Gay Erotic Stories

When Irishmen get my age, either they got somebody to love or they drink. I drink a lot. I would probably drink more but I’m a truck driver and I need the job. Being a trucker keeps me sober and usually keeps me too tired and busy to think about it much. Then one day I noticed this new guy on the street by our station lot. He was a pretty black man, short and slender, with the most powerful eyes I’ve ever seen. He used them, too. He saw me looking at him before I knew I was doing it. First time I realized I was staring at him was when he smiled and raised his brows in a sort of question, like, “What you gonna do about it?” I didn’t know what to do about it. Then the dreams started. By the end of the week I knew I was gonna have to do something! He never tried to talk to me, he just waited and grinned at me, waiting. Sometimes he was with a group of other guys, all looked like bums or hustlers. Sometimes he was alone, but he was always there in the evenings when I got off work. He was in my dreams every night, too. I’m no good at that stuff, talking to folks. I kept telling myself lonesome don’t know no color line, it hurts both of us just the same. He looked like he needed a friend ‘bout as bad as me. Still, took me a while to work up the nerve just to saunter over, mumble a, “Hi.” But we talked easy, like old buddies. Him, smiling right up into my eyes like a drowning man. He was staying at the mission and we made a date for me to pick him up early on Monday, my off day, just to go to my house, eat breakfast, talk, you know? So, I cleaned up the house real good, put clean sheets on the double bed in the guest room (just in case!) and brushed my red hair till it shined. He was waiting with the biggest grin I ever seen. His amber eyes made my belly do flips. I showed Jesse the big guest room and he smiled, “Look like you ‘specting company!” But he didn’t seem particularly interested and my stomach was reminding me of the breakfast left on the table so I rushed through the rest of the house tour and found myself at the end of the hall and the door of my bedroom, no need to flip on the light switch, sunlight was streaming in the windows and there wasn’t much to see, the narrow iron bed and the bare chest of drawers... no decorations but the blue and green bottles along both window ledges, “And I sleep back here, I like a single bed so I don’t feel so alone.” I made an apologetic laugh and turned to go but Jesse blocked the hall behind me. He was still looking into the bare bedroom, “Look big ‘nough to me.” Then his amber eyes lifted to mine in that open invitation and his dark arched brows asked their ironic question and I flushed but brushed aside the thoughts that suddenly crowded into my mind and when I reached up my hands to grasp his shoulders, my only impulse was to turn him around and push him back toward the kitchen but his hands came up in the same instant and slid up from my waist to cup the sides of my chest in a touch so light I caught my breath and the round shape of his shoulders filled my big hands with tender warmth. I honestly can’t say who drew to whom, but faces filled hollow necks and chest touched to chest and arms encircled and squeezed and muscles tensed and breath was drawn deeply between tightly clenched teeth and a shudder was shared by two bodies, passed back and forth as an electric charge, jarring me with strong convulsive sobs and leaving my legs weak and shaking. Jesse made low growling sounds near my ear that brought fresh shivers to my neck and the rush of blood surging through my body was vibrating and hot all the way to my fingertips. The relaxation came slow as a dissolving storm and in the convention of men experienced with loving men, we each brought our lips near and paused to see if the other would turn away. Our eyes locked, blue to brown, in that challenge and neither backed down. No room left for coyness or play, mouth devoured mouth in a ritual far past a brushing of lips. Boundaries of self give way at the openings into the interior, and by that invasion deny the isolation of a single soul inside a sealed container. Soul reaches out to merge with soul on warm wet extensions into the deepest cavities and aloneness is only a memory of a lie, such is the power of an opening freely given and gladly taken. Clothes drifted down as autumn leaves, useless things discarded carelessly, and I pulled toward the bed as he pushed his hard passion before him tight against my thigh. With the back of my calves against the edge of the mattress I tried to get my jeans down over my hips but Jesse was clutching fast to my dick through the worn denim. I sat on the bed and leaned back on my elbows to watch him strip off the last of his clothes, a single nylon sock, then he knelt naked between my legs and used his face and chin to massage the tops and insides of my thighs, biting everywhere with his ravenous purple mouth, hands encircling my waist till his face was pressed hard into my lap and I imagined the cut of my brass zipper against his soft cheek, his tongue lapped at my navel and he pulled the jeans slowly past my hips as I lifted off the bed to help him, pressing my groin tighter against his face, my orange pubic hair fiery against his dark skin, and his mouth found my enraged cock and enclosed it in wet warmth while he worked the jeans over my feet and peeled off my white socks. I pulled him up to me and we lay tight together and drew the old quilt around us and found a quiet lull in the tide of building momentum. Lost in that very moment without need of a past or future we floated in sensation and fluid emotion without words or sounds he watched me watching the pulse in his throat and watched his fingers slide down my neck and behind my shoulders and his eyes found mine and that open chasm of his stare was a promise fulfilled, I drifted inside, past the boundaries, and touched his soul with mine. He began to draw up his knees and I positioned myself over him... when I would have reached down to guide my entry he took my hands in his and brought them up to cup his face, he held them there, pale captives between his dark hands and face, as he began a rocking, pumping movement without our joining and I moved with him, found his rhythm and watched the slack mask of ecstasy slip over his caramel face like a brightly colored shadow cast by the bottles on the window sill. I found his pleasure in this whole body movement quite separate from the genital friction I was used to. This was more, this was wider, and when I was exploring the new sensations he reached down and guided me to the threshold of his body and I entered in with a gasp at the hot clutching tunnel to his interior. Two, three short strokes to spread my dripping lubricant and his saliva and sweat and then I pushed into the liquid depths of him as he drew his legs up tighter and twisted his face in contortions of anguish and pitched need. The sudden arc and flex of his back into a tight contraction told me he had reached release as quickly as I had probed his depth and I looked down between our sweating bellies to see his outpouring of white spurting proof of pleasure spent and nerves over stimulated... I locked into the frozen inflexible pose with him and in the stillness my own quick pulses of release jerked their shivers as a quivering small animal in death throes and I slowly melted onto his chest as his legs slipped down into relaxed splayed comfort. Spent air seeped out of us like a leaking tire and we settled into a single lump of soft flesh, tenderized meat, well pounded. Each deep breath he took, I took, surged through sensitive lungs as a ripple of music... the taste of his neck against my open mouth was tangy ripened fruit, dried in the sun. My callused palms found his matching pink palms and fingers laced and squeezed a shared blessing and gratitude between them. A moist grip that was reluctant to fade as we stirred to squirm into a relaxed and unstrained embrace on our sides, facing. The near sight of his dark beauty was overwhelming. His short black curls close framed the delicate face and tiny apricot ears. His high, fine cheekbones tapered to a narrow chin, sculptured setting for the smoky topaz eyes, canted to exotic tilt, knowing and curious and shy and innocent. Eyes of a dark angel, a faun, a satyr... some mythical beast of pleasure and joy ... no ordinary man, surely, a black elf of mythic legend. His scent was intoxicant, heady. A bottled splash of citrus cologne couldn’t dim the musky fruitiness of his natural man spice. Some pheromone, some steroid chemistry, some tropic incense, some almond bitterness and pecan rich sweetness pervaded his dusky, evening skin, perhaps the color itself was scent. And his crisp black curls held the odor in strong concentration, glittering wet with his sweat. A smear of pungent spunk creamed one darkling nipple, begging for my lick, and I gave it, received it, savored it, memorized it. He edged lower until his head lay in the hollow of my shoulder. I blew a stream of air across the tiny beads of sweat that coated his forehead and seeped into his hairline, he murmured his pleasure in little tiger cub growls. And we drifted, plastered together in our wet stickiness and musk and the scent of his cologne of oranges and lemons and the flickering shadows of green and blue from the bottles in sunlight, we floated in living dream of kaleidoscopic impressions in the ambient silence of the daytime dust mites sparkling on the air above the narrow bed still soaked with my night time dreams of him that were only colorless silhouettes of this stunning and living actuality. I didn’t know I was sleeping until Jesse woke me with teasing little teeth bites at my nipple, grating rasps of good pain spread across my chest from his beard stubbled chin and I was lightheaded from low blood sugar, my stomach growled it’s protest..., “Hey, ya! Stop it! I got to take a leak and I’m starving.” “Hey, I got your sausage, man!” He was an imp, a woodland Pan, no human man. I leaned down to kiss his dimple and whispered in his golden snail shell ear, “I love you, Jesse Bailey.” And the imp was gone, a sudden man sat up as I stood beside the bed, he clasped me round the waist and pulled my loins against his chest and my belly to his cheek. “Tell me again”, he spoke in a flat voice, curiously devoid of expression. “I love you, Jesse... you must know that.” I stroked his hair and he squeezed tighter then released me and fell back on the bed with the imp’s face back in place. “ I don’t wanna get up, will you bring a towel when you comes back?” “Sure.” I went about the things I had to do but kept running a replay of that little short scene. I wondered if it was real or just a well practiced bit. Maybe just a little too touching? I washed up and took a wet cloth with the towels and cold orange juice and the now cold biscuits and sausage. We gobbled it down and didn’t spill too much of the juice and I pulled away all but the bottom sheet of the bed. We took turns with the washcloth, bathing each other and rubbing with the rough towel till we were wrestling around and struggling for possession of the wet cloth. At one point we were both standing on the bed and falling against the wall, setting the bottles to tinkling, and we collapsed in whoops of laughter and coughs. We smoked and talked and occasionally kissed, light tributes to joy. I got the portable radio from the closet shelf and we put it on the floor and found some slow, quiet music. The sun had climbed above the eaves and the room was darker now, shadowed and lit in a strange cool mood as the sunlight reflected off the bright blue painted floor and up the white walls to the ceiling. A dog barked in a neighbor’s yard and a truck struggled up the road. The external noises making us feel even more secluded. Conversation lagged and I would have drifted toward sleep, again, but Jesse began a massage of my shoulders and arms. He straddled me, on his knees, and let his heavy lax penis slide over mine, dark meat to light, as he carefully touched and explored all the pale and freckled skin he could reach, then lay on top of me and worked his hands then his arms under my shoulders and began digging into my back with his fingertips. I was already feeling the result of his warming excitement when he told me to turn over so he could rub my back “What are you gonna to rub it with?”, I grinned up at him. “I think I would rather rub Your back!” And with only mock resistance I turned him over and straddled him in turn. The high, tightly curved mounds of his ass were unbelievably beautiful, they each tapered off to low ridges that pointed outward and made a wide flat cleft near the top but swelled to opulent fullness at the bottom where he held then so tightly clenched together there was a straight thin line between them. The mounds were light toffee marbled with deeper markings of mocha. I did rub his back, in hard deep strokes that lifted his shoulders and made him arch his neck back. The knobby ridge of his spine was set deep in a trench between thick muscles and I dug my fists into the soft flesh and bore it down under the press of my weight. He began to squirm and croon beneath my body. He put both his hands behind his back and indicated the region of his kidneys, rubbing at the flesh himself. I took both his wrists in one hand and held them firmly as I started to work my pelvis against his wild honey ass. “No, no..I don’t like it from the back.” He struggled to loose his hands and turn over, I only held him down a minute then let him flip over beneath me and he was rampant with excitement, his face was blurred with traces of flush at his cheeks and he grabbed onto our dicks and pressed them together, rose and brown, in one grip, pumping up toward me. I wanted that, I hungered for that abandon and unleashed control, fell atop him and gathered his head in my arms to taste his face, lick at the small tears leaking from his tight shut eyes, pin my mouth to his and feed his hunger with lips and tongue, his rocking pumping movement was going on and on driving his belly hard against mine and trapping his fist and our hard cocks between till he was begging for release, pulling at his lower lip and straining at his fist. I shoved his hand roughly aside and rolled off him, climbed back on the bed lower down, between his legs and took his pulsing dick in delicate fingertips and very gently slid the chocolate satin skin up and down the thick veined shaft in long slow strokes. His breathing lost it’s urgency and he gentled into the pleasure and his hips slowed their pounding thrust, “sssh, sssh... relax”... still his eyes were tightly shut in concentrated effort, “Watch, Jesse, watch this.” I leaned down and took him in my lips, suckled at the ripe plum head, wetting the swollen flesh with copious saliva and spreading it down the shaft like salve, slowly engulfing more of him into my mouth and throat, building a slow and gentle rhythm. “Aaaah”, I heard him sigh, and he let the tense muscles go loose and soft and I cupped his wrinkled balls into my palm and tugged on the sac with harsh care, pressing my knuckles against the cleft below and he began a faster breathing and the pelvic muscles came back to life and pushed up, “Yeah, yeah, yeah.. “ on each outbound breath and the tremors started below my fist and traveled up the shaft, he paused at the top of a pelvic thrust and I took my mouth away just in time for the high white spume to fountain out in, two, three..four staccato blasts of pearls with thin streamers cascading across his belly and down his side. Translucent ivory liquid pearls, snail trail paths of silver, gleaming and steaming against the dark wet skin. White streamers of surrender, passioned shots of seeded bliss, creamed release, spreading into sweat pooled navel and sliding down ridges of ribs, soaking into matte black pubic fur. Melted sugar icing on gingerbread. Everything about him made me hungry, he was food for my eyes, my nose, my belly, my loins, my heart. We moved easily back into our favorite position, now, his head on my shoulder and our legs intertwined. “Do I love you?” He grinned up at me, “But I loved you first!” “You did not. I loved You first!” He struggled up till he was on his elbows looking down at me, “I loved you that first day, when I seen you. I jest knowed it. Sometime I jest knows stuff. Knowed I could make you loves me, too.” “Well, maybe you first but me best, how’s that?” He cocked his head to one side and seemed to give it serious thought, “If you needs to think that, it’s okay wit me... Does you think that?” The imp was back, with dimples. I pulled him to me, feeling kind of silly talking this way. Fear could be dissipated talking about it, and anxiety... maybe love was the same way. But I just didn’t like saying this stuff, even in play. I just wanted the good feelings to go on and on, didn’t want words and ideas to get in the way. “You just getting cocky ‘cause you got two nuts in one day. Think you’re something, don’t cha?” “Two?”, he says, “That was my third time today, if you countin’!” “ Oh, yeah? you must have had an early start, when was the first one, before I picked you up?” “Nope!” He snuggled closer, “It was when you kissed me in the hall.” “I didn’t kiss you in the hall, you kissed me.” “Well”, he drawled, “somebody sure kissed me back ‘cause I dropped a load in my drawers!” “You didn’t!” “I did, too” He closed his eyes and went silent. “Okay, three.” I think he did. That massive quake that shook me so hard, left me weak in the knees? That was almost an orgasm for me. He’s younger. But to get a nut from a kiss? That’s pretty damn intense! Yeah, I knew the first time I saw him, knew everything about him would be intense, powerful, wonderful...but still. Damn. How could I inspire such emotion? Me? A middle aged Irish drunk? That’s a pretty intense thought, right there! Maybe he’s just a hot guy, easily turned on? Even now he was holding my dick and squeezing it gently... he just can’t get enough, can he? But I’m responding. I’m getting hard, again. His hunger is whetting my appetite. The area around my lips was already tender from his beard stubble, and I knew his lips were growing tender, too. They were puffy and fuller. I let just the tip of my tongue slide across his lower lip and he sucked it inside his mouth and ground our faces to burning, stinging heat. Like sandpaper on rose petals our chins gnawed at throat and shoulders and again I was chewing on his swollen lips and my legs were pinning him to me and my hands were seeking the warm slick cleft of his ass, cupping the round buttocks and squeezing the flesh in iron grip. With one ass cheek gripped firmly I worked it in pulsing rhythm, pulling the flesh up and then down adding force as he rocked his body against me, pain was coming so close to pleasure it was hard to know the difference, his teeth on my shoulder sent shudders down my spine as surely as a feather touch would at another time, and the hard pinch of his knuckles on my nipple was driving a spasm in my groin. In one quick flip I had him face down again and pinned with my body and I got one of his arms behind him and pressed down on the other shoulder, his hips lifted and legs spread for my insertion and I plunged my engorged red cock in his ass with one fast deep hard thrust that burned the skin along the bottom of my dick and brought a choked back scream from him, all sensation became pleasure and bone deep and pain was easy. Sweat streamed off our bodies and ran in rivulets down my back and it pooled into quarter sized circles along the deep crevasse of his spine. With head buried in soaked pillow, he offered up his other wrist and I took it and locked both his arms high up his gleaming back, his moans were growling out with every hard thrust, now, grunts of , “Yeah “ were barely discernible in his growl. I held both wrists in one grip and freed the other hand to slap loud hard reports along his flank, then mine, sending icy hot waves racing through us, and his growls became a keening that floated up the scale and rang thin and almost silent, a wet finger on crystal wine glass that shattered into rasping sobs as he sank into quivering spasms, and I let my held back response loose to spurt triumph into his submission. I lay on his back and bit gently at the flesh that wrinkled up along the back of his neck. His arms, released, lay limp and deadened at his sides. Not four or five times in my life had that monster been released, it always shook me to the core. I reached the towel and lightly patted the sweat from his eyes and along his neck, slipped off him and down on my knees to the side of the bed while I toweled his body dry. He lay inert with eyes closed. I lit a cigarette and pressed it to his lips. He took some smoke and let it drift out his nose. I brought him the jug of orange juice and a clean warm wet cloth. He stirred enough to raise his head and cross his forearms under his cheek, then his eyes fluttered open at last. “Is this Heaven? ‘Cause I know I died!” His smile was drunken and crooked. The tension slowly eased out of me and I sank back to the floor by the bed. I couldn’t say I was sorry, he would know it for a lie. He reached out a hand and tugged at my hair, “Come on back by me, I’m cold.” I pulled the quilt up with me and spread it over us as he curled back into my shoulder. He circled my chest with his arms and I held him as a treasure to protect. He slept. The future could wait. I was too wise for long dreaming, he would break my heart, no doubt. But for now, just for now ... ah! We were not alone, today. For comments or a free copy of the full length story write Jackertoo@aol,com