Guilty Pleasures

He grabbed my right hand and shoved it onto his balls. They were quite small and, unlike mine which flopped around loosely and dangled low between my legs when I bent down, Carl's were held close to his body by his tight, leathery scrotum. Although I felt a mild aversion towards its wrinkled hairy skin, I gently kneaded it the way he had mine, as he frantically jerked his foreskin up and down the short length of his cock.

He glanced over at me, his breathing quickening and a thin film of sweat forming on his forehead, and managed a weak smile as he stood wanking himself in front of me in an odd-looking hunched stance. I tried to smile back as I massaged his balls, not really knowing what to do with them if I'm honest, wondering if their small size meant that he would produce less semen than I had.

The floorboards were creaking and groaning loudly by now, their steadily increasing rhythm making it obvious throughout the whole cottage that something sexual was going on at the end of the upstairs corridor. I was thankful that Linda was a heavy sleeper and hoped that Carl's lack of concern about the noise meant that Anna was too; otherwise, perhaps such sounds from the bathroom late at night was something she was used to from her husband.

He opened his legs wider and sort of squatted down, knees bent. He grabbed my hand again and moved it up and down on his balls to show me that he liked a rubbing rather than kneading action down there. As his fist sped up to a blur of motion on his cock, he closed his eyes tightly and made a pained expression, like he was taking part in a Japanese endurance competition. I sincerely hoped I didn't look like this when I masturbated; it wasn't a terribly flattering pose.

I wanted to say something sexy to excite him towards climax, just as he had with me, but I couldn't think of anything which didn't sound corny or silly. "Empty your balls!" had worked well on me but now it just sounded ridiculous.

Eventually I managed, "Your cock is so thick," which seemed to please him because he quickly grunted back at me, "Yeah!"

Suddenly he bucked his hips forwards, as though he wanted to flaunt his cock as prominently as he could to show off how he was beating it with what looked an impossibly fast rhythm. His eyes remained tightly closed but his mouth contorted into an 'O' shape and his lips puckered outwards. I rather pitied Anna is this was the face she had to look at when he was banging away on top of her.

He grabbed my hand again and pushed it further between his legs. I wasn't sure what he wanted me to do so I just rubbed the tops of his thighs behind his balls, surprised at how hairy and sweaty he was back there. He seemed to like that and called out breathlessly, "Touch me! Touch my... touch my a... a... aah yeah!"

He started thrusting his hips forwards and upwards in rapid, air-fucking lunges as his cock began squirting a surprisingly profuse amount of semen across the already generously-daubed toilet. As his orgasm overcame him, his mouth twisted into a misshapen rictus, his teeth bared as though he was in agonising pain. Were orgasms simply unpleasant necessities for some men? I'd always greatly enjoyed my own, although I had to admit that those which took place inside a woman were usually significantly better.

I kept rubbing the tops of his thighs as he climaxed, wondering why he liked me touching him there, until the pumping of his cock slowed and he steadied himself against the toilet to catch his breath. Then I withdrew my hand to see how we would conclude things. What did two guys do after masturbating together? Chat about the weather? Shake hands?

As it turned out, things were rather stilted between us and we quietly washed our hands and mopped up our joint mess from on and around the toilet. Carl seemed far less relaxed about the fact we'd been sexual together than Guy had, which is ironic given how much more intimate Guy and I had been. He made an awkward joke – something along the lines of, "I guess if the wives won't put out, boys are gonna be boys, huh?" – but other than that we didn't say much other than what was needed to clean things up.

Before we turned in, he tapped his nose and muttered, "Not a word, Rob, okay?"

I feigned a small smile and whispered, "Of course not!" as I headed back down the corridor to try and get some sleep alongside Linda now that my cock had finally shrivelled enough for my foreskin to ease back across the sensitive head.

The following day, Carl was more like his normal self but I got the impression he regretted what we'd done from his reluctance to make eye contact with me and the way he avoided making direct conversation.

I suspect he confided in his wife about what had happened between the two of us – such as it was – in the bathroom that night. If he did, he probably put the blame firmly at my poorly-barricaded door. I don't know that for sure: I just know that he and Anna never took us up on our return offer for them to stay with us and we never received another invite to their place.

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It wasn't until we'd returned home and the disgruntled cat had been fed, that I managed to sneak an hour or so on the internet away from Jake's prying eyes. Only then did I begin to understand that what had happened with Guy was not something which was uniquely perverse to me.

I quickly found a word for what I had done to Guy: I had 'rimmed' him. That in itself made me feel less anxious; at the very least I had a label for it.

Rimming was defined as 'the act of using one's tongue on the anus and surrounding tissue of another person in order to gain or give sexual pleasure'. Although it mainly seemed to be described as an element of foreplay during homosexual lovemaking, there were websites on which straight men confessed to having done it or to having fantasized about it. Of those, I was greatly relieved that the majority of men had their attentions focussed on the backsides of their own gender rather than on their wives or girlfriends. Indeed, some stated that they felt repelled by the idea of rimming their female partners but hankered after the arses of friends, workmates, brother-in-laws and even, in one case which seemed to leap out at me from the screen, his son's friend's father.

Most men were in agreement that whatever it was about the male arse which was so alluring, faecal odours were a definite turn-off. There was difficulty in describing the smells and tastes which were so exciting – words like 'sweaty', 'musty' and 'pungent' didn't capture the unique flavour which had so fascinated me – but almost everyone agreed that toilet smells formed no part of it.

Some of the forums I read through had links to galleries of men rimming one another. Although I was intrigued to see pictures of other guys doing what I had so enjoyed, I was hesitant about clicking on them with Jake being just downstairs.

In any case, I'd never really been into internet porn. A few years earlier, Jake had inadvertently left a trail to a few dodgy websites and out of parental concern I'd felt compelled to follow them. I'd found a series of galleries of naked women, pouting and fondling their breasts and vaginas. While I can't deny that I'd had to adjust the front of my trousers a few times as I'd clicked through them, I certainly hadn't become excited enough to do what my son had no doubt done to himself as he'd looked at them. After feeling mildly disappointed and deleting all traces of the websites, I'd had a stern-ish talk to him about internet safety.

Now, glancing over my shoulder to make sure that Jake hadn't crept up on me like he sometimes did, I tentatively clicked on a link to a rimming gallery and almost gasped as my screen filled with pictures of men with their faces pressed close to other men's backsides in all sorts of positions. It had never occurred to me to look at any gay stuff on the internet and, if I had considered the prospect of doing so, I would have expected to be disgusted by them or at least for such pictures to seem disharmonious and uninteresting to me.

However, seeing such an abundance of images of men being sexual together was a revelation – here was row upon row of men with their buttocks splayed so explicitly in each other's faces, their tongues dribbling in anticipation of sliding into each other's cracks, their cocks throbbing from the excitement of tasting each other's holes. In contrast to the dissatisfaction I'd experienced clicking through screen after screen of pouting women, I found myself mesmerized by the sight of male couples entwined together at their most graphically sexual.

I clicked on one of the small pictures and gasped as it grew to fill the screen. Two men, both a few years younger than me, were naked on a bed and one was doing to the other what I had so found so exciting to do to Guy. Their bodies were sweaty, their faces flushed, and their cocks were rock hard. They didn't look in any way 'gay' together, as I might have assumed they would: neither of them looked particularly effeminate, neither was unnaturally toned-up and both lacked the self-conscious pose of professional models. They were just two normal-looking guys – one a bit chubby, the other more hairy – who happened to be indulging in a moment of sexual togetherness just like Guy and I had.

I clicked on another of the pictures and studied the image which filled the screen. The two men in this photo were in their mid-twenties. They were dressed in shirts and ties and were standing together in a toilet cubicle, as if they'd nipped out from their office for a loo break. One was yanking the back of his dark grey trousers down, the other was kneeling behind him, extending his eager face towards the round buttocks which were being exposed. Both men's cocks were arching upwards from their flies; both greatly aroused by the prospect of what they were about to enjoy together.

I clicked on another picture, then another; fascinated by what I was looking at. I could barely believe how pictures of men being so intimate with one another could be so erotic. I felt my cock lengthening, its head slowly swelling and pressing against my shorts, and glanced towards the door again in case Jake was watching me getting turned on by such an unexpected source.

I momentarily considered closing the galleries, switching off the internet, and I suppose I really should have done just that. I'd found out what I'd wanted to and there was little more I could learn from looking at erotic pictures. Needless to say, though, the images were too enthralling – too arousing – to simply switch off and I clicked on more and more of them, becoming increasingly engrossed in what the men were doing together.

I quickly realised that, while a lot of the photos showed guys getting intimately close to other men's bums, there was too often no actual rimming going on between them. There was a certain appeal in seeing guys kissing other men's buttocks and feigning sexual ecstasy as they extended their tongues provocatively towards each other's gaping crevices, but it was no substitute for seeing them enjoying the real thing. I soon came to disregard what I came to think of as pale imitations and clicked my mouse instead on galleries showing men with their tongues firmly and enthusiastically wedged between butt-cheeks, especially those where the guy's mouth was positioned about three-quarters of the way down the cleft, right where the other man's covert orifice would be buried.

Some of the guys' arse-cracks were smooth and hairless, and I guessed they'd been shaved for the camera. Others, though, were in their natural state: bristling with a dark forest of hair just like Guy's had been, and I focussed my attentions on those. I could almost imagine how it would feel to push my face into them: the hot moist air in the wiry tangle between the cheeks; the rich, enticing smell as I worked towards the anus; the delicious, raunchy taste of the puckered entrance.

I had to make do, though, with clicking from image to image of other men doing what I was so fascinated by. This, nevertheless, brought its own pleasures and soon my cock was straining against my jeans as I stared at picture after picture of males rimming each other as hungrily as I had. A guy squatting, his arse cleft wide open to show off a tight pink ring, his balls hanging low between his legs; a stubbled face homing in, tongue extended, mouth eager. Another guy bending over, his crack too hairy to see his hole; a clean-shaven face behind him, lips puckered for a mouth-watering anal kiss.

Here was a whole hitherto unknown world of men – ordinary-looking blokes like me – who enjoyed licking other men's backsides and whose excitement as they did so was obvious from the engorged state of their cocks. For some reason, it was a huge turn-on for me to see how hard their cocks were as they tongued other men's bums – knowing that they were so excited because of what they were doing, just as I had been. I started rubbing my own erection through my jeans as I flicked from image to ever more captivating image.

I'd never thought of other men's penises as being particularly attractive before: they were just inelegant-looking tubes of flesh which had a collective sameness about them which always seemed to draw the attention of their owners to how much more substantial my own was. But looking at the cocks in the pictures, seemingly aroused to the point of near-climax from the thrill of same-sex rimming just as mine had been, I felt a new appreciation stirring inside me. I marvelled at how thick and prominently veined their shafts were and how ripe and reddened their bulbous helmets were, fully exposed and slick with the ooze that dribbled from their slits.

I glanced behind me again, to check that Jake wasn't standing aghast in the doorway, and released my own throbbing cock from my fly. Its size often made confined erections painful and, in the wrong circumstances, acutely embarrassing.

I started gently jerking my foreskin back and forth across my swollen cock-head as I marvelled at how uninhibited these guys were around one another: at how comfortable they seemed to be naked and aroused together, and at how open they were about masturbating themselves while they enjoyed such intimate contact with each other's backsides. There was no shame or embarrassment between them, nor for that matter any evidence of affection: they were just pairs of guys smiling with enjoyment at the sensations they were experiencing without feeling any need to analyse or justify it.

I undid the button of my jeans and released my cock more fully from the folds of my boxer shorts, carefully extracting my bulky scrotum through the zipper and allowing my heavy nuts to flop over the crotch of my jeans. I found a picture of two men enwrapped together in what the website called an "anal sixty-nine" and started masturbating myself in earnest, my large balls bobbing up and down with every stroke of my hand. The men were side-by-side and had their heads between each other's legs, mouths eagerly exploring each other's butt-cracks. I fumbled to see the next image, my other hand beating up and down the full length of my stiffened organ, and saw that the blonder of the two guys was tonguing his friend's tight-looking hole, deep within his moderately hairy arse-crack. The next image showed the blond guy being rimmed: his almost hairless cleft wet with the darker guy's spit and his anal ring looking somewhat larger and a darker shade of red than his friend's.

I clicked forwards again and was pleased that the darker-haired guy was now straddling the blond, wanking himself while his friend rimmed him. His bulbous cock-head was a dark purple colour and it was slick with the liquid which oozed from its slit. Although smaller in size, its shape and wetness reminded me of Guy's cock. Indeed, the picture I was looking at could have been the two of us in the hotel room: Guy crouching over my face, wanking himself while I lay underneath him with my mouth straining upwards to tongue his hole.

The next picture showed the darker-haired guy's cock in close-up, fully aroused by what was happening between his legs and with his balls slapping against the blond guy's nose.

The next was taken from behind him, showing the blond's mouth pressing upwards into his hairy cleft, his tongue reaching forwards for its prize. I remembered how it had felt to be with Guy like that: the humid heat between his buttocks, the powerful odour within, the acrid taste of his anus.

My hand was making rapid slapping noises as it worked my cock and my balls were thumping against the top of my jeans as they bobbed around in my distended scrotum, but I no longer cared.

I fumbled onto the next picture and saw that the darker-haired guy was climaxing. Thick strings of white semen sprayed from his cock as he seemed to press his arse down onto his friend's face as hard as he could.

His face was a surprised grin. Like he hadn't realised how good this would feel and had been caught unawares by his orgasm. His expression said, "Wow! Watch me go!" And his cock was spraying like it hadn't been touched in a month.

I wondered if Guy had been grinning while I'd rimmed him.

And with that thought, my own cock caught me by surprise and sprayed streams of cum across the monitor, desk and keyboard. I kept wanking it, unable to stop, astonished at how powerful and copious my orgasm was. I pumped myself until the gobs of liquid splattering onto the desk subsided and the feelings of intense pleasure I'd experienced dulled and waned.

I mopped up my semen and then, hearing Jake on the stairs, tucked my softening cock with some difficulty back into my jeans. I was deleting my browser history as he bounded into the room, thankfully oblivious to the sharp, acrid smell left by what his father had released just moments earlier.

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Next story: Bedtime Stories

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