Gay Erotic Stories

By Henry D. Rich

I thought I had a nice life at the time. I was living in Charlotte with Tom, my partner of almost fifteen years. I’d moved there after college to be near my family and taken a job at Bank of America. I worked hard and rose quickly at the bank. I bought a house, met Tom, and we settled in together. At forty-two, I was in fairly decent shape. I was a little heavier than probably looked good on my six-foot frame and was beginning the middle-age spread, but I still worked out regularly. I had a full head of brown hair with only a strand or two of gray creeping in. All in all, I thought I fared well compared to other guys my age. Charlotte is a fairly bucolic city but Tom and I got together with friends regularly to go to movies or do the dinner thing. We weren’t quite as physically active as we once were, and sadly, the same could be said for our sex life. We didn’t have sex often anymore, and when we did, it was fairly routine. But all in all, I still thought life was fairly good. Then one day Tom caught me completely by surprise and announced he was leaving. It happened about a month shy of our fifteenth anniversary. He said our lives had become “boring and predictable” and he needed a change before he grew old and died. The asshole literally told me he needed his space. I was crushed and for a couple of weeks basically just operated in a fog. What Tom didn’t know was I had arranged to surprise him with a two-week trip to Switzerland for our anniversary. (Boring and predictable, my ass.) I thought about cancelling, but in the end decided I needed to snap out of my funk and just get on with life. So I cashed in his ticket, used the money to upgrade mine to first class, and went ahead with the trip. I flew to Zurich and caught a train to the town of Lauterbrunnen, then took a narrow gage cog train halfway up a steep mountain to the village of Wengen. I checked into a beautiful late-nineteenth-century hotel called the Regina. My room was on an upper floor and had French doors opening out onto a balcony. The view of the mountains was breathtaking. “This is perfect,” I thought to myself as I sat down on the bed looking out. “Only you’re alone.” That bastard Tom. After a night’s sleep, I decided I couldn’t spend the whole trip sitting around feeling sorry for myself, so I headed off to check out the lay of the land. I caught a cable car up the rest of the way up the mountain, the Männlichen, where once again I found amazing views of the surrounding peaks–the Eiger, Mönch, and Jungfrau–and the valleys below. I took a short hike along the ridge. The trail was only a couple of kilometers long, but at that altitude I was sucking air fairly quickly. After a few hours, I headed back down to Wengen. I saw him as I exited the gondola. He was walking along the street with a pack on his back. He was a good looking guy, I guessed in his early twenties. He had longish, sun-streaked brown hair and was sporting a few days growth of beard. He wasn’t particularly tall, only about 5' 9", but was clearly in terrific shape if he’d just hiked up the slope from Lauterbrunnen. I was about to note him as handsome and walk on down to the main street, when he lifted up his T-shirt to wipe the sweat off his face. I caught my breath. His stomach was covered with thick dark hair and the sight of it stopped me in my tracks. I guess I should admit at this point I’m something of a fur freak. I’ve only got a light dusting of hair on my chest and I’ve envied hairier guys ever since I was a kid. Tom was more hirsute than me, but he started shaving his chest when he began turning gray. Maybe that’s what happened to our sex life. The guy must have felt me staring, because he looked up and our eyes met for a second. A puzzled look crossed his face as if he were trying to place me from somewhere, but I dropped my gaze and passed on down the road. I glanced back over my shoulder and saw him continuing up towards a youth hostel. When I got back into the center of the village, I picked up some maps and information about the area, then took a table at a sidewalk café, ordered a beer, and sat reading through the material. The place slowly began filling up and after a while I heard a rich baritone voice say something in Swiss German, its owner I assumed wanting to take away the empty chair at my table. I looked up and saw it was my hiker. He had showered; his wavy hair was still damp, though he hadn’t shaved. He’d changed out of his T-shirt and shorts and was wearing khakis and a collared shirt. I had a hard time not staring at the chest hair spilling out at the top. Flustered, I apologized, stammering in my halting college French that I didn’t speak German. His eyes lit up; he smiled and answered, “French is my first language. Is this chair taken? I’m Jean Paul. Sorry I didn’t spend more time studying English at school.” He held out his hand and without waiting for an answer, sat down across from me. I liked him immediately. Jean Paul turned out to be an elementary school teacher on his summer break. He’d come up to do some hiking and ski the glacier. We ordered a late lunch. He was very forgiving of my language skills and between that and the beers I downed, I grew more comfortable and willing to talk. We sat there for hours though I didn’t notice the time pass. When a large, loud group of Japanese tourists descended on the place like a swarm of locusts, Jean Paul leaned closer so I could hear him over the din, resting his hand on my thigh to balance himself. “Why don’t we find someplace else to have a drink?” he started to suggest, but stopped short when he felt my hard cock pushing against his hand. He glanced down at the swollen outline in my pants, looked back up with a twinkle in his eye, and said, “Or we could always do something else if you would like.” I might have been imagining things, but as we headed over to my hotel, more than one person appeared startled by the sight of my erect cock tenting my pants as if it were pointing the way. Elevators in old European hotels always seem to have been built in what were once closets. When I check into the Regina, there only seemed to be room for me and my suitcase in the elevator and I felt rather claustrophobic. This time, when the door swung shut, I didn’t mind at all. Our bodies crushed together and Jean Paul pressed me against the wall, enveloping me in a long hard kiss. I don’t know where he learned his technique, but that man could kiss. I didn’t want the car to stop, and when it did and we headed toward the door of my room, the key was shaking in my hand. We kissed again as soon as we got inside. When we broke, I immediately began to strip off my T-shirt, but Jean Paul caught my arms and held them up over my head with my shirt covering my eyes. He kissed me again and ran the scruff of his cheek across my jaw line. My knees almost buckled. “Who is this guy?” I thought. He was pushing everyone one of my buttons. Jean Paul released my arms and pulled my shirt the rest of the way off. With an impish grin, he pushed me back onto the bed, reached down, and slowly unbuttoned the fly of my pants. Never breaking eye contact, he pulled them off. He leaned over again, reached his hands down the waistband of my boxers over my glutes, and pulled them down as well, groping my ass as he went. He stood over me looking down at my body appraisingly, making me feel like a nervous kid as I waited for his assessment. After a moment, he nodded with approval, and said, “You’ve got a really nice chest.” I think I actually blushed. Jean Paul crossed the room and opened the French doors to let in some air. He turned and with deliberate slowness began unbuttoning his shirt. My eyes grew wider with each button, and when his shirt fell open, I almost came right then. He heard me sigh approvingly. Looking up at me, he ran his hand through the fur covering his chest, and said,“I’m glad you like it. Some guys don’t.” Jean Paul peeled off his shirt, folded it, and draped it over a chair. He did the same thing with his khakis, leaving him wearing only white briefs. The enormous bulge they contained was obscene. He crossed back over to me, straddled my legs, leaned over, and kissed me again. I don’t know what I was expecting, but Jean Paul’s pace surprised me. I guess I thought someone that young would be in a huge hurry. Tom always wanted to get down to business as soon as possible, but Jean Paul was taking his time and I enjoyed the building anticipation. We lay there kissing for a long time, exploring each other’s mouths, taking in each other’s scent, feeling each other’s touch. Jean Paul gently grazed his nails over my chest and stomach, causing my nipples to harden. Slowly, he brushed his lips down my neck and took first one nipple and then the other into his mouth, licking and then chewing them as I moaned underneath him. Feeling like he was doing all the work and growing concerned I was neglecting him, I pulled one hand off Jean Paul’s shoulder, slid my fingers through the plush carpet covering his hard stomach, and grasped the hard cock still trapped in his briefs. It was huge; I wasn’t sure I could close my hand around it. Jean Paul felt me tense and looked up. “It’s been a long time,” I confessed. “I’m not sure I can....” He touched a finger to my lips and gently removed my hand from his cock. “Relax,” he told me. “This is your time. Do not worry. I will make you ready for him.” I decided, “What the hell. I’ve let him control things this far. If I can’t take it, I can always put a stop to the proceedings.” Jean Paul chewed on my nipples a while longer, moved down my torso–stopping a while at my navel– and finally arrived at my cock. He sat and admired it. “I’ve heard all Americans were cut.” He gingerly ran his nails down the shaft, drawing some pre-cum from the slit. He touched it with one finger, drawing it out into a long strand, then ran his hand under my balls. That elicited another moan from me. He took the cue and hefted them, then began laving first one and then the other in his mouth. This guy was driving me crazy. Satisfied with his ministrations, Jean Paul slid up my shaft with his tongue and took my cock down his throat to the root. My head snapped back against the pillow and I locked my hands around the back of his head to urge him onward. He blew me for several minutes, then came up for air, rubbing his beard against my cock and balls. He shifted downward and began tonguing his way toward my ass. In all the years Tom and I were together, he never once rimmed me. Jean Paul spread my thighs apart and dove right in, teasing my hole with his tongue. The feeling of his rough facial hair between my ass cheeks and that incredible tongue sent my already engorged cock snapping against my stomach. He looked up at the sound, smiled, and said, “You like that, eh?” All I could do was beg, “Please, don’t stop.” Jean Paul got back to work, flicking his tongue across my hole, lifting my legs so he could gain greater access. Then without warning, he plunged his tongue into my chute as far as he could go. My mind exploded. I had never felt such incredible sensations in my life. Time stood still as Jean Paul ceaselessly drove his tongue in and out of my hole, pushing me to heights of passion I’d never known possible. I felt as if I could die and go to heaven at that moment, but as far as I was concerned, I was there already. I don’t know how long he rimmed me, but by the time he stopped, I was spent. I lay there exhausted, sweat dripping, pre-cum pooling on my stomach. Jean Paul stood up, walked over to his pants, drew a condom from his pocket, ripped open the package with his teeth, then bent down and slid off his briefs. I saw him reach down to push the condom over his cock, but in my stupor I still didn’t get a good look at it. He came back over to me, took an ankle in each hand and lifted my legs once again, lining his cock up with my hole. “Ready?” he asked. All I could do was nod. I felt the head of Jean Paul’s dick pressing against the entrance to my ass. He slowly added more and more pressure until it forced its way in. I gasped sharply with the pain of it and he paused, letting me get used to its size. When he sensed I’d relaxed again, he slowly but persistently eased his way further and further into my ass until I felt his thighs press up against my buttocks. “See,” he said. “I knew you could take him.” I felt amazingly full. After another pause, Jean Paul stirred his cock in the recesses of my ass, then withdrew a fraction of an inch before immediately pressing back home. He pulled out a little farther the second time, then repeated the motion again and again, loosening me up. I encouraged him to thrust harder and faster. Soon he was over me braced on his hands, pressing my legs back against my shoulders. He leaned down and kissed me and began to thrust into me with an earnest intensity I’d not felt in a long time, withdrawing his cock almost completely with each stroke before plunging it back in again. After he ploughed me, I don’t know how long, I roused myself enough from the incredible pleasure he was giving me to look up. I watched his face, his eyes closed in concentration. Sweat formed on his brow as he worked. I decided to play with him a little, just to let him know he wasn’t completely in charge of the situation. I clenched my ass muscles, causing him to gasp with pleasure and lose his rhythm. I thought it was good to teach the boy that some talents come with experience. We struck a new tempo and I loved the feel of his balls as they slapped against my butt. Meanwhile, my cock was pressing against the fur on his stomach. Between that and the incredible feeling of his cock ramming against my prostate, I was moving closer and closer to climax. I became dimly aware of a distant sound and slowly realized I was hearing my own moans as I writhed in pleasure underneath this man. Through my delirium, I began to sense that Jean Paul was not far from shooting either. His muscles tensed and a low growl began to form deep within his chest which grew louder with each stroke. Then with one final push, he slammed into me as he exploded. I could feel his dick spasming in my ass as I clenched down on it, milking him for all he was worth. He collapsed on top of me and the pressure was enough to trigger my own climax. My cum spewed out covering my chest and splashing against my face. I hadn’t cum like that since I was a teenager. After he stopped shuddering with the agony of his pleasure, Jean Paul slowly pulled his cock out of my ass and I felt a pang of emptiness as it slipped out. He had enough strength to turn my face back to his, once again brushing his rough cheek against mine, and we came together for one last lingering kiss, our tongues probing deeply. He rested his head against my shoulder and slowly stroked my chest as we both drifted off to sleep.