20th February 2002: I used to head off all over the place with a tent and stove every summer and found that campsite shower rooms were often a hive of surreptitious activity. What’s written in this story is based on something that actually happened on Anglesey in Wales.

Shower Gel

A few years ago my girlfriend and I went camping in the Lake District. After the fraught summer term at Uni, with its rapid succession of exams and dissertation deadlines, we decided we needed to get away from the city and just wander around doing whatever we wanted for a week or so.

We found a pretty nice campsite on the edge of Coniston Water and set up base there. Then we dug out an old map from under the passenger seat and tried to find cool places to drive out to and go walking. Or, if we didn’t feel that energetic, we’d hunt around the craft shops or just find a quaint-looking pub by the lakeside and while away the time drinking and chatting. All pretty soothing and the perfect opportunity for the two of us to get to know each other a lot better. The days passed quickly.

On the third or fourth night, we were lying together outside the tent, drinking wine and chatting quietly in the glow of some candles we’d lit. We’d had a really good day following a track alongside one of the rivers flowing into Coniston and must have walked about fifteen miles or so. For the two of us, used to catching buses to get between lecture theatres at the University, it had been an impressive feat. We were tired and, even though it was only about half past eleven, the site was totally quiet and the forest around it black and still. The sky was ablaze with stars.

Kaz was lying in front of me with her head resting on my arm. With my free hand I was abstractedly caressing her breasts through the thin material of her bra as we chatted. She kept propping herself up to take sips from her wine but when she lay down she’d reach behind her and put her hand on my arse, gently rubbing my right buttock. It was so tranquil being like that together: the air was growing cold and ground was getting damp, but while we were lying together like that, the frenzied atmosphere we’d escaped from seemed so distant as to be irrelevant.

Then we were disturbed by the twin beams from car headlights as it rounded a corner and came straight towards us. We automatically moved apart, embarrassed to have our intimacy floodlit, and the car changed direction as it neared us and pulled up alongside the tent next on the next plot. The engine was turned off and then the lights went out and, in the flickering glow of our candles, I could just discern that two guys got out of it. They muttered to each other and one of them opened the boot to get a rucksack and some other stuff out of it. Then they unzipped their tent and got in it together.

We didn’t say much about them that night, as I remember. We got inside the tent, undressed in the cramped interior and then lay together, clinging to each other in the cold, listening to the occasional calls from the owls in the trees. I tried, as I had on the previous evenings, to lure Kaz into some fun by gently teasing her nipples and extending a finger into the soft warm opening between her thighs, but she was reluctant to join in. She was conscious of us being heard by other people in nearby tents or that “perverts”, as she put it, would be creeping around intent on finding out what young couples like us were getting up to.

So she rolled away from me and I was left to lie behind her, my hard-on aching and unable to accept that it wouldn’t be following my finger into Kaz’s pussy for yet another night. I contemplated wandering over to the toilet block to masturbate, but in the end I couldn’t be bothered and I drifted off to sleep with my cock still throbbing and pressing between the cheeks of Kaz’s arse.

When I awoke it was light and there was the sound of people and cars from outside. I struggled to move towards the door to find my watch. When I’d fished it out from our piles of discarded clothes I found that it was half past nine. I needed some coffee before I was prepared to do any thinking. I found the light blue briefs that I worn the previous day and in trying to pull them on, I woke up Kaz.

She opened her eyes and sat up slightly. She stared at my cock, morning hard-on in full glory, and groaned.

I said, “Sorry – I was trying not to wake you.”

She groaned again. “What time is it?”

I got my briefs up to my hips and started pushing my cock into the front of them, struggling to make it fit in its current state. “Half nine. I’ll make some coffee.”

She nodded groggily. “I need it. I must have been awake for an hour or so after you nodded off.” I thought she was going to accuse me of snoring and keeping her awake, but she continued, lowering her voice to a whisper, “Those two guys in the next tent. Shagging. I couldn’t sleep…”

I finally got my cock inside my briefs, Kaz looking on. It made a thick straight rod directed diagonally from the paired mounds of my balls to my left hip. The elastic waistband snapped into place. I was puzzled. “Shagging?”

Kaz nodded and lay her head back on her pillow, closing her eyes.

I asked, “What? Each other?”

I thought she’d laugh and tell me that they’d brought some girls over from another tent, but she nodded again. “Like fucking rabbits.”

I was intrigued. “How do you know? I mean, they might have had girls in there…?”

“There were two voices. Both male. Rhythmic noises. And stuff they were saying.”

I was pleased my cock was already hard because what she was saying was really turning me on. The idea of gay sex had always been fascinating to me since school.

I asked her, “How do you know they weren’t wanking or something? I mean, guys do that together sometimes…”

She didn’t even open her eyes. She just stated, without room for discussion, “One of them was shagging the other. I know what it sounds like. I’m not stupid.”

I glanced down at my briefs and saw that a patch of precum had made a wet circle where the end of my cock was. I said, “I’ll make some coffee.”

I unzipped the door of the tent and crawled out. The light outside was bright. It was a sunny day and it took a few seconds for my eyes to become accustomed. When they had, I looked around, crouching outside the door of the tent. A few kids were playing on a patch of grass about a hundred yards away. A car was driving past them, on its way out of the site.

I reached back into the tent and pulled out my teeshirt. I turned back around and pulled it over my head, still kneeling on the grass. When I’d got it on I realised that a guy was standing in front of me. I looked up at him, sheltering my eyes from the bright sunlight behind him.

He said, “Sorry about last night. The car.”

I didn’t know what he meant. “Uh?”

He elaborated. “It looked like we scared you. We nearly pulled up to the wrong tent.” His accent was distinct. It sounded like he was from Essex or East London.

I realised that he was the guy from the next tent. I stood up to get a better look. He was about six foot two, about my height, and had short brown hair which was messed up at the back. His face was angular but friendly. He was, in a natural and masculine way, pretty good looking.

I said, “Oh right. Yeah.” I laughed. “It doesn’t matter.”

He was wearing a striped football shirt and white shorts, but had nothing on his feet. From that and the state of his hair I guessed that, like me, he’d just got up. I wondered if Kaz could really be right about the two of them having sex. He looked totally straight: a lad into footie and going camping with his mates.

He smiled. “We felt bad that we’d made you go inside.” His voice was deep and quite rough.

He glanced down at my crotch and then casually brushed against his own with his hand. Just lightly tapped the front of his shorts, like he had a bit of an itch that wasn’t worth a scratch.

I said, “No. We were going in anyway. It was getting cold out here.”

He looked down at my crotch again. I glanced down and myself and realised that my teeshirt hadn’t covered the front of my briefs; that the bottom of it had become caught in the waistband and that the rod of my hard cock was visible to him.

I was about to pull it down when he moved his hand back to the front of his shorts and made a slight scratching motion against the material. Kind of like a half-hearted wank. I looked down at them and saw the bulge of his cock inside them. He was obviously in the state of developing an erection: his cock rose up slightly and pressed against the white cotton of his shorts.

He flashed another smile and said, “Yeah it gets pretty cold out here.”

I nodded and then casually rubbed my cock through my briefs. Just ran a couple of fingers along its length a couple of times like I wasn’t even aware that I was doing it. To see what he’d do.

He nodded like he understood what I was saying to him. I wasn’t yet sure myself what I was saying to him – I knew he was coming onto me and felt interested to see how it would develop. Kind of turned on by the idea of us standing here doing this in broad daylight.

He said, “Hey, do you know where the shower block is?”

I nodded. “Yeah. It’s over there. There’s a sign.”

He rubbed the front of his shorts again. I glanced down at them. His movements were now undeniably masturbatory and his cock was starting to make a tent inside his shorts. It was sticking outwards at an angle of about forty-five degrees and the tip of it looked thick as it strained against the material.

He said, “You wanna give me shout when you go over there?” And then, laughing, “I… sort of… get lost easily, mate.”

I smiled and nodded. He grinned back at me and then turned to walk back towards his tent. I watched his arse, looking round and solid inside his shorts, as he walked away. Then I glanced down at my briefs to see how candid his view of my cock had been. He’d seen it all: my hard-on was still raging, strengthened if anything by his overt flirting, and my wet spot of precum was clearly visible. I thought, “Jesus, you’re a tart, Wallace.”

When he got back to his tent, his friend was just crawling out. That guy had definitely just woken up because he looked rough as hell. His hair, which was black and cut short, was shambolic and his chin was rough with stubble. He was wearing just a pair of white briefs. His chest and upper body were well-shaped; the guy obviously worked out or had a job in which he used his muscles. He crouched in front of a stove which the other guy must have set up and started spooning some coffee from a jar into a cup. His legs were wide open and his balls hung down between his legs, heavy inside his briefs.

I turned back to our tent and reached inside for our stove and water and stuff. I noticed that Kaz was sleeping deeply again. I decided not to wake her again until I’d made some coffee.

While the water started to warm up, I watched a couple of young girls riding their bikes around the camp site. I didn’t want to look back over at the two guys next to us: I was interested by the idea they were gay yet so outwardly devoid of any signs of being so, but didn’t want to make it look like I was fascinated by them. I guess, though, that I was: the fact that the guy in football top had come onto me so overtly really intrigued me.

I hadn’t decided whether or not I ought to call over to him when I went over for a shower. I wondered if maybe his flirting had been an attempt to shock me – he must have known that I was straight when he’d seen Kaz and I on the previous evening. I wanted to show him that I wasn’t bothered at all by the idea of being hit on by another guy. I thought it might be fun to walk over to the shower block with him: he was obviously a bit of lad, or fancied himself as such – he might have the audacity ask him to join me in his shower or something. Make a grab for me, or get smutty, like straight lads sometimes do with girls they fancy.

Different possibilities and scenarios presented themselves to me as the water boiled and I spooned coffee into our cups. Maybe he would suggest we take a shower together; maybe use the old “let’s save water” routine. I rehearsed my reaction: I’d laugh, and then decline; I’d remind him that I was here with my girlfriend. I wouldn’t show any surprise or alarm: just as when he’d rubbed his shorts in front of me, I’d play his game but only to a point.

But then I kept thinking of getting in the shower with him: of him pulling down his football shorts and revealing his round, solid arse and his thick stiffening cock. I kept developing that idea, the scenario of me following him in there, and my cock kept lengthening and pushing so hard against the waistband of my briefs that the sensitive tip of it hurt.

I poured the water into the cups and tried to dismiss the possibility. I would say no. Look amused and recite the girlfriend line. I was getting turned on by the alternative because it had been a few nights since I’d had sex with Kaz. It was natural to start fantasizing about stuff I normally wouldn’t think about. I was with her all day, enjoying her company, looking at and admiring her body, and yet I couldn’t express my feelings for her at night. I bound to be getting frustrated. Any other guy would in my shoes.

I took a drink from my cup and was, as on previous mornings here, surprised by how its taste was improved by the freshness of the air. I took another swig, savouring the moment, and then looked back in on Kaz. I shook her leg gently and told her there was coffee waiting for her. She groaned and turned over. I thought I’d leave her a little longer. I drew my rucksack out of the tent and pulled on a pair of tracksuit bottoms from it.

Then I walked over to the car and retrieved my towel which had been drying on the back seat. As I did so I noticed that the guy in the football shirt was reaching into their tent and pulling out his towel and a sports bag. His mate was lying on his back looking up at the sky, his cup in one hand. His legs were bent at the knee but wide open so that I could see that his cock and balls were making an impressive mound in his tight white briefs.

I slammed the car door shut and the guy in the football shirt looked over at me. He gave me the thumbs and I grinned. Then I started walking towards the shower block. As I expected, I’d only walked ten feet or so when he caught me up.

He immediately asked, “You two here long, then?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Probably for the rest of the week. We’ll see if the weather holds.”

He said, “We’re travelling around. We’re going over to the Isle of Mann today. Catching the ferry.”

We walked past a family having breakfast outside their caravan.

Then he said, “Is she your girlfriend then?”

The guy clearly wasn’t a believer in beating around the bush.

I smiled. “Yeah.”

He said, “Mine couldn’t get the week off work. Sometimes it’s better with a guy though. More fun.”

I smiled more broadly, almost laughing. “Yeah. Right.”

He continued, smirking, “You can do more with a guy. More possibilities. You know what I mean?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I know exactly what you mean.”

I was amused by him and wondered if this was his way of flirting or if he was just trying to unsettle a straight Southern guy. I decided to play along.

I said, “And guys like doing the same kind of stuff, usually.”

He laughed, “You got it in one. Fuckin’ spot on. Two guys both know what each other likes. No pissin’ about.”

I added, grinning, “You can go farther, faster.”

He laughed again. “Too fuckin’ right, mate.”

We reached the male toilet and shower block and walked inside. The front part of the building had toilets down one side and urinals and sinks down the other. A couple of older guys were standing at the sinks, washing and shaving, and a young lad was pissing into one of the urinals.

We walked past them and I opened the adjoining door into the shower area for him. As if to explain, I said, “They’re through here.”

He smiled and walked through.

The room was warm and filled with condensation and smells of soap and deodorant. There were five or six shower stalls, none of which were being used. I guess most people have showered and gone by ten o’clock in the morning.

The guy walked down the row of stalls and stood outside two of them at the far end of the room. He said, “This pair look pretty clean.”

I followed him down, wondering if he’d make a move on me or try to suggest we use the same cubicle. My rejection was ready: my hard-on had eased and any temptations I’d experienced earlier had subsided along with it. However, he did neither: he just stood between the two cubicle doors, inviting me to use one of them.

I looked into the stall of the nearest one. It looked pretty clean; as good as you’d expect in a campsite shower block. I said, “Looks cool.”

He said, “Nice one.” Then he disappeared into the adjoining cubicle and banged the door shut.

I went into my own cubicle and closed the door. I felt a bit disappointed that he hadn’t come onto me. The thought that he might not be gay at all flashed through my mind and then I mentally derided myself for supposing he must be straight just because he hadn’t made a move on me.

I pulled off my teeshirt and then took off tracksuit bottoms and briefs. Then I fished around for some change to put into the machine to start the shower. As I was doing so, I heard the shower next door switch on and the spray turn into a irregular spatters as he stepped into it.

My own shower sputtered into action and warmed up rapidly. I got under it. The temperature was slightly hotter than I’d have liked, but I didn’t want risk messing it up irrevocably by trying to turn the knob on the wall. I knew from past experiences with camp site showers that trying to change the temperature usually results in being scalded or frozen.

I poured some shower gel onto my hand and started washing my chest and stomach with it.

It was then that I noticed that one of the wooden bars of the partition dividing my shower with that of the guy next door was missing. The gap was at chest height and I glanced through it to see his hip and the side of his arse as he washed himself. I felt an automatic wave of aversion: this was another guy I was spying on; men don’t normally peep on other men in the nude.

I looked away and got on with my shower, lathering shower gel into my cock and balls and washing them thoroughly. As I was doing so, I glanced through the gap again. I noticed that the guy had turned to face me and was also washing his cock and balls. I immediately looked away and then, after a few seconds, curiosity got the better of me and I looked back at him.

His cock was large and thick and hung heavily over the top of his balls. His red bell end was partially exposed like he’d pulled it back to wash himself. He rubbed soap into the pubic hair on either side of his cock, rubbing his hands up and down on the insides of his thighs. Then he turned his attention to his thickly haired ball sac, lathering soap into it, pushing his thick cock from side to side as he did so.

I washed my own cock as I watched him washing his. I pulled my foreskin back to expose my own, more purple, bell end, and lathered soap into my balls and pubic hair. I realised that my cock was starting to thicken out and grow stiffer, partly in response to the attentions of my soapy hands, and partly in response to the novelty of watching another guy washing his cock. I looked down at it and saw that it was standing out from my balls and growing thicker and chunkier. It looked good. I marvelled at how, as a blond guy, my pubic hair was so much lighter than the guy in the next shower’s, and how my balls hung low between my legs like a couple of eggs in a sock, whereas his were firm inside his solid-looking scrotum.

I looked back through the gap and saw that he’d turned around and was washing his arse. His hands moved away from it and I heard him squeeze shower gel onto one of them. Then they returned and he lathered soap into his crack, sweeping his fingers upwards and downwards between his cheeks. I squirted some gel onto my own hand and followed his example, washing my own arse crack as I watched him washing his. He seemed especially eager to clean the area around his hole. He swirled his fingers in and out of the lower part of his arse crack and then, as I stared at him through the gap with increasing interest, he extended his middle finger and started pushing it in and out of his crack at the level where his arsehole would be. His crack was hairy but his cheeks were pale and smooth.

I watched him, fascinated, and my hands returned back to my cock which was now lengthening rapidly into full erection. He bent down, away from me, and his arse cheeks opened up. His middle finger, still slick with a soapy lather, started darting in and out of his hole as he pleasured himself in the shower. I watched, spellbound at his display, gently pulling on my foreskin and feeling my cock arching upwards to full length.

He stayed like that for a minute or so, bending forwards and fucking his own arsehole with his soapy finger. I kept watching him, at first allowing myself only to slowly pull at my foreskin but then surrendering to the urge to masturbate in earnest. Gripping my cock fully, I watched him fingering himself as a girl would, using his arsehole as a masculine substitute for a pussy. The desire to watch him was overwhelming: I could not take my eyes from him as he used his body in a way that I had never previously considered. His finger developed a rapid rhythm, sliding in and out of his hole with such compulsion that his whole body shuddered to the same beat.

Then he withdrew his finger and stood upright again. I kept watching him, jerking the length of my cock quickly, engrossed by the thought that this rough, tall guy had masturbated his arse with his finger, adapting the feminine act into something seedier and franker but unexpectedly erotic. He turned back towards me and I saw that his own cock was fully erect: large and thick, it curved upwards as my own did and its bell end was exposed and angry-looking. It looked as long as my own – eight inches or so – and I felt a new wave of excitement rush through me as I considered that the actions of his finger inside his arse had produced the impressive erection I was now looking at.

He gripped his own cock and started jerking himself quickly. I continued working my own cock, my rhythm faster than his, my strokes sweeping through more of the length of my cock. I realised he was watching me and that he probably had been since I entered the shower, but by now I didn’t care. The fact he was watching me stroking myself excited me more: I wondered if he liked my cock, long and nestling in light pubic hair; I wondered I was turning him on.

We stood like that, watching each other wank, admiring each other cocks, each thinking our own thoughts about the other.

Then, abruptly, he turned his shower off and disappeared from view. Still masturbating, I wondered where he’d gone; wondered why he’d got out of the shower. It occurred to me that maybe he’d orgasmed and that I hadn’t realised. This was an ongoing bone of contention between Kaz and I: perhaps my insensitivity in that area extended to men. But surely I’d have seen his semen…? I wondered if perhaps I’d been wrong about him watching me: that he’d just been having some solitary fun which had ended and that he’d been totally oblivious to my presence.

But then I heard his cubicle door open and heard him tap at the door of mine.

I left the shower and wrapped my towel around my waist. Then I opened the door.

He was standing there, towel around his waist, dripping wet and with his hair covered in shampoo lather. He was carrying his sports bag and his towel.

He grinned broadly. I guess I just stared at him.

He explained, “My water went cold suddenly. I’ve no more change.”

I was about to offer to give him more money but before I could he continued. “I just need to rinse my hair. Can I use yours for a minute?”

I looked at him, standing in front of me wet and smiling. My hard-on was underneath my towel, still throbbing. I felt as horny as hell and the idea of seeing him continue to play with his cock or to finger his arse in front of me was really appealing. I reminded myself of my earlier plans of gentle rejection but then disregarded them. I thought, “It’s no big deal, I guess…”

So I said, “Yeah.” Then I opened the door and he came in and put his stuff down. I closed it again and locked it and we stared at each other, towels around our waists. His chest was hairless and looked athletic.

He dropped his towel to the floor; his erection sprung upwards and he turned to get under the spray of the shower. He stood under it rinsing the lather out of his hair, facing me but with his eyes closed. His thick, stiff cock bobbed around in front of him in mid-air as he massaged his scalp. When he’d finished rinsing his hair, he opened his eyes and flashed me a wicked grin.

He said, “You better get in too, mate, before the water goes cold in here.”

I dropped my towel to the floor and my cock bounced upwards, curved and throbbing.

He said, “Nice bit o’ kit.”

I smiled.

I got into the shower with him and he moved over so I could share the stream of water. We just stood and faced each other, our hard cocks curving upwards towards each other, letting the hot water spray down onto our chests.

Then he reached for the shower gel he’d brought in with him and squirted some onto his hand. He rubbed it onto my chest, lathering it around my nipples, and drew swirling patterns with his hands on the smooth, hairless skin. He looked up at me, his deep brown eyes more serious now, and said, “You don’t mind, do you?”

I shook my head and his hands moved downwards to my stomach, rubbing soapy water into my skin and making patterns with his fingers. Then, sensing my consent, he moved further downwards, gently kneading his fingers through my pubic hair and then stroked them upwards along the curved stem of my aching cock. I pushed my hips out further, willing him to continue, and he smiled and started gently working my foreskin upwards and downwards with his soapy hand. His other moved down to my balls and cupped them, squeezing and playing with them inside the loose bag of my scrotum.

I grabbed my own shower gel and squirted the last of it onto my hand, feeling his fist gripping my cock more tightly and his rhythm increasing. I went straight for his cock, working the soap along its thick length, feeling it jumping about as my palm rubbed against its sensitive head. Then I took it into my fist and started working it as he was with mine, gently moving his foreskin back and forth, feeling it throbbing in my grip. My other hand moved around to his arse and I caressed it as I masturbated him. It felt as solid as it looked: his cheeks were hard and round and squeezed tightly together in the centre.

I looked down at our hands on each other’s cocks, beating up and down with quickening rhythm. Then I looked at his face. He grinned at me. Then asked, “What do you like doin’?”

I kept wanking him and rubbing his smooth arse, wondering what to say. After a few seconds I muttered, “I dunno. I’m kind of new at this…”

His smile broadened and he shook his head slightly.

I smiled back and admitted, “Well, pretty new…”

He was more direct. “Do you like getting fucked?”

I looked down at his cock, large and thick between in my fist. I said, “I dunno…” I kept wanking him, undeniably aroused by his size but at the same time worried about the thought of it penetrating me. I asked, “What about you?”

He grinned mischievously again. “I like anything, mate. Any fuckin’ thing.”

I felt a surge of excitement. I said, “Do you like getting fucked?”

He nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah. Givin’ or takin’. Either way.”

Then he released my cock and, pushing my hand away from his, dropped to his knees. Without further discussion, he started licking at my bell end, teasing it with his tongue, lapping at my piss slit like it was a lollipop. I grabbed his head, smoothing his wet hair and rubbing his scalp. He grabbed my arse, holding a cheek in each hand, gently massaging them.

He put his lips around my bell end, drawing it into his mouth and licking it with his tongue when it was inside. It felt fantastic: he seemed to understand that the underside of my cock is its most sensitive and erogenous area and he kept returning to it with his tongue, teasing it and making me shudder with pleasure. Then he swept down my stem, taking as much as he could into his mouth before pulling back and doing it again. He started to develop a rhythm, sucking my cock and sweeping up and down its length with his lips. His middle fingers started pushing into my bum cleft, forcing it open and hunting inside it for my arsehole.

I gripped his head and started thrusting my cock deeper into his mouth. He maintained his own rhythm, eating my cock and then withdrawing, eating it and withdrawing, over and over. He was able to get six or seven inches of it into him; enough of it for my balls to bang against his chin every time I pushed myself into him.

His fingers found my arsehole and one of them started pushing itself into me, prizing my tight ring open and easing its way inside. I was surprised by how much it intensified my pleasure. I was torn between wanting to push my cock forwards further into his mouth and pushing my arse backwards further onto his finger.

He kept this up for just a few seconds before I felt the familiar sensations of approaching orgasm building in my balls and I pulled back from him, falling against the shower wall.

I stood there, knees bent, supporting myself against the cold tiles as I tried to recover my breath. He stood up and gently jerked his cock under the shower spray, grinning at me.

He said, “Got a bit too close, mate?”

I nodded, smiling and panting.

He waited a while, giving me a chance to recover and then said, “You straight then?”

I looked at him, confused by the suddenness of the question. He just stood there in the shower spray, fist around his cock, masturbating it slowly. Waiting for a reply. I said, “Generally.”

“But you liked what I was doin’ to your arse, didn’t you?”

I nodded and stood up in front of him.

He continued, “You wanna try proper bum sex with a guy. If you liked what I was doin’ to you back there, you’d love the feel of a cock.”

I liked the way he called it bum sex and talked about it so frankly. He made it sound unremarkable, a common enough thing for a straight guy to want to try.

I shook my head. I knew what he was angling for. “It might hurt.”

He said, “Your arse ring would stretch open, mate. Like a girl’s mott. Two minutes in and you’d be pantin’ like a dog.”

I looked down at his cock, being gently jerked in his fist. It was not quite fully hard now, but was still thick and large. I didn’t want to have it fuck me: it looked too big. How would explain it if Kaz saw blood on the back of my briefs?

I shook my head again. “I don’t want to. Seriously.”

He smiled again and nodded. Then he said, “Kneel down then, mate.”

I knelt in front him, my face level with his big cock. He took is hand away from it and it hung in the air in front of me: no longer curving upwards, its stem was almost horizontal and his fat bell end sagged down slightly, like it was giving in to gravity. He whispered, “Get it hard again for me…”

I licked at the tip of it, pushing my tongue into his piss slit to taste his thick salty precum. Then I ran my tongue around his broad, red bell end, feeling him shiver when I swept it across particularly sensitive areas. His cock jumped upwards in spasms, lurching back into life. With my tongue, I could feel the texture of his bell end changing from being soft and yielding to becoming harder and firmer.

I pulled back from it and saw that it was starting to curve upwards again. I gripped it with my fist and masturbated it for a few seconds, feeling that it was still thickening and still enlarging in response. Then I returned my mouth to his bell end and, from the side, started licking it again, but this time I worked my way down his shaft and towards his pubic bush, licking and kissing the guy’s big cock.

When I got to its base, I reached up to hold it again and gently wanked him as I ran my tongue through his coarse wet pubic hair. Then I worked down to his balls and gently licked them, feeling the bizarre sensation of sucking them slightly into my mouth through the skin of his scrotum. He pushed my hand away from his cock and gripped it with his own, masturbating it at a rapid pace.

I started wanking my own cock, as I moved my head underneath him, pushing my tongue behind his balls, licking the hairy ridge of skin between his thighs running towards his anus. He fell back against the wall of the cubicle and opened his legs to allow me better access. His whole body was jerking to the rhythm of his fist on his cock.

I pushed my face further between his legs, my mouth full of his black curly hair, as I worked my tongue towards his arsehole. Water was streaming down my face from the shower above: it ran into my eyes and stung them so that I had to close them and explore him with only sensations from my tongue to guide me. I heard him gasp from above. “Eat me out.”

He pushed his body down the wall of the shower, opening his legs further so that my face could get right under him and my tongue could reach up into his hole. I could hardly breathe – the water was pouring down his body and into my face and my nose and mouth were buried into the guy’s arse – but I was so turned on by being like this, by having him sit on my face like this, that I drove on regardless.

I beat my cock as fast as I could, pushing my tongue into the guy’s arsehole. There was no resistance from it: it was loose and wide open, familiar with being invaded. It still tasted soapy from his fingering of it earlier, but behind that his own more pungent flavour was evident. I flicked my tongue in and out of him, relishing the warm stickiness of his insides. He pushed downwards, forcing himself further onto my tongue and I felt, with the tip of it, something deep inside him, soft and hot but resisting further entry. I kept licking in and out of him, aware that the taste of the soap was fading quickly and that the thick, bitter taste of his rectum was becoming stronger, almost overpowering.

Then he pulled upwards and reached across to his pile of stuff. I stayed kneeling on the floor, the water pouring down on me, frantically wanking my cock and panting heavily. Tasting the guy’s arse on my tongue. His hands went down to my cock and he barked, “Leave it.” I did as he’d ordered. I realised he was rolling a condom onto me and then squirting the last of his shower gel onto my sheathed cock.

Then he got in front of me again and, reaching down to hold my dick upright, squatted down on it so that, with a squelch, I entered his hole. He grinned and said, “Fuck!” Then he started rapidly bobbing up and down on me, his large cock springing upwards and downwards against my chest, his balls rubbing against my belly.

I fell back, supporting myself with my hands on the floor behind me. Then I thrust my hips upwards, pushing my cock deeper into him. He laughed, then swore again. “Fucking hell!”

He kept bobbing up and down on me, his arse gripping my cock and feeling hot and slick with the soapy liquid. Water from above streamed down his chest, and his muscles were straining with effort of keeping him upright and above me. His hands were on his knees. If I hadn’t have been getting so much pleasure from what he was doing, I think I’d have found his position funny. He looked like an old-fashioned policeman, bending his knees and moving up and down.

I started working with him, thrusting my cock into him further, feeling my orgasm nearing again. This time there’d be no stopping it.

He took his right hand off his knee and started jerking himself quickly. He threw his head back, letting his own pleasure consume him, and his arse made a farting noise as his muscular hole relaxed further. I saw thick white strings of semen shoot out of his cock and land on his chest. His cock kept spewing, his hand a blur as he milked it dry, and his chest was soon covered in beads and rivulets of his cum which refused to be washed away by the water from the shower.

When his orgasm had subsided, he stopped moving and just sat over me, my cock still inside him. I looked at up at him, wondering if he wanted me to stop but he was grinning again. Still recovering his breath, he panted, “Go for it, mate.”

I started thrusting into him again, hearing him gasp as my cock slid in and out of his sensitised rectum. He closed his eyes, like he was in a bit of pain, but kept grinning and whispering, “Fuckin’ go for it… go on… fuck it, mate…”

I hammered into him, hearing the noise of his arse as it ate my cock and, within ten or fifteen strokes, felt my orgasm overwhelm me and my own white juice squirting out into the condom. I kept fucking him until the feeling receded and then remained under him panting uncontrollably.

He sat on my cock for a few more seconds, just looking down at me. I looked up at him and he smiled. “Now it’s my turn to pork you.”

I guess I looked a bit horrified because he laughed loudly and pulled himself off my cock with a slurp. He said, “Just fuckin’ jokin’… don’t look so scared!”

He washed the semen off his chest with me still sitting on the floor. His cock was still large but now hung down between his legs. It was a dark pink colour from where he’d gripped it so tightly.

I got up and pulled the condom off. He got out of the shower and started drying himself. He started chatting about my car, asking how long I’d had it and stuff. Lads’ talk. I washed my softening cock, cleaning the traces of my cum from it, and answered his questions. He wanted to know about the mileage. I made up a number and he seemed impressed by it.

Then I got out of the shower and started getting dried and dressed, with him still chatting like we were a couple of mates in the pub. It was like nothing had happened: like we were a couple of guys getting dressed together after a football game or something. As he bent over to pick up his shirt, I looked at his arse, round and solid inside his navy briefs, and could hardly believe I’d just tongued it and fucked it. Just minutes after the event, it seemed totally unrealistic to me.

He finished dressing first and picked up his rolled up his towel and his bag.

He said, “You two don’t fancy following us over to the Isle of Mann, do you?”

I shook my head. “We’ve paid up here for a week.”

“Well think about it. There’s a site near Douglas. Fuckin’ nice showers. More space inside.” His brown eyes twinkled with amusement.

I smiled at him. “Better than here?”

He considered and then smiled coyly. “Not a chance… this place has the best showers. By a long stretch.”

Then he walked out and left me to pick up my stuff.

As I left the shower room, I noticed that a couple of the other cubicle doors were closed. I wondered how long we’d had company.

When I got back to the tent, Kaz was sitting outside of it, drinking coffee. The black haired guy was wearing a teeshirt and some shorts and was getting his bag out of their tent. The guy from the shower was eating something and was careful to ignore me in front of his friend.

Kaz said, “You’ve been ages.”

I replied that I’d lost track of the time.

“Your face is really red, Seb.”

I said, “It was… kind of… hot in there.”

She took a swig of her drink. We watched the black haired guy walk past us with his towel looking like he was heading towards the shower block. She whispered, “That guy was wearing just his briefs when I came out. He kept eyeing me up and fiddling with his crotch.”

“I thought you said they were gay.”

“Maybe I was wrong. They don’t really look like they’re gay.”

“What about the noises and stuff last night?”

“They were probably just pissing about. Trying to keep people awake.”

The guy stopped, turned around and started walking back towards us. I thought he’d heard us talking about him, but instead he called over to his mate. “Oi! Jase! You got any shower gel, mate?”

The other guy called back. “Naah. Just finished it off.” Again he didn’t look over at me. Didn’t show any interest.

The black haired guy mouthed “Fuck” silently and then turned and walked away again, back towards the shower block.

We sat in silence for a while, watching a camper van pull up near us.

Then Kaz asked, “Actually, have you got any shower gel? I finished mine off yesterday. I forgot to get a new bottle.”

I said, “I just used the last of mine too.”

She looked at me, “That was a new bottle, wasn’t it?”

I shrugged disinterestedly, watching a woman get out of the van and start filling up some bottles from a tap. “Dunno.”

She sighed. “Jeez. That was bloody expensive stuff, Seb.”

I muttered, “Yeah. It was good stuff. Did the job beautifully.”

She sounded peeved. “Good. I hope you enjoyed it.”

I grinned. “I did. It was… magnificent.”

She stared at the van, looking annoyed. Then she turned to glare at me but couldn’t stop herself from smiling.

I kept grinning. Then I asked, “Have you ever been to the Isle of Mann…?”


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