Gay Erotic Stories

My Redneck Roommate, Part II Toby's hand was rough, but his touch was gentle-against my cheeks, my lips, my Adam's apple. I shuddered as he moved lower-to my chest, my nipples, and my armpits. Every nerve ending in my body was alert. I was simultaneously aware of his hand caressing me, his chest against my ribs, the sudden coldness when his belly broke contact with my side, his leg lying across mine, and his cock, in the crease of my groin, echoing each movement of his body. He moved his hand lower in gentle circling motions-his fingers grazing my pubic hair, the back of his hand brushing my throbbing hard on. Fear battled desire as he explored my body, touching me where no one had ever touched me before, awaking sensations I had never known.. I began to squirm He rested his hand on my thigh. "Your legs are trembling." "I guess I'm just scared." "Your dick ain't scared. It's standing up pretty good." "But this is wrong. We're not supposed to be doing this." "Take hold of my cock," Toby said. "What?" "You heard me. Put your hand on my dick." I complied. "Not like that. Grab it like you meant it." I did so-at first shyly, but then with increasing passion. Instinct took over and I began to stroke him, responding to the excitement of pleasuring him in this most personal and intimate way. "Why are you doing that?" he asked sharply. Confused, I pulled my hand away. "But I thought it was all right. You told me to." "It is all right," he said, smiling at me like I was a retard who had just learned how to tie his shoes. "It's all right because I told you to. It's my dick, and I get to do whatever I want with it." He thrust his hand between my legs. "Now this here is your dick. And there ain't nobody in the whole goddamned world has got any right to tell you what you can do with it. You can fuck men, women or dogs, and it don't matter. Because it's your dick." Simple and obvious as his words were, they opened up a whole new world to me. I didn't have to live up to someone else's standards. It was my body. I owned it. I belonged to me. I flung my arms around him. "Help me, Toby. I can't go on living like this." He bent and took me in his mouth. No more questions; no more guilt. He just sucked my cock. And it drove me out of my fuckin' mind. I moaned. I cursed. I yelled. I pounded the mattress with my fists. And it just kept getting better. "Oh God! Oh God! Oh . . .my . . . God! When the ecstasy became almost unbearable, he stuck his finger up my ass. And I thought I would explode. In fact I did-right in his mouth. Over and over. Again and again. Pounding jets of jism gushed from my balls and into his mouth. With each ecstatic convulsion of my body I gave myself up to him-emptied myself into him. Toby wanted me. At last, someone wanted me. All my fears, my longings, my hidden and repressed desires drained out of me in that one tumultuous orgasm. He owned me. I belonged to Toby. I collapsed in a pool of sweat. My heart was pounding and I was panting. It felt so good. Oh God! it felt so good. I wanted to lie there for a million years and just keep feeling like that. But he gave me no rest. He spit my cum into his hand and rubbed it on his dick. "Put your legs over my shoulders," he said. He rose above me-strong and virile, a hard, hairy male in rut. And I lay naked beneath him-spread wide, helpless against his onslaught. He thrust his weapon against my most vulnerable spot-parting me, stretching me-grunting, sweating, demanding entry, claiming my body as his trophy. He was so primitive, so elemental. I closed my eyes. I was 25 years old. It had to happen sometime. And when it did-I wanted it to be Toby. It hurt. Oh Jesus! It hurt. I began to whimper. But he kept thrusting in and out of me with increasing force and passion. I chewed on the pillow to muffle my screams. It hurt so bad! It hurt so good! For a timeless time he used me and abused me-pounding my asshole, grabbing my balls in his fist, milking my raging hard on-raping me-demolishing the last shreds of my virginity. "Fuck me, Toby! Oh please, just fuck me! "Yes! "Yes! "Yes! "Now!" "More! "Oh please, more! "Ah! Ahh! Ahhh! AAAHHHHHHH!!!!" I was useless at work the next day. So I left early-telling everyone I had a headache. I wanted to be there when Toby got home. For twenty minutes I paced back and forth. What if he didn't come home? What if something had happened? What if he'd got hurt at work? What if he was dead? Then I heard his key in the lock, and I began to tremble. He stood shirtless in the doorway, his grimy chest streaked with sweat. Sunlight framed him and he glowed like a Greek god. "How come you're home?" he asked, "I thought you suits worked until late." "Toby, I- I fell to my knees, grouping at his fly, stripping down his jeans and burying my face in his crotch, inhaling his hot, sweaty scent-kissing him, licking, sucking-a shameless slut, panting for his cock. "Hey whoa," he called out, laughing. "At least let me close the front door. Your neighbors might not appreciate my ass as much as you do." "Are you queer?" I asked him that night, my asshole still throbbing from his gift to me. He shook his head. "I just do this for fun. It's kind of like jerkin' off-only more sociable." "But how do know what makes me feel so good?" I pursued. He shrugged. "You grow up sleepin' in the same bed with two brothers, you learn fast. Christ, them sheets took a beating. By the time little Howie was old enough to quit pissing in the bed, Frank was already jerking off. I was the middle brother. I always wound up sleeping on a wet spot. "We used to fuck all the time," he reminisced. "And not one of us turned out to be a fag- "Oops! I didn't mean that like it sounds." I wanted to do something for him. So I took him to the ballet. I have season's tickets. I bought two because I was embarrassed to buy only one. But I'd never used the other. Toby grumbled a lot. He didn't have the right clothes. But I pointed out that we were about the same size. He could wear mine. When he got home from work that day he took a shower. Then I led him to my bedroom. "Wear these," I said, holding out a pair of socks. "What's the matter with my own?" "You can't wear sweat socks to the ballet." "Well why not? They're my own goddamn feet aren't they?" "Just put them on," I said. "-and these." I handed him a pair of my best silk boxers. "Oh Jesus! They're all slithery. I'll feel like a girl. Ain't you got no goddamn jockeys, at least?" By degrees I got him into a dress shirt, and then a suit. I had to tie his necktie for him. I was embarrassed because all my pants were too loose; he had such a tight waist. But we cinched them up with my Moroccan leather belt. He examined himself in the mirror. "I ain't been got up like this since granmaw died. Are we goin' to a fuckin' funeral?" But his reflection looked pleased. The evening was a semi-fiasco. Pilobolus performed-in the nude. I have always enjoyed their work. It's so physical, yet subtly artistic. Toby only embarrassed me a few times. "Jesus," he exclaimed when they first came on stage-audible for about six rows-"Look at that goddamn pussy." But mostly he was silent. Later we dined at the Café Henri Carte. "Did you enjoy the performance?" I asked. "I've seen better. There's this one place I go sometimes-where they come and sit in your lap-and they rub their titties in your face. "By the way, them boxers don't help much. That old broad who was sittin' next to me didn't seem to appreciate it when my pants began to stick out." "What's anchovies?" Toby asked the waiter, pointing to the menu. "Fish, sir," he replied, breathing down his nose. "Tossed in an ethereally light sauce, with just a soupcon of garnee. I truly recommend it. It's piquant." "Anchovies," Toby mused. "Ain't them the little fuckers they have at Pizza Hut? I tried them once. They're real salty." The waiter pursed his lips. "Of course if monsieur would prefer le beouf-" "No, I don't want no goddamned la bif," Toby said. "Just bring me a cheeseburger. And don't forget the ketchup." I don't know why I loved him. He was so dense. We had absolutely nothing in common. But I loved him desperately-loved his warmth beside me in the night, loved to wake up in the mornings and just watch him sleep. I loved to touch him. --loved the way his bushy pubic hair tickled my nose. --loved the wet slap, slap of his balls against my ass. --loved his gorgeous body, his good natured, ignorant mind, and his sweet, generous, accepting soul. And I think, in his way, Toby cared for me. Because, a few days later, he invited me into his world. It was Friday and I was asleep. Toby stayed out late on Friday nights. I didn't like it, but I didn't say anything. I heard his key in the lock; and then there was a light in his room. After a while I heard rhythmic, bedspring sounds. Why is he jerking off, I asked myself. He knows I'd do that for him. I got up and went to his room. There was a light on beside his bed. And in its glow, Toby was fucking a girl. "What's going on?" I demanded. He looked over his shoulder-without missing a stroke. "Hey wait a minute. I'm almost there." He stiffened and cried out-the way he always did with me. I cried out too-but for another reason. Toby rolled off her and sprawled on his back, his wet, spent cock glistening in the lamp light. He smiled up at me drunkenly. "This here is Shawna. I met her in a bar." He turned to Shawna. "He's my roommate. You want to fuck him? He's cherry.' Shawna spread her legs and fingered her pussy. Probably she thought she was being seductive. "Come to Shawna" she purred. "Shawna'll fix you right up." I stood irresolute-suddenly very aware that I was naked. But Toby got up from the bed and pushed me. "Hey man," he whispered, "it's ass. Don't you even want to try?" I gestured at my limp cock. "But what if I can't -? I mean, suppose it won't-" He grinned and tousled my hair. "You're just nervous. It's your first time. Shawna'll take care of everything." I lay down on the bed and Shawna gave me a wet, sloppy kiss, rubbing her tits against my chest. Actually, it felt pretty good. Then she went down on me. They say girls can't suck cock, but Shawna was a pro. She straddled me-facing south-and I stared into her pussy. I'd never seen one before. Toby stood next to the bed. He tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to Shawna's cunt-then pantomimed licking motions with his tongue. "Oh great," I thought. "Now I've got a fuckin' coach. How am I going to get out of this?" But I performed. I dove into Shawna's snatch and ate it for all I was worth. It wasn't hard to figure out. The hole doesn't mean much, but the little knob just above it makes her yell. And the juice tasted pretty good. I slurped it down, mindful that most of what was seeping out was Toby's. There was one bad moment. Shawna rolled onto her back and spread her legs. I climbed on top and thrust forward with my bone-hard dick-and bumped up against something solid. I pulled back and tried again. And bumped again. "Oh Jesus," I thought. "I can't even find the fuckin' hole." I was so embarrassed I started to wilt. Then I felt Toby's hand between my legs. He grasped my cock and guided it into where it was supposed to go. Then he slapped me on the ass-like, go to it man, I know you can do it. I popped my cherry that night-and for that I will always be grateful-both to Shawna and to Toby. "Did you like that?" Toby asked-after Shawna had left and we lay in bed together. "Yes. . . . But not as much as with you." He nodded. "I wasn't expecting much. But I figured you should at least give pussy a chance." "I appreciate what you did for me," I said. "And I'm real glad it happened. But I'm not sure I'd ever want to do it again." He smiled. "That's pretty much how I feel about ballet." He was the perfect lover to get me over my hang ups-gross, physical, and unsanitary. From the neck down, there wasn't an inch of me he didn't stroke, lick, fondle and suck whenever we made love. I could never get enough of him. With his hands, cock and tongue he drove me to distraction. Except for one thing. "Why won't you kiss me?" I asked him once. I used to hunger for his mouth on mine. But I'd always been too shy to ask. He looked awkward. "You know," he said. "I don't do this shit all the time. Just you-and my brothers. You don't kiss your brother. It's more like just an accommodation." At first I was thrilled. Just me-and his brothers. But then I began to wonder. Was I just an accommodation to Toby? Was my love for him, "like jerkin' off-only more sociable?" "You ought to get out more often," he continued. "You know-meet people-people like you." "But I don't want anyone else," I protested. "I just want you." He caressed me. "Yeah, but I might not always be around," he said gently. A cold fear gripped my heart. Oh God, if you could make me queer, why couldn't you do the same thing for Toby? Couldn't just one of the brothers turn out to be a fag? The end came suddenly. Very early one morning the phone rang, and my heart skipped a beat when a soft, feminine voice asked for Toby. He took the call in the living room, so I didn't hear what was said. But after he hung up he showered and got dressed. Then he came over to the bed and shook me. "I have to go. There's a bus for Indiana in a little while. She broke up with the lawyer. This could be my chance." Naked and still half asleep, I followed him out to the living room. "When will you be back?" I asked. He stood by the door, his duffel bag in his hand. "I ain't gonna shit you, man. I probably won't be back. My rent's paid up until the end of the month. I'll send for my stuff. Anything of mine you want, you can have it." He opened the door. "Toby!" I cried. "What?" "Nothing. . . it's just that . . . I want you to be happy. I love you." He set down his bag and came over to me, and took me in his arms-his warm body against mine, his musky scent filling my lungs-for the last time. Then he did something surprising. It lasted only a few seconds-before he broke away and stooped to pick up his bag. "I'll call you," he said. They sent me a wedding invitation last week. Probably I won't go. I don't think I could handle it. Sometimes I hurt so bad it makes me want to punch my fist into the upholstery. Maybe we're not so different after all-the straights and us. We can both get hurt. If I don't go, I'll send them a nice present-perhaps a Lalique vase. She'd probably put plastic flowers in it. Toby would like that; he'd think they were pretty. And then they would fuck. Oh God! I need it so bad. Someday I'll find Mr. Right. I don't have to prove anything to anyone. I like myself the way I am. Toby taught me that. I don't even blame God anymore. In fact, I thank Him. Because Toby kissed me-the day he told me good bye.