Gay Erotic Stories

The lady apologized profusely and offered to by me another, but by that time all I wanted to do was clean myself up and get on my way again. I went to the bathroom and wiped off as much of the mess as I could using paper towels. Then I headed on out to my car. My clothes were still wet and sticky in spite of my best efforts. I decided to just take 'em off, toss 'em in the back seat, and drive on home in my underwear.

So I'm cruisin' down the highway listening to the radio when I see the traffic slow down to a crawl; merging into one lane and suddenly I remember that there's a checkpoint on this road. As I drew nearer to the station I broke into a little bit of a sweat. Besides the fact that I was toolin' down the road in nothing but a dark blue bikini it just dawned on me that my wallet (containing my ID) was in the back seat wadded up in my clothes. Still, I tried not to break into a full panic. I figured they'd have a quick peek in the car, see that I wasn't transporting anything or anyone that was illegal, and wave me on through like usual.

I was wrong. The guard rather smugly asked me, "You always dress like this for a Sunday drive?" "No" I replied and, with my face turning seven shades of red, I briefly explained the situation (no pun intended). He smiled and nodded his head slightly as if to say he understood. I had just barely breathed a sigh of relief when he directed me to "step out of the car." I thought he was joking, but one look in his smoldering brown eyes said he was as serious as a heart attack.

So there I was--nearly naked at the side of the road--in full view of anyone who happened to come by. I thought the guy was just wanting a few laughs at my expense but I knew I wasn't getting off that easy when I heard him say that timeworn phrase--"Step into my office." The "office," in this case, was a motor home parked just a few feet away. I couldn't help but see his muscles straining against the tight fitting fabric of his uniform as he climbed the short flight of stairs. He opened the door and looked back signaling for me to follow him.

I hesitated for just a moment taking in the sight of this dark-haired, bronze-skinned Latino border guard. I couldn't help noticing that his shirt was partially unbuttoned revealing a forest of chest hair glistening with perspiration. I also noticed a rather prominent bulge in the crotch of his uniform pants. I snapped to attention when he pointed out, with a hint of anger in his voice that he was not in the habit of repeating himself.

I won't bore you with the long, thick, and rather tangy details. But I will tell you that my ass and my throat were both feeling sore when I finally drove away that evening. And the next time I get it in my head to go shopping across the border . . . I think I'll stop for a sundae on the way back.