Taking it up the arse is so dirty. There’s something about it that feels wrong in the best way possible. When I was younger, I was too bloody shy to ask my girlfriend to try it. We’d been together two years and I couldn’t even bring myself to mention it. Pathetic, really. So I did what any desperate horny lad would do – I replied to an ad on a dating site. Some woman in her forties, husband wanted to watch, she wanted it up the arse. Simple as that. No small talk, no awkward dates. Just meet at a seedy hotel off the M6 and get to business.
I remember walking into that room. Smelled like cheap air freshener and regret. She was already bent over the bed, arse in the air, husband sat in the corner with a beer. Didn’t say a word, just nodded. So I drilled her. Forty-five minutes of pure, filthy anal while he watched. When I finished – and I finished hard, emptied everything into that condom – I washed my cock in the sink. Proper scrub, hot water. Turned around and the husband asked if I wanted another go. Polite, like he was offering a cup of tea. I declined. Couldn’t handle the weirdness. But I think about it still. More than I should.
