Gay Erotic Stories

You were travelling by train from Sarajevo, where you'd spent half a year studying Serbo-Croatian, to Zagreb, where you were planning to look for living quarters in order to continue your studies there. It was July 1989. The train was supposedly going to leave at 10 P.M., but now at half past midnight it was still standing in the Sarajevo Central Station and hadn't budged an inch. For the time being you had a whole compartment to yourself and you were glad of it. You'd dug your light blanket out of your backpack, taken off your shoes and lain down on the wear-weary upholstered bench seat with your blanket over you, your head at the window end. At almost a quarter to one in the morning, just before the train finally did roll out of the station, the conductor came to check the tickets. Into the compartment came, almost simultaneously, another passenger who looked for all the world like the young steel-worker on the now virtually defunct ten-dinar note. He too showed the conductor his ticket, put his backpack on the luggage rack and sat down on the opposite bench, as soon as the conductor disappeared, but not before sliding the curtains shut on the corridor-side of the compartment . "Zdravo!" (Hi!), he said with a friendly smile, which you again returned. Again. Because you remembered having seen him earlier that evening. Twice, in fact. First at that same sidewalk cafe across from the station, where you'd spent the hours between your dinner and the scheduled departure time drinking "pivo" (beer) to the intoxicating music of a gypsy band. The second time had been about an hour previous: he'd been walking back and forth along the platform, apparently just killing time waiting for the train to depart, because he didn't have any luggage with him at that time. He had looked into the compartment where you were sitting and smiled, a little bit sheepishly, when he saw you. You'd smiled back. But it had only been a perfunctorily polite smile at that time. Not that he hadn't deserved more perhaps, but you’d been caught off guard. Unbelievable how much he resembled that young steel worker! Short, dark, curly hair but blue eyes. And dimples which made his face look something in between boyishly innocent and rakishly mischievous. My god he looked charming. My god he looked delicious. And with those eyes, he just had to have a sense of humor! You exchanged a few polite phrases in Serbo-Croatian: "Da li znaš kad æemo stiæi u Zagrebu?"(You know when we'll arrive in Zagreb?) and "Nadam se da ne æe doæi više putnika za našeg kupe, tako da možemo da leæemo!" (I hope no more passengers will come for our compartment, so that way we can lie down.). This "za neœeg kupe!" (for our compartment) sounded pretty good to you and you replied with: "I ja isto tako." (Me too.), as you lay back again to try to catch some more shut-eye. As the train began finally to move and it was obvious there weren't going to be any more passengers, he latched the compartment door shut, took off his shoes and lay down on his bench too, his head at the opposite end. He threw his jacket like a blanket over his torso, ejaculated a soft-spoken "Laku noæ !" (Good night!) and juggled about a little to find a comfortable position, ending up on his back. Gradually picking up speed the train rolled out of the station, out of town, out into the dark country beyond. It was going to be a long journey and you were glad that the train's regular clickety-clack would work like a hypnotist's metronome. Soon enough you did indeed doze off. But after a while you woke up and looked sleepily across the dimly lit compartment. Your fellow traveler was now lying half on his back half on his right side facing you. His right leg was slightly bent, his left leg stretched out, his right arm folded under his head, his left arm lying across his hip, the forearm dangling in front of him. His jacket only covered him to his waist, so his fly, which was half unbuttoned, was clearly in sight and you could see that it was virtually bulging at the seams. He seemed to be asleep and having a nocturnal erection without even knowing it. The mere sight of it however, sent a rush of adrenaline through your veins. All at once you're awake from head to toe and back again! In a reflex your hand reaches for your own crotch, which is still discretely covered by your blanket. Ever so gently, ever so subtly, it begins to caress the rapidly swelling appendage it finds there. Your body is all a-tingle with excitement. Bubbly, boiling blood is rushing through all your veins, seething and gushing and filling to the bursting point your brain, your jugular and all your cavernous tissue. In his apparent sleep his hand is now lying nonchalantly over his crotch, not so much concealing it as rather drawing your attention to it even more. His eyes are still shut, but suddenly his hand makes a twitch-like motion, which, as if by sheer accident, loosens the last button of his fly. Out bulge, even more than before, its caged up contents, which are however still concealed from sight by a layer of soft, white jersey. You can't believe your eyes! Meanwhile, under the secure concealment of your blanket, your hand instinctively begins to loosen the buttons on your own fly, while your other members likewise mirror the choreography being dictated from the opposite side of the compartment, a choreography all the more compelling, because it seemed more a natural reflex than a premeditated motion. Is he asleep? Were these movements made unconsciously? It could be. After all, you've sometimes waked up in the middle of the night yourself and found your somnambulant hand playing with a rock-hard nocturnal. It does happen. Or is it an open invitation? How to test it without making an unacceptable move, a wrong move which might arouse an aggressive reaction. After all, this country is more than a little macho-minded and homophobic! It's better to play it safe than to be not only embarrassed but perhaps also beaten to a pulp! You close your eyes to mere slits through which you can see but not be seen to be seeing. All the while observing every motion he makes. Then, ever so slowly, subtly you begin, from under your blanket, to gather up its top end so that the bottom end is gradually pulled up like a receding hemline. Upwards across your shins, your knees, your thighs, up, up, until your own crotch is finally exposed. Then, just as gradually, you let your right hand reach out from under the blanket, feeling about, sounding out, searching like a blind snake looking for its mate. No sudden moves. Everything in slow motion. Everything unobtrusive. That way, if your compartment-sharer should wake up and see you, he might just as easily assume your motions to be all unconscious too. Once your hand has found what it was looking for, however, your irrepressible fingers begin to search for the opening in your boxers. Your heart is pounding like a jackhammer. Your eyes close altogether for a moment, as a shot of intense pleasure shoots along your spine and reverberates through all the caverns and canyons of your body. When you look again, you see that something has escaped at the top of his underwear, creeping out of its hiding place, a great cobra slipping out of its lair. But his hand is still only vaguely in contact with it. It isn't at all certain that he's awake and it isn't at all certain what he wants or expects, if he is awake. Then, however, his left hand suddenly grasps the serpent near its base and pushes it backwards so that it standing perpendicular to his body. My god what a whopper! It must be about eight inches from tip to base. Easy to estimate: it's almost a full inch longer than your own, though a bit more slender. It is a beauty, by George, it’s a beauty! And he has to be awake! That is definitely not somnambulism! In the meantime your serpent too has snaked its way out of its confines and mirroring with your right hand the moves of his left, you grasp your own cobra and letting it out of its basket force it with a firm grip around its base to stand perpendicular too. Another wave of intense pleasure oscillates through your body and you shut your eyes all the way for what seems like only a few seconds. Suddenly, that delicious sensation is intensified by a subtle but completely unexpected pressure around your serpent's neck. With a startled jerk you open your eyes and see that your compartment sharer has enveloped its head with his lips. The sound of his movement muffled by the noises of the moving train, he had stepped inaudibly across the compartment to where you're lying. He has taken the plunge as it were: started doing to you just what you had so desired but not dared to do to him: his soft, wet lips are now sliding sensuously over its head. And while caressing you thus with his mouth, he was apparently watching your eyes for a reaction, because when you open them you're looking directly into his. Beautiful eyes. Eyes full of unspoken words. He lets your serpent out of his mouth for a second and smiles a mischievous, sensuous smile at you, which nearly makes you melt on the spot. "Da li je dobro?" (Feel good?) he asks, as he surrounds you once more with his lips so that the vibrations of his voice aren't transported so much by the air as through your serpent antenna and along your spine. "O Bože! Da! Da!" (Oh God! Yes, yes!), you answer almost gasping. "Divno je!" (It's delicious!) Meanwhile, his hands begin to wander over your body. They loosen your shirt buttons, they slide under your undershirt and caress your nipples. Your hand now reaches out for his serpent, but it's too far away at the moment. He understands immediately and moves in closer, leaning with his right buttock next to you on the bench. Your right hand gently caresses his chest, his belly. Slowly it slides down toward his serpent's lair. But your present position is so awkward it's hard to do anything with any degree of dexterity. He gradually desists from what he's doing and stands up. Slowly and gracefully he reaches for the buttons of his own shirt, loosens them one by one. He slides the opened shirt over his shoulders and tosses it on the opposite bench. Steps out of his pants and lays them on the bench too. Now he's dressed only in his socks and his snow-white underpants, above which the curious serpent protrudes, as if to inspect the surroundings. You remove your shirt and trousers too, rolling them up and putting them as a pillow at your head end. Slowly, sensuously he lets his shorts slide down his legs. You struggle to remove yours too, but your serpent, protruding through the fly of your boxers, functions as a barbed hook. It takes decidedly more effort for you to disencumber yourself and you both chortle softly as he helps you. Together, you succeed. He then pushes you gently back down on the bench onto your back. He places his knees between yours and his hands just under your armpits. Kneeling thus and leaning forward he begins caressing your belly and chest with his lips. By turns he takes your nipples in his lips and sucks on them. Pokes his nose in your armpits. Sniffs deeply, hungrily. Slides his tongue down your body, sniffs and licks his way down, down, down. And as his tongue and lips glide farther and farther down your belly, so that as his weight shifts back, he has his hands free and he lets them glide gently back and forth along your torso. Then down into the soft warm nest in the serpent's lair. Around the serpent's eggs. And back again. And back and forth. The serpent itself he hardly touches, though twice he grasps it at its base and makes it rear up and dance for just a moment, pulling and stretching its skin downwards toward its base, so its head shines, almost glows with pleasure. And while its head is thus tautly stretched, he lets his wetted lips slide over it and envelop it. He lets his tongue caress it, his lip-cushioned fangs encircle and gently strangle it. Just for a tantalizing moment. Then he lies down on top of you and begins to kiss you on the mouth. Great hungry kisses, which you return. "Kako si sladak!" (How sweet you taste!) Your hands slide down his back. Glide over his buttocks. Searching, grasping, gliding back and forth. Burrowing into the canyon between his Mt. San Jacinto and Mt. St. Gorgonio. Gradually moving eastwards and southwards into the moister heat of Palm Canyon. No words are necessary. After a few minutes he steps back onto the floor of the compartment and indicates with a silent gesture that you should trade positions with him. Taking your hands in his he pulls you upright. As you sit up, your face is adjacent to his reared up cobra. You reach out with your neck to take him in your mouth. Delicious. Smooth. Firm and soft all at once. He smells and tastes clean but not sterile, not soapy, not perfumed. Pure and unadulterated, natural virility! Perhaps just a wee bit salty. You let go of his hands and grasp his buttocks to pull him closer to you, while you suck him deeper into you and your nose inhales his fragrance. You slide your butt off the bench, so you're squatting in front of him. Turn him around and pull him down on the bench, holding him in your mouth throughout the change of position. Then releasing the serpent, you climb onto the bench the same way he had just done and with your lips you begin your inspection tour of his body. What a beautiful body he has. Completely smooth but for a few softly curling hairs on his chest. The prongs of a broad Y-pattern start as a vaguely visible swath a few inches above his nipples, curving their way around toward the middle of his chest and down from there they lead like an arrow down, down into a dark thicket below. His shoulders are broad and muscular but not exaggeratedly so. These muscles were not built up by idle exercise but by hard labor in the steel mill or in the mines. His belly is firm but not hard. Not a washboard. It's a diving board, inviting you to take a plunge. You lie down on top of him and bury his face in kisses. Your tongue penetrates his ears. Licks his eyelids. Your mouth envelops his chin, his nose. Your tongue searches for his in the depths of his mouth. And in the meantime your serpent nestles its way in between his thighs, looking for company, looking for prey or a place to stay. Who's to say? Suddenly, the train reduces its speed, slinging you onto the floor. The brakes continue to screech for what seems like half a minute, before the train has come to a full stop. You hear shouting both from outside and from the adjacent compartments. Shortly thereafter the conductor comes rushing down the corridor, hammering on all the compartment doors as he hurries along, calling out. "Ustajte! Ustajte! Sidjete! Ponesete sve sa sobom! (Get up. Get up. Get off the train. Take everything with you.) You both jump up to get dressed, carefully but quickly, stuffing your still swelling parts into your pants, buttoning up flies and shirts as fast as you can. It's a lucky thing the conductor only knocked on the doors instead of opening them with his passkey! You put on your shoes and jackets. You stuff your blanket back into your backpack just as your new-found friend opens the compartment door. The corridor is rapidly becoming jammed with other passengers, some half asleep, others wide awake. Some carrying children or luggage, others just standing in the way and asking questions, which nobody seems able to answer. For the moment there's no way you can get out. He slides the door shut again, turns around and embraces you, hugging you hard. Kissing you. And then he says, in a warm, almost husky voice: "Zovem se Branko. A ti?" (My name's Branko. And yours?") How fitting, you think. Branko. That sounds just like "bronco", a wild rodeo stallion. "Djordje", you answer, turning "George" into Serbo-Croatian. Snaking his fingers through your hair and smiling his delicious smile he says, "Hoæeš li iæi za mene?” (Want to come with me?) "U redu, druže, ali kuda idemo?" (Yes, my friend, but where are we going?) "U raj, kadgod bude moguæe, ali sada kod mene..” (To paradise when possible, but for now to my place.) "Rado! Vrlo rado! Više nego rado!" (Gladly. Very gladly. More than gladly.) "Ali imaš neku ideu gde se nalazimo u momentu?" (But have you any idea where we are at the moment?) "Po voznom redu ne mora biti daleko od Doboja. mojeg domaæeg sela. Tamo imam svoju kuæicu gde stanujem sam." (According to the train schedule we must not be far from my home town Doboj. There I've got a cottage where I live alone.) We open the compartment door again and start working our way down the corridor towards the exit. Slowly but surely. Once outside we find ourselves in the middle of nowhere. The environment is only vaguely visible in the dim light of a slightly overcast half moon. But not even isolated lights of farms or villages are in sight, much less the lights of a town or village. Somebody passes the word along that we were supposed to walk back along the tracks to the next crossroad. There a bus will pick us up and take us to the next station. "Bila je nesreæa na tranicima.", someone explains. (There's been an accident on the tracks.) Branko asks where exactly we are and another passenger tells him we’re about 12 kilometers south of Doboj, which makes Branko very happy indeed. "Tako je to manje od triju kilometra od moje kuæice. Dodji, Djordje! Hajdemu na šetnu! (Then it's less than 3 kilometers to my cottage. Come on George, let's take a walk!) You start walking along the tracks. In the dim light of the moon, you can just see enough to orient yourselves. Within 10 minutes you've passed all the other passengers and thus got to the crossroads well ahead of the others. The bus isn't there yet, but Branko doesn't need the bus anyway. He knows the area like the back of his hand and leads you off down the road toward Trbuk. A little later, he stops at a curve where a dirt road leads off along a small stream, which is still almost invisible but very audible in the quiet of the countryside. "Evo!" he sas, (Here we are!) and, turning off the road, he leads the way along a cornfield, which, he explains, once belonged to his uncle. You follow Branko along the dirt road, which is still within hearing distance of the brook and after about a quarter of an hour you reach an isolated little cottage, which is now visible in the light of the approaching dawn. Beams protruding from the roof support profuse grapevines, now little more than silhouettes. From its hiding place on top of one of these beams Branko plucks a key and with it he unlocks the door and opens it. Reaching inside he extracts a kerosene lantern which he lights with a cigarette lighter. With the words "Budi kao kod svoje kuæe!" (Make yourself at home!) he proceeds into his cottage ahead of me. It’s almost devoid of furniture: just one table with two hard-back chairs next to a small, make-shift kitchen counter with two open shelves and a wood stove. But there’s a large bed in the corner. And hanging above the table another lantern, which he also lights. Then he starts a fire in the stove. "Kasnije æemo doruèkovati. A sada, hajdemo u krevet!" (We'll have breakfast later. But for now, lets go to bed!) And chuckling he adds: "Ko rano leža, dve sreæe grobi." (A jocular misquote of an old saying, here meaning literally: He who lies in bed [in stead of the proverbial "rises"] early in the morning catches double good fortune.) And you know your going to make his words come true.. You unzip your sleeping bag and spread it out like a double bed on the straw mattress. He makes a double-bed blanket by unzipping the sleeping bag he had in his back pack. You both nearly rip your buttons loose in your rush to get undressed fast and within minutes after arriving, you are right there, where Branko promised to lead you: "U raju!" (In paradise.) To be continued on request. Henry Bayne, henrybayne@hotmail.com