Gay Erotic Stories

I didn’t set out to be a hustler. I wouldn’t have know how, back then. I could sucker in a weaker pool player, you know, take him for twenty. I could listen to old war stories when some guy bought the beer, and I could charm whoever had a car into giving me a lift. Guess I just never though about selling sex. My first time was an accident. Salvatore, the bartender, raised his voice above the juke whine of bluegrass blues, “Hey, anybody driving out 78west?” I just told him I hitched into town and wondered if he knew anybody going home in my direction. “Uh.. yeah, I’m headed that way.” The guy looked ashamed to admit it. He wasn’t much older than me but he already had that middle age sadness, that slump. He tried a nervous smile in my direction, “You need a ride?” “Well, I’d damn sure appreciate it. Name’s Travis.” I stuck out my hand and he took it gently for a second or two before letting it slip away. “ My name is Paul. I live up close to county line, is that far enough?” He edged a hip onto the stool next to me. He touched his knee to my thigh but pulled away quickly, alarm showed in his eyes. “Sorry.” And he bought me a beer. Damn! He was too nice right away. I kept checking out his face, looking for any sign of a secret maniac. He didn’t look crazy, just looked lonely and shy. I caught Sal’s eye and lifted a brow, he just grinned. Paul was wearing a wedding band, a light color suit and a wrinkled white shirt. Bifocal glasses gave him a safe and harmless look. I relaxed. He was just looking for company on the long drive home. I wondered how much he had to drink, maybe I should offer to drive. “Hey, thanks for the beer, Paul. I’ll have to owe you, I’m pretty much tapped out, tonight.” “No, don’t worry about it. Maybe you can do me a favor sometime, who knows?” and his eyes had a curious liviness, a humor I hadn’t seen before. “Never know when I might need a favor.” and he broke into a big smile like I should know what the hell he meant. So I smiled back. “Just name it, my friend! Anytime.” My boots were feeling like they was shrinking and my back ached, but a few minutes with Paul and I really liked the guy. He was quiet but smart and funny in a crisp, dry way. But the best thing was how he made me feel like a long time friend, real easy and comfortable. He was a nice guy, just a little sad. He had a tiny Japanese truckette, kinda beige. He leaned across me to double check the door on my side. “That side don’t always close good, better not lean on it.” It felt so natural, I almost didn’t register his other hand, braced on my thigh, till it lingered just a minute too long. His fingertips were against my basket. I knew, then, sure. But he was a nice guy and I needed this ride home, so I smiled at him, gave him my “charm” smile, dimples and all. “I hoped you were an understanding man, you don’t mind?” and his finger tips stroked lightly across my crotch. “Nawh, man. It’s okay. But we better get going, don’t want Sal coming over to see what’s happening.” Sal was unlocking his car near by, he grinned at me and threw up his hand. Paul cranked up and we rolled out into the dark road. I wondered why I didn’t mind. Usually I slide easily out of those situations, not wanting to get anybody upset about it, no rejection, just not much comfortable with it. I jerked off with my buddies, back in high school. Didn’t everybody? I had a couple of memories I seldom looked at, nights when it had got a little out of hand. There was even a couple of Navy weekends I wouldn’t never talk about—even at parties. But with marriage and everything that come after, hell, I just thought we all outgrew that stuff, you know? I steered clear of the lisping faggots because they embarrassed me, when I was sober. Was I drunk, now? I didn’t think so. Just that Paul was a cool guy, I liked him. So maybe he wanted to play like we was kids, again, so what? What if he pulls off into a side road and wants to touch it some more? Would I let him? Probably, it’d be easier than saying no, friendlier, and I was feeling friendly. He grinned at me in the dash lights, “What is it? You staring at me?” “Didn’t mean to, just watching your face. You look happier than when we was in Sal’s. You look younger when you smile, you know?” He reached over and patted my denim thigh. “You make me happy. You’re a real gentleman. Lot’s of men get angry when they realize I like them.” I covered his hand with mine and pulled it slowly onto the soft bulge of my fly. He kneaded the mound of flesh gently then pulled his hand away. “That’s okay, I know you’re straight. You don’t owe me anything.” I was a little hurt. I was offering him a gift and he didn’t want it? What am I, too rough? Too plain for him? “We’re coming up on the bridge, there’s a road down the bank just the other side. Pull off and let me drain some of this beer, okay?” “The park by the river? I know the place.” He killed the headlights and the night was close and black. I opened my door and a little dim map light came on. I stepped out and turned back toward the truck, watched Paul as he watched me open my belt, pop the button. The brass zipper purred loud in the stillness. I was always proud of my dick. Even soft, it had a massive heavy length and the girth of a soda bottle. I pulled down the front of my briefs and let it flop out, it bounced in the pale dim glow. I must have pissed a gallon. It gushed out in a steamy golden stream big as a pencil, scouring the ground just below the hinge of the door. Paul stared, his lips slightly apart. He slid over to the center of the bench seat, he whispered, “God, it’s a monster!” I felt a tickle of laughter build in my chest. Hell, maybe he does want it after all? When I shook off the last few drops I kept shaking it, feeling the growing pleasure of it’s relief from a full bladder. The air was cool, my hand was warm, Paul was appreciating me, he wanted my dick, it was a nice feeling. My dick began to swell with the pleasure, watching Paul’s face increased that pleasure and it got harder, and bigger. I was stroking a full bone and he was rapt with a sheen of sweat growing across his face. I pushed jeans and shorts down to my knees and climbed back in the truck. When I pulled the door closed the glow went out and it was pitch black. “Suck it.” His hands found me in the dark and I found his head, pressed him down, pushed up to him with tense hips. Was it for him or for me? Was I lonely, too? I knew the answer to that one, passed it up. Just pulled him closer, groaned louder, pulled his glasses from between us and tossed them to the dash, lifted my shirt to his probing hands, fondled his face, his hair, groaned louder and pitched up against his mouth in hot moaning need. His fingers found my nipples, suddenly tender and electric, his palms slid over skittish ribs, massaged sore kidneys, gripped my butt with steel clamp grip and I shot a bolt of spewing release that shook my spine, arched me off the seat and left me gasping and coughing. He stayed with his task. I slowly relaxed and went limp, soft, pulled him up to my chest and held him close. His lips on my neck were shy and tentative. I held the sides of his face and brought his kiss to my mouth, murmured my pleasure into him and tasted it return. My hand slid down to his fly and slipped inside the open zipper, found a wet and soft flesh that proved his satisfaction. I squeezed it, and wiped my hand on his shorts. Clothes rearranged and prim, we smoked a cigarette and sat easy, small talk flowed quiet, I felt the edges of sleep. He drove the rest of the way with his hand on my thigh and my hand on his. The touch was deeply intimate and comforting. When he drove away I sat on the porch a few minutes, listening to dogs bark a mile away. Undressing for bed I found the fifty dollar bill tucked into my shirt pocket, it hurt, for a while. comment to Donnie469@aol.com , please.