Gay Erotic Stories

Mirror Image Looking back more than just a few years, I fondly recall my childhood and adolescent years—hell bent on the threshold of manhood. At times what today seems miniscule or trivial were major issues and seemingly insurmountable problems, generating tremendous pressure and more than challenging obstacles. Yet somehow, I was able to run the gauntlet and like the proverbial sea turtle hatched on the beach, I made a run for it, dashing for the freedom of uncharted waters, and go for it—sink or swim. Maybe I’ve just been watching too many nature and wild animal programs on the Discovery Channel with a bit too much interest or fascination, but when one thinks of his own life experiences in similar terms, it kind of simplifies things—maybe too neatly. In any event, it’s a pretty good analogy in a nutshell (or tortoise shell in this case). Speaking of shells—my coming to terms with my sexual preference was certainly one of life’s struggles. Certainly not involving life or death, although there were some pretty embarrassing times when I though I’d rather just drop dead—but I managed to muddle through on my own, occasionally red-faced, but still content with my own progress. Certainly, I wasn’t left entirely to my own devices, hormonal whimsies, or my pubescent ponderings or prognostications—I had help! Sure, my parents were there, and even though we were all pretty close knit as a family and functioned quite well as a unit (the sociologists would have been proud), there were just some of those awkward times that one just didn’t say what was really on his mind (or raging hormonal thoughts going through it). Besides, mom already had enough curl in her hair and dad was really worried about loosing what he had left of his. Yep, I had all the help I could handle—especially when it came to Greg—my twin brother. Greg was born just 10 minutes before me, but damn you’d think he was a year or two older! It seemed that he managed to hog all the attention and excel in just about everything. Generally, it was just about all I could do to keep a reasonably close pace with him. I’m not sure if it would have been better if we had been identical twins. I often wondered. Maybe then, I might have been genetically given the same dose of whatever in the hell he’d managed to come up with. Damn, he was probably hogging stuff in the womb! Grade school sailed by with just the normal sibling minor rivalries (according to the way our parents told it). I guess I didn’t really notice any startling differences until we entered into our early teenage years. For some unexplained reason, Greg began his growth spurt much earlier than I did. At one point he was nearly two inches taller than me. His voice began to change—months before mine did. At first he was embarrassed and I thought it was funny—sort of a final revenge for his physical outclassing me. But, soon enough, mine changed as well. Our parents took a suddenly keen interest in our daily activities and especially our extra-curricular activities after school. For quite a while, it was just baseball and swimming, but soon Greg began developing an interest in girls and actually became intent on what they actually liked doing. They certainly noticed and to my parent’s initial amazement, then concern, Greg began receiving calls from some female schoolmates. To my surprise, he began calling them too, pretty much leaving me to fend for myself. I felt sort of abandoned, betrayed, and unappreciated. I thought about emulating Greg’s suave demeanor and trying my hand at a couple of girls I knew and sort of liked too, but it just wasn’t going the same route. I wasn’t sure, but I just didn’t quite see the big picture, or get the rush or thrill Greg got from being made over by some giggling cutie. Jesus, he’d even taken a keen interest in going to the mall to shop for something that wasn’t destined to be his! Go figure! To compensate, I settled in with a couple of our other guy friends to pretty much felt the same way as I did when it came to the cackling, cooing bunch of chatty Kathy’s. It wasn’t too much longer that my ‘guy group’ also began to become decidedly more aware of these chatty little budding beauties. It was kind of strange; I really had more of a take it or leave it approach. I had some good girlfriends, and really enjoyed their company, but when it came to anything more than casual friendship or camaraderie, I found myself feigning interest—both to my guy friends as well as the opposite sex. Yep, I now was keenly aware—they were the opposite sex—in every sense of the word! I don’t mean opposite as in contrary, but opposite as in foreign, unfamiliar, unnatural—just plain scary. Greg, on the other hand, became a real pain in the ass. All he talked about now was girls. At night at home, he’d bore me with his conquests before I’d finally get bored enough and fall asleep. These boring conversations took a turn for the better before long. He began talking about sex, and what he’d heard from some of the older guys—even from some of our mutual friends. Just listening to him talk was creating a stir—in his pants as well as mine. Strange though, I didn’t get a tingle or a stir from listing to Greg’s mouth, but rather looking at the tenting in his shorts. Things really came to a ‘head’ the night after one of our best friends, Charles’s dad had sat him down and had given him the condensed but very accurate and descriptive ‘411’ on sex, intercourse, and responsibilities. This made for some real entertainment! Greg’s voice was even shaking, as he no doubt embellished on the account. Man, it was getting pretty damn good and I’d never seen Greg so hard—me too for that matter. Suddenly, Greg just got up and headed for the bathroom and shut the door. Thank GOD, I’d gone first. I fell asleep before he ever came out. The next morning, we got up as nothing had happened. Well, actually, nothing really did. Throughout the rest of our high school years, I found myself being more and more appreciative of the male physique, looking forward to gym class—both because I too liked sports, but I also liked the showering and changing in the locker room. It was a visual treat. To be sure, the guys horsed around, talking about girls and comparing their equipment, etc. some even going to great lengths to show off. I even saw Greg get swooped up in one session and was pretty wide-eyed to see him put in a very respectable showing. This made me feel good for two reasons—like I said, we were twins. Actually, I realized that if anything, I was in all probability a fair bit larger. Damn, I guess I got first dibbs on something! Greg and I both dated in high school. You know, respectable girls and for the most part, I actually enjoyed several of my dates. I even enjoyed the senior prom—right up to the end. The problem came when Elaine suggested we change clothes and then see a movie. What sounded like a great idea turned into about an hour and a half of her pawing at me. I was mortified, scared, nervous as a cat, yet surprised that she failed to get me hot and bothered. She must have realized this too. When the movie had ended, I’d suggested that we’d better call it an evening. She agreed. Well that was the last of it. During the summer before college, Greg kept up an active social life and still needed to use the bathroom all too frequently. He became relaxed about it and began beating off on his bed, whether or not I was in the room. In the dark, I could see him, hear the bed springs, and view the crescendo until the golden moment. He’d then just roll over and was out ‘til morning. I became bolder and bolder and actually joined in—in the dark and actually came in unison a few times. Afterwards, I’d wait until I was sure he was asleep, then head off the washroom to clean up before I expired. I guess I just didn’t like dirty sheets. I often fantasized about Greg. We were always pretty close and there was no question that we both loved each other very much—just not physically—at least not mutually. I’d thought it really would have been wild to share in these whacky and wonderful gratification sessions. I was interested, but not obsessed by my thoughts—but was I gay? How would Greg react if I told him my inner-most thoughts. I never acted on them. All too soon, the end of August came and we were packing up and getting ready to head off to college. Greg had been accepted at the U of M and I’d decided on going to the U of Florida. It really seemed kind of funny—us splitting up after all these years. Greg had to report a week before I did and we all headed for the U of M in the family car. A week later, I and my parents flew down to Gainesville and I got settled in. It is probably enough to say that my university years were really enlightening in many ways. Certainly, academically I excelled at a rate that even surprised me. Socially, things initially got off to a pretty slow start—probably accounting for my performance. However, I soon came to more than just personal grips with my sexual preference and truly enjoyed myself, having had my share of trysts, one nights stands, weekly preferences and a couple of rather serious relationships. Ahhh for the good old days, when nothing deadly was lurking beyond a condom. Following graduation, I took a job in Miami and settled into some sort of corporate life. I thoroughly enjoyed myself and soon met the man of my fantasies. Jeff and I were deliriously happy and didn’t care who knew it. Both Greg and my parents soon found out and actually both Greg and my dad took it very well. To my surprise, my mother found issue with the whole situation and didn’t speak to me for nearly three months. She finally relented and became accepting of the arrangement within a year’s time and actually wound up liking Jeff, almost viewing him as another son. Dad had surprised me, only saying, “I think I understand”—nothing more. Greg just took it in stride, adopting kind of a relieved attitude—at least I wasn’t going to be a treat to any of his sexual conquests. Greg got married about two years out of college to Sarah, and within three short years, they had had two daughters—spitting images of their mother. Greg seemed happy and they had had a nice life in Michigan. Didn’t know why he had stayed there, as I hated winter, but that was where he had met Sarah and she was from Pontiac, so was close to home. Greg got a surprise transfer offer and was strongly urged by his boss to take the golden opportunity. Sara and Greg had discussed the offer and had reached an impasse. Discussion was a kind word here. Greg made the final decision and I received an excited telephone call from him one Sunday morning, telling me I was going to have a new neighbor—sort of. They were coming down to Florida and would be living somewhere near his office in West Palm Beach. The excitement turned sour by the end of the year. They’d all come down to Miami and visited us—just twice, and once to drop off the girls while they went on a long weekend trip to Costa Rica. Next thing I heard was that Sarah had filed for a divorce and was moving back to Michigan. Greg held his ground and the next thing I knew, he was single again. Initially, he became a regular visitor on the weekends. In the beginning, this kind of put a damper on things between Jeff and I, but hell, Greg knew the story and he even wound up going out with us a couple of times. It appeared he genuinely enjoyed himself, but soon he got back into the dating scene, and eventually his weekend appearances ceased. Even though we were living less than 75 miles from each other, it became more like a world apart. We would only see each other when we were both home for the holidays, or if our parents came to Florida on vacation. Three more years passed this way. Then, suddenly, my world was shattered in one afternoon. Jeff had gone to his office that Saturday morning to catch up on some last minute details, as we were leaving Sunday on a well deserved 7 day cruise out of the Port of Miami. We’d planned the trip on the spur of the moment—a really great cruise deal and we just couldn’t bring ourselves to pass up the offer. Jeff called from the office, asking if there was anything he need pick up for us on the way back home. I glanced at my watch; it was only 2:30 PM. I told him that it was still early, and if I’d forgotten anything, we’d pick it up when we went to dinner. That was the last I heard from him. Just before 4 PM, I responded to a heavy knock on the front door. A policeman stood solidly in front of me. He removed his hat and asked if he might come in. He glanced at a couple suitcases against the foyer wall, and indicated I’d better sit down. The rest of what followed was a blur. I found myself at the hospital staring in disbelief at Jeff lying all too peacefully on a gurney. It was the most helpless and hollow moment I’d faced. Jeff was an only child and his father had been killed in a plane accident when he was 4. His mother had raised him, until his first year of college, when she succumbed to breast cancer. He was alone—now I was alone—I didn’t even know of any other relatives to contact. I made two phone calls. I called my parents and I called Greg. I met my parents at the airport Sunday mid-day (instead of being at the port). Greg joined us later that evening. The next couple of days remain mostly a fog. Jeff was put to rest and after the memorial service, his body was cremated, his ashes being returned to an aunt in Colorado. Funny, she never even came to the service, so we never even met. What an end. To my relief, my parents left for home a little over a week later. I went back to work and numbly got back into some semblance of a routine. To my curiosity, Greg began to find his way to Miami on an increasing basis. It wasn’t long before he let it be known that he was getting tired of his position in West Palm and that the Palm Beach bitches, as he so fondly called them, were just in it for the money. This was kind of a strange revelation considering his tales of conquest. Maybe that’s what they were—tales. A couple weeks later, on a Tuesday morning, Greg called me at the office. He asked me what I was doing for lunch. I told him I hadn’t thought about it really, when he cut me off and said he was just around the corner and would meet me in about 20 minutes time. He said he really wanted some Cuban food, and we’d hit my old favorite cafeteria on Coral Way. Hey, I don’t have to be asked twice to go there! I nearly choked on my Cuban sandwich when Greg dumped the news…he’d accepted a job with a competitor in Miami and his office was less than a half a mile from mine. Before the lunch was finished, he’d also let it be known that he’d obviously be moving to Miami and dropped the question right out there on the table…could he move in with me…at least until he could find his own place. Well, this was a surprise, and I apparently must have been a little hesitant—actually more like shell shocked and trying to recover—because he they carefully added, that he’d guess he’d better get looking quickly. I stopped him and said ‘sure’ he was certainly welcome. I had this three-bedroom condo and it was just the cat and me. Two weeks later, I was helping Greg unload what furniture and belongings Sarah had managed to relegate him. It’s really strange how live twists and turns. Greg and I had grown up, spending most of our lives together, and then going our own directions for nearly a decade. Now, here we were—thrust together again. Our parents were genuinely pleased at the arrangement and thought it some kind of omen—they were genuinely relieved that we’d have each other to help us sort out the recent events in our lives. After some careful thought, I’d come to realize that indeed—this was probably a good thing for both of us—at least for the interim. Greg seemed to agree, even act genuinely relieved and became like the brother I recalled. Yes, I guess our parents were right—it was kind of an omen. Both of our personal lives apparently had taken a turn for stability if not genuine enjoyment and continuity. To be continued.