3
The afterglow of my encounter with Duncan and Kyle sustained me through some difficult days at work. I had a particularly nasty crime scene to record and process. And the uniformed inspector who was in charge of that investigation was pushing hard for the prints. Over two hundred 10" by 8"s in gory multicolour. The content was doing my head in, which wasn't helped by Mike Treader's attitude. That's the inspector. A real shit-bag. For some reason, he liked to mock and sneer at all the civilian staff at the station. To him, we were all lesser beings.
Treader liked to refer to us all indiscriminately as shirt-lifters' or fudge-shovers'. No politically correct terms would ever fall from his mouth, and it was difficult to contend with. Despite being asked by some of his uniformed colleagues to leave it out, he continued to bad-mouth us. It seemed that no one was going to press the matter with a formal complaint. Indeed, some of the married civilian staff seemed to relish the insults, and would answer him back with as good as they got. In my case, of course, his allegations were true, though he had no grounds for believing that he had hit the mark. Some of the junior uniforms were embarrassed by Mike's way of dealing with us, and would go out of their way to befriend us. And that just seemed to add fuel to Mike's fiery tongue, with the result that they were tarred with the same brush.
Only one of them persisted in being friendly. Whenever it was time for coffee, Alex would fill my mug and leave it with a couple of biscuits on the edge of my work counter. It was his function to act as gopher. A fairly new constable, all he was given to do was the task of fetching and carrying for his lord and master. That meant that I saw quite a lot of him, for he came to collect prints from each reel of pictures as I processed them. He seemed interested in the photo process, fascinated by the idea that I did it all myself, without any automated machine to regulate the treatment of the colour films. In order to finish the job, I was going to have to work on Saturday morning, so that the investigation wasn't hampered by lack of detail.
I went in about 8.30, filled the coffee filter, and reviewed my progress so far. This was a really depressing crime. I poured a coffee and was about to go into the dark room for the last session when Alex appeared.
"I didn't know that you were in today," I said.
"I'm not supposed to be," he responded, "but I know your techie isn't in and I thought you might like a hand. I only wore the uniform in case Inspector Hard Arse was in".
So, Alex really did dislike Mike Treader.
And I didn't just want a hand. But I'd better not shit on my own doorstep with you, I thought.
Shutting the door behind us and putting on the warning light outside, I explained what I needed to do, and suggested that Alex should just watch until he had got used to what I was doing. I had left two reels of film in the automatic developer overnight (OK, so that was a cheat on my usual practice). I decided to put the last two in the same machine, leaving us free to do the prints of the overnight ones.
I soon got Alex to the point of exposing individual frames onto colour paper. He then passed them to me for immersion in the tanks of developer and fixer. We worked away companionably in the acrid smelling dark room until about 11.00.
"Time for a break," I said, putting a hand on his shoulder, which made him jump. Alex is just a wee bit shorter than me, but is a lot stockier, without being fat. We went out and poured more coffee. Alex had shed his uniform jacket because of the warmth in the closed dark room, and there was a pleasant smell flowing from him: some sort of aftershave and a generic scent of warm male flesh. Nice.
Back in the dark room, he told me about his recent holiday with friends in France. As we processed the last few prints, he said, "In fact, I've still got a couple of spools of film to get developed." Knowing that I couldn't use work facilities, largely because of the consumables involved, I suggested that he let me have them to do at home.
"Oh, I couldn't do that. I don't want to impose on you. And some of them might not be worth printing any way."
Having got to know him a bit better during the morning, I responded quickly, "Don't be such an uptight cunt. I wouldn't have offered if I didn't mean it. In fact, if you come round to my place, you can help me sort them out and we'll only print off the ones that you think worthwhile."
It was obvious that he was still reluctant, so I continued, "I'm not going to gossip about your pics with anyone. You must have realized by now that I keep well clear of the station jungle drums. So if there's a picture of you, or one of your drunken friends, mooning at the camera, it's not going to be a problem."
He rather sheepishly said, "Well, all right then. But there might be something just like that on some of the frames."
Having dried all the prints and labelled them, I placed them in a folder and left them on Inspector Treader's desk. As Alex and I were walking out of the station, we met the man himself just going in. I told him there was a file on his desk, and went to walk on.
Mike called us back.
"Hang on," he said, "what are you doing with my gopher? Not giving him lessons in shirt-lifting, are you?"
Who me? Never, I thought.
With a blush on his face, Alex stood up to the bully and said, "I'm sure there's nothing Mr Caroll can teach me about that subject . . . sir".
Treader sneered dismissively and we all went on our way. At the end of the road, Alex and I split. He had already changed in the locker room at work, but needed to return home to collect his holiday films. And I wanted to get us a snack for lunch.
Half an hour later, Alex rang the courtyard doorbell. I walked across to let him in, waving to Kyle, who was staring out of the office window of the tattoo parlour. I was vaguely aware that there was someone looking out of the solicitor's office windows as well, but didn't know who that was.
As we returned across the courtyard, I glanced up to Kyle's window. He gave me a lecherous grin and thumbs up as he saw Alex.
Worth more than a thumbs up, I thought. Alex was wearing a tight t-shirt that showed off the fine musculature of his chest and abdomen, and had a nice bubble-butt. After soup and cheese rolls, accompanied by a glass of rioja, Alex seemed to relax.
We went into the converted storeroom, where he sniffed and said, "It smells just like your place at work, Tony."
It was the first time that he had used my first name, and I liked the sound of it coming in his deep voice. It was, after all, the first time he has seen me away from work, so I wasn't surprised at the change of style.
While the film developed, we talked about work, and where we liked to drink and what friends we might have in common. And then we started printing the pictures. There were three or four snaps on the first reel that Alex decided he didn't want, either because they duplicated others, or because they were out of focus. I checked this diagnosis by peeking over his shoulder from time to time. Any excuse to get close to him.
The next to last exposure on the reel was a picture of Alex in a red speedo costume, with his arm around the shoulders of a buxom wench overflowing her blue two piece costume. I wasn't interested in her at all, but it looked as though she had brought on a semi hard-on in Alex if the distension of his speedo costume was anything to go by.
"You might want me to print this as-is, and also cropped to just torsos," I suggested.
"Why's that," he asked.
"Alex, it looks as though you're at least half way to an erection in that one. Can you really show it to your mum?"
"You're right," he said. "I couldn't show it to her, but it's not a hard-on. . . that's just how it is."
Wow! It looked to be about eight inches . . . and he reckoned that was flaccid!
"Anyway, that's Chrissie. She's Paul's girl. It was him who took that picture."
The last picture on the reel was of Alex in a similar pose. But this time his arm was round the shoulders of a man. Paul presumably. Alex had half turned towards the camera, and the bulge in his trunks looked positively menacing. And I realized that if his cock did get hard, it probably wouldn't be because of his friend Chrissie. Running down his left thigh was a tattoo of cogs and pistons, just like the one that Duncan had.
And Dunc had told me he's used the same design on only one person, `the best lay I ever had'. Could it be true?
As I reached for the next film, Alex stopped me, putting his broad hand on my arm. "This is why I was reluctant to let you do these films," he said, "Just remember, I did warn you."
As I brought the first frame into focus, I saw what he meant. It was a shot of a crowd in a bar. And everybody was naked.
"The first half of the holiday was spent in an ordinary resort. But for the second week, Chrissie and Paul took me to a naturist colony."
In a matter of fact way, I told him it was no problem. But it was. If he featured in any of the snaps, I was going to see his monster salami after all!
Most of the people who featured in this reel were typical of my impression of naturists: overweight and not very prepossessing. But there were some features of interest. Unfortunately, Chrissie always seemed to be nearer the camera than Paul, but there were some shots that showed him off as a very delectable young man, with a very suckable prick.
Very few images of Alex though (it was his camera after all), and always across a table or in the middle of a crowd, so I couldn't see his elusive private bits. Eventually, we had finished all the pictures, printing two sets, so he could pass on one to his friends.
Back in the kitchen, I poured some more wine. "Nice tattoo on your leg," I said. "Yeah," responded Alex, "I had it done here in town about a year ago. Several people have commented on it."
I bet, I thought.
"Tony, have you got any tattoos, then?" he asked.
I told him about the one I'd got, and that I was thinking about having another one done. He thought that was cool. And then he asked a leading question that I wasn't sure how to handle.
"How about piercings? Got any of them?" I told him about my Prince Albert. He said that he was curious about piercings, but that he wasn't sure that he wanted one.
"You might not want to have a P.A.," I quipped. "It's not as if you've got any need to draw attention to the dick of death that you seemed to have in your swimming trunks."
Alex flushed bright red. "I've seen one before," he said. I was sure that that one had belonged to Dunc, but kept my mouth shut. He went on to ask what I thought were the pros and cons of having one. I told him that I had no troubles with mine.
"If you wash your prick thoroughly and regularly, there's no problem. But you have to get used to how to hold it when pissing, otherwise you pee out of the piercing hole as well. It can be like pissing through a shower head," I explained. "The biggest decision for me was when to have it done. You see you have to leave it alone for a period of time to heal up. That means no sex, not even a wank, for up to a fortnight."
That made Alex blush again. Not used to such forthright speaking, I suppose.
"Mind you," I continued, "the guy who did mine did say that if I really had to cum, I should put on a condom to prevent any infection or dirt getting in there. I lasted eight days before I had to, and then another five days before I wanked again. Just two handjobs in a fortnight, instead of my usual ration. It was a bit sore when I was too vigorous with the wrist action, but it worked OK."
Finding that I was comfortable talking about dick, Alex asked. "How often do you usually masturbate then, Tony?"
"Don't go comparing my habits with yours or anyone else," I warned. "Everybody is different. But since you ask, I usually do it twice a day unless I get lucky and get off with someone."
"And do you have anyone regular," asked Alex.
"No. But that doesn't mean I'm not getting any.
"Unlike me, then," Alex said self-pityingly. "The trouble with having a larger-than-usual dick is that potential partners are so in awe of it that they treat you as if you belonged to the dick, instead of getting to know you as a person. And other people are frightened of it, and reckon they'd never be able to get it into any orifice."
"Sad gits," I said, not prepared to let him slip into depression. "So the only way you regularly cum is . . ." and I gestured to indicate the wanking motion.
"Yeah."
"How often's that then?"
"Well," and Alex looked at the floor sooner than at me. "Either three or four times."
"A day?"
"Yeah."
"Cool . . . so . . . it's four o'clock now. How many times today?"
"I don't know if I should say. . . ." there was a long pause, and I just raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Three times. When I woke up. Then before I came down the station. . . and then when I went to the bog after elevenses."
I was gob-smacked. "Cool," I said, "it definitely works then."
"Yeah," and he continued to look at the floor. "Trouble is . . ." and he looked at me from the corner of his eye. "I want to do it again already."
"No prob. You've just got a healthy appetite."
"You don't mind."
"Course not. Talking about it has made me quite keen too."
Alex's hand slid up his thigh, and moved across his groin as if to cover it up. And then . . . he squeezed. And looked at me again from the corner of his eye.
I couldn't let him be disappointed. I slid my own hand up my thigh and outlined my penis.
Alex sighed, "Yeah". And he squeezed again.
I eased my zip down a couple of inches and waited.
Alex did the same, and left one finger just inside his fly.
I unbuttoned my waistband and pushed my hand inside and groped my hard-on. "Go for it," I said, and pulled my P.A. out into view.
Alex pushed his trousers down onto his thighs. White boxer shorts with a heavy, wet stain above his thigh. "Are you sure?" he asked.
No, I thought. The sight of your erection is a real turn-off, that's why I'm sitting here with a stiffie poking out of my strides. As if!
I stood up and said, "You haven't seen my playroom. Come on."
With our cocks waving in front of us we made our way downstairs. Mine waggled about seven inches in front of me. Alex's instrument was at least ten inches long and was way wide, with a really thick foreskin.
I didn't want to spook Alex, so I took him into the bedroom. "Might as well do it in comfort," I suggested, pointing to the bed.
"Yeah." I took that as permission. I pulled my clothes off and fell back onto the bed to watch Alex. He hesitated. And then he dropped his clothes onto the floor and kicked his trainers into the corner. And then he got onto the bed beside me. "So," he said, "do I get to see that metal ring through your dick in action?"
"Sure," and I started to play with the ring and to rub gently at my insistent erection. Alex didn't seem to take his eyes off my moving hand. His own dextrous fingers started to move his loose foreskin over his swollen helmet."
"Nice," I said.
"You reckon?" he said grinning over at me as he pulled back the skin over his snout to reveal a large mushroom-headed monster of a glans.
"Yeah. If I had one that size, I'm not sure that I would ever go out."
"What do you mean?" his hand stopped moving and he looked at me suspiciously.
I carried on wanking to try to encourage him. "Well. If I had one that big, I'm sure that I'd be able to suck myself off. And I really wouldn't want to leave it alone."
Alex's hand began moving again, with a bit more enthusiasm. "I've never thought of that," he said. "I wonder if I really would be able to reach?"
"You'll never know if you don't try," I suggested. Bearing in mind his disappointment that no one else seemed able to manage it, I pointed out that even if he couldn't manage to get it in his mouth, he would definitely be able to lick the head, and that would make a change from his masturbation habit.
"Yeah," he said.
I was fed up with the monosyllabic conversation, but not with the view. Alex was still tossing away beside me, and the image was repeated and repeated in the mirrors surrounding the bed.
"No time like the present," he said with a gulp, and bent forward, rounding his back to reach his erection. Sure enough, it reached his lips, and I watched with glee as his moist tongue pushed out to take its first taste of his own cockhead.
Alex looked at me again from under his eyelids, suddenly shy again. "You don't mind?" he asked.
"Course not. Go ahead." And I pushed his head back towards his groin. He opened wide his jaws, stretching his lips, and managed to get the head between his lips by grabbing hold of his legs behind the knees and pulling himself closer. He made the sort of sound Homer Simpson makes when confronted with chocolate and slurped away for a few seconds. Then he sat up again but didn't resume his wank.
"What's the matter?" I asked.
"Nothing. I just don't want to cum too soon. I want this to last."
My foreskin was making slurping noises as I pulled my foreskin back and forth over my helmet. This was really hot. Like Alex, I didn't want it to end too soon. As I slowed down and stopped wanking for a moment, Alex spoke again.
"You sure you don't mind this?"
"It's fine. Relax and go at your own speed. I'm just jealous."
"Of what?"
"That beautiful cock, and the fact that you really can suck it, you lucky bastard."
A few seconds of thoughtful silence as we both began to masturbate again.
"It's no big deal," said Alex. "Do you want to try it?"
"Sure. If you don't mind?"
He leant back and spread his legs, his normal size balls rolling in his sac as he did so. "Go ahead and have a feel."
My right hand inched across and rested on his tanned belly, the dark-gold fibrous hairs there tickling my fingertips. I moved again and touched his tanned erection with the end of just one finger. OK. It was just a cock. Just the biggest cock I'd ever seen outside porn films.
"It won't break you know," Alex said, wrapping my fingers around his enormous knob. Tentatively, I wanked him, wishing that I could try getting it in my mouth. Or die trying. How could I suggest that?
"Could you do me a favour?" Alex asked.
"Sure. What?"
"Can I cop a feel of your P.A. It really does look hot." Without waiting for an answer, his fingers moved into my groin and started to manipulate my dick.
I took a deep breath, and grabbed his wrist to slow him down. "Not too much. I'm not ready to shoot yet."
Alex stopped, looked me in the eye and said, "You're really into this, aren't you?"
My turn to give a one word answer: "Yeah."
He turned onto one side and took me in his arms, hugging me close and nuzzling into my neck. "Me too," he said.
That was all right then. Our lips met and we started to hump our cocks against each other. I pulled his head out of my neck and just looked a question at him. He smiled. "Go on, then. See if you can be only the second person ever to get more than the tip of my dick in your mouth."
I did. It was a struggle, and worth every second of effort. The honey of his dick-dew was a golden taste on my tongue now. I knew that my teeth were occasionally rasping against the rim of his helmet. Every time it happened Alex grunted, but he didn't try to stop me sucking him. From the corner of my eye I looked at our reflection in the mirrors. I hoped this wouldn't be a one-off. I hoped that Alex would let me do it again. I hoped he wouldn't regret it later. I hoped he wouldn't hate me when it was over.
Alex began to mutter obscenities, over and over again. I don't know how, but his knob swelled even larger between my lips. And he came. And he came. And he came. And this was his fourth cum of the day? Yeah! . . . Yeah! . . . Yeah! . . . I'd been shagging the silky hair on the calf of his leg like a dog. And now it was my turn. I shot my goo onto him. Smooth ecstasy, as the last drops of his copious semen dripped from the corners of my mouth.
Alex went home. That was OK. I was knackered. I showered, got myself something to eat, and watched the telly for a while. I was thinking about going to bed when my mobile phone beeped to tell me that I had a text message. It said: `Twice. I'm never going out again. CU at work'.