pleasures he'd missed and exploring his body with his free hand while he masturbated. I loved to see his hand roam across his chest and around his nipples, to hear the coarse sounds of the thick wiry hair as he ran his fingers through it, and to watch his cock swell to its maximum, shiny-headed size in response.

I would approach orgasm as I looked over at him, my hand a blur on my cock, and then, as I felt it coming too close, welling up inside me, I'd stop altogether and remove my hand to let my breath catch up. At first Peter seemed intrigued by this - would look over at me as if wondering what the problem was - but after a few times he realised what I was doing and, within a day or so, started following my example. And within another couple of days, both of us were controlling our orgasms, postponing them three of four times on some occasions, to glean the maximum pleasure from our right hands.

******

I remember the first time I fingered my arse while he watched me wanking. It must have been in the last week of us sharing the room: I'd had to delay doing it, even though I'd really wanted to show Peter this last trick for about two weeks, until I could be sure that he wouldn't get freaked out by it. I'd had to wait until we were totally comfortable together; until we fully trusted each other as spectators of our most personal, most intimate moments.

I kept thinking, "What if he gets funny about it? What if he has a go at me?" Perhaps he'd think it was "going too far", or would regard it as something feminine and therefore unacceptable. He liked to play with his balls and chest hair, but maybe he considered those masculine, almost rugged, pursuits; natural and wholesome areas for a guy to mess around with while he was pleasuring himself. He'd never shown any sign of exploring his own arsehole, not even the slightest interest in it, so perhaps he regarded that area as being out of bounds for normal, healthy guys.

But then, during a couple of our sessions, I began to notice that whenever
I pushed my left hand between my legs and ran my fingers along the hairy ridge between my balls and my arsehole, Peter would stare over at me, intrigued by what I was doing. His right hand would speed up on his cock and his bell-end would bulge and glisten. He didn't copy what I did – just as I didn't, couldn't, copy what he did with his chest hair - but he seemed fascinated to watch me do it.

So then, late one evening, while we were masturbating together and when I knew he was looking over at me, I licked the outstretched finger of my left hand, pushed it between my open legs, and penetrated my warm tight arsehole with it. Peter stared over at me, engrossed by what I was doing. I opened my legs further to allow myself better access, and pushed my middle finger further into my hot soft passage, gently moving my hand in and out so that it was obvious that my finger was inside.

Peter's reaction was abrupt and unexpected. He grunted loudly and immediately began shooting thick strings of semen across his stomach and chest, gasping and