by Robert Furlong
Part 30: Jake’s Christmas Present
Having dropped Jake off at college, I had the decadent thrill of making the drive back home instead of continuing towards work as I normally would.
I’d kept today appointment-free so I could ‘work from home’ as I had a lot of things in the house I needed to catch up on before the Christmas rush. Apart from anything, I needed to get the Christmas tree out from the shed and decorate it, as Jake had made it abundantly clear in recent years that he had no interest in it. I wasn’t sure why I bothered myself: force of habit, I suppose.
I planned to fire off the odd e-mail during the morning and put together a spreadsheet on the Coventry project mid-afternoon to make it look like I was slaving away at my desk.
Don’t work hard – work smart, management liked to tell us. So that’s what I would be doing today.
When I got home, I fetched the Christmas tree from the shed and all the Tupperware containers full of our various decorations. The cat stared at me as I stacked everything up in the living room, no doubt musing on what an utterly pointless human ritual I was performing. I couldn’t help but agree with him.
As I was starting to assemble the tree from its various parts, I heard my mobile phone beep with a text message.
It must be Jake. Nobody else ever texted me.
“hey dad. srted u out xmas prez this am. hop u like. u owe me. ;)”
I managed to work out that he was telling me that he’d bought me a Christmas present during the morning. I’d thought he was in classes at college. Perhaps he’d been ordering things from Amazon on his phone while the teacher wasn’t watching. He wouldn’t be able to mess around like that next year when he was in lectures at university.
I sent a message back.
“What are you talking about? What present? Dad x”
He always told me off for signing off Dad – “It comes up on the bloody phone automatically!” – but I continued to do it just to irritate him.
I got on with putting the tree up, draping tinsel across its branches and hanging silly baubles on the ends of them, and after a while his reply came in.
“wont spoil sprize. u owe me big tho! ipad big! :P”
I hoped this wasn’t like the time he’d bought me a balloon ride for my fortieth birthday, choosing to forget, in his haste to provide me with a meaningful ‘special’ present, how phobic I am about heights. It had taken me months of pressing buttons and having some computerised answering system keep cutting me off before I got the money back.
As I took the fairy lights out from the container and found that they’d inexplicably managed to tie themselves up in knots since last year, I wondered if Jake had gone and bought me one of those ‘Kindle’ things. He was always telling me that I “needed” one even though I couldn’t see what use I would have for such a contraption. If he had, he would be wasting his money and I wouldn’t be buying him an iPad or anything else for doing something so stupid.
I started hanging the lights around the tree, realising I should have put them on before the tinsel and baubles, and noticed that my neighbour Paul in the house opposite was letting a young guy in through his front door. I wondered if it was the boyfriend of one his daughters: they were both at university and each vacation they would invariably bring home with them the most amazing looking young men imaginable. I so envied Paul in having such handsome lads staying over: to be able to admire their cute bubble butts straining in their underwear each morning while they waited outside the bathroom; to have the chance to rifle through the laundry in their rucksacks while they were out Christmas shopping and enjoy a leisurely sniff of their most secretive scents.
It would amuse me to be in Paul’s place and to pleasure myself with my nose sniffing hungrily at the smell of a part of my daughter’s boyfriend which she herself would have no interest in at all. How delicious it would be to climax at the thought of enjoying intimacy with a part of his body which she would have given barely a second glance.
Paul saw me looking over at him so I smiled and threw him a small wave. In return he threw me a mischievous grin and a thumbs-up, just like had when he’d seen me bringing Bradley home with me. Seeing the way he was behaving with the lad he’d brought back – how physical he was being with him – I began to wonder if, perhaps, we had rather more in common than I’d previously suspected.
He let the lad into the house and followed him in, glancing around as if to see who else was watching him.
I seemed to vaguely remember seeing Paul heading into the park toilets after I’d emerged from them smelling of the cum and bum of the lad who worked at Asda. Perhaps Paul had gone there for similar reasons as I had, and might even have picked up the young lad he was with today from there. I wondered if his wife knew what was going on and where she was when he was getting up to such escapades.
After a couple of minutes, as I was fixing the gold Saint Niklaus star to the top of the tree, I saw Paul in his bedroom. He looked at me again, a knowing smile on his lips, and then hastily drew the curtains.
I chuckled to myself. It’s all been going on, right under my nose, and I had no idea.
Later on, after lunch, when the tree was fully decorated and looking as ridiculous as it always did during its three weeks of being cursorily displayed, there was a heavy knock at the door.
Thinking it might be the postman whose bum can look quite appetising in his Royal Mail trousers, I glanced out of the window.
There was no sign of his red van, though: just a plumber’s van was parked up outside our front garden. I hadn’t phoned for a plumber; he must be at the wrong address.
I went to the front door, expecting to have to give directions to some lost tradesman but when I opened it, there was a familiar face outside.
“Hello, big boy,” a deep voice said with an infectious smirk.
“Guy!” I gasped. He looked amazing with his hair cut short and a day’s stubble on his chin. “Wow! Just… wow!”
He laughed; his teeth looking beautifully white and clean. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
“Yes, of course,” I stammered, making way for him to pass me.
I closed the door and we grinned at each other. He seemed to have lost a bit of weight – his face looked more angular and chiselled – and he was taller than I remembered.
“I saw your Jake this morning as I was dropping Simon off at college,” he said. “He told me you were skiving off work today.”
Adopting a professional tone, I said, “Actually, I’m working from home. In fact, I’ve had a very productive and enterprising morning putting our Christmas tree up.”
He chortled. “He said you’d be in if I called round and that… well… he thought you’d be pleased to see me.”
Oh, Jake – you wonderful son! What a fabulous idea for a Christmas present – so much better than last year when he’d given me a pack of socks, a copy of Wayne Rooney’s autobiography (for some reason) and an air freshener for the car.
“Do you fancy a drink?” I offered. “Maybe a whiskey… you know… for old time’s sake?”
I couldn’t believe how attractive he looked. He was wearing a plain white shirt, his dark chest hair spilling over the undone top button, and a tight pair of black jeans which showed off his prominent bulge.
“Bit early in the day for me, mate. I wouldn’t say no to a beer, though, if you’ve got one.”
I went to the fridge and he followed me.
“Jake said you’d had some cowboy in checking out your pipework.”
I looked up at him, not catching his drift, while I pulled a can of beer from the bottom of the fridge. Then suddenly I realised what my son had been alluding to and couldn’t help but grin. “Yeah… that’s right… kind of.”
“He said you might appreciate having a second opinion… a more… you know… experienced pair of hands…”
“Did he indeed?” I laughed.
Dear me, Jake. How to make your own dad sound like a tart. Next, you’ll be putting an ad in your college newspaper: Jake Furlong’s dad likes it up him; will take on all-comers; appointments necessary at peak times.
I went to the cupboard and took out a glass. As I was pouring Guy’s beer into it, he asked, “So would you?”
“Would I what?”
I was so excited at Guy being here that I couldn’t remember what the question had been.
“Would you appreciate a second opinion?” he asked.
I turned to him and smiled, and then passed him his drink.
“Very much so.”
He grinned and nodded like he hadn’t seriously expected any other answer.
He walked back into the hallway, to the foot of the stairs, and looked up them towards the bedrooms. “Reckon we might as well get on with it, then… no time like the present, or so they say…”
“Bloody hell, Guy!” I laughed, wondering if the bulge of his crotch signified how horny he was feeling. “Let me at least pour myself a drink first!”
He laughed back. “Well, hurry up, mate. I’ve been waiting for this for ages. I thought you might have phoned, or got a message to me or something.”
I walked back over to the fridge with a wine glass, surprised that Guy had been thinking of me since the night at the hotel. “There was nothing stopping you from calling me.”
“Don’t be a dick, Rob – of course there fucking was!” he laughed. “You were totally freaked out… after we… you know. You said you didn’t want to do anything else like that.”
I grabbed the wine bottle and poured myself a generous helping.
“Well, okay. But I made it pretty clear in the petrol station that I was a bit more willing.”
“Even so,” he said, taking a drink from his beer, “it would have seemed weird if I’d started phoning you up and stuff. I didn’t want to freak you out again.”
I took a drink from my glass. It felt worryingly pleasant to be drinking so early in the day.
“Okay, fair enough,” I agreed. “But I’m not freaked out any more. I’ve kind of… well… moved on a bit, shall we say.”
“Yeah,” he laughed. “Jake made that pretty obvious. That’s why I thought it’d be okay to turn up like this.”
I smiled, leading the way upstairs. “Feel free to come round any time, Guy.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” he chuckled, following me up.
“You can hold me any way you like, mate,” I replied and he laughed more loudly.
When we got to my bedroom, he said in a low voice, “The thing is, Rob: I’m horny as hell. I haven’t had a bird in months. The last time I blew my nut was with you in that hotel, if you can believe it.”
I started taking my shirt off, surprised that he’d held out so long. He’d told me that he wasn’t a fan of solitary masturbation, but even so… three months was pushing it.
“I need a hole to spunk into, mate,” he spelled out, seeing me take my shirt off and starting to follow suit unbuttoning his. “I’m fucking desperate.”
I walked over to the window, intending to pull the curtains, and saw Paul from across the road staring over at us from his bedroom window. From what I could see of him, it looked as if he was naked: he was certainly not wearing anything on his upper half. He smiled over at me revealing my own bare chest for him and I threw him a thumbs-up. He’d be able to see Guy undressing behind me just as I could see his younger companion getting dressed behind him.
He grinned more broadly and threw me a thumbs-up back.
I decided I’d leave the curtains open.
Guy sat down on my bed and started undoing the laces of his black work boots.
“I don’t want to sound pushy, but I’ve just got to have a fuck, mate,” he went on. “I want it bad. You can lick my backside and do whatever the hell it was that turned you on so much that night, but I’ll warn you now that I’m gonna need to bum you this time, Rob. No two ways about it, mate.”
I smiled more broadly at him, amused by his playground use of the word ‘bum’ as a verb.
“I mean, from what your Jake hinted at,” he continued, “I kind of figured you’d be okay with that. But I still want to make it clear: I’m gonna need to use your hole, Rob. Full on, if you know what I mean. If that’s a problem you better tell me now, otherwise I’m pretty much gonna expect you to bend over for me.”
He stared over at me as I pulled my shoes and socks off, his face intently serious with lust and desperation.
I liked him being explicit and virtually begging me for sex and wanted to prolong it a bit longer.
“What is that you’re asking for, Guy?” I asked, suppressing a smirk. “I don’t quite get it. You need to be more direct, mate.”
He pulled off his boots and stood up to yank his socks off. “I want to get my rock hard cock, Rob, and I want to shove it right up your splayed, hairy arse. Is that clear enough?”
I smiled. “Oh, right. And then what?”
He allowed himself to smile back in spite of how sexually tense he clearly was. “I want to slam it in and out of your tight little brown hole until you’re wanking yourself off at how horny it makes you feel, and then I want to shoot my spunk right up into your bowels.”
After laughing at how explicit he was being, I said, “Hmm… how to respond to such a tempting offer?”
He peered over at me, more serious again, undoing his belt and fly.
I hitched the front of my trousers and underwear down so that my hard-on sprang up, aroused to nearly full size by the prospect of its little brother round the back being so roughly penetrated by Guy’s excitement.
I brandished it towards him, pulling my foreskin back across my plump, purple head, and yanked my big, heavy bollocks out so they hung over the front of my trousers, flaunting how fat and how hairy they were.
“Is this response unequivocal enough for you?” I asked.
I realised with only mild surprise that I felt a complete lack of self-consciousness to be exposing my large genitals towards Guy like this; in fact, I was smirking as I paraded myself for him.
He stared at my erection for a second, as if unsure as to me my meaning, before his expression softened and he grinned broadly back at me.
“Yeah?” he asked. “You’re up for it?”
I nodded. “Absolutely. Let’s do it, Guy!”
He looked at my cock again as I pulled my trousers off. “Jesus, Rob. I’d forgotten how fucking hung you are! You hide it too well, mate!”
As he was pulling off his jeans, I told him to leave his underpants on. Like the ones he’d warn in the hotel, they were another cheap pair of briefs from a pack: the washed-out stripy design was being stretched to near breaking point by the thickened rod of his erection and the almost obscenely bloated paired mounds of his balls. His cock was directed diagonally upwards towards his hip, and a patch of the flimsy material was dark and wet from the ooze dribbling out from its gratuitously swollen helmet-shaped head.
“Why do you want me to leave my pants on?” he asked with an innocence which I found charmingly endearing.
“Because I want to sniff the material which has been next to your arsehole all day, Guy,” I explained. “I might even want to lick it.”
“Fucking hell, Rob!” he laughed. “You really have changed. You’d have died with shock if I’d have suggested something like that in the hotel room.”
“I’ve… er… played around a bit since then,” I admitted.
“You’ve had your face stuck into other men’s arses?” he asked.
“Among other things, yes.”
He grinned and rubbed the swollen rod of his cock through his underpants, like he was excited by the idea of me getting intimate with other men. “You’ll be getting me jealous, next, Rob,” he laughed.
I wondered what he meant – whether he was jealous of my experiences or jealous of the other men who I’d had them with – but I let it go.
I pulled off my briefs and had Guy get onto the bed on all fours with his legs wide open and his semen-straining balls making large twin bulges in his stretched underwear between his legs. I went up behind him and knelt on the carpet so that my face was level with the hard round cheeks of his backside. Then I reached forwards and nuzzled my face into the heat of his crack, smelling the day’s sweat from his backside on the damp material of his briefs and drinking in the richer odour lower down, right where his crude, manly hole would be lurking.
The smell was enticingly familiar: just like the proverbial blast from the past. I sniffed at the back of his briefs in short, rapid bursts, feeling like a horny dog as my cock throbbed upwards in its ardent appreciation.
“I didn’t wash back there before I came over, mate,” he warned me. “I kind of figured you’d want to lick my bum again and that you’d prefer it… well… ‘rough and ready’.”
“Too right,” I sighed approvingly, and deeply inhaled his deliciously pungent scent where his briefs had been riding up against his hot, moist ring nestling among the coarse hairiness of his cleft.
It seemed the original bum that I’d rimmed was still by far the best. Guy’s wonderfully rich and carnal scent just had something about it – some unknown earthy musk that he alone produced – that made my nerves crackle with excitement and my cock harden to an almost painful size.
I relished removing his underpants slowly, peeling them down gradually to expose his beautiful smooth buttocks and the alluringly forested valley between them. All the time, I was licking around his slimy hole and sniffing as deeply as I could into his hot, manly arse-crack, afraid even to touch myself in case I might climax so early.
I pulled back from him and removed his briefs completely, telling him as I did so, “This is what it’s like to be rimmed, Guy.”
“Yeah?” he asked stupidly, and I jabbed my tongue as hard as I could into the middle of his clenched anus until it yielded for me with a gasp from its owner and I worked myself up into his obscenely flavoursome rectum.
He called out, “Oh, God, yeah!” as I rimmed his gaping arsehole confidently and hungrily, forcing myself as deeply into him as I could. He pushed his large, muscular buttocks back against my face to meet the urgent thrusts of my eager tongue and I felt waves of pleasure washing over me at being connected again so intimately with this big, horny man.
I reached round to masturbate his pulsating cock while I jabbed my tongue in and out of his hole and he groaned in enjoyment, bucking his hips back and forth to match the rhythm of my tongue and my hand.
“Eat it, mate!” he called out. “Stick your tongue up my arsehole!”
And I smiled against his cheeks, having every intention of complying in full.
He seized my head and ground my face into his backside, pushing my tongue deeper into him so that the strong acrid taste of his bowels became even more overpowering. I lapped vigorously at everything he could give me, finding it incomprehensively delicious on a purely animal, sexual level while at the same time being fully conscious of how base and vulgar it was.
He grabbed my hair and used it to slam my face back and forth at his hole, all the time calling out to me to lick him and eat him; to taste his dirty shitter; to feed on his stink.
Unlike rimming Bradley, which had been intimate and sensual, rimming Guy’s much more crudely-flavoured and overwhelmingly masculine arse seemed raunchy and uncouth. And, God, did I love it!
He let my head go and I fell back from him, releasing his cock which I’d been clumsily wanking as I’d rimmed him.
“I don’t want to rush you, mate,” he called back to me, breathlessly, “but I’m gonna really need to fuck your arse pretty soon. I need this up you, Rob, seriously! I’m aching for it…”
“In a minute, Guy,” I told him, my mouth poised at his spit-soaked arse-crack. “You’ll have your turn.”
I wanted to tease him some more: to make him wait a little longer for what he so wanted to do to me.
I ducked back in to lick his swollen, hairy balls and to enjoy the sharper taste of his sweat and testosterone on them. They were enormous: even bigger than mine get when I let them over-fill with my pent-up semen. I loved pressing my face into them, feeling their bloated hardness and imagining so many sperms inside them so desperate to make their escape, and sniffing the little trench between their extruding mounds where the smell of his maleness was strongest.
Then I switched position to push my head between his legs from underneath and licked in quick, short jabs along the thickened shaft of his throbbing cock before taking the oozing head of it fully into my mouth. As I’d expected, he greatly enjoyed me sucking on his organ and grabbed my head with both his big hands, holding it steady while he fucked my face. I basked in the salty taste of his juices dribbling down my throat and the sour smell of his sweaty pubic hair, faintly reminiscent of a urinal, as it tickled my nose with every thrust he made.
“Come on, mate,” he called down to me again. “I’m fucking desperate for your bum around my knob. I’ve been hard as a rock since your lad said you’d be up for it.”
I pulled off his cock and smiled up at him.
“Come on, Rob,” he implored. “I need it up you. Bend over for me… let me use your arsehole like a pussy!”
I laughed. “You have such a way with words, Guy!”
He didn’t laugh back. His face was pale and his forehead was dripping with sweat: his hands were trembling, he was so intensely sexually agitated. There was to be no more messing around.
I got onto the bed properly with him and grabbed my lube and a condom from my bedside drawer, thanking my foresight for having bought in a variety of sizes. Guy tore the wrapper open and unfurled the rubber sheath down his length in one swift and well-practised movement and, after applying a squirt of gel to my hole, I got on all fours in front of him.
“You’re a mate, Rob,” he grunted. “I so fucking need this.”
He shuffled up behind me on the bed and wordlessly nudged my legs more widely apart with his knees. Then he grabbed his over-excited tool and lined it up against my hole, feeling his way with his fingertips.
He muttered, “Not quite Mr Tight Arse now, are you?”
I giggled, enjoying him referencing my widening hole. Soon I hoped to be Mr Massively Gaping Arse.
He pressed his cock-head against my ring and, feeling me open up for him, shoved his whole organ right the way up inside me with one surprisingly abrupt thrust. Unlike with Bradley there was to be no tentative easing in and seeking reassurance: Guy needed to fuck and that was all that was in his mind.
I gasped with a combination of shock and delight. “Jesus, Guy! You don’t mess about, do you?”
“Oh, God!” he called out at the pleasure of feeling a warm, tight tunnel clamping around his organ. He sighed and I could hear in the strength and the feeling of it how much he’d been needing this.
He grabbed me by the hips and started fucking me in earnest: his rhythm at once rapid and his technique rough.
“Oh, God!” he cried out again, his pace getting quicker. He moved his hands to my shoulders to lever me against his swollen manhood and started driving himself frantically in and out of my hole.
“Oh!! Fucking yes!!” he shouted, ramming himself in and out of me so hard that his heavy, over-sized balls slammed against my thighs so fiercely that I thought it must surely be painful for him. If it was, though, he ignored the discomfort and ploughed on undeterred.
Within a few short but incredibly intense seconds, he was shuddering and gasping and I felt the heat of his semen squirting up into the condom deep inside my bowels. His bollocks, which had been so bloated with his seed, were finally getting to empty themselves.
As his orgasm had subsided, he collapsed on top of me and we lay together, his big hairy chest heaving against my sweating back, as the squirting of his cock slowly abated.
“That was… er… prompt,” I said from under him, feeling somewhat disgruntled.
“That’s the one I needed, mate,” Guy explained, his cock still hard and throbbing inside my rectum. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll be ready for another one we can both enjoy.”
He pushed himself up from me and slid his cock out of my backside with a crude, noisy slurp. He pulled the condom off and laughed at how full it was with his hot, white seed.
“My balls feel about two stone lighter,” he joked. “If I hadn’t have had this on, you’d have had sloppy shits for about two weeks!”
“Ugh, Guy!” I chided him. “Don’t be vulgar!”
“You liked me talking dirty when you had your face in my arse,” he retorted, wrapping the spent condom in some tissue.
“That was different,” was all I could manage to explain myself.
He stood up, stretched noisily and let out an involuntary fart.
He grinned over at me sheepishly. “Oops! Sorry, mate. Good job that didn’t happen when your face was back there!”
“Too bloody right,” I agreed. That would have been well and truly over-stepping the mark.
He glanced out of my window. “Do you know your neighbour’s watching us? That bloke opposite.”
I nodded. “I’m hoping at some point he might give me a similar show in return.”
Guy chuckled. “Do you want to give him something else to watch now?”
“You mean you’re ready for another go already?” I asked.
He looked down at his cock, still hard and upright in spite of the white dribble of semen still oozing from the long, puckered slit at its tip. “Yeah… aren’t you?”
“Yes, of course. But I’m not the one who just produced about a quart of cum.”
“That was just… you know… an easing of the pressure inside my bollocks, mate. A biological thing. Now we can have some fun.”
I got up off the bed.
“Let me top up our drinks. Then we’ll go for round two.”
“Sparkin’, mate!” he grinned and I headed downstairs.
As I poured our drinks, I thought about Paul in the house opposite. I’d gone round to his house a few years earlier to tell him about some tiles which had fallen off his roof. He’d got me to help him up into his loft – he didn’t have a loft ladder – and had slipped halfway up, pushing his backside into my face. At the time it had seemed like an accident, but now that I thought back, I wondered if it had been deliberate. He’d certainly lingered there, with his bum pressing into my face and I’d been surprised that he hadn’t pulled away quickly with embarrassment. Perhaps he’d wanted to see if I became aroused at the idea of rimming him, years before I was even aware that such an activity existed.
When I got back to the bedroom, Guy and I sat on the bed enjoying our drinks and the casual intimacy of being naked together.
“Thanks for letting me use your bum, mate,” Guy said appreciatively, his cock still hard as he drank from his beer glass. “I really needed it.”
I smiled over at him. “Yeah, I sort of spotted that small detail.”
He chuckled. “I just so fucking needed a hole to nut into.”
“Any time, Guy,” I told him, taking a drink from my wine. “I enjoyed providing one.”
He looked at me in surprise. “Yeah? What your Jake said… I sort of assumed it had just been… well… a bit of turn-taking…”
“It was,” I nodded. “But I found that I like it both ways.”
He grinned, no doubt anticipating future opportunities, and his cock stiffened further.
“That’s good to hear, Rob.”
I shrugged. “I pretty much assumed when we agreed to go to another match in the New Year, you’d expect some action.”
“Yeah, but I wasn’t sure how far you’d want to go. I thought we’d probably have a wank together and you’d want to do your weird thing licking my arse, but I didn’t want to assume any more than that.”
“Actually,” I said, “when we stay over in the hotel – the four of us – would you be up for me and you having a double bed like this? It’d be much more fun.”
I wanted to sleep with him. After spending the night with Bradley, I wanted to have Guy’s eager erection grinding into me in the small hours: for the two of us to wake each other up in our horniness and to couple up silently for a quick perfunctory fuck in the dark; for us to just go at each other, hot and sweaty, thrusting and gasping, until we both climaxed wordlessly and then fell back onto the bed to sleep again in our own abundant mess.
Guy wasn’t keen, though. “It’d seem a bit gay, mate. I’m not into stuff like that.”
“Yeah, I know, and neither am I,” I countered. “It’d just give us more space for sex than a couple of twin beds would.”
“I don’t want Simon seeing that we share a bed, Rob. I mean your lad’s pretty cool about us getting up to stuff together, but Simon would be totally freaked out.”
I thought back to how he and Jake had masturbated together at the sounds of their fathers’ sex in the hotel. His son, I suspected, wasn’t as innocent as he liked to believe.
“We could push two single beds together, if you like,” he suggested, “and then separate them again in the morning. I wouldn’t mind that.”
“As long as we’d sleep together,” I insisted.
He looked over at me, taking a swig from his beer. “You’re not getting weird on me, are you, Rob? Getting stupid feelings and stuff…?”
His eyes were suddenly guarded.
“Of course not!” I laughed as if it was the most stupid thing I’d heard. “I just like the thought of you getting hard in the night and your cock working its way between my cheeks for a quick one.”
He grinned back at me. “Oh, right – yeah, that’s okay. I’d be up for that.”
It’s not like I want to snuggle up to your big, hairy chest in the night, I thought. Or to wrap my arms around you and feel so secure to be sleeping with my face nuzzling into your back. Nothing like that.
“There was a lad called Robin on the rig,” he went on, “who’d sometimes get into my bunk with me in the night when he was lonely. It’d be like that, I suppose.”
I smiled. Lucky old Robin. “Exactly,” I agreed. “Just like that.”
“Right,” he said abruptly, putting his half-drunk pint glass back on the bedside table next to him. “Pass me another condom and assume the position, Mr Furlong. Head down, arse up.”
“Isn’t it my turn? Don’t I get to have a go on you this time?”
Guy laughed. “No way, mate. I don’t let blokes shaft my shitter. No way in hell.”
I smiled. He was like the spirit of Christmas personified: so eager to give and so disinclined to receive.
“That’s not very fair, though,” I said.
“That’s the way it works, Rob. Take it or leave it. I don’t let guys do bum stuff to me – well only you with your tongue, but that’s it. I mean, I’ll do stuff for you in return – I know how the game works.”
“What sort of stuff?” I asked.
“I dunno,” he shrugged. “I’d offer to suck your cock but you said back-along you didn’t like it…”
“Actually,” I said. “I’ve discovered that when men do it, it kind of works for me.”
He laughed at that. “Yeah, it’s funny, isn’t it, how blokes give the best blow jobs? Okay, then… I’ll suck your cock if you’ll let me fuck you again. How does that sound?”
I grinned back at him. If I could work it cleverly, I might manage to wangle rather more than a cock sucking.
“Sounds like a deal,” I agreed.
He had me lie down on the bed and nuzzled his face between my legs.
“I don’t know how much you’ll like this,” he warned me. “Blokes on the rig seemed to either love or hate what I do.”
My cock was quite floppy and he held the shaft of it upwards and licked the large pink head of it.
“It tastes okay,” he said, moving his tongue around inside his mouth as if examining the flavour. “Mmm… a bit saltier than most dick-juice… not that I’m an expert, like.”
He took the top few inches into his mouth and gently sucked at my slit, teasing my precum from it. Then he worked his lips downwards, managing to consume the top six inches or so of my large organ, and moved back up again, establishing a slow but firm rhythm back and forth.
My cock gradually enlarged in its appreciation of the sensation of his mouth. It wasn’t as expert and luxurious a blowjob as that which Bradley had been able to provide me with, but the gentle sweeping action of Guy’s mouth was pleasant enough for me to enjoy. There was far more of the warm wetness around my cock that had put me off oral sex for so many years, but not enough for it to be unpleasant.
Guy kept working my shaft, seeming to enjoy the way my organ was stiffening inside his mouth and licking thirstily at the flow of liquid that was oozing from its head. His lips kept making loud smacking noises betraying how hard he was sucking at me, and I wondered if it was this that some of the men on the rig hadn’t enjoyed: the sensation of such strenuous suction around one’s organ was, to say the least, a little odd.
He pulled off and asked with a grin, “How do I rate as a cocksucker, then?”
“Top of the league, mate,” I smiled. “But not in the way you mean.”
He laughed and I asked him instead to lick my balls while I masturbated: that would be more pleasant, I thought, and would take him nearer to where I hoped he might go.
He moved down and lapped at my large paired nuts like they were a couple of especially generous servings of ice-cream. He coughed when my pubes tickled the back of his throat and I gently worked my foreskin back and forth, enjoying the sensation of his face slowly moving down between my legs.
“Yeah,” I called out to him. “Lick the base of my balls, Guy… where it’s hot and sticky…”
He moved down further, lapping at the sweatiness between my legs, his nose pressing between the raised mounds of my bollocks. I grabbed his head gently and moved him further down, so that his tongue was licking along the hairy ridge underneath my balls.
“Yeah,” I said to him. “Right down there…. right between my legs…”
His chin was between my cheeks and he pushed still lower, his tongue homing in on the place where I wanted it to be. My hole was gaping open for him, still stretched and swollen from the pounding his cock had so briefly given it earlier, and I wanted him to taste it; to revel in my strongest and most intimate flavours.
My hand was growing faster on my cock in anticipation of where he was headed.
I pushed his face lower, more firmly than before, and his tongue teased even further into the deepening furrow between my cheeks, getting closer… still closer…
But then abruptly, he pulled back and looked up at me.
“I’m not doing that, Rob! I know what you’re after and there’s no fucking way!”
“Go on, Guy,” I implored, my hand slowing on my expectant shaft. “Please… you’ll love it…”
“I’m not doing it. End of. I know you’re into it, but I’m not.”
“Just try it… just once…”
“I’m not putting my mouth on your arsehole, Rob. It’s not gonna happen.”
“Okay, so just put your face there for a few seconds… just to see if you like the smell…”
“It’s your fucking shithole! What’s to like?”
“It’s not like that, Guy – not when you’re up close to it. It’s really sexy… really hot…”
“It’s not happening, mate,” he insisted, shaking his head.
“Okay. Just for a second… literally one second… and if you really hate it, if it really is so grim to you, just pull away and I’ll never ask for it again. I’ll never even mention it again.”
He hesitated, wavering.
“Please, Guy… I’d love it so much…”
“Literally one second?” he asked.
“My nose or my mouth?”
He nodded uncertainly. “Okay… since it’s so important to you. But if I throw up, you have to clean it up.”
I smiled. “No problem.”
He pushed his sceptical face between my legs again and homed in on my arsehole, red and dilated from his earlier intrusion. He pressed his nose towards the swollen ring and tentatively sniffed its indelicate scent. I expected him to pull away immediately, without taking the time to appreciate it fully, but he didn’t. He held his face there, inquisitive, and sniffed again, more strongly.
And then – oh heaven! – I felt the tip of his tongue curiously teasing between my cheeks, working its way gently and hesitantly towards my inflamed and puckered anus. He gained confidence from the allure of my taste, and pressed inwards more firmly.
I wanted to call out to him but I didn’t dare at the fear of frightening him off. So I just lay there and let him explore for himself the intoxicating flavour of my most secretive spot. He reached my hole and gently licked around it, pressing his tongue in more assuredly as he enjoyed the strengthening pungence he was discovering.
Then he pulled out of me and looked up at me, grinning. “Okay, you win. It’s fucking well hot! Jesus, mate, my cock’s dripping!”
It was indeed oozing copiously as it throbbed demandingly, straining upwards towards his stomach.
“Rim me, Guy,” I commanded him. “Rim my arsehole.”
He grinned more broadly. “You just try and stop me!”
He knelt upright, grabbed me by the thighs and hitched my legs over his shoulders, holding onto me with both hands. Now that he had my splayed arse full-on in his face, he plunged his tongue into my hairy cleft and licked roughly and hungrily at my swollen ring, grunting in pleasure at the sheer strength of my taste.
I reached forwards and grabbed his cock, the head of it bloated and shiny with his excitement, and wanked him rapidly to intensify his pleasure. With my other hand I tugged at my own organ pointing stiffly downwards across my stomach almost reaching my chest, so that I was gratifying us both with the same rhythm.
My balls bobbed around, smacking Guy on the forehead as he darted his tongue in and out of my bowels, slavering at my hole with the delight of what he was tasting.
He pulled out of me, briefly, to tell me: “Fucking hell, mate, this is awesome!”
And then, after plunging back in and feeding on me some more, called out again: “I couldn’t understand why you were doing this in that hotel! Now I fucking get it, mate! It’s better than eating muff!”
He went in yet again and rimmed me with clumsy abandon – his technique unrefined and his stubble chafing painfully against my cheeks – but nevertheless I pounded my cock with excitement as I rubbed it with his own.
In spite of his unsophistication, the sensation of his tongue inside my swollen hole was thrilling: the way I was so tender and stretched open from his cock vastly intensified the feel of him licking around my ring and working himself deep inside me. I gasped and writhed in pleasure at what was far and away the most exhilarating rim-job I had so far received: the methodical ministrations of the tailor in the clothes shop and even Bradley’s confident and accomplished tonguing both paled into insignificance compared what Guy was doing to me.
After rimming me energetically for a few exquisite minutes as I thrust my arse onto his face and wanked us both off with long, rapid strokes, he pulled out of me and almost threw me back onto the bed.
“Right, come on, mate,” he gasped impatiently. “Let’s see if I’ve got something a bit bigger that can stretch you even wider.”
I grinned and clambered across the bed for a condom. This time I wouldn’t need any lube: I was sopping wet back there.
“You know, that’s a secret fantasy of mine,” I revealed to him, as I passed him one over. “For my arsehole to be massive – so stretched and inflamed you’d be able to see through my trousers.”
“Yeah?” Guy laughed, rolling the condom down his shaft. “That’s pretty weird.”
“What would you do if you saw a guy like that – with a hole so wide and puckered you could see it through his trousers, making a bulging ring between his cheeks, when he bent over?”
Guy laughed again. “I’d think he was a total fucking bum whore. And I’d say ‘Hello, mate! Nice to meet you!'”
“Exactly,” I laughed back. “Imagine all the attention! I’d love it!”
I got on all fours again – Guy seemed most familiar and comfortable with that position with men – and he squatted behind me, still chuckling at the absurdity of my fantasy. “I’ll do my best to make you look like a bum whore, then, Rob. I’ll stretch your arse as wide as I can.”
He pushed himself into me again and we quickly established a nice, steady rhythm together. It was remarkable how well we worked as lovers like this: him enjoying the pleasure from his thrusting cock; me almost squirming from the sheer thrill of having his organ sliding in and out of my arse.
I just wished he’d be more reciprocal about sex: that was my only misgiving. I wanted to have my turn on him, just as Bradley and I had been so versatile together, but Guy had made it disappointingly and categorically clear that such things were currently off-limits. Perhaps in time he I would be able to persuade him, as I had with him with rimming me, that it would be worth broadening his horizons; but not just yet. I didn’t want to push things between us too far too soon.
Instead, I asked him over my shoulder, “Do you like fucking a man’s arse, Guy?” as we worked against each other; him slowly increasing his pace, like a train heading out of the station, and me pumping his shaft by jabbing my bum back to meet his thrusts.
“I’d go for a hot, wet minge any day, mate,” Guy replied with his voice becoming breathless. “But another bloke’s arse makes a pretty good stand-in.”
“It’s totally different, though, isn’t it?” I asked, unsure how I felt to have my bum being used masturbatorily as a substitute vagina.
“It’s much tighter,” he said, gasping a little. “That’s the best thing about it.”
“Is my arse tight, Guy?”
He laughed as he ploughed on, his hips getting steadily faster. “Yeah, but I could tell straightaway you’d had it up you before. That I wasn’t the first bloke to come in through your back door.”
I smiled, working my arse back against him. The train was heading into open country, both pistons pumping with quickening force.
“He was a big lad, wasn’t he?” Guy asked. “He had a fucking big cock on him.”
“He was, Guy, yes. A big, thick cock and a massive pair of nuts.”
He started ramming me yet faster and harder, enjoying the image of me losing my anal virginity to such a well-endowed man.
“And you loved it, didn’t you?” he grunted. “You loved getting your arse shafted by such a huge donger of a dick!”
I laughed, pushing back harder onto him. “I did, Guy, yes! I fucking loved having him up there… his massive cock… buggering my arse… faster and faster!”
Guy laughed again and I peered over my shoulder at how we looked in the mirror. We were spectacular: me on all fours with my legs widely splayed and Guy behind me, his hands gripping my waist. His big, muscular arse was flexing as he pounded his cock in and out of me, the lower part of his hairy crack still moist with the hair clumped together from my spit.
His hips were making loud slapping noises as they thumped against my bum-cheeks and his balls were whacking against mine, our paired testicles slapping together, with every rough stroke he made.
“And what about me, Rob? Do you like it when I bum you, Rob?” he asked, as if he could be in any doubt of the answer. “Do you having my fat cock screwing the shit out of you?!”
“I fucking love it!” I called back to him.
He pulled me upright so that we were kneeling together and then wrapped his arms around me so that I could feel his hairy chest against my back. His cock was still ramming in and out of me, the smell of our sex – of my ravaged hole – becoming stronger in the room.
He worked one hand down to my cock and wrapped his fingers around it.
“Jesus, mate, you’re fucking hung!” he told me, gently masturbating my foreskin back and forth across my bloated cock-head.
“Do you like it?” I asked him, panting with excitement.
“Yeah!” he laughed. “It feels hot… fucking a guy who has a big, fat cock…”
He took his hand off my shaft and groped further down at my large, swollen balls stretching my scrotum like a couple of overly-ripe tangerines. With a woman, I’d have been embarrassed that my testicles were of such a large size, but I felt Guy smile against the back of my neck at the feel of them, pumped up with my semen and enlarged still further by my excitement at having him thrusting inside me.
“… fucking a guy with a massive pair of knackers,” he grunted, fondling the paired mounds of my bollocks with something approaching admiration.
He returned his hand to my cock and started wanking it, his other hand gently playing with my right nipple.
“It feels manly…” he went on.
“My cock?” I asked.
“No,” he grunted. “Fucking you like this… fucking a guy who’s so hung…”
I laughed. “Why does it feel manly?”
“You’ve got this huge shaft of a cock on you,” he grunted, “and this rock hard pair of ding-dong bollocks… you’re such a fucking horny bloke, Rob… so it figures, doesn’t it… I must be even more of a horny bloke to be the one who’s porking you…”
I laughed again. It was ridiculous but it kind of made sense.
“Well, I must be pretty manly to be getting fucked by you,” I said.
“How do you make that out?” he asked.
“You’re a rough, hairy guy with a big, slamming cock… I’d have to be pretty tough to be able to take it like I am…”
He liked that. “Too true, mate,” he laughed. “There’s many a bloke who couldn’t… who had to pull away…”
He pushed me back down and repositioned his knees inside mine, then grabbed my hips hard and started driving his full length in and out of me in long, swift thrusts. His big, meaty balls whacked against my thighs so loudly and so roughly that I was amazed it didn’t hurt him.
In spite of his cock being smaller than Bradley’s, Guy’s rugged technique and his determination to use every inch of his manhood to its full potential, made him a much more exciting and impassioned lover.
I gasped into the duvet, “Oh, yes! Fucking yes! That feels so good!”
I hoped my neighbour across the road could see this.
Guy grunted in his pleasure, raised upright behind me with his large, hairy chest heaving and sweating as he hammered himself in and out of me with all his strength. He was pulling my arse onto his impaling shaft, forcing it as deep into me as he could push it while I writhed in pleasure below him. I wasn’t even touching my cock: that was irrelevant now. All of my pleasure was coming from my rectum being filled so deeply by this man’s throbbing excitement, only to have it quickly withdrawn and then rammed back into place again, each time with greater and quickening ferocity.
But then he stopped, panting for breath.
He gasped, “I don’t suppose you can work a fart out past my cock, can you, mate?”
“What?” I asked into the duvet, thinking I must have misheard.
“Can you fart for me, Rob? A great big manly butt-fuck fart?”
“No,” I said, flatly. What the hell was he asking me to do that for?
“Go on, mate,” he implored. “I love when a bloke farts when I’m fucking his arse really fast. When he can’t stop himself. And I can feel them pushing out of him… right around my cock…”
“No,” I repeated. I didn’t want to get into doing stuff like that.
Guy repositioned his knees, leaned forwards slightly and I heard a loud rasping noise from behind him.
He laughed triumphantly and then grabbed me more firmly and resumed his buggery.
“There,” he panted, his cock hammering even faster in and out. “I let one out for you.”
“You dirty fucking sod,” I told him, although I couldn’t help but smile.
I doubted he allowed himself to be so vulgarly expressive when he was having sex with a woman. And yet I liked the fact that he was treating me as he would one of his mates and that his attitude with me as another man was so relaxed and blokeish. It was almost like we were splayed out together in front of the telly watching a match; him swigging his beer and letting out farts, with few, if any, inhibitions.
He pulled me back upright so that my back was against his hairy chest and stopped his thrusting. He grabbed my cock with both hands – one up near the head and the other near the base – and told me to pump his cock with my arse.
I started moving my hips back and forth while he held himself still and I gasped at the exquisite feel of working my chute up and down the shaft of his cock while my foreskin was tugged back and forth by the grip of his fingers.
“Is that nice, Rob?” he panted against the back of my neck. “Is that nice having my big hands wanking you off while you work my cock with your big wide arsehole?”
I grunted in pleasure, my hips bucking faster. “Christ, Guy – it’s so fucking good!”
What was it about sex with guys?! Every time I thought I couldn’t feel any more sexually ecstatic, along would come another position to top the last.
I’d thought that straddling Bradley’s cock had been the best thing I could ever feel, but now being between Guy’s cock and the tunnel he was making with his hands – thrusting my hips back and forth while I was simultaneously fucked and wanked – felt even more incredible.
If only sex with Debbie had felt a fraction of this good.
“Oh, that reminds me, Guy,” I called back to him breathlessly.
“Yeah?” he panted, squeezing his fingers tight so I could fuck through them like I so wanted to fuck his big, muscular arse.
“I’ve met a woman… we’re dating… kind of.”
“Nice one, mate,” he gasped, his breath panting hot against the back of my neck. “What’s she called?”
“Debbie,” I called back, pumping his cock with my rectum as I slammed in and out of his tightly-clenching hands. “She’s nice.”
“Fucking great news,” he grunted. “I’m made up for you.”
I increased my rhythm faster, pumping his arse rougher and harder, making full use of his hands as a substitute for his bowels.
He gasped, “Does she know how much… you like it up the bum…?”
“No,” I panted back. “I think I… kind of… forgot to mention it…”
He chuckled, matching the bucking of my hips with powerful thrusts of his own. I could feel the sweat from his large, hairy chest trickling down my back.
I pounded yet faster and harder, my distended bollocks slapping up against his hand with every powerful thrust of my engorged cock.
“Christ, they feel full, Rob,” he gasped, fondling my scrotum as it struggled to contain my semen-straining balls bobbing around inside it. “When did you last empty them?”
“This morning,” I panted, chuckling. “Before I woke Jake up.”
He laughed against my neck, squeezing my balls between his fingers as if impressed by their quickly-recovered size. “You’re a walking spunk factory, mate!”
I craned my head around so I could see his face and we grinned at each other as I drove my arse rapidly back and forth on his cock in time with his hips. I moved my mouth towards his and made to kiss him but his smile immediately vanished and he pulled away: that was clearly a step way too far.
Instead, he muttered, “Don’t get funny with me, Rob,” and then pushed me roughly back down so that I was on all fours again, my face pointing forwards and my mouth well away from his. He grabbed my hips firmly and started fucking me as fast and hard as he could.
I wondered if this was why he liked the doggy position with men so much: to avoid the intimacy of face-to-face contact and the possibility of his lips touching those of his male lover.
He slammed in and out of me with an almost frenzied energy so that my whole bed was heaving and creaking in a cacophony of squeaking and thumping. I remembered making love to my wife countless times on this self-same bed: it had never once been as rough and as noisy as the way my gaping and swollen arse was being buggered by Guy.
“I’m on the home straight!” he breathlessly informed me. “Feel free to nut whenever you want!”
I grabbed my cock and started wanking myself as quickly as I could.
For some reason I noticed the time on my bedside clock: Jake would be getting home and the bedroom door was wide open. He’d get to see his dad being butt-fucked again; this time from behind by his friend Simon’s big, sweaty father.
“Your neighbour bloke’s wanking off, Rob,” Guy gaspingly informed me. “He’s looking over at us… his hand’s underneath the window… but you can see what he’s doing…”
Before I could reply he let out another loud fart.
“Oh, Jesus, mate, sorry!” he grunted, his hips somehow becoming even faster and more furious, cracking against my buttocks like a gun salute.
Again, before I could reply, he said, “You don’t wanna do one for me, mate. Go on… fart for me, Rob!”
Mindful that he’d acceded to my request for him to rim me in spite of his reservations, I let my bowels relax and squeezed some gas out past his cock. It made a low, rasping noise as it vibrated around his thrusting organ before being expelled.
“Oh yeah!” he cried out and then, sniffing the air greedily, “That’s fucking well nasty!”
He slammed his chest down onto my back, gripping me as close to him as he could as his cock pistoned frantically in and out of my hole. We were both dripping with sweat and stinking from our sex, our bodies heaving together like a single, thrusting organism as we shuddered towards our mutual approaching climax.
“Do another for me, Rob! Fart around my cock!”
I let another one go, much noisier and moister, and he started whimpering against my neck. His wildly driving cock thickened to its fattest girth, stretching my hole to its widest, and I felt his hot seed filling the condom deep inside me as his hammering balls discharged themselves for only the second time in three months.
“Fucking hell, Guy!” I called out. “This is so hot!”
I pushed myself towards my own climax and within seconds my own load started shooting across my duvet. My arse was munching on his cock the way it does when I orgasm, the muscles squeezing and unclenching around his still-pumping shaft with my anus clamping tight in rapid spasms. He cried out, his own climax intensified by it, as if his cock was being milked for every last drop of its semen by the pulsating contractions my rectum was making.
When we had both spent ourselves, I sat upright with him still inside me and we stayed like that for a minute or so, his wet hairy chest heaving against my back and his cock softening up inside my bum. His arms were around my tummy and his knees were around my thighs and it felt truly wonderful to be together like that: both of us recovering from the pleasure we’d derived from each other; two men catching their breath from being as intensely sexual together as it was possible to be.
I wanted Jake to come in and see us like this: to see how beautiful we looked with our two male bodies still entwined together, basking in the after-glow of our sex. I wanted him to see us so intimately connected with one another; how much I was enjoying the delicious sensation of having this larger, more muscular man’s organ slowly softening inside me as it nestled between my cheeks; how fraternal it felt to have our gratified balls nuzzling into each other through our hairy scrotums as they dangled, shrivelled, beneath us. I knew full well that the room would stink of our passions and how crude the thick ribbons of my semen would look flung like yoghurt across the bed, but I still desperately wanted my son to see this moment so he would know how harmonious two spent male lovers could look together.
But instead, Guy pulled his floppy cock out of my bum with a squelch and, as seemed to be his habit immediately post-climax, laughed.
“That was a fucking good session, mate. I never got up to anything like that on the rig.”
Wiping up my mess, peeved that I’d let the duvet cover get so stained that it would need washing, I asked him, “What was it like, having sex on the rig with other men?”
“As you’d expect,” he replied, pulling off this condom and adding to the first he’d scrunched up in the tissue paper. “Secretive and quick. Hand-jobs being traded in store cupboards; blowjobs behind machinery. And, yeah, the odd bum-job here and there in the dark when no-one was looking.”
“And obviously you enjoyed a few ‘bum-jobs’ yourself?”
He nodded, wiping his cock off as his white juice continued to trickle from its slit. “Only with blokes like you who enjoyed taking it and didn’t demand the same in return. If they’d settle for me giving them a hand-job or a blowjob, I’d be in there. That’s always a good deal in my book.”
“You told me in the hotel you’d never had anal sex with a man,” I said.
He smiled, yanking his briefs up. “Come on, Rob, you seemed so uptight about stuff. I would never have guessed you’d end up like this, putting it about like a backstreet tart. Christ, when I met you that first night, you were like some prim and proper maiden aunt, blushing at the sight of my cock in my underwear. Now look at you: you’re like… I dunno… the Butt-fuck King, or something.”
I smiled. It was always good to have titles to add to the CV.
“If you’re trying to charm your way into having a third ride on my back,” I quipped, “you’re out of time – Jake’s due back any second.”
He laughed, pulling on his shirt. There were no blushes from my side of the room now; only the cheeks of my arse were scarlet and that was from being battered by his hips.
“He did us both a favour, setting this up for us,” Guy said, sitting on the bed to pull his jeans on over his feet. “Whatever it is you’ve been getting up to these past few months, he’s definitely on your side.”
“He’s a good lad,” I agreed. “He’s been brilliant about… well… everything.”
“It must be weird for him, though” Guy said, pulling his socks and boots back on. “Finding out your dad’s into blokes as well as birds. I don’t know what Simon would do – probably have a stroke or something.”
I didn’t tell him that I suspected that, after catching me being pleasured by Bradley, Jake had had quite a few strokes of a different kind.
As we were going back downstairs and I was showing him out, I repeated that, while we’d definitely go to a match in January, he was also welcome to pop round at any time. I didn’t want him ending up with painful balls and so much sexual tension that he was almost making himself ill; not when he had me a stone’s throw away so eager to accommodate him.
He smiled and thanked me. His eyes were warm and his smile genuine. For the second time I felt the urge to kiss him but here in the hallway I managed to suppress it.
“I’ll definitely pop in over Christmas,” he said. “Bring your Jake a little thank-you prezzie.” And then, glancing over at the Christmas tree, “Ooh… nice tinsel and baubles, mate.”
I chuckled. “They’re here whenever you want them, Guy.”
Jake got back home well after his normal time – he must have dawdled in town to give me the chance to enjoy my Christmas present uninterrupted.
As soon as he saw me, something about my appearance – perhaps the disorderly state of my hair, my flustered cheeks or my dishevelled expression – made him guffaw with laughter.
After he’d managed to recover himself, he said, “I see your present turned up, then?”
“Yes, Jake, it did,” I replied, smiling wearily back at him. “Thank you for being so… er… thoughtful. I had a lot of fun unwrapping it!”
“What time did he come?” Jake asked before laughing again and offering to rephrase the question.
“Around two,” I told him. “And again fifteen minutes later, and then again an hour or so after that.”
“Ugh!” he grimaced with barely-concealed amusement. “Way, way, way too much information!”
“I gather you ran into Guy when he was dropping Simon off at college?” I remarked.
“Yeah, he was about to drive off but I waved over at him and he stopped. I told him you were home alone all day.”
“Simon didn’t hear, did he?” I asked.
“Of course not! I just told him I had a message to pass on from you about the next match we’re all going to see.”
“Well, I had a very nice afternoon, so thank you again.”
“I take it that means you got to… enjoy Guy’s plumbing?” he asked with a cheeky smirk.
“I thought we had a no questions policy.”
He shrugged. “I just figured since I gave you such a nice toy for Christmas, you might at least let me know how you played with it…”
I laughed. “Let’s just say you earned your iPad. And maybe a case for it as well.”
“Wow!” he chortled. “His arse must taste well horny!”
“Bottom, Jake,” I reminded him, feeling relieved that he thought we had only been rimming.
“‘His bottom must taste well horny,’ sounds more polite.”
He went to the fridge to get himself a coke and then asked, “That guy you had back last week – Bradley was it? – he’ll still be coming over sometimes, won’t he? I mean, you having Guy over sometimes doesn’t change that, does it?”
I shrugged, passing him a glass from the cupboard. “I don’t see why it would.”
Indeed, there was no reason at all why they both shouldn’t come over at the same time. Imagine sleeping between the pair of them; two rock hard cocks jabbing at me from both sides all night!
“And you’ll probably meet up with other men too, won’t you?” Jake went on. “And sometimes they’ll come back with you?”
I nodded. “I guess so.” I didn’t let him know that I already had a session booked in with his Assistant Principal in January and was still hopeful that Duncan the obliging AA man might give me a call.
He nodded slowly and distractedly, as if thinking it through, while he poured his drink into the glass. “And Debbie?”
“Yeah, hopefully things will work out there. It’ll be nice to have a girlfriend to go out with for dates.”
He took a long drink from the glass and then said, after stifling a belch, “It’s pretty cool, isn’t it?”
“Having all these guys for sex and a woman for nights out and stuff. It’s like having the best of both worlds, kind of.”
I smiled. “I suppose it is.”
“Yeah,” he said, nodding again with a preoccupied look in his eyes as if mulling over the possibilities that such an arrangement could provide. “It’s cool… yeah… really cool, actually…”
And he looked over at me and we grinned at each other.
Epilogue: Driving Home for Christmas
NOTE TO READERS
I wanted to add a message to this final part of ‘Butt Monkey’ to say, firstly, thanks for reading and following my story (especially if you’ve very kindly messaged me to express your appreciation) and, secondly, to find out if you would like me to write a sequel.
‘Butt Monkey’ started out as a fairly straightforward three-parter called ‘Football Match’ about a divorced guy who finds he enjoys rimming another man and gets into a regular ‘arrangement’ with him. I found that I enjoyed writing the story and liked the characters I’d created so much that I kept adding additional chapters to it and gradually fleshed it out with a more involved plot. By the time I started uploading the story, it had grown to thirty parts.
My question to you is whether you’d like me to continue writing Robert’s bum-related adventures or whether I should write something else. I have ideas about what I’d like to do with a possible sequel, but I’d like to know that there is interest to hear more of Robert’s stories before I get started on them.
So, please, if you have time, could you let me know if you’d like to hear more from Robert and his enjoyment of the male rear? If you would like a sequel, what did you enjoy about ‘Butt Monkey’ – which parts worked for you and which parts didn’t? Did you prefer his one-off encounters or the ongoing storyline? Did you like the humour and character development or would you rather have more eroticism?
Looking forward to hearing from you!
Feedback is the only payment our authors get!
Please take a moment to email the author if you enjoyed the story.