I glanced across at Pete as I took off my shirt. Perhaps because he was a lot younger than me, he seemed oblivious to any sense of self-consciousness or embarrassment that the two of us were having to share a room and get undressed together. He looked young enough to have graduated from college in the last couple of years and might have been used to sharing a room when he was there.
When I'd heard that we had to go on a course in Bristol, the prospect of staying over had sounded like it might be a treat. I knew that the hotel our company used, The Halfway Inn near Cribbs Causeway, was a fairly basic affair on the edge of an industrial estate, but it's always nice to sleep somewhere different and especially to have a cooked breakfast served up in the morning.
A few days later, though, finance had told us that the four of us men who were going had to double up in two twin rooms for the sake of economy. Having in mind two of the guys I was going with - both in their late fifties and both sweatily overweight - I resolved that I would prefer not to stay over and instead would get up at four in the morning to make the drive to Bristol in time for the early start.
But then I'd been told that I'd be sharing with Pete Lehman, one of the new recruits from planning. And I'd immediately figured that didn't seem half as bad.
Pete is a tall guy in his early twenties and, while hardly the best looking bloke I've ever met and dim-witted to the point of notoriety, as soon as I heard his name he struck me as someone I might be able to get drunk and have some late night fun with. I knew him to be straight - I'd seen his humourless girlfriend drop him off outside reception some mornings - but he seemed pliable enough that, with a bit of gentle persuasion and a few glasses of something rather stronger, he might be coaxed into letting me help him out with the erection that young men always seemed to have.
And even if I just managed to get a sniff of his discarded underwear while he was in the bathroom, it would be a good deal better than me spending the night alone at home.
"Does it bother you having to share like this?" I asked him as he was unbuttoning his shirt and I sat down to take off my shoes.
He shrugged and said, "Not really. I used to go travelling with my mates before I met Shelley, and we'd usually share to save on costs."
I nodded, assuming Shelley to be his po-faced girlfriend.
If he'd been travelling with his mates, that could only be a good sign. Perhaps a few favours might have been traded among a group of horny lads in the closeness of a shared hostel room. At the very least, once he was tipsy he'd be up for having a wank with me after lights out - each in our own beds to begin with, of course.
"Are you sure I can't tempt you to a drink?" I asked. I'd brought a bottle of Johnnie Walker especially for this moment.
"Naah," he said. "I had a glass of wine with the meal. I don't want to be hungover in the morning. They might start asking us questions or something."
He seemed the type of person who would be terrified by directed questions at the best of times.
I nodded in spite of my disappointment. There was no point in pouring one for myself; I might end up doing something I'd regret in the morning.
The plan had been to get him nicely merry and then confide in him - apologetically, of course - that I always needed to masturbate before sleeping. In his half-drunken state, the likelihood was that he would join in with the noisy fist-pounding I'd give my cock after lights-out and then I'd get up and go over to his bed and confide that I knew a few tricks that could help bring him off.
But that wasn't to be. There was no way I could suggest something so uncouth to a colleague who wasn't at least halfway to being drunk.
I stood up and pulled down my trousers as Pete took off his shirt. I was wearing a tight white pair of Calvin Klein briefs which I'd worn deliberately to show my bum off at its best. There didn't seem a lot of point in that now.
To my surprise, though, I could feel Pete peering over at me as I stepped out of my trousers. I folded them up and put them on the back of the chair near to my bed, wearing just my underpants and socks. All the time, he made no bones about the fact he was checking me out. He stared over at my bulge as if fascinated by it, smiling and nodding appreciatively.
"You fill those out pretty nicely, Rob," he remarked after seeing that I had noticed his interest.
I was pleased at his attention but thought I ought to take a modest line. Straight men are often intimidated when other men with large genitals: as an especially well-endowed bloke, that's a rule of thumb I've found it useful to work to.
"I think it's the way they're cut," I said coyly. "They have a very supportive pouch to emphasize the... er... shape of what's inside."
He chuckled. "Oh, right... yeah, I've seen those kinds of briefs in shops. They have a sort of strap inside them, don't they?"
"Some of them do."
Mine didn't: I didn't need any help to be able to make the sort of mound in my underwear you could stand a row of books on.
"Don't they hurt your balls, though?" he asked. "Doesn't the strap dig in?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "With this type, I think it's all in the stitching."
I was lying, of course: these were just fairly bog-standard briefs, albeit well-branded ones with a generous fit for guys who were built like me.
I went into the little bathroom, still wearing my socks, to clean my teeth.
"Well, they look good on you, Rob," he called over to me, apparently enjoying the view of my crotch from the side.
This was starting to seem hopeful. I'd have to be careful how I played things from here. I really didn't want to mess things up at such a crucial point.
"Thanks," I smiled, squirting a gob of toothpaste onto my brush. "It's quite refreshing to be with a guy who can be so open about finding another man attractive - I like that."
He laughed as I started brushing my teeth. "I'm not like these guys who pretend they can't see that another blokes is handsome or whatever. I don't think it's gay to admit stuff like that."
I nodded over at him, smiling past my toothbrush to let him know I agreed.
He was pulling down his own trousers to reveal a lime green pair of boxer briefs which had crisp white piping around the fly and along the hems. His thin, limp penis was clearly defined within their roomy pouch, tucked between the paired bumps of his ample testicles.
I wondered whether any of his travelling buddies had ever sucked away at that very prick in the quiet darkness of a lonely tent. Whether the large set of bollocks he was concealing had ever emptied their collective loads down such a companion's gagging throat, before sleeping bags had been zipped back up and backs had been turned against one another.
He went on, "I mean, I'd rather you were my girlfriend standing there in her panties and bra. But just because you're another fella, it doesn't mean that I can't admire the view in a different way."
I took the brush out of my mouth. "That's exactly how I feel, Pete," I said through a mouthful of foam. "I love having a woman in my life - Christ, I was married to one for over a decade - but I can appreciate that men can be attractive to."
He nodded and stepped out of his trousers, turning towards his bed to fold them and prevent creases. His bum looked very appealing in his underwear: his cheeks were pleasantly round and the material between them had worked up deeply into his crack.
I'd ogled his bum countless times through his cheap black trousers at work: every time I had cause to go to his office I'd deliberately ask him to fish one of the files out from the bottom drawer for me. I loved watching his arse when he bent over: how the pert, round cheeks pressed outwards against the material and how the hem down the middle rode alluringly between them. It looked even better now in just his boxer briefs and I was determined to get an even closer look at it before the night was out.
I finished brushing my teeth as he continued chatting. "I think all guys must feel like us, but they're just scared to admit it. They're worried people will think they're gay or something."
I spat out the foam and rinsed my mouth. Then I said, "I don't worry about guys thinking I was gay. It wouldn't bother me at all. I can see the sexual appeal of men as well as women. If that makes me partly gay, then so be it."
He smirked over at me. "Can you see the sexual appeal in me?"
I smiled back, feeling even more pleased at the way the conversation was going. "Of course I can, Pete. You're a very attractive man. I'd have to be a fool not to see that."
He smiled more broadly. He liked the compliment, and I felt a little guilty that it had mostly been a lie.
I suddenly realised that with his big, dopey eyes and gormless grin, he reminded me of the large rodent-like creature from the film 'Ice Age'. Sid, I seemed to remember him being called.
