Gay Erotic Stories

Grad School - Day 1 Walking toward the doors of the Student Union I experienced a hopeful rush of emotion over the pain of the last several weeks. Losing both a full time and a part time job to small town politics had only been the beginning of the month. After I was denied my teaching license and lost the Graduate Assistantship I had wanted to a person from out of state, I was just about as low as I could imagine being without a funeral to go to. Not being one to wallow, I headed to campus to finalize the enrollment process. After the inevitable day of running back and forth across campus, shuffling documents from one department to the other and filling out the same forms for three different people, I was finished. I could come back in a week and pick up my books. There was surprisingly little excitement, just hope. After resurrecting two different music programs in as many years, I was all out of excitement. Change is a dirty word in a small town, and good bands and choirs don't matter to anyone but the kids and a small group of parents. The same people have no problem cheering the band at the football game, and then destroying the band director at a school board meeting because he failed to realize that somebody's child was never supposed to get in trouble no matter what they did. Sigh.....enough of that. Small town teaching was not for me, so I had two years of grad school to remake myself. With all these thoughts swirling haphazardly through my head in the near empty halls, I looked up into the most beautiful brown eyes I had ever seen. He was shorter than me by several inches, with close-cropped brown hair in a casual, almost random set. His body was toned and graceful, but his eyes broke my heart. Their corners turned downward, and a slight puffiness in his cheeks, coupled with a relaxed jaw gave the impression of perpetual sadness. He was climbing a short set of stairs, only 3 high, and in my reverie I had nearly run him down. Our eyes locked, and in a split second recognition and even solace passed between us. Upbraiding myself for a ogling the young man, I counted patiently to 3, and then half turned to catch a glimpse of his retreating back and buttocks. What I saw instead nearly caused me to fall. His weight was on one foot, he having just turned. His stance was all relaxation and welcome. There was not a shred of cockiness in his muscles anywhere. Open curiosity shown on his face, and as I did a double take, he smiled, and everything in the world seemed just as it should be. Managing barely to turn a grasping at the stair rail for balance into a self-assured stance, I waited for him to say something. What would it be? Would he taunt me right there in the Student Union for being an obvious queer? Would he turn and walk away forever? "Tim. I'm Tim," he said, as he reached his hand out. "I'm Stephen," I managed, not too nervously, "I'm a grad student here." "I was just headin’ to the coffee shop. Wanna come?" "Sure." I breathed. And I followed a 5 1/2-foot angel to the campus hangout. I can't remember everything we talked about over the next two hours. Small things, mostly, unimportant in themselves, but priceless as a frame to hang a budding romance on. I can remember vividly, however, our first kiss. It was long, and clean, without the smallest hint of hunger in it. We were two men at a crossroads, sharing understanding and enjoying the camaraderie of our suffering in a languid, sensual purgatory. Our lovemaking was lavish and unhurried. My hands sculpted his image a thousand times that night. My body soaked up the warmth of him. Before morning, I was his in a way I did not think I could be. I can still feel his body pressed back against me fully, his hair on my shoulder, his neck in my mouth, my hands wrapped tightly around his torso, my cock buried deep in his body. I spilled my frustration into his roundness. I held him there, one hand on my thigh, the other running exquisite fingers through my tousled hair. I slept soundly and peacefully with him there in my arms, and the morning found him gone. A note on the nightstand said simply, "Peace, Tim." I held it, and felt it, and loved him.