Date: Wed, 15 Feb 2012 14:12:05 +0000
From: Edmond Giles <edmond.giles@hotmail.com>
Subject: Tony and Friends - Instalment 3

3

   The afterglow of my encounter with Duncan and Kyle sustained me through
some difficult days at work. I had a particularly nasty crime scene to
record and process. And the uniformed inspector who was in charge of that
investigation was pushing hard for the prints. Over two hundred 10" by 8"s
in gory multicolour. The content was doing my head in, which wasn't helped
by Mike Treader's attitude. That's the inspector. A real shit-bag. For some
reason, he liked to mock and sneer at all the civilian staff at the
station. To him, we were all lesser beings.

   Treader liked to refer to us all indiscriminately as `shirt-lifters' or
`fudge-shovers'. No politically correct terms would ever fall from his
mouth, and it was difficult to contend with. Despite being asked by some of
his uniformed colleagues to leave it out, he continued to bad-mouth us. It
seemed that no one was going to press the matter with a formal
complaint. Indeed, some of the married civilian staff seemed to relish the
insults, and would answer him back with as good as they got. In my case, of
course, his allegations were true, though he had no grounds for believing
that he had hit the mark. Some of the junior uniforms were embarrassed by
Mike's way of dealing with us, and would go out of their way to befriend
us. And that just seemed to add fuel to Mike's fiery tongue, with the
result that they were tarred with the same brush.

   Only one of them persisted in being friendly. Whenever it was time for
coffee, Alex would fill my mug and leave it with a couple of biscuits on
the edge of my work counter. It was his function to act as gopher. A fairly
new constable, all he was given to do was the task of fetching and carrying
for his lord and master. That meant that I saw quite a lot of him, for he
came to collect prints from each reel of pictures as I processed them. He
seemed interested in the photo process, fascinated by the idea that I did
it all myself, without any automated machine to regulate the treatment of
the colour films. In order to finish the job, I was going to have to work
on Saturday morning, so that the investigation wasn't hampered by lack of
detail.

   I went in about 8.30, filled the coffee filter, and reviewed my progress
so far. This was a really depressing crime. I poured a coffee and was about
to go into the dark room for the last session when Alex appeared.

   "I didn't know that you were in today," I said.

   "I'm not supposed to be," he responded, "but I know your techie isn't in
and I thought you might like a hand. I only wore the uniform in case
Inspector Hard Arse was in".

   So, Alex really did dislike Mike Treader.

   And I didn't just want a hand. But I'd better not shit on my own
doorstep with you, I thought.

   Shutting the door behind us and putting on the warning light outside, I
explained what I needed to do, and suggested that Alex should just watch
until he had got used to what I was doing. I had left two reels of film in
the automatic developer overnight (OK, so that was a cheat on my usual
practice). I decided to put the last two in the same machine, leaving us
free to do the prints of the overnight ones.

   I soon got Alex to the point of exposing individual frames onto colour
paper. He then passed them to me for immersion in the tanks of developer
and fixer. We worked away companionably in the acrid smelling dark room
until about 11.00.

   "Time for a break," I said, putting a hand on his shoulder, which made
him jump. Alex is just a wee bit shorter than me, but is a lot stockier,
without being fat. We went out and poured more coffee. Alex had shed his
uniform jacket because of the warmth in the closed dark room, and there was
a pleasant smell flowing from him: some sort of aftershave and a generic
scent of warm male flesh. Nice.

   Back in the dark room, he told me about his recent holiday with friends
in France. As we processed the last few prints, he said, "In fact, I've
still got a couple of spools of film to get developed." Knowing that I
couldn't use work facilities, largely because of the consumables involved,
I suggested that he let me have them to do at home.

   "Oh, I couldn't do that. I don't want to impose on you. And some of them
might not be worth printing any way."

   Having got to know him a bit better during the morning, I responded
quickly, "Don't be such an uptight cunt. I wouldn't have offered if I
didn't mean it. In fact, if you come round to my place, you can help me
sort them out and we'll only print off the ones that you think worthwhile."

   It was obvious that he was still reluctant, so I continued, "I'm not
going to gossip about your pics with anyone. You must have realized by now
that I keep well clear of the station jungle drums. So if there's a picture
of you, or one of your drunken friends, mooning at the camera, it's not
going to be a problem."

   He rather sheepishly said, "Well, all right then. But there might be
something just like that on some of the frames."

   Having dried all the prints and labelled them, I placed them in a folder
and left them on Inspector Treader's desk. As Alex and I were walking out
of the station, we met the man himself just going in. I told him there was
a file on his desk, and went to walk on.

   Mike called us back.

   "Hang on," he said, "what are you doing with my gopher? Not giving him
lessons in shirt-lifting, are you?"

   Who me? Never, I thought.

   With a blush on his face, Alex stood up to the bully and said, "I'm sure
there's nothing Mr Caroll can teach me about that subject . . . sir".

   Treader sneered dismissively and we all went on our way. At the end of
the road, Alex and I split. He had already changed in the locker room at
work, but needed to return home to collect his holiday films. And I wanted
to get us a snack for lunch.

   Half an hour later, Alex rang the courtyard doorbell. I walked across to
let him in, waving to Kyle, who was staring out of the office window of the
tattoo parlour. I was vaguely aware that there was someone looking out of
the solicitor's office windows as well, but didn't know who that was.

   As we returned across the courtyard, I glanced up to Kyle's window. He
gave me a lecherous grin and thumbs up as he saw Alex.

   Worth more than a thumbs up, I thought. Alex was wearing a tight t-shirt
that showed off the fine musculature of his chest and abdomen, and had a
nice bubble-butt. After soup and cheese rolls, accompanied by a glass of
rioja, Alex seemed to relax.

   We went into the converted storeroom, where he sniffed and said, "It
smells just like your place at work, Tony."

   It was the first time that he had used my first name, and I liked the
sound of it coming in his deep voice. It was, after all, the first time he
has seen me away from work, so I wasn't surprised at the change of style.

   While the film developed, we talked about work, and where we liked to
drink and what friends we might have in common. And then we started
printing the pictures. There were three or four snaps on the first reel
that Alex decided he didn't want, either because they duplicated others, or
because they were out of focus. I checked this diagnosis by peeking over
his shoulder from time to time.  Any excuse to get close to him.

   The next to last exposure on the reel was a picture of Alex in a red
speedo costume, with his arm around the shoulders of a buxom wench
overflowing her blue two piece costume. I wasn't interested in her at all,
but it looked as though she had brought on a semi hard-on in Alex if the
distension of his speedo costume was anything to go by.

   "You might want me to print this as-is, and also cropped to just
torsos," I suggested.

   "Why's that," he asked.

   "Alex, it looks as though you're at least half way to an erection in
that one. Can you really show it to your mum?"

   "You're right," he said. "I couldn't show it to her, but it's not a
hard-on. . . that's just how it is."

    Wow! It looked to be about eight inches . . . and he reckoned that was
flaccid!

   "Anyway, that's Chrissie. She's Paul's girl. It was him who took that
picture."

   The last picture on the reel was of Alex in a similar pose. But this
time his arm was round the shoulders of a man. Paul presumably. Alex had
half turned towards the camera, and the bulge in his trunks looked
positively menacing. And I realized that if his cock did get hard, it
probably wouldn't be because of his friend Chrissie. Running down his left
thigh was a tattoo of cogs and pistons, just like the one that Duncan had.

   And Dunc had told me he's used the same design on only one person, `the
best lay I ever had'. Could it be true?

   As I reached for the next film, Alex stopped me, putting his broad hand
on my arm. "This is why I was reluctant to let you do these films," he
said, "Just remember, I did warn you."

   As I brought the first frame into focus, I saw what he meant. It was a
shot of a crowd in a bar. And everybody was naked.

   "The first half of the holiday was spent in an ordinary resort. But for
the second week, Chrissie and Paul took me to a naturist colony."

   In a matter of fact way, I told him it was no problem. But it was. If he
featured in any of the snaps, I was going to see his monster salami after
all!

   Most of the people who featured in this reel were typical of my
impression of naturists: overweight and not very prepossessing. But there
were some features of interest. Unfortunately, Chrissie always seemed to be
nearer the camera than Paul, but there were some shots that showed him off
as a very delectable young man, with a very suckable prick.

   Very few images of Alex though (it was his camera after all), and always
across a table or in the middle of a crowd, so I couldn't see his elusive
private bits. Eventually, we had finished all the pictures, printing two
sets, so he could pass on one to his friends.

   Back in the kitchen, I poured some more wine. "Nice tattoo on your leg,"
I said. "Yeah," responded Alex, "I had it done here in town about a year
ago. Several people have commented on it."

   I bet, I thought.

   "Tony, have you got any tattoos, then?" he asked.

   I told him about the one I'd got, and that I was thinking about having
another one done. He thought that was cool. And then he asked a leading
question that I wasn't sure how to handle.

   "How about piercings? Got any of them?" I told him about my Prince
Albert. He said that he was curious about piercings, but that he wasn't
sure that he wanted one.

   "You might not want to have a P.A.," I quipped. "It's not as if you've
got any need to draw attention to the dick of death that you seemed to have
in your swimming trunks."

   Alex flushed bright red. "I've seen one before," he said. I was sure
that that one had belonged to Dunc, but kept my mouth shut. He went on to
ask what I thought were the pros and cons of having one. I told him that I
had no troubles with mine.

   "If you wash your prick thoroughly and regularly, there's no
problem. But you have to get used to how to hold it when pissing, otherwise
you pee out of the piercing hole as well. It can be like pissing through a
shower head," I explained. "The biggest decision for me was when to have it
done. You see you have to leave it alone for a period of time to heal
up. That means no sex, not even a wank, for up to a fortnight."

   That made Alex blush again. Not used to such forthright speaking, I
suppose.

   "Mind you," I continued, "the guy who did mine did say that if I really
had to cum, I should put on a condom to prevent any infection or dirt
getting in there. I lasted eight days before I had to, and then another
five days before I wanked again. Just two handjobs in a fortnight, instead
of my usual ration. It was a bit sore when I was too vigorous with the
wrist action, but it worked OK."

   Finding that I was comfortable talking about dick, Alex asked. "How
often do you usually masturbate then, Tony?"

   "Don't go comparing my habits with yours or anyone else," I
warned. "Everybody is different. But since you ask, I usually do it twice a
day unless I get lucky and get off with someone."

   "And do you have anyone regular," asked Alex.

   "No. But that doesn't mean I'm not getting any.

   "Unlike me, then," Alex said self-pityingly. "The trouble with having a
larger-than-usual dick is that potential partners are so in awe of it that
they treat you as if you belonged to the dick, instead of getting to know
you as a person. And other people are frightened of it, and reckon they'd
never be able to get it into any orifice."

   "Sad gits," I said, not prepared to let him slip into depression. "So
the only way you regularly cum is . . ." and I gestured to indicate the
wanking motion.

   "Yeah."

   "How often's that then?"

   "Well," and Alex looked at the floor sooner than at me. "Either three or
four times."

   "A day?"

   "Yeah."

   "Cool . . .  so . . . it's four o'clock now. How many times today?"

   "I don't know if I should say. . . ." there was a long pause, and I just
raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Three times. When I woke up. Then before I
came down the station. . . and then when I went to the bog after
elevenses."

   I was gob-smacked. "Cool," I said, "it definitely works then."

   "Yeah," and he continued to look at the floor. "Trouble is . . ." and he
looked at me from the corner of his eye. "I want to do it again already."

   "No prob. You've just got a healthy appetite."

   "You don't mind."

   "Course not. Talking about it has made me quite keen too."

   Alex's hand slid up his thigh, and moved across his groin as if to cover
it up. And then . . . he squeezed. And looked at me again from the corner
of his eye.

   I couldn't let him be disappointed. I slid my own hand up my thigh and
outlined my penis.

   Alex sighed, "Yeah". And he squeezed again.

   I eased my zip down a couple of inches and waited.

   Alex did the same, and left one finger just inside his fly.

   I unbuttoned my waistband and pushed my hand inside and groped my
hard-on. "Go for it," I said, and pulled my P.A. out into view.

   Alex pushed his trousers down onto his thighs. White boxer shorts with a
heavy, wet stain above his thigh. "Are you sure?" he asked.

   No, I thought. The sight of your erection is a real turn-off, that's why
I'm sitting here with a stiffie poking out of my strides. As if!

   I stood up and said, "You haven't seen my playroom. Come on."

   With our cocks waving in front of us we made our way downstairs. Mine
waggled about seven inches in front of me. Alex's instrument was at least
ten inches long and was way wide, with a really thick foreskin.

   I didn't want to spook Alex, so I took him into the bedroom. "Might as
well do it in comfort," I suggested, pointing to the bed.

   "Yeah." I took that as permission. I pulled my clothes off and fell back
onto the bed to watch Alex. He hesitated. And then he dropped his clothes
onto the floor and kicked his trainers into the corner. And then he got
onto the bed beside me. "So," he said, "do I get to see that metal ring
through your dick in action?"

   "Sure," and I started to play with the ring and to rub gently at my
insistent erection. Alex didn't seem to take his eyes off my moving
hand. His own dextrous fingers started to move his loose foreskin over his
swollen helmet."

   "Nice," I said.

   "You reckon?" he said grinning over at me as he pulled back the skin
over his snout to reveal a large mushroom-headed monster of a glans.

   "Yeah. If I had one that size, I'm not sure that I would ever go out."

   "What do you mean?" his hand stopped moving and he looked at me
suspiciously.

   I carried on wanking to try to encourage him. "Well. If I had one that
big, I'm sure that I'd be able to suck myself off. And I really wouldn't
want to leave it alone."

   Alex's hand began moving again, with a bit more enthusiasm. "I've never
thought of that," he said. "I wonder if I really would be able to reach?"

   "You'll never know if you don't try," I suggested. Bearing in mind his
disappointment that no one else seemed able to manage it, I pointed out
that even if he couldn't manage to get it in his mouth, he would definitely
be able to lick the head, and that would make a change from his
masturbation habit.

   "Yeah," he said.

   I was fed up with the monosyllabic conversation, but not with the
view. Alex was still tossing away beside me, and the image was repeated and
repeated in the mirrors surrounding the bed.

   "No time like the present," he said with a gulp, and bent forward,
rounding his back to reach his erection. Sure enough, it reached his lips,
and I watched with glee as his moist tongue pushed out to take its first
taste of his own cockhead.

   Alex looked at me again from under his eyelids, suddenly shy again. "You
don't mind?" he asked.

   "Course not. Go ahead." And I pushed his head back towards his groin. He
opened wide his jaws, stretching his lips, and managed to get the head
between his lips by grabbing hold of his legs behind the knees and pulling
himself closer. He made the sort of sound Homer Simpson makes when
confronted with chocolate and slurped away for a few seconds. Then he sat
up again but didn't resume his wank.

   "What's the matter?" I asked.

   "Nothing. I just don't want to cum too soon. I want this to last."

   My foreskin was making slurping noises as I pulled my foreskin back and
forth over my helmet. This was really hot. Like Alex, I didn't want it to
end too soon. As I slowed down and stopped wanking for a moment, Alex spoke
again.

   "You sure you don't mind this?"

   "It's fine. Relax and go at your own speed. I'm just jealous."

   "Of what?"

   "That beautiful cock, and the fact that you really can suck it, you
lucky bastard."

   A few seconds of thoughtful silence as we both began to masturbate
again.

   "It's no big deal," said Alex. "Do you want to try it?"

   "Sure. If you don't mind?"

   He leant back and spread his legs, his normal size balls rolling in his
sac as he did so. "Go ahead and have a feel."

   My right hand inched across and rested on his tanned belly, the
dark-gold fibrous hairs there tickling my fingertips. I moved again and
touched his tanned erection with the end of just one finger. OK. It was
just a cock. Just the biggest cock I'd ever seen outside porn films.

   "It won't break you know," Alex said, wrapping my fingers around his
enormous knob. Tentatively, I wanked him, wishing that I could try getting
it in my mouth. Or die trying. How could I suggest that?

   "Could you do me a favour?" Alex asked.

   "Sure. What?"

   "Can I cop a feel of your P.A. It really does look hot." Without waiting
for an answer, his fingers moved into my groin and started to manipulate my
dick.

   I took a deep breath, and grabbed his wrist to slow him down. "Not too
much. I'm not ready to shoot yet."

   Alex stopped, looked me in the eye and said, "You're really into this,
aren't you?"

   My turn to give a one word answer: "Yeah."

   He turned onto one side and took me in his arms, hugging me close and
nuzzling into my neck. "Me too," he said.

   That was all right then. Our lips met and we started to hump our cocks
against each other. I pulled his head out of my neck and just looked a
question at him. He smiled. "Go on, then. See if you can be only the second
person ever to get more than the tip of my dick in your mouth."

   I did. It was a struggle, and worth every second of effort. The honey of
his dick-dew was a golden taste on my tongue now. I knew that my teeth were
occasionally rasping against the rim of his helmet. Every time it happened
Alex grunted, but he didn't try to stop me sucking him. From the corner of
my eye I looked at our reflection in the mirrors. I hoped this wouldn't be
a one-off. I hoped that Alex would let me do it again. I hoped he wouldn't
regret it later. I hoped he wouldn't hate me when it was over.

   Alex began to mutter obscenities, over and over again. I don't know how,
but his knob swelled even larger between my lips. And he came. And he
came. And he came. And this was his fourth cum of the day? Yeah!
. . . Yeah! . . . Yeah! . . . I'd been shagging the silky hair on the calf
of his leg like a dog. And now it was my turn. I shot my goo onto
him. Smooth ecstasy, as the last drops of his copious semen dripped from
the corners of my mouth.

   Alex went home. That was OK. I was knackered. I showered, got myself
something to eat, and watched the telly for a while. I was thinking about
going to bed when my mobile phone beeped to tell me that I had a text
message. It said: `Twice. I'm never going out again. CU at work'.