Date: Thu, 11 Jul 2013 20:01:43 +0100 (BST)
From: Robert Furlong <robert.furlong@rocketmail.com>
Subject: Silas in the Library

SILAS IN THE LIBRARY
Part of the 'Butt Monkey' series of stories by Robert Furlong
robert.furlong@rocketmail.com
Find my older stories at www.screeve.org

===

"The Sambia people are a tribe of mountain-dwelling people whose society is
well-known by cultural anthropologists for its ritualised acts of male
homosexuality.  Among their more widely-recounted practices are semen
ingestion and oral-anal contact, especially between males of
inter-generational age."

I scanned down the rest of the page and then through the remainder of the
chapter.  Nothing.  There was plenty of information about ceremonial
fellatio between the males of the tribe, and there was even a picture of a
battered earthenware bowl showing, fairly unequivocally around its edge,
men engaging in anal intercourse together, but there wasn't a single
additional comment, note or reference on the fact that these tribes-people
liked licking each other's butts.

I slammed the book closed and put it back on the shelf.  I was getting
nowhere here.

It had become clear that, while the internet was teeming with links on
rimming, filtering out the snippets of potentially useful information from
the myriad of spurious and pornographic websites was nigh on impossible.
So I had decided to retrace the footsteps I'd left decades ago as a
schoolboy and headed to the town library to research the subject using the
simple sword of the card index and the trusty shield of the Dewey Decimal
numbering system.

And yet the abundance of books on the shelves had proven to be equally
frustrating.  References to male-on-male rimming, although often tacitly
and ambiguously worded, could be found in almost every section, especially
in anthropological studies which had just been browsing.  Even dear sweet
Enid Blyton's back catalogue could throw up the occasional oblique
reference to the practice ("From his vantage point, Julian could see Uncle
Quentin and Mr Forbes skulking from the pantry, looking shamefaced and with
their eyes darting around furtively.  The stains around his uncle's mouth
were, he observed, patently not chocolate").

However, I wasn't interested in finding out that the practice existed –
I was well aware that it did.  Nor even that it was enjoyed between men
from all walks of life and of all sexual persuasions.  I had, after all,
discovered without very much room for doubt that such an interest existed
in myself, and I was just about as average a guy as you could hope to find.

What I wanted to know was what could entice heterosexual men to do such a
thing to one another.  It was on that point – an extremely pertinent
point from my perspective – that I was drawing a definitive blank.

Seeing my frustration, the librarian, a tall dark-haired man who I'd
noticed watching me for a while, walked over and asked if he could help.

"I'm doing a bit of research," I said vaguely, loath to reveal the topic
which I could imagine a man in his position being appalled by.  Smiling, I
added, "I... er... don't seem to be getting very far."

I noticed his name on his badge.  Silas P Langley.  Chief Librarian.

"The card index is a bit out of date," he said, glancing at the list of
numerical shelf locations I was working my way through.  "All the books
we've bought recently – from about 2002, actually – are only recorded
on the computer system."

His voice was a little camp and that, coupled with the way he was fiddling
with his tie for some reason, gave me the impression he was probably gay.
Perhaps the topic of my research might not be so surprising to him.  He
might well have nuzzled his face between the occasional pair of buttocks
himself.

"Each book has been scanned, so you can search them for specific words or
phrases," he went on helpfully.  "That might speed things up a bit."

"I assumed I had to be a member to be able to log on...?"

"Not at all."  He added, with a rather pointed smirk, "I operate a policy
of open access."

I'm sure you do, I thought.

"Well, that's very helpful.  Thank you," I said.

"What is it that you're researching?" he asked.  "Perhaps I can point you
in the right direction to... you know... get you started off...?"

The sly look on his face made me wonder whether I was being hit on.

"It's... er... for my son," I lied.  I didn't like to drag Jake into this
but I felt the guy needed to know that I had managed to father offspring,
albeit a few years ago, and so was likely to be straight.  In spite of my
fledgling interest in certain anatomical areas of my own gender, I was far
from ready to be chatted up by a gay guy.

"It's for his... sociology project," I went on, fully aware that sociology
was the last subject Jake would ever study.  "It's about sexual tastes
and... er... why people are drawn towards certain... well... practices."

"Which practices in particular?" he asked with a half-smirk and one eyebrow
raised.  I wondered how long he'd spent in front of a mirror perfecting
such an expressive look.

"Homosexual practices," I answered, hoping to knock the wind out of his
insinuatory sails with my directness.

He nodded, his smirk broadening a little and his eyebrow arching a little
higher.  He didn't seem at all thrown by my admission; if anything he
seemed encouraged by it.

I wondered if perhaps this is how gay men flirt together.

"That's still quite a wide net to cast," he said, softening his expression
into a smile.  "Can you be more specific?"

"I think my son was asked to look into certain... er... taboo practices.
Acts which were, at the time, culturally unacceptable... and... er... what
motivates men to do that kind of stuff."

He nodded, still smiling.  "I think the history section would make a good
hunting ground."  I followed him over to the right area and he pulled out a
large volume from one of the shelves.

"Why don't you have a look through this," he suggested, "and I'll see what
else the computer can drum up."

"I don't want to take up your time," I said, after thanking him.  "You
probably have a lot of other things to do."

"It's no problem," he said with a rather affected flick of his eyebrows and
handed me the book.  "In any case, we're pretty quiet today."

As he walked back towards his desk in the reception area, I noticed that
his backside was nicely muscular – no doubt the result of an exercise
regime far stricter than I could ever keep to – and I momentarily
considered where flirting back with him might lead.

The book he'd given me had the snappy title, "British Sexual Offences
during the Late Victorian Era: 1872-1901".  It was primarily a collection
of court proceedings from around the country, most of which concerned young
women who had been caught soliciting.  There was, however, a whole section
summarising "Offences between Men" and it was to this that I turned after I
had taken the book over to one of the reading desks, complete in
time-honoured tradition with its own green-shaded lamp.

Leafing through the cases, it seemed that most of them were for what were
referred to 'unnatural crimes' between apparently consenting men who had
had the misfortune to have been witnessed indulging in surreptitious sexual
encounters.  While the details of their ill-fated trysts were usually
unforthcoming, the tone of the accounts being condemning rather than
descriptive, I was interested to discover whether any of these unfortunates
had been caught rimming, and, if they had, what on earth the incredulous
judiciary of the day would have made of men committing such an act
together.

The accused in these pages came from professions as diverse as blacksmiths,
soldiers, cigar-makers and coffee-shop proprietors, as well as solicitors
and men of the cloth.  Their brief unions seemed to have been formed with
complete disregard of the strict class codes of the time: a school master
had been caught with a coachman; a village rector with a butcher's
apprentice.  Often the men were punished for their 'indecent and abominable
conduct' together and it was time and again noted in the court summaries
that the facts of their cases were 'unfit for publication'.

But not always.

Occasionally the surviving records were rather more lurid and sometimes
there were just enough tantalising details for me to recognise that
occasionally – very occasionally – the men had been witnessed
indulging in acts substantially more intimate than plain old buggery.

I found a case from the Central Criminal Court of two men who had committed
what was described as an 'infamous crime'.  One of the men was a labourer
called William Beevers, the other a soldier serving in the Scots Fusilier
Guards.  The shameful deed had taken place in the overcrowded terraced
house in which Beevers was a lodger, part of a long-since demolished and
redeveloped area of London near Westminster.  It had been witnessed by 'a
very respectably dressed woman named Mary-Ann Piper' who was a fellow
lodger in the house.

Mrs Piper had been asked by the landlady to sit up late to make sure that
another lodger, a man with the wonderfully Dickensian name of Theophilus
Craze, did not abscond from the house without paying his rent.  She had
positioned herself on the landing between the first and second floors but
had not seen Craze, him having retired to his room and presumably gone to
bed.  Instead, late at night, she had heard Beevers let himself into the
house accompanied by the guardsman, and had crept to the top of the stairs
to see them down below in the hallway behaving towards each other in manner
which she described as 'very indecent'.  They had then gone to the back
kitchen and had closed the door behind them while the intrepid Mrs Piper
had tiptoed downstairs to listen in on their 'lewd conversation'.

Eager to assure herself of what was taking place between the men, she had
peered through the keyhole and had seen the labourer committing an
'abominable act' on the soldier.  She had then crept back upstairs to the
landlady's chambers and had told her what was happening, only to return to
the scene of the crime in time to hear the tinkle of a few coins being
given to the soldier before he departed the house.

When questioned in court about what exactly she had seen, Mrs Piper had
replied simply that it was 'the thing which a woman will not do to a man'.
This piqued my interest.  Clearly, she could not be referring to sodomy
because surely a woman cannot, rather than will not, do that to a man, no
matter how adept and versatile she is.  I wondered whether Mrs Piper could
have been of such a delicate disposition that she might regard oral sex as
beyond the faculties of a woman.  Or, for that matter, masturbation.

I read on, intrigued.

Mrs Piper had been asked whether the soldier had found the act which was
being performed on him agreeable.  She had replied that she could not tell
because he had been turned away from her and she could only see that 'his
britches were hitched down at the rear'.  Beevers, however – who she
could see very clearly – had been in a state of 'some agitation'.

She had then been asked to more specific about which parts of the labourer
she could see through the keyhole.  "His face", she had replied, "in all
its sinfulness... doing that which any godly person would find deplorable.
And his lower part in his hand... so appallingly inflamed."

At that point the judge, Chief Justice Levene, had declared that the matter
should be thrown out of court and ordered that neither man's record should
be tarnished by these allegations.  There was, he decreed, "no evidence of
sexual impropriety which warrants retribution by this court, but merely an
inappropriate choice of setting on the part of Mr Beevers to express the
unfathomable curiosities which nature saw fit to endow him with".  Case
dismissed.

I read the passage twice to make sure I had fully understood its meaning.
The judge was basically saying that if the labourer had been seen
penetrating the soldier, he'd have banged them both up.  But he was not
prepared to accept that rimming – which was, I assumed, what the
meddlesome Mrs Piper had been alluding to – was a homosexual act.  What
he'd said suggested he regarded it as a natural biological impulse between
men; an innate urge which was so distasteful it could not even be openly
discussed, but which it would not, nevertheless, be appropriate to punish.

Chief Justice Levene had been, I suspected, a man very much after my own
heart.

It didn't answer my question as to why men were drawn to do such things to
one another, but it was fascinating to discover that at least one judge was
sufficiently enamoured with the practice to be able to rule, even within
the deeply repressive atmosphere of a Victorian court, that it did not
warrant punishment.

I flicked through the rest of the section and found only one case which was
in any way comparable.  This involved a cab driver and a gentleman who had
been caught together in a 'shocking position' in the alleyway behind a
public house.  Two female witnesses had attested to the 'vileness' of the
gentleman's conduct as he "knelt low to indulge himself behind the driver
who had assisted him by lowering his attire".  And yet, as with the case of
the labourer and the soldier, the case had ended with neither man being
punished.

I glanced back up to the top of the page.  Chief Justice Levene had, once
again, been the presiding judge.

Silas the Chief Librarian interrupted me with a printout of a few further
books which matched my enquiry.

"Has that one proven useful?" he asked.

I shook my head.  "It gives examples but it doesn't explain why men are
compelled to do this kind of stuff.  In a way, the danger of incurring so
severe a punishment makes it even more curious as to why some men were
still willing to take the risk."

He smiled.  "I suppose, the more intense the sense of gratification, the
greater the gamble someone will take to achieve it."

"At the risk of death?  Capital punishment was still routinely meted out
for some of these crimes at this time."

"Homosexual sex has, it would seem, an appeal which exceeds such concerns."

I smiled.  "It must be pretty good, huh?"

He grinned at me.  "I've heard it has its own... singular charms."

"The question I'm trying to find an answer to," I explained, trying to
steer things back to the task in hand, "is whether there's a natural desire
in all men to experience physical intimacy with one another.  That's the
crux of it."

"You mean, that's the question your son is trying to find an answer to,"
the librarian corrected me with a smirk.

"That's right," I agreed, feeling my cheeks colour a little.  My ears have
a tendency to turn scarlet at such times.  "My son... yes, of course."

The librarian looked down his list and drew a cross next to the name of one
of the books.  "You could try this one.  The author comes across a bit
pompous at times, but he tries to answer questions about why people are
attracted to certain things."

"Have you read it yourself?"

He shook his head.  "I've only flicked through it.  It's quite a popular
book for guys who are... well... struggling with certain issues."

He threw me a knowing look and I realised he thought that's what I was.  I
had to admit that I was indeed struggling with certain issues, but not the
ones he was probably thinking of.

Nevertheless, I went over and found a copy of the book he'd suggested and
took it back to the lamp-lit reading desk to leaf through it.

The author, Thomas Franklin, was an American doctor and a long list of
letters denoting his various qualifications followed his name on the cover
of the book.  I wondered if that was a good sign.

I glanced down the contents page and went straight to the section entitled,
"Why are some men gay?"

Disregarding the first half of the chapter in which he spouted his views
about the genetic and cultural bases of homosexuality, I was drawn to the
subheading, "Gay men and anal sex."

Maybe there'd be something useful here.

First off, though, he seemed to be of the view that all gay men practised
anal sex.  I was sure that wasn't true: there'd been an item about it on
'Embarrassing Bodies' on Channel Four.  The immaculately coiffed presenter
– who'd seemed like the kind of guy who would know about such things –
had said that some gay men don't enjoy anal sex in either role and instead
prefer an eroticism centred on each other's penises.  He'd had a name for
it but I couldn't remember what it was.

Nevertheless, I read what Thomas Franklin MD FCFP MRCS MB BCh BAO thought
about why gay men supposedly find bottoms so deeply erogenous.

"The fetishization of the male rear is the gay variant of the heterosexual
male's fascination with feminine curvaceousness.  The voluptuous shape of a
full pair of buttocks, especially in younger men, is directly comparable to
the rounded swell of a woman's bosom.  Indeed, the potent sexual appeal of
the breast-like shape, inherently found in males of all cultures, is
intensified in gay men by the inclusion of the anus between the buttocks –
a hole which lends itself with relative ease to penile penetration."

That's all very well and good, I thought, and it certainly helps to explain
how my interest in women's breasts has been so effortlessly widened to
include a fascination with other men's backsides, but it doesn't even begin
to enlighten me as to why I'm attracted to putting my face down there.

I read on.

"American gay culture seeks to beautify the male rear and glossy magazines
targeted at young gay men depict models flaunting their buttocks, and
sometimes their anuses, in overtly provocative poses.  Such a focus on the
male behind as a breast-substitute and thus an object of sexual titillation
has had the effect of promoting many gay men to experiment with the
practice of analingus."

Analingus?  The 'anal' part must obviously refer to the anus and 'lingus'
part – if my schoolboy Latin served me correctly – to the tongue.  I
figured the guy must mean rimming.

"In this, the heterosexual male's natural desire to stimulate the breasts
of a woman with his mouth and tongue is transferred in the gay male to
equivalent practices using his partner's backside.  Some men prefer
generalised oral contact with the whole buttock region in a direct
mirroring of the heterosexual norm, while others prefer to lick the anus
itself in a more specialised and uniquely-homosexual variant."

Uniquely-homosexual my arse, I thought, and then smirked at my unintended
pun.

But seriously, this guy had no idea what he was talking about.  He clearly
had no concept about what was so exciting about the taste and smell of a
man down there.  About what made it so arousing, even to a straight guy
like me who had never previously thought my own gender in a sexual way.

I scanned down the rest of the section to see if he mentioned anything
relevant to men like me, but he just kept labouring the point about the
backside being the gay version of a woman's breasts.

I wasn't buying it.  If I wanted to work my mouth over a pair of breasts,
surely I'd direct all my efforts into a finding a woman who'd let me.  I
would hardly go sniffing around another bloke's arse to see if it was
workable as a substitute.

No.  This guy was way off the mark.

I looked up and saw the Silas the Chief Librarian peering over the desk
lamp at me.

"I can see from your face that one wasn't any good," he said.

"Not hugely, no."  I passed him his list back.  "Are there any others on
here which might be better?"

He ignored the list and handed me a book he'd found using the computer
search.

"Try this one," he suggested.  "This book was cited about half a dozen
times using the keywords I put in."

"Which keywords?"

"Oh, you know," he said, grinning rather salaciously.
"Homoeroticism... clandestine pleasures... secretive male
encounters... things like that.  Just the kind of keywords to get the
computer's juices flowing..."

And not just the computer's, I thought.

"That was very... er... inventive of you."

"No problem," he smirked.  "Once you get going, such things just sort of
roll off the tongue, don't you find?"

I smiled.  This guy really was out to get me.

"I can't say I've had a lot of experience..."

He raised his eyebrows before suggesting, "Well, perhaps you're about to
make a few discoveries..."

How far was I prepared to go along with this?  Was I really interested in
this guy?  I realised that there was a distinct possibility that my visit
to the library could give my research a far more – how should I put it –
participative direction.

I glanced down at the book, playing along with his banter.  "Perhaps I am,"
I smiled.  "Let's see if I can come across an interesting passage..."

He beamed at me.  "Well, if you need any more help... you know, a hand with
something, or whatever... I'll be over at the desk."  And then he walked
back over to the reception area, his arse flexing most invitingly in the
back of his trousers as he did so.

He was making it quite clear that he was interested in me sexually, and I
wondered again what would happen if I were to be more direct in my
reciprocation.  Might this really be an opportunity for me to see how it
would feel to get sexual with another man?  Might he let me rim him so that
I could see if I was as excited by doing it to him as I had been with Guy?
Not here, of course, but maybe we could meet up later, after he finished
work...?

It might be risky to approach a gay man for such a thing: he'd be far more
practised than me and might expect me to do things with him that I wasn't
comfortable with.  Even worse, he might seek commitment from me that I
wouldn't be prepared to give.

On the other hand, though, his experience and knowledge could prove
invaluable in helping to answer the questions that were currently troubling
me.  Better still, he'd almost certainly be no stranger to the pleasures of
rimming and would probably enjoy having a novice experimenting on him.  And
with the arse he was showing off, it looked like I'd be in for rather a
treat.

While I mulled it over, I looked through the book he'd given me.  It was by
a female author called Carolyn Ashbrook and purported to cover all aspects
of sexuality.

Finding both 'rimming' and 'analingus' absent from the index, I instead
took up the trail leading from 'anal sex' and turned to the relevant pages.

Ms Ashbrook explained that, in her view, we find other people's buttocks
attractive because they provide an indication that they will make
worthwhile partners if we're in the mood for baby-making.

"In humans, fat on the breasts advertises reproductive health," she wrote,
"and available resources for pregnancy and nursing.  In other primates, the
buttocks have also been recruited as billboards for this advertising
function with males as well as females attracting mates by displaying their
rears as indicators of their fertility."

Tell me something I don't know, I thought.  Jake and I had watched a Robert
Winston documentary about this very subject a few years ago.  (I'd found it
painfully embarrassing to have so many nude bodies paraded on TV in front
of my son.  Jake, however, had insisted I didn't change channels; it wasn't
every night he got the chance to ogle a succession of breasts under the
pretence of it being for educational reasons.)

I glanced further on through the chapter.

"Some men enjoy not only anal penetration but facial contact with the
buttock area and sometimes with the anus itself."

Ah, here we go.

"The pleasure in such activities, like enjoyment of exhibitionism discussed
earlier, is derived entirely from its negative connotations.  As humans we
have been taught to be ashamed or embarrassed about our anuses and so the
act of having intimate contact with that area of another person challenges
this psychological taboo.  Doing something which society has condemned as
disgusting and humiliating brings its own titillating appeal.  The added
fact that putting one's face close to another person's bottom has a bestial
connotation – dogs, to name just one example, sniff each other's
backsides – no doubt serves to enhance the excitement of participants."

It seemed I had finally unearthed a plausible explanation as to why rimming
might appeal to me.  I liked it because, in effect, I wasn't supposed to
like it.  I was – quite simply – being contrary.

It was an attractive suggestion, but it seemed over-simplistic and too
convenient.  Had such thoughts passed through my mind when I nuzzling into
Guy's undercarriage?  Had I been thinking about how... well... 'naughty' I
was being?  Was that what had excited me?

I didn't think it was that straightforward.

I put the book down and looked over at the reception area.  Silas the Chief
Librarian was behind the desk, bending over a chair to look at something on
the computer and showing off that very attractive backside of his.

As if drawn towards him like a wasp towards a pot of jam, I wandered over
to the desk.

He glanced up at me as if he had expected me to appear and smiled.

"Was that one any good?"

"It was interesting," I conceded, "and had a few ideas in it I hadn't
really thought of.  It's given me a few suggestions to... er... give my
son."

"Ah... your son... that's right," he smirked, his voice laden with sarcasm.

He stood up and walked over to me.

"I've... er... a few more books out back," he quietly informed me.  "In the
storage area... maybe you'd be interested...?"

I nodded.  I knew where this was headed, but hadn't expected him to be so
up-front.

"Sounds good.  Do you want me to watch the desk while you fetch them for
me?" I asked with a look of affected innocence.

"I thought you might like to come out back and look for them with me...?"
he smiled.  "I'm sure the desk will survive being unmanned for a while."

I smiled back.  Things might be the on verge of getting very interesting.

Did I really want this, I asked myself.  What might I be getting myself
into?

Before I could dissuade myself, I hastily replied, "Sounds good to me."

I followed him through a door behind the reception desk and down a short
corridor.  This opened out into a long narrow room tightly packed with
storage shelves piled high with a disarray of books.  It was much colder in
here and the lighting was weak and cast long shadows.

He turned to face me, his back against the end of one of the shelves.

"We might not have long," he said.  "Some old biddy is going to be calling
down the corridor any minute now for me to check a Danielle Steel back in."

"So where should we start?" I asked.

"What exactly is it that you're after?"

"Whatever it is you have in mind," I offered.

He walked over to me and put his hand on the front of my trousers, found my
flaccid penis through the material and raised his eyebrows, probably
surprised by my generous size.  Gently massaging it between his finger and
thumb, he whispered, "Something like this?"

"Maybe..."

He continued rubbing at my organ, feeling it slowly stirring to life
through my trousers, and smiled at me.  "I knew you'd be up for it... the
second I saw you!"

"I'm not sure that I am... I'm pretty new to this..."

He threw me a sceptical look and then smiled.  "How about I show you the
ropes, then?"

He grabbed my right hand and put it against the front of his own trousers.
His cock, unlike mine, was already stiff but felt much smaller than mine
was even in its softened state.

He held onto my wrist and worked my hand against his excitement, making
slow masturbatory movements back and forth along his length.

"There," he whispered appreciatively, his breath hot against my face and
smelling of stale coffee.  "That's how you do it."

I wasn't sure I was enjoying this – it felt awkward to be so close to
another man and touching his crotch like this – but I went along with
it, enticed by the possibility that he might at some point turn around.

I worked up a steady rhythm on his organ, rubbing and squeezing it through
his clothing, as he vainly tried to awaken mine by doing the same.

After a minute or so, he pushed my hand away and undid his belt and fly.
Yanking down the front of his baggy boxer shorts, he pulled out his cock
which arched upwards with its deep red head fully exposed.  It was
perfectly formed, but much smaller than those I was used to seeing.
Perhaps I'd looked at too much porn and now had unrealistic expectations
about what men kept in their underwear.

He put my hand back onto his cock and I wrapped my fingers around it.  He
directed me to make a jerking motion up and down it and muttered, "Yeah,
that's it..."

On my side, my cock continued to refuse to co-operate.  I quite liked the
sensation of his fingers playing with me through my trousers, but not
enough for me to become aroused by it.

Perhaps to try and stir my interest, or more likely for his own enjoyment,
he pushed my head down towards his erection and commanded me to suck him.

Anticipating that this might give me a route towards his backside, just as
it had with Guy, I complied and knelt down in front of him.  I took him
into my mouth and gentle tongued the head of his cock.  It had a sharp,
curious taste and oozed a warm dribble of salty liquid into my mouth.

He groaned in gratitude and grabbed my head, working himself in and out of
my mouth as I sucked him.

I reached around and felt his backside.  It was large and round: very
inviting.  That was where I wanted to be: right between his firm, meaty
buttocks; not slurping away at his dick like some backstreet whore.

I hitched my thumbs over his belt and pulled the seat of his trousers down.
He muttered something, perhaps in encouragement, and I went back up to do
the same with his boxer shorts.

Now his backside was exposed, the skin silky smooth and the cheeks flexing
in time with gentle thrusting of his cock into my mouth.  I worked my
fingertips into his cleft, feeling the coarse hairiness inside, and swept
them up and down, becoming more excited by the alluring warmth of his crack
and promise of what lay in store just out of reach.

He started jabbing himself more forcefully into my mouth, his breathing
quickening, as I tried to pleasure him as best as I could.

I was more focussed on his bum: pushing my fingers deeper towards the prize
I was yearning for and feeling myself slowly stiffen at the slight wetness
I was finding as I closed in on it.

He pulled back from me and announced, "I want to suck your cock."

I stood up.  "I don't know..."  I was flattered that he'd ask but I'd never
really enjoyed the sensation of a mouth around my organ.

"Come on," he asserted.  "Pull down your trousers."

Jesus.  For a camp guy he was surprisingly dominant.

"I don't want to do that," I said.  "Like I said, I'm kind of new to this."

"Bullshit!" he snapped.  "You're well up for it!"

He lunged towards me and I pushed him away.  Was this really turning nasty?
We were in a pretty isolated part of the library – if it came to it,
could I take this guy?  He was younger than me and quite well worked out,
but with his trousers halfway down his thighs, I'd have the advantage of
being more lithe.

He came back at me and tried to grab my waist.  I slammed the palm of my
hand into his sternum and forced him away from me.

This was getting far too physical for my liking.  How on earth would I
explain it if I were to emerge from my visit to the library with a black
eye?

"I don't want you to suck me," I insisted, more firmly.

This time he held back.  His cock was still erect; more or less
undiscouraged.

"Okay," he said.  "What do you want to do?"

I felt like I didn't really want to do anything now, other than make a bid
for the doorway, but the prospect of him turning around and letting me
taste him was still too potent for me to easily dismiss.

"I want to rim you."

"What?"

"I want to rim you," I repeated.

Having never said the word 'rim' out-loud before, at least not in this
context, I half-expected him to laugh in scorn and tell me nobody called it
that or that I was pronouncing it completely wrong.

But he didn't.  He just stared at me in surprise.

After a second or so, with his cock starting to droop, he asked, "Is that
what this has all been about?  You've had your eye on my arse?"

He seemed disgusted; as if I was asking him to participate in something
obscene.

"I wouldn't say it's 'what this has all been about'... I mean, I was
actually looking for a book... but yes, I'm only really interested in
rimming."

"Oh God," he almost spat.  "I know how to pick them."

"I thought you'd like the idea," I argued.  "With you being... you
know... gay..."

"Oh right – so you assume all gay men are into each other's arseholes?"
he sneered, pulling up his shorts and then his trousers.  "What you see in
internet porn isn't necessarily an accurate depiction of what gay men
really enjoy, you know..."

He did have rather a point.

"I just thought..." I stammered.

"There's a line to be drawn," he cut in, zipping himself up.  "And I draw
it a long way short of the brown hole.  Sorry but what you're
asking... ugh... there's no way I could ever do that."

I was going to point out that I was asking to do it to him but, as he
seemed determined to draw our encounter to a close, I headed for the
doorway which led back out to the corridor.

"Yeah," he said with satisfaction, as if he was propelling me from the
library himself.  "Get the hell out of here, you dirty sod."

"I'm going!" I snapped back.  "There's no need to get abusive."

He finished doing up his belt and followed me back out in the reception
area.  An old woman was standing at the desk looking around for service
but, as far as I could tell, she didn't have a Danielle Steel book with
her.

As I was leaving through the double doors, I heard Silas the Chief
Librarian greet the woman as if nothing had happened.  "Good afternoon, Mrs
Padbury!  Isn't the weather awful!  And what can we do for you today?"

I got outside and spent a few seconds recovering myself under a bus shelter
which offered some protection from the cold October drizzle.

"Well, that went well," I thought to myself sardonically.

Clearly, I mused on the way home, rimming isn't as prolific among gay men
as I'd assumed it to be.  Hooking up with a gay guy wasn't necessarily
going to give me a taste of what I was fantasising about; it might not, in
fact, deliver anything more than a humiliating expulsion from a public
building.

However, I'd learned a few snippets from the books Silas the Chief
Librarian had shown me and so at least had come away with some clue as to
the appeal of what had transpired to be a decidedly minority interest.  I
realised I had probably also come away with a lifelong ban from the town
library, but... well... such is life.

===

Next story: Adam and Steve

===