The Halfway Inn pt. 02

He may not have understood the word but he nevertheless grunted his agreement and then, holding me firm underneath him, gyrated his crotch against my buttocks, making circular movements with his cock inside my hole. I called out in pleasure, urging him to keep going, and he laughed at how much sensation he was able to give me by making corkscrew motions as he worked himself in and out of me. His large, hairy chest was pressing down onto my back and I gasped with delight as I pushed my bum upwards to meet the twisting motions of his cock between my buttocks.

"Ah, yeah!" I called out, realising I was breaking out into a sweat. "That's how you do it!"

For a newcomer at the pleasures to be had from male buggery, Pete was proving himself to be a very able and willing learner.

He pleasured me that way for a good few minutes, laughing into the back of my head at how much sensation his swivelling motions were delivering to my appreciative rump. All the time, his hand kept sliding up and down my straining organ as fast as he could pump it, masturbating me with the same clumsy technique that he'd probably used on his own smaller and thinner shaft since his early teens.

Then, in need of a more gratifying fuck, he pushed himself upwards from my back, grabbed me tightly by the hips with both hands again and started pounding my splayed opening as roughly and quickly as he could. He was wanking himself off using my rectal muscles to jerk his foreskin back and forth, the way I might have frantically humped my pillows in my younger years.

"Go for it, mate!" I called out to him, squeezing my backside as tightly as I could around the battering shaft of his jack-hammer organ. "Give me what you've got!"

He grunted his assent and drove into me faster and faster, gripping my hips almost painfully as he held onto me as tightly as he could to better pleasure himself inside my wide and stretched arsehole. His pelvis was slapping loudly against my buttocks and the whole bed was shaking back and forth from his exertions, the headboard beating in a rapid rhythm against the hollow hotel wall.

This was man-on-man doggy sex at its most rough and raw: the frantic rutting of our two male bodies joined together hip to hip.

I could imagine how we'd look from behind: the muscles of his buttocks flexing as he drove himself back and forth; the flabbiness of mine quivering with each hurried thrust of his bucking hips.

I'd never been banged by a man as young as Pete and now that I was, I could more than vouch that it was indeed all it was cracked up to be. His strength, vigour and horniness all combined to give me an electrifying experience, a magnitude more exciting than some of the more practised older men who had been in his place. He was crude and graceless, his thrusting urgent and voracious, and he had all the sensuality of a randy teenager, selfishly enjoying his first frenetic fuck. I faced forwards, revelling in the youthful abandon of his uncouth technique, and pushed my bum backwards to better receive the full force of his unbridled intrusion.

"Oh, God, yeah!" I gasped and dimly wondered if our colleagues in the next room really could hear what we were up to. Whether, while they lounged on their beds, sipping a last nightcap in front of some dull TV show, they were aware that they were listening to young Pete Lehman from planning ending his evening by having his first, noisy homosexual experience. That the banging on the wall wasn't sound that was carrying or faulty plumbing: that it was that boring old divorcee from project development having his arse roughly shafted by a man young enough to be his son.

Pete started grunting as he pummelled me and then gasped, "This is what it must be like to have to shag a bloke in prison, Rob!"

"I suppose it must!" I gasped back and then grabbed my cock to start wanking myself while he so brutally fucked me. I liked the thought of being buggered in prison: allowing my sex-starved cellmate to use my arse for relief.

"I've always thought it would be awful," he went on through laboured breaths, "but it's actually pretty good... really good!"

"Could you get a taste for it?" I asked, smiling at his surprise at how much he enjoyed the same-sex version of the lovemaking he probably took for granted.

He chuckled as his pounding increased in speed and force. "Yeah!" he called out. "Yeah, I reckon I could get well into this!"

I realised that the bedside light next to us was casting dark shadows against the flimsy curtains at the windows, projecting a blatantly obvious silhouette of our bodies onto them. Anyone outside would be able to see the outline of one man on all fours and another kneeling behind him, holding him by the hips; every time Pete rapidly withdrew from me, they would get flashes of the thick tube of flesh connecting our bodies; from our rhythm and movement, they would recognise instantly how we had chosen to occupy ourselves.

Suddenly Pete stopped thrusting, and just held me in front of him, his cock halfway into my stretched and puckered hole, sniffing the air like a terrier.

At length he asked, "What's that smell?"

"What smell?"

"Sort of... I dunno... dirty... raunchy..."

I resolved to be frank with him: "It's the smell you get when two men are having sex together, Pete. What we're doing goes hand-in-hand with that smell."

"You mean this is how it always smells when two blokes are... you know... doing the dirty deed?"

I nodded, amused by the modesty of his language given the unrestrained intensity of the sex we'd just enjoyed together. "It's the smell of male-on-male anal sex. The combination of our hard cocks, sweaty bollocks and hairy arses when they're all pounding away. You soon get used to it. You soon get to like it, actually."

"Yeah, I do like it... kind of. It's just... you know... I've never smelt it before."

I inhaled deeply, enjoying the pungent, biting odour of our sexual expression which was starting to fill the room. "For me, this unique smell is a significant part of what I enjoy about intimacy with other men. It's deeply masculine but also powerfully erotic."

He sniffed the air again, this time more appreciatively.

"Yeah, I think I get it," he announced. I doubted he did. "It's the smell of one bloke knobbing another bloke's arse – it's totally different from the smells you get during normal sex. And that's what makes it special."

I smiled at his use of the word 'normal'. I hoped that what we doing now – what we were enjoying together – might in time make him question his idea of what was normal.

"You only get this smell when it's two men, Pete," I told him, still facing forwards with his cock buried halfway up my bum. "It must be something about one guy's cock sliding in and out of another's backside. A mixture of our male pheromones, perhaps: the sweat from your cock mixing with the smell from my arse. With maybe a few whiffs from my own hard-on giving it that extra bite."

He laughed at that and started fucking me again. "When you think about it like that," he said, his breath once again quickening as he recovered his rhythm, "it's pretty hot, actually!"

"It's as hot as fuck!" I laughed back, enjoying the resumed onslaught against my prostate.

"It's a smell that only two men can ever smell!" he said, as the headboard started beating against the wall once again. "The smell of sex that only two blokes can enjoy together!"

I wasn't sure I followed his logic but I chuckled nonetheless. I could tell from how fast he was banging me that such ideas had propelled him onto the home straight and I was eager to do all I could to help bring him to his climax.

"Revel in it, Pete!" I implored him as I worked my hips and buttocks against his frantic thrusts. "Revel in the smell of our bum sex!"

Again I thought of the men next door: what if they really could hear everything we were doing? Or even worse, what we were saying? I had a sudden foreboding that the language I was using might be sneeringly referenced when we returned to work.

With surprising strength Pete pulled me upright so that my back was against his chest and then wrapped his arms around me to hold me as firm as he could while he drove rapidly in and out of me with long sweeps of his curving cock.

The angle proved highly rewarding and once again I found myself impressed by his skill and dexterity in exploiting what was a fairly average-sized organ to maximal effect. In this position, the slant of his shaft was exquisitely stimulating the ring of my anus and I started panting like an over-heated dog as I pumped my own erection in time with his fast and furious thrusts.

"Fucking hell, mate!" he gasped into my ear. His breath was quick and hot and his stubble was grating against the back of my neck. "I'm bumming your arse! Do you realise that? I'm actually bumming another fella's arsehole!"

"And you're loving it!" I exhorted, wanking my own cock violently. "You're loving knobbing me up the bum!"

"I fucking am!" he cried out. "I'm fucking well horny for it! Who'd have thought it?!"

He panted in my ear as he sped towards his climax, muttering that he was "getting ready to nut", as if used to having to warn his girlfriend about the impending fountain she was about to experience.

I had an irrational vision of us being caught like this: of one of our colleagues entering our room and finding us stark naked together, our bodies writhing together in the heat of Pete's climax, on the creaking hotel bed. I could easily imagine the picture we'd make: Pete's chest heaving against my back and his knees between mine pushing them apart; his arse-cheeks flexing in the throes of his orgasm, his hips grinding in rapid jerks against my buttocks, and the strong smell of my backside and our sweat combining to betray what we were in the middle of.

Pete interrupted my reverie to grab me tightly and shudder sporadically as he spent himself inside the condom which was buried deeply in my bowels.

As if already plagued by the guilt which many men endure after their first homosexual experience, Pete called out during the spasms of what felt like a very powerful outpouring of his seed, "Oh Jesus, mate! Oh fuck! I can't believe I'm doing this! How can I be fucking doing this?!"

I tried my best to console him as well as I could even as I faced away from him: "Just enjoy it, Pete! This is a perfectly natural thing we've just done together!"

He continued gripping my body, still humping me in rough spasms while he grunted his chastisements at what he'd allowed himself to do. "I'm nutting it with my cock up your arse, mate! I'm spunking up, right up your bum! I can't fucking believe it!"

"And it feels amazing, Pete," I tried to placate him even though I couldn't turn towards him. "We both really needed this!"

He kept shuddering and muttering his self-recriminations as his balls emptied themselves into his condom, hugging my body tightly as a fellow male as if for comfort.

And then, when his orgasm had waned, he pulled away from me and withdrew from my arse with a squelching slurp.

I expected further pangs of regret – accusations, even, that I'd led him on and corrupted him – but instead he just looked down at himself and called out, "Bloody hell, mate! I'm glad I was wearing a condom!" Then he pulled it off and went into the bathroom to dispose of it and clean himself up.

I followed him in, my erection still bobbing around in front of me, and asked him how he felt.

As he washed his softening cock in the sink – right next to my toothbrush, I noticed – he grinned over at me. "I'm alright, mate. I'm a survivor, me."

"No regrets?"

"Naah... we were just messing around, weren't we?" he smiled, glancing down at my stiffened organ. "Helping each other out..."

"Exactly," I smiled. "It was just that when you were climaxing, you seemed to grow a little... well... contrite, perhaps."

"Yeah... I dunno... it suddenly seemed wrong, what we were doing. But now it's over, I'm okay again. It's just something that happens to me."

"Sex is something to be celebrated," I proposed, "not a cause for shame."

"Yeah, I know that," he agreed. "It's just how I am. I was the same the first time I let another bloke suck me off. I was the same, even – and I still remember it well, actually – the first night I had a wank at home when I was about twelve!"

"Really?" I asked.

"Yeah," he grinned, switching off the tap and shaking the water off his organ like it was a dishcloth. "While I was spunking up that night for the first time, I was really cursing myself, telling myself it was so wrong for me to play with my dick. But after it was all over, I just went to sleep accepting that I was now a lad who liked wanking. I think it just takes me a bit of time to get my head around things."

I smiled and nodded, wondering if he'd had a religious upbringing along the lines of my own, and then told him I'd be as quick as I could in having my turn on him.

"I don't really fancy it now, mate," he announced matter-of-factly, drying his cock off on the face towel. "Once I've cum, that's me pretty much finished."

"But you said I could have my turn on you," I persisted. "I even licked your bum to make you ready."

He shook his head. "Sorry, Rob, but I'm turning in for the night."

When he saw how annoyed I looked through the bathroom mirror he shrugged. "I can't help how it is. Shelley's always having a go about it too. As soon as I've shot my wad, that's me bushed, mate."

He got in front of the toilet pan and directed his cock downwards to take a piss. "You'll have to toss yourself off or something. I can't really say more than that. Not after I've spilled my junk."

"But I'm still hard, Pete," I said, teasing my foreskin back and forth across my swollen cock head a couple of times as if to stress the fact. "It's not really fair that I let you use my bum only to have you complain that you don't feel like it when it's my turn."

He shrugged again as the first jets of his piss noisily hit the water in the toilet bowl. "I can't help how my body works, mate. If it helps you out, you can lick my arse again."

"Sorry?"

The stream of his piss grew more continuous and he pointed the bilobed tip of his cock downwards at the toilet like one would a garden hose. "You can lick my arse and wazz yourself off until you spunk up. That's the best I can do for you, mate – at least until we have to share again. Then, if you're still up for it, I can repay you properly."

I liked the fact he was throwing me the possibility of a next time and so I didn't risk scuppering things by getting insistent about what he'd offered me tonight.

Instead, I decided to accept the titbit I'd been thrown and knelt down behind him while he pissed into the toilet. I pressed my face back into the crack of his bare arse and took up a rapid rhythm on my cock while I rimmed his hairy hole for the second time that evening.

Having never rimmed a man while he was relieving his bladder, I have to say it was a surprisingly fascinating experience and one which excited me far more than I might have anticipated. Every time Pete spurted his diminishing jets of urine into the toilet, the muscles of his anus would relax to allow my tongue to enter him more deeply. His wonderfully carnal and pungent taste grew stronger with every squirt of his piss and the pace of my hand on my cock grew faster and stronger as his trickles into the bowl grew weaker and slower.

By the time he'd finished pissing, my tongue was reaching halfway into his intestines and my hand was slamming up and down my organ so quickly my hand must have been a frantic blur.

Pete laughed at how ridiculous I must look: crouching behind him pumping my cock like an over-sexed adolescent, while I slobbered away with my nose and mouth wedged in his arse crack.

"You really like eating blokes' arses out, don't you, mate?" he chuckled, shaking the last drops from his cock into the toilet bowl.

"Mmm!" was all I could managed with my face clamped on his rear.

I was imagining him at work in his tight, black trousers, bending over to get something from the filing cabinet when I need to get some paperwork from his department. I reminded myself how often I'd lusted after his arse, standing behind him in his office. I was tonguing that very arse right now here in the hotel bathroom: I was rimming that self-same hole that I'd fantasized about pressing my face into for so long.

Pete laughed again and bent over the toilet, opening his bum wider for me to probe it even more deeply. I couldn't help but marvel, as I was driving myself towards my climax as quickly as I could, how quickly he'd recovered from his earlier misgivings. This was clearly a guy who lived for the moment: there was no point dwelling on past regrets or trying to anticipate future anxieties. Just go with the flow and see what happens. If only I could live my life so free from such worries.

"Fucking nut it, mate!" he called out to me. "Go on, Rob! Fucking shoot your spunk!"

I thumped away at my cock faster and harder than I had for many years, aware that he primarily wanted to hasten my orgasm so that he could get to bed. In spite of where my face was and how quickly I was jerking my foreskin, my climax remained frustratingly distant.

It took a change of approach from Pete to make my balls start tingling.

"Come on, Rob, shove your tongue right up me! Right where your cock'll be fucking me next time we stopover, mate! Right where you'll be screwing my arsehole with that big knob of yours!"

My semen started spurting through Pete's legs onto the polished enamel of the underside of the toilet bowl. It hung like white icicles reaching downwards towards the tiled floor.

He laughed again at the fact he'd managed to bring me off and told me several times that he knew what he'd said would do the trick.

"You're a bloke who likes bum sex, Rob," he rather needlessly informed me. "I knew saying you could shag me up the arse would get your white stuff flowing!"

I smiled as I stood up behind him and used a piece of toilet roll to wipe my seed from my spent cock.

"You're also a bloke who likes bum sex, Pete," I reminded him, feeling an anal hair on my lip with my tongue as I spoke. "Birds of a feather and all that!"

He laughed at that: "Yeah, I am, aren't I? You and me are butt-buddies, Rob!"

After I'd wiped my semen from the toilet and we'd both brushed our teeth, we turned in for the night making small-talk as if nothing of any consequence had happened.

The only mention of what we'd done was elicited by Pete just before he switched his bedside lamp off.

"Thanks for the... er... you know... the session, Rob," he quipped and then threw me a small grin. I think he was amused by his choice of the word 'session' to express in neutral terms something which had been quite momentous for him. Whatever the cause of the smirk, I was again reminded of the ratty creature on 'Ice Age'.

"The curtailed session," I reminded him. "The best, as far as I'm concerned, is yet to come."

He grinned more broadly, his finger on the switch, and nodded. "Game of two halves, mate. If you can wangle it so we get another skive off work soon, I'll make sure the stopover's worth the wait for you."

I smiled, resolving to scour the websites of training companies and conference organisers to find something which would fit both of our job areas.

"You've got a deal, Pete," I agreed.

And with an amused wink he turned off the light.