Roadside Assistance

"People might be out walking their dogs... joggers... cyclists... I dunno..."

I nodded. "Okay."

He turned back to face the tree, presenting his almost hairless bottom to my face again.

I leaned forwards and touched my nose very lightly into his arse-crack. Before I could appreciate the fullness of his scent, he pulled away, making an unnerving giggling sound. "Your nose tickles!" he snorted, looking down at me over his shoulder.

I glanced up at him. "Sorry!" I'd have to be less sensual with him; this was going to descend into farce if he got the giggles every time I brushed against him.

He turned back towards the tree and bent forwards a little to push his backside out towards me. Whatever else he was feeling, he was certainly keen to know what it was like to be rimmed.

I levelled my nose with his backside again and pressed myself more firmly into him. His buttocks were firm and muscular against my face, presumably from hopping in and out of his van all day, and the cleft between them smelled satisfyingly sharp. It was a rough, rather sour scent, far less sweaty than I had anticipated, and it had rich, almost woody, undertones.

I extended my tongue and heard him giggle again. It was rather cute to hear him laugh like that: quite girlish. He must be very ticklish in this area and had probably never had cause to realise it before.

He must have liked the warm, wet feel of my tongue sliding into his crack because he bent a little further forward, grabbing hold of the tree. He pushed his arse outwards, opening his buttocks to give me better access to his lushly-scented cleft.

I reached up with both hands and held his hips to steady myself and pushed my tongue deep into his crack. All of the men I had rimmed up until then had been very hairy between their buttocks. Duncan, by contrast, was silky smooth and, to my surprise, this seemed in no way to diminish the intensity of his taste and smell. I had assumed that a hairy crack would trap a man's odours more than a hairless one, but Duncan's taste was just as strong, although conspicuously different, from Guy's and the bloke from Asda who I had rimmed in the toilet, both of whom had been abundantly hairy. (His smell was, perhaps thankfully, a good few notches below the powerful full-on stink of the backsides of Shane the carpenter and Greg the waiter.)

Finding Duncan's wrinkled hole with the tip of my tongue and having its raunchy, acrid taste send shivers down my spine, I began to feel my cock hardening in my trousers. Running my tongue around it, relishing its biting tang, I suddenly realised how much I liked this position: squatting behind another man with my face pressed between his buttocks. It was arousing, yes, but it also felt 'right' to be poised like this, with my nose wedged into a fellow male's arse-crack and my tongue lapping at his most tender and intimate spot.

He muttered, "Yeah, get right in there!" and pushed his bum harder into my face. As he did so, his body started moving rhythmically – I realised he was rubbing his cock.

I pressed the tip of my tongue firmly into the middle of his puckered entrance and forced it open. The strong-tasting ooze from within was almost electrifying on my tongue and I urgently probed further, finding it difficult to breathe quickly enough in my mounting excitement.

Feeling Duncan's rhythm becoming stronger and faster, I reached around to grab his cock from him and take over wanking him. I found, to my astonishment, that he was by now fully and impressively erect. I had thought he was trying to rouse himself into excitement when I'd felt the rhythm of his hand: I hadn't realised that the feel of my tongue on his arsehole had caused him to stiffen so quickly.

His cock felt unexpectedly large given how unimposing it had looked in its floppy state. Its surface felt as if it was swathed with veins and its head was sticky and wet; like a fat, oozing plum.

I started masturbating it as best as I could, given the awkwardness of the angle I was at. Nevertheless, he appreciated my efforts and ground his backside against my face as if in encouragement.

I worked my tongue in and out of his tight opening, delighting in the murky, dirty taste he was exuding and inhaling as deeply as I could the more delicate but irrefutably raunchy scent of his arse-crack.

This had to be rimming at its very best and I was so pleased that Duncan was enjoying it with me. His cock was throbbing in its swollen hardness as I wanked it and from the dribbles of stickiness it was weeping onto my fingers, I could tell he was getting extremely aroused.

I pulled back from licking between his buttocks and stood up behind him. Taking my hand off his cock, I hurriedly unzipped and released my own, arching upwards at full size in response to the tastes and smells of Duncan's bum.

I had a strong desire to fuck him: right there standing behind him with him bending forwards and grabbing onto the tree. I contented myself, though, with sandwiching my cock between his buttocks, grabbing his cheeks and pressing them together with my thumbs, and working myself back and forth along his spit-sodden arse-crack.

I liked the feel of being in this position: just like rimming him, it felt 'right' and 'natural' to be behind him like this, thrusting my thick organ up and down between his bared bum-cheeks as he bent over in front of me. In spite of how slippery his crack was, his buttocks had enough friction to grip my foreskin tightly so that with every thrust my cock-head would emerge, plump and reddened, from between his cheeks. My balls were thumping against the tops of his legs, feeling heavy and full as I bucked my hips back and forth.

Duncan obviously found, perhaps to his own surprise, that he liked this position too: his hand returned to his cock and he pumped it quickly, excited to have a man pretending to bugger him and apparently finding easy to disregard any reservations that might be gnawing at the back of his mind. As he pushed his bum back at me in time with my thrusting cock, he looked up at me, over his shoulder, his mouth a grinning snarl, and said, "Yeah! This is so fucking hot!"

I slid my cock up and down his crack, masturbating myself between his buttocks. I grinned back at him, the two of us smirking at each other as if we were amused at being so delightfully naughty together. Duncan probably thought that I do this often: that I was well-practised at picking men up and of having them bend over for me. He was obviously unaware that, like him, I was experiencing and greatly enjoying my first time in such a homosexual position.

He pulled away from me and stood up. Turning to face me, he cheerfully blurted out, "I wanna do it to you! Let's change places!"

I hoped he was going to rim me and took up my place in front of the tree, yanking down the back of my trousers and underwear to expose my arse to him. Instead of squatting down behind me, though, he pushed his cock between my butt-cheeks and rubbed himself up and down inside my arse-crack as I had been doing to him.

He grabbed my hips and made like he was fucking me, the tops of his thighs making rhythmic smacking sounds against my buttocks. His balls were slapping against the bottom of my arse and I bent lower to open my cheeks wider, hoping they would rub against my hole when he thrust himself back and forth.

I bent over to give him better access and then looked over my shoulder at him grinning down at me as he worked his cock quickly up and down between the cheeks of my arse. I smiled back up at him and he said, "Yeah! Take it!"

This was clearly far more arousing than he might have expected it to be, had he ever imagined doing such a thing with another man. He liked the position of being behind me just as much as he had enjoyed being in front. He was panting as he worked himself inside the forested cleft of my arse; staring down at his erection with fascination as his shiny helmet repeatedly thrust upwards from between my buttocks before quickly disappearing back between them.

He grabbed my hips tighter, pulling my arse further towards him, and muttered, "This must be like fucking a bloke's arse!" as if it had only just dawned on him that we were simulating male-on-male anal sex.

I smiled back up at him but didn't respond. I wanted to quip something like, "No shit, Sherlock!" as Jake often would to me, but it didn't seem appropriate to make jokes.

He kept pounding at my backside and I found that, like he had, I enjoyed it hugely. Once again the position felt very natural to me: it felt right to be offering another man my arse by bending down in front of him and for him to be using me to pleasure himself. The rhythm of his organ between my cheeks and the beating of his balls against my anus were turning me on hugely.

I grabbed my cock and jerked it roughly, grinning up at him over my shoulder. He smiled down and then made another snarling face, pumping his cock more aggressively in my arse-crack. I worked back against him, pushing my bum into him with every upward thrust of his cock, and he said, "You fuckin' want it? Don't you? You fuckin' want it right up you!"

Before I had time to answer – assuming, of course, that he wanted an answer – he pulled back from me and started masturbating himself furiously. I turned around to face him and pulled at my own organ.

"I'm getting close!" he informed me as his hand pounded violently up and down the length of his organ. His foreskin was sliding back and forth across the fattened head of his cock so fast that the action looked almost mechanical.

He muttered, almost breathlessly, "D'you give blow jobs?"

Like I was a prostitute.

I didn't reply but reached between his legs and ran my middle finger from the base of his balls, back along the ridge between his legs to find his wet, sticky opening just behind.

"Ah, yeah!" he mouthed and smirked at me. "That'll do!"

I worked my finger into him, being very gentle, and took up a slow rhythm moving in and out of his hole.

"That is fucking hot!" he said and pushed his backside down onto my hand, desperate to take more of my finger.

I pushed more of it into him – up to the second knuckle – and his rhythm on his cock quickened to an even more frantic speed. He kept pushing back against my finger until he had its entire length inside him.

Wondering if I should suggest fucking him – from the way his arsehole was eating my finger, he might well be up for it – I quickened the wrist of my other hand, pumping away at my own organ.

Suddenly he gasped, "I'm there! I'm fucking cumming!"

Without thinking about it, I squatted down in front of him and opened my mouth wide in front of his cock. For some reason – perhaps having done something similar with Guy – I had an urge to drink his seed; to swallow it in gulps as it erupted from his cock.

"Ah, yeah!" he exclaimed and directed its head between my lips as the first squirts of his hot semen were ejected from the swollen slit. I eagerly took each spurt of his ejaculum, drinking down the copious flow of it as he wanked himself into my mouth. It tasted salty and acrid but I loved the sensation that I was feeding from him; consuming every drop of the exploding climax that surged in thick pulses out of it.

"Fucking eat it!" he cried out and kept working himself with his hand, milking his veiny erection to drain as completely as he could the paired nuts that dangled below it. I guzzled hungrily at his fountain, feeling his rectum spasming tightly on my finger which was still buried deep inside of him.

As his orgasm subsided and the squirts from his slit were weakening, I reached forwards and took the plump red head of his organ into my mouth, sucking the last dregs of his cum up through his cock from his gratified balls. I swallowed down the last of the ooze, wanking myself quickly and feeling my own orgasm drawing near.

He pulled back from me and my finger slid out of his arse with a low, rasping fart.

I stood up and masturbated myself as quickly as I could, which was a good deal slower than the rhythm he had been able to sustain on himself. I noticed that my cock was much larger than his – it hadn't occurred to me until that moment – and for the first time in my life, I found myself feeling a little proud of my size. It suddenly seemed to be rather a turn-on to find myself so much bigger than Duncan. Instead of feeling like I was some kind of freak, I felt an urge to flaunt myself for him; to show off my large endowment for his admiration.

I thought he might back away and pull up his trousers, disgusted with himself for going so far with me, but he didn't. Instead, he grinned at me and said, "I know what'll get you off!"

He reached between his legs, putting his hand beneath his softening cock and squatting down slightly to grope behind the almost hairless bag of his scrotum.

After rubbing himself down there, he surprised me by bringing his hand up to my face and outstretching his index finger in front of my nostrils.

"Sniff it," he commanded. "Sniff my arse."

I leaned forward and sniffed at his finger, getting a mere whiff of the scent of his anus but finding myself hugely excited by the act of him doing this to me.

He grinned at me inhaling his dirtiest scent from his finger and then said, "Lick it."

I obeyed his instruction and licked at his outstretched digit, tasting a slight tang of the strong flavour I'd enjoyed earlier.

"You dirty bastard," he laughed and pushed his finger into my mouth. "Like my arse! Go on, mate! Feed on it!"

I found myself salivating as he worked his outstretched finger back and forth into my mouth. I sucked at it like it was his cock, tasting the odorous sleaze of his backside on it; faint but distinct on his skin.

He grinned at me again and kept urging me on. "Eat my shitter! Go on! Lick it! Taste my hole!"

As I sucked at his finger – the taste all but gone – I began to climax, squirting thick strings of my seed over the deadened leaves and twigs on the ground.

He pulled his finger out of my mouth and, even while my release was in full flow, laughed, "Jesus, mate! I can't believe you swallowed my spunk!"

"All part of the service," I managed to gasp, still pumping my jizz over the ground, and he laughed again.

We cleaned ourselves up as best we could and then hitched up our underwear and trousers. Duncan seemed remarkably good-natured, given what we'd just done, and the issues I had expected him to have to face post-orgasm didn't show any signs of manifesting themselves.

He had clearly enjoyed what we had done and that seemed to be all that mattered to him. Perhaps he realised that his sexuality was a little more complex than he'd had the chance to appreciate up until that point, but if he did, he behaved like he simply cheerfully accepted it.

I wished that I had managed to be so nonchalant after my first tryst with Guy, instead of falling into a deep introspective reverie the way I had. If only my reactions to the unfamiliar could be so simplistic.

As we traipsed back towards the road, Duncan asked me: "So how do you get to meet other guys who like doing... er... that thing you did?"

"Rimming?"

"Yeah. That's it."

"You enjoyed it?" I asked.

He chortled. "Couldn't you tell, mate? I thought I... you know... threw in a few clues."

I smiled over at him. "Okay. So obviously you're thinking about how you might get to do it again?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "I think so."

"What about your wife... your girlfriend... whatever?"

He shrugged. "It's not like it's anything serious. Just like having a wank with a guy licking your arse. I can't see how it could be a problem."

"So you'd tell her?"

He laughed again. "Bloody hell, mate – of course I wouldn't! But it wouldn't be anything serious so it wouldn't matter. It wouldn't be like I was seeing another woman behind her back or something."

We clambered out from the undergrowth back onto the layby.

I wondered if we had the appearance of two guys who had just had sex together. Whether people driving past would be able to hazard even a remotely accurate guess at what we'd been doing from our demeanour and the slightly dishevelled state we'd got ourselves in.

Whether maybe one in a thousand of them – or even one in ten thousand – might correctly speculate that the older guy in the suit had been squatting behind the younger man wearing the AA jacket and had given the crack of his bared arse a thorough licking.

"I'm not sure how you go about meeting guys for this kind of stuff, Duncan," I told him. "Like I said at the start, I've only known about my own interest for a couple of months."

He nodded.

"I suppose," I went on, "you could try putting drawings of guys rimming in your glove compartment. That worked out quite well for me."

He chuckled.

As we were talking, a truck pulled up with a logo on its bonnet showing a recovery vehicle with a clip art man's manically happy face sticking out of the driver's window. Underneath it read Lutterworth Vehicle Repairs; Full Motorway Recovery Service.

The man who got out of the truck couldn't have made himself look more different from the image on the logo if he'd tried. He was grey-haired, unshaven and looked determined to be as humourless as he could manage.

"Footlong?" he asked gruffly.

"That'll be him," chirped Duncan. "Definitely him," he emphasized, and chortled loudly.

I felt my face blush as I corrected the driver's pronunciation of my name.

We left him dourly hoisting my car up onto his truck with an electronic winch, and set off for Rugby so that Duncan could drop me off at my meeting.

"So... come on," he began, almost as soon as we'd pulled out of the layby. "How do you meet guys to do stuff with?"

I repeated that I was new to this but told him a little about the man I'd met in the public toilet. I failed to mention the small detail of me having to pay for my fun.

"Yeah, I know stuff like that goes on in bogs," he smiled. "I just didn't know the guys there might lick your arse."

"I don't think it happens very often," I said. "I think guys like me – and perhaps guys like you as it turns out – are few and far between."

He nodded. "It's not something you really hear of."

He was a fast driver – we were going well above the speed limit – and he had the disconcerting habit of keeping his left hand on the gear stick instead of the steering wheel.

"If ever you fancy another try, I can let you have my phone number," I suggested. "You'd have to keep the message pretty vague, though, if I wasn't in."

He didn't immediately commit himself to anything. Instead, he asked, "So you don't live alone?"

"My son Jake lives with me but he's at college most days."

"Are you seeing anyone at the minute? A woman, I mean?"

I nodded. "I'm kind of... er... dating. I'm seeing her later this week, actually. But that shouldn't be a problem. Like you said, if you were to come over to mine, it wouldn't be anything serious. No-one has to know anything."

He smiled and seemed relieved that I had at least the hint of a woman in my life. Perhaps he'd been worried that, in spite of my assurances to the contrary, that I might have actually been a gay guy looking for more than just sex.

"Okay," he agreed. "I'll give you my mobile number as well. Same goes for you too, though – be careful what you say in a message."

"Sounds fair enough."

I wondered how far he would want to go: whether he'd let me mount that hairless backside of his after I'd rimmed him; whether he'd want to penetrate me.

"Do you think you'd be interested in rimming me?" I asked.

He shrugged. "I dunno. We can find out... have some fun trying some stuff, maybe."

I smiled.

"I've never been with a bloke, not up until now," he went on. "But I've always figured that you just have to take things as they come in life. See what you like and what you don't like. Just go with the flow."