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NOTE: This is the 2nd Chapter of the story, You may wish to read Chapter 1 first.
"You shouldn't have poured me that much," my dad said the way he always did after I'd already brought him a nightcap.
"There's a funnel in the cupboard," I reminded him. "I could pour half of it back into the bottle."
"Ooh no!" he winced. "You can't mix poured whiskey with unpoured. I've told you that before."
You certainly have, I thought. On many, many occasions.
I sat back down and poured the top half of a bottle of beer into my glass. It made the sort of head that would get me sacked if I worked in the union bar, but I had plenty of time to let it settle.
"So did he get to try rimming you?" dad asked, swilling his whiskey and ice cubes around in the tumbler.
"Whether he liked it or not," I replied with a smirk. At first he was reluctant. He kept trying to pull back and coughing and spluttering. I'm not saying I forced him, but I had to push my butt-crack into his face quite insistently and hold his head steady with one hand before he would lie still for long enough to see what it was really like.
When he did, though, he quickly found that he enjoyed it far more than he expected to. His muffled objections turned to surprised mutterings and eventually, as his nose started sniffing and his tongue started licking, grew more emphatically into eager grunts.
I gasped in appreciation: so this was what it felt like. This was what my dad had found so incredible that he'd taken his profile off the dating websites he used to try to meet women on.
Marcus didn't feel ready to penetrate me with his tongue, but he enjoyed getting his face stuck into my backside with very much the same enthusiasm as I had with his.
"And how did that feel?" my dad asked.
"How did it feel the first time someone did it to you?"
Dad peered up towards the top of the curtains above me, looking like he was studying the way they were hanging but really trying to remember the occasion that had happened. "I think that was when I was being fitted up for a pair of trousers," he muttered with a small, almost nostalgic, smile. "It was certainly very pleasant, I remember that much."
"Well, it felt pretty good to me, too. I think, though, that I enjoyed rimming more than I enjoyed being rimmed."
"Me too," dad said. "I've always taught you that it's better to give than receive."
Most of the pleasure for me, squatting over Marcus as he lay on my bed, was how unutterably naughty it was for us to be doing this together. It was a nice sensation – don't get me wrong – to have another guy's tongue lapping into my butt-crack and exploring up and down it, but it was more the act of what we were doing together that made me feel excited enough to want to jerk off.
Marcus was pumping his dick fast and hard like a piston. As his tongue swept up and down the full length of my cleft, tasting my different flavours from what Craig had called my taint right up to where the wiry hair in my crack petered out to become a softer fuzz, his hand was whacking his cock off as fast as he could. He liked to beat off really quickly – I knew that from when he'd stayed over before.
We'd ended up wanking off together one night after staggering back from town, not exactly rat-arsed but definitely a little worse for wear. As we'd pulled our clothes off, the fronts of our underwear had made it blatantly clear that we were both horny and, as we'd lain side-by-side in my bed with two obvious mounds lifting the duvet, one of us had suggested – him, I think – that we jerk off before sleeping.
I'd quickly agreed and we'd yanked down the fronts of our underwear and soon the quiet of the room had been replaced by the double drum beat of our fists against the duvet. Marcus' rhythm had quickly sped up from a quiet stroking to a loud hammering so fast and so strong that the cheap bedframe had started shaking and creaking.
"What the fuck are you doing, mate?" I'd asked him, pumping my bigger dick at more leisurely pace. "I've always wanked off like this," he'd said, frantically slamming his hand up and down his shaft.
"But you can't enjoy it if you're just beating it up and down like you're shaking a fucking bottle of sauce!"
"I'm not doing it to enjoy it, Jake!" he'd laughed. "I'm doing it because Annabelle's had her tits in my face all night and now I'm hard as fuck and I need to spunk up before I can sleep – that's why I'm doing it!"
The bed had been making a noise like a lumberjack sawing logs. My flatmates would joke next morning that they'd heard us ending our night by boning each other's arses on my bed. It had seemed kind of funny at the time and it was even funnier in retrospect, since by the end of that term, the two of us were ending a lot of our nights by doing precisely that.
"You wanna take it easy, Marcus," I'd advised him as my own fist worked at myself at about half the speed of his. "A good wank is something to be appreciated... like a fine wine..."
Realising how much like my dad I sounded, I quickly added, "or some such shit!"
"Oh God yeah!" he called out, and I thought for a second that what I'd said had come as a welcome revelation. But then the smell of our cocks being jerked was joined by a more acrid odour and he said, unceremoniously, "Pass me something to clean this up with, mate."
After wiping himself down with one or other of our discarded socks, he'd turned over to face the wall and asked that I hurry up to finish off 'enjoying' myself.
With him lying underneath me, licking up and down my arse-crack and whacking himself off with that same, relentless rhythm, I felt compelled to reach over and steady his wrist and to tell him that I would show him a better way.
This was like Craig teaching me: now I was going to teach Marcus about how to pleasure himself.
He took his hand from his cock and I replaced with my own. I caressed it as sensually as I could, stroking my fingers up and down the shaft and enjoying how hard it felt throbbing against my skin.
I wet my thumb with his precum and worked it across his helmet-shaped head, making it slick and shiny and then adding a gob of my own spit to help lubricate his shaft. I worked my fingers right around his organ, making it as silky and slippery as I could, and he groaned to show his enjoyment as he kept flicking his tongue against my arsehole, egging me on as I took up a slow and deliberate rhythm on him.
I was actually surprised how much I liked it: there was a lot more to a dick than there was to a pussy and the sharp smell from its head was strangely appealing. I stroked it steadily up and down, kneading his balls with my other hand. The skin of his scrotum was soft and yielding and the paired mounds of his testicles inside it were larger than Craig's had been.
I'd always treated masturbation as a sort of art form, always keen to try out different approaches on myself and fascinated to find out how better to arouse my cock. Now I applied the same approach to Marcus' dick, stroking him in varying ways to find out what worked for him and trying to refine any techniques that he enjoyed. Once I'd figured out what he liked, I smiled as his organ swelled up to its full, impressive hardness and marvelled at the way the head of it started gently pulsating against the swirling patterns I was making with my thumb.
The best part was that it was making my own cock throb just as hard against my stomach. Who could ever have believed that wanking another lad's knob off could be so much fun?
But then, I suppose it was kind of obvious that it would be actually. After all, I'd always greatly enjoyed playing with myself – right from that very first time after my dad had explained to me how some weird-sounding activity he called "masturbating" was supposed to work.
He seemed to find it all very embarrassing, as he usually did when he talked our "private parts", and I hadn't really been able to work out what the hell he was on about the way he'd couched things in convoluted language and dressed things up so much.
I could figure out that there was some connection between a recent spate of wet pyjama bottoms I'd had to dump in the laundry basket each morning and whatever it was he was saying I had to do with my willy. Something about "manipulating" it each night before I slept – the way he was moving his fingers up and down in the air between us and talking about my foreskin made me snigger a whole lot more than I understood what he meant.
Finding it difficult to get to sleep that night as I was being hassled by a hard-on that just wouldn't give up, I heard my dad come up the stairs to bed and had an idea. Perhaps this "masturbating" thing he'd been talking about might be something he sometimes did to his own 'private parts' before sleeping. It was possible that if I snuck a look at him, I might find out exactly what he meant by that weird up and down hand motion that had so embarrassed him.
I crept along the corridor between our rooms after I'd heard him lie down on his bed so I could take a sly peek at what he was doing. I figured that the noises I sometimes I heard at night when my boner was stopping me from getting to sleep – a sort of gentle thumping sound which was usually followed by the same smell as the stuff that had soaked my pyjamas – must be him doing to his own dick whatever it was that he'd been saying I should do to mine.
That same noise was going on tonight. It had started up just after I'd heard him lie down on his bed. A low, gentle rhythm which was getting steadily faster.
I've often wondered if he knew I was spying on him as he masturbated that night. I've never felt able to ask him, but I've sometimes thought that maybe he felt more at ease to show me how to jerk myself off than he had trying to explain it to me in his half-cocked way.
He'd left his door open – which wasn't so strange – and his light on – which was – and he was lying on his bed with his pyjama bottoms around one foot, and I'd figured when I'd seen him splayed out like that, that maybe he was making a show of what this 'masturbation' thing should look like and hoping that I'd learn from what he was doing.
I couldn't see his face from where I was standing, so I don't know if he saw me there. All I could see was his knees, bent and spread open, his whacking great dick poking upwards between them with his hand sliding quickly up and down it, his bollocks thumping around and looking grotesquely swollen and, beneath those, the hairy crack of his arse between his open thighs.
Not the most flattering angle I'd ever seen him from.
The first thing that struck me was what a massive cock my dad had. For a modest, quiet bloke who always got so embarrassed about nudity, he was lying there stroking a piece of meat that looked big enough to have its own postcode. I mean, I'd known it was bigger than my friends' dads dicks – I'd got to glance it a couple of times – but now standing here and being able to look at it properly, the thing which had helped to produce me way-back-when seemed ludicrously huge – almost impossibly proportioned. It wasn't just long but it was so damn thick – the sheer girth of it meant he could hardly get his hand around it.
I immediately wanted my own dick to grow as big as his, which in time, thankfully, it did. I knew it'd be a struggle to fit something that big inside my underwear, yeah, but just think of how awesome it would be to lob something like that out in the locker rooms after PE and how other guys would be so jellied when they saw what a humungous fuck-off monster cock I had swinging between my legs.
It was the head of the thing that most fascinated me. Apart from how huge and bloated it looked – right then it looked to me bigger than the whole of my own cock and balls put together – its surface was wet and shiny and its colour a deep, dark purple. It was almost scary, the way it looked, like something weirdly alien, throbbing and glistening and weeping a steady trickle of clear, thick liquid every time my dad's foreskin swept back and forth across it.
Anyway, I just stood there watching him slamming his fist up and down his enormous shlong, wondering if he was maybe showing me – without actually stating that he was showing me, of course! – how a guy masturbates. It looked pretty gross, with all the wiry hair and his saggy bollocks and that deep sweaty crack between his arse-cheeks. But I figured that if he was trying to teach me something, I should do my best to watch him and learn from whatever it was he was doing to himself.
You sort of grabbed your foreskin and slid it up and down the shaft of your cock, doing it faster and faster until your balls were bobbing around.
It suddenly occurred to me, from the shape and movement of his hand, that this was what some of my mates had joked about and called 'wanking off'. It sounds stupid but I hadn't realised until then that the thing my dad had talked about as masturbation, and said we should be open and honest about even though he was barely even able to say the word without blushing, was the same as what everyone else called wanking.
Wow! So this was wanking, was it? And here was my dad wanking his dick off right in front of me!
So my dad was a wanker, was he? I smiled at the realisation.
Okay, so to wank yourself off – or masturbate, as my dad would say – you kept jerking at your foreskin, pulling really quickly across your bell-end and then sliding it back upwards, all the time speeding your breathing up until you were panting like a dog.
I wasn't sure what the point of it was – it seemed way too much effort for me to want to do it to myself.
I felt for my own dick and found that the boner that had been keeping me awake was still going strong and was sticking upwards through the fly of my pyjamas. I was surprised that having to look at my dad's saggy nuts and sweaty butt-crack hadn't softened it, but there you go.
I wrapped my fingers around my hard-on – it seemed so small compared to my dad's – and yanked the foreskin up and down it a few times like he was doing. I was blown away by how good it felt – especially when I held it really tight and jerked the shaft of it quickly.
So that's why guys wanked their dicks off, or masturbated as my dad would say. Because it felt nice.
And obviously my dad thought it felt nice too, otherwise I wouldn't have heard him doing it so often.
I wondered if he actually did this every night; if he would lie like this wanking off while I was in bed in the next room. I thought he probably did. Every time I'd been awake this late I'd heard this same dull thumping sound coming from his room.
My dad wanked his knob off like this every single night! He came up to bed and lay like this, pounding his hand up and down his colossal beef-pole!
Wow... just, like... wow!
I had another thought: maybe that's why the thing had grown so huge...
I watched him grab his bollocks and gently fondle them while his hand whacked faster and faster up and down his huge shaft.
Was that part of it too?
I tried it on myself – yeah, that felt pretty good. One hand rubbing your dick, the other playing with your knackers.
My dad was teaching me how to masturbate and he obviously knew his subject really well! After all the years he'd been lying here like this, jerking himself off every single night, I supposed it was little wonder.
He suddenly grunted like a tennis player – it seemed strangely out of character – and then long white strings of liquid started shooting from his cock. At first I was a bit freaked out – what the hell was that stuff? – but soon I realised, mainly from the smell, that it was the same liquid that had been soaking my pyjamas each morning for the past few weeks.
I mentally joined the dots with what we'd done in Biology and figured out that this was my dad's sperm. I was actually looking at the stuff that had, at least in part, produced me! So many millions of tiny little sperm cells just like the one that I'd come from and there they all were, squirting out of his cock!
How cool was that?
Again it occurred to me that my mates had a word for this. I knew that when a guy wanks off for long enough, he eventually spunks up. So I figured I was watching my dad spunking up. Part of showing me how to wank had been to show me what it looks like when a guy spunks up.
I felt pretty flattered that he would let me see this. It was obviously extremely personal – secret, even – and yet here he was doing it in front of me so that I could learn from watching him. I would never have thought someone as uptight as my dad would let me see him releasing sperm – let me watch his actual white jizz as it shot out from his cock – but here he was releasing a pretty massive load all over himself while I looked on.
Once his spunk had stopped shooting and the last few spurts were just kind of oozing out of his slit, his hand slowed down and eventually stopped its pumping.
So that's how it worked, was it? You got all your sperm out from your balls and then you stopped jerking your dick. In that order. This was all good to know.
I could see how making yourself spunk up like this was better than it happening in your sleep. It was just as messy but at least it could be controlled and more easily wiped up. I noticed my dad had tissues on his bedside table at the ready for this specific purpose – and there was me all these years thinking his nose must really run in the night!
Assuming the lesson was over, I crept back to bed and tried out what I'd learned for myself. I left my bedside lamp on in case my dad wanted to take a look in on me. He might want to check out that I was following his lead correctly and doing to my own smaller dick the same stuff that he'd just done to himself.
I lay on my bed with the covers pulled back and enjoyed my very first hand-job. I thought my dad would probably be proud of me if he were to see me like this: masturbating myself in the way he'd just shown me. It was like I was becoming a man, starting to wank my dick off just like my dad obviously did each night.
Girls at school around that time would get together to have 'period parties' as a sort of celebration that they'd reached womanhood. I liked the idea of me and my dad having the male equivalent; getting a few mates around to have... I dunno what you'd call it... a 'jerk-off jamboree' maybe?
I have no idea if my dad looked in on me: he went to the loo which is just along from my bedroom door so he might have done. If he had, I hope he liked the sight of his little Jakey with his back arched upwards tugging away at his pud for the very first time. He would probably have seen the look of pure enjoyment on my face as I realised, just as he once had in his own bed at my age, how utterly fantastic the simple act of pumping your own hand up and down your cock was. I hope he stuck around for long enough to see my surprise and excitement when my own gloopy strings shot out from my bright red bell-end and covered my chest; to smile at how my outpouring was less copious but just as odorous as his own.
Getting back to the story – and I'm sorry I keep drifting off like this but I hadn't realised how difficult it would be to write about this kind of stuff – my dad took a drink of his whiskey and winced at the strength of it.
"More ice?" I suggested.
He smiled. "It'll be okay."
As I took a drink from my beer, he asked, "So what did you do while he was rimming you?"
I put my glass back down and replied, "To be honest with you, and I don't really know what possessed me, but I ended up bending forwards and sucking his dick."
He grinned broadly. I could see in his eyes that it really was pride he was feeling that I'd been able to just let loose with Marcus and do stuff with him that my dad wouldn't have been able to at my age.
It seemed strange that he'd be proud that his son was a cocksucker, but that was what he was like these days. He could be such a weirdo but he'd do really inappropriate stuff in such a polite and well-mannered way that he could kind of get away with it.
Having been able to suck my own cock since... well... I suppose since not long after I learned how to jerk it off, it was pretty obvious that I would end up putting my mouth around Marcus' while he was rimming me. I'd practised enough times on myself to know all the moves inside out and I was far, far better at sucking myself than any girl who I'd managed to persuade to have a go.
He groaned as soon as I put my lips around the head of it – he loved the feel of it as much as I thought he would. He went on and on about how girls would never give him a blowjob so I knew he would appreciate some attention of that sort from me. I quickly developed a rhythm up and down his shaft, impressed by how much easier it was to suck someone else's cock than it was to struggle to arch my back enough to try and blow my own.
His dick was a bit smaller than mine, so that was also less of a strain, but it tasted totally different – much sharper and with a distinct saltiness to his precum – which made it way more interesting.
I treated him to a few of the tricks I like to use on my own and had him squirming with enjoyment at some of the stuff I could do. I know how sensitive the underside of the head is – right where that thin strip of skin joins with the slit – so I teased that with the tip of my tongue, and I tightened my lips around his shaft while I blew him to give just the right amount of pressure to have his precum trickling out of him like a leaky tap.
"Oh God, Jake," he called out, briefly pulling his face away from my arse. "Suck my fucking cock, man! Suck it deep!"
I went down on him like a pro, sliding my lips up and down his stalk with a quickening rhythm while my tongue did its magic on the dribbling head. His bollocks smelt really nice, every time my nose got close to them, and I wondered if it was his sweat or some hormonal thing.
He gasped again, "Jesus, you're so fucking good at this!" and I reached back to grab his head and reapply his face to my butt crack.
It felt good to be with him like this in a sort of weird sixty-nine: me sucking away at his dick while he licked so eagerly around my arsehole. I was surprised at how much my cock was throbbing as I was doing stuff like this with another lad: it was straining stiffly between our bodies, dribbling a little puddle of slimy ooze onto Marcus' heaving chest.
I obviously had a gay side that I hadn't fully embraced – perhaps the way I enjoyed showing my knob off to other lads had always been a part of that but I hadn't realised it.
I dismissed such thoughts for the time being. What we were doing was too good to dwell on what it meant for me in the long-term: it was time enjoy the moment and leave the post-mortems until afterwards.
"It's not as bad as you might think," my dad commented after taking a much more cautious sip of his drink. "Giving fellatio, I mean."
"I actually quite like it," I told him with a shrug. "I've developed quite a knack over the years."
"Over the years?" dad asked with obvious concern. He obviously had visions of me blowing the football team in the locker room after practice.
"Yeah... in my... er... bedroom," I sought to reassure him, hoping I wouldn't need to spell out exactly what I'd been doing all those times he'd walked in on me hunched under my duvet and emerging red-faced.
"Oh right," he said, his own face reddening a little. "I see."
I pulled off Marcus and said, "There's something I want to show you, mate."
"I'm enjoying this," he complained. "I'm getting really close."
You're not the only one who needs to cum, I was going to say, before realising how much like Ellie, my girlfriend, I would sound.
"Sit up with me," I said instead. "Face-to-face so that our dicks are touching."
I wanted to show him what Craig had shown me. The way Marcus had enjoyed me licking his arse, I knew he'd love me doing that to him.
"So after you'd... er... orally pleasured him," dad said, "what happened next?"
"Are you into frot?" I asked him.
I only knew what it was called because I'd looked it up online a few days after Marcus and I had started doing it. Since then I'd done it with a few other lads and I'd found that, like Marmite, guys either love it or hate it.
Dad looked intrigued. "I'm not sure. What does it involve?"
"You have sex with your cocks. Wanking them together and rubbing them against each other and stuff."
"Oh that," he said dismissively, making it clear which side of the fence he was on. "It's okay, but I'm very much a bum-man, as you know."
"A butt monkey," I reminded him.
He smiled. "Quite."
"Well, we did that for a while, squatting in front of each other while I held both our dicks, and then I used my free hand to... well... finger his butt."
My dad's eyebrows shot up. "Oh! That sounds like it might be fun!"
"It was!" I laughed. "A lot of fun, actually."
"We should do this more often, Jake," he suggested. "Swap stories and exchange notes. We can probably teach each other a lot with our different experiences."
I smiled at the idea. "Some fathers and sons bond by playing golf or going for hikes or whatever. We swap stories about the blokes we've shagged."
"Well, it could work for us," he grinned.
"It could, yeah, but that doesn't make it any less odd," I said with a smirk.
We squatted together and I grabbed both our dicks and wanked our foreskins up and down inside my fist. I could hardly get my hand around my own cock it was so thick, so two together was really pushing it.
"How does that feel?" I asked him, enjoying the sensation of our two knobs being worked together.
"I liked what we doing before that better," he whined. "I want you to suck my cock again. And take my balls in your mouth – I love it when a girl does that."
"I'm not a fucking girl, man!" I snapped, for the first time of what would be a long string of regular reminders.
"I know that, mate. I just meant I like having my balls licked, that's all."
I reached under him with my other hand and caressed the hairy ridge behind his balls.
"What are you doing?" he asked me warily. He knew full well where my finger was headed; he knew from we'd done in the kitchen, in front of the other guys, how much I liked his arsehole.
"Just enjoy it, Marcus," I tried to reassure him.
I pushed my finger into the warm wetness further back and felt how soft and yielding the flesh was around his hole. I rubbed my fingertip around the middle of his ring. Just the slightest pressure had it opening to invite me in; the wetness of my spit gave me all the lubrication I needed.
"I don't know if I want you doing that, mate," he said. "I don't think I'll like it."
"Just try and see," I persisted. "If you don't, I'll stop. If you do, you can do me as well. Same as I'm doing to you."
I slid my finger into him, enjoying where the slipperiness of my spit gave way to something more viscous and unyielding. This was going to get smelly, just like it had when Craig and I had done it. I didn't think that mattered: I figured Marcus had liked the smell of my butt when he'd had his face in it so much that he'd probably get turned-on a few whiffs of his own.
I slid my finger slowly in out of him, enjoying how the stickiness inside his backside clung to my finger as I worked it back and forth.
Marcus pushed back against me, working with my rhythm.
"Ah yeah!" he gasped. "That feels really nice!"
I sped up my finger a little and pushed it as deep as I could into him as he panted and giggled at how good it felt.
"I can't fucking believe this, mate!" he chuckled. "I actually like getting my butt fingered – I had no idea!"
I grabbed our cocks more tightly and he thrust himself up and down, using the gap between my clenched fist and the back of my dick to wank himself off.
"Come on, work it, Jake!" he called out, jabbing his arse down onto my finger more firmly. "Pump my fucking hole! Be really rough with it!"
I laughed and pulled out and then managed to get two fingers into him.
"Give me more, mate!" he urged me, his voice half-laughing half-gasping. "Come on, frig me off properly!"
I pulled out again and pushed three fingers together. His arsehole strained to open wide enough to take them but with a downwards shove they slurped into him.
I took up a faster rhythm and he slammed his arse up and down against me, still working his cock back forth against mine.
"Ah yeah!" he panted into my face as his body bucked up and down in pleasure. "This feels fucking awesome, dude!"
It suddenly occurred to me that his was a guy who was going to love having a cock up his arse. And, right on the heels of that thought, was that I was probably going to be the one to do it. This was my first male fuck, squatting right here in front of me. This was the guy whose arse I was first going to nail, and probably quite soon.
He wasn't like I'd thought he'd be. If I'd had to have picked a guy to be my 'first', I'd have thought it would be someone a lot more... well... masculine, I guess. Someone tall, like me, and hairy. Maybe with stubble or a goatee or something, but definitely a big hairy chest and a huge set of junk. A real bloke of a guy; someone on the university rugby team or something.
I'm making it sound like I'd thought this through in great detail, which I hadn't.
What I mean is that, if I had thought about it, I'd have wanted my first time with a guy to be totally different from anything I could experience when I was with a girl. I'm not saying I'd want to be treated like another lad's girlfriend. Definitely not – I'd want us to have sex as two equal males. We'd both have to be dominant and well-hung, both out for what we could get and both rock-hard horny.
I'd do stuff with him that I couldn't do with a girl. Enjoy the differences of having another lad in my bed with me for all it was worth. I wouldn't just want to fuck him – what would be the point of that? I could do that any night with Ellie (or as often as should would let me) and, while I knew butt-fucking another dude would be different from the girlie flavour, I'd seen enough stuff on the web to know it wouldn't be that different.
I'd want to have a lot of fun with his cock – that was why, in my vague fantasies about this, I always imagined that he'd probably be packing a dick as big as mine. I'd want to wank it and sniff it – see how different it was from mine – and then taste it and suck it. Yes, sucking a big cock would be something I'd really want to do.
I liked the idea of rubbing our dicks together and making them slick with our precum. I thought it would be cool to have sex with another guy like that; humping each other's knobs and having mine leaking its stickiness onto his hairy stomach.
Bollocks were a bit of turn-on for me too. In spite of how weirded out by Craig's wrinkled little nutsack I'd been, the thought of playing around with a guy who had a really solid pair of big, hairy knackers was kind of intriguing. Massaging them while I sucked his dick; having him push them into my face like two fat, ripe plums. I'd want to take them into my mouth, one by one, and to lick them and kiss them, knowing all the time that they were churning out the hot, white spunk that would soon end up splashed all over me.
But it was the prospect of having another dude's big, thick cock to play with that fascinated me the most.
My dad had said he was a 'bum-man' but I was definitely a 'dick-man'. I loved the thought of getting my hands and mouth around another lad's boner to see if it reacted like mine when I did stuff to it. Pulling the foreskin back, tasting the head of it, sucking his precum from his slit. I was even quite keen, if I was in the right mood and he wanted to, to see what it felt like for him to stick it up my butt.
I'd even wanked off imagining it sometimes.
Can you believe that? I haven't told anyone that before now! I've actually lain there in by bed whacking off at the thought of this hairy, muscular rugby playing dude shagging me up the arse. Not the other way around with me doing him – that would be too similar to what I could get from a girl – but always with me bending over while he went at my butt with a pole like a tree-trunk and those huge, swinging nads of his smacking into my thighs.
That's not to say I wouldn't have turned down a turn on his arse if it was offered, it's just that my guy-focussed jerk-off sessions, which to be honest didn't happen that often, had always involved me getting shafted by this bigger guy's massive, ringpiece-splitting dong.
So if I'd had to guess how my first gay session at uni might go, that would have pretty much been it.
It wouldn't have been here like this, with Marcus Cunningham, some posh boy from Surrey who was about as masculine as afternoon tea. That's unfair of me, actually: he isn't at all effeminate or camp or anything; he just doesn't ooze maleness like I'd subconsciously hoped my first male lover would. He isn't hairy for a start – even his butt-crack isn't as furry as I'd like it – and, while he's well-toned and athletic, he's hardly what you'd think of as beefy or muscular.
But this was it: this was the guy I'd ended up with in my bed. Not that I'm saying there was anything wrong with him. He could be a dickhead, like most dudes, but he was a good laugh to be with and could be a good mate.
He just wasn't the guy I'd fantasized about: that was all.
"Did he enjoy you fingering him?" my dad asked. "And... er... how many fingers did you use, out of interest?"
I smiled at him. "He definitely enjoyed it – there was no doubt about that – and I got up to three."
My dad nodded with his eyebrows raised in admiration. "That's pretty good for a first time... are you sure it was his first time?"
"Yeah, I think so."
In spite of my apparent confidence, I wasn't at all sure it had been his first time. He'd always insisted it had been, but he'd gone to an all-boys' school, after all...
"Oh Jesus, Jake!" Marcus gasped. "This is so fucking amazing!"
He hammered his arse down onto my hand so quickly and roughly that my fingers started making squelching sounds as they slurped in and out of his hole.
"Do mine while I do yours," I directed him and he briefly stopped bobbing up and down while he groped underneath me to find my entrance.
"Smells a bit rough, though, doesn't it?" Marcus commented, for the first time noticing the odour of my fingers up his butt.
"It's a nice smell, I like it," I replied, thinking of how much I sounded like Craig. Funny how things come full circle, as my dad would say.
"Well, you'll like it even more in a minute," he pointed out. "It'll be twice as nice."
"You bet it will," I laughed.
Dad took another drink from his tumbler; only a couple of mouthfuls were left now in spite of him protesting that I'd given him too much.
"So did he return the favour?" he asked, putting the glass dutifully back down on its coaster.
"Yeah," I smiled, before gulping my beer down to a similar state of near-emptiness. I wouldn't be suggesting a third drink together; even if he wasn't getting tired, I was.
"We did it to each other," I told him. "We worked each other's butts while we rubbed our dicks together."
"That sounds like a lot of fun," my dad grinned over at me.
"It was," I agreed. "Explosive fun."
"Oh, I see," he laughed. "That much fun!"
We pressed against each other, thrusting our cocks upwards so they slid against each other as we both frantically fucked the fist my right hand was making. My other hand was driving three fingers into Marcus every time he slammed his arse down onto it; his was inside me with a similar cluster of fingers working noisily in and out of my wet hole.
We were panting together like sprinters, both totally enrapt by the pleasure we were feeling. Not only did it feel great to rub our cocks together inside my hand – the swollen heads pressing together and making us squirm and gasp – but the sensation of anally masturbating each other was truly intense. A few weeks later, Marcus had admitted that our first sex had been "mind-blowing". I'd laughed and agreed with him – I'd actually chosen to describe it with the phrase "totally off the fucking scale" – and had asked him how his first sex with a girl had gone. He'd shrugged and said, "A bit forgettable really. That's not to say I don't like straight sex, mate – don't get me wrong – it's just that, as first times go, that bum-wank thing you and I did that night blew everything else out of the water!"
If the feel of it was amazing, the smell was even better. We both stunk of sweat – our bodies heaving together as we bucked our hips towards each other – and our precum had a sharp, acrid tang as it made our cocks slippery and shiny. But it was the stronger odour from our fingers as we squatted our butts up and down on them that really stood out. It was that which made the sex we were having totally different from anything either of us did with girls. It was pretty crude, I admit, but at the same time incredibly sexy: it was the smell of two lads having pretty raunchy sex together using their bums and, for some reason, it made the two of us as horny as rabbits.
Marcus pulled back, gasping, as we kept pounding our cocks together, the slurping of our fingers underneath us becoming louder as we drove into each other more roughly and quickly.
"Oh Jesus, Jake... that sound... the smell... I'm getting close, mate! I'm gonna fucking cum!"
Abruptly he leaned forwards and kissed me on the lips. Unlike when Craig had tried to do it, I didn't turn away: I pressed into him and worked my tongue into his mouth, kissing him back as eagerly as he was trying to kiss me.
"We kissed," told my dad to see his reaction. I'd never seen him actually kissing a bloke and I wondered if it would shock or repulse him to find out that his son had been getting his tongue into other lads' mouths.
He just smiled at me, though. It clearly wasn't an issue for him.
"We kissed quite deeply," I elaborated. "It was nice... it was very nice, actually. A lot better than I would have expected."
"It is very pleasant," he agreed, downing the rest of his whiskey. "Like you, I never thought I'd ever want to kiss another man, but when Bradley first put his lips to mine – in this very room, as it happens – I couldn't believe how erotic it felt."
We kissed each other as deeply as we could, still slamming our cocks against each other and bobbing up and down with our butts becoming sore. I kept telling myself as our lips ground against each other and we panted and slavered into each other's mouths that what we were doing was just a bit of fun. That we both liked girls, but this was something different for us to enjoy together; something sexy and exciting without really meaning anything.
Just a couple of lads messing about; the way my dad messed about with his mates. Just a couple of drunk guys getting a bit bawdy together; it didn't mean we were gay or any bullshit like that.
We wrestled our tongues together, gasping noisily for air which was becoming overpowering with our hot, fetid stink. We kept pounding our cocks upwards against each other, the waves of pleasure coming from their plump, slick heads intensified many times by the sensations from our bums being fingered.
I called out, "Oh, Marcus... fuck!"
And then I felt his wetness – momentarily hot and then quickly cold on my skin – and he was moaning into my mouth, his breath fast and short against my lips.
He seemed to push his hand into my more deeply – a reflex reaction, no doubt – and I felt my own balls tingling before my juice joined his all over our chests and stomachs.
Then we fell apart, still panting and shuddering, with our sweat, like our semen, feeling suddenly icy in the cold of the room.
We'd just had sex together as two males. Gay sex, but not gay sex, if you see what I mean.
Do you see what I mean? For that matter, do I see what I mean?
For fuck's sake, what the hell had we just done?
I stumbled over to the door and clicked on the light.
Marcus was still kneeling on the bed, recovering himself from what had clearly been an overwhelming orgasm.
"Fucking hell, Marcus," I muttered. "We just had sex, mate."
He looked up at me and smiled. Actually smiled!
Then he said, "Yeah, that means we're boyfriends now."
"Fuck off!" I snapped. "We just had fucking sex! Don't you feel... I dunno... like maybe we shouldn't have?"
He shrugged and reached for his discarded socks. "Felt pretty good at the time, Jake. It's not like it was serious. Just the two of us being curious, I guess."
He wiped the cum from his torso using his socks. Even in my suddenly anxious state, I felt pleased that I wasn't the only guy who did that.
I walked over to the clutter of my desk and grabbed some tissue, and then wiped the cum from my own chest. I noticed his cock was already shrivelled and flopping down over his bollocks: mine still drooped outwards at half-mast looking nearly as big as it did when it was stiff.
"Do you want me to go, mate?" he asked. "I'm not that drunk any more – I can walk back to my place if you'd prefer me to."
I shook my head. "Don't be a prick, Marcus. I'm just a bit freaked out but it'll pass. It's like one minute we were just having a laugh – pissing about together – and the next we were... well..."
"Yeah, I know," he nodded. He stood up and pulled his orange boxer trunks back on. "I don't know why I'm not freaked out myself – it was my first time at doing stuff like this too, mate."
I think that was the first time I wondered if it actually had been. I didn't say anything but just followed suit and pulled on my briefs.
"I can sleep on the floor," he offered. "I mean, if you'd be more comfortable with that."
I sat down on my bed and looked over at him. I felt the guilt that had so suddenly come over me start to ease almost just as quickly. He was just a lad, like me, who'd got himself more deeply involved with a mate than he would ever have intended.
"Don't be daft, mate," I said. "It's not I think you're gonna try to take my innocence in the night, is it?"
"There's not really a lot of that left to take," he observed.
I chuckled and we got back into bed together. I was now able to put on more of a chilled-out front, but the agitation I'd felt was still there niggling at me, making me feel that I'd just done something I'd always regret.
"How did you feel about it afterwards? That first night, I mean." my dad asked, as if reading my mind.
"A bit fucked-up to be totally honest," I replied. He winced at my use of the word 'fuck'; even after what we'd just been discussing, he still wasn't comfortable with hearing me swear.
"It took me ages to get to sleep; I kept going over things round and round in my head. I couldn't believe what I'd just done and kept thinking that it must signify something deep and meaningful, if you know what I mean."
"I know exactly what you mean," my dad nodded, finishing the last of his whiskey.
"It's kind of weird though," I went on, "because by the next morning I'd pretty much got it sorted in my head, but then Marcus started getting all freak-shit about it... by then I was the one having to calm him down."
My dad looked at the clock on the mantelpiece and then announced, "I think, though, Jakey, that that part of the story is going to have to wait. It's getting very late and we're going to Buxton tomorrow morning. I don't want to be too tired, or too hungover, for the drive."
"I can drive us if you like," I suggested brightly. "We can put the 'L' plates back on..."
My dad smiled. "Not on those narrow country roads. We'll go out for some practice during the holiday, I promise, but not tomorrow."
I finished off my beer and stood up, reaching out for his empty glass.
"I'll sort out down here," dad said, "you go up to bed."
I yawned. I was quite tired, even though I'd slept until nearly eleven that morning.
"We'll have to get you a double bed," he went on. "Your room is big enough to take it – just – and it'll be much better now you're bringing your... er... friends home with you."
I thanked him and said goodnight, and then went up to bed.
It was going to be a squeeze sleeping with Marcus in the single bed I'd had since I was a kid but we were now pretty used to it. After our first night of sex, and once we'd talked things through the next morning, we'd started staying over with each other most nights of the week. As we both had single beds, we'd quickly got used to sleeping in close contact with each other and I actually enjoyed – looked forwards to – sharing a bed with him.
I'd slept with a few other lads since that first night, of course, but I found them more difficult get comfortable with than Marcus. They were always elbowing and kneeing me during the night, or getting horny and poking their jeb-ends into my side. Now, more often than not, after having a bit of dick fun with a guy I'd make the walk back home or suggest that he slept on my floor with a spare blanket over him.
As I undressed in the dark so as not to wake Marcus, the wedge of light from the hall spreading out like a searchlight across the mess of the room, I saw that he was sleeping on his side, facing the wall. That was how I liked him; facing away from me so I could snuggle up behind him and put an arm over him. I could press my face into his hair and nuzzle my knob into his butt-crack: that was how I really liked to be with him.
It had been different that first night – we'd slept on opposite sides of the bed and hadn't touched each other at all in the night. It was bizarre that after the incredible sexual intimacy we'd just enjoyed, we spent the following few hours getting as far apart as the single bed would allow. I think we were both kind of clinging to our edges of the mattress as if we were trying to prove to each other that we weren't in any way 'gay' for each other: we were just two lads forced to share a bed for the sake of convenience and we weren't even going to accidentally brush our legs against each other in case it could be misconstrued.
The next morning, though, brought us firmly back together and it was then that we became, I reckon, as sexually close as two guys can be.
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