Gay Erotic Stories

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I know, I should have known better -- people warned me not to go over there. It was dangerous – I might get mugged if I did. During the day, though, it was okay to drive through there. I did that every day to get to work. Poor neighborhood, pawnshops, guys loitering around – probably selling drugs. I kept my windows rolled up and the doors locked when I went through there.

Actually, I didn’t really have to drive through the ghetto – there was another way to go. I couldn’t explain it to you at the time why I was drawn there. I, myself, couldn’t understand why I did it.

It had something to do with the basketball court – the one at the Projects. Or, I should say, the guys on the basketball court. Sometimes, even in the early spring, a few might have their shirts off. Seeing them stirred deep, disturbing emotions in me that I tried to deny.

It was a Saturday--a day that I didn’t even have to go to work, that my compulsion took me there again. About six guys were playing, basketball, a few more standing around. A young black man, shirt off, dribbled and leapt, stretching and twisting his lean body as he sunk the shot. He glanced over at me, grinning triumphantly. I looked straight ahead and drove on, my heart pounding with a strange excitement

Then I did something really stupid. I parked my car where I thought it might be safe and walked back to the court. I felt conspicuous in my whiteness -- you never saw a Caucasian around there. The brown and black young men looked at me briefly, and then turned their attention back to the game. I watched them for quite a while through the chain-link fence. I was enthralled with their antics and the wildness of their play. They jived each other in ghetto-talk that I could barely understand. Some spoke Spanish or had Spanish accents, while others talked black ghetto English. I felt like I was in a foreign country.

Occasionally, the ball was knocked over in my direction and they would scramble for it, and I could see them up close and even smell them. It was tremendously exciting to be so close to them, but I was glad that the fence was between us -- they were a rough-looking bunch. That fence sort of symbolized the feeling I had of being separate from them in race and culture. I had a strange feeling of wishing that I could be one of them, and sadness in knowing that I couldn’t be.

There was a public restroom near by. I had to pee real bad so I went in. The place was pretty grungy with graffiti and the smell of urine. I stood in front of a dirty urinal, pulled out my peter and was about to piss when someone entered and walked up to the urinal beside me.

“Wussup?” he said. I took that as being friendly.

I glanced at him, “Not much. You?” He was Latino, dark-skinned and very thuggy-looking. His presence made me so nervous that I couldn’t let go and urinate.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him pull out his dong. He started pissing. I stole a glance at his dick – it was dark brown and thick. He was uncut. I felt a rush of sex hormones so strong that it made me dizzy. I felt like an idiot, standing there and not being able to urinate while his thick stream of yellow piss splashed into the urinal.

Finally, as he was finishing up, I was able to start pissing. I couldn’t keep myself from catching another look at his dick. He had the foreskin pulled back, revealing a maroon glans. He shook his dick and put it back in his pants. He turned and went toward the door. I washed my hands and turned to leave. He was standing in front of the door, looking at me. He was about nineteen years old, dressed in a black leather jacket and blue jeans with a knit cap on his head. His jacket was partially open in front and I could see some naked, brown skin. He would have been nice-looking had he not looked like a thug.

“Do you want something?” he asked in an American-Latin accent.

“No, nothing – thanks,” I answered.

“Grass? Coke? I can get it for you.”

“No, I’m fine, thanks,” I answered nervously.

He was staring at me in an unfriendly way. “Do you have any money?” he asked.

“No, I left my money at home.”

He came toward me. Let me see your wallet.”

I backed up, suddenly scared. “No,” I said.

He backed me into a corner and came right up to me. My hair stood on end! He suddenly reached out and grabbed my wallet from my back pocket. He took out the twenty-dollar bill that was in it and dropped the wallet on the floor.

“A little white punk like you should know better than to come down here. It’s dangerous. What do you want here?”

“Nothing, I just wanted to watch you guys play basketball,” I answered in a shaky voice.

I reached down to pick up my wallet. He pushed me and I landed on my butt with my back against the wall.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” He pointed at the bulge in his pants. “You want spic-dick, don’t you?”

“No, no,” I stammered.

“Then why were you looking at it, then?”

He grabbed me by the hair and pulled me up onto my knees.

“Here, I’ll give you a good look.”

He unzipped his jacket and opened it up. He was not wearing a shirt. He loosened his belt, unbuttoned his fly, and pulled down his pants enough to reveal his cock. He was not wearing underwear. His thick brown meat protruded from a very thick mass of black hair.

“Look at it! This is what you came for, no?”

The color of his prick was even darker than the skin of his body. The wrinkled foreskin was thick and covered his glans completely. I tried to get up but he pushed me down. He got right up in front of my face with it. He grabbed my hand and put it on his prick, wrapping my fingers around it. It was so much bigger than my own.

“Like it? Feel it – it’s okay.”

It was starting to swell in my hand and the foreskin was drawing back. That scared me even more.

“I’ve got to go,” I said.

“No you don’t. You came for Latino cock and you’re going to get it!”

He held me by the hair with one hand and with his dick in the other, started rubbing the drooling end of it all over my face. He drug it over my upper lip and parked it under my nostrils.

“Smells good? You like the smell of brown cock?”

I held my breath as long as I could, and then had to breathe in the stench of his unwashed Latino cock. It was so ripe I almost vomited.

“What’s wrong, puto? Is this your first time?”

I tried to turn my head away but he turned it roughly toward his crotch again.

“Lick it! Lick my dick, puto.”

He started slapping me with it. It had swelled almost to full erection now and hurt when he hit me with it.

“Lick it!” he commanded me in a loud voice. I was afraid the other thugs outside would hear him so I had to do what he said.

I licked the disgusting thing. He made me lick his hairy balls and up and down the shaft. His thick meat was now sticking out and up, fully hard. The foreskin had stretched back leaving only the ridge of his glans covered. The maroon glans was covered with slimy, stinking crud.

“Now suck it! Suck my Latino cock, puto, because that is what you came here for.”

He held me by the hair and forced his brown dick past my lips and deep into my mouth.

It was quiet except for the slurping sounds and the muffled shouts of the guys outside as they played ball. I don’t remember much of what happened. I was in a state of shock, I guess. When it was over, he left and I picked up my wallet and almost ran out of the restroom. The Latino thug was standing with the others. They turned and laughed as I ran for my car.

I was sure that I was now cured of those disturbing feelings that I had been fighting for so long. I would never feel compelled to go to the ghetto again. I felt guilty and ashamed. I was a cocksucker for a Latino thug.

In the safety of my own room, I lied down on the bed and relaxed. I could taste the thug’s cum in my mouth. My hands stank of his cock. I thought of what I had done. I told myself, “I will never suck a cock again.”

I jacked myself off while holding a stinky hand under my nose.

To be continued…

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