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Brunette

At first I thought he must be selling something. He looked clean-cut and respectable, with a smart bomber jacket over his crisp white shirt and wearing a pair of black trousers and trendy geek-chic specs.

He stopped me as I was walking out of the HMV shop in Birmingham city centre, opening with a refreshingly polite ‘excuse me sir’ and throwing me his best attempt at a cute-boy smile when I gave him my attention.

As he babbled on it took me a minute or so to figure out what he actually wanted. Having expected him to ask me questions about my energy provider or some such, I think I was trying to somehow connect the words he was saying to British Gas or N-Power or something like that.

But he just kept going on about forgetting his ID and telling me some convoluted story of how far away he lived and how many buses he’d have to catch to fetch it.

“Sorry, but what is it you actually want from me?” I queried at length.

“I just need you to buy me a game,” he said with shrug, like it was the most normal thing to ask of a total stranger you’d just met in the street.

Seeing me make to turn away from him, he quickly added, “I mean, I’ll give you the money — I’m not asking you to pay for it for me — I just want you to go over to the cash desk to do that side of things.”

“Why can’t you buy it?” I asked him distrustfully, suspecting that I was being set up for a scam.

“That’s what I’ve been telling you — I forgot my ID,” he replied, a touch on the irritable side. “I am eighteen — I swear to God — but I left my student card in my room.”

I looked him up and down. He could well be eighteen. He had a cute, boyish face under his thick-rimmed glasses but his chin betrayed a fine growth of stubble. His build was on the chubby side and could still be described as puppy fat, but he was at least as tall as my son, who was also eighteen.

“So why did you come in to the city without your ID if you knew you were going to buy the game?” I asked.

“I was working this morning,” he replied, gesturing at his white shirt and black trousers and throwing me a look like I was stupid to assume he always came out dressed like this. “A guy I work with told me about the game and I wanted to buy it so I can play it on my day-off tomorrow.”

Seeing that I was still sceptical but could well be close to taking the bait, he took out his wallet and showed me that he had a stash of ten pound notes inside which I assumed would cover the price of the game.

“Okay, I’ll buy it for you,” I said brightly which made him smile rather cutely at me. “But in return, I’d like you to do something for me.”

“If I can,” he shrugged. “Whatever you want…”

I smiled back at him. This was exactly the sort of response I’d been hoping for.

“Whatever I want, eh?”

He nodded and I asked him, maintaining my smile, “Even if what I’d like you to do is of a sexual nature?”

He laughed at that — he actually thought I was joking — but when I didn’t laugh back and just kept smiling pleasantly, he blushed and muttered there was no way he was going to “take it up the butt from some old geezer”.

“I don’t want to do that to you,” I chuckled back. “I don’t suppose the game is worth that much to you! I just want to… well… I have a very specific fetish.”

“A fetish?” he asked, looking like this was maybe getting too involved to be worth a Sunday spent playing a game.

“It’s not a horrible fetish,” I reassured him with a smile, glancing around to make sure that the shoppers walking past us weren’t paying attention to us. “It certainly won’t involve any discomfort or… er… unpleasantness for you.”

“I’m not gay,” he snapped.

I nodded back. “I don’t remember suggesting I thought you were.”

I suddenly wondered if he worked in Boots on Saturday mornings: I’d noticed that the lads who were shelf-stacking in there wore white shirts and black trousers as part of their standard dress code. He didn’t have a name badge on but maybe he left that in his locker at the back of the store.

He looked intrigued but cautious about what it was I was asking of him.

“I’m gonna need you to be more specific,” he said. “I mean, I could probably order the game on eBay for cheaper, so it’s not like it’s a big deal.”

“I’m sure you could,” I replied, “and it’s not a big deal for me either. But if I’m doing you a favour, it would be entirely reasonable for you to do one back for me.”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah… of course… give and take and all that. I just need to know what it is I’m letting myself in for…”

“Without wanting to offend you… if I buy you the game, I’d like to… well… I’d like to lick your bum in return.”

I smiled at him pleasantly, trying to look as casual as I could given the intimate nature of what I’d just asked of him.

“Lick my bum?” he asked, looking surprised and confused. “You mean you want lick my backside… my actual arse?”

I couldn’t see how the word bum could mean anything other than an actual arse, but I nodded and said, “Only if you’re willing to let me, of course.”

“What, casino siteleri like, actually lick it?” he went on. “With my trousers and pants pulled down?”

“That’s right,” I agreed. “You’d just have to stand there and let me. It wouldn’t be too onerous and I probably wouldn’t need too long.”

“Are you some kind of creep or something?” he asked me with obvious disdain.

“Not really,” I replied cheerfully. “Just a guy who’s willing to buy computer games for young lads who’ve forgotten their ID cards, and who also happens to have a thing for licking the same young lads’ bums.”

“My actual bum, though?” he clarified, like there could be any other part of him I was getting it confused for. “I mean… you know… the thing I shit through?”

“That’s the spot,” I grinned. “Just below your back and right at the top of your legs.”

“And I’d just have to stand there?” he asked again, with people around us getting on with their shopping oblivious to the sort of conversation they were walking right past.

“Look,” I said, “there’s a coffee shop opposite. I could buy you a drink and we could settle things in a rather more civilised way than standing out here in the mall.”

He looked at it warily. “And then you’ll buy me the game?”

“Of course,” I agreed. “But only after you’ve completed your side of the… er… transaction.”

===

“Okay, so let’s get this straight,” he said after taking a mouthful of the latté I’d bought him. “You want to lick my arse?”

I gestured for him to lower his voice after a couple of girls sitting off to my left swung their heads round to peer over at the two of us.

“That’s what you want to do, though, isn’t it?” he asked in a more discreet whisper. “You want me to pull my trousers and pants down so you can crouch down behind me and lick my bare bum?”

“Actually, initially I’d prefer it if you left your underwear pulled up,” I told him.

“What, so you can sniff the back of my boxers?” he queried with a certain amount of repulsion.

“Well, yes,” I smiled. “Or at least, that’s what I’d like to do for starters.”

I made sure I emphasized ‘for starters’.

He hesitated for a minute and peered out of the window at people going into the HMV shop opposite. I was worried that he was thinking that maybe some other kind soul might buy him the game without attaching any strings to the favour they were doing for him.

He stayed put, though, and looked back at me before asking, “So you don’t care if I’ve got skidmarks or my butt-crack stinks or anything like that?”

“Not at all,” I chuckled. “It’ll only serve to add zest to the experience!”

“Jesus, you’re a right fucking screw-up, aren’t you?” he said with heavy revulsion, taking a swig from his coffee as if to wash away the unpleasant taste that having to talk to me had left in his mouth.

I grinned at his insult — I’d been called much worse — and then told him, “I have a very specific fetish. It’s quite fortunate for you, because you don’t have to do anything except stand there with me crouching behind you.”

“And you really don’t want to fuck my arse or anything like that?”

Again the girls looked over and this time they giggled. They probably thought he was my rent boy for the afternoon. In a way I suppose he was.

“I promise I won’t ask for that. I won’t ask you to do anything you’re not comfortable with… er… what’s your name, actually?”

“Curtis,” he said. I didn’t believe him for a minute. “What’s yours?”

“Rob,” I replied and I could see he didn’t believe me either.

“Look, Curtis,” I went on, “I absolutely promise you that my only interest is to get my face stuck into your backside.”

I’d noticed he had a lovely pudgy butt when he’d turned his back to me to climb up on the tall stool he was now sitting on. It was round and meaty; a bit flabby but still solid and pert. Just the sort of arse I’d give my right arm to get my face stuck into; or if not my right arm, then at least the risk of being caught supplying age-restricted material to a potential minor.

“Okay,” he nodded, still looking sceptical. “So, you sniff my butt for a bit, then you pull my pants down and lick it… is that it?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” I nodded, hoping he would soon agree to my suggestion.

He didn’t seem convinced and kept eyeing me suspiciously. He had fresh clear skin for someone who worked in a shop and probably spent the rest of his time playing computer games and eating takeaway pizzas.

“You’re definitely eighteen, aren’t you?” I sought to clarify. I had a nagging feeling he might be recording our conversation on his iPhone so I was keen to establish that he really was of legal age.

“‘Course I am,” he said. “I’m studying Politics at UWE.”

I wasn’t sure what that was so I just nodded. University of something or other no doubt.

“Okay,” he continued. “So you’ve got my pants down and you’re licking my butt… do you lick inside my crack or just around it?”

“Inside your crack,” I replied.

“I’m pretty hairy between my cheeks back there,” he pointed out, slot oyna blushing slightly like it was something to be ashamed of.

I smiled at him and took a sip of my Americano. “I’d be disappointed if you weren’t, Curtis. I like a nice hairy behind.”

“Christ,” he muttered and I could see him thinking, “What the fuck am I doing talking to this freak?”

Instead he asked, “Will you actually lick my arsehole?”

I nodded. “Of course.”

“Even if I didn’t wipe properly? I mean, I’m not gonna swear I’ve left it squeaky clean!”

“I don’t mind about that, Curtis,” I told him. “I’m sure it’ll be very pleasant however I find it, and most probably I’ll end up with my tongue deep up inside it.”

“Fuck me!” he exclaimed and then, realising that he could be misconstrued, added, “By that I just mean, wow… not… er… anything more!”

We both sipped at our coffees before he asked, “And while you’re doing all this sniffing and licking, you’ll have your dick out and be wanking it off I suppose?”

“That’s the general idea,” I nodded.

“And I just stand there?” he sought to confirm. “I mean, I don’t have to touch your knob or suck you off or anything like that?”

“Of course not,” I said. “I wouldn’t want to be an imposition.”

“And you absolutely swear — one hundred per cent level — that you won’t try to fuck me?”

Again the girls looked over. Now they weren’t giggling; they were whispering together and glancing over at the tall ginger-haired youth working behind the counter, as if discussing whether to inform him of our conversation.

“I absolutely won’t,” I assured him. “But I’m very happy to bend over for you if you think you’d enjoy it.”

I rather liked the idea of being buggered by this young lad. I’d never been mounted by an eighteen-year-old before and the idea of squatting down to receive his impatient erection was most appealing. He was sturdy and tall, with the solid physique of a computer gamer, and it occurred to me that sex with him would likely be rapid and rough; full of the sort of frantic energy he would normally devote to a multiplayer game of Mortal Kombat.

Curtis wasn’t biting though. “I shag girls, not pervy old men,” he told me bluntly.

Pervy old men? I ask you! I’m not long past forty!

“Will you want me to wank off too?” he asked, apparently oblivious to the insult he’d just thrown me.

“That’s entirely up to you,” I shrugged. “I’d like to see you masturbate — I’m sure it would make a very attractive sight — but my main interest is in rimming your butt.”

“Rimming my butt?” he asked, his face full of suspicion. “What will that involve?”

He really didn’t like any hint that I might want to have full anal with him.

“Just licking it,” I explained, “and getting my tongue up it. That’s all.”

“Okay,” he conceded. “But all this is pretty time-consuming. I mean, thanks for the coffee, but I reckon you should really pay for the game if you’re expecting to do all this to me.”

I smiled. “That sounds like a fair deal.” I’d been going to buy it for him anyway. I was thinking I’d chuck a fifty quid gift voucher into the bag as well, as long as he didn’t view it as tantamount to prostitution.

“But if I’m buying it for you,” I went on, “I’d like to sniff the back of your work trousers as well, if that’s okay. How long have you been wearing them?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged, blushing a little as if I was his mum scolding him for not doing his laundry often enough. “Maybe a few shifts.”

“A few months more like,” I laughed. “I have a son your age and I know how infrequently he manages to get to the laundrette.”

“You have a son?” he exclaimed. Now he seemed genuinely shocked; far more shocked than he’d been outside of the shop when I’d told him what I’d like to do to him in exchange for buying the game.

I nodded. “That’s right. He’s studying at Leeds.”

“But I assumed you were gay…?”

I shook my head. “I wouldn’t label myself as gay. I like sex with women but I just also happen to enjoy the smell and taste of other guys’ butts.”

“No kidding,” he muttered, before asking, “Okay, so where are we going to do this?”

While he was downing the rest of his coffee I suggested, “What about in the toilets at the back of this cafe?”

He looked over at the gents sign on one of the doorways in the far wall and nodded. “Good a place as any, I suppose.”

“It makes sense,” I said. “We can get things over and done with, then go back to HMV for… er… payment for services rendered.”

I took a couple of last sips from my coffee which was far too bitter, and then the two of us got up and headed to the back of the shop.

The two girls watched us heading towards the toilet and smirked at each other as if they knew what we were up to. They’d no doubt worked out he was trading his butt in return for some sort of recompense from me, but whether they’d deduced that my preferred currency was to get my mouth clamped onto the matted hair around his pucker was doubtful.

They probably thought — from his noisy protestations about not canlı casino siteleri wanting to be fucked — that he was going to bend over for me to wank myself off behind him, with me trying to imagine I was rogering his arse. I’d seen a lot of older guys do that behind young lads who would let them but I’d never really been able to see the appeal.

What was the point of a nice round backside if you weren’t going to get its delectable scent all over your face?

We went into the toilet which was a single cubicle large enough for a wheelchair so there was plenty of space for us to do our thing.

As I locked the door, he warned me, “Don’t expect me to enjoy this. I’m not gonna get a hard-on with you slavering away at my arse.”

I smiled back at him and replied, “I suppose the main thing is that I do, since I’m the one who’ll be buying the game.”

He nodded and asked, “So how do you want me?”

Then he muttered, “Fucking hell, I never thought I’d be saying this to another guy…”

I got him to stand in front of the toilet like he was going to take a piss and crouched down behind him to press my face into the seat of his black trousers. He was, as I’d expected, wonderfully whiffy along the hem between his cheeks. Like my son, he wore his clothes well beyond their ‘use by’ dates.

“Can you smell my butt?” he called down to me.

I pulled away from him and replied, “Very much so, Curtis.”

“And do you like it?” he asked, sounding concerned that I might not. Maybe he thought I wouldn’t buy him the game if his smell back there was too strong or too shitty.

“It’s very pleasant, yes,” I informed him. “I can’t wait to sniff what’s underneath.”

I pressed my nose back into his trousers, right between his solid cheeks, and found where the material was most infused with his own unique anal scent. There was a small patch of fabric that must often work its way up into his hairy valley: I could smell the tell-tale pungent odour of male butt quite distinctly on it.

“I rather suspect you’ve worn these trousers more than just a few shifts,” I called up to him.

“I didn’t say how long the shifts were,” he replied back defensively.

I pressed my nose deep between his cheeks and inhaled his most secretive scent. He was a whiffy boy, that much was obvious, and the baser scents I was detecting suggested that he was probably not too meticulous about how attentively he wiped.

“You said you were into women,” he called down. “Do you like to sniff their backsides too?”

I pulled away again in horror. “Ugh… definitely not!”

He grinned down at me — it was the only time he found me funny — and I explained that the appeal for me was very much restricted to my own gender.

I got him to undo his belt and then shuffled his trousers down to reveal a tight pair of fashionably-branded boxer briefs. They had a blue and yellow striped design, with the lines running horizontally and accentuating the size and curve of his beautifully chunky buttocks.

I pressed my face between his cheeks and inhaled strongly and deeply along the length of material that had spent all morning so tantalisingly close to his odorous crack. His smell on his underwear was distinct, but curiously not as intense as it had been on the back of his trousers. His boxers must have been fresh on today and the perfumed scents of whatever washing powder he’d used on them drowned out the more interesting stink of what lurked underneath.

“Aren’t you going to wank off?” he asked, clearly impatient for me to hurry up and finish off.

I pulled away from between his bum cheeks. “Shortly, Curtis, but I’d like to sample the source in all its untainted glory first, if I may.”

He peered down at me, his expression uncomprehending, so I clarified: “I’d like you to pull your shorts down so I can lick your hole.”

“You really wanna do this?” he asked me again. “I mean, I can’t swear as to how clean I am back there, and… you know… it is my arsehole so it might be dead pongy…”

“I’m sure it’ll be delicious, Curtis,” I grinned up at him.

“Have you done it before?” he asked. “I mean, have you licked another guy’s bunghole?”

“Of course,” I smiled, “many times. I’m quite the connoisseur.”

“If it’s too shitty and gross and you can’t go through with it, you won’t tell anyone, will you?”

“Who am I going to tell?” I asked him. Did he really think I was going to waltz back out into the coffee shop and declare to the crowd what I’d just found between his bum-cheeks?

“I dunno,” he replied. “Your faggot friends or whatever. I just don’t want to think of you making jokes about me to all the other perverts whose butts you lick.”

“You can rest assured, Curtis, that I don’t kiss and tell. Even when the kissing leaves an especially disagreeable aftertaste.”

He nodded with upmost gravity and then hitched his boxers down with both hands to reveal his bare backside.

And what a lovely bum it was too!

If he had a girlfriend, I was sure she wouldn’t appreciate it. Few girls pay any serious attention to what’s going on down the back of their boyfriends’ underwear, and those who are able to see beauty in the muscular curve of the masculine behind would probably gag at the suggestion of having a sniff or a lick between its squat and solid cheeks.

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