Burnham-on-Sea

Simon and I had continued pretty much as usual after his admission: he'd been to stay over at mine a couple of times; I'd been to stay with him, sleeping next to him in his bed just as I always had. The only significant thing that was different was that he had, after a few awkward muttered attempts, started talking about guys he fancied in a similar, though far more self-deprecating, way as I would talk about girls. We discussed people at school he'd found attractive, even though at the time he'd told himself it was in an entirely non-sexual way, and the kind of things he found interesting in other men.

I guess it was two or three months later, at Josh Weldon's party, that things began to develop further.

Simon and I had gone along, with a few of our mates, to Josh's parents' house in which everyone was meeting as a kind of "end of summer holidays" event. We were all about to head back to our different colleges and universities and this would be the last time many of us would see each other until Christmas.

The house had been crammed full of people and I'd been pleased to see that Sarah Cox, a girl who I'd fancied since the third form at school, was there and looking as magnificent as ever.

Unfortunately, to cut a long story short, things didn't work out between Sarah and I that night primarily because I ended up, along with the vast majority of the other people in the house, getting extremely pissed and arsing around like a five-year-old. Some guy found Josh's dad's hose and a group of girls were given an impromptu wet tee-shirt contest the back garden. Then the hose was turned on the guys and we ended up having a wet briefs and boxer-shorts contest. Pulling moonies at the neighbours also featured heavily, as did seeing how much lager Josh's hamster could knock back.

I remember all that with varying degrees of clarity, but I don't remember what happened afterward. I only have Simon's word for that but I must say it sounds believable.

According to Simon, I was far too drunk by the end of the evening to walk home and so we decided, like twenty or thirty other people, to stay over at Josh's for the night. His parents, God help them, weren't due back until the following evening, and so that would give everyone plenty of time to clean up and get out of there before they returned.

So we ended up sleeping among piles of people in one of the bedrooms of Josh's house. I think the two of us were slumped in a corner with a sheet thrown over us, but only because that's how we awoke next day.

Simon reckons I became maudlin at the end of the evening and started ranting drunkenly about the fact that Sarah Cox hadn't shown any interest in my amorous advances. I must say, that part at least would be true to form.

Simon had settled me down next to him in a quiet corner and asked me, soothingly, what made her so attractive to me.

I'd muttered something about her mind, her body and the small fact of her being rumoured to give blowjobs that could make a guy whimper.

Simon had said, "I know someone who's in training to be able to do that..."

And I'd said, "Well let them use me as a guinea pig. Bring them on!"

And we'd left it there until most of the other people in the room had settled down in varying states of discomfort for the night.

When all was quiet, Simon had apparently whispered, "Do you really want a blow job, Ollie?"

And I'd laughed. "Like you need to fuckin' ask!"

So he'd whispered, "Even if it was me giving it?"

And I'd said, "A blow job's a blow job, mate. If you wanna give it, I wanna take it."

That bit doesn't sound so much like me, but I'll keep an open mind because I was extremely pissed.

And so he'd gone beneath the sheet, unzipped me and gently sucked on my cock while everyone else piled around the room were either sleeping, trying to sleep or making out with someone they'd picked up.

The part I do remember - although I think I vaguely recall the warm, wet sensation of his mouth around my cock - is hearing some guy shout, "Fuckin' hell! Collins is sucking Ollie off! Jesus!"

Then, when someone put the light on and all eyes were on me, things become very clear. Simon's head came out from under the sheet and I struggled to put away my stiff wet cock and zip myself up.

I'd laughed, "Jesus, you guys. Like that's gonna happen!"

And someone had said, "Well what was he doing under there?"

Simon muttered, "Hey, I just fell asleep. I can't help where my head goes when I'm unconscious."

And I laughed again, hopefully convincingly, and said, "But if you wanna do what the guy says and sort me out while you're down there, Simon, mate, feel free!"

Simon had laughed, "Fuck off! In your dreams, mate!"

And things had settled down again.

When the light was off and people seemed to be sleeping again, Simon whispered, "Do you want me to do it again?"

I said, "No. It's too risky. Maybe some other time."

He'd put his arms around me and we slept like that.

The next day, Simon told me what had happened - or, at least, the parts I couldn't remember - and I think I believe his version of events. I really can't see him doing anything to me without me giving him at least some encouragement; after all, I've slept around at his place loads of times, in the same bed as him, and he's never so much as touched me. So I think he was telling me the truth.