From My Side

My tongue reached far into his bowels, tasting and feeling its way into the deepest, darkest part of his body. It felt wonderful to be fucking him like this, his whole body vibrating with pleasure from being impaled on my tongue. I reached a hot, fleshy obstruction deep inside him and flicked it with my tongue. He groaned and pushed his arse back towards me, grinding it against my face. Whatever it was, he liked the feel of me poking it.

We stayed like that for a couple of minutes. He pushed his trousers further down, opened his legs wider and kept feeding me with his arsehole, trying to get more of my tongue into him. His balls were banging against my chin as he wanked himself, my nose was pressed deeply into the tufts of hair in his arse crack.

I kept thinking he was about to orgasm because his body would shake and his breathing become frantic, but he would stop masturbating for a few seconds and then start up again when the sensation had passed him. He was drawing it out, milking as much as he could from his experience with me.

By now, though, the thought of me fucking him became too much for me to stand. I realised that, no matter how good my tongue felt, the idea of my cock replacing it would probably not occur to him. I had to ask him. I had to suggest it.

So I stood up behind him, panting for air which seemed bland and insubstantial after spending so long buried in his arse.

He immediately put his hand over his arse, protecting his hole, and turned around to face me. He knew what I wanted. I knew then he was going to refuse. But I tried anyway.

“I want to fuck you.”

He shook his head resolutely. No surprise in his eyes this time.

I went on, “I’ve got a condom.”

He said, “That’s not the problem.”

Yeah. I knew that. But I had to say it. Just in case.

I would settle for second best. With him it might be better, anyhow. With some guys it’s far better.

I asked, “Will you fuck me then?”

Maybe when he saw how much I enjoyed it, he might want to swap places.

He repeated his earlier rejection. He said, “I’m not gay.”

I nodded. “Think of a woman then.”

I briefly considered mentioning the magazine again but instantly dismissed it. To have done so would have seemed ridiculous. We both knew that it was, by this stage, totally irrelevant.

He hesitated and I smiled. His eyes were saying yes but his words weren’t forthcoming. I beamed at him, knowing the path his mind was taking from having seen the same coy expressions on the faces of my straight mates when we’re talking about anal sex.

I whispered, “You’ve always wanted to. To see what it feels like.”

He looked at me intensely, his pale blue eyes burning into mine.

I reached down to the pocket in my jeans and fished out my wallet in which I knew I had a couple of condoms and a sachet of lube. I’d stuffed them in there a couple of weeks ago in the foyer of one of the gay pubs, hoping for but not seriously anticipating an occasion such as this.

I handed him the condom and he opened it mechanically like he was deep in thought about the rights and wrongs of what we were doing. I wondered if he might have a girlfriend – actually, from the look of him I assumed he must have a girlfriend – and was reconsidering what he was about to do as a betrayal of her.

The upward curve of his cock was starting to ebb. The pink head was losing its shininess, beginning to shrivel a little. I had to act quickly, before his doubts and guilt managed to get a grip on him.

I couldn’t manage to tear through the plastic wrapper of the lube, though. It was behaving like a sachet of tomato sauce when you’re starving and your burger’s just sitting there getting cold. I kept trying to open it where it was telling me to, but it wouldn’t budge. I didn’t want to look like I was getting desperate, but the blond guy’s cock was really starting to droop in front of him. I had to bite it with my teeth. Even at the risk of letting him see how much I wanted his cock inside me, I had to tear at it like a dog would to get the thing open.

I moistened my arse with the jelly and he stared at what I was doing intently. His expression was totally cold and vacant. Even in the noisy toilet, I was aware of the sound my finger was making as I pushed it inside my hole: a wet, sloppy sound. I thought, “This is too much for him. He’s going to remember that appointment.”

But the effect on him was altogether different.

His cock curved up again, the veins standing out and the pink head becoming moist and shiny as it bloated back to full size.

He threw me a slight smile and nodded. He wanted this. He’d never seen, or heard, a guy preparing to have sex with him – to receive his cock – and the idea of it was obviously appealing to him.

I turned around and bent over the toilet bowl.

He hesitated, staring at my arse. Again, I wondered if this would put him off: the hypothetical idea of anal sex is one thing; the physical prospect of a guy’s lubed up arsehole right in front you something rather different.

But, again, he proved my fears groundless.

He unfurled the condom down his large cock in one swift, eager motion. It was stiff as a pole; as intent on going through with this as I was.

Then he came towards me, slightly hampered by the jeans around his ankles, and pressed the head of it confidently between my cheeks.

I smiled. His cock was far too high up in my cleft: he had no idea where my hole was. I said, “Lower, man.” He fumbled around, sweeping his cock head up and down my arse crack, but every time it passed over my hole, he didn’t realise it had and moved it away. He was, whether consciously or subconsciously, expecting my anus to be similar to a girl’s pussy: gaping open and easily accessible. He was expecting his cock to slide effortlessly in.

I reached behind myself, grasped the hard stem of his cock and guided it towards my anus. I made a mental effort to relax, to dilate my hole, and an inch or so of his cock slid into me.

I gasped involuntarily from finally having him enter me. It sounded loud and forced; like I was acting.

I turned to look at him and his expression was so serious that I smiled. He stared at me, appearing a little confused at first, and then his features softened and he smiled back. That was a nice moment: his cock was an inch or so inside his first male lover’s arse and we were smiling at each other; reassuring each other that everything was all right. Yes, that was a very nice sensation.

He grabbed onto my waist and started gently easing his cock further into me, becoming more confident at what he was doing. My arse, unlike I’d found his to be, was used to intrusions and, once he’d managed to push the large mushroom head of his cock through my hole, he found it easy to slide the rest of it almost completely inside me.

I think it was only then – when I could feel six or seven inches of that beautiful cock pressing up into my body – that I started to relax. I finally accepted that he was going to go through with this; that he wasn’t going to back out with excuses and issues. From then I could start enjoy what he was doing: my mind wasn’t having to think of ways to keep him here; my arse was more than able to do that.

His rhythm was increasing and it was clear he was enjoying himself. He was, evidently, quite comfortable with the idea of fucking me from behind. I’d wondered whether maybe this position would be too stereotypically ‘gay’: that he might be put off by the idea of a guy bending over in front of him. But no: he was really getting into it. Perhaps he’d fantasised about a situation like this for a while; had maybe been looking at his mates arses inside their jeans when they’d bent over to pick things up, mentally exploring ideas he’d previously avoided. Or, perhaps, like those of my straight friends who been drunk enough to admit it, he’d been secretly fascinated by the idea of one guy fucking another since he’d first heard jokes about ‘bum boys’ and stuff at school.