Gay Erotic Stories

I stood naked in front of the mirror, with my skin still moist from the shower, blow-drying my hair for my date that night. The cool Santa Monica air was wafting in through the bathroom window causing my nipples to involuntarily harden. I shivered from the sensual feeling and continued with my hair. Five minutes later, I finished my light makeup and applied some perfume to my jaw line and then as an afterthought, between my breasts. I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I was auburn haired, 5’7”, and in good shape. My sessions with the private trainer had kept my skin taut and my muscles close to the surface enough to make me look very fit. I did a mock body builder pose and noticed the increased definition in my arms, shoulders and stomach. My summer tan was at its peak. I felt great and looked pretty good for a woman of 30. I also knew that later that evening my looks would not make the slightest bit of difference to my date. He would be strictly appraising me by my voice, verbal skills and intellectual compatibility. So why was I wasting so much time with my appearance? A habit before a date was the probable answer. I dressed in a causal outfit that would be acceptable in the restaurant atmosphere that had been arranged. The dress was black with white pearl-like buttons and spaghetti straps. The skirt fell just an inch above my knee. I wore black open toed shoes and carried a white cardigan sweater should it get chilly later in the evening. My black clutch purse completed the ensemble and I swung it up onto my shoulder as I closed the door to my beachside condo unit. I pulled my Lexus out of the underground lot and I hit the CD button. “ Love Songs of The Beatles” gently massaged my mood and filled my head with sweet thoughts. When “Fool on the Hill” began to play I snapped back into reality. It made me think of what I had agreed to, whom I was meeting and why. I wrestled with my acceptance of the “date” until I parked at the valet sign and stepped out of the car. I hoped that it would not turn out to be a fiasco. Walking into the restaurant, I glanced over to the bar for Andres. He was sitting there in his dark glasses sipping on a snifter of brandy. His look was definitely European. His dark and curly hair framed his olive complexion. The tan blazer and eggshell white mock turtleneck shirt accentuated his aristocratic Spanish heritage. He was, in a word, beautiful. I slipped onto the stool beside him. His head turned my way. He drew in a long breath through his nostrils and said, “Leslie, how nice of you to join me and to wear my favorite perfume by Ralph Lauren”. I laughed softly, marveling at his sense of smell and graciously accepted his kind words. Then he reached out and gently touched my shoulder. His fingers were electric. They glided from my shoulder to my neck and his palm gently traced the curve of my neck and rested there for a moment. “You feel lovely tonight.” The words fell from his lips with a trace of a Castilian accent. I realized that I felt like I was sitting next to Zorro. Andres Contrado was a sculptor. His work was internationally acclaimed. The works that he exhibited were unparalleled even without considering his handicap. He made up for his lack of sight with a sharpness of his other senses that left people feeling overwhelmed. How his hands could translate images and textures to his brain was remarkable. His sense of smell and taste were also renown. Even though I moved with the elite, I was always in awe of Andres. He stood and we walked to a table that had been reserved for us. It was in a corner of the room with an ocean view. “Please, Andres insisted, you must take the seat with the view.” Chuckling, I sat in the plush booth and looked out over the expanse of the Pacific Ocean as Andres slipped in on the other side. He reached out and ran his hand up my arm from my wrist to my shoulder. His fingers seemed to be relaying an incredible amount of information to his brain. “Your skin is so soft. Have you recently had an exfoliation massage?” I explained that it was just some new moisturizer that I had used earlier this evening after my shower. “It must be expensive, he replied, because it is certainly doing its job.” We ordered and ate at a leisurely pace. We chatted about current events, art, the theater and even sports. I sipped my wine while I took in his entire mystique as though I was hypnotized. He slid closer to me. I could smell his Armani cologne. His teeth were so straight and white. The slight dimple in his chin oozed of masculinity. His fingers touched my knee. I wore no stockings, making the touch seem quite intimate. I shifted slightly as his palm now settled on my knee and his long fingers stretched up my leg toward my thigh. He smiled, knowing that I was either feeling uncomfortable that his hand on my leg or that I wanted him to continue upward onto my thigh. “Leslie, am I making you uncomfortable?” I didn’t answer him, I only wriggled a little closer to him and as I did his hand was obliged to move up leg several inches higher. “My question has been answered.” With that, Andres slid his hand up and under my skirt. His fingertips crawled slowly upward until they were toying with the edge of my panties on my hip. Again I adjusted my position with my back turned more toward the restaurant and let my legs slide slightly apart. I could feel my temples begin to heat up as a blush filled my face. When his fingers curved downward and inward touching my very moist crotch, I let out a major sigh. I had the distinct feeling that I was a Grand Piano that was about to be played by a master of the keyboard. His hand slipped inside and he deftly slid a finger across my moist lips. I jerked slightly from the contact. Then he found my clit, hidden in the fold of my vagina and brought it to attention. I had a minor orgasm in a matter of two seconds. Andres smiled. He leaned over to me and whispered in my ear, “My dear, your entire body deserves this kind of attention. Please accompany me to my studio.” Mesmerized and a little dazed from the orgasm, I hardly remember his driver taking us to his loft in Brentwood. When the elevator arrived we stepped inside. It was mirrored and elegant. Andres inserted a special key and pushed the penthouse button. His hand worked its way up under my dress from behind and around in front to my breast. Effortlessly pushing my bra aside, my nipple was being tantalized and explored. I leaned back into him and allowed both his hands to cup and caress me. I could feel the hardness of his erection in the small of my back. My eyes were closed and my head was thrown back in total acquiescence. When the elevator came to a stop, and after disengaging his hands, Andres led me across the room. He motioned for me to sit on the sofa while he removed the blazer like a matador shedding his cape. His knowledge of the room was evident as he moved effortlessly to the kitchen area and began assembling various things out of my line of sight. I stood and quietly slipped off my shoes. Reaching behind me, I unclasped the back of my dress and pulled the zipper down silently. My heart was pounding so hard that it seemed to be threatening to burst through my chest. The dress fluttered to the ground and I lifted it with my toe and placed it on the sofa. The front clasp on my bra twisted easily in my fingers and joined my summer dress, as did my panties. Standing there completely naked without having made a sound, I waited for Andres to return. Carrying a tray with fresh fruit and two glasses of champagne, Andres moved toward a small dining room table just off the kitchen. “Please join me Leslie.” I walked across the hardwood floor, stopping four to five feet from Andres and the table. “Are you chilled? Would you like a robe”, he asked. Flustered, I declined the robe and when I began to ask him how he knew that I was undressed, he interrupted by saying, “Your feet made no sound letting me know that you were barefoot. The wonderful rustle of your dress as it slides back and forth against your legs was also missing.” “I just surmised that if you took off your dress, the rest was probably lying on the sofa as well.” I moved forward into his arms. He kissed my neck and cupped my hip in his hand. Reaching behind him with only the slightest of effort he picked up the glass of champagne and pressed it to my lips. I took the glass and drank down the liquid in a series of gulps, while Andres drained his glass as well. As I reached to put my glass on the table I felt his hand between my legs. I became instantly unsteady and spread my legs apart slightly for balance as well as pleasure. Slowly he sank to his knees. His hands slid along my hips as his mouth began to nibble at me. His fingers joined in and spread my pussy lips apart while his tongue darted across my inner lips and clit. My knees again felt weak. While his lips and tongue began a massive onslaught on my pussy, his wonderful hands traveled up and cupped my breasts and played them like a Stradivarius violin. I was immediately orgasmic again. Andres gently slurped up the moisture and moaned like a man in a trance. Sliding to the floor, I pulled his head back between my legs. If an audience were present, Andres would have gotten a standing ovation for his oral and tactile magnificence. It was like a blind piano tuner was adjusting my sensual notes to perfect pitch and three orgasms later I hit high “C” with exacting accuracy. Andres stood and removed his clothes. His body was perfection and his long penis was standing straight out from his body and bobbing slightly back and forth like a bull eyeing a matador in training. I slid to a sitting position and placed my hand around the warm shaft. I brought it to my lips and began to lick circles around the head. He moaned and then moaned again as I slid 4-5 inches of him into the dark and wet recesses of my mouth. I began to slide back and forth on the shaft while my hands were cupping his taut ass and pushing and pulling him to me in a rhythm that was comfortable and sensual. Andres whispered to me…”Your mouth is wonderful my dear.” I increased the tempo and the depth of my plunges onto his manhood. He disengaged from me and gently turned me over onto my knees. With his hands on my hipbones, he pulled me back to his very full erection. I guided him into me and he pushed deeply and forcefully inside me. An exclamation of raw sexuality escaped my lips as he began to plunge in and out of me to the hilt with the intensity of a stud at a breeding farm. I took the pounding with an intensity of my own, meeting his lunges with counter lunges. I was feeling his full length with every stroke. I was struggling to keep my breathing going while Andres was skewering me with passion. He began to breathe differently and started to lunge in shortened strokes. I was about to cum again when Andres let out a wail and began to fill me with his aristocratic seed. I came from deep within my being and our juices mingled in the lust of the moment. Andres disengaged from me and I swung myself onto my back and looked up at him. He was smiling. A long drop of cum was clinging to the tip of his penis and then fell to the floor. He lay down on top of me. His heart was pounding and his skin was damp and somewhat cool. I kissed his neck and he let himself roll off me and onto the floor at my side. Andres licked alternately at my nipples and gently sucked them in and out of his mouth. We then lay exhausted in a fetal position. Beethoven’s 9th Symphony gently played in my mind as I drifted off into a deep and restful sleep.. Leslie Lee