Game Boy

The little office was cramped and cluttered, and the tall ginger youth who seemed to be in charge had to move a few boxes of disposable coffee cups aside before he could shut the door.

Once we were alone I could tell how nervous he was: he'd clearly never had to deal with a problem like me on one of his shifts. His name badge announced that he was called Elliot and was today's duty manager. I'd only noticed one other employee working in the cafe - a spotty lank-haired girl who looked like she'd just crawled out from a well on someone's TV - so I figured he must be managing her.

He said, with his voice faltering like an adolescent's, "If it was drugs you guys were doing in there, I'd have already called the police."

I nodded and smiled pleasantly at him. "Lucky we weren't then."

"It's a coffee shop bathroom," he went on. "You can't just do the stuff you were doing in a public place like that."

"It's hardly a public place," I countered. "It's private enough for people to defecate in it, so it has to be private enough for what we were doing."

"It's in the middle of the cafe," he argued back. "Little kids could be running in."

"The door was locked," I asserted. "Or at least it was until you unlocked it with your master key. I should point out that it was you, Elliot, who opened it and allowed any little kids who were running about to see what we were doing."

He blushed at that and then, realising I had the upper hand by having read his name badge, stuttered, "Wha... what's... er... your name?"

"Robert," I smirked. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"I'd had a complaint from a couple of customers who'd seen you both going in there," he argued. "I think it was reasonable for me to unlock the door to the toilet."

"You could have warned us by knocking," I quipped cheerfully. "I'm no expert in the law but isn't illegal for a person to deliberately expose the public to a sexual act? I suppose the police will know about that, when you call them, that is..."

He flushed more deeply and muttered, "Look, I don't want to have to involve anyone else in this." His body language betrayed how uncomfortable he was feeling; I noticed a thin film of sweat forming on his forehead.

"You said you had your policies to follow," I reminded him.

"Well... er... yes... I did," he stammered, and then remembering something from his training and hoping to diffuse a problem for which he was clearly feeling at least partly to blame, added, "but we also have anti-homophobia policies and I wouldn't want to... you know... tread on any of those."

I was about to continue toying with him by telling him that we were okay on that score since I don't label myself as gay, when suddenly his greasy-haired colleague poked her head around the office door and asked her duty manager when he'd be coming out to help her deal with the queue.

"I can't come now!" he snapped. "Can't you see, I'm interrogating this guy?!"

She threw him a weary look of exasperation and then disappeared off again, closing the office door behind her.

"Why would you do something like that in a cafe toilet?" he asked, perhaps trying to reassert his authority and get his 'interrogation' off to a more promising start.

"Something like what?" I asked, wondering if he'd seen me with my face planted firmly in my brief acquaintance's backside.

"Something like what the two of you were doing," he said, as if unable to elaborate on the shocking sight he'd witnessed.

"Okay," I said, remaining warm and cordial. "I was about to do a favour for the young man who you saw make such a hasty exit. So in return he was doing a favour for me."

"What favour were you going to do for him?" he asked.

"A favour that was very much between him and me," I returned.

He nodded and hesitated before suggesting, "So let's say I just drop all this, Robert."

I smiled even though I couldn't really see what other option he had.

He tensed up and looked uncomfortable again as he added, almost like he was forcing himself to, "But if I do drop it, that means I'm doing a favour for you, doesn't it?"

I nodded. "I suppose it does, yes."

"So... what do you think you could... er... do for me?"

"What could I do for you?" I chirped. This was suddenly turning out more interesting than I could have hoped.

I'd been wishing I'd followed Curtis out of the bathroom, pushing past the gawky duty manager and following my young conspirator across to HMV, so I could have bought him the game I'd promised him. I might not have achieved exactly what I'd hoped to when I'd had my face pressed into his odorous butt, but since he'd given me his anilingual virginity, if I can call it that, I felt it was only fair that I repaid him in full.

But now I suddenly understood why Elliot had appeared so tense. There was a good deal more in this for him than just giving some pervert he'd caught in flagrante in the cafe bogs a stern telling off.

"Yeah," he nodded, trying to seem like he was the one in control. "Like you and your... er... friend in the loo... doing favours is a two-way thing, isn't it?"

He would sound a lot more convincing, I thought, if he was saying all this with a confident sneer and forcing a more assured cockiness from his body language. As it was, though, he was making it obvious that he was out of his league, with his bunny-in-the-headlights stare and an involuntary fidgetiness that was becoming quite distracting.

"What do you mean, Elliot?" I asked, hoping that some of my relaxed composure might rub off onto him.

"I just mean," he said, swallowing with a noisy gulp, "that if I don't call the cops... that maybe... you could do something for me in return...?"

"Okay," I smiled. "That sounds entirely reasonable. What would you like me to do?"

If he was thinking of getting me to clean the coffee-making machine, I'd do the runner I perhaps should have done when the young man calling himself Curtis had legged it from the cafe.

But fortunately his intentions were far less honourable.

"I want you to do to me what you were doing to that other dude when I opened the door of the toilet," he said, managing to get it all out without stuttering this time.

I looked him up and down. He was quite attractive in his way. He was tall and slim but a little geeky and obviously very shy - not that those last two counted as firm negatives, but rather as contrasts to his positives - and in his coffee shop uniform and with his ginger hair gelled into a quiff he came across as somebody one wouldn't immediately say 'no' to.

So I didn't say 'no' but instead said, "And what was I doing to that other ... er... dude?"

"Sucking his knob," he replied with misplaced certainty. It seemed that my companion had already swivelled around as he hitched his trousers up by the time Elliot had seen him.

"Actually, I wasn't," I grinned. "I was rimming his arse."

He faltered at that, suddenly unsure of what my motives with him might be. "What does that mean? I didn't see you guys doing anything... er... too full-on..."

"It means I was licking around the muscular ring of his anus."

He stared at me for a few seconds, his eyes tending towards disbelief without him being able to shake off the conviction that I was telling the truth, before saying, "Okay, so I'm not really interested in that. I just want you to suck my cock."

He stared at my face intently, perhaps expecting revulsion, but I just stared back impassively and he thought it prudent to correct himself. "I mean, it's not that I want you to. Well, not you specifically. I just want a mouth around my knob... but obviously I'd prefer it if it was a girl who was doing it."

"Oh really? A girl?" I smirked back with a heavy dose of incredulity.

He held my gaze and said, "Of course a girl."

"Okay," I chuckled. "I'll suck your cock, if it'll stop you from doing the unthinkable and calling the police about me."

"What... like all the way until it's proper in your mouth?"

"If that's what it takes," I sighed, with a weary shrug.

"Alright then, kneel down in front of me," he told me. His voice was shaky: he was really agitated about wanting this. I wasn't sure if his nervousness stemmed from the fact he really did fancy girls but none of them had obliged him orally, or if he was actually gay but had never had the guts to explore it.

I rather suspected the latter from the way he was trembling and the sweat that was pouring out of his forehead.

I went over to him and knelt down between his feet among plastic-wrapped cylinders of coffee cup lids. He unzipped himself and pulled a surprisingly large tube of meat out from his fly. It was limp but lusciously long and thick and had a chubby, bulbous head underneath a foreskin which was so much longer than it needed to be.

I said, "You've got a very nice cock, Elliot. If you don't mind me saying."

He beamed down at me, and I wondered if nobody had ever complimented it. Or whether nobody other than his mum and the midwife had ever actually seen it.

I took it in my hand and caressed it gently, feeling it respond to my touch by firming up ever so slightly so that its already solid girth started swelling still further against my fingers. I thought it was rather pretty how the end of the over-generous foreskin tapered into a long, puckered gape, reminding me of the trumpet of a daffodil flower.

I was about to say that it was such an attractive cock that I would never in a million years have matched it with the long lanky ginger bloke it happened to be attached to.

But he cut in with, "It's a bit deformed. The skin doesn't pull back all the way."

I smiled up at him, my mouth watering at the anticipation of having a taste of the lovely pudgy-looking thing. "That doesn't mean it's deformed, Elliot. It just means that's how your cock happens to work and you've got to find ways to enjoy it regardless."

"I won't be able to fuck anyone, though," he whined. "It hurts to wank off sometimes, so there's no way I'll be able to push it up anyone's bum."

"Bum?" I asked. "I thought you said you were into girls... don't you mean vagina?"

"Oh yeah," he said quickly. "That's what I meant!"

"Let me suck it for you," I offered kindly, "and get it nice and hard. Then then we'll see how far back I can work your foreskin using my spit for lube. How does that sound?"

He grinned at me broadly like it was Christmas morning. "Ah yeah, that'd be dead good, that would!"

I smiled back up at him, thinking that if I played things deftly, I might be able to wangle a lot more than just a few minutes of mere cock-sucking from the young duty manager.

I eased his foreskin back as far as it could comfortably go, revealing a centimetre or so of the slimy pink cock head lurking shyly underneath it. I took a whiff and found it deliciously sharp and acrid, reeking strongly of stale piss and the leftovers of countless climaxes. Soon I was snuffling hungrily at it, savouring its sharp, acrid tang; fascinated by the intensity of the odour he was hiding away and which probably only rarely emerged through the opening of his tight, unobliging foreskin.

I pressed forwards and gently sucked the gooey slit at the tip of it, and felt him shudder with surprise. The skin around the shaft of his cock slid forwards through my fingers, quickly lengthening against them and pushing them apart as his already ample girth thickened still further.

He was clearly a big strapping lad in the trouser stakes once he got going, was our Elliot!

He'd been right to worry about sex, though; especially if it was the anal variety that he had on his radar. Not only did he have his foreskin problem to concern him, but the way his organ was growing - and it wasn't even hard enough to be called a semi yet! - it would probably be far too large to squeeze up a potential boyfriend's butt.

"Pull your trousers down, son," I gently proposed. "Let's see this lovely knob of yours properly with your bollocks hanging down for me to play with!"

He hastily unclipped his belt and pulled his black coffee-stained trousers down around his thighs. His briefs underneath were the most hideous paisley-patterned Y-fronts I'd ever seen: a throwback from the 'seventies probably bought for him by his mum from some stall on the market. Although I might have enjoyed having a sniff to find where his long rubbery foreskin had dribbled onto the material, I reached up to the bobbled waistband and yanked the godawful things down to get them out of my view.

If I were to meet up with him again and this was to become a regular thing for us - no matter how unlikely that seemed at this moment - my first present for him, wrapped exquisitely and tied with a simple black ribbon, would be a pack of decent quality underwear.

I leaned forwards again, towards his startlingly red pubic bush, to get my mouth around a good few inches of his rapidly stiffening organ. It was hugely satisfying to feel it getting larger and thicker against the roof of my mouth and I slurped at it contentedly, enjoying the sour taste of his precum as it trickled onto my tongue.

I licked underneath his foreskin, coaxing it open with my spit, and eased it back and forth with my lips, making gentle masturbatory movements as I slowly worked it backwards. His slit was dribbling copiously, producing a constant ooze of sharp-tasting juice; so much that I was forced to swallow it down in steady gulps.

"Mmm... yeah..." he sighed as I swept my mouth back and forth along his organ as it continued to bulk up. I kept working at him, gesturing for him to hold my head as I pleasured him, and he kept grunting and sighing as my lips and tongue did their best to stimulate him every way they could.

I've never been much of a fan of receiving oral myself, but I always find it rewarding to be able elicit such an appreciative response from other men from the simple act of wrapping my mouth around their eager penises. Elliot was no exception and he greatly enjoyed the gentle sucking action of my hot, wet throat against the head of his cock which grew and inflated until it was completely filling the back of my mouth.

"Have you ever had a blowjob before?" I asked him after releasing him momentarily to recover my breath.

"Yeah, once round the back of a nightclub," he revealed. "Some bloke I met at the bar offered to suck me off."

"Some bloke?" I queried. "Don't you mean some bird?"

I was willing to continue the charade that he was straight if it made him more sexually comfortable to think I believed it.

"No, it was a bloke," he admitted, blushing a little. "I think I'm into... er... you know... dude stuff, actually."

"You don't say...?" I retorted, trying to look surprised.

"Yeah, it's looking that way. The thing about wanting to push my knob up someone's bum... well, yeah... it would defo be a bum and it would have to belong to another fella, I reckon."

"Thank you for being honest," I smiled as warmly as I could.

Several possibilities occurred to me but I didn't want to spoil things by rushing in too brashly, so I got back to attending to his steadily rising tumescence with all the dexterity I could muster from my lips, tongue and throat.

His foreskin wasn't stretching any wider than it had earlier: indeed the swelling of his plump bell-end was hindering my efforts to roll it back any further. He'd probably accomplished far more on his own using a tub of Vaseline and a movie showing 'dude stuff' streaming on his laptop.

Soon, growing bored with the steady slurping up and down his supple tool, I reached around to fondle Elliot's surprisingly pert backside. For a big scrawny lad he had a very full pair of buttocks and I wondered if maybe he cycled to work because they had a solidness and musculature to them that seemed very much at odds with the rest of his frame.

He seemed to enjoy the sensation of having his chunky arse groped because he started working his butt-crack insistently back against my hand. Encouraged, I took the initiative to ease an exploratory finger into his hot, clammy hole, feeling my own cock harden fully in my trousers at the sensation of the thick muddy sludge lurking just inside the tightness of his ring.

If only I could wangle things so it was my tongue instead of my finger pushing its way up into such a captivating opening!

But no... he'd already said he wasn't interested in rimming. Better take things slowly so as not to frighten the horses.

Even if he wasn't too fussed about being rimmed, Elliot positively loved the feel of having my finger push into his sticky opening and started pushing his bum firmly and rhythmically downwards onto my hand. Soon he was frantically thrusting his hips so that his huge stiffened cock was sweeping back and forth at the same time that my finger was rapidly and roughly reaming his noisy slurping arsehole.

"Oh God, that feels so fucking hot!" he cried out, and I smiled with his big cock hammering against the back of my mouth, loving the effect my outstretched finger was having on him.

Suddenly he pulled off me and announced, "I can't do that anymore, mate. I'm gonna cum so hard!"

"I don't mind you climaxing in my mouth," I smiled up at him. "In fact, I'd rather like it!"

"What, for real?" he asked, looking confused. "The other guy who blew me off - the bloke out the back of the nightclub - said nutting off in someone's mouth was a total no-no. Not to be done unless I wanted my dick bitten off."

"It's true that some guys draw the line at that," I nodded. "But I think the dick biting thing was probably specific to him."

Without thinking, I pulled my finger out from his bum and took a long, appreciative sniff of the moist, discoloured residue that was streaked along it. My pounding hard-on strained against the front of my trousers from the wonderfully sleazy stink of the young duty manager's arse.

Elliot looked down at me and laughed, "Oh Jesus, mate! I so can't believe you just did that!"

"Oh sorry," I said, suddenly blushing at my inelegance. "It's just... well... I rather like the whiff of a guy's bum."

"No way!" he chuckled. "I like that too! I thought it was just something weird about me... something only I do!"

I grinned up at him and he explained, "I used to nick my mates' skiddy keks when they were in the showers after P.E. I used to love having a good wank-off after school with the backs of their pants on my face, jacking my dick off while I was sniffing at their arses!"

"Oh my God!" I laughed. "If only I'd had the wit and imagination when I was that age!"

"It was the fucking best!" he affirmed. "I used to shoot my muck up to the ceiling!"

"What were you thinking about when you were doing it?" I asked him, thinking I probably knew the answer.

He hesitated, smirking naughtily at me, before confessing with a rather adorable blush, "I was imagining that the smell... you know... the sort of dirty, sweaty stink you get on the back of a dude's pants where they've hitched up into his arse-crack..."

"Yes...?" I encouraged him.

"Well, I used to pretend it was the smell of me doing my mate up the bum... him bending over and whacking his dick off... me behind him knobbing him really hard!"

I laughed at his admission. "You're a very interesting young man, Elliot, do you know that?"

He beamed at me and I pulled back from him to admire his full hard-on with my eyes rather than with my mouth. It had taken a while to gradually lengthen and harden but now that it was arching upwards in all its magnificent glory with the girth of its huge shaft engorged to beercan thickness, I quickly resolved that it had been well worth the wait.

His erection - along with his large, swollen knackers, for that matter - looked even more impressive because of his lean, skinny frame. His lanky body accentuated the already impressive size of his fully aroused manhood and his straining nutsack looked all the more massive bulging down heavily in front of his scrawny legs.