Gay Erotic Stories

A Golf Affair to Remember (Part 1) Call me Mark. I am 35 years old, married, and nonetheless interested in men. I have always been somewhat interested in guys, but -- all things considered -- I had never acted on it and I figured that I never would act on it. That is until last summer. Safely ensconced in a middle class existence, I do what most suburban guys do on the weekends in the summer. I golf. Yeah, yeah. Don't laugh. That's what I do. Now, that's not all that I do. I run and lift a little to stay in shape and I'm not in bad shape for a man of my advanced years. But golf is what I like to do to get me away from the office, the family, and into my own reverie. Last summer, golf had an added bonus. It was late in June that my country club down on Cape Cod had its first member-guest tournament for the year, a three-day affair on Friday, Saturday, and then the finale on Sunday. I invited Sean, a guy just a couple of years younger than me from my office. At the last minute, my wife couldn't come down to the Cape for the weekend -- some rush project at her office -- so that left me and Sean heading down by ourselves from Boston on a glorious, sunny Friday morning. I was looking forward to the weekend as the start to a fine summer season of golf. Sean said that he was thrilled just to get away from the office and out of range of the telephones and fax machine with all their false deadlines. On the drive down we talked easily and comfortably. Sean is a mountain of a man. He is 6'2", 190 pounds, with light brown hair, strong shoulders and a torso that tapers to a 33 inch waist. He is a former rugby player whose early encounters on the rugby field left his tan, handsome face with several small scars that he wears proudly as trophies from battles past. And as a result of those past battles, his nose will ever be aligned quite right again, but all this gives his face an attractive and unusual character. What is even more amazingly attractive about Sean is his quick, wide smile and his easy laugh. All of which indicates that he sees the frequent absurdity and irony of life. Virtually nothing gets on his nerves. I thought to myself that this attitude would be help in the tournament if we were in contention. Besides, Sean hits a long ball, has an 8 handicap, and his style of go-for-broke play complements my own steady-as-she-goes 14-handicap, safe play. On the first day of the tournament, Friday afternoon, we played well. Sean shot an 77, I had an 81, and we were just three shots off the pace. After more than four hours of golf, however, we headed back to the practice tee as the sun was setting because we both felt, with a little more work, we could win the whole damn tournament. After hitting another bucket of balls each, we were dead tired but happy. From under his mop of light brown hair, Sean shot me one of his big old wide grins, put his arm around me as we headed back to the parking lot in the late dusk, and whispered in my ear, "Partner, if we don't get too excited and blow things, I think we can trounce those stiffs ahead of us." But I was excited. I was excited about being in contention. And I was excited about the physical closeness and presence of Sean. In that too-brief closeness, I had felt the power in his grip and taken in the subtle aroma of his warm body. It all was a little intoxicating as we walked back to my car listening to the chirp of crickets and the crackling of our cleats on the parking lot pavement. Back at my condo overlooking the 18th green, I told Sean to make himself comfortable as I prepared our dinner. I suggested that he shower and change while I cooked. I offered him wine and beer. Noticing the steaks I was to grill, he chose the red wine, poured himself a glass and went off to take his shower. I went outside to grill. While outside, all I could imagine was Sean's handsome face and his tall lanky body under the hot shower. No, no, be good, I said to myself. He's a special guy, but he's a friend and a work buddy at that. One wrong move and you're in big trouble, I reminded myself. I took a swallow or two from my own glass of wine and calmed down. I had almost succeeded when, after 10 minutes, Sean reappeared at the screen door leading to the patio and my grill. He was dressed in a loose t-shirt and khaki shorts, but in the light from the living room behind him, I could see the outline of his superb torso beneath his t-shirt. Wow, I thought, he is a hunk. Not a pumped-up, muscle-bound hunk, just the best grade A real guy I had ever seen outside the cover of a magazine. He came out to see how I was doing with the steaks. He came up behind me, close, and looked over my shoulder. He suggested that it was time to turn the steaks. At that moment, I smelled the scent of his just-washed hair and felt his breath on the back of my neck. Oh, God, oh, God, I thought. But what I actually said was, "Yep, I think you're right." Sean then suggested that I take my own turn in the shower while he finished cooking the steaks. I, reluctantly, agreed. I went to the shower in an intoxicated daze. Having had just a few sips of wine, I knew that it was my attraction to Sean I was feeling. Under the pulsating water of the shower I realized that, far from relaxing, this weekend might turn out to be real torture as I fought with myself over this attraction. After the shower, I lingered in the bathroom until I felt as though I was again under enough control to have dinner with him. When I came down the stairs from the bathroom, I was surprised to see the table set, the food set out, more wine poured, and a smiling Sean just waiting there patiently. When he saw me, he looked up, with a sly grin and said, "Now, there you are. I thought that you might have drowned yourself in the shower despondent over our slim chance to win." All I could do was laugh to myself, smile back at him, and demur. Inside, however, something in me just melted as I took in his gaze and grin. Over dinner, Sean talked in an animated fashion. The course we were playing was my home course but it was new to him. He talked intensely about the best way for him to play this hole and approach that green. I gave him my thoughts where I could. But I spent much of the dinner just watching and admiring him. I watched everything he did. My pupils must have been completely dilated because my singular conscious thought was that I never wanted to forget the animation in his face, the force of his gestures, the cadence of his voice, and the slyness of his smile. If God took me now, I thought, I'd die a happy man. It took me perhaps 5 minutes to even notice during dinner that Sean had put some Natalie Cole on the CD player. The hour of that dinner seemed to be the most wonderful sixty minutes of my life. After the dinner, Sean moved quickly to clear the table of dishes while I sat savoring the last of my wine, rueful that dinner had ended. Having stacked the dishes in the sink, he came back into the dining room. As he walked in, he said, "You know, Mark, I appreciate your inviting down here to play this course. I'm hoping that we are going to enjoy ourselves, even if we don't win." I smiled back at him, pleased with the simple clean honesty of his statement. Then he said, "But, you know, during dinner, I had the strangest feeling that you were sometimes a thousand miles away." Before I could collect my thoughts and formulate an answer, he came up behind me, placed his hands on the base of my neck and the top of my shoulders. He said, "Being tense about the competition isn't going to do us any good," he teased as he began to massage the tightness between my shoulders. Besides his strong hands working out the kinks in my shoulders, from where I was sitting I could feel his upper abs against the back of my head as I leaned back, relaxing. How do I tell him its not the tournament that has me tense, I thought. But, apparently, I didn't have to tell him; my body did the talking. He must have looked down to see the strain in the material around the zipper in my shorts, because after a minute or two of the neck and back massage, he leaned forward over me, placed his large tan hand over my zipper, resting it against my straining member and whispered in mock report, "Ah, Houston, I think we have, ah, located the problem. It seems that some of our attitude adjustment rockets need to be test-fired." What could I do? I started to laugh. Sean did too. After a minute or so, I was laughing so hard that there were tears in my eyes, but eventually I began to calm down. I was still sitting down. Sean crouched beside me, put his face close beside mine and gently whispered to me that it was ok, that he thought I was a special guy, too. His warm breath close to my ear only excited me more. Then he added, "You know, if you would like to sleep together tonight, since Carol isn't coming down, I would be happy to hold each other through the night." It seems that I awoke when he spoke those words. I wasn't sure whether it was the wine, the excellent companionship, or just his physical warmth, but I really, really wanted to sleep with him that night. With little more fanfare, we went upstairs to the bedroom. As he entered the bedroom ahead of me, he left the light off and when he turned back to face me, I saw him only in the light from the hallway light behind me. His eyes seemed to twinkle just a little as he drew me closer. From downstairs, Natalie Cole was singing the "Unforgettable" duet from her CD. Sean held me close and moved in a slow sultry dance step as his warm body pressed against me. I reached behind him, put my hands on his khaki shorts and drew him even closer to me. As my hands held his butt through his shorts, I was startled to feel his hardening cock against my abdomen. Sean's eyes were closed and his hips seemed to sway just a little in time with the soft music from below us. I had never seen Sean naked and my mind wondered, as we danced slowly, about what his hard cock would look and feel like. Meanwhile my hands traveled under his t-shirt stroking his strong back. He seemed to be humming in low, low tones along with the music as I felt his back for any tension. No tension, just smooth, strong muscles back there. After a few moments he opened his eyes, looked into mine just inches away, smiled, licked his lips slyly and bent slightly to kiss my lips. It was a long, slow wet kiss that was both smooth and firm at the same time. As his tongue gently touched my lips and my front teeth, I slid my hands lower down his back and then inside the waistband of his shorts. He wasn't wearing any boxers or briefs and so my hands felt the firmness of his ass that was still swaying to the music. As I held his ass, his forever kiss intensified in its exploration of my own wet mouth. Good God, I wanted him with every part of my being. I knew I was hard and I could feel his long hard cock through his shorts and against my abs. Slowly, I moved my hands up his taut sides and then with my right hand underneath his t-shirt, I lightly pinched his left nipple. Stroking, touching, and pinching that nipple, his body seemed to shudder with each teasing motion of my hand. He broke our kiss to sigh, gasp, and sigh as I continued to stroke his chest and play with his nipple. This was all so new to me, but I got an idea. Softly, I asked Sean to take off his t-shirt for me. He stepped back from our embrace and began to raise his t-shirt from his chest over his head, fumbling a little as he did so. In the meantime, I moved quickly, unbuttoning his waistband, unzipping his shorts so they could fall to the floor, and freeing his cock from its prison. There, standing before me with his arms still over his head, freeing himself from the t-shirt, was the most exciting male physique I had ever seen. And there in the dim light from the hallway was the most perfect rock hard cock I had ever seen. It wasn't the longest, the largest, or the fattest cock. It was simply the most handsome cock I could have imagined -- tanned, hard, rising from a curly nest of darker brown hair, with a quivering reddish helmet on top. Before Sean could recover his bearings from my "smooth move'" I was on my knees before him. I grasped his hard member in my right hand, placed my left hand against the soft trail of brown curly hair leading up from his center and traced it half way up his chest. I wet my lips and then slowly wet the ridge all around the head of Sean's stiff penis. "Oh, ..oh ....oh-h-h," he murmured. Then I parted my lips and took his engorged cockhead into my mouth where I bathed it with my tongue and my saliva. It seemed that Sean was still reeling a little from the surprise of my swift descent onto his cock and his murmuring "oh" had begun to be one long "omigodgodgodohmygodohohoh..oh-h-h-g-g-god." Then, as my tongue continued to flutter around the head of his cock in my mouth, I felt his thighs begin to quiver to their own beat and he arched his back above me and thrust his pelvis forward. My hand searched for his balls, only to find his sack tense and tight against his body. I knew that he was about to come and, reaching behind his scrotum, I found with my index finger that fleshy spot between his sack and his asshole and I stroked it firmly. "OH... OH... OH...S-S-SHIT!!" he cried out desperately as he began to shoot a warm stream of jism into my mouth in colossal spasms of heat. I swallowed quickly, drinking deep the way a parched man would at a water fountain. After a dozen convulsive shots, he stopped. His thighs trembled, his knees buckled, and he sank to his knees before me. I gently held his head in my hands, slowly brushed the sweat back from his brow, quickly kissed his closed eyelids, and whispered to him that he should lie back on the rug for a minute to catch his breath. He did as I suggested and, as I lay beside him, I stroked his chest, damp with sweat, and gradually felt his racing heartbeat slow. He then opened his eyes and shot me one of his great big, full-toothed smiles that I will remember forever. (More to come.) If you would like to suggest Mark and Sean's activities the next day, e-mail me at ByMarkBost@aol.com -- or if you would just like to comment, drop me an e-mail, I don't bite!