Gay Erotic Stories

I didn’t feel any pain. At least, I don’t remember feeling any. I was too pumped up on adrenaline to understand how much I was being damaged. I did notice they weren’t very organized about the attack. All four guys were flailing at me like wild little monkeys, so busy trying to hit they weren’t really getting a whole lot of it done. Fortunately.

I rolled back from them and wound up between two cars parked in the street. I like to think I scrambled there, deliberately, but I don’t remember it being a conscious decision. It was just a defensive move, meant to give me the rear of one car to half hide under and protect my head and some of my body. All I know is, suddenly I was on my back kicking at the guys as they tried to pull me back onto the sidewalk to pummel me, some more.

I remember the baseball bat smacking against my left shin and crying out from it. I recall slamming one of my attackers in the knee with my other foot, and I know I did some damage because when they heard people yelling at them from down the street, he limped as he ran off. Oh, and I tore one character’s shirt as I fell, winding up with a shred of navy cotton in one hand.

Suddenly, the Explorer was skidding a bit too close to my head, its driver screaming, "Come on!" The guys yanked open the passenger side doors to jump inside, and everything was the chaos of athletic shoes topped by jeans hopping into the cabin. I managed to catch a flash of the driver’s shoes - ray Nikes with red trim highlighted by the driver’s door light--before they raced away.

I never heard the people yelling at them, not until they were gone and suddenly Lonnie and Isaac and a couple of guys I didn’t know were huddled around me, helping me from between the cars, guiding me to some nearby steps and sitting me down.

"I called 9-1-1," said Lonnie, over and over, punctuating his nervousness with a few, "motherfucker’s."

Isaac was kneeling before me, muttering, "Christ, Alec, there’s blood everywhere. You feel dizzy? Sick?"

Actually, I was brutally embarrassed. I hated being the center of everyone’s attention, as if I’d done something wrong, as if I wasn’t deserving of their concern. It’s weird, I know...but it’s also really how I felt.

So I said, "I’m fine." Again and again and again and again, hoping they’d all go away and leave me alone.

"Bullshit," Lonnie snapped. "Those little fuckers almost killed you. I saw one with a baseball bat. A fuckin’ baseball bat!"

Which was not helping me in any way--him saying that, I mean. Emphasizing just how close to death I had been. More people were gathering around. Lights were coming on in people’s windows. Cars slowed down as they passed. And I just wanted to leave (God, I wanted to leave), wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened. But when I tried to stand, Lonnie would push me back down.

"Dammit, Alec, sit still!" he snarled, and I could tell from the tone in his voice that he was near hysterics, so I sat. Lonnie’s hard enough to handle when he’s cool, calm and collected; no way was I going to make him crazier than he already was at that moment.

Isaac, however, was nice and casual. "Paramedics are coming. Better if you don’t move." It amazed me at how easy he was in this situation. I’d never paid much attention to him, before now. He was slim with nice dark eyes...but he was also far too low-key for my taste, too much like I was years ago. Meaning he usually sat around and watched everybody else get drunk and then drove people home, all very nice and quiet and polite. On the rare occasions where I did try to engage him in conversation, he talked about off-the-wall things like Kierkegaard and his influence on "The Matrix." And how having a brown wallet was indicative of stability while having a black wallet meant you carried deep anger and angst or something (for the record, mine’s gray; never did find out what that meant). But here he was, the gentle eye around which the storm of Lonnie circled...and I felt blessed.

I heard a siren abruptly stop. I looked up to find two blue and white uniforms bolting from it and I remember thinking, "Wow, were they waiting around the corner?"

One knelt before me, a kind of chunky woman with kind eyes, and she started asking me something...but I couldn’t understand a word she was saying. Like her accent was too thick for me to make out English words or phrases or meaning. But Isaac understood her. Hell, he started talking in the same language as she and that was so cool. And I watched him...watched his profile flash and glow as the emergency lights flickered behind him--a nice profile--clean and classical. Highlights of red and white and blue danced over his dark hair. He was still talking and I was still was not understanding, but I had to be polite (something my mother drilled into me with too much precision), so I smiled, I think, and said, "Isaac...I didn’t know you were bilingual."

And his big dark eyes looked at me, confused.

Next thing I knew, I was in this blinding green and white emergency room, staring at some lights as all these weird people in soft blue uniforms huddled over me, white masks covering the lower part of their faces. I think I giggled and said something like, "Is this an alien abduction? Am I being probed?"

One of the nicer aliens winked at me and said, "Not yet."

And then I was in a hospital room, buzzed on some kind of drug (Darvocet or Codine, I think; yeah...the Vicodin came later) with this steady dull throbbing behind my eyes. And my mouth was as dry as Death Valley, with some kind of grit coating my teeth and tongue and a brutal need to pee threatening my sanitation. And while I had a vague notion of there being a bathroom nearby (I was aware of my surroundings...sort of), I was feeling way too lazy to do anything about any of it. So I lay there. Drifted. Waited for the dull throb to cease.

I vaguely remembered dreaming about someone. Lonnie? Chris? Woody? Their faces sort of jumbled together and seemed to be all of them, at one time...but it didn’t seem right. Was it Isaac? Sweet semi-nerdy Isaac? No, the dream was too pleasurable for me and the beauty of my partner was too intense for him to be anything but a porno-god.

Open fields cut through by a brook. Thick trees offering shelter from a bright sun. A sky plain and blue and hot. And that perfect someone lying beside me, holding me like no one ever has. Both of us dressed in white and tan and seeming like two princes from a faux-butter commercial. His hand gliding up my thigh, sending tingles of joy to my heart. Him touching me without my asking him to. Him kissing me without any effort on my part. His heart becoming one with mine as his hand guided me into nirvana...gliding up and down and up and down until a bluebird...no, a blue jay perched on my knee and said something weird like, "Hay is for horses." If I remembered right; I couldn’t be sure.

What I was sure of is a stirring in my groin, whispering along my thighs in a warm gentle soothing way. It took me a moment to realize I’d lost control of my bladder and I was, for the first time since I was seven, wetting the bed. I jolted upright and squeezed off the flow an instant before this sledgehammer slammed into the side of my skull and sent me reeling and I gave up trying to stop anything. I grunted...no, I probably screamed from the pain, because a nurse popped her head in, her eyes cool as steel.

"He’s conscious," she chirped. "And he’s got a bad one."

And wouldn’t you know it--THAT is when this amazing George-Clooney-clone arrived to check on me. Hey, I may have been on death’s door, but I could still notice and very much appreciate male beauty when I saw it...and he was fucking gorgeous.

"Well, well, well, Alec," he chimed. "Welcome back to reality. Now tell me, are you aware you’re sitting in a pond of pee?"

Before I could even think about it, I did something I’d never done before. I snapped, "No, I think I’m fuckin’ water-skiing—dipshit!" to a totally hot guy.

Understand, that is NOT how I usually acted. Normally when I meet a guy I think is gorgeous (and George-deux was hot-hot-hot, without question), I bend over backwards to be nice to him. Say cool casual things to let him know I’m interested if he is, while seemingly just being a buddy. Make low-key conversation about nothing that is meant to lead straight to bed. Didn’t matter if he was gay or curious or honed in strictly on chickie-poos (I’ve gotten a couple of straight boys, including Freddy, onto the sheets), my act was always the same -- My GOD, but you are the MOST interesting man I’ve ever met in my LIFE--no matter what. But the last few days, (starting with Freddy, to be exact) I’d been stepping out of my usual manners and popping off comments intended to get me nowhere...intended solely to screw me up...and I’d done it, again.

George-deux blinked and gave me a careful look as he said, "Well...we’re not in the best of moods, are we, Alec?"

No, is what I wanted to say, coupled with, I’m sorry. Instead, I snarled, "It’s Mister Preston, doctor..."

"Danovich, Mr. Preston," he said, his voice a LOT cooler than before. "And the reason I asked you if you knew what happened is, you’ve been unconscious for the last three hours and I wanted to know if you’re experiencing any disorientation."

"I don’t know," I said, still edgy. "My fucking head hurts too fucking much."

George-deux smiled and nodded. "Nurse is getting something for that."

"Where’d she fucking go for it? Tibet?"

He got this concerned look on his face and squatted next to me, trying to look into my eyes. "Y’know, your friends said you were a really nice quiet guy."

Zing! Away went the fury. And replacing it for the evening? Complete and total self-flagellation. I bunched up and felt myself losing it as I said, "No, I’m an asshole. A fucking asshole." And I started to cry...which made my head scream even louder.

"Okay..." said George-deux, "first we’re going to get you a clean bed and new gown, then we’re going to do a few tests. I assume this is not your normal behavior."

"What the fuck IS normal behavior?" I blubbered.

"Whatever I say it is," he grinned, back in his good humor.

The nurse swung in with a syringe and slammed some clear fluid into my I-V as two more uniforms (probably grunts from housekeeping who got paid eight bucks an hour to mop up my pee) rolled a gurney in and put it beside me. The painkiller started working just as I was done cleaning up and changing and getting on the gurney. Then they wheeled me out under the beautiful, dark, snickering eyes of Dr. Danovich.

To make a long story short, I was in the hospital two days and underwent a battery of tests to make sure I wasn’t about to have a stroke or had already suffered brain damage. And aside from the dull, soft, never-ending ache behind my eyes, that’s basically how everything turned out. Minor concussion, three cracked ribs, scrapes, bruises, and one black eye--I got off easy. Physically. Ran up close to twenty thousand in bills, of which my insurance covered two-thirds; MasterCard and Visa did the rest.

I got a call from my mom (drunk, as usual, so it only lasted two minutes), and Lonnie came to visit me while I was in, bringing a card signed by everyone I knew (including Chris), but it was Isaac who made time to take me home. And while Lonnie and I talked about everything under the sun -- like how he’d finally broken his dry spell with the male paramedic who’d tended to me ("Loves to be tied to a dining chair!"), and how Steubin and Willis had a huge argument at the bar ("I thought they were gonna kill each other!"), and how he was the one who first saw the little bastards attacking me and had run back to the bar for help -- it was Isaac who asked me if the police had come by.

They hadn’t.

"I wondered if they would," he said as we were driving back to my condo. "They were more interested in making what happened seem like a mugging than in finding out who did it."

"Maybe it was," I said, trying not to think about it.

"You really believe that?"

"I don’t know. No...I don’t. I just...I can’t..."

Isaac glanced at me and patted my knee. "I understand."

I just looked away and gave my mind permission to drift. I thought, Isaac said that...did that like a father does with a child. Or...maybe like a priest does with an altar boy. Not that I’d know, not being Catholic. And Jewish guys aren’t priests, are they? Just Rabbis. God’s chosen people. That’s a raw deal if ever there was one and...and maybe that’s why I’ve always had a thing for Jewish guys. They’re the ones who got fucked. But then again...I was interested in that type long before I’d put any thought into it. Dunno why, but seeing a guy like...oh, what’s his name? The guy on that sit-com..."Ross"...anyway, seeing him on television stops me cold, every time. Big dark eyes. Sweet shy smile. Tall solid build...well, maybe not a Greek god, but in good proportion. Nice hands. Hangdog gaze. Gentle disposition. Why can’t I get a guy like that? Somebody tall and dark and perfect to hold? Somebody to comfort when they’re down. To undress slowly...revealing their beauty inch by inch?

I’ve dreamed of that so many times. Wished and hoped and prayed. I could live my life with someone like that. Welcome him home. Fix him a drink. Rub his shoulders as he told me of his day. Nuzzle my nose into his hair. Smell the V-O 5. No...what was it my dad used to use? "Rose Cream?" Make his thick black hair stand up, even in a crew cut. God, I wanted to caress the back of his neck with my lips. Circle his body with my arms. Run my fingers over his belly. Feel the smooth brown skin quiver under my touch. Toy with his full round tits. Fondle his ripe bursting crotch. Hold his big beautiful dick in my hands and squeeze and pull and thrown him across the couch and shove his legs apart and yank his pants down and fuck him and fuck him and fuck him hard, like the motherfucker he is...like what he deserved and what he loved and why I hated him for it -- .

"Alec?"

Isaac’s voice jerked me back from a thousand miles away.

"You started breathing really fast," he said. "Are you all right?"

I nodded. Why, I don’t know. I didn’t understand what he was talking about. In fact, I don’t think I could have formulated the mental or physical ability to understand anything at that moment, I was so confused. No, disoriented, like when I thought he was speaking another language with the female paramedic.

"Did you hear what I said? About the detective I spoke with? How I have his number?"

All I still could do was nod, even though I hadn’t heard a word.

"You don’t have to call him, right away. He said they had some leads, already, on your case. But you will need to call him. Okay?"

"Yeah," I croaked, my brain still swimming. "In a day or two. Lemme have the number."

Then I looked around and saw we were double-parked in front of my condo. When did we get there? And how long ago? I somehow found the ability to open the passenger door and step out of the car. Isaac stopped me.

"Here." He offered me a slip of paper. "It’s Detective Narden’s information."

I took it.

"Now hold on; I’ll come in with you."

He started to get out of his car. That snapped me back to reality.

"No, Isaac, you’re gonna get a ticket."

"Alec..."

"I’ll be fine. Really. And I’ll...I’ll call Detective Narden. In a day or two."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

"Well...okay. You got your painkillers?"

"In my pocket. Thank you so much for bringing me home."

"Alec...c’mon...you’d do the same for me."

Would I? I don’t know. Not even now, after all that’s happened. After all he’s done for me. I honestly could not tell you for sure that I would have been as good a friend to him as he was to me, those few days.

"Thanks, again." Then I turned and headed for the door.

I could feel Isaac watching me as I entered my condo...could sense the concern in his eyes. I didn’t hear his car pull away before the door closed, so he may have still have been standing there, making sure I actually made it inside. But I did...and then I stopped moving. Completely. I just stood there in the foyer, listening, as what I think was Isaac’s car drove away, unable to move or think or even understand why or who or where I was.

Somewhere...somehow...something deep inside me had shifted. Changed me. How, I didn’t know yet. I might never know. But in a vague sort of misty way I could tell I was different. And this may sound weird, but I think my home sensed it, as well. And it held my in stasis while it tried to make sure I was who I claimed I was. And so I stood there and waited as if waiting for my fate.

The sun drifted down the sky. Light filtered through the living room windows and caught a crystal object, shooting tiny rainbows into the foyer. One clipped against a mirror I had hanging on a wall and wound up dancing on my cheek. I knew what the object was (a teardrop prism hanging from a floor lamp) but I still turned to see. It was like my home was saying, "Okay, you may come in, now."

I shifted...and moved into the living room. Aimed straight for the pendant. It glimmered at me, seemed happy to see me. I took it in my hand and held it up for the sun to catch...and it sparkled and sent joyous prisms of color flying across the dark paint and tasteful furniture. I could almost hear the walls singing, "You’re back! Welcome back!" And it really pissed me off, so I dropped the teardrop prism into a trash bin.

Nothing...absolutely nothing was ever going to even seem to give me permission to come into my own fucking house. Nothing. In fact, I didn’t need anybody’s fucking permission for anything, ever again. From now on, they fucking needed mine.