Gay Erotic Stories

It was an unusually slow night in the little Southern club. I hadn't seen any familiar faces or promising newcomers, and my mind was wandering. It had been a long time since I d been with a man. Way too long. But tonight, I was celebrating quietly. I d just finished writing a new play. A play about sex, I thought to myself with a grimace. The less I get, the more I write about it. I took a pull on my beer, just to wipe what I knew was an ironic smirk off my lips. How long had it been since Don left? I calculated the time mentally. Time spent jacking off in my little house on the outskirts of town. The answer made me wince. Hey man. Got a light? A youthful voice behind me broke my reverie. I turned in its direction and my eyes locked with those of a gorgeous young guy. A kid. Christ, how young are they letting them in these days? I wondered. And that line about a light? It had to be a real request. No one with any experience in pick-up lines would open with that one unless he really needed a light. He grinned at me, his teeth gleaming in the light from above the bar, and my breath caught. If the question he’d asked meant something else--if he wanted more than a cigarette stuck between his pretty lips—I’d be happy to oblige. I must have been gawking at him like an idiot, because his grin grew wider and he took the butt from his mouth, holding it up so I could see it. “A light?” he repeated. I fumbled for my lighter and, as he leaned forward to place the tip over the flame, he stared directly into my eyes, his deep black pupils boring their way into mine, dancing and sparkling in the trembling flicker. He grinned and took a long draw, exhaled easily and spoke. “Thanks” he said. He sat back and smiled. Sure, I managed. I was cruising him as subtly as I could. He was probably eighteen or nineteen, but he looked sixteen. His short brown hair was cut conservatively and it framed a face from out of a magazine: full lips, enticingly rubbery when wet as they were at this moment; above them, a small upturned nose; dark brown eyes that glittered as though they held some comic secret mere mortals couldn't begin to fathom. Below that delicately chiseled face lay a short, compact body: little rounded and muscular tits, the nipples straining against a shirt about a half-size too tight; flat belly; moderately thick thighs which I imagined (since I couldn't tell from the way he was standing) were probably attached to an adorable ass. If he could tell I was checking him out he didn't betray it. Instead, he thrust out his hand. “Name’s David.” I gripped his hand in my own and wondered if he could tell how sweaty they were.

“Stephen” I said as casually as I could. “Nice to know ya” he said, sitting on the barstool beside mine. I was frustrated; I still couldn't see his butt, and I was more than curious. “I haven t seen you in here before” I managed. Next to his opening, my remark didn't seem as lame as I knew it was. “Nope” he drawled, his eyes never leaving mine. “Just passin’ through.” His voice had a country twang, and I asked where he came from. “East Bug-fuck, Missouri” he said with contempt. “Man, I got my sorry ass outta there as soon as I could walk, practic'ly. I just go here and there, you know? Work when I can, save up enough to travel somewhere else. I been here about a week. I get paid tomorrow, so I'll prob'ly be movin' on.” I envied him his freedom of movement. I’d be somewhere else myself if I had the nerve to pick up and go. But I’m cautious, and I don’t make much money. I asked him where he was living. “The Y. Some god awful little dump they got the nerve to call a room. Shit, I seen toilets bigger!”

I nodded sympathetically, wondering where this was going--and trying to move my hard-on to a less painful spot in my pants without being obvious. I wanted this kid, bad. But he seemed to have his own, slow way of moving, so I let him lead. It was enough he was speaking to me. If I pressed him, I d end up alone, and I wanted to be with someone tonight. He was studying me, too, a small smile of satisfaction on his face; as though he’d guessed that he could string me along all night and I d follow him, panting. If so, he was right. Finally, he asked me where I lived. When I told him, he asked if I lived alone. When I said yes, he brightened up even more. “Look,” he began casually, touching my arm slightly, “You don’t know me from Adam’s housecat, but I get my paycheck tomorrow and then I’m blowin' this fuckin’ town. If you got a couch you’d let me sleep on tonight, I'll make it worth your while.” I didn't doubt that for a second. But so far, he hadn't come close to suggesting we sleep together. I was intrigued, as much by what he wasn't saying as by what he said. I didn't trust the kid, but a voice all but screamed inside my head: Try it, Steve! Live on impulse for once in your goddamn life! What have you got to loose? Besides another night alone, nothing. I had my doubts. He could beat me up. Steal my cash. Ransack my house. Kill me, even. But, god--was he cute!

“Sure,” I said, putting down my beer. “You can stay with me for the night.” “Great!” he beamed. “Oh, man, that is so great! Listen, I just need to get my stuff outta that fuckin’ eight by ten an then I’m ready.” I agreed to meet him in the lobby of the Y, which was just down the street a block or two. I paid for my beer while he went on. I stared at his departing figure, finally getting a good look at his hot bubble-butt as he went out the door. It was everything I’d hoped. With an effort, I tore my eyes away from his ass. What the hell was I getting myself into? I wondered. The organ I was thinking with tonight sure as hell wasn't my brain. I met him ten minutes later, ten minutes in which to beg my randy cock to go soft enough for me to at least drive comfortably the two blocks to the Y, and ten minutes for it to refuse. I kept thinking about that ass of his, high and inviting, and my dick was telling me in no uncertain terms it wanted that butt! When I got to the Y, he was waiting outside, a battered knapsack over his shoulder. He grinned and jumped into the car, removed a beer from his satchel and tossed his gear onto the back seat. Settling back for the drive, he looked at me for a beat or two, then spoke. “Look, man, just in case you got ideas, there’s one thing I gotta tell you.”

“What s that, David?” I asked, trying to concentrate on the road. “I’m straight, man. Okay?”

I looked at him, his well-tanned pretty-boy features lined by a slight, worried crease above the eyes. “You can let me out now if you want. Really, it’s no big deal. I just wanted to be fair with you.”

I didn't believe a word of it, but I let him think I did. “Hey, man, I smiled, “That’s cool. No problem.” He relaxed into his seat again, lifting the beer he d been holding to his almost girlish lips. I swept my eyes to my shoes for a second, using the opportunity to steal a rapid glance at his crotch before settling them back on the road. The rising swell under his zipper told a different story than the one he’d just given me. I thought to myself, “We'll see, little David. We'll see.” My house is only a five-minute drive past the city limits, but it might as well be five hundred. There are no streetlights, and at night the darkness is all encompassing. The road is deserted at practically any hour of the day or night, and the house itself is shielded by shade trees from the eyes of passers-by. When we got there, David tossed his bag on the living room floor. I told him to make himself comfortable while I got us a couple of beers. When I came back, I found him lounging easily in my chair. I handed him a bottle and sat on the couch. After a few minutes of light, non-threatening banter, I eased into things by asking him about his background. He d run away at 15, he said. Traveled with a carny. This was six years ago, he told me; listening to the adolescent timbre of his voice, I judged that it was probably more like three years. He wanted me to think him older than he was, and once again I let him . He was a little hustler, I had been sure, and his story proved it. He’d conned his way into the bar without paying by promising a little action to some poor bastard with a membership, then ditched the guy as soon as he saw me. He was cool, all right, but I was sure it was just a facade. He gave me my opening when he started telling me, with way too much enthusiasm, about the women with whom he’d had sex. “Carny women put out for anybody” he said, Hell, he d had more poon-tang before his sixteenth birthday than some poor fuckers get in a lifetime. I listened, nodded, smiled in all the right places. And didn't believe a word. Oh, he might have worked in a carnival, but his imagery had all the excesses of a born liar. The women’s breasts were always huge, their vaginas always wide and gaping. I wondered if he thought all women’s breasts came in one size, and whether he believed that stupid old theory of permanent elasticity. The boasting sounded hollow, speculative. As though he thought this was how heterosexual studs talked. As the empty beer bottles accumulated around his feet, his talk becomes more and more expansive. He may have believed he was convincing, but his conversation was peppered with recurring mentions of the night he was at this gay bar, or the thing that happened once in that one. Judging him to be sloshed enough not to notice, I feigned innocence. “How come you go to gay bars, David?” I was challenging him, but softly and sweetly, as though I was only mildly curious so it wouldn't smack of disbelief or sarcasm.

He sipped his beer easily, completely unthreatened. I like the music better than in straight clubs. “The DJs play hotter tunes, you know?” “Oh,” I said, as though I believed him. I wasn't sure at this moment whose bulge was heftier, mine or his, but I sure did want to compare them more closely. “Plus I can usually get in without paying, if I work it right. Like tonight. It’s a lot harder to get straight girls to let you in on their cards. Also, I like bein’ looked at. You know? I mean, this…” and here he raised his shirt over his slender belly and up past his small but muscular chest—“is a nice bod, you gotta admit.” Instead of lowering his shirt again, he pulled it off over his head. He bunched it up in his hands and raised it to his mouth, inhaling his own sweat. Then he smiled and tossed it at my face. I caught it easily, and put it down on the floor. He looked disappointed for a moment, then shrugged and began to rub the cool beer bottle over his tits and belly. Drops of condensation glistened on his tanned skin. “I know this is gonna sound stuck up,” he continued, “but hell! I know how I look, so why not admit it?” He grinned boyishly, and my heart thudded in my breast. “I like bein’ stared at. Always have. Shit, I don’t care who does the starin’, long as somebody notices. Gay guys like to look at my butt, that’s okay. It’s a goddamn nice-lookin piece of ass, right? I mean, you think so?” I wasn't about to argue. “I sure do, David.” “Looks even better without these 501’s,” he grinned. He stood and unzipped his jeans. I tried to look casual but interested--like an appraiser. Not so eager I’d scare him, and not so blasé he’d lose his desire to strut. He turned his back and thrust his pants down to the floor. He wore a clean white jockstrap, and his hairless thighs rippled with well-toned musculature. My eyes were riveted to his body. His ass was as glorious as I’d imagined, like two half-melons of pliable flesh. He bent over, legs splayed and spreading his smooth round cheeks. The space around his little pink butthole was smooth and downy, and I stared into its winking depths in lust as he kicked his trousers over his shoes. “See?” he asked.

His jock held his balls in place between his thighs, but the cup was full and when he tried to stand up again his cock, caught in the cloth and straining for release, made him lean over again. “Damn,” he muttered, “Gonna hafta step outta this fuckin thing or I'll have to walk doubled over all night.” He turned his pretty face towards me. “You don’t mind if I get comfortable, do ya?” I could have screamed my answer, but somehow it came out cool. “Whatever you want, David.”

He lowered his jock and stepped out of it. He turned around, his slender prick standing out before him. It bobbed and swayed above his tight ballsac. David’s dick was average in size and shape, but uncut. Its little pink head peered out from the hood of his foreskin, and I noticed a bubble of semen slowly but surely emerging from his piss-slit. I was staring, but the game was into play now, and I knew from the way he grinned at me that it was going just as he’d planned. He wanted me to stare at his hot little body, needed my lustful attention to feel powerful enough to move onto the next stage.

Putting his hands on his hips, he stared down at his throbbing cock as though it was a naughty child. “Will you look at that?” he said, grinning. “Damn thing’s got a mind of its own!” He took hold of the shaft and drew his hand up its length, tightly, bringing the sheath of skin over the head and causing the droplet of pre-cum to slide onto his finger. He licked it off, and then grinned at me and sat down again, legs spread apart, his cock still in his left hand. Sweat rolled down the back of my neck.

He grinned at me, running his callused palm along the contours of his dribbling cock from the thick bush at its base to the tip of the head, which he once more freed from its fleshy helmet. He looked down at it and pulled the skin up over it again as I watched. Then he looked up at me with shining eyes as he pulled the sheath back down again, revealing its rosy head. He reached for his beer with his right hand and swilled as he stroked himself. “Hey, man,” he said at last, putting down the beer. “Sure could use some help here.” My eyes widened and I gaped at him, barely breathing. I was leaning forward in my chair, and my dick was so hard inside my pants that I thought it might rip the fabric. “Yeah,” he grunted softly, stroking and pulling on his now copiously dripping dick. “I sure could.” I waited, breathless. He held up an index finger and beckoned me. I climbed off the couch, my aching cock leading the way, and stood by him, waiting for instructions. I hardly needed any, but this was his game, so I was playing by his rules. “Couldya help me get these shoes off?” he drawled. I nodded, knelt and took his right foot in my trembling hand, pulling first one and then the other shoe off his feet. He smiled at me, never letting his left hand stray from his blood-fattened rod. “Thanks. Man, ain't you hot in all them clothes? Take off your shirt and get y’self cooled off.” Taking off my clothing was the last thing in the world that would have cooled me off at that point, but I said nothing. Still kneeling, I unbuttoned my shirt, my eyes locked with his. When I parted the shirtfront, he reached out with one hand and took my left nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He tweaked it, hard, and my head snapped back, a moan escaping my lips. Then he squeezed my right tit and I knelt there, swaying as he switched from one nipple to the other, pulling them out and tweaking them. My chest burned at his fevered touch, the delicious pleasure/pain rippling down my belly and exploding out the head of my poor, pent-up cock. “You still way too hot, man,” David whispered. His voice had become a hoarse croaking sound. “Pull down them pants. Maybe that’d help.”

I all but ripped the khakis from my hips, and my erection was now fully visible beneath my white cotton briefs. David raised a sock-clad foot and pressed it against my crotch. My dick leapt up at the pressure, and I gasped in surprise and sexual heat.

“Man, he gasped, you still burnin’ up. Them drawers must be about to catch fire.” I didn't wait for any more instructions. I stood and threw my shorts down, stepping out of them after freeing my feet from the pants bunched-up around my ankles. My dick was throbbing and dripping before me. David tried to remain detached, but his voice broke as he muttered, “Damn. That’s a nice one, dude.” The game was out of his control now, and he knew it. His hand was on my cock then, and I fell forward, my hands gripping his legs. He forced his lips onto mine and thrust his tongue deep inside my mouth.

Suddenly, his lips were all over me, and my tongue roamed his body with shameless desire. I was lapping at his balls and caressing his thigh when he barked softly. “Touch my asshole, man. Touch it! Oh, touch my hot butthole! Please!”

There was urgency in his voice that ripped the seams of his macho/hetero posturing. Now straight guys don’t allow another man to even see their assholes, let alone make contact with them. I reached down between his thighs and when my index finger grazed his hot little pucker, his whole body tensed. He shuddered, begging, “Oh, yeah. Do it, man. Do it! Poke my hot butthole!” His body was burning, and as I prodded at his anus with my finger, stroking its velvety contours, he thrust upward with his torso and held it aloft, moaning, his dick stabbing the air as if he could fuck it. It slapped down again on his belly, and he slid off the chair, his body heaving. He wanted it so bad he was practically having a dry orgasm. I spread his legs and buried my face between his perfect butt-cheeks. Then I slid my tongue toward the center of his man hole. The hot butt-lips relaxed and as I pushed forward they drew me in like a hungry vacuum. With my tongue firmly up his ass, he squeezed his cheeks and his sphincter clamped down tight. He’d done this before, no question now. He wanted his ass plowed in the worst way. And I wasn't about to fight him. He had hold of his cock again and I brushed his hand away so I could grip its white-hot shaft myself. He lay back and pinched his nipples, pulling them out until his chest was heavy with pink. His balls sat on the bridge of my nose and as I lapped at his butthole, I stared up at his through a curtain of curly brown pubic hair. His face was split in two by his cock in my fist; his features pinched in ecstasy. I pulled his foreskin down slowly until the big head was fully exposed, then drew the hood back over it again. Rubbing my index finger in the pre-cum dribbling out of his piss-slit, I traced a slick path to the underside of his cockhead and massaged it with his spunk as he moaned and scootched his ass on the floor in delight. When I pushed my tongue further inside his funky hole, his face contorted. His balls drew up and I was suddenly sprayed with his jizz as he came, his ass-walls clutching my tongue like a vise, his prostate thudding against my face as his cum splattered his belly and ran down my hand. I grabbed my own dripping cock then; his full-bodied response to my rimming had me reeling myself, and I wanted release. Slowly I withdrew from his butt, his ass-muscles holding onto my tongue until it was completely free. He shuddered and his whole body shook. He was spent, but I could see that his young cock was beginning to stir again. I let go of my rod and tickled his balls. I stayed where I was, waiting and watching, as his dick grew more rigid. He sighed deeply, his eyes clamped shut and his mouth open. Impulsively--it was a night for impulses--I grabbed his balls and yanked them down, hard. His legs shot up and he yelped. Then he fell back again and shuddered. “Oh, yeah, man. Yeah. Pull my nuts, man!” I jerked them again and he groaned loudly. Then he reached out his hand and took my raging dick in his fist, leading me toward his face. As he opened his lips and drew me inside, I had another impulse--a sudden urge to press my advantage. As much I wanted to cum, my boldness overtook me and I snapped, “No!”

His eyes widened, and he let go of my cock. I stared down at him coldly. “How badly do you want it, Davey?”

“Oh, man! Oh, god, give it to me! C’mon you fucker! Let me have that cock!”

“I don’t think you deserve it, kid!”

“Aw shit, man. Shit. Shit!” he moaned, desperate now for a taste of my rod. He was pleading now, his voice small and childlike. He was completely mine. I grabbed his cock and led him to the couch. He stood before me, his dick pulsing and throbbing below his belly. I reached out and pulled him down over my lap. His rock-hard cock poked at my own rigid pole, and his sweet ass was splayed open to my gaze. I placed a sweaty palm on his flanks, caressing his buttocks gently, over and over. Lulling him into submission. He cooed softly, pushing his silky bottom upward in pleasure. Suddenly I raised my hand and, before it seemed to have even left his rump it reconnected to his flesh with a shattering SMACK! He howled in surprise and pain, and I felt my cock stiffen even further. I let go a barrage of open-palmed direct hits--SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Against his hot bottom, and his cock pressed urgently against my belly.

He began to cry out, softly at first, “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yesssssss!”

In the dim light, his asscheeks glowed, becoming a deep rose red as I spanked them; first one cheek, then the other, alternating back and forth before raining down a volley of hits directly across both at once. His back stiffened and he yelped in pain and pleasure, lifting his bottom up to meet each butt-cracking blow. His dick was rock-hard and pressing urgently against my thigh. Finally, I stopped, and leaned over to press my face against his butt. His scarlet ass gave off a radiant heat, and I pushed my lips against his right cheek, kissing the scorched butt-flesh, burning my lips on its heat. I nipped lightly at his left cheek, and then bit him once, hard, where the buttocks met. He cried out. I lifted him up and placed him facedown on the floor, reveling at the sight of his luscious bottom swaying below me. I stared down in a mixture of lust and contempt at the humiliated stud whimpering on my living room floor. My dick swelled at the sight of his submissive form. I knelt before him and took hold of his hair. Jerking his head up sharply, I thrust my pelvis at his face. “Now suck, you little bastard!” His mouth opened immediately, and he went for the raging tool before him as though it were the first meal he d had in days. His tongue ranged over the head, slurping and lapping, moving down to my overworked balls, taking first one and then both into his mouth, then moving back to my shaft, sucking my aching cock-head, drawing out the sweet stickiness of my pre-cum. I was just about to pump a mouthful of spunk down his greedy throat when with a sudden swiftness he took his mouth from the slobbery rod, shot straight up and grabbed me by the neck. He pulled my face toward his, so near I felt his hot breath in my nostrils, and whispered with a fierce, almost violent passion—“Fuck me!”

He wrapped his mouth around my own and pushed his tongue through my lips. Pushing me down and straddling my body with his, covering us with the oozy cum still clinging to his belly, he let his moist ass hover over my lap. He sat down, kissing me deeply as he held my cock between his butt-cheeks, grinding his bottom into my crotch. His kisses ranged around my neck and face, and all the time he heaved his plea, “Fuck me. Fuck me, man. Oh, god, fuck me!” There was no pretense of any games now. This boy had been fucked before, and often. The match was over. We had both won. All he wanted was my dick up his ass. If he was hetero, I was Dorothy Parker. I pushed him onto the floor, grabbing his legs and throwing them over my shoulders. With his face contorted in anticipation, and his little pink hole gleaming in the middle of his still-red bottom, he was utterly at odds with the image he had tried so desperately to project before.

Kneeling above him, I grinned to myself in triumph. I reached beneath the sofa for the lube and condoms I keep hidden there. Ripping open a package, unfurling the rubber sheath over my dribbling cock, slathering the shaft with lubricant and then swabbing a handful of the stuff into his butthole, I almost laughed out loud. Lowering myself onto him, aiming my slicked-up dick at his waiting boy-hole, I thought, “Davey, Davey. You are such a fucking liar. Little Mr. Lady-Killer. Stud-boy David. The treasure of all the big-tittied women-folk this side of the Missouri. Lying here on my living room floor with your asshole open to the air, begging for a cock up your butt!” I wondered if he’d ever even seen a woman’s inner thighs!

Little David, who swears he’s oh-so-straight, eating my prong like it was candy, swallowing the whole thing in one gulp, without gagging. Butch David, with his I-ain't-never-done-this-before routine, raising his bottom for a good, old-fashioned hand-spanking. Macho David, throwing his legs up into the air the first time I touched his hot boy-cunt.