Just an Ordinary Guy

Terry was asleep in his bed when we got back, his regular breathing deep and slow. I had told him that Ian was arriving and that I would sleep on the floor using those extra blankets that hotels carry in the wardrobe. I had got them out in advance and taken one of Ian's pillows to rest my head on. So, in order not to disturb Terry, we climbed out of our clothes, Ian climbed into his bed …. and I climbed in immediately after him! It was essential to make no noise because if Terry had woken up our jobs, our reputations and our future prospects would have been at risk. The danger however - as danger always does - heightened the excitement and I relished the fact that this time he was dressed only in his pants. I was quick to place his hand on my rock-hard dick and he soon had me fighting to restrain my groans as he pushed me over the edge into the free fall of orgasm. What a touch the lad had! And again I've no idea if he came off too, though I wanked his little rod with all the deftness that he had used on me. Fortunately Terry did not wake up but the following morning it was (sadly) not possible to continue our activities and we rode our bikes back to our homes on the Sunday afternoon.

Things happen quickly when you are young; there were no further immediate opportunities to have sex with Ian; and I got another, better paid job with another engineering firm. I moved away from my parents' home and hired a flat to be near my work and in due course I learned that Ian too had left our former employer. Also I met a wonderful girl and within six weeks we were engaged to be married. My former girl friend came up from London to look her over and decided from seeing how happy we were that there was no hope for her. We got married six months later and I heard nothing more from Ian for about eighteen months. Happy as I was with my wife, I still thought about him occasionally and a chance encounter with a former colleague told me that he was spending time in a Young Offenders Institution. I was really sorry about this because my interest in him was genuine, whatever the world in its wisdom might have thought of our relationship, and I wanted to find out what had happened to him. I therefore called on his mother. She was pleased to see me and told me that Ian had been released and was working as a mechanic in a local garage. He was married (she said) and was living in a small flat at the back of the garage. She gave me the address and I went round to see them. They were both in and I was astonished to see that his wife was very pregnant indeed! Ian welcomed me, though there was not a flicker of consciousness in his greeting, and he made me a cup of tea - something his wife said he never did for anyone else. He had taken to smoking and seemed happy but she did let it fall later to me that she was not completely sure that the baby was his. It was not the time to discover too closely what had gone wrong but I formed the idea that he had stolen someone's motorbike in revenge for his having been stolen and he had thrown it into a canal after the police came round to interview him. He was never a violent person (just thinking of his touch on my dick told me that!) but I could believe he might take the law into his own hands if his precious bike was threatened. I asked him if he would like to come out and see my new home and new motorbike one weekend, and he said that he would after the baby's arrival.

And that's how we met again. My wife and I had a child by this time, whom we kept in a cot in our bedroom. Ian came for a short weekend, arriving on the Saturday afternoon and returning Sunday morning. He had to sleep in our living room on a mattress because our house was small like our income. My wife was tired because our son often got us up in the night and went upstairs to bed early, leaving me and Ian to talk about bikes and cars in the sitting-room below. Does it surprise you that I stayed with him as he undressed and got into the sleeping-bag we had provided? Or that I lay down beside him and put my hand down the sleeping bag? It surprised me! I considered myself "straight" now and in those days (as so many "conventional" people still think today) you were either thought of as "straight" or as "queer".

This time, as my hand reached down the sleeping-bag, there was some resistance. He lay on his tummy and refused to roll over and I had to say - with some frustration - "Roll over for me, please, Ian." After some further persuasion he did so reluctantly, but his prick was sticking out of his pants and it was slippery with pre-cum! I badly wanted to see him cum, if possible, so I asked him to get out of the sleeping bag and lie on top of it so that I could get a good grip on his shaft. He did this and I stroked him, using the pre-cum to make slippery the passage of my fingers under and over his swollen cockhead. "Cum for me, Ian" I breathed and at that very moment our cat jumped onto the sleeping bag on which Ian was lying. "It'll drown the cat" he gasped as a single jet of spunk jumped from the end of his engorged glans and landed on his stomach. So much pre-cum and so little sperm! But I had at last seen him cum and I now asked him to wank me, which he did with all his old skill and sureness of touch. I asked him to clean up and went upstairs to join my wife on a high of satisfaction and without any feelings of guilt. What we had done seemed good and "normal" - not dirty and queer. I loved my wife and child and I was fond of Ian. Why should I have felt guilty?

This ushered in a brief period of warm feelings, I think on both sides, in so far as Ian ever allowed himself to show feeling. I still had the Jeep, and though he had had his driving licence taken away I was able to collect him from his home, even though it was over forty miles away and I did this one Saturday when my wife had taken our son down to see his grandparents for the weekend. In the evening we walked to a local pub and when we left after several pints of beer I asked him about his former girl-friends and he said that he had "had" many and that they were "always coming back for more." Given his film-star looks this didn't surprise me and I privately admitted to myself that I, too, was always coming back for more. He said that "keeping control" was important to him, by which I understood that he was able and liked to control when he "came" and that he prided himself on his way with women and would be appalled if his friends had any idea that he had ever had sex with a man.

When I got into bed with him that night, maybe it was the beer we had consumed, but he was so slow cumming that I almost fell asleep on the job. I had to jerk myself awake and remind myself that this was Ian I was stroking! The only sign he gave as he finally shot his load under my caressing fingers was a sharp intake of breath. I noticed that his pre-cum suddenly became more slippery but I couldn't find much spunk to rub into his abdomen. The next morning I brought him a cup of coffee as he lay in bed and got in next to him. We were very relaxed and twice he stopped my hand as he got close to the brink, finally saying "That's enough!" Maybe his idea of "control" didn't allow an orgasm in the morning after the night before or maybe he thought things were in danger of going too far on the "queer" side. I was sure I was the only man in his life, as indeed he then was in mine.

It was about a month later that I collected him again to help work on the Jeep but I had to drive him home in the family car the same evening. It was late autumn and thick fog shrouded the darkened road as we climbed the long hill away from my home. I dared to place my hand on his knee and his immediate reaction was to swing it away and close his legs, but I kept my hand in place and to my great satisfaction he swung it back again so that I was able to caress the inside of his thigh. We climbed into thicker and thicker fog until we came to a place where I could safely park the car on the side of the road. I was still very shy and had never had sex with anyone in a car before, so I said I needed to check that the back doors to the car (it was a kind of shooting brake) were properly closed. So I got out, checked the firmly fastened doors and got back in again. My hand rapidly found his knee and this time there was no drawing away. I drew it slowly over the bulge in his pants and up to the belt of his jeans and undid the buckle. When I fumbled with the top button of his fly he helped me to undo it. As soon as his fly was open I dived my hand into his pants and the joy of bringing out his cut dick, stiff and glistening with pre-cum in the dim light of the dashboard lights, was overwhelming. I couldn't, however, get a good grip of it as there was so little length to work on, so I said "You climb over the seat and lie with your head towards the front, and I'll get in via the back and join you." Without a murmur he started to move into the back of the car and I went round to the doors, opened them and got in beside him. He lay on his back with his hands behind his head, having closed his fly to make the transition from the front to the back of the car, so it was my pleasure again to undo the buckle, reopen the fly and extract his dick. Soon my fingers were sliding up and down his shaft and over his slippery glans and I think that he would have cum quite quickly (for him) if suddenly we had not been aware of headlights looming up in the fog. He rolled over, stuffing his stiff dick into his pants and I lay flat with my head down, pretending I wasn't there. The approaching car went slowly by and now I was urgent to finish the job. Instead of fumbling with his fly I said "Take it out for me, please, Ian" and he did so. On past occasions he had always made me make all the running but this time he seemed keen too. Even so it was some time and quite a lot of stroking from my urging fingers before I felt his dick stiffen and he shot his single spurt of sperm onto his leather belt. "Wow, thank you, Ian" I said gratefully. If his dick had been twice as large and his cum four times as heavy I could not have been more satisfied. But he said with heavy feeling "Don't thank me - I wanted it." This rough reaction surprised me at the time because he rarely if ever displayed emotion and this was raw. Much later I realized that he probably said this because he was afraid of letting himself go and enjoying it too much. I said nothing in reply until his dick, which remained stiff for some time after the ejaculation, began to soften and then I asked him if he would mind bringing me off. Always before I had had to place his hand round my dick for him to stroke me, but this time of his own accord he reached over and took it in his hand. "Take it slowly" I begged, and he did just that - so lingeringly that I remained on edge for the longest period of time I have ever experienced. "A little quicker" I groaned; and with a slight speeding up of his hand I fell over the edge into the best orgasm I had ever had. Was it luck on his part that he knew just how to do it; or was it a technique that he had long practised on himself? I was never to know.

After this climax in our affairs I hoped to see more of him but it was not to be. Work for me became all absorbing as I founded my own company and worked long, long hours; and when a rare opportunity for a meeting did present itself he failed to telephone me in answer to the letters I sent to his home. Eventually I gave up hope of seeing him again. But about eight or nine years later I found myself with an hour to spare in his home town and, deciding to look him up, I went round to the flat he had occupied, only to find someone else there. On enquiring of the occupant if he knew where Ian lived, he said that he had bought a small house near the city centre but he wasn't sure if he was there at present. The way he said this made me somewhat suspicious but when I got there, Ian was in, and so was his wife and their son, now about ten years old. He didn't look much like either of his parents and Ian did say during our conversation that only one child in ten years wasn't up to much. I was pleased to see him but there was a marked change in the way he looked. His face had coarsened and his film star looks had disappeared. He was drinking between ten and twelve pints of beer each evening in the pub and he had a beer belly of ample proportions. I learned, too, that he had recently done time in prison, probably for theft, but I didn't enquire too deeply into that because it was good to see him, however altered, and I had always been fond of him. I asked him if he would like to come out to my home to see the Jeep, which I still had, and said that the next weekend my wife was taking our family down to her parents and I would be able to collect him on my motorbike, if he liked. He thought for a moment and said he would come on the Saturday if I could collect him at about ten o'clock and get him back home for his tea at 6.00 pm.

During those intervening years I had had no time for any extra marital relationship and I was very excited at the thought of renewing my acquaintance with him, even if he was much changed, and I set off to fetch him on the Saturday morning with hopes as high as my dick had been stiff the night before with anticipation. He wasn't in when I first got to his home, but he arrived later, mumbling an excuse I couldn't hear. Maybe he had thought better of it and hoped I would leave before he arrived. Anyway we set off on the forty mile journey with him riding pillion and I showed him my new home and gave him lunch. After lunch we went for a walk and I noticed how unfit he had become. When we got back to the house I offered to show him some photos of the rebuild the Jeep had had on the bank of the river Rhine. These were kept in my bedroom so we went up there to look at them. From there it was but a short step to my inviting him to lie down with me for half an hour's "rest" before we set off for his home. He said nothing at first and - to urge him on - I started taking off my clothes. Then, when I had undressed to my underpants, he said irresolutely "I've been thinking all morning what I should say if you asked me and I still don't know what to say." He hesitated : "You see, I used to be completely straight, but I enjoyed going with you, so there must be something a bit queer in my nature. Now I don't think I'm anything."

I put my arms on his shoulders, dressed only in my underpants with a semi-hard-on beginning to make its presence felt, and said with feeling "But of course you enjoyed it, Ian, anyone would have done." He seemed relieved at this and said "OK, I'll join you." And so for the last time we got into bed with each other. Time had come a full circle since all those years ago when I had first vainly invited him to have a "rest" with me. He stripped down to his underpants, which looked slack and empty underneath his beer belly, and lay down beside me, his arms above his head. I rested my arm lightly on his chest and caressed his nipples. They stiffened under my touch and I traced a passage down from them over the new swell of his belly and on to the band of his shorts. Then slowly down onto his thigh. I could sense rather than feel a swelling in his crotch so I laid my hand on it and found the expected bulge, but it was a fairly limp one! And I wish I could say that the ensuing sex was worth waiting all those years for. He helped me wriggle his pants down, then replaced his hand above his head and I took his four inch dick in my fingers and discovered that that, too, was changed. Gone was its former stiffness, there was no pre-cum and I thought "So this is what 12 pints of beer a night does for you, plus 40 fags a day" and was sad. He was only just over thirty years old. Hoping (amongst other things!) to stiffen his dick and start his pre-cum by getting him to hold mine, I reached up for his hand and placed it on my rock-hard one. He showed all his old sensitivity in stroking me and I was so excited by the renewed contact of his hand that I was soon close to cumming. "I'm going to cum in a minute" I gasped as I - in turn - increased the tempo of my stroking on his dick, which remained dry and enlarged but not as stiffly erect as I remembered it. "Mine won't" he said, but I could hold out no longer and I shot my load onto my stomach. As ever he kept stroking it gently until the spasms had passed. Then he stopped and as he did so his own dick deflated in my hand. Our sex was over : he had, I think, become impotent.

Later I made him a present of the shattered piston I had taken out of the Jeep by the side of the Rhine, took him to a railway station, paid for his ticket and put him on the train. And that was the last I saw of him.

He was just an ordinary guy but I had been fond of him and he was the only straight fella I ever seduced. And I never did get to know what he called his dick!