Up At the Crack

A few months ago I met a guy called Edward and it turned out that, among his varied and chequered past, he'd been divorced and has a son in his late teens, just like me.

His lad is called Ashley; he's eighteen and at university in Sheffield. My son is Jake who's nineteen and at Leeds.

Edward is physically much larger and stronger than me; something I always enjoy in a man when we get to the bedroom. He's tall and muscular and could easily handle himself in a fight, and I wasn't too surprised when I first took his shirt off to find a scattering of tattoos across his arms, chest and back.

He and I aren't the sort of men who would naturally form a friendship and I'm sure that if Edward hadn't spent eighteen months in prison for tax fraud, we would barely have registered on each other's radar. But having developed a liking for using cellmate's obligingly-offered rump when he'd been inside, he'd emerged from his incarceration eager to continue his newly-discovered pastime.

Unfortunately for Edward, it turned out his girlfriend wasn't as willing as his cellmate to satisfy his craving for doggy-style anal. Fortunately for me, he sought to fill the breach by signing up to a male cruising site to find other men who would be willing recipients.

So that's how we met. Kind of cute, really.

It was during the lull between two very strenuous sessions - Edward inexhaustibly pounding in and out of my upturned behind - that we started chatting about our sons.

We were lying on his bed, both naked of course and with our cocks exploiting a brief opportunity to soften slightly, and I happened to mention that Jake would be coming to stay over that weekend.

"Nice," Edward muttered, well aware of how much I enjoy spending time with my son.

"It is nice, yeah," I replied. "Apart from all the bags of dirty laundry he'll bring back with him."

Edward glanced over at me and then asked, completely out of the blue, "Do you ever stash away any of his underwear to have a sneaky sniff of?"

I smiled. I liked the way he would just casually come out with deeply personal questions like this one.

"No," I replied. "But I often admire his butt when he struts about with barely a stitch on, as he so often does."

We sat for a few moments before I asked in return, "I take it, from the question, that you enjoy a sniff of Ashley's underwear from time to time?"

He nodded and said, a touch defensively, "I don't see anything wrong in it."

I nodded back. Neither did I.

"I mean, if he's going to bring so many bags of laundry home with him from uni," he explained, "it's only fair that I get something out of having to wash it and dry it for him."

I chuckled. "Don't worry, Edward - I'm no angel! I'm certainly in no position to judge. Which... er... part do you usually sniff?"

He grinned over at me. "Oh, come on, Rob! Like you have to ask! I like bum sex, mate - that's why you're here! Which part of his skanky shorts do you think I get my nose stuck into?!"

I laughed back at him. "So I take it he's a bit whiffy back there?"

"A bit whiffy?" Edward chortled. "You have no idea, mate! Every single pair absolutely reeks of his arse! That's why I do it... it's like... skidmark city!"

"Do you jerk off when you're sniffing them?"

"Of course I do!" he grinned. "I pick all his dirty boxers out from the black bags of laundry he brings back with him and keep a little stockpile of the... er... more fragrant ones at the bottom of my wardrobe. Then I work my way through them night after night, whacking off with his bum stink covering my face, imagining my dick was hammering away at a lovely round arse!"

"Ashley's arse?" I asked.

His head swung round pissed off at the suggestion of that. "Of course not! Jesus, mate! Like I'd get off thinking about shagging my son! What the fuck do you think I am?"

I smiled in an attempt to placate him. "I only asked, Edward! You didn't make it clear whose bum you were imagining... er... hammering away at."

"Carol's!" he called out; Carol being the anally-reluctant girlfriend. "Or yours," he added as an after-thought. "Yeah, sometimes yours."

"Aw that's so sweet," I laughed, knowing he'd be aware that I was being sarcastic.

"It helps fuel a good wank," he explained, "having a pair of dirty pants to sniff on. You can just about believe you're banging someone's backdoor for real, the stink on the back of the shorts is so similar to the smell you get when you're doing it butt-style!"

"Why Ashley's though? I mean, why don't you sniff your own briefs when you need some 'fuel'?"

His own underwear was, as I'd often remarked, rather wonderfully odorous: especially right behind his big hefty balls where the sweat from his arse-crack would make for some most stimulating sniffing. I'd spent goodness knows how long with my nose wedged in the back of his briefs, usually with Edward grinding his firm, meaty buttocks vigorously against my face.

"I dunno about you, but it's not as horny when it's your own," he replied. "There's something really sexy about someone else's smells. That's probably why I found I liked anal so much when I tried it that first time with Derek."

Derek had been the obliging cellmate. Their regular sojourns had started up after several nights of glancing over at each other struggling to masturbate in their bunks after lock-down. Perhaps inspired by the sounds of other men's furtive couplings from along the corridor, Derek had got on his bunk bending forwards on all fours and, as if further clarification were needed, had pulled down the back of his Y-fronts to expose his pale flabby arse. Edward had seized the opportunity and had tottered across to take up his place behind him, pushing his knees between his buddy's shins and lining his cock up against the thick clumps of matted hair bristling from the odorous crack that was being so generously offered.

After a few terse shoves and a good deal of grunting and gasping from Derek, the two of them had quickly developed a rapid, forceful rhythm of hips against buttocks, rutting noisily together in time with the quickening thumping of the other men on their corridor.

"So you got straight into it?" I asked. "As soon as your dick was inside him?"

"Immediately," he chuckled. "It was like it had been something I'd been desperately wanting without evening knowing about it. I figure I must have a thing about the smell of doing anal, so when I got behind Derek that very first time, the stink that my dick made sliding in and out of his bum seemed as if it had flicked a switch in my brain or something."

I smiled and nodded. He and I had an awful lot in common.

"So, yeah - that's the smell I really love when I'm whacking off," he went on. "The way a room ends up reeking when you and another fella have been at it full-whack."

"And that's what Ashley's shorts remind you of?"

"Kind of, yeah," he went on, "and yet his backdoor smell is totally different to mine or yours or anyone else's I've smelt. His pants have a stink of their own - really pungent and earthy - and that's what makes them so exciting to sniff."

He looked across at me and I nodded.

"That probably sounds grim," he laughed, flushing a little at the realisation he might have said way too much.

"Not at all," I said. "I know exactly what you mean. Jake's bum smell is very different to mine. Much stronger and more... well... vulgar, I suppose."

"I thought you said you'd never sniffed his dirty keks," Edward reminded me.

"I haven't deliberately done so," I clarified. "But like Ashley, he brings piles of laundry back with him and the smell of his dirty smalls - especially the backs - is something one can't help but be aware of."

Edward chuckled. "How do you know it's the backs?"

"Oh, come on, Edward," I smirked back. "You know I've had my face enough guys' crotches and arses to know the difference between the front and the back of a bloke's dirty undies."

Edward laughed more loudly. He knew that to be true and had probably lost count of the number of times I'd had my nose pressed into both sides of his.

"So don't you give your beef a quick bashing when you happen to get a whiff of your Jake's rear gussets?" he asked.

"I haven't as yet," I said, aware that I sounded disappointingly restrained given the intimacy of the secret Edward had just shared with me. "But on one occasion I... kind of... well..."

I hesitated before continuing, "But what I did was a lot worse than just having a sniff of my son's cast-off pants."

Edward looked over at me and grinned. "Sounds intriguing..."

I shrugged. "It's not the sort of thing I thought I'd ever tell anyone," I cautioned. "And as far as I know Jake had no idea it happened, so if I tell you, I've got to have your word that it stays that way."

Edward nodded. "Of course."

He'd never even met my son, but there was no guarantee that their paths wouldn't cross at some point.

"This has to be between just you and me," I reaffirmed.

He nodded again, his expression showing how interested he was by whatever it was I had to say.

"It happened last year," I began, "when Jake was eighteen. It was totally spontaneous - I should make that clear from the beginning. I didn't set out to do what I did - it really did just happen this way."

"I get that," Edward agreed. "I didn't go seeking out Ash's dirty boxers for wank fodder. That started out as an accident too..."

I looked over at him and he grinned, no doubt eager to hear my story but equally keen to elaborate his own.

"I got my two piles of laundry mixed up on the kitchen floor," he explained. "So I grabbed a pair of what I thought looked like clean pants and took a quick sniff without really thinking about it."

"Except they weren't clean," I suggested.

"They certainly weren't," he chuckled. "With my nose right there in the full-on stink of his arse crack, all I could think of was having a nice, hard shag of a lovely, juicy arse. My cock boned straight up and I felt an overwhelming compulsion to get it out and whack it off there and then."

"Right there in the middle of the piles of laundry?"

"Yeah - kneeling down in the middle of the kitchen with Ash right upstairs!"

I laughed, having been in a good few masturbatory predicaments of my own with my son close by.

"I beat myself off hard and fast," he continued, "grabbing more of his skiddy boxers and inhaling deeply where his arse had been. It was so fucking good - I tell you, Rob, you have no idea!"

I smiled. Actually I did and I was about to describe it to him.

"I hadn't realised that the smell of someone's cruddy pants - least of all my son's - could do it for me! My fist was literally clobbering my prick while my face was buried in his bum stink and - I kid you not - I had fucking drool dribbling from my mouth and dangling from my chin!"

"Something similar happened to me the first time I rimmed a guy," I grinned.

"I shot off really powerfully," he went on, "and it was as if my bollocks were totally out of control. I had no idea I could produce so much spunk! My hand was still bashing at my knob, making my jizz fling around and getting it all over the place. I had to wash the clean laundry again before Ash saw the white splashes covering it!"

"He didn't catch you whacking off with his boxers?" I asked.

"No," Edward grinned. "And if he had, I figure that would have been the end of it. I think the shame and the guilt would have stopped me from ever repeating the experience!"

I nodded and he urged me, "Come on, then, Rob. I've told you my secret confession - let's hear yours!"

He glanced at my bedside clock and added, "I was hoping for another go on your arse before I have to head off, so this better be horny enough to get me in the mood!"

"I don't know whether you'll find it horny or not. I'm actually quite embarrassed about what happened, although I found it extremely arousing at the time."

"As long as you end up with your nose in the back of your kid's pants, chances are I'll find it horny!"

"That's not where it ends up," I informed him. "There's rather more to it than that."

"Oh?" he asked with surprise. "So where does your nose end up?"

"I'll just tell you the story," I smiled. "You'll soon find out."

Jake and I had been to a football match up in Newcastle. We've done that for years: gone to stay over at a cheap hotel for the night so that we can go to a good match at one of the bigger grounds.

We always share a room unless he's brought a mate along. A few years ago, once he'd reached an age when morning erections were becoming a regular occurrence and he started noticing that my pyjamas were similarly tented when I got out of bed, I suggested that he could have his own room from then on. He's always insisted, though, that it's way more fun for the two of us to bunk up together so that's the arrangement we've stuck to.

The only issue we've had with sharing in recent years, is trying to conceal our masturbatory habits. After being awoken on a couple of occasions by the sounds of my son's enthusiastic fist hammering away beneath his duvet, we came to an agreement that we'd both attend to our erections in the bathroom from then on. I made it clear that neither of us should be embarrassed about our need to sexually relieve ourselves: guys need to wank off pretty regularly and that obviously applies just as readily to fathers and sons.

But just as often as we stick to our rule, we also seem to break it. Numerous times I've woken up with Jake trying to discreetly jerk one out under the cover of his hotel bedding, while I'm sure that on just as many occasions he's been aware of me doing the same. It's not easy to mask the steady beat of a quiet moment of pleasure and hotel beds seem deliberately designed to amplify every movement with their squeaky bedframes and creaking mattresses.

Sometimes we make jokes about hearing each other's hands going at it, but generally we just ignore it when we're awoken by the other's solitary rhythm. It just seems that some days the walk to the bathroom is way too much effort after one or other of us has woken up with our cocks at full-mast.

That was how it happened on this particular morning. It was early summer and the light spilling through the flimsy curtains woke me up at about half past five. The room was hot so I'd slept with only a thin bedsheet covering me, and a glance over at Jake showed him to be soundly asleep wearing just his underwear with his own sheet long since cast aside.

Needless to say, I had a raging hard-on and I didn't think it would hurt to have a sly pull of it on my bed before getting up to take a shower. I was sure Jake was in a very deep sleep: he was facing away from me but I could tell from his breathing that he was unlikely to wake up any time soon. We'd both had a few beers before turning in - a few empty cans were still strewn on his bedside table - and I knew from past experience that it would take some effort to rouse him after going to sleep tipsy.

It was safe to beat off and I intended to take full advantage of the fact.

I pushed my bedsheet to one side - within easy reach to hastily grab if my son were to suddenly wake up - and released my throbbing organ from my pyjama bottoms. I tucked the waistband underneath my large overfilled bollocks and took up a smooth, gentle rhythm up and down my stiffened shaft. For once, the bedframe was of a solid enough construction not to betray the steady vibration from the mattress on top of it, and I luxuriated in the chance to masturbate so openly with my son lying right next to me in the small hotel room.

It was a very pleasant wank, I have to admit. The birds were singing their early morning songs in the trees outside the window and the brightening light from the rising sun diffusing through the curtains created a warm and peaceful atmosphere to help me on my way.

I thought about the girl who'd checked us in at the front desk the night before. Her lovely round breasts had jostled alluringly against each other through the unbuttoned top of her blouse as I'd signed the paperwork, and her nice smooth legs had looked long and intriguing when she'd bent down at the cabinet behind her to retrieve our key.

I imagined her wearing pink lacy panties and for me to be kneeling down behind her with my face between her perfect thighs. To be sniffing at her warm, wet pussy; to be leaning forwards to lick it as its plump lips became inflamed.

That was nice. That was very nice.

I moved on to think about the young lad who'd emerged from the back office and wished he had bent down too. I'd noticed he had an amazingly pert arse sticking out from the seat of his dark grey trousers and that they were such a tight fit that the back of his briefs was plainly visible through them. How great would it be to stick my face up close between his cheeks and sniff at the whiffy hemline that had worked up between his incredible buttocks? To peel his trousers and underwear down and to ease my hot wet tongue slowly and firmly into his moist hairy crack?

A girl's fragrant pussy or a boy's stinky arsehole: what a wonderful choice to be presented with!

My hand swept more rapidly up and down my grateful shaft. This was a much-needed wank as I hadn't had time to attend to myself the day before. There'd been the non-stop rush of breakfast then work, and then the frantic loading up of the car followed by the drive up to Newcastle. After we'd checked into the hotel, the two of us had slumped out on our beds watching telly and by lights-out I'd been far too tired to have to stagger over to the bathroom to assuage my erection behind the locked door.

So this was something I really needed and I took the time to savour it.

I imagined the girl perched open-legged on top of the reception desk, still wearing her hotel uniform but with her panties pulled off and thrown aside. My cock was sliding in and out of her, my hips steadily thrusting with the same rhythm as my hand kneading my shaft, while the boy was standing on the desk facing away from me with his trousers hitched down around his muscular thighs.

The receptionist was sucking his long, thin hard-on as I gently fucked her and I was leaning forwards to lick the powerfully pungent trench nestling between his smooth solid cheeks. This was a hell of a position to imagine myself in: feeling the silky moist sumptuousness of a pussy around my erection while my face was pressed into the coarse wiry stink of another man's bum.

If only I could try it out for real! But I knew that there was no way that Debbie - my on-off girlfriend - would ever entertain even the suggestion of something so debauched.

I looked over at Jake as my hand sped up further up and down my swollen organ. He was still lying on his front facing away from me and the depth and the calmness of his slow, steady breathing proved that he was still soundly asleep. I happened to glance at his butt pressing outwards against the blue material of his boxer trunks. It looked attractive - quite arousing, actually - and I allowed my gaze to rest on it for a few enjoyable moments as my hand kept pumping at my cock and my thoughts remained firmly wedged between the hotel guy's cheeks.

After wresting my eyes away from my son's behind, I pushed the fingers of my free hand underneath the waistband of my pyjamas and between my sweaty legs. I teased my moist, puckered arsehole with a few firm, circular motions and then gently eased the top of my middle finger into the tight muscular ring. I drove it in and out a few times, hoping to smear on it at least a suggestion of the smell I was fantasising about.

Bringing my hand up to my nose, I took a few hungry sniffs of my discoloured fingertip but the effect on my cock was disappointing. The whiff of my own bum just wasn't doing it for me.