had done, and then threw them onto floor next to my bed.

Then, aware that the room now smelt even more strongly of semen, I fell almost immediately into a deep sleep.

******

I watched Peter masturbate a few times over the next week or so. Like I said, I soon got the hang of his habits and my presence or absence in the room didn't seem to matter to him. Sometimes, when we were working the same shift, our alarms would go off together and I'd get out of bed, starting to get ready, with Peter masturbating openly as I did so.

He seemed totally comfortable about doing it, and never talked of it nor made any references to it either while he was doing it or at other times. He mentioned that he had four brothers and so I guess his attitude came from years of sharing a bedroom at home.

I always became hard when he started wanking and would initially attend to my arousal either in bed after he'd left the room or in the toilet or shower behind a locked door.

But then, during the second week, I thought about joining in with him.

I kept wondering, over a few days, how he'd react to having me masturbate alongside him. I thought it most likely that he'd just ignore me but kept worrying whether, as an unquestionably straight guy, he'd view it as being "gay" behaviour. He obviously regarded masturbation as being just something guys do, not even worthy of comment, but maybe the etiquette of masturbating while sharing a room is to do it separately, waiting your turn.

One day at the hospital while mulling over someone's medical records, I found myself thinking about it again and realised that I was starting to become fascinated by the idea of joining in with him.

I thought about the two of us jerking our cocks together; just lying in our beds, without any discussion, relieving ourselves in unison. I became aware that I was smiling and that one of the nurses was staring at me. The records were spelling out the details of some hideous illness and here I was smirking over them like a Cheshire cat. Jesus, get a grip, Wallace.

That night he was out with his mates and came back at about midnight, stinking of alcohol.

I was lying awake when he returned, knowing that he wouldn't masturbate since he'd been out, but nevertheless hoping he would. Even before he'd closed the door and took off his coat, my cock was stiff as a board in anticipation that he might.

But he didn't.

Next morning, though, his alarm went off first, and, as I expected, he switched it off and got to work on his dick almost immediately. He pushed the duvet to one side and then, in one swift movement, pulled down his briefs and threw them to the side.

His cock was already hard, its seven inches throbbing and demanding attention. He lay back down and, closing his eyes, wrapped his fist around it immediately, gratifying it with a moderately fast rhythm.

I was watching him, waiting for my alarm to go off.

After a minute or so, it did, and I turned it off. He didn't miss a beat: he just lay there, eyes closed, now