half an hour ago, to be honest. Beth’ll be wondering where I am… though not for the first time, I dare say!”
I stood up, aware that my erection was making an obvious rod in my trousers but quickly covering it as I pulled on my coat.
He said, “Think of that story as a sneak preview of things to come. The sort of adventures you’ll soon be getting into now you know how many guys share your interest.”
I smiled. “It sounds a bit too risky for me. Meeting men and going back to their flats… I don’t think I’d dare do that.”
I had, after all, experienced enough self-recriminations about what I’d done in the park, and that had been small fry compared what Cameron had just described.
He nodded, fishing out his keys from his pocket and fiddling with them to find what I assumed to be the key to his cycle lock. “Remember that Malcolm was someone I knew through a mate of mine. So I was pretty sure it wasn’t gonna get nasty. It’s just a matter of using a bit of common, Rob. Knowing how far you can go and when to pull back.”
“I suppose so.”
“Well, look,” he said, having located his key. “I’ll sort someone out for you for the Christmas party. If you’re sure you’d like that.”
“That’d be great, yeah,” I readily agreed.
“I’ll make sure he’s just your type!” he smiled. “It usually goes well when I hook guys up together.”
We headed towards the door of the pub, passing the surprisingly-enterprising Wayne who glanced up from his conversation to throw us another inquisitive look. I wondered how much, if anything, his girlfriend knew about his extra-curricular activities.
When we got outside and he was unlocking his bike, I said, “Take care, Cameron. And stay safe.”
He grinned at me. “Always, mate.”
As he cycled off I noticed how the seat of his bike pressed between the cheeks of his very pert-looking arse, nuzzling into his crack and pushing the light grey material of his trousers deep into his cleft. If one could be reincarnated as an inanimate object, the seat of a man’s mountain bike would figure highly on the list.
And with that rather peculiar thought, I turned to walk back towards the company car park through the clear November night.
Next story: Carried Away
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