I looked at myself in the hotel mirror over the sink. Jesus, I looked like shit tonight.

I'd be turning forty soon and yet I looked about sixty. Maybe that was something to do with all the times I'd been thrown out by my wife these last few years.

This time it's happened just before Christmas which isn't exactly conducive to a fresh, youthful complexion.

My dad is due to arrive on the 23rd to stay with the happy family. That will have to be cancelled.

"I'm spending Christmas in a Travel Lodge," I'll tell him over the phone. "She caught me in bed with someone. It's not the first time, dad."

He'll no doubt ask who the other woman had been and I'll tell him it had actually been another man. Just like all the other times. Different men, the same outcome: hastily packing a suitcase and fucking off for a few nights to sleep in the joyless forty-quid-a-night hotel out on the motorway junction.

That'll be an interesting father and son conversation.

But more worrying, this time Melissa had said our marriage was over. There was to be no going back. She said she'd file for custody of our two kids and that we'd split the house up "fair and square" as she'd put it.

Fair and square meant she'd be out to get every last penny she could. She'd cite adultery, of course, and throw in other grounds like emotional cruelty and any other stuff that her solicitor could dredge up, and she'd be out for a good slice of my savings and investments and whatever else she could get her vengeful hands on.

I went back into the bedroom and grabbed my phone to call Darren.

It was funny that, even though I'd been seeing him for nearly eight years, Melissa had never once caught me with Darren. The blokes she'd walked in on me playing about with had always just been random, meaningless pickups I'd made when I'd thought she was out for the night. The sort of men I used to hook-up with in laybys and public toilets and other out-of-the-way places, but who I'd started bringing home after a close-call with the police.

The first night she'd caught me had happened because of a cancelled night class at our local college. After I'd moved out, been grudgingly forgiven and then moved back in again, I'd noticed she started coming home at unpredictable times as if she suspected I was still getting up to stuff with other guys behind her back.

Which I was. Obviously. And it was just a matter of time before she caught me again.

Darren picked up.

"Y'alright, Seb?" he drawled, his voice deep and at once reassuring.

"Not really. She's kicked me out again."

He chuckled. I always phone him when I've landed up at the Travel Lodge.

"So did she catch you ball-deep again?" he asked.

"Actually, this time I heard her car engine when she pulled into the drive. We got dressed as quickly as we could, but it had been pretty obvious what the two of us had been up to."

"This bedroom stinks of cock and bum," was how Melissa had put it after she'd rushed upstairs to barge in through the door.

She has a sense of smell as keen as a sniffer dog's. She can smell a fart before it's out, or so my dad had once observed.

"I don't know what you mean," I'd stammered, seeing Patrick, my companion for the evening, blush as he hastily yanked his shoes on.

"I mean I can smell that you've had your dick up his arse, or he's had his up yours. The condoms and lube on your bedside table aren't exactly subtle clues either."

"Look, I'd better go," Patrick muttered, standing up.

Two minutes earlier we'd been in ecstasy together. My arms had been tight around his stomach and my chest had been wet against his back. Our two swinging pairs of bollocks had been thumping together between our legs as we'd heaved our big solid bodies against each other. He'd turned to me, grinning at me over his shoulder, and I'd planted a deep, passionate kiss in his mouth as I'd thrust as hard as I could up into the heat of his rectum.

I'd planned to climax inside him, then let him have his turn on me, and hoped we'd shower together and perhaps share a bottle of wine downstairs, before I'd show him out by about ten o'clock to give half an hour's tidy-up time before Melissa was due in.

But it hadn't even been eight when he'd grabbed his coat and I'd opened the front door for him. Our cocks might be withered but our balls were still full of our cum, and it was a pity that it was unlikely we'd ever meet up again to finish off what we'd so successfully started.

Darren turned up at the hotel, like he always did, smiled affectionately when he saw how awful I looked and then came over and kissed me, giving me a strong, lingering hug.

"She says it's over this time," I told him.

"Might be for the best, mate," he nodded, his thick Yorkshire accent sounding rich and delicious.

"It's the kids," I said. "She wants custody."

"'Course she does," he shrugged. "And maybe that'll work out for the best too, Seb."

"How can it work out for the best? I'll hardly get to see them."

"She has to give you fair access, bud. And - think of this way - you're always sayin' you don't get enough time to spend with them... maybe havin' certain times when you have to see them will force you to give them the time you want to..."

I smiled at him. He was trying to cheer me up. And that was how it should be: he was the closest thing I had to a 'boyfriend'.

Darren had started out as one of my random hook-ups. He'd worked in a hardware store and I'd thought he was cruising me in the shop toilets. It turned out that he was actually trying to pee and had been put off by having a perv like me staring over at him. But that hadn't made him averse to playing around with me after closing time once I'd agreed to give his shop-boy earnings a very substantial boost.

We'd started meeting up regularly and, in spite of our different backgrounds, it turned out that we got on very well. He'd stopped taking money off me for sex and instead I'd nurtured in him a liking for expensive gifts, including a rather stunning Rolex watch I'd bought him for his twenty-first birthday. When he'd finally figured out what he wanted to do with his life, I'd helped to pay him through college so he could get a diploma in horticulture.

He has his own business now and a long-term girlfriend with a kid on the way, but we still meet up regularly and I like to make sure he has no money worries.

If Melissa ever gets her hands on my bank statements, I know full well that the amount of my GP salary that I'd spent on young Mr Perkins over the years would be used as yet another nail in my courtroom coffin.

"Can you stay over with me?" I asked him.

He looked at the watch which had been my gift. "I reckon yeah, but I better call Karen," he replied.

Karen is the girlfriend. Unlike Melissa, she never questions Darren's interest in spending so much time with another man. He told her that we're mates - mates with a ten year age difference who stay over with each other in cheap hotels - and she seems to accept that. No questions, no worries.

Perhaps she has no imagination or is utterly stupid. Or perhaps she knows she's onto a good ticket being the female partner in his double life and is happy to play along while his landscape gardening work continues to bring steady cash in.

Pity I hadn't chosen a wife like that. I wouldn't be sitting here now wondering by how much my savings were going to get screwed over.

He nipped outside to call Karen from the corridor. For some reason he doesn't like me to hear him talk to her. I know she expects him to say 'love you' over and over before he ends the call, so maybe it's that he doesn't want me to hear.

He doesn't say 'love you' to me and I don't say 'love you' to him. We're not that kind of lovers. We don't even buy Valentines cards to give to each other.

We're the kind of lovers who have sex and look out for each other. I keep his bank balance healthy when things don't work out for him, and he makes sure he's always there for me when I need him like I did right now.

It wasn't always sex and sympathy that Darren served up, though. I'd had a problem a couple of years ago with a hook-up who'd got too clingy and the guy had started hanging around the car park at the surgery I was working at back then. The bloke was turning nasty at my lack of interest in commitment, and the threats and abuse were becoming serious. I had a word with Darren and that was the end of it. I don't know what he did but he has a few choice mates who can be very persuasive.

He came back into the room. "Yeah, I can stop over. Do you want me to nip out and bring us some bevvies back? Help drown your sorrows..."

I nodded and smiled. "That would be nice."

"Don't suppose yer've got twenty quid knockin' around, have you?"

I chuckled. "There's about a hundred in my wallet. Take whatever you need."

Darren grinned. "You're the best, mate."

I suppose that's his way of saying 'love you' to me.

While he was out, I unpacked my stuff and made the room more homely since it was highly probable I was going to end up living in it over Christmas. It would take a few weeks before I could find somewhere decent to rent, especially with the holidays coming up and all the letting agencies being closed for days at a time.

In spite of how upset I felt, I hoped that Darren would want to have sex with me once we'd had a few drinks together. My cock was still disappointed from having been withdrawn so abruptly from Patrick's cosy rump and my balls felt full and heavy in the briefs I'd hastily pulled back on.

The problem was - and it was a problem that had blighted our otherwise satisfying relationship right from the start - Darren doesn't like anal. He doesn't like taking it up him and, perhaps more surprisingly for a guy who calls himself 'mainly straight', he sure as hell doesn't like dishing it out.

We've tried it every which way and with every possible means of making it more comfortable for him. But he says he just doesn't enjoy the bummier aspects of gay sex and prefers instead that we focus our attentions on each other's cocks.

He calls it frot - he found the name on some website made by gay guys who share his aversion of involving the exhaust pipe in their sex - and the vast, vast majority of times, that's how we make love.

I guess that's why I seek out other men for fun. I find anal sex with other men exhilaratingly erotic and, for me, it is very important that I get to penetrate whoever my companion is. I'm very much a top when it comes to man-on-man action and, while I do enjoy some of the dick-rubbing and ear-nibbling stuff, I feel a bit short-changed by the end of the evening I haven't got to finish off up the other bloke's bum.

That's not to say that Darren and I never have anal when we're having sex. Occasionally - very occasionally - he'll let me fuck him as a special treat. Like when I've been 'a good boy', such as when I had him fitted out with an Armani suit to be the best man at his mate's wedding. Or when it was my birthday and he'd forgotten to get me anything.

And even more infrequently, he'll want to fuck me which I also enjoy. One night, many years ago, when he was rat-arse drunk and was raised to full-mast when we'd got into bed, he'd surprised me by rolling me over and giving me an especially energetic shagging. I'd been so turned-on that I'd blown my nut without even touching myself.

But that sort of thing is very rare. I could count on one hand the number of times his dick has pushed its way up my eager tush.

Which is strange because, once he's up there and into it, he always seems to love doing his thing on my back. He's quickly sweating onto my shoulder blades and panting against my neck, and invariably has an especially powerful orgasm with his cock deeply rammed right up inside me.

As I arranged my toiletries on the shelf in the bathroom, I figured that if there was any sex tonight, Darren would insist it was frot. I hadn't been a good boy - quite the reverse - and now that Karen was serving up sex on demand, he never gets horny or desperate enough to ask me to bend over for him.

We'd kneel on the bed in front of each other and one of us - him probably - would hold our cocks firmly together. Then we'd both thrust ourselves up into the tube made by his fingers and thumb, working the undersides of our manhoods against each other as we humped in unison inside the grip of his hand.

"This is proper bloke sex," he'd told me the time we'd first tried it. "We're not pretendin' like one of our arses is a minge... we're not doin' it like one of us is the man and one's the woman..."

"Hmm... I dunno..." I'd said, several light years from being convinced.

"We both mainly get pleasure from our cocks, right?" he'd asked, no doubt recalling the hogwash on that website he'd found so inspiring. "Well, this way we both get off at the same time and we're doin' it in a way that only two fellas can."

I knew what he was saying - that anal sex between two men is basically a second-rate simulation of straight vaginal sex - but I didn't agree with it. Maybe that was true in prisons and on oil rigs and what-have-you, but for me it held an appeal all of its own and I certainly never thought of my partner in female terms when I was enjoying myself against his big, hairy buttocks.

"I like it when we fuck," I'd told him flatly. "I don't mind which way we do it, I just like my gay sex to come arse-flavoured."

He'd grinned at that but he'd remained steadfastly adamant. "You can do what you like with other blokes, Seb, but with me it's just cock fun."

"But I don't think -"

He'd shushed me and insisted: "That's the way it is."

It had been a take it or leave it offer and I'd decided to take it. And apart from the odd special occasion (and to me they were always very special occasions!), that's the way it has always remained.

We suck, we sixty-nine and we finish ourselves off with good clean frot. But anything involving the backdoor - even just a little humping of each other's butt-cracks or having me delicately lick around his hairy pucker - is strictly out of bounds.

"No, Seb," he'd assert, if I so much as try to sneak a finger between his cheeks. "Arses are for shitting through, not for sex."

That stupid fucking website, I'd think, for the thousandth time. Damn the prissy little pansy who churned out all that bullshit.

One positive aspect of frot was that we got to really focus on kissing each other while we were humping away inside the clench of his fist. But there were ways of kissing during anal too, as I'd just demonstrated with Patrick, and so it wasn't like that held a significant appeal.

Often during frot, Darren would keep saying, "This is great, Seb! This is so fucking hot!"

I often wondered if he was trying to persuade me or himself that rubbing our cocks together - basically one of us masturbating the two of us at the same time - was really that enjoyable.

But I persevered with it and on the rare occasions anal was added to the menu, it was me who would be calling out, "Oh god this is awesome! It's so hot to fuck you!"

And he knew full well towards which of us my enthusiasm was directed.

When Darren got back with some beers and a bottle of whiskey, he said, "It's cleared up nicely out there. The rain's stopped and the stars have come out."

"Not such a nice night for me," I muttered glumly.

To which he smirked and said, "Maybe I'll find a way of cheering you up!"

We sprawled out together on the bed, him drinking beer and me on the whiskey, watching some TV show about cosmetic surgery. I snuggled into his armpit and he stroked my hair. For a 'mainly straight' guy he was surprisingly comfortable that we share such moments of affection.

I'd once asked him if he enjoyed lying in similar way with Karen.

"We don't do it, mate," he'd declared with a shrug. "We're not that lovey-dovey. She says she likes her own space and I'm happy to give her it!"

"What about all the 'love you' stuff you say to her on the phone?"

"She says it to me so I say it back," he said. "I don't think it actually means that much."

I wasn't sure if he was underplaying the emotional bond between them for my benefit or if his relationship with Karen really was so superficial.

It's like that with Darren: I've never been able to work him out on lots of different levels. He's a complex guy, and maybe that's why I've remained so fascinated by him for all these years.

I took a swig from my whiskey and said, to the TV more than to him, "That doctor's a fraud. You wouldn't inject her face with filler like that. In six month's time she's gonna look like a trout."

"Do you want to fuck me?" he said.

I swivelled my head round. I'd just been expecting some banal response about her being pretty enough to not need surgery at all.

Unwilling to risk the moment by checking that I'd heard him properly, I replied, "Of course I do!"

He smiled, not at me but still looking at the telly.

I said, "I haven't exactly been a good boy, though, have I?"

"I think you need it, mate. Bitchface interrupted your fun earlier..."

He always calls Melissa 'bitchface'.

"... so it's only fair you get to finish off what you started!"

"Now?" I asked him.

He looked at me and nodded. His eyes, as I'd often observed, were a lovely warm shade of brown, in contrast to Melissa's cold steely blue. "But I might need a drink from your whiskey to get me... er... ready!"

"Have the rest of the bottle," I chuckled, climbing off the bed and already unbuttoning my shirt.

If this was his way of comforting me, I wasn't complaining. The infrequency of our anal couplings made the rare moments of physical connection we enjoyed together all the more intense.

He sat on the edge of the bed and poured himself a large measure of whiskey. Gesturing towards me to see if I wanted my glass refilling, I shook my head. I wanted to stay clear-headed during our sex. I got to be inside him so sporadically I wanted to remember every detail of it.

"Why do you like bumming me so much?" he asked, before gulping down the whisky like it was fizzy pop.

I didn't like the phrasing but I let it go.

"I like that our bodies are joined together, Darren," I told him, unfastening my belt. "My cock, which - as you've said yourself - is the focus of male pleasure, is completely surrounded by the lovely, soft warmth of your gorgeous bum. To me that's very powerful and beautiful."

"When I do it to you, it feels weird," he divulged.

"You usually get excited when you're doing it," I reminded him. "You've never had any trouble cumming up my bum!"

"Yeah, once I'm up you it's okay. It's gettin' it up there that feels weird. Pushing my cock up the hole you shit through... knowing why it's sticky and slippery up there while my knob's slowly sliding through it..."

"I can't really help that," I shrugged. "It is an exit, as well as an entrance."

"Yeah, and I'm not sayin' you can. I'm just tellin' you why I don't like pushin' my dick up there."

"So why don't you like me doing it to you?" I asked him. I was pleased that we were having this conversation at last.

"I don't like feeling like a woman," he said, taking another swig from his glass. "I don't like having to open my legs so that another bloke can get his cock up me... I don't like lying there, feeling a big, sweaty fella pantin' and slobberin' while he uses my bum as a fuckin' cum dumpster."

I felt a bit hurt that he'd viewed sex with me in that way and I asked him if he didn't want me to penetrate him tonight.

"The offer's still there," he said, standing up and starting to undress. "I think it's important for you, Seb. I'm not selfish enough to think it's all about me."

I finished undressing down to my briefs and watched Darren slowly and a little unsteadily hitch off his clothes. He had a lovely body - all lithe and muscular - and when I'd described his bum as gorgeous I hadn't been over-egging it.

I decided that I'd use what he'd told me to try and improve our occasional anal forays in the hope of making him enjoy them more.

If the cruddiness up my bum was such a turn-off for him, I could get hold of an enema kit to have a discreet wash-out before we made love. A lot of guys enjoy the dirtier side of bum sex, but if Darren was one who didn't and that was the reason he was resistant to us doing it, his issues might easily be addressed with a few short, sharp squirts.

Darren whipped his boxer briefs off - a tightly-fitting Hollister pair I'd brought him back from an epidemiology conference in London - and got on the bed on all fours ready to be mounted.

I pulled my own briefs off and was about to get on the bed behind him to start licking the sumptuously hairy crack between his cheeks, when I realised that this was part of the second problem he'd described.

He'd probably licked out countless girls' pussies while they were in this position before he'd shuffled up behind them and worked his dick up inside them. Having me do it to him was making him feel like he was being treated like a girl.

So I said, "Turn around, mate. I want to see you from the front. Your cock is magnificent... give me a nice long look at it."

He did as I said and swivelled around so that he was kneeling in front of me. His cock hung down limp over his big hairy ballsack. It looked forlorn - frightened almost - of what my excited version was about to do.

"You can't fuck me like this, Seb," he slurred with a drunken chuckle.

"I don't want to fuck you yet. I want to enjoy your lovely cock and your massive pair of bollocks."

He giggled again and then reached for the whiskey. I stopped him grabbing the glass and said, "No, Darren - you've had enough. I want you to enjoy this too and I want you to remember it."

He shrugged and left the glass well alone. "Come on then, mate. Have a little play with the family jewels..."

I lay down on the bed in front of Darren, prostrate as if I was paying homage to what he had between his legs, and reached up to gently stroke the soft, pudgy flesh of his drooping cock. I massaged it tenderly, kneading its pliable shaft between my fingers, and he moaned in encouragement as I felt it twitch and thicken.

Darren's sexuality was built very much on the enjoyment he got from his cock. He liked his balls being played with to a lesser extent, but the rest of him - his arse, his nipples, his feet and his ear lobes - seemed to provide him with little, if any, sexual stimulation.

His cock, though, was also extremely sensitive; I knew that very well. When fully hard, it had to be handled delicately. The head, in particular, was prone to making him wince and recoil if not fondled and tongued very softly and gently.

Perhaps that was why he took such issue with pushing his organ up my bum. Perhaps the sensation of sliding his cock head up through my rectum was intensified for him in a way that it wasn't for other men with less discerning members.

I wondered if, instead of an enema kit, a simple condom might help him overcome his misgivings.

I groped at his balls, more for my enjoyment than his, but focussed mainly on pleasuring his cock, caressing it and squeezing it as it slowly lengthened and started rising outwards.

"Your cock is amazing, Darren," I told him, making him grin.

"It's not as big as yours," he pointed out, hardly for the first time, reducing its importance to a measurement on a ruler.

"I don't care about that - you know I don't," I smiled. For God's sake, there was barely an inch in it when all said and done. "I love how it smells, how it tastes... I want to kiss it and lick and suck it 'til it's all hard and shiny."

"Less talk, more action," he laughed and I craned my head in to worship his beautiful organ with my lips and tongue.

First off, I took a long, lingering sniff of him, from the tip of his cock head poking out from his foreskin down to his dense wiry bush, rich with his strong, manly pube sweat.

"Fuck that's nice!" I said, peeling his foreskin back so I could inhale the sharpness of his ripening helmet.

As I gently kissed and licked him, feeling his shaft growing and stiffening against my lips, I wondered how I was going to fuck him while keeping the focus on his penis. That was going to be the key to helping him enjoy it: emphasizing his masculinity and how attractive his cock is, even while mine was - as he would see it - using him like he was a woman.

I took him into my mouth and sucked him properly. He loved the feel of that and groaned, holding my head with both hands, using my face like a fleshlight to slurp up and down the length of his meat.

I wondered if perhaps we should stop describing anal sex as 'fucking' and 'shagging' and other words he might use with girls. He'd chosen to call it 'bumming' earlier which I didn't like, but maybe that sort of language would help him discriminate the way we made love as two men from what he did with women.

All the times I'd been calling out how I much loved screwing him and how great it was to bang him hard and deep, instead of turning him on he'd been lying there thinking how wrong it felt to have stuff like that done to him as a man. From now on, I'd use other words to describe our lovemaking: I could just about stomach saying 'bumming' if he was happier with that, but maybe I could think up more terms to describe two men having anal.

After all, he'd already told me that was why he liked the idea of frot so much – because it was a word and an act specific to sex between men.

I pulled off his cock, now fully hard and glistening, and smiled up at him. "Open your legs a bit, Darren... I fancy some brown sauce to go with my sausage!"

He laughed down me, "You dirty fucker!"

But he did as I asked, and opened his legs for me to rim him.

Normally I'd call it licking him out and tell him how warm and velvety he was back there. But I could see now why he didn't like me tonguing his arsehole, it was so similar to what he must do in his more intimate moments with Karen.

I pushed my face between his thick muscular thighs and pushed my nose and mouth into the furrow between his buttocks. He was always whiffy in his crack and rimming him had little in common with giving oral to a woman, so with hindsight it had been quite foolish of me to have stressed the tenuous similarities.

I licked him thoroughly, enjoying the strong meaty smell so ripe in his crack, first around his tight little hole and then working my tongue as deep as I could up inside him.

I pulled out for breath and he asked, a little worried like he sometimes gets, "Is it okay, Seb? I mean, I dunno how clean I am..."

I smiled up at the thick forested line of his cleft, now wet with my spit, and was going to say it was as sweet as honey or some shit like that.

But realising that might not actually be what he needed to hear, I stopped myself and instead called up, "I told you I like my sex to be arse-flavoured..."

He asked again, "Is it okay, though?"

"Okay?" I chuckled. "My cock's so hard it hurts! I think my helmet's gone numb!"

He laughed, "Well, fuckin' go for it mate! Give me a good hard brown-tonguing!"

Brown-tonguing! That could well turn out to be our new name for it. It sounded a lot less girlie than licking him out!

He grabbed my head again and ground my face up between his big, solid cheeks. I lapped at his hole like I was feeding on its juices and he worked his bum up and down as he sat on my eager face.

I'd never known him get so into being rimmed. From now on, surely, this would no longer be a no-go area!

I pulled off and moved forwards again and we laughed at each other, as if revelling in our new-found fun.

Then he said, "Come on, mate. This fuckin' cock's not gonna suck itself!"

And I craned my neck up to consume his length again, smacking my lips noisily up and down its straining girth.

Then I let it go with a raucous slurp and said, "I wanna dooky your butthole while I suck your big knob!"

"Fuckin' dooky away, mate, whatever that is!"

I got back to sucking him but now worked a couple of fingers up his bum. He quickly got into it - for the first time seemed to actually enjoy having his arsehole fingered - and pushed his bum down against the sliding movements of my fingers, loving having his cock sucked while I worked them in and out.

"Ah, that's fuckin' well nice, that is! Come on, dooky my arse, Seb... rough as yer like!"

I was loving sucking him off with my fingers pushing as far as they could up into his bowels but I wanted to see if we could go the whole way. My cock was aching and dribbling its goo onto my stomach, and when it gets like that there's only one destination it has on its mind.

I pulled off him and said, "I wanna bum you up your arse!"

He laughed at my vulgarity but I saw his cock head lose its glossy sheen, withering slightly at the prospect of its owner getting fucked.

He moved to turn around and was no doubt about to get on all fours again, but I stopped and said, "I want you to ride me, Darren. Ride my cock like you're on that motorbike you used to have!"

Now he looked more interested - I'd thought he would be. He used to love driving around on his motorbike, feeling all butch and having the girls check him out in his sexy leathers. Maybe riding me like that would bring back some of those feelings. It would certainly be very different from having to bend over with his legs splayed open and having me grunting and grinding on top of his back.

I lay down on my back and Darren grinned as he crouched over me. We'd tried it this way before - with him on top - but his girlfriend probably straddled him sometimes and, now that I thought of it, he'd said something about not liking it because he felt 'like a fuckin' lap dancer'.

I had to stop that thought popping back into his head.

"I love that I can see your cock right in front of me," I told him. It did look nice, but there was a definite droop in it now. "I reckon I could suck you off while I'm fu... I mean, while you're wanking me off with your arse!"

He thought about that and his broadening smile showed he liked it.

As he lowered his just-licked arsehole down onto the head of my cock, he chuckled and said, "I suppose that's all bummin' is, when you think about it..."

I could have replied that that's pretty much all any sex is whichever hole you're using, but instead I just smiled up at him.

My cock slid easily into his well-lubed rectum - he never had any problems with taking me even though I'm pretty thick - and he smirked and went on, "Yeah, I'm just wankin' you off slidin' my arse up and down your knob..."

His butt-cheeks made landfall, his bollocks nuzzling into my pubes, and he started squatting upwards to slide his arsehole back up my broad girth.

"This is actually quite nice," he said. "I don't know what's different, but I'm kind of enjoying it..."

"Grab my shoulders like you're on your motorbike," I suggested.

He did that, gasping "Oh yeah!", and his cock throbbed with the head swelling shiny, pointing towards me underneath his belly.

I told him, "Your cock looks amazing... really big and horny!"

I leaned forwards and managed to lick the oozing tip of it as he worked his arse more quickly up and down its slightly bigger cousin.

"See if you can suck it, Seb," he panted as he bucked his hips back and forth.

I craned my neck as far as I could and managed to get my mouth across the pulsating head of it. He liked that hugely and started thrusting more roughly, his arsehole making slurping noises on my cock in time with his own jabbing clumsily in and out of my mouth.

I grabbed his waist and bucked my hips up against him, meeting the pounding of his bum down onto my crotch.

"Work it, Darren," I gasped. "Wank my dick off really hard and fast!"

He pushed himself upwards and hunkered over me, hammering his backside up and down with rapid, powerful lunges.

He grabbed his own quivering erection and started jerking his foreskin really quickly back and forth. That was a first: he was almost always limp when he had my cock inside him.

"This is as hot as fuck, mate!" he called out. "Who'd 'ave thought I'd like gettin' bummed up me arse! I'm like a right fuckin' nancy-boy!"

That seemed to turn him on even more and he was practically slamming his buttocks against my hips making our two swollen pairs of knackers jiggle up and down and whack against each other.

Even as my orgasm gathered, it amused me that feeling he was taking a female position was an out-and-out passion killer for him, but thinking of himself in gay terms seemed to really light his wick.

I'd always avoided too much gay talk - him being a 'mainly straight' Leeds lad after all - but perhaps that had been misguided.

"Fuckin' take it!" he snarled down at me. "Feel my arse using you... giving it to you!"

I beamed up at him as my cock started erupting. There was too much of my cum for his bowels to take and it squirted out of his hole, getting thick dirty gobs on my pubes and nuts as his bum kept frantically milking my shaft.

He wanked himself furiously, using my cock deep inside him to maximise his pleasure. He was bucking up and down so roughly that my cum was turning frothy, bubbling out of his hole and splattering across the pair of like hot milky coffee.

His own floodgates opened without warning and long white strings of his cum started firing out of his friction-reddened slit.

I craned my neck back towards him and said, "Don't waste it all, mate!"

He liked that and directed his cock to feed me with the relentless squirts of his spunk, calling out, "Eat it, Seb! Come on, drink it down!"

And once I'd managed to get it in my mouth instead of all over my face, that's exactly what I did.

As his climax passed and the pumping of his cock started to ease, he grinned down at me and called out, "Whoa! What the fuck was that?"

I smiled back up at him. "Turns out, young Darren, that you're a power bottom, mate!"

Still squatting over me with my cock softening up inside him, he asked what that was.

"It just means that you don't mind having a cock up your bum, but only if you're in the dominant role."

He nodded and pulled off me before clambering off the bed. "That sounds about right... yeah... I suppose it's obvious that I would want to do it like that when you think about it!"

His belly and chest were covered in thick white splashes of his cum and he had dirtier dribbles of mine trickling down the insides of his thighs.

"Pity it didn't occur to us eight years ago," I muttered a touch forlornly.

"Well, we know now," he chuckled more brightly. "We'll have to try it again... see how else I like your cock up me!"

All the years I'd waited to hear him say something like that! All the long nights of rubbing our dicks together that I'd had to endure!

There was a knock at the door and a voice from outside.

"Sebastian! Open the door! We need to talk!"

Darren and I stared wide-eyed at each other, like two naughty boys who'd been caught with their pants down.

"It's Melissa!" I whispered, glancing down at the two shades of semen splashed across my stomach and thighs. "She must have got the room number from reception!"

"Do you want me to hide in the bathroom?" Darren asked. "Pretend I'm not here...?"

I thought about it - was about to say yes - and then suddenly, impulsively, I decided against it.

"No, just pull your shorts back on," I told him, doing the same with my Calvins. "Why the fuck should you hide?"

Melissa kept knocking. "I know you're in there! Come on, open up! I want to talk to you..."

I opened the door and my wife made a half-smile at me before suddenly catching sight of Darren in his boxers standing by the messed-up bed.

"Melissa," I smiled, "this is Darren. I've been seeing him, on and off, for the last eight years."

She stared over at him, stunned, and he just smirked back at her. He'd finally got to meet bitchface and I could see that he was enjoying the moment.

"Watcha," he quipped at her. And then, glancing down at his chest and what was dribbling down between his legs, added, "You'll have to excuse all the spunk. We weren't expectin' company."

Melissa peered back at me and I asked, with all the pleasantness I could muster with Darren's seed spattered all over my face, "What is it that you wanted to talk about?"

And with that Melissa turned and walked away and I knew that my choice was very much made.

I closed the door and smiled over at Darren. And he grinned back and said, "You're the best, Seb!"


Sebastian Wallace

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