Gay Erotic Stories

If you're under 18, you shouldn't be reading this. If you're under 18, you're probably just a dumb little fuck anyway, most of you are at that age. Or at any age, really. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I was trying to imagine what his dick looked like. Was it one of those that was long and thin? Or perhaps short and fat? Or perhaps long and fat? Was it circumcised or not? I wondered if it was wrinkled, the way it was sitting inside his bathing suit. Art, the model, had been posing in front of our art class for nearly an hour, and I had finished drawing his face and chest. I was working my way down, and for some strange reason I always had the most problem with legs. Both mens' and womens'. I don't know why, they always came out looking surreal, thin and spindly or fat and hairy. I was actually a decent artist, much to my surprise. I had only signed up for the course because I needed three more credits to graduate and 'Drawing and Art Appreciation' was a sure fire "pass." I needed a couple of those, because I had started to get "Senior-itis," which is to say I was fucking off a lot. Of course I preferred the classes where we had a female model, but that only happened half the time. So here I was sitting imagining what this guy's dick looked like. We weren't allowed to have fully nude models. I'd heard that they did a few years back, but one of the students' parents heard about it and freaked, called the Dean and threatened all kinds of things. So now all our models wore bathing suits or similar modest attire. Still, it was better than the vases and flowers we'd painted for the first six weeks. By far a girl named Roberta was the most fun in the class. We used to have a beer together after class once in a while when her boyfriend was away. He was on the basketball team, so he traveled a lot on weekends, which left her to me and anybody else with a couple of bucks for entertainment. On a dare, one time, she went over to the male model and bent over in a low cut top, as if to check out the lighting or the shadows or something. She must have stooped over in front of him for several minutes, trying to get him to get an erection. She didn't. He didn't. She didn't have the greatest set of tits in the world. Actually, Roberta was about a size too small on the top and a size too big on the bottom. She used to pout about it constantly, but she had the most innocent and pretty face which more than made up for her lack of other attributes. We used to sit around at the Gryphon after class eating $4 pizzas and talking about guys' dicks and women's tits and stuff. Of course the never-ending supply of beer helped, and Roberta's lack of embarrassment always helped us lead the conversation in that direction. "What I don't understand," she said, "is how we're supposed to be able to draw a full nude if all they let us have is models in bathing suits." I nodded in agreement. "I don't know about you, but my imagination isn't that good. I mean, I can imagine, of course, but I'd much rather have it right out there on display. That's the only way I'll know if my drawing is truly realistic or not." I nodded some more. "Don't you agree?" she said, ignoring my bobbing head. "Absolutely. Put those tits right out there for me to see. That's the way to do it." I stated the case firmly. "You are so crude," she admonished. "You're just in this class for the 'pass'; I'm in it for Art." "Yeah, well Art barely noticed you, if you noticed," I chided. "You need a lower cut top if you're going to win the bet next time." I motioned to a waitress. "The lady here is buying me another beer. She lost the bet tonight." "Oh?" said the waitress. "What bet?" "Nothing," Roberta hissed. "Nothing at all. He's just being an asshole." I slid out of the booth and stuck my butt up in the air. I pointed at my ass. "She's right, of course," I said to the waitress. OK, I'd had a few beers. The waitress frowned and left. "Boy you're really out there tonight," Roberta said to me. "Sorry. I always gloat when I win," I beamed. "Thanks. It sure makes me feel good, knowing I can't even give a guy a hard-on by letting him look down my blouse. Don't have the right equipment. Damn." She said it with conviction. "Don't be silly. He was probably gay. And you have very nice equipment. Not that I'm speaking from personal knowledge, of course. But from what I can imagine...." I left the thought unfinished. "You're terrible!" she spat at me. "Don't you go fantasizing. You'll probably make me look worse than I already do." "Nonsense," I said. "You're a lovely girl. I'd like nothing better than to have you as a model for the class. I'd love to draw you." She looked at me from the corner of her eye. "You mean it?" she said. "Of course I mean it," I replied. Of course I hadn't meant it, it was just the beer talking. But now that I'd said it, I wouldn't have minded. "Well, I could never do that. Walk into that class in just a bathing suit for everybody to see? Phew! Never never never." She was adamant. "Oh no, that's not what I meant," I said. "I meant totally nude. Butt ass naked. Birthday suit. Nada. Nothing." I paused. "Now that's something to think about." She shrieked and slugged me in the shoulder. She was strong, and my arm stung for a minute. But she was laughing when she did it, so that made it OK, I guess. We talked for another 20 or 30 minutes, covering everything from politics to sex to movies to sex to music to sex. Somehow the conversation just kept returning to sex. I can't imagine how. Finally I said "I've got a new bet. Ready?" She nodded. "I'll bet that you won't model for me..." She interrupted quickly, saying "You're right. You win. I won't." I continued, "...even if I agree to model for you." Silence filled the booth like the fog in the Tennessee valleys. "Hmmm," she said. "You might lose that bet. How much is the bet?" "A whole night here at the Gryphon, all the drinks on me. A pizza, too." I said. It was worth it. "You're on," she said. "Fully nude," I said. "What!!?!" she said. "You didn't say that. That wasn't part of the bet." "Sure it was. You just interrupted me before I finished. And you said, to quote you, 'you're on.'" I had her. Either way, I won. "That wasn't part of the bet," she insisted. "I wouldn't have made the bet if that were part of the bet." "And I thought you had balls," I said. "That's part of your problem," she said. "You don't know your ass from your elbow. Or my boobs from my balls." "So you do have balls?" I asked. "Figurative...or literal?" "Ha ha ha," she said. "It's bathing suits or nothing. Wait. I don't mean nothing, I mean, hell, you know what I mean." I thought for a moment. "Bathing suits, no deal. Hell, I can see that in class, you know? How about a compromise?" She was intrigued. "Like what?" she asked. I shrugged my shoulders. "Tell you what," she went on. " I *will* compromise. We'll pose in underwear. Not nude, not bathing suits. How's that?" "Maybe. What kind of underwear? No long johns or something like that. Regular, normal underwear. Bra and panties for you. Jockey shorts for me. No funny business, OK?" I asked. "I could do that. You're on," she said. "Now. Logistics. Where and when?" "Simple. Tomorrow, Tallow Hall, 7:00. The building closes at 5:00 on Saturday, but if we're already in the classroom they'll let us stay. I've done it before. No sweat. That way we'll have all our equipment, and we'll be ready to draw." "Done," she said. Flash forward to the next night, Tallow Hall. As I said I would, I got in the building while it was still open, and a little before 7:00 went to meet Roberta at the West Door. I smiled as I saw her. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" she said as I held the door open. "Chickening out?" I rejoined. "We can just go straight to the Gryphon if you want. Hope you have your wallet handy." "No, it's not the money. I just hate to have you win another bet. Especially after that last humiliation." she said haltingly. "Then let's go inside," I said, sweeping her along. We climbed the stairs to the third floor and went into the room we used for art class. I closed the door behind us. It was obvious we were the only people in the building; the rest of the place was dark and all the doors were closed and locked. We both diddled around for a few minutes getting our stuff ready, easels in place, sketch pads clipped in, that sort of thing. It was time. I brought out a six-pack I'd smuggled in. She looked grateful. "Fabulous idea. Why didn't I think of it?" she asked rhetorically. "Cause I'm naturally smarter," I replied modestly. "I'm also naturally a better artist. And I'm also naturally..." She interrupted with "a bigger asshole." We both laughed. There was an uncomfortable silence. Finally I said, "OK, it's time. Strip down, recruits." She turned away from me and began to unbutton her blouse. I saw her twist her head around to make sure I was getting undressed, too. It would have been just like me to stand there and wait for her to finish and then surprise her by not having undressed, but (at least this time) I wouldn't do something that sneaky. I heard a zipper unzip and I knew she was taking off her jeans. I was with her almost every step of the way. As she turned around I saw that she had lived up to the deal. She was dressed in a quite modest pair of panties, all white, and a not-so-modest bra of thin material. I could see the hint of the color of her nipples through the wispy material. "Well, let's get to work, shall we?" she said, trying the break the momentarily uncomfortable atmosphere. "Sure, let's go," I said, not taking my eyes off her tits for even a second. "Hello? Hello! Up here, fella," she said, eyeing me sternly. "Uh, oh yeah, sorry," I said. My eyes drifted upwards until they met hers. I flushed a little. Within a very few minutes it was as though there was nothing strange going on at all. We were talking and cracking jokes, standing there in our underwear drawing pictures of each other. It was, I must say, weird with a capital WE. We stood facing each other, partially hidden behind our easels, peeking around the sides every once in a while to get a glimpse, then returning to our drawing. Ten minutes passed with only the sound of scribbling on sketch pads. "OK," she said, "Imagination time." "Don't be silly," I said gallantly. "We can do that in any old class. It's time to see if you can really draw a righteous penis." And so saying I pushed down my briefs. They hung at my thighs, then at my knees, finally drifting to my ankles. I stepped out of them. Roberta let out a shriek, but I knew it was a mock protest. Her eyes riveted upon my flaccid dick and never left. I walked over to a stool and leaned against it. "Go for it," I said. Her hand became a blur, her eyes darting back and forth from my limp wang to her drawing tablet. She drew and erased and brushed and smudged. "This isn't as easy as I thought," she said absently. "You mean it's *harder* than you thought?" I said, leering into the word. She chuckled at my typically stupid joke. Looking straight at my dick she said "It's obviously not harder than I thought. It's just not as easy as I thought. I mean, when you're just drawing a cock and you can't see it, anything will do, sort of. You know? But when you actually have to draw it the way it is, well that's harder. I mean, more difficult." "Let me see," I said. She turned the pad around. It was a half decent picture of me, standing nude at my sketch pad drawing. I checked out my penis. In the picture, I mean. Damn. She made it actual size. I was hoping for a little artistic help, but no such luck. "Not bad," I said. "I think you could have flattered me a little more in the genital section, but it's pretty realistic, I have to admit." "Thanks," she said. "Let me see yours." "It's not done, yet. I have the, ah, vital sections still to go." "Oh," she said. "Imagination time, huh." "Yeah, I guess so." But to my surprise, her hands went up behind her and she unfastened her bra. She let it hang there, unfastened but still covering her breasts as her hands went to her hips and grasped the sides of her panties. "I don't know about this," she said. But her actions belied her words, as she began to slowly push the panties down, first one side, then the other. She walked the white cotton briefs down her thighs an inch or two at a time. My mouth must have been agape as her pubic hair came into view, followed by her love triangle and pussy lips. As she bent over to push the panties even lower, the bra fell away from her tits and flapped in front of her. She straightened up and shrugged the straps down from her shoulders onto her arms, and with a little flip the feminine undergarment landed in a heap on the floor. She straightened in front of me, a little bit shy but still proud. "Wow," I said. I say that a lot when I see naked ladies. My brain pretty much stops functioning for a few seconds. I think it has to do with blood flow or something. It took a couple moments, but I suddenly remember why we were there, and I turned back to my sketch pad. My hands fairly flew across the paper, shading and rubbing. I was so into the technical part of the work that I didn't even get excited. It was weird. I finished drawing in the curves of her breasts and darkening the buttons of her nipples, checking back and forth from the paper to the model. At last I had them done. I paused a moment, then moved on. She walked over to one of the model's tall wooden stools at the side of the room and brought it back. She sat down on it and demurely crossed her legs. I frowned. "What part are you working on?" she asked. "I was about to start the, uh, lower half. But that pose won't exactly help me," I said. She uncrossed her legs, turned and faced me directly with her knees pressed firmly together. I stared at her legs. I began to sketch, slowly. And just as slowly her knees parted. First an inch, as if she were just being lazy. Then two inches, as if she were getting comfortable. Then three inches, then four. I had a perfect view up her thighs to her pussy, which while still in shadow was still quite visible to me. Her knees continued to part. Now five, now six inches. I lifted my vision out of her lap and into her eyes. She was smiling at me. I continued to draw. My eyes went back south. Her legs opened, again, and I drank in the sight of the unveiling of her cunt. I began to feel the tingling of my dick, and I knew it would be only a few moments until it would begin to bounce and transform itself into an organ of a vastly different shape and size. OK, not vastly. I didn't care. I continued to sketch and to stare into her vagina. I glanced at her face, again, and saw that she was now watching my cock. That was more of a turn on than looking at her cunt, and my dick began to swell under her watchful gaze. My eyes returned to the treasure between her legs, and it was only seconds until my cock was standing straight out in front of me, fully erect. "Is it done, yet?" she asked. "No, I still have a little shading to do," I said. "I wasn't talking about the picture," she said. "Oh." "I'd like to draw it, if you don't mind," she added. "Not at all. But don't move for a couple more seconds. I'm really enjoying... I mean, I'm almost finished, and, uh, aw hell. Just don't move." I stood there busily sketching, fully erect, and having the time of my life. As I drew in the lines and curves of her cunt my dick increased in pressure until it felt like it would burst. Lightly tapping my pencil against the pad like a drummer on a snare drum I filled in the pubic hair, and I was done. "Want to see?" I asked. "I'm already looking," she said. She was staring at my engorged member. "I meant the picture," I said. "Oh." I flipped the easel around and she looked. She walked over to it and stared. I had "improved" her breasts slightly and softened her hips. In the stance in the picture you could see a cocked knee and the top of her female hair and the mons veris, followed by the puff of one of her pussy lips. It was actually quite good, if I do say so myself. She said so herself. "Is that how you see me?" she asked. "Yeah," I said. "I can't help it. You're terrific looking. You make a great model." "So do you," she said. She turned and walked the few steps back to her easel and ripped the sketch pad off it. She came back and sat cross-legged on the floor in front of me. My dick bobbed in her face. Supporting the pad with one hand, she began busily sketching with the other. My organ was at full throttle as she began, and I could see by her long, full strokes that she was drawing a large picture of my dick. "Help me a little there, if you don't mind," I said. "I don't mind, but frankly you don't need the help," she replied. "Huge dicks are highly overrated in my opinion. I know with guys that the size of the girl's tits are vital, the bigger the better..." "Not true," I interrupted. She ignored me. "...but women don't feel the same way. Especially if you've ever had to give a blow job to someone with a wide and wild woodie. Your jaw feels like its going to fall off. Give me a nice normal sized penis any day." "How about today," I said. "I was thinking about that," she replied candidly. "But for the moment I'm having too much fun drawing it. I mean, this will never happen in class. Even if I let the model look down my blouse. The basketball star isn't likely to pose for me. So here you are. And here I am." "Fine," I said. "I think I can hold this pose for a while. Maybe just until the end of the semester, though, so hurry." She giggled. I could see from her frantic movements that she was recording my erection in pastel and chalk for posterity. I took one hand and lazily stroked myself a couple of times. She continued to draw. Finally the frustration got to me and I walked around behind her, my dick waggling with every step. Her picture was quite good, a realistic portrait of the little fellow and even somehow managing to capture the bounce in his current state. "Wow, pretty good," I offered. "Wow, pretty good," she repeated. One of her hands reached for me and she stroked her fingers along the length of my shaft. A fist encircled me briefly, then let go. "It's easy to be an artist when you have a good model," she said. I blushed. "Hey, I've got one for you," I exclaimed. I walked to the front of the room and picked up a mirror which had been leaning against the wall. I brought it back and leaned it on a chair in front of her as I moved her sketch pad and lay it flat on the ground. She understood immediately. She knelt on all fours facing the mirror. She had her chalk in her hand. I had my dick in mine. I knelt down behind her. "How about a self portrait?" I asked. "I think it could be fabulous, especially if you can capture the sensuality of the moment." "What sensuality?" She twisted her head to look at me as she asked, playing along. "I was thinking...this," I said, bringing the head of my erection into perfect alignment with the open shaft that now presented itself. I moved my hips forward and we made contact. She was already wet, apparently as stimulated as I but responding in her own way. I moved my hips again and shuffled my knees forward to catch up. "Oof," she responded as I sank partway into her. "Oh that's perfect. Don't move." "Don't move?" I asked. "Are you crazy?" "Really. Don't move," she said, her hands now beginning their frantic dance across the sketch pad. I leaned over her and with one hand against her back for balance, put my other under her hanging breast, cupping it and feeling the texture of the tip against my palm. "You mean don't move like this?" I asked. "Or do you mean don't move like this?" I said it as I pushed all the way in, bouncing my pelvis against hers hard enough that her entire body was pushed forward. "Stop it!" she exclaimed. "How am I supposed to draw if you're bouncing me all around?" She paused. "Although it does feel great..." "Yeah. How about if I 'don't move' right about here?" I asked. "That would be fine," she responded. And like any good artist's model, I froze my position to give the artist time to render the likeness that she saw in her mind's eye. We must have stayed that way, locked like dogs, for ten minutes. I could see the portrait develop, and it was suddenly clear that this girl had an abiding talent. On the flatness of the page came a three dimensional woman, and farther back a man. Their activity was obvious, and even more evident was the pleasure it was bringing to both of them. With her last smudges and strokes she asked "So what do you think of it?" "It's unbelievable," I answered. "But there's no way to ever capture this." And with that I began a series of long, slow strokes in and out of her. Now my full weight bore down on her as I used both hands to grasp at her hanging tit flesh, then I straightened up and put my palms against her back as I looked for more freedom of movement to bang away at her. I had been kneeling for 20 minutes, maybe more, and my knees ached. But even though I wanted to change position, I wanted to stay behind her, my hardness locked into her softness. My tempo increased and she matched me thrust for thrust, banging backward into me with every forward push I offered. My testicles offered a "slap slap slap" in synchronism with our movements as they bounced against her clit. Our rocking increased again, and the sweat from her back mixed with the perspiration from my chest, the slipperiness of our bodies emulating the slickness of our sexual junction. My dick had never been harder, nor found a more willing pussy, and I was finally ready. "Oh God," I said. "Oh yes," she answered. And then it was upon us. I don't know who got there first, all I know is that I bucked forward so hard that she collapsed prostrate on the floor. The natural momentum of my motion carried me forward on top of her, and my weight landed on her without mercy. She seemed none the worse for it, and continued her own series of bouncing and writhing motions as her orgasm took control of her body. I suspect an older woman might have bruised at the inadvertent rough treatment she received, but she seemed fine, and unconcerned. "Oh my god," she said as we floated back to earth. "That was heavenly." "You bet," I answered. "The best I can remember." It wasn't a lie. In fairness I had only had a couple of sexual partners to that point in my life, but the experience of a new playmate coupled with our evident compatibility had brought me to the very zenith of human pleasure. "By the way," she said nonchalantly. "Yes?" I asked. "I won the bet," she smirked. "Double or nothing?" I said. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- This is another Almost All True Story from M1KE HUNT. The only things changed were that the male model at the beginning of the story was actually a female, and she wasn't dressed in a bathing suit, she was nude. The college didn't really care. Also, the name of the bar wasn't the 'Gryphon', it was the 'Sundance', and the pizza didn't cost $4, it was $6.99. Also 'Roberta' was a transexual named 'Jim' from Jamaica, and she didn't use chalk for the drawings, she used watercolors. Also it wasn't a Saturday night at Tallow Hall, it was a Friday afternoon on the sidewalk in front of the Post Office. Also, it wasn't a bet that she lost, it was more like a gun to her head. Also my name isn't M1KE HUNT, it's Billy Wiedlemeier, and I didn't go to college, it was sort of reform school. Other than those minor facts, it's all true. That about covers it, I think. If you'd like to get more Almost All True Stories, tell me you're 18 or over as you send an e-mail to M1ke@hilarious.com . It's free, and your name goes no further than my personal address book and ListServe America, which pays me almost a dollar for each one of you mopes I corral with this shit. Just kidding. I would never do that. Anyway, I'm holding out for $1.25 per name.