Gay Erotic Stories

"A living hell" is the only way I can describe my late teens. At home were a mom and dad who lived to fight and each day brought them a step closer to killing each other. A job working nights was an escape route I took and exhaustion was an excuse I gave my mom for renting a room at the Y instead of driving home every morning. The real reason for the room, of course, were the number of guys cruising the residents' floors looking for sex. The first boy I invited in didn't just let me fuck him, he allowed me to draw him closer than just close to me and even closer than that by letting me hold him in my arms until I came. That was how I viewed what we did and it effected me deeply. I wanted another boy to hold close and another boy after that one. Being young, I turned a lot of heads and raised a lot of interest. I remember stepping on the elevator in front of a dark haired boy carrying a suitcase. "Leaving?" I asked him. That was all I asked him and suddenly back into the elevator he came and exited the elevator behind me. He wanted to see which room I entered. Ten minutes later, I opened my door and there he stood wearing nothing but a towel. A friendly "hi" was all he needed to step inside my room, shut the door behind him, and move into my waiting arms. A friendly "hi" was all some boys needed to invite me to their rooms. A friendly "hi" was enough of a show of interest to get boys into the showers with me. Back home, I learned that my dad had finally had enough and left bag and baggage. "I don't know why you stayed together this long," I told my mom. "We stayed together for you kids, for you and your brother," she came back. "So you could make us miserable?" I asked, and she slapped me hard across the face. Back to the Y I drove. Misery needed company.