Bun Buddies

My fuck-buddy Rob has always been fascinated to hear about my time in prison. I told him early on in our hook-ups that life inside hadn't actually been that interesting – that it was mostly mind-splittingly dull and that the sex, such as it was, was brief and infrequent – but he keeps asking about it as if he thinks I'm holding back on telling him all the juicy bits.

"There must have been more to it than that, Edward," he'd insisted one of the first times we met up.

Edward isn't my name, by the way. It's just the name I gave him when I was a bit paranoid about who knew what about me and I've never had the guts to tell him I'm actually called Steve.

"Maybe more goes on in the rougher slammers," I'd shrugged, "but mine was low-security, remember. I wasn't surrounded by violent criminals or sex pests or whatever – just blokes like me who were doing time for fraud – mostly business theft and forgery, that kind of stuff."

"But all you men crammed into those tiny cells," he prevailed, "it must have been a right den of iniquity after lights-out."

I know it turns him on to think it might have been like that – the cells writhing with sweaty naked male bodies every night after lock-down – but it just wasn't true.

"I've told you before, mate," I sighed, "we weren't all crammed into the cells – it was a modern place with only two blokes sharing each cell. I mean, there was sex going on, yeah – it was still a prison for Christ's sake! – but it was done on the sly and not really talked about."

Every time we met up, Rob had kept going on about it, the way he does. He can be really annoying like that and is as stuck-up as hell, but he has a really nice arse and, although there's no way he'd admit it, he's totally sex-mad. So whenever I feel like going in through the backdoor with another fella, which is pretty often, I can give him a call and guarantee he'll be up for it too.

"So what happened on the very first day?" Rob had asked one afternoon at my place after I'd finished banging one out up his tush. "I mean, after the end of the court case and once you'd been... er... checked in?"

"Checked in?" I'd laughed. "It wasn't a fucking hotel reception desk!"

He'd chuckled back, sprawled out on my bed with his dick still looking thick and heavy even though he'd lost his wood. "What would you call it then?"

"'Processed', I think is the term they use."

"Okay, so what happened after you'd been processed?"

"It wasn't half as bad as I'd thought it would be," I told him, wondering if he'd up for bending over a second time before he had to leave. "In fact, it was a bit of a let-down after the build-up I'd given it and all the warnings I'd had about what to expect. The other men seemed generally okay – just normal, run-of-the-mill blokes more or less – and the common room on our floor had a sort of pub atmosphere to it, with fellas sitting round chatting and others playing pool.

"There were no knifings or glassings going on all over the place, like they tell you about, and mostly the guys looked out for each other and warned you about who it was best to leave alone. Even the showers weren't that scary – you could drop your soap all you like and no-one was going to jump you – but, like I say, I dunno what goes on in other nicks. Maybe I just had it easy."

"Okay," Rob nodded, "but what happened that night when you met your cellmate – Derek, wasn't it?"

I shrugged. There wasn't a lot to say.

"He was a decent sort of bloke – pretty ordinary and boring, to be honest. He'd been an accountant with some big firm and had got caught siphoning money off into his own accounts. Ended up doing two years for it, which seems pretty rough when you hear about young lads getting let off with cautions for robbing old ladies in the street."

"But what about the sex?" Rob had persisted.

I'd laughed at that. Like the men end up shagging each other as soon as the cell doors get locked.

"It took time, mate. Neither of us were gay, remember. It took days and weeks for the desperation to set in."

"How long had Derek been in for?" he asked.

"A few weeks. He'd been banged up with some kid on remand before I got 'checked-in'. Nothing had happened between the pair of them, as far as I know."

"So how did it start between you guys? Who... er... instigated it?"

I chuckled again. He could be a nosey bastard. Most people get embarrassed when you mention your time inside. Not Rob, here – no way! He has a fascination for prison life; seems to think of it as one big dick-fest.

"The very first night, when me and Derek were getting ready for bed, I noticed that his floppy dick was just as big and thick as mine, and I thought, 'There's no way that fucking thing is going anywhere near my arsehole'."

"Had he suggested he might want that?" Rob asked.

I mean, Jesus Christ! He really has no idea!

"Rob, mate – the way it was between me and him that night was more like two guys sharing a room on a business trip or something. We were making awkward small-talk, knowing we could well be bunking up together for the next year and a half – trying to suss each other out without seeming too pushy too quickly."

"So why did you think that when you saw his prick?"

"Because I know what goes on, mate. Everyone does. And while he was being all meek and mild with us standing there pulling on our skuffs, for all I knew he might be a total fucking loony and I might wake up in the night with a knife on my throat and his hard-on grinding into the back of my shorts."

"But obviously it wasn't like that?"

"No, he was as boring as fuck," I grinned. "The most he did over the next few nights was to pull off his porker under his blanket when I was jerking away at mine."

"After lights-out?"

"Yeah. I mean, it's what you do, isn't it? First couple of days you keep putting it off until you can wangle some time on your own, but then you realise there's next to no privacy in there so you end up running a boner after lights-out."

"So it was purely masturbation at that stage?" he asked.

I chuckled again. He could be such a muppet.

"Yes, it was purely masturbation. Except... actually no... I tell a lie..."

I suddenly remembered some comment Derek had thrown me. Something I'd forgotten about all this time.

"It was on maybe the third or fourth night and we were quietly whacking ourselves off in our separate bunks. We could both hear the sounds of other men doing stuff together in their cells further down our corridor. Maybe they were trying to be discreet about it but those metal bedframes squeak like you don't believe. And we could hear one of the screws looking in on them and taking the piss. Hear the stuff he was saying to them, letting the whole corridor know whose arse was being fucked."

Rob glanced over at me and I noticed his prick was getting longer. "Was it like that every night?"

"Pretty much," I laughed. "But it's what you expect in a men's prison, isn't it? I mean, you don't expect to hear lullabies after lights-out!"

He nodded, intrigued.

"So Derek calls over from his bunk – dead quietly so I could hardly hear him – 'You into any of that sort o' stuff, mate?'

"'What sort of stuff?' I asked back, knowing full well.

"'Sex stuff', he said after a hesitation. 'Doing it with... you know... with other fellas.'

"'Absolutely not,' I said back, as plainly as I could. Which was ironic really given that just a week or so later, I was banging away at his arse like I was gagging for it!

"Anyway, I said, 'Are you?'

"And he said, 'Am I what?'

"'Are you into doing stuff with other fellas?'

"'Er... no', he said back in a way that didn't sound convincing. 'But two years in here is a long time...'

"'What's that supposed to mean?'

"'It just means,' he said before pausing to find the right words. 'It just means I'm not ruling anything out.'

"'Well I am,' I called over to him. 'My arse is strictly just for shitting through'.

"'Message understood loud and clear,' he said back.

"But then, after we'd both resumed our quiet rhythms on our dicks, he added, 'I'm just sayin' that maybe mine isn't.'

"That was when I'd first realised Derek might be up for having his bum poked. Until then I suppose I'd assumed sex behind bars to be a two-way thing – you sow your oats in another fella's furrow, and then you bend over and think of England while he has his turn going to brown town.

"It was only when Derek said what he did, that it occurred to me that some guys might be willing to take without wanting to give back. And that got me thinking about what it would be like to use another bloke's arse for sex while I was inside."

"Did you like the idea?" Rob asked.

"Of course not – I was disgusted by it. I found it horrific, actually – the thought of Derek bending over for me to use his big flabby rump as a sort of jerk-off aid."

"So what changed over the following week?"

"I can't say that I dwelt on what he'd said because until today, I'd pretty much forgotten we'd had the conversation. But once he'd made it clear that he wouldn't necessarily say no if I were to be up for some bum loving, that obviously planted the seed of an idea which then steadily grew.

"I think it was hearing other men on our corridor having sex each night while feeling horny myself that gradually got me used to the idea. I got to thinking that maybe doing it with another fella might not be so awful and that maybe in the darkness and with him facing away from me, the feel of having something warm and wet around my cock might be better than using my hand."

"It's strange that the idea was so unpleasant to you," Robert commented, shifting his position so that his cock, now semi-hard, curved upwards against his thigh. "Even before I discovered I enjoyed sex with other men, I would have assumed that if I ever ended up in prison, I would end up having homosexual encounters of one form or another."

I thought about his question before answering him, pleased that my talk about prison was making him horny and that I might get my leg over for the second time this afternoon.

"I think I'd always thought of bum sex between straight males as a bit of an adolescent thing," I tried to explain.

"An adolescent thing?"

"Yeah, something that horny lads get up to when they're messing around together before they get proper girlfriends... doing each other up the arse to see what it feels like before moving onto the real thing..."

"I've never really thought about it like that," he mused. "Did you think like that because you used to experiment with other boys when you were that age?"

"Me?" I laughed. "No way, mate! I never liked the idea. But everyone knew that some lads did bum stuff 'cause they had permanent hard-ons, and I once saw two mates going at it in the park for a laugh."

"You saw two lads having anal sex together?"

"We never called it that. We used to call it 'scuttling' back then – like it was just a game or something. But yeah, when I was like fourteen or something I saw Lee Finlay doing Paul Tucker's arse. All their mates were gathered round them, laughing and pointing and saying how disgusting it looked."

"But you never fancied having a go yourself?"

"No fucking way! After seeing Lee Finlay's cock scuttling Tucker's arse – literally smeared in shit as he slid it in and out – there wasn't a chance in hell I was gonna try anything like that!

"The point is, though," I went on, "that I saw bum stuff as being for kids – for lads who were too horny to wait for a pussy or for knobheads who were trying to gross their mates out by bumming each other as a joke."

"Until you got to prison," Rob added.

"Yeah, until I heard the other fellas on my corridor doing it and how much they were enjoying it, while I was lying on my bunk with my hand down my shorts feeling like a total numbnut."

I saw Rob's dick was now fully on the boil again so I got him to roll over onto his front and stick his arse up while I jerked my own drooping semi back up to full size.

There's two great things about having Rob as a bum-chum. First, like I told you, he's always up for a shag. Morning, noon and night, he's horny for it and give him half an hour after shooting his jizz and he's ready for more. Second – and this is better as far as I'm concerned – he never asks to climb aboard the good ship Edward. I made it clear online before we even met up that sex with me would be totally one-sided, and he's always accepted that, even though I know how much he'd love to have his turn porking a big hairy tush like mine.

Once I was ready and I was working myself into him, he asked, "Did Derek say anything else about sex? After the 'not ruling anything out' conversation?"

"No," I grunted, enjoying the warm feel of his innards swallowing the thick girth of my cock. "But no prison talk while we're shagging, mate. I know it turns you on, but it doesn't do much for me."

===

The next time we talked about it, I was over at Rob's place. We were in his front room, having just done the deed very energetically in front of his fireplace, and were sitting around having a beer waiting for my chub to go hard again and his arse to stop throbbing.

"You know how you said all the men on your prison corridor were bonking after lights-out?" he asked.

"I didn't say that," I retorted. "I don't think they all were."

"Okay, well some of them were. How did you know they were doing anal?"

"What else would they be doing?" I asked, perhaps a bit naively now I think about it.

"Wanking each other off... sucking each other's cocks..."

"It wasn't a fucking gay orgy, Rob," I hit back. "We were all banged up without our wives or any women... we just wanted something that could pass as a half-decent fuck, not a full-on sausage party."

"I know that," he said, "but guys like having their dicks sucked too. You might not, but a lot of men love it."

"Yeah, well that was probably going on too, but it wasn't something I was interested in and it wasn't on my radar. I heard the screws calling some guys cocksuckers and pole-lickers and stuff, but I figured that to be just name-calling. As far as I know, it was mainly butt humping going on – at least on my corridor it was."

"What do you think changed your mind about giving it a go?"

"Frustration," I laughed. "Boredom, maybe."

"There wasn't a particular moment when you thought, 'This might not be so bad'?"

I looked across at the mantelpiece and of a photo of Rob's son on his eighteenth birthday, trying to work my way back through my thought processes at the time. It was difficult to filter out all the rest of what I'd been going through – the sheer terror of finding myself in prison, surrounded by so many unknown men from all walks of life – but I tried to remember what had finally made my mind up.

"There was this bloke called Miles," I told him eventually. "A nice fella with a clever sense of humour – the sort of guy I'd probably be friends with if I knew him on the outside. He looked totally clean-cut with his thinning curly hair and his little wire-frame glasses and he shared a cell with a fat bloke called Phil two along from mine.

"One night maybe a week in or so, one of the screws – one of the nastier gits – was having a go at someone for being 'a dirty fucking shit-stabber'. They'd look through the peepholes on the cell doors after lights-out – see who they could catch trying to have a sly poke."

"Was that a regular thing?" Rob asked, looking surprised.

"They found it funny," I nodded. "It was a way of demeaning us by letting us know they were watching us using each other for sex... having to bum our cellmates as a form of release while they looked on and laughed."

"How could they see what the men were doing?" he asked. "I mean, wasn't it after lights-out?"

"There were dim night-lights in the cells which were on all the time so it was never fully dark. And if the blokes were doing it up next to the door where the screw couldn't see them, he'd just let himself in so he could sneer at them as they did it standing up. One screw – a total nutter called Fletcher – would whack himself off while he spied on the fellas who were bonking."

"He actually masturbated watching them? How do you know that?"

I had to chuckle at Rob's face, he looked so shocked.

"He would pound his wrist against the cell door – he wanted the blokes who were butt-fucking to know he was jerking off watching them. He'd call out stuff... kinda like, 'Do his arse faster! Come on, fuck him harder! Make me cum!'... that sort of stuff, to let the men who were at it know he had his dick out through his fly and was bashing himself off."

"He was that turned on by watching them?" Rob asked.

"I don't think it had anything to do with being turned on," I said back. "It was a power thing: he used to shout out stuff like, 'I've got my wife's pussy to screw when I knock off in the morning. Look at you dirty fuckers – having to shag each other's shitters!' That was what got his prick on full bone – the feeling of superiority."

Rob nodded, wide-eyed and I had to laugh again.

"How's your arse?" I asked him when the surprise wore off.

He ran his finger around the swollen ringpiece I'd left him with. "A bit sore," came the verdict, "but should be usable again soon if you're up for it."

"Like I wouldn't be," I grinned. "How about you bend over the coffee table?"

"Give me a couple of minutes," he said. "Let it recover a bit more. While we're waiting, tell me where your friend Miles fits into things."

"Oh yeah," I said, having lost my own thread. "Well on this particular night, Fletcher was making a hell of a racket about two men going at it. He was jeering stuff like, 'Did they teach ya how to do this in that posh boys' school you went to?! How to shove yer little pinkie dick into a stinky brown poop-hole?!'

"He was wanking himself off – making it obvious he was – shouting stuff about what the guy's wife would think if she saw her straight-laced hubby going at it behind a fat hairy bloke who was bending over. 'Havin' to watch your tiny nuts bobbing up and down while you're bummin' his big flabby arse! Havin' to see you like I am with your titchy little cock goin' at it, covered in his crud!'

"And I realised he was watching Miles buggering Phil."

"Did that disgust you?" Rob asked, running a finger around his arsehole again to check its subsiding puffiness.

"Maybe not so much as it had when Derek had said that his bum might not just be for shitting through. But it did make me think that if even softly spoken Miles was up for getting his dick dirty, maybe I was being too prissy in ruling it out.

"After all, to paraphrase what Derek had said: eighteen months is a long time without a shag."

Rob nodded and grabbed the lube off the coffee table: always a good sign.

"The next day," I went on, "I tried to find out from Miles what he'd been doing with Phil when Fletcher had been peering in on them. I mentioned it to him over breakfast when it was just the two of us.

"I don't know what I expected him to say. Maybe just laugh and come back with something like, 'Do you really think I'd do something like that, mate?' Or maybe, 'Fletcher was just making it up – we were in our own bunks and he was just mouthing off.'

"As it was, though, he just glared at me – all his humour totally gone – and said quietly, 'It's what goes on, mate. Welcome to prison.'

"I said something back, something along the lines of asking if he actually liked it.

"And he muttered, with a sort of defensive snarl, 'It's better than nothing. Now just shut the fuck up about it.'

"Which I did, because Miles wasn't really one for swearing. He was embarrassed – maybe ashamed even – that the whole corridor knew he was playing piggy-backs with Phil on his bunk after lights-out and it became obvious the following night that it was very much a two-way arrangement."