I was 22 at the time; just finished my degree and working as a banqueting waiter in a terribly posh country house hotel in Dorset until I started my first proper job in London: trainee buyer for a department store chain. The hotel banqueting manager, Samantha, was a friend of my brother, and she had agreed to give me a Christmas job until the store's new graduate training scheme started in January.
There was accommodation thrown in with Sam's offer. She had been apologetic when she showed me round the hotel. 'We're going to be refurbishing the staff wing next summer, but I'm afraid it's a bit of a dive. I don't think anything's been done to it for twenty years.' She opened the door marked STAFF ONLY and led me up the narrow stairs.
Twenty years seemed optimistic: I would have said the staff accommodation was virtually untouched since the 1900s. The staff wing ran along the top of the house, under the eaves. For someone my height (a shade over 5'9") the beamed ceiling was dangerously low. The wooden floors tilted crazily and were worn smooth by a century's passage of feet. The windows that ran alongside the corridor were grimy and small, looking out onto the grey expanse of the roof of the house.
Sam stopped at a door. 'You're going in with Matthew; he's one of the hotel porters. Lovely guy.' She smiled and knocked at the door; there was a grunt in reply.
'Matt! Matthew!' She cautiously pushed open the door to reveal a gloomy little room with dark wood floors and plain walls. The curtains were closed, and the air was fuggy and warm and smelt of stale dope smoke and spilled beer. One of the two beds was neatly made up; the other contained a body wrapped in a pinstriped duvet. There was another grunt and a pale face pushed its way from under the duvet, eyes scrunched up. 'Hi, Sam,' Matthew croaked throatily. He coughed and looked at me. 'Hallo.'
'This is Duncan,' Sam said brightly. I swung my backpack round and dumped it on the floor next to the unoccupied bed. Matthew shuffled himself to an upright position and leant back against the wall; the duvet fell to his waist, revealing a trim, muscled chest with a sprinkling of dark hairs around the nipples. He stretched out a hand.
'All right, Duncan; I'm Matthew.' His hand was warm and moist. I tried not to think of where it might have been until very recently.
'Hi Matthew - sorry to wake you up.'
He shook his head. 'No sweat. What time is it?' He was young - perhaps 19 or 20, with floppy, dark brown hair and dark brown eyes.
Sam looked at her watch. 'Almost ten. Are you on lunch?'
Matthew grimaced. 'Nah. Day off.'
'Well, look,' Sam continued, 'I've got a meeting at ten. Is it OK if I leave you to show Duncan where the staff room and kitchen and everything are?'
Matthew nodded. 'No problem.' He coughed and glanced at me. 'Got any cigarettes?'
I laughed and fumbled in my jacket pocket. 'Marlboro OK?'
Sam shook her head in disapproval and turned to leave. 'BAD boys. Duncan, come and find me about one o'clock and I'll go through the induction pack with you. See you in a bit.'
After the door swung closed Matthew yawned and stretched, revealing matted, damp armpits and knots of tight muscle along his arms. 'Fuck me, I feel rough.' He lit up one of my Marlboro and continued indistinctly. 'Got stoned off my tits last night; I don't think I can handle skunk any more.' He rubbed the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. 'Do you smoke?'
I nodded.
'Thank fuck for that.' He grinned in relief. 'If you don't have to see Sam till one, roll us one up now, will you? My stash's in the tin on the desk. I've got to have a piss.'
The dresser was a tiny Victorian dressing table, presumably originally the property of some long-dead maid. I fumbled in the 'Golden Virginia' tin and pulled out a little bag of very pungent weed. Behind me I heard the duvet roll back and a dull double thud as Matt's feet hit the floor. As I turned round he unselfconsciously ran a finger round under the waistband of the ratty old grey boxers hanging below his hipbones and snapped the elastic against his flat belly. A shade under six foot; he was slim, with long legs, hairy and muscular, and a cock bulge half-concealed by the baggy cotton jersey of his shorts. A light trail of dark pubes ran up towards his navel.
He stretched again, and yawned loudly, and I watched as his ribs sprang to prominence beneath his flanks. Standing in the doorway, Matt thumbed down the corridor. 'Loo's at the end of the hall, next to Chef's room. Bath's next to it, or there's a shower room next to us.' He pointed with his cigarette in the opposite direction. 'I've gotta have a slash.' He sauntered out of the room, leaving me to scatter fragments of skunk into a tiny joint, and reflect on the rather sexy tuft of dark hair that grew at the base of his spine, just above the crack of his arse.
When Matthew returned there was a small dark spot at the front of his shorts where a drop of piss had spilled into the cotton. He got back under his duvet and punched the pillows into some sort of support, then threw me a lighter. 'Go on, then; spark it up.'
I lit the joint and coughed. 'Jesus! That'll have me on my back. I'd better not have too much.'
Matt laughed shortly. 'No problem: I'm sure I can finish that baby off. Let's open the window, eh?'.
I sat on my bed and we chatted while Matthew smoked the rest of the joint. I discovered that he was 20 and had grown up in Shaftesbury. He had a girlfriend called Clare who lived in the next village and worked in the Queen's Arms. Before I left to meet Sam, Matt suggested I join him at the pub that eveing to meet Clare: 'Come over tonight and say hallo,' he suggested. 'I'm getting a lift over to the pub, so we'll get some free ales down us, then fuck off back here.'
I shrugged. 'OK.'
The Queen's Arms was a quiet village pub about 20 minutes' walk from the hotel; a couple of teenaged lads in one corner talking about bikes, two couples bantering over dominoes, and a husband and wife talking quietly in French next to the fire. Matthew and I ran most of the way there in the driving rain, down an unlit country road that ran between high hedges.
Clare was small and blonde and vivacious. She liked me from the off, and kept sliding pints of Heineken across the bar to me with a wink. Her boss was off duty that evening, so Matthew and I stayed in after 11pm for an extra pint by the fire: me looking covertly at the bulge in Matthew's crotch as Clare snuggled next to him. 'Can't you stay, sweetheart?' she asked him.
'Nah,' Matt replied. 'Early start tomorrow. And it's Duncan's first proper day - don't want to fuck his career before it's started, do we?' Clare giggled and looked at me before kissing Matthew on the lips, long and deep. I sighed and looked discreetly into the dregs of my pint.
Outside the rain had settled to a steady, light drizzle. The road was dark because of the clouds, and progress was made more difficult by Matt's insistence on leaning on my shoulder for emphasis when he said something significant. Every time he did. I got a waft of his smell - a very sexy combination of cigarette smoke, deodorant, stale beer and a more subtle, physical smell of sweat and clean skin. A couple of times he grabbed the back of my neck and I jumped at the feel of his firm, slim fingers against the stubble where my neck had been clipped short.
We crunched up the gravel drive to the staff entrance at the back of the house. Matt unlocked the door and we walked as quietly as possible through the half-lit service corridors to the staff accommodation wing and up the stairs to our room. I turned on the overhead light and Matt groaned quietly. 'Too fucking bright. Hold on'. He fumbled beside his bed and switched on a small lamp. 'Turn that bastard off.' I obediently switched off the overhead light. Matt sat on his bed for a moment before rousing himself back to his feet. 'Gotta have a piss and brush my teeth.' He walked unsteadily out into the corridor.
I retrieved my toothpaste and brush from my backpack and looked out into the corridor. The loo door was closed, with a halo of orange light escaping through the gap around the frame. I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth; while I was there I heard the lavatory flush and the door open, and by the time I had pissed and come back to the bedroom Matthew was lying on his back on his bed, eyes closed and a joint burning in the ashtray. He was wearing the same tatty grey shorts as this morning.
'Mind if I...?'
He smiled and opened his eyes. 'Go for it, mate.' I took a couple of hits of the joint and started to undress, Matthew watching me without a hint of selfconsciousness. I stripped down to my boxers and got into the bed. The two beds were only a few feet apart, and it was easy, with just a little stretching, to pass the joint backwards and forwards. When it was stubbed out Matthew put his hands behind his head. 'I am fucking stoned,' he announced seriously.
I nodded. 'Me too.'
'Oi, Duncan...'
'Yeah?'
'Do you wank with the light on or off?'
I thought for a moment. 'On or off.'
'No, when you wank, do you have the light on or off?'
'On or off,' I repeated. 'I mean, it doesn't matter if it's on or off. Either way is OK.'
'Thank fuck for that,' he said slowly. 'Because I've gotta have a wank and I like it on. The light.' He lowered one arm to scratch absently at his chest and turned his head to me. 'That OK?' His hand remained on his chest and then slowly crept down his chest to his navel, where his fingers slowly stroked the trail of pubic hair that escaped from under his waistband. 'That OK with you?'
I shrugged. 'So long as I can have one as well.'
Matt grinned. 'Go on, my son.' He suddenly raised his hips and pulled down his shorts to the knee before clumsily hooking one foot into a leg-hole and dragging them off. He kicked them onto the floor between our beds. His cock was large, pale and uncircumcised. I could see his balls hanging low between his legs. Gently Matt folded the fingers of his right hand around the shaft of his cock and began rubbing gently up and down. He kept his left hand behind his head. Under the covers I unbuttoned the fly of my boxers and started stroking my balls with my fingertips.
'You ever finger your arse?' Matthew asked conversationally. 'I mean, like, get a finger up there. Or two. Clare was sucking me off one night and just as I was starting to come she shoved her fucking finger up my arse; fucking shock and a half, that was.' He sniggered. His cock was filling out and becoming firmer and longer. As he stroked it I could see his cock's reddish helmet peeping over his foreskin, glistening slightly in the dim light from the lamp.
'Mmm-hmm,' I said non-commitally. My stiff dick was arching up under the duvet and I began to stroke my fingertips up and its shaft very slowly and gently from the base to the tip of my helmet. The pre-cum already dribbling from my cock's tip made my helmet incredibly sensitive, and I parted my legs so that I could more easily run my fingers from the base of my balls to my piss-slit, coating the route between my balls with a slimy trail of pre-cum.
'I've fucked her up the arse a couple of times, mind you; Clare. And them German girls always like it up the keister. I used to fuck this girl at school who was from Austria, and she used to beg for it,' Matt observed. He frowned slightly, 'Fucking tight when you get up there, mind you.' He turned his head slightly toward me and began sliding his fingertips slowly around his bell-end under the foreskin, stretching the skin. Suddenly he broke to lick his finger, then slid it back under his foreskin. 'That's better. You ever fucked up the arse?'
I shrugged and stopped wanking momentarily. 'Only my brother, once, when I was fifteen. We got really pissed and he dared me,' I lied. I had been fifteen, my brother had been seventeen, and we had fucked energetically almost nightly until he went to university eighteen months later.
'Fuck off. Really?' Matthew seemed delighted. 'Fifteen? And was he tight?'
I nodded. Matthew continued to look at me speculatively, and his wanking speeded up slightly. 'Nice one,' he said softly. His left hand came down from behind his head and lingered over one nipple before selecting the other and pinching it gently so that it became erect. He exhaled deeply. 'Ooohhh... Jesus. Grass always makes my nipples go really sensitive. I reckon I could come just by someone biting my nipples after I've smoked a joint.' He stroked his other nipple back and forth with his fingernails and I watched it harden immediately.
I pushed back the duvet and slid one finger up towards the crack of my arse just behind my balls. With the other hand I began wanking slowly but gripping my dick very firmly, so that what remained of my foreskin stroked my helmet as my fingers neared my bell-end. For some minutes we both masturbated in silence. I could hear Matthew's heavy breathing and the soft, slapping sound his foreskin and fist made as they slid over the wet, glossy purple of his helmet, and the soft creak of a bed - his or mine?
Matt broke the silence. 'I'm really close, but my hand's getting tired. You going to finish me off, then?' His fist slowed, and he locked eyes with me.
I shrugged. 'No problem.' I swung my legs over the bed and stepped across the gap to sit on Matthew's bed. He shuffled along to make room, and looked down at my cock. 'I'll finish you off afterwards if you like,' he offered. I breathed in his smell - fresh sweat mixed with the musky, animal smell of sweaty bollocks - and stretched my hand out to his balls. They were large and loose; moist with sweat and warm to the touch as I rolled them in my fingers. He hissed involuntarily and his fingers crept to his nipples.
'Just lie back and enjoy it,' I said softly. He began twisting and teasing his nipples with his fingers and spread his legs further. While one of my hands stroked and rolled his balls I spat a mouthful of saliva into my other palm and without hesitation cupped it over the hot, purple head of his cock, already glistening from a trail of pre-cum leaking from his piss-slit. I rotated my palm over his helmet, enjoying the way his legs tensed as my fingers cupped his shaft, and slicked the length of his dick with spit.
I moved my head over his cock and took a covert sniff of the sour, sexy smell of his bell-end before, taking careful aim, I dropped another mouthful of warm gob onto his helmet and slid my fist up and down to lubricate his full cock length again. Matt moaned and bucked his hips forward to slip his prick deeper into my hand; his fingers pulled and tweaked at his nipples.
'That. Is. Fucking. Amazing.' he said softly, eyes closed, rhythmically thrusting his cock back and forth between my firm, slippery fingers. I worked my index finger up between his bollocks as I slowly wanked him, pressing hard into the sensitive bulge between balls and arse. He gradually shuffled his arse forward to accommodate more and more of my finger until the upper third had disappeared between the cheeks of his arse and the heel of my hand was pressing his balls up towards the base of his cock.
He took one hand off his nipples and started wanking himself, shadowing my movements with his fingers as I worked up and down his shaft, rubbing my thumb briefly over his wet helmet at the top and pulling his foreskin right back when my fist reached the base of his cock. After a couple of moments I left him to wank himself and was conscious of his rhythm speeding up. I grabbed his unoccupied nipple and started pinching and twisting its very tip, turning it right to left and then sinking my nails into the broad, firm corona at its base. The effect was dramatic; Matthew's hips bucked, squeezing my finger between his arse cheeks, and his head shot forward wth a grunt, eyes screwed tight shut. 'Fuck... I'm... oh fuck...'
A thick rope of white spunk spewed across his fist and over his chest, followed by another which soaked his pubes. With each jet of cum his convulsion lessened, until with the last he simply grimaced as a tiny wave of spunk flooded over his helmet and dripped onto his fist. Finally he opened his eyes and smiled. 'Chuck over those shorts, will you?'
I passed him the shorts from the floor and watched silently as he mopped the spunk from his chest and cock, then threw the shorts back under his bed. 'Give us a couple of minutes recovery time, mate, and I'll do you,' Matt said, before lying back against his pillow and closing his eyes. Within a couple of minutes he was fast asleep and snoring softly.
I ended up retrieving the cum-soaked shorts and pulling at my cock while I licked shamelessly at the jellied gobs of Matthew's fresh spunk that adhered to the fabric, sucking the cum that had saturated the cloth and tasting through it his sweaty bollocks and the faint piss savour of his helmet where it had rubbed against the fly. Later, after we knew one another better, I admitted what I had done, and for a Christmas present Matthew made me a present of the shorts - complete with several days' spunk deposits.