Hayle

I don't think anything would have happened between us, though, if the group of us hadn't have got into a flippant, drunken discussion about the advantages of being gay. It started up in one of the last pubs we visited, when a guy called Adam made a joke that he'd rather snog one of his team-mates than snog the said team-mate's girlfriend. We were all pretty pissed and being overly (and loudly) talkative and I guess the conversation just snowballed from there.

One guy said that it would be a hell of a lot easier to get a guy into bed than a girl and everyone smiled and nodded. Someone - maybe the team captain - muttered, "gay guys have it fuckin' easy... men are always up for it..."

And someone else went on, "Yeah... you wouldn't have to take another bloke out... no wining him or dining him or all that crap..."

"Yeah - it's just, 'Fancy a shag?' And off you go..."

After a lot of jokes and laughter about that, the conversation moved on to the topic of which part of a man's anatomy might be preferable, in a sexual sense, to the female equivalent.

Most guys said the mouth, meaning that a guy was supposedly more interesting in conversation (assuming he was interested in rugby), or the brain, in terms of his seemingly more logical way of thinking.

But then one of the guys said, "I reckon it'd be easier to give a blow job than to lick a girl out..."

There was a mixed response and Steven put in, "Yeah - I'd find a cock a hell of a lot easier to find my way round than a pussy..."

There was laughter - a lot of it derisive - but Steven just grinned and nodded.

He added, "Come on, guys - we've all got one. We all know how easy it is... you don't exactly need an instruction manual..."

Another guy agreed, "He's right, actually. I mean, with a girl... one fuckin' wrong move and you get your head bitten off...!"

Some of the group made jokes about the two of them getting together, but I interrupted by chipping in, "Actually - I think guys' arses are nicer than girls'. I'm not gay and I'd never tell my girlfriend that - but I just think the shape's nicer."

A few guys smiled and other shook their heads but no-one responded too scornfully as I'd half-expected. I got the feeling they were being polite with me because they didn't know me: if I'd been a regular I'd have been mercilessly ridiculed. To be honest, I'd kind of hoped they'd make a few jokes about it: I'd actually said it just to enjoy the response it would elicit from them, knowing full well I'd be unlikely to ever meet any of them again. But they just made a few polite responses - except Steven who grinned over at me - and the conversation moved on to whether any of us could intimately kiss another guy.

For the next couple of hours I regretted that I'd been so open about my interest in men's arses. I'd never been so candid with anyone else and this was hardly the venue to open my heart about it. Walking back to the hostel with Steven, I was wondering what the hell had made me say it: what had seemed, in my drunken state, funny and controversial, could easily come back to haunt me. Who was to say that I would never meet any of these guys again: if my team was promoted I could find myself playing a match with them within the next couple of months. Taunts of "arse-lover" and "bum-boy" would be almost inevitable on the pitch, and my mates on my team would no doubt be asking why.

But none of that happened and, even if it had, Steven's response to my comment would have made it all worth it.

It had started while he was showering and I was standing chatting to him, waiting to get in after him. Our bedroom was in the hostel's attic and we were using the tiny bathroom adjoining it. It was well after midnight and the other guys in our room had returned while we'd been out and were sleeping when we'd got in.

Steven was talking about his girlfriend Katherine and how he was thinking of proposing to her that Christmas while the two of them were in Paris. I was making all the right responses back and thinking about how transient and insignificant his seriousness had made my own relationship seem. I'd never have proposed to my girlfriend back then; not in a million years.

I noticed that he spent a lot of his time with his back to me. At first I assumed that, like a lot of guys, he was self-conscious about other men looking at his cock, but he kept turning and looking over his shoulder at me as if wondering whether I was checking out his arse.

He kept chatting, turning towards me for a few seconds and flashing his thick dick at me, and then turning away from me and showing off his cute-looking backside. Every time he did so, he'd glance over his shoulder, as if just looking over at me while he was talking, but closely watching where my eyes were directed.

At first I kept them well away from arse, assuming that my comment in the pub had made him feel uncomfortable about being naked in front of me, but after it had happened several times, I tried making odd glances in that direction to see how he'd take it.

He didn't get too freaked out - he still just carried on chatting about the ring he was planning to buy for her and where their wedding would take place - and so I allowed myself to stare at it, making my interest more obvious.

He kept looking at me, watching me staring at his rear and then looking back up to his face, all the while explaining his plans for the big day next summer.

From then he stopped turning around to face me; stopped flashing his cock at me.

I took the opportunity to really get a good look at his arse. It was really nice - most rugby players, in my experience, do have pretty good ones - and was round and squat with just a slight suggestion of light brown hair sprouting out from between his solid-looking buttocks.

I couldn't help but begin to develop an erection. It began rising upwards and making a tent in the front of my boxers. Steven saw it but he just smiled slightly and kept his pert little arse turned towards me. He obviously couldn't be that uncomfortable.

He asked, "What about you? Any wedding bells on the horizon?"

I shook my head. "Not just yet. There's a girl at Uni but we're not even a tenth as serious as you two are by the sounds of things. Maybe in a couple of years I'll be ready for it..."

He stared at me blankly like he was only half-listening and began washing his arse. I looked over at it, marvelling at how he massaged soap suds up and down the length of his cleft and made swirls with his thumbs across his cheeks, and my cock grew into a distinct rod in the front of my shorts.

He looked down towards it - obviously noticing its progress - and his smile widened.

I went on, "I always wanted to be married by the time I was twenty, but now that I'm there it seems like the last thing I want to be doing. I guess I just like dating a girl for a while and then moving on. Maybe one day I'll be ready to settle down, but not just yet..."

"You'll know when you've met the right one... and when you do there'll be no question in your mind about it being the right thing to do..."

He started washing around his arsehole, opening his cleft for me to see inside and then working his fingers into it.

Now I was captivated. I had to adjust my cock to allow to stand to full attention upright inside my boxers. It made a swollen thick mound inside them, pointing diagonally upwards. I made no excuses about it just as he was making no excuses about the fact he was virtually fingering himself in front of me.

We stood in silence for a few seconds; him washing his arsehole with slow, deliberate motions; me watching him intently with a throbbing cock that was starting to make a wet patch on my shorts.

Then he turned around to face me again and I saw that his cock was fully stiff and curving upwards in front of him.

He muttered, "D'you wanna have a bit of fun, mate?"

I was astonished but I managed to mutter, "Yeah... like what?"

He grinned, like I was being deliberately coy with him. He said slowly, as if he were explaining something to a child, "Like... do you want to fuck me?"

I was so simultaneously surprised and excited that I could hardly speak. "I dunno..." I laughed inexplicably. "Jesus!"

He laughed. "What's up?"

"I just... well... I never did this before!"

He laughed more loudly. "Fuck off!"

"No - seriously."

He smiled more warmly, his cock still curving upwards as the water from the shower sprayed down onto it. "Okay... sorry, mate. I just assumed - that stuff you said in the pub..."

"Yeah - but I've never actually done anything. Well not... you know... the full works!"

He laughed again. "Okay. Fair enough. But I'm asking if you want to...?"

I smiled. "Yeah... Jesus, yeah! If you do..."

"'Course I do!" He gestured over to his Slazenger toiletries bag. "There's a pack of johnnies in there, mate. Rubber yourself up..."

He squirted some of his shower gel onto his fingers and began working a little of it into this arse, still facing me. I couldn't believe this was happening: I still thought, somehow, we were talking cross purposes.

Pulling out a condom and tearing the packet open, I asked, "D'you do this often, then?"

He shrugged. "From time to time. When I fancy it..."

I yanked down my boxers and my cock leapt upwards between my legs, bouncing around like a diving board.

I asked, "Who with?"

He chuckled. "Why d'you ask? It's no big deal..."

"No - I know - it's just... well... I figured with you having a girlfriend and stuff... a wedding on the way..."

He squirted a little more shower gel onto his fingers and the tube made a farting noise. I noticed his cock was beginning to droop a little.

He said, "Yeah - but that's different. I love her. This is just a bit of fun, mate... just like havin' a wank or something..."

What he said made a lot of sense of the things I'd been feeling over the previous years. Neither of us were gay: this was sex between two men simply for pleasure rather than as part of an emotional relationship. The way he put it made my interest in guys' arses seem as ordinary and insignificant as my interest in Star Trek.

He chuckled again and went on, "It's pretty natural to want a bit of variety from time to time... I mean, I prefer eating a burger but sometimes a kebab can taste pretty good... nothin' wrong in that..."

I unfurled the condom down my now-aching cock. Everything he was saying was helping to put things into perspective for me; helping to cleanse away the last traces of guilt that had been haunting me. It was all very obvious, and no doubt I'd had thoughts like that myself many times over the preceding six years, but the fact that he, as another straight guy, was expressing it so plainly and nonchalantly made it seem so much more acceptable.