Adam and Steve

I had to admit that men's backsides looked appealing – they weren't that dissimilar from women's breasts, after all – and so, in my current lack of female company, I figured that I'd built up a bizarre fantasy about them, fuelled by pictures on the internet and my own over-creative imagination.

It had to be purely fantasy – didn't it? – surely there could be nothing more to it. I mean, I was getting aroused at the thought of putting my mouth on another person's arsehole: the part of the body used for shitting to put it at its crudest. And even more bizarre, the arseholes which were the object of my attentions belonged exclusively to other men – a gender towards which I'd never previously felt even a glimmering of sexual attraction.

Of course it was just some slightly sordid fantasy which I'd developed! After all, its origins could be explained completely rationally.

But within just a few days my new-found belief in the normality – innocence, even – of my fetish was shaken so badly that it put paid to all my attempts to explain it in such simplistic terms.

It happened one evening when Steve and I played squash together after work, as we sometimes did when Jake was having his tea at his mum's. After the game, we stripped out of our sweaty sports kits before Steve would take a shower and I would get dressed – I always cleaned up at home as I didn't like having to stand around self-consciously naked in the big tiled communal shower area at the sports centre.

As we undressed, I stole a few glances at Steve's bum after he'd taken off his boxer shorts. This was now pretty commonplace for me when the changing room was empty and I was sure he wasn't looking. I enjoyed admiring his backside – his cheeks were round and pert and he had a thick forest of sweaty hair nestling in his crack – and I knew it would form the basis of my masturbatory imaginings in my bed that night.

But I had now convinced myself that, as pleasant as his arse looked and how enjoyable it would be to fantasize about rimming him, my interest in it was purely aesthetic. The smell of him down there – especially after a day at work and the rigours of a squash game – would be foul and repellent to me.

Of course it would!

Steve hung his white shorts up with the rest of his clothes on a peg and, grabbing his shower gel and shampoo, walked over to the communal showers which were behind a screen. Pulling down my own shorts, I marvelled at how attractive he looked from behind as he walked away from me; Steve was tall with a naturally athletic build and the beauty of his pert backside was quite breathtaking. That evening, I'd probably imagine him squatting over me, beating off his very large and excited erection as I licked at his hole. Of course, I'd never seen Steve with a hard-on and I suspected, from the modest size and shape of his flaccid cock, that his erection would be pretty average. But in my fantasies he would be so aroused by me working my tongue into his anus that his cock would lengthen and thicken to well beyond its normal size and would tower above me as I rimmed him, oozing copious strings of dribble onto my forehead as he stroked it.

Smiling at the prospect of enjoying a good tug that evening, I tucked my own sweaty underwear into my holdall, pulling out a fresh pair ready to step into, and happened to glance at Steve's discarded boxer shorts hanging on his. They were inside-out and it was obvious from a couple of faint stains that it was the back of them which faced outwards.

Here was my chance to prove to myself that the smell of another man's arse – except for that of Guy for whatever reason – would disgust me. Even the thought of touching another male's discarded underwear was distasteful to me, in spite of the regular contact I had with Jake's sometimes luridly-stained boxer-briefs when I came to load up the washing machine at home.

Checking that Steve couldn't see me from behind the screen and that I really was alone in the changing room, I grabbed his boxer shorts from his peg. There were dried yellow stains around the fly where he'd dribbled after taking a piss and I tentatively sniffed at these. They smelled unmistakably of his urine, but the cutting sharpness was combined with the thicker odour of his pubic sweat, especially where his hairy nuts had rubbed against the material.

The smell of Steve's genitals was distinctly different from mine, and also very different from Guy's powerful, strongly masculine odour. Steve's sharper scent was not unappealing – in fact, it was quite attractive in its own way – and I was surprised that the thought occurred to me that sucking Steve's cock and licking his balls would be not be unpleasant. Evidently, my enjoyment of male sex on the internet had given me an appreciation of what was to be found in the front of a man's underwear as well as in the back.

I looked again at the backside of the shorts, recoiling a little from the slight discolouration and a few stray curly hairs along the hem from where they must have ridden up into Steve's arse-crack during the day.

After checking again that I was alone – the prospect of being caught standing naked in a male changing room sniffing at the rear of another man's undies was not one that I relished – I raised the back of the boxer shorts to my nose and inhaled.

Just as when I'd sniffed at the smell of my own backside on my fingers as I'd masturbated in bed, the odour of Steve's arse had an instant and almost overwhelming effect on me. The smell of his bum was only faint but it was so distinct and so different from my own that it immediately got my heart thumping and my head reeling. I inhaled it greedily, running my nose along the length of the hem and enjoying the slightly richer anal smell about two-thirds down from the waistband. My cock hardened rapidly to a full-on erection, exposed in all its enormity by my nakedness.

I heard a couple of men walking from the squash courts into the changing room, talking and laughing after their game. I threw Steve's shorts back onto his peg and dashed across to the toilet stalls to conceal my very obvious excitement.

From the safety of a cubicle, I peered down at my throbbing erection, my foreskin slowly retracting to expose its swollen, pulsating helmet. There was no more trying to persuade myself that my interest in guy's arses was just aesthetic, or a substitute for female breasts or any other excuse I could think up. Just a whiff of Steve's crack had made my cock stiffen faster than I could ever remember it, and had sent me to the privacy of a toilet stall to avoid breaking the first rule of male changing room etiquette: no public erections.

I quickly realised that my hard-on was not going to subside of its own accord: the faintly pungent smell of Steve's backside was fresh still in my nose and was making it ache for attention. I started gently masturbating it, hoping I could quickly bring it to climax into the toilet bowl in silence.

Jesus Christ! Was this what I had reduced myself to? Sniffing underwear and jerking off in the toilet like some overly-randy sixteen-year-old?

The men in the adjoining changing room were chatting together, thankfully oblivious to my predicament, as they undressed to take a shower. I recognised them from their voices: they were younger than Steve and me and had the thin, pale bodies typical of office workers. One of them was usually fashionably unshaven and the other wore his hair gelled up in a sort of half-arsed Mohican style. They were probably workmates from one of the nearby firms of solicitors or estate agents.

I gently swept my foreskin back and forth across my fattened purple cock-head, wishing I'd brought Steve's shorts into the cubicle with me so that I could take another sniff of them.

On second thoughts: what if he'd emerged from the shower to find they were missing while I was – how could I put it – 'using' them? No, that wouldn't have been a good idea at all.

I heard the younger guys' bare feet pad their way into the shower, the two of them making plans to go for a drink together after they'd finished up here.

It dawned on me that their underwear would be lying discarded, unattended, in the changing room. I could almost see them in my mind's eye: they'd be the colourful boxer-briefs that younger guys wear, or maybe those fashionable white briefs which had a prominently-branded waistband.

Still quietly masturbating myself, I wondered if I could sneak out and take a sniff of their underpants before Steve finished off in the shower. He did tend to spend a long time in there.

The rational voice inside my head called out in horror. How could I even be contemplating this? What if I was caught?

However, I felt so horny from the sniff I'd had of Steve's dirty shorts and the tantalising prospect that two other pairs were just lying around in the changing room waiting for my eager nostrils that such a voice was easily silenced.

I told myself that I might never again have such an opportune moment to get a flavour for a couple of guys' butts from their underwear. They'd be sweaty from their game and no doubt a bit whiffy from where they'd been ridden up into their owners' arse-cracks during the day in their office. My cock twitched its approval of the idea as my fingers gently massaged its length.

But was it really worth the risk?

I peered out of the cubicle into the now-empty changing room. The two men had undressed in front of the benches opposite to mine and Steve's. One pair of underpants hung on a peg like Steve's had – a light grey pair of briefs by the look of them – while the other pair – white but I couldn't see the style – had been discarded on the bench next to a rucksack.

I could hear Steve chatting with the guys as the three of them showered. He was recommending a pub they should try; they were being polite but noncommittal. The three of them were, nevertheless, occupied.

I figured it'd be well worth the risk.

I crept out from the toilet stall and, cupping my genitals in my hands as best as I could, hurried over to where the guys' clothes had been discarded.

I took a wary look towards the door, making sure no-one was coming in.

Then, satisfied that the coast was as clear as it was going to get, I grabbed the grey briefs from the peg. Rearranging them hastily to get them the right way around, I was impressed by how saggy and distended the crotch of them was from the large bulge obviously made by the guy's cock and balls. The guy must be well-hung. Then, turning the rear gusset outwards, I inhaled as deeply as I could from the still-warm material.

The smell was disappointingly soapy: this guy was clearly a lot more thorough in how he washed himself than Steve. There was a trace of something more interesting right where his hole would be, but the overwhelming scent was fragrant – Lynx shower gel, maybe.

I gave my nose a quick once-over of the front of the briefs, but found the smell to be similarly soapy, aside from a small patch where his cock had probably dribbled after he'd taken a piss.

I thrust the briefs back onto the peg in disappointment and grabbed the white pair from the bench which turned out to be Calvin Klein boxer-briefs. It was obvious, from the crustier feel of the material and the immediate waft of dried piss and stale sweat from them, that these underpants had been worn for a good few days. This was more like it!

Turning the briefs inside out, I noticed how stained the gusset was with urine and that off to one side, where his trouser pocket would be, there was a stiffened area of what could have been caked-on semen or was otherwise the dried-up ooze from a prolonged erection. Being so well-worn, I worried that the smell around the back of them might be repugnant rather than attractive. Tentatively, I brought the seat of the underpants up to my nose.

Again, my excitement was instantaneous. My cock, which had softened a little in my nervousness about venturing out of the cubicle and the disappointing lack of interest in the grey briefs, hardened to full size almost as soon as I sniffed the young guy's soiled shorts. The smell was in no way faecal, as I'd anticipated: it was powerful and undeniably anal, but also intensely exciting on some base, primeval level. I beat myself with renewed vigour and urgency as I pressed the underpants to my nose and inhaled the skunky, cloying odour of the guy's butt-crack. I imagined he was bending over in front of me, parting his cheeks with his hands as I licked at his hole.

I ran my nose along the material between the leg holes of the briefs, avidly sniffing the pathway leading from the rich, robust flavours at the back towards the sweatier, more sexual, odours at the front where the guy's hairy balls would have been cupped just moments earlier. If he was bending in front of me, I could push forwards and lick his dampness, rich with sex and testosterone, from his plump sack while my nose was wedged into his hot, hungry hole.

His hand would be fast on his cock – just as mine was now – thumping back and forth along its thick and veiny length, as he pushed his cheeks against my face and my tongue danced around on his seed-filled bollocks.

I returned my nose urgently to the back of the underpants, relishing the darker, more personal, odours permeating the material. It suddenly dawned on me that this wasn't just the smell of him being rimmed: this was the smell of him being fucked.

This was the smell of me standing up, grabbing his hips and pushing my cock deep into his spit-moistened chute. This was the smell of my hips slapping against his buttocks as I thrust myself in and out of his most intimate hole. This was the smell of men rutting together, the smell of me butt-fucking another man, the smell of –

My balls began emptying themselves, spurting thick gobs onto the wall and the bench next to the guy's rucksack as I struggled to avoid his pile of clothes.

Before my climax had subsided and just as the first pangs of disgrace were starting to bite, I threw the dirty underpants back onto the bench and darted over to my own clothes to find a handkerchief or sock – anything – to wipe up my cum which was splattered around the showering guy's stuff.

At that moment I heard Steve's voice behind me. "Jesus, Rob! Are you still not ready?"

I felt my face flush, quickly cupping my still-oozing erection in my hand to try and hide it from him as he emerged from the shower room, drying his hair.

I struggled to find any words, but managed, "Sorry, Steve... I just... well..."

Steve walked up beside me and, glancing down at my poorly-concealed hard-on, laughed.

"Oh fuck, mate! Not the best place to get one of those!"

I looked up at him, feeling my face burning. This was like one of the recurring nightmares I sometimes have, except that usually in those I'm experiencing this embarrassment in the middle of my office.

"Yeah... I... er... got caught out..."

He laughed again. I was amazed that he was finding this funny.

"You can say that again! Good job you always shower at home, Rob. There's a couple of guys in there and things might get awkward if one of them drops the soap!"

I smiled with as much humour as I could muster and, still struggling to hide my excitement with one hand, grabbed my briefs with the other.

Steve finished drying his hair and threw his towel down on the bench.

He gave my forearm and affectionate pat and said, reassuringly, "Come on, mate – don't get so hung up about it. It happens to all of us."

"Yeah, I know. It's just a bit embarrassing..."

"You should be proud of it, Rob... I'd noticed you were well-hung, but... Jesus! I had no idea you were such a grower!"

"Pity my ex-wife didn't share your appreciation. She used to say it was about as pleasant as looking at an aroused horse."

I tried to hitch the leg of my briefs over my foot without exposing my erection. It wasn't so much the excited state of my cock that I was worried about him seeing – although that was bad enough – it was the white dribbles which were still oozing out of it and which he would immediately recognise as semen.

Steve grabbed his white boxer shorts from his peg and bent over to put them on. Laughing again, he called out, "I am safe to bend over, aren't I?"

I flushed again at the sight of his arse which had, in part, led me to this state of discomfort. I yanked my briefs up, relieved to finally tuck my cock away out of view, and muttered, "Come on, Steve. Don't be daft..."

Having pulled his shorts up, Steve glanced over at the stuff belonging to the guys who were finishing off in the shower. He thankfully seemed oblivious to the wetness on the bench and up the wall, his eyes instead being drawn to the more noticeable state of the white boxer briefs which were turned outwards where I'd thrown them down.

He nudged me and whispered, "Jesus – look at the state of that guy's skivvies..."

I glanced over and feigned a look of disdain. "Ugh... grim..."

Pulling his shirt on, Steve went on, still whispering even though it was implausible that the young men could have heard him over the noise of their shower: "Gor – a sniff of those would have taken care of your stiffie, mate!"

"Yeah," I muttered. "It would have sorted it out in no time."

And then I grinned over at him as if the idea that I might sniff the back of another guy's underwear was the most amusingly absurd thing I'd heard in a long while.

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Next story: A Walk in the Park

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