A Holistic Approach

Part of the 'Butt Monkey' series of stories by Robert Furlong

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I'd driven up to Leicester after work to attend the 'Men's Sexual Health Issues' meeting which ran at an adult learning centre on Monday evenings. I suspected the title was really a euphemism to conceal the fact it was aimed at sex addicts and fetishists. Men like me, in other words.

It took me a while to find the right room (I avoided asking at the front desk for obvious reasons) and eventually stumbled across it at the end of a long corridor of locked doors. By the time I walked in, things were just getting started.

I was expecting the chairs to be arranged in a circle, like the sort of group therapy session you see on TV shows, but the room was actually set out as a typical classroom, which it presumably was during the day. There were three rows of chairs which had attachments to lean on if you were writing things down, and our session leader, a bleached-blond young man wearing a tight-fitting checked shirt with the top two buttons undone and a pair of conspicuously expensive jeans, was at the front of the room.

"Oh, hi," he said as I wandered in.

"Hello," I greeted him. "Is this the men's health group?"

"That's right -- come on in," he smiled. He was unashamedly camp and it seemed obvious that he was gay.

I glanced around the room. Three sullen-looking men were already here and were sitting as far apart from each other as they were able to. Their ages ranged from early-twenties to mid-forties and it looked like they were from a variety of walks of life: one was wearing a suit as if he'd come straight from his work in an office; another had a scruffy t-shirt and tattered jeans on as if he'd been on a building site all day.

"There's home-made cookies at the back of the room if you want one," crooned the leader at the front. "Otherwise just grab a free seat and we'll get started."

I smiled over at him. This all seemed very civilised.

I sat down in the chair that would leave the biggest space between me and the others. That seemed to be the established etiquette of the group.

"Okay," the bleached guy began after he'd closed the door. "It's great to see you all here. I'm Claude and I'll be your session leader for this evening."

First he went through a few ground rules, especially about the importance of anonymity and how we had to respect each other's boundaries. Then he told us that he would start the session by outlining his own background.

After telling us that he was a trained counsellor and therapist -- having studied at London South Bank University, no less -- Claude explained why he'd been drawn into the field of men's health. To my surprise, and that of the rest of the men from the way they shuffled awkwardly in their seats, he told us that for many years he had been, what he termed, "a serial masturbator".

Since being a teenager, he'd been bashing the beef more than five times a day, sometimes up to twenty times, without respite. As an effeminate and rather delicate young man, it was difficult to imagine him doing something so crass as to be continually jerking his dick off all over the place, and I wondered how on earth he found the time.

Claude went on to tell us that the urge to constantly pleasure himself was still a problem, but he had been able to suppress it for over four years using something he called cognitive behaviour therapy.

"Do you still masturbate?" the guy in the suit asked, his accent quite clipped.

"Of course," Claude smiled. "Just like most men. But I set myself goals and try not to exceed them. At the moment I'm aiming for once per day, but I can allow myself relief up to three times if I need to."

He looked over at me as if for some kind of reaction and I nodded sagely. I didn't really know what else I could do.

"Okay," he said to the group. "You've heard all about me; now I want to hear about you. Who'd like to start?"

Again he looked towards me and I felt myself blush as I shrank back.

Fortunately, though, the guy in the suit decided he would be first. He seemed the type who'd be ready to push himself forwards.

"Hello everyone," he said, standing up and turning to face us. "I'm David. My problem, in a nutshell, is that I love putting things up my bum."

He was, as I'd noticed, impeccably well-spoken and for some reason that made his declaration seem rather less surprising.

"It started about ten years ago," he went on, "and now I do it compulsively. I'm married and my wife is very understanding, but... well... it's a problem."

"In what ways is it a problem?" Claude asked.

David shrugged. "For a start, it's unhygienic."

The rest of us chuckled.

Claude pursed his lips in disapproval at our amusement and then asked, "Okay, David. What sort of things do you put up there?"

"Anything that'll fit. Vegetables, ornaments, plastic bottles, torches... you name it."

"And do you masturbate when you have objects inserted up there?"

David nodded. "Yes. It feels a lot more intense that way, especially thrusting them in and out. That's what my wife can't understand -- she thinks I must be partly gay."

"And -- if I can ask -- do you feel any homosexual attractions?"

"Not really," David replied. "I have had a penis up there... I mean, you know... I've let a guy have sex with me. A few guys, actually. But I don't feel attracted to men in a sexual way -- it's just nice to have the feeling of being penetrated with someone else doing the hard work."

Again we chuckled and Claude tutted over at us. It seemed laughter wasn't allowed in his sessions.

David grinned at us all as if pleased to have unburdened himself and then sat back down on the backside he had kept so well occupied.

The next man to introduce himself was the guy in the dirty jeans. His muscles were huge and his biceps heavily tattooed. He stayed seated and told us -- or, rather, told the floor in front of him -- that he was called Shane and was a carpenter. His problem was that he liked penetrating things.

"What sort of things?" Claude asked.

Shane shrugged. He didn't seem comfortable about speaking to a group of people. "It's like that guy," he said, gesturing over at David. "Anything and everything. As long as it's got a hole of roughly the right size."

"Like what, though?" Claude persisted.

"I dunno. A melon once. A chicken we bought for Sunday lunch. A bike. A lamp post. A picnic table..."

Claude turned on the rest of us before we could laugh. We put our hands over our mouths to conceal our smirks.

The youngest guy was next: he looked like he was a student or recent graduate and had spikey hair and narrow, fashionable specs. He introduced himself rather timidly as Phillip and his particular "health issue", he told us quietly with a voice which was surprisingly deep for his age, was porn. He was obsessed with it and felt compelled to look at it many times each day.

"What kind of porn?" Claude asked.

"All sorts," Phillip said, his cheeks colouring a little. "Hardcore stuff with women, mainly, but I like variety. Gay, bondage, milf and bukkake... anything."

He seemed so shy and respectable, I was surprised at his fascination. But then he would probably, in a moment or so, have similar thoughts about me.

(What was 'milf and bukkake', anyway? A pornographic version of Mills and Boon?)

"And obviously you masturbate when you look at it?" Claude asked.

Phillip nodded. "I can go on for hours, edging and pulling back."

"Edging?"

"Holding off from... you know... over and over. It makes it more intense."

"So, apart from the sheer amount of time you're spending," Claude continued, "why is this a problem for you?"

"It's like I can't get turned on unless I'm looking at a screen. Real girls don't arouse me the way the ones on the internet do."

Claude nodded and then turned to me.

Like David had, I felt the need to stand up. It was as if I was about to admit to being an alcoholic.

"I'm Rob," I began, "and a short while ago I discovered that I like licking other men's bums."

Claude couldn't help but raise his eyebrows. I wondered if this was a new one on him.

"Okay, Rob," he said with evident interest. "Thank you for sharing. I assume, then, that you're gay?"

"No," I replied. "Definitely not. I'm not attracted to anything else about other guys, really. Just their bums... in fact, more specifically, what they have between their cheeks."

"How did you discover that you have this... er... interest?" Claude asked.

"During a drunken night when I was sharing a room with another guy," I abridged. "Since then I've found the idea of putting my face down there... well... very pervasive. It's been difficult for me to think about anything else."

David nodded intently. Perhaps he'd been feeling the same about vegetables.

I sat back down and Claude thanked us all for being "courageous".

"To achieve furtherance," he went on, "I want you all to talk together, as a group, about how you feel after you've gratified your particular compulsions. What emotional states you go through... how you justify what you've done in your own minds."

He told us he was going to pop out momentarily as he needed a few extra copies of one of the hand-outs he'd need later, and closed the door after himself, leaving the four of us to embark on the task.

We turned rather sheepishly to face each other.

I thought I'd show some initiative and started with, "Well, I suppose the first time I did it, I felt very guilty afterwards, but then my guilt gradually turned to --"

"Come on, lads," Shane, the carpenter, cut in with a smirk. "We can all see where this is headin', can't we?"

I looked around, unsure of what he meant. Phillip, the student, seemed equally confused and David just looked bored.

Shane chuckled to himself at our blankness. "Come on! It's obvious, isn't it?"

As we continued to look bewildered, he spelled it out. "Okay... just think about it... I'll knob anything that has a hole, he likes taking it up him, you like licking blokes' arses, and he likes to watch..."

We continued to stare at him, none the wiser.

He laughed again. "I can't be the only one thinkin' we've got ourselves a pretty nice foursome, can I?"

"Wouldn't that defeat the whole purpose of us being here?" I asked, feeling a little prim as soon as I'd said it.

David was staring intently at Shane: he didn't look at all bored now.

Shane ignored me. "I reckon that Claude bloke'll be up for some action too. I bet he's taken a few knobs up him in between all that whackin' off... I bet he's fuckin' bangin' for it!"

"I really don't think that's why we're here," I repeated. "In any case, we're supposed to be discussing --"

"If I'm getting fucked," David interjected, pronouncing the word 'fucked' more like 'farcked', "whose arse does he get to lick?"

Shane looked over at me. "I don't suppose you really care, do you? There'll be three other blokes' holes for you to get your tongue stuck into..."

"I happen to be rather more discerning --" I began before Phillip cut in.

"I don't just want to watch," he said. "I mean, if you guys are gonna do some stuff together, I want to be part of it... you know... properly part of it."

"Well, Rob over here can lick your shitter while I'm knobbin' him," Shane said, looking over at David. "You'd be up for that, wouldn't you?"

David nodded keenly, licking his lips and shifting slightly in his seat as if his well-used bottom was already tingling.

Phillip smiled over at me, evidently quite satisfied with the arrangement. I suddenly felt quite flattered to have the youngest man in the group showing an interest in enjoying my talent.

Shane turned back towards me. "How's that sound, mate?"

"Well... I don't know..." I muttered, my misgivings being somewhat dissipated by Phillip's very attractive smile; he was sure to have a lovely pert bum tucked away in the back of his black jeans. "I suppose, it might be rather nice to... you know... just quickly..."

"Can I film the whole thing on my phone?" Phillip asked. "To watch later, I mean."

Before I could reply that I didn't want to end up on YouTube pushing my face between the butt-cheeks of some guy young enough to be my son, Claude walked back into the room with his photocopies.

"Okay, guys," he said brightly. "What emotions have you been able to come up with?"

I looked around at the others, feeling myself blush again. This was like being in class at school when none of us had done the work we'd been asked to.

Claude looked at me. "Could you tell me how you felt, Rob?"

"Erm," I struggled, trying to rid the thought of Phillip's backside from my mind and to come up with a sensible response. "I suppose I felt sort of... well --"

"Look, mate," Shane cut in, looking at Claude. "We didn't talk about that."

"Oh, I see," Claude said crisply. "I'd thank you guys to stay on-task if we're going to meet our advancement targets here tonight."

Shane waved off the reproach and went on, "We were saying that we'd make a pretty good foursome. Each of us is interested in stuff which fits well with the others."

I was amused by his use of "we".

Claude looked confused. "I don't see what you're getting at."

"David likes to take it, I like to give it. This guy has the choice of our arses to get his face stuck into. Phillip over there can film us on his phone to make his own porn and you can watch us and wank yourself off as many times as you like. How does that sound?"

Claude looked horrified. His mouth literally gaped open in shock.

"For goodness sake!" he cried out. "This is completely contrary to everything we're trying to work through here!"

I looked down to conceal my chuckle. We were turning out to be his naughty class.

"Clearly I can't trust you to work on your own," he said sternly. "I'll have to supervise you more closely with the next exercise."

He clapped his hands together like a primary school teacher trying to restore order. Maybe he'd been trained that this was how you draw a line and move on.

"Right, guys," he said, his tone suddenly more jovial; schizophrenically so. "I want you to pair up for me and get a bit more hands-on together."

Phillip's head swivelled towards him quickly, his hand reaching for his phone, and Claude realised that what he'd said was open to misinterpretation.

"What I mean is, I want you to work in twos. David and Phillip, you guys should change places so you can work together. Shane and Rob, you do the same."

Shane came over to where I was sitting, his face a little peeved from the telling-off he'd had, so that we were sitting alongside each other.

"Okay," Claude said. "I want you to talk about the sort of things that make each of you want to engage in your particular sexual interest. Maybe you feel more needy after a stressful day at work, or maybe you indulge more when you're bored. However it works for you, talk about it together and I'll bring you a handout so you can fill in the boxes with each other's ideas."

He gave us our sheet and then walked over to David and Phillip, who were just staring at each other glumly, and gave them theirs.

Feeling like I ought to try and show some willing, I said to Shane -- more for Claude's benefit -- "Well, I find I notice men's bums more and more these days, and I suppose that makes me want to put my face near them..."

Claude was clucking over David and Phillip. "Come on guys, work with me on this. David, you get things started. When do you most feel like you need to be penetrated?"

Shane whispered over to me, "That David bloke's bangin' for it... you can see it. He's probably got a stalk-on just thinkin' of me porkin' him up the shitbox!"

I smiled at his language and he asked, "D'you think if I went to the loo, he'd have the sense to follow me?"

I threw a pointed glance over at Claude who was fussing over the other pair.

"I think it would look too obvious," I said quietly.

"Yeah, you're probably right," he nodded. "What we need is for someone to have a nose-bleed or something. One guy in the loo and the rest of us taking it in turns to check on him... each of us havin' a bit of fun while we're in there."

"I could pretend to have a nose-bleed," I offered, eager to get out of doing these pointless exercises.

"Yeah, and what good would that do me? I mean, you can lick my arse as much as you like, Rob -- you know, be my fuckin' guest -- but I want to get my knob stuck into something... that's what I'm into!"

I nodded. I didn't want to offer him that. I wasn't sure I was ready to bend over a toilet bowl to be buggered by some brawny workman who I didn't even know.

Claude peered over at us from where he was poised with the other pair. "I don't see any note-taking going on between you two!"

"Oh, yes, yes," I said. "We're just... er... exchanging a few preliminary ideas."

We pretended to busy ourselves and, when he'd turned back to try and cajole responses from David and Phillip, Shane whispered, gesturing over at our session leader, "I thought Mary Poppins over there would be up for some fun. He seems the type who might like a bit of cock, but he's too into his fuckin' caring and sharing and all that crap."

I chuckled.

In spite of my earlier reservations, I was now starting hope that I would get an arse to stick my face into this evening. It hadn't been the reason I'd come and I wasn't too bothered about whose it was, but now that the possibility had been mooted, I was, in Shane's vernacular, "bangin' for it".

I pulled out a pack of paper tissues from my jacket pocket and took one out. "Maybe, then, it should be you who has the nose-bleed," I said quietly.

I handed the tissue to Shane who unfolded it and applied it to his nose.

"Oh fuck!" he shouted, leaping up strenuously and knocking his chair over. "Me nose is bleedin'! Jesus fuckin' Christ!"

"Oh my gosh!" Claude gasped.

Shane clashed out of the room, swearing profusely.

"I'm a qualified first-aider," Claude called after him and started getting himself into a flap about whether or not he should follow him down the corridor until I told him, quite emphatically, that I thought he'd be okay.

I caught David's eye, who smirked and nodded slyly.

Claude seemed flustered and suggested that he should inform the front desk via the phone in the corner of the room.

"I don't think that'll be necessary," I said calmly, trying to stop him escalating this into an uproar. "Shane said something about having nosebleeds regularly. I'm sure if you give him a few minutes... maybe a little bit longer... he'll be fine."

Claude seemed to accept my story and came over to my chair. "Well, look, while he's out of the room, Rob, maybe you could you tell me what ideas the two of you came up with?"

"Oh... er, yes," I muttered, grabbing the pen and trying to appear as if I'd been on the point of writing copious notes. "We mainly thought that our fetishes --"

"Can we not use that word, please?" Claude cut in. "Can we call them 'interests' or 'compulsions'?"

"Oh right," I nodded. "Well, we thought that maybe we're driven towards these... er... interests, because of something that might have happened to us in our childhoods."

Claude beamed at that. "Oh, that's super! That really is!"

David stood up. "Actually," he announced. "I think I need to step outside for a few moments. The sight of all that blood... I feel a bit faint."

Claude started fussing again. "Oh my gosh, David! I can so connect with that. Go outside, quickly... get some fresh air!"

David grinned at me as he trundled out of the room.

Claude told Phillip and I to couple up, which made us both titter, and asked us to discuss our ideas together. He informed us that, with two of the group down, this was now an official 'Health and Safety Incident' and went over to use the phone to report it.