By Popular Demand

Part of the 'Butt Monkey' series of stories by Robert Furlong

===

"Jake. I'm really sorry about what happened last night."

I threw him a glance across the car, as I pulled out of our estate as I drove him to college. He looked over at me and shrugged.

"It's not a big deal, dad. You're trying a few things out. I get that."

"I need you to know though: I'm sorry."

"You didn't have to say it the first time. You've caught me in plenty of embarrassing situations."

Had I? I couldn't really remember any, other than hastily repositioned duvets when I'd gone to wake him up; but that must be pretty standard for all parents of teenage boys. Perhaps I hadn't been aware that I'd walked in on him in the middle of something. My attention to what's going on around me can be pretty vague at times.

Whatever he'd been doing when he felt he'd been 'caught', it couldn't compare with what he'd walked in on me doing the previous night. Being caught masturbating by one's eighteen-year-old son would be awkward; being caught masturbating in front of gay porn would be painful; being caught masturbating in front of gay porn with one's fingers up one's bottom had turned out to be mortifying.

I hadn't really slept because of it. I'd found it difficult to believe that I'd been so stupid as to do something like that with Jake just downstairs; the same Jake who'd always had such a gift for sneaking up where he was least expected.

"Well, I'm still sorry," I said. "I wish it hadn't happened."

He nodded and I pulled in to let some cars queuing up on the other side of the road get through a narrow gap caused by a parked van.

"I'm... er... guessing, then," he started hesitantly, "that you're interest has... well... moved up a couple of notches since we first spoke about it...?"

"What do you mean?"

"Back then you said that you weren't sure what you wanted to do with another guy, other than... you know... using your tongue on him..."

"Well, yeah..."

"It seems like... from what I saw last night... you're ready to take it a few steps further..."

I nodded. "Possibly... well, probably, actually. But as you said yourself, I was just trying out a few things. Just like you might have done when you first realised what your willy could be used for."

"Is that how it feels to you?" he asked. "Like you've just woken up to... well... I suppose in your case it'd be what your bum can be used for...?"

I looked over at him before pulling away and overtaking the parked van. His question seemed genuine; his face was quite serious.

"I suppose that's a fair summation," I replied, when we were clear of the congestion. "I'm realising bums aren't just for the obvious. There are loads of other things two men can do with them."

"Like the things those guys were doing in that movie you were watching? Would you like someone to do that to you?"

"I thought we'd agreed a while ago there'd be no more sexual questions," I reminded him.

"I'm just surprised at how quickly this has happened... how you've gone from being, like, Mr Squeaky Clean to being... I dunno... suddenly into all this hardcore gay stuff..."

I was surprised that Jake had considered that I'd set myself up as some kind of 'squeaky clean' father as I'd always thought I'd been quite frank and honest with him about sexual matters. However, it was certainly true that I'd undergone quite a transformation over the last few months.

"I think, Jake, people often assume that once you get past adolescence, once you've 'grown up', you're pretty much the finished product. That, after that, you've done all the developing that you need to do and you're going to pretty much stagnate doing the same old same old until you die. I don't think that's true. I think in reality people keep changing and evolving as they grow older."

He nodded. "Well, yeah, okay. But do people really change their sexualities? Can a guy go from being into women to suddenly finding other men's bums so attractive?"

I shrugged, putting my foot down as we pulled out onto the dual carriageway. "Maybe it was there all along, Jake. Maybe what happened between me and Simon's dad triggered what I'm going through now. I don't know. I just know it feels right and so I'm pursuing it. Why should I try to ignore it and push it to the back of my mind when it's clearly part of who I am and something I'm finding that I enjoy expressing?"

He nodded again. "Of course you shouldn't. I think, like I said a few weeks ago, you need to get together with another guy. Do some stuff together... have some fun. See if it really is what you want."

I smiled over at him. "You'd be okay with that?"

"Yeah... of course I would. It's clearly pretty important to you."

I beamed at him, hugely grateful that he was being so understanding about something which could have proven vexatious.

After a few seconds I cheerfully added, "On a totally unrelated matter, I'm thinking of going to the office Christmas party this year. Would you be able to sleep at your mum's that night?"

Jake grinned broadly. "Oh, right... in case you get lucky with one of the filing boys?"

"That's not the reason I'm going," I lied. I didn't want endless witticisms from him between now and then. "I'm just hoping to widen my circle..."

Jake chortled. "I think you did enough of that last night!"

"Come on, Jake, you know what I mean... I'm just trying to be sociable... you're always saying I should make more friends..."

"Don't worry – I'll get out of your way. Just... you know... be careful."

"Okay, thanks," I said.

"Don't forget to... you know... buy some –"

"Okay, thanks," I repeated with enough finality to let Jake know the subject was dropped. I really didn't want a lecture from my son about the importance of safe sex.

===

After I'd dropped Jake off at college, I called into the petrol station at Sainsbury's on the way to work. Having filled up on fuel, I grabbed a bottle of cheap chardonnay and a few essentials we were running low on in the little shop and then went to pay.

The lad on the till was young and rather cute, and when the bloke in front of me asked for a packet of Rizlas which was on a low shelf behind him, he bent over to show off a very nice backside bulging conspicuously in his tight black work trousers. I wondered if that's why people bought Rizlas – just to get a flash of cashiers' bums – as they always seem to be placed in the least accessible places.

"Have you got a red packet, actually?" the bloke in front asked.

Oh, nice one, I thought. I was quite sure the colour of the wrapper didn't signify anything about the product inside.

The lad turned around and bent down again to hunt around among the boxes of matches and cheap lighters. The guy in front of me strained to get a good look at his arse as he did so – almost standing on tiptoes to peer over the desk at it – and I felt sure I was in the presence of a fellow devotee of the male derriere.

It was indeed an extremely nice bum he was marvelling at: solid-looking with nice, full buttocks. It occurred to me that Cameron would describe it as 'fuckable', and, having had that thought present itself, I couldn't help but muse on what it would be like to slide myself into it and give it a test drive. It was the sort of backside a guy would want to look at while he was humping away: if the cashier was riding you, you'd want him to turn his back to you so you could get a good view of your cock sliding in and out between its round, succulent cheeks. Or maybe, on second thoughts, it would be better to have him facing you. That way you'd see his cock, stiffened with excitement, bobbing around in front of your face while he pumped his pert little tush up and down.

Yes, front-on might be best. Apart from the fact he had a very pleasant face, which would probably be quite expressive during sex, it might be possible to crane forward and suck the tip of his hard-on as he worked his magic with his bum. It would be nice to watch him wanking himself, gasping with that cute mouth of his, and have him shoot over your –

"Pump, please?"

"Er... sorry?" I asked, momentarily confused.

"'Ave you got fuel?" he asked. His voice was quite deep and his accent strong. He pronounced 'fuel' with two distinct syllables.

"Oh... er, yeah."

"Which pump, then?"

I glanced over at my car. "Number... ah... two, please."

He rang it into the till.

"And this lot," I added, putting my wine and groceries on the desk.

He turned to one side and called out: "Gill! Alcohol!" Actually, it sounded more like 'alk-rol'.

A grey-haired woman peered out from around a door and nodded.

Evidently he was too young to be able to determine that I was eligible to buy a bottle of wine.

As he scanned my few items of shopping, I wondered how old he actually was, given what I'd just been fantasising. Did having to get an older colleague to authorise the sale of the wine mean he was younger than twenty-one? Or might he be younger than eighteen?

Could I have been imagining having sex with a seventeen-year-old boy? A lad who might be younger than Jake?

Is that what I had come to?

Jesus Christ, Robert, I thought. Get a grip, man.

Just then someone tapped my shoulder and a voice behind me said, "Hello, stranger! Where've you been hiding?"

I turned around and saw Guy grinning at me. He was wearing a leather jacket and had at least two days of stubble. With his hair cut so short, he looked, quite simply, stunning.

The realisation that I might have been perving over a lad who was younger than my son had been alarming enough: now I was staring into the face of a man whose backside I had drunkenly rimmed. The very same backside that was now right there in front of me, albeit hidden away in his underwear under the back of his jeans.

I was momentarily lost for words.

Guy laughed. "Aren't you speaking to me?"

"Yeah... I... wow! It's been way too long!"

He laughed again. "It's only been a couple of months, mate. But how are you keeping? How's Jake?"

Before I could answer, the cashier said in a monotone, "Seventy six pounds eighty one, please." He said pounds like 'pa-ands'.

"We're both fine," I told Guy, and then turned to push my card into the reader. "How are you guys?"

"Likewise, likewise... we're both good," Guy said.

"Could you check the amount and enter your PIN?" droned the cashier.

"Look," Guy said. "We really should go and see another match. The four of us. It was a good night... well, I mean the football was good too... but it was good to stay over in that hotel... you know... have a laugh and stuff."

And stuff. Yeah... the 'and stuff' part had certainly been the highlight.

I turned to key my PIN into the keypad.

"Yeah... it was good. You're right – we should do it again."

"Let's commit to it," Guy said. "See who's playing in the New Year and book something up. Make it even better than last time."

You really want me to lick your arse again, I thought. And, after what Cameron had revealed about his habits on the oil rig, I suspected he wanted rather more than that. It was obvious from the excitement on his face that he was well up for whatever was going.

And I was too. Let's be honest about it.

"Yeah... let's do that," I smiled.

The boy – the underage boy – had packed my shopping into an orange carrier and stuffed the receipt into it.

"Don't wimp out on me, Rob," Guy chuckled. "Let's make it a firm date."

A date. That sounded a bit heavy.

But, picking up my bag, I turned to him and grinned. "Yeah. We'll make a night of it. For sure."

He grinned back and, with a playful wink, said, "Even better than last time, big boy!"

As I passed him to leave, I half-expected him to slap me on the arse. Although just weeks earlier I would have been outraged by having something like that done to me by another man, at that moment – right there in the petrol station – I think I'd have rather liked it.

It would have been like he was staking out his claim for me. Telling me, with his actions speaking far louder than his words could, that he'd let me do whatever stuff turned me on with my face between his legs, but this time we both knew where this was headed. Last time had been just a warm-up, just a few first tentative steps. Now we both knew the score, this time was the real deal: if I chose to stay over somewhere with him, my arse – to put it bluntly – belonged to his cock.

There'd be no more pussying around: I had to accept how it would end. Me on all fours with him behind me; the two of sweating as I took it from him; the sounds of our sex growing faster and faster; him grunting as he squirted his seed deep into my bowels.

I'd be happy with that; I'd let him use my bum to pleasure himself if that's what he wanted. I'd lick his arse and suck his cock and then, in return, he could fuck me until he came. I'd prefer to use him, of course, but I'd understand his reluctance to let me do that to him and I'd have to accept it.

As I got into my car, I looked over at him inside the shop paying for his petrol. He was staring at me; that smile still etched on his face. I smiled back and gave him a thumbs-up. That pleased him a lot. Maybe he took it that I was accepting our arrangement; that as long as I could rim him again, he could fuck me.

He smirked broadly and gave me a thumbs-up in return as I pulled out from the forecourt.

===

On the drive to work, I wondered how Jake would react if I suggested that we go away for an overnight stay to see a football match with Simon and his dad. He'd certainly be positive about it: he had himself, after all, suggested another trip away as a way of me spending some more time with Guy. But I was a little concerned about the form his positivity might take: would he tease me with innuendoes about what might happen between the two of us dads, or would he find it funny that I was setting myself up for a 'date' with another man?

I wouldn't be able to stand it if he were to make 'phwoar' type quips about what might go on in the hotel room after lights-out: it wasn't really his style but I wouldn't put it past him. If he said something like that in front of Simon and Guy it would be excruciating.

I'd have to introduce the idea with some kind of rider. 'Look, Jake, I don't want any inappropriate comments, but...' Or, 'Jake, don't even think about cracking some lame joke, but...' Or even, 'Pretend you know nothing about what happened between me and Guy Leeson, but...'

Once we got to the 'but' it would be plain sailing.

I wondered if, in the hotel room with Guy, I'd be able to say the same about the 'butt'.

It was obvious that, if we did commit to arranging something and the four of us were to stay over somewhere, I'd have to make sure that Guy and I didn't share a room which was right next door to that of our sons. Even staying opposite them on the same corridor might be rather too close for comfort.

It would be similar to the problem I had anticipated about bringing a man back home with me from the office Christmas party. In both cases, the prospect of having my son listening to my clumsy homosexual fumblings from an adjoining room was not something I wished to endure. With Guy, my discomfort would be exacerbated by having both of our sons overhearing our attempts to couple up.

Jake would be fully aware – if indeed Simon didn't suspect – that when our respective doors were closed for bedtime, events in the room the two of us dads were sharing would soon be taking a sexual direction. He would assume that, at some point during the evening, his father would end up tonguing his friend's dad's arse-crack and he would probably expect that one or both of us would get sucked. I didn't like the fact he knew enough about my sexual habits to presume I would want to rim Guy for a second time, nor that his knowledge of sex between men was sufficiently lurid for him to regard oral stimulation as commonplace. I didn't like it, but it seemed to be rather how things had turned out.

What I was less comfortable with was that, knowing Jake as I did, I was aware that he would not fail to discern and recognise our more intimate sounds. He'd visualise us squatting together, listening to his friend's dad noisily pleasuring himself between his own father's eager buttocks. He would know, from the slapping of my cheeks against Guy's pelvis, that I was pushing my bum back against his cock, revelling in the sensation of being so roughly buggered by him. He would hear me gasping and crying out, perhaps dimly conceiving that the balls which had given rise to him were being repeatedly thumped by those in the swinging scrotum of another man.

I found that I didn't really care that Jake might assume that I would want to rim Guy and that we might do some other foreplay together; I wasn't even that bothered that his friend Simon might realise that the guttural noises he could hear from our room were somewhat more than just drunken horseplay. It was the thought of the two of them – but my son in particular – hearing me being sodomised by another man that I had issues with. This was why our rooms would have to be far apart – preferably on different floors, if that were possible.

I didn't want Jake to find out – through sounds he might hear or from what we might call out – that his father was more than willing to receive a man from behind without expecting him to reciprocate in turn. If he really had to imagine me with another man, for some reason I wouldn't be too bothered to think of him visualising me as the dominant partner: for him to see me as the man behind; for him to imagine me holding onto Guy's hips and looking down at his hairy crack as my cock ploughed back and forth into his gaping hole; for him to think it was my balls whacking against Guy's and my spittle dribbling down onto his back.

If Jake had to know I was having sex with Simon's dad, I wanted him to picture me thrusting myself, with energy and vigour, into the other man; not being fucked by him.

At the very least I wanted him to think that, if his dad had submitted his backside to another man's cock, that I'd done so purely in order to similarly gratify myself. That I'd let my arse be used by his friend's father so that I could, in time, enjoy swapping positions and using his equivalent hole to experience the same thrill. To know that, even if I was being loosened by having to pay my dues to another man, my own rod would soon be more than making up for the time it had lost.

But it wouldn't be like that. I'd be the guy in front, taking it unconditionally from his friend's father. I'd be the one on all fours, being shafted by the bigger, hairier man, groaning with pleasure as my arse was stretched wide. I'd be the one beating myself off, my mouth gasping, as I was roughly butt-fucked by a man whose slick, furry crack I'd just licked. I'd be the one spraying my semen up the wall as the man behind pulled me close to him and pumped his own seed, hot from his sweaty balls, up into my bowels.

I might be calling out, "Give me it, Guy! Squirt it up my arse!" And he might be shouting, "Take it, Rob! Take my fucking load!"

And, as trickles of his juices leaked down the insides of my thighs as he shuddered behind me, "God – that smells hot! Jesus Christ, mate!"

We'd have to be on different floors. Maybe in different hotels.

===

Once again I was musing on how one would get from A to B in the simplest most straightforward way. This wasn't a geographical problem: this was the problem of what would happen between Guy and me from closing our bedroom door after saying goodnight to our sons, to stripping naked and enjoying our brief but hopefully satisfying male-to-male tryst on one of our hotel beds.

I was at my desk at work, halfway through checking someone else's awe-inspiringly dull product specifications and unable to stop my mind from wandering.