Awake with Jake Pt. 03

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.