Michael's Encounters

Too many gay stories are intense, brutal, sadistic, etc. In other words, lacking in humour. In 'Michael's Encounters', I have tried to introduce humour. Humorous fiction, straight or gay, is notoriously difficult to write well. This is my attempt to be a bit light-hearted, though part of the story line is quite serious a married man discovering his true sexuality late in life. I hope that I've succeeded.

'Michael's Encounters' is not to be read by minors (under 18 year olds) as it involves sex between mature males.

--------------------------------------------------------------- Joe Radcliffe: M I C H A E L' S E N C O U N T E R S.

Part 1: SEAL OF A PLUMBER

I'm ploughing back to the shallow end on my 32nd length when it happens. At first I think it's some bumbling fat woman, unfamiliar with lane discipline, but I soon realise I've crashed into a heavily built man. I've never been to this pool before - a guy I met in a pub told me about it being a good place for lunch break swimming. 'Very good lane discipline,' he said. Some discipline!

I look at the obstruction facing me. He's in his early twenties, big, broad shouldered, barrel chested - a bit of a bruiser.

'Sorry' I say. That's the usual courtesy, even when it's not your fault.

He doesn't answer, just stares at me, twitching his sculptured handle bar moustache. I begin to feel uncomfortable - he looks the type that might offer me a knuckle sandwich.

'I said, I'm sorry...' I repeat, hoping for a quick end to the matter.

'...I've been watching you.'

'Oh yeah,' I say, switching on my tough guy voice.

He keeps staring. The suspense is becoming unnerving, so I look for an escape. But suddenly he smiles.

'You're a bloody good swimmer!'

I give him a half-baked smile.

'Is that all?'

'Why? D'you need more?'

This time he winks. It's obvious he's after something. I decide to play it dumb.

'No...I mean...did you bump into me just to tell me that?'

He doesn't get a chance to answer. Suddenly we're surrounded by a school of threshing humanity, so I follow them and make a fast dash to the shallow end. I lean against the wall and watch him pursuing me. He's like a blubbery seal. Correction: he's like a fish out of water - all splash and flounder. He finally makes it and stands close to me gasping and grinning.

The water is only waist deep here, so I'm able to see his body. Not my type really: too bulky, huge pecs and sagging a bit, and that waistline - well let's face it - it could benefit from a visit to the gym. I like my men to be as fit as I am! But then I look at his face: it's fetching with that day-old stubble and droopy walrus moustache. It kind of suits his body. I cast my eyes down at his chest and notice his tits: they stand out a centimetre. I begin to get excited because I haven't had a man for a couple of weeks. He ducks to avoid a swimmer making a fast tumble turn, then resurfaces.

'You're a very powerful swimmer' he says, water dripping off his walrus moustache.

Flattering me again! He's like a seal stalking it's prey. But the words are irrelevant: it's the way they're said and the eyes that convey everything. He fancies me! It's as clear as the strip-lighting above. In my mid thirties, and he fancies me! He must be into older men, that's for sure. I'm into older men myself, so what's the difference?

I'm still undecided. He's not hairy. In fact, he's hairless! A big minus when you spend your whole life searching for hairy bears. They're the ones that switch on my testosterone! I look at his chest. Impressive really - if you like that sort of thing - pecs like Royal Doulton dinner plates. Correction: sagging Salvador Dali dinner plates. But they could be fun; especially those oversized tits.

'Hairless men built like seals aren't for you!' I hear my inner voice telling me.

'Yeah but this seal pup is a bit out of the ordinary,' I report back, 'besides, I'm flattered that a frisky seal pup should be stalking mature beef!'

Hefty seal, have car, can travel! I believe I've seen adverts along those lines before! But this seal isn't an impersonal ad in the gay press, it's standing right next to me. It hasn't a tail, not even flippers; it's got feet and toes and I can feel them nudging mine at the bottom of the pool. I finally succumb.

'You're quite a hunk!' I say, running my eyes appreciatively over his oversized chest.

The words are like a green light. His seal-body moves into action. In a moment I'm hemmed between a wall of tile and a wall of flesh - a mackerel waiting to be taken.

'Fifty-one inches around m'tits...' he says calmly, eyes cast downwards.

'I'll take your word for it,' I say, but think to myself: 'Big seals are all the same - bloody arrogant!'

He emphasises the point, or should I say points, by running his palms down over his pecs. A look of intense erotic desire flashes across his face when his fingers lock horns with the upstanding points.

'We could play games...' he says, teasing his tits surreptitiously with his fingers '...an' I'd let you measure me around 'ere with a tape...'

His cub-face beams with anticipation. I look at the two firm tits. They're begging for attention. My attention?

'...I'm into well built hairy guys...' he says, looking longingly at the deep wet jungle on my chest and belly.

'...that's a coincidence, so'm I,' I respond.

He immediately switches on a well rehearsed put-down look. Maybe I should put a tape around him. It could be fun.

'Fifty-one inches did y'say? D'you have y'tape measure handy?'

He laughs, then flashes me a devilish grin.

'Not 'ere...but I've got one under m' pillow!'

'What else d'you 'ave there - apart from y'teddy?'

More laughter. He sheds insults like water off a seal's back.

'I've got other toys...like y'know...whips, straps, chains, dog collars, harnesses, leather...you name it. Interested?' he taunts.

'I don't mind sharing your pillow, but y'can leave y' toys under it. I'm interested in one thing - plain and simple...'

'...so'm I...' he says, cutting in '...a quickie...it's all I've time for...mustn't keep the boss waiting.'

I jab my toes into his; all very sexy and discreet at the bottom of the pool. After a few seconds I see signs of movement inside his trunks and he pulls his foot away. Casting his eyes down, he says:

'Christ...can't get out lookin' like this...'

I smile at his embarrassment. He's vulnerable. Not the young tough I thought he was at first. Likeable in a funny way. Typical of a lot his age - just after a good time and no commitment. I was like him once, but now I'm after something different, something more permanent. Not with him though, he's not my type, but I like him more now than I did at first.

'...what you need is a long cold shower!' I say, climbing out of the pool, 'I'll be under the hot one!'

'The hot one?? You're hot enough as it is!' he grins, threshing away from the pool-side.

I'm under the shower soaping myself when he comes flipping his way through the foot trough. Just like a seal, even the way he walks. I'm sure Darwin would have found him as interesting as his tortoises, mockingbirds, and finches: a deviant of land based Homo erectus. (Did I write Homo erectus? Just what did Darwin have in mind?).

He stops in his tracks when he sees me in my birthday suit, flashes me a sexy smile and gets under the shower next to mine. I hand him the soap and he hands it back.

'Soap me down...'

'...piss off!' I respond, tossing it back.

He catches it and laughs. After a minute or two he still has his trunks on, so I turn and growl:

'Get 'em off!'

He looks dismayed, so I repeat it; this time more sternly:

'Get 'em off, or I'll do it for ya!'

'Y'wouldn't...not here in front of...!' he responds, looking round at a couple of well built homo sapiens nearby.

'Try me!'

He's really on the defensive now. I give him one more severe look and down they come. Let's say, I'm not exactly impressed with this young seal's tackle. Maybe Darwinian evolution took a back-slide there too. Just as I'm taking it in - figuratively of course - he turns away. I think he's worried he'll get hard again in front of the well built homo sapiens standing around in full Monty! Being a male homo sapien myself, seeing others naked around me does tend to overtax my self-control!

• • • We're outside.

'Come to my place,' he says, 'I'm only a block away.'

I take up his offer. The white van he gets into has 'Alun Williams - CORGI Registered Plumber' on the side panels. I jerk my thumb at the writing.

'Is that you?'

He shakes his head.

'No, the boss.'

I'm in my own car, so I find myself following the ubiquitous white van in front. He drives at breakneck speed down almost every road in town. Is he trying to lose me or get me booked? Then without warning, he pulls over and stops in front of a well-maintained semi in leafy suburbia at least two miles from where we started. I thought seals had better homing instincts than this! He leads the way inside. I survey the interior. I'm surprised to see the house is clean and very tastefully furnished.

'Is all this yours?'

He nods.

'Young seals...' he looks at me with a puzzled expression, '...sorry ...I mean young plumbers...do very well for themselves these days?'

He ducks the implied question and asks: 'D'ya want anything for lunch?'

'Yeah! You!'

I grab him by the shoulders and rip his skin tight T-shirt off in two seconds flat. He's dazed at the speed of my action, and even more so when I start massaging and mauling his huge dome-shaped pecs. He emits involuntary squeals when I manhandle his long tits.

'This is what you're after isn't it?' I whisper.

He emits a long deep moan and throws back his head in ecstasy when my lips and teeth make contact.

'You don't need a tape measure round y'tits - just a man to rough 'em up!'

I really go for his tits and he throws both arms around me dragging my bearded face hard against his right pec. After a few seconds, he begins to sag...like a sack of...correction, I mean, like a seal. I try to support his massive weight. While I'm so engaged, he pulls my head away from his pec and kisses me. When I do manage to disengage from his limpet mouth and octopus arms, I cast an eye upstairs. He gets the message and leads the way up to the back bedroom.

I strip him and he watches while I strip myself - no finesse, but who cares, we both know what we want and there's not much time.

He faces me waiting. The limp cock I saw under the shower is now a ramrod, like mine, only, as I implied before, his is well below average in length and cut. (Cut? Do seals practise circumcision? Darwin would definitely find that interesting!) I make a dive for it, but he moves deftly and it bounces out of my hand.

'Playin' hard t'get, are ya? Come here y'seal!'

He doesn't understand, but laughs all the same while dashing around to the other side of the bed, leaving us facing one another across it. He pulls on his long tits and his fat little cock wags involuntarily. It's not much but I still want it. I make a flying rugby tackle across the bed, lock my arms around his baby seal waist and drag him down under me, flippers, I mean feet, flailing. He squeals with pleasure, baby seal body buffeting mine. He might be bigger and heavier, but I'm stronger. In less than a minute I'm sitting triumphantly on his much adored fifty-one inch chest.

After he's recovered his breath, he looks at my hard cock resting in the deep valley between his huge pecs. He puts his fist around it. It seems I've got what he wants - something really big and uncut. I rise up, bend over him and feed it into his mouth. As I force more and more in, his hands fly to my chest, mauling it, searching in the thick coarse pelt for my tits. He's experienced: mouth and hands soon have me on the brink.

I tempted to drill everything I have down his throat, but that's difficult in this postion and I'm getting very close to shooting a load. I pull out just in time. In another second I'd have dropped over the edge into paradise!

I sit on his thighs. He knows my tits are vulnerable too, so we maul each other's. His pecs are easily the biggest I've ever handled and firmer than I thought they'd be. He goes berserk when I rough up his tits, rising up periodically to bury his face in my fur and suck my tits. After a while he drags me down and uses my bearded cheeks to sandpaper his pecs, concentrating all the time on those long sensitive tits. I think to myself:

'If only he were covered with a generous layer of Wilton!'

I catch a long tit between my lips and work it hard. He thrusts his barrel chest up demanding more, then encircles my head in his arms and emits periodic squeals of ecstasy as I nip each in turn. We lie together, his body constantly writhing under mine. After dragging my face around his oversize pecs, he at last allows me to raise my head.

'You're a right TT pig!' I say, needlessly.

'I thought you'd never guess!' he responds, pulling me down on him again.

'Well, if it's TT you're after, I'll give it t'ya, y'great seal tit pig!'

He laughs at my insults. This time I use my lips, teeth and fingers and he screams with the mixture of pain and pleasure. Then I break away, thrust my arms under him and bear-hug him (or perhaps I should say seal-hug) allowing him to squirm his long sensitive tits around in my coarse body fur.

'You don't need a tape measure, do ya?' I say, trying to restrain him.

'Christ...hold me tighter...really rough me!' he squeals.

'Y'like bein' roughed up?'

'Yeah! It's heavenly!'

Well I don't find it heavenly! He's a gym freak - concentrating everything on developing one part of his body - pecs and tits. He's pec and tit crazy - wants 'em bigger and bigger, so I tell him what he's dying to hear.

'You're fifty-one inches around the tits all right! Never come across pecs like these before!'

'Oh...y'really mean that?' he gasps.

'Of course I mean it!'

He responds by crushing me in his arms and legs.

'I reckon we could notch up fifty-two inches if we worked these pecs long enough...' I mutter.

'...Christ...d'ya think so?'

He'd believe anything. But I've got no heart for his hairless alabaster. Give me a generous jungle of body fur and I'm in heaven!

I manage to roll off him and he immediately flings himself on top of me. He's so heavy I sink without trace into the mattress. Now I know what it's like to have a seal lying on me, I know I won't want it again.

'Oh gawd! What d'ya weigh..?' I ask, barely able to breath.

'...two hundred and sixty three pounds. Y'like hefty hunks, don't ya?'

'No I...' I gasp, wilting under his relentless body mass.

'I'll soon change that!'

He puts his arms around me and crushes me to him. Some guys might like this, and I might just if he were furry, but all I can think of is England. Correction; no not England! I think of the North Sea, maybe the Irish Box, better still, the wild Atlantic! I'm a piece of delicate driftwood being battered by an ocean of seal flesh! Why have I always steered clear of great hunking guys in the past? Well, now I know!!

He writhes about on me, ploughing his pecs through my rough manly fur. It maybe exciting to him, and it is to me after a while, though that's more because my thick long uncut cock becomes imprisoned between his massive thighs. I begin to wonder if I'll have any man meat and body hair left after this experience.

'You're hung like a fuckin' 'orse!' he says, pounding his locked thighs up and down on my flagpole.

In seconds he has himself, and me, teetering on the edge. I try being funny - maybe that might just take my mind off things.

'Hung like a four-legged horse maybe, but not a four-lettered one!'

He freezes the frenzied movements and looks at me, dead-pan uncomprehending expression on his face. Don't seals have any sense of humour? The pause allows the crisis to pass. He heaves himself off me and rolls onto his back, panting like a huge puffer fish. I leap up, straddle his thighs and take his meat in my fist. I want a quick end to this madness. After pumping furiously for a while, he intercepts my hand and pulls it away.

'Let me wank you...y'fuckin' 'orse!'

'...not again...you really must stop using these four letter...'

But my words wither away when he starts double fisting me. Ecstasy quick;y overwhelms me. I grab his meat and pound it too, determined to make him shoot first. It's beginning to deteriorate into a no-win situation, so I squeeze his tits hard. He screams and cums instantly, shooting his load all over his adored fifty-one inches of alabaster.

'Shoot...come on y'bastard! Shoot!' he screams at me, his fist a blur. He squeezes my pecs, sending me over the precipice and my load spews out, joining his.

When we've both recovered, he begins annointing his pecs with the result of our encounter.

'Thanks!' he says, smearing a bit on my chest fur, 'that's how I've got fifty-one inches!'

'What d'y'mean?'

'Your cum...an' er...dozens of other butch guys like ya...'

I rise up. He's drifted into another world, mumbling, venerating while running his fingers through the male amalgam plastered all over his pecs. It's as if he's in an auto-hypnotized state; some wacky pagan ritual.

'You mean a mixture of your cum and mine...expands your chest....' his eyes opens slowly like those of a basking lizard, the face maintaining its delirious look. 'You must be joking!' I shout. He looks at me and smiles. 'I've never heard such rubbish!' I say, springing off the bed.

He returns to this world.

'It's true! Male cum expands pecs! I read about it in a gay mag! It's all those butch male hormones...' My eyes look towards heaven, scepticism written all over my face. Suddenly, he breaks into a grin. 'Anyway...even it's not true, it's great fun trying!'

Fun? Trying? Suddenly I feel abused, cheated; victim of some flea brained theory of his.

'I'm a mess...where's the shower?' I say, looking down at my cum-plastered fur.

'In there.'

After I emerge, I see the potion as he prefers to call it, is still on his chest - the longer it stays, the more successful the result, he says. I look heavenward again. Why did I get involved with this lunatic seal, I ask myself.

While I'm drying myself, I pass the time asking him how he knew I was on the game.

'That pool...it's notorious. Didn't you know? I'd not seen you there before, so I thought I'd try m'luck!'

I ponder on just why that guy in the pub suggested I go there. Must have known a thing or two about me, as well as the pool!

We're both dressed again when I hear the front door open and slam shut.

'Who in the hell's that?' I whisper in a panic.

'Christ...it's the boss...he's come home early!'

'Home? You told me this was your place!'

A voice from downstairs cuts into our conversation:

'Is that you Bill?'

Now I'm in deep trouble. I do some fast thinking. I'm in the house of a complete stranger and for no honest reason. This seal has really dumped me in the...!

'Yeah, it's me!' says Seal Bill, cutting in, directing his voice downstairs.

'How y'been makin' out?'

'Great Alun, really great...' he answers giving me a horrible leer '...I've got an old school pal here...he's been helpin' me.'

Another leer in my direction.

'Old school pal!' I wince, screwing up my eyes, 'You bloody two-faced lying bastard! School pal?? I've never even clapped eyes on y'before!'

'Keep quiet and mind y'language!' hisses Seal Bill.

'Who is it? Do I know him?' Alun shouts up the stairs.

'No I don't think so...it's...er...'

Bill looks in my direction and I'm forced into giving him my name.

'..it's Michael.' Seal Bill shouts back.

'Michael? I don't know any Michaels...'

Well he doesn't know this Michael and I certainly don't know him!

Seal Bill suddenly remembers the state of the bedroom and dives into it just as I hear Alun's footsteps on the stairs. Now I'm alone, left to find my own way out of the mess. I see Alun's head appear on the other side of the stair railings. I try to look relaxed even though my heart is pounding enough to give me a coronary.

He reaches the landing and stops. We gape at one another for a full half minute before he advances towards me, hand outstretched. I take it.

'I'm Michael,' I gulp.

'I'm Alun,' he responds, shaking my hand.

I can't keep my eyes off him. He's just about the most stunning thing I've seen in years. Around 40, six feet tall, swarthy, bearded, balding...beautiful! No other word for it! Unblemished olive complexion, well proportioned solid build - quite different from Bill's combination of overblown barrel chest and baby waist.

His dark hair and beard are cut short; the latter flecked with a little grey. He smiles. It raises dimples in his cheeks and a sparkle in his dark brown eyes. My pulse quickens. He's just about the sexiest thing in pants - only my thoughts are wicked - they're about what he'd be like without them!

I study his clothes: tight jeans, tight-fitting short sleeved shirt buttoned right up to his neck. Pity about that. I switch to his bare arms: they're muscular and very hairy. That sets me thinking about the rest of him. He exudes the confident masculinity of a sportsman. In just a few seconds I'm totally hooked. Mention the word bed and I'd be in it with him in less than a flash.

We're interrupted by Seal Bill emerging from the bedroom. I can see from his expression that Alun is curious about why he's been there. He turns and glowers. There's no audible comment, but Alun's look shouts: 'I'll deal with you later!'

Seal Bill cowers by the wall. Alun turns back to me and the hard expression melts into a warm smile, bringing back the dimples. I feel my knees buckling. I'm not too much short of his age, but I feel like a gangling teenager being chatted up by my first man.

'I'm going to make a pot of tea...' he says, calmly, '...d'you fancy a cup?'

I love his South Wales accent, so mellifluous, so calming; puts me at ease immediately. I follow him downstairs to the kitchen. He pulls a chair out from the table for me, but pointedly leaves Seal Bill to fend for himself. I notice too that he looks at me intently all the time, even when he's having an odd word with Seal Bill. Already, I'm beginning to have suspicions about Alun.

Part 2: THE PLUMBER'S ARMS

We're sitting at the kitchen table drinking tea, but all the time I'm drinking in Alun. Having invented the fiction that we were school pals, Bill jabbers on, elaborating it.

'Do you remember Charlie Francis?'

'No...I don't'

'You should...he was in your class!'

I want to yell out: 'Get lost, you bloody thick seal', but I'm a guest, so I can't. I can tell what Alun's thinking: 'How can Bill, in his early twenties have gone to school with Michael, in his mid thirties?' But Bill is so thick he can't see it. Or is he? Maybe he's just doing it to get me into a bigger mess.

All I want is to have Alun to myself so I can explain things, but Bill is determined to frustrate that. I put my empty mug down on the table, look at Alun, then my watch.

'It's gone two o'clock. I've got to be in Oldham for three.'

I stand up and move towards the door. I'm fed up with Bill and glad to see the back of him. But Alun. Well, I'm disappointed not to get any further with him and I can tell from Alun's face, he's disappointed I'm going. God I hate myself!

Alun rises and escorts me to the front door. I hesitate on the threshold, trying to decide whether to seize this last moment to scribble my phone number on a piece of paper. But then I see Bill sidling down the hallway. He's not that dense! He can see I have designs on Alun. I say goodbye and begin walking towards the gate. As I'm closing it, I look back. I see Alun's sullen face, and behind him, Bill's smirking one. I could throttle him.

The image of Alun the plumber haunts me for days. I keep thinking about our brief meeting and curse myself for letting him slip through my fingers. Things might have been different if I'd had the courage to stand up to Bill. I pity him if he ever shows up at another swimming pool!

'Battered seal's body found at bottom of pool!'

• • • Several weeks pass. On a few evenings I visit the pubs in the area around Alun's house in the hope of seeing him again, but to no avail. I look out for his van, then in desperation I wonder whether to just drop in on him, maybe on the pretext of needing a plumber. But what if that idiot Bill is there, I tell myself? For all I know they could be living together and having it on every night!

(Anyway I don't need anyone to fix my plumbing, I tell myself. Not that kind of plumbing you idiot!)

I start thinking about Alun's house and how Bill tricked me into believing it was his. How could I have been so easily fooled? All the evidence was staring me in the face? For one thing, if it'd been Bill's place it would have been a tip! But it wasn't: it had soft pastel coloured curtains, colour co-ordinated table and standard lamps, velvet cushions on the settee and a pink cover over the bed in the best bedroom. Come to think of it, could a butch-looking plumber like Alun live with a pink bedspread? It just didn't add up. Then suddenly, it dawned on me. There must be a woman in Alun's life. His wife?

Funny how all the best men are married! I've tried married men before. Good while it lasts, but when the chips are down, the little woman comes first. I've suffered humiliation with married men and I've vowed never to let it happen again.

I think back over past encounters and remember Charlie the truck driver. I was shopping on the high street.

'Hiya Charlie!' I said warmly, advancing towards him, hand outstretched.

Then I saw the wife and kids in tow. He recognised me of course, but looked straight through me, passing less than a foot away. Ships in the night, only it was broad daylight. I turned and looked back. Busy explaining to his baffled wife, he was. A case of mistaken identity, dear. Mistaken Identity?? As they disappeared among the crowds, I cast my mind back:

'You went to bed with me Charlie. Not once; at least a dozen times! Often stayed all night. Told the wife you were doing overnight delivery jobs down South when all the time you were tucked up in bed with me. You wanted me then: insatiable you were. We did everything. Even said you loved me and wanted to move in. I could have loved you too. But now...well...we might just as well be on different planets!'

They say the unexpected happens when you least expect it, and in the most unlikely places.

It's a warm Saturday morning about six weeks after my meeting with Alun. He's beginning to fade: a bit of a lost cause, though he resurfaces when I'm in bed, my needs unfulfilled. I keep his memory alive, by recapturing that first meeting at the top of the stairs; the firm handshake, the smile, the dimples, the voice - but then Bill's face appears and things turn sour.

I'm in my local building suppliers - getting some stone chippings for the back garden. Some wrought iron gates stacked high catch my attention: I could do with a new front gate. I look through a gap and there he is. For a moment I stand riveted, hardly able to believe my luck. He's leaning on the sales counter surrounded by a collection of plumbing materials: coils of plastic piping, chrome taps, brass joints, wearing a pair of half-hitched so iled navy overalls showing his ankle high boots. Very fetching! So too is the baseball cap pulled down over his eyes. Altogether, far more sexy than the clean casual clothes I saw him in before. I move to the counter and stand beside him. He half turns.

'Hello Alun!' I say.

For a moment he's puzzled, then his face lights up.

'Oh...it's Michael! Bill's old school pal!' he says, with a twinkled in his eyes.

I wince at the 'old school pal' label, but his eyes tell me all. He knows full well Bill's old school pal story was a load of bullshit. His hand thrusts out at me in the same friendly way as before and I take it warmly. Too warmly for a casual friendship? For him it's just a ritualistic handshake, for me, feeling his hand in mine is like being in bed naked with him. We're face to face now. Under the overalls he's wearing a grease-stained navy blue T^Qshirt and above it is the thickest jungle of black hair I've seen...since the last one! A real bear! So that's what he was hiding behind that buttoned-up-to-the-neck shirt when we first met! I can't keep my eyes off it and I think he's aware. I notice how the hair ends abruptly just short of the collar line. It's been shaved, otherwise chest hair and beard would merge. I feel the blood beginning to surge down below.

Suddenly, I realise I'm still holding his hand, but no one sees us because the assistant is outside in the yard looking for something. Alun smiles, the dimples form and my legs go to jelly.

'How are things Michael? Seen anything of Bill lately?' he asks, his eyes twinkling again.

I swallow hard. He knows more than he's admitting.

'No Alun' I respond with a straight face.

The assistant comes back carrying more coils of plastic pipe and our hands separate. I wait while the assistant finalises Alun's order.

He's having the stuff delivered somewhere, so when the assistant turns to me, Alun stands waiting. When my paper work is complete, we leave the building together. I have to wait for the four bags of stone chips to be brought to the car on a fork lift, so he stands chatting to me beside the open hatch. He's just about the friendliest guy I've met in years, even helps me spread the bags evenly around in the back.

'Don't want to do your suspension in,' he comments, 'doin' some heavy work this weekend?'

'The garden path leading up to the...' I don't finish, because I begin to wonder if that sounds loaded. Well, if he thinks I'm leading him up the garden path, I am! Suddenly I remember the feminine touches in his house and an inner voice warns: 'Danger...married man!'

'...never seem to find time for the garden these days' he says, leaning on the tail gate.

He closes it for me. I move towards the driver's door and he follows me. I'm about to open it when I feel his hand on my shoulder.

'Hold on a minute Michael...'

I turn and face him. After an awkward pause, he continues.

'Err...Michael,' he pauses to take a breath, 'are you doing anything tonight?'

(Tonight! I'd cancel a Royal Command to Buckingham Palace, even surrender my winning lottery ticket to spend a night with you Alun!)

'No. Why?' I say, trying to keep calm.

'Well I was just wondering...'

He pauses a moment to take another breath. I reckon he's not used to chatting up men.

'...I was wondering if you'd like to 'ave a pint with me at my local....The Plumber's Arms. It's just round the corner from here.'

He lifts his hand from my shoulder and points in a direction over it. As he does so the loose sleeve of his overalls slides up almost to his elbow uncovering the profusion of dark hair I saw when we first met. I'm mesmerised by it as much as the pelt on his chest. He notices I'm looking at his chest and not in the direction of his hand. I feel his hand squeeze my shoulder. When he sees I'm attentive, he raises it and points again.

'Yes...I know it Alun,' I say quietly, looking straight him straight in the eyes.

'I usually drop in there...it's near where I used to live...' he adds.

I feel like adding: '...before you were married,' but haven't the courage.

His hand comes to rest on my shoulder again. Does he realise how he's torturing me? Maybe he does and he's enjoying it. His arm's so close to my face I could easily rub my bearded cheek in the hair on it. My mind flits back to those fruitless visits to the pubs near his house. No wonder I never saw him, and to think The Plumber's Arms is only half a mile from my place!

'Yes I'd really enjoy that Alun!' I respond enthusiastically.

I offer him my hand again, and he grabs it. This is becoming obscene. I want to keep hold of it, but he looks around awkwardly and pulls it away. I move to the car door but he outpaces me and opens it for me, then closes it behind me. I wind down the window and he leans on the sill. He's looking at me, but I'm not looking at his face now. His T-shirt sags wide allowing me to see right down to his underpants - and there's lush dark hair all the way. In an instant, I'm hard. I open my thighs hoping he'll notice. He looks, but nothing registers. I'd love to pull his hand down onto it, then he'd know how I feel about him.

'Is nine thirty OK for you?'

I'm not entirely there, so he has to repeat it.

'Nine thirty...is that OK?'

'Err yeah...that's fine Alun...' I say in a trance.

'Right then...I'll look forward to seeing you Michael.'

('And I'll certainly look forward to jumping into bed with you Alun!')

He extends his hand again. I take it so warmly, I nearly pull him through the window onto me. It's large and strong and I grip it hard, much harder than before, and he responds likewise. This is a real man's handshake and he doesn't seem at all embarrassed. I don't want to let go, but I have to or it would start to be indecent!

'I'll be there!'

I give him the merest wink as I release his hand. Did I detect a response? No, just another dimpled smile. He turns and walks over to his van. It's not the same van that Bill was in - this one is navy blue, battered and unma rked. I let the clutch in and start to move off. He stands and gives me a nice friendly salute as I pass.

On the way home, I go back over what happened - especially those indecent handshakes - and I feel embarrassed. But then he didn't seem to want to let go either. I go over his conversation: that too seemed over-friendly. Perhaps all men from South Wales are like that. And that last handshake when we practically pulverised each other's hands. Do all Welshmen shake hands that way?

I half close my eyes and I see him again standing leaning against the counter, his low T-shirt showing everything. Then he's at the car window, leaning forward. The handsomest, hairiest hunk I've seen in years.

As soon as I'm home, I lug the bags of stone chips around to the back garden, then go inside to make lunch. I have big plans to complete the path that afternoon, but after spreading the first bag, I find my heart isn't in it. I keep seeing Alun leaning against my car door, his overalls gaping open. I think about his appearance: swarthy good looks, close cut beard, head topped with that cap pulled down low just above the eyes, and that profusion of hair on his arms. They haunt me, though I condemn myself for seeing only the superficial macho, when I want to see the whole; a fine genuinely friendly guy. The macho prevails however and I imagine him standing in front of me in his underpants, his plumbing concealed. I have a lecherous thought.

'What bore and length are you Alun?'

Time seems to stretch out endlessly. I trim my beard down to a three day stubble like Alun's, then agonise about what to wear. This is a straight pub so I don't want to look half-undressed, over leathery, posh, trendy, or way-out; just normal, whatever that is! I decide in the end to go in a sober open-necked shirt and a pair of not too new jeans in the hope that Alun will be wearing similar gear. I think about having a high-neck T-shirt underneath to hide the hair on my chest. Hell! If Alun shows his, why shouldn't I - he might just prefer hairy men too!

I arrive outside the pub exactly on time. I hear my inner voice again: 'You're not a candidate for an interview!'

I back away from the door, return to the car and sit in it pretending to be waiting for someone. It's a clear night. I look up at the stars and tilt the seat back to get a better view of them. My mind soon begins to wander.

I hear a voice shout: 'Call Michael Wilson!'

I'm escorted into the crowded bar by a huge T-shirted barman. The place is packed with men sitting and standing about, pints in hand. Waiting for me it seems.

'Are you Michael Wilson?' says a voice.

I nod meekly.

'Speak up!'

'Yes...I'm Michael Wilson!'

'Take a seat Michael Wilson.'

The barman escorts me to a bar stool standing alone on raised staging.

'You may be seated. Now I want you to explain to the Court of The Plumber's Arms why you applied to be my partner.'

I recognise the voice now as Alun's, but he's hidden from view behind a kind of Blind Date screen.

'I didn't apply...you invited me Mr. Williams.'

'Mr Williams?'

'...sorry...I mean Alun.'

'That's better. This Court is very informal. Now the Court wants to hear from you the real reason why you've come tonight!'

'The real reason?'

'Yes...' Alun's voice intones '...you must tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but....'

'The real reason!' (I feel my adrenalin pumping away.) 'Well...' (I pause for a moment to choose my words. This is the Court of the Plumber's Arms, so I have to get it right!) '...the reason is...'

I scan the faces of the men surrounding me. They crane forward waiting for my answer.

'...Alun...I'm crazy about you...that's why...don't you understand...'

My words are drowned by raucous laughter and catcalls from every quarter of the bar.

'Would you mind repeating that? I don't think everyone heard.'

'I'd rather not...' I say, hiding my embarrassed face.

More raucous laughter.

'Never mind then. Can you tell the assembled Court of The Plumber's Arms what it is about me...that attracts you?'

'Well...err...I think you're a really great guy...a gentleman...and beautifully built...' (I'm drowned by cries of 'Oh' and 'Wow') '...and...and...even if you weren't at all hairy...I'd still think you were great...'

(I'm drowned by ear-piercing wolf whistles. It's a full minute before the barman manages to restore order. This is getting more and more like Blind Date, I think to myself, but I carry on.)

'...but since you are...' (wolf whistles and strident whistles through teeth) '...I think you're the most desirable hunk...in...err...'

I'm lost for the words I want, but the big barmen fills in for me: '...in this pub!'

Cat calls and wolf whistles drown the proceedings, followed by organised barracking: 'Give 'im 'is choice!' the men cry, again and again.

The screen slides back to reveal Alun sitting on a stool. He consults the senior officials: the huge barman and some of the assembled crowd. Then he turns to me, takes my hand and shakes it for a full three minutes, accompanied by prolonged cat-calls and wolf whistles (well it makes a change from ten minute standing ovations).

'You've won me. It's the unanimous decision of the Court of The Plumber's Arms...oh and, by the way, I agree.'

He turns to face the crowd. They're still braying. He turns back to me and the crowd quietens.

'It is the custom of the Court of The Plumber's Arms that the man in the dock be allowed one request. What is yours Michael?'

I need to think only a moment.

'I request that...Alun takes off his shirt and reveals all to this distinguished Court...' (Now I'm getting really confused. This isn't Blind Date at all, it's the final of the Mr. Bear UK contest!)

My request is greeted by appreciative applause all round the Court.

'Go on, Alun, let 'im see what you've got!' shouts the huge barman. (I know what he's got! Just keep y'ands off him, I saw him first!)

Alun slowly undoes the buttons on his shirt, then with an appropriate Full Monty flourish, removes it. More appreciative applause and shouts of 'Mr Bear!' come from all quarters as he does a complete circle. I take Alun's hand, pull him roughly towards me and bear-hug him (well that's what you do to a bear, isn't it?). There is thunderous applause from the whole bar.

'This calls for a celebration! What will you have to drink Alun?' I whisper in his ear.

'Cut the drinks Michael...' he whispers back, '...the claptrap's over...we can go home now. I put the electric blanket on...the bed should be just right...'

My head slumps off the head restraint and I wake up with a jolt. I look up at the stars, then at my watch. I'm late; it's 9.50. I go into the crowded bar. After the clear cold air outside, the warm cigarette fug savages my eyes and lungs. I look around, searching, and eventually see Alun sitting at a table in the far corner. He's got his back to me leaning over, talking to someone, a woman, at the same table. She alerts him and he stands up. I raise my hand and he beckons me, flashing one of his unforgettable smiles. All my uncertainty evaporates.

I thread a way through the crowded tables. We shake hands: it's becoming a habit, but I love it.

'I was beginning to wonder if you'd got lost,' he says.

'No...someone phoned me just as I was leaving,' I lied.

Bloody hell! He's wearing a shirt buttoned right up to his neck and here I am with my shirt open to my navel - well almost. Should I do up a button or two? Too obvious now, so I leave things as they are. He's wearing a pair of tight jeans and they look new. They don't half show off his thick muscular thighs though! I can see the outline of his package, but it gives nothing away. No cap this time. Close cut dark beard and hair, balding crown. Why do balding men look so sexy?

'Gwen, this is Michael' he says to the woman.

('My God it's his wife! I wonder what he's been telling her. Can't be all that bad - she's flashing me a smile.')

'Michael, Gwen is a friend of mine. We went to school together.' (I'm immediately reminded of Bill's hair brained school pals story. But this one seems to be genuine!)

She's his friend! An old school pal! Did he hear my sigh of relief? I'm sure half the bar did! I smile at Gwen and she extends a hand. I like her immediately.

'Alun's been telling me about you - one of Bill's old school friends.'

(Why do school friends always have to be old?)

I look heavenward and notice Alun's left eye wink. He goes off to get a round of drinks and I'm left chatting to Gwen.

'It's sad about Joyce leaving him, isn't it? They seemed to get on so well...but after twelve years and no family...'

She smiles and I smile back, managing to conceal my surprise. I'm supposed to know about all this, I think to myself. And it doesn't take long to realise that Alun has been letting Gwen believe we've been close friends for a long time. I should be flattered he thinks so highly of me, but it sets me thinking. I go along with the shock news of Alun's separation, making appropriate sympathetic noises. Why didn't I take up acting, I think to myself.

Alun returns and sets two pints down on the table. Gwen's sitting this one out.

'What have you two been talking about behind my back?' he asks.

I'm uneasy, but Gwen immediately dispels that.

'Never you mind...you don't want you're ears burnt!'

Alun looks slightly worried, then laughs. After about ten minutes Gwen gets up and takes her coat from the back of the chair. I help her put it on.

'I better be getting back. Matt's working overtime tonight - he'll be home soon wanting his supper. It's been nice meeting you Michael. Alun's said a lot about you. I'm sure you'll be able to help him through his troubles.'

I can't believe my ears. I look across at Alun. He has his face averted. He's embarrassed, but I'm over the moon. He escorts Gwen to the car park and while he's away I cast an eye around the bar. The bizarre all-male Court I dreamed about in the car bears no resemblance to reality, thank God.

Alun's quite relaxed and talkative now we're on our own and he's had a pint or two, but it's mostly about work and sport, particularly rugby, which he used to play. It's a game he's still passionately fond of. He tells me he keeps fit in the gym, jogs regularly and occasionally acts as a linesman for a match. I throw in my own passion for swimming, but he admits he can barely swim at all. I immediately jump in the deep end. I hear a voice inside me saying:

('He can't swim! What a godsend! An opportunity to get him into swimming trunks!' Then the inner voice says: 'You would think that, wouldn't you! You're a really devious bastard!')

I fantasise, seeing Alun in brief trunks, like the skin tight one's I wear. Correction: I feel Alun, because my hand is supporting his hairy belly, while he makes his first splashy attempts at the breast stroke. Only I'm finding it hard to concentrate on the lesson: too absorbed trying to think up a reason to move my hand lower!

('Would you like to learn to do mouth to mouth resuscitation Alun? You might need it someday and I'm a qualified instructor.')

It's getting near closing time and I'm beginning to wonder why Alun has invited me. Maybe it's purely social and he sees me as someone sympathetic he can talk to after the trauma of separation. But why let Gwen think he's known me for a long time?

'I'd better be on the way...' he says suddenly, standing up.

I'm taken by surprise and it registers. He laughs, stretches, pulls a face and gives my shoulder a pat.

'...I mean I need t'get t'the john, I'm burstin'...'

I look up at him and grin back.

'...so'm I!'

He's so friendly, I feel I've known him for years. We pick our way through the crowded bar to the john. It's outside in the yard at the back: a kind of outhouse, set away from the pub. It's one of those dark dim lit johns, only there's no lighting at all because someone's stolen the only light bulb. There's barely space for two well built men to stand next to each other at the urinal, so we squeeze in shoulder to shoulder and let loose. It's colder now and the steam rises up, mingles and invades our nostrils. I get the unmistakable impression he's looking across at me all the time, maybe at my cock. My heart's pounding and I start to get hard, but I say nothing. It's really too dark to see properly anyway. We zip up and start to walk back, but he walks slowly and finally stops. I stop, retrace my steps and look up at the sky. For a moment we say nothing. I stand very close to him, so close I can feel the warmth of his breath on my face. The yard is so dark we can easily see the stars.

'It's a clear night' I say, looking up.

He doesn't answer at first. I'm sure he has something on his mind.

'Aye...it is. I like lookin' at the stars...d'you Michael?'

'Yeah...it's comforting, specially when I'm on my own.'

'I've been on my own a lot lately,' he says quietly.

'You live on your own then, Alun?'

'Aye. Do you?'

(I'm relieved that idiot Bill doesn't live with him!)

'Yeah.'

'D'you ever get lonely?'

'Not often, I've always been a bit of a loner...I'm used to it.'

'You don't need company then?'

I think hard, and choose my words carefully.

'Oh yeah...I think some men do need other men for company.'

'Yeah...y'right I do...'

I'm getting positive signals, so I move closer. My arm brushes against him and he makes no attempt to move away. Perhaps he's had too much to drink. Alcohol does dissipate inhibitions.

'...err Michael?' he says hesitantly.

Even though I can feel his breath on my face, I can only just see him.

'Yes? Something troubling you?'

Silence.

'Yeah...in a way...can't talk here...would you like to come back to my place...for a cup of tea...or something?' he says.

He pauses a moment to gauge my reaction. I say nothing, so he continues.

'...maybe you'd like something stronger...I've got some good Highland whisky...and...'

He pauses again. He sounds really unsure of himself now, and vulnerable. I think about Gwen's comment about helping him through his troubles. I'm about to say something, but he goes on:

'...but maybe you have something else on...I'm sorry...'

I feel for his hand, find it and take it in mine. He makes no attempt to pull it away, so I keep hold of it. The contact seems to give him the confidence he needs. I hear him exhale. If we could see one another, he'd be aware of the huge bulge in my jeans. I wonder if he's got one? I'd love to find out. If we were in a gay bar, I'd have no inhibitions about feeling his package, but this isn't one.

'I'm not doing anything...and yes I'd like to Alun. I'd like that very much.'

I'm over the moon. I can't see his face, but I can tell he's relieved. The hand in mine says everything. I keep hold of it and he makes no attempt to pull it away. I realise now he's been wanting to ask this all evening. I suppose the opportunity never seemed right in the bright crowded bar. Too noisy, too impersonal. But now, we're alone in the intimate embrace of darkness - I know from experience just how concealing darkness can be! Another five minutes and we'd have gone our separate ways, he's thinking. But he's wrong of course! I'd have waited for as long as it takes! Suddenly the bar door bursts open and a shaft of bright light reveals us. I release his hand.

He's in the old unmarked van I saw him in before. Strange he allows the unreliable Bill to use the new one. I park on the road outside. There's not enough room to put my car behind his van on the drive, and anyway, I don't want his neighbours gossiping about late night visitors. He waits for me by the front door. It's the second time I've crossed this threshold. He seems happy now: closes the door and leads the way to the living room, switches on some table lights, draws the curtains and waives me to the settee while he heads for the drinks cupboard. As I sink into the settee I look again at the decor. I was right. Definitely the hand of his now estranged wife.

'What are you having Michael...beer...whisky, vodka, err.. gin?' he asks, rattling through the bottles.

Even though I've known him a short time, I can tell he's ill at ease. He turns to face me, his body tense. I look hard into his eyes.

'I've had enough to drink Alun...can we just go to bed?'

Bed? It hits him like a mortar. Hasn't even asked if I want to stay! For a moment he's rendered speechless, but his equilibrium recovers quickly. Bouncing back is his middle name. He looks at me and smiles. Christ, what a smile he has: it nets me like a fish everytime.

'Well...right then...'

His voice has changed. It's a confident one again.

'...I'll just slip upstairs and make up the spare bed for you...won't be a minute.'

I stand up. He looks startled again. I take both his hands this time and hold them firmly.

'No Alun, there's no need. I'm quite happy to share...' I hesitate long enough for the two missing words to sink in.

His hands become sweaty and for a moment he's speechless again. I squeeze them and his confidence returns.

'Are you sure...'

I look into his eyes. He knows, and I know, he's just offering polite words. I've had it happen before - men experimenting with male pleasures - they want it, but find it hard to say so. He pulls his hands away and a wave of uncertainty grips me.

'God...what if it's all a terrible mistake and he's completely straight!' I ask myself.

'Yes, I'm sure Alun...' I say, taking control of the situation again.

My eyes bore into his. I have to be sure. He looks away, so I can't any longer gauge his reaction.

'...believe me I really want to...' I say vehemently '...but...only if you want to...'

My voice trails away and he looks back at me, a look of uncertainty as if he's wondering what bombshell I'll drop next. He can't bring himself to say anything, but a flicker of a smile is enough.

'I need to...to take a shower?' he says, confidence restored.

'OK, go ahead. I'll watch the TV, then have one after you, if you don't mind.'

'Yeah, sure, go ahead.' He hesistates a moment, then adds: 'There's some good late night films on satellite TV...some of them 'Adult'...if you like that...' he says with a grin.

He switches on the TV, demonstrates the remote and passes it to me. I grip his wrist instead. I don't know why. It's not the same as holding his hand in a handshake, but he makes no move to pull away from me. I can feel the lush hair under my fingers. I caress it with my thumb and he looks down. It's a contact that seems to last hours rather than a few brief seconds, but I sense he's aware of my burning desire. I take the remote in my other hand, before releasing his wrist. He moves it away slowly as if the contact has fired his desire too.

'I'll give you a shout when I'm finished...oh...and I'll put a towel out for you' he says, breaking the tense atmosphere.

Alun seems relieved the situation is out in the open. I hear him whistling and singing under the shower. I'm tempted to go up and see him undressed. He gives me a shout.

'OK! I'll see to the lights and the TV' I respond.

It seems such an ordinary domesticated conversation, you'd think we'd been living together for years. I climb the stairs. At the top I see a dim light on in the back bedroom, the same bedroom that Bill and I used. Will I ever escape from the idiot? I look around the door. Alun's already in bed. I get hard just looking at him. I'm so eager I could skip the shower altogether and jump into bed with him. I think about us lying naked together and that makes me stay hard all the time I'm under the shower.

I leave the bathroom and turn off the lights. I have no dressing gown, so I walk into the bedroom naked, my uncut nine inches swinging about in front of me, like a horizontal flag pole. Alun is lying facing away from me so he doesn't see. He looks to be asleep, so I carefully pull back the duvet and climb in beside him. The dim bedside lamp is on his side, so I wait.

Eventually, I see his hand creep out towards it. I can't believe it! He's wearing pyjamas and the jacket's done up right to the top button! He exposes his forearm and I see the forest of hair on it and it makes me even harder. He's been pretending to be asleep. The duvet slips off him. Does he have an aversion to showing his hairy body? If he turned his head he'd see mine, not to mention the rampant state of my cock! I reach out and put my hand on his shoulder and he freezes.

'Leave it on Alun' I say quietly.

I can feel the tension in his body, so I begin massaging his shoulder gently. After a moment or two he relaxes and I roll him onto his back. I'm sitting facing him, my cock in his sights. He stares at it. I can tell he's impressed. I'm being deliberately provocative and there's no doubt he's interested. Men are always interested in what another man has between his legs and I know I've got more than average. Silence. The atmosphere is electrifying.

'Why are you wearing pyjamas?' I ask quietly, placing my hand on his chest.

'I always wear them...'

I'm unprepared for that, and for a moment or two I don't know how to respond. But the growing bond between us comes to his rescue.

'...I'll take 'em off if you like' he says poker-faced. He's mesmerised by what he can see between my legs. I ignore the interest and just grin. He looks puzzled and I burst out laughing.

'What's so funny?' he says, eyes still riveted on my erection.

'You - and your pyjamas!'

He can't see what's funny, but he laughs all the same and the tension evaporates.

Silence prevails again. I reach over, pull the duvet back, crawl on my hands and knees towards him. Then I swing a leg over him and sit on his thighs facing him. He looks surprised when he sees a naked man sitting on him. I bend over him, hands either side of his chest and look into his eyes. He looks into mine. My cock is lying right over the opening to his pyjamas trousers. If his were to pop out, they'd make contact. I'm tempted to bulldoze mine into the slit, just to see his face when our naked cocks collide inside.

'Here I'll take it off for you.' I say.

He seems mesmerised, so before he can stop me, I start undoing the top button of his pyjama jacket. I pause for a moment. We both look at the exposed forest of hair. It seems to stream upwards at me just as it did when I saw him in a T-shirt at the builder's supplier. I long to fondle it. I reach for the next button. My fingers fumble. He tries to help, but I push his hand away. I want to be in control. I undo it, the next, and the last in quick succession, then rip the garment open, baring his chest. I lean back to take it in. He's the hairiest man I've seen in years. I love the swirling patterns it makes on his belly and pecs and the way it sweeps up above his pecs, curling out from his body at the neck, fanning onto his shoulders and upper arms; so different from the rough directionless matte of tight curls on my chest. I search for his tits: they're half buried, like mine.

'Christ...you're hairy!' I say, drawing in my breath.

He looks down at himself, a bewildered expression on his face. I'm so excited my cock begins to jerk. His eyes are on it, but still he says nothing. I look at the knotted cord around his waist and reach for it. Suddenly, he seizes me by the shoulders and throws me off him. I lie, stunned, sprawled half on the floor, half on the bed. By the time I've sorted myself out, he's on his feet, standing by the bedside table. At first, I think he's going to attack me, so I prepare for the combat. But he turns his back and faces the wall, hands resting on it.

'Christ, Alun!' I say out loud.

The pyjamas jacket lies half off his right shoulder, revealing an abundance of hair on his back. He straightens it. I jump out of bed, like a craved animal in pursuit.

'Alun...what's the matter? What have I done?' I say putting an arm around his shoulder.

He jerks me away, so I return to the bed and sit on it, head bowed.

'Christ...I've really bungled it! You're straight aren't you? That's it, isn't it?' I say in a loud voice.

He swings round to face me.

'You've got it wrong...I...'

'...but I must be wrong! You don't want me...you're not into it...it's all a mistake! I'll go now...' I begin making for the bathroom to put on my clothes, 'I hope you won't have hard feelings about me!' I say over my shoulder.

He moves quickly and catches me by the shoulder.

'Michael...please stay...really, you've got it all wrong...I'm really sorry...I...' he says, in a voice charged with emotion, '...I want you to stay...believe me...it's just...' His voice betrays that he's close to tears.

'...your separation...from Joyce?'

'You know?'

'Gwen told me...'

His shoulders sag and he emits a deep sigh.

'...she's been wonderful...so understanding...' I wait,'...she knows the struggle I'm having...torment, guilt, remorse...'

'...torment? Guilt...?'

'...you wouldn't understand...' he says, shaking his head.

'...but I do...I went through it myself once...'

'...believe me...I like you...I like you a lot...that's why I asked you to come back...'

'...but you feel guilty?'

He moves back towards the bed, then pauses.

'Yes.'

I follow, but wait, a safe distance between us.

'It started in my rugby days...Joyce never accepted my world. 'Rugby's a man's world', I'd say...and she'd say: 'Yes...that's the trouble...I feel shut out'. She'd keep saying: 'You'll never grow up if you're always with men!'

'I was away a lot, travelling with the team...sometimes abroad. 'Top rugby's like that', I'd say to her. But she hated the whole thing. It created such a barrier, we couldn't even discuss it. If I tried to, she'd walk out of the room.'

His face is desolate with anguish, so I sit on the edge of the bed and beckon him. He moves slowly towards me.

'Sit down...you might as well be comfortable...' I say, patting the bed beside me.

He sits down and I put my arm around his shoulder. This time, he makes no attempt to push me away. I massage his back through his pyjama top and after a few minutes, he's able to continue.

'...men envied me...specially when I was in my prime. I was a star player remember...I was acknowledged to be good by the fans...you understand. I enjoyed all the adulation...but then something happened to make me realise there was more.'

He buries his face in his hands.

'More? What do you mean more?'

'It was around midnight and was coming home late after an evening's training in the gym with the lads. I felt I needed to piss, so I pulled into a picnic area where I knew there was a john. A man, about ten years younger than me, was already in there. We started talking. I didn't know him, but he knew me because he was a rugby fan and played the game himself...though in a minor club team. He said his name was Phil. We talked about rugby and various players we both knew. He told me he'd always admired me and felt privileged to meet me. I was flattered of course, even though by this time, my rugby days as a star were coming to an end.

When we left the john, he started walking towards some trees at the back. I followed him, I suppose because he was still talking to me. When we were well away from the john and hidden from the road by trees, he stopped and put his hand on my shoulder. I was a bit surprised, but said nothing. Then he said: 'You're interested are you?' I didn't know what he meant, but I had a suspicion. I said yes, because I was feeling lonely and he was such a friendly guy. By this time my sexual relationship with Joyce had ended, in fact we were no longer sharing the same bedroom. I suppose I was curious to know what he meant by 'interested.' I nodded and he led the way down a faint path through a dense wood of tall trees.

After walking about a hundred yards, we came to a small clearing surrounded by dense forest. It was very dark...only the moonlight shining through the high branches lit the ground. He stood close to me and I could his feel his breath on my face. He undid his belt, the top button of his jeans and his zip. They fell around his ankles. He took hold of my hand and pressed it against his underpants: 'Feel that,' he whispered, excitement in his voice.

I could feel his rigid cock inside his underpants. Feeling it was fantastically exciting, so when I didn't take my hand away, he began loosening the belt of my jeans. I was hard even before my jeans slipped to my ankles. He felt my hard cock through my underpants. We just stood close, slowly feeling each other's erection. He pulled my underpants down, then his own and we lined our hard cocks up, pressing them together underside to underside. At the same time, he wrapped his fists around them, crushing the rigid shafts together as if they were one cock.

'Two cocks are always better than one...' he whispered.

We felt hobbled by our jeans around our ankles, so we chucked off our shoes, pulled our jeans and underpants right off. We played with each other's erection, then as the excitement mounted, we pulled all our clothes off. When we were both naked, we put our arms around each other and held one another close. I could feel his nakedness and our hard cocks crushed between our bellies. He put his head on my shoulder and I held it there. Somehow, I felt wanted and loved; the first time in years. We began to move against one another; slowly at first, his hard cock mashing against mine. It felt absolutely wonderful.'

'Do y'like this?' he whispered, his lips pressed against my ear.

'Yeah...wonderful...' I gasped.

'I never dreamt I'd be doing this with someone as famous as you,' he said, putting his arms around my neck.

We separated and I played with his cock, while he ran his hands all over my body. He said he loved the feel of my hairy body. I liked that...I felt a kinship with him because we were sharing an intimacy. I'd never felt this way with any man before, even though I have spent all my time as a professional rugby player with men.'

'...and?'

'He asked if I wanted 'to go the full distance'. I was eager, so I said yes, even though I didn't know what would happen. It was a kind of primitive thing...just the two of us, naked, bathed in pale moonlight, deep inside a dense dark forest. After a while, he led me to a big tree and I leaned against it. I just allowed myself to be led. He pushed his thigh in between mine and we pressed our loins together...violently this time...d'ya understand.

'I like it a bit rough...' he said.

I didn't answer. He shoved himself against me repeatedly, grinding his body against mine. I responded positively and he started kissing my shoulders, then my chest, pulling at the hair with his lips. As he rubbed his cock against mine, I got more and more excited and he could tell, so he said: 'Hold it, a minute.'

He broke away from me, fetched a bag he'd been carrying and got out a kind of ground sheet. After spreading it out, he signalled me to lie face up on it, so I did. He got on his hands and knees and before he could do anything, I pulled him on top of me. As I was holding his body close to mine, I looked up at the stars and took in the immensity of the night sky. It seemed to intensify my fervour. He got into a press-up position on me, rubbing the lower part of his body against mine. I told him I was getting close, so he slid down between my thighs and took me deep into his mouth. It was intensely exciting. I wanted to warn him, but I was speechless. He kept sucking me and suddenly I exploded in his mouth. It didn't worry him, in fact he intensified his action until I was soft and too sensitive to take any more. He rose up, sat on my thighs and put my hand on his cock.'

'Jack me!' he whispered, so I did.

I jacked him just as if I was jacking myself. After we'd cleaned up and got dressed, he said: 'Thanks, Alun. You were great.'

'Before we parted, he asked if he could meet me again...said he'd really enjoyed it with me because I was a famous rugby player. I told him I'd enjoyed it too, but I didn't want to get too involved. 'Married are you?' he asked as I was getting into my car. 'Yes,' I admitted. 'It's OK, I am too, but I'm separated...no prizes for guessing why.'

Just as I was about to drive away, he pushed a piece of paper into my hand. When I got home I found there was a phone number on it.'

'Did you get in touch with him?'

'For three weeks I did nothing. I felt guilty...betraying Joyce. It tormented me that I'd got such intense pleasure from sex with a man. It seemed wrong. Then one night when Joyce was away for a few days visiting her mum, my craving for companionship got the better of me. I rang Phil and we arranged to meet at the same place, the following night.

Phil was overjoyed, but I was still tormented by guilt. It was cold and windy - it'd rained earlier. We sat close together in the back seat of his car, unzipped our flies and played with each other's cocks. Then another car pulled into the picnic area and a couple of men jumped out with flashlights. They went into the john.

Phil thought they might be police in plain clothes, so as soon as they disappeared inside, I hopped back into my car. We waited. The men returned to the car, flashed their torches at our cars. I pretended to be snoozing. Then they started prowling around the grounds. Phil came over to my car. 'It's too dangerous here, can you come to my place'. I felt frustrated at our sex being cut short, but I could not bring myself to follow his car, so at the next intersection, I turned off, leaving him to go ahead. I felt bad about it when I got home. Ratting on him, I mean.

I've been naked with other naked men all my rugby days...that's normal in gyms and rugby changing rooms...but I'd never done the things Phil and I did before.'

'...did you ever see him again?'

'No.'

'Do you regret it?'

'Yeah...I felt terrible, because I realised he was genuinely fond of me. He understood my needs...and I think I understood his. But he idolised me a bit too much for comfort and that worried me. I had the feeling he might be indiscreet...I mean, tell other guys he's had sex with me, a famous rugby player!'

'You can't go on doing this; you're married...' I said to myself.

'...but you and Joyce did eventually separate?'

'Yeah...we did, but that didn't happen because of Phil. We kept up a semblance of marriage for another year. Joyce wanted a family and...but our sex life was nil, so she started going out with another man. I still feel bad about it...I let her down...it was my failure...I really couldn't blame her for leaving me...I mean, I reached a crisis point when I was virtually impotent with her, or any woman!'

'She knew nothing about Phil?'

'No...but I confided in Gwen...she does counselling for a marriage guidance organisation. She's always been very down to earth: 'If you prefer men to women', that's how she put it, 'then get on with it. You'll never be happy if you keep fighting your sexuality'. She told me I was by no means the first she'd come across.

That was a relief to hear, and it helped me cope better...knowing there were others like me.'

'When did Bill come into your life?'

'Bill? You mean my nephew? He's not in my life! What gave you that idea?'

'He's your nephew! I thought maybe you were...living together.'

'I know about him being gay. He's always been that way, but I've no interest in him. His dad, that's my brother-in-law, put money into the plumbing business...that's the only reason I have Bill around.' I nod and he continues, 'He was supposed to be fitting a new washer on the cold tap in the kitchen and mending a leak in the waste pipe under the sink...that's about all he's bloody capable of!'

'He told me this was his house!'

'I'm not surprised...apart from being useless, he's a lying bastard as well!'

'Why don't you sack him?'

'I wish I could, but his dad put money into the business!'

I run my hand down his back several times, then lean over and say: 'I want you to know, he doesn't interest me. What happened between Bill and me was a one-off...a flash in the pan...I was desperate for sex that day and he happened to be around. It does happen!'

He turns, looks at me and grins, bringing back the dimples.

'I understand...there's no need to explain...it happened to me too that day I met Phil.'

I pull him against me and put my hands on his shoulders. He's still very tense, but after a while I feel the muscles begin to relax.

'I like feeling you...' I whisper.

'I like being felt...'

I run my hands down his sides, reaching his hips. I slide my palms around onto his thighs. Again he offers no resistance. I open my thighs and slip in behind him, enclose him in my arms and thighs and press in against him. He's aware now of what is raging between my legs and leans back against me. I pull his pyjama jacket open again and start caressing the wonderful dense hair on his chest. I wonder if caressing his chest like this excites him as much as it does me.

'I like feeling you...' I whisper again, my lips and bearded cheeks rubbing the hair on his shoulders.

There's no response, but I can tell from his excited breathing he's enjoying it. My hands glide up and down his chest and each time, I cup his well-formed pecs and squeeze them. He flexes them in response. It's the first positive response he's made.

'These feel like granite...you must've worked on 'em...' I say quietly. He tenses them again for my benefit.

Suddenly he grips my hands and cries out: 'Christ Michael! Hold me tight!' It's almost a whimper and it takes me by surprise. I immediately put him into an intense bear hug and start kissing the curve of his neck.

'Oh my God...' he gasps, clasping his hands over mine.

I start working his tits and soon he's gasping with pleasure.

'You like that, don't you...'

'...yeah, who wouln't?'

'You're so hairy...I love feeling it between my fingers...'

'...y'mean you don't mind...' he whispers, resting his cheek against mine.

'...mind? Why should I mind?'

'The hair...'

'...I just said, I love the feel of it...' I say, binding him in my arms.

'Joyce hated it...specially the hair on my shoulders and back...she insisted I shave it off, or wear pyjamas...'

I pull my thighs up away from his, encircle his waist with them and pull him back on top of me.

'...y'daft thing...I spend half m'life looking f'hairy guys, like you!'

'You're hairy yourself...' he says, allowing his weight to rest on me.

'...is that a problem?'

'No, of course not.'

'You're a real bear...and I hunt for bears!' I say tightening my grip around him.

He laughs. It's the first time he's done that.

'...Phil was a bit hairy too, not as hairy as you though...'

'...so you're a secret bear chaser too!'

He laughs again. I roll him over and we separate. He's a bit bewildered so I move quickly and slip his pyjama jacket off. His back is as hairy as his chest. I run my hands through it and the hair on his shoulders.

'...Christ you've hands...they're everywhere...'

'...can't help it.'

I run my hand over his beard.

'D'you like beards?' I ask.

'Yeah...Phil had one of those too...'

'...sounds as if Phil had everything...'

'...no...not really...' he says, putting his hands on my thighs, '...you've got everything,' I laugh at his exaggeration, but he silences me and continues, 'you didn't know I was a rugby player...not 'til I told you. Phil did, and I think that meant more to him than the sex. Sex with a famous rugby player, that's all he could think about!'

'I liked you...because...well, I liked you. Nothing more. I didn't need to know anything about your past...'

He looks at me, not quite believing what he's hearing.

'I wanted you too...right from that first meeting. The top of the stairs, remember?'

'I'm hardly likely to forget...Bill got me into the house of a complete stranger, remember!'

His studies me for a moment, then laughs.

'You fancied me, didn't you?'

'Yeah...of course. It does happen now and then...men fancying men, I mean!' I say sarcastically.

'Well matey...it seems you've got me...' he says, feeling the strength of my arms around him.

'You're not guilty any more?'

'No...not with you...that's all in the past...'

He stands up and I lower my head and allow my lips to graze his chest. My desire for him overwhelms me. I slip a hand down between us and start pulling down his pyjama pants. He pulls away from me a little and brushes my hand away. I feel him undoing the cord of his pyjamas.

'Let me...' I say.

'No!'

We stand apart enough for him to allow his pyjamas to drop around his ankles. As they're sliding away, I feel his cock leap up. I try to catch it, but he intercepts my hand and holds it. Then he places his other hand on my chest and begins caressing my hairy pecs.

'Christ you feel good...' he whispers.

'So do you...you're just what I need.' He pinches my nipples, 'Oh, gawd!!' I whisper, fondling the soft swirling hair on his shoulders and back with my free hand. He releases my hand and I run both hands down his back. I feel a shudder of excitement running through him, then when he pulls me into hard chest to chest contact, a moan of pleasure. I push him backwards to the edge of the bed.

'...come on...'

He sinks back onto the bed, dragging me on top of him. Instantly I put my arms around him and bear hug him. He reciprocates and I bury my face in the soft hair at the curve of his neck. We lie still; our breathing the only movement. Then I lift my head, slide down his body and begin smothering his hairy chest with kisses, nibbling and pulling at the hair. He takes my head in his hands and repeatedly rubs my bearded face against his pecs. I seize a nipple whenever I can and suck on it. I can tell he loves it. I love it too. We're both moaning and I don't want it to stop, but I tear myself from him.

'Hold onto me...tight!'

He puts his arms around my neck and I lift him, dragging his deadweight across the bed in fireman's hold. As his head hits the pillow, I collapse on top of him.

'Gawd...come 'ere!' he says, wrapping his arms and legs around me.

After a few minutes, we roll onto our sides, cradling one another in arms and thighs, kissing, fondling. He's aware of my rigid cock against his. I thrust my loins against his and our cocks mash together.

'Oh Christ that feels good...just like it was with...,' he moans.

'Phil?'

He doesn't answer. My hand drifts between our bellies. As my fist wraps around the incredibly thick base of his uncut cock, he emits a moan of pent-up excitement. I roll him onto his back, jump onto his thighs and sit astride him, jamming our cocks and balls together, like he and Phil did. I use my fist to weld the two cockshafts together and we watch as the two big cockheads swell up. He puts his fist above mine, crushing the entire length of our cocks into intimate union.

'Oh gawd...' he sighs again.

He seems to love the erotic feel of cock on cock. It's the symbolism that's so powerful: two passionate like-minded men joined intimately by their cocks. I allow my fist to slip away. Now only his fist joins us. He begins to slide it up and down, raking the two foreskins up and down exposing the two huge cockheads synchronously. I'm in heaven, and so is he.

'...Christ you're big...' I whisper, leaning over to kiss him again.

'...thicker maybe...but not longer...'

'...don't bank on it...'

He breaks into a laugh, but when I nibble his tits, it turns into a moan.

'...gawd you excite me! I've never been so excited as this before...' he whispers.

The precum oozing from his cock mingles with mine, lubricating the shafts. He starts sliding and thrusting his cockshaft against mine and again I'm transported into heaven.

Then he starts wanking the two stiff columns like there's no tomorrow. I watch my cockhead battering and sliding repeatedly against his. It's the most fantastic double wank I've ever known, but his movements are so vigorous, it soon threatens to overwhelm both of us. I pull his hand away in the nick of time and collapse onto him.

'Christ...slow down...make it last!' I manage to gasp.

We lie motionless in one another's arms while we recover. When the crisis passes, he starts thrusting his loins against mine, so I bend his cock down and put it between my thighs. I can feel the incredibly thick base of his cock trapped between my thighs. His movements become frenetic. I want him to slow down, make it last, but he doesn't, so I begin thrusting too.

'Oh gawd!!' he shouts in ecstasy, as his wild thrusts intensify.

Our bodies writhe and twist against one another, the constant abrasive friction of hairy bodies ignites our nipples, turning them to fire. In just a few minutes we're both teetering on the edge. His hard cock repeatedly pounds my balls, my arse, rubbing, mauling them. My god it's fantastic. We keep grinding our loins together and all the time I feel my cock grinding against his rich belly hair.

Now I'm vulnerable to the slightest movement. I hook my ankles together, locking my thighs around his wonderful thick pulsating cock. I pulverise it.

'Oh my god...oh...' he screams out, arms and legs binding me to him, as the climax starts ripping through his body.

His climax triggers mine and the ecstatic contortions wrack both our bodies simultaneously. We shoot repeatedly. I feel his cum showering against my balls, the backs of my thighs and my bum cheeks, while mine jets into the lush hair between our bellies, binding us together. Then when the convulsive movements die away, I look him in the face.

'You were wonderful...' I say breathlessly, rubbing my bearded cheeks into his.

He brings his lips close to mine and opens them slightly. I bend lower and kiss him repeatedly before rolling off him. We lie close, hand in hand, until we've recovered, then I reach over and clasp him by the shoulder.

'We need to clean up...'

He laughs. He's relaxed and happy now. I get out of bed, pick up the pyjamas from the floor and use them to clean him, the bed, and myself.

'You won't ever need these again...' I say, throwing them into the corner.

He watches them fly through the air and starts to chuckle. I join in. Soon it's a belly laugh. When it subsides, I sit beside him on the bed. He has his arm across his eyes, shielding them from the light. I reach over and pull it away.

'Christ you're handsome...' I say quietly, looking down at him.

'...and you're daft!' he responds, grabbing my wrist.

I bend lower and nuzzle the lush hair on his chest.

'You're not just handsome, you're beautiful...' I insist.

He props himself up on one elbow.

'...look matey...I'm a neurotic...guilt-ridden...ex-rugby player with cauliflower ears and a broken nose! Just look at me!' he says pulling at the hair on his chest, '...I'm as hairy as an ape...and you bloody well tell me I'm beautiful!!'

I lean closer, pushing him roughly back onto the bed. I love it when he tries to tease me.

'But that's what makes you beautiful, you nutter!'

'And that's what makes you crackers...' he says, gripping me firmly by the shoulders again.

He looks me hard in the eyes.

'Come 'ere!' he says, jerking me hard down onto him. 'Don't let it go to y'head matey...but you don't half turn me on!' he whispers in my ear. His arms crush me to him. 'You're a sexy bastard...just can't get enough of ya!'

I place a finger on his chin.

'It's mutual!' I say, pulling his jaw towards me, 'Look me in the eyes. Can you honestly say: "I've seen countless naked men and never found one of them beautiful?"'

He pulls my hand away, cups my bearded cheeks in his palms and looks long into my eyes before thrusting my face into the foaming hair just below his throat - the same hair that excited me so much when I saw him at the builder's supplier. I close my eyes. His fingers trace the line of my beard, stray gently over my shoulders, wander across my neck, meander down my spine to my buns. Then after squeezing them, they retrace their circuitous path back to my beard. Slowly, his arms tighten around me crushing me to him until we can hardly breath. Then he slowly relaxes and we lie close, arms loosely around one another. I feel my right thigh being drawn between his. When it's imprisoned there, he whispers in my ear:

'Sure, I've seen hundreds of naked men in my time...under showers, in changing rooms, in gyms...all shapes and sizes...hairy, smooth, big cocks, small cocks......but none so daft as you....'

I don't have the strength to retaliate. Anyway, I take it as a compliment - after all, if he thinks I'm sexy, I'm well satisfied - his back-handed way of saying he likes me! I enclose him in my arms again. After a moment or two I lift my head.

'OK for me to stay the night?'

He doesn't respond, so I lower my head and bury my face into that dense carpet of hair sprouting out below the base of his neck. He stirs and an arm moves and envelopes me.