Author: admin

BOTH WAYS

Part of the ‘Butt Monkey’ series of stories by Robert Furlong

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Find my older stories at screeve.org

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At first I was convinced my ex-wife was in the bed with me.

It was Sunday morning and I was in that half-dreaming half-dozing state I sometimes end up in when I’ve slept too long and I really should get up. I’d opened an eye to check the alarm clock a couple of times and, even though it was well after nine, I’d kept sinking back into a deep, restful sleep.

And that was when I started to think someone was lying next to me in the bed.

Was it Linda? Was she somehow still with me?

I reached out my arm – or, at least, it felt like I did – and I could feel the smoothness of her arm. It felt so good to caress the silky skin of a woman again; to push my hand further towards her, across the gentle sweep of her neck, the plump rise of her breasts…

It couldn’t be Linda… she left me, didn’t she?

I cupped one breast and then the other, feeling their soft, yielding fleshiness and teasing the firmer skin around nipples.

Could it be Debbie? Was I sleeping with Debbie?

I pushed myself forwards, meeting her hip through my pyjamas with the head of my erection. I ground it against her, leaving gooey trails on her skin with the ooze from its tip as I hoped she would be growing more discreetly moist in her readiness to accept me.

I worked my hand across her stomach, marvelling at the softness of her skin, and then down between her legs, finding her thighs invitingly parted and her labia deliciously wet.

How was this happening? Who was this?

I pressed a finger gently into her and found her surprisingly tight to enter. Her hole was small and resistant, its round opening barely yielding to take even my first knuckle.

I withdrew from her and caressed her gently between her thighs, hoping to relax her. She seemed unusually hairy down there and I roused slightly from my sleep, finding the feel of her – the defined ridge between her legs, bristling with hair – unexpected and yet familiar.

My barely-conscious mind struggled to make sense of this… had I brought someone home with me last night?

I felt something soft and saggy against my wrist and reached upwards towards it. There was something bag-like, with two solid mounds rolling around inside – a large pair of testicles. And above those, the thickened, veined rod of another man’s erection.

Was this a man in my bed?

I struggled to wake up, unsure of what was happening. Who was this?

She – he – turned towards me, my hand groping at his muscular frame, his rough, hairy skin, flailing at his chubby buttocks as he pushed himself towards me. His cock was thrusting against my hip, feeling large and insistent – wetting my skin with its dribbles of excitement.

He wanted to fuck me. He was tugging at my pyjamas in his urgency to mount me.

And abruptly I awoke and the body I was holding onto dissolved into the creases and folds in my duvet.

Except for me, sweating and gasping, the bed was empty.

I reached down for my cock, pounding upwards from the front of my fly in time with my heartbeat, and wanked it quickly and roughly. The dream had turned the tables on me and, in spite of the shock it had given me, I was intensely aroused by the imagery it had presented.

The fucker had been on the verge of becoming fucked: mounted himself in the bed he had, so many times, mounted his wife. It was prophetic: this would soon be happening. I was about to find I really did have a man next to me in my bed!

My excitement intensifying, I hitched down my pyjama bottoms with one hand and licked the middle finger of the other. Taking up a frantic rhythm on my cock which made the bed creak, I opened my legs as wide as I could and rammed my spit-moistened finger deep into my hole. Early mornings, I’d found, weren’t an ideal time to finger myself, but I needed to feel something pumping into me down there.

With a rapid succession of jerks and half a dozen noisy, squelching thrusts, I squirted a copious climax across my pyjama top.

Then I heard Jake stumble out from his bedroom door and slam into the bathroom.

===

Before I got into the shower, I bent down and splayed my cheeks apart to take a look at my arsehole through the bathroom mirror. I’d never looked at it until I’d started fingering myself, but I imagined that previously it would have been very much like some of the other ‘virgin’ holes I’d seen in the past few months: tiny, pink and tightly clenched.

These days, as I checked it from time to time, I noticed that the furrowed opening between my cheeks was becoming significantly larger and developing a redder and more pronounced ring from the constant intrusions of my finger. It wasn’t yet gaping open and didn’t form a distended purple ‘O’ like the arseholes of some of the guys I’d seen on the internet who were used to being regularly fucked, but I harboured a secret fantasy that one day mine would look equally splayed and well-used.

I relaxed my muscles as much as I could and marvelled at how big I could make my hole open through the mirror. I liked to imagine how much bigger it would grow once I was in the habit of accommodating a variety of cocks inside it and fantasized about it stretching so large that it would be obvious to anyone who happened to see my naked bum when I bent over that I wasn’t quite as straight-laced as I first appeared.

As I showered, I thought about what it would be like to be naked in the changing rooms with Steve after squash and to innocuously reach down for something I needed to pick up. Whereas he and the other men around us would bend down to reveal only the most delicate pink rosebuds nestling between their cheeks, I was taken with the fantasy that I would splay for them such a cavernous orifice and plump, puckered sphincter that they would instantly recognise that I’d developed an unorthodox hobby which had had a rather profound effect on me back there. Boring, predictable Rob would show himself to be not quite as homely as they might have assumed and was flaunting an arsehole that revealed his sex life had a lot more to it than they might have expected.

In reality, of course, I’m uncomfortable enough just being naked around other people and would be completely mortified to show my bum off – gaping or otherwise – so overtly to them. But in my fantasy, I’d scrabble around as if searching for something under the bench, spreading my arse cheeks as wide as I could to parade my well-used and prominently inflamed arsehole my awe-struck audience.

My hole would be splayed and shocking; its once tiny, puckered circumference, so recently clamped tightly shut like those of all the other men in the room, now yawning open with its edges puffed up and scarlet. I’d let them see how wide it was stretched: not just enough to accommodate an inquisitive finger in a moment of self-exploration, but so dilated that it would be clear to even the most unworldly observer exactly what I had so eagerly been using it to receive.

I’d linger for them, allowing them time to imagine me – good old reliable, harmless Rob – having his bowels cleaved open by a succession of large, thrusting cocks; and to wonder how many men it might have taken to loosen my once unremarkable anus to such an obscenely commodious state. They might even imagine themselves coming up behind me to grunt and thrust and add their own veiny girths to the many that had gone before them.

Then I’d stand back up, smiling innocently at Steve, and ask him something stupid like what he was doing at the weekend.

And he’d gawk at me, flustered, his own cock hardening between his legs, unable to stop himself envisaging the two of us rutting together, imagining his own slick shaft sliding effortlessly into his friend’s crudely gaping and well-practiced entrance.

I smiled as I washed myself, aware of how ridiculous the scenario was but enjoying it regardless. Having such a broad and distended arsehole would bring with it obvious impracticalities, but how useful it would be to be able to show off to other men one’s voracious availability without having to utter a single word.

Next time I had to share a hotel room with another man, whether at a wedding or a football game or most likely through work, I’d be able to treat my room-mate to a view of my behind as we got undressed; reaching for something on the floor while flaunting my stretched hole so blatantly for him to ogle at.

I’d finger myself beforehand to bestow it with an inviting shade of purple, and push it out towards him, bloated and swollen and evocative of his wife’s lips. He’d immediately recognise the sort of man he was sharing with: a man who liked to receive the copious loads of others. And he’d realise that, along with my talk of my ex-wife and the woman I was dating, I’d taken up a second interest with my own gender and had become an unremittingly active recipient of my fellow men’s attentions.

He’d find himself musing about adding his own day’s accumulation of seed to the countless gallons I was so clearly used to taking, and might, in the dead of night, creep over to my bed. In the absence of his wife, I’d let him use me to pleasure himself, heaving and sweating against my back with his cock finding my male version of her hole even more accommodating than hers. I’d soon be on all fours taking it from him, his knees between mine pushing them apart, grunting together and sniffing at the strong, acrid odour of our exclusively male variant of sex.

I chuckled as I rinsed my hair. This was a ludicrous idea, completely at odds with my reserved character, but it was hugely enjoyable to fantasize.

One video I’d seen had shown a guy whose arse was so well-ploughed by repeated and relentless anal sex, with a ring which was so engorged and pushed so far outwards, that it would have made a conspicuous and inviting circle against the seat of his trousers when he bent down. I was hugely intrigued by the idea of having an arsehole so blatantly distended that I would be able to bend over fully clothed and have men be able to see from the swollen prominence of my ring and the sheer scale of my hole that I would take on all-comers.

I liked the thought of male colleagues coming to my office, as they often do, to show me their designs or proposals and for me to bend down as if to pick something up and flaunt the mound of my rear opening, making an eye-catching circle between my buttocks, to show them how available I was to my own gender. I’d enjoy seeing their trousers bulge at the prospect of what was on offer, the prongs of their cocks eager to connect snugly with the socket of my gratuitously accessible hole.

Or to show myself off in Tesco, bending to reach the groceries on the bottom shelf, letting other men see how flagrantly dilated and puckered I was and how willing I am to receive their attentions. A guy would catch my eye and we’d smile at each other, and then make our way to the store toilets so he could stretch me a little wider with his cock poking out from his fly while his wife got on with the shopping.

I knew I would never do any of this stuff, but the prospect of flashing around a grotesquely widened arsehole was, on some exhibitionistic level, rather fascinating. I loved the idea of being among other men and to be the one everyone knew was bending over for just about any cock that happened to get hard in his company. To be naked in the changing room and have them all staring at me as I bent so far forwards that a dribble of white liquid, the merest hint of a copious deposit made in an earlier encounter, oozed silently from my gaping hole for them all to see.

I got out of the shower and looked at my backside again in front of the mirror, this time with my buttocks in a more seemly state of togetherness. I thought I had a nice bum – on another man, I’d have certainly found it attractive – and I’d once had a girlfriend who’d said, a touch enigmatically, that it was my best feature.

There was a heavy banging on the door. “What are you doing in there?” Jake called in.

Sometimes it was like having my brother in the house.

“What do you think?” I replied.

“Well, hurry up, ’cause I’m going to be late for football practice.”

I started drying myself, wondering if a course of driving lessons might make a good Christmas present for him so he could start driving himself around.

===

I had an e-mail from Debbie.

I’d logged in quickly as Jake was throwing some kit into his rucksack, gulping down the last of my coffee while I tied up my shoelaces.

After my last e-mail to her, asking if we could reschedule our second date (I had a rather cruder encounter planned with an as yet unknown man from my office – although obviously I didn’t tell her that), I hadn’t heard back for a few days. I’d been wondering if I’d offended her so much that she had decided against meeting up with me and I’d been a little worried that perhaps I should have done the honourable thing and put her first. However, it had also occurred to me that if she was so easily upset, it was likely that we weren’t particularly well-matched, as my ex-wife had always claimed I have an innate compulsion to antagonise women. If that were true, I clearly needed a woman with a rather thicker skin than one who would be so easily provoked.

I clicked on Debbie’s message, which she had sent the previous evening, to open her e-mail.

Reading through it, its tone was largely one of disappointment – that was fair enough – but she seemed remarkably understanding that I would have prior commitments and said she would see what she could do to change her own arrangements. She was eager to see me again before Christmas and the offer of a stopover at her place was still on the cards.

I felt relieved that both my options were still open to me. I still had my night with whoever it was that Cameron was fixing me up with – whichever man he had in store for me – but I also had an evening at Debbie’s place to look forward to.

I clicked “Reply” and thanked her for her understanding. I assured her that my plans for Friday – my God, it was actually this Friday coming! – were unchangeable as it involved work (which it did, kind of) and that I would have altered things around if I could have done.

I said I hoped we could meet as soon as possible after that – even that same weekend if she could wangle it. Poor Jake would have to have two nights over his mum’s.

The change of scenery would do him good.

===

After driving Jake to football practice, I returned home to see if Debbie had replied to my e-mail. She hadn’t.

Maybe she was sulking. More likely she hadn’t yet read it.

I had an hour before I needed to pick Jake up and thought my time could be productively spent taking another, more languid, look through Andrew Marter’s entertaining website about male rimming. However, I wasn’t able to find the link that I’d brought up previously and instead, having clicked along a trail which turned out to be misleading, I found myself in an archive of gay stories written by amateur authors.

With my arrow hovering over the back button, I glanced down the list of categories and spotted “Asslick” as one of the links.

After reading through a few of the stories, which turned out to be surprisingly well-written and bracingly explicit, I realised I had stumbled across quite a find. Here were all sorts of fascinating accounts of men enjoying my own particular fetish in an imaginative array of beguiling scenarios.

In ‘Chilean Bore Holes’ a group of trapped miners were forced to commit unthinkable acts of camaraderie together, coupling up in the dark, claustrophobic tunnels as their only means of solace. Chapter one, in which the men discovered the inner yearnings they had harboured for one another, was highly enjoyable but the fun really got going in chapter two. In this, following a landslide in one of the tunnels, two of the men were pinned one on top of the other; one man’s face pressed firm against his compatriot’s bottom. Their fellow workers struggled to pull them free but were only able to tear the rags of their clothes away from their immovable bodies. In time, the man whose face was so fortuitously positioned realised that every cloud has a silver lining and told the others of his chance discovery. By the time a shaft from the surface had been drilled into their tunnel, the miners were requesting that only food and water be sent down to them; rescue, they unanimously decided, was not necessary.

Several stories involved sex with celebrities, usually beginning with disclaimers about the works being fictional. My favourite was ‘Warm Front from the South’, in which one of the BBC weathermen, the rather sturdy Yorkshireman Darren Bett, was portrayed as becoming friendly with one of his followers at a meteorologists’ conference (I wasn’t aware that weathermen were attended by fans, but for the sake of the story I accepted the premise). After dinner at the event, it transpired there had been an unfortunate double-booking at the hotel – an organisational blunder which one would assume to be widespread from the number of stories it recurred in – and the two men were forced to bunk up together. Needless to say, Mr Bett took advantage of the attentions of his admirer and demanded that he prove his adoration by using his mouth to do the “one thing that his wife wouldn’t”. The weather enthusiast was keen to comply and Mr Bett performed well; an earlier forecast of wind proved to be happily unfounded.

Most of the stories, though, developed commonplace situations into sexual opportunities and it was these that I liked most. One of them, ‘Son Burn’, was written from the perspective a young doctor who was on holiday in Gran Canaria with his wife and their young daughter. The couple in the room next door were accompanied by their son and his friend, both of whom were in their late teens, and on the first day of the holiday the son – Jamie – went off with his friend and overdid it somewhat with the skinny-dipping. Being laid up in bed with sunburn the next day while the rest of the gang were out sightseeing, our good doctor offered to check in on the scorched patient and rub lotion on the parts he wasn’t able to reach himself. Within a surprisingly short number of paragraphs, the doctor-patient relationship had taken a somewhat steamy turn and the lad was proving himself eager to have the doctor give him an especially thorough examination with the soothing probing of his tongue.

The only let-down with many such stories, for me at least, was that the authors were often reluctant – scared, even – to describe what it was like to rim a guy with anything approaching realistic language. It was as if the tastes and smells of rimming a man were too offensive to be clearly expressed.

A guy would home in on another’s splayed buttocks, only to find within “a salty, damp hole exuding a uniquely human taste of manliness and strength”. What was that supposed to mean?

Another might grapple the muscled hips of his wily co-conspirator, pushing his face between the cheeks in front of him, only to take in “the raw essence of his pent-up virility deep inside.”

“Long, lapping licks into the balmy crevice” would yield only “a seasoned festival of flavours”; while someone who “drove his nose with all the force he could muster between the abundant globes before him” was left with merely “a delicate suggestion of the most natural of scents”.

It was all too vague; too sanitary. How did it really smell to have your face pressed into a guy’s arse? What was the actual taste when your tongue was licking his most secretive hole? Without knowing such details, the whole scene fell flat for me; the two guys might as well have been on a picnic together.

Sometimes there was no description of smells or tastes at all, as if the author was too afraid to upset his readers with the reality of what was lurking between a guy’s arse-cheeks. One man would press his face close to his friend’s rear only to notice “the burgeoning hairiness down there” or the “warm, moistness of the tight, pink entry” with his tongue.

And? Anything else?

It was like reading ‘Dracula’ with all references to blood, fangs and anything else too unsavoury for polite company cut out.

The whole point of rimming a guy, as far as I was concerned, was to enjoy the powerful intimacy of having erotic contact in the most private and personal way possible. Such an experience demanded a whole swathe of striking, vivid and unambiguous adjectives. These guys were going to be having sex together – passionate, expressive sex using each other’s bums – and words like ‘aromatic’ and ‘fragrant’ simply wouldn’t cut it for me.

Having said that, I came across an occasional story which went too far in the other direction, and an author could sometimes find himself, for my tastes at least, overstepping the fine line between eroticism and distastefulness. For me, there would be no appeal whatsoever in putting my face near a guy’s unwiped backside and so any descriptions of rimming which included faecal associations in any of their variants was an immediate turn-off. From what Cameron had told me, I knew that some men must enjoy that level of seediness, but not me.

I didn’t expect a guy to scrub away all traces of his own scent back there and smear himself in perfume – after all, if I wanted to smell flowers, that would be a pretty unlikely place to start sniffing – but nor did I want to discover when I pressed my face to him that he smelled like a toilet.

There had to be a happy medium between the two extremes, but very few of the stories I was reading through were willing to commit themselves to where exactly that was.

“His hole had a funky, nutty smell to it,” was the closest I could get, in a story about a college student whose curiosity got the better of him when he was undressing his drunken roommate. “It tasted bitter, like dirt would taste,” the story went on, “but the fact I was licking his arsehole was such a turn-on that I didn’t really care.”

“When Steven pushed his tongue into Nathan,” another author related in a story about two guys who had met in a subway station, “he found his companion tasted musty and metallic.” Metallic? I wasn’t sure about that. On both occasions I’d done it, I hadn’t noticed any similarity to sniffing a handful of coins.

“His butthole smelled rich, ripe and cheesy,” was the description in another story. That didn’t sound right, either. Too fungal to be erotic.

“When I pulled his briefs down, a delicious waft hit me, as if straight from the sewer.” No, no, no. Mark well and truly overstepped.

The computer made a pinging sound. A reply had come in from Debbie. That was encouraging.

She’d have to wait, though. These stories were far too interesting.

I clicked the back button a few times to see what other categories the archive had on offer.

Rejecting ‘Ass to mouth’ (I’d followed such links before when looking for rimming movies and found the content wasn’t at all what I’d expected it to be), I clicked on ‘Bisexual’. I wondered if any of the stories in this section would touch upon my own predicament of being faced with meeting up with both a woman and a man.

I found that most of them, however, revolved around guys getting together for sex with both a woman and a man at the same time. While the idea was intriguing – I wondered, actually, why it hadn’t occurred to me before – I was looking for something that related more directly to my own situation.

After a few minutes, I found a story about a young guy called Declan who worked in a bank and who had always dated girls. He went to gay clubs because he preferred the music (yeah, right) and there he had met up with a friendly young man called Reece. Reece started coming back to Declan’s flat after clubbing and the two of them would chat into the night about the many bands, TV shows and films which they both liked. Soon Reece was staying over on the settee, and Declan would take lingering looks at his friend the next morning as he slept, wondering whether Reece was interested in him sexually and curious about what it would be like if they experienced intimacy together.

He thought back to some of his girlfriends – especially a girl called Charlene who had been special to him – and found himself musing, with Reece splayed out on his couch wearing just a t-shirt and his briefs, how a night with this gay man would play out.

“I wondered how Reece would differ in his expectations of me,” Declan pondered in the story. “With most of my girlfriends, what I call ‘full sex’ (but what the books would probably call penetration) was pretty much a given. With Reece, would it be the same? Women, especially Charlene, like to be the more submissive partner during sex. Would Reece be more assertive; would he try to take a more dominant role with me?”

It was an interesting question and one which I had been wondering about myself.

“Perhaps Reece would, during foreplay, expect me to do the same things with him that I like to do with a woman. He might want me to finger him the way I sometimes start out by masturbating a woman. But with Reece, without a pussy down there, I was faced with having to work a finger in and out of his backside.”

Declan didn’t disclose whether the prospect of fingering his friend’s arse appealed to him; I suspected for many straight men, the idea would fill them with revulsion. For my part, I was very attracted to the idea of masturbating a man anally during the early stages of our sex, although how I would pleasure him down there without a clitoris to guide me was something I’d have to figure out by trial and error.

“Would he pump himself against my hand, the way that a woman would?” Declan wondered. “Or would the rhythm be left to me, to choose how quickly to work my fingers back and forth in and out of him? Perhaps he’d want to finger me at the same time; maybe that’s what two guys do together.”

Plausible idea, Declan, I thought, but it doesn’t seem likely. After all, it’s not something you see men doing together in porn movies. I remembered the librarian telling me that I shouldn’t base my expectations of what men do together on what I see in porn – which was good advice, albeit haughtily given – but in this case I felt porn was likely to be a pretty reliable mirror.

Declan ultimately decided that Reece would prefer his attention to be directed towards his penis. “That is, after all, where men get their sexual sensations from and the part that we mostly link with feelings of pleasure. Our hands will probably be drawn to each other’s erections, and we’ll stimulate each other the way we enjoy doing it to ourselves.”

He seemed relieved that his and Reece’s bottoms would probably take a secondary role, being used as an occasional diversion rather than being solely responsible for their joint excitement.

He and I would have to differ on that point: for me, a large part of the fun of having sex with another man would be getting face-deep in his butt-crack and having him do the same to me. The appeal of that seemed rather lost on Declan, who would prefer to keep his dealings with Reece very much on the level of the penile.

“Perhaps we might kneel close together so we could work both of our organs as one; one or other of us grabbing both our erections side by side and pumping them together in one outstretched fist. Grinding our hips towards each other; feeling our balls slapping together. Yes, I was sure I would enjoy that.”

That’s when that fingering idea might prove felicitous, I thought, envisioning one guy wanking at their twinned cocks and the other using both hands underneath their balls to seek out both of their hot, moist holes. But no, Declan’s heterosexual leanings directed his imagination almost completely towards how he could pleasure his erection.

“I wondered if we could rub our organs against each other’s chests, the way I enjoy doing to a woman between her breasts? Would our pecs be big enough to stimulate each other’s shafts? Would our chest hair get in the way?”

So Declan was hairy, was he? I wondered how he knew about what Reece had under his shirt.

“But of course,” it suddenly dawned on Declan, “we wouldn’t need the valley between a pair of breasts to do such things: gay guys probably do the same thing along the cracks of each other’s butts. We could hump each other’s from behind, taking it in turns to rub ourselves between each other’s arse-cheeks.”

I liked Declan’s idea and could picture the two of them taking turns on each other: the bank clerk rubbing his cock so cheerfully between his gay friend’s buttocks and then turning, dutifully, to let Reece pleasure himself in the same way. Declan might stay hard while the other man grunted and grinded behind him but his thoughts, I was sure, would be on how long it would be before his own turn came again.

I would love to work myself between another guy’s splayed buttocks; seeing my cock-head thrusting upwards from his tight, hairy crack. In some ways it would be better than doing the same thing with a woman’s breasts: with a man, you’d be able to sniff the scent of his rear as you humped him; the whiff of his backside giving an alluring preview of the stronger, earthier odours you’d enjoy when you were buggering him properly.

For my part, though, I would relish with almost the same excitement the feel of his cock sweeping up and down between my buttocks; having him humping my arse crack as we squatted together with his knees pushed between mine. Not least, I would enjoy smelling my own musky anal scent and to know that he too could not be unaware of the unique flavour my own backside was exuding as he thrust his swollen manhood back and forth inside my hot, hairy crack.

And then, when he was panting with excitement and his shaft was slick with the pungent wetness from my hairy cleft, he’d stand up and I’d turn to lick his girth; to devour the thick, earthy stink of my own sweaty bum from his cock like I was rimming my own arsehole.

Declan didn’t touch on such inelegant matters but instead chose to consider how far he would go with Reece in the way of what he called ‘full sex’. While he was happy to allow the other man to use his buttocks as a masturbatory aid, he was adamant that his banker’s vault between them would remain secure.

“I cannot see myself doing that,” he wrote. “While I am sure that Reece and I will be able to have a lot of fun together in my bed, to submit to him in that way would be out of the question.”

That seemed rather a shame.

For me, rubbing our cocks between each other’s arse-cheeks would like an unspoken aperitif before we committed to anal sex, the two of us trying each other out to see which way around we most enjoyed it. Declan was very particular, though, that if Reece was under any confusion about which of their sausages would end up in the stuffing, the whole thing would be off as far as he was concerned.

I glanced at the clock on the computer and saw that I should have been picking Jake up twenty minutes ago. I wasn’t overly concerned: after having the misfortune to see on Facebook the way he and his mates messed around in the changing rooms after football practice, there was no point in rushing.

Feeling some disappointment that I wouldn’t get to read about how things transpired between Declan and Reece, I quickly deleted my browser history.

After closing down all the programs and almost on the point of switching off the computer, I remembered to check Debbie’s e-mail.

It turned out that she could meet me the following night for a meal in a restaurant she knew in Cranford if I was available. That sounded pretty good.

Even better, she had managed to swap things around and was free, as she put it ‘the whole of Thursday night’. That sounded a lot more promising.

So, if all worked out as I hoped, it seemed that I’d be staying over with Debbie on Thursday and then might finally get to have a man in my bed on Friday. I might even get a kiss the following evening after our meal.

As I grabbed my car keys and headed for the front door, I thought, ‘Who says you can’t have it both ways?’

===

Next story: Stain Devils

===

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To get in touch with the author, send them an email.

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There was much the young soldier didn’t know. He didn’t know that so much could be demanded of men as had been demanded of him and his comrades; and that more than endure, they could deliver and still be strong and able. He didn’t know that any person could be as exhausted as he now was and yet could still function and comprehend and hope for a time when the exhaustion would end and its causes would trouble him no more.

His unit, recruited from the fertile valleys that slice through central Pennsylvania, had joined the Army of the Potomac in the early spring. He knew most of the other recruits in his unit; considered many his friends. They were farm boys used to hard work and willing – even eager – to do their duty; but they were unprepared for this new life.

His first days and weeks in the army had filled him with wonder and not a little anxiety. He had been cowed by the great and bustling city of Harrisburg and awed by the screaming locomotive that rattled him and his fellow recruits at amazing speeds along gleaming rails toward their destination. The newness of training camp excited him: strange accents fell on his ears from men foreign in appearance and behavior. Harsh men shouted orders that, in his newness, he jumped to obey. His preacher at home admonished him to pray without ceasing and, when he could remember, he did; but his prayers were more than a little self-serving. He hoped that he could avoid the eyes of his officers and escape the crudeness and cruelty of not a few of his fellow soldiers that passed in their estimation for humor.

He felt a little giddy about embarking on this new life with his young and rowdy friends. He moved into a new and spacious tent in a city of tents; a city of men with no women to soften the energy and rawness and angularity.

He didn’t know how quickly excitement could pass through ennui to boredom. Training camp quickly became a monotony that he and the others could not have anticipated. Each day became the same as the day before. Drills became their reason for existing; drill in the morning, drill in the afternoon, relentlessly, day after day. The young soldier knew drilling was important. Why else would the officers require so much of it? But when he tried to fathom the reason, he was at a loss. Except for the formations to which the animated bugler tattooed him and his friends, they had little to do. Looking for wood to fuel their cook fires, writing letters home in which they obliquely admitted to homesickness, or playing at cards for sticks or pennies became matters of importance. Often they simply sought shadow from a sun that grew increasingly relentless as spring moved inexorably into summer.

Food varied little from day to day and was barely palatable after the fresh fare these boys were used to on the farm. Personal hygiene was limited to washing face and hands in shared basins and only rarely did they enjoy the luxury of a bath or a much-needed a change of clothing. As a consequence, and to their horror and humiliation, they found that they had become infested with body lice.

He didn’t know that to be eighteen was not yet to be a man. At home his father had started treating him deferentially, asking his advice on matters of family and farm. The young women of the community greeted him differently from when they were girls, and when he went to town he swaggered a bit and wore his hat jauntily, tilted above one eyebrow in an angle he considered rakish. In this man’s army he was hooted at by veterans of hard battles and taunted with cries of “fresh fish.” Here second lieutenants barely older than he himself treated him in ways that reminded him of his own treatment of his father’s mules.

In time the camp was dismantled and the men found themselves on the march. For days they trod pitted roads that, when dry, were churned by myriad feet into swirling clouds of ubiquitous dust that blinded them and chocked their parched throats; or, when pelted into avenues of mud by torrential rains, mired them ankle, then calf, deep and made more toilsome their efforts to reach destinations that seemingly changed by the hour and were known by only the best informed of the highest ranking officers. They had been existing on half rations of rancid salt pork and wormy hardtack and sleeping only fitfully in successive bivouacs that bustled noisily throughout the too short nights with rattling wagons, barking officers and braying mules.

Now he found himself in the midst of a great battle for which no amount of formations or drill could have prepared him. He was part of a mass of men that was slowly moving across an open field, shooting as they went at a line of gray smoke that showed where the enemy waited. He had never known such fear. Instinctively, he crouched as he went and, like the others who moved with him, fired his musket intermittently at the distant cloud of smoke. The clatter of rifle fire all around him commingled with the deafening boom from the row of cannon behind his line. The smoke of gunpowder burned his eyes and choked his every breath. The hugeness of the bombardment of sounds and smells on his senses disoriented him. Worse than these were the shells that landed frighteningly close and sent dirt and fragments of men skyward in red explosions. Worse still were the dull thuds of minié balls hitting boys in the ranks, some of whom he had known from earliest childhood, who now screamed and grasped at shattered limbs or protruding viscera or lay on the ground in grotesque positions with mouths agape and eyes glassy and unseeing. Most hideous of all was the look of sheer terror in Wayne Myers’s eyes and the ragged tear in his tender throat where crimson bubbles grew and burst with every gasp and sprayed a dark spume that splattered his dirty blue uniform.

He didn’t know that a soldier could turn and run when his family and friends and country expected better of him and his lieutenant hollered at him to stand and fight. He didn’t ever suppose that he could desert his post and abandon his fellow soldiers and hometown comrades even as they gaped open-mouthed at his cowardice. But then he had never before experienced total terror.

So from this field he ran while officers bombarded him with curses: “Come back here and fight, you damn coward. Goddamit, get back here,” but on he ran, blindly, not caring that he had dropped his musket or that his hat and other accouterments flew from him like leaves from a willow in a storm.

He didn’t know, nor would he have cared, that he looked ridiculous as he staggered clumsily through the fields that lay beyond the fearsome fighting. All he did know was that the unbearable sights and sounds and smells of battle were behind him and fading as he stumbled away.

In time he found himself crossing a wide stream with a strong flow of cool water. He sank to his knees and drank deeply and his head began to clear. Realizing his danger if he were to be found by soldiers of either army, he decided to seek shelter, to rest if he could, and to make his plan when he was able to think clearly.

He stepped out of the stream and lurched across its weedy border toward an ancient oak that stood in dense bramble. Shouldering his way through the thicket, he came to a circular clearing around the base of the huge tree. He staggered a crazy ballet: a half pirouette that thudded him against its mass. He sat heavily and leaned against the tree. His head rolled back, his eyes closed and his hands lay inert at his side like the hands of a dead man.

He sat and gazed into the greenness around him, seeing nothing. In spite of its recent intensity, his panic gradually subsided, his breathing resumed its rhythmical regularity and, amazingly, he drifted into a kind of sleep.

* * *

When he woke the light was still strong. He knew he had not slept long but his nap had done much to restore him. He twisted and stretched his waking body.

Then he heard the rustling. He drew his arms protectively close and darted his eyes around the enclosing brush, listening intently. It seemed that whatever was moving through the undergrowth was careful to not make much noise.

“Don’t let it be a man,” he prayed silently. “Don’t let him come here. Please, God.”

And even as he prayed his feeble prayer to his uncaring god he heard the noise getting nearer. He tried to become invisible by somehow pressing himself into the massive tree trunk.

Then he saw the face. It was dirty beyond any he had ever seen. The filthy hair may have been blond. It was long and matted by the cap that had lately been worn.

“God,” he cried aloud, “don’t come in here,” and he pressed even harder against the trunk of the tree.

The face jerked out of sight.

“Gawd!” the boy heard. “Who’s there?”

“Go away,” the boy pleaded.

The man peered cautiously through the foliage. “You a so’jer?” he asked. Then he noticed the blue uniform and softly answered his own question. “Yer a Yankee.”

The stranger moved into the clearing gripping his ancient musket by the barrel, the butt dragging behind.

“I don’t have a gun,” the boy whined. “Don’t shoot. Please.”

“Does it look like I’m preparin’ to shoot anyone?” the stranger asked incredulously. “I ain’t gonna do nothing but set here en’ rest. That aw’ right with you?”

“I told you to go away.”

The stranger chuckled. It was the first such sound the boy had heard since before the battle began and he didn’t quite know what to make of it.

“Wha’ d’ ya’ want?” the boy asked.

“I don’t want nuthin’,” the stranger lied. “You got any water?”

“No, I don’t have any water.”

“Waell,” the stranger drawled, “that can wait I reckon.

“Where’s yer gun, Yank?” the stranger asked.

“Dunno. Lost it.”

“Threw it most likely – when ya’ ran.” He chuckled again.

“You seem awfully sure of yourself.” The youth was surprised at his own daring.

“Nah, not a’ tall. I’m a lot like you, only I kep’ m’ gun.”

The boy was surprised. “Wha’ d’ ya’ mean, a lot like me?”

“I bolted, too. Decided a couple a’ weeks back that when the chance offered I was gonna git. I seen my chance back there en’ I took it – en’ I ain’t goin’ back.”

“D’jou run?”

“Crawled mostly. Made like I was goin’ back fer more ammunition an’ I jest kept on goin’.

“You scared . . . of being in battle I mean?”

“‘Course. Who wouldn’t be?”

The youth was surprised by the other’s candor. “That why you ran?” he asked.

The stranger grew introspective. “Partly, I ‘spect; but, well, mainly I’m tired of all the killin’.”

The youth’s nervousness was considerably abated, but it hadn’t disappeared altogether. “Johnny,” he said.

“Yeah, Yank?”

“This is queer. We’re enemies. We shouldn’t be sitting and talking like this.”

“I’m not yer enemy,” the stranger replied. “I tole ya’ I ain’t goin’ back. You can be my enemy if ya want but I’m jest gonna set here an’ wait fer dark. You can do as ya’ please.”

“What happens at dark?” the boy asked.

“Sun goes down. I skedaddle.”

“Goin’ back to your unit?”

The rebel jerked his head in exasperation. “Gawd damn,” he swore. “You got a thick haid. How many times I gotta tell ya’? I ain’t goin’ back.”

“Shhh,” the boy cautioned. “Someone might hear.” Then he added in a near whisper, “I don’t wanna go back either.” It was an admission meant for himself.

“Then don’t,” the stranger said simplistically. “If them politicians up there in Richmond was here with us fer jist one day we’d none of us be goin’ back.”

“Yeah,” the youth agreed absently. “Goin’ home then?”

“No.” The answer thudded dully like an acorn dropping on moss.

“The youth was puzzled by the stranger’s sudden sadness.

“Why not? he asked.

“Can’t go there,” was all he said

“Why not?” the boy persisted.

“We won’t talk on that just now.”

“Well, where’ll you go then?”

“Been thinkin’ about headin’ west. Nebraska, mebbe.”

“What’s in Nebraska?”

“No idea, ‘cept land – an’ no war.”

The young soldier changed the subject. “About that water, Johnny. You have a canteen. Can we get some water?”

The stranger smiled. “Threw yer canteen away, too. You must a’ been in a hurry,” he said in his former, more bantering style.

“Never mind about that,” the youth said. “There’s a stream back that way. You must a’ crossed it. I’ll go and get some water if you lend me your canteen.”

“It might be aw’ right,” the stranger said. “I ain’t heard nothing close since I been here. But you ain’t takin’ my canteen an’ pullin’ no disappearin’ act. We’ll both go.”

The youth led the way back to the stream. They knelt on the damp verge and drank. When they finished drinking, the stranger began splashing the cleansing liquid against his face and through his hair.

“Best make a good job of it, Johnny,” the boy suggested. “You’re about the dirtiest thing I ever saw.”

“H-waell, yer no picture of purity yerse’f. You could use a bath, too.”

With that the stranger sat and slowly took off his worn shoes and socks. “Damn, that feels good. Don’t know when was the last time I had ’em off,” he said. He stood and gingerly waded to midstream, took off his threadbare shirt and began dunking it in the current. When he was satisfied that it was as clean as he could get it, he squeezed it, flapped it in the air and, leaving the stream, took it to a nearby bush where he draped it with exaggerated neatness to dry.

“Waell, Yank,” he said to the youth as he passed him on his way back to the stream, “don’t jest stand there. I tole you ya’ need a bath,” and when he regained his laundering spot he removed his trousers.

The youth bared his feet, walked a little way upstream and began the laundering process. From time to time he glanced clandestinely at the stranger.

The soldier stood mid stream facing away from the youth. He bent forward and dunked his newly clean hair in the current, stood and shook his head rapidly from side to side. Water droplets shot outward in graceful arcs, sparkling golden in the afternoon sun.

Then he unbuttoned his union suit, dropped it to the stream bed and stepped clear.

The youth had seen men naked only rarely in his life and he was mesmerized by what he saw. The man was unusually broad-shouldered and muscular. Indeed, he reminded him of Goliath ready to do battle with the youthful David; a picture that had so captivated his interest in the big altar Bible of the country church back home. Muscles rippled as he plashed water over himself, and when he bent over to wash his legs, the boy saw his testicles appear in the inverted V of his open thighs. The sight made his head light and he looked away in his embarrassment and confusion.

The youth turned his back and focused his whole attention on his bath. He moved beyond a protective branch overhanging the stream before he took off his underwear. He was again aware of the coolness of the water and was glad to wash and refresh himself in it. His attempt to put the stranger out of his mind was successful until he heard him splash toward him. As he passed, the boy modestly covered his genitals with his hands. The stranger merely glanced in his direction, raised his canteen high and said, “Water.”

The stranger filled his canteen upstream of where the boy was still standing. He left the stream and walked across the grassy clearing to where he had draped his clothes and patted himself with his nearly dry shirt. The boy watched him as he dressed. He hoped that he would leave so he could have his privacy but when the soldier finished, he sat on a fallen log and watched the boy with mute interest.

“You gonna just sit there?” the boy asked.

“You gonna just stand there?” the soldier asked in return.

The boy turned his back and made a pretense of still washing. When he checked over his shoulder, the older man was still watching him. There was nothing to do but get out. He left the stream with what he hoped would pass for casual aplomb, turned his back to the other man and put on his still wet clothes. Together they walked back to their bower.

They sat leaning against the tree trunk. The stranger, true to his vision, faced west. The youth was near his right shoulder. They looked into leafy space.

The boy sensed that the stranger was more worldly-wise than he himself. “What now, Johnny?” he asked.

“Well, first off I wanna know yer name, and then I wanna know yer intentions.”

“Name’s Samuel. Samuel Bedford. I’m from Pennsylvania. How about you?”

“Ya’ had it all along. I’m Johnny, aw’ right. Jonathan Andrew Jackson Cobb. How’s that fer a handle?”

“What are we gonna do now?” the youth persisted. “We can’t stay here long.”

“Waell, that’s my second question, now ain’t it? What’s yer intention? En why d’ ya’ think we are gonna do anything? I tole ya’ I intend ta go west. You plannin’ ta tag along er sump’m’?” He meant his question to sting.

Samuel was nonplussed. He had no plan. Johnny noticed his confusion.

“Yer right, though.” Johnny’s voice had a softer edge. “We can’t stay here. We could sleep here but we got no food. En’ there’s no tellin’ where them armies is gonna turn up next.

“Tell ya’ what. After dark, we could take off – headin’ west – en’ look fer a farm. We could ‘appropriate’ a chicken en’ vegetables er sump’m’, find a barn to sleep in en’ take out ag’in tamorra’ night. Couple a’ days en’ we ought ta’ be pretty clear o’ danger en’ then you could split fer Ohia.”

“Pennsylvania,” the youth corrected. “Mebbe I don’t wanna go back to Pennsylvania. They don’t look kindly on deserters.”

“Waell, time enough ta decide that. Fer now we ought ta try ta sleep so’s we kin be fresh when the time comes.” With that he snuggled as well as he could into the scanty loam and closed his eyes.

Samuel leaned his head against their shared bole but was unable to sleep. He sighed deeply. The light was changing with the setting sun. Through the lower branches he could catch glimpses of the sky as it flamed in brilliant oranges and reds. He knew that that augured well for fair weather tomorrow.

Johnny slumped further. His head came to rest against Samuel’s thigh. Samuel looked down and saw a decidedly handsome face. Without thinking, he casually stroked Johnny’s hair as if he were petting a cat, moving the soft strands back and away from closed eyes. Acting on some impulse that he neither noted nor would have found easy to explain, he slid his hand lightly along Johnny’s cheek and outlined his stubbled jaw.

“Real nice.” Johnny spoke softly.

Samuel jerked his hand away. “Oh!” he said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t . . .”

With quick agility, Johnny stretched out on his back and pulled Samuel on top of him. “No need ta be sorry,” he said.

He gripped Samuel’s hips tightly with his legs and placed his strong hands on either side of his head, heel to jaw, and pulled his face close. Samuel struggled to free himself but he was no match for the stronger man.

“No, Johnny,” he pleaded.

“Yes, Samuel,” Johnny said, and he pulled his face downward and kissed him firmly on his mouth.

Samuel felt Johnny’s mass and his strength. His stomach twisted into hardest knots. Colors, unbelievably vivid, shot through his brain before bursting into blackness. He fought against Johnny and against his fear, but Johnny persisted. Samuel became embarrassed by the hardness that had grown in his trousers and wanted it to abate but it was his resolve that began to wane.

Johnny rolled them over so that he was now on top. He kissed Samuel again and began to fumble with the buttons at the front of Samuel’s trousers. He raised his head and looked into Samuel’s face.

Samuel didn’t know that men had ever done what he and Johnny were about to do. In his wildest imaginings, he could never have dreamed that he would consent to such a thing, but Johnny persisted, and Samuel now knew that all his dark yearnings over the years had led him to this moment. He reached down and relieved Johnny’s fingers of their struggle.

Johnny tugged Samuel’s trousers down and off and opened his union suit. He arched over him and pressed his legs open. Samuel felt Johnny’s swollen manhood against his hole. Johnny looked steadily into Samuel’s eyes and Samuel nodded.

Johnny entered him slowly but steadily. When he began that ageless rhythm Samuel wrapped his arms and legs around him and moved urgently under his insistence.

Johnny’s stomach pressed against his own, trapping his erection in moving flesh. He gasped repeatedly, filling his lungs to capacity. He felt the tingling begin deep inside. It grew and swelled. He tried his best to hold it back but it was beyond his ability to control. He grasped at Johnny’s shoulders and thrust his pelvis upward, wetting their stomachs with his warm emission. His cry was guttural.

Johnny’s labored breath was hot against Samuel’s ear. He quickened his pace. It had been a long time since he had done this with another man and he was eager to gratify his urgent need. He repeatedly forced himself into Samuel, each thrust seemingly deeper than the last. He lifted his head, gasped loudly and held his hips hard against Samuel, pulsing his climax to completion. Suddenly spent, he relaxed on top of Samuel.

With a speed and force that surprised them both, Samuel hugged Johnny hard around his neck until he hurt him. He hugged him and held on as if he were afraid that he’d be forever lost if he let go. He held on and buried his face in the crook of Johnny’s neck and began to sob. He cried like he hadn’t cried since he was a very young child.

Johnny was shocked by Samuel’s sudden outburst. “What’s the matter, Samuel?” he asked in amazed concern. “I didn’t mean ta… I thought ya was . . .”

“No.” Samuel shook his head. “It’s not that. I’m sorry. Let me up.”

Johnny rolled off and Samuel sat up, hugging his knees and shivering as if he were cold.

“It’ll be aw’ right,” Johnny said. He began to lightly caress Samuel’s cheek, but Samuel pushed his hand away and turned so Johnny couldn’t see his face. He was glad the light was failing.

“I’m sorry,” Samuel said softly as he tried to straighten his disheveled clothing. “I didn’t mean to cry. I don’t know what came over me.”

“If it’s what we did . . . what I did . . . ,” Johnny started but Samuel jerked his head around and stared at him hard.

“It’s not that. We did what we wanted to do. It’s that I – I cried like that. I don’t know what came over me,” he repeated.

“If that’s all it is, why, I seen lots o’ men cry in this here war, big men, en’ older ‘n you, cryin’ like babies after bein’ in battle and fightin’ like fury. I know of a so’jer who got so broke up they had to send ‘im home.”

“It isn’t that either. I tell ya’ I don’t know what it is. It’s weakness, and I’m sorry it happened.”

“Ya’ don’t haf ta be sorry, Samuel. Yer not weak. Yer young, thass all. Whatever it is that’s troublin’ ya’, ya’ don’t need ta be sorry. What ya’ need is ta sleep. Jist sleep some en’ ya’ll be surprised at how fit ya’ feel after.”

Samuel turned away from Johnny’s gaze and adjusted his shirtfront. When Johnny placed his fingers under his chin, Samuel allowed him to turn his face back. Johnny touched the wet from Samuel’s cheeks. “It’ll be aw’ right,” he repeated. “You’ll see.”

Johnny sat and watched as Samuel tucked in his shirttail and closed his trousers before he did the same. “They’ll be a bit o’ moon later,” he said. “We can’t make no progress ’til it’s up an’ shinin’. Let’s sleep ’til then,” and he lay down on the mold.

Samuel lay close by him, but knew that sleep was no closer for him now than the last time Johnny suggested it. He rested his head against Johnny’s chest and closed his eyes, but briefly. When he felt Johnny relax in sleep, he cautiously sat up and began his vigil. He looked at Johnny’s sleeping form. He had never known a man like him; and while he was uncertain of much, he knew one thing: It felt good to be with him.

As he reflected, he kept a watchful eye on the eastern sky. At last through the branches he could discern a silvery phosphorescence. He watched it grow and in its own time the cusp of a gibbous moon appeared.

“Johnny,” he whispered, “wake up.”

“Yeah. I’m awake.”

“It’s time. The moon’s up.”

Johnny got groggily to his knees and peered through the tangled brush. “Yeah. It’s time,” he agreed.

Samuel held the brambles aside as Johnny edged his way out of their bower. They hunched their shoulders and crouched along until they left the overhanging branches and could walk upright under the arching sky.

In time they found a rutted lane. When they faced away from the newly risen moon, their pale shadows stretched in front of them. They turned into the lane and walked on their own shadows, heading west, just as Johnny had said.

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To get in touch with the author, send them an email.

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I do not claim to be a grammar expert and as such you will find some grammatical errors in this story. The errors can be the switching of tense, spelling errors, or typos. I ask if you find an error please send me an email so I can correct and make the story enjoyable for others.

One thought kept running through my mind. The thought was to have a man lick my balls, suck my cock, and let me cum in his mouth. Receiving oral is one of the more pleasurable things a man can receive from a woman and now I wanted to feel what it was like to receive oral from a man. There should not be anything wrong with receiving oral from a man.

My first first experience receiving oral by a man was when I met a couple for sex. We ended up with her on top sucking my cock and me eating her pussy. The hubby was watching the action as I buried my face in her wet pussy. I was totally distracted eating her pussy when I felt something strange. At first I could not figure out what was strange the feeling was but soon realized that I felt more than two hands playing with my balls and cock and clearly felt two mouths. I had a quick flash and visualized both the wife and hubby sucking my cock. I never had a man put his mouth on my cock and balls so had to decide quickly if I was homophobic or not. The sensation of having two mouths doing oral on my hard cock was so wonderful that I decided I wanted to meet another couple for a repeat performance. But it was hard to find a bi couple that wanted to meet a bi married male my age. As I longed for oral sex, I remembered that the man was better at sucking my cock than the woman. If I could not find a bi couple that I would now look for a man to suck my cock.[

I have had my cock sucked by divorced female, married female and now a couple. Now I wanted to see what it was like for a man to give me oral. In the swinging magazines, I remembered seeing advertisements from men wanted to give a blowjob to other men with getting sucked sucking them in return. I thought about how great it would feel to have a nice blowjob and from a man. My mind was made up and contacted several men who advertised in swinging magazine who lived nearby. Within a week I had the phone numbers of men who had agreed to give me oral.

I contacted one of cock sucker and said, “Hey this is Roger, I got your email about meeting.”

I was horny and was straight to the point, “W hen can you meet?”

The queer man on the other end of the phone said, “Tonight after 7 pm.” He also asked me, “How big are you? Are you a heavy Cummer?”

I responded, “I am seven inches, cut, and usually squirts three or four times. “Good,” he replied.

I said, “I am a straight guy and do not want to suck you. I want my cock sucked, then cum in your mouth. That is it.”

The cock sucker replied, “Sure that is fine and since you are not interested in giving oral, I will keep my clothes on.” I was glad he was going to keep his clothes on. I did not want to look at a naked man sucking my erection. I was just going to close my eyes and pretend it was a woman’s hot mouth.

“OK give me directions,” which he did.

I showed up at the queer’s house at 7 PM and knocked on his door. His ad said he was mid 30’s white man. A man opens the door that is not what I had expected. I did not know what to expect never having known any gay man. Here before me was a normal man, dressed casual, slacks and a button down shirt, clean-shaven and he was any different from me.

He introduced himself as John. John invited me into his house. It was clean and tidy. His stuff was upscale and was comfortable. John motions me to have a seat on the couch and he took a seat next to the couch. John offered me a choice of beer or wine, I took the wine just to be polite.

John asked, “Do you live around here”

I replied, “I work not far away but live up in the Ranchlands”

John said, “Oh that is a fashionable area of town”

I responded, “It was ok but too many people if you know what I mean.” I continued, “This is a pleasant place you have to.”

We chitchatted a little about home prices; finishing off the wine. I had not jacked off in the shower this morning because I want to shoot a heavy load. I was horny as a cowhand in a whorehouse.

I mention the subject, “I am glad you responded to my letter”

John said with a sound of confidence, “I get several letters a week and can pick and choose”

“Why did you pick me?” I questioned

“Your letter pointed out you were a white, married, straight, and that you wanted to experience what it feels like to get sucked off by a man” John answered directly.

“Yes”, I confessed, “my only experience was when I was in the service 25 years ago I went to an adult theater. I had to take a piss and entered one of the stalls. There was a hole between the stalls.”

“A glory hole” he interjected, I nodded continued, and I took a leak and could see that someone was watching me. I was hard from watching the ‘Deep Throat” movie and horny. I do not know what made me; I turned so my hardness was in front of the hole and two fingers came out and touched the head of my swollen cock. I moved closer, all of my erection was in the hole and on the other side in something that was wet warm and wonderful. I came in ten seconds and tried to pull out however the stranger was still sucking my limp cock. I zipped up and went back to the movie; that was my first male blowjob.

John said that was an unusual story and those adult theaters known to have glory holes. I told him, “I am a straight man looking to get a blowjob. My wife does not suck me anymore and I am tired of jacking off in the shower.”

He said sensitively, “I fully understand. I am the same way except I like giving service to straight married men. It thrills me to do something you are not getting at home. I assume you are clean and disease free”, I answered, “Yes, I have been tested since I want to make sure I do not catch something and give it to my wife.”

“Good, let me see,” he said pointing to my pants I unzipped my pants, undid the belt buckle and pulled down my boxers causing erection to be exposed.

John inquired, “Is it ok for me to touch you?”

I responded, “Yes” the wine had some effect on my answer. I was comfortable with being in a room with John. Before we met, I had considered John to be a queer cock sucker. Now he was just a man that knew what he liked to do for sex.

His hands were soft and touching of his hands on my hard cock was like electricity. I was now hard as he moved his hands up and down on my shaft looking at my swollen shaft and gland. I looked at John’s hand on my cock then gazed up into his face. He looked at me looking at him. We both smiled.

“You have a bigger and fatter appendage than most men,” he said moving his hand up and down slowly

“Really,” was my reply. I have never noticed the other men size before. I commented, “Going to have to take your word on that.”

I was naked from the knees to the waist.

“I know this is going to be your second time. I would like you to remember everything. If I do something that you are not comfortable with, just say no and I will stop.”

“OK,” was all that I could say. His hands felt better on my cock than my hands did.

He continued, “I am bisexual and loves a woman’s wet pussy as much as a man’s hard erection. I have a girl friend that sucks me off and does a good job so no need to find someone to suck me in return. She does know I am Bi and allows me to meet other men.”

“I am going to start now is that ok,” John whispered

“OK, sure,” I whispered back. I wanted this to happen for weeks and now I will know.

I wanted to keep my eyes closed and not watch him suck my cock. Closing my eyes, I enjoyed the feeling of John’s rubbing, sucking, kissing, licking, and nibbling on my gland head. It felt so good I had to open my eyes to watch. As I open my eyes, John’s and my eyes met. John could tell from the smile on my face that he was finding all of my erotic and tickle spots, places where only other men would know. Like under the tip of the gland or the back of the balls half way from the ball sack and the anus. John’s mouth felt warm, I never felt his teeth. One of his hands was caressing my balls the other one was on my shaft with my shaft in his mouth.

He would change his mouth’s motions about every 30 seconds or so and allowed me to relax. He used a different technique to explore what was turning me on. Everything was feeling me a wonderful blowjob from someone who knew what he was doing. Everything he was doing felt so good. I found myself saying, “Yes right there; lick it some more; put the head in your mouth again; rub my balls; stop I do not want to dump my load yet; ok now but slowly; oh I am going to shoot now,” as my body jerks and my joy tube squirts into his mouth. He had a full mouth of my spunk. I am not sure; I think he secretly drained his mouth to the nearby trashcan. He did his so quickly and inconspicuously.

I lay there for a few minutes in the afterglow of climaxing, he provided me paper towers for any additional cum that dribbled out my pee hole. He left the room, going to the bathroom, I am sure he was washing his mouth to be on the safe side. When he returned I was dressed. I lost my urge for sex and wanted to leave. I said, “Thanks that was fantastic.”

He said, “thank you for coming by.” I left.

I got into my car and started to drive home a little guilty about a man having oral sex with me. I would not have felt guilty about a woman sucking my man meat. What is the difference about receiving oral from a man? A few more miles down the road and the guilty was gone, I had rationalized that a hot mouth is a hot mouth male or female and right now, a male mouth is what I wanted. I phoned, thanking him for letting me come to his house. He said, “You have a nice cock, it was my pleasure. If you want to squirt again just give me a call.”

Yes, I wanted to hear those words. I had a suck buddy who could suck me off anytime I need to feel relief. “What about this Thursday, 7 pm again,” I said.

He said, “Yes perfect time, I will have another glass of wine ready for you”

We meet a couple times a week each time it was the same, he would not get naked, and I would drop my pants, exposed my cock then allowing him do his magic. Each time we met, he would amaze me with his oral talents and found that I had missed many years of receiving blowjobs from men.

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The old faded green john boat glided through the still water effortlessly, quietly, barely disturbing the ancient swamp with its towering old cypress. The john boat made its way through the swamp as it had for years, the small outboard motor making more noise than motion, but always getting to its destination. Riding in the boat, eyes always alert, ears tuned to hear anything unusual Jaclyn was making his daily travels from the camp where he worked as a park attendant. He’d been working with the Park Service since he was sixteen on a part time basis, and now that he was twenty four, he was one of the most knowledgeable even though he had no formal education after high school, his knowledge of the swamp was from wisdoms handed down from his elders and from his own experiences, experiences he had been gathering since he was seven when he would slip off with a canoe on his own, exploring the swamp he called home.

Jaclyn was part Native American and part something else, something his mother would never reveal. He had grown to be tall, with the dark skin and black hair from his mother. He was lean, and well toned from swimming long distances and running along the old trails on the swamps edges. His body was tough, callused, and the heat didn’t seem to faze him. But he was not like most of the men of the swamp; he wasn’t into fighting, or getting wasted nearly every night, nor did he try to sleep with every available woman. He stayed to himself and did his job, and in his free time he would go out into the swamp, sitting in the back of his john boat, meandering along its secretive paths, or discovering new paths created by storms or the animals that were its inhabitants. He even owned property abutting the swamp on its north side allowing him to boat to and from work. It was his way of winding down, releasing the tension of dealing with the tourists, the paddlers who come unprepared for the challenges that await them, or the bureaucrats they had to work with at the Parks Office.

The sun was moving through the western sky as Jaclyn was making his way home. He was moving along an old creek bed that cut through a densely wooded section of the swamp, occasionally seeing an alligator skimming along the surface or a water moccasin cutting across the open water. The snakes had to be watched for they were curious creatures, not hesitate to come to the boat and climb over the sides in search for food. Jaclyn got near his cut off point, a narrow path he had navigated many times before when he came upon a bass boat. It was garishly painted bright red and silver, with a huge outboard motor on the back. There was only one person aboard and he was fiddling with the motor when Jaclyn first spotted him. The guy heard the old john boat approaching and began to wave for help.

Jaclyn pulled along the side of the flamboyant boat and tossed the guy a rope to secure them together. He stepped casually from one boat to the other, looking the guy over. His first impression was not favorable. He looked like one of those guys who never worked a day in his life; all the good schools, the fancy cars and boats, the pathway to a bright future all lain out with family contacts. He was a little shorter than Jaclyn, dirty blonde, with perfect teeth. He was boyish in his looks, with a small nose and thin lips. A faint five o’clock shadow spread along his jaw line and over his lips. He was not broad shouldered, but thin built, even his arms were not muscular, never having had to work hard, Jaclyn just knew. He wore a muscle shirt and low cut skinny jeans, hanging on his hips barely above his crotch. His fair skin showing signs of too much sun along his upper arms and around his neck.

“What seems to be the problem?”

“I have no idea. Thank god you showed up. I have no idea where I’m at. I shut down to try to listen for some sound of a road nearby or something, and then the damn thing wouldn’t restart.”

“Let me give it a look” Jaclyn said as he made his way to the back of the boat. He checked fuel lines, pulled the cover off the motor, checking everything he could think of, trying to start the motor from time to time, until he finally gave up.

“I think it is not getting fuel, but I can’t find what is wrong.”

“Shit. What am I…I mean, can you help me out of here?”

“Yeah, but it is too late now; it’ll be dark in a little over an hour and it’ll take a lot longer than that for me to tow you out. I’ll tow you to my place and in the morning we can get an early start and tow you back to the nearest boat ramp.”

“Man I don’t want to put you out, but I really do appreciate it.” He was being earnest, sincere, and the way he looked at Jaclyn, like a little lost boy, gave Jaclyn a moment’s pause, the thought that taking him back to his place was a mistake, that maybe he should tough it out, take him to a landing, and deal with getting home very late in the dark. He knew the swamp well enough to navigate at night, but he was ready to get home, and the guy seemed friendly enough, despite first impressions.

“By the way, I’m Cole.”

“Jaclyn.”

“Jacklynn? “

“Jaclyn; it’s an old family name.”

“Well it is good to meet you, especially if you can help me out.”

“No problem. Let me get a rope secured between us and then I’ll tow you to my place. You stay in your boat and steer it so it’ll be easier to tow you along.”

“Ok. Again, I really appreciate this.”

Jaclyn eased along the narrow gap among the old cypress trees, his motor struggling with the added weight of the other boat, creeping along at a slow pace. Jaclyn kept glancing back to make sure the two boats stayed properly secured, and to look at Cole. He’d taken his cap off and ran his hands through his hair. It stood up, spiky, in random directions. Jaclyn couldn’t stop himself, checking Cole out, wondering, giving consideration to the possibility of seeing him naked, wondering what he’d look like, what his cock looked like, how did his nuts hang, did he have blonde hair around his cock, or was it darker, almost brown. His thoughts plagued him each time he glanced back. The twenty minutes it took to get to his house seemed to take a very long time.

Cole had been so relieved to have someone come along, to finally show up, he didn’t think anything about accepting his offer to tow him back to his place. But then he had second thoughts, wondering if he’d made a mistake, if he was getting into a situation that would turn out bad. Jaclyn was very attractive, so tall, and his jet black hair and dark skin, obviously Native American descent, but he also seemed a little unfriendly, standoffish, and a little rough around the edges, coarse. He was wearing a Park Service uniform, which would explain him living on the swamp and knowing it so well, but still, where was he leading him? Would it be some tinned roof shack, some derelict structure barely standing, out in the middle of nowhere?

Imagine his surprise when they turned a sharp bend and the trees fell back to an open area on the water, about the size of a football field, and on the other side, a shore line, hard ground. Sitting among the trees was a house on stilts. It was one long tin roof, but not the way he imagined it. Under half of it was the house and the other half was screened. It had as much outdoor space as indoor space. The sides were wood siding, stained to blend into the surroundings. Most of the house had windows running along facing the water. From the backside of the screen section dropped a wooden stair to a floating dock tucked underneath.

Jaclyn pulled slowly into his usual place and tied off. He then pulled Cole’s boat around to the other side of the dock and tied him off.

“I’d get everything out you don’t want to be wet from the morning dew and bring it on up.”

In a few minutes Cole was standing in the screened space, which was like a second living dining area, with its own table and outdoor furniture. A hammock hung near the end of the space and on the water side along the screen was a day bed.

“This is…is nice” Cole said, surprised at how nice it truly was, expecting something totally different.

“Thanks. I’ve been working on this place for a few years and just about got it complete. Come on inside and I’ll show you where you can sleep tonight.”

Through the large sliding glass doors they came into one large room that was living, dining and kitchen. A wood heater sat at the windows overlooking the water with the living room furniture positioned to look out instead of at some television set, which did not exist in the room. There was a hall leading off the main room in the opposite wall, where Jaclyn led Cole. There was one door on the right and one on the left. The hall ended abruptly by an unpainted plywood panel.

“The room on this side” opening the door on the right “is the bathroom, and this other door will be where you can sleep” opening the other door to a modest bedroom with one queen size bed sitting at the windows so every time you sat up looking up, you’d be looking out.

“Thanks but…where will you sleep? I mean…is this the only bedroom?”

“For now it is the only one. I have a master suite I’m working on beyond the plywood, but it’ll be awhile before I get it done. As for me, I’ll sleep where I do most nights, out on the screened porch.”

Porch? Cole thought, considering how the large screened area was much more than some porch. “You sleep outside most of the time?”

“Yeah, I love the way the night cools off and listening to the sounds of night. Best sleep ever. So please don’t worry about taking this room, I rarely use it anyway. Toss your stuff down, use the bathroom if you need to…”

Cole interrupted him “I need too, like you can’t believe.”

Jaclyn smiled at his sudden admittance of discomfort. “Well, when you get through come on out and we’ll eat something. I’m rather hungry and I assume you have to be as well.”

“I am, but please don’t go to too much trouble.”

When Cole came out Jaclyn was putting fish in the oven to cook and pulling out of the refrigerator the stuff needed to make salads. Soon they were at the small table out in the screened porch eating and drinking beer. Their conservation was soon friendly and casual, telling a little about themselves. Cole admitted to being from Tallahassee and his father having some “bullshit high and mighty government job” as Cole put it. Cole told Jaclyn he had come up to the swamp after hearing about it in college and just wanted to see what it was like to be out in the middle of nowhere, to be away from the city, the traffic, and all the people, to be away from…and he faltered, stopping himself from saying any more. Jaclyn didn’t press for him to finish, knowing how everyone who came to the swamp always had their own special reasons.

Jaclyn took their dishes inside to wash, making Cole stay out, having him sit down on the sofa and relax. Inside he turned on the internet radio on his computer, so music played softly inside and out. It was a luxury he chided himself on so many times for it cost a fortune to run the cable from the road at the back of the property to his house. His next project was to get a drive cut through the woods and break down and buy a truck or a Jeep, but he was in no hurry, although building the house by hauling material in by boat had been a nightmare at times. As he washed the dishes he kept glancing out at Cole, thinking he was really cute and nothing like he expected as he got to know him a little better. He wished he could know him differently, wondered what it would be like to just go to him, tell him what he wanted and see what would happen, but knowing he couldn’t. Cole was his guest, and if it were to make him uncomfortable, freaked out even, he knew he wouldn’t know how to deal with it.

Cole sat on the sofa, feet propped up, as he looked out through the screen at the moon lit water. He always thought it would be silent out in nature, that at night it would be quiet. But the buzz of insects, the occasional hoot of an owl, and the splashing in the water as something was feeding made the night sound more alive than the day time. He also kept glancing inside, watching Jaclyn wash the dishes, unable to keep his eyes off of him, the thick black hair, the smooth dark skin and the casual way he moved. He wondered what he did sexually; did he go into town to hook up with someone or did he just beat off all the time, and if so, to what? He kept wondering what he would look like out of his clothes, naked. He wanted to know what he looked like naked.

Jaclyn came out carrying two drinks, whiskey over a couple of ice cubes, and sat in the chair adjacent the sofa, propping up his feet on the low coffee table. Cole saw the few black hairs along his exposed ankles, the angular nature of his feet, the lack of an arch, and the way his second toe was longer than his big toe. He noticed how Jaclyn curled his toes from time to time. He had difficulty taking is eyes off of him. Jaclyn broke the trance and soon they were discussing once again the plan for in the morning, with Jaclyn telling Cole to wake him if he was up first, telling him he would normally rise around sun up. They talked casually, giving each other furtive glances from time to time, until they finally fell silent, allowing the whiskey to warm them, to relax them. Cole finally couldn’t stand it, the way he could not stop looking at Jaclyn, having desires toward him he couldn’t act upon, so he got up and said he should turn in so he could get up in the morning.

“There’s a towel and toothbrush laid out on the vanity. Grab yourself a shower for it’ll make you feel better” Jaclyn told him as he headed in.

“Thanks, a shower sounds good right now.”

Cole went into the bedroom and stripped down to his boxers and headed across the hall for a shower. The shower felt good, washing the grime and sweat off, and when he finished and was dried off he contemplated his boxers, and how they were sweat stained. He picked them up knowing he’d have to wear them in the morning but for now he wanted to keep the clean feeling. He wrapped the towel around his waist and headed for the bedroom. In the hall he saw Jaclyn had turned all the lights off except the one in the bedroom. Cole could just make out Jaclyn’s profile out on the screened porch, lying on the day bed. He went into the bedroom, tossed the towel over a chair, and climbed into bed. He lay there on top of the bed, naked, feeling the warm night air on his clean tight skin. He laid there wondering about Jaclyn, wanting to go out to him. He absentmindedly played with his cock as he wondered about Jaclyn, getting an erection, feeling his need, his desire over take him.

Jaclyn was lying on the day bed in only his briefs, letting the slight breeze caress his skin, raise up goose bumps, and with Cole in the house, thinking about him, how attractive he looked, and how friendly he turned out to be, humble in a way that surprised him, he wondered about the glances he caught Cole giving him, wondered if Cole had ever done anything with a guy before, wondered what he really liked. Jaclyn had only been with a few guys, always hook ups in one of cities a few hours away. He had only hooked up with one guy locally and he had freaked out on Jaclyn, cussed him out, and told him to leave him alone. It was cruel how the guy had turned on him, and so he avoided him, avoided going into town, especially those places he knew the guy frequented. He felt so desperate, at times lonely, craving companionship, and now those feeling were rearing up hard, brutal, making his stomach tie up in knots. He cock was stretching out as he considered what it would be like to go into the bedroom and pull the sheet back and lean down and take Cole, take him in his mouth, or take him inside of himself, feel Cole move in him. His cock got hard.

Jaclyn pushed his briefs down and kicked them off and onto the floor, sure Cole would be asleep by now. He took his cock in hand, felt it swell, felt it stretch out to its full length. He lay there, slowly stroking it, moving his hand up and down its length. It felt good the way the head was slicked up, then the shaft as he leaked a lot, his desires driving him. He stretched out, naked, in the warm night air, eyes closed and stroked his cock, ran his free hand over his chest, felt his own warmth. He stroked his cock slowly, enjoying the sensation, wishing it were different this time, wishing it was Cole stroking his cock, taking it, putting it in his mouth. His hand moved all the way up, rubbed the head, smearing its slick wetness, then back down the shaft. He was lost in the moment when suddenly he sensed he wasn’t alone, that someone was standing close by. He opened his eyes and Cole was standing there, the moon light making his naked body glow faintly, letting Jaclyn see Cole’s right hand slowly stroke his own cock, move in the same rhythm, the same speed as Jaclyn. Jaclyn stopped, frozen from the unexpected appearance of Cole.

“Have you been standing there long?” he asked Cole in a whisper.

“Long enough” as Cole came closer and got down on his knees by the day bed, close to Jaclyn’s crotch, close to his cock. Cole reached out and ran his hand over Jaclyn’s stomach, down to his cock and lifted it up, held it firmly, squeezed it slightly, feeling its weight, its firmness. Jaclyn drew a deep breath. Cole leaned over and put his lips to Jaclyn’s cock, kissed it slightly as Jaclyn ran his hand over Cole’s shoulder and down his other arm, a light caress. Cole mouthed the head, then shifting up, put his mouth over it, and slid down, taking it in his mouth, letting it fill the void, slid over his tongue, giving him Jaclyn’s taste. Cole worked back up, down, up, down, over and over. Jaclyn ran his hand down Cole’s back, over his shoulder, up his neck, through his hair, feeling the movement of his head, up and down. He put suction on Jaclyn, brought more hot blood into it, swelling it up more, feeling it harden more. He worked his mouth over it until the shaft when exposed was wet, glistening in the dim light.

Jaclyn grabbed him by the hair, pulled him up, leaning up himself, and kissed Cole passionately, pulling his head to him tightly. Pulling him back, he whispered “Stand up”, his voice urgent, demanding. Cole stood up as Jaclyn swing his feet to the floor and on either side of Cole. He took Cole’s cock and began to suck, to push his mouth on it, urgently, forcefully, down and then back up. He took him all the way, burying his nose in the light blonde hair that grew sparsely over his cock, nearly invisible against his fair skin in the dim light. He tugged on his nuts, and ran his hands over Cole’s ass, ran his fingers along the deep crevice of his firm round ass, probing, searching, as his mouth kept up its hot wet suction of his cock. When Jaclyn put a finger to Cole’s opening, when he tested its tightness, Cole reached around and pushed his hand, forcing his finger into him, pushing it all the way in.

“Oh, fuck, that feels good” Cole cried out. Jaclyn finger his hole, twisted around in it, then he withdrew it, put a second with the first and pushed both in, opening him some more.

“Yeah, stretch me open…I want you to….to fuck me” Cole whispered with his rapid breathing. Jaclyn pulled off his cock and leaned back, holding up his hard cock, the head still wet, slick, waiting for Cole. Cole moved up, straddled Jaclyn, and eased down till he felt Jaclyn nudge his ass, his cock slide back and forth over his ass, over his opening. He shifted, getting the wet cock pushing at his opening and he lowered himself, taking it, slowly, down he moved, till he was sitting on Jaclyn’s lap, cock buried all the way in him. Jaclyn lean up and kissed his neck, ran his tongue over the flesh, feeling the warmth of him, tasting the sweat, the saltiness of him. Cole began to move, up, down, up, down, he moved his body, rocking his hips, working his tight opening up and down the shaft of Jaclyn’s cock. As Jaclyn’s cock probed him, gave him a full connected feeling, he opened his eyes, looked out through the screen into the moon light night, the dark water with the streaks of moonlight glittering over its surface and the dark outlines of the trees, and thought how perfect, in this wilderness, in this wild place, to be so carnal, so focused on such a basic need. He fucked his ass over Jaclyn’s cock, he increased his pace, slamming down hard, and pulling back up, sliding his own hard cock over Jaclyn’s stomach, feeling it slide wet and hard over Jaclyn’s skin as he moved his body, his entire torso, to feel Jaclyn slide through his insides, feel him penetrate him deeply, open him up.

Jaclyn took hold of Cole, holding him still, wrapping his arms around him, burying his face into his chest, feeling the warmth, hearing the fast beat of his heart. He rolled him over onto his back on the day bed, shifting on top of him, pushing his legs apart, moving to penetrate him again. Jaclyn got into position and drove into Cole, speared his ass with his cock, pushing in all the way. Jaclyn began to fuck, strong full movements, working his hips urgently, as he drove his cock through Cole, pushing all his cock into him. The sound of Jaclyn slapping against Cole with his grunts and groans drowning out the night sounds, filled the air with their lust, their desires. Jaclyn’s pace quickened, harder. He hammered into Cole until he swelled in him, flexed hard with his last jab, and he shot into his depths, pushing each ejaculation into Cole, deep into him. Jaclyn fell on top of Cole, mouthing, kissing his neck, nibbling his ear, tonguing it, as he emptied himself into Cole.

When he was spent Jaclyn lifted up and slid down, running his hands over Cole’s sweat drenched body, feeling the movements of his breathing, the rapid undulations of his stomach. Jaclyn took his cock and sucked it into his mouth, working his head down over it. He was soon working his mouth up and down, then holding the shaft tight in his fist, he worked the head, mouthed it, licked and sucked it, until he felt Cole push up, his cock swell, felt it flex once, then shoot in his mouth, thick wads of cum filled his mouth, as Cole emptied himself into Jaclyn, who took it all. Jaclyn drained him, pulled all of his load out, drew it up the shaft and licked it off. He kissed the head and laid his head down on Cole’s stomach, letting the movement of his breathing as it slowed to lull him into a peaceful moment. A moment sated, relaxed.

Jaclyn eventually moved up next to Cole and they lay snuggled up next to each other, letting the warm night air comfort them, ease the tension of their muscles. Jaclyn ran his hands through Cole’s hair pushing it off his forehead.

“Jaclyn?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I sleep out here with you?”

“Of course.”

Cole relaxed, snuggled tighter to Jaclyn, knowing he wanted him to stay in his bed, to share with him this wild place, his wild place, his swamp…his paradise.

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I do not claim to be a grammar expert and as such you will find some grammatical errors in this story. The errors can be the switching of tense, spelling errors, or typos. I ask if you find an error please send me an email so I can correct and make the story enjoyable for others.

I love dressing up as Cindy and the attention that I receive when going to an adult theater. When dressing for the adult theater you dress up in something sexy that allows easy access to your tits and to your manpussy. I have found that thigh high stockings with low cut panties, a low cut underwire bra, blouse that is low cut, blond or black wig with my five inch heels is sufficient to turn a man on. I have been to the theater a few times and now when I arrive I have men wanting me to sit next to them. In an adult theater you many types of men who likes vary from just wanted to be jacked to an around the world oral trip.

I stand in the back of the theater in a location where a man can stand behind me. In my five inch heels I an am over six feet which attracts attention. As men would walk past me they would pat my bottom, sometimes their path will become a grope. In the darkness men can do things they would never do in public. A few men’s gropes turned into a full inspection of my gurly appearance ending up wi a hand on my crotch, checking to see if I am packing. Every man likes something different when meeting in an adult theater. One man liked to pinch my nipples, jack my cock and finger my ass. When playing with my nipples he would put his a hand round my neck and apply pressure. I faint discomfort, protest and move away as if I was in distress but he never applied enough pressure to be harmful. He would bend me over and spank my ass which drew attention from some of the men in the theater. The one man working me over took off my blouse and tied my arms behind me. Being someone helpless other men took the opportunity to feel my tits, my cock and rub my ass. I had eight to fourteen hands feeling me up and enjoyed the attention.

I cannot remember all of the cocks I suck in one evening but the action I can. One evening I was standing in the back when a man puts his arms around me and started to feel my breasts. I pulled down the low cut blouse exposing my little titties. His hands then found the nipples and started to rub them, then pinch them and ended up pulling them in such a way that my cock got hard and my knees went weak. I moan to his touch and to let him know that I was getting turned on. A second man then started to rub my cock and with no warning he penetrated my ass with his finger. I responded to the fingering action by gyrating my hips. A third man then starts to kiss me, drenching my mouth with much vigor. I am in heaven with all the attention. The man kissing me stops and with his hands on my shoulders pushes me down, bending me at the waist where I find that his cock is sticking out of his pants. This man had a cock of destination for it was well over seven inches but most notably it was fat. As much as I tried I could only get the tip ad about two inches of his hardness in my mouth. Bending over at the waist and with the five inch heels, I made an inviting sight. The man fingering my ass changed from one finger to two fingers forcing them deeper into my willing ass. My manpussy has been clean for just such action. The man fingering my hole was also jacking his cock which he rubbed on my ass cheeks. He removed his finger then I felt a warm wetness up and down my crack.

No sooner as he finishes messing my ass, a second man slipped behind me and with one finger finding my now stretched hole he slides his cock into my now freshly lubricated hole. The feeling of a hard, hot cock slipping into my wet bottom is a wonderful feeling. I lose myself in the bliss of the moment, with my nipples being fondled, a cock in mouth and now being fucked and fuck deep. I have to rely on the men holding me steady, the banging from the rear forces me forward onto the cock I was sucking. Every now and then I would catch the flash of a light where someone was turning on their cell phone flight light application in order to get to see some of the action. I was surrounded by men and hard cocks. The man fucking me stops, pulls my hips back, forcing his cock to the max into my manpussy. One, two, three squirts then felt his limp cock quickly slips out of my not creamed hole. The man I was sucking then moves behinds me and without fingering my ass, slides his cock up and down my ass, finding my hole and pushing pass my spinster and going deep. Another man moves in front of me, cocking out shoving it into my mouth. The action continues, the fucking forcing me forward onto the cock in my mouth causing it to slide in and out of my mouth. In a short time the cock explodes in my mouth, flooding me with tastes that are bitter, salty and creamy. I swallow the load as he his cock leaves my mouth. I was lost in sexual bliss floating in a feeling of total carnal pleasure.

I am not sure how many men came in my mouth, at least four and I remember one other man fucking me. I did reach around and felt his cock which was sheaved with a condom. After the action, I walked into the men’d room, the only place for a cross-dresser to freshen up. The man’s bathroom has a stall where you can lock the door. I entered the stall but left the door open. Two men followed me into the men’s room then opened the stall door. There was a small cabinet which I placed my purse. Both men were Hispanic, short, dark skinned and were feeling my breasts, tits and my clitty. I knew what they wanted when one man pushed my shoulders down so I can suck is cock. His cock was large for a small man. Being in high heals and bending over put me in a position where the other man raised my skirt, pulled down my panties and fingered my manpussy, still wet from the fucking I received. He too took out an impressive cock and standing behind me slid his cock up my wet crack them down to find my wet hold and pushed. His pushing made me swallow more of the cock in my mouth. With a second push in he was deep inside me and a rhythm was started so I could suck and be fucked for the pleasure of all of us. I tighten my spinster around the cock in my ass and with each of his push in and relax when he pulled out. I did this maybe twenty times then he started to pull my hips back on his cock, he grunted then felt his cock jerk inside me. I knew he came. He withdrew his cock where I found that he used a condom. The other man pushed me on the floor, told me to get on my back. I did as instructed. The man pulled down his pants with his shorts down to his knees. I remember looking up at a short Hispanic man with an above normal sized cock that was rock hard. He got on his knees. He moved to position himself for entry then put my legs up on his shoulder. With one thrust he entered me and was buried deep. Laying on the floor I looked out under the stall door that had an opening of 12 inches, two men were kneeling watching the action.

I had my tits exposed an was pinching them and making a face like I was enjoying being fucked. I was, this was not play act it was honestly pleasure. The man fucked me in that position and jacked my cock while I moaned with each thrust. The sight and sound in the stall must have been a visual stimulation because in less than two minutes he stops jacking my cock, grabs my hips and thrust deep. He grunts a few times then withdraws his condom clad cock. I am left there on the floor as the two men opens the stall door to leave. I stood up in order to clean up when another men enters the stall. I was thinking he was going to fuck me but instead he grabs some toilet paper and asked if he could clean me up. Standing I bend over the counter top as he wipes my ass of cum from the fucking I had in the theater.

I apply some makeup, brush my hair and straighten up my clothing. I go out buy a drink and go back to the theater. I sat there a few minutes when a man sits next to me. In a few minutes his hand was on my clittly and my hand was on his cock. A second man is reaching over the seat and is rubbing and pinching my nipples. A third man stands behind also but has his cock out and moves it to in front of my mouth. I open wide as he forced is cock over my lips allowing me to suck his cock. This was a difficult position for me and I stood up. I know had a guy fingering my ass as he jacked his cock. A few minutes of this time of attention and I was feeling all pleasure. The man jacking his cock came on my cock which I could feel his warm wet sperm squirt onto my clitty. I do not know what happened but feeling my clittly being lubed by natural lube like seman ad I immediately shooting off, with my legs weaking and having to hold on to two of the men as they continued playing with my nipples, fingering my ass and jacking my cock. I patted the men on the shoulders, told them that was great and said I had to sit down.

I finish my drink and totally satisfied, I left the adult theater wanting to return the next week and do the same thing.

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I met this man online at adam4adam. A lot of Arab men use this web site. In the UAE it was restricted and you have to use a VPN access to to go to the website. I had made contact with this man who was 35 and says he prefers older man, which was good for me, I am 58. He had not been with a CD before but invited me over to his place to spend the night. In the past in the UAE I have only had men visit me in my hotel room and there was a risk that if you venture out and go to someone’s home that you have no control over the situation. But I am adventitious and would not be dressed when I traveled. I somewhat did not like meeting a guy as Roger and would like to have met him as Cindy but that was not possible. So I checked out of my hotel, and waited for him to pick me up. He was three hours late but we were in communication and he was driving in from another town in the UAE. Traffic can be bad in the Dubai so I was not worried. When he arrived, he was dressed in Arab UAE clothes, the long white robe and the headdress, signifying he was a UAE of royal connection. He was not a tall man and had the normal Arab beard and was quite striking in looks.

He had an apartment when he worked in Dubai which was across town. As we drove we chatted about our work and our meeting others. He spoke good English but with an accent requiring me to listen to his conservation.

We arrive at his apartment, a one room with a small kitchen. He had been out of town and there was not fresh food so he went out shopping and I told him I would be Cindy when he returned. It was about 45 min later, Cindy was all dressed with makeup when he arrived and I could not tell if he was surprised, aroused, excited but he did kiss me and we held each other. He fixed some food, made coffee and we sat on the couch chatting. His hand rubbed my stocking and he did want to play with my little extra. It was pleasurable to feel his hand explore my secret and we kissed and french.

He had changed out of his formal robe and was in a casual gown that went to his knees. I could tell that he was around by the bulged. He stood up and I went on my knees, lifted his gown to see his very nice six inches and thick cut Arab cock. When I meet a man for the first time I do not go down on him first, but I tease him by kissing and licking his thighs, his balls and his shaft. I want him to desire my mouth on his cock so took my time.

I was dressed in my short red and black skirt with stockings with the built in suspenders. I had a nice pair of pink panties that was in a thong style. I did not wear my boots so just had my stocking legs, pink thong, short skirt and my low cut top. I spend some time making my up but not too much time on my eye makeup. I have notice that when I meet someone for sex, they do not care about how my makeup looks. So in a dimly lit room I have an illusion of being a woman. In the one room apartment there was a platform bed that was like a futon. The mattress was very thin and did not offer much of a cushion for my knees or butt depending on what position I was in. By this time it was about 7 PM and my Arab friend had called a friend of his to join us. While we were waiting it gave us time to go the first round. While my Arab friend enjoyed my oral ability he was fairly quick to lay me on my back and fuck me like a woman. I think the visual illusion of Cindy had made him horny for a nice hole to slide his cock. His first penetration was bare and he slid in with little pain. I had lubed my hole several hours before so was ready for a nice fuck. There was little conservations so I decided to do some erotic talking. I told him he had a big cock and that I like him fucking me. I told him he was making me feel like a woman. I was in the position of my legs on his shoulders or my legs around his waist and I moved my nylon clad legs up and down his body. With each thrust in I would bite my lower lip and moan a little. He fucked me for a few minutes then told me to get on all four. This time he put on a condom and slid back in holding my hips as he positioned his cock for the best entry. I continued to use words like “fuck me” or “bitch” which I think excited him. A few more minutes of fucking and he came. I turned around, removed the condom and licked his cock, and held my mouth over his cock to get every last drop. I know that some men enjoy being sucked to completion and love for their cum to be swallowed. We remained in his bed with me being held in his arm. After a few minutes he goes takes a shower and then suggest that I take a shower. His friend had left a message saying he was on his way. So I had to take off all of my Cindy things, shower and then get dressed again. My Arab friend, friend arrived who was about the same age and a little taller. I met him and shook his hand which if he was meeting an Arab female I have been told was not the expected custom. Well we sat on the couch and I tried to look as sexy as I could be. After a few minutes I was in bed again with my breast being fondled, my little extra was being rubbed and sucking two cocks. The friend had about the same size cock, six inches, thick and cut. When there are two men to play with I have to decide who will get my primary attention. I decided that my Arab friend wanted to watch me service his friend and so I concentrated on sucking the friend, cock and balls. This worked out for me because my Arab friend got me into position and slide his condom clad cock into my ass again. I was somewhat stretched from the first round of fucking so entry was easy.

This was one of my favorite positions being between two men, sucking on and getting fucked by the other. I was told to sit on top of my Arab friend and sat down on his hard cock. The friend now got behind me and rubbed his cock up and down my crack. He put some lube on my crack and his cock and I realized he was going for the double penetration. Leaning forward allowed my hole to be accessible. I relaxed as much as I could allow a second cock to slip into my warm body. It took several attempts but there I felt filled as I never was before and had both men pumping in and out. At this point, Cindy was truly a fuck slut and happy to be one. I guess the feeling of his cock against another cock in my hole was more that the friend could take. He was about ready to shoot when he pulled out, took the condom off and moved within inches of my face. I opened my mouth waiting for a flood of warm cum to be deposited on my face and if lucky in my mouth. The friend did not disappoint me with several squirt all over then draining his cock allowing to cum to dribble into my mouth. All the time my Arab friend was fucking my hole, playing with my little extra and watching his friend unload on my face and mouth.

I lay there exhausted while my Arab friend and his friend retired to the couch to have a smoke. I was really tired and fell asleep. I am not sure how long I was sleeping but I woke up with my Arab friend inserting his cock into my used hole. I was not aware if he was already inside me when I woke or if I awoke when he entered me. I just remembered waking up with a cock in my hole and another one in my mouth. I was in that position again for the third time that night between two men sucking one and getting fucked. I rocked my hips in movement to the thrusting and allow the friend to gag me with his humping of his mouth. In this position I was somewhat restrained, being used and some might say abused. I was comfortable with my Arab friend and his friend and I was there for one purpose to be his slut to be used. My Arab friend was thrusting deep in my hole as I tighten my sphincter muscle giving him more resistant on each thrust in and moving my hips with each stroke he came inside me leaving his cock in me as I counted his squirts. I responded with each one of his squirts a contraction of one of my own. That was about all the fucking and sucking we three had in us. The friend left and I cleaned up removing my make up and dressed in my guy clothes. There was only one bed in the apartment so we slept together. The next morning we showered separately got dressed, I caught a cab to the airport and he was off to work. That night I was fucked three times once was a double penetration and sucked each guy multiple times. I was fully satisfied and wanted to arrange another meeting where my Arab friend might have two friend drop by for a little treat of Cindy.

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STAIN DEVILS

Part of the ‘Butt Monkey’ series of stories by Robert Furlong

[email protected]

Find my older stories at screeve.org

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The restaurant seemed a lot more expensive than those I was used to: it certainly wouldn’t have been the sort of place I’d have picked if given the choice. The starters alone cost more than I would usually be prepared to pay for a whole meal, and I didn’t regard myself as a tight-arse – well, not in that way.

Nevertheless, Debbie was determined to try all three courses.

I hoped this wasn’t typical for her and that she didn’t have expensive tastes. I could tolerate most things in a relationship but expensive tastes might prove difficult, especially with Jake going to university the following autumn and no doubt going to start needing handouts to help him manage his debts.

“I think I’ll have the smoked salmon pastrami to start with,” Debbie decided. “A friend of mine ate here and spoke very highly of the fish.”

“I’m not sure I’m hungry enough for a starter,” I said.

She immediately recognised my intention. “Don’t even look at the prices, Rob, it’s my treat! You paid for the last meal and it was me who suggested this place.”

“It’s not the prices,” I lied. “I had quite a big baguette for lunch. I don’t want to spoil my appetite for the main course.”

“Well, I won’t be able to have a starter if you don’t. Do you really want to deprive me?”

She threw me a look of pleading, spaniel eyes.

I smiled at her, rather liking her silliness. “Of course not.”

I glanced back down the menu trying to spot something I might want to eat. It was proving rather difficult. Even though she was offering to pay, I still wouldn’t be comfortable if I thought something was over-priced and – on a more practical level – I couldn’t work out what a lot of the food actually was.

I could make a good guess at what might be in Thai dragon roll, but what the hell were Chaophraya balls? They sounded like some ailment from a Les Dawson sketch.

(“Did your Burt have the Chaophraya balls?” “No, love, he always walks like that.”)

Scouring the menu, I asked her, “Do they have anything like a prawn cocktail?”

Debbie glanced down the list of starters. “They have Caribbean prawn skewers with spicy fruit salsa…”

That was the sort of dish I wouldn’t know how to eat: I wouldn’t be confident enough to pick the skewers up with my hands and yet it would look ridiculous to try and use a knife and fork on them.

Before I could find something else, the young waiter came over with the wine we’d ordered, a decent quality French Shiraz.

He’d introduced himself when he’d seated us at the table as ‘Greg’ and had short, auburn hair which he’d spiked up at the front. He was immaculately turned-out in a black waistcoat and bow tie and looked as if he was in his early twenties.

He poured Debbie her wine, holding the bottle in a white napkin so that the heat of his hand didn’t warm the liquid, and then attended to me. His technique was perfect: he positioned the bottle so that the label could be seen by the two of us and even offered me the cork for my inspection (I simply smiled and nodded, having no idea what I was supposed to do with it).

He invited me to taste my wine – I assumed this to be one of the duties I had to perform as the male of the couple – and he and Debbie stared at me as I lifted the glass to my lips. The waiter seemed to treat this moment as a very sombre one: he stared at me gravely as though eager to analyse my reaction intently. Debbie, on the other hand, had her lips pursed tight together to suppress a smirk. If we’d been rather further into our relationship than just on a second date, I might have supposed she had set me up.

I took a drink of the crimson liquid as solemnly as I could, trying to stop myself from bursting out laughing and soaking them both in it, and then looked up at Greg and did my best to nod at him portentously, as though delivering a favourable, though not exceptional, verdict on the vintage. He stared back at me for a second or so and I thought I must have made a faux pas: perhaps I had been supposed to swill the wine around in my mouth before I swallowed it, or to offer some whimsical remark about how ‘wry and sardonic’ it was.

But then he muttered, “Very good, sir,” and moved behind me to top my glass back up.

After he’d refilled me, he took a lighter from his waistcoat pocket and leaned forward to relight the candle on our table which must have blown out. At which point he managed to ruin the image he’d been trying to create of being the very model of a wine waiter and accidentally tipped a couple of noisy glugs from the bottle down the back of my chair and onto the seat of my trousers.

I jumped up, startled by the cold liquid on my skin, and he began what turned into a cascade of apologies.

“It’s alright, really,” I said, aware that other diners were looking over at us. “It’s just a little splash.”

I was wishing I’d kept my jacket on instead of dutifully handing it over to the concierge when we’d been greeted at the entrance. At least it would have taken the brunt of the spillage.

He mopped up the worst of it with a napkin, still apologising, while Debbie looked on wide-eyed with her hand over her mouth. I wasn’t sure if she was shocked or trying to cover her amusement.

Then he asked me to follow him through to the cloakroom where he would dry me off properly.

“I have something which will lift the stain,” he offered. “We’d better deal with it quickly before it has time to fix.”

“That would be quite a help,” I agreed.

I felt the seat of my trousers. I was soaking. Given the price of the bottle, he must have poured about twenty quid’s worth of wine onto my arse. I’d expect a hefty discount off the bill for this, even if I wasn’t the one who would be paying.

“If you’d follow me, please,” he requested. “I really am very sorry about this.”

I told Debbie – who was openly giggling by now – to order “something fairly straightforward” for me and that I’d be back in a few minutes. Then I followed Greg out through a door behind the bar, down a short, messy corridor which was obviously meant to only be seen by staff, and into a cloakroom.

It was a small room with no windows and it had an extractor fan on the ceiling which wheezed asthmatically. The wall to our side had a row of clothes pegs on it, onto which were messily draped coats, jeans other outerwear which must have been worn by the kitchen and serving staff on their way to and from the restaurant. There was a sink unit and some cupboards on the back wall, and all around us the room was littered with equipment and supplies: boxes of paper towels for the toilets, rolls of greaseproof paper, bundles of refuse sacks and packs of napkins. I spotted a stack of transparent tubes jammed full with the little umbrellas they put in cocktails, and for some reason I felt a compulsion to try and pocket a couple.

The waiter asked me to lock the door behind us while he opened a cupboard and ripped open one of the packs of napkins. I could see he was upset about what he’d done, probably fearing I’d make a fuss and he’d lose his job over it.

I smiled at him when he turned back to face me. “It’s Greg, isn’t it?”

“That’s right, sir.” He seemed surprised that I’d remembered his name; to most of his clientele he must just blend in to the decor.

“Call me Rob,” I said and he smiled back. He was rather cute with his spiky red hair and pale green eyes and looked nice in his white shirt and bow tie. His waistcoat showed off his slim figure beautifully and his trousers, I’d noticed as I’d followed him into the cloakroom, hugged his backside most agreeably.

“If you’d like to turn around,” he suggested, “I’ll try and soak up what I can.”

I willingly obliged and he knelt down behind me. I felt a tingle of excitement that a man’s face was level with my backside. I wondered whether, in spite of his young age, he secretly liked to get up close to another guy’s bum; whether he was, like me, a covert connoisseur of the allure of the male arse-crack.

He started out, though, by informing me that he was about to touch my bottom.

“That’s okay… I was sort of expecting you would,” I smiled.

“It’s just that some men might object.”

“Not me,” I said, brightly. “I’m not one to stand proud.”

As soon as I’d said it, I realised I might soon be standing very proud once his fingers were kneading my cheeks and his thumbs were nuzzling between them.

He briskly dabbed at the seat of my trousers with a couple of napkins, trying to absorb as much of the spilled wine as he could. He had a rough technique and seemed oblivious to how much delicacy and sensuality a nicely-shaped behind like mine warranted. Nevertheless, it was good to feel him fussing at me back there and, as I’d anticipated, I began to feel the front of my trousers stirring in response.

“Would you like me to try and mop up the worst of it from your underwear?” he asked.

Assuming the question to be rhetorical, I undid my belt and fly and hitched down my trousers, presenting him with the red-stained seat of my white Calvin Klein briefs. He threw me a look of surprise and I realised he’d expected me to be too self-conscious to pull my trousers down and that I would politely decline and offer to attend to myself in the restaurant toilets.

I smiled at him encouragingly. “That’ll be very helpful of you. Thank you, Greg.”

He threw me a half-smile back and I could tell he wasn’t at all comfortable about this. I suspected that, even within the safety of intimacy with his girlfriend, he was used to steering well clear of bottoms.

He busied himself in dabbing at my underwear, pressing the napkins to them firmly to try and draw out the wine.

A few months ago I would indeed have been far too embarrassed to have had my trousers half-pulled down in the presence of a stranger like this, especially a young guy. Now I was rather enjoying having him kneeling behind me with the cheeks of my bum just inches from his face, and was finding it pleasantly arousing to have him touching me back there, his fingers so close to the hole we both knew I was concealing. My cock continued to enlarge, pulling my briefs more tightly against the paired buns of my backside.

I hoped he was enjoying the view.

The briefs had been fresh on that evening, just before I’d left the house to meet Debbie, so I knew there’d be no unpleasant stains to trouble him. He’d no doubt see the hair from my crack bristling down a line through the white material, but if you had another guy’s arse in your face, you had to kind of expect that. I myself preferred other men to have a masculine hairiness between their muscular buttocks: perhaps Greg would too.

He said, “I’ll be able to draw out more of the wine if I put some napkins inside the back of your underpants. Will that be okay?”

“Whatever you need to do,” I shrugged, pretending to be nonchalant. Like this kind of thing happened every day and I ended up with twenty-year-old guys with their hands down the back of my underwear.

He sandwiched the material of my briefs between two napkins, pressing them together to try and dry my underwear. As he did so, he kept rubbing the backs of his fingers against the skin of my bum-cheeks. I knew it to be completely unintentional – that he’d have blushed and ran a mile if he’d realised – but the sensation of his fingers caressing against the flesh of my buttocks was extremely sensual. My cock started to swell more rapidly and I knew that, if he were to continue, I would soon have a full-blown erection to contend with.

Again, just months ago I’d have been mortified to have found myself in this situation; developing a hard-on in the presence of an innocent young waiter. Now, though, I was curious to see how far I could push things between us and whether I could steer this opportune encounter towards the direction of more salacious avenues.

After all, if things turned nasty, I could rightly claim to be the injured party in this. I was the one who’d had his backside covered in spilled wine and who would be left, regardless of the waiter’s attentions, with a fiendish stain on what had been an expensive pair of trousers. If Greg were to accuse me of coming onto him, I was the one who would have the more justifiable complaint.

In any case, I had my girlfriend waiting for me out there in the restaurant: why on earth would a divorced man like me who was now dating an attractive woman, be flirting in the backroom of some restaurant with a fresh-out-of-college waiter who’d just poured half a bottle of wine onto his backside? The mere possibility was laughably ridiculous!

Greg continued working his fingers across both buttocks, trying to soak up as much of the spilled wine as he could, but was pointedly avoiding going anywhere between them. The arse-crack of another guy was obviously seen as an ‘out of bounds’ area; the sort of place men didn’t touch on each other, even when one of them was desperately trying to show his willingness to make amends.

I wasn’t prepared to put up with such reticence. You don’t spill wine down the arse of a ‘butt monkey’, as Cameron had referred to me, and get away with it so easily.

“I’m very wet and sticky between my buttocks, Greg,” I informed him. “It’s quite uncomfortable.”

“Would you like to pull down your underwear, Mr… er…?”

“It’s Rob,” I reminded him, hitching down my briefs. I appreciated the way he was trying to reintroduce some formality into proceedings, but I was having none of it. I presented my bare backside to his face and I’m sure that if arses can look expectant, mine did right then.

My cock rose up from my heavy scrotum, grateful for release from my underwear as it steadily lengthened and thickened in anticipation. I did my best to conceal it among the folds of my shirt: I didn’t want Greg to be freaked out by seeing not only how turned on I was becoming, but also how large my slowly swelling manhood was.

“I’ve never had a French Shiraz poured anywhere so indelicate,” I quipped.

He was staring at my bum, clearly unsure of how to proceed.

I went on, “It tasted very nice in the glass, but I’m sure it has a rather more interesting flavour now.”

As I expected, he showed no inclination to lean forwards for a taste.

“It’s probably more like an Australian Shiraz,” I added. “It would certainly have that… you know… down-under kick.”

He ignored my frivolity and reached up with a napkin to run it down my cleft. I hadn’t been lying – I genuinely was quite wet between my buttocks – and the napkin emerged from my arse-crack with a dark red stain on it.

“I think that’s soaked it up,” he asserted.

“Are you sure? I’d hate to end up with a rash.”

Perhaps fearing I could have grounds for further complaints against him, he reached up grabbed my buttocks. Then, with his thumbs he teased them apart.

I leaned forwards for him, hoping he would like what he saw: my abundantly hairy crack parting to reveal my dark pink, slightly swollen ring. I hoped that once he saw how inviting a man’s rear entrance can look, he might be tempted, just as I had with Guy, to lean forwards for a sniff and then a lick. The thought of what it would be like to ease his cute ginger-pubed cock into the hole I was presenting him could surely not have escaped him: in the mood I was in, and as long he had protection with him, I’d be more than willing to bend lower to receive it, poking stiffly outwards from his gaping fly.

But if such temptations had troubled him, he showed no sign of acting on them.

“You look pretty dry as far as I can tell,” he muttered, still staring at my splayed cleft. I was hoping his gaze was focussed on my hole and that he could recognise, from the slackness of its opening and the puckering of the skin around it, that its owner was, at the very least, sexually inquisitive. He might suspect that I was no stranger to the pleasure a sufficiently curious man can receive from his own finger; perhaps even realise that for some men masturbation can involve both hands working independently.

I glanced back at him and realised that he was actually staring between my legs, appearing somewhat stunned by the grotesquely swollen size of my big, bloated balls dangling between them. He seemed, on some primitive level, intimidated by the sheer scale of my testicles; as though their appearance before him, heavy and pendulously distended with my semen, daunted him as belonging to a competitor male. I assumed his own, tucked away in his black trousers, were considerably smaller and perhaps rather less hairy.

I said, with a forced chuckle, “Not exactly my most flattering view, Greg.”

He smiled awkwardly.

I was grateful that my cock was so stiff that it was pointing upwards towards my stomach and out of his view. It would no doubt have compounded his discomfort if it had been dangling down, reaching almost level with my knees, its shaft as thick as his forearm and its head as plump as his fist.

Wanting to direct his attention back upwards towards the appeal of my bum, I insisted to him that I still didn’t feel completely dry.

He looked back up at my hairy crack and, for a second, I thought he was going to reach up with an outstretched finger and run it down between my cheeks to feel for any remaining liquid. I was eager for him to touch my puffy ring, gently circling my stretched hole as if puzzled as to whether the moisture there was the remnants of the wine or was my own, alluring dampness. I’d push myself back towards him so that his finger would slurp into me and then, from my sounds of breathless pleasure and the way I’d work myself up and down on his finger, he’d realise – hopefully with some fascination – that the ways of pleasuring a male aren’t confined to manipulating his penis.

But Greg seemed reluctant to venture forth and just replied flatly that my bum looked pretty dry to him.

So I tried, again, to throw him another inroad.

“I don’t smell too boozy back there, do I?” I asked, hoping now to lure him forwards for a sniff. “I don’t want to reek of the stuff.”

Once his nose was between my buttocks, I’d bend further forwards and ease my arse into his face. I’d feel him sniffing at my hole – first hesitatingly, then with building interest – and he’d push his nose deeper and lower to smell me at my strongest. His breath would be quickening and his excitement increasing and I’d call out, “It might be better to taste me, Greg – make sure there’s no wine left at all!” Then I’d feel his tongue lapping at my most sensitive spot – knowing he would be struggling to understand why licking another man like this was so arousing him – and I’d see him rubbing himself through his trousers as I’d grab my own cock and roughly pleasure myself.

But it wasn’t to turn out like that. Greg stayed frustratingly well back from my buttocks and muttered simply that he couldn’t smell anything, before releasing my cheeks and standing up.

“There’s some Stain Remover in one of these cupboards,” he said, turning to retrieve it. “It should get most of the colour out.”

He found a plastic bottle of colourless liquid and removed the lid. Taking a sniff from the bottle he recoiled from its strong, chemical smell: the solvent, I assumed, for the tannins in red wine.

He knelt back down behind me and soaked a few fresh paper napkins with the liquid and dabbed at the seat of my trousers and my briefs, still hitched down and between my shins. The solvent drew the colour out with surprising success: it seemed my trousers might yet get to be worn again.

As he was tending to my clothing, looking down at it as he knelt behind me, his hair kept tickling my backside. His fringe, which he’d spiked up with gel, would occasionally stray into my crack as if it was eager to venture where his fingers had been so reticent.

I couldn’t stop myself from tittering and he looked up at me.

“Your hair’s tickling my bum,” I explained. “Your fringe keeps rubbing between my cheeks where you’ve gelled it up.”

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, and pulled back a little.

“No – it’s nice, actually,” I insisted, but from then on he maintained a prudent distance.

When he’d taken out the bulk of the colour, leaving only a faint pink tidemark on my underwear, the solvent he’d applied was already evaporating, leaving behind little moisture. As I pulled up my clothing and fastened up my belt, the back of my trousers felt surprisingly dry. Greg turned to back to the cupboard to put the napkins away, informing me that a laundry liquid called ‘Stain Devils’ would bring out what was left. It would, he said, bring out just about anything.

I doubted it would succeed on some of Jake’s more floridly stained underwear.

I turned towards him, aware that my erection was making a mound in the front of my trousers, and watched him struggling to get the napkins back into the packet. It seemed of some importance that they were refolded and put away correctly; perhaps he’d been told off by his superior for leaving them where they were likely to be creased and rendered unusable.

His bottom looked very nice in the back of his trousers. The material was tight enough to show that he wasn’t wearing slip briefs like I was: instead, he was probably concealing the sort of tight-fitting shorts that didn’t produce a visible hemline. Whatever he was wearing, it made for a very pleasant view.

While I waited for him to finish faffing around with the napkins, I picked up the bottle of solvent to look at it, for the want of anything better to do. The label said it was polyphenol and it had a hazard warning that it was highly volatile. Suitable for use on most colour-fast fabrics, it said. For use-by date see bottom of bottle.

That gave me an idea. A rather naughty one.

I turned over the bottle and splashed a generous gloop of the liquid over Greg’s bottom. He swivelled around to face me, shocked, and I apologised to him as profusely as he had when he’d spilt the wine.

“I was just looking for the use-by date,” I claimed. “I didn’t realise you hadn’t put the lid back on. I’m really sorry…”

“It smells really chemically,” he complained, grabbing a couple of the napkins he’d been carefully folding and wiping the excess from his backside. “I can’t serve customers reeking like this… it’ll put them off their meals.”

“Let me help you,” I offered. “Turn around for me…”

He turned back to face the cupboard and passed me a wodge of napkins. I knelt down behind him and dabbed at his backside, finding that the liquid had mainly splashed his right cheek. Now his bum was at eye-level, I was captivated by it – he really had the most gorgeously firm pair of buttocks and the crack between them was intriguingly deep. If only he had been as enraptured by what I had been keen to show off.

I managed to wipe away the majority of the liquid and what was left evaporated quite quickly.

“Does it smell really bad?” he asked.

I leaned forward to sniff where the liquid had been and winced at how sharp the material reeked.

“Your right cheek took the worst of it,” I said. “Even though it dries quite quickly, it leaves behind a hell of an odour.”

I moved across to his other cheek and found nothing more than the faintly foody smell of the restaurant.

“Your left side’s fine,” I called up to him.

Then I moved into the middle – right between his magnificent butt-cheeks – and casually asked him to bend forwards a little. I stuck my nose between his buttocks as deeply as I dared and snorted the smell of the material which had, no doubt, countless times ridden up into his arse-crack.

I thought it must have been a few weeks since he’d had the trousers washed because the material between his cheeks was startlingly odoriferous. In spite of his polished appearance and delectable manners, the smell of the rear hem of his trousers, right where it nuzzled between his two round cheeks, was as coarse and uncouth as one might expect from a bricklayer.

“There’s a strong smell in the middle,” I informed him, my voice betraying a little of my excitement. “Bend a little lower and I’ll have another sniff…”

He dutifully complied – his thoughts no doubt too concerned about the stink of solvent than to consider my motives – and I pressed my nose lower and wedged more deeply into his crack. Inhaling strongly, I marvelled at how powerfully acrid his odour was back here – an intensely earthy bouquet of his most secretive scents – right where the material would chaff so close to his hole.

This was an arse that was overly ripe for rimming and I was determined, somehow, to engineer things towards that goal, however distant and unlikely it might seem.

“Yes, there’s a very strong smell back here, Greg” I said, “right between your legs. I’m not sure it’s the chemical, though…”

I moved in for another whiff – his robust fragrance was surprisingly addictive – feeling myself becoming more aroused.

If the stuff I’d read about men’s backsides secreting pheromones was true, Greg must be churning them out by the bucket-load. Other diners in the restaurant must surely find themselves reacting to this waiter’s alluring scent when, for example, he bent down to retrieve a dropped fork and the odorous seat of his trousers was raised prominently upwards.

I pulled back from his bum and stood up behind him.

“I think your right side caught most of the splash,” I informed him, “but I’m not sure about the… er… middle.”

“How can we get rid of the chemical smell?” he implored. “It’s really cloying… like turps, only stronger and sort of sickly-sweet.”

“Have you got a wet cloth or something?”

I seemed to remember from Chemistry lessons at school that some solvents are dispersed by water. I wasn’t sure how reliable my memory was but it was worth putting to the test.

Greg reached over to the sink and passed me a wet dishcloth. “Could you be quick? They’ll be wondering where I’ve got to.”

“Of course,” I smiled. “But I’ll need you to pull down your trousers… it’ll have soaked through to your underwear as well.”

“I dunno,” he muttered, shaking his head uncertainly. “Maybe just wipe my trousers…”

“Come on! You’ve seen just about everything I’ve got,” I reminded him. “You’ve seen my body more intimately than the woman out there has!”

That much was certainly true.

He shrugged and nodded and, turning back to face away from me, started unbuckling his belt. Unzipping his fly and pulling down his trousers down slightly, he revealed a purple pair of boxer briefs tightly cupping the pert mounds of his buttocks.

I took the cloth from him and knelt down behind him again. I rubbed the seat of his pulled-down trousers with the wet cloth and then leaned forwards to sniff the damp material. My memory had served me correctly: the water seemed to have driven the chemical out from the material.

I was tempted to take a quick whiff of the hem between his legs – this time from the inside where the smell of his bum would be far stronger – but I thought better than to push my luck.

Instead, I moved up to his underwear.

“Before I dab you down, Greg, I should wipe the stuff off your skin.”

“I dunno,” he said again, uneasily.

“It might cause an allergy or a chemical burn. It’s best to be on the safe side.”

“Well… okay… if you’re sure,” he muttered after a pause, and I reached up and pulled down his shorts so that the waistband was around the tops of his thighs.

His backside was breath-taking in its naked glory: the skin so pale and smooth, the deep cleft between his cheeks bristling with a fine fuzz of reddish hair. He had a few small, pink pimples around the crease where the tops of his thighs met the curve of his buttocks, but other than those the view was near-perfect.

“I can see you’re a natural auburn,” I quipped.

His face swung round to look at me, blushing. “Oh God, am I that hairy back there?”

I smiled up at him. “Most men are, Greg. It’s part of our irresistible charm.”

My reply seemed to quell his embarrassment somewhat and he threw me another half-smile.

I sniffed his right arse cheek and confirmed to him that the chemical smelled strong on his skin there. I dabbed at the whole area with the cloth and he passed me a napkin to dry him off.

Then I turned to the deep valley between his buttocks.

“I’ll just see if the chemical splashed onto your… er… other place. I couldn’t really tell from your trousers.”

I leaned forward and pressed my nose between his cheeks. Inside his crack was hot and muggy and his thick, crude odour was almost overwhelming. It was dank and harsh; bursting with his own rich pheromones and replete with his bitter, effluvious stink. It was at once masculine and sexual; urgently compelling and deeply arousing.

This was an arse that was not just ripe for rimming, but which was crying out to be fucked. I imagined bending him over and ploughing my cock into this succulent furrow. Smelling the fullness of his backside as I drove in and out of him. Feeling his hot, slimy rectum squeezing in spasms on my thick, pumping shaft.

I snorted two or three times, nuzzling in deeper so that I could more clearly imagine what it would be like to be standing behind him, grabbing him by the shoulders and slamming so hard in and out of him that the whole room would be filled with his rich, extravagant stink.

Then I heard him say, reproachfully, “I don’t like you sniffing me there.”

I pulled back and looked up at him, feigning innocence. “I was just checking to see where the chemical splashed, Greg. Just like I did on your trousers.”

“It’s different with my pants pulled down,” he said, starting to blush.

“I can’t see why…”

“You know exactly why,” he went on, his cheeks now scarlet. “It’s a very personal place… private.”

His intense embarrassment made it obvious that he must know full well how whiffy he could get back there. He was probably reminded of it every time he pulled off his underwear.

I stood up behind him again and smiled at him. “You shouldn’t feel embarrassed, Greg. It’s just how your body is… it’s perfectly natural.”

“Yeah, I know,” he muttered. “But you kept sniffing and pushing deeper, like you were enjoying it.”

“Well, you have a very interesting smell, Greg. Quite… stimulating…”

He stared at me for a second before asking, a touch incredulous, “You like the smell of my bum?”

“A man’s backside can be a very erogenous place,” I informed him.

“I’m not gay,” he said, flatly.

“Neither am I,” I echoed. “But just because I prefer dating women, doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the male body as well.”

“Does it excite you?”

“Sniffing your bum?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Not as much as licking it would,” I replied.

He looked surprised. “You would actually lick it? My bumhole?”

“If you would let me,” I nodded, finding it cute that he’d call it his ‘bumhole’.

“And you’re not gay?” he checked. For some reason this was quite important to him.

“Not that I know of,” I smiled. “I’m just… well… a bit of a dirty sod, I suppose.”

He smiled back at that. “‘Opportunistic’ might be a better description,” he suggested.

I chuckled.

Then I asked him, “Would you like me to rim you, Greg?”

“Is that what it’s called?”

I nodded.

“As long as you don’t want me to do anything in return,” he replied, before conceding, “yes. You can rim me.”

As I knelt back down he felt obliged to warn me, “I’ve always been pretty smelly down there. I can’t help it.”

I looked up at him and smiled. “I did kind of notice.”

“And it doesn’t bother you?”

“Bother me?” I laughed. “I love it! I mean, as long as you’re clean…”

He smiled and nodded. “Yeah, I’m clean. To the point of paranoia. I just get sweaty and… well…”

“It’s okay,” I interrupted. “Just let me enjoy it.”

I reached up, grabbed his hips and moved in for the kill.

He was, by now, obviously keen to experience what it would feel like to be rimmed, because he bent forwards slightly and opened his legs to give me less restricted access between his buttocks.

I prized his cheeks apart with both hands, splaying open his lightly haired crack so I could see, luridly and graphically exposed, his tiny pink hole, clenched tightly shut. It was slightly higher than I would have expected; I supposed different men must be built differently back here.

He called back, nervously, “Is it okay?”

I smiled. “It’s magnificent.”

I heard him chuckle and then he asked, his voice affectedly formal, “Would you like a sauce with that, sir?”

I laughed back. “The juice it comes with will be delicious enough.”

I pressed my face into him, this time with no attempt at pretence, and inhaled the full impact of his spread cheeks.

He was a smelly guy, that much was certain, but the smell was in no way unpleasant: it was just incredibly strong and uncompromisingly anal. His bum had all the allure of Guy’s splayed backside – the same musky aroma that had so excited me and had drawn me into this fetish – but at a level which was cranked up to the extreme.

If Guy had smelled like Greg – if this had been the intensity of the odour that I’d been met with when I’d craned my face up from the hotel bed and pressed it between his squatting legs – I’d have either quickly recoiled at the sheer ferocity of it, or would have started involuntarily climaxing there and then. In either case I would never have got as far as rimming him, and I probably wouldn’t be where I was now.

But since then, I had grown used to such peculiarities; familiar with sheer variety of smells and tastes that men’s backsides can offer.

I pushed in further and inhaled as deeply as I could.

The sheer strength of the odour from Greg’s backside – from his ‘bumhole’ as I now liked to think of it – reminded me of Shane the carpenter, who I’d rimmed at the adult learning centre. Greg’s scent wasn’t as ferocious as Shane’s – his had verged on being eye-wateringly offensive – and I was keen to apply my mouth to his hole in a way I hadn’t been able to with the carpenter.

Whereas Shane had been the sort of man who could not have cared less how rough and ripe his arse smelled – he probably thought all men were as whiffy as he was back there – Greg was clearly very self-conscious about his odour. And that, for some reason, made me more willing to persevere with his backside than I had been with Shane’s; eager to show him that what he might regard as an embarrassing flaw could, for the right person, be a powerful aphrodisiac.

I extended my tongue and licked at his anus. Jesus Christ, this guy tasted hot!

The strength of his flavour – sharp, spicy and pungent – made my tongue tingle and my cock strain in my trousers, painfully constricted and desperate for its owner to start pumping it.

I pulled back from him, breathless.

“Bloody hell, Greg! Your arse tastes amazing! I’ve never tasted anyone as intense as you!”

I grinned up at him but found him looking down at me quizzically.

“Am I supposed to be enjoying it too?” he asked with little enthusiasm.

I stood up and he turned around slightly to show me his cock. It was pale and limp and flopped insubstantially over his small, shrivelled scrotum. He was clearly not at all well-hung and had trimmed his pubic hair very short to show off what little he had, without – I should add – very much success.

He went on, “It’s just that, if I am supposed to be getting off on this, then… well… I’m not.”

I smiled at him and undid my trousers again. My cock sprang upwards, thankful for release, and then throbbed gratuitously in its sheer enormity. The bright red head was vividly exposed and looked, on its own, bigger than his cock and balls in their entirety.

“If it’s any consolation, Greg, I am!” I told him.

“Whoa!” he laughed, gaping in amazement at my large erection. “Look at that thing! It’s a good job my girlfriend hasn’t seen what you’ve got – she already says I’m a bit on the small size.”

I enjoyed his admiration and thought he might want to appreciate what I had in a more physical way.

“Would you like me to try and fuck you with it?” I asked him, mindful that I had stashed a condom into my wallet in case my evening with Debbie were to have taken an unexpected turn.

“Fuck me?” he queried, perhaps unaware that that word could be applied to two men.

“Yeah… you know… work my cock up into your… er… bumhole.”

“No, no!” he cried out, shaking his head energetically. “It’s far too big. I’ve never done anything like that before… I’ve never done anything with another guy, actually.”

“Okay,” I smiled. “We’ll try something else, then. If you don’t enjoy me rimming you, maybe you’ll like this…”

I knelt down again and gestured for him to turn back around. This time, instead of sniffing and licking his bum, I reached my finger up to my mouth and applied a copious layer of spit to it.

“I don’t know that I’ll like that either,” he said, anticipating my next move.

“Well, there’s no harm in finding out,” I proposed, and asked him to bend over a little more for me.

I wasn’t entirely sure how to finger another man now that I was presented for the first time with a moist, hairy arsehole awaiting my entry. With a woman, vaginal fingering can be quite a delicate operation. The angle of the finger has to be quite precise and the rhythm of stimulation is notoriously difficult to judge. Too fast can be uncomfortable and too slow can be unexciting. Too deep can be painful and too shallow can be frustrating. And two fingers… well, you can compound all of the above.

With Greg, I decided I would use a similar technique to that I use on myself: an extended middle finger rather crudely inserted followed by a rough and ready in and out motion. A woman would be horrified if I were to besmirch her with such an insensitive approach, but as it had worked so successfully on me – having helped my right hand bring me to an enjoyable climax on many an occasion – I thought it worth a shot.

I slid my finger into him with one rapid and rather inelegant plunge. He mouthed a breathless “Aah!” sound as his backside accepted the intrusion.

I held it deep inside him, feeling the slimy heat of his rectum clamped around my knuckle, and looked up at him to gauge his response.

He was grinning at me; half in pleasure, half in surprise.

“That feels quite nice,” he admitted.

Men were, evidently, far easier to please with a finger than women.

I leaned around to take a look at his cock and saw it slowly lengthening and lifting upwards from his scrotum, like a sausage-shaped balloon that someone was inflating. In spite of his developing arousal, his organ remained extremely small: becoming only slightly thicker and longer than one of his fingers. As his foreskin retracted, it exposed a tiny pink head, looking for all intents and purposes like a baked bean with a small slit in it.

He watched me looking at his cock and smiled at me expectantly, clearly waiting for me to make a favourable comment. After it had begun to arch upwards and it was clear that it wasn’t going to grow significantly bigger any time soon, I looked up at him and said, simply, “Nice.”

He had the genitals I’d have given anything to possess when I’d been at school. His cock was modest enough to disappear among the folds of his trunks when he went swimming with his friends; not like mine which, even in my teens, would make a prominent mound that everyone would peer at and make jokes that it would scrape along the bottom of the pool when I swam. His balls were similarly virtuously restrained; not like mine which would bulge like concealed golf balls in my school trousers and make other boys laugh that I looked ready ‘to spunk up’ – long before I knew what that even meant.

Greg’s were the sort of genitals that one could respectably allow even an elderly, widowed vicar to clap his eyes on, if ever such a situation were to arise. They were the sort of genitals that I used to want my mother to think I had: not the grotesquely thick penis and pumped-up testicles that I’d so swiftly developed during adolescence.

He looked at me staring at what he possessed and grinned more broadly. He seemed quite proud of his pencil-like erection and pea-sized bollocks.

I smiled back at him and slowly withdrew my finger from his arse. It was that that I wanted to focus on: to be honest, I couldn’t really care what was between his legs.

His strong anal smell became bitingly intense after I’d slid my finger out of him. It filled the air like a fart, although its odour was far less brash. It was the same smell that I’d enjoyed when I’d first sniffed him through his trousers, but now released powerfully into the air from my glistening finger: the same heavy, pungent aroma that had so captivated me inside his arse-crack, but now evaporating so thickly that we could both smell it growing stronger.

I saw him blush and he asked sheepishly, “Is that okay? The smell of my bum, I mean.”

I smiled at him. “Okay? Come on, Greg – it’s as hot as fuck!”

He smiled back and then chuckled naughtily. He was finding that he rather liked the fact that someone appreciated how strong his backside smelled; that someone was aroused by the strongly raucous odour he was unable to control and which had probably bothered him most of his life.

I slid my finger back into him and he gasped again. “Aah… yeah… that feels so good!”

“There are nerve endings up inside your rectum,” I explained, “which magnify pleasure. You should try this when you masturbate – you’ll climax much more powerfully.”

“Isn’t it a gay thing?” he asked. Always with the gay stuff; what was his problem?

I smiled to hide my irritation. “Not at all, Greg. It’s a male thing. All guys have these nerves; all guys should learn how to enjoy their own bodies.”

He nodded and then said, more confidently than I would have expected, “Well, finger me, Rob. Like you finger yourself. Show me how it’s done.”

I started a slow, deliberate rhythm, making strokes as long as I could and keeping it simple: just pumping my finger steadily in and out of his tight hole. His eyes widened and his mouth gaped in his enjoyment, and he started working his arse onto me, matching, in reverse, my motions.

He asked me if he could masturbate and I laughed. “Why are you asking my permission?”

He smiled back. “I dunno… I suppose I just want to check that it’s what I’m supposed to do.”

I laughed again. “Do what you like, Greg. Do whatever feels good for you.”

As I kept pushing in and out of his arse, he grabbed his cock and wanked himself, jerking his tiny foreskin between his finger and thumb. I couldn’t remember my cock ever being small enough to masturbate it like that: even when I’d first taken up the hobby, I seemed to remember that my organ had been big enough to fill my whole hand.

Greg appeared, if anything, quite proud of his diminutive size and to enjoy the fact I was watching him wanking as I fingered his arse. He flaunted it towards me as his finger and thumb sped up and down his shaft – a mere half inch of movement, his wrist barely twitching – as he smiled down at me as if parading his tiny erection as something I should envy.

Perhaps, like me, he’d always been told how good boys were modestly proportioned and was simply proving to me how righteous he’d been until now. If that was the case, he must regard me from the abundance of my own genitals as having been a very bad boy. Perhaps I had been.

And, indeed, I probably still was because I suddenly had a mischievous idea.

“Would you like to fuck me?” I asked him. And then, in case he needed clarification: “I mean, do you want to push your cock up my bumhole?”

If he had a condom on him, I’d be very willing to bend over for him. After all, his cock was ideally suited to buggery: there’d certainly no danger that I would find it painful when he pushed it up my arse. Let’s face it: it would hardly touch the sides.

But he shook his head and muttered, breathlessly, “I’m enjoying this… keep going…”

I kept fingering him, a little disappointed that I wouldn’t yet get to feel what it was like to have a man’s organ inside me. The thought of the two of us hidden away together furtively butt-fucking – the waiter secretively servicing the splayed and protruding buttocks of one of his male customers – had rather appealed to me.

He pushed his bum against my hand more forcefully and with a quickening rhythm, showing me that he wanted me to be bolder and rougher with him. I managed to work a second finger into him, pushing the two of them as deep as they could go, and his hole started making noisy slurping noises as I stretched it open more widely.

The powerfully anal smell continued to build and he smiled down at me as he sniffed it to show how much he was revelling in it. I grinned back up at him and grabbed my cock with my free hand, jerking my foreskin quite quickly to show him that I too was greatly aroused I was by his crude, anal stink. He liked that and pumped his own cock faster, grunting in pleasure at having something he had clearly for so long been self-conscious about being invested with a new sexual dimension.

I called up to him, “Stop moving your bum for a second, Greg. You might enjoy something else…”

He stopped working himself onto me and I reached forwards, still drilling in and out of him with my two slick fingers, and licked gently around the swollen ring of his arsehole, now gaping wide from my repeated pummelling.

He called out, “Oh God, yeah! That’s really nice!” And his elbow started moving more quickly.

I kept licking at him, masturbating myself more forcefully in my renewed pleasure at having managed to reintroduce my favourite activity into our fun.

I sped up my paired fingers as fast as I could, slamming them in and out of his reddening ring as I revelled in his still thickening smell. I licked around his hole, teasing it with the tip of my tongue, and then tasted my fingers as they thrust back and forth.

They were thickly coated with his juices and – Jesus! – did they taste powerful! I felt my orgasm building as I hungrily cleaned them with my tongue, relishing the potency of the acrid slime that I was devouring; the sheer, unbridled pungence of his rectum.

He called out, “I’m getting close! I’m going to cum!”

Taking care not to pull out of him with my left hand, I scrambled up and stood alongside him.

We wanked together facing the cupboards, me with my fingers still pushing in and out of his bum, and looked down at each other’s cocks. His was literally only inches long: he wasn’t jerking his tiny foreskin so much as tweaking it. Mine was, perhaps, ten times its size; looking not so much like a big brother to it but more as a barely related species might.

I thought I knew what might bring him off.

I whispered to him, “I love the smell of your arse, Greg. It’s so fucking hot!”

I had intended to pull out of him and sniff my fingers appreciatively to excite him, but I felt the muscles of his rectum squeezing around my fingers in pulses and he threw his head back and called out, “Oh God! Yeah!”

His hips started bucking and he closed his eyes tightly. It was as if all the pent-up angst he’d felt about his backside for so many years was being discharged through his orgasm. He let out a long sigh of intense relief and then squirted two small spits of almost clear juice, one after the other, onto the front of the one of the cupboards.

He kept masturbating his thin shaft and I wondered if he was about to spray a more bountiful climax over the cupboard. However, nothing more was produced and it soon became apparent that that was it: his discharge had been represented by two tiny gobs of translucent liquid that were now slowly trickling down the front of the cupboard door.

He turned to me and smiled, clearly quite proud of what he saw as an impressively manly release.

“It’s a bit of a mess,” he said, looking at the twin dribbles he’d produced. I wondered how many sperms were swimming around in such tiny pools: he’d be lucky if a handful could squeeze into each of them.

Still tugging away at my big, fat cock, I pulled my fingers out of his arse and sniffed at his powerful stink. I muttered my own, “Oh God!”, feeling my climax hit in, and then thrust my hips forwards to direct my cock away from us.

The first spurt of my orgasm sprayed against the cupboard in front of me like an abrupt and copious jet of thick white piss. Some of it splashed back and hit us both, spattering our clothes in glutinous gobs.

I kept masturbating and my cock paused, as if taking a breath.

Then a second gusher erupted from it and I directed it upwards to soak the tiles and the work surface. I turned to him and gasped as my balls emptied themselves in a long, noisy stream.

This second surge soon abated but I still kept jerking my foreskin back and forth.

Until a third wave hit me and I hosed down the front of the cupboard with it, washing away Greg’s mere football team of sperms with a few hundred million of my own.

After teasing out a few last dwindling squirts, I took my hand from my cock and grinned in his direction.

“I think, Greg, that’s what I’d call a bit of a mess!”

He looked at me as if shell-shocked.

As I hitched up my underwear and then my trousers, he asked me if other men orgasmed so plentifully.

“I don’t think so,” I replied, watching him pull up his purple boxer briefs and cover his rather fascinating behind. “I think it’s just that I have… well… a particularly large set of Crown Jewels, I don’t know if you noticed.”

“Yeah, I did,” he muttered, a suggestion of admiration in his voice.

“And does other men’s spunk smell as strong as yours?” he asked, sniffing the air as he was doing up his trousers.

Now it was my turn to blush slightly; a leftover embarrassment from my own youth.

“No,” I said. “Every guy must be different. You have a… how should I put it… rather fragrant backside and I have semen that must be pumped full with male hormone. It’s what makes sex between men so interesting.”

“Sex between men? You mean, gay sex?” he said with alarm.

Again the gay thing.

I smiled at him. “Do you want to be my boyfriend? Do you want to go out on a date with me?”

“No!” he called out, almost recoiling with horror.

“Well, I don’t want to do those things with you, either. So it can’t be gay, then, can it?”

He caught my drift and his fear lifted. “Okay… I guess not…”

As we used yet more napkins to wipe my thick, white goo from the where it was splattered, he asked me how I usually met other men for sex.

“Believe it or not, Greg, I haven’t done this very much. I only discovered a few months ago that I enjoy this kind of stuff.”

“And does your girlfriend – the woman out there in the restaurant – know that you’re into men as well as women?”

I shook my head, concealing my slight alarm at his mention of Debbie. In all the fun we’d been having, I’d rather forgotten her. How long had she been sitting out there?

“No,” I replied, after considering how I would begin to explain my protracted absence. “I can’t really see any reason to tell her.”

He used the cloth on his black trousers and waistcoat, dabbing off the stray splashes of my gloopy seed, and then passed it to me.

“I suppose,” he went on, “getting together with another guy is a way of having sex with no strings attached. I mean, what we did was just sex for the sake of it… nothing else.”

I smiled over at him, dabbing off my own trousers. “I think that’s what attracts me to it: the lack of any emotional complications.”

He walked over to the sink and washed his hands, thinking over the possibilities our encounter had seemed to raise for him.

“I’ve never thought of my bum as a sexual organ,” he commented.

“Me neither… well not until sometime in September.”

He turned and smiled, drying his hands on a tea-towel so dirty it looked like it might introduce microbes onto his skin which were far more unpleasant than those he had just washed off.

“Other guy’s bums can be fun, too,” I suggested.

He smiled more broadly. “Maybe I’ll have to start spilling wine over the back of guys’ trousers more often!”

We left the little cloakroom looking relatively clean, hoping the smell of his arse and of my semen (of ‘my bum and your cum’ as he poetically put it) would soon be dispersed by the noisy extractor fan.

When I got back into the restaurant, Debbie was looking around anxiously.

“Where’ve you been, Rob?” she asked fretfully when I’d returned to my seat. “I was getting worried. You’ve been over half an hour!”

Had it really been that long?

“I’m really sorry, Debbie,” I gushed in the way that I’d mentally rehearsed it back in the cloakroom. “It took him ages to get the stain out. He had to try just about every bottle of solvent he had. And then I accidentally spilled one of them over him… it all got a bit wet and sticky, to be honest.”

Well, that part was true.

I went on, “I’m so sorry you’ve been sitting here on your own for so long. I should have popped out and let you know what was going on.”

On second thoughts, I probably shouldn’t.

“It’s okay,” she said, sounding more composed. “I mean, it wasn’t your fault he spilled wine all down your back.”

I nodded and tucked into my starter. It looked like she asked them to rustle up a prawn cocktail for me. That was rather sweet of her.

Greg came over and acted with the same professional aloof that he’d exhibited when we’d first walked in.

“Could I offer you both another bottle of wine? With the compliments of the management, of course.”

“That’s very civil of you,” I chirped brightly.

He turned to Debbie. “I’m sorry for the delay in cleaning your companion’s clothing. We didn’t have any solvent in the cupboard. It took time to send out for some.”

“Oh?” she said, quizzically. “He said you had lots of bottles and you had to try them all.”

She looked over at me, confused.

Before I could think up a reply, Greg intervened. “Ah yes, madam… I meant to say that we didn’t have the right solvent. We had lots that were wrong and… yes… that’s right… we did try them all… but then we found we needed a different solvent, so we sent out for that.”

“Oh,” she said, looking at me questioningly.

I smiled at her. “I didn’t want to bore you with all the tiny little details. Suffice is to say that it was all very messy.”

“It was indeed, sir,” Greg chimed in. “Exceedingly so.”

I could see now that this waiter-talk of his was just a routine. I’d seen the real man in the cloakroom; the real Greg being himself. Out in the restaurant, it was like he was playing a character.

As he went off to get another French Shiraz, Debbie looked at me suspiciously.

I just smiled and acted like we were having a very pleasant evening. Which we were: one of us rather more than the other.

The rest of our meal passed largely uneventfully and Greg retained an incurious distance from us as we enjoyed our time together.

At the end of the evening, when he had fetched me my jacket and Debbie had popped to the bathroom, I told him that I hoped he would act on his newly awakened interest and be more experimental with his own gender.

“I will,” he smiled, dropping the waiter act again momentarily. “You’ve given me a lot to think about, Rob.”

I was about to offer him my number so he could give me a call and come over one afternoon. I wanted to experience again the full impact of his amazing backside and thought it likely, given how keen he’d been to enjoy my fingers, that I could persuade him to take a rather larger part of me inside him. I had an image of the two of us naked together in my mind: me on my bed, kneeling behind him and him straddling me, thumping his arse up and down. He’d be tweaking that little cock of his, making his nodule-like balls bob up and down, as my massively thicker shaft plunged in and out of him and my fattened bollocks, swollen up like eggs in their saggy, hairy sack, slammed back and forth. And the two of us would be revelling in his stink, sweating and grunting as we basked in it, wafting thickly from his hole and from the plunging rod of my bum-streaked cock.

It was an attractive thought – rousingly appealing – but in view of our age difference I thought such an invitation, albeit implicitly given, might come across to him as unnervingly clingy.

I’d have to make do with imagining Greg with another guy – one nearer his own age – gasping at having his bum fingered again and discovering for himself the multitude of other ways he could enjoy himself with his own gender.

As Greg saw the two of us to the door of the restaurant he formally expressed his gratitude that I had been so ‘co-operative’, as he put it, following his unfortunate indiscretion. In return I offered my own appreciation at how ‘accommodating’ he had been.

Out in the car park, alongside our cars, I thanked Debbie for a lovely evening and we said our goodnights. In spite of the abundance of my earlier release, I was already starting to feel horny again. If she’d have invited me back to stay over with her, I’d have readily agreed, although I thought it too soon in our fledgling relationship to ask her to come back to my place.

I realised that, as much as I enjoyed sex with other men, I also wanted to be physical with a woman. The two things were satisfying on completely different levels. I could quite happily have buggered the arse of the waiter in the restaurant, if he’d let me, and then gone back with Debbie to just as enthusiastically make love to her; the earlier homosexual gratification having no discernible impact on the latter heterosexual version.

Men’s bums were great – amazing, even – but female sensuality still held an unfaltering appeal.

I leaned forwards to kiss Debbie, hoping to show her my desire, and at first she reciprocated but then abruptly pulled back.

I thought the bulge in the front of my trousers must have unsettled her when I’d pressed it towards her, but her agitation turned out to have been borne from the smell of my face.

“I’m sorry, Rob,” she said. “It’s just I’m very sensitive to smell and your face seems… well… perhaps it’s your after-shave or something.”

I realised she could smell Greg’s arse on my skin.

“Oh yes,” I muttered, “I did… er… experiment with a new scent this evening.”

“Well, it’s a little bit… shall we say… musky for my tastes. Quite pungent.”

I smiled. “Perhaps I’d better stick to Old Spice in future!”

She chuckled. “I’m sorry I can’t kiss you back. I do want to… it’s just…”

“I understand,” I conceded. “I thought it was a bit on the strong side when I first smelled it. It’s really not a problem.”

So, for want of any other way of expressing our developing affection, we parted with a handshake before driving off our separate ways.

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Next story: Father and Son Moments

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placed him in our unmarked cruiser.

That weekend, I invited Clay over to watch sports on TV. He arrived in tank top and shorts. I was only in shorts. As the game progressed we began hitting the beer. Clay went to the kitchen to get us our third beer each and when he returned he sat on the sofa right next to me.

From Part 1……

Before long, he said, “You know, we watch these guys in the park wanting to blow each other. I’ve heard that only a man really knows how to suck another man’s cock. I wonder if that’s true?”

Laughing, I said, “I’ve heard the same thing. Maybe one night we ought to each let a guy do us to find out.”

“Possibly,” Clay replied, “or we could just do each other and find out.”

“Are you fucking serious?” I asked.

“Yea,” he replied and he leaned toward me and pressed his lips top mine, offering his tongue.

Instinctively, I returned the kiss, and moments later I felt his hand pressing against my hard cock. I reached over and felt his crotch, finding his cock as hard as mine.

Seconds later, he began working my shorts lower.

——————————————

Part 2

I suddenly realized where things were going and quickly pushed Clay away.

“What the fuck are we doing?” I began. “I’m not gay and I don’t think you are either. We can’t continue like we were.”

“No, I’m not gay but I do think we’re both so fucking curious that’s it’s unreal. All I was thinking was that we’d just experiment for a little while.”

“Clay, I can’t do it. Maybe at some other time but not yet.”

“I understand, but it felt like you were as horny as I am, and I need to get off. You wouldn’t happen to have any porn would you?”

“That, I can help you with,” I replied.

I retriever a bi-porn with two women and one guy and put it into play. Before long, Clay stood and stripped down and slowly began stroking his cock. Since I had jerked off with buds of mine at an early age, I soon joined him.

Once I was nude and sitting on the sofa near him, I noticed that he couldn’t hardly take his yes off my cock. And to be honest, it was turning me on to see his big cock being stroked.

After we both climaxed out onto our bare chest and stomachs, Clay left. I sat and replayed the events of the day in my mind and soon had another boner. I had to admit to myself that I was, indeed, extremely curious.

Clay and I continued on with out duties on the vice squad, never mentioning what had happened. Oh, I would occasionally notice him adjust his crotch when we’d be waiting and watching guys making an arrest.

We did however, rather than make arrest, walk toward the guys and make enough noise to run them off.

A few months later, while waiting for some action, Clay looked at me and said, “Man, I’m horny as hell. If we find a single dude that wants it, I’m going to let him have mine and see what it’s like.”

“I just might have to watch that,” I said jokingly.

“Hell, watch then let him do you after he does me.”

“Maybe,” I replied.

About half and hour later, a car pulled in and two guys got out and looked around. We were sitting on a picnic table and they began walking toward us. Both were in their late forties yet nice looking and well built.

As they stepped up to us, one asked, “What’s up?”

“Not much, yet,” Clay replied.

“You wanting something to come up?”

“I sure wouldn’t be upset if it did,” Clay told him.

“What about your buddy?” the other man asked.

Before Clay could respond, I quickly said, “I wouldn’t have any objections either.”

Clay looked my way and slightly smiled.

“You two aren’t cops are you?” the first guy asked.

“Fuck no,” Clay replied. They were under the mistaken idea that when asked an officer had to say yes if he was indeed a cop.

They stepped closer and the first guy reached between Clay’s legs and began rubbing his crotch. Clay leaned back to give him easier access. The second guy did the same to me and I, too, leaned back.

After feeling both our hard cocks, the first guy stepped back and said, “Let’s get back where it’s more private and we will take care of you two.”

We followed them into the woods, but where we could still see if anyone else pulled into the lot. The first guy dropped to his knees in front of Clay and the other knelt in front of me.

They both began opening our jeans and pulling them down with our underwear. Our hard cocks sprang forward. They looked at our cocks and the first one looked over at the second and said, Sam, we found us some nice ones tonight.”

Simultaneously,, they swallowed our cocks in their entirety, burying their noses in out bushes. Clay and I gasped audibly as they began sucking our hard horny cocks.

Before long, we were both nearing our climax. When we could hold back no longer, we both exploded into their mouths.

Each man hungrily and eagerly accepted all our loads and quickly swallowed them before leaning sideways and kissing each other.

As we pulled up our jeans, The first guy said, “The way you two moaned and humped, you’d think it was your first time getting your cocks sucked.”

“Well, to be honest, it is,” Clay said. “We were curious and wanted to see what it was like.”

“Well?” the guy asked.

“Personally, I thought it was fantastic,” Clay said.

“So did I,” I added.

The guy named Sam spoke up and said, “Damn, baby, we got us a couple of virgins tonight.”

“Yep, we sure did.”

“Um, are you two lovers?” Clay asked.

“Yes, we are and I can say right now, that we’d both love to feel those cocks yours up our asses.”

“Well, give us you’re name and number and we just might be calling you,” Clay replied, trying to make it sound that we wanted to play again.

They left us their first names and phone numbers and left. As we returned to the picnic table, Clay asked, “Mark, truthfully, what did you think?”

“Truthfully, I think that what we heard about guys doing it better than women was more that accurate. I’ve never been sucked like that before, and never to completion.”

“I feel the same way,” Clay added.

Two weeks later, Clay invited me to his place for dinner, an when I arrived, I found him in only a pair of shorts.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said, offering me a beer.

I kicked off my shoes and a few moments later removed my shirt as we sat on the patio in the sun.

After dinner, Clay came up to me again and kissed me, again trading tongues.

As we kissed, events repeated what had happened at my place. He began to slowly push my shorts lower. Without hesitation, I began to do the same to his. Seconds later, bot our shorts fell to the floor and we stood facing each other totally naked.

“I’ve got something for us to watch,” he said.

He began a gay movie that he had rented and we watched everything guys do together. When it was over, he asked, “Shall we give it a try?”

“I don’t see why not.”

Taking my hand, he led me to his bedroom. Moments later, we were in his bed, kissing and cuddling. Gradually, he moved to my chest and began sucking my nipples. After a moment, I did the same to him. Seconds later, we were in a sixty-nine, getting our first taste of cock. WE soon brought each other to a roaring climax and wanting to go all the way, we both swallowed.

After another kiss, we agreed that it wasn’t as bad as we had expected. In fact, we both admitted that we would do it again.

That week, we had Tuesday and Wednesday off and spent the entire time at my place, naked and having sex.

Going by what we had seen in the movie at Clay’s, we began rimming each other then we each took the others cherry. No longer were we virgins.

We both agreed that starting out, it hurt like hell but by the second or third time we were both enjoying getting fucked. By the time we went back to work, we had done it all, and admitted to each other that it was much more satisfying than sex with a woman, and involved much less drama.

Once back to work, we both agreed that it would be hard for us to arrest guys for doing the same thing we enjoyed, but at least our was in private. We decided to get off the vice squad.

A friend of Clay’s had told us that the highway patrol was hiring and we applied there. Once we were accepted , we gave our notice and changed jobs.

After a short training period, we were put out on patrol as partners. On occasion, at night when things were slow, we’d give each other a blow job while on patrol.

One night about ten, Luke, Clay’s friend called Clay’s cell phone and asked if we’d like to meet him for coffee at the small truck stop on the edge of town about one.

We agreed , and arrived there about twenty till. Things were very quiet, and needing to piss, we both headed to the restroom around the back of the building.

Walking in, we froze at what we saw. there at the urinal was a young trucker in his late thirties, with his jeans around his ankles and just a tank top on. In front of him on his knees was Luke, in full uniform. The trucker was in the process of filling Luke’s mouth with his load. Quickly, the trucker pulled out and began pulling up his jeans. However, a large drop of his cum landed on Luke’s cheek and held there.

The driver left as Luke begged us not to say anything. “I didn’t think you would get here this early.”

“Hey man, it’s cool,” Clay said as he stepped up and licked the huge cum drop off Luke’s cheek, then kissed me to share it.

“Fuck man, you two like cock also?”

“Mark, lock the door,” Clay said.

I locked the door as Clay began removing Luke’s gun belt. Once it was off, together we dropped his uniform pats and took turns sucking his cock. after we got him off and shared his huge load of cum, he sucked us both off.

Inside, as we sipped coffee, we told him everything and why we quit the vice squad.

“Man, I had no idea at all that you two were in any way interested in guys. And it’s hard to believe that you were both straight before that.

I been sucking cock since I was a teen,” he said.

When the three of us had time off at the same time, we’d get together with Luke and suck and fuck each other. It was so hot watching Clay swallow another cock or take it up his ass. And the more we were together the more I cared for him.

Luke had told us that he had been dating a lawyer in town and really cared for him. We wished him well.

A few months later Clay and I took vacation together going to Ft. Lauderdale. We stayed at a gay motel where clothing was optional and went to a nude beach. We met guys at the motel and watched each other have sex.

After returning home, Clay came up to me and said, “My place is plenty big for both of us. There is no reason for you to pay rent. Why don’t you marry me and move in with me?

“Clay, I love you with all my heart and would love nothing better.”

Our state was one of the few where same sex marriage was legal. We went to the other side of the state and got married with Luke and his lawyer boyfriend as witnesses.

As it turned out, Luke and Ray got married the next afternoon.

We are all very close and frequently get together for dinners out or quiet evenings at home. Both times usually lead to hot four way orgies afterward.

And just incase your curious, when Clay and I stop a hot young trucker at night on the highway, we do give him a chance to avoid and costly ticket. They never seem to refuse.

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Ronnie stood with his back to me, his beautiful, smooth ass right in my face. My cock twitched in anticipation of diving into the cleft of that valley with my long tongue. “You ready?” I asked. He nodded.

I put both hands on either cheek and pried them gently apart. There in the middle like some rare jewel was his pink hole. It looked like it had never been ravaged by another mans tongue or his cock. I felt honored that I was going to be the one to do it. I flicked my tongue across his hole and felt Ronnie jump. “Just testing” I said kissing his cheek. I started out slowly. Gently licking his hole. Ronnie loved every minute. He was panting and moaning. I could see his left arm moving as he jerked off. I didn’t want him to cum too soon so I stopped. “Help me up.”

I sat him down on the couch and began to undress, Ronnie’s eyes watched every move I made. When I released my aching, rock hard cock Ronnie’s eye buldged in his head. “Holy fuck! I thought I was big but damn!” I laughed. “I know.” He stared at my moster slab of meat with a innocent kid smile. “Where’s the horse you stole that from?” he asked. I shrugged. “I sent him to the glue factory!” Ronnie laughed. I laid on the couch on my back and told him to face my cock. “You think you can handle my anaconda?” I asked. He smiled. “I’m sure gonna try.” His beautiful, round, smooth ass was just inches away from my face. His balls hung down against my chin. I went to work on his hole. Licking it like a dog lapping up water. I moaned when I felt Ronnie’s soft, warm lips pressing against the tip of my cock. “AHHH!!” I sighed.

I alternated licking Ronnie’s tasty ass and sucking on his smooth, fleshy nutsac. I was able to fit both of them in my mouth. “Yeah! Suck on my nuts!” he moaned. After a few minutes of Ronnie sucking on my cock I felt a familiar churning in my balls. I knew I was close to cumming and I still hadn’t fucked him yet. “Stop.” He did and looked back at me. “I wanna fuck you.” Ronnie smirked. “Why didn’t you say so?” He turned to face me. “Got any rubbers?” I smiled. “We don’t really need em do we? I mean I’m clean and I know you are right?” He nodded. I smiled. “You ever been fucked before?” He shook his head. I could tell by the look on his face he was worried. “I’ll be gentle. You can either sit on my cock and ride me or I’ll take u from behind but either way, you’ll be in controll.” He smiled. “I’d like you to take me from behind.”

I went to my bedroom and returned with a bottle of lube and a black dildo that was one of my favorites. Ronnie smiled when he saw it. “You’re gonna use that thing on me?” I nodded. I laid out an old quilt I didn’t mind getting cum on and Ronnie laid down on his side with me behind him. “If at anytime you want me to stop, all you gotta do is say so.” He nodded. I rolled him onto his stomach. I squeezed some lube into his ass and massaged his hole with the tip of the dildo. When it opened up I inserted the tip. “How does that feel.” He smiled. “Not too bad.” I nodded. “Keep in mind, my cock is a bit larger than this so it may hurt a little but I’m gonna make sure you’re loosened up before I fuck you.” He nodded.

I began slowly, pulling the dildo out and pushing it back in. I watched as Ronnie’s hole stretched. I couldn’t wait to feel the warmth of his insides against my cock. The more I played with his ass, the more Ronnie got into it. “Yeah, fuck me with that thing!” he moaned. I moved a little faster. When I felt it was time, I removed the dildo. “You ready?” he nodded. I squirted some lube into the palm of my hand and began stroking my cock. The slick, sucking sound of the lube on my cock made us both giggle. “Ok, I’m gonna start now.” Again he nodded but said nothing. I think if he has spoken, he would have chickened out but I wouldn’t have thought any less of him if he did.

I held my cock at the base and inserted it between his cheeks. The warmth I felt from Ronnie’s body made me moan. “UHH!!” I closed my eyes. “Damn this feels so good.” I felt the head of my cock rest against his hole. “I’m gonna pop you’re cherry now ok? He nodded. I pushed against his hole and felt his anus open slightly. Ronnie hissed. “FUCK!” he exclaimed. “SHH! Stay with me.” I murmered into his ear. I moved my cock slowly in and out giving him time to get used to it. When he told me the pain passed I pushed a little harder. I felt something inside him give and Ronnie gasped. “I just popped you’re cherry. The pain shouldn’t be so bad now.” He nodded, still not trusting himself to speak. I didn’t want to hurt him but at the same time some part deep inside me, some primal urge I had wanted to thrust deep inside him and fuck him senseless.

The warmth of his insides made me want to cum so badly. Luckily, my willpower is very good. I dared to push a little more and when Ronnie didn’t react I moved deeper inside until I was all the way in. I remained still. “Ok, hard parts over. How do you feel?” “Pretty good!” I could tell by the sound of his voice that he was smiling. Slowly I slid my cock almost all the way out and then pushed it back in. Soon we were both panting and covered in sweat. “Oooh! Yeah! Fuck my ass!” Ronnie exclaimed. I turned him onto his stomach and really let him have it, my balls slapping against his skin. He was tossing his head from side to side and moaning. “MMM! Yeah, Oh shit that feels so good!” I smiled. It did too. The sensation of Ronnie’s anus wrapped around my shaft was out of this world.

I flipped us over. Me on my back with him ontop. He rode my cock like a champ. I watched his cock flopp up and down as he ground his hips against me. I felt that familiar churning sesation in my balls. “Oooh! I’m gonna cum!” Ronnie got off my cock and began pumping it with his fist. “Yeah, gimmie that hot manjuice!” I felt my seed travel up my shaft. I hollered when I felt it expload from my cock. Ronnie had his tongue out and was lapping it up like it was milk. “MMM!!” he purred when I stopped twitching. “Fuck kid!” was all I could say. He plopped down beside me.

“That was great.” I nodded. I could definately get used to that. We went into the bathroom and I ran the shower. Ronnie stood infront of me as the hot water ran over our naked bodies. I reached around and grabbed his flaccid cock. He leaned against me and closed his eyes. “MMM! Yeah, make me cum!” I jerked his cock, his balls flopped up and down with each stroke. “Oooh yeah, I’m gonna cum!” he moaned. I smiled. “Yeah, cum for daddy!” I murmered in his ear. I felt his body tense against me. “UUUUHHH!!!” he grunted as rope after rope of his hot, sticky spunk shot out from his cock and splattered on the shower floor.

We cleaned up and laid down.”I’m glad we did that.” Ronnie said smiling up at me. I nodded. “Can you stay all night?” He nodded. “Can we invite my friend next time?” I shook my head. “I don’t think he’d understand.” Ronnie’s thin, red lips curved up into a smile. “Oh, I think he would.” I held him as we fell asleep, knowing that this was the start of something special.

The End

Authours Note: Hope you liked this one. 🙂

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With apologies to Curtis, I have changed the title of this story from its working title, “Assisted Living”.

The Spice of Life

by Everett

Part 1 – “Brad”

The pretty blond stripped off his worn T-shirt and tossed it on the gnarled old rose bush. I’d seen him over the past several days and today I was prepared. I got as close as I could, crouching behind a large shrub in my front lawn so I couldn’t be seen, focused my zoom lens and snapped away as he stretched his muscled arms toward the cloudless blue and breathed deeply of the clean June air. I wanted to add his picture to the growing gallery of scantily dressed and naked men on my den walls. He closed his eyes and faced the morning sun, twisting his magnificent torso before grabbing his shirt and sauntering into the long neglected mansion.

This new object of my desire was the youngest of the construction gang that was working across the street from my house. He couldn’t have been more than two or three years out of high school which meant that I was almost twice his age; but his bearing and the way he moved indicated an assurance of a fully mature man. He and his crew were working to renovate the old mansion across the street into an assisted living facility. Each morning he parked his white Chevy pickup on the street that runs beside my property and ends at the road that both my house and the old mansion face.

I decided to be near his truck at quitting time. The shrubbery there needed pruning anyway. When I saw him emerge from the mansion I wiped the sweat from my brow with the back of my tanned hand and watched him cross the street.

“Hey,” I said as he approached his truck.

“Hey,” he replied. “How’s it going?”

“Great,” I said.

“Hope you don’t mind my parking here,” he said nodding in the direction of his truck.

“It’s a public street,” I said.

“Yeah,” he grunted and half laughed.

“Are you making much progress over there?” I asked to prolong our contact.

“Yeah,” he answered. “It’s hot work though and I ran out of water a little while ago.”

“Would you like something cold to drink?” I asked.

He gave me a puzzled look and then said, “Yeah. Yeah, I would.”

He dropped his tool belt onto the bed of his truck and followed me around the house to my kitchen door.

Leaning against the counter, he took great gulps of the ice water I handed him. He had big hands. His forearms were muscled and nicely haired and his T fit tightly over his hard biceps and broad chest.

He told me that he was a carpenter’s assistant and that he expected to be on this job for another month – and that I should call him Brad. He held the glass out to me indicating that he wanted a refill.

“Nice place you have here,” he said, craning his neck to see down the hall.

“Thanks,” I said. “Would you like the nickel tour?”

He said that that would be all right and I showed him the rooms on the first floor. In my den he studied the black and white photos on the walls.

“You take these?” he asked.

“Photography is one of my hobbies,” I told him.

“They’re good,” he said. He didn’t comment on the subject matter.

“Maybe I could photograph you,” I suggested.

“Maybe,” he said softly. “I gotta run. I promised Judy – she’s my girlfriend – that I’d pick her up at five and Manchester’s almost an hour away.”

“Sure,” I said. “If you decide to let me photograph you . . .”

“See you around,” he interrupted and turned toward the door.

“Sure,” I said. “See ya.” I watched as he bounded off the deck.

* * *

I made sure that I was outside again the next day at quitting time. Brad, tugging on his tattered T, walked over to where I was working. After a few minutes of small talk I asked, “Been thinking about those pictures?”

“As a matter of fact,” he said, “I have. I think it’ll be OK.”

“Great,” I said. “I have some photo books that might give us some ideas about poses and settings and things if you have a minute.”

“Sure,” he said. “And a glass of water?”

Brad was seated at the shady end of the deck when I returned with the water, a book of male photography and my camera. He casually flipped the pages and occasionally pointed out a picture that he liked.

“Would you like to try a few now?” I asked.

“Can’t today. Judy,” he offered by way of explanation.

“How about a fast test roll?” I suggested. I wondered where “test roll” came from.

“If it’s fast,” he emphasized. “What should I do?”

“Look into the lens,” I said and I took several shots of him where he sat. He was relaxed and I knew he would come across as natural

“How about going over by the hedge and taking off your T-shirt?” I asked.

He agreed. I took several shots from different angles as he twisted his torso, lifting his shirt over his head. I snapped some more as he ran his fingers through his auburn curls.

“Now the same with your jeans,” I said, hoping he wouldn’t refuse. “Nice and slow,” I added.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “Not here.”

“Look around,” I said. “No one can see.”

Brad checked the yard and realized that shrubbery and fencing made it completely private. “I don’t know,” he demurred, then half shrugged his shoulders and slowly opened his jeans. I continued shooting, moving around him to get him from every angle.

He wasn’t wearing any underwear. His cock bobbed free from the confining denim and arched outward. It jerked involuntarily and lengthened a little. The glans began to peep out of the wrinkled foreskin. I finished the roll and Brad raised his jeans, jutting his ass outward as he stuffed his cock back and zipped up.

“I’ll have these ready tomorrow,” I said. “Will you be able to do some more then?”

“Tomorrow?” he said. “Sure. Why not?” and he left the yard without looking back.

* * *

Brad liked the pictures. He looked at each one carefully, then handed them back. “They’re good,” was all he said.

“What now?” he asked.

“More of the same to get started,” I suggested. “Then we can try something different.”

Brad stood in front of some heavy shrubbery and slowly took off first his shirt, and then his jeans as he had done the day before; and I snapped away capturing different sides and angles. His cock was thick and long, hanging limp in front of his heavy ball in their hairy sack.

I spread a blanket across a sunny patch of grass and asked him to lie on it face down. I photographed his back and perfect ass from differing directions and heights. Then I asked him to roll over.

His skin held impressions made by the blanket. I told him to relax a minute while they faded and I went into the house for water for both of us.

When we finished drinking, Brad stretched out on his back, his hands cradling his head. “Ready when you are,” he said.

I knelt at his side, looking at him with more than a photographer’s interest. “Spread your legs a little,” I prompted. He did and I reached over and brushed my finger tips over his right thigh, grazing the hairy scrotum. He looked at me.

“Grass,” I said.

“Get it all?” he asked.

“Perhaps not,” I replied and wiped away more imaginary blades.

His cock, which had been draped over his left thigh, began to jerk and lift. I took it in my hand, the tip between my thumb and forefinger, and squeezed. It continued to lengthen in my hand. I held it at ninety degrees to his body and began to slide my fist over his shaft and distended glans.

Brad lifted his head and looked at me. “You want it?” he said. “Suck it.”

“In time,” I answered.

“Now,” he barked.

I knelt between his spread thighs and lowered my lips to the engorged head. Precum oozed from the slit. I mingled it with my spit and laved it over his glans and shaft with my tongue. Then I resumed the stroking motion I had started earlier.

“I told you to suck it,” he said forcefully. I knew where he was going with this and it excited the hell out of me.

“Yes, Sir,” I said. I encircled the base of his cock with my hand and sucked the three inches that extended upward from my fist, flattening my tongue against the sensitive underside just below the head.

As Brad got into my sucking, he lifted his hips off the blanket to meet my downward moves. Suddenly, he grabbed my wrist and pulled my hand away from his cock.

“Do it right,” he said. His voice was thick and commanding. “Take it all. Go all the way down.”

“Yes, Sir,” I repeated. I slid my lips down his shaft and buried my nose in the thick curly hair that grew at its base. I pivoted my head and flexed the back of my tongue against his glans.

“Take it, Bitch,” he said. He put his hands on either side of my head and held it firmly as he fucked my face. “Take my hard cock.” I wrapped the fingers of my left hand around his balls and tugged at them as he fucked.

Brad fucked my face with strong strokes. His long shaft forced the swollen head into my throat over and over. I relaxed my throat to allow him to penetrate as deeply as possible and he tried to keep his cock there as he ground his hips forcefully against me; but because I was on top I was able to lift off him when I felt the need to breathe.

Brad became impatient with this and rolled us over onto the grass; I on my back and he over me. He planted his knees on either side of my chest. Now he was on top and in complete control. He began to fuck my mouth. After a few thrusts, he lifted my head with his left hand to improve the angle. He fucked my mouth with long, smooth thrusts. Then he lowered my head and fell forward onto his elbows, his pelvis squarely over my face. His fucking became more forceful. He held his cock deeply in my throat with each downward push, grinding and gyrating his hips against my face.

Brad’s breathing intensified and his long thrusts gradually segued into urgent jabs. His cock thickened and precum seeped into my mouth.

“Fuck,” he cried. “I’m gonna come. Fuck!”

He gasped loudly and a strong jet blasted against the base of my tongue. I moved my head slightly so the next blast wouldn’t be so deep and I could better savor its taste. He didn’t disappoint. He pumped his load into my mouth in four more forceful bursts. I swallowed most of it and swirled the rest around his cock. His body twitched in little spasms as my tongue glided over his sensitive glans.

Brad kept his cock in my mouth as he gradually came down from his sexual high. He rolled back onto the blanket, smearing my cheek with cum as his cock grazed my face. I moved against him, put my palm on his chest and moved my mouth toward his.

Brad jerked his head away and pushed my hand off his chest. “No way,” he said.

I moved away quickly. “Sorry, Sir,” I said.

He turned toward me and spoke forcefully. “This was my idea,” he said.

“Yes, Sir,” I said.

“You didn’t suck my cock. I fucked your face.”

“Yes, Sir,” I said. “I know you did.”

“You’re lucky,” he said.

“I know I am, Sir. Thank you.”

“Goddamn lucky. I never fed a queer before.”

“Yes, Sir,” I repeated. “Thank you.”

“We’ll do this again,” he said. “You’ll be here and ready any time I want to fuck your queer mouth.”

“Yes, Sir,” I said.

“Tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll be here tomorrow. You be ready at quitting time tomorrow. Don’t be out front. Be back here on the deck. I’ll come back here and you’ll be ready to have your face fucked. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Faggot?” he added.

“Yes, Sir,” I said. “I’d like that. Thank you, Sir.”

“In fact,” he said, “you be naked. I might want to fuck you up the ass. You take it up the ass, too?”

“Yes, Sir,” I said.

“Figures.” He spat the word.

“You hear me and hear me good,” he said. “You be naked and ready tomorrow for whatever I want to do.”

“Yes, Sir,” I repeated. “I’ll be ready for you, Sir.”

Brad got up and dressed. He looked down on me as he zipped. For good measure he said, “Be ready, Fucker. Be naked and be ready.” Then he turned and left the yard.

Brad did come by the next afternoon and, as I expected and hoped, he fucked me up the ass. Over the next several weeks his harsh sexual appetite tested my talents but he never left without telling me that he’d be back.

Part 2 – “Sean”

A couple of days after Brad left the job, I noticed that a dented and rusted red Nova was parked in his old spot. I had been painting my front porch and, as I worked, I kept a lookout for its owner. I watched as he crossed the street from the construction site.

I rested my brush on the rim of the paint can and walked toward the middle of my front yard. “Hey,” I said when I caught his eye.

“Hey,” he said.

“How’s it going?” I asked, hoping to appear casual. He took off his cap and ran his hand across his thinning strawberry blond buzz.

“Hope you don’t mind my parking here,” he said as he approached his car. He smiled. Deep dimples magically appeared in his cheeks and his even white teeth gleamed.

“It’s a public street,” I answered. “Are you about finished over there?”

“No way,” he said. “Off to a good start, though.

“Looks good,” he said, nodding toward my porch. He walked toward where I stood to better appraise my work. “You a painter?”

“Teacher,” I replied. “Off for the summer.”

“You do good work,” he said.

“I like to paint,” I admitted. “It gives me a feeling of accomplishment. I’ve painted every room in my house. Just finished the kitchen over spring break.”

“Yeah?” he asked. “How’d it go?”

“Pretty well, I think. Would you like to see?”

“I got time, he said, and I led the way around the house to the kitchen door.

“Nice place you got here,” he said.

“Thanks,” I replied. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Water’s fine,” he said and I poured two glasses.

He was tall, well over six feet, and muscular. He was older than I; early fifties I guessed. He rested his beautifully rounded ass against a counter and took leisurely sips from his glass. He confirmed that he was a painter, told me that he expected to be on this job for another month and said that I should call him Sean. He asked for a second glass of water.

“Your wife a teacher, too?” he asked.

“Not married,” I said.

“My wife and kids are at the ocean,” he volunteered. “They spend most of every summer at her parents’ beach house.”

“That must be hard on you,” I suggested.

“Nah,” he said. “I go down most every weekend. Besides,” he said grinning, displaying again those dimples and gleaming teeth “it provides me with a little variety, if ya know what I mean. Always play safe, though. Always use a condom. Got one with me now. Don’t want to take some disease home to the little woman.”

I moved to rest my butt beside his at the counter’s edge. “So, you like variety,” I said.

“Spice of life, like they say.”

“How much variety do you like?” I asked.

He turned his head and looked at me. “Got something in mind?” he asked.

“Yeah, I do,” I said and I pushed off from the counter.

Sean followed me upstairs to my bedroom. At the foot of the bed I turned and faced him. Without talking and without breaking eye contact I unbuttoned his shirt front. He shucked it and dropped it to the floor. Then I opened his belt and unzipped his fly. His cock was already hard and pressing against the white cotton of his briefs. I knelt in front of him and playfully bit his shaft through the fabric before freeing it and taking it into my mouth. After a short time he stepped away from me and finished undressing. I stood and did the same.

We turned back the bedspread and Sean lay across the sheet on his back. His chest and stomach were covered with fine strawberry blond hair that was especially think around his quarter-sized nipples. He muscles were long and well formed. I lay beside him on my side and ran my fingertips through the hair on his gently undulating chest.

“Nice,” he said and he took my head in his two big hands and pulled my mouth to his. His lips were full and warm and we kissed deeply and long. I moved on top of him and rested my long frame on top of his. I slid my fingers down his sides and groped for his cock. Sean spread his legs to make my search easier. I cupped his big balls before closing my fingers around his hard shaft. He groaned and raked his fingers across my back. I arched over him and kissed his neck and chest and abdomen, working my way slowly down his hard body until I finally reached my goal. His glans was engorged and red with blood. Taking it in my mouth, I laved my tongue around the rubbery corona and tried to open the slit with the tip of my tongue. Then I pursed my lips and ran them down the velvety surface of that veiny piston. Grinding my nose against his pelvis, I breathed deeply of his musky smell. He began to rock from side to side as I held him deeply in my throat.

Sensing that he was near orgasm, I stopped sucking, wedged my hands behind his knees, and lifted his ass into the air. His was the hairiest ass I’d ever seen and his hole was tightly puckered and intensely pink. When I kissed it his whimper was almost a sob. I put my palms on his cheeks and spread his hole wide and invaded it repeatedly with my tongue. With each insertion Sean gasped and whimpered his pleasure. I licked all around his pucker and tongue- fucked him. His pretty hole readily accepted my thumb when I slid it over the spit-slippery ass mound and pushed it in.

I lowered his ass to the mattress and wet two fingers by sticking them in Sean’s mouth and sliding them over his tongue. Then I put them against his pucker and pushed them slowly in. I finger-fucked him, twisting my wrist slightly with each push. His pink hole hugged my fingers in its elastic grip.

As I played with his hole, I kept my gaze on his face. His eyes were closed and soft moans escaped from his slightly parted lips, and he turned his head and pressed it hard against the pillow each time I grazed his prostate with the balls of my fingers.

I opened his legs wider by moving my knees against his thighs. I opened the jar of jack-off lube I kept on my night table and spread some around his hole. I introduced some into him by fucking him with my long middle finger several times. “Ready?” I asked as I placed the head of my hard cock against his hole.

Sean took a foil packet that I hadn’t seen on the night stand, bit it open and handed the disk to me. I sheathed my cock and repositioned it against his hole. “Ready?” I asked again.

Sean nodded once. “Slow,” he said. “Go slow.”

I exerted a slight pressure but Sean’s asshole resisted penetration. I leaned forward and forced the head of my cock through. Sean grimaced in pain and his sphincter tightened defensively around my shaft. “Goddamn,” he whispered.

I backed out some and held my glans just inside the opening. “Relax,” I said. Sean’s response was one small nod of his head.

I began with tiny fucking motions, in and out of the same spot to let him get used to the thickness of my shaft. When he was ready for more, he lifted and spread his legs. I responded by slowly increasing my fucking with steady, shallow motions.

As the tempo and depth of my fucking increased, Sean moaned louder and he began to writhe under me. He spread his legs even wider to allow me to penetrate him to the hilt of my lunging shaft. I lowered my body and rested my weight on him. His moaning in my ear excited me and I abandoned any sense of restraint I may have had. I lifted my hips and rammed him, forcing his ass to accept the length and thickness and hardness of my cock in increasingly deeper stabs. My staccato grunts punctuated Sean’s loud whimpers with each jab. My balls began to tighten and I could feel the nascent climax tingle my engorged glans.

Our bodies were pressed tightly together and I felt Sean’s trapped cock, hard and seeping precum. He pushed upward like he was trying to fuck my stomach and cried out. He convulsed and I felt his cock pulse repeatedly, spurting his warm emission between our abdomens.

Sean’s orgasm triggered a response in me that I couldn’t control. I tried to hold back – to prolong his pleasure and my own – but his continuing moaning and writhing made that impossible. Like it was happening in slow motion, the first blast coursed its way up through the big tube that outlines the underside of my cock and gushed out. The second followed the first with equal force. Then a third and fourth. I continued to fuck and was rewarded with two more jets that shot out and collected in the condom’s tip.

Spent and sweaty with my exertion, I relaxed my weight on Sean’s strong body.

When my erection began to soften, I pulled out, stripped off the condom and tossed it into the waste basket. I lay beside Sean and slid one arm under his neck.

When he rolled to face me his mouth was near my ear. “That was a surprise,” he said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Our sex,” he said. “That didn’t go the way I expected.”

“What did you expect?” I asked.

“To fuck you,” he said simply. “That was a first for me, you know. I always wondered what it would be like.”

“Now that you know, will it be your last?”

“Probably not,” he said. “I’m lucky.”

“How’s that?” I asked.

“You know . . . with you . . . for the first time and all.”

“Thanks,” I said. “You’re a hot man, Sean, and a great fuck.”

“Will we be able to do this again?” he asked.

“You know where to find me,” I said. “I’ll be here,” and I kissed him softly on his warm lips.

“Tomorrow,” he suggested. “How about quitting time tomorrow?” He reached down and took my cock in his rough hand. “I’d like to have this thing stuffed up my ass again.”

“Sounds good to me,” I said.

“What about you?” he asked. ” Do you ever take it up the ass?”

“Oh, yes.” I almost laughed when I said it.

“Maybe I’ll roll you over and return the favor tomorrow.”

“I’d like that,” I said.

Sean did come by the next afternoon, and as promised, he opened himself to me before rolling me onto my stomach and entering me slowly for a long and gentle fuck. His soft love making was a revelation, and he never left without the promise to come back.

Part 3 – “Ricky”

Sean’s was the last crew to leave the job. The newly completed assisted living facility held its grand opening on the last Sunday in August. “What next?” I wondered. “Geriatric grandfathers who can’t get it up? You’ll have to look further afield for fun and games,” I told myself.

On Labor Day I noticed that a new baby blue Miata was parked at the corner. I wondered whose sporty car that could be. Certainly not a geriatric grandfather’s. It was there again the next evening when I got home from school.

I gathered my evening paper and went out onto the porch to relax and read. Just after six I saw a man cross the street, headed for the car. His ebony face and arms contrasted sharply with the pristine white of his shirt and pants. He had a casual gait and the sun glinted off his jet black hair with each light step. He was short, probably five six, and had a husky build. I guessed that he was close to my own age, maybe a bit younger. He unlocked the car and blew minute particles of dust from its roof before getting in and driving away. I decided to be near the corner the next evening at six.

* * *

“Nice car,” I said as he approached.

“Thanks,” he said, keys in hand. “Hope you don’t mind my parking here.”

“It’s a public street,” I said. “I take it you’re on the staff over there.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Physical therapy.” He pocketed his keys and crossed the lawn to where I stood. His name tag said “Ricky,” and he had a smile that took my breath away.

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