The final part of the 'Butt Monkey' series of stories by Robert Furlong
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>> NOTE TO READERS
>> I wanted to add a message to this final part of 'Butt Monkey' to say, firstly, thanks for reading and following my story (especially if you've very kindly messaged me to express your appreciation) and, secondly, to find out if you would like me to write a sequel.
>> 'Butt Monkey' started out as a fairly straightforward three-parter called 'Football Match' about a divorced guy who finds he enjoys rimming another man and gets into a regular 'arrangement' with him. I found that I enjoyed writing the story and liked the characters I'd created so much that I kept adding additional chapters to it and gradually fleshed it out with a more involved plot. By the time I started uploading the story, it had grown to thirty parts.
>> My question to you is whether you'd like me to continue writing Robert's bum-related adventures or whether I should write something else. I have ideas about what I'd like to do with a possible sequel, but I'd like to know that there is interest to hear more of Robert's stories before I get started on them.
>> So, please, if you have time, could you let me know if you'd like to hear more from Robert and his enjoyment of the male rear? If you would like a sequel, what did you enjoy about 'Butt Monkey' - which parts worked for you and which parts didn't? Did you prefer his one-off encounters or the ongoing storyline? Did you like the humour and character development or would you rather have more eroticism?
>> Looking forward to hearing from you!
===
Having dropped Jake off at college, I had the decadent thrill of making the drive back home instead of continuing towards work as I normally would.
I'd kept today appointment-free so I could 'work from home' as I had a lot of things in the house I needed to catch up on before the Christmas rush. Apart from anything, I needed to get the Christmas tree out from the shed and decorate it, as Jake had made it abundantly clear in recent years that he had no interest in it. I wasn't sure why I bothered myself: force of habit, I suppose.
I planned to fire off the odd e-mail during the morning and put together a spreadsheet on the Coventry project mid-afternoon to make it look like I was slaving away at my desk.
Don't work hard -- work smart, management liked to tell us. So that's what I would be doing today.
When I got home, I fetched the Christmas tree from the shed and all the Tupperware containers full of our various decorations. The cat stared at me as I stacked everything up in the living room, no doubt musing on what an utterly pointless human ritual I was performing. I couldn't help but agree with him.
As I was starting to assemble the tree from its various parts, I heard my mobile phone beep with a text message.
It must be Jake. Nobody else ever texted me.
"hey dad. srted u out xmas prez this am. hop u like. u owe me. ;)"
I managed to work out that he was telling me that he'd bought me a Christmas present during the morning. I'd thought he was in classes at college. Perhaps he'd been ordering things from Amazon on his phone while the teacher wasn't watching. He wouldn't be able to mess around like that next year when he was in lectures at university.
I sent a message back.
"What are you talking about? What present? Dad x"
He always told me off for signing off Dad -- "It comes up on the bloody phone automatically!" -- but I continued to do it just to irritate him.
I got on with putting the tree up, draping tinsel across its branches and hanging silly baubles on the ends of them, and after a while his reply came in.
"wont spoil sprize. u owe me big tho! ipad big! :P"
I hoped this wasn't like the time he'd bought me a balloon ride for my fortieth birthday, choosing to forget, in his haste to provide me with a meaningful 'special' present, how phobic I am about heights. It had taken me months of pressing buttons and having some computerised answering system keep cutting me off before I got the money back.
As I took the fairy lights out from the container and found that they'd inexplicably managed to tie themselves up in knots since last year, I wondered if Jake had gone and bought me one of those 'Kindle' things. He was always telling me that I "needed" one even though I couldn't see what use I would have for such a contraption. If he had, he would be wasting his money and I wouldn't be buying him an iPad or anything else for doing something so stupid.
I started hanging the lights around the tree, realising I should have put them on before the tinsel and baubles, and noticed that my neighbour Paul in the house opposite was letting a young guy in through his front door. I wondered if it was the boyfriend of one his daughters: they were both at university and each vacation they would invariably bring home with them the most amazing looking young men imaginable. I so envied Paul in having such handsome lads staying over: to be able to admire their cute bubble butts straining in their underwear each morning while they waited outside the bathroom; to have the chance to rifle through the laundry in their rucksacks while they were out Christmas shopping and enjoy a leisurely sniff of their most secretive scents.
It would amuse me to be in Paul's place and to pleasure myself with my nose sniffing hungrily at the smell of a part of my daughter's boyfriend which she herself would have no interest in at all. How delicious it would be to climax at the thought of enjoying intimacy with a part of his body which she would have given barely a second glance.
Paul saw me looking over at him so I smiled and threw him a small wave. In return he threw me a mischievous grin and a thumbs-up, just like had when he'd seen me bringing Bradley home with me. Seeing the way he was behaving with the lad he'd brought back -- how physical he was being with him -- I began to wonder if, perhaps, we had rather more in common than I'd previously suspected.
He let the lad into the house and followed him in, glancing around as if to see who else was watching him.
I seemed to vaguely remember seeing Paul heading into the park toilets after I'd emerged from them smelling of the cum and bum of the lad who worked at Asda. Perhaps Paul had gone there for similar reasons as I had, and might even have picked up the young lad he was with today from there. I wondered if his wife knew what was going on and where she was when he was getting up to such escapades.
After a couple of minutes, as I was fixing the gold Saint Niklaus star to the top of the tree, I saw Paul in his bedroom. He looked at me again, a knowing smile on his lips, and then hastily drew the curtains.
I chuckled to myself. It's all been going on, right under my nose, and I had no idea.
===
Later on, after lunch, when the tree was fully decorated and looking as ridiculous as it always did during its three weeks of being cursorily displayed, there was a heavy knock at the door.
Thinking it might be the postman whose bum can look quite appetising in his Royal Mail trousers, I glanced out of the window.
There was no sign of his red van, though: just a plumber's van was parked up outside our front garden. I hadn't phoned for a plumber; he must be at the wrong address.
I went to the front door, expecting to have to give directions to some lost tradesman but when I opened it, there was a familiar face outside.
"Hello, big boy," a deep voice said with an infectious smirk.
"Guy!" I gasped. He looked amazing with his hair cut short and a day's stubble on his chin. "Wow! Just... wow!"
He laughed; his teeth looking beautifully white and clean. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"
