Date: Wed, 13 Jul 2022 20:34:49 +0100
From: Todd Mitchell <gayjockgeek@gmail.com>
Subject: The Tale of an Aussie Rugby Bottom - Chapter 3

Author: Richard Saw

Categories: Adult Friends, Athletics

I've been a long-time reader of Nifty, adoring fan of so many writers.
This story: The Tale of an Aussie Rugby Bottom was a book that I
published via Amazon. I no longer sell it, but I decided that people here
might like to read it, and the sequel that I never published.

Characters in these stories do feature in my Holmes & Watson mystery
novels (available on Amazon, search Richard Saw), so if you like a little
mystery novel (with lots of sex and humour), please do look them up. But
I promise that all of the good stuff will be in these stories.

And yes, do send me fan mail.

And more importantly, please remember to donations to Nifty (using
link https://donate.nifty.org/). Your erections are in their hands!
The Tale of An Aussie Rugby Bottom, who also liked to Top - Chapter 3

After a few days where Max didn't return my calls or texts, I realised
it was true, he had dumped me like he said he would. Well that was the
wrong terminology to use of course because we'd not been going out or
anything. That bit was just in my head, he'd just moved on. And then I
realised that he'd taught me a few things -- first of which was that
he'd definitely opened my eyes to the fact that I needed cock. I needed
it bad. I was 22 but I suddenly felt like I had a lot to catch up on.

Now you could say that these days there are plenty of apps to help me
solve that problem and while I'd definitely made a break from my past
life, it's hard to immediately be someone else, you just have to learn
it all by yourself.

The apps were only partially useful, mostly because I still wasn't
convinced that I was gay. Or at least I wasn't like the guys that I met
online. Of course as I would later realise, I was exactly like those
guys, but I'd spent too many years pretending to be straight and even
though Max had done his best to convince me otherwise, I was still at
that `confused' stage. I'd lucked out and had a better first time than
most, but hey you take what you get given and even though Max had jumped
me along much quicker than I could have ever hoped, it was still a tall
hill to climb.

Of course the number one cause of my confusion was very definitely
Gordon. I don't recall ever having a teammate I was so close to. Well
yeah there was one, but that was long ago and another story. But as an
adult I had perfected the skill of being friendly but distant to my
teammates. I'd never let me guard down for any of them. They might have
thought I bonded with them, but I never really did. But Gordon was
handsome, mature, and friendly. Every time he saw me he smiled.
Genuinely, as if he was glad to see me which freaked me out.

Honestly, I couldn't remember anyone ever doing that. Well not someone
as hot as Gordon. Yeah... I think that's what the issue might have been.
With his support on the field I was quickly accepted into the club, and I
did my part. That's the think about being a Centre, you're that last
line of defence. I didn't have to think that much, I just had to defend.

We took to slipping away after training for our own drink, delaying
leaving the changing room as long as we could so that the rest of the
team would have gone to the pub before us. It became our little joke.
Then Gordon suggested we go running together. We'd meet up at his
hospital during a break in his shifts -- he'd still have his coat and
tie on with his stethoscope around his neck -- this was before the ban on
ties -- and we'd use his office to get changed. I'd seen Gordon naked
plenty of times but until you see a hot doctor drop his clothes in front
of you, sheesh! Even in rugby changing rooms Australians are remarkably
prudish and watching him strip off in record time, no towel to protect
his modesty or anything, I couldn't help but get excited.

His confidence made me feel more relaxed too. And then I found myself
dropping my work trousers and underwear before reaching for my running
shorts.

"See that's where all your power comes from," I heard Gordon say,
suddenly realising he was much closer than I thought.

"Where?" I said, starting to stand up.

"Here," and he firmly tapped my naked arse. I felt my skin break into
goose-pimples and I involuntarily clenched. "You have so much power in
these glutes and down into his legs," his hands moved down me as I
instantly tensed. "That's why you've got such stability and power."

"Aww you're making me blush," I laughed, feeling uncomfortable yet
seconds away from begging Gordon to fuck me.

"Com'n mate," he suddenly said, moving away. "Get those shorts on and
let's run."

It took me a few minutes into the run before my breathing got back to
normal. There was definitely something different about me. And now I
wasn't pretending that I just wanted to be this guy ... I wanted this
guy's cock up my arse.

The following weekend, Gordon introduced me to his wife Anika after the
match. She was a beautiful, slender, glamazon of Indian descent whose
pregnancy was barely showing. She was polite, friendly yet seemed to be
watching me out of the corner of her eye all night. It un-nerved me more
than I expected, especially when I saw her and Gordon talking intimately
on the balcony of the clubhouse. I realised right there and then how
jealous I was of her. I sulked over to the bar where some of my other
teammates where and quickly got a beer.

"Ya better watch yourself there mate," Bryce -- my fellow Centre --
said. He was always trying to get me to go clubbing with him and it had
taken me a while to realise that he was serious. I just wasn't used to
people wanting to hang around with me unless my brother was also around.

"Huh?" I mumbled.

"You wanna be careful of her, bra," Keith -- the fearsome Afrikaner
Full Back who was Bryce's best mate -- muttered into his pint. "You get
too friendly with Dr Gordon there and she's going to cause you
trouble."

"You're crazy!" I exclaimed but I couldn't help but wonder if Anika
knew what I wanted. I tried to be friendly to her later that evening, but
she treated me coolly. Gordon however didn't change his behaviour and he
insisted on running during the week and though he couldn't sneak off for
a drink after training, he offered to give me a lift to our away match. I
was delighted to take him up on the offer -- much better than a long trip
via the tube. Unfortunately the match proved to be an all-round disaster.
We were crushed, it rained and the visitors changing room showers didn't
work. We were supposed to troop across to another ablution block at the
local high school to use a couple of showers.

"Fuck that crap!" Gordon snorted. "Com'n Todd let's just go." And
so we did, leaving the rest of the team to their own devices we got into
his warm BMW and roared out of the carpark.

"I think I'm soaking into the car," I murmured as we drove off.

"Yeah me too," Gordon snorted. "Gunna have to get it detailed
tomorrow. Anika doesn't like it if the car gets dirty."

"But won't she see it when you get home?" I asked.

"Naww she's at her parents tonight," Gordon explained. "You wanna
come in and we can order in a pizza?"

"I'd love to, but I've realised, I left a pair of my running shoes in
my locker at the club, can we go back that way and pick `em up?"

"No worries, we'll swing by there and grab a shower. It's not that far
off the way home anyway," Gordon decided. We'd expected the second team
to be playing at home but when we got there the club was in darkness as
it turned out they had a bye in their round. Luckily Gordon had keys, so
we unlocked the changing room and turned on the showers.

"Shit I'm cold," I hissed, as I peeled off my wet, muddy kit and made
a dash for the warmth of the showers. The heat finally crept into our
bones and while I was drying off, Gordon managed to liberate a couple of
beers from the bar and with spare towels wrapped around us, we sat in the
quiet of the changing room.

"Fuck that performance was awful," Gordon finally declared.

"Sodding awful," I concurred.

"Like my love life," he replied.

I laughed. "Mate you're married. It's gotta be better than being
single."

"All I want mate is one blow job. Just one stinking blow job. Anika used
to do it all the time. She loved it. But ever since she got pregnant.
Damn... no more. She reckons the taste makes her gag now."

"Be thankful!" I grinned. "My last girlfriend never even put her lips
around mine."

Gordon opened his towel and a nice, thick, uncut cock sprung up. "Now
you're just making me need it even more!" And he carefully pulled the
foreskin back down so that the thick head of the cock emerged.

I just looked at it. My heart felt like it had stopped and yet my
breathing became more ragged. "I could suck it for you."

Was I really saying this? My heart was beating wildly now! Just one beer
and I was asking for it.

"Yeah?" Gordon said so quietly I barely heard it.

"Please Gordon," I said back. "I promise I won't tell anyone just let
help you out ok? Close your eyes and imagine it's a girl."

Gordon gave a little smile. "You don't have to beg mate," he said.
"You can suck my dick anytime."

I felt a massive surge of relief through me, and I dove down between
those legs, dropping my towel as I did. God that cock tasted fantastic. I
really, really wanted to do a great job, I wanted to make him happy. I
tried to do everything I'd learnt from Max to please him, licking around
the tip, and then swallowing the shaft in one go and then tightening it
as I moved back up. And then up and down fast.

It seemed to do the trick `cause it didn't take too long before Gordon
was moaning. "Oh yeah that's the stuff, fuck yeah." Coming from his
handsome, polite mouth it sounded even hotter. "I'm gunna cum," he
suddenly whispered. I nodded my head and kept my lips firmly around that
cock. "Oh fuck yeah," he hissed as those under-worked balls pushed cum
out by the bucket load into my mouth. I kept swallowing till I could feel
him slacken. "Oh that was mighty good," he sighed as I finally slid off
him. "You're a good cock-sucker mate. That was friggin' awesome!"

"Thanks," I said. At that moment if Gordon had asked me to marry him I
would have said yes. At that point in time I thought I'd achieved my
fantasy. I thought I'd met the guy I wanted to spend the rest of my life
with. And yes I know, don't even go there.

"Man I can't believe I'm not going to be around for more of this," he
whispered, suddenly exhausted by the day.

"Excuse me?" I said, shocked back into reality.

"Yeah," he rang his fingers through his hair and got up, wiping himself
off with his towel and starting to get dressed. "I've just accepted a
new job up near Birmingham. Anika is dead chuffed too as if takes her
near her family. We're heading up next week."

"No..." I almost whimpered. `Bam,' that was it. My little fantasy was
already crumbling.

"Hey it's ok," he smiled. "I'll be back down here often. We'll
still catch up for a drink," he said.

But I'd seen that smile before, really, truly. And then I went and said
the wrong thing. "I'd really love to suck your cock again before that
though."

Gordon gave me a smile but that smile said it all. "Hey mate, I'm
straight. You get that right..."

"Yeah yeah," I quickly gabbled. "I'm straight too. It's just, I mean
..."

He placed a hand on my shoulder, but I could feel the tremor through it.
"You'll meet someone mate. One day. Trust me. Now I've gotta get home.
I'll see you at training." And he walked out of the changing room, his
coat not on and his shoelaces undone. He could barely have got out of
there faster.

I guess I should have seen that coming but I was too young and foolish to
understand the reality of life. I went along to practice on Wednesday
with my heart in my mouth, but Gordon wasn't there, and the coach
announced that we were having to re-structure the team in light of him
leaving us. I was obviously distracted because late in the session, a
tackle went wrong, and my shoulder started to ache. And it stayed that
way for days, forcing me to skip our next match. Which I was beginning to
think I wasn't so upset about. My mind was struggling as a result of
everything that I had gone through with Max and then Gordon. I was
convinced that I wasn't gay but if I could find another straight boy who
wanted man-on-man sex then we could at least fool around.

The following Monday was a sticky, sweaty day and I'd stayed late,
working at the office. By the time I got home I was exhausted, my tie was
askew, and my white shirt plastered to my chest, outlining my pecs and
nipples.

I got into the lift to go up to my apartment and just as the doors were
closing, a hand shoved itself between them and thrust them back open
again. "Sorry `bout that geezer," the cockney lad said to me. He was
about my height but very slim. He was wearing a form-fitting grey suit,
his hair was held into place with good quantities of gel, his shoes were
polished, a cheeky grin was plastered on his face, and he adjusted his
tie in the mirror of the lift as the doors closed.

 "Hey big fella. What you up to tonight?" he grinned. "I'm on my way
up to see Tamara," he nudged me and gave a wink whose meaning could not
be misinterpreted. Tamara was a good-looking girl from a posh background
who did something though I had no idea what, but she did it with quite a
nice rack! We'd exchanged polite conversation and nods in the hallway
but that was it. That she was into a cockney geezer like this one was a
surprise but by now I had begun to think I'd forfeited the right to
believe I knew what girls wanted anyway.

"Really?" I asked. "Nice one."

"She's a posh lass alright but she's keen for a bit of `how's ya
father,'" he laughed. "Know what I mean?"

The lift opened at my floor, and I gave him a salute with a finger.
"Have fun then."

"What number flat do you live in?" he asked before the doors could
start to close.

"42," I replied.

"Aww then sorry mate," he sounded genuine for a moment. "Tamara's in
52. That's just above you right? It's gunna be loud and long mate. Hope
ya got ear plugs," and he gave a `hand-gun salute and a click of his
tongue.

I blinked my eyes at the now closing door. I'd met many Alpha men in my
time but this one was quite something.

Ian -- as I was quickly to learn his name (There's only so many times a
guy can yell, `Say my name bitch,' when he's fucking, before a girl is
going to start replying) was true to his word. The sex started about an
hour after I got in and lasted a good two more. He had stamina that boy.
But then it started up again about 2am and went through to 4am before a
final repeat from 6.30am through to when I had to leave for the office.
The walls between the apartments were thick but the floors less so. And
Tamara was on the top floor so that the only poor sod whose night was
interrupted by Tamara's posh tones groaning "Fuck me with that huuuuge
cock," and "Oh Ian take me, take me, taaaakkke me," and "I'll tell
mummy the nasty East End boy stuck his pee-pee up my po-po," was muggins
here. Of course Ian wasn't silent either. "Alright, alright, alright
you take it bitch," and "Damn Princess you ride me like that pony daddy
promised you," and "Oh yeah your mummy ain't here to see you drop your
knickers for me now is she?" and even the basic, "That's it baby, take
that cock. Hooo.... Yeah."

I woke up the next morning grumpy and sticky from the sweaty night. And
of course who should I see in the lift but Ian, looking as fresh as a
daisy, immaculately dressed, and grinning away as he adjusted his tie.

"Mate you weren't lying were you?" I said as I got in.

"He, he," he chortled. "I told ya geezer. I'm the best there is."

I couldn't disagree, or I was too tired to. "Mate I gotta give it to
you. You did her good and I've never heard such filthy sex talk," I
laughed, though I wasn't joking.

"You wait til tonight," he patted my big shoulder. "Gunna come back
tonight and give her the ole Donald Duck, know what I mean? He, he, he...
What about you mate?" He stopped the conversation flow. "You getting
any action tonight? Big fella like you. Ladies fallin' over themselves
to get out of their knickers for you I bet."

"Not tonight," I shook my head. "Got rugby training."

"Shame," he said as the lift reached the ground floor. As it `pinged'
open he went to step out first. And as he did he turned to me and said,
"Maybe I'll come down and do you after I've finished with Tamara
tonight. Whoddja reckon?"  and he gave me the same `hand' gun action
he's used when he'd been going up to bang Tamara the night before.

I was left speechless as he exited the lift. Was it a joke? Could he tell
that I was gay? I was so much bigger than him that he must have felt
pretty confident to say something like that and get away with it. It had
to be a joke I delusionally reasoned, no one could make that assumption
that I was into cock. So I went to work, I went to rugby practice, and
I'd forgotten about it until I got home.

And there he was again in the lift, grinning away. Tonight was more just,
"Oh, oh, oh..." from Tamara with Ian going "Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh
yeah..." Until the early morning session when it became evident that Ian
was demanding -- and getting -- a blow job. "I'm gunna coat your throat
love," he said before cumming.

As if it was part of some demented joke, Ian greeted me in the lift
again. This had to be some divine lesson because no one else ever got in
the lift during this period and I was therefore unable to escape his
infectious grin and attitude. So I just looked at him and he laughed.

"Sorry geezer. What can I say? She loves a bit of cockney in her."

I rolled my eyes at the old joke, and he punched my arm and said, "What
about you rugger bugger? You wanna bit of cockney in you too?" He
laughed aloud, not giving me a chance to reply even if I could have found
the words.

I bought ear plugs on Wednesday and stayed out late, only to bump into
Ian on his way up to Tamara of course. He wasn't in his suit though,
instead he was looking sweaty in his Millwall FC kit.

"Good match?" I asked as we waited for the lift.

"Mate it's The City Five-A-Side comp," he explained. "We took on the
posho's from Coutt's and we fuckin' mauled em. Bunch of girly boys
y'know? `Oh boo hoo sir he hit me. Oh boo hoo sir he grabbed my
balls!'" And Ian laughed loudly at his own joke. "We fuckin thumped
`em 4-nil and then..." he bent over himself, he was laughing so hard,
"We pretended to apologise and told `em to have the showers first..."
he started to laugh even more and was struggling to get out the story,
"Then we went in and cleaned the place out, we took their kit, their
suits, their towels, everything and threw it in a dumpster out back. Left
those posho's stark bollock naked with not a penny between `em to get
home. Fuckin' so funny. Reckon they'll have to have sold their little
kiddie holes to get home tonight. Bo-yeah!" he pumped his fist in
celebration.

A part of me was horrified at his actions but another part was finding
itself totally turned on. "Mate you're hard-core," I laughed, shaking
my head, pacifying him being the safest option I could think of.

He looked at me with another slight grin. "Gunna make ole `big tits'
up there lick the sweat off my crack. She can give me a good ole tongue
baff tonight before I give her another proper seeing-to."

"I couldn't imagine my girlfriend doing that," I blurted out, thinking
about my ex back home.

Ian shook his head in disappointment at my failings. "That's the
problem with you rugby lads," he declared. "Too proper, too well
behaved. Real men take what they want. Real men take change. Real men
play football."

"Hey," I challenged him, unsure though why I felt the need to defend
myself. "That's not fair. Rugby tours are plenty hard-core."

"Yeah but com'n mate," he winked at me. "You lads get a few cans of
Stella in ya and you're dropping your pants in front of your mates. We
all know what that's fuckin about, know what I'm saying?"

I blushed, even though I'd never done any of the stupid things rugby
boys were prone to do on tours. I don't know why I got all coy -- maybe
because I'd wanted to be the sort of guy who would do those things --
but at that moment the lift door to my floor opened and I was forced to
step out.

"Told ya," Ian crowed, gave me the `hand' gun salute and the doors
closed again. That night the earplugs didn't work so I knew that Ian
definitely got Tamara to lick the sweat out of his crack.

At first she objected and was yelling at Ian that he was a dirty bastard
but all he did was laugh rudely and soon I could hear Tamara begging that
she was down to her last penny and working as a cleaner for this city boy
and he was making her work in the nude. Later on Ian seemed to have
become her French teacher and the night was filled with Tamara saying,
"But Monsieur Cock that's not how Mademoiselle Fanny taught us
pronunciation," And then Ian saying, "You are ze slutty Eeeglesh
schoolgirl I've `heard so much about. You'd better come over `ere,
lift that leetle skirt of yers and I will teach you `ow to behave,"
followed of course by spanking and Tamara squealing. The morning brought
another blow job along with Ian's now traditional celebration as a
result.

`I can't let Ian get to me,' I swore but once again in the morning I
met him in the lift again and he was full of beans.

He laughed as the lift doors opened and we saw each other again. "Geezer
if I don't see you boning a chick tomorrow I'm gunna think you've got
the hots for me."

I laughed weakly but I couldn't formulate a response. I was so tired,
and I was starting to wonder if he was viewing me as a challenge -- a
challenge to his manhood.

I went to the gym after work on Thursday. I usually trained at lunch time
so of course I found there was a different crowd after work. The
locker-room echoed with what seemed like every East End boy who'd got a
job as a trader, talking about the girls they were laying, the coke that
they were doing and the money they were making. There I was, sweating as
I squatted away, working as a pointless accountant listening to these
boys with half the body I had, half the brains and ambition I had but
they now had the money and all the girls that I wanted. And well, I was
jealous and frustrated, I couldn't deny it. I went home and jerked off
every time I heard Ian start up that night. I'd given in. I wanted to be
Tamara for him, I wanted to have a man like that who'd come over every
night and take me as his plaything.

I came home on Friday night, totally shattered. And there was Ian. Of
course. Immaculately dressed as always.

"How do you do it?" I asked.

"Do what chum?" he asked with a grin that suggested he knew exactly
what I meant.

"You always look so awake, so alert," I complained. "But you're up
all-night banging Tamara. I'm shattered just having to listen to it
all."

"Mate sounds like you need a little pick-me-up," he chuckled. "Why
don't you come up tonight and we'll help you out?"

My excuse afterward was that I was confused and befuddled at this point,
and I was willing to do anything to get over it. "Are you sure? Will
Tamara will be ok with it?"

"Blimey mate, you worry too much. She thinks you're hot. She'll love
to see you."

We went up to the 5th floor and Ian walked right into Tamara's flat. She
was wearing a see-through flowing dress with no underwear, her breasts
even better then I remembered them. Perhaps this was how Ian was getting
it up every time.

"Look who I found love," he said. "He was looking all lost and feeling
sorry for himself in the lobby."

"Ohh?" Tamara took me in with an up and down glance. "Why hello," she
added, her eyelashes fluttering away.

"Hi Tamara," I said. "I hope I'm not interrupting," I apologised
straight away.

"Don't be silly," she smiled, "I just need to put another line
down," she explained, sounding like the perfect hostess.

All my life I'd run away from drugs. I'd been a good boy and I've
never really done them even though there had been plenty of
opportunities. But, well it just made so much sense at this moment. I
watched Tamara take the first line and then I carefully but quickly
hovered up the next one, feeling the buzz that people talked about, that
tingle in my nose. The rush like they say, was almost instantaneous. I
looked around the apartment and suddenly felt much better. Ian was
finishing the last line and it was becoming clear to me why they'd been
able to have sex every night for so long.

"Fuck those tits are awesome," I suddenly blurted out as I looked at
Tamara for what felt like the first time.

She beamed at me, opened her dress a little more before giggling, "So
are yours."

I didn't need any further invitation and I ripped open my business shirt
to expose my pecs. Tamara squealed with excitement, and I shrugged off
the rest of the shirt and flexed my biceps a couple of different ways to
show off.

"Ohh, you're so fit!" Tamara declared, coming over to place her hands
on my pecs and feel them up and down. "Ian," she whispered. "He's
much bigger than you."

Instead of objecting, Ian responded, "Yeah he has got a big pair
o'knockers ain't he? But he's not big where it matters."

"You're just jealous," I joked back, trying to sound confident though
even on drugs I wasn't the sort of guy to brag.

"Tell ya what," Ian said with a grin so broad that had I not been high,
I would definitely have twigged that something was afoot. "Why don't we
have a competition, you and me? The rugger bugger versus the football
legend."

"Whatta got in mind?" I said, flexing my biceps again, sure that if the
challenge was anything physical I could do better than he could.

"Let's see who the real bigger man is," Ian said. "Sit on the couch
and hands by your side."

I did as I was ordered and empowered by the coke, I pushed out my pecs
and winked at him. But of course I was being played. I had no idea that
Ian had set me up from well before we'd met that evening. Tamara turned
on some music and started to dance in front of us, gradually removing her
dress to show us her bodacious body. She shimmied her breasts in front of
us, played with herself, stroked her body, and did everything but touch
us. It was a fantastic performance and I looked over at Ian who grinned
back, clearly enjoying the show as he was starting to tent his trousers.

I gritted my teeth and focused on Tamara, but I couldn't help but sneak
a peek at Ian's bulge. There was no doubting it, I was more aroused by
the thought of his cock and the stream of blue language that was coming
out of his mouth.

"Right-o boys," Tamara suddenly declared. "Time's up. Stand up and
drop your pants."

Little did I know Ian had taken Viagra before he'd left the office.  And
me? Well I was exhausted from lack of sleep, and I'd just been given
coke for the first time. I was as floppy as one could be, even if I was
horny. And as the pants came down there was no mistaking it while Ian on
the other hand was rock solid.

"Awww..." Tamara sighed as she batted my useless cock back and forth.
"Don't you like me?"

"I do, I do," I begged, but the more I thought about it, the more I was
unable to get it up.

Ian had tugged off his shirt and the remainder of his clothes. He stood,
erect and proud. "I said it before you pussy rugby boy," he laughed.
"Now go on show me your scrum position."

I looked at him confused.

"On your hands and knees. You know the drill."

To this day I don't know if Ian was joking at that point but well... the
coke, my tired state and his cock was bloody hot. It was long and thin
and looked like it was good at drilling. I squatted on the sofa, resting
my arms on the back of it and thrusting my legs apart so that my butt was
looking its best.

"Oh yeah," Ian laughed. "That's what I'm talkin' about."

Tamara walked around in front of us, pulling up a kitchen stool from the
breakfast bar and rested one butt cheek on it and one leg on the floor,
therefore exposing herself to us.

"Ya like the big, muscled rugby posho dontcha?" Ian leered at Tamara.
"What? He look like your brova? Or one of dem posh boys who hang out
with you at the Sloaney Pony? Ya wanna see me fuck him like the faggot he
is? Ya wanna see me slide my cock up his arse? Ya wanna hear him beg for
it?"

"Oh yes, oh yes!" crowed Tamara slipping her fingers up and down her
pussy with rapid speed. "Do it! Do it now!"

I was sweating profusely by this point. I was still far from hard but the
feeling of Ian's cock resting by my arse was making me tremble with
excitement.

"Whatta bout you, rugby boy?" Ian laughed long and hard at his joke
before pulling me back by my hair. "You wanna feel what a real cock is
all about?"

"Oh yeah fuck me," I mumbled, "Fuck me."

"I wanna hear you say it," Ian demanded obviously not aware that I was
already begging for it. "Say that all rugby boys are pussies who wanna
get fucked by a real man. Fuckin tell me you get all wet when you walk
past my lil' bruver and his five-a-side chums."

It was only afterwards that I realised Ian's vivid imagination and dirty
talk of the previous nights was probably a result of all the coke. As for
me, I couldn't tell what was making me feel this way, but I was willing
to let go to give him what he wanted and hell, what I needed as well. I
blabbered how I'd always lusted after football players and that all this
rugby stuff and the time at the gym was just a desperate attempt to show
I was a man `cause I was too scared to have a kick around with the lads
at the park in case they discovered that I wanted to suck their cocks.

I could hear Ian spit on his hand and then grease up his cock. And then I
felt the cock push against my sphincter, my eyes bugged out and even the
coke was not enough to stop me screaming. I tried to move but Ian's
hands grabbed onto me and held me down. Even though I was probably strong
enough to break away I found myself wanting to be controlled.

"Fuckin' take it, fuckin' take it," he chanted, pushing again at my
hole. I took a deep breath and remembered what I'd learnt from Max. I
pushed back and rode through the pain. With huge grunts and groans from
both of us, Ian finally broke through. Tamara was long forgotten by this
stage. Ian had built up a head of steam and he had to fuck me. He had to
claim the arse of that posh rugby boy that he thought I was. He had to
prove that he was the biggest Alpha in the room, he had to show that
despite his skinny footballer build he was more of a man than I was.
Whatever his deluded thoughts where, I didn't care. He seemed so hot to
me at this point in time. To be fucked by such a virile stud was
something I realised I'd always wanted. The fact that fucking me made
him so horny as well was not only a turn on for me but was definitely
keeping him hard through what was probably his first homo encounter.

Ian didn't seem to want to stop. He kept pounding away at me and very
quickly I loosened up. He drove in, hammering my prostrate at every angle
and my whole body became pleasure laden. I finally had a straight guy
fucking me, it was what I had always wanted... but Ian was fuelled by
Viagra and there wasn't enough lube in my arsehole.

Very quickly it started to feel painful. I whinnied and moaned but my
concerns was lost on Ian. He was slick with sweat and mumbling as he
continued to pound me, "Fuckin' cunt, fuckin' take my dick." I tried
to break away, but he seemed to have super-human strength and I was
trapped by his cock, and the need to be used by him. It was hard and
painful, and I felt my arse being torn every which way he nailed it. Plus
the Viagra kept Ian going and all I could do was bend over and take it,
each and every thrust.

Eventually I could hear Ian about to cum. I don't know how long he
fucked me for, but it certainly felt like longer than I'd ever been able
to take it before. He roared out, "Yeah take that ya big poofta!" as he
graciously pulled out of my arse and came all over my butt and back.

I didn't realise how hard my cock had become but it had been grazing
against the couch every time Ian had pile-drived into me. Once released I
came all over the sofa, Ian laughing manically as I did. We looked over
and Tamara was somehow sound asleep on the stool, her legs splayed apart,
her back leaning against the kitchen bench and snoring loudly.

"Go orn! Fuck off," Ian grunted at me. There was a certain look of
disgust in his expression that made me think the drugs had worn off and
he was starting to regret the whole evening. I scrambled around for my
clothes and once I had my trousers on, I shuffled out through the door.

I've never felt sicker from self-induced behaviour than I did the
following morning. If the worst hang-over of my life wasn't enough to
swear me off drugs then my arse, which had never felt sorer, needed a
tonne of Vaseline and looking-after to recover. It didn't take me long
to realise that I didn't want a `straight' boy either. As much as Ian
might have been fun and hot to fantasise about, I knew that he didn't
really want me, he was just using me as part of his own fantasies...
whatever they were! And now I realised I wanted to do it with gay boys.
I really wanted to have sex with a guy who wanted me back. And even if I
wanted an Alpha male, I still wanted one that might want to hug me
afterwards. So for years afterwards I would hear gay friends talk about
their lust for a straight man and all I could do was shake my head. I'd
been there and the result was nothing like I'd hoped for.

Strangely enough, I never saw Ian ever again. I did sort of expected
there would be embarrassing encounters in the lift but as if by magic, he
disappeared as quickly as he had appeared. I did run into Tamara though.
One evening we bumped into each other in the lobby and before I had the
chance to say anything, her eyes bugged out and she hissed, "You!
You're the one who turned Ian gay!"

"Umm... I'm not sure I did!" I tried to say.

"Yes you did! Since that bloody night I've not heard a word from him."

"Really?" I remarked, finding it bizarrely amusing. But before I had
the chance to even think of suggesting that he had simply got bored of
her or the drugs had run out, she stormed off in a huff. A week later I
saw a removal truck and her parents coming to take her home. Now everyone
could have seen that coming.