Intimacy

INTIMACY (Part 1) by Sebastian Wallace

Even though I'm straight (well, on the whole!) I enjoy being intimate with guys I know. Doing stuff together like lying around watching TV in our underwear, showering at the gym, that kind of stuff. I mean, having sex with other men has its own, more obvious, attractions, but spending enough time with another straight guy for us to share mundane bodily moments like shaving and pissing and showering and stuff has always appealled to me as being something deeper and more fulfilling.

What the hell am I talking about?

Well, I guess the best way to explain what I mean is to tell you about something that happened to me when I was about fifteen.

The school arranged this history trip to Belgium, to see the trenches and the scenes of some of the major battles of the First World War. We stayed in this hostel which was in the middle of nowhere and travelled around Belgium by coach, stopping off at various places. My main memory is of the disappointment of finding out how little pratting about my mates and I would be able to get up to. It was the middle of February and the nearest village to our hostel was like twenty miles away. There were just thirty of us lads, a few staff and sod all else. No French girls' school trip, as one guy had rumoured; no stashes of duty-free booze, as another had promised. Even the bar in the hostel was out-of-bounds.

Things weren't looking too good. Except if you were into First World War history.

It got even worse when it turned out that there weren't quite enough beds for the staff. I remember us all standing around outside the hostel in the snow. We'd had a few snowball fights and stuff while we waited for the teachers to sort out our rooms, but it took so long that after a while we just stood around feeling cold and wanting to get something hot to eat after the endless coach journey.

Then one of the history teachers, this ancient reptilian-looking man, came out and told us that two of us would have to share with one of the staff. We all just stood in silence, staring down at the snow, as if studying the footprints. "Look, I know it's not ideal," he went on in an imploring voice, "but it's just for three nights."

Anyway, eventually - after various failed attempts to recruit volunteers - he made us draw straws. Well, actually he used pens, two of which were red.

It turned out that I pulled out the first red pen. I knew I would: as I reached out and put my finger on one of the pens, I knew it was red. But I didn't want to look like I was nancying around and changing my mind, so I just pulled it out. And it was red.

Well, everyone laughed and took the piss out of me. They all assumed that I'd be bunking up with the old guy. People were saying things like, "Hey don't take a drink from his false teeth glass, Seb," and "Hey mind you don't put on his long johns..." as if he couldn't hear.

But then the old guy said, "Actually, Sebastian, you'll be sharing with Mr Gould." That stopped the wisecracks. Gould was thought of as being a fairly cool guy. He was in his mid-twenties and taught maths and sports. He ran camping trips to the Himalayas and stuff. I knew some sixth formers who had shared a tent with him half way up K2 and they said he'd been totally cool - he'd brought vodka and stuff for them to share. Bunking up with Gould wouldn't be like being with a group of mates, but it wasn't the disaster it had first looked.

I'd already planned to share with a friend of mine called Simon and this other guy I knew called Ed. Sharing with Gould might be a lot more bearable if one of them would come in with me: the idea of sharing with a teacher and a guy I hardly knew made me want to suggest that I sleep on the coach. I mean, it would have just been totally dull.

Well I looked around and saw Ed trying to disappear into the crowd. So much for solidarity. But then Simon patted me on the back and said, "You still wanna share, Seb?"

So it turned out that Simon and I bunked up with Gould.

We were told to put our bags in our rooms before we'd be given something to eat. Simon was given the key and we went into the dormitory block to find where we'd be sleeping.

The place looked pretty basic, with cold stone floors and breeze block walls in the corridors. The staircases were metal. Some of the lights flickered and buzzed. One of the lads joked that we'd come to sample life in the First World War at first hand.

When Simon and I got into our room, though, it was a lot better. Not great, but it looked almost palatial compared with the sparsity of the corridors and exterior. The room must have originally been square but a large rectangle of it had been converted into an en-suite shower room. There were three beds, all looking like hospital beds from the sixties and a forlorn curtain hanging in the window. The floor was tiled and a threadbare mat lay ruffled in the centre of it.

Simon went for the bed on the far wall. He put his shoulder bag down near the pillow and then sat on the mattress. The bed creaked with his weight.

He said, "Well, it's no Buckingham Palace..."

I took the bed against the wall of the en-suite shower room. I sat on it and it creaked like his.

Then the door opened and Mr Gould came in.

He flashed us a smile. He looked tired but amused. He slung his rucksack onto the remaining bed near the window. Then he sat down on it with a creak.

I guess Simon and I just stared at him mournfully. He faked a glum face, an impersonation of ours.

Then he smiled again: a warm, genuine smile. "I'm not that unbearable am I?"

Simon said, "It's not that, Sir."

Gould looked at him. He seemed to consider the comment as if Simon had uttered some profound revelation. After a few moments, he said, "Well I think the 'Sir' stuff isn't going to help."

We both gawped at him.

He continued, looking at the mat on the floor, "I mean, we're sharing a room by necessity... surely it's not such a big deal..."

He looked at each of us in turn, like he needed encouragement. I don't think he got any.

He went on, "But - you know - just do what you would normally do... this is your space, you can regard me as the intruder. So, well, while we're in here, you can call me Brendon. And you can do what you'd normally do. No punishments. No detentions and stuff."

We stared at him.

Then Simon said, "Seriously?"

Gould smiled. His face was covered with a light brown fuzz of stubble. He said, "Yeah. This is your room. One of the staff made a balls up. So my being here isn't your fault."

I smiled. I liked him. I said, "Cool!"

He stood up and unzipped his backpack. "Now, if you'll excuse me, gents, I wanna get cleaned up before we eat..."

We both just sat there, gobsmacked. A teacher letting us call him by his first name!

Gould pulled off his fleece. He was wearing a white teeshirt underneath it. His chest looked well-built and his nipples poked outwards inside it. The guy did a lot of climbing and it showed.

Simon got up and took his alarm clock out of his bag. Positioning it on the stool next to his bed, he said, "Who's first for a cigarette then?"

Gould sat down on his bed again. He undid the laces in his black Doctor Martin boots, smiling as he did so. "Like you'd do that if I wasn't here..."

Simon turned to him and grinned. "You said we could do whatever we liked."

Gould pulled off his left boot. His blue sock looked damp as he unrolled it from his foot. He explained, "No. I said you could do whatever you'd normally do. Smoking in the hostel room wouldn't be the kind of thing two smart lads like you two would get up to..."

I was fiddling with my bag, transferring some of the Belgian Francs I'd changed on the ferry into one of the concealed pockets in it. I glanced up at Gould and, with a semi-serious look on my face, said, "We might bring a girl back, Brendon."

Gould pulled off his right boot and then rolled down his other sock. Standing up again, he started undoing his belt. He nodded thoughtfully. "Well... if you can find any signs of female life around here, bring one back for me too..."

He unzipped his jeans and then pulled them down his legs. His legs were muscular and lightly haired. He kicked his jeans off and then turned to fumble in his rucksack for his toiletries bag. He was wearing navy blue briefs. His arse cheeks looked solid and round inside them.

Simon sat back on his bed and started taking his deodorant and stuff out of his bag. He said, "Whatever would Mrs Gould say?"

Gould fished out his toiletries bag and turned around. He grinned, "What Mrs Gould doesn't know..." Then he walked towards the shower room. I noticed that he filled the front of briefs quite impressively.

I looked at Simon and smirked. I said, "The way these beds creak, I don't think we'll even get away with a quick hand shandy." Simon just stared at me.

Gould called out from the bathroom, "If you wanna twang your wang, Seb, you are more than welcome."

I laughed at his comment. Simon looked slightly embarrassed.

I heard a sound like pouring water from the shower room. I realised Brendon was taking a piss. He'd left the bathroom door open and the sounds of his piss were noisy and unashamed.

Gould called out, "We'd better get some oil for the bedsprings, eh?"

I laughed again. "Yeah. Yours included."

Gould laughed loudly. "Too right, mate."

Gould's loud stream of piss turned into a few sporadic dribbles and then I heard him switch the shower on. I was impressed by Gould's openness in talking about masturbation. Every generation thinks they discovered it and it's always a surprise to hear older people talk openly and non-judgementally about it.

Gould walked back into the room. I glanced up at him: he'd taken off his teeshirt and briefs and was naked. He walked over to his bag muttering, "Shampoo... did I remember it...?"

I looked at his arse again as he searched through his rucksack. It was a small arse: the cheeks were very round and obviously muscular but small and pert.

He found his shampoo and then turned to walk back into the bathroom.

I looked at his cock. It was the first time I'd seen the cock of one my teachers up close. It was fairly large: probably about the same size as my own when I'm limp. It hung down and looked pale and thick. His foreskin was pulled back from his bell-end slightly and I could see the slit. It looked damp from his piss.

I looked at his balls behind his cock. They looked small, nestling in the thick curls of his light brown pubic hair.

He made a coughing sound. I looked at his face. He was staring at me: watching me watching his cock. He grinned broadly, showing his clean white teeth.

He said, "What are you guys doing? Shouldn't you be getting ready? I mean, cleaning up and stuff?"

I took my gloves out of my bag and slipped them in my coat pockets. I said, "Well -ah - I'm gonna eat as I am. No point in getting dolled up if there's no-one who'll notice."

Gould smiled and then walked back into the shower room.

I was surprised by the way he walked around naked in front of us, without shame or embarrassment. It was a pleasant surprise, though: I wasn't shocked or disgusted or anything. At school, when I'd shared a room with another boy, we both wore our towels around our waists when we were going to and from the bathroom. Even pulled on our briefs beneath the security of a towel or dressing gown. To do anything other might be seen as "gay".

But here was Brendon Gould, married and yet obviously comfortable with intimacy between himself and other men, totally relaxed about his body and his nudity in front of two lads ten years younger than him.

Simon and I left our bags on our beds and left Brendon getting into the shower.

When we were having our meal with some of the other guys, Simon made a comment about Gould asking for oil for the bedsprings. Most of the lads found that quite funny. One of them, a football player who we always called Dobby, said, "Well, when nature calls, huh?"

Simon said, trying to sound cool, "Ugh. Totally gross."

But Dobby didn't see like that. "Guys do it. Big deal."

Simon smirked. "Yeah, but not - like - teachers."

Dobby was dismissive. "Gould's okay. He goes hiking up Everest and stuff. Four guys in a tent. I guess that's made him pretty relaxed around other men."

This other mate of ours called Martin said, "Yeah it's just another bodily function..."

Simon shook his head. "I don't want to share any bodily functions with another guy..."

Dobby rolled his eyes like he was impatient. "Jesus. Grow up, little boy." Then he immediately changed the conversation. Simon looked pissed off.

After the meal, the teachers went to the bar and Simon and I went to this guy Matt's room to smoke and complain to each other about how boring the trip had turned out.

At about ten to eleven, one of the guys we were with said, sneeringly, "Shouldn't you guys be getting back to teacher - 'Lights out at eleven, boys!'"

I said, "Gould's okay. He said we should treat the room like he wasn't there."

Matt breathed out smoke from his cigarette through his nose. He said, "Yeah he's alright. Pretty cool."

Simon took the opportunity to mention masturbation again. He seemed kind of obsessed by it. I'd noticed a few times during the evening that he tried to steer the topic back around to Gould and his bed springs comment.

He said, "Yeah. He said we could wank off and stuff. Like he'd enjoy watching us."

This lad called Jed said, "Jeez Simes. Calm down. Take deep breaths, man."

Simon looked pissed off again. "What?"

Jed explained, "The guy's away from his wife. He gets hard-ons. He needs to have a wank. He probably told you guys that you could do it as well to make him feel less hung-up about it. Where's the problem, Simon?"

Simon looked down. He shrugged. "I dunno... just seems weird..."

Matt said, "When your balls drop, Simes, and you starting pullin' your pecker yourself, you'll understand..."

Simon smouldered, staring at the carpet. His face was pink.

Then Matt's cigarette fell onto the bed and singed the blankets and the conversation changed to how we could hide the burn mark.

Simon and I got back to the room at about midnight. Gould was still out, maybe in the bar, or maybe he'd gone round to room of another of the younger teachers for a drink.

Simon and I undressed down to our teeshirts and briefs and got into our beds.

Sitting up against the wall, with his duvet around him, Simon said, "That stuff about wanking... I'm not like totally freaked out or anything... I just..."

He paused and seemed unable to continue.

I asked him, "Are you like Catholic or something?"

He said, "No. Why? Don't they do it?"

"I don't think so. Well, the devout ones don't."

Simon shook his head, "No - it's not that. I mean, I wank off and stuff. It's just... I never did it in front of other guys..."

"You must have shared a room at school in the third form or last year?"

"Yeah, but I went to the john to do it. Or while the other guy was asleep..."

I smiled. I found his inhibitions quite cute. He was normally as open and crude about sexual things as the rest of us - he sang rugby songs as loudly as others in the school team - and yet here he was being coy and secretive about something as mundane as masturbation.

He asked, "Have you ever done it in front of someone else?"

At the risk of him branding me as "gay", I decided to be honest. "Yeah. When I shared a room. And with my brother a couple of times."

He thought about what I'd said. He gave a sheepish smile. "I guess it's no big deal, really."

I had to smile again. I'd never talked about masturbation with anyone before. My four or so years of experience of it was restricted to solitary explorations and piecing together what I could about the techniques from school yard jokes and watching my older brother's fumblings under the duvet when we'd shared a room on holiday.

I said, "I've never really thought about it being anything - you know - significant."

"Yeah. I dunno..." He paused for a few seconds and then asked, "Would you, like, do it in front of Gould?"

I said, "Well - if I get a hard-on, yeah, probably... I mean, he doesn't seem too hung up about it."

Simon looked downwards. He muttered, "Yeah. Maybe I would, then. I dunno..."

I had to laugh at him. He looked over at me, a slightly hurt expression on his face. I said, "Sorry, Simon. Sorry. It's just - you know. It's like deliberating on whether we're going to take a piss over the next three days..."

He looked down again. "Yeah. Okay. Sorry."

I said, "We're three guys. We all have dicks. We all get hard-ons. We all wank. That's it. Period."

Simon smiled. "Yeah. I suppose it saves us - ah - hiding the spunk stains..."

I think we talked a bit more before turning off the light. Gould didn't come back and I thought he was maybe sleeping on the floor in the room of another teacher to give us some space. But just as I was getting off to sleep - it must have been about one o'clock or something - I heard him come in, undress and get into his bed. The three of us lay there in the darkness and I drifted back off.

The next thing I became aware of was Gould going on about the alarm not going off and that we were late. I opened my eyes and saw that he was out of bed.

He said, "Come on you guys. Wakey wakey. We're late."

I sat up in bed, rubbing my eyes. Then I got my legs out of the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress. I felt absolutely knackered. Simon groaned.

Gould pulled off his teeshirt, saying, "Come on! We've like fifteen minutes before the coach goes..." Simon groaned again.

I asked, my voice sounding husky, "What about breakfast?"

Gould pulled down his briefs. His cock was semi-hard. It was very thick - much thicker than mine and pointed outwards from his body at an angle of about forty-five degrees. His foreskin was pulled back, revealing about half of his dry, pink bell-end.

He said, "Just a glass of water this morning, mate." Then he looked at me looking on his cock. I guess I looked totally groggy, my eyes still struggling to open fully. He said, "Yeah - er - forgive the morning woody, boys. Not really what you wanna wake up to..."

I had to smile. I croaked, "I'm not really hungry now..."

Gould laughed and walked into the shower room. He called out, "Come on, lads. You can't just lie there. You better get in here and clean up..."

I got out of bed. My cock was rock hard: I don't know who I'd been dreaming of, but she must have been hot. I pulled off my teeshirt, telling Simon to get up. He just lay there, groaning and rubbing his eyes.

Then I decided to pull off my briefs. I thought that, since Gould had been so unashamed about his morning hard-on, it might be kind of cool to show my own off. I pulled them off, releasing my cock to arch upwards in its full eight-inch glory. I wondered how Simon would take it: I thought it would be quite funny if he turned out to be as shocked about morning stiffies as he had been about masturbation.

He rubbed his eyes, muttering, "You take a shower first." Then he glanced over at me, "Fucking hell!" He didn't look shocked: he just laughed groggily.

I said, "Breakfast is served!"

"You fucking wish..."

I walked into the bathroom.

Gould was shaving at the sink. He said, "We've got like ten minutes, guys."

Then he looked over at me through the mirror and let out a laugh. "You'd better make that a cold shower, Seb."

I turned on the shower and waited for the water to warm up. I was struck by how unexpectedly good it felt to stand there in front of him with my cock rigid and proud.

I said, "I wish I could remember what I was dreaming about."

He laughed again, shaving his top lip. "Yeah. It's always the case..."

I noticed that his cock was dangling downwards by now, its tip occasionally touching the rim of the sink as he bent forwards to look at his face in the mirror. It was still fairly chunky - still much thicker than it had looked the previous day - but he was obviously losing his erection.

When the water felt warm, I got into the shower and let it pour over me, feeling myself starting to wake up. The pressure of the jets of water on my exposed bell-end felt fantastic and my cock swelled, seeming to strain to get even harder.

Gould was talking about camping in the Himalayas. "... four guys in a tent. All of us with morning hard-ons... trying to get dressed on all fours..."

I laughed and started washing my hair. "Could get kind of painful, I guess..."

He called out, "Huh?"

I said, "Well - you know. Bending over to reach for your briefs... the guy behind you getting too close..."

He laughed. "Yeah. Right. Good way to wake a guy up, though."

I started washing my chest, stomach and cock, lathering shower gel into my pubic hair. Since the door of the cubicle was made of glass, I was careful not to make any overtly masturbatory movements around my cock. But the jets of water raining down. I called out, "You could try it on Simon. He's having trouble waking up..."

He laughed again. "Naah - you can do the honours there. You're more - shall we say - tooled up for it, mate."

I looked out through the shower door and saw Gould looking at my cock as he was rinsing his razor. Now it was my turn to laugh. "Yeah," I said. "I've got a nice big tool for that job..."

Gould smiled as he packed his razor away. "Hurry up in the shower Seb. I need to get in too..."

I rinsed myself off, switched off the shower and then stepped out of the cubicle. My cock was still stiff, still throbbing and curving towards the ceiling. Gould passed me my towel and then walked over to the shower stall and turned it back on.

As I was drying my hair Gould stood outside of the shower, waiting for the water temperature to stabilise again, and looked at my cock again. He shook his head, "Can't you - like - switch it off or something?"

I smiled at him: I was enjoying the attention. He smiled back, still shaking his head. I started drying my back and my arse, sticking my hips out towards him, my hard cock bobbing around in front of me. He kept looking at it, staring at my gingery-blond pubic hair, at my heavy swinging balls and at my arched erection.

I noticed that his cock was semi-hard again: standing out from his balls and looking thicker. He saw me glance at it and smirked at me as he got into the shower.

Simon walked into the bathroom looking pretty rough. He was still wearing the black Red Hot Chilli Peppers teeshirt he'd slept in and a pair of white briefs. His hair was all over the place and his chin had a shadow of dark stubble. He groaned something about the coach having pulled up outside. His voice sounded like he had a bad case of laryngitis.

I started drying myself off, rubbing my chest and stomach with the towel.

Simon ignored me and staggered over to the sink to look in the mirror. He said, "Fucking hell. I look worse than I feel." He started filling the sink with water and fumbled around for his razor and shaving gel. Then he took off his teeshirt and threw it down. He glanced at Gould through the glass of shower cubicle door and then over at me drying myself. He seemed to give an unintentional shrug, as if thinking to himself, "What the hell, and then turned back to the mirror, pulled down his briefs and kicked them off.

His arse was white and smooth, the cheeks looking almost feminine as they curved outwards from the small of his back. There was just a suggestion of fine hairs poking out from the lower part of his cleft.

Gould called out from the shower, "Just give me a minute in here, Simes, then it's all yours."

Simon said, "No problem Sir."

He turned off the tap and started washing his face, splashing handfuls of water into his eyes and wetting his hair.

Gould called out, "My name's Brendon." I looked over at him. He was washing around his cock, lathering soap into pubes. It looked limp again, dangling and bobbing around as he washed himself, but retained its thickness.

Simon stopped washing his face and stared at himself in the mirror, smoothing his hair down with his wet hands. Then, as it dawned on him what Gould meant, he muttered, "Oh yeah. Sorry Sir - ah - Brendon. I'm so tired I can't even think."

He turned to pick up his towel and I saw that his thin cock was soft and hung down over the top of his hairy balls. His foreskin was much longer than his bell-end and made a puckered nozzle at the end of his cock. I just got a glimpse of it but it looked a bit weird to me.

Gould called out, "Maybe he needs waking up, eh Seb?"

At first I didn't know what he meant; I'd forgotten what we'd been talking about.

Simon grunted, "Huh?"

Gould switched off the shower and opened the door. He grabbed his towel and started drying his hair. Beads of water ran down his lightly haired chest and tight muscular stomach, trickling in a stream from the end of his cock and making his pubic hair matt together like a brown dripping icicle under his balls. He said, "Seb thought up a pretty effective method of waking a guy up..." He looked over at me and smiled.

I understood Gould's meaning and put my towel down. My cock had lost some of its hardness but still rose upwards from my balls.

Simon smeared shaving gel into his fine stubble, lathering it up. Picking up his razor and warming it under the tap, he said, "Yeah?"

Gould said, "Yeah. A new use for a morning woodie..."

Simon started shaving his face with exaggerated concentration. Gould winked at me and pointed at Simon's pale arse. Then he looked back at my cock, grinning. He started drying his armpits.

I smiled back at him and threw down my towel. I walked over to Simon saying, "Yeah, I just thought, you know, all of us guys... in a crowded space..." Simon kept shaving his chin, making slow deliberate strokes. "Accidents might happen..."

I thrust my cock, which had now risen again to full attention, into Simon's crack. It shot straight between his cheeks and I had time to make a few jabs into his cleft before he pulled forward.

He shouted, "Fuck! You dirty fucker! I can't fucking believe you did that!"

Gould laughed loudly. Simon glared at me through the mirror and then glared at Gould. Gould kept laughing, drying his back and his arse distractedly. He said, "Did he get a hole in one, Simes?"

Simon looked a bit shocked at his comment but then tried to smile to conceal his displeasure. He muttered, "Jesus. Next time you wanna wake me up, bring me a coffee..."

I sprayed myself with deodorant, glancing at Gould's dick which had risen to an angle of about forty-five degrees again.

Simon looked at Gould and then flashed me a very dirty look. "You're both so sad. I can't believe what you just did..."

Gould laughed again. He said, "Hey, take it easy, Simes. It was just a joke."

Simon tried to smile, washing his razor under the tap. He said, "I can't believe you've got a boner, Seb."

Gould laughed, "It's a morning stiffy. If you wake up with other guys, you're gonna see a few..."

Simon said curtly, "I don't expect to get them pushed into my bum."

Gould walked towards me grinning broadly. His cock was now almost fully erect. It was pretty amazing: about eight inches long, as thick as a boy's wrist and as straight as a ruler. Its large, round purple head swayed from side to side as he walked. I couldn't believe that this guy who'd taught me maths in the third form would have such a monster cock: I don't go looking at guys' bulges but you'd think he'd have had difficulty concealing that thing in the front of his trousers.

When he was right in front of me, Gould said, "Hey Simes - if I poke Seb with my morning stalk, he's not gonna get freaked out, are you Seb?"

I looked down at our cocks. His, fat and straight; mine, thin and curved. Both of us about the same length. Both of us hard and almost visibly throbbing.

I looked back at Gould's face and smiled. Then he thrust his cock into mine so that it made a loud slapping sound.

I said, "You lookin' for a fight or something..."

He smirked. Then we frantically jabbed our cocks into each other so that they looked like they were wrestling. Our balls jumped around and our bell-ends kept smacking into each other. We were laughing like a couple of kids. Then my cock accidentally poked into his scrotum and he jumped back shouting, "Whoa, whoa! That's fightin' dirty, mate..."

We stood staring at each other, grinning broadly and getting our breath back. Gould's face was getting a bit pink. Mine felt like it was getting warmer too. Then I looked over to Simon who was staring at us: he'd finished shaving and was just standing looking at us with his towel in front of him.

Gould called over to him, "When you're in a small space with other guys, you've gotta expect a bit of bodily contact..."

Simon said, "Yeah, I guess. Not in the arse though."

Gould laughed again. "Jesus Simes. It's no big deal. Seriously mate. I've camped with so many guys... up on Everest with lads not much older that you. We've pissed together, wanked together, taken dumps together... it's just called getting comfortable with intimacy, mate."

I said, "It was only meant as a joke."

Gould picked up his can of deodorant and sprayed his chest and armpits. He said, "Well if it's such a big deal, Simes, why don't you do it back to him?"

I grinned. "Yeah, whatever. I don't give a toss."

Simon shook his head and turned to switch on the shower. He kept his towel in front of him like he wanted to conceal his cock. He muttered ironically, "Kind offer - but I'll give your arse a miss this once, Seb."

I shrugged and then bent over to pick up my discarded towel.

Gould said, "I wouldn't refuse..." Then, before I could stand up, he ran up behind me, grabbed my hips and then thrust his cock into my arse crack with rapid, jabbing movements.

Unlike Simon, I found this pretty funny. I stayed bending and cried out, "Ah yeah Sir! Give it to me!" and faked exaggerated sounds of orgasm.

Gould laughed uproariously and then pulled back from. I stood up and looked over at Simon who was staring at us wide-eyed. His towel was still in front of him and, from the way it tented outwards from his crotch, it was obvious that he was as stiff as Gould and I.

Gould said, still laughing, "That was slightly too convincing Seb. I'm not going to ask what you get up to after lights out in the dorm."

I joked back, "You don't have to ask, I'll sell you some Polaroids if you're interested..."

Gould laughed again. Simon called over, "You two are so sad," and then turned to get into the shower.

I looked at Gould's cock. A light brown curly hair was stuck to his throbbing, fat bell-end: one of the hairs from around my arsehole.

I grinned and said, "I think he's growing a beard, Brendon."

He looked quizzical and then followed my gaze down to his cock. He smiled. "Yeah. At least I didn't go deep enough for anything worse..."

I smiled back. Then, as we both looked at his cock, a bead of precum oozed slowly out of his reddened piss slit. It stayed on the end of his cock, a tiny clear sphere, until he reached down and, apparently unintentionally, brushed it off with his thumb as he removed my anal hair from his bell-end.

I looked back up at his face and he looked at me. Neither of us said anything. Then I picked up my towel and Gould walked over to the sink, his big cock swaying around in front of him as he walked.

As he rubbed some gel into his hair, Gould called in to Simon, "Hey, if you touch that thing much more it'll go off..."

Simon was silent. I glanced in at him and, despite his attempts to conceal it from us, it was obvious through the glass panel of the cubicle that his cock was erect. It looked shorter than my own - about six inches, maybe - but about the same thickness. He was rinsing the lather out of his pubic hair and, I'd guess from Gould's comment, his washing of it had been a little too enthusiastic and prolonged.

Gould called in, "I don't mind you wanking, mate, but we haven't got time..."

Simon muttered, "Yeah yeah yeah." He sounded pissed off.

I walked back into the bedroom and started getting ready. Just then there was a knock on the door. A voice, it sounded like Dobby, called in, "Hey you guys! We're waiting for you!"

I shouted, "Yeah - give us like two minutes."

He called in, "What are you guys doing in there? I knocked a couple of minutes ago..."

I shouted, "We're buttfucking." I suddenly thought that it may not be Dobby outside: it may be one of the staff who may not find my crudeness so funny. But then I heard laughter. He said, "Well give him one from me Seb!"

Gould walked out of the bathroom and called to person behind the door, "It seems like Seb is more practiced at being on the receiving end."

There was more laughter and then Dobby called in, "Well hurry up and finish off Sir. The coach is waiting."

We got dressed quickly and Gould kept calling in to Simon to hasten him out of the shower. I noticed that he had trouble fitting his still semi-hard cock into his briefs as he pulled them on. In the end he directed along the waistband - pointing it towards his hip. He looked at me watching his efforts and smiled, "Like trying to fit a tank into a garage..."

I said, "I know the problem well..."

He smiled again, and started pulling on a sock.

Simon came out of the bathroom, naked and obviously getting used to being in that state in front of two other guys. His cock was limp again, looking thin and pink, and part of his reddened bell-end poked out from his foreskin like he'd been masturbating in the shower after Gould and I had left the room. He strolled unashamedly towards his bed and then bent over to pick a clean pair of briefs out from his holdall.

Then, still bending, he smiled over at me, and said, "This isn't an invitation Seb." I smiled back, noticing that his balls hung down beneath his slightly slightly parted buttocks and that the red tip of his cock was visible in front of them.

We finished off getting dressed, wrapping up well for our visits to the trenches, and then hurried out to the coach.

Will be continued.

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