11

I’D ALREADY BROKEN ONE OF ADRIAN’S RULES: NUMBER THREE, you will stop fucking around. So even if I managed to abide by the other two, I’d have to lie to him about that. Not a great start to a relationship, although I suppose it’s what I’ve always done. I managed twenty years plus in a marriage based on a lie, and I’d settle for another twenty years with Adrian. That’ll take me through to my sixties, and I’ll be ready for the scrap heap.

And if I’ve told one lie, why not go for the hat trick? What difference does it make? I’m a bad, dishonest person, and I’ve lived a dishonest life for so long that I no longer value the truth. There’s nothing worse than getting away with it. You never face the consequences of your lies, and after a while they don’t seem to matter anymore. They’re not bad—they’re just how things are. I could easily tell Adrian that I’ve tested negative, and unless he demands documentary evidence, I’ll be fine. I can tell him that Angie and the kids have been very understanding but they’re not quite ready to meet him yet, or to see the two of us together—that sounds plausible, and it would buy me some time. I got as far as composing a text telling him that things were going really well, he was going to be so proud of me, that I was sticking to the rules, but at the last moment, I deleted it.

Why bother at all? Adrian won’t put up with me for long. I’ve got too much baggage. Even if I make a clean breast of it to Angie, and we get divorced, I’m still a father. What man wants to take on a new partner with grownup kids? Adrian’s still young and in amazing shape—he could be running around with beautiful, tight-bodied twenty-year-olds. He’ll soon tire of a haggard old man like me. It’s all very exciting as long as it’s secret and forbidden, while there are obstacles in our way, but if we sort everything out, what are we left with? Each other. I barely know Adrian. I want to fuck him, of course, but there are thousands of guys I want to fuck and I’m not planning a future with them. And in some ways, Stuart was right: I’m not ready for another relationship yet. I can’t bounce straight out of a twenty-year marriage into something else. I need freedom, time to reassess, have some fun.

Yeah, and look where fun has got you. Miserable, frightened, confused. You can spend the rest of your life on Craigslist until some lunatic murders you or you simply drop dead from despair. Adrian’s offering you a future, and you don’t think you deserve it.

Good job he gave me a month to sort things out. Maybe he realised that this was going to happen and that I needed time to get my head straight. No, not straight. Unfortunate choice of word. A lot can happen in a month. I can probably make a final decision every couple of days. I can fuck things up and fix them, fuck ’em up and fix ’em over and over again. What does Adrian expect? Does he think I’m going to be like a nun for a whole month just because he told me to? What business is it of his who I sleep with? We’re not married. And surely that’s the great thing about gay relationships—you don’t have to play by the same rules. If you want to have sex with someone else, you do it. It doesn’t matter. That’s what I’ve always heard about gay men anyway. They’re all promiscuous, and they give each other the freedom that every man, in his heart, really wants.

But something told me that wasn’t going to wash with Adrian. And it’s probably a load of bollocks anyway, invented by jealous straight people.

See? I can go around and around tying myself in knots in the space of a few paragraphs, so what’s going to happen in a month?

I needed something to focus on.

Gym, of course.

Work, which God knows is keeping me busy enough.

My family. Finding a way of telling them the truth without driving a wedge between us.

And I might as well get tested anyway. Not because Adrian told me to, but because I knew I’d been exposed to risk and I needed to face it like a big boy.

So yes, there was plenty to keep me occupied and out of trouble.

And then I got a text.

Hi Joe, hope you don’t mind me contacting you. I’ll be down in London this week for a course and was wondering if we might meet for a drink or something. Cheers Paul.

Nothing more natural than your daughter’s boyfriend getting in touch if he’s coming to town, is there?

Except I knew as well as you know that there was more to Paul’s text than that. He hadn’t told Nicky. He wanted something from me that you don’t tell your girlfriend about. He hadn’t said it in so many words, but I saw the look in his eyes, the hunger, the longing.

Am I going mad? Do I really think that every nice-looking guy who talks to me wants my cock? Am I so far adrift from my moorings that I’m seriously thinking about fucking my daughter’s boyfriend?

I can’t very well turn him down flat. What would that look like? Nicky would tell Angie, and she’d be down on me like a ton of bricks.

So I’ll see him. And if something happens, it won’t be my fault, will it? Anyway, it won’t. I will say no. I have self-control.

Great to hear from you Paul. Just let me know which night suits you best. See you soon.

We made a date for dinner in town. Nothing compromising. I even told Angie during one of our brief encounters at the house. ‘I think you’ve got a fan,’ she said. ‘He was following you around like a little puppy.’

‘Don’t be daft.’ We got on much better now that our marriage was over.

‘I wasn’t the only one who noticed. He had stars in his eyes.’

‘He was pissed.’

What was she suggesting? How much had she guessed?

‘Oh well, it’ll be nice for you to get to know him a bit. Maybe he’ll be part of the family one day.’

I thought this highly unlikely, but I was not going to share my suspicions. However, given that Angie and I were both in the house at the same time—we were up early, Alex would be in bed for hours, neither of us had to leave for work for forty-five minutes—this was a good time to have The Conversation. How many more chances would I have in the coming weeks? The deadline was approaching, and I ought to make some kind of effort at least.

‘Speaking of the family,’ I said, still unsure of exactly where this was going, ‘how are things with you and Dan?’

Angie looked suspicious. ‘Are you going to start having a go?’

‘No. I promise. I just think we need to talk about what’s happening.’

‘OK.’ She drank some coffee. ‘You’re right. Well, things with Dan are going well.’

‘I see.’

‘You seem very calm about all this.’

‘I’m trying to be.’

‘Thank you.’ She put the mug down, fiddled with some toast crumbs on the kitchen table, reached out for a cloth from the sink, and then stopped herself. ‘I appreciate it.’

‘What’s your plan?’

‘I’m not going to do anything until Alex is settled at university.’

‘Right. So our future kind of depends on his exam results.’

‘If you want to put it like that, yes.’

‘Assuming he starts college in October, what then?’

‘At some point next year, I will move in with Dan.’

I knew this was coming, but I still felt like someone had punched me in the gut. ‘I see.’

‘He lives in Amersham.’

‘Yes.’ Posh commuter belt. A step up from our humble suburb. ‘Nice.’

‘And then,’ said Angie with a deep sigh, ‘I suppose we’ll get divorced.’

‘I suppose we will.’

We were quiet for a while, staring into our coffees. How many cups of coffee had we shared over the years? Tens of thousands? Hundreds of thousands? Moments of companionship and reflection, a chance to unwind and talk. Was this the last?

‘I never wanted it to be like this, Joe.’

‘Neither did I.’

‘What happened to us?’

‘I don’t know.’ Yes you do, you liar. You know perfectly well, and you owe it to this woman, your wife, the mother of your children, to tell her. ‘We changed.’

‘Did we really? Or did we just give up?’

Come on. Tell her. Shit, my heart is racing, my hands are sweating, it’s like the first time I had sex with a man, when Michael so neatly picked me up in the showers and took me to his flat to suck my cock. I’m gripped by terror, I can barely see or hear, white noise in my head.

‘I changed.’

Angie looked at me for a while and then nodded. ‘Yes. You did.’

Does she know? Has she guessed?

She’s waiting. Come on, Joe. Do it.

It was like one of those dreams when you want to scream, but nothing comes out. My voice was paralyzed.

‘Are you seeing anyone?’

I said ‘no’ immediately and then added ‘not really.’

‘Not really, but sort of?’

‘Sort of. Maybe. I’m thinking about it.’

‘And who is it?’

This is it, Joe. You can do it.

The words wouldn’t come out.

Angie’s gaze was unrelenting. ‘Anyone I know?’

What has she guessed? What’s she been told?

‘No.’

‘Oh.’ She waited and then said, ‘I just wondered if it might be Stuart.’

The whooshing in my ears intensified. Had she really said that?

‘Stuart?’

‘At the wedding?’

‘Yes. It was the first time I’ve seen him in years.’

‘I know that. But you know.’ She nodded her head from side to side, as if what she was saying was too obvious for words.

‘What?’

‘Come on, Joe. Stuart’s always been crazy about you.’

‘Has he? I didn’t know.’

‘And you spent the night in his room.’

‘So what?’

‘Don’t tell me you were just catching up on old times, Joe. I wasn’t born yesterday.’

She didn’t seem particularly surprised that I would spend the night with another man. ‘OK, if you really want to know, yes, I did spend the night in Stuart’s room.’

‘Ah.’

‘But there’s nothing going on between us.’

‘Isn’t there?’

‘Stuart’s seeing someone else.’

‘And if he wasn’t?’

This is it, Joe. This is the test, the moment when you decide whether you’re a decent human being or just another dickhead.

‘Who knows? Maybe.’

‘Right.’ She sighed again, maybe in relief. ‘I know it’s ridiculous, but in a way, I rather liked the idea of you and him. I mean, we always used to wonder.’

‘Who did?’

‘Jackie and me and the other girls. You and Stuart were such good friends.’

‘That’s all we were.’

‘Really? Are you sure about that?’

‘Sure.’ Even now, she didn’t need to know that I’d been unfaithful on my stag night. ‘Stuart was like a brother to me.’

‘And now?’

‘Like I said, we’ve all changed.’

Now it seemed to be Angie’s turn to lose her voice. She kept taking a breath as if to speak, then stopping, fiddling with her fingernails and her hair.

‘Angie.’

She looked up, and her eyes were full of tears. ‘Yes?’

‘I’m gay.’

There. It was out at last. Her tears spilled out. I felt instantly calm, my heart slowed, my head cleared. At the crisis of my life, I finally found self-control.

‘Were you always?’

‘No.’

‘I mean, when we were going out together, in those first few years? Were you then?’

‘No.’

‘Were you thinking of men when we had sex?’

‘No. I was thinking of you. Only you.’

‘Do you promise?’

‘Whatever happened since, that was real.’ More real than anything that’s happened since, I thought. More solid than all the men who have come and gone since. More real than Stuart or Adrian. The defining relationship of my life. The only one I ever really had. And I lost it.

‘Yes, it was, wasn’t it?’ She reached out, and I took her hand. ‘We were happy.’

‘Very happy.’

Angie was crying properly now. ‘Will we ever be that happy again?’

‘I don’t know. You and Dan?’

She laughed through her tears and had to blow her nose. ‘Maybe. I like him. He’s a good man.’

‘I’m glad.’

‘And your . . . new friend?’

‘He’s a good man as well. Too good for me probably.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Joe. No one will ever be good enough for you.’

‘I don’t deserve your understanding.’

She wiped her eyes. ‘Let’s not make this any harder than it already is. You’ve been kind to me. Let me be kind to you.’

We stood and hugged and held each other in the silent house, crying together until the coffee was stone cold and we were both late for work.

I phoned in sick and told the boss I’d be in sometime in the afternoon if I felt well enough. Instead of getting my usual train, I took the car a few miles up the road to the hospital and found my way to the sexual health clinic.

That evening I texted Adrian.

Rule one and rule two done.

He texted right back.

And rule three?

So far so good, I said, which was a big lie, but I’d already decided that having a night with my oldest and closest friend did not count as ‘fucking around.’

Good man, Adrian texted and then sent a photograph that suggested he was wishing the month was over almost as much as I was. I replied in kind, and so on, with the inevitable conclusion.

When it was over, I called him.

‘Can I see you?’

‘Yes, after the month is over.’

‘Not before then?’

‘No.’

I felt a cold punch of disappointment. I was lonely. I wanted him. Why didn’t he want me? I’d done what he told me to do. Why couldn’t I have my reward now?

‘Really?’

‘Yes, Joe. Really.’

‘I want to be with you.’

‘And I want to be with you. And if we can do this, we’ll be together. But it needs to be right.’

‘OK.’ Shit, this was awful. My dick was getting hard again at the sound of his voice, and I wanted instant gratification. ‘If you say so.’

‘I do. Goodnight, Joe.’

‘Goodnight, Adrian.’ And before I could tell him exactly what I planned to do when I saw him, he hung up.

Paul proved to be a lot more flexible. And this, patient reader, is where my life unravels.

When Paul started sending me suggestive texts and photos of his martial arts training (which seemed to involve nothing much in the way of kit), I should have cancelled our dinner date right away. When the topless shots began, I should have warned him to keep away from me. But I didn’t.

We met in Soho, a part of town where my family would never go and where I was unlikely to meet anyone I knew. Paul suggested a pub, gave me the address and time, and ‘we’ll take it from there’, presumably meaning that we’d wander round until we found a restaurant we liked.

He turned up looking freshly showered, in a white open-necked shirt and jeans. It was a warm evening, he didn’t need more. His smile, when he saw me, was eager and innocent; perhaps, after all, he was just a nice, naïve young man who was looking for a father figure. Okay, the shirt fitted rather well, showing off his athletic torso. Yes, the jeans were snugger around the arse than was strictly necessary – but then again, most of the other guys under 30 in the pub were similarly dressed. And this wasn’t a gay pub. I checked before I came. Office workers, theatregoers, tourists, nothing compromising. We were just two mates meeting for a drink.

‘Really pleased you came,’ he said, shaking my hand and looking me right in the eye. ‘I wasn’t sure you would, now that… well, you know.’

‘What?’

‘Hasn’t she told you? Nicky and I have decided to cool things off a bit.’

Run away now.

‘What happened?’

‘Oh, nothing happened. We just couldn’t see ourselves being together in five years’ time, so we thought it was best to end it now.’

‘I see. Good decision.’

‘So I’m young, free and single,’ said Paul as we sat at our table. ‘And all alone in London.’

‘Yeah, right.’ I tried to sound dismissive. ‘So, did you see the match last night?’

‘No. Not interested. Sorry.’

‘What did you do, then?’ Stupid question, Joe. Too personal, and too leading.

‘Went out with some of the other people on the course. It was okay, but I went back to the hotel pretty early. There’s a little gym there, with a sauna, so I did a workout and then relaxed a bit.’

‘Oh, right.’

‘I was the only one there.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Yeah. All alone.’

‘Ah.’ I drank, racking my brains for safe subjects.

‘The rooms are okay. Small, but really clean.’

‘Nice.’

‘I’m not even sharing.’

‘Oh, that’s good then.’ Nothing presented itself. Politics? Television? Where did you go on your holidays?

‘I took a few selfies.’

What do you say to that? I laughed nervously.

‘I thought about sending them to you, but…’ He didn’t look quite so innocent now.

‘What?’

‘I thought they might be a bit over-the-top.’

Now’s your chance, Joe. Tell him he’s barking up the wrong tree. Walk out of the pub if necessary. Think of the age gap. Think of how bad it would look if the family finds out. Oh… and think of Adrian as well, of course. I remembered that just in time.

I said nothing.

‘Perhaps I was wrong. What do you think?’ He had his phone in his hand. Well, there was no harm in looking, surely? I mean, this was just a bit of a laugh, wasn’t it? He swiped and poked the screen a few times, then handed it over. ‘There.’

He was lying naked on the bed, the sheets pulled up to just below his pubes. One arm was behind his head; the other hand was resting on his tight, furry stomach. The phone must have been propped up on a chair or dressing table near his feet.

‘Wow.’

‘There are more, but…’

‘What made you want to take photos like that?’

‘Oh, you know.’ We both looked at the photo, then glanced up. Our eyes met. I quickly looked away. ‘I like to see what I look like.’

‘Yeah. Well.’

‘And I was thinking about you.’

Shit. It was out. Lying in bed, naked, thinking about me, taking photos, and there are more…

‘Oh.’ I could feel my face burning, my dick getting heavy.

‘Look.’ He swiped the screen, and the sheet was down. His cock was rigid, pointing straight up towards his navel, resting on a thick nest of black hair. He looked fucking beautiful.

‘I’m not sure you should be showing me this, Paul.’

‘Why not?’ He was so close to me now our arms were touching.

‘Because…’

‘What? Don’t you like it?’

‘I…’

‘You do like it, don’t you?’

For Christ’s sake, Joe. Deny it. Lie. You’ve lied all your life, why can’t you do it now?

‘I wasn’t wrong, was I? I mean, you are… you know.’

Oh shit, what was the point of pretending? I knew what was going to happen. I was going to go back to Paul’s hotel room and I was going to bang his brains out. Then I was going to lie to Adrian about it. I’m not strong enough, I know that. I can’t do anything to stop the inevitable. I sighed. ‘Yes, I am. You weren’t wrong.’

He looked delighted. ‘I don’t know how I knew it, but I just knew it.’

‘Look, Paul, I’m not sure this is a great idea.’

‘I’m not going to tell Nicky, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

‘And I’m old enough to be your father.’

‘That’s one of the reasons I fancy you so much.’

‘Really?’

‘I’ve been imagining how big your cock is.’

‘Paul, for God’s sake.’ But he was right; my cock is big, and it was getting bigger by the second, reaching out towards him.

‘It’s okay, Joe.’ He was leaning against me now, our bodies touching from leg to shoulder. ‘Everything is fine.’

‘Is it?’

‘I want this, and you want this. We’re not hurting anyone. Nobody’s going to know.’

‘We have to be careful.’ And that was it. I’d admitted everything. How long had it taken Paul to seduce me? I looked at my glass. About a third of a pint. Ten minutes? Not even that.

‘Yeah.’ He stood up and drained his glass. I watched his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his hairy neck. The front of his jeans looked fuller than before. ‘Ready?’

‘Where are we going?’

He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. ‘Back to my hotel, of course.’

The hotel was a glorified student hall of residence near Centre Point, a large, prison-like building with tiny windows and an airless lobby, sealed off from the outside world by card-controlled glass doors. We shared the lift to the tenth floor with a couple of Italian language students who were, fortunately, oblivious to the sexual tension in the air. I thought of another lift, months ago, in Harry’s house, my first footsteps on this road. Another lift, another life.

The door opened. We were out. Paul ran down the corridor, constantly looking over his shoulder as if I was about to disappear. The corridor seemed to go on forever, like one of those trick shots in the movies where distances extend before your eyes, dreamlike, eternal. Would I always be following someone up to their flat – a new address, a new body, the same experiences, the same sense of shame and regret? And if I did this thing I was surely going to do, I could kiss goodbye to any hope of a relationship with Adrian. Even if he doesn’t find out, he deserves better than the sort of man I have become. I’ll just cut loose from responsibility, because that’s obviously what I want. I’ll be a distant father. Nobody will notice the difference. I’ll keep working and training and chasing cute boys down hotel corridors until I’m too old to catch them, or to care.

‘Come on,’ said Paul, standing inside the door. ‘Quick.’

He shut the door behind me, and before the click had stopped reverberating he was on his knees, burying his face in my groin. The room was dark, just the evening light coming through the small windows, and it was way too warm. His lips found my cock through the fabric of my trousers. Nothing else mattered. Keep doing that, boy. Block everything else out, for an hour, a night, for ever.

I unbuckled my belt and undid the top of my trousers. That was all the encouragement Paul needed. He unzipped me, pulled down my pants. My cock bounced up and out, wet at the end, ready for anything.

‘Oh God.’ He held it and stared at it. ‘Oh. Oh my God.’

‘What?’

‘It’s just… I mean I’ve never actually…’

‘You’ve never done this before?’

‘No.’

Another level of guilt, then. But I was past caring. It just made me harder. ‘Take your time. Lick it for me, Paul. Come on. Show me you want it.’

He licked up and down the shaft, scratching me with his stubble, and kissed every inch of it from base to tip. Precum moistened his lips, and he licked them.

‘Mmmmm.’

‘Now suck it.’

‘Can I turn the lights on? I want to see you.’

‘Yeah.’ I shuffled over towards the bed – a small double, with a shiny, slippery, pale blue cover. I sat on the edge, knees apart, hobbled at the ankle. Paul turned on the light, and stood looking at me, a dazed expression on his face. His mouth was hanging open. I clicked my fingers. ‘Come here, then. On your knees. Suck it.’

He threw himself down, took hold of my cock in one hand and kissed the head again. And then his mouth opened, he took as much as he could, he choked, his eyes watered, he came up for air and then went down again. He was a cocksucker.

Paul, my daughter’s recently-ex-boyfriend, half my age, was sucking my cock. Not just that – he was worshipping my fucking cock. This handsome, athletic twenty-something was slobbering up and down my hard rod, desperate to take every inch of it. He’d wanted it from the moment he saw me, and now he was getting it. He was going to get it all fucking night, down his throat, up his arse, any way I wanted to give it to him.

I nearly came.

‘Get up. Take your clothes off.’

It took Paul five seconds to get naked. I’d seen it all in pictures of course, but nothing could prepare me for the warm, furry, pulsing reality. He was as hard as only a 21-year-old man can be. I wondered how many times I could make him come in the next ten, twelve hours. Five? Six? I reached round and grabbed his firm, hairy buttocks and squeezed.

‘Your arse is mine.’

‘Yes.’

‘Your mouth.’

‘Yes.’

‘And this.’ I grabbed his cock and balls, making a circle of thumb and middle finger. ‘This is mine.’

‘I’m yours. I want you to do everything to me.’

‘It’s a deal. Now get back on your knees.’

He was obedient; perhaps that was the martial arts training. And he learned fast, shielding his teeth behind his lips, sucking me without gagging, producing enough saliva to give me a smooth ride.

Fuck, my dick was hard. I couldn’t remember it ever being so hard. It was almost painful, like those adolescent erections that wouldn’t go down and felt like a steel bar jammed in your groin. If this led to destruction, so be it. I wanted it. Let it come. The harder I fuck him the more complete my downfall.

I heard him choking, and saw tears running from his eyes, but he kept on sucking like a good little soldier following his officer’s orders.

And then a kind of rage descended on. I lost any sense of myself and the world outside this tiny box of a hotel room – a bed, a floor, a bathroom no bigger than a cupboard. My children, my wife, Adrian, my future, meant nothing. Less than nothing. I wanted to smash them all, to forget them, to lose myself forever.

‘Get up.’

Paul obeyed. He stood before me, arms hanging by his sides, his forehead wet with sweat, his face wet with tears and saliva. His cock was rock hard and oozing, and long string of precum hanging off it.

‘I’m going to fuck you.’

‘Yes.’

‘You’ve never been fucked before, have you?’

‘No.’

‘You want it, don’t you? You want my big hard cock up your arse.’

‘Yes. I want it.’

He was prepared – there were condoms and lube by the bed.

‘How do you want it?’

‘I don’t care. I just want you inside me.’

‘It’s going to hurt.’

‘I don’t care. Just fuck me, Joe. Fuck me.’

His knees were buckling, and there was so much juice coming out of his cock that I thought for a moment he’d actually come without touching himself. I scooped some of it up on my fingers, and started working them around his hairy arse. It took me a while to get through the fur to the hole, but I knew when I’d found it; Paul made a sound like an engine, a huge guttural gasp that ended in a high-pitched moan. His hole was tight and resistant at first, and it took some pushing to get even the tip of my finger into him. Once he was breached, he opened up like a flower. Inside he was as smooth as silk, as soft as marshmallow, as hot as hell, and all the other clichés that occur at those time.

He was going to feel great on my cock, my little fucktoy, my little Paul.

One finger. Two fingers. He was still standing, using his thigh muscles to ride up and down, rubbing his hands over his furry torso, watching me from under heavy, half-closed eyelids.

I pulled out, lay back and held my rigid dick. ‘Come on then. Get me ready.’

He was beside me in a flash, caressing my cock, kissing it, licking it, and he would have started sucking it again. Perhaps he was scared of what was to come, and thought to delay the inevitable.

‘No.’ I pushed him back. ‘It’s time you got fucked. Get the condom on me. Now.’

He obeyed. I was sheathed and lubricated by nimble, if slightly shaking, fingers.

‘Now sit on it.’

He threw one muscular thigh across me, placed a knee on either side of my waist, and reached round to guide me to my goal.

Before I entered him, just as I felt the first kiss of his arselips opening to me, Paul said ‘I love you.’

‘And I fucking love you,’ I said, and I felt him slide down my rock-hard shaft until his buttocks connected with my pelvis. I was inside him.

‘Oh, Jesus. Oh, oh Christ.’ His eyes were screwed up, his mouth distorted. I know what it feels like, that first time, like a burning knife inside you.

But he didn’t get off. He waited, I waited, and when he was ready he started to move. Slow and small at first, but as he got used to the feeling he abandoned caution and started to ride me. His cock was almost pissing precum over my belly; I wondered if there would be anything left when he finally shot.

Paul kept up a sort of running commentary on what was happening to him. ‘Oh God, you’re inside me… you’re fucking me… oh your cock is so hard inside my fucking arse… oh yes, fuck me harder man, ram that cock into me’ – as if he had to keep persuading himself that this was really happening. He must have dreamed of it so often that the reality was almost swamped by the fantasy. But this was real, all right – skin and muscle and blood and bone, pain and friction, pleasure, sweat, breathing.

I wanted to give Paul the full tour, so I stopped thrusting and waited for him to slow down a bit. His eyes opened, a puzzled expression as if something was wrong.

‘On your knees, boy.’

He jumped off, making my cock plop out of his wet hole, and leapt into position, head down, tail up, knees apart. For someone who claimed to be a virgin he certainly knew what to do. I was back inside him in seconds, no hesitation this time, I lined up and pushed. He gasped as if winded, and I went straight into full throttle fucking. His hand was on his cock, and from the speed at which his arm was working I imagined he must be pretty close. Oh well – let him come. It’s not going to stop me. And boys that age soon recover. He’ll probably be hard again before I’ve even finished.

I was right. Paul’s arse tightened around me, clutching in spasms as he shot his load over the bedspread and he bucked his body up and down like an unbroken colt. I pushed down on his shoulder blades, pressing his face into the bed, and fucked him even harder. Now his moaning was even louder, a mixture of pleasure and pain, the almost unbearable sensations that follow an orgasm. I’ve known men who couldn’t bear to have their cocks touched directly after coming; multiply that sensitivity by a hundred and you’ll get some idea of what Paul was going through, getting the fuck of his young life while his cock and arse were saturated with sensation to the point of agony. I’ll say this for him: he took it like a man, never tried to stop me, and if he was in pain he hid it well.

I carried on until I was about to come, then pulled out. His arse and back were rosy red from the friction of my body. I pulled him up by his arm and flipped him over; his torso was plastered with spunk, the hair matted, and yes, his cock was hard again. Perhaps it had never gone down.

‘On your back. Legs up.’ I grabbed his raised knees and pulled him towards the edge of the bed. I put pillows under him until his hole was level with my cock, and I was in again. This wasn’t going to take long; suddenly every nerve-ending in my cock was alive, sending messages to my brain. I had that feeling of growing rage, the thunderstorm that starts somewhere behind the forehead and discharges through the cock. While I fucked Paul I leaned over and played with his pink tits, his lips, sticking two fingers into his mouth, then three, then four, stretching his mouth wide around my hand. He was wanking again.

‘You ready?’

‘Yes.’

‘Here goes.’

I started unloading inside him, thrusting so hard I was nailing him to the bed, and he kept up with me, gasping in a high, incredulous voice as he came again. Not much spunk this time, but that didn’t matter – his arse opened even wider, and my dick seemed to go right into his guts.

Afterwards I lay on top of him until my breathing returned to normal and my cock started to soften. We kissed, and manoeuvred ourselves on to the bed to lie together, holding one another as the semen dried on his body.

Of course he was hard again within ten minutes, and I wasn’t far behind him.

‘I need to piss,’ he said. ‘Come on.’ He led me by the hand into the bathroom – a shower cubicle, a toilet and a basin with barely room to stand between them.

Paul stood at the toilet, with my arms around him from the rear, holding his stiff cock in his hand, but nothing would come. ‘Shit. I really, really need to go.’

‘So do I.’

‘You first, then.’

I stood beside him and pointed my semi-erect dick at the bowl. I had more luck: a thick stream of piss curled out of the end, hit the toilet seat and splashed on to the floor before I could guide it to the water.

‘Let me hold it, Joe.’

Paul took my cock in his hand, his fingers playing in the stream of piss. He stared down at it as if this was a miracle. He rested his head on my shoulder.

‘Come on, then,’ I said when I was finished. ‘Your turn. Piss for me.’

‘I can’t. It’s going to go everywhere.’

‘Come here, then.’

I grabbed his hand and pulled him into the shower. My arms were around him, my hands running up and down his firm, hairy body, grabbing his arse. ‘Now just let it go.’

Piss started shooting out of Paul’s cock, hitting the tiles, the curtain, the floor, dribbling down his legs. I turned him towards me, kissed him deep on the mouth and let him piss against me. My finger found his hole, and as the last few drops trickled over my thighs I slipped into him again, his hole still slippery and loose, and I knew that I would spend the rest of the night, as long as my stamina lasted, inside him.