By Popular Demand

I was attracted by the idea of being direct with Guy as soon as our bedroom door was closed. Of saying, "Okay, mate. We both know what we want, so let's not waste time messing around." And then walking over to him, unzipping his fly and playing with his hardening organ through his zipper. Or doing what Cameron had done with Malcolm and yanking his jeans down from behind, plunging my face between his buttocks and sliding my tongue into his moist hole.

Then we'd both get down to it, quickly shedding our clothes and clambering onto one of the beds so we could do with one another all the things we were so desperate to. I'd suck his cock and lick his balls, and then I'd have him bend over for me so I could feed voraciously on that most private part he'd only once allowed another person to be intimate with. And then I'd give myself to him and we'd fuck together, sweating and panting on the bed, both staring forward towards whatever generic hotel painting happened to be hanging above the headboard. Guy's hand would be beating at my erection, our bodies briefly joined man-to-man and the room slowly filling with the crude odour of our sex.

My problem remained, though, how to get to that point. I liked the idea of being frank about my intentions – of bypassing the lumberingly circuitous route we'd taken last time – but at the same time, I didn't want to put him off with an approach that was too overbearing. Guy seemed to like to lead and to be the dominant partner, and he might not respond well to having another man appearing to force himself on him.

Perhaps I should be the one to pull out a bottle of whisky this time. Grab us a couple of glasses and sit alongside him on his bed, pouring the two of us some overly generous measures to get the party started. Compliment him on how he looked, especially once he started undressing. Tell him how nice his bum filled out his briefs; how much I admired his substantial bulge out front.

Yes, that would get him going. He'd soon be rock hard and making a ridge in of his underwear; offering my mouth his fat bell-end like it was the tip of an especially extravagant cigar.

The phone on my desk rang and I took a call about a camshaft I'd signed off. Then I got back to the dreary table of specifications I'd been checking.

Where was I? What had I been thinking about? Had I reached any kind of decision about what I'd do when Guy and I were alone together?

I found myself wondering what men usually took with them when they were expecting to have sex together. Condoms? I'd definitely need to have a few packets of those stashed away. A couple of tubes of KY jelly would also come in useful. I wondered whether laxatives were also a standard part of the kit; maybe even some strong painkillers.

Since I was going to buy condoms, what size Guy would need? One didn't like to offend a bloke about stuff like that. His cock would disappear without a trace into my own 'U' size marquees but if I got him anything less substantial than 'XL' he might be insulted. I'd better buy a selection and play it by ear on the night. Try and slip one on him without making an issue of its size.

I realised I was assuming that he would want to wear a condom – what if he didn't? He'd clearly worked his way through a succession of male partners during his time on the oil rig – if not before and since – and I didn't really fancy gambling on the fact that he hadn't picked something up along the way.

Surely he'd be used to rubbering up when he was faced with the splayed, hairy buttocks of a member of his own gender? Surely he'd want a layer of protection around his organ given that it was another man's dank, slimy rectum he was going to be working it up inside?

Again, I'd have to play it by ear. See what happened on the night.

But I was determined there was no way he was going to get his cock anywhere near my virgin hole if there wasn't a sheath of latex rolled down it.

So, how to get from A to B? That was the question. How do two purportedly straight men go from closing the door of the hotel room they were sharing to rutting on the bed without a stitch on just a short time later? It wasn't really the sort of problem one could just type into 'Yahoo! Answers'.

Maybe I should start undressing first and flash my bum a bit towards him. Since he was, by all accounts, used to regarding other men's backsides as sexual opportunities, he'd be likely to see that as an invitation. He'd probably start undressing with me, showing himself off to me. He'd flash his own arse towards me, knowing full well the peculiar interest I had in it, and might bend down a few times to tantalise me with thoughts of pressing my face into the well-worn material between the backs of his thighs.

He might stay bent down and turn to me, over his shoulder, and say, "Come and get it, mate!" And I'd quickly approach to find out if that thin strip of material between the backs of his thighs smelled and tasted as alluring as it looked.

Or he might come over to me as I sat on my bed, just like he had last time, and stand in front of me with the front of his briefs in front of my face. This time I'd relish the view of him filling his underwear so abundantly and inhale as deeply as I could the thick wafts from his cock and his hot, sweaty balls. I'd lean forwards and nuzzle my face into his briefs, feeling his cock harden against my face as I smelt his sharp, masculine scents. And perhaps I'd reach up and pull his waistband down, letting his slowly swelling cock flop into my mouth and feeling his hands grasp the back of my head as his organ lengthened inch by inch towards my throat.

Matt Strickson startled me from my reverie, coming over to my desk with another set of figures for me to look through. As he put the file on my desk, one of my pens rolled onto the floor and I bent out of my chair to pick it up. As I got back up, I noticed Matt peering down at my bum with a distinctly interested expression on his face. He may even have licked his upper lip slightly, but I can't be sure.

I thanked him for the documents and he strolled back over towards his desk, flashing his own incredible backside, emblazoned so extravagantly by his flagrantly tight trousers, in my direction.

I wondered if, in spite of Cameron's insistence to the contrary, career-obsessed Matt might after all be harbouring a secret fascination for his office-mates' rears. Had he really just looked at mine with what had appeared to be lust? Was it possible that he could have been thinking about rimming me? What it would be like to stick his face into my round backside and sniff my hairy crack through the combined whiff of my underpants and trousers? To have me bend forwards for him so he could wedge his nose low down where my hole would be; to hungrily inhale another man's roughest scent through the enticing patch of material that had been working up between his buttocks all day?

I looked over him sitting himself back down at his desk and he threw me an amicable smile. I grinned back over at him and then we got on with what we were doing.

Could he really be one of my kind?

Was it possible that he might have been admiring the back of my work trousers, licking his lips to see the hem disappearing between the rounded orbs of my cheeks? Imagining what underwear I might be wearing underneath them and how exciting it would to work his tongue around the back of them to seek out the taste of my hot, wet hole? To have me yank my sweaty briefs down so he could probe the most carnal of another man's openings; to push his face so hard against my squat, hairy arse that my swollen ball-sack would be bobbing against his chin.

The ping of an e-mail forced me back to reality.

Of course Matt wasn't harbouring such thoughts! Apart from anything else he was straight; and even if, like me, he was curious about his own kind, he would probably be disgusted at the thought of doing something so base as to be licking the hairy arse of a forty-odd year old bloke.

I got on with the product specifications, trying to focus my mind on the task in spite of how dull it was.

It occurred to me that in spite of him being straight, his lingering glance at my bum might nevertheless have been a betrayal of other, less imaginative but equally promising thoughts. It wasn't totally implausible, for example, to suppose he might have been thinking what it would be like to work his cock into the curvaceous backside I was so obligingly presenting for him. Even the straightest of blokes must occasionally succumb to such illicit thoughts when they find themselves staring at another man's splayed and undeniably inviting rump.

If he had been privately pondering the potential of my bum for a bit of improper penetration, such thoughts would make for a very appealing prospect. I could easily envisage him, as a younger man and probably someone who could be sexually very demanding, holding onto me and driving himself in and out of my spread behind. Cameron said he thought Matt was probably well-hung so that would make it even more interesting: imagine his large and insistent erection, long and thick and with the impatience of youth, thrusting upwards so deeply into my bowels.

I looked over at him as he checked something on his computer monitor and compared it with a printout he had in his hand. He had an angular face with a strong jaw line and pale, piercing eyes. It was odd to think of another man in such a way, but I mused that he would make an amazing sexual partner. He was tall, attractive, had a well-built cock (if I could believe Cameron) and an arse I would willingly have for breakfast, lunch and tea any day of the week.

I looked back down at the document I was supposed to be checking. What the hell was wrong with me this afternoon? Why was I having all these thoughts about a younger colleague?

I glanced over at him again. Those eyes. Jesus Christ!

I wondered if he liked football; whether he might want to come along on our trip with Guy and me. Of course I would never ask him – I hardly knew the guy – but what if I did? What if the three of us – somehow – were to end up sharing a room in the hotel? The three of us stripping naked and playing around together. It was a ludicrous idea – so implausible as to be laughable – but nevertheless I started to get hard at the thought of it underneath my desk.

Cameron had said that three men together could be a lot of fun. I hadn't really thought of myself in that position before but now that I did, the idea was as exciting as it was intriguing. Three of us guys, probably a bit drunk, feeling horny and getting naked together; three pumped-up cocks demanding gratification; three hot, moist arseholes eager to please. The possibilities were almost endless; the many combinations we could get ourselves into fascinating.

I gently rubbed myself through my trousers at the thought of having Matt rimming me while I bent down low to suck Guy's cock. Or Guy fucking me from behind while Matt stood in front of us both, holding my head and driving his cock in and out of my mouth.

The fun three men could have together! The sheer variety of things we could do!

Matt standing behind me, fucking me, while Guy bent over in front of me so I could have my turn licking his arse. Or Guy fucking me on the bed, lying on my back and as he held onto my ankles with both hands, while Matt squatted over me, lowering his arse and a lovely big pair of spunk-filled bollocks into my face.

Or – even better – the two of them lying flat on the bed like Cameron had shown me with his hands, so I could straddle over them and have both of their cocks fuck me at the same time. That would be just amazing! Slamming myself down on them, the two of them sweating and gasping. Turning one way so Matt could see my arse being fucked and then the other so he could see my cock and balls jumping around over his stomach.

Reaching down to finger them both as they fucked me. Enjoying their different smells as they thrust themselves together to reach up into my bowels.

And then Matt getting up and bending low so I could mount him, as Guy came up behind me and entered me as my hips were bucking back and forth. The three of us heaving together like that: me in the middle, enjoying it both ways. Giving it and taking it both at the same time.

It would be like being the middle segment of a weird centipede-like creature. How amazing it would be to feel Guy's thick cock pumping in and out of my bum while mine took up the same rhythm inside Matt's splayed arse as bent over in front of me. We'd be panting, grunting and laughing together at how wonderfully erotic three horny men could be with each other.

And the smell of the three of us! Oh God, imagine that!

The powerful, unmistakeably rectal stink of two men's bums being rapidly fucked at the same time would be incredible. Better still, the raunchy nasal assault of our frantic joint penetration would combine in the heat of the room with the cloying reek of our sweat, the base fug of our six fat balls slapping together underneath us, and the acrid tang of Matt's swollen cock being frantically wanked. What a deliciously carnal and aggressively masculine aphrodisiac it would make!

Just a few whiffs of such an uncompromisingly homosexual musk – perhaps a single, bracing sniff of it – would have me hurtling towards my climax.

With a jolt, I realised Matt – the real Matt – was staring pointedly over at me across the office and that I was making a blatantly masturbatory motion against the front of my trousers. He couldn't see my hand beneath my desk but the rhythm of my elbow and the angle of my forearm told him everything he needed to know.

I felt my cheeks flush and threw him what I hoped he would take as an apologetic smile. He raised his eyebrows towards me, his expression more quizzical than offended, and I quickly got up from my desk, pulling on my jacket to hide the prominent tenting of my crotch and darted off to the gents to attend to my urgent excitement.

===

When I got home that night, I found I had a message from Debbie. She was suggesting that we meet up again the following Friday night. It was the only night she was available this side of Christmas and she said wanted to spend it with me.

That was unexpectedly hopeful.

I skipped through a couple of paragraphs of general chit-chat and almost missed an ambiguously-worded invitation back to her place. I had to re-read what she'd written a couple of times to make sure I had understood her correctly. For something so loaded, it seemed odd that she had dropped it so casually into otherwise unremarkable small-talk.

As the letter went on, she offered to cook me a meal and to get in a few bottles of wine. She mentioned that she'd noticed I'd had a Semillon on our first date and suggested I might enjoy something fuller bodied next time. I wasn't sure if I was misreading flirtatiousness into her e-mail – was she word-playing Semillon with semi-on? – until she wrote that she hoped 'the two of us can make a night of it.' If that wasn't a thinly-veiled offer for me to stay over, I don't know what would be.

How fantastic was this?

Not only did I have the prospect of another weekend away with Guy on the horizon, I now had an evening of likely passion lined up the following week with Debbie. Her one night off and she was giving it – and herself, hopefully – to me.

I even had the office Christmas party to look forward to, with the promise of a hook-up to be arranged by Cameron. That was quite soon, I thought.

I checked through my calendar on Outlook. Yes, it was next Friday night.

Now there's a coincidence. That was also the night Debbie suggested...

Ah.

We have, I grimly acknowledged to myself, something of a problem.

Do I risk offending Debbie by asking her to rearrange our evening – even though she said quite categorically that it's her only available night – or do I miss the office party and miss meeting the likeminded 'friend' Cameron might have in store for me?

A pleasant evening spent with a woman, or a filthy night spent with a man?

Which was it to be?

Oh God. I had, at the back of my mind, rather suspected that one day this choice would come but I'd hoped it wouldn't be so soon.

Both prospects were so attractive in their different ways.

But which was it to be?

I clicked the 'Reply' button above Debbie's e-mail. This was going to be a difficult message to write. I had to be very tactful with the wording.

"Hi Debbie," I wrote.

"Thank you so much for the invite – it's so great of you to ask me over and I can't wait for us both to try the stronger stuff you mentioned. Unfortunately, though, I've already arranged something that evening. I know you have very little time right now, but do you think you could squeeze me in on another night? I really hope so as I'm sure we'll have a really great time together..."

The potential for a night of sex with a man was simply too good to pass up on. Debbie, I resolved, would have to reschedule.

Talk about getting your priorities right.

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Next story: Both Ways

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