by Robert Furlong
The lad grinned across at me, pleased for the lift. I wasn’t going exactly where he wanted, but I could take him to a motorway junction twenty miles short without too much of a detour. He’d have to sort himself out from there: either stand in the cold with his thumb sticking out, like he had before I pulled up, or otherwise pay for a bus.
He didn’t look like he had a huge amount of money, though.
“You were in a pretty deserted place to be hitch-hiking,” I said. “No wonder you had to wait for so long for someone to pull over.”
When he’d climbed into my car with his rucksack he’d muttered that he’d been waiting for a good three hours.
He smiled. “Yeah, the guy before you chucked me out of his car.”
That sounded ominous and I wondered if he might be a nutter. The main reason I rarely pick up hitch-hikers is the fear of them turning out to be serial killers.
Judging by outward appearances, this lad had looked like he was fairly normal though: a university student trying to get a cheap ride cross-country, most likely. His dress was hardly smart but was a long way from looking dishevelled, while the stubble on his face suggested only a couple of days’ growth rather than being the full, unkempt beard one might expect from an escaped lunatic.
“What did you do to upset him?” I enquired, trying to sound as casually chatty as I could.
If he was weird enough to have been thrown out of someone’s car, I was going to have to figure out how I was going to extract myself from the position I’d got myself into without tipping him over the edge.
“He wanted me to pay for the lift he was giving me,” he said.
“Pay?” I asked, incredulously. “I thought the whole point of hitch-hiking was that you don’t have to pay?”
“He wanted payment in kind,” the lad explained. “Payment of a kind I wasn’t prepared to offer.”
I looked over at him with surprise.
“How do you mean, ‘payment in kind’?”
He grinned broadly at me. “I think you know what I mean.”
I smiled back and nodded. Of course I did.
“But he was a bloke, you said? Was he gay?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think he was just… well… a bit horny, I guess.”
I glanced over at him and chuckled. As well as feeling relieved that he didn’t seem to be a psycho, I was intrigued that the conversation was taking such a promising turn.
“So what did he want you to do?” I asked. “Or wasn’t he specific?”
The lad tittered at my curiosity. “He was very specific.”
I was becoming more and more pleased that I’d bothered to stop. There’d been something about him standing there on such a quiet road – his bright red cheeks, perhaps, looking raw in the cold wind, or his fine, blond hair being blown about under his hood – which had appealed to me in spite of my reservations about hitch-hikers.
Perhaps it was time for introductions.
“I’m Rob, by the way,” I said.
“I’m Dane,” he offered back and I noticed that his eyes were a deep shade of blue. “Nice to meet you, Rob.”
“You too, Dane,” I smiled.
After driving a little way further and mulling over what he’d said, eventually I was unable to stop myself from posing what seemed like the obvious question.
“So… er… what did the guy ask for, Dane? If you don’t mind me asking?”
“I don’t mind you asking at all,” he affirmed, “as long you don’t have any requests of your own.”
I laughed like the very idea was absurd.
“He wanted…” Dane started before tailing off uncertainly. “He wanted me to… well… to give him a blowjob, I guess you’d call it.”
He looked over at me and I realised he thought I might be offended by his use of such a word. I grinned to show I wasn’t as sweet and innocent as he might suppose.
“So that wasn’t what he called it?” I asked him.
“No,” Dane replied. “He actually said, ‘I’ll drop you off at any address you want if you suck my cock and swallow my cum’.”
Again he peered at me as if trying to see any suggestion that I might be shocked but I just shrugged like it had been largely what I was expecting.
“Bit of smooth-talker, then,” I suggested and he laughed.
We drove on a little further with me wondering how best to approach this opportunity which I had had the good fortune to stumble upon.
Obviously he’d refused the guy and had been promptly dropped off on the side of a lonely back-road, so any clumsy attempt I made to try and follow in my predecessor’s unsuccessful footsteps might be met with the same firm rejection.
I’d have to play this rather more carefully. Pick my way slowly so as not to startle him.
Even if I did get rejected, I mentally vowed that I wouldn’t just abandon him in the middle of nowhere. He was a nice enough lad – seemingly harmless and with a friendly smile – and I’d take him all the way to the motorway roundabout I’d promised him when I’d picked him up. From there, his options were numerous and I wouldn’t be just leaving him to face the evening cold on some god-forsaken B-road like his earlier lift had.
But if he did want to play along with me – even if just to flirt with a man who was old enough to be his father – well, then I might repeat my predecessor’s promise and go the extra twenty miles to take him to his destination.
“I wouldn’t even dream of asking you for anything sexual in return for the lift, Dane,” I began.
He smiled appreciatively, thinking that was all I had to say.
But I went on: “If I did, though, I’m sure I could come up with something rather more imaginative than a common-or-garden blowjob.”
He peered at me again: now it was his turn to be intrigued by the direction of the conversation.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Like I said, the lift is totally free. I’ll drop you off where I said I would.”
“But if you were to ask for something in return?” he prompted. “Something sexual?”
“Well, as I’m taking you to where you want to go, the question is somewhat moot,” I replied. “I was just making the point that I would have more imagination than to ask for something as boring as a blowjob.”
“I thought all guys like receiving blowjobs,” he said.
I smiled. “If I want a blowjob, I can get my wife to give me one any day. I don’t have to try and seduce young lads I pick up at the side of the road.”
He laughed at that and nodded.
I’d been divorced for over ten years but he didn’t need to know minor details like that.
“So what would you want, if you were to ask for something?” he persisted.
I chuckled like this was all just idle banter. “It’s not really relevant, Dane, since I’m not desperate enough to have to ask you for sex to take you where you want to go.”
“I get that,” he said. “I’m just interested to know what you would ask for if you were to.”
I nodded. “Okay. Well, to be honest, I haven’t really thought about it.”
Oh, Robert, you big fat liar.
“But if I were to have to think of a suitable ‘payment in kind’,” I went on, “I suppose it would have to be something that my wife couldn’t offer me. That would be sensible, wouldn’t it? Something I couldn’t get served up at home…”
He shrugged. “I guess so.”
I continued driving and he mulled over what I’d said. If he’d expected me to elaborate on what I might have in mind, he was disappointed: I maintained my best poker face and acted with the same nonchalance as if we having a conversation about what subjects he was studying at uni.
Eventually, after a few miles, he broke the silence to ask: “So what sort of things do you not get served up at home?”
“Sorry?” I asked, turning to look over at him and feigning a look of bemused enquiry.
“What you were saying,” he added quickly, realising that – out of context – his question could be construed as way too personal. “You know… about what you would want as ‘payment in kind’?”
I suppressed a smile. This was all going very nicely.
“Oh that,” I said, as if only just remembering the gist of the previous conversation; as if the subject had been of such little consequence to me that I had all but forgotten it. “Well, like I said, I don’t really know…”
“You said you’d be imaginative. That the guy who gave me a lift earlier had been a bit too predictable…”
I liked the way he was trying to draw me out. He probably thought he was being subtle but I could see straight through his game.
“I’m sure I could come up with something rather more interesting than a bog-standard blowjob,” I agreed. “But as I said, the point is moot, because this time your lift comes with the compliments of the chef.”
He nodded and then looked out of the passenger window, no doubt becoming frustrated that he couldn’t persuade me to divulge my secret desires.
After we’d driven past a few more fields and farmhouses, he said, “I’ll drop it if you want me to, but it’s an interesting conversation while we’re driving along. What we’re talking about is hypothetical – I understand that – but I’m curious to know what you might ask for from a male hitch-hiker if you wanted some kind of sexual payment from him.”
I had to chuckle. He was being far more persistent about this than I might have hoped. I had assumed that we’d move on to chat about other things for a while and then I would have to be the one to bring it back up once we were more comfortable with each other. I hadn’t expected him to keep at it like this, behaving like a terrier refusing to drop a stick.
“Okay, Dane,” I said, “let’s have the conversation for the sake of making the drive less boring. But let’s keep it hypothetical, like you suggested.”
I thought it wise to depersonalise this a bit. It would give me far greater latitude with how I might choose to phrase things if we weren’t necessarily talking about the two of us.
He nodded, and I went on, “So we have a hypothetical straight and happily-married driver contemplating asking his younger but equally male hitch-hiker for something which he wouldn’t be able to get from his wife.”
“That’s the top and bottom of it,” he agreed.
“So what do you think that ‘something’ might be?”
“I dunno,” he laughed. “But I agree with you that he would probably ask the hypothetical hitch-hiker for something a little… well… exotic, perhaps.”
“Exotic?” I smiled. “Meaning what exactly?”
He laughed more loudly, clearly amused that I was being so coy with him. I drove on, still smiling, waiting for him to speak.
When he did, he said: “Maybe… I dunno… maybe the guy would want to try giving the hitch-hiker a blowjob…? He couldn’t try that with his wife, now, could he?”
Ah – so that was where he hoped I was going with this!
I was having none of that. My sights were quite firmly set a little lower and further around the back.
“Why would a married guy want to suck some young lad’s cock?” I asked, aware that I was taking the vulgarity of the language up a notch (or should that be ‘down a notch’?) but wanting him to feel able to talk more candidly to me.
“To see what it tasted like?” he suggested.
I shook my head. “Not very convincing. If he was that curious, he’d have tried it before.”
“Maybe this is his first opportunity?”
I looked over at him and threw him a conspiratorial smirk. “We’ve both been around a bit, you and me, Dane. We both know that if a bloke wants to see how other blokes’ cocks taste, there are far easier ways of going about it than risk getting thumped by a hitch-hiker.”
“Okay,” he persevered. “In that case: because he’s done it before and he enjoyed the taste?”
He was nothing if not determined. I rather liked that about him.
I nodded. “That’s more believable, but I’m not sure a straight bloke would be that interested in sucking another guy’s cock. After all, he chose to marry a woman, so he must have at least some attraction for female genitalia.”
Dane laughed. “Some guys like it both ways.”
I laughed back and nodded over at him. “How right you are.”
“Okay,” he said again. “Let’s say he isn’t interested in sucking the lad off. What else might he find attractive about him?”
“I’m not sure,” I said, again laying on the bashful innocence as thickly as I could. “What else has our hypothetical hitch-hiker got?”
Dane chuckled. “I suppose the driver might be interested in the lad’s bum.”
I couldn’t help but grin, thinking: now you’re talking!
“I suppose there is a certain vaginal quality about a bum,” I suggested. “So I could see why our married man might be interested in that.”
“I’ve always thought bums were more like tits,” Dane observed.
I was pleased that he now felt confident enough to use a word like ‘tits’.
“Yeah, I can see that too,” I agreed. “But either way, why would our straight guy be interested in having a vagina or breast substitute, when he has the genuine articles on tap at home?”
“For novelty value?”
I laughed. “Well, yeah, there is that. But why would a bloke want to fuck an arse when he could fuck a pussy? I mean, pussies are rather nice, Dane – I don’t know if you’ve yet been lucky enough to have noticed?”
He grinned across at me. “Yeah, they are.”
So he wasn’t a virgin – at least not in the heterosexual sense – which made the outlook even more promising.
“Okay,” he went on. “So let’s say he doesn’t want to suck his hitch-hiker off and he isn’t interested in bending him over – what else might he want to do?”
“With the hitch-hiker’s bum?”
Dane shook his head. “We’ve ruled out the cock and the bum, haven’t we? You said our hypothetical straight guy wouldn’t be interested in either of those.”
“I didn’t rule everything out,” I said. “I just said he might not be interested in fucking the lad up the bum.”
“What else could a guy do with another guy’s bum?” he asked.
Oh Dane, I thought, you have so much to learn!
I shrugged as if this was the first time I’d ever contemplated other possible uses for that particular part of the male anatomy.
“I suppose,” I said, after driving a little further, “there is something our driver could do with his hitch-hiker’s bum which would give him a very different experience from anything he’d get from his wife’s pussy.”
“What’s that?” Dane asked, and I really think he had no idea.
“Well… it’s very rude,” I said with deliberate hesitance. “And you might be quite shocked. I’m a little bit shocked that I thought of it myself!”
Ha ha, I thought. As if.
“Something that’s ruder than butt-fucking?” he asked.
He’d said ‘butt-fucking’. He really was getting comfortable with me now.
“Yes,” I confirmed. “It is, rather.”
“I’m not a little kid,” he said, sounding scarily like an echo of my son. “You can tell me what it is – I don’t shock very easily.”
“How old are you, Dane?” I asked. I realised that I probably should have posed this question earlier.
“Nineteen,” he replied.
The same age as my son.
“Well, I guess in that case you’re old enough to know about giving oral sex to a woman?”
He threw me a derisory laugh. “Of course I am! I’m in my first year at uni – I’ve played around a bit, mate!”
Not as much as you’re probably about to, I thought.
“Okay,” I went on. “Well, suppose our hypothetical driver enjoys tonguing his wife’s orifice and might be intrigued to know what it would be like to do the same thing to his passenger.”
“I thought you’d already ruled out the guy giving the hitch-hiker a blowjob?” Dane asked.
“I’m not talking about a blowjob,” I said. “My scenario involved the driver tonguing an orifice.”
Dane went quiet while he thought over what I’d said. For a short while I worried that I really had shocked him, but eventually he asked, with an equal measure of curiosity and disbelief, “Do you mean he might want to lick the lad’s butt?”
I nodded as nonchalantly as I could. “If a guy likes oral sex with a woman, the idea of trying the same thing on another male, using the only comparable hole, might also be exciting to him on some, animal level.”
“But it’s a butt!” Dane emphasized with the same incredulity. “Why would he want to lick the hole that a guy shits through?”
I laughed. “It could prove to be a very intimate and erotic experience… who’s to know?”
“I can’t believe a guy would do that to another guy!” Dane exclaimed, stifling a sceptical laugh.
I laughed back. “I told you I would be a lot more imaginative than your previous lift!”
He chuckled uncertainly. “Well, you were right about that – I didn’t expect you to come up with that!”
We drove on for a while and I let the conversation drop. I wondered whether perhaps I really had repulsed him, in spite of his claim to be difficult to shock, and I didn’t want to push the topic any further than he was comfortable with. I expected him to go quiet for a while and then, after a few miles, to start up a new conversation and that the subject I had so deliberately raised would be conveniently forgotten.
However, he surprised me after just a minute or so, by continuing to pursue the theme which had seemed to unsettle him.
“So, Rob… let’s be honest with each other. If you were going to ask me for payment in kind for the lift, would that be the thing you would want from me?”
I smiled. So we were dropping the hypotheticals, were we?
“It’s okay, Dane. We can drop this topic if you want to. I’ve made it abundantly clear that the lift is for free.”
“But if you did want something in return,” he persisted. “Would that be what you’d want?”
I shrugged. “I just think it would be interesting, that’s all. It certainly would be something I’d never do with a woman.”
“But you’d do it to a guy? You’d lick his butt?”
I chuckled. “I’m not sure. I would just be intrigued to give it a try.”
“But the smell…?” he continued. “Wouldn’t it make you retch?”
“I don’t know,” I reiterated with a casual shrug. “It might prove to be quite stimulating. I wouldn’t like to dismiss it out of hand before I’d tried it.”
He went quiet again and I drove on as if unaware of the obvious interest Dane had in the activity I’d suggested. Having never even thought that such a thing could have a sexual element, he now seemed mildly fascinated by the idea.
After another couple of minutes he asked, “Have you ever done anything like that before?”
“No,” I lied. I didn’t want to freak him out by admitting how much I enjoyed what I knew to be called rimming. “But it’s something I’d be curious to try.”
“Why would you be curious?” he asked. “I mean, I’ve never even thought about doing anything like that. What is it about the idea that’s made you curious?”
I turned to him and threw him what I hoped would look like just a friendly smile. I didn’t want him to feel as if I was deliberately hitting on him, which I obviously was.
“Okay, here’s a pretty poor attempt for me to explain it. Do you ever sniff your own underwear to see if it’s clean?” I asked.
He looked embarrassed and so I tried to encourage him: “You can be frank with me, Dane – after all, you’re probably never going to see me again in your life once I’ve dropped you off.”
He hesitated and then shyly nodded. “Well, maybe… okay… yeah, sometimes I do. Doesn’t everyone?”
“Of course,” I smiled.
“I mean, sometimes when you’re living out of a rucksack,” he went on, “the dirty pairs get mixed up with the clean pairs. Sometimes you need to just have a quick sniff for hygiene reasons.”
“And did you ever, occasionally, get a whiff of the back of them and found that the smell wasn’t too unpleasant?”
He nodded again, a little more confidently. “Yeah… I guess.”
I hesitated before, continuing, wondering how far I dare push this at such a crucial stage. Eventually I settled on: “Sometimes, I’ve gone from finding that whiff ‘not too unpleasant’ to finding it… shall we say… quite appealing.”
“How dirty are we talking here?” Dane asked a little worryingly.
I smiled again, trying to make my manner as unthreatening as I could.
“Just normal wear from a pretty average day,” I guess. “Maybe a bit sweaty, but with a definite male bum smell from where they might have ridden up a few times.”
He paused before clarifying, less worried and more intrigued, “And it’s that male bum smell which you find ‘quite appealing’?”
I chuckled, struggling to maintain an air of casual normality. “Just a bit, yeah. Enough to make me curious, I guess.”
“And does it make you… well… horny?”
Now it was make or break time. If I said ‘yes’, I risked freaking him out, but if I said ‘no’ I was possibly forestalling any further developments which might happen.
I decided to play it safe. “A little bit, perhaps.”
He went quiet and I thought I might have lost him.
I turned to him and smiled again. “You probably think that’s really disgusting…”
“No, I don’t,” he responded. “It’s not something I’ve ever thought of as being sexy, but I can sort of see how it could be.”
Oh, nice one, Dane, I thought. Good answer.
He thought about it for a little longer, before asking, “But isn’t that something you could experiment with when it’s you and your wife?”
“I don’t think she would have a male bum smell, Dane. I’m no expert, though.”
He chuckled and then asked, “So it would have to be a male smell?”
I nodded. “It’s the maleness of the smell that arouses me on my own underwear. I would imagine that the gender of the bum’s owner would very much determine the nature of the smell.”
He went quiet again and we drove on a mile or so. Again, I started to worry that I’d gone too far and that I’d lost him.
I’d played it too fast; freaked him out by being too direct.
But then he asked, “So you think you would find the smell of another male’s bum as… well… arousing as your own?”
“I don’t know,” I said, lying again. “I’ve never had the opportunity to find out.”
“Haven’t you sniffed any other guys’ dirty underpants – in the gym or whatever – since you’re so intrigued by the idea?”
I shook my head. “Like I said, Dane, I’ve never had the chance. I had my son living with me at home until last year, but it would have seemed a bit inappropriate to have a sniff of his.”
Dane laughed at that. “Yeah, and some!”
The conversation tailed off again and I thought, for the third time, that he might be about to let the subject drop. After a good five minutes, though, during which we passed through a village and I took what I knew to be an unsigned shortcut through the National Park, he spoke up again.
“If you like,” he started, with his voice faltering in his uncertainty about what he was going to say, “you can have a sniff of one the dirty pairs I’ve got in my rucksack.”
I swung my head around to look at him and he was immediately apologetic. “I’m sorry, Rob! That was a really stupid thing for me to say! Forget I ever said it!”
I smiled at his sudden apprehension. If I’d thought I could have got away with a conciliatory pat on his knee, I’d have given him one: as it was, I didn’t.
“I was just surprised by the offer, Dane,” I reassured him, instead. “That’s why I looked over at you like I did. I certainly wasn’t offended!”
He relaxed and beamed back at me. “I thought you were, like, really appalled. Your face looked… I dunno… stunned!”
I smiled again, facing the road. “I know it’s a bit of a weird fantasy, and, to be honest, I’ve never told anyone about it. I suppose I was surprised because I hadn’t expected you to be so willing to indulge my curiosity.”
He shrugged. “I owe you one for the ride, I guess.”
“I told you, you don’t.”
“It’s pretty bizarre, though, isn’t it?” he went on, laughing and disregarding what I’d said. “Me paying you for the ride by letting you sniff my dirty kecks!”
“I wouldn’t put it like that,” I suggested. “You make it sound as if I’m taking advantage of you. As far as I’m concerned, you’re just helping me to find out if it’s just my own smell that attracts me or whether other guys’ smells do too. It’s almost scientific, in a way.”
He laughed again. “However you want to dress it up, Rob…”
“Well, since you’re being so obliging,” I went on, “I’d be happy to drive you the whole way home. Right to the door, if you like.”
“Really?” he asked. “That would be awesome, mate. It can take ages for people to stop and give you a lift with all the stories of nutters hitching lifts.”
Not to mention all the nutters picking up hitch-hikers, I thought dryly.
He thanked me several times and seemed so pleased by my offer that I wondered if there was more to it than just the avoidance of an evening getting cold by the side of the road. I suspected he might see the extra lift as a justification of what he was allowing me to do for him: that he wasn’t just wilfully giving some sordid old a man a sniff of his used underpants; he could tell himself afterwards that he’d only reluctantly done so in return for being driven all the way home.
He unzipped a pocket on his rucksack and started fishing around inside it.
“I’ve been staying with a mate for three nights,” he told me. “I’ve got a few dirty pairs in here somewhere.”
He ruffled through scrunched-up teeshirts and socks and eventually found a pair of white boxer trunks which he examined. I could see from the momentary glance I got how discoloured they were.
He laughed and quickly stashed them back away. “You really don’t want to smell those!”
Then he found another pair which met with his approval.
“Yeah, these should be okay,” he announced. I glanced over and saw they were also white and had a DKNY waistband. “They’re not too stained but they’re pretty whiffy. My mum used to say you could strip wallpaper with my dirty underwear.”
I laughed, looking back towards the road ahead.
“Do you want to put them up to my nose?” I suggested. I wanted him to feel he was in control of what I was allowed to sniff.
He reached his dirty shorts out towards my face but then giggled and pulled away. “I can’t believe you’re actually going to sniff my smelly pants! It’s really gross!”
I chuckled. “You’re doing me a favour, Dane – it’s something I’ve always wondered about.”
“Are you sure you really want to, thought?” he felt it necessary to clarify. “I mean, my dick, my bollocks and my arse were all cooped up in these for going on twenty-four hours.”
I smiled over at him. “I think that’s rather the point, isn’t it?”
It occurred to me from the time-span he’d quoted that he must sleep in the underwear he’d worn that day, much like my son does. That, I anticipated, would result in an altogether more satisfying sniffing experience.
He recovered his confidence and then held them out again. He asked, “Which part do you want to smell first? The front or the back?”
“It’s the back I’m most interested in,” I admitted. “But let’s start out front. It might be more fun to take the scenic route!”
He fiddled with the underwear, orientating the gusset of them in his palm, and then pressed them towards my nose.
“This is where my knob lies in them,” he helpfully informed me as I sniffed at the material.
He really had no need to have told me that: the sharp, acrid bite of stale urine told me all I needed to know. It wasn’t unpleasant, and indeed was mildly arousing on some level to know that I was smelling something so personal about him, but compared to the far more interesting scents I knew to be lurking just inches away, the whiff of his dried pee wasn’t something I wanted to dwell on.
“It has a certain appeal, Dane, but it’s not really my thing,” I declared.
He withdrew his shorts and repositioned them on his hand and then chuckled at the memory of something he’d forgotten.
“Oh yeah,” he said. “Try this.”
He pressed them back up to my nose and I found that the smell on this part was much richer and more conspicuously sexual. There was an alkaline tang to it with a heavy, salty undertone.
I sniffed a few times, enjoying a familiar odour imbued with Dane’s own idiosyncratic hormonal tang, before smiling and asking, “Were you a naughty boy in these briefs, Dane? Late one night, perhaps?”
He chuckled and withdrew the undershorts, telling me, “It was early one morning, actually, but yes, I was a little bit naughty given that I was a guest in the house.”
I laughed back. “An attentive host should be flattered that the guest felt so comfortable that he was able to rub one out in the guest room.”
Dane fiddled with the white trunks again and offered them back to my face for a third sniff. I expected that this time it would be the back of them he was letting me smell, but the odour on the material lacked the familiar pungence that I’d come to recognise as belonging to the male behind.
The smell was altogether more sweaty and musky, with hints of Dane’s own sexual juices bringing it a distinctive fragrance.
I sniffed a few times, enjoying the aroma, before offering a guess at which part I was sniffing: “Is that where your sweaty bollocks spent a day jiggling around, by any chance?”
He laughed at that and admitted that I was correct. “You could turn this into a TV game show,” he added.
I smiled at the thought. I’d definitely Sky Plus that.
Then he withdrew the shorts again and turned them over to find what I knew would be their most flavoursome spot.
“Are you really sure you want to do this?” he asked, making it doubly clear which particular area of the flimsy cotton I was about to be presented with.
“Why would I not?” I retorted. “I thought this was the whole purpose of what we were doing.”
“You didn’t seem that interested in the parts you just sniffed,” he said. I wondered if my apparent lack of enthusiasm was, in some way, slightly insulting to him.
“I told you, Dane – it’s the back I’m intrigued by. The front of my own briefs has never been something I’ve found particularly attractive.”
He took a sniff himself and announced that they were indeed particularly smelly.
“I think my mum might have been right,” he said. “You could probably even strip paint with these.”
I smiled. “Are you sure you wore them just the one day?”
“Yeah, but I was in the back of my friend’s parents’ car for a few hours. I think they must have ridden up quite a lot.”
“Sounds like they make the perfect test for me. Come on, let’s a have a whiff of them!”
He reached them out towards me again before losing his nerve and pulling back, giggling, one last time.
After he’d recomposed himself, he felt it necessary to make absolutely certain that I knew what I was getting myself into.
“You realise – don’t you – that this is the smell of my bum? That this is actually quite dirty and I’m about to push it under your nose?”
“I am fully aware of what it is I’m about to smell,” I said.
“If you think it’s really nasty – if it makes you feel sick or something – just pull back and I’ll put them away. We’ll just forget it ever happened.”
“Absolutely,” I agreed with a nod.
He reached forwards again and pressed his dirty underpants towards my face. Even though they were an inch or so from my nose, just one gentle sniff had me almost swerving the car at the intensity of his bum odour.
“Oh, Jesus!” I called out and, misinterpreting my reaction, Dane pulled his trunks away. I grabbed his arm and shoved them back up to my nose. At first I sniffed tentatively at them but then, gaining in confidence and finding the aroma so arousing, I burrowed my nose more firmly into the fabric. I couldn’t believe how much the material was oozing with his pheromones and how exciting it was to smell his rich, masculine redolence seeping from the cotton.
“Do you actually like it?” he asked with apparent disbelief.
I smiled and nodded into the well-soiled seat of his underpants, moving my nose around as I sniffed them to find their most odoriferous spot. I could feel my cock steadily hardening and I knew that this young man would soon be able to see from the front of my trousers how much the back of his shorts was affecting me.
“That’s probably the best bit there,” he said, guiding a small discoloured patch of material up to my nose. I inhaled from it intently, feeling my heart race at how deliciously ripe it was with his roughest and most carnal stink.
I called out, “Oh God, yeah! That is so fucking hot!”
He laughed and moved the material against my nose, guiding me to smell further up along his butt-crack, where the scent was sweatier but far less intensely pungent. It was nice to smell where the material had pressed between his buttocks as he’d sat in the car, but after the electrifying pleasure of where my nose had just been, I found the pathway he was leading me along increasingly disappointing.
I pulled away and told him, gasping for breath, “I liked the smell more where you had them a few seconds ago.”
“That’s right where my hole was,” he informed me.
I smiled, still panting. “I’d rather guessed that.”
He returned the material to its earlier position and pressed his fingers up against it, pushing it up into my nostrils. I breathed in as deeply as I could and revelled in the sheer, raw power of his arse on the cloth, then inhaled in short, rapid bursts like a sniffer dog, determined to extract every molecule of scent from these intoxicating underpants.
“Oh God, yes!” I cried out, as I fed on the smell of his bum.
He laughed again and said, “Are you sure you can drive while you’re enjoying this so much?”
I nodded with my face still pressing into his shorts. “I can see the road fine,” I muttered through the white material under my nose.
“I wasn’t thinking of that,” he explained. “I was worried about the amount of blood that seems to have rushed to your… er…”
I pulled away from the seat of his underpants and looked over at him. He was glancing down at my crotch, now straining with excitement as my large and prominent bulge looked like it was threatening to burst my zipper.
“I guess that answers the question about whether I find other guys’ bum smells arousing,” I said.
“You couldn’t make it any clearer,” he laughed, taking the trunks from my face and tucking them back into his rucksack.
I turned back to face the road and kept driving along roads that were climbing steadily upwards into the wooded hills of the National Park.
We both went quiet for a while and I mused on how to play things from here.
Dane had seemed remarkably unconcerned that my crotch had been so blatantly aroused as I’d sat alongside him: if anything, he’d viewed my prominent erection as a source of amusement. It was also encouraging how quickly he’d lost his reservations about letting me sniff his underwear: once he’d seen how much I enjoyed the smell of the back of them, he’d been surprisingly eager to titillate me by pressing the dirtiest part of the material up into my nostrils.
I suddenly wondered if he himself had been getting horny.
I glanced across at the front of his jeans. There was a suggestion of a bulge but nothing too obvious. If he had developed a hard-on, he’d all but lost it by now.
I decided to let him take the lead from here. If he had been aroused by what we’d been doing, the likelihood was that, given a little time, he’d try to push our playfulness a little further. And if hadn’t been aroused, there was probably no point in me trying to coax more from him – I’d only end up looking like even more of a pervert than I already did.
It was only when we’d ventured quite deep in the forest that he broke the silence by chuckling and saying, “Aw… Rob… your boner’s gone soft again!”
He was peering at my crotch.
I turned to throw him an encouraging smile. “You sound almost disappointed, Dane!”
“I was impressed – that’s all. I’ve never seen a guy do that to his trousers – you were nearly bursting out of them!”
“It’s a while since I’ve felt so horny, to be honest,” I told him, switching my lights on in the gloom. “I always suspected that I’d get turned-on by another bloke’s bum smell, I only never knew how much.”
Oh, Robert: what a big, fat fake you are.
“Why was it so exciting?” he asked. “I mean, it never did anything to me when I sniffed them.”
“It doesn’t really work with your own,” I explained, slowing the car as the road became steadily more bendy as we got into the hills. “Like I told you, whenever I’ve sniffed my own underpants I’ve been intrigued by the smell, but getting my nose stuck into someone else’s was in a totally different league.”
“Maybe I should try it,” he suggested with a dubious laugh.
“Maybe you should,” I agreed.
“Next time I stop over with a mate, I’ll have to have a sly sniff of the back of his skiddy boxers in the bathroom.”
He laughed again and I chuckled as if amused. I immediately knew how I should reply but I didn’t want to say it too quickly and appear too calculated.
So I let his joke settle fully before I made my move.
And then, as casually as I could, I came back with: “Well, if you are really are keen to see if you’d enjoy the same thing that I did, you could try it a lot quicker than that.”
He looked over at me, interested.
“What do you mean?”
I smiled, trying to maintain the impression of amicable indifference, and then said, “You’re not the only one who has dirty laundry with you.”
He continued staring at me, failing to understand, so I went on, “I’m actually on the way home from a meeting organised by the engineering company I work for. I stayed over last night in a hotel near Preston.”
“So?” he asked blankly.
“So…” I smiled. “I’ve got yesterday’s dirty underwear in my holdall in the boot.”
“Oh,” he said, ponderously, as my meaning dawned on him.
I turned again and smiled more broadly at him. “It’s just an idea, Dane. A rather filthy one, I admit, but just an idea nonetheless. Feel free to say no.”
He nodded slowly, carefully considering my suggestion.
At length he said, “To be honest, Rob, I’d feel kind of uncomfortable. I mean, it seemed like we were just having a bit of giggle when I watched you sniffing mine, but to sniff yours… well… it’d be a bit different, wouldn’t it?”
I shrugged. “If you don’t want to, there’s no big deal. It was just a silly thought I had, knowing that you were curious to try it yourself.”
“I kind of am,” he said, his voice betraying how tempted he was by the idea I was proposing. “But what if I was really grossed out by it? After you’ve been so nice, giving me the lift and stuff, I’d feel really wrong to let you see how… I dunno… disgusted I was if I really didn’t like it.”
I smiled. “I tell you what, then, Dane. If you do want to have a sniff of mine – and I’m really not forcing you – at the same time, I could have a sniff of the really rough ones you wouldn’t let me see, and if –”
“The rough ones?” he queried, cutting in.
“Yes,” I chuckled. “The ones in your rucksack that you said I really didn’t want to smell.”
“Oh, those!” he laughed. “Yeah, they were a bit grim!”
“Well, if you give me a sniff of those –”
“You’d actually want to smell them?” he interrupted me again. “They’re a bit… you know… worse for wear!”
“I think I probably would enjoy smelling them,” I admitted, “but I could match my reaction to yours. If you turn out to be disgusted by what you smell on mine, I could do the same with yours – that way neither of us would be offending the other.”
He smiled and nodded at the inventiveness of the suggestion. “Sounds like it might work…”
“Do you want to give it a go?” I asked, having just noticed a sign for a picnic area which was five-hundred yards ahead.
“Go on, then… yeah!” he laughed. “It’ll be a bit weird but it might be kind of interesting.”
“I’ll have to pull in,” I informed him. “My overnight bag is in the boot.”
“Okay. As long as no-one else is around.”
“I don’t suppose they will be,” I said, indicating right to turn into the picnic area. “Not in this weather and with night starting to fall.”
I pulled into the gravel car-park, which was completely deserted as I’d expected, as Dane laughed again at what we were about to do.
“I can’t believe we’re going to sniff each other’s skanky briefs!”
“And perhaps hugely enjoy it!” I added.
“Don’t get your hopes up, dude!” he playfully warned me. “The only huge response you’re likely to get from me is a huge pile of puke!”
I chuckled, straightening the car up in a space even though there was clearly no need to do so. “Well, even if that turns out to be true, it’s good for lads your age to be sexually inquisitive. At least you’ll know that stuff like this isn’t for you.”
He laughed again. “I think I can pretty much guarantee that already, but I’m up for going along with it. I mean, like you said, we’ll probably never meet each other again…”
I nodded at his assertion but it occurred to me that, if he did enjoy what we were about to do, I might well offer him my phone number before dropping him off.
I opened my door and got out of the car. “Okay, Dane – see if you can find that especially… er… fragrant pair you stashed away, and I’ll get mine out of the boot.”
He started rummaging in his rucksack again and I went to the back of the car to retrieve my own. They were a pair of white Calvin Klein hip-briefs and were at the top of my holdall in an old supermarket carrier bag along with my dirty socks and the shirt I’d worn for the meeting I’d been to. When I pulled them out I found that they were almost completely unsullied. There was a faint yellow patch of dried urine in the excessively stretched pouch at the front, but the rest of them were as clean as when they’d emerged as new from their wrapper.
I took a quick sniff of the back of them, the open lid of the boot preventing Dane from seeing me, and found them to be delicately but distinctly infused with my scent. There was a subtle bum whiff to them, mainly sweaty but with a characteristically male earthy undertone – just musky enough to be erotic while lacking the powerful pungent punch I would ordinarily prefer.
I hoped they’d be stimulating enough for Dane: if he had an under-developed sense of smell, he’d glean very little from these largely sanitary briefs. I was tempted to quickly hitch my trousers down and give the crack of my arse a quick wipe with the back of them to get my scent more strongly onto the material, but I worried that might make their smell too intense for him to enjoy and that I would actually spoil things between us in my haste to try and arouse him.
I therefore closed the boot and returned to the front of the car.
“Okay,” I said, brightly, retaking my seat. “Here’s the ones I wore yesterday.”
He smiled at me a little sheepishly. “Mine are… well…”
I banged my door closed. “What?”
He chuckled with obvious embarrassment. “Let’s just say… I don’t know if you’re gonna want to smell them.”
“I’m happy to give it a shot,” I said, shrugging. “As long as you’re comfortable about me doing so.”
He nodded. “I’m okay with it. I mean, if I’m disgusted by yours, I won’t be so embarrassed knowing what I’ve given you to sniff!”
“How do you figure that out?”
“I guess it’ll make it more like the sort of stupid stuff I’d get up to with my mates. Doing stuff to disgust each other… seeing who gets grossed out first!”
I smiled. “Yeah, I suppose that makes sense.”
He looked over at my underwear. “You like Calvins, do you? I’ve always found they’re a bit baggy.”
I held up my briefs, showing how hugely stretched and distended the pouch of the crotch was. “I like something with some room out front. As you saw, I need the material to have a lot of give at certain moments.”
He chuckled. “Yeah… I guess you must fill yours out more than I do. I tend to go for brands that are a lot tighter.”
So he wasn’t as well-endowed as I am, the thought occurred to me. That wasn’t in any way off-putting – a man’s cock size is largely irrelevant to me as my interests lie very firmly around the back – but it was worth noting that the bulge at the front of his trousers I was hoping to see would not be as obvious as I might otherwise expect.
He said, “We’ll have to do this together, then, won’t we? So we can match our reactions, if that’s still the plan.”
“Sounds good to me,” I agreed, reaching up to switch on the overhead light in the gathering dusk.
I passed him my briefs and he passed me his boxer trunks in return. I could immediately see how stained his were: I saw his cheeks redden a little when he saw me look down at them.
“You’re gonna be totally groded out, aren’t you?” he asked self-consciously.
I couldn’t help but smile. My son often used the word ‘grodey’, especially with reference to my choice of clothing, but I’d never heard the term ‘groded out’.
“I doubt it,” I reassured him. “You saw my reaction to the first pair I sniffed. Judging by how much smellier this pair looks, I think I might well be about to burst my zipper.”
He smiled back and looked slightly less uncomfortable. “I don’t think my zipper’s gonna be under any strain, Rob. This probably isn’t going to be my sort of thing at all.”
Suddenly an idea occurred to me. I seized it with gusto: usually such potentially useful notions only occur to me long after the moment has passed.
“If it’s all the same with you, Dane,” I began, trying to choose my words carefully but not wanting to give him a chance to move the conversation on. “Since you said you’re not as… er… well-equipped as I am in the briefs department…”
He looked at my quizzically. I was going to have to be a little more direct.
“I mean, since you’re far more able to hide your arousal than I am,” I went on, “I think it would be fairer for us to… well…”
“What?” he asked.
“Hitch our trousers down,” I suggested. “So that we can both see from our underwear how turned-on we really are.”
“I dunno…” he started, his expression quickly becoming guarded.
“Well, it’s all very well you claiming that you’re going to be disgusted, but I’d like to see the evidence for myself.”
“But pulling our trousers down together, mate… it’s a bit… you know…”
“Only to the tops of our thighs,” I sought to clarify. “Otherwise, I would be at a distinct disadvantage, wouldn’t I? My reactions are pretty… well… explicitly displayed while yours are more discreetly hidden.”
“My knob’s not that small!” he countered with a certain amount of huffiness. “It does grow bigger when I’m in the right mood!”
“But you said your underwear was tighter than mine is. It’ll keep things… you know… reined in. I think it has to be a fair comparison…”
He nodded and then threw me a reluctant smile. “All right, then, Rob… but only for a couple of minutes…”
The two of us sat up from our seats, loosened our belts and undid our buttons and flies, and then hitched our trousers down to the tops of our thighs.
We were both wearing white underwear, both crisply clean on the outward-facing surface, but that was where the similarity between us ended. Mine were Calvin Klein hip-briefs but his were, like the two dirty pairs I’d seen, longer in the leg. The pouch of mine was abundantly packed with the fattened mound of my softened but still sizable cock and with my huge bollocks poking upwards like a pair of plums. His, on the other hand, was far less extravagantly proportioned, the rod of his organ looking thick but insubstantial alongside the barely visible bulges of his shrivelled balls. My legs were quite thickly hairy and the bush of my pubic hair spilled out from the legs of my briefs. His legs, only just visible beneath the hemline of his shorts, were all but hairless and if he did have a bushy pubic bush like mine, the fuller style of his underwear was able to conceal it.
I smiled and said, “That seems a bit fairer.”
He chuckled and shrugged. “I can’t believe I’m letting you talk me into doing this stuff. I’ve never done anything even remotely like this before.”
I thought I ought to pick him up on that. “I’m not trying to lead you astray, Dane, nor to talk you into doing anything you’re not comfortable with. If you want to call it day here and now, just say and we’ll get back on the road.”
He looked up at my face and his smile slowly faded. I thought for a second that he was going to call my bluff and start hitching his trousers back up.
But in the end he didn’t.
He just shrugged and said, allowing his smile to return, “In for a penny, in for a pound… let’s get on with it!”
I grinned back at him, pleased I’d made the point to him that it was his choice to continue and that he mustn’t feel pressured.
I really didn’t want to come away from this troubled by the guilt that I’d taken advantage of a young hitch-hiker who’d been standing out in the cold. Whatever further happened between us, I wanted to be able to look myself in the mirror tomorrow and know that this young lad had gone into it just as willingly as I had.
“Okay,” he said, turning my underpants over in his hands and figuring out which way round was front and back. “How should we do this? Should we start at the front or get straight to the back?”
“I think we should start with the front,” I proposed. He might find he liked that more.
“The scenic route,” he reminded me with a grin.
“Exactly,” I agreed.
We both positioned our respective underwear in front of us – the outer and less intimate surface of the gussets facing towards us – and Dane lifted mine up to his nose first. I followed his lead, applying the outside of his shorts to my nose even though I would have strongly preferred to have done so with the inner lining, and we both took a few gentle sniffs of the material.
To my surprise, almost immediate, I saw through the corner of my eye that Dane’s member was starting to twitch to life. It was lengthening in pulses and slowly rising upwards, like an air bed being blown up in short, steady breaths.
Dane seemed oblivious to surges of life that his organ was revealing and sniffed intently at the front of my pants, turning them this way and that to fully explore and appreciate the odour I’d left on the white material.
I took a few sniffs of his but was far less curious about the smell of his cock than he clearly was about mine.
He pulled back and looked over at me, grinning. “This is actually kind of bizarrely interesting!”
I smiled back at him. “I’m a bum man myself, but I can appreciate the appeal of the front.”
He took a few more sniffs and then declared, “It’s a really masculine smell – a bit pissy but with a sexy whiff to it too – and totally different from the smell of my own dirty underwear.”
“Obviously you like it,” I observed.
“Yeah… kind of… but not really in an erotic way.”
“Your erection would suggest otherwise, Dane.”
His expression turned to surprise and, pulling my briefs away from his face, he peered down at the front of his own underwear. His cock had grown large enough to make a pronounced bulge against the crotch, poking upwards like a thick, stubby rod and lifting the material a good few inches towards his stomach. It probably wasn’t hard enough to be properly called an erection, but it had grown large enough for him to blush at the sight of his own unwitting arousal.
“Bloody hell, Rob!” he called out. “I didn’t even feel that happening!”
I smiled. “It’s a bit like what happened when I sniffed yours.”
“That’s so weird!”
His expression of shock slowly transformed into a stupefied grin.
I was so pleased I’d persuaded him that we should hitch down our trousers. If I’d believed what he’d said, I’d never have guessed that the smell of my cock had had such an invigorating effect on him.
This was proving most hopeful: far better than I’d dared to imagine.
He looked over at the crotch of my underwear and found, to his obvious disappointment, that my own organ was still stubbornly soft.
“The smell of mine isn’t having the same effect on you, then, Rob?”
I shrugged. “Like I said, I’m very much a bum man, Dane.”
I turned his briefs inside out so that the staining on the inside of the crotch was garishly obvious. As well as several dried yellow rings of tide-marked piss, there was a crusty patch which looked like it had been used to wipe the last few dribbles of a dwindling climax.
I raised the underpants up to my nose and inhaled strongly from the stained material. His sexual odour was eye-wateringly ripe: rich with the sour sting of his youthful pheromones and heavy with the cloying smack of his pubic sweat.
“I think I saw it grow a bit,” he laughed, looking at the bulge my large but drooping cock was making against my underwear.
“It’s an interesting smell,” I conceded, “and I appreciate the fact you’ve once again left me a dried-on deposit which is rather whiter than the rest…”
He threw me a naughty chuckle just like my son would when I pointed out evidence of a masturbatory impropriety.
“But the best is round the back,” I went on. “At least as far as I’m concerned.”
He did the same as I’d done: turned my underpants inside out and examined the inner lining of the crotch which my large genitals had spent a day in close confinement. As I’d noticed at the back of the car, unlike his shorts, my briefs were mainly clean save for a few small patches of discolouration where my cock had leaked after taking a pee.
He seemed to like what he saw, though, and smiled and nodded down at the sagging material. I think he was admiring how stretched it was from being cupped around my generous cock and over-ripe bollocks, perhaps feeling a little envious of how much strain I could put on the front of a pair of Calvins.
He raised them up to his nose and took a sniff of the inside of the gusset, searching the lining with his nose to find its most intoxicating spot. Eventually he settled on a small patch down near the stitching around left leg-hole and inhaled from it appreciatively, pressing the material up close to his nostrils to gain the full effect.
That must have been where the tip of my cock had snuggled into the material, I mused; where my foreskin might have retracted a little, rubbing the more odorous exposed head of my cock against the inside of the gusset.
He closed his eyes and sniffed deeply, and I notice his erection throbbing upwards in its appreciation of my secret scent. His fattening cock-head slowly grew to make a thick, round lump against his underwear as he enjoyed the heady fragrance I’d left on my underwear.
I was probably going to get to wank him off, it occurred to me. The way things were going, and given how horny he was getting, I was more than likely going to get to wrap my fingers around his shaft and pump his foreskin back and forth. We’d smile at each other as I masturbated him faster and faster, both of us enjoying the time-honoured ritual of an older man’s hand pleasuring the cock of a younger and more virile male. And then we’d laugh together as he reached his climax, and I’d pretend to be disgusted by having his hot, sticky semen all over my fingers and thumb.
That had to be the very least I was going to get to do with him.
All in good time, though; all in good time.
If I pushed things too quickly, the opportunity to wank him off might be all I would get. But if I played things more carefully, I might yet get to enjoy the more exotic activity that I’d mentioned earlier and he hadn’t been prude enough to dismiss out of hand.
After he’d savoured the smell of my briefs to the point at which he wasn’t able to extract any further scent from them, he put them back down onto his knees and looked over and grinned at me.
“Obviously you enjoyed that,” I commented, glancing at his now extremely noticeable, and imposingly thick, erection.
“Just a bit,” he chuckled.
“I’m sorry I didn’t leave you a more… er… crusty deposit on them, like you did with me.”
He shrugged. “I liked what I smelt – any more might have been too much.”
I smiled and turned his briefs over.
“And now for the back,” I said, looking down at the strip of material which must have nuzzled into the crack of his arse. It was discoloured in places but not as much as I’d expected.
He looked over at them and winced at the state they were in. “Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider, mate? I’m normally much cleaner in my habits.”
I shook my head. “Happens to us all, Dane. You should see some my son’s underwear when he brings his laundry home after a term at university. Yours are almost spotless by comparison.”
“At least you’re not tempted to sniff his, though,” he said with a laugh.
“I can smell it quite unmistakably without having to sniff it,” I chuckled back.
I raised Dane’s briefs up to my nose and tentatively inhaled from the stained material. As I’d expected, the smell was strong but not offensive. It was undeniably crude and fiercely anal in its unbridled intensity, but there was, combined with that coarse, effluvious odour, a much more exciting and erotic undertone: a sneak preview of this young lad’s sexual aroma if he were to indulge me in the most intimate way he could.
I smiled at the thought and felt my cock starting to stir.
Yes, this was the smell I would experience if I was buggering Dane with him bending over in front of me. It was the smell that would fill the car if we were to squat on the back seat together and I was to use his arse so fast and so hard that our pendulous knackers would whack together underneath us.
My cock responded to such musings in the only way it could. Dane laughed at the speed at which it lengthened and thickened, forcing my briefs upwards as it hardened inside them and pushing itself free from where it had been slumbering against my scrotum.
“My bum really gets you going,” he grinned.
I smiled back at him, thankful that he hadn’t been able to read my thoughts. The picture I’d had in my mind might really have freaked him out.
He peered down at my developing erection through the cotton of my briefs, marvelling at its size. Then he announced, with undisguised admiration, “You’re really well-hung, Rob.”
“I wish my wife could still get me going as much as these do,” I quipped.
He kept staring at it, grinning with wonder, and I turned a little more towards him and pushed my hips outwards so that he could better appreciate how large my growing cock was and how abundantly-filled my bulging balls were.
He looked up at me and smirked naughtily, and for a second I thought he was going to reach out and pull my cock out from my underwear. I’d have liked that, and would have urged him to start masturbating me: the two of us chuckling together as his fist pumped up and down my grateful shaft; gasping as my seed squirted over the windscreen and dashboard.
But if he had been about to reach out and stroke me, he lost his nerve and pulled back, and contented himself with just admiring the view I was presenting him with.
“Why don’t you have sniff of my bum?” I asked him when it had become clear he wasn’t going to grope me.
He looked up at me, momentarily confused, and I reminded him that I meant on the back of my discarded underwear.
“Oh, right, yeah!” he laughed.
He turned my briefs over so that the rear gusset was facing outwards and inspected them to find they were largely clean.
“You might find that it’s not as bad as you’re probably expecting,” I told him.
“I might lose this, though,” he muttered, gesturing towards his own thick, stubby erection pushing the front of his shorts upwards.
“Well, let’s see about that…”
He raised the briefs upwards and took a cautious sniff of the material which had spent most of a day nuzzling up between my buttocks. Finding, as I’d anticipated, that it didn’t bear the smell he was expecting, he sniffed more intently at them and then pressed them firmly against his nose and inhaled everything he could of my most feral scent.
His cock remained in an upright position – curiously thick and with its blunt, rounded head straining against the material of his underpants – and showed no sign of withering in spite of his initial misgivings.
I considered reaching forwards – as I’d half-thought he had been going to do with me – and fondling him through his underwear, but I worried it would be a step too far.
So instead, I said, “Clearly that’s not as grim as you thought it would be. Your cock seems to be rather enjoying all this.”
He pulled away and smirked sheepishly over at me. He looked a little embarrassed that he had so visibly enjoyed the smell of the back of an older man’s underpants.
He glanced down at his erection and then back at me. “Yeah… I really thought that would be awful… but it was actually kind of… well…”
He tittered at the word. “Maybe… yeah…”
“Smells can be really erotic,” I told him. “While I wasn’t aroused by the smell of the front of your briefs, the fact you’d… er… pleasured yourself in them made sniffing them a lot more interesting than it would otherwise have been.”
He nodded. “Yeah, I can see that now. Actually, maybe it would have been pretty cool to have done the same with yours. If you’d have cum in them, I mean.”
Bait nicely taken, I thought.
“Well, the ones you’re holding have very little on them expect maybe the odd dribble of piss from where I was stashing my cock away in the gents. I don’t remember getting hard in them even once.”
He nodded glumly.
“What you need,” I went on, “is a pair which I’ve been aroused in. A pair with precum on them and the wonderfully musky sweat a guy’s cock and balls produce when he’s feeling turned-on.”
“Have you another pair in your holdall?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I only stayed over one night.”
We stared at each other for a moment or so before I had the nerve to add, “But the ones I’m wearing now must have a nice sexy whiff to them.”
He laughed and immediately shook his head. “I don’t want you to take your pants off, Rob! That’d be a step way too far!”
I waved my hands. “I wasn’t suggesting that, Dane! You could… er… sniff them with me still wearing them.”
“Whoa!” he laughed more loudly. “I don’t think so, mate!”
“Come on, it’s no different to what we’ve already done! I’d just sit up a bit and you could have a quick sniff of the front of my briefs. Right here, where my cock’s been oozing precum.”
He looked down at where I was pointing, where the tip of my cock was pushing upwards against the straining crotch of my underpants. A small wet dribble from my slit signposted exactly where he needed to sniff.
“I dunno…” he said, his resolve clearly starting to waver.
I thought I’d better implant my next suggestion before he had the chance to mentally talk himself out of sniffing my crotch: “I was actually about to ask you if I could do the same – though not with the front of your shorts, of course.”
“What?” he asked, his eyes piercing and his expression gripped with curiosity.
“Yes,” I nodded. “I’d like to see how much more exciting it would be to have sniff of them while they’re as fresh as they’re going to get…”
He stared at me with his head slightly to one side, showing how intrigued he was by what I was suggesting.
“You want to sniff my butt?” he eventually asked.
I chuckled. “Not your butt, Dane – just the shorts you’re wearing while they’re on your butt. The ones I just sniffed were getting a bit stale. I’d be fascinated to try a pair while they’re… you know… in situ.”
His mouth broke into a small smile: he found the idea of having my face so close to his bum weirdly tempting.
“You’d actually sniff my undies while they’re on my arse?” he was eager to establish.
“If you’d let me,” I nodded.
“Okay,” he agreed, his smile broadening into more of a leer. “I’ll sniff your knob where it’s made a sticky patch, and you can sniff my butt where my pants have ridden up.”
Evidently he’d found himself unexpectedly aroused by the idea of having his arse sniffed. The thought of having a man putting his face down there had probably never even occurred to him, but now that it had, he clearly found he was deeply titillated by it.
“We’ve got a deal then!” I exclaimed as I raised myself up from my seat and hitched my trousers down a little further to give Dane better access to my crotch.
I turned around to better face him and directed the large bulge of my erection, stretching my briefs expansively, towards him.
He chuckled at the sight of it and I muttered, “Dinner is served!”
Then he leaned forwards and lowered his face towards the huge mound being made by my cock and balls.
He sniffed warily at where the slit of my cock-head was oozing dribble onto the white material. Then he moved his nose around and about the raised prominence that my erection was making, smelling more confidently the varying aromas that the different parts of my swollen organ were producing.
I gently clutched his head with both hands and guided him down to the lower part of my briefs.
“Don’t forget my bollocks, Dane,” I advised him as his nose worked downwards along the back of my shaft. “They have a smell all of their own!”
I eased his face onto the large paired bulges of my distended balls and he inhaled gratefully from the damp material clinging to my scrotum, clearly enjoying the sweaty fug that had permeated into my briefs combined with the acrid tang of my male pheromones.
He pulled away from my hands and looked up at me, grinning.
“Do you mind if I rub myself while I’m sniffing down here?” he rather cutely asked.
“Of course not!” I laughed. “I’ll probably do exactly the same when it’s my turn to have a whiff of the back of your shorts!”
He pressed his face back into the twinned mounds of my ball-sack and then reached underneath himself to fondle his own much thicker organ. I smiled as his elbow took up a steady rhythm, his forearm gently working back and forth as his fingers caressed the bulge he was making at the front his underwear.
His nose kept hunting around, searching out the contrasting odours that were infused into the different parts of the material. Some were sharp and cloying, others more rich and potent; but all were replete with the sturdily masculine punch of my aroused genitals – a smell which, for some unaccountable reason, Dane found to be a powerful aphrodisiac.
I grabbed his head again and pressed it against the throbbing rod of my fully-charged cock, grinding myself against him with a slow but firm rhythm. He moaned his approval, all the time gasping for air against the front of my briefs; wallowing in the crude, carnal bite of my erection as it infused the material with its sweat and my precum.
The rubbing of his hand on the front of his shorts became rapidly faster.
I called out to him, “Come on, Dane! Get your dick out and rub it properly! Like you really want to!”
He did as I commanded and fumbled with his shorts. And then, having released himself, started masturbating himself in earnest. I couldn’t see his organ – he was still bending over to sniff my crotch – but I could see that his elbow had taken up a much more strenuous rhythm and his forearm was pumping up and down more assertively.
He was still enjoying sniffing different parts of my briefs, by now getting the clear liquid which was oozing through the material from my slit all over his face. It glistened like snail trails on his cheeks as he moved his face around the huge mound of my erection and then he got some of it onto his forehead when he went back down for another sniff of my plump, sweaty balls.
I was tempted to release myself and try and work my cock into his mouth. However, mindful that he’d been freaked out by the idea of sucking my predecessor’s cock when he’d first got into my car, I resisted the urge and just allowed him to indulge himself in his enjoyment of my genital smells.
I called out to him, “Go for it, son! Wank yourself off while you sniff my knackers!”
He grunted his appreciation of my coarse language and started pumping his hand faster and faster on his organ which was underneath him. He was panting for breath as he tried to draw out every last trace of smell from my underwear as I ground my over-ripe bollocks into his face.
I pulled his head back upwards towards the material which was obscenely stretched across my pounding hard-on.
“Sniff my cock again, Dane!” I commanded him, pushing him into my swollen manhood. “Rub your face into it!”
He was panting and gasping, snorting and slavering against my underwear as I jabbed my excitement towards him. I held his head firmly and ground my cock against him, working it against his face like I was fucking it through my underwear.
He moaned in encouragement and his wrist started making rapid slapping noises against his hip as he pounded his own organ.
Suddenly, and with a certain amount of alarm, I realised he might be getting close to his climax.
I grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him back up to face me. His expression was oddly dazed and he looked as if he had been completely immersed in the fervour of his self-gratification.
I put my hand gently on his forearm and stopped him masturbating himself before it was too late.
I smiled at him. “You can keep doing that when you’ve got my face underneath you.”
He looked at me blankly for a moment, still panting, before recognition slowly dawned on his face.
“Oh yeah,” he muttered, his voice breathless. “I actually forgot you were going to sniff my butt!”
“I think you were getting a bit carried away!”
He smiled, still catching his breath and with a thin film of sweat forming on his forehead. “You reckon?”
He sat back up on his seat and for the first time I saw how spectacularly thick his erection was, poking out from the waistband of his white shorts with his balls still tucked inside them.
For such an inoffensive young lad who one might assume to be hiding something fairly average in his trousers, his cock was sporting a stunningly hefty shaft. I’d observed when it was in his shorts that it wasn’t especially long but I hadn’t realised that its girth was so prodigiously fat. It was far too bulky for him even to get his whole hand around. I could imagine many a girlfriend getting quite a surprise when they saw how muff-splittingly wide their cute-looking boyfriend’s shlong was.
I said, “Your cock is rather wonderfully thick, Dane.”
He smiled at the compliment but then betrayed what was clearly a persistent worry. “Do you think it’s too thick?”
“No,” I laughed. “Lots of girls will appreciate having someone so – how can I put it? – ‘commodious’ inside them.”
I knew that I certainly would. Just looking at the massive thing, its circumference as wide as a drainpipe, was making my arsehole tingle.
“When I was at school,” he said, “my mates used to call me ‘Coke can’. I’d tell people it was because my surname’s Coburn, but the name kind of emerged in the showers after PE.”
I smiled. “My friends used to call me ‘Foot long’ for similar reasons.”
He chuckled and then asked, “How do want to sniff my butt, then?”
Then he laughed at what he’d said and declared: “That wasn’t something I ever thought I’d hear myself say!”
I told him to hitch his jeans down a bit and to squat upright on the car seat. In that position he could masturbate himself while I sniffed along the alluring strip of material leading downwards underneath his balls.
“You’ll have to open your legs as wide as you can. That way I can get to the… er… goodies!”
He found my euphemistic description of the soiled seat of his shorts quite amusing.
“And you’re gonna wank yourself too, aren’t you?” he asked, still grinning. “I don’t want to be the only one tossing off.”
“I fully intend to, Dane.”
He looked pleased and nodded.
Then he asked, “Did you ever wank yourself off sniffing the back of your own underwear?”
“Once or twice,” I admitted, grossly underestimating the actual incidence.
“When you were my sort of age?”
“No,” I replied more honestly. “It’s an interest I only recently discovered.”
He pulled his trousers down to around his ankles and then sat up on the car seat, positioning himself to squat with his legs wide open as I’d asked him to. He kept his briefs pulled up so I could sniff beneath his balls where the material ran towards his hole, but had his cock poking out from the waistband, still as hard and as thick as when I’d had to pull him away from my briefs.
I noticed that the deep red helmet of it was peculiarly short and stout: its width was actually greater than its length. His slit was so elongated that it almost cleaved his cock-head into two distinct lobes. I could imagine that, when the time came, such an extended opening would be able to deliver a very rapid and abundant outpouring of semen.
He sat as high up against the car seat as he could so that there was room for my head to be pushed between his squatting legs.
With a giggle he asked, “What if I fart?”
I smiled. It was an almost inevitable question given what we were about to do.
“Just don’t, please,” I replied, in a tone which I hoped would offer no room for ambiguity.
I leaned forwards and started out by sniffing his balls. His scent was so much more attractive for being fresher and stronger. His ball sweat reminded me of the locker rooms at school: they had a richly male odour mixed with faint but distinct traces of piss and semen.
“Do you want me to say stuff to you?” he asked. “Just like you did when it was my turn?”
I nodded, savouring the smell from the damp material covering his scrotum. Right between the mounds of his balls was most fascinating. Here his scent was at its strongest: a wonderful carnival of aromas that brought back surprisingly clear memories of my teens. I was reminded of the changing rooms after PE that we’d just mentioned: to the strong odour of young men’s sweaty underwear thrown onto clothes-pegs; to the sharp tang of dribbled urine coming from clammy gussets; to the more intriguing whiff of precum stains and dried-on spunk from some of the more well-worn pairs.
“Sniff my bollocks, man!” he called down to me, before tittering at what he’d just said.
I moaned to encourage him to say more, moving down below his scrotum to sniff at the damper and more odorous material underneath them.
“Sniff the sweat between my legs!” he continued, but this time didn’t convey any amusement.
I moved my nose further downwards, along the warm, dank ridge leading from his balls towards his bum, sniffing hungrily as his scent became stronger and more earthy, greatly enjoying the increasing bitter aroma of his underwear as I pushed my face more deeply between his thighs.
I reached for my own briefs and squeezed my cock through the front of them. Dane enjoyed seeing me do that and started wanking himself quite quickly.
“Get your knob out, Rob!” he ordered. “Let’s see you tugging it off!”
I did as he’d asked and pulled my large cock out from my briefs. Dane laughed at how well-endowed I was and declared that I had a “fucking massive horse-dick!”
I started yanking my foreskin back and forth and Dane laughed again, perhaps at the sight of an older man masturbating in front of him or perhaps because my technique was so different from what he was used to. His own rhythm sped up on his thicker erection and his wrist started slapping against his thigh again; like a gentle applause to the fun we were having together.
I moved down lower to push my nose between his cheeks, wedging the material of his shorts up into his crack and sniffing at where it had chaffed against his hairy cleft. The smell here was exquisite and my cock swelled in its appreciation, hardening and stiffening in my hand as I wanked it off, the helmet becoming taut and shiny as if to show its approval.
“Sniff my arsehole, man!” Dane called down to me, the smacking of his hand becoming faster as he grew more excited by where my nose was pressing.
I willingly did as he commanded and inhaled deeply from his most flavoursome spot, hearing my heart beating heavily in my ears at how deliciously pungent he was back here, and feeling my cock straining to grow even larger at how excited I was becoming.
Dane pushed forwards and struggled to open his legs more widely, using his free hand to shove my head further between his legs and trying to push my face into his gaping arse crack. He wanted to get my nose and mouth as close as he possibly could to the hole he’d probably never given very much thought to until today.
“Get your nose stuck into my butt!” he called out. “Fucking sniff it, man! Fucking go for it!”
To surprise him, I eased my tongue out of my mouth and worked it between the hem of his underwear and the hairy crack of his right buttock. I found his most sensitive spot quite quickly and ran the tip of my tongue around it.
Dane called out, “Oh, Jesus, yeah! Lick my hole, dude!” and struggled again to reposition himself to give me better access.
Finding he liked being rimmed, I grew in confidence, and pressed my tongue quite firmly against his tight, sticky ring. It yielded and I entered his hot, slimy anus, lapping in and out to stimulate him in one of the most intense ways I knew to be possible.
His masturbatory rhythm stopped and he pushed me back as he yanked down his white shorts.
He called out, “Fucking eat me, man! Lick my arsehole out!”
And then he grabbed my head again and slammed his arse down onto my face, roughly grinding my face into the wet, hairy forest of his gaping crack.
“Lick me out, dude! Come on, eat my butt!”
I did as he was asking of me, feasting voraciously on his crude and intoxicating orifice. I had my tongue burrowing up into his bowels, gently sweeping it back and forth against the soft folds inside his anus and tasting with relish the dribbles of his powerful rectal fluids trickling into my mouth. All the time, I was marvelling at how forthright he was for a novice and making repeated mental notes to remember to give him my phone number when we parted.
He was wanking himself off as fast as he could, his balls slapping against my chin as I rimmed him as deeply and as forcefully as my position would allow. My nose was wedged into his hairy and strong-smelling crack and my tongue was almost completely buried in the tight ring of his virgin hole.
“Come on, fucking suck it!” he called out, through panting breaths. “Suck my arsehole!”
Once again, I did as he was imploring me and, taking my tongue out from his anus, puckered my lips against the puckered ring of his hole. Then I sucked at his entrance like I was drinking milkshake through a straw: drawing out the full, unbridled impact of his arse juices into my mouth and pumping my own cock faster and faster at the sheer pleasure I was experiencing in doing so.
“Ah, yeah!” he shouted. “Fucking wank it, man! Wank your cock off while you suck my arsehole!”
He watched me masturbating my large erection hard and fast, and then had a better idea and told me he was going to do it for me.
I took my hand away from my organ and he replaced it with his, quickly taking up his own rhythm on it. His masturbatory technique was rougher and less refined than mine, but it felt wonderful to have a younger man’s hand tending to my swollen erection.
“Your cock feels so fucking hard!” he marvelled. “I can’t believe you’re so into this!”
I let him wank me for a minute or so, with my mouth still clamped to his anal ring, captivated by how it was steadily becoming inflamed from being so energetically sucked. I was hugely enjoying the feel of his fingers jerking at my foreskin, as awkward was they were, and was becoming more and more excited by things he was calling down to me.
“You are so fucking turned on, dude!” he was gasping. “You are so loving sucking my arse!”
Realising that his own cock was now without stimulation, I pulled back from his arse and from the hand he’d been holding my head with and bobbed my face up above his balls to take a look at it. It was standing upwards with red marks on its thick girth from where he’d been masturbating it. It looked lonely being unattended to and, as much as I had adored licking and sucking his arse, I immediately knew what I would prefer to do.
I craned my neck further upwards and took his thick, stubby shaft into my mouth, sucking his organ as hard as I’d sucked his arsehole to draw out the precum from his elongated slit. In comparison to what I’d just been feasting on from his bum, it tasted blissfully sweet and fragrant and I gulped the dribbles of it down gratefully as I consumed all six inches of his eager erection.
“Ah, yeah!” he cried out. “Suck my fucking root, man!”
And then, groaning in encouragement, he grabbed the back of my head and pushed my face more firmly onto his cock. I took him all – it wasn’t difficult to consume his full length but his massive girth was quite a strain on my jaw muscles – and he started thrusting his hard shaft in and out of my lips.
“That’s right, mate! Eat my fat knob!” he called out to me, through frantic gasps, holding my head steady while he roughly fucked my face.
Ever since I’d started playing around with guys, I hadn’t been especially keen on sucking their cocks. I’d never fully understood the appeal of working a penis with my lips and tongue, and having another man buck his erection in and out of my mouth had always made me feel like I’d been reduced to the role of a masturbatory aid.
However, receiving Dane’s thick shaft as he slammed it back and forth turned out to be a far more pleasant activity than any I’d previously experienced. I was fascinated to have such a huge girth over-filling my mouth and prizing my jaw almost painfully open. I loved the feel of having the top of his shaft battering against the roof of my gaping mouth while at the same time the thickly ridged underside slid frantically to and fro along my pinned-down tongue.
If only I could have enjoyed having such a thick cock thrusting so amply up my willing arse!
I allowed Dane to pound in and out of me, both of his hands holding my head as steady as he could in front of his hammering crotch. His balls were slamming roughly against my chin and his pubic hair was ramming back and forth, bristling with each lunge against my nose and into my eyes.
“Suck my fucking cock!” he called out, somewhat unnecessarily: I was already engaged in exactly that had no intention of doing otherwise.
As his hand beat up and down the length of my cock, I worked one of my fingers into his hot, wet arsehole, still slick and swollen from being so extensively rimmed. He moaned with pleasure at the intrusion, and his anus eased open, perhaps without Dane even being aware of it, to willingly draw me into him. His bum seemed to want to feed on my finger, hungrily consuming it and squeezing itself around it, and he grunted at how intense it felt to have his cock sucked and his arse fingered at the same time.
“Come on – work it, Rob! Fucking wank my arse off!”
I slid my finger up and down the length of his tight, slimy chute and he started panting like a sprinter at how incredible it felt. His rhythm against my face rapidly intensified and I wondered if, like me, his excitement was being stoked by the strongly carnal smell coming from his rectum as my finger squelched in and out of it.
“I’m gonna cum, mate! I’m gonna squirt!” he helpfully informed me, just before his hot, salty liquid started splashing against the back of my throat.
I don’t know if he’d ever climaxed with a finger sliding in and out of his bum, but a succession of astonished gasps suggested that he hadn’t.
I drank down everything he could give me, enjoying how harsh and alkaline this young man’s semen tasted and how much more astringent it was than that of older men who I’d previously attended to in this way.
His anus was spasming and convulsing around my finger, kneading it like it was bread dough as the muscles of his bowels enjoyed their own peculiar variant on his orgasm.
He called down to me, “Fucking yeah!” and worked himself against my finger as his cock continued discharging itself into my mouth.
As I was gulping down squirt after squirt of his seed, the irony that I was doing to him what he’d refused to do to the impatient cock of his earlier driver was a source of some amusement. I found myself smiling as I fed on his outpouring of sperm, loving the sensation of it pulsing in surges against the back of my throat, as I remembered how outraged he’d been at the thought of doing exactly what I was doing in return for a lift.
“Wank my arse!” he commanded me, through panting breaths. “Fucking wank it hard!”
I resumed my rapid fingering of his shuddering rectum, wondering if all his orgasms were as copious as this one. I would have to remember to inform him later that one didn’t ordinarily ‘wank’ an arse: one could finger it, yes, or even frig it, but the verb ‘wank’ wasn’t customarily extended to include anal stimulation.
After his climax had subsided, I pulled away from his cock and looked up at his face. He grinned down at me and, to see his reaction, I withdrew my finger from his bum and sniffed it. Finding the smell of it very much to my liking, I licked my tongue back and forth along its sticky shaft and then grinned back up at him to show him how much I appreciated the taste
He laughed to see someone so gratuitously cleaning the finger they’d just had inside his bum and a large dribble of white semen oozed from the stout head of his fat cock as if to offer its own endorsement. I licked that too – as one would lick at a melting ice-cream – and then told him that I was going to eat his arse again.
“Fucking go for it!” he grinned. “I’ll wank you off while you do it!”
His hand started roughly yanking my foreskin again and I returned my tongue to the hole my finger had just vacated.
It was in this position, with me lapping at his wrinkled arsehole which had tightened into a post-orgasmic clench, that my own cock started spurting over his clumsily pumping hand.
He laughed as I started cumming – which is always a little off-putting, I find – and immediately took his hand away to start hunting around for a tissue instead of milking my organ until I’d fully spent myself as I would have strongly preferred.
As we were cleaning ourselves up and I was wiping down the gearstick of the car (his own semen having been more efficiently disposed of), Dane’s mood seemed to take a downward turn and he steadily became more quiet and sullen. We put the underwear we’d sniffed away in silence and, with him staring broodily out of the passenger window, I reversed out of the space I’d been parked in.
It was black dark by now and the road was deserted as I pulled out of the car park.
“If you’re gonna chuck me out, mate, at least take me to the main road,” Dane said quietly once we were driving through the forest again.
I glanced over at him, his face lit up eerily in the green glow from the dashboard and with his eyes staring sullenly straight ahead at the road.
“Why would I want to chuck you out?” I asked.
“Now you’ve done what you probably set out to do when you picked me up,” he replied, matter-of-factly.
“I picked you up because you looked cold, Dane. It was you who first introduced the subject of sex into our conversation.”
“I didn’t!” he retorted, his voice suddenly heavy with emotion. “You were the one who asked to sniff my dirty kecks!”
I smiled over at him, taking the same conciliatory approach that I would use with my son when he was similarly agitated.
“You told me that your previous lift had wanted a blowjob from you. Our chat about what a hypothetical hitch-hiker might offer his driver to thank him for the lift developed, as I remember it, at your insistence.”
He went quiet again, glowering ahead of us at the road, his eyes looking more hurt than angry in the cold glow from the dashboard.
I started to wonder if he really did want me to drop him off; if he wanted the excuse to get out of the car for some fresh air and to work through in his own head what he’d just got himself into.
I thought I’d try a different technique.
“If you’re not comfortable to be around me, given what we’ve just done, I’ll drop you off at the motorway junction we originally agreed on. Once we’re out of the National Park, it’s just a few miles before we get there.”
He stayed quiet for a good five minutes or so, no doubt weighing up the pros of being dropped off early against the cons of having to wait for another lift. For all he knew, his next driver might make yet further demands in return for a lift.
Eventually, I thought it best to break the silence by saying, “I was actually hoping we could exchange phone numbers, Dane.”
“If you think you’re gonna get a repeat performance, Rob, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
He was trying to sound hostile but the unsteadiness of his voice betrayed that he was still mainly upset.
I glanced over at him and told him, “We both enjoyed what we did – we both went into it very willingly – and there’d be no harm in us meeting up again once you feel ready for it.”
He shook his head defensively. “No way, mate. It won’t happen. I’m into girls – I’m totally straight. I don’t know why I did what I just did. I haven’t got a fucking clue, to be honest.”
I nodded. “I’m straight too. Like I told you, I’ve been married.”
It was certainly true that I’d been married. I just wasn’t any more.
“I’ve always been curious,” I went on, “to try some stuff with other men. Unlike you, I don’t feel guilty about it – I actually would like to try some other things now that I know how much I enjoy it.”
He shook his head again, and it seemed that what I’d said had made his mind up for him. He didn’t want to hear me trying to justify what we’d done: he’d decided that he wanted to forget about it and pretend it had never happened.
“You can drop me off at the motorway junction,” he curtly informed me. “I’ll phone my mum if I can’t get a lift.”
Usually when guys have had a few minutes to recover from what they perceive to be their first ‘gay’ experience, they gradually bounce back from their initial misgivings and are soon able to put things into perspective.
Not Dane, though.
Considering how upbeat he’d been immediately after his climax – he’d laughed when I’d started cumming, for Christ’s sake – the more time that passed after the event, the deeper into bitter self-recrimination he seemed to plunge.
When I dropped him off at a layby near the motorway roundabout, I hastily scribbled my mobile phone number onto the back of a petrol receipt. At first he refused to take it, but when I insisted and kept holding it out towards him, he snatched it from me and tersely thanked me for the ride.
As I drove away, I watched him through the rear-view mirror as he went through the obviously pointed gesture of scrunching up the paper I’d given him and throwing it into the gutter. He looked up at my rear-view mirror after he’d done so: he’d wanted me to see his opinion of me.
“Whatever,” I thought as I signalled right at the roundabout to head back out into the countryside and towards home.
A few days later I heard my phone beep at work with a text message and, thinking it was from my son asking me to record some programme for him on the Sky box, I waited until I’d got home and had poured myself a glass of wine before I sat down to look at it.
It turned out it was from an unknown number and it read: [Soz I got freaked, Rob. Not ur fault. Hope all ok. Dane]
I smiled. It was rather sweet in a way.
I texted back, taking the time to spell words fully and punctuate correctly in a way that inexplicably infuriates my son.
[Hello Dane. I thought you threw my number away!]
I waited a few minutes before my phone beeped again.
[I did but then chnged my mind. Glad I did!]
I imagined him waiting at the junction for his mum to drive over and pick him up, gradually starting to feel less ashamed of what he’d done until the compulsion to go back to the side of the road to pick up the paper he’d discarded became too strong.
I mulled over what to say in reply but before I’d been able to come up with anything that didn’t sound either too flippant or too mushy, my phone beeped again with another incoming message.
[If a guy needed lift back to uni, would you b up 4 having a hitch hiker in ur car again?]
I chuckled. A ride for a ride, perhaps?
I felt I could be a little bolder in my response.
[Of course, Dane. But what would this hypothetical hitch-hiker be willing to do for his driver in return?]
He sent me a grinning face with the tongue sticking out before a proper message came in.
[He could bring his dirty laundry!]
I had to laugh at that. Weren’t students supposed to take their dirty laundry home with them from uni, not the other way around?
I sent a smiley face back. I was pleased that Jake, my son, had taught me how to text. I would never have imagined that the skill would prove so valuable.
Within a few seconds, the phone beeped again. [U up 4 it then?]
I keyed in my message. [Very much so.]
[I’ll be at same m-way jnctn u dropped me off. Sun 3 pm. That ok?]
I chuckled at his reply. He wasn’t prepared to give me his address: that would be a step too far for now.
[Fine by me], I texted back. [Looking forward to the scenic route.]
I got another grinning face and then a final, [C u on Sun Rob!]
I took a long drink of my wine and then beamed at the smiley face he’d sent me as if it was Dane himself I was looking at.
How far would my hypothetical hitch-hiker let me take him this time?
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