The Halfway Inn pt. 01

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.

I walked back into the room, popped my toothpaste and brush back into my toiletries bag and then bent down to pull off my socks.

"Whoa!" Pete called out. "What's that thing in the back of your briefs? Is it another support or something?"

I stood up and looked over at him, not understanding. "What do you mean?"

"There's like a big round ring right between your bum-cheeks. Rubber or plastic or something. Doesn't it hurt?"

I felt myself blush, realising that I had just inadvertently given him a flash of my rear entrance which had recently started taken on a very different appearance from those of most other men. I'd often fantasized about having someone recognise how plump and stretched - and to my mind, inviting - my anus had become, but now that it was happening for real and with a younger colleague, I suddenly felt acutely embarrassed.

"It's... er... not part of the underwear..." I muttered.

"What is it then?" he asked innocently. "It's like a big, raised circle which stuck out when you bent down..."

He made an arc shape with his finger and thumb, as if wrapping them around an invisible tube. I blushed more deeply, realising that the hole he was making was quite blatantly the same girth as some of the large, erect cocks that had recently cleaved me open so blatantly back there.

I cursed myself for having been so sexually active this last week or so. In the last four nights alone, I'd been roughly fucked by three different men; one of whom proudly revealed that he had a cock as thick as his forearm. My arsehole must be as loose as an open manhole and so swollen that it puckered outwards like the distended neck of a very wide bottle.

Pete just stood and gawped that dopey expression at me as I managed to answer, "I think what you saw, Pete, might have been... well...part of me, actually..."

"Part of you?" he asked vacantly.

"Yeah," I said, reluctant to clarify but seeing that I had to. "I think it was my arsehole. It gets quite large and inflamed sometimes."

Now it was his turn to blush, only much more strongly than me. His cheeks went almost purple in colour.

"Oh, right," he stammered. "Sorry, mate. Fuck - I didn't know. Is it like some sort of medical condition?"

I shook my head. I didn't want him to think that. I'd rather that he knew the truth than to think that.

"No, Pete. It's not like that. It's something that... well..."

I thought I'd try another tack.

"You know when I said I find men attractive...?" I began.

He nodded stupidly.

"Well, sometimes - when other men find me attractive too - we express that attraction in a physical way."

He didn't seem to understand but just continued to stare at me blankly.

"What I mean is," I went on uncertainly, "while I like having sex with women and I love getting intimate with my girlfriend, with the right guy and the right situation, sometimes I... well... I rather like to play for the other team as well."

"But your arsehole?" he asked, ignoring my attempt to explain. "It's so big!"

I smiled. In spite of Pete's discomfort, I was starting to feel less self-conscious. This was, after all, what I had fantasized about countless times and, if I handled it deftly, I thought I might be able to steer things towards the destination I'd had in mind from the beginning.

"Given what I've just told you I do with it, it is going to be rather bigger than normal, isn't it?"

Now I sounded like a primary school teacher trying to get an especially slow kid to understand a simple point.

And yet he still didn't get it.

"What do you do with it?" he asked with genuine confusion.

"I told you," I said, holding my smile. "I like women but I play around with men sometimes. It's not a big deal."

He looked at me blankly. This wasn't sinking in at all. I'd known he was thick but I hadn't expected this.

At length he asked, as if it might help, "Can I see it again?"

"You're asking to see my arsehole?"

He shrugged. "Yeah. I'm just curious. I've never seen anything like it, that's all."

"But it's my arsehole, Pete. It's kind of private."

"Well, you can see mine if you want to."

Nice one, Mr Furlong, I thought. Very deftly played.

I nodded. "Okay then. In that case - yeah, why not?"

I turned around and bent over for him, sticking my bum outwards so that my plump and enlarged ring would push outwards against the material of my briefs.

"Jesus!" he called out. "Your butt-hole is fucking massive, mate!"

I smiled, flaunting my large, bloated ring for him and enjoying the fact that it was level with his crotch. It was pity the slight bulge in the pouch of his shorts was so far unresponsive: if he'd been running a hard-on by now, poking outwards towards my fat, puffy hole, this would have been so much more encouraging. I might even have allowed myself to 'accidentally' step backwards so that the back of my underwear pushed into the front of his.

Instead, I asked, "Do you like it, Pete?"

"It's a bit weird," he chuckled. "But yeah! It's pretty cool!"

I relaxed my anus so I could feel the swollen entrance of it puckering more firmly against my underwear, making a large distended 'O' shape - quite patently stretched to a generous cock size - between my cheeks.

And then, still none the wiser, he asked, "If it's not a medical thing, how did it get so big, then, Rob?"

I was going to have to spell it out to him. The subtle approach just wasn't working for him.

"Is it as wide as finger?" I asked him, pushing it towards him.

"No," he replied. "It's much bigger than that."

"As big as, say, a carrot?"

"No, mate. Even bigger."

"As wide, then, as the shaft of another bloke's hard-on?"

"Yeah!" he said triumphantly. "It's exactly that size!"

I stood up again and turned to face him. He was staring at me with an expression that showed he still didn't quite get it.

"So why do you think it might be that size?" I asked him with a smirk. "Given my appreciation for the attentions of other men?"

He looked at me incuriously for a few seconds and then the penny finally dropped and his eyes gaped open. "Oh!" he exclaimed. "Oh, right! You like having blokes bum you up your arse!"

And, then, with a triumphant grin: "I get it now!"

I chuckled and nodded. "So now you know, Pete. And I'd kind of appreciate it if you didn't gossip too widely about me at work."

"I won't!" he insisted. "Definitely not, mate. I just... wow! I had no idea! I thought you were... you know... Mr Straight Laced, I suppose."

I chuckled again. "I am straight. I love women. I just... well... I like the sensation of having a guy doing that to me too. Only as a release - nothing more than that."

"What, like, just for kicks? No commitment or anything? No boyfriend stuff?"

"Exactly," I smiled. "Just like having a wank together, kind of. Except I like it when a guy wants to use my backside for his pleasure. No more than that."

He nodded thoughtfully. I let the comparison between what I was admitting I did with my bum and straightforward mutual masturbation filter through to his brain. If he had played around with any of his travelling companions, even if he'd just had a quick tug with another horny bloke under the cover of their sleeping bags, he might be persuaded that what I was suggesting was just a small step further.

Eventually he nodded more resolutely and said, "Yeah... I suppose it sounds like a good deal. I mean, it's not like cheating, is it?"

"Of course not," I smiled, growing in confidence at how easy he was to manipulate. "It's no different from wanking using porn to help you out. In this case, though, you're just using a friend's behind to achieve the same outcome."

"It's just like being bum chums," he suggested brightly.

"That's it exactly!" I laughed.

He nodded again. "And that's how your arsehole became so big? Helping out friends? Letting your mates stick their cocks up it?"

I nodded back, smiling casually like this was such an ordinary conversation for two men to be having when they were sharing a room. "That's right. Mates who get hard up or whose wives won't serve up the goods often enough. Or just to help out guys I happen to find myself with and who feel a bit horny... like in this sort of situation."

He stared into my eyes and I could almost hear the cogs turning in his head.

He asked, "Can I see it again? Without your pants on?"

I considered the request before replying, "Only if I can see yours. Like you agreed."

He smiled and nodded. "Okay. But mine's not like yours, Rob. Mine's really small and tight."

"Just like mine used to be," I explained. "Before I realised that it's so much more fun when it's not."

He laughed and I gestured him over to the full length mirror which was on the back of the door to the room.

We stood with our backs to it, looking over our shoulders at our bums in our underwear. I bent forwards first, puckering the ring of my anus outwards in my briefs so it made a large gaping opening raised up like a sink hole between my buttocks.

Pete laughed and said, "Wow!"

Christ, my hole looked like it had been ploughed by a truckload of squaddies. The ring was so dilated it was like a full-page advertisement that I liked to be buggered. It was shameful really!

Nevertheless, I flaunted it for him, wiggling my hips slightly to show off my unusual attribute as it made a large, proud circle against the back of my underpants.

Pete seemed impressed with what I was parading for him. "That is fucking mint, mate!" he laughed.

"Do you think so?" I asked.

"Yeah," he laughed. "If you're into ... you know... taking your mates' knobs up there, it shows you've been having some great fun!"

I smiled. "I suppose I have been."

"Christ, you could reverse a fucking truck up there!" he said and then laughed more loudly.

I had to laugh back. "Come on, it's not that big!"

"Does it stick out between your cheeks when you're wearing your trousers?" he asked.

"Not yet, I don't think. But I'm hoping eventually it'll get so big that everyone will be able to see it as a massive, gaping ring against the seat of my trousers when I bend over."

"But everyone'll know you like getting butt-fucked by other blokes," he queried.

"That's the whole point," I chuckled. "That's what appeals to me."

He laughed like he got it. "That is so fucking next!"

"Come on, then, Pete: bend forwards and show me yours."

He leaned forwards and pushed his bum out towards the mirror. His lime green boxer briefs eased out from the crack of his arse revealing nothing of the ring of his anus but exposing - quite blatantly - a crude brown skid mark right where his hole would be.

He blushed a dark shade of purple again as we both stared at it. There was no point in either of us pretending it was anything other than what it was.