Gay Erotic Stories

All on a Sunday Afternoon Joshua Stone The bench felt harder than usual this afternoon. Randy shifted a little and lowered his paper. He watched a gray squirrel cross a gray courtyard and get a furtive drink from a gray-stone fountain. He sighed. The slanting sun, through the autumn trees danced on the water and threw crisp shadows across the quiet lawn. Randy sighed again and stood up. He felt old. As old as the brown leaves in the park gutter. "Maybe even used up" he mused, "College life is okay, but. . ." He shrugged. His thoughts were interrupted by a piercing wolf whistle. He glanced up. Across the street two girls were regarding him with flirtatious indifference. He nodded politely, and they dissolved into paroxysms of barely suppressed giggling and whispering. At six feet, Randy had often felt too tall to be good looking. Yet he often drew stares from the girls on campus. Girls often complimented him on his deep blue eyes. His best friend, Bruce had even said that he had eyes like an ocean--and were seldom the same color twice. It was a trivial comment, but he had remembered it--and that night he had lain awake--staring at the ceiling, thinking about his friend Bruce, and wondering what Bruce thought of him. He crossed the street through the warm afternoon shadows--and nodding to the girls again, he rounded the corner. He headed up the street--thinking again about Bruce's comments. Bruce was almost exactly opposite Randy. Both were on the swim team. That is how they met. Where Bruce had short blond hair that had a tendency to spike, Randy had short brown hair--"Which makes you look like Chris O'Donnell," Bruce had said, "especially with your strong jawline." "Bruce, being the photographer, notices more than I wish he would, sometimes," Randy thought as he climbed the flight of stairs to his apartment. He fumbled in his shorts pockets, shifting his newspaper, produced his key and unlocked the door. He lived alone. He pushed his way into the apartment, and kicked off his tevas. He ambled into his room, and a few seconds later, when he emerged, he was naked. He usually went naked in the house. Whereas some people might be embarrassed or uncomfortable, Randy felt perfectly natural. "Perhaps it's because I almost live in a pair of Speedo's--" he mused as he opened the fridge door, "that clothes seem so confining." Randy's body was well toned from several years of competition swimming. His chest and shoulder muscles were well defined. His abdomen displayed the results of much swimming. He considered himself lucky to be as smooth as he was. He pulled the juice out of the fridge and poured a glass. He picked up the remote on the way to the living room and flopped on the couch. The white leather felt cool under his tan skin. Looking down. he noticed his tan-line was almost gone--the one he had gotten it life guarding over the summer. It had taken a lot of nude sunbathing on his porch to get rid of it. Flipping on the TV, he stretched his six foot frame on the couch in his favorite position--throwing one leg on the back of the couch, and letting the other hang over the front edge. It was MTV. some 1/2 naked punk-rocker was gyrating around a stage, thrusting his hips and grabbing himself--and holding the microphone like a grotesque cock about to explode--all the while moaning orgasmically to a pud pounding beat. A year or so earlier, Randy realized, he might have jerked off to the spectacle--on the floor his eyes rolled back in his head--spraying cum all over himself. But not today. Now the scene just bored him. As he watched, Randy suddenly realized what it was that was wrong. He realized he was tired. He was tired of all the flakiness. The hype, the predictability. He was tired of surfing a net, where all the pictures were the same. He was tired of the oversized dicks and jerky animation's. He was tired of bored looking guys smashing steelhard cocks into drooling mouths of other bored looking guys. He was tired of all the chat-lines where most of the guys always seemed either too old or too young, too open, or too closeted, concerned only about dick size, and whether you wore boxers or briefs and did they want to fuck on the web. He was tired of reading porno stories that were as hopeless as the MPEGS. And he was tired of jacking off and repeating the cycle all over again the next day. By the time his orange juice was done he realized what it was the he wanted. He wanted something alive. His hand slid absently down his abdomen to the inside of his thigh. He wanted something living, breathing. Something that could love and respond to him as a person. He was tired of the deadness of the technological world. The only hair on his body, besides his head, was the downy fuzz just above his dick. He lightly ran a finger through the chestnut hair. The sun slanting through the window threw squares of gold light on the floor--and slowly crawled up the couch--it would reach him in a few minutes. He watched a Nissan commercial--without really seeing it--absently toying with his balls. He was so lost in thought that the phone rang twice before he could reach behind himself and answer. He turned down the TV. "Hello?" He leaned back. "Hey! Randy! This is Bruce! What's up!" Randy glanced down. "Nothing much really, just watching TV," his hand was still around his dick, "Why?" "Oh, no reason, really" Bruce said vaguely, "I was just thinking of coming over--but I wanted to make sure you were there before I biked across campus." Brian laughed. "You sonof a----" "--yeah, yeah, I know," Bruce cut in. Randy could hear the smile in his voice. "I'm here", he said, "come on over." He hung up the phone and stood to go into the bedroom to pull on a pair of sweats. Halfway to the door, he stopped. "Damn it!" he exploded, savagely, "I'm doing the same thing I always do." He stopped and turned, a slow grin spreading across his face. "The hell with it!" he said to himself, "Bruce will just have to get used to it. Hell, it's not like I am basically naked around him most of the time anyway. . ." Feeling more alive than he had for a long time, he grabbed a towel and headed for the shower. Five minutes later he emerged, still toweling off his hair. He went into the room and rummaged around through his underwear until he found his black leather cord--with a small pewter surf-board. He put it on--and surveyed himself in the full length mirror. A six foot boy with close-cropped wet brown hair looked back out of dancing blue eyes. The black cord looked good hanging between his pecs, he noticed. His shoulders tapered to a well defined abdomen that v'd into a pair of long muscular legs. Between his legs, swaying gently, hung a lightly framed, smooth-well-proportioned set of balls--under a long dick. Randy had compared covertly in the shower, and had concluded that he was the biggest on the team. In fact, he knew for a fact that his Speedo barely concealed his package. All too often it dipped so low in front that a few rebellious hairs would often push themselves out over the top. "Bruce isn't far behind." he said to himself as the doorbell rang. He walked resolutely to the door and flung it open. Both stood surveying each other carefully. Bruce surveyed Randy carefully from head to toe. Randy watched his reaction carefully. Bruce, Randy noticed, did not seem particularly put off. It was Bruce who broke the silence. "Well," he said, coming through the door, "it is not everyday that you ring the doorbell and it gets answered by a naked man--did I get you in the middle of a shower?" He flopped onto the floor, like he often did when he came in. "No, I had finished. Actually I usually go naked in the house." Randy was beginning to enjoy this. Bruce nodded mutely. He rolled over--eyeing Randy critically. "Why?" He asked finally? "I like to. I think its because we live on the swim team basically." Bruce didn't say anything for a while. He seemed to be musing things over--digesting this new piece of information. Randy sat down on the couch opposite his friend. "Did you swim today?" Randy asked. "Yeah--actually something really kind of embarrassing happened. I forgot to tighten the drawstring on my Speedos." Randy threw back his head and laughed. "Anyway," Bruce continued, "the rest of the guys got to the suit before I could, and I had to finish my practice without it." They were both laughing now. "But you know," he went on, " I actually got used to the feeling of water flowing down there." "Hell, if I had my way," Randy countered, "I'd do all my swimming in the nude." "Really? Well, I guess I could agree with you after today." Both boys fell silent for a minute. Then: "Randy?" "What?" "Is it really that great running around the house naked?" "It is, Bruce, you should try it." Randy eyed him--the gaze a dare. Bruce got up. "I think I will," he said. He started for the bedroom and stopped suddenly. "You know," he looked uncomfortable, "I've never done this before, I might get. . . " he trailed off. "You might get---what?" Randy looked at him. "You know--" "Ohh," Randy nodded knowingly. "Well, if it is any help, I might too--I often do, though I am by myself, so I guess we will just have to get used to it. It won't be a problem with me." He tried to sound casual, and apparently it worked, because Bruce looked relieved. When Bruce reappeared, he was naked from head to toe. He was walking somewhat carefully, and, Randy noticed, somewhat carefully so as to present his well sized dick and balls from flopping against his legs--giving him a rather bowlegged appearance. He made his way across the room carefully--as if his balls were made of glass, and his dick was a jackhammer. He sat carefully--covering himself. Randy leaned back--and carefully, purposefully stretched, arching his back just enough to thrust his semi hard dick forward. Bruce leaned back, uncovering himself. "Hey Randy, toss me the remote." Bruce gestured. "Sorry, can't have it!" Randy's eyes were teasing "What. I'm going to have to wrestle you for it?" Bruce's eyes were teasing. "You'd loose!" Both boys jumped up. They had often wrestled before in the pool. "Like I lost the freestyle?" Bruce lifted his chin. "That was an unfair match!" Randy said--plowing into Bruce. Both boys tumbled laughing to the floor. Randy was aware that he was getting hard. Really hard. But for once he didn't care. He was also aware that every few seconds in the struggle, he felt Bruce's balls brush against his leg--or his pole thumping against his chest. Finally he pinned Bruce under him--straddling him, and sitting on his chest. Both boys were out of breath--and suddenly both boys realized that Randy's eight inches was rock hard, and throbbing in Bruce's face. "Damn, I have never seen you so big before." Bruce whispered. Randy didn't move. "What do you mean 'seen?'" He countered. "Have you been watching me in the locker room?" "Oh, gee, not like you haven't been watching me yourself?" Responded Bruce. Randy was stunned. Slowly the surprise gave way to laughter. Both boys dissolved into paroxysms of mirth. "And we both thought we were so sly!!" Randy began to say--when he was cut of by Bruce pulling him down and kissing him forcefully in the mouth. He felt Bruce's tongue and opened his mouth wider--wanting to pull all of the hot mouth into his. They rolled over and over the floor, mouths locked, exploring each others faces with their eyes--lips and tongues. When they stopped. Bruce was on top. Randy felt his full warm weight against him. He ran his hands down the smooth velvet of Bruce's back--sliding gently up over his well formed butt. He felt Bruce's cock pressed in his own groin. He spread his legs apart, and wriggled into the carpet to move Bruce's iron hard on into a better spot. Bruce began to kiss him on the neck moving gently down to run a tongue over his left nipple. Randy moaned softly. His hands caressing Bruce's short hair. Bruce's tongue explored--running lightly down the center of Randy's belly. His tongue slid into Randy's belly button. Randy could feel a palpable ache deep inside him. And when Bruce slid his tongue into the line where his dick attached to his belly, he gasped. Bruce looked up. "You like that huh?" He asked. "Oh god, don't stop." Randy was breathing hard. He watched his dick throbbing in tight little jerks. "What about this?" Bruce took a deep breath and blew a light feathery puff of warm air across the top of Randy's cock. Randy moaned. He was in ecstasy. He had never imagined it could feel this incredible. He was still reeling from the first sensation of breath, when he felt Bruce slide his mouth over his warm wet pole. He gave a little yelp. He had sat up--before, but now he was too weak. Bruce's hands were working his balls in a way he had never experienced. He felt precum pooling on the tip of his dick, but the moment it got there, Bruce licked it off carefully, slowly, deliberately. He slid his tongue down Randy's pole and popped a ball into his mouth, the light rhythmic tugging made Randy giddy. His whole body was about ready to explode. He could taste himself beginning to cum. Bruce pushed Randy's legs up and apart, exposing his wet pink butthole. He flickered his tongue in and out of the crack. Randy's moans were more intense now. He was breathing hard, and thrusting his crotch rhythmically, with his swim teammate's tongue. Bruce slid his whole tongue up Randy's crack--sliding hard up over his balls and circling the pole--to slip up over the top again. Randy closed his eyes, he seemed to be spinning, dizzy, his body unattached. He felt his whole body, his arms, his fists--clenching the carpet, his legs--suspended in space--crashing into a huge sea of throbbing orgasm. He was vaguely aware that he had never felt this way before, and that his dick was sliding in and out, in and out. . .in. . .out. . .of Bruce's hot wet mouth, and that Bruce's tongue and lips were doing things to him that he had never experienced. Suddenly he felt his whole body contract for one split second and then he was crashing load after load of white-hot cum into Bruce's mouth. He felt alive--electrified. He slowly opened his eyes. Bruce was licking the last drops out of his hand. Randy suddenly realized that Bruce had been sliding his cock up and down over the carpet, and had cum as well. He sat up--gazing at Bruce's cock, which was still oozing a little drop of cum. They looked at each other for a minute. Then Randy stood, helping Bruce to his feet. He pulled Bruce close--and wrapped him up in his arms. The final rays of the setting sun outlined their shadows on the wall for a flickering second--before dying behind the mountains. "You want to stay here tonight?" Randy murmured? Bruce nodded mutely. His eyes shining. He looked down and lifted up the pewter surf-board. "Where did you get this?" He asked incredulously. "Where do you think?" Randy's eyes were sparkling. "That's mine. I keep it in the same box in my locker that I keep my--" Bruce looked up--realization dawning. A slow smile spreading across his face. Randy nodded. "Yup, with your Falcon videos" Write and tell me what you think--I'd love to hear from you--even if it's just a short note. I'll answer any communication. stonewheel@hotmail.com