Intimacy

INTIMACY (Part 4) by Sebastian Wallace

I kept waking up throughout the night, and each time I did my cock was still hard and still pressing into Simon's arse cleft, trying to push its way in through the material of his briefs.

I kept pulling him closer to me, pushing my chest right up against his back, feeling our sweat mixing in the heat beneath the duvet. He groaned occasionally, but didn't pull away.

Then, at about six thirty, I woke up again and was immediately aware, as often happens, that this time sleep would not be returning.

I felt as horny as hell: yearning for sex as if I hadn't masturbated for months. My cock felt as if it had a life of its own as only a fifteen year old's can. Aching like it had been hard all night. Demanding gratification.

I didn't care whether relief came in the form of my hand, a girl or even another boy. At that moment I felt so horny that gender was totally irrelevant to me.

I gripped Simon's body tighter and rubbed my cock slowly up and down the crack between his arse cheeks. My face was pressing into the back of his head and I breathed in through his hair, smelling the perfume of his shampoo. I moved my hands down his chest and stomach, feeling the silky smoothness of his pale skin. Then I reached down for the front of his briefs, and found that his cock was also hard, pushing upwards as if trying to struggle free of them.

I gave his cock a couple of squeezes, feeling it lengthen and stiffen further in response.

I whispered, as quietly as I could, "Simon, are you awake?"

He remained still and silent. I kept rubbing my dick slowly up and down his arse.

So I tried again, more loudly. "Simon, mate... you awake?"

He didn't respond and I kept rubbing myself against him, lightly masturbating my swollen cock against the ridge between his round cheeks. His arse felt good but the fact he wasn't awake made me feel uncomfortable. He was my friend and I felt as if I was exploiting him.

I pulled away from him and looked over at Gould.

He was lying on his side, facing us, and had thrown the duvet onto the floor. His naked body was partially illuminated by the light outside the window and it was obvious from the length and thickness of his cock, that his excitement, like Simon's, was not dampened by sleep.

I got out of bed as quietly as I could. My cock sprung upwards, curving into the air in front of me. I walked over to the bathroom door, reached in and pulled the light-cord, shielding my eyes as the fluorescent tube flashed rapidly on and off a few times as it warmed up. When the light had settled to a cold, constant beam, I walked into the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror.

My eyes looked tired. "I should have had a wank last night before I went to sleep," I thought to myself. "I wouldn't be feeling so fucking horny now."

I looked down my cock, arching upwards towards mirror, as if looking up at my reflection. I considered masturbating while looking at my reflection in the mirror, as I'd often enjoyed doing in my bedroom, but I felt pretty tired and the effort of standing up seemed too much.

So then I thought about going back into the room and having a wank on the empty bed. That seemed a better idea. Simon wouldn't wake up until he was dragged out of bed and Gould had made it pretty clear that seeing his students enjoying a bit of their own handiwork wouldn't exactly freak him out.

So I walked out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom.

My hand was on the pull cord of the bathroom light when I noticed Gould's naked body again. In the white glow thrown across the room by the bathroom light, his cock looked totally hard. Its eight inches pointed downwards to the mattress, but was as straight as a rod and impressively thick. His foreskin was completely rolled back and the broad head, a deep red colour, was fat and shiny like a polished ruby.

I was kind of interested to see my teacher in this state so I decided not to pull the cord. Instead, I left the light switched on and closed the door halfway so that the room was only dimly illuminated by it.

Then I walked back over to get a better look at Mr Gould's sleeping form.

I stood next to his bed, my own cock still hard as hell, and looked over his body with admiration: the chiselled outlines of his developed muscles were clearly visible on his large, tall, frame. His chest looked solid and his pecs were well defined. His back sloped downward to meet his round, muscular buttocks. His thighs were thick and hairy. I could even smell the scent of him as he slept: a masculine, musky odour coming from the dense hair of his pubes and armpits and the lighter fuzz on his chest.

His large, impressively erect, cock and balls reinforced the powerful sense of manhood which he exuded.

The guy reeked, visibly and literally, of his gender. Such a body would have been almost impossible to visualise beneath the suit he usually wore while teaching maths.

I looked up at his face, the brown overnight stubble roughening his features, and saw that while obviously deep in sleep, his eyes were alight with movement and expression and his mouth kept betraying small smiles. He was obviously having pleasant dreams.

I looked back down at his cock and watched it gradually thicken further and slowly rise upwards away from his hip. After half a minute or so, it was throbbing in mid-air and the large bell-end glistened as precum wept from its puckered slit. I noticed then that his hips kept making subtle, almost indiscernible, twitches against the mattress and realised that, in his dreams, he was fucking someone.

I felt hotter than ever seeing Gould like this: as a man who was otherwise a figure of authority and formality, stripped of his black suit, lying naked on his bed, enjoying his solitary pleasure.

I loved looking at his cock, even though I'd never given it any thought before: it was just something that was stuffed away down the front of his trousers as he taught us in the classroom. But now it looked magnificent: eight inches, rock hard and thick as truncheon, dribbling his juices in strings onto the mattress.

I saw that he was sweating more heavily: droplets of it were glistening in his chest hair and on his forehead. The smell was powerful but not cloying. His abdominal muscles were also starting to tense and relax in time with his hips. Even in his dreams, in his state of relaxation, he managed to move enough to fuck the air in front of him: I wondered how much more aggressive his movements would be if he was awake and he had a real, rather than fantasy, woman on his bed with him.

I felt a sudden urge to masturbate him; to help him enjoy his dream. But I was hesitant.

I thought about what he'd do if he awoke. He'd talked at length of intimacy and encouraged us to disregard our reservations about nudity and sex between companions. So maybe he wouldn't be too alarmed to find me helping him out.

I wondered, then, how he'd feel to see the state of my own cock, throbbing and curving upwards in front of me, as I masturbated him, but I figured that I could always grab that and conceal it from him as if I was being modest.

So I disregarded my reservations and reached out to gently wrap my fingers around his cock. It felt thick and solid: throbbing gently in my hand. I wondered if my own cock would thicken out so that it was as substantial as Gould's: the guy was twenty-five so I had ten years to catch up.

I didn't masturbate him immediately. Instead, I knelt down in front of him and, still holding the thick stem of his cock in my right hand, I gently touched the head of it with my other hand. Its texture was soft and I marvelled out how, while I pressed against it with my fingertip, it temporarily lost its shininess. I let some of his precum ooze out of his slit onto the tip of my finger and then rubbed it around the swollen head of his cock. He gasped and pulled away slightly, but did not seem to wake up.

I pulled both hands away from him and moved my face in closer to get a better look at his big cock. Even from a few inches away, I could smell its sharp, sexual odour. It was not unattractive: on the contrary, I found it fascinating. I wondered what it would taste like; how it would feel to have this man's cock inside my mouth.

I reached up and gripped the thick stem with my right hand again. I slowly and gently masturbated him, easing his foreskin a couple of centimetres over the fat head of his cock, and then pulling it back again. The slit on the tip of his bell-end peered at me like a thin, weeping eye-slit. I kept wanking him gently, finding it difficult to move his foreskin more than halfway over the engorged and swollen head of his dick. I heard him groan softly.

I kept wondering how it would taste and, seeing the head oozing and pulsating in front of my face, the urge to find out became overwhelming.

I leaned forwards and licked the head of his cock, feeling the heat of the red skin with my tongue and tasting the saltiness of his thick oozing precum.

He gasped and pulled back slightly, breathing more quickly. I wondered if he'd woken up because the sensation of my tongue on his cock had been too intense for him. I looked up and saw that his eyes were still closed so I just kept gently masturbating him and waited for his breathing to settle down again.

I decided to take it more slowly.

Moving my head closer to him, I kept wanking him and gently licked the stem of his cock, feeling his foreskin gliding up and down its thick rod with my tongue. I licked right along his length, from the pink ridge of his bell-end until my face was pressed into his thick black pubic hair at the base of his cock. I loved the feel and taste of his cock and the sensation of his wiry pubic hair in my face and tickling my nose. I was fascinated by the smell of it: a thick, sweaty, masculine smell; sexual and erotic.

I moved my nose around in his dense wiry bush, working my way around his cock, inhaling the guy's most private and most intimate smells.

Then I pushed my face down into his balls, relishing the intense smells of a day's confinement inside his briefs. And further still, underneath his balls and into the crack between his thighs, my excitement growing and my breathing quickening.

If his legs had been open I'd have gone all the way underneath, following his perineum all the way to his arsehole, enjoying the different smells and sensations of the man's sweaty, hairy and most personal areas.

But they were closed so I moved back up to his cock.

I leaned forwards and put my mouth around the head of it, still masturbating the stem of it with my hand. I was careful to be gentle and gradual and he didn't pull back this time. I managed to get all of its head into my mouth, enjoying the sensation of it, large and ripe, against my tongue. I licked it inside my mouth, gliding my tongue around the soft skin, tasting more of the salty and sticky precum dribbling out of its slit.

The sensation of his foreskin, gliding into my mouth over half of his cock head and then back out of it as I masturbated him, was enthralling. As was the taste of his hot precum, weeping out of his glans and into my mouth as though he was feeding me.

I felt his cock growing larger and the head of it becoming smoother on my tongue as it swelled to its maximum size, his excitement nearing its climax.

Then, to my surprise, I felt his hands on the sides of my head. He was whispering, "Whoa... whoa..."

I thought at first he was going to cum in my mouth but then realised he was trying to pull my face away from his cock.

I withdrew from him and looked up at his face, feeling slightly embarrassed.

He wasn't smiling. "Sebastian. Jesus - that's way too far... way too far..."

I said, "I just... you know... felt a bit horny. You were enjoying it..."

He looked pretty stern but his cock kept throbbing in front of my face, the head of it wet with my spit. "I was asleep. That's out of order..."

I couldn't think of anything to say so I tried, "Sorry sir." Like I'd forgotten to hand in an assignment.

His face softened. He paused for a few seconds, then said, "I'm kind of flattered you'd do that to me. But I'm out of bounds. I'm your teacher."

I looked down.

He waited for me to say something and eventually I managed, "But all that stuff you said about guys away from home enjoying... you know... companionship... or whatever it was you said..."

He smiled. "Yeah. That's fine. You and Simon or you and another lad trying stuff out together. But not you and me, Seb. In ten years time you'll realise how wrong it would have been if I'd have let you continue doing that... even though I was enjoying it..."

I said, "You could have pretended that you were still sleeping. I mean, I wouldn't have known that you'd woken up."

"Yeah but I would have and I'd have felt like a shit for just lying there letting you do that. Felt like I'd abused you or something. It would have bugged me. It might have fucked you up a bit too."

I went quiet and looked at him. His eyes were gentle and friendly. I could see his point, even though I wasn't sure I accepted it.

I stood up and took a few steps away from him.

I said, "Sorry."

He smiled and said, "I'm not a prude. And we're both horny. So if you wanna have a wank, I'll be up for that."

"Together?"

He kept smiling. "Yeah. If you like."

"How's that different from what I was doing?"

He shook his head, grinning. "Come on, Seb. Wanking's something we both do all the time... guys sharing sleeping quarters for any period of time are gonna end up having a wank together at some point. What you did was to take a big step further..."

I smiled and nodded.

He got up and repositioned himself on the mattress so that he was sitting on his pillow, his knees bent in front of him. He gestured to the empty space at the foot end of the bed and said, "Sit up on here if you like."

I guess I was a bit hesitant so he gestured over to the empty bed on the other side of the room and added, "Or go and lie on the bed over there. Whichever is more comfortable."

I walked over and climbed onto the opposite end of his bed, positioning myself so that I was sitting with my knees bent in front of me as he was.

We faced each other for a few seconds, him looking at my mostly-limp cock and me looking at his mostly-hard one.

Then he moved his hand across to his cock, wrapping his fingers around it, and started masturbating. He took up a moderately fast, steady rhythm and smirked. "That feels pretty good..."

I watched his balls bobbing gently up and down inside his tight scrotum, in time with the beating of his hand. Then I saw how the redness of his bell-end became shiny and taut as his cock swelled back to full stiffness again.

I started rubbing my own cock between my fingers, feeling it responding more gradually than Gould's.

He said, "Not as good as what you were doing, I admit... but this way neither of us gets guilt trips."

I smiled and kept watching his foreskin working forwards and backwards along his thick stem, my own cock lengthening in suit.

I looked up at him and saw he was watching my cock, apparently as fascinated by my technique as I was with his.

He said, "When did you start wanking?"

"When I was ten or eleven. Pretty early, I gather..."

He said, "Yeah. But it explains why you're so confident at it."

"Confident?"

"Yeah. You're working it up to an erection with your thumb and a couple of fingers. Playing with the head more than the stem. Teasing yourself. But when you're doing it for real, I bet you use your whole fist."

I thought about what he'd said, and realised that he was right: this wasn't my 'standard' masturbatory technique - it was just a kind of warm-up. I was getting myself aroused by rubbing my foreskin back and forth over the head of my cock, but subconsciously preparing to use all four fingers and my thumb on the stem to start wanking in earnest once I was at full size.

I said, "Yeah. I guess. It's just the way the thing seems to work."

"My trick is to play with my balls. I guess different guys find different things work for them..."

My cock was now almost fully hard. Not quite as thick as Gould's, but pretty much his equal in terms of length. I adjusted my hand and gripped the length of my cock in my fist. Then I started masturbating myself properly, using a rhythm more rapid than Gould's to tug my foreskin up and down over my purple bell-end.

I said, "The rubbing the head thing seems to be what mine goes for..."

He smiled and then we both fell quiet, listening to the soft slapping sounds our hands made on our cocks as we masturbated. Mine was definitely louder, probably because my rhythm was more impatient than Gould's. My wrist kept smacking against the top of my thigh and my foreskin was making wet-sounding noises as it slid backwards and forwards across my bell-end.

Neither of us made any attempt to conceal the fact that we were watching each other as we masturbated. I stared at his cock, his fist wrapped around it and his foreskin sliding up and down over his large bell-end, with the same intensity as he stared at mine. I looked further down at his large ball sac, and at his balls jiggling up and down inside it, just as he no doubt looked at mine. And I even looked further below out, between his open thighs, at the hairy line made by the crack of his arse where it met his balls, just as he was probably noticing mine.

He let out a sigh and smiled. "This feels really nice..."

I nodded and smiled back at him. I was getting into this, enjoying feeling like I was an adult, like I was one of the men, that I was getting from masturbating with him. It was kind of like the feeling I got from smoking a cigarette with my mates when I was a kid, but this felt far more natural and spontaneous.

I asked him, "At what age did you first do it?"

"On my own or like this?"

"On your own."

He considered for a couple of seconds, his hand never missing a beat. "I guess I must have been thirteen or fourteen. I was camping with our scout group and woke up in the night to see that the scout leader, a guy of about twenty or so, had opened his sleeping bag and was beating off. Didn't take me long to try it out for myself when I had a bit of privacy."

"And like this?"

He laughed, "Well, pretty much every camping trip since! Once I was aware that it was going on, I sort of tuned into it and joined in with everyone else. I mean, I was pretty freaked out at first like you guys were, but once I saw my mates doing it together, and even teachers being totally cool about doing it, I just thought, 'What the fuck', and regarded it as just another bodily function. That's all it is, really."

I nodded and noticed that his hand was increasing its rhythm and that sweat was trickling down his face from his forehead, and down his sides from his armpits. The muscles on his right arm were starting to bulge with the strain of maintaining his rhythm.

I asked, "You did it with teachers, then? I mean, when you were about my age?"

"Yeah, if they were in the same tent with us. Let's face it, they were men: they felt horny just like us. The men and the older lads would have a wank before we went to sleep. The younger guys would sleep through it, oblivious to it all."

"And you'd watch each other?"

He smiled. "Look at each other, yeah. Not watch exactly. You've got to open your sleeping back when you're wanking, otherwise you're gonna have a very uncomfortable night afterwards! So it was kind of inevitable we'd take a look each other, see what our teachers were packin' away inside their trousers."

I grinned. "Sounds pretty good, actually..."

"It can be a good laugh. Especially if you're sharing a campsite with other people. The sounds of eight boys and two men wanking together must be pretty distinctive. The looks on people's faces the next morning can be hilarious. Especially when we leave the lamp on in the tent while we're doing it - people can't exactly ignore the silhouettes of all of us jerking away on the sides of the tent!"

I laughed, increasing my pace and feeling my own sweat pour down my back and across the cheeks of my arse.

Gould said, "I'm getting pretty close..."

The muscles on his chest and stomach were tensing up as he neared his orgasm and his sweat made tiny clear beads on the hair of his chest and around his balls.

He said, "I'm gonna do something you'll think is weird. It feels pretty good, though, when you're coming..."

He raised his left hand and licked the middle finger. Then he pushed his hand between his thighs and extended the finger between his arse cheeks.

I grinned. "You like fingering your arsehole?"

He pushed his finger in, bending the others so that he could accommodate it. He closed his eyes in pleasure and smiled broadly, exposing his white teeth. "Yeah. You should try it, mate."

I kept jerking my cock furiously, surprised and captivated by what he was doing.

He kept smiling and saying, "Yeah... aah..." His hand began moving in and out from between his thighs and it was obvious that his finger was penetrating his hole.

Still grinning, he opened his eyes and looked at me. "It feels so fucking good... you wanna try it..."

I reached down to my hole with my own left hand but he quickly withdrew his from his arse and grabbed it. Then he raised my left hand to my face and said, "You need to lick your finger else it hurts like hell."

As he did so, and his left hand came close to my nose, I got a waft of the smell of his arse on his middle finger. It was a thick, musky smell: sweaty and unmistakably anal. I really enjoyed it: partly because smelling that part of him added to our sense of intimacy, and partly because he was totally unapologetic about it. He must have smelt it too, but he seemed altogether comfortable about having me share it.

He returned his finger to his arse as I pushed mine in between my lightly hairy cheeks and found my own puckered hole. I extended the wet end of it about two or three centimetres in and then withdrew it. It felt kind of bizarre and I looked back toward him, watching me.

He said, "It gets better. Give it a chance."

I did as he suggested and, for a minute or so, we both sat facing each other in silence, each of us rapidly masturbating our cocks and, using the same rhythm with the other hand, fingering our arseholes.

Then Gould started really getting into it. He raised himself up and squatted on the mattress in front of me, bobbing up and down onto his finger as he frantically wanked his cock. His right hand was a blur at it shot up and down along the full length of his organ, and the fat head of his cock had turned a deep purple colour, as if it was ripe and ready for release. He began panting and grunting but managed to whisper between breaths, "It's better... if you really... sit on it..."

He raised himself further so that, in my sitting position, I got a much better view of his sweat-dampened finger sliding rapidly in and out of his hairy arse cleft. I think he really enjoyed me looking at him because, still bobbing up and down and grunting in his pleasure, he pushed his hips towards my face so that his cock, balls and arse were just a foot or so away from me.

I guess I enjoyed it too because the sight of him so close - his thick cock being pounded in his fist, his large ball sac bobbing up and down and his slick finger pummelling his sweaty hole - sent me over the edge into my own orgasm. I felt my semen squirting in thick gobs all over my chest and down my belly.

Then I felt Gould's semen raining down on me from above, dripping in strings into my hair and down my face.

Even before he'd stopped, while his cock was still spurting white jets over me, he laughed surprisingly loudly.

When it had subsided, breathlessly, but still laughing, he apologised. "Jesus! Sorry, mate. Christ - that's kind of embarrassing."

I said, "Don't worry about it." I felt like I was drenched in cum. It ran down my cheeks and dripped from my chin onto my own already wet and sticky cock.

He sat back down on his pillow and looked me over, chuckling. He didn't seem to have a single drop of it on him.

He said, "What did you think of the arse fingering thing?"

It felt a bit weird him asking me that straight after what we'd done together. The way he'd said it: as casual as him asking, "What did you think of the exam?" or "What did you think of the treacle pudding?"

We'd just masturbated together, primarily instigated by me, and, even though I hadn't yet got my breath back, I was already starting to feel like I needed some time on my own to think about it.

After a few seconds, I managed, "I dunno... I didn't really get into it."

"Yeah it took me a while, as I remember. But it's pretty good once you get the hang of it... it really intensifies your orgasm."

Another drip of his cum oozed downwards from my chin in a long string and slowly found its way down onto my stomach.

I said, "Yeah, I noticed..."

He laughed again and then got up off the bed.

Bending over with his arse towards me, he picked up his watch from the tangle of the duvet and discarded clothes on the floor.

Looking at it, he muttered, "Eight minutes 'til the alarm goes off... I think we'd better get a shower..."

I nodded and stayed on the bed while he walked over to the bathroom and began cleaning himself up.

By now, I was feeling a bit disgusted with myself for licking his cock while he was asleep. Jesus, the guy was my teacher: I'd never be able to look at him in school again without thinking, "I've licked the end of your nob, sir." It would start really getting to me. I'd have to avoid him, maybe even ask my parents if I could change schools.

Later in the day the whole group of us was having lunch in the museum cafe at Ypres. Simon and I were sitting together, away from the other lads, having a sandwich and a can of coke.

He asked me why I was being quiet and I just shrugged.

Behind him, I noticed Gould talking to one of the other young teachers in the group, Mr Vaughan. Vaughan taught Chemistry to the sixth form and, apart from the fact that he and Gould ran hiking trips with some of the older lads, I didn't know much about him.

Simon asked if I was feeling bad about us sharing a bed the night before.

I threw him an irritated glare. "Jesus, Simon. It's no big deal."

"Yeah I know. But I thought, maybe you felt... you know..."

I noticed that, as Gould talked, Vaughan kept looking over at Simon and I. As if Gould was telling him everything.

I felt embarrassed and tried to busy myself with the ring-pull on my coke can to hide it.

Then, after Simon had ran out of things to say and was just sitting looking dolefully at me, Gould came over to us.

He said, "Guys. Mr Vaughan - Toby - has a leak above his bed. One of the water pipes. I said he could share with us tonight as long as it's okay with you two...?

I looked at Simon and he stared back at me.

Gould went on, "He's a good laugh. We've been halfway around the Himalayas together. He's pretty much like me - it takes a lot to freak him out."

Simon just kept staring at me so I looked up at Gould and nodded. "Yeah. Sounds cool."

He grinned. "Nice one, Seb. That okay with you too, Simes?"

Simon nodded, wide-eyed.

Gould's grin got bigger. "Great stuff. He's a nice guy - and it'll mean I have some company too tonight... someone my own age..."

He walked off and Simon and I just stared at each other.

I wondered if Gould was bringing Vaughan in to 'protect' him from me: just in case I was going to 'sleepwalk' again. Or whether there was more to it than it: perhaps he wanted a witness or something.

Or, there again, whether there was nothing to it at all and I was being paranoid.

Simon said, "What did he mean by that last comment? About him having company?"

I shrugged. "I dunno."

"D'you think their gonna... you know...? Like we did?"

That hadn't occurred to me.

He went on, "I mean, they're hiking mates, aren't they? And after all that stuff he said about hiking trips...?"

And from then I stopped feeling bad about what I'd done and instead started wondering what lay ahead...

Will be continued

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