31st January 2005: A story about a recurrent fascination of mine: sharing a room with another guy during some kind of professional event. On this occasion, the academic I’m sharing with brings back a young undergraduate to bunk up with him…
About five years ago, when I was an undergraduate, I had to visit the Humboldt University in Berlin to attend a conference on medical research. I must say that I’ve never been a big fan of medical conferences – my interest in research generally amounts to “if it’s that good, I’ll hear about it on the news…” – but for some reason I was unable to get out of going along to that one.
Only three or four other students went along to it, none of whom I knew directly, accompanied by one of our lecturers, a guy called Dr Richard Powell. I didn’t know Dr Powell very well until that conference and I didn’t see him much afterward, but on the second night of our stay in one of the University’s student residences, we became a lot better acquainted.
I think I knew just three things about Powell, other than that he lectured us in anatomy and cardiology. First, I knew he was a demon at squash. One of my mates had accepted his offer of a game, thinking that a guy in his mid-thirties wouldn’t be much competition for an undergraduate who’d played for his school, and had been quickly and effortlessly humiliated. Second, I knew he was married with a wife and two kids; daughters, I seem to remember. And third, I knew – everyone seemed to know – that a young guys of a particular type appealed to Powell and would be offered extra tuition in return for easily-imagined favours.
This last fact made Dr Powell somewhat notorious, not as an object of ridicule or disgust, but as someone whom everyone seemed to be curious about. I suppose people couldn’t figure out why a married man, straight-acting in every sense of the term, would repeatedly indulge in brief, clearly primarily sexual, relationships with younger men.
As a guy sitting next to me in one of his lectures once said to me, “He’s got all those nurses just about throwing themselves at him, and yet he goes screwing around with any young lad who’ll have him. What’s going on there, then?”
I’d shrugged; I hadn’t known. These days I know exactly what was going on there – know all too well what the attractions are – but at the time, I’d been just as clueless about it as everyone else was.
A friend of mine – a guy called Dave – once claimed that Powell had offered him some “additional attention”, as he’d put it. Dave loved to tell the story about it when he got pissed. I must have heard it a dozen times.
I guess it was true, though, because, apart from being just about as straight as they come, Dave had all the appearances of being Powell’s ‘type’. He had short brown hair, for a start: there were no stories of guys with any other hair colour or length having liaisons with him. He had an angular, academic-looking face; Powell didn’t seem to like guys who looked rough or thick. And he was slim: Powell never seemed attracted to chubby guys.
So there’s a pretty good chance that Dr Powell really did, as Dave claimed, make a pass at him after an anatomy class one evening.
It seemed, though, that he was a guy who could take ‘no’ for an answer and maintain his integrity. After Dave’s mouth had fallen open and he’d – as he put it – ran from the department leaving only a trail of diarrhoea, Powell had never made any further attempt to develop things further. He’d always been civil with Dave, and Dave’s marks hadn’t suffered a jot afterwards; he just seemed to gracefully accept that the younger guy wasn’t interested in the two of them getting together.
I knew a few guys who hadn’t been so reluctant, though. Not personally; just by reputation. Guys who fancied a quick roll in the sack with an older man who clearly had no intention of jeopardising his marriage or his daughters for their sake.
And in Berlin, I met one more.
I happened to be walking back to my room with Dr Powell during the second night of our stay at the University. There was about to be a dinner, supposedly fairly formal with a free bar afterward, and people were heading off to get dressed up. Powell was criticising the medical ideology behind some of the talks he’d heard delivered that day, and I was, as a third year medical student who had found himself way over his head pretty much since getting off the Channel ferry, making pitiful attempts at intelligent responses.
When we got outside my room, I said, “Well, I’ll see you later, maybe…”
He’d smiled idly. “What’s your room like? I’m quite impressed with mine…”
I unlocked the door with my key. “It’s okay, I guess. I’m sharing with a guy from Czechoslovakia…”
He said, “Yeah, I’ve noticed that all the rooms seem to have two beds in them… it must be pretty standard here…”
I opened the door and switched on the light. The other guy hadn’t returned yet.
Powell glanced into the room and said, “You get a scenic view of the car park, then…”
I noticed that someone – maybe a cleaner, maybe the Czech guy – had left the window wide open and that it had rained heavily that afternoon, soaking my bed.
I walked over to it, feeling how sodden the duvet, sheets and even the mattress were. “Oh, shit! Who’d be so stupid as to do that…”
Powell took a few steps into the room, looking seriously at my bed. “Oh dear… that’s not too good…”
I glanced at my watch. It was ten to six. “Do you think anyone will still be here to sort something out?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know… you could try, I guess… someone from catering might have a key to spare linen and stuff…”
I looked over at him, feeling pretty helpless. Smiling weakly, I asked him, “Do you know the German word for ‘mattress’?” I thought it best not to admit that I didn’t know the German for just about every other word I’d need to be able to arrange fresh bedding.
He smiled. “Look. There’s a spare bed in my room… why don’t you just bring your stuff through and sleep in that for tonight…?”
I guess my face betrayed my initial sense of apprehension, even though I knew that I wasn’t the kind of guy he’d normally be interested in. Powell’s smile quickly faded and he asked, curtly, “What’s the problem?”
I blushed at his directness. “Sorry… I mean, it’s very kind, but…”
His eyes were suddenly cold and distant. He stared at me for a few seconds, and for a moment I thought he was going to challenge my hesitation, but eventually he said: “In that case we can drag the mattress and stuff from my room into yours… it’s just down the end of this corridor…”
I didn’t know what to say. I felt like I was being childish for refusing to share with him. I mean, I’d been camping with guys I knew to be gay and had shared a room with a gay friend of mine a couple of times; what was my problem now?
I said, “Look. I just don’t want to put you to any trouble… you know… I might mess your room up…”
I tried to smile but he looked irritated by my attempt to hide behind my pretence that I was refusing merely out of politeness. He shook his head. “Come on, Sebastian. I’m offering you the bed because yours is wet. No other reason. I know what you’re worried about, and you’re wrong…”
I blushed and looked down. “Sorry… it’s just -”
He interrupted me: “Now let’s drag the mattress and bedding into here. And forget about it…”
I felt ridiculous; like I was a little kid having to be given a stern talking to by an elder.
I slunk out of the room after him and followed him to his. Neither of us said anything.
When we got there, he started to gather the duvet and bedding together from it.
I said, “Look. I’d sooner stay here. If you don’t mind and if there’s no hard feelings… I’m sorry…”
He glared over at me, clearly deeply hurt by my treating him like a leper. He snapped, off-handedly, “I don’t mind either way…”
I realised that Dr Powell must like to be seen as being one of the lads. I suppose his interest in squash must have been part of that: he likes to assert his authority on younger upstarts by thrashing them at squash from time to time. As well as the fact that sometimes he’d appear in the pub to get a round in after lectures, complaining that he can only have one because of his wife waiting at him, but enjoying the feeling of being part of a group of guys like he used to be when he was a student himself.
And I realised that the idea that another guy might not want to share a room with him, just because of something he clearly saw as a bit of a hobby, was deeply insulting to him.
I thought I ought to grasp the nettle. Apart from anything else, this guy was going to be one of my lecturers for the next couple of years.
I said, “If you want me to be honest, I thought you might want to… you know… bring someone back with you. I’m sorry but I really wasn’t assuming anything else…”
He bristled at first at my own directness but then his eyes softened a little as he appreciated the reason I’d given.
He threw me a cautious smile. “It seems that my reputation among you undergrads doesn’t do me much credit…”
I shrugged, smiling back. “I’ve probably been listening to too much tittle-tattle…”
“Well… I suppose people are going to notice things and talk. But, regardless of anything else, do you really think I’d bring someone back if I was sharing a room…?”
“I wouldn’t mind if you did… it wouldn’t bother me… I just wanted to… you know… give you your space…”
He said, “Well, thanks for being honest. You’re very welcome to stay and sorry for getting shirty with you… I just thought you were being a little… I dunno… judgmental… and I really hate that…”
I smiled. “No worries… I didn’t exactly articulate myself too well back there…”
He went on, “And if you’re not bothered who I’m friendly with, the same goes for you if you meet a girl you like…”
I shook my head. “There’s not much chance… I’ve just started dating someone…”
He nodded. “Well, go and fetch your stuff. We’d better get changed…”
To show that I really wasn’t worried about sharing with him – even though, at the beginning, for some irrational reason, I had felt a little concerned by his offer – while we were getting changed I acted like I would if I was sharing with any of my mates. There was no emerging from the shower with a towel around my waist and going through the ridiculous performance of pulling on my briefs on beneath it; no, I just strolled around in the buff like Dr Powell was as familiar to me as my brother. I bent over to get stuff out of my rucksack as though I was totally unaware that I was flashing him views of me that left nothing to the imagination, and pulled on a pair of white briefs that my new girlfriend, Rachel, had said made my crotch look ‘delicious’.
And Powell didn’t throw me so much as a glance. He got on with shaving and then spraying himself with deodorant and stuff, at first wearing nothing and then putting on a pair of tight-fitting dark blue briefs.
I think I looked at him more than he looked at me, actually. I was a bit surprised that a guy who spends most of time lecturing or in surgery would have such a well-built, nicely toned body. I was also impressed by his hairy chest – for some reason, I’ve always kind of wished I had one myself – and liked the way his circumcised cock looked with its pink mushroom head permanently exposed. When he turned away from me, I found myself finding his arse quite attractive, at least as far as my limited knowledge of guys’ arses went at that stage, being as firm and round as I hoped mine would be when I’m in my thirties.
As we parted company, to go down to the dinner, he said, “If you come up to bed before me, find me and I’ll give you the key. I won’t stray too far…”
I smiled and nodded.
And then he said, “And thanks again, Sebastian. Thanks for being honest with me…”
And I nodded sagely like I really had been.
After I’d rapidly exhausted conversation with the people I vaguely knew from Southampton, and grown bored hearing people from elsewhere boasting about how wonderful their dreary-sounding lives were, I decided to head up to bed.
It was about eleven thirty; a bit of a pitiful time to be leaving a post-conference dinner offering unlimited free drinks, but it was really the best I could manage.
I found Dr Powell at the bar talking to a young guy; a guy who fitted exactly his usual ‘type’.
When Powell saw me, he urged me to join them and introduced his friend as “Adrian from Imperial College.”
I nodded the lad an acknowledgement, telling Powell that I was tired and asking him for the key to the room.
Powell didn’t seem to hear me. “Adrian’s in his first term of his first year,” he droned. “He’s from Ipswich…”
I smiled politely at Adrian. I wondered if he knew the reason he was inspiring Powell’s interest. He seemed to be a quiet, unaffected guy. When he spoke, to pointlessly tell me the name of the village he was from near Ipswich, his voice sounded deep and his tone authoritative.
I was surprised: I’d assumed, for some silly reason, that he’d sound camp.
I asked him, disinterestedly, why he’d chosen to study at Imperial.
“My father went there, and of course London’s in commuting distance of Ipswich so I wouldn’t have to leave home, so it seemed the most logical choice… there’s a very reliable train service running from Ipswich to King’s Cross, you know…”
I nodded and smiled, thinking how he made the people I’d been speaking to earlier appear quite enthralling.
I wondered what signs Powell looked for when perusing young men. This one seemed a no-hoper to me, as far as action in the bedroom was concerned; he was far too stuffy and formal.
I turned back to Powell. “If I could have the key, then…”
He jumped down from his barstool to get the key out of his pocket and walked forwards a little, away from Adrian.
He said, “I won’t be long, myself, actually…”
I nodded and glanced at Adrian who was swirling his drink around and staring into it, as though trying to read tea leaves in it. “The company’s not exactly rivetting then, is it?”
Powell smiled and raised his eyes as though in exasperation. He whispered, “Jesus Christ… I was hoping you’d rescue me…”
I grinned and grabbed the key. “Too late, mate. He’s all yours!”
And I left him, chuckling, as I headed up to bed.
I was awoken an hour or so later by someone moving around in the darkness of the room.
I clicked the light on and found Dr Powell pulling his shirt off. He said, “Sorry, Sebastian… I was trying to be quiet…”
I smiled, admiring again his well-built hairy chest. “It’s okay… I’m a light sleeper…”
Then he surprised me by saying, “You know you said you wouldn’t mind if someone stayed over…”
He went on, “Well – you won’t believe it – the same thing happened to Adrian’s bed as happened to yours… it was soaked…”
I nodded again.
“So I suggested he should sleep here for tonight. I hope you don’t mind…”
I shrugged. “No, of course not… it’s your room… where will he sleep?”
Powell looked around as though the idea hadn’t occurred to him. “Oh I dunno… maybe on the floor… or he can squeeze into my bed, if he’s not too fussy… we’ll work something out…”
I smiled. “Well, if you like, he can share my bed. It’d be only fair, since you let me share with you. Tops to tails… you know….” I had no intention of honouring the offer, but I couldn’t resist making it.
Powell smiled hesitantly. It took him a few seconds to think of a reason why that wouldn’t be advisable. Eventually, he tried: “No… it’s okay… really… you’re already half-asleep… I wouldn’t want to disturb you…”
I was going to be insistent but thought better of it. Powell had let me use his room, and in the highly unlikely event that any fun was coming his way, I didn’t want to spoil it.
Adrian came through the door from the bathroom and glanced over at me, clearly surprised to find me awake and the light on. He said, “Hello again.” That deep voice again.
I nodded. “Sorry about the bed…”
He looked confused.
Powell quickly interjected, as he sat on the bed taking his shoes and socks off, “I was telling Sebastian about how your bed got soaked… why you’ll have to spend the night here…”
Adrian nodded, unbuttoning his shirt. “Oh right. Yeah.”
I threw them both a broad grin and told them I’d get back to sleep.
Powell went to turn the light off but I said I didn’t mind.
Then I turned to the wall and listened to them undressing.
Even though I didn’t especially want to stay awake, I found it impossible to get back to sleep. I guess, despite the signs to the contrary, I was expecting Adrian to react badly to what I suspected was coming. He just didn’t seem the type of guy who’d knowingly get into the bed of a man in his mid-thirties who had homosexual interests. He seemed too square; too straight.
I wasn’t sure of the lad’s motives, but I suspected he’d realised Powell was flirting and had gone along with it, wondering what he could get out of it or too polite to reject his advances. Now he thought a shared bed was all he had to pay to satisfy the older guy’s attentions…
I knew from their whispers that they got into bed wearing only their underpants. Powell made some comment about Adrian not suiting boxer shorts, which was followed by the reply from the lad that he knew but that his mum chose them for him, and then Adrian said that Powell’s briefs were “well fitting”. Powell had chuckled and said that his wife had bought him them.
Adrian hadn’t seem to flinch at the mention of a wife. Powell’s marital status had clearly been raised earlier in the evening.
Powell moved over towards my bed and clicked the light off. The room was instantly pitch black..
The two of them clumsily got into Powell’s bed.
There were very few sounds for the first few minutes and I began to think that – maybe, however improbable – the two guys really were just going to go to sleep together. That perhaps snuggling up to the sleeping form of an eighteen-year-old lad would be enough for Powell.
But then, after what seemed like an eternity of the three of us lying there in silence, I heard a muffled whisper. It sounded like Adrian.
Powell replied, softly but more clearly, “Well, what does it matter if he’s awake?”
Another muffled whisper from Adrian and then the clearer reply, “Come on, he knows the score…”
Then silence for another few minutes.
The room was eerily dark; there seemed to be no lights outside the window as there had been in my old room, and nothing crept in beneath the door from the strip-lights in the corridor.
I began to wonder if they’d gone to sleep, their arms wrapped around each other. The room was so utterly quiet that I began to half-believe it as I lay there, staring up at the ceiling I couldn’t see.
But then Adrian chuckled and called out, “Not there! I’m ticklish!”
I smiled into the darkness. So much for my idea that they’d spend the night innocently snuggling together.
Powell whispered, “How about this, then? Is that any better?”
Adrian sighed. “Aah… yeah… that’s nice…”
A gentle, slightly wet-sounding, clicking noise started up. Going fairly slowly, but with a steady, regular beat.
Adrian moaned softly.
Powell must be wanking the lad off, I thought. And Adrian seemed to be enjoying it. It looked like Dr Powell had chosen a winner after all; it showed what I knew about how to pick up eighteen-year-old young men.
Powell whispered, “Do you do that to yourself sometimes?”
Adrian sighed, “Sometimes… but it feels nicer the way you do it…”
They fell quiet for a minute or so and the clicking sounds increased in pace and became wetter; they were beginning to sound more like soft, slurping sounds.
Then Powell asked, his voice a little louder, “Is that hurting?”
Adrian replied, “No, it feels good…” Then he chuckled, “I can take a lot more than that…”
Powell laughed. “I bet you can…”
The older man’s rhythm continued to increase and the rhythmic noises became wetter; they began to sound like chewing sounds.
Adrian sighed more loudly.
In their pleasure, they were both forgetting that I was lying a few feet away from them.
Powell said, “Do you want me to suck you while I do it?”
Adrian replied that he did.
I was thinking, “How can you suck a guy and wank him at the same time?”
But I didn’t dwell on it; my attention was diverted by Adrian’s groan of pleasure as Powell took him into his mouth.
Now there was two rhythms: the sucking and slurping of Powell’s mouth on Adrian’s cock, and the munching sound of Powell’s hand on Adrian’s… er… well… where was that noise coming from, actually?
Adrian kept groaning, his breathing speeding up so fast he was almost panting.
Then both noises stopped.
Powell said, “I’ve got some lube… I’ll just get it…”
And then it dawned on me where his hand had been.
My cock, which had been semi-erect in fascination at the sounds I was hearing, stiffened quickly to full size at the thought of Powell’s fingers sliding in and out of the younger guy’s arse. I wasn’t too sure why: I guess it was just the sheer novelty of it.
Powell clicked the light on.
I winced at the brightness of it and peered over at them.
Powell was still wearing his briefs, but his cock made a fat, hard rod inside of them, making a diagonal ridge from his balls to his left hip. He looked surprised when he saw me looking over. He muttered, “Er… sorry, Sebastian…”
I smiled, trying to appear relaxed about it. “No worries, mate…”
I suddenly realised I’d just called a senior medical lecturer ‘mate’ but, before I could correct myself, he grinned back at me.
He went over to his bag and fished around in the side pocket for his lube.
Adrian stared over at me, perhaps suddenly remembering that I was in the room with them, or maybe wondering why I wasn’t politely pretending to be asleep. He pulled the duvet over him, so that just his chest, hairless and a little thin-looking, was exposed. I tried to smile at him, but that seemed to make him even more uncomfortable; like he thought I was leering at him or something.
Powell said, “Sorry about the light, Sebastian… I’ll turn it off in just a second…”
I was about to say, “No problem”, when it suddenly occurred to me that I didn’t want him to turn to the light off. I wasn’t sure why I wanted to see what the two of them were doing, whether I was just being pervy or something, but I really wanted to watch them.
I said, trying to sound casual, “I don’t mind if you leave it on…”
Powell looked up at me from his bag. “Yeah?”
I smiled. “I mean, if you guys would prefer it…”
Powell grinned at me. “Finding ourselves a little intrigued, are we, Sebastian?”
I chuckled. “I dunno… maybe… kind of…”
Then Powell said, “You’re welcome to come over here and get a closer look, if you like…” Then, as though suddenly remembering Adrian, he glanced over at him and added, “If Adrian doesn’t mind…?”
Adrian shrugged, clearly unsure about all this.
I smiled at Powell. “I’m okay over here… I just thought you guys might like to see what you’re doing…”
Powell found his tube of lube and stood up, grinning at me. “And you wouldn’t mind watching us seeing what we’re doing…?”
I chuckled. “Yeah… maybe…”
He looked back over at Adrian. “Are you okay with that?”
Adrian looked wary; he seemed less than happy about the idea. I thought he might be wondering if I was going to go around spreading gossip about him.
I said, “It’ll stay between the three of us guys… I mean, I’m hardly likely to broadcast the fact I suggested you leave the light on, am I?”
Powell added, encouragingly, “True… and you know how it is, Adrian… it can get a bit difficult in the dark…”
Adrian shrugged. “Okay… if you agree that you’re not averse to him watching…” His voice sounded formal again. I had to stop myself from smiling, hearing a guy about to put on a sex show with a man nearly twice his age sounding so stuffy about it.
Powell grinned and looked over at me again. “No, I don’t mind having an audience… I kind of like the idea…”
He got back into bed with Adrian, peeling the duvet back to expose Adrian’s semi-erect cock and his light blue cotton boxer shorts which had been pulled down to the tops of his thighs.
Adrian looked over at me, still a little uncertain about having me watch them. His cock was about four inches long, floppily nuzzling into his pubic hair with the pink bell-end exposed.
Powell gently stroked the younger man’s cock, rubbing it slowly to coax it back to full size. It seemed a little odd to see them like that: they were both so straight acting and, I guess, so straight-laced. I suppose it was because I knew Powell only from academic contexts and Adrian seemed the kind of guy who’d regard anything other than the missionary position with a girl as deviant, and yet here they were; one of them stroking the other’s cock as casually as if he was correcting an assignment.
Powell called over to me, “Feel free to… er… enjoy yourself a little, Sebastian…”
I smiled back at him but didn’t commit myself; I wasn’t sure how I was going to feel about what I was about to see.
Adrian’s cock reacted quickly and dramatically to Powell’s fingers. I guess the older guy had had enough practice to know exactly which buttons to press on a guy’s cock. It stiffened to about six inches and the head became a deep red colour. It wasn’t terribly thick – in fact, it was probably just about as thick as mine is when it’s limp – but it curved gracefully from its base to its tip and the skin of it was an unblemished milky white colour. It was, I guess, quite a pleasant-looking cock.
Powell said, “Let’s pull these bloody shorts off…”
Adrian chuckled, as the older guy pulled his boxer shorts down his legs and over his feet. His cock, stiff and arching upward, bounced around as Adrian pulled one foot up and then the other.
Powell squirted a little of the lube onto his middle finger and said to Adrian, glancing over at me with a small smile, “Now… let’s move you around a little… give our straight friend over there a better view…”
He pushed Adrian around so that he was directly facing me. I could see his balls between his legs, hanging right down almost to the cleft of his arse.
Adrian looked at me and seemed uncomfortable again.
Then Powell said, “Now why don’t you open nice and wide…”
He pulled one of Adrian’s legs open and Adrian did the same with the other. I could see his arse crack open a little beneath his balls, and some of the coarse black hair inside it.
Powell pushed Adrian’s upper body backward, “Just lie back… that’s right… as you were…”
Adrian lay back against the mattress and his arse crack opened a little wider. Powell applied his moist finger to it; inserting it in and rubbing gently to find the lad’s opening again. He looked over at me, smiling. “What do you think of this, Sebastian?”
I shrugged. “I dunno…”
Powell eased Adrian’s legs a little further apart and began penetrating him with his finger, as he had been before he’d put the light on presumably. The soft, moist clicking sound started up again.
Powell said, “Have you ever done anything like this before?”
Adrian tried to say something, thinking Powell had been asking him, but I interrupted by replying that I hadn’t.
Powell’s hand started fingering the lad in earnest; sliding in and out of him with a fast, noisy rhythm.
He turned to Adrian: “Is that nice?”
Adrian smiled up at him and said, “I liked what your mouth was doing too…”
Powell ignored his request for the moment. He kept pumping the boy’s arse with his hand, opening his legs wider and pushing his finger – or maybe a couple of fingers – as deep into him as they’d go, and used his other hand to gently masturbate his cock.
I realised that the lad was being wanked in two places. Kind of like having a double wank.
I said, “Actually, that’s pretty cool…”
Powell beamed over at me.
He said, “Well, what do you think of this then…”
Abruptly, he consumed the lad’s cock with his mouth, taking his full six inches into him in one fell swoop. He started masturbating it with his lips and tongue, driving his mouth up and down its length as though he were drinking from it.
Adrian groaned and began bucking his hips to fuck Powell’s mouth faster and push his arse more firmly against Powell’s fingers.
It looked like Adrian was in an extremely pleasant position. I was very much undecided about what I thought of having my own arse penetrated back then, but I could see the enjoyment that Adrian was getting from it. The lad was panting and making grunting “uh uh uh” noises.
I suppose I was wondering what it would be like to try having something like that done to me.
I thought about suggesting something like that to Rachel but remembered how she’d responded when I’d asked her, after her ‘delicious’ comment, what my arse looked like in the briefs. She’d looked horrified; had said something about that being a ‘dirty place’. I think I’d blushed and apologised for mentioning it. The possibility of persuading her to finger me while she was blowing me, wasn’t too hopeful.
But Adrian looked like he was having the time of his life.
He opened his legs as wide as they would go and began fucking Powell’s mouth and slamming himself down onto Powell’s hand with frantic, powerful strokes. Powell just held his face and his hand steady, letting the younger man do all the work.
Adrian began making loud grunting noises as he enjoyed the pleasure from his cock and arse. I wondered what the people in the next room would be thinking.
Then he pulled away from Powell and said, panting, “Let me crouch on the bed… you on the floor in front of me…”
Powell looked delighted that the boy was using some initiative. He said, climbing off the bed, “Just tell me how you want me…”
Adrian crouched on the edge of the mattress, his legs open wide with his balls dangling between his thighs and his cock arching upward, slicing the air like a curved dagger. He said, “How about like this…?”
Powell grinned. “Yeah, that looks pretty good…”
Powell pulled down his own briefs, which were still struggling to confine his throbbing, swollen cock. “Don’t suppose I’ll be needing these anymore…”
His cock bounced out, immediately putting the boy’s to shame. It was a similar size to my own, being about eight inches long and as thick as a good-sized salami. It throbbed upward, the head of it purple and demanding.
Adrian looked at it with interest. He licked his lips and then, as if suddenly remembering that I was watching them, glanced over at me, blushing slightly again.
I couldn’t help myself smile at his reaction: despite his earlier appearances, he clearly had a mouth that knew its way around a man’s cock.
Powell got down on his knees in front of Adrian and began sucking at his cock – smaller and thinner than Powell’s, but no less insistent – while pushing his fingers back up inside the lad’s hungry anus.
Adrian grabbed his head and started fucking the older man’s mouth roughly and rapidly. He bucked his body up and down on his knees, like a parody of a policemen saying “‘Ello ‘ello ‘ello” in fast forward, feeding Powell his cock with each up thrust, and forcing his arse onto his hand with every downward push.
He began grunting again, making those rapid “uh uh uh” sounds, as his cock and his hole were simultaneously pleasured.
I was marvelling at the boy’s performance, I must say. He might seem a little straight-laced and square, but he wasn’t ashamed to fuck like a buck rabbit. Maybe what they say about the quiet ones was true after all…
My cock was still throbbing beneath my duvet; I’d released it from my briefs and was gently playing with it while I watched Adrian go at it.
Adrian pulled Powell’s head from his crotch and said, his voice breathless, “Will you rim me… I really love that…
Powell stood up. His cock stood out from his body looking enormous.
He looked over at me and said, “We don’t want to do anything that’d freak Sebastian out, do we? It’s his first time seeing anything like this, remember…”
I shrugged. “I don’t mind…”
Powell smiled. “But you’re just starting to enjoy it, aren’t you?” He glanced at the bulge in my duvet, under which my hand was stroking my cock.
I smiled back at him. “I dunno…”
Powell surprised me by yanking my duvet away from me. I tried to grab it back, but he pulled it onto the floor.
He grinned down at my cock throbbing upward, the waistband of my briefs tucked underneath my balls.
I took my hand away from it and looked down at it, making a face as though surprised to find myself erect. “Well, fancy that… it seems like I am, after all, doesn’t it?”
I saw Adrian look over at me and, for the first time, smile slightly. He seemed reassured at finding I’d been aroused by watching him and Powell.
Powell said, “You sure you don’t want a better view of things, Sebastian?” He walked over to Adrian and pushed his cock into the boy’s face. Adrian adjusted his position to sit on the edge of the mattress, reached up and began rubbing his thumb against its head, clearly quite competent at handling circumcised cocks. Powell went on, “I mean, there’s nothing like getting a bit of hands-on experience…”
I made a face at the pun and grinned at him. “I’m okay over here, thanks… enjoying the show quite nicely…”
After Adrian had rubbed Powell’s cock to a state in which the veins bulged along the length of the stem and the head swelled to the size of a ripened plum, Powell grabbed Adrian’s chin and eased his mouth open. Then he pushed the head of his cock into it as Adrian licked and kissed it. He called over to me, “Well, play with yourself or something. Show me you’re enjoying it…”
I reached for my cock and began gently masturbating it, starting off slowly as I watched Adrian take more and more of Powell’s large cock into his mouth.
Powell sighed. “There’s nothing like getting sucked by another guy, Sebastian. If you try nothing else, try that… men know more about sucking cocks than any woman ever can…”
I smiled. “Yeah, I can kind of see that…” Adrian was doing things to Powell’s cock with his mouth that was making my own throb. My hand began to speed up.
Powell grabbed Adrian’s head and held it steady as he began fucking the lad’s mouth. Adrian handled it expertly, allowing the large organ to almost penetrate him fully without gagging or showing any sign of discomfort.
I wondered where he’d had the opportunity to learn how to suck cock like that, living at home in Ipswich with his parents. Perhaps he’d put a few smiles on his school friends’ faces over these past few years…
Powell said, “Grab my arse…”
Adrian obliged, reaching up to firmly hold Powell’s round, muscular buttocks as the older man thrust his cock deeply in and out of his mouth. His fingers pushed their way into Powell’s arse crack as if searching for the hot pink hole that lay deep inside them.
My hand was really beating at my own cock by now.
Powell was panting, “That’s it… that’s it…”
His cock began making long sweeping thrusts into Adrian’s mouth, withdrawing almost completely before plunging back in right up to the hilt. His balls swung into the younger guy’s chin, slapping against it with every thrust, and his powerful-looking buttocks flexed and strained.
After Adrian’s right hand found what it was looking for, he drove the fingers of his right hand into Powell’s arse cleft, right up to the knuckles.
Powell gasped, “Yeah… ah…” and Adrian started fucking the older guy’s arse with his fingers.
I noticed that Adrian’s cock curved upwards, unattended, between his legs. Its red head was throbbing and the skin of the stem was now looking pink from Powell’s earlier ministrations.
Suddenly, Powell pulled away. “That’s good… too good… but I’m not ready to cum just yet…”
Adrian’s fingers slipped out of his arsehole with a slurp.
Powell went back over to his bag and pulled out a packet of condoms. He took one out and went over to Adrian.
He asked, “Which way round do you prefer?”
Adrian shrugged. “I don’t mind…”
Powell tore the condom wrapper open and removed the rubber sheath. “What about going on top…?”
Adrian said, “However you want it…”
He moved forward like he was going to unfurl it down Adrian’s cock but then, at the last minute, applied it to his own. He laughed at Adrian’s surprise. Adrian smiled and shrugged.
I was incredulous to find the two of them so flexible about who was going to penetrate the other. No matter how many times I’d heard that a lot of gay guys like both to give and to receive, I still hung onto the notion that some guys prefer to give, and some to receive.
I guess I’d assumed here that, because he was the older of them, the automatic way of things would be that Powell would penetrate Adrian. But now I saw that it might just as easily have been the other way around; Powell would have willingly let Adrian fuck him if that had been the lad’s preference.
Adrian got on the bed, kneeling on all fours with his arse sticking out. Powell jumped up behind him.
He smiled over at me, still wanking myself. He said, “And if ever you get the chance to do this, either way, it’s something else I’d recommend…”
I grinned. “I did it already… with a girl…” I suppose I don’t need to add that it wasn’t Rachel.
He said, squirting lube onto his rubbered-up cock, “Oh yeah? And did she pull herself off your cock, get behind you, and give you the same back? And then turn you over and fuck you like a girl? And then did the two of you take turns on each other half the night?”
I smiled sheepishly. “Er… not really…”
He rubbed the lube onto the condom, sweeping his hand up and down his length to cover it completely. “I like women, Sebastian. Don’t get me wrong. I just also like sex in all its many, many varieties. In my experience, sex with another guy offers just about as much variety as you can get…”
He squirted some more of the lube onto his finger and worked it into Adrian’s anus.
I said, “Doesn’t it affect your relationship with your wife?”
He shook his head and grinned at me. “No matter how much you like women… how straight you regard yourself… and I regard myself as pretty high up on both counts… sharing sex with a member of the same gender is… well… something totally different…”
So that’s how he justified it to himself: ‘sharing sex’. As innocuous as ‘sharing a chat over a pint’ or ‘sharing a game of darts’.
I was getting really turned on by the noises his fingers were making inside Adrian’s arse. And the sight of his cock, hard and swollen just inches from the lad’s opening, was almost too tantalizing to take my eyes off.
I said, “I think I might like that better view you mentioned…”
He chuckled and gestured for me to sit on the pillows at the head of the bed, swirling two fingers inside Adrian’s rectum to make it as slippery as he could.
I got up and pulled my briefs off.
Then I went to their bed, climbed onto the pillows with my back against the wooden headboard. Adrian was kneeling with his face in front of me. He smiled slightly at me as Powell prepared his backside to be fucked.
I began wanking slowly and Adrian stared at my cock, no doubt pleased to have found himself in the company of two men with pretty generously proportioned cocks.
Powell said, “Would you be really disgusted, Sebastian… would it put you off… if I rimmed him?”
I shrugged. “No. Not really…”
Powell smiled. “I just remember the first time I saw it, or someone suggested it or whatever.” He laughed. “I was appalled!”
I smiled back. “I don’t mind. It’s not something I’d ever do myself, but seeing someone else do it doesn’t bother me…”
Powell threw me a sceptical look like he was thinking, “Oh yeah – you’ll have your face in some guy’s arse by Christmas”. Then he knelt forwards and applied his mouth between Adrian’s buttocks, level with his anus.
Adrian gasped and his face contorted in intense pleasure. He pushed his upper body upward slightly and began masturbating his cock with fast, hard strokes. He was grunting again.
Powell’s mouth made chewing, slurping noises as he pushed his tongue deep into Adrian’s rectum. It sounded like he was eating the younger man’s insides.
I began wanking myself rapidly: seeing this was turning me on in ways I would never – not in a million years – have expected. If you’d have said, “You’re gonna be watching one man eating out another man’s arse, Seb,” earlier that evening, I’d have thought it disgusting, but now it was happening – well – let’s just say that if I hadn’t have been wanking, my cock would have been so desperate it would have demanded my balls to leap up and play with it!
Adrian was loving it too. His hand was a blur against his cock and sweat was pouring in rivulets down his chest and arms. His eyes were closed tightly.
After a minute or so, perhaps sensing Adrian’s climax nearing, Powell withdrew his face from the boy’s arse suddenly. He pushed himself upright, grabbed Adrian by the chest, and slid his cock quickly and deeply into the younger guy.
Adrian’s eyes flashed open and, staring at me and with his mouth in a kind of snarl, he let out a long, panting sigh as he was penetrated by the older man’s large cock.
Then, maintaining eye contact with me and with his mouth still in that pained grimace, he started gasping, “Uh uh uh…” as Powell started fucking him.
I desperately wanted to join in. I understood what Powell meant about this being so different – so incomparable – with the sex I’d experienced with women. This was something else.
I wanted to walk around behind Powell, kneel down at the foot of the bed, and to stick my tongue between his ripe, round buttocks just like he’d done to Adrian. To fuck him with my tongue while he fucked the younger guy with his cock. To have his hot, sweaty anus on my lips as he pleasured himself inside the other man.
Then, maybe to stand up behind him and ease myself into him. Feel the three of us fucking together in a way that men and women never can.
My hand was frantic at the thought of it; I was ready to discard my hang-ups and my cautions and to give Dr Powell a surprise he’d probably never forget.
But it wasn’t to end like that.
Adrian fell forward, propelled by Powell who was grunting and panting as he thrust into him, and I – without thinking – grabbed his head and pushed it onto my cock.
He sucked at it eagerly and energetically; perhaps he’d wanted this all along.
Powell grinned at me as he towered over Adrian’s back, His cock made squelching sounds inside the boy’s anus and his hips made slapping noises against his buttocks.
I let out a loud gasp, rapidly pushing Adrian’s head up and down on my cock as though I were using it to wank myself. “Oh fuck… yeah!”
His mouth felt fantastic, his tongue doing things against my swollen bell-end that I wouldn’t have thought possible.
Powell laughed, “I told you it was good…”
I smiled up at him, hearing myself panting and feeling sweat dripping down my forehead.
I realised Powell was soaked with sweat: his hairy chest looked sodden with it and beads of trickled down his sides from his hot, hairy armpits.
And Adrian was pretty sticky too.
I realised the three of us must stink: the room must literally hum with the stench of our exertions.
Adrian’s hand crept underneath my balls, through my wide-open thighs and into the hot, murky forest between my buttocks. I think he just managed to touch the ring of my anus with the tip of his finger when he felt his throat filling with warm jets of liquid from my cock.
I almost doubled over, grabbing onto his head as I breathlessly climaxed, and his finger forced its way into me, filling my arsehole as far as the knuckle.
He was gulping down what he could of the eruption of semen that I was pumping into him.
I felt his hot breath from his nose against the stem of my cock, coming in quick short pants, and realised he was cumming too. The duvet bore the brunt of his explosion.
And then Powell withdrew from him, yanked off the condom, and masturbated himself onto the younger guy’s back, spraying semen so powerfully it hit the wall behind my head.
After we’d all caught our breaths, I expected – perhaps naively – a little tenderness and affection between us. In my experiences of sex up until then, I was used to having to supply hugs, kisses and caresses after climaxing. Girls generally demanded it: whispers of how good it had felt; how much I loved them.
It wasn’t like that with men, if Dr Powell and Adrian were anything to go by.
Powell stood up, scratched his wet armpits, and declared: “I bet it stinks like a shit-house in here…”
Adrian got up and grabbed his boxer-shorts to wipe his arse and back. He said, “You should have cum inside me… I’d have liked that…”
Powell shrugged, picking up the discarded condom and its wrapper from the floor. “Most guys go tight after they’ve cum… I didn’t want you to be crapping blood…”
Adrian opened his legs to wipe further into his arse. “I’d have told you if it had hurt…”
I got up, wondering if I should join in with the talk about smells and shit and stuff; whether this was the normal conclusion to all-male sexual encounters. The conversation would have seemed more at home in the changing rooms of a rugby game than it would in a post-coital bedroom. I figured that when men get together purely for sex, with no pretence of anything more than that coming from it, they felt able to be brutally honest with one another about less pleasant aspects of the aftermath.
I got back into my own bed, feeling like I needed a shower but noticing that I had little over three hours to get some sleep before the alarm would go off
Powell got back into his; Adrian got dressed and returned to his own room, thanking us both in his stuffy, formal way for what he called ‘a pleasant evening’.
Before we put the light out, Dr Powell looked over at me, smiled and said, “I suppose now you’re wondering what the hell you just did?”
I shrugged, suppressing a yawn. “I’m not having any regrets, if that’s what you mean…”
He looked a little surprised. “No? I remember I was so screwed up the first time I did anything with another guy, I couldn’t sleep for two nights…”
I smiled, feeling my eyes starting to grow narrow at the brightness of the light. “There’s not much chance of that…”
He chuckled. “Is it something you’d do again?”
“I dunno… maybe… if the opportunity arose, I guess… I mean, I wouldn’t go looking for it…”
“Maybe by the time you’re thirty-four you might.”
I smiled. “Maybe… I dunno…”
The next morning he made it clear that from then on, back at Southampton, it would be as if this had never happened.
He said something like, “I’ve never done anything like that with a straight guy before, Sebastian. I’ve always been afraid they’d get screwed up and mess things up for me.”
I tried to reassure him that I wasn’t like that; that if I had any issues about what we’d done, they were born more of curiosity than of self-recrimination.
He went on, clearly unconvinced, “I trusted you enough to show you something I enjoy last night… something I thought you might enjoy too… don’t forget you were the one who – voluntarily – joined in with us…”
I kept trying to tell him that I was thankful, not upset, that he’d left the light on and that I was under no allusions that I’d been the one to involve myself in it.
But he kept interrupting me. “Just don’t shit on me for it, that’s all I’m saying… if you get screwed up, that’s your own fault. Don’t come trying to draw me into it…”
We left it at that. I think I thanked him again for letting me stay in his room, but that was all.
I suppose he intended to sever the emotional tie between us, so that I didn’t complicate the fairly cushy life he’d set up for himself, working his way through a succession of brief encounters with some of the attractive young men he was lecturing. I wondered if he ended all his liaisons this way, claiming to be distancing himself for the sake of his career or marriage or whatever he’d been implying, but really wanting to clear the way for his next encounter.
Like I said at the start, I didn’t see much of Dr Richard Powell after that night. I handed him the odd assigment, which was marked fairly and annotated neutrally, and shadowed him on a couple of ops as part of my training, but we didn’t say another word socially to one another.
I’m glad that I did it, though: like I’d told him, even as early as the following morning I had no regrets about it.
One day, maybe I’ll walk up to him, grin broadly and say, “Hey, Dr Powell. You know that night we shared a room… well… thanks so much! I owe you one… I owe you a big one!” Smile at him so he’d know I was being genuine.
Just so he knows I’m pleased he opened a door for me; helped me understand that sex shouldn’t just be experienced within the confines and conventions of a boy-girl relationship; that men have their own pleasures to discover with one another.
I haven’t plucked up the courage to do it yet. Maybe I will soon…
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