Gay Erotic Stories

Robin was a cousin who knew I was gay before I did. He didn't miss my interest in other boys, my interest in him, or my confusion about where to go with my feelings. With our parents around all the time, it wasn't easy to get more than a few minutes of conversation out of him at a time, then there wasn't much he could say that really meant anything. "Be careful, the walls have ears," he said to me at the last family get-together, and didn't speak to me again until it was time for him to leave. Before he got into his dad's car, he walked me out a short distance and whispered, "If I can arrange it, will you come spend the first weekend in July with me? It's my parents' wedding anniversary and they're telling me they have plans to visit Carmel." "Yes!" I enthused. "I'll be there!" "Will you sleep with me?" "Yes!" I exclaimed. He smiled. "I had to be sure." Mom waited at the frontdoor for me and put her arm around my shoulders as we entered the house. "I do believe that's the first time I've seen you and Robin speak to each other," she said. "I was beginning to believe you two didn't like each other." The month of June dragged by. The closer the first weekend of July came, the more Robin telephoned to check my feelings and encourage my excitement. Finally, the big moment came when Robin drove into the driveway to pick me up. I was there waiting, suitcase in hand. "Why the suitcase?" he asked, a mischievous grin on his face. "We're not going to be wearing any clothes." The bedcovers were already turned down for us when we walked into his room. There were fresh towels on the dresser, lubricant, even a book on gay sex. One with pictures. "Kinda sure of yourself, aren't you?" I asked. "Should I have any doubts at this point?" he asked, taking me into his arms. No, I conceded. I was as eager for sex as he was. It was just a bit startling to see the room prepared for sex. All those weeks I looked forward to having sex with Robin and it was over in a minute. Did I miss something? I think I missed a lot. Talking about my feelings and seeing him interested enough to listen and help me with them would have, I think, made sex more pleasurable for me. Taking things slower, building toward a mutual climax rather than just one for him, would have made me want to do it again with him, for sure. After I cleaned up in the shower, I was ready to go home. A month ago, I was in bed with Robin again and amazed at how much more thoughtful he was as a lover. This time he was interested in pleasure-giving, not just pleasure-taking. He was almost romantic. I spent the night with him. He couldn't drive me away.