“Sorry, lads, duty calls,” Danny said, flashing his cheeky grin and swinging a small backpack over his shoulders. “Those arses aren't going to fuck themselves!”

“They might just fuck each other,” I pointed out. This ridiculous banter had been going on for most of the trip from Birmingham to our campsite in the Lake District. It was exhausting, but I found it impossible to stop with Danny. He always seemed to bring out the cheeky schoolboy I had never been, rather than the professional twenty-seven-year-old I was supposed to be.

“Good point,” he conceded, “all the more reason to hurry.”

He set off through the trees as the last rays of the sun gave the few scattered clouds a golden hue, calling out over his shoulder: “Don't do anything I wouldn't do!”

“Is there anything you wouldn't do?” I yelled back, but a raised middle finger was his only response.

Turning to Amelio with an idiotic grin, I immediately felt awkward, suddenly aware how annoying that three-hour drive must have been. I had known Danny for two years, but Amelio had only met him a fortnight ago, and only joined my team at work three months before that. Why Danny had barged into our IT office to demand that he join us on this trip, I had no idea. Ostensibly it was to take the place of Darren, who had “bottled it”, but he could easily have asked Will and Ed, instead of arranging this elaborate “coincidence” of them camping nearby.

Perhaps I had made the odd mention that he was our age, seemed cool with his short mohawk, neat beard, nice arse and an impressive sleeve of tattoos, but I hadn’t spoken about him that much… had I? To my surprise, my new colleague had agreed immediately, and now here we were, abandoned by the instigator on the first night.

“Sorry,” I said, “I promise I'm not that bad on my own.”

“It's alright,” he said with a wry smile. “Although I may have to be in charge of music on the way back.”

Other than sex, the only other topic of conversation in the car had been our habitual bickering over what to listen to:

“I’m driving so we’re listening to Madonna,” Danny would start.

“You know I hate Madonna.”

“Yeah, and I still can't believe that someone who loves cock as much as you doesn't like Madonna.”

“That's ridiculous. It makes less sense than if I said you can't be gay and not like Judas Priest, at least Rob Halford is actually gay. Or we could listen to Rainbow, they weren’t gay, but come on: they’re called Rainbow!”

“We’re not listening to metal.”

“Why can’t you be stereotypically black instead of stereotypically gay? I’d be fine with hip-hop or reggae.”

“Hip-hop is too American–”

“Um, Madonna–“

“–is fabulous, so she gets a pass. And reggae is dad music.”

“Madonna is mum music.”

“No, I love my mum, but she hates Madonna.”

“I love your mum even more now.”

“Don’t even think about it. Anyway, you can’t hate Madonna as much as I hate your Cannibal Hannibal or whatever–”

“Cannibal Corpse!”

And so on. Poor Amelio.

In the absence of something else to say, I handed him another beer, then sat back down on the ground to take in the sunset. Blue sky was changing to purple above the green summer foliage surrounding this idyllic clearing. The small valley would provide shelter if the weather turned foul, although right then there was barely the whisper of a breeze to rustle the leaves around us, birds tweeting their evening song providing the only sounds besides the crackling of the fire my companion was tending. Watching him, I realised how little I really knew him.

“Hey, Amelio,” I said, moving closer to be more sociable, “I’ve been meaning to ask you: where’s your name from? I mean, ‘Amelio Murphy’ is a bit of a mixture.”

“Family tradition,” he replied, and took a sip of beer. For an instant, I thought it might be a long, awkward evening, but he continued: “My great-grandmother was Mexican, and that side of the family have insisted on Spanish names ever since. Dad’s name is Emiliano, which obviously went down well in Dudley back in the seventies…”

We laughed, and from there the conversation took off. While the remaining daylight retreated, we found we did have interests in common other than a love of PowerShell. The discussion turned to Japanese cinema, then mafia movies, and then off on a tangent about Italian food. The August night remained warm despite the clear skies, but Amelio kept the campfire fed anyway. Our conversation faded away, and we sat watching the yellow flames consuming the wood.

“So, do you have a… girlfriend at the moment?” I hazarded to break the silence, wanting to clear up his preferences once and for all.

“Nope,” he laughed, “men only for me. I don’t have a boyfriend either, though.”

He paused, the firelight dancing in his brown eyes, as he measured me up. Then his mouth was on mine. The suddenness took me by surprise, and together with the effects of the alcohol, I responded late – too late. He broke off with a muttered apology, staring into the flames. I studied his profile, the glow of the fire on his beard, his lower lip trembling just a little in defiance of his tough demeanour.

“Amelio,” I said quietly, “it’s okay. I just… wasn’t expecting it.”

He nodded, but continued to observe the dance of the orange demons over the burning wood. A yawning void opened in my chest, pulling me to sobriety as I struggled to find something to say to salvage the situation. I had wanted that kiss, damn it!

“I mean it, I…” I floundered, “I’m a fucking idiot.” That got him to look at me. “I’ve been thinking of you every night for the past two weeks, and then I can’t even remember to kiss back. I’m a fucking idiot.”

“Really?” he said, raising one eyebrow. “I only just told you I’m gay!”

“What, you’ve never fantasised about straight guys?”

He nodded, that cute smile playing around the corners of his mouth. My panic receded for the moment – I had at least kept us on speaking terms. Yet something bothered him. Surely I wasn’t his first? Only one way to find out.

“Have, um, have you been with guys before?” I asked, a little hesitantly.

“Some, not many.” With a sigh, he looked to the night sky, collecting his thoughts. “I had a bad experience with the last. I… have scars.”

“Ah,” was all I could say. Shit. Nothing traumatic had ever happened to me, just some partners who were crap in bed. How could I comfort him with no comparable experience?

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Nope,” he replied, and then met my gaze. “Not now, anyway.” He let out a chuckle. “Killed the mood there, didn’t I?”

“No, it was my shitty kissing,” I assured him, then added coyly, “we can always try again… now?”

Oh, that smile! Even half hidden in darkness, it was beautiful.

“There is something you need to know first,” he said, slowly, monitoring my face for a reaction. “I wasn’t born ‘Amelio’.”

“So… your great-grandmother wasn’t Mexican?” I ventured.

“Actually, she was, and my birth name was Spanish, too. But… you know the Johnny Cash song, A Boy Named Sue?”

“Of course,” I replied, thrown by this sudden tangent.

“Well, I’ve always liked it, because the name I was given was… wrong, too.”

“Sue doesn’t sound very Spanish.”

“It wasn’t actually Sue.” I bit my lip, hoping I had not gone too far with that last flippant remark. “I don’t speak my old name. It is now Amelio, after a colonel in the Mexican Revolution. According to my grandmother, her mother had an affair with him, but I chose it because he was… like me. Let me show you.”

Getting to his feet, he turned to me, towering above me in the flickering shadows, and began undoing his belt. My head was reeling – I was ready for a nice hard cock, but this was the weirdest lead up. He pushed his boxers down. The fat member I had been imagining failed to materialise, as the bulge that had been hovering near my head had come down too. Instead, there was a nest of curly hair, and the unmistakable shape of a vulva. At the top, above the folds of his labia, was a clitoris – large, but definitely not like any penis I had ever seen.

How long I remained staring, I do not know, but I was suddenly aware that my mouth had gone dry from staying open so long. My eyes travelled up Amelio’s shirt to his face. Words would have to be chosen carefully – clearly, he had had to struggle with gender in a far deeper way than just who he found attractive. Also, I was horny, and I was pretty sure he was – maybe that was the key.

“You are the most attractive man I have ever met,” I said, “and I want us to fuck now.”

A growl was all I heard before being pulled roughly into his crotch. Hairs tickled my nose and a familiar, sweet, masculine scent filled my nostrils. A moment of uncertainty gripped me. How should I think about the hard body part between my lips? Cock or clit? Then, I realised it didn’t matter. I was kissing it, not talking about it. Just lick it and see what he likes.

Tentatively, I opened my mouth wider to give my tongue room to manoeuvre. What it met was smaller than any penis it had encountered, yet at about the size of the first joint of a finger, larger than the equivalent possessed by the cis women it had brought pleasure to. Gently, with tongue wide and relaxed, I explored along either side of the sheath, with only the lightest brush of the tip. He was getting harder, so I was doing something right. I closed my eyes for a moment to calm my thoughts. Stop making comparisons to previous partners! Forget everything else, and try to make him cum!

Eyes open again and locked to his, I moved down. I wanted to taste him so bad, curious to know what man pussy would be like. His hairs had the aroma of other men I had been with, that sweet musk that always made me want to lick them from balls to tip. I reached further in, licking the edges of his nether lips, first on one side, and then the other, tasting the dew that was forming between them. They were equivalent to his balls, I figured, and the low moan I elicited confirmed I was on the right track. With some trepidation, I pushed them apart ever so slightly, a little scared that any penetrative action might set off feelings of dysphoria.

“Yeah,” he murmured, sensing my fear, “lick deep, it feels good!”

No need to tell me twice! My tongue snaked inside his warm canal. He tasted of cum. That was my first impression – cum. I lapped at him, all the way up to his clit, and then back to that cup of nectar. My hands gripped his powerful thighs while he widened his stance enough for me to suck each of his labia into my mouth, one by one. He groaned in satisfaction, and this made me aware of just how hard I had become.

“Harder,” he grunted, when I returned to the stiff protuberance above his opening.

I obeyed, locking my lips around him and sucking rhythmically, then licking firmly, no longer the gentle teasing of the circumference I had been doing before. His wetness trickled down my chin as I just let myself go, slurping away at him hungrily in my eagerness to bring him to orgasm. Round and round my tongue went, his erection more phallic with each pass.

Firm buttocks tensed under my hands as my ministrations bore fruit, and he climaxed. No explosion of fluid from his slit, as I found myself expecting, but unmistakably the cries of a man reaching orgasm. He pushed me away to stop me from continuing past the point of his endurance.

Amelio held me there by my curly hair, panting and staring down at me. I looked straight back at him from down on my knees, licking his juices from around my mouth. Red sparks from the embers danced in his eyes, the light enveloping everything in its range in a pulsing, ruddy glow, banishing the rest of existence to the pitch black that surrounded us. He pulled me to my feet and we kissed.

“Danny was right,” he said when our lips parted, “you do give good head.”

“Oh, he set this up for you?” I exclaimed. He grinned and nodded. “Cheeky bastard, he could have told me!”

He shrugged, and looked up. “Gorgeous night. Fancy sleeping under the stars?”

“I fancy doing something under the stars,” I said. He snorted.

We took the bedding from our tents and spread it out over the tarpaulin we had used for our bags whilst setting up camp, then sat down for the fiddly task of removing hiking boots. By the time I had stripped off, Amelio already lay naked, waiting. The absence of his shirt revealed more tattoos and two scars either side of his chest, which I assumed must be from breast removal surgery. My eyes searched in vain for the strap-on dildo I had been expecting — having my arse thoroughly pounded was half the fun of gay sex, after all, although I had thought a mouthful of cock and its salty sweet reward was the other half, and I hadn't missed it.

“Second thoughts?” he asked, as I stood, naked, on the edge of the makeshift bed.

“No,” I said, ashamed at my indecision in case he thought it was because of... well, his genitalia. “Just thinking how hot you are.”

“Stop thinking and come here,” he replied and pulled me down into another kiss.

Any worries I had about having to perform outside my usual role of bottom were quashed when he pinned me to the ground and invaded my throat with his tongue, his powerful body pressing against my skinnier frame. I struggled against him, wanting to run my hands over his torso, but he refused to release me. Instead, he ran his free hand down my chest, and slid off me so he could access my cock and balls, freshly shaved that morning. Already hard when he enveloped my shaft in his fist, that touch brought a moan from me, and I raised my hips, willing him to pump it and make me cum right away.

“Not yet,” he whispered, releasing it. Dragging his fingertips down to my bare balls and giving them a gentle squeeze, he then slid his hand to my thighs, slowly pushing them apart. Fingers drifted tantalisingly around this sensitive area of skin, sending shivers down my spine and making me buck towards him.

“You want to be fucked, huh?” he asked, releasing my lips again.

“Yes,” I gasped, though I couldn't see how without toys.

“I’m going to fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before,” he replied.

He fished something out of his sleeping bag that he'd piled to the side. Though the light from the fire was dying away, the moon had risen, so there was enough light for me to see the bottle he held. Using only one hand, he clicked open the lid and started to drizzle the cool liquid over my crotch. My cock twitched even from this subtle stimulation. It had to be lubricant, a supposition confirmed when he set the bottle aside and set about smearing it all over my shaved skin with the front and back of his hand.

His fingers glided from my balls to the perineum, and then down to circle my tight, puckered hole. I hummed as two pushed against it and relaxed to invite them in. Our bodies writhed together, but he was careful to brush my cock only briefly, avoiding any premature ending. With both my hands held above my head, all I could do to reciprocate the pleasuring of my prostate was to slide my leg between his and press against his hot sex.

It did not take long for him to add his little finger inside me, and then squeeze in his forefinger as well – it was no virgin hole after all. This was usually the point at which fingering would cease and fucking would start, but how could that happen here? Those four fingertips were working expertly though, alternating between small circular movements and slow thrusts, sending tingles from my stretched, sensitive ring. Meanwhile, he was pressing his thumb into my perineum in a massage that was entirely new to me. A few times my cock jumped so much I thought I might climax just from this, but he kept me just on the brink.

Amelio’s grinding against my leg became more urgent, until he suddenly broke away from the kiss, but not for a rest break. He shifted down slightly, scissoring my thigh between his more firmly, the hard knob of his clit digging into me almost painfully. Propped up on one elbow, he watched my face intently, as his thumb slid down to the edge of my sphincter and tucked into the hole between his other fingers. His eyes dared me to say ‘stop’, but I only gasped as he started to increase the pressure.

The knuckles pushed at the ring, and I pushed back, wanting, needing him inside me. A cry escaped my lips was they entered, a burning sensation I had not experienced for several years bursting through with them as I was stretched further than ever before. Still he kept pushing. His hand was even wider at the thumb joint, and he held it there for several minutes, grinning at the way I squirmed, keeping me halfway between pleasure and pain. I was not certain I could take any more, but knew I wanted to find out. My muscles gradually accommodated him and the soreness faded to a dull, pleasant throb. Then he pushed that final fraction more.

“Fuck!” I yelled, but the sting was momentary, as the natural workings of my body sucked him in as far as the wrist. I sometimes called myself a size queen, but this was bigger than any toy in my collection. He paused again, letting me adjust, until I finally stopped holding my breath and nodded, telling him: “That feels amazing!”

“I wouldn’t have done it otherwise. Now, cum for me!”

He began a slow rhythmic pumping, only moving his hand inside me a centimetre or two, but the pressure on my prostate was immense, and the feeling of being truly full so strange. The sensations coming from the stretching of my ring were almost as intense as if he was gripping my cock, though that lay abandoned on my stomach in a pool of its own clear discharge. Heat was coming from my arse, but not from friction, as the silicone lube was lasting well.

He thrust his hips in time with his arm, rubbing his clit against my skin and grunting along with me. I could feel the orgasm building, but not breaking, as was often the case for me with pure anal stimulation. When I thought he might cum again before I did, he shifted his hand just a fraction, and I exploded. I arched my back into him, and his mouth smothered mine as he joined me in a climax. Wave after wave hit me, and it seemed to keep going long after my balls had emptied themselves over my chest.

I couldn’t move, the post-anal jelly legs taking over my whole body. As gently has he could, he slid out of me, but unlike a penis, his hand had not softened, sending a little shockwave of pleasure-pain through me again. He peeled himself off me, breaking the seal my spunk was starting to form between us, and lay beside me. For a while, we gazed up at the stars, bright and twinkling through the dissipating wood smoke.

“That was…” I began turning to him, but trailed off, just gazing at him. From this angle, only the celestial bodies above lit his face, giving it a silvery sheen. “You’re beautiful,” I said finally, hoping the word did not feel too gendered. The smile and kiss I received reassured me. He wrapped me in his arms.

“So are you,” he said, “but you need to relax. I’m a man who just happens to have a pussy, get over it and fuck me.”

“Okay,” I laughed. “Let me get my breath back first though!”