Gay Erotic Stories

There is a downside to this job, however. I have no place to call home. I have a condo in D.C. with no furniture except a bed and a few unpacked moving boxes. Besides, there’s no one to come home to. I had a boyfriend once – Adam – but he grew tired of the extremely long-distance relationship. Who could blame him?

Since Adam broke up with me, I haven’t even attempted to get into a serious relationship. Don’t get me wrong; I’ve had more than my fair share of one-night stands and even a few “long-term” hook-ups. I’m not necessarily proud of my sluttish ways, but I won’t apologize for satisfying my healthy sexual appetite. I’m weak when it comes to good-looking men and I’ve had no problems attracting them.

With a former Brazilian model for a mother and sex symbol Anglo-American actor as a father, I have pretty good genes. I’ve been told that I have an “exotic” look. In America, I guess that means a look unlike anything you’d find in a J. Crew catalog – and you’d be hard-pressed to find anyone who looks like me in there. Someone with my sandy-blond wavy hair, hazel eyes, caramel-colored skin and chiseled features might be more easily found in a Calvin Klein ad – if they were slumming that is. I’ve also been told that I’m modest to the point of being self-deprecating. I don’t think I’m ugly, I just don’t put as much importance or faith in my looks as everyone else seems to.

Most of the time, I travel with Jake. He’s by far the best staff writer we have, so it only made sense that he would work with the best photographer. Jake’s a pretty good-looking guy and has also had his fair share of sexual escapades. He’s painfully straight, but he’s always eager to learn about different cultures--even that of gay men. I guess that’s what makes him so great at what he does.

As a result, we often trade stories about whom we fucked the night before. During one such session, he showed me a journal that he keeps with the names of the women he’s been with, a brief description of each along with a rating of their sexual prowess. It was crass, I know, but his descriptions were always amusing and his rating system was usually comically subjective. We were sitting outside a café in London one day when he was jotting down some details on the previous night’s victim, Kylie.

“What’s the rating on this one?” I asked.

“I’m giving her a 9 for technique, but she only gets a 4 for originality.”

“So she was excellent at being derivative, right?”

“Yeah! Mind if I use that?”

“No, not at all,” I answered with a chuckle. “But, don’t you think you’re being a little unfair? It’s hard to find something original when you’ve done just about everything with just about everyone.”

“Not everything,” he said teasingly, throwing a wink my way. “Besides, you have some nerve! I’ve seen you dragging a different guy away from the bar every night this week!”

“Yeah, well at least I don’t write their names down in a book.”

“Maybe you should…at least the good ones. That way, you’ll remember to look them up the next time you’re in their town.”

At first, I laughed at the absurdity of his suggestion, but later that night, after a dismal night at the bar, I found myself doing exactly that. I only wrote down the names of the guys who popped into my head right away. I figured everybody else was too mediocre to remember. When I finished the list, I noticed a strange pattern: there were exactly 26 names and each one started with a different letter of the alphabet.

“That’s pretty wild!” Jake said when I showed him the list. “This is a cool concept for a book, ya know?”

“Yeah right,” I replied, snatching the list from his hand.

“No, dude, seriously. You should write a book about these guys. I’ll even help you if you want. It’ll be great! I can see it now, America’s next bestseller, ‘The Alphabet Lovers.’ Sounds like a Harlequin Romance, doesn’t it?”

I can always count on Jake coming up with some outrageous ideas and most of the time he thought of things just to be silly. But he was dead serious about this one – and bursting with enthusiasm. His zealousness must have been contagious, because by the time I finished my cup of coffee we were hashing out the details for the first chapter. We worked late into the night, forgetting about satisfying our libidos for the moment. And so began the weaving of the tale of the “Alphabet Lovers.”