Questions and Answers

I put all the documents back into the envelope and stashed it back into my jacket pocket. I'd considered showing Jake a couple of paragraphs from the article about how butt-licking could be an evolutionary throwback to help him understand why it might make me feel as it does, but I decided against it. It was the sort of information he might guilelessly work into a Biology assignment and I had no desire for a second embarrassing conversation with one of his teachers.

I poured myself a glass of wine, put an Andre Rieu CD on and sat back down to think about what I would do about Cameron.

As he'd made the opening gambit by sending me the envelope, it would now be up to me to make the next move. I'd have to invite him out for a drink after work; try to make it sound casual even though we'd both know what it was about. It would be good to discuss rimming with someone who was obviously quite actively into it and to hear about some of his experiences if he was willing to share. I wondered how he'd discovered that he enjoyed other men's backsides: whether, like me, it was an interest he'd stumbled across recently, or whether it was something he'd been harbouring for years, perhaps since long before he'd married or even before he'd started dating girls.

I wondered what kind of stuff he liked doing with guys. Maybe he was a purist and his interests were confined entirely to reciprocal butt-licking. It could be that he had accepted his enjoyment of rimming on the basis of the biological arguments presented in the article he'd sent me, but that he regarded other, more blatantly homosexual activities, as being out-of-bounds. The literature he'd sent me certainly bore no suggestion that he might enjoy things like mutual oral stimulation or anal penetration, but perhaps he had deliberately not included references to these activities in case they were a step too far for me. He had, after all, simply stumbled across me sniffing another guy's bum: he had no idea how far my curiosity had taken me nor of the array of fantasies I had been mentally exploring.

It suddenly occurred to me that Cameron might have made contact with me in this way as an attempt to orchestrate a sexual encounter between us. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. He was an attractive guy with an athletic build and was probably a few years younger than me, but I hardly knew him.

It would be awkward between us. I'd have to invite him over one night when Jake was at his mum's but, beyond that, I'd have no idea about what to do. Would I offer him a drink so we could sit downstairs for a while making small-talk about work and the weather? Or would we just head upstairs to undress in my cold bedroom and then get on the bed with goose-bumps to contemplate each other's limp cocks?

With a woman, things like this would just flow for me. We'd have a few drinks, have a cuddle on the settee together, one of my hands would head towards her breasts and she might work her fingers up my thigh. We'd kiss and I'd caress her; she'd knead my cock through my trousers or play with my balls. Then we'd stumble upstairs together, fall onto the bed and I'd finger the wetness between her legs while she released my aching manhood from my fly.

Events would follow an effortless and spontaneous sequence and within no time I'd be inside her, filling her with my large organ and feeling my balls thumping between her legs as she moaned and writhed.

With Cameron -- with any other man -- there could be no kissing and cuddling beforehand. Even if he wanted it, I wouldn't. So that would remove the natural element of foreplay and with it the opportunity for us to become aroused together and for the sensuality between us to gradually build.

I had to face it: it was extremely likely that we would indeed end up facing each other's shrivelled penises on the bed, feeling awkward and not knowing what to do. Maybe we'd fondle each other to try without success to coax our flaccid members to harden; maybe we'd try working our floppy organs against each other, like the positive ends of two batteries failing to make a spark. More likely one of us would kneel on the bed while the other rimmed him and let the smells and tastes we both found so exciting stir his cock into life. Then we'd swap places so that we were both erect. And keep swapping places -- rimmed becoming rimmer, both of us masturbating without touching the other -- until the first of us climaxed. Then we'd change places one last time until the other man achieved his orgasm.

We'd clean up and get dressed, probably making small-talk again, and then I'd show him out. And at work afterwards, we'd no doubt avoid each other for a while, until one or other of us felt horny enough to approach the other for a repeat butt-licking and cock-stroking session.

It all sounded rather... well... bleak.

Jake came into the room, stretching and flexing after being cooped up working at his desk, and plonked himself down on the couch. "Any sport on?"

"Have you finished all your assignments?"

He nodded. I don't really know why I bother asking.

I tossed him the TV remote control and switched off my CD.

He flicked through a dozen or so programmes until he found some snooker on one of the Sky Sports channels and then looked over at me. "Any good?"

Ronnie O'Sullivan was playing against a young Asian-looking guy I didn't recognise but I nodded. If nothing else, it'd be nice to watch the two of them bending over the table to reach the difficult shots.

"Fancy a drink of anything?" he asked. "I'm gonna get a coke."

I passed him my wine glass. "There's a bottle already open in the fridge door."

While he was getting the drinks, I thought again about what it would be like to invite Cameron over for sex. I found it difficult to move beyond the image which was now so firmly lodged in my brain: that of us facing each other uncomfortably on the bed, our cocks dangling ineffectually between our legs and both of us unsure about what to do.

I'd have to suck him. Even if he was limp, that might ignite the spark which could get things going between us. I'd done that with Guy and it had worked a treat: even with the guy in the public toilet, it hadn't been too unpleasant to have his cock sliding in and out of my mouth.

Jake brought me my wine and sprawled out on the couch slurping noisily at his coke. He let out a barely-stifled belch. Decorum had never been his strongest suite.

While Ronnie O'Sullivan was systematically and mercilessly clearing the reds from the snooker table, I got to wondering if I could think of ways to introduce a bit of foreplay into my encounter with Cameron. There must be some way of starting things off for the two of us while we were drinking and chatting, so that by the time we got to the undressing stage we'd both be rock-hard and raring to go at each other's backsides.

I would feel too awkward to sit close to him on the settee and so a bit of mutual crotch groping, which might get the ball rolling as it were, would not really be a possibility.

I thought back to how things had developed between Guy and me. He'd got excited talking about his experiences watching other men have sex on the oil-rig, and then I'd started getting turned on hearing him masturbate. Perhaps something like that might start warming us up: a chat about our experiences with other men. Mine would be comparatively brief at this stage: I could tell him about Guy (without mentioning his name, of course) and about my experiences in the public toilet and at the adult learning centre. But he could probably tell me a lot of other stuff and it was likely that if whatever he told me involved mouths being applied to bums, it would soon have my cock making a noticeable mound in my trousers.

Jake breathed in sharply as O'Sullivan missed what had seemed like quite a straightforward shot. His opponent approached the table nervously while O'Sullivan slumped dourly back into his chair.

It occurred to me that, even without the kissing and cuddling I was comfortable with in my heterosexual experiences, it would still be possible to introduce a bit of spontaneity into my homosexual encounters. I would just have to try and be confident: a pat on the bum, for instance, or a seductively delivered compliment about how hot his arse looked in those trousers. That kind of thing. I just needed to remember that we were both here for the same thing and that, even without any kind of romance between us, we could still get sexy with each other.

Jake interrupted my musings by laughing out loud. He gestured towards the TV on which Ronnie O'Sullivan was staring across at his opponent who was bending over the table, lining up his cue to attempt an awkwardly-positioned brown ball. The way the camera was positioned made it look as if O'Sullivan was focussing intently on the younger man's backside, mesmerised by his buttocks which were flexing as he strained to achieve the angle he needed.

Jake said, "I think he's one of your lot, dad. He must be a... I dunno... do guys like you have a name?"

I smiled. "I saw the term 'butt monkey' written somewhere..."

Jake laughed, picking up his drink. "Yeah... that'd fit! Ronnie O'Sullivan's a butt monkey!" He gave the term 'butt monkey' a rather salacious emphasis.

"I think it's just the camera angle, Jake. His eyes are on the brown."

Jake splurted his drink with a burst of laughter.

I looked at him with feigned-disapproval. "The brown ball."

He recovered himself and dabbed up the dribbles he'd made.

Still chuckling, he said, "Anyway, I think our Assistant Principal must be a butt monkey. He was staring at the Principal's arse all the way through the morning briefing yesterday. And I wasn't the only one who noticed."

"Backside, Jake."

"Uh?"

"Backside sounds less vulgar than arse."

Jake went on, ignoring my suggestion, "You could see he wanted to get his face stuck in there. He was licking his lips."

"Well, maybe a lot of guys have that interest. I mean, going by the amount of stuff about it on the internet --"

"I don't think I could ever get into it," Jake cut in.

I nodded. "Yeah, well I'd have probably said that at your age. In fact, I'd have probably said that just a few months ago."

"I mean," Jake went on, "what if the other guy farted? When you had your mouth right on his... you know..."

I threw him another look of disapproval, this time rather more genuine. I didn't want to get into another question-and-answer session with him about a topic which was not, I was sure, anywhere in Good Parenting Magazine's list of suggested father-and-son conversation topics.

I said, adding an edge of impatience to my voice, "I don't think that's very likely..."

"And what if he accidentally --"

"Enough, Jake!" I snapped.

He shrugged huffily. "I'm just trying to understand..."

"Yeah, well it's bad enough that you know I like doing this stuff, without me having to explain how it all works. I don't even know myself... I just did it that once, remember."

The less he knew about what else I'd been up to, the better.

"You must have thought about it, thought. Thought, you know, 'What if he's hairy down there?'... 'What if he hasn't wiped properly?'"

"Jake -- I'd fully expect another bloke to have a hairy backside, and if there are issues about wiping, well that's something I'll just have to deal with at the time. Now can we drop it?"

Jake nodded and flicked his hair out of his eyes in a swift movement which reminded me of his mother in her younger days. "Sorry," he muttered, "I'm just interested."

"Yeah, I know. But it's private stuff. I don't ask you about what kind of stuff you fantasize about and you wouldn't ask me all these questions about the stuff I get up to with women..."

Jake smiled. "Okay, fair enough. No more questions."

We turned back to watch the snooker and I realised that there was no way it was going to be finished by the time Jake should be going to bed.

===

After reaching a compromise about how much of the snooker match Jake could watch with an early start at college the following morning, the two of us had gone to bed just after eleven.

I'd lain awake, hearing but not listening to the quiet rhythmic creaking from Jake's bed next door, wondering again what it would be like to have a man in my own. I tended to prefer petite women and for sex with them to be gentle and passionate. How different would it be to be with a man with a similar stature to me and who would prefer our sex to be more strenuous and physical?

His skin would feel rougher, his hair coarser. His body would be hairy and muscular, his smell musky and masculine. His throbbing erection, the reddened head of it swollen and dribbling expectantly, would seem urgently demanding, almost threatening in its need for gratification, compared to the less striking signs of a woman's arousal.

Would our sex be focussed around penile stimulation; would we rub our erections together, masturbating them as one organ, with our balls swinging pendulously against each other? Or would we be drawn towards anal penetration, fingering and tonguing each other's arses, bending and squatting against each other?

Would I mount him as he lay on his stomach, and work myself into him as I held him close to me with my arms around his chest and shoulders? Would I fuck him like that, reaching down to fondle his oozing erection as I did so?

Or would I take him standing up, like I would have buggered the lad in the toilet stall? Have him bending over in front of me as I held him by the hips?

What if he wanted to fuck me? Now there was a thought.

I had occasionally, especially when I was younger, considered what it might be like to be penetrated by another male -- what guy hasn't mused about such possibilities in the quiet of the night? However, such imagined scenarios had always been driven by hypothetical necessity -- such as the unlikelihood of finding myself in prison -- rather than sexual curiosity.

I'd never really thought about the mechanics of taking a man inside me -- how he'd get his cock into me or what it would feel like to have my arse invaded in such a way. I'd just imagined him on top of me, grunting into my ear and panting against the back of my neck as my bunk creaked and groaned with the rhythm of his hips against my buttocks. I'd wondered how long he'd take to climax inside me, and whether he'd obligingly roll over when he'd finished to let me use his slimy passage as he'd used mine. How long would it take me to get used to trading favours with other men? And how sweet would a woman's body feel on my eventual release?

Now I allowed myself to envisage what it would be like to actually have a guy fuck me rather than picturing the two of us just sweatily writhing around together as if we were in a made-for-TV sex scene. I focussed my thoughts on what it would be like to have a man actually working his erection into my backside; the sensation of his fattened cock-head pressing hot and expectant against my puckered entrance, and how it would feel to have to open my anus up, just like I do when I'm fingering myself, to allow it to slowly push its way into me. I imagined having to bend forwards and open my legs wider to allow him to ease his stiffened shaft up inside me, and having to push my arse back against him while he held me firm at the hips.

I formed a mental picture of myself on all fours with Cameron behind me, slowly working his cock inch by inch into my arsehole which was slick from the saliva his tongue had so liberally applied to it. For some reason, he seemed like the kind of guy who would be well-endowed and I visualised his long, thick erection stretching me open as he pushed it deep inside me. He'd sigh from the feel of my hot, tight tunnel gripping his organ as I received him, and I'd look over my shoulder towards him and we'd grin at each other as our bodies became joined.

The image was one I'd seen countless times on the internet -- an almost stereotypical depiction of gay sex -- and yet now, here in my bed, I seemed to see it from afresh, and surprisingly attractive, perspective. I felt my cock beginning to stir deep in the folds of my pyjamas, awakening to begin its slow ascent, just as a triumphant succession of mattress squeaks from Jake's room betrayed that his had just surmounted its own white-capped summit.

It would feel good to have Cameron inside me; to hear his cock slurping back and forth and to feel his nuts banging against mine with every thrust. I'd push back against him, working with his rhythm, opening my legs as wide as I could to get all of him inside me.

I wondered how his cock would feel in my innards when he plunged it so far into me that his pubes would tickle my buttocks. Would his balls be as large as mine? Would they swing heavy and low in his nut-sack when he was fucking, just as mine do, like a couple of boiled eggs stretching a sock?

I reached into my pyjama fly and squeezed my organ which was becoming quite hard in response to these thoughts. I was surprised that the prospect of being fucked by a man was having such an effect on me; I suspected that my hand would soon be taking up from where Jake's had left off.

Gently easing my foreskin down across my fattening cock-head, I imagined Cameron on top of my back; his large hairy chest rubbing against my spine as he drove in and out of me. His arms would be around me and his breathing rapid and hot against my neck. He would reach down to wank me as he buggered me, his hips making clapping sounds against my buttocks with each thrust of his swollen cock. My anus would be stretched around his thick shaft; my rectum would be squeezing the fat, swollen cock-head as it pounded away inside me.

He might be grunting to me about how hot my arse felt, how tight it was. And I might be calling out for him to ram his cock into me; to fuck my arse harder.

I hitched my pyjama bottoms down and started gently masturbating my still hardening cock, hoping that Jake would now be sleeping contentedly after his own exertions.

I imagined reaching around with both hands and grabbing Cameron's buttocks, feeling them flex in time with the pounding of his cock in and out of my arse. I'd push my fingers into his crack, still wet with my spit from where I'd hungrily rimmed him, and try to work a couple of fingers into his hole as he fucked me. He'd gasp to show that he liked that and his rhythm would speed up slightly.

We'd push ourselves upright and kneel together on the bed, him behind me, his hips still thumping against my cheeks and his arms still wrapped around my chest. The air around us would be thick with the sexual fug we were producing: sweaty and anal in equal measure, we'd both be excited by its rich and delicious odour.

I used my free hand to reach between my legs and began to gently finger my arsehole -- an act which was now commonplace when I masturbated. After sliding it in and out a few times, I withdrew it and brought it up to my nose. This would be the exhilarating smell of our sex: the heady smell of me being butt-fucked. With this thought, my cock rapidly hardened and lengthened to its full size and I began stroking myself more quickly.

Squirting some KY on my finger for lubrication, I returned finger to my hole and started sliding it gently in and out, gently rubbing my large bollocks with the heel of my palm as I did so. Moistened from the jelly, my finger started making slurping noises as it moved in and out of me. Now I really did hope Jake was asleep!

Developing a steady rhythm in and out of my anus, I imagined it was Cameron, driving in and out of me. It would feel so good to be physically joined to another man like this: his cock being consumed by the tunnel of my eager backside. It would feel right and natural to have him pleasure himself inside me: I couldn't understand why it had never occurred to me before how great it would be to have another man take me like this, using my arse to grip his excitement as he bucked his hips back and forth.