Gay Erotic Stories

I don't know when the thought came to me, exactly. I'd never had it before...at least, not that I can recall. Besides, it wasn't like I used to sit around all day contemplating possible reactions to the various actions I took; I had a career that demanded far too much focus for that along with a decent circle of friends and family to entertain (and to entertain me). My hobby (photography) also took a lot of attention, and I never let myself get involved in any political crap (short of voting every election). No, I'd have to say I first considered my porno manifesto after I was gay-bashed, not before like some people want to claim.

"Gay-bashed." To be honest, that sounds worse than it really was. I didn't wind up comatose like that guy in West Hollywood. Nor was I killed, obviously (and unfortunately, according to a few right-wing fanatics). But it was still the most terrifying moment in my thirty years of existence, and it would have been worse had I not been taking classes in self-defense. That's not to say I'm good at dropping and rolling and flipping any assailant. I'm better at dropping and rolling and running the hell away from them as they try to figure out what I've just done. And that's what happened that Thursday night in November.

No...that's not right. I was attacked on a Friday; it gets hazy, now and then. But it seems to me everything really started the night before. Started so nicely. Who could've known it would wind up like it did?

Thursday night. I ended work at six-thirty, hit the gym at seven, had a decent dinner of fish and veggies at eight-thirty and hopped into a bar near my condo about ten. I intended to just have one beer and spend twenty minutes flirting with this doll of a bartender I had a crush on...but then I saw Freddy: Dark-haired, dark-eyed, golden-tanned Freddy. A bit shorter than me. A bit heavier in weight. Next to nothing in the way of body fat. Smooth muscles. Good clean lines to his arms and neck. Barely old enough to drink (if he really was). And lips to send you to heaven. He was wearing a t-shirt that was just tight enough, not stretched in any way, and his jeans were just loose enough to add to the curve of his body. I stopped cold the second I saw him, the thoughts of Chad or Greg or whatever the bartender's name was (I used to know it...well, I used to know a lot of things) were shot straight to hell.

Now I'm not the best looking guy in the world; I know that. My shoulders are wide and my legs are long for my body, and I've only recently begun to have some real definition to my own muscles (it took eighteen months in the gym for that to happen). And my face is on the long side. Plus for some reason, since I'm blond people have certain expectations of me that I just do not meet. I'm not dumb (I design and build specialty websites for small businesses and service them). I'm not a party animal (I prefer reading Tolstoy to chugging pina coladas). I am not that adventurous in bed (preferring kissing and fondling and cuddling to actual sex...though there's nothing wrong with it, believe me). And I do NOT have a tan line (knowing perfectly well what the sun does to the skin of Nordic types like me). But my eyes are cool green and intense (my best feature) and I have...had…an open smile and a quiet way of talking to hot little beasties like Freddy that could make them think I'm more in control than I really am.

He was sitting alone on a stool at the bar, handing out a "Don't even think about it" vibe that's usually a turn-off to me. That type is almost always boring in bed; you have to do all the work while they get the fun. But this time...this time, it made me more interested, for some reason. I still can't figure out why.

Maybe it was the hint of sadness in his eyes. Or the way he focused so intently on his beer (Amstel Lite, like what I drink). Or the fact that he just plain ignored the gorgeous bartender (I really have to write his name down, sometime, so I make sure to remember it), which made the guy more attentive to him. Whatever it was, I slipped onto a stool two seats down from him, ordered my own Amstel and pulled out a copy of Froissart's "Chronicles" (nothing like a Penguin paperback to make you seem like a freak in a bar...in the Midwest, anyway). I propped it on the counter, took a sip of my beer and studiously ignored him.

I read for about ten minutes, mixing in some chit-chat with Chad/Greg about life and nonsense, before Freddy ordered another Amstel, giving me my "in."

"Good choice," I said, acting like I'd just noticed that was what he's drinking.

He shrugged and handed Chad/Greg a five. "It works."

"That doesn't sound good," I said, putting down my book. His only response was to put the fresh beer to his lips. "What I wouldn't give to be that beer bottle," did a flash-frame across my brain, but what I said was, "If all you want to do is get drunk, maybe you should try something cheaper...or stronger." "Yeah. Right."

I shook my head and turned back to my book. He was starting to sound surly and I don't need that. A guy I was involved with straight out of college was full of the "I'm suffering and it pisses me off" attitude and I was dumb enough to think I could make him happy. I couldn't. No one could. I quickly decided to leave the "James Dean Wannabes" to their self-inflicted misery.

I finished out my chapter on "The Siege of Calais" and slipped my bookmark in place then pulled a twenty from my wallet and motioned to Chad/Greg. He bopped over like a big happy spaniel and I let my heart do its usual flip at seeing his way-too-sexy-albeit-totally-manufactured grin.

"Just one, tonight?"

I nodded. "I'm meeting my crew here tomorrow."

He bopped away to get my change, and I heard, "Wait...you come to a bar to read?" I turned to Freddy with a smile and raised eyebrows, faking like I hadn't heard him. He was looking at me, truly confused. "That book...you were really reading it."

"Yeah."

He looked at the title and frowned. "I never heard of that. What's it about?"

"Oh, medieval times. Pre-Renaissance and The Hundred Years War and all that."

"You a teacher?"

"No, I just like history. It's fascinating to find out where we came from and how our society evolved. A sort of 'learn from the past and you can see the future' kind of thing."

"And you read it for fun? You don't have to?"

You know, it's moments like this that remind me just how weird I can seem to most people...and it always irritates me. So I'm reading a book in a bar? So what? So I like to learn about more than just the latest pop-pop...pop-music trends? So what? You have to make me feel like a dork? I sighed and shot out with, "What can I say?"

Chad/Greg hopped over with my change and I left him a five as a tip. I knew he expected that much just because he was so pretty and let guys like me flirt with him (I honestly could not tell if he was really gay), but I also left it to show Freddy I was more interested in the bartender than in this...this twerp who was making me feel out of place.

As I put the rest in my wallet, Freddy took a sip of his beer and said, "You must be smart. A book like that looks like work."

"Only if you want it to be."

"Yeah. Right. Things ain't that simple."

Well...he had me there. But like a smart ass, I just had to ask, "Why not?"

He just looked at me with this cool calculating gaze and shrugged. "People."

"Oooohhh...sounds like relationship trouble."

He nodded. "I just got dumped. Not that we were together all that long...but it still shakes you up."

"Yeah. I've been there. I've also done that."

He looked at me, a hint of confusion in his eyes. I think he was surprised I didn't hand him the usual "How could anybody dump a gorgeous guy like you?" line.

"You dumped somebody?" he asked. And when I nodded, he leaned forward and wondered, "How come?"

Now by this point, I'm starting to see things that make me think he's open to being chased...and caught. Things like how his thumb would trail from his lip to his chin after he took a sip of beer. And how his head would cock (pun NOT intended) at an angle as he looked at me. Oh, I'd have to initiate things and he'd be casual about it for a bit, but something in his sudden interest and basic body language said, "If you wanna..." And I sort of...did.

I smiled and decided to try being quick and bold, for once. "Sometimes you think a one night stand could wind up being more, then you see each other a couple of times and realize that's how it should have stayed."

He slipped off his stool and turned to lean back against the bar, giving me a perfect view of his perfect body. Full pecs lightly dusted with hair curled into sleek abs that dipped behind jeans riding at just the right position on his hips. His crotch was nice...ripe...and his legs held just the right curve, giving his jeans an even sexier look as they bunched around his gray and red Nikes. Totally hot...and he knew it. And he had every reason to know it. And I deliberately swept my eyes over him to let him know I knew it, too.

He took a sip of his beer and said, "You do that a lot? One nighters?"

"Only my share."

His smile widened, and it was a lovely smile. "I've never done one," he said, looking away. "I always thought it's kind of dangerous."

"And sexy...if you play careful. With the right person." (That reads lamer than it sounded at the time.)

"Don't you think it's better to know the person first?"

I offered my hand and chimed, "Alec Preston, at your service."

"That could be taken wrong," he chuckled then said, "Freddy. What do you do, Alec?"

Not wanting to sound either too rich or too geeky, I said, "Operations manager for Wendahl Sportswear." Which wasn't a total lie; I was finishing up the structure of an online catalogue and ordering system for them, which sort of made me an operations manager...sort of. Of course, Chad/Greg overheard and gave me a quick glance, but I winked at him and he turned away with a knowing smile.

"I heard of them," said Freddy. "Their stuff looks kind of gay."

"Yeah, it does. We're trying to expand beyond that. Fact is, we just got in our spring line and some of that looks more 'Gap' than 'Abercrombie and Bitch', not that there's that much difference."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Y'know, I have one of the new catalogs at home. You want to come see?"

He did. And it surprised me how easy it was to get him to come back to my place. Initially I wondered if he was serious or if all he planned to do was scope my condo out and come back later to rip me off. Then I thought he was just gonna get me all hot and ready before springing the comment, "You want more, it's two-hundred bucks" or something. Finally I figured he's just out to show his ex that he's still cool enough to get picked up by anybody...and prove it to himself, as well. Not that I cared; I just wanted to get him alone. So we walked back to my place (a whole three blocks into a gentrified part of town) and I gave him a quick tour of my spare-but-stylish-in-an-Architectural Digest-kind-of-way cave.

I won't bore you with the next half-hour's chitchat and wordplay. Let's just say that, after a couple more Amstels, Freddy and I were flopped on my couch, drifting. For some reason, we were listening to an old Depeche Mode CD ("101", I think) and the conversation was at a lull. He was leaning back, his gorgeous legs parted in a casual fashion, his half-gone beer resting on one thigh, his eyes focused on nothing. And I was beside him, looking at his amazing profile (Greek, probably...or northern Italian).

I grew bold, again, and slipped my fingers over his right shoulder. He didn't react...so I let them drift down his arm and across to where his right tit poked against the fabric of his t-shirt. He let a little sigh escape his lips when I drew my thumb over the tit, so I gave it a bit of a pinch...and got a gasp of pleasure as my reward. So I leaned over and kissed him, long and deep, whispers of the beer mingling with the scent of his skin.

It wasn't the greatest kiss. He seemed to hold back, seemed to be unsure. I didn't care; I let it linger for just long enough...then I proceeded to kiss his cheeks and his chin and his nose and his eyes and his eyebrows and his ears then ran my lips along the line of his jaw and down his throat to tickle the vague hairs on his chest that peeked over the collar of his t-shirt. My fingers drew soft over his pecs and swirled around his tits and tickled down his sides and over his abs to slip under the soft fabric and glide it up and over his body. Without a word, he lifted his arms and let me remove the shirt and gaze at his tight toned body.

His skin was smooth over well-defined muscles that weren't overdone. A trail of light hair danced up to his navel and playfully twirled slightly away from the center then tightened, once more, and lead up to a light dusting of hair that flowed out over his chest. His tits were rosy brown ovals, unpierced, firm and ready to be used. And no tattoos (that I could see, anyway).

I let my lips encircle one tit...let my teeth take hold of it and hold it as my tongue flitted over its top. The fingers of my left hand toyed with the other. His breathing quickened and his back arched, and the way he squirmed under my touch let me know he was loving it. I shifted to kneel between his legs, then my fingers slowly drew down his sides and along the top of his jeans to trace down the line of his fly as it bunched over his crotch, then they caressed the inner seam of his jeans before coming to rest on his thighs. I could feel his muscles clench and tighten in reaction, almost quiver, at times. I'd never felt so completely in control.

He hadn't moved yet, not really, just reacted to what I was doing. Little moans escaped from him to let me know I was hitting all the right spots. His body arched a bit more when I shifted from one tit to the other. His hands remained still, letting me do as I wanted but not adding to the moment, and I thought, "No surprises here; just another pretty boy who likes being serviced." I figured I'd make him really go nuts, then.

I let my tongue get to work on the line of hair leading from his chest to his belly...and he gasped, despite himself. I licked his little innie of a belly button as my fingers tickled the backs of his legs and slipped up to his hips.

"Shit," he muttered. "Don't tease."

Okay...I won't. I slipped my hands around his ass, felt his cheeks clench as I dug my fingers into them and nuzzled my face into his crotch. He smelled salty, a little like peanuts. (It's weird, I know, but that's what I thought of.) He bucked his hips up, ramming his crotch into my face, surprising me. Impatient, I thought.

I undid the button to his jeans...slid down the zipper and pulled the flaps apart to reveal clean white Calvin briefs bulging in all the right places. Too perfect.

I slid his jeans down, pulling the Calvins with them a little to expose some of his ass...and he stopped me.

"Don't like that," he murmured. He guided my hands back to his crotch...so I traced my fingers over the rolling seams, instead, and tickled the hairs that peeked from behind the white cotton. He squirmed, his breath quickening. Finally, I pulled the front of the Calvins down...slowly...slowly...slowly...revealing inch by inch a nice, neat, ready-to-use dick that let itself be seen completely before it flipped up and over to greet me. It was thick and round, not yet hard but getting there, and had a perfectly shaped pink head that was all but begging my tongue to meet it half way...so I did.

I licked the head then ran my lips down the shaft...and he grew ramrod straight in a nanosecond. I admired how perfect he looked, for a moment -- his jeans halfway down his thighs, his Calvins gliding around his hips to dip behind balls that hung round and smooth, his dick flopped back, soft dark hair framing his crotch and gliding down his legs and across his hips -- then slipped my lips over the head and down the shaft and I began to pump little Freddy for everything he was worth as my left fingers rolled his balls against each other and my right ones caressed the hairs along the inside of his thighs. Oh, he loved it. His hips ground his dick into my mouth. His perfect ass tightened and shoved and shifted away from my groping hands. His beautiful round balls bounced slightly as he tried to hump my throat. The feel of it all...it was right...almost too right.

He came quickly...all but growled as he grabbed my hair and rammed himself into my mouth and unloaded. I gently twisted both his tits and kept working him for every ounce of juice he had, kept going until he was so rock hard, he was about to pop. He finally whimpered and pulled himself away. And then he just lay there, looking straight ahead, breathing deep, his jeans loose around his knees, his briefs halfway down his thighs, his beautiful dick growing soft and lying happy atop his groin, and his perfect balls hanging loose between his legs. God, I wanted to take a picture of him like that, it was so erotic.

I didn't swallow. Never have. I just smiled and let his semen spill from my mouth into a bandana I had, then I leaned in to nuzzle his crotch, hoping for more to come (pun most definitely intended). I was hoping he'd relent and let me explore his just- right ass. Get some of my own jollies (if you know what I mean). After all, I wasn't exactly satisfied. My own nice average dick was ripe and ready for Freddy.

But instead of reciprocating, he suddenly stood and yanked his Calvins and jeans back up. He was buttoned up and tucked in before I could think of anything to say except, "Uh, Freddy..."

"Gotta go, man. Got a class in the morning. Thanks for the beer...and stuff."

And bam -- he vanished out the front door.

I just sat there, confused, and finished off my Amstel. I hadn't even gotten his phone number or address in case he wanted a repeat...which I figured meant he didn't. Too bad. I would have liked one. And to be honest, I felt he owed me a little more exploring time. Or at least a couple of artsy poses for my camera and personal jack-off moments. But I figured he was just one of those straight boys who sometimes just need to get their rocks off and knew that a fag was an easy blow job. After all, he'd been pretty careful about not mentioning whether a man or a woman had dumped him. Didn't matter. At least I'd gotten a little something out of the deal, so I went to bed happy.

The next night...well, at just before one the following morning, as I headed back to my condo from the bar, thinking about Freddy and his all around beauty, I was jumped by five guys. And that started my descent into hell.

To be continued.