Gay Erotic Stories

Call to Go Part 1. It was my first year of teaching third year college students. My course centered around food preparation and although the majority of the students on the program were girls there were, thankfully, a few guys as well. Most of the class were in their early twenties, with a couple of them older than me, surprisingly enough. I had worked for a number of years successfully as a chef, so I knew the discipline that one needed to make a success of a career in a kitchen. Due to my meticulous, no-nonsense approach to my classes I soon gained the reputation amongst my students of being strict, but fair. They knew they could approach me for assistance and guidance whenever they were unsure about not only my program, but those of other lecturers in the department as well. As a result, on those days I was not in the laboratories, my office was visited regularly by my students looking for advice, direction, and sometimes a sympathetic ear they could safely talk to. Initially, all the interruptions had irritated me. I had a great deal of preparation to do for my lessons and I found that I was staying later and later in my office than I would have done under other circumstances. But then, as I realized that I was able to complete much more work after hours when all the other lecturers had gone home and the phone had stopped ringing, I looked forward to the late afternoon and the quiet that came with it. It was very rare for any of the other staff to stay and work after hours, as they had other commitments or families to go to. One evening, after a long, tiring day of lecturing, I had dropped my books in my office and then walked across the passageway to the washroom. It felt so good to finally be able to loosen my tie, wash my hands and face with hot water, and undo the top few buttons of my shirt. As I stood drying my hands, I took a good, long look at myself in the mirror. For someone approaching 32, I wasn’t too bad – full shoulders, no wrinkles on my face, only laughter lines; no gray hair in my dark blonde head or in my short, neatly-trimmed black beard; green eyes still full of life and fun; a mouth with full lips that turned up at the corners as if I was continually amused at some private joke; and black, curly hair thrusting over the open buttons of my shirt. Throwing the towel down, I ran my hands over my hair to smooth it into place, and returned to my office. There was a pile of books on the shelf outside my door – oh, no, I thought, I really don’t feel like having to sort out some student’s problems now. Stealing a glance at the student’s name on the books, I saw that it was a C. Johnson. There were two C. Johnsons I knew of: one was a giggling female on another program but permanently confused about her daily existence; and the other C. Johnson was a guy from the class I had just been lecturing. If it was Cliff, I decided, at least my eyes wouldn’t suffer! Cliff was just twenty, and judging by all the female gossip in the class, spent most of his free time surfing and keeping his ‘Y’-shaped body toned. His thick brown hair was always cut short, and I had noticed that his tanned hands were well-kept, with short, clean nails. I knew from the theory classes I gave, when the students were allowed to come casually dressed, that he had strong, tanned legs, not too hairy, and a pair of really great-looking feet – neat and nicely shaped with strong toes. He had a quick brain and sharp sense of humour, and always appeared to be paying attention to what I was saying, although sometimes, when I would walk about the class when lecturing theory, his notes were not as precise as they could have been – as though his mind was somewhere else, like at the beach watching the babes and the surf. So, I decided, he needs to review some aspect from today’s lesson. Hopefully it wouldn’t take too long – I had another full day ahead of me the next day with a group of part-timers, and having to cram two semester’s work into one semester for them was proving to be quite tricky. I had to be really well organized to deal with the unexpected situations that arose each time I had this class and being well-organized meant putting in extra work myself beforehand. Taking a deep breath, I strode into my office. Thankfully, it was Cliff waiting for me. “Yes, Cliff,” I said, “how may I help you?” Cliff was still in his chef’s uniform, and he, like I had with my shirt, had undone the top couple of buttons of his jacket. I could see the crisp, curly sun-bleached hair on his tanned chest. He stood up at the sound of my voice and turned to face me as I walked past him to sit in my chair on the other side of the desk. “Chef”, he said, looking at me with his clear brown eyes fringed, I now noticed, with long lashes. “I’m sorry to hassle you s-so late, but I have a small problem, and I know that you are really good and h-help the other guys out.” “Yeah,” I replied, leaning back in my chair and crossing my legs, “so what’s the problem? Is it to do with today’s work?” “N-no, Chef,” Cliff stuttered, as he did when stressed. “It’s my g-girlfriend.” “Well, what is the hassle, then?” I asked, thinking that I would cut this conversation down to something short and quick. “Is she pregnant?” “N-no, Chef, that’s the problem. Sh-she wants me to have sex with her, b-but…” Cliff raised one hand and nervously rubbed the back of his neck. “But what?” “Chef, I like her – I l-like her a lot, but whenever I think of us, I m-mean, we kiss and hold hands and things, and we sleep together, b-but we’ve never had sex.” “Cliff,” I said, uncrossing my legs and giving them a good stretch, “I’m sorry – I’m a professional cook, not a sex therapist or a psychiatrist. I would really like to help you find a solution to this problem of yours, but I am not qualified. Do you think if my love-life was so great, I would be here every evening at this time?” “Every night?” Cliff burst out in disbelief. “You mean you work late every night?” He stared at me with those great brown eyes, his beautiful wide mouth hanging open a little, showing a glimpse of even rows of white teeth. “Yes, Cliff, most nights. I’m sorry to sound rude, but it seems to be the only time when I can work uninterrupted.” “Yes, sir,” said Cliff, pushing his chair back. “I understand. I’m sorry that I worried you with this. It’s j-just that I can’t talk to the other guys about this – th-they would laugh at me and I would look like a f-fool. And my parents live too far to go and see, and I don’t have a phone at home to call them from.” He was standing by the door, now, looking at the floor. “Would you like to call your parents now, then?” I asked. “Chef, that’s very good of you, but it wouldn’t do any g-good.” Cliff had his back to me and was collecting his books from the shelf in the passageway. “My dad would t-tell me to stop being stupid, and I couldn’t talk to m-my mum about this.” His voice began to shake at the end, and when he turned around, I could see tears glistening in his eyes. “Cliff”, I said gently, standing up and walking around my desk towards him, “come on, come and sit down and tell me what’s really worrying you.” He put his books down on the shelf again and walked slowly back into my office. A single tear trickled down his cheek. “Chef,” he said, his bottom lip trembling and tears glistening fresh in his eyes once more, “I d-don’t know what t-to do, or who t-to talk to. I have been thinking about th-this a lot, and the only answer that c-comes to m-me every t-t-time, is I th-think I must be gay.” He stared helplessly at me, indecision and apprehension etched strong on his young, innocent face. His hands had been busy fidgeting all the while, yet as he finished speaking, they stilled with the palms up and open. “Yes,” I said, one part of me ridiculously annoyed for the joy I felt surge through me whilst another part sympathized painfully with the tumultuous confusion Cliff must have been going through for so long. I opened my arms wide as the tears flowed freely down his brave face. “Come here, Cliff. Let it all out.” A poor choice of words I thought, wryly, as Cliff fell into my arms and buried his face in the crook of my neck. Sobs tore through his body as I closed my arms around him, holding him close and shushing him like a baby. He wrapped his arms tightly about me and wept freely, his tears soaking through my shirt and trickling down my back and chest. We must have stood like that for a good few minutes, Cliff crying helplessly into my neck and squeezing me to him in his strong, young arms, while I held him in one arm and gently stroked his head with my hand, smelling the good, man smell of him that was mingled with his dried sweat and the odors of spending all day cooking food in a hot, steaming kitchen. His body was taut and well-muscled, tense and apprehensive in my embrace. Then he relaxed, as all his pent-up anxiety and stress seemed to flow from him and moved in even closer to me so that I was vastly aware of every inch of him, from his burly arms holding me tight around my waist and his strapping shoulders resting against my shoulders, to the chest hair that now was rasping against mine, to his flat, rippled stomach pressing firm against my own belly and then the hint of a hard bulge through the thin cotton of his checked pants. Apart from my hand gently and slowly stroking his hair, neither of us moved for a good while. Eventually, Cliff’s sobs grew weaker and then stopped altogether and his grip on me relaxed. As he lifted his head from my shoulder, I dropped my arm from around him and stepped back. Gripping his shoulders in both hands, I gazed into his face. His eyes were all puffy and red, and his nose was snotty. His mouth was still trembling lightly. “Here,” I said with a calm I wasn’t feeling, offering Cliff my handkerchief. “Wipe your eyes and blow your nose. Then go and wash your face and come back.” Cliff stared at me wordlessly, then took the proffered hanky and started to wipe his eyes. As he blew his nose, I started to unbutton my shirt. “Chef, what are you going?” Cliff asked with a note of uncertainty in his voice. “I am going to change my shirt,” I said, with a laugh. “This one has somehow become sopping wet. Now go and wash your face, and then come back here.” “Yes, sir,” he replied sheepishly, having by this time blown his nose noisily. “Uh, what should I do with your hanky?” “Throw it away,” I replied, pulling my shirttail out of my trousers. “I don’t want it back now.” He stood there, staring at me as I shrugged my wet shirt off, as if he hadn’t heard a word of what I had said. I watched his eyes as they traced my torso from my throat, all the way down across my broad pecs with their large, now rock-hard brown-pink nipples set in light whorls of springy golden hair, to my firm stomach and my navel, and then the more darkly-defined line of hair that disappeared into the top of my trousers. I could feel my dick stirring between my legs. “Cliff!” I exclaimed, “go and wash your face. Now!” With a start, Cliff blushed, averted his eyes, and muttering, “Yes, sir, sorry sir,” ran out of my office to the washroom. And now, I thought to myself, how do I deal with this? I only had my feelings to follow on, for although I had long realized I was gay, I had still not come out and had always succeeded very well in hiding my true sexual preference. Contemplating the situation, I had only just pulled a thin jumper on, not having a spare shirt in my cupboard, when Cliff re-appeared at my door. His eyes were back to normal, and his hair, from being stuck under the running tap, was dark and wet and sticking up in spikes. “Sir,” he said, watching me pull the jumper down over my stomach, “sir, you won’t tell anyone about what I told you, and a-about what h-happened, will you?” “Cliff”, I replied quietly, turning to move to my desk, “this is between you and me only, if that’s the way you want it to be. As far as I am concerned, nothing has happened.” “Thank you, sir”, he answered, relief showing through in the great big grin he gave me. “The others were right – you are the best!” “Well, be that as it may,” I said, sitting in my chair and pulling the plan for the next day’s work towards me, “I don’t know what I have said or done that could have been of any help, but I am glad that you feel more settled now.” Cliff came around the desk and knelt hesitantly down next to my chair. Staring into my eyes he began, “Chef, I feel closer to you than I have ever done to my father or any of my friends. I feel I can trust you, and that whatever I tell you is safe. Thank you.” My penis, already half-way to being rock-solid, stirred noticeably in the tight confines of my trousers. Cliff didn’t seem to have noticed, but as he stood up, he put his arms around me and gave me a big hug. “Thank you for sharing your time with me,” he said. “I’ll try not to waste it again, in the future.” “My boy”, I answered, as he walked towards the door, “no student has ever wasted my time. You know where to find me, and that I will always be available to help you in whatever way I can.” “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I-I’ll see you n-next week?” “I most sincerely hope so, Cliff”, I answered, looking down again at the papers on my desk. I had a huge hard-on straining desperately against the front of my pants, and I knew that if I looked at this handsome young, trusting man standing in front of me for much longer, I would be the one having to make an unscheduled trip to the washroom! Having collected his books together, Cliff wished me a good evening, and, whistling, disappeared along the corridor. And now, I thought as my raging hard-on rubbed viciously against my leg, I am the one with a situation. But, at least, I smiled grimly, I know how to sort it out! I rose and locked the door to my office. Alone and single-handedly, I solved my problem. END OF PART 1