Gay Erotic Stories

Christmas Present As John’s orgasm ebbed away, he collapsed against me and I wrapped my arms and my legs around his sweaty, shaking, muscled frame. Between us, the remnants of my ejaculation squelched over both his skin and mine and we grinned at each other like kids. Slowly he withdrew his long, glorious cock from my body, and I reluctantly let it go as we stretched out alongside each other in the dreamy haze of post-coital bliss. I had never felt so happy, so contented and fulfilled as when I had been joined with this man in frenzied, masculine sex, fucking and humping together to our simultaneous orgasm. As his eyes closed, his hands behind his head, I reached across to his chest, gently tweaking the large brown nipples and running my fingers through the thick fur of dark hair, still matted together by the sweat of our exertions, his body glistening with pinpricks of light from the moisture. I looked at him with eyes of …? What? What were my thoughts telling me? I let my mind drift, my memory churning over the incredible events of the last 24 hours. It had only been yesterday afternoon – Christmas Eve – when my life seemed so boring and empty … ************ It was that time of year again. The mad rush up to Christmas had left me exhausted as usual, the heat of summer sapping energy and fraying tempers as the entire city tried to finish off loose ends and tidy up its collective house before the break. Christmas in Sydney always seems to be the same. With temperatures rising as the full strength of summer descends, the people of this town work themselves into a frenzy which comes to an abrupt end around noon on Christmas Eve, and then Sydney effectively closes down for two weeks to lie around on the beach and recover from the year that was, welcome in the year that will be, and get into the summer party mode. I was just as guilty of partaking in the insanity as anyone else, but when the fervour died and I headed home that afternoon, it was a sense of loneliness rather than relief or relaxation, which crashed down onto me. Christmas is a time for family, and I had none to share it with. My father had died years ago, and my mother moved to Western Australia. I would ring her tomorrow, but there was no way I could afford to travel to the other side of the continent, and besides; her new husband tried to accept the fact that his step-son was gay, but I knew he just wasn’t comfortable when I was around. All my friends were spending the time with family and/or lovers, and I faced yet another Christmas on my own. I had always been a bit old-fashioned when it came to this time of year. Despite the commercialisation and hype, I still insisted on having a tree properly trimmed, and I invariably hummed along to the familiar carols. I had been raised a catholic, and the music of Christmas was special yet. As I looked at my empty home, and the flashing lights on the tree, complete with gifts underneath for friends I would see on Boxing Day or the day after, I knew I couldn’t stand being in one of the bars tonight, surrounded by men getting drunk, possibly going home with some guy who had no name, and whose telephone number would turn out to be disconnected or false. Getting out of the house seemed a priority, and I dressed in a pair of loose shorts and a light shirt. Now that the sun had set, the night was still, not a breath of air. The temperature was still in the low 30’s, and I guessed it would be hard to sleep tonight with the humidity, so I began to walk. The streets were full of revellers – office workers still partying, couples walking hand in hand in the warm night air, families out looking at the lights. My feet took me down Oxford Street and across the park to the Town Hall, without any conscious direction on my part. A crowd was gathering there, and my curiosity was aroused as I made my way through the throng to find out what was happening. Suddenly, a chorus of voices broke out in song. Beautiful harmonies blended with the simple melodies of favourite Christmas carols. Finally I managed to get close enough to see what was happening, and began to smile, my heart lifting. There, on the steps of the Town Hall, the Sydney Gay and Lesbian Choir was giving a free concert of Christmas carols. Where else but Sydney would you find that? I asked myself as I settled down to enjoy the show. The choir finished their performance to a thunderous applause and the crowd began to disperse around 11.30. I wandered off, hands in my pockets, still feeling lonely, yet somehow happy and peaceful. The clear sky was full of stars, shining through the lights of the city and I made my way along Park Street where it divided Hyde Park in two, stopping to watch the stragglers hurrying into St Mary’s Cathedral for midnight Mass. I looked, but turned away. The church had long ago rejected me, and I was in no mood to go where I wasn’t wanted. In the peace of the night, outside the massive chapel, I stood and wished – wished I had someone special with whom to share this special night. I ambled up the steps and back into the park. There was no sense of danger or insecurity, the park was instead a haven of quiet, its giant trees spreading their green arms out over the grass and the lights in the leaves twinkling and soothing. I headed for the War Memorial, intending to make my way back home, but as I trod my way across the lawns I noticed a dark lump against a tree trunk, and it appeared to be moving. I went to investigate, only to find a young man, early 20’s I guessed, sobbing. His arms were around his knees, his head down as he sat there and cried alone. Concerned for him, and maybe just a little inspired by the holiday, I leaned closer. “Are you okay?” I asked softly. He looked up at me, with surprise and fright in his eyes. “What do you want?” he asked quickly, his voice suddenly full of suspicion. “Nothing. I just heard you crying, and it’s such a beautiful night, I thought maybe you needed some help,” I replied, trying to breach his mental defences. He looked away, and began to sob again, and I knelt in front of him, my hand reaching for his arm, touching his skin gently. “Hey, what’s the matter, what’s happened?” I asked again. Through his tears, he stuttered out the words. “I told my parents I’m gay. I thought they’d accept me, being Christmas and all, but instead they threw me out of home. I’ve got nowhere to live, and no money, no anything…” again his body was wracked with misery. My heart ached for him. I had been so lucky with my folks, but knew of others whose families had abandoned them when they came out. “What’s your name?” I asked quietly. “Angelo,” he sobbed. “Come on, Angelo,” I said firmly. “You can’t spend Christmas in the park. I have a spare bed, and no one to share tomorrow with, so you and I will have to be each other’s family for the day, okay?” He looked up at me with a mixture of hope and uncertainty. “I promise I won’t hurt you. I’m not after anything – sex, or money, or anything else. I just hate to see a young guy so upset and alone tonight” I promised him, trying to sound both reassuring and sincere. He may have trusted me, or he may have simply reasoned that things couldn’t get any worse, but he agreed, and I helped him up, and together we walked to my home. Once inside, I sent him into the bathroom with a large fluffy towel to have a shower, while I quickly put together a simple meal for him. I sat with him and made sure he ate the food, then showed him into the spare room, telling him to sleep and promising him that he would be safe, that things would be better in the morning. He was asleep before I’d left the room, and I stood for a moment looking at his face. Washed and rested, he was beautiful. Not my type – I preferred men older than myself, more masculine. This boy was just that, a boy. Lost and alone, and in need of a helping hand without all the baggage and the demands the street can make on one such as him. Struck with a thought, I smiled as I closed the door on his room, and quickly found one of the presents under my tree, which had been destined for my friend Jim – a silk shirt, expensive and the latest in fashionable summer wear. Jim was roughly the same size as Angelo, and I removed the card stuck to the wrapping, found another and addressed it to the sleeping boy, placing it back under the tree, and falling into bed where I slept more soundly than I thought I would, given I had a stranger in my home. The next morning I woke early, to a cloudless sky and the promise of a typical, sweltering Christmas Day. Making my way out into the living room, I found Angelo sitting on the sofa, his legs drawn up before him, staring at the tree. “Good morning,” I called cheerfully. “Did you sleep well?” He nodded, and found his voice. “Thank you. I really appreciate you giving me a bed.” There was a hint of something in his tone I couldn’t place, but I ignored it. Making coffee and toast for both of us, I sat across from him, trying to understand how he must feel. When he finished eating, I got to my knees and found the present under the tree, picking it up and holding it out to him. “Happy Christmas!” I said, smiling at him. He looked at me, then at the gift in its shining paper, and back to me, the surprise widening his eyes. He seemed reluctant to take it, and I spoke again. “Go on, it’s yours. I hope you like it.” Overcoming his doubts, he took the parcel, and carefully undid the wrapping, lifting the shirt up before his eyes. Then he broke into a huge grin. “I love it!” he said enthusiastically. “But it must be expensive, and you don’t even know me.” “Well, it was originally intended for someone else, but I figure you needed something special, a lot more than he does. Enjoy!” After that, he chatted openly, pouring out his troubles to me, telling me how he had known for ages he was gay, and wanted his parents to know him, to share his life. How he had been devastated when they had ordered him out of the house, completely lost and with nothing to his name, and nowhere to go on the day before Christmas with everything closing down for the holidays. I told him he could stay with me for a few days, until he managed to get onto Social Security, arrange himself somewhere to live and emergency support. I explained to him that my family was too far away, and that I just wanted to help while he was down on his luck over the festive season. His face came alive as he relaxed and allowed himself to enjoy the morning, and to believe that his life wasn’t over. I set about making us a real Aussie Christmas lunch while he sat and talked. A platter of cold cuts – chicken, ham, turkey meat - was easy to throw together, and I placed it beside a large bowl of cooked prawns, a tossed salad and a tray of fruit; mango, pineapple, peaches and cherries. Summoning him to the bench to fill his plate, I saw the look of happiness in his eyes, and smiled to myself. I hadn’t felt so happy, so good, on Christmas Day in years. After we had eaten, I stretched out on the sofa, relaxing as Angelo insisted on me letting him wash the dishes. My eyes were closed, and I felt I could easily fall asleep after our feast. I heard an unexpected cough, close by me. Looking up quickly, I sat bolt upright in surprise. He was standing beside the lounge, looking at me with large eyes and an uncomfortable expression, naked and shivering, despite the heat of the day. “Wha … ?” I gasped, staring at his face. “I’m ready to pay for my keep,” he said simply. “Would you like me to suck you off, or what? Just tell me what you want.” The words were spoken quietly, mechanically. He was a different boy from the one I had enjoyed the morning with. “Angelo,” I questioned. “I didn’t ask for anything like this.” I tried to keep the astonishment and the irritation from my voice. “I’m not stupid,” he answered. “I know how the world works. And I’m ready to pay the price, just tell me what you want me to do.” My heart ached for the young man in front of me, determined to make his way, the only way he could see available to him at the moment. Softly, gently, I said to him, “I want you to put your clothes back on, and keep enjoying Christmas as my friend. I don’t want sex with you, I just want what you want – company.” With a look of misery at his mistake, he slowly dressed again. Sitting up, I looked at him carefully. “Angelo,” I began gently. “Please understand. I am very flattered by your offer. You’re a very attractive man, and I’m sure you’ll be a wonderful lover for the right guy. But I don’t want you to think you have to repay me, whether it’s with sex, or anything else. Just think of today as my Christmas present to you. I’ve enjoyed this year’s holiday more than any other for a long while, because I’ve had the chance to give something to someone who needed it, and in return, I’ve had someone special to share the day with.” He began to smile as I spoke, and to relax again. “Besides,” I went on, “I have to confess that I would be much more interested physically if you were about 15 years older, dark and covered in hair. Now THAT’s my kinda man!” We shared a laugh at my comment, and I saw the apprehension leave his face again. He looked thoughtful for a while after that, then he stammered a little, trying to find words. I looked to him, curiosity on my face. “I was wondering if you would do me another favour?” he finally asked. “Sure,” I smiled back. “What is it?” “Come to church with me?” I must have looked quite a sight at that. The last thing I could have imagined he would ask. My mouth hung open, and I was lost for words for several minutes. Finally I regained my composure. “I don’t think so, Angelo,” I said, slowly. “I don’t think I would feel comfortable. Churches and me – not a good mix. The Church says I’m bad, simply because I’m gay. Fine, that’s their opinion. So I just don’t go to church.” He looked at me, pleadingly. “I understand that, but it would really mean a lot to me. It is Christmas after all. You’ve done so much to make this a good Christmas for me, and if you come to church with me, maybe I can do something for you.” I was curious at this last comment, but didn’t dwell on it. It was the look on his face that convinced me, the pleading in his eyes, and the delight when I acceded to his request and overcame my own reluctance. This time he took the lead, walking us to a tiny church hidden away in a quiet street that I had never seen before. As we entered the building I felt a sense of tranquility and hope radiate from the place. It was dim inside, candles smoking on the altar but not a person around. Almost by instinct I blessed myself and sat in the back pew, but Angelo walked by me and kept going, right to the front and up the steps to the altar itself. He leaned forward and kissed the stone table as I squirmed uncomfortably, wondering what we would say if someone came in. Angelo turned around and began to walk back down the aisle toward me. I swore his face had taken on a glow, and I looked back to see if the sun wasn’t somehow shining through the door and onto his head. As he got closer, his smile lit up, and the light around him grew stronger, as if it were coming from within him. He came to me, smiled, and spoke in a voice that seemed full of purpose and power. “I’m sorry to have misled you,” he said, as I watched in amazement. “My parents did disown me, but that was many years before you were born. I was left alone, homeless, and wandered the streets until I was beaten up, and died from my injuries. Every year since then, I have been sent back on the night before Christmas, my mission to find a genuine person who would help me on that special night.” I looked around, thinking I must be having some kind of a dream, but he drew my face back to his and went on. “You gave me help and friendship when I needed it. You took me in, cared for me, gave me joy and happiness on the most important day of the year, and did not expect any payment for your kindness. You even agreed to come here, to this holy place, when you didn’t want to, because doing so would please me, without any thought of reward for yourself.” As he spoke, the world seemed to stop. There was a presence in that church, a feeling of something wonderful and all knowing, and I sat and listened, in shocked silence. “Let me assure you that God looks upon you and is pleased. He loves you for what you are, a caring, generous man. It is not God, but those who claim to speak in His name without understanding true love, which have shut you out. God will reward you in Heaven.” He smiled at me then, and reached to me, his fingers brushing my arm in a gentle touch. Then he grinned widely. “But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have pleasure and happiness on Earth as well!” With that, he disappeared right before my eyes. One second he was there, and then he was gone. I looked around, confused and amazed, but not afraid at all. After a few minutes, I stood up, marshalled my thoughts, and stepped back out of the church into the real world. As I did, I saw a man coming up the steps toward me. He seemed uncertain, shy perhaps, and peered into the darkened chapel without entering. I watched him curiously, admiring him. He was well built and well dressed, a large strong man with tanned skin and wide shoulders, a narrow waist and an inviting groin. I felt the urges of my natural instincts growing as I feasted my eyes on him. He saw me looking and coughed uncomfortably, mistaking my stare. “Uh, I don’t fit in well with church people,” he said quietly, by way of explanation. I smiled at him. “It’s not the people you have to fit in with,” I said. “God loves you, despite what men of the Church might say.” He looked at me quickly, startled at my words. I wondered myself at what I had said. His eyes were travelling over me, sizing me up, and I could tell he liked what he saw. “Listen, mate,” he said quickly as I started to walk away. “I only want to have a few minutes to myself inside. But if you can wait, I’d love to buy you a coffee ..?” My heart leapt at the offer. He was gorgeous. “You’re on!” I said, smiling at him. I leaned against the doorpost as he walked inside. He was true to his word, only a matter of minutes before he came back again, grinning from ear to ear when he saw I was waiting for him. “Thanks for waiting,” he said to me eagerly. “I’m John.” He held out his hand. “Ian,” I responded, shaking his hand. Smiling at each other, we walked to a café and ordered coffees. He was stunning, and I was very attracted to him. Over the next couple of hours we chatted easily. It was as if we had known each other for years, an instant rapport between us, so it was the most natural thing in the world for us to end up at my home, in bed together, kissing fervently as we stripped each other’s clothes away. Beneath the light shirt his chest was covered in a mat of dark hair, which accentuated the chiselled lines of his pecs and the taut indentations of his six-pack abs. I ran my hand through the fuzz and played with his hard dark nipples as his fingers scraped across the rounded firm flesh of my butt cheeks. Suddenly the time for talking was gone, and we shared an urgent need as we groped at each other, aching with the passion of long buried desire. I rolled onto my back, pulling him along with me so that his large frame was on top of me, his body covering mine and pressing down against my tingling skin. I spread my legs, lifting my knees and drawing him against me where his hard, leaking cock naturally pressed against the twitching hole of my anus. I reached toward the bedside drawer, and his hand went with mine, retrieving a tube of lubricant which he smeared over the point where his prong nudged at my arse, greasing us both. He looked down into my eyes, asking a silent question, and I nodded a response, smiling at him, and lifting my legs to his back, using my limbs as leverage to draw him to myself. As the head of his meat pressed into my ring of muscle, I pushed back at him, willing myself to relax and accept the fleshy pole at my entrance. With a groan of lusty need he pressed forward and I gasped at the moment of pain as he penetrated me, then ached with pleasure as his corona was swallowed up by my sphincter and his throbbing shaft lodged within my body. For a second or two we stayed there, adjusting to our coupling, and then he began to slide slowly, sensuously into me. A long, gradual insertion as his thick rod forced its way between my muscles and into my chute. I moaned with pleasure as his prick nudged against and then scraped across my prostate, clenching around him and urging him on. After what felt like hours (I lost all track of time), the thick hair of his pubic region brushed my cheeks, his testicles crushing between us as he filled me completely and buried himself to the hilt in my rectum. With a long sigh of delight, he stopped his motion and smiled down at me. I grinned back and clamped my arse around him, flexing the ravaged muscles of my hole and revelling in the delight of his filling. And then he began to move. Pulling back a little before pushing forward again, then repeating the motion, he slid his long hard prong in and out of me in firm sensual strokes, finding a rhythm as he settled into a prolonged lovemaking. I quickly matched him, working my arse with his movements, gripping at him as he pulled back, pushing forward and opening myself to his inward thrusts. My nerves raced, my skin tingled with the delight of him, my entire body concentrated on the strong tower of muscle plunging through my sphincter and into my gut. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, his speed increased as we joined together in pure pleasure. He was the most attentive lover I had even known, and while he must have been humping at me for hours, I wanted him never to stop. As his tempo grew, so did the fervour with which we joined. I gripped at him harder and harder, and he shoved himself into me deeper and deeper. Our humping bodies, connected and heaving sweated and shook with the force of our fucking. Gasps of desire escaped from both of us, joining with the creaking of the bed and the slurping wet sounds of his cock ramming into my cavern. We rocked together, rutting like the lusty animals we were, his male sword stabbing into my moist scabbard as he impaled me upon his weapon. We formed a single, shuddering entity as we raced each other toward a crescendo, both trying unsuccessfully to hold back the tide of passion engulfing us. When I knew I could resist no longer, I gasped out a warning to him. His response was simply to pound himself even harder into me, and as I felt my nuts contract, his cock swelled within me. One final, all-powerful thrust shoved his manhood deep inside me and held it there, as my cock exploded, splattering gobs of creamy liquid across my stomach and onto his chest and arms. I felt him shudder, his body twitching as he filled my bowel with his essence, a searing white river of cum flowing from his cock and deposited deep inside me. My anus clenched with each spasm of my climax, clamping hard around his shaft as I emptied my load of manjuice, my mind swirling in a haze of abandonned lust. As John’s orgasm ebbed away, he collapsed against me and I wrapped my arms and my legs around his sweaty, shaking, muscled frame. Between us, the remnants of my ejaculation squelched over both his skin and mine and we grinned at each other like kids. Slowly he withdrew his long, glorious cock from my body, and I reluctantly let it go as we stretched out alongside each other in the dreamy haze of post-coital bliss. I had never felt so happy, so contented and fulfilled as when I had been joined with this man in frenzied, masculine sex, fucking and humping together to our simultaneous orgasm. As his eyes closed, his hands behind his head, I reached across to his chest, gently tweaking the large brown nipples and running my fingers through the thick fur of dark hair, still matted together by the sweat of our exertions, his body glistening with pinpricks of light from the moisture. I looked at him with eyes of …? What? Could this be (gulp) love? I let my mind drift, my memory churning over the incredible events of the last 24 hours. It had only been yesterday afternoon – Christmas Eve – when my life seemed so boring and empty … ******* Coming back out of my reverie, I looked long and tenderly at the beautiful body beside me. There was something special about this man, something more wonderful about his loving me than I had ever experienced before. My fingers lazily traced the line of his hair from his navel to his groin, playing along the now soft tube of his masculinity and rubbing over his balls, eliciting a soft moan from him, and a smile. I lifted myself up onto one elbow to drink in the sight of his body, and wondered to myself if he was ‘the one’, if I might have finally found my man. Yet I couldn’t help feeling a little strange about meeting him so soon after the amazing events in the church. As I played with him, he opened his eyes and smiled at me. There was a question there, but he said nothing. I thought again about how we had met, how he seemed reluctant to enter the chapel. In a quiet voice, I raised the subject once more. “So, if you don’t like churches, then why were you so determined to go inside that one?” I asked, curious. He looked at me long and hard. “It’s a little ‘ritual’ I have. Every year on Christmas, I go to that church, just to look inside. Someone I met years ago told me that one year, on Christmas Day, something would happen to me at that church that would change my life. It sounds weird I know, but he was very persuasive, and that was the last place I saw him.” John shrugged as he trailed off, yet his eyes were fixed on my face. “What about you? You don’t look like the preacher type, yet you sure sounded like one outside the church.” I started at that, wondered what I could tell this man. I didn’t want to scare him away, didn’t want him to think I was mad. Choosing my words carefully, I said, “I went there with a friend, as a favour to him. He said to me what I said to you, about God and the people who run the Church.” John looked at me hard, realisation dawning on his face. Then he broke into a smile, and said one word. “Angelo.” My mouth fell open and I looked at him slack jawed. The truth crashed over me like a wave, and I grinned back at him. “Happy Christmas,” I said. My lover nestled into my arms, his hands on my chest. “Happy Christmas, my man,” he replied. The End. Compliments, complaints or comments? Contact me at iainlthr@hotmail.com