Gay Erotic Stories

I grew up riding broncs. My family had a big ranch in Wyoming, and we used to break the horses for extra cash. Well, my daddy's drinking split up the family, and I was left fending for myself by the time I was 17. I followed the circuit, and usually picked up a place to stay and maybe even some drinking money by keeping my ass on a bronc two seconds longer than the guy before me. Girls were always around; one night I fucked three girls in a row while the other two watched. Any guy in a hat and boots looked pretty good. Well, let me tell you, one night in Cheyenne that just about changed my opinion on sex forever. I'd gotten beat. I mean I'd gotten torn up and spit out. I'd drawn Rollover and I guess he did. Jesus Christ, this old horse tore me to pieces. He had me swallowing rodeo dirt faster than a jealous husband catching you fucking his mistress. I looked up just in time to roll under the fence before Rollover decided he was going to pound the shit out of me twice. My lips were bleeding, by back was screwed up, and my face was swelling to beat all hell. I hobbled back to the camper looking for anything cold to wash off my face and keep my lips from growing to monster-like proportions. That's when I heard a knock at my trailer door. First thing I saw was his jaw--stuck out real square and hard--couldn't see his eyes because they was underneath a low brow Cowboy hat, bent in front just the way it has to be when you spend the day riding into the sun. He said, "Saw you get pretty beat up. You need any help?" "No. I imagine I can manage. But, you know where you can get me a little bit of ice, I'd appreciate it." He disappeared with barely a nod. Wasn't ten minutes later he was back with a ziplock full of ice cubes. I was feeling pretty sore here and about to puke. I don't think I passed out, but next thing I know, he's sitting next to me on my bed holding ice to edges of my lips. He had a shot glass in his hand and said, "Here, give it a whirl. You can't feel much worse than you do now." "Whew! Tequila! Shit, man, you're trying to kill me!" He just smiled and took off his hat. His hair was long enough to hang down in his face and he had to sweep it back. I found myself looking into the gingerale eyes. He had little dimples on each side of his face--I remember it because they seemed so distinct and set off from the muscles in his neck and the hard lines of a working face. His voice was soft, but deep--a little raspy. "I'm not trying to kill you, Pete. I'm just taking care of you." "How'd you know my name is Pete?" "You ride broncs; it's in the program." "Oh, yeah, that was stupid." "No." I'll tell you from the beginning that I've never even thought about being with another guy. My whole life has been pretty little girls that want to suck my dick and have my babies. So you got to believe me that I was pretty weirded out when I felt my dick start to thicken looking at this guy's dimples. Those bubbly eyes of his locked on to mine and he blushed. By God, I was rock hard. I grabbed a hold of his face and landed my swollen lips right on his about to speak mouth. I don't know who was taking aback more, me or him, but his dimples got deeper and my dick got harder, and i knew that this was going to be an evening. If anybody is interested in me finishing this story, you'll have to email me at: cgtjr@yahoo.com