Hayle

I thought, "It's not exactly going to be easy to convince myself I was imagining Kai to be a girl if there's a guilty aftermath to this... not with a pair of nads like those swinging around between his legs..."

But I drove on just the same.

I bent over Kai, leaning down towards him and bringing my face up close to his arse. I think he must have felt my breath against his cheeks because he moaned and readjusted his position slightly, pushing his hips further upward so that his arse was closer to my face.

Horrified, I looked up towards his head which was turned sideways on his pillow, but found that his eyes were still closed and his breathing hadn't altered.

Figuring that his movement must have been subconscious - he was, after all, a guy who seemed to enjoy having his arse receive a little attention - I turned back toward the part of him that fascinated me.

His full, firm cheeks were just inches from my face, spread open a little further now, and between them I could see his swollen red arsehole through the tangle of hair. I imagined Franziskus's impressive cock sliding into the loose and puckered hole, as it had been last night, and felt my cock ooze a dribble of precum onto the material of my boxers at the prospect.

I was beginning to sweat.

Part of me was saying, "I can't believe you're doing this, Ollie... I can't believe you've got your face right up against another guy's arse. What about the smell? What about the school toilets?"

But another part replied that this wasn't anything like that. This had nothing to do with that.

I pressed my face downward so that it was just an inch or so from Kai's arse, my nostrils right above the sore-looking hole between his cheeks. Tentatively, I inhaled.

The smell was quite amazing: I wasn't even remotely disgusted as I'd half expected - perhaps hoped - I would be. On the contrary, it was incredibly arousing; intensely inviting. I immediately wanted more.

I pressed my face a little closer, almost touching Kai's strong cheeks with my nose. The smell absorbed me; consumed me. It was powerful and masculine: raw and potent. There was, as you would expect, a strong and undeniably anal component, but it also had musky and sexual undertones to it. The combination of the two was unexpectedly attractive and made the intermittent dribbles from my cock develop into a constant, weeping stream.

There was a faint after-scent of the rubber of the condom that had fucked him and hints of the lube and, perhaps, of Franziskus's semen that had been splattered around his hole; but these paled into insignificance against the intense and uncompromising smell of Kai himself. It was thick and cloying while at the same time being sharp and sweaty: I felt my mouth watering and heart beginning to pound.

I stuck my nose between his cheeks, expecting Kai to wake up at my intrusion but unable to stop myself. I was starting to pant against his hole: wanting to savour the rare moment I was experiencing but too overwhelmed by my pleasure to be able to protract things.

I gulped in mouthfuls of the strong, pungeant air inside his cleft and then - without even thinking about it - pushed my dribbling tongue against the hot, swollen ring of his arsehole. I began lapping at it, licking around it, tasting Kai's most intimate taste as I gasped for breath.

Kai moved a little, rolling slightly on his mattress, and I was brought to my senses. I pulled out, still panting, and saw that he still appeared to be asleep.

Charlie called out something down the corridor, making a joke with Franziskus, and - while I desperately wanted to push my face back to Kai's arse and penetrate him fully with my tongue - I realised I had little time.

I released my cock from my precum-soaked boxers and masturbated quickly, staring at the wet patch I'd made around Kai's arsehole and relishing the fading traces of his thick, manly scent in my mouth and nose.

I orgasmed after just half a dozen rapid yanks at it, gasping, "Shit, oh shit," as the white spurts started to shoot from the tip of it. I had to quickly hitch the front of my boxers back up to catch as much semen as I could inside them.

Charlie walked back into the room almost immediately and I was unable to conceal the wet front of my boxers before he saw them.

He laughed, "Wet dream, Ollie...?"

Kai called over, "Hey, looks like I had one too..."

He stood up from his bed, looking almost proud of the thick strings of cum which were hanging from his erect cock. A pool of white cum made a large wet patch on his mattress where he'd been lying.

Charlie looked a little confused but Kai just chuckled. "Must be something in that Cornish ale we both had..." He looked over at me, grinning at my scarlet face, and added, "... or maybe it's just the affect of English hospitality..."

Charlie looked at me, clearly not understanding what was going on, and I managed to turn an even deeper shade of beetroot as I grabbed my shower gel, shampoo and towel.

Needless to say, after that morning, the school toilets routine didn't work any more. I knew the smell of anal sex now, and I knew how much I liked it. For the next couple of months the mere thought of Kai's arse was enough to get my cock twitching, no matter where I was, and the memory of the scent and taste of it proved to be a familiar friend during many masturbatory sessions.

And over the following couple of years, my interest in other guys' arses became far more hands-on: just looking at them was simply not enough. I'd grab my mates discarded underwear while they were showering after a rugby game and take a few short sharp snorts from around the arsehole of them. I would inhale as much as I needed to get the unique smell of the owner's backside in my memory, but not enough to make me hard. Three or four strong sniffs were usually enough. Then I'd carefully replace them and pile into the showers with the rest of them, content in the knowledge that I'd have something new to fantasize about later that evening.

I began taking a few liberties when my mates, usually drunk and insensible, stayed over with me. Stripping their shirts and jeans off became an act of gradually building tension and arousal rather than being a hurried chore, and the icing on the cake became that wonderful moment when they started snoring and I could turn them gently over and get to work exploring their widely varying arses with my nose and my tongue.

It took a couple of years for me to take that final, momentous step, though. And it seems very appropriate that it happened where it all began; in one of the shower rooms at Hayle Youth Hostel.

I was now at University and trips down to Hayle had kind of died a death, the way things do when you leave home. Apart from anything else, I was on the University rugby team and watching other amateur teams compete didn't have the appeal it once did. My dad kept going down to see matches and Charlie would often accompany him as I once had, but I usually had other things planned.

Except that one, last, weekend.

I was down at Hayle to watch a match involving a team from Southampton University. That year was an important one for my own team and Southampton was one of the teams that stood between us and a place in the national rugby league - we were due to play them in a fortnight. So I'd offered to go down to Hayle on a kind of scout mission. Just to get a feel for how the lads played and where their weaknesses might be.

And to check out what had been happening to the quality of the backsides in the Youth Hostel during my absence, of course.

Well - I learned a lot on both fronts!

I won't bore you with the details of the rugby - suffice to say that Southampton had a weakness in their defence which we exploited to extraordinary success a fortnight later - as the stuff that happened in the Youth Hostel proved to be far more memorable. At least from a personal point of view.

I met a guy called Steven who was playing for the home team but who lived in Falmouth (hence him having to stay at the Youth Hostel the night before important matches). We chatted for a while as we put our bags in the room and speculated, like people who stay in hostels often do as a way of making small-talk, what the other two men who were sharing the room with might by like from the baggage they'd left on their beds.

I told Steven I was down at Hayle on my own for the rugby match and he suggested I tag along with him and his mates from the team when they went out into the town that night.

In the absence of anything else to do, I agreed.

It turned out to be a fairly standard rugby-lads-go-out-on-a-pissup night with the usual scenes of grown men singing vulgar songs, vomiting into gutters and accusing each other of being gay. I don't really mind evenings like that - I'm pretty used to them from my years of being interested in the game - and it was a lot more entertaining than watching the telly in the youth hostel bar, as I'd assumed I'd be doing.

I noticed that Steven seemed quieter than most of the others on his team and we'd often find ourselves sitting to one side of everyone else in the pubs we visited, chatting together. The others would be shouting crude innuendos over at girls and having drinking competitions, while Steven and I would be talking about the Star Trek series, which had turned out to be a shared interest.

At one point one of his team-mates, eager to get going from one pub to stagger on to the next, called over to us as we sat in the corner debating the pros and cons of Janeway versus Picard, "Come on, guys - we're going! Stop being such a pair of bum boys!"

His facetious taunt would prove to be surprisingly accurate.