Getting Together

"It sounds very different from making love with a woman," I commented, pulling the car into my drive.

"You can't compare it," Bradley agreed. "It's sex on a totally different level... not necessarily better... just completely different."

I nodded, thinking back to how I'd sustained an erection after making love to Debbie; some part of me needing additional stimulation.

I stopped the car and glanced over at him. "Are you ready for this?"

He smiled. "Absolutely!"

As we got out of the car he asked me if I was ready.

"I think so," I said, flicking the remote control to lock the doors. "It feels a bit weird, but I think I'll be okay."

I glanced over at the house opposite, and saw my neighbour Paul in his window watching me. I nodded over at him and he threw me a thumbs-up, which struck me as slightly odd.

To him, it would just look like I was having a mate to stay over with me: a few drinks together in front of the telly and then a few hours' kip on the sofa-bed for Bradley. He would have no idea that Bradley was my 'date' for the night; that, when my own bedroom light clicked on, it would be the two of us men getting undressed together in the room, preparing to couple up for homosexual sex on the bed I'd once shared with my wife.

I let Bradley into the house and we went through to the kitchen. As I was fishing him a beer out of the fridge, I asked him "Do you guys still get together? You and Garth?"

"Yeah... sometimes. Not often, but it happens. The last time was a couple of years ago -- the night before his wedding, actually."

I opened his beer and fetched a glass from the cupboard. The cat was glaring over at me from his bed near the back door, no doubt infuriated that I'd had the cheek to bring a stranger into the house without prior notice.

"Three of us were sharing a room: me, him and his best man -- a bloke he was friendly with at work. We were all pretty rat-arsed when we turned in for the night and at like two or three o'clock in the morning, I woke up to find Garth in my bed with me.

"We started messing around together -- I figured Garth wanted one last night of fun while he was still a bachelor or something -- and took turns sucking each other's cocks under the duvet. Brad -- the mate of Garth's who was his best man -- was out for the count and snoring."

He took a long, grateful drink from the glass I had given him, and I could see that it would, very soon, need refilling. It was a good job I'd bought in a couple of boxes of beer.

"It wasn't until we were actually at it," he went on after wiping the froth from his top lip, "that the other guy woke up and I realised we were being watched."

"'At it'?" I asked, pouring myself a glass of wine.

"Yeah," Bradley said. "Garth was on all fours on the bed and I was behind him, rimming him. We were both really into it, working up a nice rhythm together with his hips and my tongue, and it was probably the noise of the bed frame creaking that woke him up."

I smiled, taking a drink from my wine. Christ, it was sharp; must have been a cheapie.

"How did you know he was watching you?"

Bradley grinned. "I heard Garth say, 'It's alright, mate. You're just dreaming,' and I looked up from his backside and saw the other guy staring at us."

I chuckled. "What did you do?"

"I thought Garth might want me to stop -- we'd never done it in front of an audience -- but he just smirked and said, 'Come on, climb on board, mate! Show him what brotherly love looks like!'"

I smiled at him, intrigued by the scenario. Imagine waking up, half-drunk, the night before a wedding to find the groom and his brother going at it on the bed next to yours. Before a few months ago, I'd have probably been shocked. Now I would want to join in.

"So did you? Climb aboard, I mean..."

Bradley laughed. "Of course I did. There was something really hot about doing it in front of another guy. Performing for him, showing off..."

"Weren't you worried he'd tell people?"

Bradley shook his head, downing the rest of the beer. "I knew Garth wouldn't have been so up for it if he'd have had any worries about that. And, besides, who would have believed him? The groom getting his arse licked by his own brother, and then being shagged by him...? They'd have thought it was some sort of pre-wedding piss-take by the two of us."

I passed him another bottle from the fridge. I hoped he wasn't going to get so pissed he wouldn't be able to perform. He was, like me, quite a thin guy: the alcohol would go straight to his head.

"In any case," Bradley went on as he poured the beer into his glass, "he wasn't going to tell anyone, because, as he was watching us, his duvet started thumping up and down. So he wasn't exactly innocent himself."

He picked up his glass and took it out into the hallway. He stood at the foot of the stairs, waiting for me to lead the way for us to go up to my bedroom. It seemed like he'd had enough of the preliminaries and was eager to get started.

I walked out after him and pretended I hadn't noticed what he was waiting for and, instead, gestured for him to go into the living room. I didn't feel ready for this yet: maybe I needed a couple more glasses of wine to loosen me up.

He looked mildly dissatisfied that I was stalling things, but went into the room and sat down on the couch. I followed him in and sat in the armchair that Jake normally sits in. If Bradley had been a woman I'd have probably sat alongside him, hoping the two of us would soon be snuggling up together and our hands would start exploring each other, but as he was a man it wouldn't have seemed right.

"How do you meet other men to hook up with?" I asked him after we'd both taken a drink from our glasses; me more of a sip, the wine was so sour.

"What have you tried so far?" he asked. His legs were wide open and I wondered if he always sat like that with them splayed -- a lot of men do -- or whether he was trying to let me know that he was available. There the suggestion of a raised mound in the front of them which could have been his wallet but could equally have been his hard-on: perhaps he was showing me that he was ready for my services.

"I've found it quite difficult," I told him as my gaze drifted upwards from his crotch to make contact with his piercing stare. "You're the first guy I've actually had back with me, although there's a couple who've... well... expressed an interest, shall we say."

"Well, in my case I meet guys through friends of friends, mainly," he revealed, leaning forwards to take another drink from his glass. "Once you get to know a few guys who are into this, you get introduced to others. Because it's just sex, you try different guys to find out who does the stuff you most enjoy. It's not like any of us have to be loyal or faithful to each other."

I nodded. "So if you find a guy who you're compatible with -- sexually, I mean -- do you get together more regularly with him?"

"Sometimes, I guess," he nodded, holding his glass with one hand and using his other to adjust the mound his crotch was making. He did it the same way that I would if I was developing an uncomfortable hard-on, except that I would usually be more discreet about it. He watched me as he fiddled with himself: he wanted me to know that he was aroused down there.

For some reason I remembered sitting in this exact spot the night my ex-wife and I moved into this house and we'd come downstairs from putting Jake to bed. Back then, I was hoping that Linda would want us to christen the house by letting me have sex with her before we slept: it seemed bizarre that the man sitting opposite me right now was having similar thoughts about me.

"I've got together a few times with a bloke called Pete from over near Rothwell," Bradley told me. "He's into the same stuff as me and what we do together works for both of us. But it's not like we're big mates or anything. I mean, we're not actually that friendly and if it wasn't for the sex, I'd have absolutely nothing in common with him."

"It makes sense, but it's still pretty new to me," I said, watching him gently toying with his erection through his trousers. "I like the idea of getting together with a guy regularly, but I think I'll need to get on with him. I'll need to enjoy spending time with him."

Bradley shrugged, and took his fingers away from the obvious rod of his cock. "You say that now, but once you've been around a bit, you'll probably grow to feel -- like I do -- that it's a purely sexual release and all the rest of it doesn't really matter."

He shifted his position slightly on the sofa as if to make it blatantly clear, if it hadn't been already, that his cock was hard. I could almost see the outline of it -- and it looked to be of a similarly generous stature to my own -- throbbing through the material of his trousers.

"I mean," he went on. "If you enjoy a guy's company, you do stuff together like... you know... having a drink around each other's houses. But if it's sex you're after -- and that's definitely what I'm after -- then why fanny around? Why not just get down to it?"

He held my gaze with his blue, steely eyes. He wanted to use me for sex: that was, as far as he was concerned, all there was to our get-together. It was sex he'd come round for and he was clearly impatient for me to start serving it up.

All this getting-to-know-each-other crap -- that was just a means to an end. The only thing that mattered was that his cock was aching for some attention and it was me he was expecting to provide it.

So this is what it's like to have a horny bloke in the house, I thought. I wondered if I had been so unashamedly demanding towards my ex-wife and other women when I'd been a similar state of arousal.

He put his hand back on the mound he was making in his trousers and stroked it, as if wanting to make unequivocally sure that I'd understood his meaning.

"I mean, if you've brought a guy round for sex," he said, holding my gaze, "why not do just that?"

He wanted to fuck me. He was hard, he was horny, and I happened to sitting on the thing he saw as his reason for being here.

It suddenly seemed to me that we had reached this point far too quickly. I had the abrupt sensation that I was being hurried into something I wasn't yet completely ready for: I wasn't sure I would be able to give him what he so overtly wanted from me.

At work, Bradley had always seemed so guilelessly affable when he'd come to fix my computer. Now he was staring at me with an intent that seemed almost aggressively lustful; fondling an erection that could well be expecting a lot more than I could deliver.

I took a sip from my drink -- Jesus, where the hell had I bought this crap from? -- and said, with a timorous smile, "Look, Bradley -- remember this is my first time bringing a guy home with me. I've never had a bloke expressing himself so... well... sexually towards me."

Bradley took his hand off his cock and seemed to realise that his blunt approach, which he might be used to adopting with other men (but not, I dare say, his girlfriend), was proving too alarming for me. In male-to-male coupling, such frank and forceful posturing might be the norm, but it didn't sit at all comfortably with me. Not just yet, anyway.

He took a long drink from his beer, finishing it off, and I went to fetch him another, as well as a different bottle of wine for myself, from the fridge.

I was starting to think that I wanted to get out of this; wondering whether it would it would be totally implausible if I were to make an excuse about needing to pick Jake up or something. If I backed out so transparently, how would I be able to face Bradley at work? At the very least, I'd never be able to phone for IT support again.

As I handed him his drink, I noticed he was sitting in a rather more respectable position and his well-built bulge had been concealed among the folds of his trousers.

I thought he might be about to ask me if he could call a taxi; had perhaps decided I wasn't worth the effort and was giving up the chase.

Instead, though, he asked, "So who are these men who've 'expressed an interest' in you, as you put it?"

Pouring myself some wine from the new bottle, I told him, very briefly, about what had happened with the AA man and my informative chat with the Assistant Principal from Jake's college.

"Do you think they'll call you and arrange to come round?" he asked.

"I don't see why not," I replied, sitting back down. "They both seemed quite keen."

"It's a huge step, though, to actually phone a guy for sex -- especially if they're both new to it. I think the teacher might, but the AA guy... I'd be surprised if he did."

"He was kind of cute," I said, taking a sip of the new wine, which was far more palatable. "If he doesn't contact me, I've got his number somewhere so I'll probably give him a call."

"I don't really think of guys as cute," Bradley mused. "I mean, if a bloke is into having sex with other blokes, that's pretty much all I'm interested in."

"I think other men can be cute," I said, wondering if I might be a few notches closer to the gay end of the male sexual spectrum than Bradley evidently was. "Don't you find some things about men attractive?"

Bradley smiled. "Of course. But it's the physical part of a man that I like, not the man himself. I mean, in your case, I mentioned to Cameron -- once we knew the score with each other -- that I thought you'd have a big cock. I guess that's why he fixed us up."

"You like big cocks?" I asked.

"Very much so," he grinned. "Me and my brother were both pretty well-endowed. I think that's why I like a guy who's big down there. You know, what you get used to..."

I smiled back at him, pleased that he might like what I had between my legs. "Well, I don't think you'll be too disappointed on that score."

"I could see the way you fill your trousers," he chuckled. "I knew the two of us could have a good time."

We smirked at each other and I felt rather titillated by the thought that he'd been checking me out at work. After what I had endured with Debbie the previous evening, it seemed wonderfully refreshing to have my genitals admired, especially by a similarly-endowed younger man.

"So what was it about me that caught your eye?" he asked. "I assume Cameron must have spotted you checking me out in some way."

"That day you were on the floor in my office and Cameron walked in on us, I had my nose rather close to your bum," I revealed. "Very close, actually. Very, very close."

He laughed. "And did you like what you smelled?"

"Not really," I conceded, enjoying how his eyebrows darted upwards in surprise. "It was early on a Monday morning and I guess your trousers had been fresh on. I mean, I've nothing against the smell of Persil, but it wasn't what I'd been hoping for."

He took another long swig from his beer and then stood up and walked over to me.

He must have figured that I might be a man who was more easily seduced by a physical approach, because he turned around and showed me the back of his trousers. His bum looked nice, making two pert mounds against the black material, and my cock stirred a little, as if it had suddenly remembered why Bradley had been invited round.

"It's late Friday now," he informed me. "They've been on all week. Do you want to have another sniff... same place as last time?"

I smiled, sensing that this approach might well yield more fruit. "It would make an interesting comparison."

He stepped back towards me so that his arse was close to my face and I leaned forwards, pressed my nose into his crack, right where I'd sniffed him when he'd been on all fours on my office floor.

He said, "You want to be a bit lower down, mate," and I pushed deeper between the tops of his legs so that my chin was touching his thighs.

"Yeah," he muttered, "just about there." He leaned forwards slightly so I could inhale from the hemline that had spent the week nestling between his bum-cheeks, wondering how many times it had been pulled upwards with his underwear to rub against his hole.

Unlike when I'd taken a furtive sniff of him in my office, the material of this most concealed part of his trousers was now alive with his own expression: infused heavily with his strongest, most animal of odours and almost seeping with its sheer, unembellished potency. I pushed in lower, snorting at the material to draw out the full force of his flavour. I could feel the raised pucker of his anus against my lips through his trousers and underwear: this was a man who had the hole I fantasized about having myself -- large and well-used; bloated and inviting. The scent around the circular mound of his protruding ring was base and fascinating and I felt my spine tingling with excitement as my nerve endings crackled.

He pressed his arse into my face and I gasped as I worked myself forwards between his firm buttocks, desperate to take in more of him and to get my nose as close as I could to the enticing mound of his well-worked entrance.

He called out, "Maybe this'll help, mate," and I heard his belt unclasp and his fly unzip before he yanked his trousers down. His undershorts were tight and garishly-coloured, a rainbow of stripes in lycra, but they clung to the paired cheeks of his buttocks stunningly.

I nuzzled my face into them, wetting the thin material with my tongue, as I struggled to experience as much of his indelicate scent as I could.

Like the other men before him, he had his own distinctive flavour: sharper and cruder at first, deeper and infinitely more interesting on prolonged exposure. His scent wasn't bitter or acrid; it was far more sexual and uncompromisingly masculine.

I was becoming extremely excited, rubbing my cock in my trousers, as I burrowed my face into him.

He hitched his underwear down, saying that would make it even better, and I reached up with both hands to prize his cheeks apart as he opened his legs and bent over fully for me.

As I pushed my face towards the tangle of sweaty hair bristling from his splayed crack, I saw his plump, commodious hole nestling deep inside: a thick red ring, puffed outwards and gaping open. Unlike some of the tight, pink, barely visible, anuses I had rimmed, this was, as I'd suspected, an arsehole that had clearly been regularly stretched open by some pretty big cocks. I hoped mine would soon be joining them and that my hole would, in good time, look equally accommodating.

I pushed my tongue ravenously between his cheeks, tasting in full, uninhibited glory the well-used and swollen ring of his hole, with my nose wedged as deeply as I could push it to enjoy the full force of his crack. My tongue slid into him easily, his anus offering little resistance, and I lapped at him as it widened further to eagerly take it from me. I rimmed him like that, feeling his body shudder as he masturbated, before he pulled away from me, turned around and heaved me up by the shoulders so we were face-to-face.

"Let me taste my own arsehole, Rob," he gasped, his breath hot against my face and smelling of alcohol. "Come on, give it to me."

Without understanding what he meant, I looked down at his cock, arching upwards from his pulled down underwear and looking similar in length and girth to mine as it jabbed towards my stomach. His balls flopped over the waistband of his shorts, heavy and swollen as if pumped full with the seed that was about to make him a father.

He grabbed me around the tops of my arms and lunged at me, planting a hot, wet kiss on my lips.

Instinctively, I pulled back: this was a guy who was trying to kiss me!

But he went in for second attempt, holding me more firmly, and pushed his lips onto mine.

At first I was repulsed and tried to pull away again, but as his lips worked against mine and his tongue entered my mouth, I felt a sudden surge of intrigue to have a fellow male do this to me and yielded to him.