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NOTE: This is the 3rd Chapter of the story, You may wish to read Chapter 1 first.
I got into bed with Marcus, having to push him to one side so that the two of us could fit into the single bed.
"Move over, you dick-munch!" I whispered to him, when it was clear that I'd awoken him.
We might have sex but we're not that big on sweet talk.
"What time is it?" he grunted, moving across and making some space for me behind him.
"A bit after one," I replied, climbing in and getting under the duvet with him. "My dad has a tendency to ramble."
"That's what you'll be like in twenty years, mate," he chuckled.
"Not bloody likely."
I snuggled up behind him with my semi nuzzling into his arse. His bum felt nice and firm through the thin material of his shorts and my cock wedged snugly in the warm valley between his round cheeks.
"You don't fancy a quick one, do you mate?" I asked him on the off-chance.
"What, an actual fuck?" he whispered, no doubt aware of what was poking into him and where it was poking into. "Here, with your dad right next door?"
"He'll be fast asleep by now. He's had a bottle of wine and a pretty large whiskey down him since we ate."
I didn't want to tell Marcus that my dad would, in any case, have no problem with hearing the two of us lads having sex in the next room. It seemed a bit weird to just announce out of the blue that, like us, my dad swung both ways. I mean you expect it from young guys our age, with no-one really caring these days who gets off with who, but when it's an older bloke dating a woman while he's screwing just about every guy he meets behind her back, it seems kind of... I dunno... improper, maybe. Double standards, I know, but that's how it feels.
That's why I didn't tell Marcus, anyhow.
"I'll be really quick," I persisted, pushing my cock more firmly against him so he could feel how hard it was getting at the thought of easing itself properly between his muscular cheeks. His hot, sticky tunnel was right there between them; just a quick fumble of our underwear would have me sliding in and out of him.
"If you want," I whispered in his ear, "I'll push my tongue up it to get it nice and wet!"
"I'm actually really tired, Jake. It's not that I don't want to..."
I was going to say, "Come on, mate, you sound just like Ellie", aware of how comparisons with my girlfriend can piss him off ("I'm not your fucking boyfriend, Jake! You can't compare me to her!"). In the end, though, I stopped myself: I could push that joke way too far sometimes.
So I ended up saying, "It's okay, mate. You've had a shit day. I get that."
"I mean, normally I would... you know how horny I usually feel..."
"It's okay – honestly. As long we have a really good one tomorrow night. The full works. You on me, me on you. Every which way – all the good stuff."
"With your dad in the next room, though?" he queried again.
What was the biggie about my dad being in the house? I wondered again if I should tell him about my dad's 'gentlemen friends'. But no – it would sound too bizarre. I'd let him find out in his own time; see how things panned out.
"It'll be okay," I reassured him. "He's a very deep sleeper."
"Well, if you're absolutely sure," Marcus said hesitantly.
"Yeah, I am," I asserted, working my fat, pudgy helmet between his cheeks through our underwear. Even if I wasn't getting a fuck tonight, I like to sleep with it poking into him, as if it was sniffing at the hole it so often got to enjoy.
"That's nice," he sighed. "I like it when you do that."
I kissed the back of his neck. "You'll like it even more when it's properly up there. And when I bend over for you to do the same to me."
"Okay... you win," he conceded, making it sound like he was giving in to me far more reluctantly than I knew he really was. "The full works tomorrow night... you've got yourself a date, fella."
"Nice one," I whispered, kissing him again. The back of his neck always smelt so good. Musky and male, but really nice.
"It'll be pretty cool to do it in your old bedroom with all your stuff around from when you were a kid."
I smiled into the skin of his neck with my nose nuzzling into his hair. I hadn't thought about it like that, but I figured he was right. My old Arctic Monkeys poster had never got to witness the delights of a proper butt-fuck, although I had wanked off with my finger up my arse in here more times than I could count since Craig had shown me how. It would be pretty cool for the bedroom I'd had since I was little to see its occupant finally doing the deed with someone – and not the sort of someone it would probably have expected.
I said, "Night then, mate," and then I wrapped my arm more tightly around him and snuggling against his back, hoping I'd be able to nod off like that in spite of the fact my cock was now running a full-on boner.
I thought about the part of my story that I hadn't yet told my dad. How Marcus and I had woken up the morning after we'd first had sex and, once I'd made the two of us some coffee, we'd sat on my bed in our underwear talking about what we'd done.
I'd expected it to be difficult – I'd worried, actually, that we might part from what had happened and end up having little else to do with each other – but things turned out far better than I could have hoped.
For a start, we'd ended up having sex a second time. And for a better start, we'd ended up going a lot further together – pretty much as far as it's possible for two guys to go.
Marcus had started the ball rolling by saying, "Look, Jake, whatever happened last night, it doesn't mean that either of us is gay."
I'd laughed at that. "I know that, mate! I'm not a total fucking div!"
He'd looked surprised by my reaction; a bit hurt, even. He went on, "It's just... you know... when two guys get sexual together, it's the obvious supposition that at least one of them might make."
I knew he was saying that because of the way I'd been so freaked out after we'd both cum. I'd had a sudden shot of self-reproach – a feeling that what we'd just done had been totally and irreparably wrong – but it hadn't lasted that long and, after lying awake mulling things over for an hour or so after we'd gone to bed, I'd actually ended up having a better night's sleep than I'd expected.
"I'm in love with Ellie," I told him, and then, thinking that was maybe too strong, corrected myself to, "Or at least I like her a lot. I fancy girls, not boys – that's the point I'm making."
"Me too," he agreed. "But the point I'm making is that we had sex last night."
"We didn't have actual sex," I refuted.
"We had our fingers up each other's butts and we rubbed our dicks together. We spunked up over each other. I'd pretty much call that having sex, mate."
"Well, okay then, so we had sex," I conceded, suddenly realising that it didn't really matter to me.
It was as if all the mixed-up thinking I'd that had troubled me before I'd slept had suddenly resolved itself into a clear and coherent acceptance of what we'd done. I knew in at that moment how I wanted to play this: that what had happened was, pretty much, just boys being boys.
"We were both horny," I went on, "and we found that we enjoyed doing stuff together that we might not have expected to. It doesn't mean we want to get married or anything – we were just two lads with hard-ons helping each other out!"
Marcus stared at me glumly and had gradually nodded. "If you're sure it's that easy, Jake."
"Of course it is, mate. It's the only way. I mean, we're not gonna end up as, like, 'boyfriends' or anything just because we screwed around with each other."
"I agree with you – of course I do," he said. "I was just trying to play it carefully. I just thought... you know... after the way you were last night, you'd be all, like, 'What the fuck did we do?' and stuff."
I chortled. "You should know me better than that, mate!"
I liked the way his dick looked in the orange boxer trunks he was wearing from the previous day. The way he was sitting, with his legs open, gave him a cute little bulge in the front of the shorts: not like my cock which always makes an obscene, gratuitous mound no matter how shrivelled and limp it is.
"Okay," he said, still looking far too serious. Now that it was morning, he was clearly a lot more troubled about this than he had been last night. "So where do we go from here?"
"Where do we go from here?" I laughed. "You make it sound like something momentous has happened!"
"It's not every day two guys – two straight guys – end up doing the stuff we did," he insisted.
"Come on, Marcus – it was basically a wank! That's all it boils down to. We did that before with no deep and meaningful discussions afterwards. What's so different this time?"
"Well, I dunno... let me think... perhaps the fact that we had our faces in each other's butts. And our fingers inside each other as well. And," he shuddered at the memory, "the way we were kissing as well. We were kissing when we came, Jake – that makes it pretty different from just two dudes having a wank together, doesn't it?"
I laughed again: it was funny how, to him, it seemed that kissing was the most scandalous thing we'd got up to.
He scowled at me for laughing: he was a lot more upset about this than he was trying to let on.
I made my face more serious and restated my case. "But the point remains, Marcus, we were just using each other for relief when we were horny. No strings attached. What's the biggie, mate?"
"Well, I suppose it's not a big deal. I just worried that you might –"
"Stop trying to pin whatever you're feeling on me, Marcus! We dicked around together and that's all it was. We're not going to date each other – I don't want... I dunno... candlelit suppers with you or any shit like that. We're just close enough mates to give each other a bit of help when we're both feeling boned-up."
For a brief second, I'd wanted to tell him about my dad. To explain to him how he'd gone from dating the occasional godawful woman to having much more regular sex with like-minded men. Men who, like Marcus and me, found themselves getting horny more often than the women in their lives could handle.
A moment's reflection told me that it was wrong to draw my dad into things, though. This wasn't about him and I didn't want Marcus to think I was using what my dad had been through to explain how I had behaved the previous night. I mean, I didn't need to justify myself by pulling in my dad's sexuality.
"Okay," Marcus agreed with a nod. "Yeah, I suppose I'm okay with that."
His cock and balls really did look cute in his orange shorts. Not too big but not too small. Making a nice package but not totally in-your-face, if you know what I mean.
I glanced further down, underneath his balls, where the material of his shorts disappeared between his legs and into his butt-crack. It had been such a turn-on to have my nose sniffing at the material back there last night. I could feel my cock fattening up a little from just the memory of how hot and raunchy it had smelt between his cheeks.
"What about the kissing, though?" he asked. "That was kind of... intense..."
I smiled at him, picking my coffee to take a swig of it. I'd pretty much forgotten I'd made it. "We got carried away, mate," I reassured him. "Put it down to that."
He nodded and picked up his own mug which he must have similarly forgotten about.
"Kissing's pretty serious, though," he persisted, taking a sip from his drink and pursing his lips with pain. I'd made it way too hot. It's always difficult to get it right when it's black coffee.
"It doesn't have to be," I countered and, as we drank our coffees, I told him about something that had happened to me about six months earlier back at home.
Me and a few mates had been out in town at a nightclub which was like the big wide world at the time but now seemed tiny and quaint compared to those I was more used to in Leeds.
This joke had started up – and I honestly don't remember exactly how – that me and mate Dan were there as a gay couple. We were all sitting round in a sort of semi-circular booth, four of us lads and a couple of girls. I think one of the girls might have fancied Dan and he was trying to get her to back off, but I don't really know. It just kind of ended up that the two of us were pretending to be gay together, much to our mates' amusement and to the girls' mock-disgust.
It had started out with us holding hands and getting close to each other in a jokey sort of way.
"There's no way you two are gay," this girl kept saying. "Well, he might be," she added, looking at me, "but you're definitely not."
"I'm fuckin' well gay, me," Dan insisted, in a deep burly voice that made it seem even more funny. "And I'm shaggin' his arse! Every fuckin' night!"
"And I'm shaggin' yours back," I was quick to chip in. I didn't mind us bullshitting around that we were gay, but I didn't want these girls getting the idea that I was his butt-boy or something.
"Okay, if the two of you are gay," the girl said, "prove it by groping each other up."
We'd laughed at that – it was just like joshing around together, the way we often did after football practice.
Dan had fondled me through my jeans and I'd reached across to have a feel of his. I'd enjoyed the look on his face when he'd realised how massive my dick felt inside them: he'd seen it loads of time in the sports centre showers and when I'd stayed around at his house but I guess he'd never really took in what a King Dong schlong I'm packing away.
I found to my surprise, as we felt up each other's pricks, that I really enjoyed it. I told you that, as far as guy stuff goes, I'm definitely a dick-man and groping Dan that night was, I reckon, was the start of my interest in other lads' meat. I liked the feel of my mate's knob through his trousers: it was smaller than mine and kind of tapered off in thickness towards the tip, but the differences made it all the more interesting and I was fascinated by the sensation of touching another lad's most private place.
And, needless to say, I liked the feel of his fingers on mine.
It actually wasn't at all like groping each other after football practice. In the locker rooms, we did it quickly and roughly; just a brief grab of each other's crotches to make the other guys laugh. This was altogether more deliberate and sensual; the two of us caressing rather than just snatching at each other, appreciating the size and shape of each other's dicks rather than lunging in and then pulling our hands away.
Our mates laughed at the sight of Dan and me with our hands fondling each other's crotches. Dan started rubbing back and forth along the ridge of my cock through my jeans in an overtly sexual motion, so I did the same to his. We both grinned across at our mates, opening our legs wider and flaunting our crotches to show off that we were, in effect, wanking each other off.
I made a face like I was cumming and bucked my hips rhythmically into his hand and he laughed and worked his dick firmly against my fingers, the whole time with the ridge of it getting thicker and harder as I jerked it through his trousers.
Mine was getting a bit fatter too: I could feel it steadily growing as Dan's fingers squeezed it and rubbed up and down it.
The lads found it all hilarious but the girls weren't impressed, though. The more assertive one – the one who liked Dan – said she still didn't believe us and that if we really were gay we should prove it by kissing each other.
"And not just a quick peck," she clarified. "I mean, a proper, deep kiss – a Frenchie. Tongues and everything. And doing it like you really mean it."
We'd grinned at each other – this would be even more fun.
We shuffled a little closer together on the seat and moved our faces towards each other. We were both trying not to laugh to make it seem more like we were doing this for real, but it felt so weird and funny to be lunging in to kiss each other that we couldn't help but suppress our giggles.
Our lips touched and I suddenly found it a lot less funny. Dan did too: his face became almost instantly more serious.
We opened our mouths and pressed the tips of our tongues together, the taste of Dan's beer breath hot and moist. He worked his tongue into my mouth, gently teasing mine and flicking it against my teeth and I was like, "What the fuck?!" It felt way too good, vying a guy take control and kiss you like you were a girl. It felt so good I could feel my cock growing really quickly now. I was getting a full hard-on with my mate's tongue in my gob!
I didn't tell Marcus this part, of course. I made out like it was just a joke that me and Dan had been having. That guys sometimes kiss for laughs and when they do it means diddly fuck.
Dan had put his hands on my shoulders and angled his face against mine so that he could work his tongue right into my mouth. The girls giggled and the guys laughed uproariously: this really was a proper snog we were rolling out for them. I gave into him, blown away by how good this felt and sensing from his quickening breath that he was too.
My cock was straining in my jeans; fully hard and oozing against my underwear. I wanted him to reach down and grope me again; pull it out and wank me off properly. I'd do the same to him, jerking his stiff dick as he kissed me like I was his girlfriend, and then I'd dip down to suck him off while he worked a finger up my butt.
But we didn't do any of that, of course. We were in the middle of a fucking nightclub for God's sake!
Instead, Dan pulled back and whispered, "This is way too good, mate. I'm gonna have to stop." I looked down and saw the mound of his hard-on poking upwards on one side of his fly.
"Yeah," I agreed. "It's, like, scarily good."
He glanced at my crotch and saw that I was also bulging, though far more prominently.
The upshot was that the girls were now convinced. Our friends were throwing us odd looks too but fortunately our straining crotches went unnoticed.
"Okay, so maybe kissing's not so serious," Marcus agreed, buying into my somewhat adapted version of the story. "We just had a wank together and we helped each other out as best we could. Like you say, there's nothing more to discuss."
"Exactly," I smiled.
I could have dropped it there – the two of us just getting dressed and going into the kitchen to hang out with the rest of the guys – but I couldn't help but make occasional glances at his shorts. I was curious to see if I could push things a bit further with him and I figured if I didn't make a move now, I might have to wait weeks to get another shot.
So I added, "Except for one thing, though."
"What's that?" he asked, his face the model of innocence.
I smiled more broadly. "What else we can do to help each other out in future?"
"What do you mean?" he asked, taking a drink from his coffee which now seemed to have cooled.
"I assume we're gonna get horny together again," I explained before gulping down some of mine. "I'm just kind of wondering what other things we could do to give each other... you know... a bit of occasional relief..."
I knew I was taking a risk, moving things on so soon after our first hook-up, but it seemed like it was the right time to do this. It seemed, at that moment, like it was now or never.
After staring at me uncertainly, he asked by way of clarification, "You wanna do some stuff again?"
"Why not?" I asked with a nonchalance I didn't really feel. "We've agreed it's not serious, so what's to stop us having some fun again when we're both in the mood?"
He kept staring at me and I might have chickened out – pretended like I was only joking and headed the fuck off for a cold shower – if I hadn't have seen the front of his orange boxer briefs twitch a little, as if something inside was stirring at the image that had formed in its owner's mind.
So I held out for his answer, my confidence rising slowly like the front of his shorts.
"Nothing... I guess," he said hesitantly. "But... er... how often were you thinking? What sort of timescale are we talking about?"
"I'm always up for a bit of fun," I replied. "It would be nice to have someone around who's a bit more... you know... co-operative than Ellie. Who doesn't say 'no' all the time... who wants it as much as I do."
"I guess the same goes for me too," he nodded. The bulge in his underwear was growing steadily bigger. Mine was too, come to that.
"So what else do you think we could offer each other?" I asked him again.
I was thinking of his butt: I fully admit that. After what we'd done the night before, I really wanted a fuck: I'll admit that too. I liked the look of his cock in his boxers, but at that particular moment I liked the thought of what was lurking further back a whole lot more.
The sight of the material underneath his balls disappearing between his legs was getting me horny and I wanted to make use of the little hole he was hiding there properly this time. I mean, it had tasted nice enough when I'd rimmed him on my bed, but I was sure it would feel a damn sight better when he had its puffy pink ring clamped around my cock.
"I dunno," he hesitated. "Whatever it is, I'd have to get the same from you that you got from me. I'd better make that clear from the start, mate – this would have to be a two-way thing."
He was also thinking of butt-fucking: that much was clear. He was telling me that if I wanted to fuck him, I'd have to be prepared to get fucked back. I was up for that – I told you I'd been curious about what it would be like to have a guy root my arse – and I was quite willing for my bum to get poked just as much as his would.
Apart from anything, his cock was quite a bit smaller than mine so it would be a much easier fit.
Did guys always, I wondered, consider such anatomical details when negotiating matters of sex? Did conversations like this happen in prisons and on oil rigs and stuff with both guys checking out each other's crotches and wondering how their bits were going to fit together?
"So if we did stuff again," I clarified, "but this time I was using a very... er... personal part of your body to help me out, you'd be okay with that as long as you got your own turn afterwards?"
"Or before," he said. "Sometimes I'd want first dibs."
Jesus Christ – he made is sound like Scout camp.
"But you'd be okay about taking turns? As long as we both got to... well... enjoy ourselves?"
"Yeah," he agreed. "What you did last night felt good so what you're suggesting now can't feel too bad either. Like I say, though – as long as I got to take a turn myself."
Yeah, we were talking about fucking. The two of us were sitting here on my bed in our underwear drinking coffee and going through the terms and conditions about how we would butt-fuck each other. And on a regular basis.
Life could be funny sometimes.
I thought I'd cut the crap.
"You feeling horny now?" I asked.
He smiled at me. His shorts were giving him away – I needn't really have asked the question.
"Kind of, yeah. What about you?"
"I'm always feeling horny, mate. Just because my dick isn't pushing up the front of my shorts like yours is, doesn't mean I'm not ready and willing."
"And you wanna... you know... fuck my arse in exchange for fucking yours? That is what we were talking about wasn't it?"
I was half-tempted to recoil with horror and claim that he'd totally misunderstood the gist of our conversation. That all the time I'd been talking about releasing our tensions through taking turns to pace each other at the student gym and how on Earth could he even think about us shagging each other?!
But it was too important a moment to make that kind of joke. So instead I'd just nodded and said, "Yeah, that was pretty much where we were headed."
We smiled at each other. So it was out in the open: we were going to become the sort of guys who other blokes would joke about. 'Bum chums' me and mates would call lads who we suspected were bending over for each other behind their girlfriends' backs. I preferred to think of Marcus and me as 'fuck-buddies' – I don't know why but it made it sounded less gay.
Not that there was anything wrong with sounding gay. It's just that I didn't think either of us were gay. Instead, we were two mates who weren't too fussy about where we got our kicks. To me that didn't make us gay – just a bit over-sexed.
Eventually Marcus said, "So when you say you're 'ready and willing', do you mean now? Do you actually want to... you know... be intimate together... I mean get erotic with each other... right now?"
His cock was really poking up inside his boxers by now. Did I already say it looked cute? If I did, I've got to say that it looked even cuter when it was fully hard and making a wet patch on his shorts.
"I don't want to piss around, Marcus. If you wanna do stuff with me, I just want you to just come out and say it. This has to be casual for both of us – no emotional stuff, no feeling awkward thinking of how we're gonna phrase stuff with each other or anything. If you wanna fuck, just tell me. We both know why we're doing it, what our reasons are, so let's not dress it up with flowery language and all that shit."
He smiled at me; so broadly that his teeth showed. He had good teeth – nice and white and all fitting together like they should.
He seemed genuinely pleased that I'd said what I'd said. That unlike Annabelle, the girl he'd been seeing on-and-off, he didn't need to think about how he was wording everything up before he said it. If he wanted a fuck, he just had to say it. With another lad, he just needed to tell me he was horny and I'd do what I could to help him out.
"Okay," he said. "I want to fuck your arse, Jake. You can fuck mine too. I don't mind which order we do it in."
I grinned at him and then I laughed.
He laughed too but then he corrected himself: "Actually, since we're being totally honest, I'd prefer to go first. Yes, I want to use your arse before you use mine."
"The trouble with that," I said, "is that you're the one who cums first. You're totally spent and feeling unhorny and then you're having to bend over while I bone you."
"Hmm..." he nodded. "I see what you mean. So you think it's best to go second?"
"I dunno," I pretended. "It's not like I'm an expert at this."
Except actually I was. I'd seen my dad take on all comers in every configuration and I'd pretty much figured out what worked and what didn't.
"But if we do it the other way," he said, "the same goes for you too. How do we decide who goes first?"
"I think," I started, choosing my words carefully so that he wouldn't realise how much I knew about this kind of stuff. "I think I might have read somewhere that the guy being nailed enjoys it too. I wouldn't know the details, but I think it's to do with the prostate gland or something."
"Oh yeah, that makes sense," he said. Like he had a fucking clue. "Well, I'll bend over for you, as long as you'll bend over for me afterwards."
Lying in my cramped bed at home underneath my Arctic Monkeys poster, Marcus pushed back against me and I grabbed him closer to me as I struggled to get to sleep. His bum felt so nice against my cock. I was still semi-hard and, in spite of the beer I'd drunk, I wasn't able to relax enough to nod off.
I wondered how much Marcus liked having another lad hold him as I did while he slept. When he was drifting off to sleep, he seemed quite happy to have another male hold him like a girlfriend and kissing the back of his neck. But even when he was asleep he seemed content to have me behind him, nuzzling the fat head of my dick into the crack of his arse in the same way that I'd snuggle it between the tops of Ellie's thighs when she was in the same position.
As his breathing became slow and deep and he pulled slightly away from me as if my breath was tickling his neck, I heard a familiar dull thumping coming from my dad's room, betraying to the whole house that he needed some late-night relief.
"Waxing the carrot with a guest in the house, Mr Furlong?" I thought with a combination of amusement and disapproval. But then it occurred to me that what I'd suggested to Marcus about how we should end our evening would have been far noisier and way more impolite.
Not that my dad would have minded, of course: he'd have enjoyed hearing the two of us going at it. He'd probably be wanking a lot more energetically at the sounds that my bedsprings would have made with the two of us beating the cheeks with each other.
I wondered about putting on a show for him the following evening: yeah, that would be pretty cool. Really going to town for him with the two of us grunting and gasping; my cock pounding Marcus so hard that my headboard would be hammering against the wall. He'd probably sneak along the corridor and watch us just like I did with him when he had one of his 'friends' to stay over. I'd enjoy performing for him, showing him that I'm not a kid anymore.
Once we'd finished our coffees, the actual getting down to sex with Marcus proved to be way more awkward than I'd expected. Having never had sex with another lad before – well, not proper up-the-arse stuff – I wasn't sure how exactly to go about it.
We'd stripped off – Marcus was full-on horny but I wasn't at all – and talked about how we wanted to do it. It was weird chatting like that with another guy – trying to make it sound casual and ordinary when we were discussing, for real, how we were going to fuck each other's arses.
Marcus wanted to do it on the bed but I thought it would be better if he squatted on my chair. Marcus thought we should use KY jelly but I thought Vaseline might be more effective.
I'd never seen this part of it when I'd sneaked a look-in on my dad. By the time I got to his bedroom door, the party had always been in full swing. I had no idea whether he also had conversations like this, discussing the practicalities of how two male anatomies could be made to fit together.
In the end I got so freaked out by having to try and figure out what the fuck we should do, that there was no way my cock was going to be good for anything. So we decided – well, I accepted – that it was Marcus who was going to get 'first dibs' as he'd put it.
We did it on the bed and we used Vaseline: a kind of compromise, I guess.
It was so painfully awkward, though – having to bend over for him and show him my arse while he knelt behind me and levelled up his dick with the lower part of my crack.
I had no idea what to say – how to make this become more sexy and fun. It just seemed sterile and horrible, as if he was going to carry out some invasive medical procedure like shoving one of those disgusting things up my butt that my dad has to use sometimes after a really heavy session. You know the ones I mean: the ones with little strings on them.
I thought about backing out and telling him that I couldn't bring myself to do it. That maybe we could try again some time when we were both half-spun and it would seem more like the kind of thing drunk lads get up to when they're dicking around, just as it had the previous night.
But I worried that, having come this far, if I welshed on him, he'd take it as a pretty serious rejection. He'd feel as if he'd been the one who'd been so up for it that he'd just about pushed his dick against my butt and I'd been the sensible voice of reason who'd had second thoughts and had ended up telling him no.
Could we stay mates after something like that? I didn't know whether we could and I sure as hell didn't want to find out.
So, even though I was starting to think this was one big fucking mistake and that it was probably the most unpleasant sex I was ever going to have, I bent forwards and spread my legs as wide apart as I could, while he lined his oily cock up with where he thought my hole was.
When I felt it slide, warm and wet, between my arse cheeks, something suddenly occurred to me.
"Actually," I said, "I don't wanna break the sexy mood we've got going on here, mate, but I reckon I should probably take a dump before we start."
"Oh yeah," he replied. "I probably should too."
I got up from the bed, pleased for the distraction and pulled my dressing gown on.
"I'll go first," I told him.
He smiled at me, still kneeling on my bed holding his hard-on, like this was all so everyday.
"Do you think this is how sex always starts out for gay guys?" he asked with a chuckle. "With the two of them taking craps so that they can take each other's cocks?"
"I have no idea, mate," I replied. I thought back to my dad: did he always use the toilet before entertaining his 'evening callers'? I wasn't sure – such things would never have occurred to me before this – but I thought not.
Talking of my dad, his rhythm was really picking up. If he was concerned that Marcus might hear him jerking off, he made no attempt to be discreet about what he was doing.
Perhaps he liked the thought of the two of us lying here listening to him. Perhaps it turned him on to think of my blond-haired uni friend hearing him whacking himself off.
I wondered what he was thinking about. I knew I should really be trying to empty my mind, to think of sheep or whatever you're supposed to, to make me nod off, but I couldn't help but speculate on what might be fuelling this particular masturbatory session that my dad was getting so into.
As the two of us had just been talking about sex, and specifically that first night I'd spent messing around with Marcus, it seemed likely that at least some of that imagery would be featuring pretty heavily in his musings.
I wondered if he was thinking of me. Do fathers think about their sons when they're wanking? I thought in most cases probably not, but my dad can get pretty freaky sometimes. He pretends he's this boring, square bloke with a lame-ass job who's into wine and classical music, but when you live with him you realise how totally obsessed with sex he is. He seems to constantly be wanking off – God know how many times he does it each day – and the stuff he leaves behind in his internet history would, believe me, make a Scunthorpe slapper blush. And yet he breezes in like he's so prim and proper, telling me off for using the word 'arse' because 'bottom' is more polite.
Once – I kid you not – he was chatting while I was having my tea about some guy he'd met and he mentioned something which, if I hadn't actually heard him say it, I wouldn't have believed that even he was capable of. He was dressing things up the way he always does – talking about "gratifying" another man and being "indulged" by him so he didn't have to swear or sound crude – but the gist of it was how much he'd enjoyed fucking a bloke's arse with the same guy's spunk trickling down the backs of thighs as it leaked out of his own.
There – I've shocked you! I fucking have – admit it!
To be honest, even I had to double-take, with my ravioli on toast poised on my fork in front of my gaping mouth. He just stood there after he'd said it, smiling sweetly and looking like butter wouldn't melt, and I was thinking, "Jesus fucking Christ, I've got my paper two Biology exam tomorrow. I really do not want to get stuck with that image in my head."
Another time, while I'd only been half tuned-in to whatever it was he was going on about – something about "pleasuring a couple of friends" and "the joys to be had in receiving two at once" – he'd said, while he was rooting around in the cupboard for some pasta, "I tell you what, Jake, by the end of it my rear quarters looked like a yawning hippo."
And I'd been like, "What the actual fuck?!"
So, to boil it down, yes: he could well be jazzing off thinking of me and what I'd done with Marcus. I wouldn't put anything past the dirty sod these days.
How did that make me feel, I wondered, to have my dad thinking of the stuff I'd done with my friend while his hand was thumping away at the front of his pyjama bottoms?
I wasn't sure, to be honest. From the sounds he was making – oh God, I could actually hear him panting – he was obviously enjoying whatever it was he was thinking of. So I guess, in a way, I should be flattered if I happened to feature in the little show that was playing itself out in the seedy theatre inside his head.
I assumed it would be the thoughts of me rimming Marcus or Marcus rimming me that he was finding so pleasant. He had a compulsion about rimming – a sort of one-track focus on it at the exclusion of all the other flavours of sex you could have with guys – and so it was very likely that it was my bum or Marcus' bum that was being licked at this very moment in his pervy brain while his hand did its work.
Back in my student flat, sitting there on the toilet, I thought about what I was going to do with Marcus. I was about to let another lad fuck me: that's what it came down to. I was about to have my arse porked by some guy I'd known for just a couple of months and, worse than that, I was about to do it stone cold sober.
When you think about having sex for the first time as a kid, you imagine doing it on your wedding night in a room full of candles and rose petals and all that shit. You don't think about bending over on your creaky university bed while some posh boy from Surrey grabbed your hips and shoved his lubed-up cock up your arse.
I'd have to get out of this somehow. I'd have to do it cleverly so he'd think it was him who was backing out. Yeah, that was how to do it. Come on, Jake, I thought: work those fucking brain cells, mate. You got yourself into this, now get yourself the fuck out of it.
My dad was pulling his pud faster and faster. There was no way I could get to sleep now: I had to hear him finish before I could even start to relax. I was going to feel like shit in the morning, I knew that much. We were going to some stone circle Marcus had said sounded "interesting" which probably meant standing around in the freezing cold while he pissed about measuring things. This was the drawback of having an archaeology student as your fuck-buddy: plenty of hot sex but the occasional necessary bout of getting cold thrown in too.
Marcus was snoring by now. I wondered if that was another negative of having a male lover. Ellie didn't snore but Marcus was a pain for it.
I thought that my dad was probably thinking of Marcus' butt. He wouldn't be thinking about mine – that would be way too weird. He would be thinking about my tongue, and that was okay, and maybe thinking about Marcus' cock being tugged while I did my thing behind him. But his attention would definitely be centred slap bang on the bullseye of my friend's bum.
I suddenly had a fun thought: what if I left a pair of Marcus' discarded underwear in the bathroom for my dad to find? I'd position them behind the door, as if Marcus had accidentally left them there after taking a shower. I could imagine that my dad would probably borrow them for a short while so he could take them to his room and "interact with them" as he would put it.
I thought back to how many times I'd found his friends' underwear in the bathroom after they'd stayed over. Bradley's, Guy's, that bloke Deshi's who he used to hook up with. Every time one of them had stayed over their dirty briefs or boxers would be lying in the bathroom the next morning.
Perhaps he'd been doing for me what I'd just considered doing for him: giving me a little sniff of what I'd missed as a sort of consolation prize for the loser in the house. If he had, I hadn't let them go to waste. Especially Bradley's: those had been put to very good use with my bedroom door firmly shut.
Usually I'd use the front – like I told you, I'm very much a dick-man when it comes to guys – and wank off with the smell of another guy's cock and balls over my face. Sometimes, though, if I was in the mood, I'd use the back, and imagine that the rougher smell where the material had rubbed against his hole was being made by my dick fucking him up the butt.
With my dad, though, I had no doubt about which side of Marcus' shorts he'd be more interested in. I'd make sure the back of them were nice and flavoursome and I knew that rimming my mate's arse would be at the forefront of my dad's mind when he had them pressed to his nose and was 'interacting' himself off.
When I'd traipsed back to my room from the toilet, I gave Marcus my dressing gown so he could similarly nip out to prepare his bowels for their imminent invasion. If this was what butt-fucking involved – having to shit every time before you had sex – I couldn't see me getting into it. The awkwardness was bad enough, but having to remember to take a crap every time you felt horny – that seemed way too involved.
"Look, mate," I said, "maybe this isn't such a good time to do this. I mean, you've probably got stuff to do and I know how hungover you get after a heavy night..."
"Naah, I'm free all day, mate," he said, pulling on my dressing gown. "And I feel fine – not even a headache. If you're having second thoughts, though, just say..."
"Me? No... I'm well up for it... of course I am!" The state of my dick was saying otherwise, but I didn't want him to think I was backing out.
He smiled at me. "Let's just go for it, then, Jake. I mean, after all the stuff we've said – you know, actually discussing fucking each other – it's gonna get really uncomfortable between us if we don't do the deed."
"I know that... but when we first woke up you were a bit freaked out about it. I don't want to push things too far and too fast for you."
He nodded, tying up the belt to secure the front of my dressing gown. His hard-on made the material rise upwards but he didn't seem to care.
"I was mainly worried how you were feeling, to be honest, Jake. Since then we've laid down the ground rules and it feels okay to be doing stuff together... from what you said earlier, it makes good sense."
I wanted to say something but he put his arm on mine and stopped me. "Look, I'll just pop to the loo, mate, and then we'll get started. You'll feel better once we're doing it. It'll be fun... I promise..."
He left the room and that was when I first wondered if he'd done this before. He'd been to an all-boys' boarding school so it wasn't totally impossible that he'd played around a bit after lights-out. He seemed remarkably calm for someone about to have his first fuck with another guy, and how the hell could he be so sure that it would end up being fun for me too? How could he know something like that?
I sat down on my bed wondering how I was going to get out of this. What could I say? Sudden stomach trouble? A phone call from a dying aunt? What the fuck was I going to say to make him piss off without feeling too pissed off with me?
My dad was spunking up. I could hear his gasps and, perhaps only by suggestion, the splashing of his cum onto his stomach and chest. I wondered what mental picture had brought him to his climax: maybe me with my hairy arse-crack lowering itself down onto Marcus' face, or the thought of the two of us snogging like a couple of love-birds while we fingered each other.
Or perhaps he'd imagined us fucking. Yes, he's a big fan of anal sex so it could well have been that in his mind. He wasn't too bothered about which way around he "partook" as he called it. When I snuck a glance into his room when he had a bloke to stay-over these days, I was just as likely to find him on all-fours readily taking it as I was to find him banging away at an eagerly-splayed arse.
It was bizarre how he'd gone from being pretty much celibate, barring the attentions of his own hand and the occasional nutty woman he'd meet on a dating site, to bringing back men two or three times a week and regularly disappearing off with an overnight bag. Quite often they seem to be random hook-ups – God knows how he met them – but among his callers he has a few recurring faces: men who, like him, might not call themselves gay but nevertheless have a thing for sex with their own gender.
He didn't seem to have anyone in particular who he'd formed a special bond with, the way I had with Marcus. Well, he'd formed a friendship of sorts with the first bloke he'd got together with – the dad of my friend from school called Guy who he'd talked about downstairs – but, other than that, men just seem to come and go for him like ships in the night or whatever the saying is. It's just a sexual thing for him: a way of emptying his bollocks into someone or over someone with nothing more to it than that.
I suppose it's a bit like that for me too, but the difference is that I know or half-know most of the lads I cop off with. At the very least I know of them through a friend of a friend. My dad just brings these strangers home with him – he actually gets their names wrong most of the time – and then the two of them (or three of them) have a few drinks downstairs before retiring to bed to do the deed with me listening in the next room. The next morning we just move right on and the whole thing's quickly forgotten.
When Marcus came back from the loo, he threw my dressing gown on the floor to reveal that he was still rock hard. He can be horny fucker sometimes, but on that particular morning it didn't seem like such a good thing.
He walked over to my desk and picked up my tub of Vaseline. Smearing it on his dick he told me to get on all fours on the bed.
So that's what things had come to, was it? Having another lad tell me to bend over so he could butt-fuck me.
There seemed no point in trying any other ways of getting myself out of this. If I started coming up with any more excuses as to why he couldn't screw me, he was going to start getting salty and we'd end up falling out. That really was the last thing I wanted: to lose a good mate for the sake of not letting him do something I'd really wanted myself just twenty minutes ago.
I'd just have to get through this as best as I could. Lie back and think of England or whatever the expression was. Except in my case I'd be bending forwards and biting the pillow while I thought of queen and country.
I got on the bed and got back on all fours, and he climbed onto it behind me, still smearing Vaseline onto his hard-on.
"Come on, mate, it won't be that bad," he said, trying to encourage me. He was kneeling behind me with a cock coated in Vaseline, working out how best to slide it up my butt, and now he was trying to cheer me up. Good strategy, dude.
"You seem really calm, Marcus," I observed. "I'm tense as fuck – about to get shagged up my arse for the first time."
"Years of practice, mate," he chuckled. "When I was at boarding school, I worked my way through every lad in my dorm!"
"What!?" I exclaimed, turning around in horror. So he'd been lying, had he? I knew it! He'd been boning every butt in the fucking school!
He chuckled at my expression. "Of course I didn't, Jake! This is new for me too... I swear to God. I told you before – it wasn't that sort of school. I'm a total novice, mate... at least in this respect."
Persuaded he was telling the truth, I faced forwards again. "Don't do that to me, Marcus. Not right now... not like this. It's not fucking funny."
"Okay, sorry," he said, and shuffled up behind me.
That was all I needed. As if it wasn't bad enough that I was about to have my arse screwed, he starts clowning around just to make it even worse.
The insertion itself was brief. He pushed his dick into me with one quick lunge – the Vaseline really did its job – and then, with a hand on my hip and the other holding my shoulder, we just stayed like that for a minute, as if we couldn't believe that we were actually joined together: two lads connected cock to bum.
"I'm fucking you, Jake," he whispered down to me. Like I wouldn't have noticed; like I'd be really be that dippy.
But I was too wound up to reply; too wrapped up in the sensations I was getting. It felt weird to have him inside me – to actually have his knob inside my butt – but at the same time there were lots of other feelings going on: electrical impulses firing off from places I hadn't known I had; shivers surging up my spine in way I'd never experienced.
It sounds corny as fuck – I know, I've read other guys' first-time stories – but I suddenly felt totally different. Sexually reborn sounds too religious; sexually re-energised sounds like I'm a Duracel battery. But that's the image I'm trying to convey: suddenly, right out of the blue, I felt like this was some totally new part of me that I hadn't known existed and I could tell that, once we got going, this was going to be cranked-up-to-eleven exciting.
He said, "Are you okay, Jake? I can take it out if you like..."
"Just do it," I said, struggling with the sensations that were charging through me, eager to know what else I was going to feel. "Just fuck me, mate. Do it now."
He started easing in and out of me, slowly at first, and I shuddered with every stroke he made.
"If it's really that awful, Jake, just tell me and I'll stop, mate. I don't want to hurt you, dude."
The feel of him inside me was incredible. Every time he slid his cock into me, I had that breath-taking sensation tingling through me. I'd told him about the male prostate gland and I figured that's what must be causing this: his dick must be rubbing against it inside me, making me tremble with excitement.
Was this how a girl felt when she had a guy inside her pussy, I wondered? I had no idea, but I could feel that my own cock was responding to the feelings I was getting from my bum. It was getting quickly longer and harder and starting to rise up between my legs.
Marcus paused with his dick buried right up me.
"Are you okay, mate?" he asked. "I really don't want to do this if it's hurting you."
"Feel my cock, Marcus," I managed to whisper.
He leant down across my back and groped underneath me, quickly locating my growing hard-on. He laughed at the feel of it, pleased that I was becoming aroused by what he was doing.
"I knew you'd like it, Jake! I knew you'd enjoy it once we got started!"
"How?" I gasped. "How did you know that?"
A suspicion that he'd done this before was still lurking at the back of my mind.
"You've seen gay stuff on the web, mate," he explained. "You've seen how it works. The guy getting fucked always ends up getting horny for it."
He fondled my cock, squeezing it and gently easing the foreskin back and forth, chuckling against my back at how fast it was growing in his hand. He started fucking me again, more quickly and confidently now, and then surprised me by kissing me between my shoulder blades.
"This feels so nice, Jake," he whispered. "Your arse is so tight... it actually feels better than a minge."
I'd laughed at that. "Is that what you're thinking of it as?"
"Weirdly, no. I'm thinking of it as your butt. And I'm enjoying it as that; enjoying the fact that I'm fucking you as another guy and that I'm doing it up your arsehole."
And that's how it always went from then on when we had sex: we wouldn't think of each other as girl-substitutes; we'd have sex as two guys and enjoy each other's cocks and bums for what they were. It seemed a whole lot better that way.
He took his hand off my cock and pushed himself upright behind me. Grabbing my hips again, he started fucking me properly, making firm rapid thrusts and using the whole length of his dick.
It felt amazing to have him slamming in and out of me like that. I writhed underneath him and heard myself gasping in pleasure.
"Oh Jesus!" he called out. "This feels so fucking good!"
I pushed my bum back against him, pumping his cock with the tightness of my ring – wanking him off using my arse muscles. I reached underneath myself and did the same to my own cock, only using my hand and a more conventional technique.
"It's totally unlike sex with a girl," he gasped, shafting me as roughly could and making his bollocks slap against my thighs. "The feel of it... the smell of it... there's no way you could imagine this was straight sex, mate!"
I pushed myself upright so that we were kneeling together, my back against his chest. He grabbed me tightly with both arms and drove even faster in and out of me. Still wanking myself, I met his every thrust with a sharp jab of my butt-cheeks, working against him to maximise the pleasure we were both feeling.
I loved that I could do this to him: use my butt to really crank up the intensity of his fuck. It would never have occurred to me that I could use my arse muscles to jerk off another guy's dick and, even more than that, what an amazing feeling I would get from doing it. Every time he rammed his cock up me, I got this incredible sensation from pushing back against it and squeezing my butt-hole around it; it made jerking my cock feel way, way better than it ever had.
Panting against the back of my neck, he muttered, "Jesus, Jake – I'm gonna fucking cum!"
I bent forwards again to open my arse up for him and he grabbed me by the shoulders for better leverage. His cock hammered in and out of me so hard that the bed started creaking in a way that would make it obvious to the whole flat that the two of us were having sex.
I suddenly wondered if I'd locked the door of my room. If some smart-arse were to open it, the whole flat would see us in this, the gayest of all gay positions. Me on all fours with Marcus upright behind me. And my dick hard and throbbing while his drove relentlessly in and out of my splayed-open butt.
Everyone would know me and Marcus had done it butt-style but as Craig had said, I didn't give a fuck.
He started grunting like a pig and then I felt his hot wetness squirting up inside me. He was shooting his spunk up my butt and it felt surprisingly pleasant.
"Aah!" he called out, between heaving breaths. "Aah, yeah! Jesus, yeah!"
He grabbed more shoulders more firmly and slammed his dick right up inside me, holding it there, buried to the hilt, while he discharged the last remnants of his cum from his balls. I could actually feel it spurting up into my bowels; feel it shooting in surges up my butt.
Considering we'd both spunked up the previous night, his orgasm was incredibly copious. But that became a recurrent feature of our sex: no matter how many times the two of us cum together, we can always manage one more and our balls never fail to deliver yet another bountiful load.
Like mine, his bollocks are good at working over-time, churning out sperms as fast as we can despatch up them up each other's butts.
In my bed at home, lying behind him, all these thoughts of that first morning we did stuff together were making my cock ache. I can remember my first time with a girl – which guy can't? – but that first time with another guy never fails to get me horny when I think about it.
My cock strained against his backside. It was going to need me to sort it out before it was going to let me get any sleep.
Especially if I were to keep thinking of what we'd done that morning. After all, as far as I was concerned, the best part was yet to come.
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