Gay Erotic Stories

So there I am, in Grant Park, Chicago, enjoying the sun on a warm afternoon in May. Sunning shirtless in a pair of red Nike shorts, I turn up my radio a little when I hear it start to play Sting's "We'll Be Together." I put my head back down on my blanket when I hear, "Good tune." I look up to see a well-built blond sitting on a nearby park bench, also shirtless, in khaki shorts and a blue Abercrombie baseball cap. He's wearing sunglasses but I'd know that grin anywhere. No, I think. It can't be him. I play it cool. "You like Sting?" I ask. "Oh, yeah," he replies, still smiling, "he's awesome." I smile back, and return my head to my crossed arms. From this position on my stomach I can keep my head turned in his direction without looking like I'm staring. "I love his music," I say, eager to keep the conversation going. "I've got just about all of his CDs." "Same here," the blond replies. "They're great for romantic evenings." Okay, that was enough of his voice. It WAS him. Matt Damon was sitting on a park bench in MY hometown, talking to ME! I couldn't resist it anymore. I sat up. My heart was in my throat. I could barely stammer, "Uh, I hope you don't mind me asking this, but...uh, are you..." Grinning wider, he replied, "Yeah. I'm Matt. Who are you?" I swallowed hard. No fucking way was Matt Damon asking my name! "I'm John," I replied, as cool as I could manage. "Hey, man, I love your movies. 'Good Will Hunting' was awesome. I've got it on DVD...I must have watched it six times." He smiles and thanks me. "So what are you doing in Chicago?" I ask. "Scoping out locations," he replied. "Ben and I are writing a new movie...a love story about a girl and a guy in college. And we think we want it to take place in Chicago. Are you from here?" I replied yes. "Well," he said, "I don't suppose you'd mind showing me around a little? If you're not too busy, of course." Alright, John, take a deep breath. Matt Damon is asking YOU to show him around the city! I managed to say "I'd love to" without my voice cracking. We agreed to meet in the same spot in two hours after we both showered and changed. Leaving the park I couldn't help thinking Sting singing "We'll Be Together" was a bit prophetic. I was sure that it was all going to be my imagination, or at least I expected him to blow me off, but two hours later, there he was, grinning that mile-wide smile at me, adorably dressed in jeans, a plaid oxford, and brown Dr. Martens shoes. By coincidence, my outfit was different only in the color of the shirt. Matt smiled and said, "Guess we have the same taste in clothes." I said, "Yeah, but you look just a little better in them." He grinned and slugged me on the arm. "Get outta here," he said. "Now, what are we gonna see?" I showed him all around the downtown shopping area, Old Town, and the heart of Lincoln Park. Soon we were near the Belmont Rocks and, subsequently, near my apartment. By this time it was near 8:00 and starting to get dark. He thanked me for showing him around and asked if he could buy me dinner. I said sure, but I wanted to stop at home and check my messages. He said he'd stop off at home with me. As I turned the key in my door, I couldn't believe that I was bringing Matt Damon into my apartment. Of course I couldn't be tacky and ask to take his picture but I knew my friends would never believe it. There were messages from two friends but nothing urgent. I switched the answering machine back on and asked him if he was ready. He was standing near my desk, looking at the poster that hung over it of porn star Ryan Idol barely concealing an erection in a tiny red Speedo. Shit! Now he knew I was gay...what if he didn't want to have dinner with me now? "Oh, look, uh..." I stammered. I was SO embarrassed. "That's...uh..." Matt turned toward me. "You're gay?" he asked. He didn't seem angry or nervous. I sighed. "Yeah," I replied. "Is that alright?" There came that grin again. "Alright?" he asked. "Hey, man, you don't owe me any explanations about anything. Besides, I know lots of gay guys in Hollywood. It's all good." I exhaled, relieved. "In fact," he continued, taking a step closer, "I've been with a guy before." No way, this was NOT happening! Was it? "Really?" I asked, barely concealing the most intense nervous feeling I have ever felt in my life. "Yeah," he replied, taking another step closer, "I don't really even consider myself bisexual...just experimental, if the guy's hot enough. You know what John?" "What?" I whispered. Now he was right in front of me. He took my face in his hands. "You're more than hot enough." Before I even knew what was happening, those full lips were pressed against mine, his gorgeous, straight blond hair was in my fingers, and Matt Damon's tongue was in my mouth. MATT DAMON'S TONGUE IN MY MOUTH! I had masturbated to this image countless times. He took his mouth off mine, looked deep into my eyes and said, "Would you like to show me your bed?" SHIT! This was too much. "Yeah," I said, softly, "I'd love to." A smile crept over his face. "You got any Sting we can put on?" I found a CD I had a friend at a recording studio make for me, a custom-made collection of Sting's most sensual, mood-setting songs: "It's Probably Me," "Brought to My Senses," "Mad about You," and so forth; over an hour of music. Hoping for the best I pushed "repeat" on the CD player so it would play again if necessary. Matt and I laid on the bed and made out passionately at first, content to kiss and grope each other through our clothing. By the time Sting got to "Sister Moon," however, the time had come. The sexy saxophone solo at the beginning of the song was the perfect backdrop for Matt Damon to start unbuttoning my shirt, taking it off, sliding my T-shirt over my head, and taking down my jeans. I did the same to him and we continued rolling around in our boxers. (We both laughed when we realized even our boxers were the same...Abercrombie, of course.) He kissed my chest and moaned. "Mmm...you're so hairy...I love that." Soon both our boxers were on the floor, and while it seemed like there was no way it could really be happening, Matt Damon had my erect dick in his mouth and he sucked it more sweetly and gently than it's ever been sucked. Halfway through his performance I got into a position to taste him as well; he had a good seven inches on him with a decent thickness. As I sucked his cock lovingly I played with his large, hairy balls. He moaned audibly. He took my dick out of his mouth to tell me, "You've got a great cock, John...how about a closer look at that hot ass I noticed in your jeans?" On my stomach, I turned my head around to see the unreal sight of Matt Damon's gorgeous blond locks falling over my ass cheeks as his tongue probed my asshole. Now I was the one moaning; my favorite oral activity being performed by the hottest guy in the world was almost too much for me. Soon I wanted a turn at his hole as well, and eagerly licked and lapped at his pink, quivering manhole. To my near disbelief, he said, softly, "John, that feels so good...but I think your cock would feel better." On his back he lifted his knees to his chest. After lubing up my condom-covered hard-on I slowly slid inside Matt's ass. He moaned, eyes closed, and reached up to put a hand behind my neck. "Commere, you fuckin' stud," he whispered, pulling my face to his. My tongue was buried in his throat as my cock drove in and out of his ass. His hard cock throbbed against both of our stomachs. After about fifteen minutes I was damn close to coming, but didn't want to. I stopped. "What's the matter?" Matt asked, looking concerned. "Nothing," I replied, "I want to save my load for when you fuck me." He grinned and said, "I like the way you think." I slid out of him and we traded positions. I panicked, however, when I realized I had used the last condom in my apartment. FUCK! Well, there goes that. Matt looked thoughtful. "Are you clean?" he asked. "Yeah, I am," I replied. His eyes held my gaze. "Man, I swear, I am. What about you?" "Yeah," he replied. "How many times have you had unsafe sex?" I asked. "A couple," he admitted, "but the only two times I had sex with guys, I was the top, and it was safe." I smiled and said, "Then get inside me already." With a close-up view of the gorgeous smile I had only seen on movie screens and television, I felt the hot, sweet pressure of Matt Damon's cock being pushed inside me while Sting serenaded us with "Someone to Watch Over Me." Matt started out slow, kissing me tenderly, fucking me gently. Six or seven minutes into it he picked up speed, gnawing on my neck and nipples. Around the twelve-minute mark he was a speeding train racing towards its destination. His balls slapped against my ass cheeks as we both moaned in pleasure. Miraculously, for the first time in my life, I felt an amazing sensation in my cock without touching it. I knew what was happening. "Oh, God, Matt...oh, God..." And for the first time, I came without touching myself, the force of Matt Damon's cock plowing my ass causing me to shoot hot, thick cum all over my hairy pecs. Matt loved this. "Aw, fuck, man," he grunted, "that's so fuckin hot...oh, FUCK..." With my ankles in his hands, he thrusted like mad and with a load moan and a beautiful look of ecstacy on his face, shot stream after stream of warm cum up inside my ass. Gently, he laid down on me and we caught our breath, the sweat on our chests meshing together. His head was nestled in my shoulder. Before I knew it, it was 2 a.m. and Sting was still singing. Matt was sleeping with his arms around me and his head on my chest. He woke up, smiled, and kissed me. "I should probably get back to the hotel," he said. Getting dressed, he smirked and said, "I have a feeling the movie is definitely going to take place in Chicago." I smiled back. "You think?" "Oh yeah," he said, "and I know just who I'm going to call when I come back here." He stood up and drew me to him. His arms around my waist, he said softly, smiling, "Because then I'm REALLY going to take you to dinner." He gave me a long, tender kiss. I opened the door for him and said, "Wait a minute." I went over to the CD player, took out my Sting compilation, put it in its case, and handed it to him, with my phone number written on the booklet. "Here," I said, "a little keepsake." "Are you sure?" he asked. "Yeah, I've got another one," I replied. "And I want you to have it." He smiled again and gave me one more kiss. "I'll definitely have good memories listening to this. I'll call you." I laughed. "Yeah, sure, you will." He laughed too. "Oh, you think I could get fucked like that and not want more?" We both laughed. One more passionate kiss, one more of those gorgeous grins, and Matt Damon walked out of my apartment. From then on, I wouldn't watch one of his movies -or listen to Sting- the same way again.