I'm used to being the only gay man in a lap-dancing bar in the East End of London. Tonight was special simply because it was Kieran's stag night. Kieran is one of my oldest friends: we went to primary school together in the same suburb, and then he moved to Birmingham when we were both about eleven. We kept in touch, meeting in London to trudge around record shops in our teens, swapping mix tapes of rare Gloria Jones and Ann Nesby tracks, and white-label dance mixes of Ash and George Michael. We've both aged well; at 27, he's slim and fit, with close-cropped brown hair and a wide, smiling mouth.
I told him I was gay when we were both about nineteen and he had come down from university in Sheffield for the weekend; we had been sitting in a café in Soho when he caught me eyeing a boy walking past. "What are you looking at?" Kieran asked. "When did you start checking out geezers? Are you gay or something?"
I shrugged and didn't say anything.
"No: seriously, are you?" His eyes narrowed.
I should add that he and I had been wanking each other off since the age of sixteen. It started as a simple measuring exercise in his bedroom after school: comparing my flattish, curved cock against his slender, tapering one. Kieran lay on his bed, shirtless, with his Y-fronts and jeans tugged down around his knees. As I bent over his crotch I could smell the slightly animal, spicy sweat of his balls and groin. He had a shock of wiry, dark brown pubes in a tuft at the base of his prick that stood out in contrast to his flat, pale stomach. I gingerly moved his soft, warm cock with my fingers to line up the plastic Mister Men ruler we were using, and Kieran draped his forearm over his eyes. "Hard or soft?" he asked abruptly.
I looked at his face, half-hidden by his arm. "What do you think?" I replied. "Maybe we should do both."
Kieran shrugged and moved his other hand down his body to his cock, pushing my fingers off. Gripping his prick in his fist he pumped for fifteen or twenty seconds before moving his hand away; I watched, transfixed, as his cock thickened, swelled and rose, his foreskin peeling back from a pink-purple helmet. The smell of his hard cock was acrid and sexy. I put out my hand and curled my fingers around the base of his erection.
Kieran cleared his throat. "Go on," he said. "Give it a go." He kicked his jeans and underwear off to the foot of the bed.
I slowly began to wank his cock in long strokes, sliding back his foreskin with every downstroke. I felt his prick stiffen further, straightening out from his groin at an angle. After a few minutes he grabbed my wrist and forced me to speed up, releasing it with a grunt of satisfaction when I reached the frequency he wanted. A rhythmic squelching sound accompanied my strokes, and I saw his cock-head glistening with viscous precum. Kieran came without warning, squirting warm spunk over my hand and exhaling sharply through his teeth. I let the spunk dribble lazily down my fingers and onto his pubes before he swung his legs over the bed and padded naked to the bedroom door.
"Find a spunk-rag in the basket," he said casually, waving towards the overflowing laundry basket in the corner of his room. "I need a slash and then I'll do you." As soon as he was out of the room I licked his sticky cum off my fingers, relishing its smell, its taste, the way it coated my tongue and teeth. By the time he returned I was naked, on my back on his bed, ready to be wanked off by him.
That had been a pattern set for the following couple of years. Casual, reciprocal masturbation in one another's bedrooms. We used to do it while watching TV or listening to music, unceremoniously hauling out the other's cock and going to work. It was usually Kieran who started it, leaning over without warning to unbutton my jeans and unbuckle my belt, then delicately drawing back my foreskin to give a couple of experimental strokes as my prick hardened.
It was Kieran who had idly suggested that we try bringing one another off just with two fingers, his greased fingertips unhurriedly circling my glans until the sensation became almost unbearable and I begged him to finish me off quickly. Sometimes I would sit on his bed while he began changing out of school uniform, kicking his shoes across the room and stripping off his black trousers. At that point he would usually stand still, which was the signal for me to kneel in front of him--my own hardon tenting the front of my uniform trousers--and begin caressing in silence the bulging underwear jutting out under his white shirt; one of my hands insistently tugging at his balls while I slowly thumbed his meaty helmet through the thin, wet cotton of his boxers.
These sessions ended with us each milking the other's cock into a dirty T-shirt or football sock. After Kieran had left I would often dig out his spunk rag and sniff it, breathing in its aroma, the smell of swimming baths, before sucking and licking as much of his jizz out of the damp fibres as possible. The combination of his spunk and the smell of his cock and balls that inevitably lingered on my fingers and palm were usually enough to bring me off a second time, sniffing the scent of his sweaty crotch and nuts from my hand as I squirted a second load over my belly.
The evening before I came out to Kieran in Soho we had wanked each other off in my bedroom in a shared student house in Stratford. He had described a girl from university he fancied while I rolled my fingers back and forth over the length of his prick, gobbing on my hand to keep him lubricated and slippery. Afterwards he returned the favour to me while I pinched my nipples, Kieran gripping my balls tight in one hand while he wanked me hard and fast with the other.
After I came out to Kieran he was friendly, sympathetic and interested. But our wanking sessions ended abruptly from that day.
The lap-dancing club Pete had chosen for the end of Kieran's stag night was one of four in the same area, clustered around a crossroad on the outskirts of the City. We'd walked past it earlier in the evening on our way from my flat, where Kieran and Pete were crashing in the spare bedroom, for curry in Brick Lane; There were nine or ten of us in the party: friends of Kieran from work; his cousins from Swansea; his best man Pete, a skinny twenty-something with spiky blond hair who had been one of his housemates at university; me, and Kieran's older brother Dec. In fact, Dec was the first to break up the party, coming back into the dark, noisy club from outside holding his mobile phone.
"Sorry, lads, that was Michaela. Imogen has a temperature and I need to get back." He shrugged. Imogen was his two-year-old. He did the rounds of the party, shaking hands and offering manly hugs to me and Pete. After Dec had left, I saw a couple of the others, workmates of Kieran, exchange glances and look at their watches. One of them stood up, "Kieran, mate, I think Andy and I are gonna have to make a move. We're both on the early tomorrow."
Kieran shook his head, laughing. "Nah, you can't run out on us now. Come on, mate; it's only just midnight."
"Lads," called one of Kieran's cousins, a policeman called Wes, "we've got this motorsport in..." he squinted at his watch, "six hours, and half of us are staying over in Earls Court or whatever. We're going to have to fuck off after this one, Kieran, mate." Dec had arranged an activity day of motor racing in Essex the following morning; unfortunately, Kieran's cousins had booked hotels in West London, on the other side of the city.
The cousins and workmates left together, noisily, calling good wishes to Kieran, and leaving him sitting with me and Pete in a booth at the side of the club. A waitress came over and began lifting glasses and beer bottles from the table.
"Fuck me," Pete said, "that was a sudden fucking departure, wasn't it? Something I said?" He looked at me, then at Kieran, who was transfixed by the dancer on stage, and shook his head. "Oh God, waste of time talking to Kieran, he's got his pussy-goggles on."
"She's fucking gorgeous, mate," Kieran muttered, eyes fixed on the dancer. "Look at those tits..."
"I liked that ginger bird earlier," Pete said dreamily, "she looked like, you know, one of those really dirty bitches. Do anything. I was sat here with a fucking hard-on like a canoe watching her up and down that pole."
Kieran laughed and sat back in the banquette. "Join the fucking club, mate." He pointed below the table towards his crotch. "I'm surprised the table's not moving." He looked at me. "We should have arranged some Chippendales for Joe, really."
Pete smiled at me, "Yeah, seems a shame for the gay boys to miss out, eh? All this wall-to-wall pussy and you just don't appreciate it." He sniffed in mock sorrow.
"On the other hand," I said, picking at the label of my beer-bottle, "I'm surrounded by straight boys with hard-ons, so it's not all bad, is it?"
Pete laughed uproariously and drained the rest of his lager. "Not half, mate. Yeah, you're more likely to get lucky in here than I am. When married men get pissed they don't really care where they stick it, do they?" He smiled broadly at me, then unexpectedly raised his hand and wiggled his ring finger at me; his wedding band twinkled where the mirror-ball light struck it. "Yeah, stick it anywhere," he repeated softly.
There was a moment's silence around the table, and Kieran sucked the last couple of drops of lager out of the bottle. "Well, I guess we'd better make a move, then, fellas."
My flat was only ten minutes' walk from the club. We walked in companionable silence, moving against the flow of kids heading into Shoreditch and Old Street. Once inside the sitting room, Pete kicked off his shoes and leant on the arm of the sofa while Kieran headed into the spare bedroom, where Pete had dumped their bags earlier that afternoon. "Kieran, mate, can you bring us that yellow T-shirt off the bed?" Pete called. He stood up and began unbuttoning his shirt, a bold, stripey affair. "This is dead bloody itchy," he said. "It's been killing me all night." He stripped off the shirt, revealing a slim upper body with a sprinkling of golden chest hair, and stretched. "That's better."
Kieran padded through into the sitting room in his underwear and tossed the T-shirt to Pete. Kieran had removed his trousers and pulled on a crumpled T-shirt of his own which barely covered his black cotton trunks. He sank into the sofa and clasped his hands behind his neck. "One of you guys gonna get the tea on, then?"
Pete shook his head. "This is your stag night, and we're drinking tea on the sofa. And it's not even--" he checked his watch, "one yet. Getting old, boys." He scratched his head.
When I came back into the sitting room with three mugs of tea, Pete and Kieran were squatting side by side in front of the TV, passing DVDs back and forth between them. "You haven't half got some shit here, Joe," Kieran said. "Old black and white films and French stuff."
"And gay porn," Pete added. He held out a porn DVD to Kieran. "You ever watched any of this stuff?"
Kieran shrugged. "Gay porn? You know, on the Internet and stuff. D'you wanna see it? Might be a laugh." He turned and looked at me enquiringly. "Can we stick it on, then?"
"Knock yourself out, boys" I said, placing the cups on the table. I sat in the single easy chair and Pete and Kieran settled into the sofa, Pete fiddling with the DVD and TV remotes.
The first five or ten minutes were not so very different to watching any film with Pete and Kieran: a non-stop commentary of piss-taking, rude remarks and alternative dialogue offered, sotto voce, at moments of drama. When the first actor began sucking the second actor's cock, however, both Pete and Kieran fell silent. Kieran rubbed his stomach, causing his T-shirt to ride up his belly and revealing that the front of his black trunks were bulging at one side.
"Fucking hell," Pete said softly, "I wish Charlotte would go down on me like that. He's taking it right up to the balls, isn't he?" Pete's hand brushed the front of his trousers; he shifted slightly in his seat and I saw the ridge of an erection push out the front of his crotch.
Kieran nodded; "That's one thing about gay blokes, they know how to give a blowie," he said softly. His gaze did not leave the screen.
Pete looked over towards me and cleared his throat. "Is that how you do it, then?" He nodded towards the TV.
I smiled and shook my head. "I'm much better than that. And of course I always swallow."
"Do you, now?" Pete licked his lips and rested one hand on his crotch. I saw him gently squeeze his cock through the material.
I nodded. "Oh yes. It's rude not to. I swallow every drop of spunk. Just gulp it down."
"You gonna show me how, then?" Pete suddenly looked towards Kieran, who spread his legs slightly, showing off a shameless erection that pushed out the front of his trunks. Kieran looked back and grinned. "Go on, lads, don't mind me," he said softly, before returning his attention to the DVD.
I slid forward and kneeled down on the carpet and watched Pete get to his feet, his crotch bulging grotesquely. He walked forward and stood in front of me. "Go on, then," he murmured. I slid my fingers over his bulge, feeling his hot, hard cock twitch in response. My fingers unzipped his fly and I inserted one hand. I could feel the dampness of his underwear: Pete had obviously been leaking precum for a while. He breathed heavily as I ran my fingers along the length of his prick, then unbuckled his belt and let his trousers fall to the floor with a thump. He was wearing ratty old striped trunks--probably Marks and Spencer--whose buttoned fly was dark with liquid. As soon as I pulled them down his stiff cock flopped out, its tight foreskin ruched back and its dark purple helmet shiny with pre-cum. I could smell the combination of sweaty balls and talc, and bent my head to take his bell-end in my mouth, sliding first it and then the entire length of his cock shaft in over my tongue. Pete gasped and I felt his hands on the back of my head, guiding my wet mouth along his cock, from root to tip and back again.
"That's fucking intense," he muttered, absently stroking the short hair on the back of my neck. I ran my hands up the hard columns of muscle along the back of his calves and thighs, feeling the hair on his legs, and finishing with a handful of each of his arse-cheeks. I was rewarded with a low growl of pleasure from above me, and Pete's thighs quivered momentarily, making his cock tremble in my mouth.
"Send him over here, Pete, mate," Kieran said languidly. I relinquished Pete's prick, giving his wide piss-slit one last lick as I did so, and leaving him to slowly wank himself. Kieran had his legs wide apart, and his trunks hooked under his balls, forcing them up and alongside his cock. He was lightly dragging the fingertips of one hand up from the base of his cock to its tip, delicately stroking its length. With the other hand he beckoned imperiously, and I waddled over to him on my knees. The musky, animal smell of his crotch was instantly familiar, and I relished the slight sweat taste of his balls as I ran my tongue over them. "You like that?" Kieran crooned. He guided my head upwards and firmly held my mouth over his cock. "Go on, give it a good licking," he suggested. I bathed his helmet with my tongue, greedily hoovering up the clear salt slick of pre-cum dribbling down his shaft.
I felt hands on my back, and Pete knelt behind me and began unbuttoning my shirt. He moved close to me and breathed heavily into my ear. "I want you to fuck me," he said hoarsely. "I want you to give me a good fucking." His hands slid inside my open shirt and lingered on my chest before sliding down to my waistband; he cupped my cock and balls in one hand and began unbuckling my belt with the other. I felt hot breath on the back of my neck, and a gentle nip as he dragged his tongue and teeth up and down my shaved neck; Pete leant into me and I could feel the pliant hardness of his stiff cock twitching against my arse while his fingers rhythmically squeezed my shaft.
For a moment Kieran released my head, standing up before me to strip off his trunks. Pete unzipped my trousers and stood up, tugging me to my feet. For a moment all three of us stood, Kieran wearing only a T-shirt, with his long, slender cock pointing up; Pete naked, his cock-head still shiny from my saliva; and me with my trousers around my ankles and my fat, flat cock jutting out between my legs, barely restrained by a pair of white trunks.
"Come on, then," Kieran took control, nodding towards my open bedroom door. He and Pete waited while I stepped out of my trousers before following me in. I sat on the edge of the bed and Pete gently pushed me backwards. He knelt on the bed so that he sat astride me, and lowered himself onto my chest; I could feel the hot warmth of his sweaty arse on my breastbone, but all I could look at was the shiny plum-like head of his prick, inches from my mouth. Unhurriedly Pete began to slowly wank himself, before hitching himself forward and lowering his ball-bag onto my mouth. "Lick my bollocks," he commanded. I ran my tongue up and down, across his nuts, laving them with my spit and swallowing the mix of ball-sweat and saliva. Using one hand I tugged his balls forward and drove my hard tongue up behind his bollocks, sliding a trail of spit towards his arse-crack; I heard Pete give a sharp intake of breath, and his thighs tightened on either side of my thorax. "Keep doing that," he said insistently.
While I worried at Pete's perineum with my tongue, my knees were pushed apart by Kieran's unseen hands, and I felt his fingers glide up between my thighs to the bulging mound between my legs. Frustratingly, he did not touch my cock or balls, but continued up to the waistband of my trunks; he hooked fingers into it and drew down my trunks, pulling them to my ankles and then off. My cock felt suddenly cool, and I gasped when I felt Kieran's warm hand on my nuts. His grip on my prick was familiar: hard finger and thumb pinching my cock-head with an intensity that at times came close to being unbearable, and three fingertips sliding up and down the shaft of my cock. Suddenly he let go, and the warm, wet mouth that enveloped my helmet seconds later was less familiar. He sucked my cock slowly but thoroughly; licking up and down the shaft before taking the entire length in his mouth and sliding his lips almost down to my pubes.
Pete shifted position, lifting himself up and peering down at me with a grin. "Fucking amazing, mate. You've fucking amazing," he said breathlessly. I grabbed his arse-cheeks and pulled him forward so that my mouth had full access to his ringpiece. He seemed surprised, but I persisted, licking at the scattering of dark blond hairs that ran inside the cleft of his arse. I could see his puckered arsehole, damp with sweat, and breathed in the ripe, dirty smell. As my tongue swept and swirled towards his ring, Pete gave a faint, guttural moan and shifted again, pressing his cleft towards my face. "Go on, lick it," he hissed. "Lick my arse. Get your tongue right up there."
The tip of my tongue pressed against his pink ring, probing its tight, damp warmth, and Pete exhaled sharply. "Yeah, get your tongue up there, you dirty fucker. Get me really wet."
I heard Kieran give a muffled chuckle, and he slid my prick out of his warm, velvety mouth. "You're really getting into this, aren't you, Pete?" he said amusedly, his fingers tickling my balls.
"Oh, it's fucking amazing, mate," Pete said. "He's just--oh yeah, fucking hell, that's it; fucking up inside me, slip your tongue right in there. Fuck." He groaned again softly as my tongue drove in and out of his ringpiece, slipping easily between his arse-lips.
"Dirty bastard," Kieran said affectionately. I felt him stand up between my legs. "I've got to have a piss," he announced. "If I can get this hard-on to go down for long enough," he added.
While Kieran was out of the room, Pete sat back, breathing heavily, and looked at me. He was sweating, his chest and forehead dripping with perspiration, and his armpit hair matted and dark. His long cock curved upward, its shiny purple tip exuding a trail of pre-cum, and his balls were drawn tight up against his mass of blond-brown pubes. "Where are your johnnies, then?" he asked.
"Top drawer;" I pointed. "Get some lube out as well."
A couple of minutes later Kieran re-entered the bedroom. He leaned against the doorframe, naked, lazily hefting and squeezing his balls. His cock was rapidly hardening again. He watched without comment as Pete finished rolling the condom down over my erection, then moved down to sit astride my chest, facing me. I squeezed a generous portion of lubricant into my palm, greased up my fingers and gently slid a finger between his legs. I felt the resistance of his arse-lips as my finger entered his hot arse, and Pete gasped. I removed the finger and teased him, circling his cleft and sliding my finger's slippery hardness over his puckered entrance. Then two fingers inside, slipping up between his tight arse-lips. Pete shifted to allow my hand to slide behind his balls, rhythmically penetrating his ring with two fingers, in and out: in and out. Pete closed his eyes and threw his head back; his right hand crept to his cock and began gently stroking its length.
Kieran walked to the bed and gently tickled my bollocks. "I want to see Pete sit down on that cock," he observed.
Pete opened his eyes and grinned, saying softly "I think we can arrange that," then leant back so that his arse-cheeks enveloped my cock. Kieran gripped the base of my erection and pointed it straight upwards. I concentrated on watching Pete's face as he slowly lowered himself onto my hard cock, a dreamy look on his face as my helmet began to slide into his ring. His neck and cheeks flushed, and he bit his lip suddenly; I saw his flanks tense. "Fucking hell; that feels fucking big," he said, his voice cracking like a twelve-year-old's.
Kieran stroked his shoulders soothingly. "Take the whole thing, mate, get it all the way up inside you. You've got Joe's cock up inside you, and he's going to give your arse a good fucking." Pete screwed his eyes tight shut, but nodded vigorously; I slipped another inch inside his tight, hot arse and saw him bite his lip. "And while he's fucking you," Kieran continued, "you're going to be sucking my cock, all right?"
A few minutes later, Kieran was standing astride me, concentrating on sliding his prick in and out of Pete's mouth. I could see Pete hungrily slurping his way up and down the shaft of Kieran's cock, one digit intermittently sliding up behind his balls to finger Kieran's arse-crack. Sweat was dripping down Pete's chest and side as I cautiously thrust upwards into his ring, feeling its warm grip on my cock shaft and hearing him moan almost silently through a mouthful of cock. Kieran took a handful of Pete's tousled, spiky hair and roughly pulled his head closer to his crotch, forcing his glistening, tapered length into Pete's warm mouth. "That's more like it, mate. I want to see you taking it all the way in," Kieran hissed.
Pete mumbled his acquiescence and enthusiastically fisted his own cock with one hand while the other gripped and fondled Kieran's bollocks. I felt him push his arse back against my prick and bucked my hips upwards in response, driving deeper inside him. I could smell Pete's sweat now: a keen, fresh, physical spice of male arousal that turned me on immensely. I slowly, steadily withdrew my cock, feeling the grip of Pete's arse slide down my shaft almost to my helmet, before suddenly slipping my hard-on up inside him again and hearing his gasp. I began a regular rhythm of deep fucking.
"How do you want my spunk?" Kieran asked softly. I couldn't see his face, but his voice had an intimate, masterful tone. He pushed Pete's head away from his cock by the hair.
"In the mouth, mate. Fucking swallow it all," Pete gabbled, craning his neck forward to continue working his mouth over Kieran's prick. Kieran gripped his hair for a few seconds consideringly, then allowed Pete to resume his hungry suckling. But only for a moment. Suddenly he moved his legs apart and pulled Pete's head cruelly back by the hair with his left hand. With his right hand he pointed his cock at Pete's face and gave a couple of sharp strokes to his cock shaft before, with a grunt, shooting out three ropes of white-yellow spunk over Pete's cheek and forehead; from my prone position between his legs I could see his arse-cheeks and thighs tense as he squirted his warm jizz into Pete's face. Pete struggled eagerly against Kieran's grip, licking around his wide-open mouth in an effort to catch stray drops of spunk; I could smell its bleach-like aroma.
"That's it, you're gonna swallow every drop," Kieran said breathlessly. Still holding Pete's hair, he used a forefinger to tenderly scoop up gobs of cum, scraping it from Pete's face, and presenting it to Pete to greedily suck from his finger. When Pete's face was clear but still shiny with drying spunk, Kieran jerked his deflating cock towards him. "Clean off my cock." Pete laved and licked down the shaft, dutifully cleaning the spunk and pre-cum with an offering of spit that made Kieran's helmet glisten. Finally Kieran released Pete's hair and slapped his cheek affectionately. "Good boy," he said, stepping across me and sitting on the side of the bed.
My fucking rhythm had speeded slightly while Pete was bringing Kieran off; now with every thrust I tensed my crotch upward, driving my cock into Pete's muscular arse. Pete responded, matching every stroke with an almost inaudible whimper, and there was a satisfying squelching noise as the combination of sweat and lube oiled my hard prick up his passage. He bent forward and laid his mouth alongside my ear; I could feel his warm, spare body against mine, wet with perspiration, our skin sliding against one another, and smell the combination of aftershave and fresh sweat. His hard prick throbbed against my belly. "Oh, I'm gonna cum soon, mate" he breathed into my ear. I felt his teeth nip at my fleshy earlobe. "You're gonna make me shoot my load any minute," he continued softly. I felt him rubbing his cock against me in time with the rhythm of my strokes inside him. I speeded up, lifting my arse off the mattress and holding his arse-cheeks with my hands to drive deep inside his ring. He gasped and gently bit my earlobe again. "I'm going to shoot my spunk all over you," he whispered. "I'm... oh, oh..."
His ring tightened around my cock and I felt his prick tense against my belly before his body shook and warm spunk flooded between us. He exhaled sharply and continued to squirt in spasms, each spurt of jizz making his arse tighten and relax, milking my hard prick with powerful, involuntary strokes until I joined him, shooting a load inside him. We lay, glistening with sweat and panting, glued together with his spunk. After a few moments Pete swiftly kissed my ear and rolled off me to lie alongside on the bed, breathing heavily; he draped an arm affectionately across my chest.
Kieran stood up with a broad smile and ran a hand through his hair. "That tea's cold. I'll get the kettle on again."
Always happy to receive comments or chat: banana-dino@hotmail.co.uk