Gay Erotic Stories

This is a story of fiction. It is set at the 2001 U.S. Open in New York the night Andy Roddick lost to Lleyton Hewitt. If you don't know who Andy Roddick is, he's the teenage tennis player who's been labeled as the "Next Great American Hope." Do a google.com search on him and check out one of the literally dozens of Andy Roddick websites. Once again, this is a story of fiction.

"Damn it, not again," Andy Roddick muttered, slamming his locker door. Where the hell was his underwear!? So far during this year's U.S. Open his underwear had been missing from his locker after every match. Up until now it hadn't bothered him too much because he'd been winning his matches, but tonight he had lost to Lleyton Hewitt in a tough five-setter and he wasn't in a very good mood. When he had complained to the locker room attendant, he was given a bland apology and the lame explanation that it probably just some fan sneaking in and stealing his clothing. Whatever the case was, Andy wasn't happy. He wrapped his towel around his waist and sifted through the clothes he'd stripped off before his shower, looking for the underwear he'd worn during the match.

The last couple of nights he'd ended up wearing his sweaty briefs home under his street clothes instead of his normal boxers, but tonight even his briefs were missing. "Great... just great," he snapped, whining. He threw the clothes down. Then he remembered that he'd brought extra briefs with him that night, figuring that the match was going to be a marathon and that he might have to change at some point. Sure enough, there they were, stuffed in the pocket of his tennis bag. He shook them out slipped them on, catching sight of himself in the mirror. Abercrombie and Fitch white square-cut briefs. He never wore briefs except when he was on the court, but these briefs were different. He actually liked the way they looked and fit. Ever since he began gaining notoriety he'd been besieged with offers and gifts and he'd gotten a whole shipment of clothing from Abercrombie & Fitch along with an offer to pose in their latest ad campaign. He jokingly flexed his arms into a muscle pose and turned to see his profile in the mirror. He reached into the pouch of the tightie whities and adjusted his dick and balls. Then he shrugged his shoulders, slapped some on deodorant, and opened his locker to get his jeans.

"Nice ass!" a voice said, startling him slightly. He turned to see Pete Sampras and Andre Agassi standing a few feet away.

"What did you say?" Andy asked.

"I said 'Nice match,'" Pete said. "You played really good against Lleyton."

"Yeah, but I lost," Andy said dejectedly. But then a light went on in his head. "You guys were actually at my match?" he asked, excited. Pete Sampras and Andre Agassi - at one of his matches. Wow! They were like his childhood idols. Just the thought of them coming to see him play was more than he had ever expected.

"You didn't think we'd miss the 'future of American tennis,'" Andre said smiling, looking Andy up and down. The teenager was clearly embarrassed at the term. Ever since he'd beaten Pete earlier in the year the media had been all over him. He caught Andre's gaze and he suddenly remembered that he'd forgotten all about getting dressed.

"Ooops," he laughed as he stepped into his jeans. "Sorry about that."

"Nice undies," Andre smirked.

Pete elbowed Andre in the side. "Hey, I wear briefs. There's nothing wrong with them."

"I don't normally wear butt huggers," Andy said, for some reason trying to explain away his underwear as if it matters. "Someone's been stealing my boxers every night. It's the weirdest thing, but it's starting to bug."

"Groupies," Pete explained, Andre nodding in agreement. "Some chick bribes her way in and steals your underwear or something. It's happened to all of us. Believe me, you'll get used to it."

"Really? That's way messed up," Andy said, zipping his jeans and pulling on his Calvin Klein fitted t-shirt. His training regimen over the past several months was finally paying off and his chest had developed nicely. The form-fitting shirt, another gift, showed off his pecs and his jutting nipples.

"What are you doing right now?" Andre asked, shooting Pete a wink.

"Nothing," Andy said, tossing his clothes into his bag and tucking in the t-shirt. "It's kinda late. I hung out a bit afterward until everybody left. I didn't really wanna see anybody, you know? I told my parents to go home and my coach left, too. I was about to call a cab. Why?"

Andre shrugged his shoulders. "Well, Pete and I were hoping you'd want to hang out with us for awhile."

"With you two?" Andy asked, incredulous. "Are you kidding? That'd be awesome!"

"Cool," Andre said, picking up Andy's bag. "I gotta limo out front. We can cruise around for a while. Maybe hit a club."

Andy's eyes widened at the idea of hanging out with the guys. "Yeah. Just let me get grab my stuff."

"Atta boy," Pete said, patting Andy on the back as he zipped his bag and threw it over his shoulder. He let his hand linger a while on Andy's lower back but Andy didn't seem to notice. He also didn't notice that Pete's left hand was behind his back the whole time they had been talking. If he had noticed, he would've seen both his boxers and his sweaty briefs balled up in Pete's fist.

Andy got into the limo. The inside was very posh. There was a TV and VCR, a fully stocked mini-bar, and a long seat running the length of the far side. He sat between Pete and Andre. "Whoah! This is huge! What's the occasion?"

"Perks of being a former champion," Andre said. "It's the only way to ride around in New York." He pulled open a small cabinet and a well-stocked mini-bar popped up. "Drink gentlemen?"

"Don't mind if I do," Pete said.

"Andy?" Andre asked, looking over at the teen.

"Oh, I don't know, guys," Andy said, hesitating.

"Don't tell me you don't drink," Andre said, setting three shot glasses on the bar and filling them with tequila. He sliced a lime into wedges and set it on the bar along with a shaker of salt.

"Sss...sure, I drink," Andy stammered. "Doesn't everybody? I mean... I just figured that it's, uh... kinda late you know, and don't you have to play tomorrow, Pete?" In truth Andy was lying and both Pete and Andre knew it. They knew that Andy had little, if any experience with alcohol, and they were counting on Andy to cave into their pressure.

"Yeah, I gotta play, but it's a night match," Pete said as he grabbed a saltshaker and licked his hand. "Plenty of time to recover." From the corner of his eyes he could see Andy's eyes. He tried to suppress a smile. He handed a lime wedge to Andy along with the salt.

Andy awkwardly imitated the two. He picked up his shot glass and, following their lead, tossed it back. His face scrunched into a scowl as the alcohol burned its way down his throat and he bit into the lime. His body shuddered involuntarily.

"Ahhh," Pete said, slamming his glass onto the bar. He smiled as Andy followed suit.

"How about another one guys?" Andre asked, refilling the glasses as Pete cut three more wedges of the lime.

"Oh yeah," Pete said.

"You bet," Andy agreed, shooting a quick glance to either side. He hoped the guys didn't see his reaction to the first shot.

By the time the limo pulled up to the small, seedy bar, Andy had downed three tequila shots and a beer - more than he had ever drank at one time before - and was well on his way to being drunk. He tried to act like he was sober because he didn't want Pete and Andre to think that he was a wuss and couldn't handle his liquor, but they knew better. In fact, they were hoping for just that.

"Where are we?" Andy asked, trying hard to not slur his words.

"Just a place a friend owns," Pete said, putting his arm around Andy's shoulders as he steered the buzzed teen down a short flight of stairs and through the front door of the bar. The place looked empty and Andre locked the door behind them.

"Hey, it's about time!" a voice called out. Andy looked up to see Jim Courier poking his head out from a booth near the back.

"We took the scenic route," Andre replied.

"I see you started without me," Jim said, nodding to Pete and Andy.

"Jim Courier? What are you doing here?" Andy asked loudly, drunkenly.

Jim smiled. "The guys called me earlier. Said they were taking you out. Thought I'd join you."

"Wow! This is so fuckin' cool!" Andy said. He didn't curse a lot, but the alcohol had loosened his tongue and lowered his inhibitions.

"Where is everybody?" he asked. The place was empty except for the bartender.

"Don't know," Pete said, as they headed for a large curved booth in the back. "It's kinda late. Plus it's a week night."

"What'll you have?" the bartender asked, wiping his hands on his towel.

"How about three Tequila shots with beer chasers?"

"Uh," Andy stammered, "I don't know, guys. I think I've had enough."

"Oh come, Andy," Jim said. "I was looking forward to partying with you! After all, you're the Big Man on Campus now."

Andy smiled sheepishly, his face turning red. "All right," he sighed, "but can I have a Margarita instead? I've never had one of those before."

"You heard the man," Jim said. "Why don't you make that four Margaritas, with four shots of Tequila."

"And make his special," Pete said, nodding toward Andy. "It's his first time."

"You got it," the bartender said, winking at Pete.

Andy looked up at Pete. "What do you mean, it's my first time?"

"Nothing," Pete replied innocently. "It's just your first time having a Margarita. Your first time partying with the big boys."

Andy smiled again. For some reason he couldn't quit grinning. He still couldn't believe he was here with three of his boyhood idols, drinking in a bar. And he wasn't even twenty-one yet! Andre noticed him grinning stupidly and laughed. "What're you smiling about, Andy?"

"This is just so awesome, guys! I mean, I can't believe I'm sitting here with you. I used to worship you guys!"

"Used to?" Pete asked, raising his eyebrow.

"Oh, I mean... oh, geez," Andy stammered. "I think I'm a little drunk."

Pete laughed. "Don't worry about it, kid."

"Thanks. I'm never gonna forget this night."

"Bet your ass you won't," Andre said.

The bartender brought the drinks over on a tray and placed them on the table. He handed a set of keys to Jim and leaned in toward his ear. "Lock up when you leave." Jim nodded and thanked him for the drinks.

Andy's eyes widened when Jim placed his Margarita in front of him. It was almost twice as large as the others. "Uh, guys..." he started.

"Drink up!" Pete said, picking up his shot glass and tossing it back. Jim and Andre did the same. Andy quickly followed suit. He downed the shot in a quick gulp and chased it down with a long drink from his Margarita. The glass was so big he had to use he had to use both hands to hold it.

"Oooh... it's strawberry! Yum,” He took another drink. "Mmmm... that's good!" Andy's Margarita was loaded with Tequila. Despite his almost 6'2 frame, he was a lightweight. He was slurring his words and his gestures were broad and animated as he talked.

"It only gets better from here, my friend," Andre said, putting his hands on Andy's shoulders and giving them a squeeze. "It only gets better."

After a few minutes the Margarita was nearly gone and so was Andy. As he looked around he could swear the room was spinning. He found it hard to focus; he just wanted to laugh. He started to wonder why but after a few seconds he forgot what he was thinking. "So... thisss isth what it's like to be drunk, huh?" he asked. The guys looked at him and laughed.

What Andy didn't know was that his drink had also been spiked with a mixture of drugs that would keep his dick hard, his body sensitive to touch, and make him very horny. Best of all, he'd remember very little, if anything, in the morning.

All of a sudden all Andy could think about was how badly he had to piss. "Where's the bathroom, guys?" he asked. "I gotta piss... bad..."

"Right back there, buddy," Andre said, standing up so Andy could make his way out of the booth. Andy slid out and stood up. He had to fight to keep his balance and slowly and awkwardly made his way to the bathroom, trying the whole way to walk straight, still trying to show the guys that he could keep up with them.

"The kid's fuckin' hammered!" laughed Andre. "What a lightweight!"

"We're gonna have some fun tonight, guys!" Pete laughed. "Poor little A-Rod!"

"Yeah, but wait until he gets a taste of A's Rod!" Jim chuckled while shuddering.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Andre said in mock anger. "If I remember correctly, you didn't have any problem with my rod."

"Andre," Pete said calmly, "who out there hasn't tasted your Rod?" Both Jim and Andre joined Pete in a rousing bout of laughter.

A couple minutes later Andy came back from the restroom, staggering and holding the wall the whole way. He wasn't even trying to act sober anymore. All he wanted to do was sit down. Andre got up to let him sit down and he flopped down heavily.

"You'd better get started on your drink, buddy," Pete said, pushing Andy's now re-filled Margarita to him. "You've hardly touched yours and we're almost done with ours."

"Huh?" Andy was confused. "I thought I was done... " He looked at the drink. He could've sworn that it was almost empty when left for the restroom.

"No," Jim said, and the guys concurred. "You've barely touched it. You're not some kind of lightweight, are you?"

"Hell no!" Andy slurred. He looked at his drink again and shrugged his shoulders. He grabbed the glass and took a long drink. He was well on his way to being completely fucked up and had no idea what was going to happen to him.

"Cheers!" Andre said, raising his glass. Pete and Jim followed suit and waited for Andy. Then they all drank a long toast.

Andy giggled as he downed half his drink. He was feeling very warm, as if someone had turned the heat up full blast. "I think I'm fucked up guys," he slurred. His head was a bit wobbly and he leaned against the wall for support.

"Nah," Andre said, sliding closer to the drunk teen and putting his lips to his ear, "you're just plain fucked."