Candid Cameron

"Once I had his bare arse in my face, I turned to the lads and said, 'This is how you do it, boys.' With them staring at me in wide-eyed amazement, I went in for the kill -- tongue outstretched, straight into the furry crack between his flabby cheeks. Rimming his hole like a pro, in spite of --"

Cameron paused and I prompted him. "In spite of?"

"Well, I suppose he didn't know he was going to get rimmed in front of his mates, so his arse was a bit... how should I put it... 'au naturel'."

I smiled. "Isn't that the best way?"

He smiled back and nodded. "I know what you're saying -- and in general I'd agree -- but there are limits. And Malcolm was right on the limit; maybe slightly over it. However, I had a point to make so I just got on with it: stuck my face right in there in, pretending not to notice."

"Was Malcolm embarrassed?"

He laughed. "Not at all. He opened his legs as much as the jeans around his shins would let him and bent over to let me in further. He was laughing and saying, 'You dirty bastard!' but he was pushing his arse back against my face, grinding it into me.

"I turned back to the lads as I licked his arsehole -- horny as fuck in spite of how strong he tasted -- and grinned over at them with my tongue in his hairy crack. They were laughing and pretending to be grossed out -- calling me a deviant and a pervert -- but the way they were rubbing themselves through their tracky bottoms showed what they really thought of it. Like I'd thought, these guys were used to being uninhibited around each other.

"One of them called out, 'Look at Malc's bell-end dribblin'! It's like a fuckin' tap!' I got back on with rimming him but reached round to fondle his knob, which was boned-up and thick and smeared with the pre-cum which was streaming out of it, so I could wank him while I tongued his arse.

"Wayne jumped up and came over to us. He yanked down his trackie bottoms and his knob sprang up from his stripy underwear. He had a real porker between his legs, with a red, sticky end, and a big, juicy pair of bollocks.

"He said, 'Do me,' and turned around to show me his pale arse. I leaned towards him and pushed my face between his cheeks, licking up and down his almost hairless crack and sniffing his sweaty, musky odour. His taste was a lot less intense than Malcolm's so I started flicking my tongue into his hole, feeling my knob straining against my trousers. He bent over, like Malcolm had, and worked his arse against me, matching the rhythm of my tongue.

"He called out, 'Ah yeah, man! That is fuckin' skill!' And he started wanking himself while I gave him his first taste of a rim-job.

"After a minute or so, he pulled off me and said, 'I wanna do it to you, mate. I wanna be proper dirty!'"

"So I stood up and hitched down my trousers and underwear. I noticed his two mates were still on the settee but they'd pulled their tracksuit bottoms down and were wanking themselves while they watched us. They took a good look at my knob at full mast -- like I said, I'm pretty well-built -- and grinned at each other, their hands getting a bit faster as they worked themselves. For all their stories about being straight, they certainly enjoyed looking at an older man's big boned-up dick!

"Wayne got behind me and -- very hesitantly, like guys always are when they first try it -- pushed his face up to my arse. Finding that it wasn't as grim as he'd probably expected, he became bolder and pressed his mouth between my cheeks. I could tell from the speed of his hot breath against my arse that he enjoyed it, and he tentatively extended his tongue into my crack.

"I looked at the others and saw that they were mesmerised by what Wayne was doing. Malcolm, who was still standing near us with his jeans hitched down, knelt down in front of me and took as much of my knob into his mouth as he could. The others liked that and called out their approval, enjoying watching me get worked on from the front and behind.

"Wayne got stuck right in. He was a natural -- so confident that I wondered if he'd done it before, although I don't think he had. He seemed to instinctively know all the moves and had me squirming and grabbing Malcolm's head so I could face-fuck him properly while Wayne's tongue worked its magic.

"He was beating himself off while he rimmed me. I could feel the pace of his hand working his stiffie from the rhythm of his stubble moving against the cheeks of my arse.

"Just when I was really getting into it -- hurtling down the home straight -- Wayne pulled off me with a laugh and said, 'This is fucking well hot, man!' He stood up and called over to his mates, 'You guys wanna try this! You've gotta try this!'

"He turned around and splayed his arse out to them, rubbing his finger up and down his slippery crack. 'Come on lads, come and see what it's like to lick out a dude!'

"And they did. And they proved that, while they might have been newcomers at rimming, they were more than willing to give it their best shot. More than that, though, they loved trading blow jobs -- all three of them were obviously well-practised with each other, like I'd supposed -- and were even up for fucking each other's arses, although one of them -- the other guy with the kid, I think -- wasn't prepared to take it.

"That might be a bit too 'gay' -- d'you know what I mean?"

I smiled. I did.

"Malcolm and I... well... we kind of did our own thing. We were older than the others and not so desperate for quick gratification. He was cautious about rimming me -- not like Wayne -- but he enjoyed being taught. We had a lot of fun taking our time on the couch, slowly working the moves on each other's knobs and arses and swapping places every time we got close.

"The lads were on the floor, going hammer and tongs at each other, all sweat and impatience. They were trying to outdo each other in how fast and how rough they could be, but they were also urging each other on to prove they were hard enough to take whatever pounding their mates could give them.

"It was a good night," he concluded with a grin. Then he stood up and, pulling his jacket on, said, "And now it really is time I was going, Rob."

I stared at him, stunned that the story had ended so abruptly and that he was leaving.

"I was just getting into that, actually," I muttered.

He grinned. "I'm sure you were but I should've left here half an hour ago, to be honest. Beth'll be wondering where I am... though not for the first time, I dare say!"

I stood up, aware that my erection was making an obvious rod in my trousers but quickly covering it as I pulled on my coat.

He said, "Think of that story as a sneak preview of things to come. The sort of adventures you'll soon be getting into now you know how many guys share your interest."

I smiled. "It sounds a bit too risky for me. Meeting men and going back to their flats... I don't think I'd dare do that."

I had, after all, experienced enough self-recriminations about what I'd done in the park, and that had been small fry compared what Cameron had just described.

He nodded, fishing out his keys from his pocket and fiddling with them to find what I assumed to be the key to his cycle lock. "Remember that Malcolm was someone I knew through a mate of mine. So I was pretty sure it wasn't gonna get nasty. It's just a matter of using a bit of common, Rob. Knowing how far you can go and when to pull back."

"I suppose so."

"Well, look," he said, having located his key. "I'll sort someone out for you for the Christmas party. If you're sure you'd like that."

"That'd be great, yeah," I readily agreed.

"I'll make sure he's just your type!" he smiled. "It usually goes well when I hook guys up together."

We headed towards the door of the pub, passing the surprisingly-enterprising Wayne who glanced up from his conversation to throw us another inquisitive look. I wondered how much, if anything, his girlfriend knew about his extra-curricular activities.

When we got outside and he was unlocking his bike, I said, "Take care, Cameron. And stay safe."

He grinned at me. "Always, mate."

As he cycled off I noticed how the seat of his bike pressed between the cheeks of his very pert-looking arse, nuzzling into his crack and pushing the light grey material of his trousers deep into his cleft. If one could be reincarnated as an inanimate object, the seat of a man's mountain bike would figure highly on the list.

And with that rather peculiar thought, I turned to walk back towards the company car park through the clear November night.

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Next story: Carried Away

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