I knew very little about gay men before I met Martin. It never occurred to me that two guys might actually settle down into a serious, committed and monogamous life-style. As I understood it way back then, all gay guys were effeminate and wildly promiscuous. I didn't much care what they did. It had no effect upon me and I certainly had no intention of entering their world - ever.

Now, with my thirty-first birthday on the horizon, I had shared a bed and a loving relationship with the same guy for several years. And, to the best of my knowledge, it had been an exclusive relationship, with neither Martin nor I having betrayed the trust between us.

In our first year or so together, I had his permission to screw an occasional woman if I felt the need, but eventually I came to recognise that my every sexual need was already being satisfied. I still hesitated to identify as being 100% gay but I had no difficulty in identifying myself as being 100% committed to Martin.

But, even in the best of relationships, it should be noted that variety is the spice of life. Over time, my partner and I had embraced activities that I would have rejected flatly when we first met. I now had no problem in performing oral on him and swallowing his load. I now enjoyed it when he rimmed my arse-hole with his incredibly talented tongue. I didn't think the time would ever come when I could allow Martin to penetrate me, but he assured me he prefers the passive role anyway.

Variety came our way in the guise of a guy named Joseph - or Joe for short.

I have already explained that Martin works part-time as a counsellor for a foundation that assists people troubled by their sexuality. These people can be any age really - though most tend to be in their teens or twenties - and they cover the entire spectrum; lesbian, gay, bisexual, transsexual, you name it.

A good counsellor should never let the boundaries become blurred; should never become overly involved with a particular person. Now, Martin is a good counsellor. Of that, I was sure. But there came a time when I noticed that he was growing somewhat preoccupied with a guy he was trying to mentor.

Every time he came back from work, he would tell me more and more about this Joseph character. I listened to endless comments about Joe and his dilemma. This didn't lead to feelings of jealousy on my part. Instead, I began to feel as sorry for the guy as Martin was.

Joe had entered a seminary immediately after completing high school. His family was devoutly Catholic. He had aunts, uncles and cousins who were priests or nuns and he had decided very early in life that he wanted to follow in their footsteps. This made his parents very proud and happy.

A few years into his studies, and just as he was about to enter the priesthood, Joe realised that he was homosexual. A priest made advances towards him at a week-long retreat and Joe did not resist. In fact, he enjoyed it. Suddenly, his vocation and his worthiness were highly questionable.

Like any other guy, he had experienced the odd wet dream and even jerked himself off occasionally. He'd always confessed these minor sins and received absolution. But, when he confessed to having allowed a priest to perform oral sex on him, when he confessed to having returned the favour, Joe was moved to another diocese and advised that he must suppress his sexuality.

Nothing happened to the other guy. He was already an ordained priest and probably already a protected species so far as the church was concerned.

But Joe found he could not easily suppress his feelings. He felt he'd be living a lie if he continued to live a celibate life. He knew that he wanted to yield to his sexuality rather than yield to the church's teachings. So - in his mid-thirties - Joe left; threw it all in and tried to resume life in the outside world. His parents and siblings were appalled, especially when he told them why. It was not long before he entered into a downward spiral of depression and even thoughts of suicide. He felt like a pariah, a leper.

No wonder Martin identified so strongly with this guy. Joe's experiences were eerily similar to what Martin had endured. Both had become outcasts; one from a Jewish family and the other from a Catholic one. Both knew they were homosexual and incapable of changing or ignoring it. But Martin had possessed the strength and ability to survive and flourish; he had also had the good fortune of being independently wealthy. Joe, on the other hand, was floundering and becoming increasingly unwell mentally.

It all came to a head on the night Martin came home looking very down in the dumps and weary. Over dinner, he told me that Joe was sleeping rough, moving from overnight shelter to overnight shelter and even sleeping in doorways and laneways when there were no beds at the refuges.

'Why not invite him to stay with us for a while?' I said. 'Give him a bit of stability for a while until he finds permanent accommodation.'

'You wouldn't mind?' Martin asked.

'Of course not. What's to mind? I'm not suggesting he stay with us forever. Just until he - or we - can get his act together.'

'You know it's against the rules, don't you?' he enquired. 'We're not supposed to fraternise with clients. It's unprofessional. It may be unwise too.'

'Well, I'm not bound by any silly rules' I said. 'I'm not part of the Rainbow Foundation. If anyone kicks up a fuss, he'll be here at my invitation. They can't stop me from doing a guy a good turn.'

And so, a few days later, Joe came to stay with us for a while. The invitation was open-ended. We didn't specify any particular length of stay - just an offer of a secure bed until he got himself sorted.

Our house-guest was in an awful state when he first arrived. He smelled bad; his hair was all greasy; he was unshaven and he had dark circles under his eyes. Having shown him his room, Martin excused himself and went to prepare lunch for us all.

The spare bedroom had a small en-suite bathroom and I suggested that Joe take a shower while I found him some clean clothes. He'd arrived with no luggage and it seemed he had only the clothes he was wearing. No wonder he smelled bad.

Now Joe's build was about mid-way between Martin's and my own. Shorter than me but taller than Martin. More solid than me but more slender than Martin. I figured it best he inherit a shirt or two from Martin - my own would be too small - and that I let him have an old pair of jeans I seldom wore. They might be a bit tight in the waist but at least they wouldn't be too short in the leg.

I also grabbed a couple of my own underpants for him to wear. Martin's shorts might have fitted better but then Martin has really daggy taste in underwear. Even a pauper would despise them!

I tapped at the bedroom door once I heard the shower stop. Joe had a towel around his waist. I was somewhat surprised by how hairy the guy was - I'm not really into abundant chest, shoulders and back hair - but at least he looked and smelled a lot better.

He asked if he could have a shave. I put a selection of clothes on the bed, told him to choose what he'd like to wear, and went off to get him a disposable razor. In my opinion, what he really needed was a lawnmower! When I returned he was at the bathroom hand-basin, soaping up his chin and neck.

While he shaved, I sat on his bed in the adjoining room and tried to make conversation with him. It was very hard going. All I got were a few grunts and the occasional yeah. So I gave up and went to help Martin in the kitchen.

'How's he doing?' Martin asked.

'Seems OK' I said. 'Not the best conversationalist I've ever met. I might as well have spoken in Norwegian for all the words I got out of him.'

'Don't forget he's not well. And he's probably feeling ill-at-ease too. You're a complete stranger to him and he's not used to company. He's probably a bit bewildered at first. I don't think he's accustomed to kindness.'

When Joseph joined us at the dining table, he was considerably transformed. While not exactly handsome, he had an agreeably rugged face with good teeth and fine brown eyes. His dark hair was still damp and his cheeks were flushed from the heat of the shower.

He thanked me for the clothes but said he wouldn't need the underwear as he never wore shorts or briefs. He asked if we had a washing machine, saying he'd wash out his own clothes and return the stuff we'd lent him. Having noticed the urine stains on his discarded trousers, I wanted to suggest that underwear might be a good thing and that his old clothes should be jettisoned forever, but, having received a warning glance from Martin - I swear that man could read my mind - I held my tongue.

Over the coming days and weeks, Joe came further alive with each successive day. He was still very quiet and disinclined to talk about himself, but he was visibly improved by a regime of food, safety and plenty of sleep. An occasional smile crossed his face and he even laughed once or twice at Martin's silly jokes.

I left it entirely to Martin to map out Joseph's next steps - finding work, saving to rent his own place, all the things needed to rebuild a life. I saw my role as being supportive, friendly and accepting. My partner was the expert at helping people. I didn't think it would help for me to dabble and perhaps do more harm than good.

That said, I guess Joe spent more time with me than he did with Martin. With me, he went to the gym and the pool. We also played a few rounds of golf together. He was a far more natural sportsman than Martin so I enjoyed some real competition for a change. We were companionable enough but then I was careful never to attempt deep and meaningful conversation.

Most nights, Joe and Martin would linger over the dinner table while I cleaned up and made coffee. This gave them an opportunity to discuss Joseph's progress and plans. If they were obviously engrossed in discussion, I went through to the lounge and watched a DVD or listened to music.

Late one evening, after a highly pleasurable fuck, Martin asked me for an opinion on Joe.

'He's a nice enough guy' I said. 'A bit too quiet for my liking but I guess that's inevitable for a while. I guess that's part of being depressed.'

'Mmm' was Martin's reply. 'So you don't fancy him at all?'

'Of course not' I protested, raising myself up onto one elbow. 'If you think I'm having it off with him, then you're way off course.'

I felt highly indignant. Almost angry.

Martin reached out one hand and drew me back against his chest.

'Of course I don't think you've been up to anything. I'm sorry, babe. That came out wrong. What I'm trying to ask is whether you think he's an attractive guy. That's all. He hasn't a clue how to exercise his new-found sexual freedom and I'm wondering whether you think other men might find him attractive.'

'Oh' I said. 'Well, you know you're the only guy who rings my bell but I'd say he's a nice-looking guy. I think he'd have no problem attracting another guy if he really wanted to, if he made an effort to do so.'

Martin absorbed my comments and then surprised me with another question.

'He's not circumcised, is he?'

'What does that have to do with anything?' I protested. 'You make him sound like some stud you plan to take to market.'

Martin laughed and reminded me that foreskins are a lifelong passion of his. As if I really needed reminding. The man is obsessed with foreskin. I sometimes feel he sees that as my chief attraction!

'So' said Martin.

'So what?'

'Is he cut or not? You've seen him in the showers at the gym.'

'Martin, I don't use the showers in order to check out other guys' junk. I use them to wash myself. And then I leave.'

'But you can't say you haven't noticed' he said. 'I know you don't see naked men as a smorgasbord, but you can't tell me you notice absolutely nothing while you're surrounded by wall-to-wall men with their assets on display.'

I decided to tease Martin. I really wasn't comfortable with his question. I regarded Joe as someone we were caring for. I didn't see the relevance of his genitals.

'Why not ask him yourself?' I said. 'I'm tired.'

And then I gave Martin a quick kiss and turned over to go to sleep.

'Andy Tait, you are so mean' he protested.

But I pretended to be already asleep.

Next morning, I could tell that Martin was still keen to get an answer to his question but I turned a deaf ear. Eventually, I reminded him that he always claimed he could tell just by checking out a guy's basket. And that's the way I left things. Joe joined us at the kitchen table so the topic had to be abandoned anyway.

A day or so later, I went to the gym alone for a solid work-out and a long leisurely swim. I don't think I returned home any differently to the way I usually do. I pulled up in the driveway and entered via the front door, but perhaps I was quieter than usual. I don't know. What I do know is that neither Joe nor Martin heard me arrive.

Usually I would be greeted by the smell of whatever was cooking in the kitchen. Usually I found Martin there, preparing something delicious for dinner. Back then, Joe might often be found reading a book on the back deck or in his bedroom. But this particular afternoon, there was no one in sight anywhere.

Joe's bedroom door was closed. That was unusual. I knocked and called out to him. No reply so I turned the doorknob and walked in.

It was a shock to all three of us I think. Martin and Joe were on the bed, naked. One of them - Martin I think - was hastily sitting up and about to stand. Both of them wore a guilty expression. And I'm sure my own expression was quite a sight too. I suppose my jaw dropped. I suppose my face went pale too; a contrast to the redness staining the faces of the men I'd interrupted.

'Excuse me' I said. 'Sorry to interrupt.' And I closed the door and left.

I reopened it a second later.

'In case you've missed it, Martin - he's uncut.'

And then I closed the door again and headed for my car.

I must have driven for hours. I didn't head in any particular direction. I lost all track of time. After a while I even ceased to think. I'd covered the first few miles with my head reeling. My mind kept providing me with instant replays of the two men on Joe's bed.

I repeatedly told myself how stupid I'd been. How blind to the possibilities. How trusting and naive. I grew so weary of these thoughts and images that I purposely made my mind blank. Only when the fuel warning light came on did I come back to reality.

I pulled into a gas station and realised that I was well over a hundred miles from home. I filled the car up and grabbed some prepacked sandwiches and a coffee to go. A short distance down the road, I pulled up to eat, drink and think what to do next.

When I took stock of my thoughts, it became clear that I wasn't really angry. I wasn't filled with rage. I was just incredibly sad. I also noticed that I was shivering with cold even though it was a mild evening. I think I was in shock.

I decided to turn back and head home. I had no idea what to do when I got there, but I was damned if I was going to check into a motel when there was a perfectly good bed at home. Whether I'd be sharing that bed was another matter.

As I passed the gas station once more, I noticed a young guy standing outside thumbing a ride. I decided to stop for him, winding down a window to ask where he was heading. It turned out his destination was just beyond my home town so I told him I'd get him almost all the way there.

It was a relief to have company. It forced me to converse normally.

'Mighty nice of you to give me a ride' the young guy said.

'No problem' I replied. 'I'm just cruising around aimlessly. I just felt a need to go for a long drive. I might as well take you all the way. It's no bother.'

We chatted in a desultory manner. I gathered he'd had a fight at home and was headed for a weekend in the big city. At the next truck-stop, I pulled over because I needed to use the men's room. One look inside and I decided to piss in some nearby bushes instead. The place was crawling with guys on the look-out for sex. Some were actually having sex.

When I returned to my vehicle, my passenger commented on the men's room.

'Wild place, huh?' he said.

'Yep' I replied. 'Not my scene at all.'

'You hate faggots?' he asked.

'No. No, I don't hate faggots. I just think sex should be a private thing. Whether you're gay or straight, you don't have to fuck in a public rest room.'

I drove on and we lapsed into a comfortable silence. As we got closer to our destination, my passenger spoke again.

'I'd sure like to do something to repay you for your kindness.'

I was about to tell him there was no need when I felt his hand on my knee. I was startled but said nothing. I let his hand inch further up my leg, sliding along my thigh and coming to rest at my crotch. I felt a fingernail scratching where my balls rested. Then his entire hand took over and started kneading at my scrotum.

We were passing by my local beach when he suggested I pull over and park for a while. I did as he suggested. When the motor had ceased its thrumming, I took off my seat belt and put my chair into the recline position. I lay back with my eyes closed.

I heard him unfasten his own seat belt and then I felt his hands undoing my belt and unzipping my fly. I raised my hips slightly to allow him to lower my jeans and shorts. And then I surrendered to an insistent mouth and the exquisite sensation.

It didn't take long. Maybe some spark of anger fired up in me. Maybe I thought I was getting my revenge on Martin. Maybe this guy was just incredibly good at giving head. Whatever the reason, I soon reached the point where my load was imminent. I warned him, but he kept me in his mouth and kept on moving his head up and down.

When I shot that load, I knew it was a considerable one. It seemed to last forever and I was only dimly aware of the noises he made as he swallowed it all.

And that was it. No words were spoken. There were no hugs or kisses. I made no attempt to touch him; no attempt to hold his dick or jerk him off. And he didn't seem to expect me to do anything. I guessed he might often do this in order to pay for a ride. Maybe he frequented the truck stop where all those guys were cruising. Anyway, I tidied myself up, raised my seat-back and hit the road once more.

Less than ten minutes later, we reached the point where he wanted to be dropped off. It was another gas station. When he got out of the car, I had my first opportunity to check him out in a good light. I could see he was about eighteen or nineteen; blond, thin and pleasant-looking in a country-boy sort of way. Before he walked away, he told me he'd be at the same gas station on Sunday night looking for a ride home. I smiled and ignored the hint.

As I drove away, it suddenly hit me that I didn't know this boy's name. I'd just allowed a complete stranger to suck my cock as "payment" for a ride. Suddenly, I no longer felt I occupied any moral high-ground over Martin and Joseph. I had a better understanding of how easily any one of us can lapse.

But I wasn't about to go home immediately and be forgiving. No. I felt reckless. I felt a need to sin to the max. I wanted to wallow in sleaze for a while. What happened earlier - the blow job at the beach - was completely unexpected and unplanned.

Now, I felt a strong urge to deliberately connect sexually with someone other than Martin. Maybe I thought of it as his punishment. Maybe I just wanted to get even.

I turned the car around. The boy was still standing outside the gas station. I pulled up alongside and beckoned him to get in.

'Where are you planning to stay?' I asked.

'Anywhere I can find' was his reply. 'I might find someone who'll let me crash on their couch.'

'Stick with me, kid' I said. 'I'm going to get a motel room for the weekend. And you're welcome to share.'

He smiled and nodded assent.

'I'm Andrew, by the way. What's your name, son?'

'Matthew' he replied. 'But people call me Matt.' Once more his hand was on my knee.

'You got plans for the weekend, Andrew?'

'Move your hand up a little further and we'll make some plans together' I replied.

Having topped up with gas again, I drove to a really cheap motel in the next county. I figured a cheap joint was less likely to ask questions about the kid in the car and the fact that I was paying for a room with just one bed in it.

I paid cash up front for two nights' occupancy and I used a false name. The night clerk gave me a knowing grin.

'You want anything else?' he asked as he handed over the room-key.

'Like what?'

'I could arrange for a couple of broads to call by' he suggested.

'No thanks. We've been on the road for almost twenty-four hours solid. My kid brother and I just want to crash.'

I'm sure he wasn't fooled for a moment. I pushed a few more notes into his hand and requested that we not be disturbed till check-out time on Sunday. He winked and agreed.

I asked where the nearest drug store was. He didn't reply. He just opened up a drawer behind the counter and produced a pack of Trojans. I took them.

'Lube?' I asked.

A few more dollars changed hands and I had a small tube of lubricant.

'Enjoy' he smirked as I left and headed back to the car.

I felt furtive as I drove away to park outside the room we'd been allocated.

It wasn't the worst place I'd ever stayed. The decor was basic - worn carpet, two shabby armchairs, a hideous print on one wall and a badly stained shower - but it would do. At least the bed looked comfy and clean. I checked under the mattress and pulled back the covers. No wild-life was visible.

'Time to hit the shower' I told Matt. 'I'll go first if it's OK with you.'

He nodded. He was busy with the remote, trying to get a decent picture on the decrepit television.

As I showered, I wondered if I'd misread my companion. Was he really up for a weekend in bed? Did he only have sex with guys in order to get a ride or did he actually prefer having sex with guys? And how old was he? I hoped he was at least eighteen. He looked young. What if he was a minor?

I turned off the water, draped a towel around my waist and called out to Matt.

He entered the bathroom already naked. His dick was erect and bobbing against his perfectly flat abs. He was smiling and looked incredibly young.

'How old are you, Matt?' I asked.

'I know I look younger, but I actually just turned twenty-one' he replied.

He reached out a hand to touch the hard-on that was developing under my towel.

'So you can relax, Andrew. I'm not jail-bait. I'm legal.'

His hand kept moving across me and the towel fell to the floor. He bent down and took my cock into his mouth for a moment.

'You're not only legal, Matt. You're good.' I replied. 'Don't be too long in the shower. I have plans for you.'

I've got to say it. Matt was a fucking revelation that first night. I'd been thinking he was just a kid; a boy experimenting with all life's possibilities. Someone with limited experience. I was wrong. That kid knew every trick in the book. And then some.

He had a nice body. Slim and tapering to narrow hips. He had what Martin would call a "bubble-butt". Like me, he had no body hair other than blond tufts at each armpit and at his groin. His balls were of average size I guess. They didn't hang low but they weren't tucked up tight against him either.

It was his dick that surprised me most. It wasn't super-long. It was around six inches or so. Perhaps a half-inch more. But it was incredibly thick, particularly at the base. From there it tapered somewhat before flaring out again at the tip. The knob was huge and his foreskin retracted completely when he was fully hard.

In bed for the very first time, we hugged briefly before grazing each other's bodies. When in the sixty-nine position, I had difficulty in enveloping his cock completely. It was just so thick. My jaw ached with the effort. The only dick I'd ever sucked before was Martin's, and his dick was on the slim side.

Matt, on the other hand, had no difficulty in deep-throating me and - as I felt his throat muscles squeezing rhythmically - I appreciated that this kid was no novice at cock-sucking.

It was established that he liked to be fucked. He mentioned that he'd never before had a dick as big as mine up his arse.

'I'm sure there are bigger ones out there' I replied.

'Must be at least ten inches' he replied.

'Yeah, but yours is really thick, son. I bet you've made a few people very happy with that fat little feller.'

'Guess so' he said. 'But I really prefer taking it. I only give it if a guy insists.'

I decided not to enquire about his sexual history. If he was an absolute slut, I didn't want to know about it. I just grew more determined to use condoms. When we were ready for the first fuck of the night, Matt suggested that a condom wasn't necessary.

'I'm clean' he said.

'Maybe so, but maybe I'm not. It's to protect both of us.'

I applied plenty of lube to myself and handed him the tube so he could put some in his ass-hole. After that was done, I raised his legs to rest on my shoulders and positioned myself to enter him.

My intention was to move slowly. After all, he did say my dick would be the biggest he'd ever taken. But he reached out and pulled me towards him urgently.

'Slam it into me' he begged. 'All the way. Hard. Now.'

So I did. Instead of starting slow and building to a crescendo, I went at him like a jack-hammer. Once we'd established a synchronicity of movement, I began to withdraw fully at each stroke before plunging deep inside him once more.

His arse was tight. Far tighter than Martin's. Each time I thrust inside I could feel the resistance of his chute-walls. It was an exciting effort to make them part and allow my cock to journey onwards.

When I was really close to ejaculating, Matt began to flail at his own dick. I was hopeful that we might reach the finish line together but he beat me to it.

He let out a loud wail as the cum jetted out of him. It flew well beyond his torso, landing mostly on his shoulders, face, the pillows and the bed-head.

At the sight of this - with his sphincter muscle like a steel clamp around my raging cock - I somehow forced my way into him as deeply as possible and felt the surge of cum erupt into the latex encasing my dick.

But I was wrong about being encased in latex. When I withdrew, the condom was in shreds. At some stage it had burst asunder. As I mentioned earlier, Matt's ass was amazingly tight. And I'd been extremely vigorous too. I guess there is a limit to the resilience of even the best quality condoms.

But Trojans had never let me down before, and this one - when I checked the discarded wrapper - was almost three years out of date. No wonder the desk clerk had smirked as he handed them over.

Matt laughed when I showed him the pathetic remnants of my safe-sex plan. There was just the retention ring and a few shreds dangling from it. The rest was lodged inside him. He managed to expel it when he visited the bathroom.

'Not much use bothering with condoms now' he commented.

'Perhaps not' I said. 'I guess that horse has bolted.'

After showering once more, Matt and I watched a dreary old western on TV for a while. It was total crap so I voiced no objection when he started to fondle my balls and stroke my rapidly-hardening cock.

'I love your dick' he said. 'It's plenty big - and it hurts a bit when you bang all the way in - but it's a nice pain. And then I get used to it and I feel fucked to the max.'

I could think of no response to this. I'm not really into inflicting pain, but I'd been enjoying this kid's ass and I've never been interested in anything less than full penetration.

The fondling and stroking continued. My cock-head nodded against my navel. It had a tear in its eye.

'You're going to wear me out' I joked. 'You should take pity on an elderly man.'

'You're not old' he retorted. 'I'd say twenty-six, twenty-seven. Right?'

'Kind of you' I said. 'But I'll soon be thirty-one. Almost old enough to be a dirty old man.'

'I like older guys best' Matt informed me.

I didn't seek any further information. I didn't want to learn how old some of his casual men-friends had been. I didn't want to know the details. I just wanted to fuck him again. If ten thousand other guys had been where I was heading, then they'd left no mark. This boy's arse was as tight as a mouse's ear. And I was eager to ravage it once more.

This time we went doggy-style. It was just as furious as our first fuck. It was totally animalistic. Matt wanted it hard and deep so I savaged him, plunging in and out so fast you could hear whooshing noises each time I withdrew momentarily.

We moved so I could enter from a different angle; so the ridge of my glans would hit his prostate with each stroke. I bucked and thrashed myself against him. It felt more like rape than consensual sex.

Matt was practically howling towards the end. I couldn't be sure whether it was pain or pleasure for him. And I didn't care. He wanted it rough. I gave him my rough-deluxe!

As my unprotected cock spurted deep inside him, I reached around to jerk Matt's dick. I felt it pulsate when his jizz exploded across the bed. And I also felt some pain myself as his sphincter tried to separate my cock from my body.

Afterwards, surveying our cum-splattered bed, I told Matt how I'd pretended he was my kid brother when checking in.

'Lots of brotherly love here' he joked, pointing to a glob of cum attached to the bed-head.

'It's OK. The clerk didn't believe me anyway.'

We didn't bother hitting the shower again. Showering demanded more energy than we could summon. Instead, we fell asleep. For the first time in my life, a head other than Martin's was resting against my chest. I wanted to worry about what I was doing, but I was too tired to bother.

Just as I drifted into unconsciousness, I felt Matt stir. He placed a soft kiss on my chest. It was the first kiss between us. It felt good.


Andrew Tait

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