21st January 2002: My first attempt at bisexual story with a scenario that has always fascinated me: two guys and one girl with the guys being far more interested in each other than they are in the girl!

Naked Twister

During my early days at Uni I used to hang around with a guy called Mark. He was a pretty cool lad from Bolton and a good laugh to be with down the bar. I got the impression, from a few comments he’d made along with his nose ring and the tattoo on his forearm, that he’d been a bit of a fighter at school. I guess he’d settled down a lot after coming to Uni and had developed his ability to charm girls rather than fight for them. He was tall – about six foot two or so – and quite muscular. He had dark brown hair which was cut pretty short and he’d bleached his fringe.

Mark and I got on really well and in fact the only problem in our friendship was that we both tended to go for the same girls. I guess that wasn’t such a problem when we were both in relationships, but when one of us was single there’d be obvious rivalries and suspicions and when both of us were single we’d be almost fighting each other for the attentions of some babe.

Anyway, this story takes place during a wet night in April at a time when we were both single. The object of our mutual attention was a girl called Jenny who was studying History of Art and had a reputation for being a bit of a prick tease. In fact there were rumours that she could be a lesbian out for revenge or something, but that just served to stoke the interests of Mark and I into a frenzy. One of us had to pull, and since she seemed to like both of us, it was difficult to know how things would turn out.

Mark and I met Jenny and a few of her mates in a pub in town and, after a night of not exactly restrained drinking, Jenny invited both Mark and I back to the house she was sharing. When we got there, Jenny took us both up to her room which was fairly large, took out a half-drunk bottle of vodka and three unmatching mugs. Mark and I took off our wet jackets and dried our hair with a couple of towels she threw to us. Then she lay down on her bed and invited Mark and I to sit down on a couple of soft chairs that were in the room.

I was feeling that this was all a bit bizarre. Did she want sex with one of us and if so why were we both here? Whoever was left out would feel humiliated and would have leave the house feeling like shit. I didn’t want that to me, but I also didn’t want that to happen to my mate either. For all of our playful rivalry, I didn’t want Mark to have to sit there feeling like a complete wanker while I got stuck in with Jenny.

It occurred to me that she might be wanting a threesome. She knew we both liked her and were single. Maybe she was hoping for the two of us to jump aboard together. The threesome possibility interested me a bit but I’ve always preferred the idea of making out with two girls, not a girl and a guy. Even though I was a bit pissed by this stage, I made a mental decision that if the idea of a threesome with Jenny and Mark was presented, I would politely decline and then get the fuck out of there.

Well, we started assaulting the vodka. I noticed Jenny just took small sips and encouraged Mark and I to keep filling up our mugs every few minutes. Mark seemed to enjoy the attention and gulped the stuff down like beer. I was a bit more cautious, but even the small amount I drank hit me in powerful waves as it mixed with the lager I’d been swigging down in the pub. Pretty soon I was feeling so drunk that the room was kind of rotating around me as I slumped in the chair.

At one point I became aware that the conversation had turned to the subject of Twister. I don’t know if Jenny had it out already and Mark spotted it, or if she got it out deliberately. But as I surfaced from my delirium I tuned in on the two of them talking about when they’d last played Twister. Jenny was saying that some friends in the house had bought her it as a joke Christmas present. Mark kept interrupting her, going on about some boring story from when he was five years old. I just lay there thinking, “What the fuck is going on…”

Out of the blue Jenny said, “Have you ever played naked Twister?” She looked at Mark and he, for some reason, looked at me. Then she looked at me too. I decided that the question must have been directed at me and so I said, “Huh?”

Jenny said that she’d always thought it would be cool to play naked Twister with a guy. Mark asked her if she’d ever done it before, but she became all coy and wouldn’t say. To be honest, even though I was so out of it, I thought it would be quite cool to play naked Twister with Jenny. But I figured that my near-comatose state might somehow disadvantage me and that Mark – who must have a constitution like a horse or had been lying about how much he’d drank in the pub – would be in far better condition to join in with her game.

I lay slumped in the chair thinking that if they started getting it on together I maybe wouldn’t leave the house, I’d probably just go to sleep in the chair and put a cushion over my face.

Anyway, Jenny suggested that it would be “groovy” (her favourite word) if Mark and I played Twister naked. Mark said maybe it wouldn’t be so groovy to him and me, but Jenny persisted. “I’d love to see you play it together – god it would look so fucking hot.” “Maybe in our briefs,” Mark said. I managed to slur, “Fuck off.” Jenny was adamant, however, that us two boys had to play Twister and we had to be naked.

Mark said, “I think I speak for Seb as well as myself…” I looked over at him, wondering what he was about to say. “… when I say that I think you should play with us.”

I added to that, “Or at least play with one of us…”

Jenny kept going on, though, about how it would make her so horny to watch us two guys get naked together and sprawl around on the floor.

Mark laughed, “No way! I’m not going to get into gay stuff.”

Jenny gave a small smile. “I’m not asking you to.” Then she started taking off her blouse, making me perk up slightly. She was wearing a tight black body underneath. It clung to her skin and looked fantastic: she was, perhaps, a little too chubby for it around her midrif but her tits were large and round and strained against the thin material. I had to sit up in my chair a bit to get a better view. She looked at me, smirking, and continued, “I just thought it’d be fun for you guys. And if it is, then…” She flashed a sly smile at Mark. “…I might want to join you.”

Mark grinned broadly, sitting up straight in his chair like me. He muttered, “Shit… I dunno.” Then he looked over towards me and laughed. He seemed interested but embarrassed that he was interested.

I looked back at Jenny. I was smiling – this was kind of fun. She was obviously teasing us but I was enjoying it. She knew that her body gave her a bit of power over the two of us and she was exploiting it for all it was worth. I love it when girls do that.

Jenny stretched as if she was going to yawn. “But hurry up and decide what you’re going to do… I’m getting tired.” As she stretched her arms and arched her back, her tits thrust forwards clearly defining her nipples within the tight cotton fabric of her underwear.

I think at that point Jenny could have done whatever she wanted with us. Mark and I were both eighteen and breasts were still pretty new and unexplored territory for the two of us. Jenny was older and seemed far more experienced about sex than we were. I guess the combination of her body and her relaxed indifference enslaved us. We both wanted her and would probably have agreed to any conditions she’d have dictated.

Mark stood up and raised his hands as if to unbutton his shirt. He was still smiling. He looked at me and said, “I’m up for it if you are, Seb.”

I laughed. Two of us guys naked in front of a woman, like her playthings – this could get pretty interesting, I thought. “Yeah I’m game. If I can stand up.”

Mark grabbed my arm and pulled me out of my chair. “Come on tiger.”

Then, with me swaying in front of him, he started taking his shirt off. It was a blue and white checked shirt and he was wearing a dark blue Oasis tee-shirt underneath it. It looked good on him: he played a lot of squash and had a good, solid chest. He pulled the tee-shirt over his head. His pecs had a light covering of fine, dark brown hair across them with a thick line of darker, coarser hair leading down over his stomach towards his crotch. He was well-built and his chest hair and tattoo emphasized his masculinity: I worried that, with my smooth chest and less defined physique, I might look a bit sissy in comparison.

He looked over at me and said, “Come on Seb. This isn’t a solo show, mate.”

I felt totally out of it. I muttered something apologetic and started unbuttoning my shirt. I was conscious enough to feel irritated with myself for looking like such a plank; for getting into this state just as something interesting was about to happen.

While I was taking off my shirt and tee-shirt, Mark sat back down on his chair and started pulling off his shoes. Jenny looked at my chest and wolf-whistled. Then she sat back against the wall, as if making herself more comfortable, and said, “This is going to be good…” I wasn’t sure if she was being sarcastic.

Mark took his socks off and stood up to take off his jeans. He asked Jenny, “Don’t you think it might be cool for the spectators to be naked too?”

She said, “Yeah, maybe. Let’s see how hot I get watching you guys…”

I sat down to take off my boots. I tried to speak but the words sounded strange since my mouth refused to obey what my brain was telling it to say. I managed, “What are you expecting from us… we’re not queer…”

She said, “We’ll just see how the game goes… see what happens…”

Mark kicked off his jeans and stood in front of me wearing only a pair of white briefs. The bulge of his cock was obvious inside them and was directed downwards, covering his balls. When he saw me checking him out, he seemed to lose his nerve and cupped the front of his briefs with his hands. He giggled and said, “This is kind of… weird…”

Jenny piped up, “Unconventional, maybe. But not weird…”

Mark said, still giggling like he’d become shy or something, “I’m not taking them off until he does.”

Jenny tittered, “Aw – is he all embarrassed about taking his undies off in front of the grown-up lady?”

I had to laugh.

Mark went a bit pink. “It’s not that – I just – well, there isn’t usually another guy in the room when I’m getting undressed.”

I pulled off my socks and stood up to loosen my belt.

Jenny said, “Doesn’t look like there’s too much to hide down there, Marky boy.”

I didn’t like that comment – I don’t think its fair when girls make jokes about guys’ cocks. And in any case it seemed that Mark was packing a fair-sized bulge in his briefs.

Mark smiled at Jenny and said, “Yeah, he’s a bit sleepy now. But once he gets goin’…”

I pulled off my jeans and then stood there wearing only my briefs which were dark blue. Like Mark, I felt kind of embarrassed. Pissing around together in our underwear was one thing: doing it in the nude gave it implicit homosexual connotations that I wasn’t altogether comfortable with back then. Not that I was thinking of backing out – the two of us lads standing in front of Jenny in our underwear was undeniably erotic – I guess I just kept getting pangs of conscience; something telling me that I shouldn’t be doing this kind of thing.

Mark pulled his briefs down first, making a trumpeting fanfare with his lips. He kicked his briefs over towards our pile of clothes and then stood there, proudly, with his hands on his hips, sticking is crotch forwards. He had a broad grin on his face. He said, “Hot piece o’ kit or what?”

His cock was nicely proportioned. I guess it was about five inches long and it hung downwards over the top of his balls, looking thick and weighty like he was just starting to get a hard-on. His pubes were thick and black, darker than the hair on his head, and his balls looked round and large.

I mused, “Hmmm… not bad. For a thick-as-pigshit Northerner’s cock.”

Mark laughed and his cock jiggled about. Him being a thick-as-pigshit Northerner was a running joke between us. “Now you’re the fuckin’ dick expert, are you?”

I pulled off my briefs and kicked them over towards Mark’s. They landed on top of his. The dark blue crotch of mine on top of the white arse of his.

Mark eyed up my cock and shouted, “Phwooaar! Get a fuckin’ load o’ that!”

At first I stood in front of them trying to look cool about it as Mark had done. My cock, like his, was soft but starting to thicken up in arousal, but was probably an inch or so longer than his. I stood there showing it off and the two of them stared between my legs. When they didn’t say anything – just kept staring at me – my facade crumbled and I giggled and put my hands in front of my cock. “Stop fuckin’ starin’ you guys. You’re making me nervous.”

Jenny laughed, “Sorry Seb. It’s just it kind of… well… catches the attention.”

I said, “Do you mean that in a good way?”

Jenny smiled. “I mean… well… your penis shows you have something to be phallo-centric about…”

I said, “And that’s good, right?”

Mark said, “Hey it isn’t size that matters, Jen. It’s what you can do with it…” He made thrusting movements with his cock and it bounced around but, because it was growing stiffer and starting to rise up in front of his balls, it didn’t jump around as much as it had before.

I laughed. “I can do a lot more with this than you can with that Northern piece o’ crap. About two fuckin’ inches more, mate.”

“Yeah right,” he laughed. “With your hand, maybe. Or if you’d -”

Jenny snapped, “Much as I don’t want to interrupt this intellectual discussion on penis envy, guys, weren’t you going to play Twister together?”

Mark said, “Maybe we prefer the discussion – and it is intellectual. You’re just missing the hidden depths, love.”

Jenny sneered, “Hidden depths in men? Do me a favour. And I’m not your love.”

I was getting a bit irritated by Jenny’s obvious contempt for men: when we’d talked to her in the pub her occasional outbursts of feminism had added to her appeal by making her seem more confident and challenging, but now that we were naked in front of her and she ought to be lightening up, she seemed to have grown bitter.

Mark looked more pissed off than I was feeling. I thought he might back out of the whole thing; that we might just get dressed and get out of there. But then he turned to me and shrugged, “You wanna get on with this while she reads her lesbian poetry or somethin’?”

I said, “It’ll be something to do I guess.”

Jenny said nothing.

Mark turned to get the box of Twister. I saw that his arse was round and muscular and his buttocks were framed by white and pink indentations in his skin, made by the tight hem of his briefs. His crack was thickly filled with black hair and it opened, exposing even more hair, as he bent to pick up the game. I wondered what it would be like if I ended up with my face pressing up against it during the game. The thought didn’t repulse me as I’d expected: perhaps it was my state of drunkenness or my annoyance with Jenny, but Mark’s arse suddenly seemed kind of interesting. Mark and I had done a lot of stuff together – slept over in each other’s rooms when we were too drunk to walk home, showered together, even pissed into the same toilet in the congestion of the Union gents – but the idea of being intimate with him on this level was totally new and immediately fascinating. This was my friend, yes; we were both straight, yes; but suddenly I saw him as a sexual being in addition to that, and I liked the tingles that passed up my spine when I thought of him in this new way, and enjoyed the stirrings in my cock.

I guess Jenny saw me looking at Mark’s arse and saw my cock starting to rise because she said, cattily, “So when the female isn’t available, the male turns his attention to other potential orifices…”

I turned to her. I guess I looked really pissed off because her sneer turned into a more confrontational expression. I smiled and said, “Right again, Jen. God you’re so fucking smart.”

Mark turned back towards us and opened the game. His cock was thinner and smaller than it had been. It had withdrawn so far that his balls looked even bigger in comparison. It looked like Jenny’s mood swing had had the same effect as a cold shower on the guy.

He said, “What are you on about?”

Jenny said, “Seb’s getting an erection from looking at your arse.”

I hissed, “Fuck off.”

Mark looked confused and glanced at my cock which was rising upwards at about forty-five degrees. Then he grinned and said, kind of mischievously, “Well… it’s a fucking nice arse, isn’t it?”

I was slightly taken aback but then, recovering, I grinned and agreed, “Hot as fuck.”

Mark smiled more broadly, exposing his white teeth. He said, “Play your cards right, mate, and it might be welcoming visitors…” Then, glancing at Jenny, he muttered, “Fucking only thing ’round here that will be tonight.”

I noticed his cock lengthen rapidly: about an inch in a couple of seconds. It was really impressive – I’d never seen a guy’s dick do anything like that before. It stayed limp but its head lurched downwards. If I hadn’t seen his cock do that, I’d have thought his flirting was a joke: a piss-take to annoy Jenny. But he’d involuntarily got me wondering whether, like me, the idea of the two of us coupling up was not altogether abhorrent to him. New ideas and fresh scenarios flashed through my mind; as before, I found them unexpectedly exciting.

Mark got the mat out of the box and started laying it down on the carpet, moving our discarded clothes and a few of Jenny’s things out of the way. He occasionally glanced in my direction as if to confirm that I was watching him and his slight smile showed that he was pleased that I was. His cock was lengthening further and now, like mine, looked thick and heavy and rose outwards from his balls.

I kept thinking of us together. I didn’t feel guilty with the thoughts and images of the two of us that were cascading through my mind: again, perhaps it was the alcohol, but I welcomed them like new friends. I imagined his cock, large and stiff, oozing precum and my tongue licking it from his inflamed bell end. I imagined my face in his armpit, tasting and inhaling the unfamiliar masculine musk of his sweat, my hand gripping his thick muscular forearm, his tattoo glistening from the heat of his body.

He finished adjusting and straightening the mat and then stood and faced me. His cock was half-erect: standing straight out from his body like one of the set-squares from geometry classes. His bell-end was partially exposed. It looked thick and bulbous; red and sore.

He looked at my cock which was totally hard, eight inches and curving upwards. His eyes twinkled as if the same thoughts were presenting themselves to him as had just been flooding through my mind. He grinned broadly and said, “Ready, big boy?”

I grinned back. “Fuck yeah.”

He looked at my throbbing cock and smiled warmly. I imagined his pink lips and his white teeth around my cock, sucking it like it was feeding him. One hand around my balls, kneading them. The other exploring my arsehole.

He turned around and bent over to pick up the spinner that went with the game. Again I saw his hairy arse, the hairs in his crack matting together with his sweat, and saw it open as he bent forwards. I imagined fucking him: grabbing him by the hips and slamming into those hairy buttocks, feeling his coarse black hairs brush against my cock as I thrust into him, feeling the heat from his rectum on my bell-end as I stretched his tight, pink hole. The idea overwhelmed me: I desperately wanted to masturbate, to relieve myself of these previously-unimaginable ideas.

Jenny said, “I think I’ll take off my jeans. It’s getting a bit hot in here…”

Mark turned back towards me, his cock pointing upwards, straight as a rod and about an inch shorter than mine but equally thick. He replied, cursorily, “You do what you like, love.” He flashed a wicked grin at me. I smirked in approval.

Mark handed me the spinner. He said, “Biggest cock goes first.”

I smiled. “Let’s not get phallo-centric about this.”

Jenny started taking off her jeans. Neither of us looked at her.

He said, “Alright. I’ll go first.”

He twirled both arrows on the spinner; one pointed to the colour blue and the other to a picture of a right foot. He stepped forwards towards me so that his right foot was on a blue circle on the mat. He was very close to me: our cocks, both gently pulsating and arching upwards, were almost touching. His pink nipples were erect and jutted outwards through the fine swirls of his chest hair.

He smiled at me again and passed the spinner. I remained where I was, close to him, and span the needles on the spinner. It came up with green left foot. I stepped forwards so that my left foot was on a green circle. Our cocks rubbed against each another. Mark said, “I think we just did a Masonic handshake.”

I passed Mark the spinner again, not taking my eyes from his. Despite the hardness of his features, the angularity of his jaw and the striking shortness of his hair, his eyes were warm and inviting and his smile full of captivating mischief.

Mark span and produced a red left hand. He studied the mat and turned to find a convenient red circle behind him. He said in a soft, deep voice, “Don’t go getting ideas, Southern boy,” and then turned around to reach for the red circle. He bent over so that his arse was level with my curving, throbbing cock.

I moved forwards a bit so that my cock touched his arse, deliberately spearing it between those round, supple buttocks of his. Withdrawing it, I said affectedly, “Oops.”

Mark stayed bending but laughed. “You dirty bastard.”

He reached back to me and passed me the spinner. I took it and twirled the needles. It produced a red right hand. The only red circle that was convenient was near my left foot. I had to crouch down so that I could reach it. When I did so, my face was level with Mark’s arse: I was staring straight into his hairy, sweaty butt crack.

Mark tittered and said, “I’m kind of tempted to fart.”

I replied, “My temptations are less… juvenile…”

He turned to look at me, his face slightly pink from the bent position he was in. His eyes glinted with ideas and possibilities. He said, smiling slightly, “I’m having a few adult temptations as well.”

Jenny coughed, as if to recapture our attention, and then said, “Jesus, it’s so hot. I’m getting so wet between my legs.”

I passed Mark the spinner. Neither of us responded to Jenny’s comment. Mark stayed bending and spun the pointers, producing the colour yellow and a left foot. He searched the mat for the most convenient yellow circle and then moved his right foot across to it. This meant that his legs were spread quite widely apart and his buttocks, right in front of my face, were splayed open. I got a whiff of the sweaty, pungent smell of his arse crack and I loved it. My cock throbbed, straining to enlarge to impossible proportions from the excitement I was feeling. I wanted more.

I looked intently at Mark’s arse and got glimpses of his red hole through the thick bush of his anal hair. Once again, instead of feeling revulsion or waves of nausea at the thought of this being the hole through which the guy craps, I was smothered by other, less familiar longings: of wanting to kiss it, to taste it, to finger it, to fuck it. The large balls hanging low between his legs reminded me this was a male I was lusting for, rather than a female as had always been the case, but by now thoughts of Mark’s masculinity only served to intensify my desire.

Mark passed me the spinner again, looking between my crouching legs to my cock, throbbing upwards with the bell-end fully exposed and looking red and swollen. He laughed and said, “Fuckin’ hell. This is so fuckin’… weird…”

I span the pointers and it came up with the colour blue and a right hand. I moved my right hand into the only practical blue circle on the mat. I had to reach forwards so that my face pressed right into Mark’s arse. As I did so, I felt my nose getting tickled by the hairs in his crack and smelt more strongly the thick anal smell from between his bum cheeks. I thought, “I can’t believe I’m doing this. And in front of a girl.” But I did it all the same.

Mark ground his arse into my face; he was obviously enjoying the attention it was receiving. For my part, I was fascinated to be so close to this warm and private area of him: again I wanted to push my face between his cheeks, to lick at his hole and to savour the sensation of it opening to allow my tongue to enter him, but I was afraid to overstep the boundaries of the game of tease we were playing with each other; afraid that he’d jump up and have a go at me for invading an area so private and so filled with overt homosexual significance.

So instead I just enjoyed the sensation of being so close to Mark’s arse, of feeling his anal hairs tickling my nose and cheeks as he pushed himself into my face, and feeling the heat radiating from his puckered red hole with my lips. Being like this was so unexpectedly sexual – the sheer intimacy of it – that I felt the urge to masturbate my throbbing cock come over me in almost uncontrollable waves.

I heard his voice, “Oi – brown-noser…” I pulled back from his arse and, removing my hand from the blue circle, shifted round to look into Mark’s face. His cheeks were scarlet and his forehead was damp with his sweat. He said, “The spinner…?”

I said, “Oh yeah, right…”

As I picked it up and passed it over to him, he broke out into a broad smile and said, “You’re a dirty little sod, Sebastian Wallace.”

I heard him spin the pointers and he said, “Blue right hand.” Then he slapped his right hand down onto the mat. His arms were now fairly wide apart just as his legs were, his head bent downwards and his arse in the air, still in front of my face.

I pulled back to take the spinner from him and, as he got back into his position, I took a good look at him. His arms were tense and the thick muscles of his forearms bulged to support his body. His skin was pale and moist with his sweat; his armpit hair was clumped together and had beads of it clinging to it. His spine curved gracefully from his head to his buttocks, his backbone jutting upwards from the otherwise smooth, featureless landscape of his back.

I span the pointers and they produced the colour yellow and a left hand. I scanned the board and saw that a yellow circle was right next to me and so no change of position of necessary. I was about to call out to tell Mark what the pointers had dictated, when I had an idea.

I ignored the spinner and called to Mark, “Green right hand. Major readjustment necessary…”

I threw the spinner back over to him, deliberately clumsily so as to disrupt the needles, and started to get into a position in which my right hand could touch a green circle. It meant getting underneath him and lying on the mat on my back. Mark laughed as I adjusted myself and he called out, “What the fuck are you doing?”

I pushed my head between his outstretched legs, looking up at his large dangling balls and his thickly engorged cock, visibly throbbing and pointing up at his belly button. I pushed myself further up so that my face was beneath his chest. Then I returned my feet to their proper circles and reached over to touch a green circle with my right hand.

I said, “It’s the only way it was possible, mate.”

He laughed. Then he muttered, his voice so low as to be almost inaudible, “I’m not complainin’.”

I looked up at his chest. Even in shadow, his muscles were sharply defined as they tensed to support him in the splayed position he was in. His chest hairs had droplets of sweat of them and I could smell its sharp, masculine odour. Lying beneath him like this, in the heat of his body and the musk of his sweat was unexpectedly erotic. I guess I would have expected to feel uncomfortably passive being beneath another man and for his sweat to smell similar to the cloying staleness of changing rooms, but the reality was intensely different. The sensation of being a guy lying beneath another guy was fascinating to me – the idea that our shared masculinity was a bond to be enjoyed was immediately appealing.

Mark asked, “Do you like lollypops?”

Before I understood the question, he thrust his groin downwards and forwards towards my face. The end of his cock, moist and swollen, hovered over my lips. His bell end was fat and red; the taut skin was bulging succulently on either side of his piss slit.

I replied, “Yes I do, actually.”

He laughed. Then he said, in a lower, deeper voice, “You wanna suck this one then?”

I looked at his cock just inches above my face. Precum was leaking from it; clear drops hung on the underside of its ripe-looking head. He moved it further towards me and I could smell a light sourness, the distinct and individual scent of Mark’s cock and balls: slightly sweaty and with an undeniable hint of piss, but more complex than that: the unique smell of Mark. I was captivated by it. I guess I’d always assumed other guys’ dicks smelled pretty much the same as my own, or possibly that some of them had the harsh, overpowering stench of public urinals. But Mark’s cock looked totally different and smelled totally different to anything I’d experienced: the sameness of our genders became irrelevant – sexually, he was as dissimilar to me as any girl I’d known.

I whispered, my voice sounding artificially breathless, “Do you want me to?”

In reply he pushed his cock closer to my lips. I raised my head to reach it. My tongue was extended. I wanted to taste the guy’s precum. I wanted to feel his thick, bulbous cock head in my mouth. Wanted to feel it pulsating and trying to fill me.

But then he pulled away.

He pushed himself upright and then squatted over me. His face was purple and rivulets of sweat poured down his forehead and cheeks. His chest hair was matted and sticking to his skin in clumps. His cock pointed upwards, thick and straight, like it was inspecting his belly-button. It looked about seven inches long.

His voice was suddenly dry, devoid of emotion. “I can’t. It’s too much, mate. I can’t.”

I wanted to reassure him but anything I could think of to say would have made me sound like his homosexual lover. And whether I was or wasn’t, I didn’t think he’d like to hear another guy speak to him like that.

So I tried to sound jovial. “Looks like you lost the game.”

He looked at me uncomprehendingly. Then he said, “Fuck the game.” He looked at me with burning, seering eyes. Full of hurt and anger. Like something intensely significant to him had totally passed me by.

I felt kind of stupid. Feeble.

I said, “I know, Mark. I was just trying to… you know… lighten things.”

He stared at me, his eyes still smouldering. Then he turned to look at Jenny. “What’s she fuckin’ thinkin’ about all this. I suppose she’s writing a fuckin’ feminist thesis – ”

I followed his gaze. Jenny was fast asleep on the bed.

Mark turned back to look at me. His eyes were serious, his tongue exploring his bottom lip.

I waited a few seconds, rehearsing my words. Then I said, “I’ll suck you if you want me to.”

He stared at me, his expression unchanging, and then repeated, slowly, “I can’t. I just fucking can’t. I want to, yeah. But – I’ve got this thing telling me it’s wrong, mate. I can’t.”

He looked at our clothes, scattered on the floor near Jenny’s bed. I thought he was going to get up and go over to get dressed. I guess he seriously considered doing just that.

But then, abruptly, he squatted down so that our balls were touching. He looked at me again and smiled. He said, “Get up, Seb.”

I pushed myself up so that I was in front of him. Our cocks were touching, both still hard, both still throbbing. Mark grabbed them both and started masturbating our two dicks together. I looked at his face, and I guess I looked a bit shocked by sudden reversal, because he laughed and said, “We’re a horny couple of fuckers. When there’s no pussy about, we turn fuckin’ gay instead of doin’ without.”

I smiled. I started breathing more heavily, enjoying the feel of Mark’s hand beating me off and, better than that, enjoying the feel of his cock next to mine, warm and hard and pressing tightly against mine in his strong grip.

I looked into his eyes. He was staring into mine. He was panting and gasping like he seriously needed this. Wanking both our cocks together, his fist a blur, the muscle on his forearm bulging, his tattoo glistening.

He panted, “Don’t think I don’t wanna … you know… do it with you…” I was panting myself. I looked at our cocks. Mine was longer than his but his was thicker. Our foreskins were a blur within his beating fist. The guy certainly knew how to masturbate – his technique was exacting, his hand thoroughly practiced and in-tune with our cocks. I became aware of the friction of Mark’s cock against the stem of my own as he continued, “Actually, mate. I wanna fuck your arse.”

I looked into his face again. He gave a roguish grin, like he was a naughty schoolboy. I grinned back. I said, “I wanna fuck you too.”

He gasped and panted, “Up my arse?” His hand grew faster against our cocks.

I was breathless, but I whispered, “Right up your fucking arse.”

His face grimaced and I knew he was close to climaxing. I added, by now panting myself from the closeness of my own orgasm, “With you bending over and me behind you… fucking your Northern arse… with my big cock…” I felt semen from his cock hit my chest and then, as his cock lost its potency, splatter onto my belly and my own cock. Mark grunted and looked upwards at the ceiling. Then he closed his eyes as his cock finished its white eruption.

He pulled his hand away from our cocks. I gasped, desperate to shoot, “Finish me off, mate.”

He looked at me. I stared into his face and saw that his eyes looked cold and hard; like he was regretting what had just happened. But to my surprise, he grabbed my cock again and resumed his rhythm, pounding my foreskin with the same precision that he had shown before. I groaned involuntarily and threw my own head back to enjoy the feeling of another guys’ hand, a hand which – unlike the girls’ hands which had gone before it – was equally, if not more, practised in masturbatory pleasures than my own.

I hoped he’d help me out by – like I had done – telling me what he wanted to do to me, but he didn’t. He just stared at me – I could feel his cold gaze studying me – and jerked me faster and faster.

Within seconds, I came. His hand continued wanking me as he stared at my cum shooting out of my cock and watched it mixing with his own on my chest. Then, while I was still recovering my breath from the intensity of the orgasm I’d experienced, he removed his hand and stood up.

His cock hung down between his legs, now totally limp and spent. He stared at me, his eyes still cold and distrusting, and then he turned to get dressed.

After I’d cleaned myself up with some tissues at the side of Jenny’s bed, I got dressed as quietly as I could. Mark waited in the doorway, glowering at the curtains in the window on the opposite wall. Like the way he was feeling was all their fault.

When I was ready, he opened the door and left, without looking at me. Then we left the house, silently, and walked the streets of Southampton back to our University flat.

He didn’t say much. At first, he muttered something about it being late.

I said, “Look Mark -”

He said, “No. It doesn’t matter.”

I continued, “Look. I’m not gay.”

He looked around at me. “I fuckin’ know that.”

I didn’t say anything for a while. We walked past the park, listening to some drunk shouting his side of a conversation inside a phonebox.

Then I said, “We’re still mates, right?”

Immediately, without thought or consideration, he responded, “I dunno.”

That kind of knocked me for six. What we’d shared together; the things we’d learned about each other; that he could say something so inconclusive and dismissive.

We drew near to where he lived.

I said, “Look. There’s no point – ”

He snapped, “I don’t want to hear it, okay?”

Then we got to his house.

He stood at the gate and turned to look at me. His eyes were cold and distant but there were tears in them.

I was going to say something but I opted to wait, to give him time to say whatever he wanted to.

After about ten seconds, he whispered, “It’s a fuckin’ big thing this. I dunno if I can… you know…”

I said, “I’m not expecting anything.”

He said, “I know.” He looked upwards at the stars. Then back at me. “Just give me a day or so. I feel a bit fucked up. But I’ll come down. Just give me time, mate.”

And after that, apart from a few casual hellos and how-are-yous, we never really spoke again.


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