by Robert Furlong
Part 25: Troy Story
“We were on a hiking trip up in the Pennines,” Troy began quietly after the waitress had taken our order. The coffee shop, which was hidden away among a few takeaways and convenience stores across the road from the college, was deserted in spite of the time of day.
He asked, “I don’t suppose you’ve been camping up there, have you?”
I shook my head, more interested in why the waitress was faffing around with the till instead of pouring our drinks. I’d been gagging for a coffee since before I’d been pulled out of Matt Strickson’s godawful presentation.
“It’s spectacular,” the teacher went on. “An ideal place to take a beginner’s group under normal circumstances. Unfortunately, these weren’t normal circumstances.”
I turned towards him. “How do you mean?”
“It was February half term and the weather caught us out. The forecast had been for light snow and so we’d headed out over open country, two of us instructors and a group of lads – very remote and exposed. What we didn’t know was that a storm had changed course unexpectedly and by late-afternoon we had to put the tents up as best we could in blizzards and battering winds.
“It was impossible to get our bearings and would have been extremely unwise to have tried to move away from our spot, so we just dug in and held on tight, waiting for the storm to subside. For three days and nights, the weather was ferocious and we were stuck fast – even our mobiles couldn’t get a signal the snow was so heavy.
“It was on one of those nights – very late, long after the lads had turned in – that it happened.”
I nodded before turning again to see what the waitress was up to. She seemed to be trying to change the till roll. We were her only customers and that was her priority, was it? Changing the till roll; completely ignoring the pot of coffee sitting on the machine waiting to be poured.
“I’d hiked with Justin many times – we were pretty good mates. We weren’t too worried about what to do – we knew the drill inside out. We had enough gas and we knew the storm would blow itself out long before the food ran out. The trouble was that we were bored as hell being stuck together for so long with only the wind howling round our tents and the empty, disorientating whiteness beyond.
“He and I had played around a bit together before that trip. It’s not uncommon for guys to couple up from time to time when they’re sleeping together in such close confines each night. Did you know that?”
I shook my head. “No. No, I didn’t, actually.”
She was making a complete pig’s ear of changing the till roll. Now she was hunting around under the desk for something – probably the instruction manual for the till. The coffee was just sitting there, stewing.
“Well, it’s not like it’s widespread or anything. But at the same time, it’s not unusual. It’s certainly not something that gets spoken about – it’s usually, at most, just a discreet fondling of each other’s hard-ons under the cover of the sleeping bags after lights out.”
I nodded, appreciating his openness. He obviously felt that, since I’d described my own intimate experience with Guy so frankly to him, he was able to speak to me with the same familiarity.
“I’ve never really thought about it,” I admitted, “but I suppose it’s not unexpected. I mean, the two of you have the same needs, and it would get pretty frustrating on long trips otherwise.”
He smiled. “Exactly.”
Then he looked around, “Where the hell is that coffee?”
“I think she was punching our order into the till and managed to break it.” Now she had the back off it and was poking around in its electronic innards as if she had the slightest idea of what she was doing.
“Excuse me!” he called over to her. “Do you think we could have our coffee?”
She looked over at us and giggled. “Ooh, I’d forgotten all about that!”
She grabbed two cups from the shelf and proceeded to fill them. I was pleased that Troy was more forthright in such situations than me. I was so polite we would still have been sitting waiting come closing time.
He turned back to me, lowering the volume of his voice to prevent her from overhearing him. “Well, Justin and I had fooled around a bit together like that for a few years. Mainly just jacking each other off when we both felt horny.”
I nodded, seeing for the first time something appealing about camping.
“How does that work?” I asked. “I mean, how do you let each other know that you want to… well… ‘fool around a bit’, as you put it?”
“Guys need to masturbate,” he shrugged. “No matter who you’re hiking with, some nights you’re gonna hear your mate’s hand thumping against his sleeping bag or feel the rhythm of him next to you when you’re trying to get to sleep. Some men try to be discreet about it; others just lie there and whack themselves off without making any bones about what they’re doing.
“It’s pretty much bound to happen when you’re with another bloke day and night. Sometimes you’ll see each other taking a dump; at others you’ll hear each other tossing off. It’s not pleasant, but it’s going to happen.”
“I get that,” I cut in. “I just don’t get how you end up rubbing each other.”
It seemed to me quite a big leap from overhearing each other jerking off privately to unzipping both your sleeping bags and pumping away at each other’s erections like a couple of horny adolescents.
“Well, it just kind of happens. In Justin’s case, he was very upfront about his need for regular release. He needed to masturbate pretty much every night – no matter what circumstances we were in and how precarious things might be. We could be perched halfway up a cliff in the middle of a hurricane and Justin would end the day with a wank! I guess he had a high sex drive and, when he was away from his missus, beating himself off was his only way of controlling it.”
I chuckled. “I can relate to that.”
“Obviously I needed relief too from time to time,” he went on, “so some nights I’d join him. It wasn’t like it was prearranged or anything – neither of us said a word about it… in my experience, guys never do. But some nights, while his fist was making little thud-thud noises under his sleeping bag, I’d join in. And we’d lie there doing it together, faster and faster, until we both came… gasping… one after the other.”
Yeah, I thought. I kind of know how it works.
“Then one night – I forget where we were – we were jerking off together like that in the darkness when Justin unzipped his bag a bit, reached into mine to grab my free wrist and moved my hand across right onto his hard-on. I was pretty surprised but I wrapped my fingers around him and did my best to wank him, just like I was doing to myself.”
“Weren’t you a bit disgusted?” I asked, remembering how I had felt many years earlier when my ex-wife’s friend’s husband had grabbed my own hand and put it on his wrinkled scrotum. “You know, to have your hand on another man like that?”
“No, not at all,” he laughed. “I just figured he needed a bit of extra help that night and I didn’t mind providing it. As I said, it’s not that unusual for guys to want a bit of company from each other on a long hike, so it didn’t seem weird that he’d want me to do that for him.”
“But it must have felt odd, masturbating another man?”
“I suppose so – a bit. But jerking two dicks isn’t so different from jerking one – you kind of get into the same rhythm on the two of you. I’ll admit that Justin’s erection felt very different to mine. Kind of shorter but much thicker – quite a handful, actually. I think, because of our differences, I probably wasn’t doing it very well – it was my left hand too, remember – but he seemed glad to have a different hand down there for a change and was groaning his gratification as I rubbed him.”
He stopped talking as the waitress brought our coffees over on a little tray with a jug of milk and some sachets of sugar.
“Oh God, I can’t remember – did you order food?” she asked and then giggled, “Sorry, I’m just having one of those days. It’s been like Picadilly Circus in here.”
I glanced around, wondering if there were perhaps customers I hadn’t seen lurking among the furniture, but the place was empty and showed no signs that it had been otherwise in some considerable time.
We optimistically repeated our food order, although I felt it was unlikely that anything remotely edible would ever materialise, and she trundled back off to the counter. Suddenly she turned back to us and asked, with another giggle, “I don’t suppose either of you happen to know anything about how to fix tills, do you?”
We both shook our heads, and Troy muttered apologetically to me that perhaps this place had changed owners since he’d last been in.
After adding milk to our coffees, Troy went on with his story.
“It felt weird to feel him cum on my wrist – to have his warm wetness pumping all over my hand. But apart from that – and the yuckiness of cleaning up afterwards – I didn’t think much of it, to be honest. I certainly didn’t think of it as being in any way ‘gay’.”
“I don’t see that it was,” I agreed, taking a sip of my drink which tasted unexpectedly pleasant. “It was just one friend helping out another. What’s wrong with that?”
“Well, the next night,” Troy went on with a nod, “or whenever it was that I next felt too horny to sleep, Justin unzipped my sleeping back and returned the favour. I hadn’t asked him to – as I said, we never spoke about it at all – but he must have heard me quietly stroking myself and felt obliged to pay me back for what I’d done to him.”
“He wanked you both off together?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he nodded, “just like I had with him. And it felt good – surprisingly good, actually. Having someone else masturbating you – a different hand, touching you and squeezing you in ways you don’t expect it to – feels infinitely better than your own. I could almost imagine it was a woman stroking me… my wife. Of course, the sound of Justin’s hand thumping away at himself under his own sleeping bag made it impossible to completely forget that it was another bloke right there next to me.
“I don’t know if he felt disgusted by having my stuff squirting all over his hand, but if he did he didn’t let it spoil what he was doing to himself. Within seconds, he was… well –”
“On the home straight?” I suggested.
“And over the finishing line,” he grinned.
“So did that become a regular thing?” I asked.
“Was it chips or salad you wanted with your baked potato?” the waitress shrieked over.
Chips with a baked potato? I almost winced.
“Definitely salad,” Troy called back.
Then he went on, quieting his voice a little, “It became regular for us to help each other out, yes. It felt so much better to have someone else’s hand down there… usually we’d do each other at the same time. Apart from anything, there was a practical advantage to it – it made it quicker for us both to finish off so we could get to sleep. The more sleep you manage to get when you’re on a hike, the better things tend to go.”
I nodded, imagining the two of them in the tent, lying side by side with their arms reaching across one another to wank each other’s cock. I thought back to the night Guy and I had masturbated together at the hotel, before he’d come over to my bed. What had most appealed to me as we’d stroked ourselves was the wonderfully sexual smell which had gradually filled the air of the room: an intensifying odour from our cocks as we jerked them – sharp and acrid; sweat laced with testosterone. I had all but forgotten how arousing it had been until that moment but I now remembered how I had eagerly sniffed it as it had gathered in the air.
I asked Troy if he had been aroused by the same masturbatory odour when he and Justin had stroked each other’s cocks in the dark.
He nodded. “A tent is pretty confined, so of course you get to smell each other up close and personal… just about as personal as it gets, to be honest. But yeah… I know what you mean about the sexy smell of two guys masturbating. It’s strongly male and there’s kind of a sourness to it, but there’s something about which turns you on and gets your mouth watering. Justin must have found that too, because I… well… how can I put this? Let’s just say I soon became aware of just how wet his mouth could feel.”
I smiled and nodded at what he was alluding to. “I suppose that was rather inevitable.”
He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Not to me. I was quite shocked when he first did it. It was black dark – God knows where we’d pitched up – and we were in the middle of tugging each other before we slept. Suddenly I felt this warm wetness on me, sliding up and down. At first I thought Justin must have spat on his hand, but then I felt his tongue licking at me and his teeth just lightly scraping me as he moved up and down.
“I jumped up and cried out, ‘Whoa, mate! What the fuck?’ but he pushed me back down and whispered that I should just enjoy it, it would be better like this.”
“And I’m guessing it was?” I asked.
He grinned. “Very much so.”
“Is this also pretty common between guys who climb together regularly? I mean, you said guys sometimes give each other hand jobs to help each other out – is it normal for them to trade blow jobs too?”
He shook his head. “Some probably do, but I don’t think it’s ‘normal’, as you put it. Like I said before, such things aren’t spoken about so it’s difficult to know.”
“Were you on hikes with other men when any of this was going on? I mean, were other guys in the tents around yours?”
He nodded and I asked, “So weren’t you concerned someone would hear you? I mean a blowjob can be quite a noisy thing… all the sucking and slurping.”
He chuckled and replied, “It’s possible to be quite discreet about it… to work your mouth under the other guy’s sleeping bag without it being too obvious what you’re doing. We’d be very quiet. And if we heard someone getting out of their tents for a piss or whatever, we’d just tuck ourselves away and pretend we were sleeping.”
“I assume – when he’d finished – that you had to return the favour?”
He nodded. “Yeah – he didn’t ask, of course, but it was kind of good manners, if you know what I mean.”
I smiled, sipping at my drink.
“It wasn’t actually that bad,” he went on. “Have you ever given a guy a blow job?”
I nodded back, feeling inexplicably uncouth to be admitting that I was – or at least had been – a bloke who sucked off other men’s cocks. Rimming, to me, seemed a rather noble pursuit, but it felt almost cheap to admit I was also a common cocksucker.
“Well, in that case, you know what it’s like,” he declared. “It doesn’t taste as strong as you expect it to, and there’s not a great deal of skill involved. It can be quite erotic, actually, once you get into a rhythm with your lips and tongue. The feel of it… kind of pulsating in your mouth… and oozing onto your tongue… I was surprised how arousing I found it.”
“It has a certain appeal,” I conceded, “but it wouldn’t be something I would seek out.”
“Treat the head of the penis like you would the clitoris on a woman,” he advised. “It’s the male equivalent so it responds in the same way. Don’t be afraid to be quite rough with it and really pummel the back of the head with your tongue – right in the fold where it splits into two.”
The kitchen door swung open with a thud.
“When I said ‘salad’,” the waitress called through it, “I’ve only actually got a tomato. Is that okay?”
Troy looked irritated but nodded.
She added, as if she was offering a rare culinary treat, “I can slice it up for you, if you like?”
“Sounds delightful,” he said curtly and the door swung closed again.
“So is that how you discovered rimming?” I asked. “Did your mouth head a little too far south in the dark?”
“Actually, no,” he replied. “In any case, we didn’t trade blowjobs that often. It would only happen occasionally when Justin was struggling to get aroused from just my hand. I’d notice that he’d be kind of semi-hard when I was masturbating him and I’d anticipate he was likely to want something more that night. On such occasions, he’d lean over and take me in his mouth – finish me off that way – and then I’d repay him by doing the same to him, which is obviously what he wanted.”
“Did you swallow each other’s semen?” I asked.
I saw him recoil a little and wondered if the question was a step too personal. But he recovered himself and leaned forward, taking a drink of his coffee before obliging me with an answer.
“We did, yes. Mainly, I think, because it was less messy. Tissues are a bit of a luxury on a hike or climb, so it seemed easier just to swallow whatever he produced. Which wasn’t very much, to be honest – I sometimes wondered how he’d managed to have so many kids. He did the same to me, sucking and swallowing everything I discharged.”
I nodded, smiling a little to show him my appreciation at his frankness.
“I gather it’s high in protein,” I observed.
He smiled and took another drink of his coffee.
When he’d replaced his cup on the table, I asked him, “So how did you end up rimming Justin?”
“That happened on the trip up to the Pennines. The one where we ended up holed up our tents for three nights. It was boring being cooped up together, but at the same time it was hugely stressful. The tension of not knowing when the storm was going to break, of trying to think of things we could do to keep the lads from getting on each other’s nerves… of just being trapped like that in the middle of nowhere barely able to get from tent to tent without getting disorientated by the blizzards.
“I think it was the building sense of uncertainly that did it. One night I found, like Justin had before me, that a hand job wasn’t enough. I don’t know what it was – maybe I was feeling lonely, scared, isolated – I don’t know. I just knew I needed more than a hand down there. I needed something a bit more intense… passionate, even.”
“So you started sucking him?”
“No. I didn’t want that. It was black dark and snowing and as windy as hell and, for some reason, I just wanted to feel a body next to me, to wrap my arms around someone. I wanted… well… I wanted to make love, I suppose.
“I lay there in the dark, desperate for my wife… for the feel of a woman. But all I had was Justin, so – perhaps inevitably my feelings of longing became directed towards him. What I was contemplating wouldn’t be like making love, I knew that, but we’d be joined together… I could hold him… and it might just make a passable substitute. It would be dirty and messy, and I didn’t know how we’d behave around each other afterwards, but he was all I had available…”
I nodded. “So you asked him if you could use his backside?”
He nodded back. “Not in such terms, of course. I can’t remember how I phrased it, to be honest. But I must have whispered that I wanted more than just foreplay and asked if he’d mind turning over for me… if he’d pull his underwear down at the back. Whatever I said, my meaning was pretty clear.”
I took a sip from my coffee, enrapt by the thought of them holed up together: two instructors slyly coupling up with so many other guys in the tents around them; brought to such a state of desperation by sheer boredom and apprehension.
After putting my cup back down, I asked, “And he agreed?”
Troy smiled. “Readily. I was surprised at how readily, actually. I wondered if maybe it had been something he had been wanting too… not to have me on top of him, of course, but for me to ask for it so he could then have his turn on me.”
“Okay,” I acknowledged, struggling to see how a secretive bout of buggery between two men in a dark tent could end up with one of them licking the other’s arse. “So how did you end up rimming him?”
“Well, it’s down to something which I do – which I’ve always done – and I’d always assumed that all men do, until I started reading up about stuff like this.”
He paused and I shook my head and shrugged, intrigued.
“Before I have sex with a woman,” he explained quietly, “I always lick her vagina. I always ever have, pretty much since the first time I had sex with my first proper girlfriend. It prepares her for sex, lubricates her entrance, and gets us both excited. It’s something I thought all men do.”
“It seems reasonable,” I conceded. I’d always enjoyed oral intimacy with a woman, but purely in foreplay rather than to accomplish anything so specific.
“So before I mounted Justin,” he went on, “When he was on all fours and had hitched his thermal leggings down his thighs to expose his backside, I did the same thing to him.”
“You licked the place you were about to push yourself into?”
“Exactly,” he nodded with a somewhat satisfied smirk.
I smiled back. “Weren’t you put off by the… er… dissimilarity between the two openings?”
He chuckled. “To be honest, I wasn’t really thinking about it. It was something I’d always done with women, so through force of habit, I suppose, I just went ahead and did it to him.”
“Okay… so what happened?”
“He stuck his bum out and prepared for me to mount him. There was enough light from my watch for me to see that he clearly knew the drill – maybe he’d let other guys use him that way on other climbs, I don’t know. I got behind him and hitched my own underwear down at the front. I was rock hard… desperate for a hole – any hole which was warm and wet – to slide myself into.”
“Again, though,” I interrupted, “weren’t you worried you’d be heard? I mean, there were guys all around in the tents next to yours and it must be a lot more difficult to be discreet when you’re… how should I put it?… two men having backdoor relations…”
He shook his head. “Like I said, there were blizzard conditions outside –the noise of snow hammering against the canvas would pretty much drown everything out. I did wonder beforehand – while I was contemplating asking Justin if I could do it to him – whether one of the lads might come over to our tent to ask for something and catch us… well… in flagrante… but I figured I would see the light from their torch long before they managed to open the tent flap.
“And, in any case, even if they saw what was going on in our tent… what we were doing… it wasn’t like it was obscene or anything. Everyone needs a bit of company sometimes… for all I know they might all have been doing the same thing in their tents. I wouldn’t judge them if they had been.”
“You were the adults in the party, though… two married men… you might have had some explaining to do,” I remarked.
“I’d have thanked whoever caught us to keep it to themselves but I wouldn’t have been apologetic that I was… well…”
“Buggering your fellow instructor up his arse after lights out…?” I suggested.
“‘Seeking a bit of fraternal companionship,’ would be how I would prefer to express it,” he grinned.
The waitress tottered out of the kitchen with Troy’s baked potato complete with a hastily positioned slices of tomato alongside it. She put it in front of him and then turned to me quizzically.
“You didn’t want food, did you?”
I smiled. “I asked for a prawn mayo sandwich, but I can get one from the petrol station on the way back to work, so don’t worry about it.”
“Oh no,” she replied brightly. “I can make one for you, don’t you worry yourself,” as if she was very generously doing me a favour by belatedly fulfilling my order.
She bustled off back through the swing doors.
Troy smiled over at me, “I’m really sorry about this place. Last time I was here it was really nice… they could even get your orders right first time.”
I chuckled. “It’s okay – it’s not like I’m starving, or anything.”
He glanced around for cutlery. “Do you think I’m supposed to eat this with my hands?”
“Maybe you’re supposed to just burrow in?”
He pushed his meal to one side. “Nice idea, but I think I’ll just wait until she brings your sandwich and ask her for a knife and fork.”
Then he asked, taking another swig from his coffee, “So where was I?”
“Justin had just pulled down the back of his thermals,” I reminded him, suddenly starting to feel hungry from the smell of his food. “On that occasion you weren’t so reticent about burrowing in…”
He smiled. “I wouldn’t say that. It wasn’t like I was keen. I mean, we’d been out for a good week or so, so he was pretty whiffy back there – very smelly, actually – but I really needed to have sex. I felt overwrought, actually – I was literally aching for it – so I just stuck my tongue in between his cheeks and started licking.”
“Were you trying to think of it as a vagina?” I asked.
He laughed at that. “Are you sure you’ve actually smelled a guy’s bum up close?” he joked. “Come on, Rob, you know as well as I do that in no way, shape or form can you try to think of another guy’s arse as a vagina… especially after a week without a shower.”
I smiled. “Okay, silly question. But if it was so… well… odorous, weren’t you repulsed?”
“At first, yeah – of course I was. This was another bloke’s arse I was putting my mouth on – he had hair bristling out from his crack and it was far from squeaky clean – so it obviously brought with it a strong helping of disgust. But I just focussed one-hundred-percent on making him slippery enough for me to push myself in – that’s what I wanted, and sheer habit dictated that this was what I needed to do to get it.”
“If he was so… er… ripe, didn’t you need to gag? Didn’t it make you pull back?”
“He was rough… yeah, ripe… whatever you want to call it. But sharing a tent with other men can get a lot worse. I’ve had guys’ cruddy arses and sweaty bollocks pushed right in my face countless times when we were falling all over each other getting dressed. And when it’s too cold or hazardous for the two of you to take a crap outside… well… you just don’t want to know.
“So I wasn’t that horrified about the smell. I was as horny as hell – throbbing painfully between my legs – and all I could think was that this was my ticket to… well… to getting my arms around another person and getting my dick inside them, I suppose. My whole brain was crying out for sex and this was the nearest I was going to get to it out here in the middle of nowhere with Justin’s backside as the closest approximation to a vagina.”
“So you pushed your tongue between his cheeks,” I recapped, enjoying the image he was conjuring up but eager to move the story on. “What happened then?”
“Well, like you, I found the more I did it, the more I liked it. What started out as a few necessary flicks of my tongue into his hairy – kind of, sticky – crack, became more and more arousing and I started getting into it. I pushed my tongue deep between his cheeks and the strong, biting taste of his hole really started to excite me. Soon I was devouring him – feeding on his bum like I was hungry for it, snorting his smell and nuzzling as deep between his cheeks as I could.”
“What made it change from being disgusting to arousing?”
“I’ve no idea,” he shrugged. “At first it was yucky… I could hardly believe this was another bloke on all fours in front of me and I was working my tongue into his hairy arse. I was desperately trying to push out of my mind the fact he hadn’t washed for nearly a week. I must have gone pretty soft… you know… my penis. Next thing, once I got deep inside and was licking around his anus, I was rock hard and throbbing again. That was when the excitement started driving me on… that was when I started prizing his cheeks apart and pushed myself forwards to start eating him out. I was so aroused I was probably leaking all over his sleeping bag.”
I smiled and nodded. “How did Justin respond?”
“He loved it,” Troy chuckled. “Absolutely loved it! He called out something like, ‘Ah, yeah, man!’ and pushed his bum towards me, rubbing it into my face. He was well up for it!
“He reached back and grabbed my head and ground my nose and mouth more deeply into him. I was panting and drooling, inhaling the full force of his stink and frantically trying to work my tongue into his hole.”
“You might be surprised how natural that reaction is,” I cut in, and outlined some of the information which Cameron had given me: the so-called Baltimore study in which men became excited – straight men – when asked to rim each other, and the evolutionary theories which explained why such a sexual attraction might have arisen between men.
Troy nodded. “I’ve read some of that stuff on the internet. Some of it sounds plausible; some of it just seems like pure fantasy. At the time, though, when I was licking him and sniffing him, I had no idea why I was so aroused by it. I hadn’t expected it at all.”
“So what happened next?” I asked. “Did you get on top of him?”
“Not immediately. I was enjoying rimming him far too much to stop doing it. There was something about his taste that I found absolutely enthralling. I daren’t touch myself when I was doing it because I knew it would be too much for me and I didn’t want it to end so quickly.”
I smiled and nodded, remembering finding myself in the same predicament with Guy.
“It wasn’t a dirty smell,” he seemed eager to clarify. “I mean, he was rough back there, like I said, but it wasn’t that which I found so arousing. It was something more basic, more primitive. Like the smell of our cocks when we were wanking but so much richer, so much more powerful. A seedy sexual musk, thick and rank, deep between his cheeks and around his arsehole.”
I nodded and was going to recount my own take on it, when he went on.
“But it wasn’t just that. It was also the act of being connected to Justin like that – of having my face pressed cheek-deep into another man’s butt-crack – that was so intensely, so scarily exciting. Maybe it was because it was so wrong for two men to behave this way… maybe it was because it was so unlike anything sexual I’d ever encountered.”
I smiled, nodding again to show how strongly my own experiences accorded with his own.
“I had to have him,” he continued. “He tried to hold my head back there, wanking himself as he pushed his bum into my face, but I needed release too urgently. I pulled my face away and scrabbled up behind him through the folds of his sleeping bag, pushing his knees open with mine. The tent was so low that I had to bend over on top him and guide my erection into his bum with my hand. I’m quite well-endowed and had expected it to be a struggle; fortunately, he was so slick from my spit, I managed to enter him quickly.
“I wrapped my arms tightly around his chest and literally pounded myself in and out of him. The smell was extreme – I don’t know if it was the strong reek of his bum on my face or the intense stink from arse being buggered, but our sex had a really rough, almost animalistic, odour which seemed to fill the tent as I humped him. I was hugely turned-on by it and in little more than two or three rough thrusts deep up inside him, I was climaxing – very powerfully.
“It was such a violent rush, so much warm wetness surging through my penis, that I actually felt – I don’t know if this has ever happened to you – like I was peeing myself.”
I smiled at his interesting choice of metaphor just as the waitress reappeared from the kitchen and brought me my food. It was a chicken tikka baguette rather than a prawn mayo sandwich but it would have ti do.
Troy asked for his cutlery which made her whoop as if he’d cracked some saucy joke. She disappeared back into the kitchen and we looked at each other, incredulous at her reaction and fearing she wouldn’t return. Before we had time to comment, she re-emerged with a knife and fork wrapped in a napkin.
As we were getting on with our food and she had disappeared once more, I asked him, “When it was his turn, did Justin rim you?”
Troy smiled over a mouthful of baked potato on his fork.
“That’s the thing – he never did. By that I mean, he had his turn on me – did what he needed to, panting and grunting as I bent over for him and filling the tent with my own stink. But he never put his face anywhere near me back there.”
I nodded, wiping the crumbs off my mouth with my napkin. “That’s strange, given how much he enjoyed it.”
Troy shrugged. “Strange but true,” he smiled.
“You said in your office that the first time you did it, you thought you were going mad…?”
He nodded. “I lay awake afterwards – after we’d taken turns on top of each other – incredulous, stunned even, at what we’d just done. At what I’d just done. I couldn’t believe I’d licked another man’s backside and, more confusing than that, that I’d actually enjoyed it. It took me quite a while – a few months, maybe – to come to terms with what I’d discovered lurking inside myself.”
After another bite of my baguette, which was generously filled and very tasty, I asked him if he’d rimmed Justin again.
“A few times, but not so much that he’d think it was odd. If he was into it himself, we’d have probably done it more, I guess, but as he isn’t – or at least has shown no interest in being the… er… active participant himself – I try and hold back as much as I can.”
“Have you done it with other men?”
He shook his head. “You’re the first guy I’ve met who is also turned-on by it. I’ve looked at specialist personal ads on sex sites on the internet, but well…”
Personal ads for guys into rimming? I hadn’t known such things existed. I suppose now that I did it was rather obvious that they would.
“The only time I actually bit the bullet and replied to someone,” he went on, “things got a bit too… er… heavy for me.”
“What happened?” I asked, taking another bite from my baguette.
He smiled. “It’s not the sort of thing you want to hear over lunch, believe me.”
I was intrigued. “Come on,” I persisted. “You know where my face has been on several occasions, so you must realise that I’m not exactly squeamish…”
Troy munched at another mouthful from his plate, mulling over whether or not he should tell me his story.
After swallowing his food, he nodded. “Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.
“He was called Warren and he was from over near Uppingham. I told him that my interest was centred around other guys’ backsides – that I wasn’t so interested in what’s out front – and he was immediately keen for us to meet up. He said he was really pleased that he’d found someone with the same attraction living so close, and that we could have some fun together.”
“Was he gay?” I asked, wondering if that’s how things might have turned ‘heavy’ as he put it, but Troy shook his head.
“It wasn’t quite that straightforward.”
“When we got to his place, he asked me something about glass-bottomed boats and I suppose I must have misunderstood the question. Have you heard of that?”
“A glass-bottomed boat? For looking at fish, you mean?”
He smiled. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. I suppose I was being stupidly naive because I was thinking of when I was in the Caribbean with my wife and kids, so I agreed it could be fun. He asked if I liked to watch and again, thinking of the angelfish swimming past, I nodded.”
He trailed off and I hesitated, my baguette poised at my mouth. “I’m guessing he wasn’t asking about the watching the angelfish?” I suggested uneasily.
He shook his head. “We talked about a load of other things,” he went on. “Maybe he was asking me all sorts of sexual stuff in coded language and I was imprudently agreeing to it, but when we got down to business and undressed together, he surprised me by asking me to lie down on my back underneath his coffee table.”
“His coffee table?” I asked, still contemplating the baguette.
“Yes,” he nodded. “It had a glass top.”
“He got on top of it and squatted over me. I was thinking, ‘Well, how am I supposed to rim the guy with a plate of glass between us?’ but I just thought I better bide my time and wait for something to happen. It was pretty clear that I was the novice between us, so I thought I’d just go with the flow.”
“And flow it did. In thick, brown gobs.”
He smiled apologetically at my drooping baguette, hanging in front of my mouth. “I did warn you…”
I glanced at it and then returned it to the plate. The chicken tikka filling oozing out from between the sliced opening in the bread didn’t seem quite so appetising now.
I asked, “So did it get you going, or did you get going?”
He chuckled. “I jumped up as quickly as I could and got the hell out of there. I was still pulling my trousers up as I hurtled out of his front door.”
I drained the bottom of my coffee cup. The coffee was tasting a lot less palatable than it had when I had first poured it. Having taken the edge off my caffeine craving, I must be becoming more fussy.
“I suppose it could have been worse,” I said, after putting my empty cup back on the saucer. “He could have done it without the table between you.”
He nodded. “That has occurred to me since. Something like that could have put me off rimming for life. Which may not have been a bad thing, I suppose.”
“You wouldn’t want that,” I refuted. “When you’re with the right guy, like your mate Justin, it’s far too enjoyable to want to be turned off it.”
He finished off his baked potato and the last of his sliced tomato but didn’t express an opinion one way or the other. He was clearly more troubled about his fetish than I was.
“So this guy – Warren – was he the only one you’ve met?” I asked.
He nodded. “After that, I suppose I felt like I’d had my fingers burnt. I played it safe and didn’t contact anyone else on that site.”
I smiled. “I can see why…”
“That’s why I wanted to talk to you in private like this,” he went on. “I couldn’t believe it back there in the college it when you said you had the same interest as me.”
I looked back at the baguette wondering whether to have another attempt at it. His use of the word ‘gobs’ had been the problem. The chicken tikka was full of them.
He asked, “Have you done it with anyone apart from that guy?”
I looked back up to face him in surprise.
Bugger – had I used his name?
“The guy in the hotel room…” he explained.
“Oh, right. That guy. Well, apart from him… I’ve had a couple more… shall we say… brief encounters.”
“The bloke who gave you the information you mentioned?” he asked, draining the last of his coffee. “I’m guessing you hooked up with him?”
“Actually, no. We just met for a drink – a bit like this. Exchanged experiences, shared a few stories.”
I didn’t mention that I’d had significantly fewer stories to share than Cameron had.
The waitress came out of the kitchen again and collected our plates and cups.
Picking up the plate with my half-eaten baguette, she asked, a touch despondently. “Didn’t you like it, love?”
I smiled. “I kind of lost my appetite.”
“If we could have the bill please – quite quickly,” Troy said to the waitress, rather pointedly.
She took our things away on her tray and disappeared into the kitchen.
When the door had closed, he asked me, matter-of-factly, “So do you want to get together with me?”
I looked up and stared at him, astonished by his directness.
Perhaps thinking I didn’t understand him, he clarified: “For sex, I mean. Maybe a bit of chat, the odd drink here and there… but primarily for sex… man-to-man stuff… the sort of things we’ve been talking about.”
I continued to stare at him, at a loss for words by how little preamble he’d felt it necessary to employ.
He misinterpreted my surprise and threw me a cold smile. “Feel free to say no, of course. I won’t be offended.”
I smiled back, hopefully rather more warmly. “Sorry, mate. I was just caught out by how frank your… er… invitation was.”
He shrugged. “What’s the problem? It’s not like I need to dress it up romantically. I’m just asking if you want to meet up so we can have sex together – nothing more significant than that. To me, it’s as straightforward as asking if you’d like to join me for a round of golf or something equally innocuous.”
I nodded. “Yeah – it’s the same for me, I suppose. I was just caught off-guard.”
The waitress came back out from the kitchen and peered over at us, perhaps aware that one of us had asked for something but unable to remember what it was. Troy was probably wondering if I’d take the opportunity of the break in the conversation to evade his question.
After she had given up and gone back into the kitchen, I offered my reply.
“To answer your question: yes, I would. It’ll be fun.”
He nodded and said, “Good.” He looked quite pleased.
Then he went on, “My preferred position would be for you to squat down over my face – naked, of course – so I can rim you from underneath and then for us to change places and for me to squat over you. Would that be okay?”
I nodded, trying to hide my continuing surprise at how direct he was being. To him, it really did seem that this was like discussing how we’d tackle a particularly challenging golf course rather than how he would prefer to lick my arse.
“I also need to make it clear from the outset that I’ll expect you to orally pleasure my erection,” he added. “Quite… er… extensively.”
I shrugged. “I don’t mind either way.”
“You didn’t seem too keen on it when we talked about,” he went on, “but I think it’s best that I’m upfront. With Justin, it seemed to me that another man instinctively knows what to do to another with his mouth… much more so than my wife or any other woman ever has.”
“If you enjoy it, I’ll be happy to… you know… open wide for you.”
He nodded, satisfied by my answer. I’d clearly have to prepare for a fairly lengthy bout of cocksucking. He’d mentioned that he was ‘quite well-endowed’: I wondered how large his cock actually was and how forceful he’d be. He might be like the guy in the gents and would want to hold my head steady while he used my mouth as a masturbatory aid, frantically driving himself in and out of me. If he was built as generously as I was in the front of his trousers, I would have a job not to gag.
“What will you want me to do in return?” he asked as I took a sip from my drink. “I’d be happy to give you oral stimulation too, of course. I developed quite a knack for it in the tent.”
I smiled. It was like we were finalising a business agreement. I wondered if he’d be pulling a couple of contracts out of his jacket pocket next.
“I don’t really like the feel of a mouth down there,” I explained. “Perhaps you could do something else for me?”
He nodded. “As long as it doesn’t involve kissing – I don’t like the thought of doing that with another man. Justin never made any attempt to do it, and I was quite relieved.”
I smiled again. “It won’t involve kissing. I can promise you that.”
A thought occurred to me and I ventured, “Maybe I could fuck you?”
He stared at me, hesitant, and I wondered if he didn’t follow me.
“You know… up your bum?” I clarified, although I couldn’t see how else we’d do it.
“I’m not averse to you penetrating me,” he cut in, “I just have issues with you using the f-word to describe it. ‘Fucking’ is something I do with my wife. You’re welcome to mount me anally if that’s what you want – I never found it especially painful when Justin did it – but could we call it ‘buggery’ or ‘sodomy’ or something else?”
“Whatever… er… I mean, that’s fine by me,” I replied. I had been going to say, ‘Whatever floats your boat,’ but in view of Warren’s glass-bottomed variety, it seemed in poor taste.
“With Justin,” he went on, “I always saw it that we were using each other’s backsides to pleasure ourselves. I never thought of it as fucking. We were, after all, two men who were doing it.”
I nodded, happy to modify my language to suit him, although I’d never thought of the work ‘fuck’ as having either romantic or heterosexual connotations.
“In that case,” I said, “I’ll suck you off as long as you like, as long as I can use your bum for… you know… my own needs afterwards.”
He smiled. “That sounds like a pretty good deal.”
He glanced at his watch and wondered why she hadn’t brought us the bill.
“Afternoon lessons start at two o’clock,” he muttered. “I’m not teaching but I need to be back by then.”
He called the waitress back and she had to ask us again what we’d food we’d eaten as she’d managed to lose our order. “I can’t keep track of everything that’s going on,” she explained.
While she was using a calculator to work out how much we owed as the till wasn’t working, Troy muttered quietly, “Is it okay if we meet up at your place? At mine, I’d be too concerned about my wife catching us.”
I nodded my agreement. I could see how walking in on your husband lying naked on the marital bed licking up at another man’s squatting arsehole might not be conducive to wedded bliss.
Troy explained that he had a free afternoon every couple of weeks and I thought I could probably engineer things at work to be able to meet him at around three as long as he gave me a few days’ notice. I’d get Jake to have tea at his mum’s that night so that he didn’t get home to hear us noisily enjoying ourselves upstairs.
Troy seemed happy with that arrangement.
“Do you want me to shower before we perform?” he asked. “I only ask so that I can bring a towel and some deodorant with me.”
Again I found myself marvelling at his business-like manner. I wondered if he was like this with his wife when they were planning out the next month’s sex by synchronising their diaries.
“I’ll be happy to take you as I find you,” I said.
“Same goes for me. Don’t feel that you need to match Justin’s level of… er… indelicate hygiene, though,” he smiled.
The waitress finally called over her best estimation of how much we owed and Troy got up to go and pay. I offered to go halves, but he told me to put my wallet away. “I’ll be imposing upon your hospitality when we meet up. This is the least I can do.”
While he was standing at the cash desk paying for our meal, I looked at his backside from behind. It was nicely round and filled the seat of his trousers rather pleasingly. I could see, vaguely, the line made by his underwear against his buttocks – it looked very much like he wore briefs and I looked forwards to pressing my face into the back of them.
What would it be like to have him squatting over me so I could rim him, I wondered? He hadn’t expressed surprise that Justin’s arse had been hairy, which probably meant he might be abundantly hairy back there himself. That would be nice: the AA guy’s arse crack had been a little smooth for my preference.
I wondered how he would taste. From the meal he’d ordered, he could well be vegetarian which might give his backside its own idiosyncratic flavour. I was certainly looking forwards to getting stuck in – I could already feel my cock thickening up just from looking at him!
He dropped something out of his wallet and bent down to pick it up. His arse cheeks opened wide as his bum pushed out towards me, almost like he was inviting me to enter him. The hemline of his briefs pressed prominently against the material of his trousers, drawing the eye alluringly inwards towards the bottom of his arse-crack. Right where his tightly clenched hole would be… right where my tongue would soon be probing…
He groped around on the floor and his buttocks opened more widely. If only I could inhale his scent back there, I thought; if only I could kneel down behind him right now and press my face between those gorgeous cheeks. My cock hardened further and I adjusted it to a less conspicuous position in my trousers.
I stared at the hemline dividing the seat of his trousers; low down his scent would be strongest. ‘I’ll be fucking him there, soon,’ I found myself thinking and then, remembering the issues he had with the f-word, corrected myself to, ‘I’ll be penetrating him there, soon’.
I wondered how he’d choose to take it: on all fours, like he’d received his mate’s fraught attentions in the tent, or lying on his back with his bum pushed up by pillows. Would he call out as I slammed in and out of him, or would he just take it silently, being used to having to be discreet surrounded by other hikers close by in their tents? I could hardly believe that I’d soon be finding out…
As we left the coffee shop and walked back into the college so I could return to my car, Troy shared another of his sexual quirks with me, perhaps feeling that he ought to prepare me for our next meeting.
“I like very much the idea of climaxing over other men,” he informed me as we reached the car park. “I fantasize about standing over a man and spraying my semen all over him. Do you enjoy doing that?”
I shook my head, not really understanding the appeal of doing such a thing. “I suppose I rather soaked the first man I had sex with… the one in the hotel. But that was by accident and I can’t say I’ve really thought about it since.”
“Which part of him did you climax over?” he asked.
“His back,” I said. “But, like I said, it just sort of happened. Which parts of a man do you think you’d like to… well… spray yourself over?”
“I don’t really mind,” he shrugged. “His chest, his face, his back, his bum… I just get very excited at the thought of standing over someone and covering them in my seed.”
I smiled, imagining if I had such a fetish. My ex-wife had always said my orgasms were disgustingly messy when I climaxed inside her – it seemed she didn’t know how easy she’d had it.
“I’m just telling you because if I find myself approaching climax, I’d like to stand over you and direct my penis towards you so I can release the bulk of my discharge over you.”
“Is there anything you’d like me to do while I’m… er… getting covered?”
He considered the question before musing, “Well, I suppose you could smear it over yourself, like you would lather soap against your skin. Yes, I think I’d like to see you doing that. And, if you’d be willing, you could use it to lubricate your own masturbation.”
I smiled, thinking of my old granny’s adage that it takes all sorts. How right she had been.
Having located my car, I pulled out my briefcase from the passenger seat and fished around in it for the wodge of papers Cameron had given me. They were still there, in one of the more concealed pockets.
I handed them to Troy with advice to be careful with them.
He read the envelope. “‘From a fellow butt monkey’?”
“I think it was supposed to be a joke.”
He nodded. “I think it’s quite apt. I rather like it.”
Troy leaned forward to shake hands – I wasn’t sure why he felt the need for such formality – and he said he’d call me next time he knew which afternoon he could take off.
“It might be next term,” he said. “In January.”
“That suits me fine.”
As he walked off, it occurred to me that the next time we met, we’d have sex together. I’d get to see him naked and aroused, and he’d get to see me in the same state. I’d stick my face into his arse and taste his hole and then he’d turn around so I could fellate him and drink down his seed. After that I’d have my turn and bugger him on what was once my marital bed. As I did so, I’d smell his scent again – strong and pungent – and it would soon have me climaxing deep into his bowels.
It was an interesting prospect that I’d soon be experiencing intimacy with a guy I barely knew – Jake’s Assistant Principal who I’d just met for lunch – and I felt my cock responding again at the thought of what was in store.
After getting into my car, I pulled out of the college to head back to work.
It occurred to me that I was going to be quite a busy boy come January. There’d be Guy to arrange a night away with, Duncan the AA man calling me up when he was in the area and now Troy to pencil in for the odd afternoon. That’s not even mentioning the man Cameron was going to fix me up with at the end of that week: he and I might want some further time together.
I’d need one of those ticket systems they have at supermarket delis, I thought dryly. I’d have to set up a “We are now serving…” sign outside my bedroom door with a row of chairs, a selection of magazines and a few pot plants.
Oh and of course there’d be Debbie as well. I was almost forgetting her. I reminded myself that I’d need to make some time for her too.
Next story: How Do You Like It?
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