Gay Erotic Stories

1.GOING

People came here to disappear. Or so it's been said. Marc walked into the encroaching shadows, beyond the unlit fireplace with the marble mantel, past two chairs of polished black walnut facing each other like damask upholstered sentries before the French doors that opened out to the vast inner courtyard - the heart of this old house--rr rather, this old hotel. There, he observed what light remained of the day steadily climbing up the walls of exposed brick and beyond them the sky slowly turning from a warm orange to somber indigo. He lowered his gaze at the rows and rows of potted plants and flowers surrounding the area with a fountain gurgling water from the pitcher held by a stained cherub at its center. Then he looked back up to the upper floors of the hotel, briefly wondering about the occupants of those rooms. He proceeded into the courtyard, his pace echoing loudly on the cobblestones.

Marc was glad he had chosen to stay at this hotel, although it was a bit of a walk from the Quarter’s more frequently trodden thoroughfares. Few visitors ever took the time to get to know New Orleans beyond Bourbon Street and all its attendant tourist diversions. And this place was precisely the kind of hidden treasure that characterized the city more accurately than people tossing plastic beads at drunken exhibitionists. Stretching out from the river’s edge was a veritable maze of streets and side entrances into lush gardens and buildings within buildings, which the natives had been selfishly keeping to themselves since the days the French and the Spaniards were haphazardly exchanging deeds.

So when Marc first heard the warning that people came here to disappear, he knew this was where he wanted to stay. It was pure luck that he had gotten a room at all since he had also been told that this was never meant to have been a hotel for transients—indeed most of the rooms were occupied by permanent residents with only a handful of openings that came up on occasion. That his room turned out to be very well appointed was a delightful surprise with its cast iron, latticed balcony looking down upon what once had been the grand promenade of Creole New Orleans. But it made him all the more curious about the other guests. There had to be over twenty rooms in the property. Who were these people? He had been here for two days and he had yet to see anyone else besides the attractive guy at the front desk.

And he was leaving tomorrow. His assignment was finished. He really didn’t have any other reason to stay, except…except there was Josh. He was still waiting to hear back from him. Of course, there was always the possibility, more a likelihood really, that he wouldn’t hear back from him at all. Inevitably, his thoughts turned to the day they met some four years ago. It was his senior year at college and he was in the university quad to meet a friend when someone came up from behind. "Well, it's about time you got here," Marc blurted before turning around to find a stranger standing there, apologizing for bumping into him. And just like that Marc felt his stomach sink and his heart, no, his very soul descend into the depths of the most perfect pair of blue eyes. He still found it disturbing that those were the very first words he had ever said to Josh. Because it later dawned on Marc that he had, in fact, always been waiting for Josh. Years later, he was still waiting.

He had moved toward an umbrella like plant with speckled stems and large pink flowers when he heard a voice from behind him.

"Beautiful, aren't they?"

He turned and came face to face with a woman who could only be described as elegant. Somewhere in her fifties, he guessed. Cheekbones that could cut glass and a full head of silver hair pulled back in a tight twist. She was wearing a plain black dress that reached down to just above her ankles but her carriage made it seem like it could've been a couture gown.

"It's called amorphophallus bulbifer," she said, her warm voice trailing as she passed him to carefully inspect the blooms. "Otherwise known as the voodoo lily. They aren't really indigenous, I don't think. They were brought here from the Himalayas." She pointed to some cream colored flowers. "These are brunfelsia Americana or Lady of the Night from the West Indies. And that one over there," she continued, "with the long whiskers is from India, the very rare tacca integrifolia or the White Bat."

"Yes," he concurred. "They are beautiful."

"She had these shipped from all over."

"She?" he asked.

"The reclusive owner of this hotel of course," she replied glancing up to one of the windows on the upper floor before looking straight at him. "She had been a great opera singer in Europe, you know, although her career was rather short lived. But in that all too brief moment she was known to make grown men and women weep loudly in theaters with her vocal color and unique timbre. Her signature role was Lucia di Lamermoor although she didn't have the traditional high soprano sound most often associated with the role."

"That explains the name of the hotel," he exclaimed.

She looked at him with an arched brow. "Very clever. Yes, that's why the hotel is thus named."

"What happened to her? I mean, why was her career short lived?"

"A man," she replied.

"Isn't it always?" he countered with a none too subtle sigh.

"Yes," she smiled broadly. "Isn't it?" Marc followed her move to another pot with a profusion of crimson flowers. "She had many suitors though, among them Giovanni Boldini."

"The society portraitist?" he inquired.

She gave him an odd look before continuing; "You must forgive me for underestimating you. It's unusual to find sophistication in one so young."

"It's I who should be sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt."

She waved his apology aside and settled down on a wicker chair he hadn't noticed earlier. "Boldini actually painted her. So did others, Augustus John, Federico Beltran y Masses. I believe the Boldini is the only piece remaining and it's said to be still up there on a wall in her room. But no matter the number of paintings, no matter the adoring fans, she had eyes for but one man."

Marc felt a twinge from the distinctly familiar sentiment. He recalled the few fleeting moments he had spent with Josh, conversations of things safe and inconsequential, each one serving only to fuel his callow yearning, a yearning that had yet to truly abate.

"He was the son of a Count. A breathtakingly beautiful male specimen, he was. On that everyone agreed."

Marc thought about seeing Josh on campus, casting surreptitious glances his way if they happened to be walking on opposite directions to their respective classes. God, he was beautiful. The square jaw, the dark hair and a smile that never failed to reduce him to an incoherent idiot. Sometimes he fancied that Josh would often look his way too. Perhaps it was all just wishful thinking. The most excruciating torture yet was catching Joss naked in the gym showers once. He was dumbstruck by the sight but somehow he managed the wherewithal to step back behind one of the lockers even as his gaze lingered hungrily on Josh's incredible body - a massive chest topped by nipples so pink and peppered with hair, his magnificently muscled arms gracefully moving a towel along his wet torso down to his impressive cock and balls hanging heavily between wide thighs and then around to his mouthwatering ass.

"Unfortunately, he turned out to be little more than a common opportunist. He knew only how to spend her money and nothing at all of decency nor honor." Her tone turned perceptibly melancholic, "She had just come off a disastrous turn as Brunhilde. Disastrous because it was completely wrong for her but by this time she was totally taking her career for granted. They had already been living together and she was so in love with that man and just wanted to be married. In fact, she had already announced her impending retirement agreeing to one last performance as Lucia. And it was just hours before curtain when she walked in on him with another woman in their bed." She paused while he waited with bated breath. "She did make it to the theater on time and from here the stories vary. Some who were in the audience that night swore they witnessed her literally go insane as she was delivering the first E flat during the mad scene. Others claim it started in the first act where she sings of having seen a ghost by the fountain."

"Regnava nel silenzio," he murmured.

She nodded. "Naturally, this was all on hindsight, after everyone learned what had happened. So convincing was her final performance that everybody just assumed that art was imitating life."

"But did she…really lose her mind?"

"Maybe," she shrugged. "Love's been known to do a lot worse. Later, there were stories of hysterics in public places, but stories unsubstantiated and far too many to be truly believed. She pointedly avoided people from then on. She moved around Europe for a while staying with close friends like the Baroness Elsie Deslandes but too many people knew or had heard the stories. It became impossible for her to live there without people gawking at her for all the wrong reasons. That's when she decided to move down here. She took ownership of this house, refurbishing everything from cellar to garret, and turned it into a hotel for people like her, people who came here to disappear."

The woman stood up. "And what about you, young man, what's your story?"

He looked guiltily at his shoes. "I'm not part of any stories. I tell them. I'm a writer."

"You're a writer!" she clasped her hands in glee. "Of course! New Orleans is the best place for stories to be born. It practically can't be helped - duels of honor, river pirates, prostitutes, vampires, ghosts, magic."

"Demented opera singers?" he offered, not unkindly.

She laughed. "Well certainly this hotel is just brimming with stories waiting to be told."

"Actually I'm just here to do a business story on the computer convention."

"But that isn't all you're here for. There's something else, isn't there? You're waiting for…someone."

He almost blushed, recalling his nervous phone call to Josh. He had struggled to make that call only to reach an answering machine. He had stammered something about being in town for only a couple of days and maybe getting together before concluding with the name of the hotel and his room number then hastily hanging up.

"A man," he explained.

"Isn't it always?" she smiled knowingly. "Don't worry, he'll be here, just…" she paused, "not the way you expect." And he watched her walk regally back inside before he could ask what she meant and realizing they hadn't even introduced themselves.

2. GOING

The package had arrived days ago but he hadn't bothered to open it. It sat on his desk, carefully wrapped in brown paper and twine and inconveniently covering half the space. Josh knew he had to unwrap it sooner or later, find an ideal place for it. But he had other things in his mind. Then again, when did he ever not? And then there was Marc.

He kicked his sneakers off, having just arrived from the gym, and pulled off the sweaty shirt that stubbornly clung to his body. Then he stripped off his shorts and the jockstrap beneath it, feeling the cool air surround his naked body. He let himself fall into bed and stretched his six-foot frame across the Egyptian cotton covers. He surveyed his room, his eyes sweeping around from the carved armoire in one corner to the étagère at another upon which sat old photographs in silver frames. He had practically lived here most of his life. He had been brought here straight from the hospital after his premature birth and it had been his not-so-little corner of the world ever since. Now though, with his parents both deceased, his corner had grown to include this entire house crowded to the very rafters with things old and precious along with some good acreage of land surrounding it. All of this had been in his family for generations, mute yet undeniable testaments to tradition and permanence and every bit of perfection that was demanded of him. How could he ever live up to that? How could anyone?

Josh thought about Marc and the hurried phone message of him being in town. He wondered if Marc remembered the time he casually mentioned that one of his fondest fantasies was to get lost in the crowd, to just, well, vanish. All his life, eyes had been trained upon him, assessing, critical, and expectant. The one time he had ever felt removed from this life so meticulously created for him was the day he had caught Marc spying on him. Well, not spying exactly. But Marc had walked in on him toweling down after a shower in the gym. He never mentioned to Marc that he knew he was watching him from behind one of the lockers. And it gave him a lewd charge to feel those eyes on his body. From across that locker room he could swear feeling the intensity of Marc's stare trailing from his pecs to his butt, to his cock. For once, it had nothing to do with neither his name nor his family. It was pure lust. And it felt exhilarating and liberating and hot. He felt blood surging to his cock and thought part of him was definitely showing off for Marc.

He snapped back to the present when he felt his huge hardon slapping up and down his firm gut and leaving a string of precum from the red, swollen head to his navel. He moaned as one of his hands reached down to fondle his steely shaft. The memory of Marc and the day at the locker room was getting to him. He used his other hand to start playing with his balls, his fingers prodding them to churn out the heavy load he knew was there. His grip tightened around the thick cock and moved slowly up and down its length, his groans growing louder with every bit of precum that bubbled out of his pisshead and oozed slowly down to coat his hand. His butt ground back against the bed and he began to almost involuntarily fuck his clenched fist.

Josh imagined himself back in that locker room. He pictured himself wiping his wet, muscular body with that towel to tease Marc, flaunting his growing cock and working himself up to gigantic hard on. He imagined Marc crossing the room and quickly dropping down on his knees to devour his cock, devour him. He could feel those lips close around his cock head and slurp voraciously at the bittersweet juice that was slowly pouring out of it. He imagined pumping his turgid organ down that hot throat over and over until all control was gone, until Marc finally got what he obviously wanted, until volley after volley of cum blasted from his cock and finally Josh would lose himself in those sweet, gulping lips. And with that Josh exploded over himself. Ropes of white cum splattered all over his heaving chest, his arms, some reaching all the way to his forehead.

He drew himself up from the bed, regaining his breath, and walked over to the package on his desk. With one finger he flicked away the twine while his other hand tore at the wrapping. He wished he had had the guts back then to just yank Marc from behind that locker, rip his clothes off just like he was doing with this brown paper and make love to him on the cold floor tiles. He still could, he thought. He could leave all this behind. Lock up the house, sell the business, go to Marc and run away with him. He could do it, walk off into the sunset. Josh shook his head. No, there were too many people who depended on him, hundreds and hundred of employees. The invisible tether of responsibility hung heavy. He couldn't run away from whom he was.

The package was open. He held it up for a close look - a beautiful square mirror with an antique gilt frame.

"Mah sources will suh-weah on a stack of bibles that it was removed from the house of our last voodoo queen Malvina Latour just be-foh she expired," the dealer had told him in a conspiratorial drawl at the store in the Quarter. "All under puh-fectly legitimate circumstances, of course."

"Of course," Josh agreed with a grin betraying just a hint of sarcasm.

The dealer gave him a quick look of disapproval but continued with even more dramatic flair, "Not only is it a remarkable piece on its own, but it's ah-lleged to have ah-mazing powers. Legend has it that this here mirror will reflect back to whoevah owns it - one's deepest desires."

Josh watched his own reflection and started to laugh. He was a sight - sweat and cum matting his chest hair and coating his abs. He was about to put the mirror back down on the desk when he stopped. Something was wrong. He stared at the mirror. His reflection was getting hazy--but only his reflection. He could still see everything around it and behind him clearly. What the fuck? Then he noticed his arms holding up the mirror. It wasn't the reflection. His arms were fading. He looked down at himself and watched with rapt fascination as his hairy legs gradually evaporated. Oddly enough, he also felt a spreading calm take over him. He turned back to the mirror and stood transfixed until his entire body, his face and all that he was seemed to turn into dissipating smoke.

3. GONE

Marc was dreaming. He was in his room, standing naked by the open doors to the balcony, not even really caring that he could be seen from the streets below, when he heard music in the distance followed by a noise that came from inside the room. He turned around and found the door ajar. Suddenly Josh was standing right there, large as life, as heartbreakingly handsome as ever, maybe more so. It was only for a second and the image evanesced. "It's about time you got here," he whispered to an empty room. He knew he was dreaming because it already happened earlier that same evening. Only he hadn't been naked and there had been no Josh, not even for that split second. He did stand by the balcony. He had heard someone somewhere doing a slow, husky cover of an old Dylan song. Then came the noise and he had found the door open and he had foolishly spoken to an empty room.

Marc was dreaming. He was lying naked on his stomach in bed when he felt a pair of hands kneading his ass. He pushed his ass up against those hands and moaned. He felt a wet tongue travel across the crack and burrow into his dilating hole. He moaned again, this time louder, and squirmed with pleasure so wonderfully real he could swear he wasn't dreaming anymore. He jerked around--awake now. His vision adjusted to the dim light coming in through the balcony and he found the room cool and still. What was going on? And what the hell time was it? He was reaching for the clock radio by the bed when unseen hands grabbed both of his. Before he could react, something moved up the bed like a rush of inhabited air. A heavy weight fell upon him, a heavy weight that felt like the body of large man. But he couldn't see anybody! Was he going mad?

He struggled beneath the unseen weight but abruptly stopped moving when he felt a mouth chew lightly, lovingly at his neck, followed by a tongue, yes definitely a tongue, licking up to his cheek. He could hear a disembodied, labored breathing next to his ear as he felt the bulk sink deeper into his body and something large and hot and hard prod his gut. Despite himself, he felt his cock respond with alarming speed. In seconds it had inched up to its full length and girth and ground against the other cock. His lips opened to gasp but were quickly silenced by those lips he couldn't see. And there that tongue was again, this time snaking inside his mouth. His eyes rolled back and its lids flickered shut as waves of pleasure began to surge over him. He groaned, freed his flailing arms from what were holding them back and wrapped them around this someone who was there yet wasn't.

His fingers grasped at pliable skin, at a strongly muscled back down, down to a sloping, firm and sensuously undulating ass. His hands moved up to feel boulder like shoulders and biceps. He opened his eyes when the kisses stopped. Still he saw nothing but the man was there, his weight shifting. Marc moved his hands to follow the body's movement and felt a pair of huge thighs straddle his chest. He caressed them with awe, smooth and hard and transparent as glass. He was toying with the silky hair there when the blunt head of what he was sure was a huge cock entered his mouth. Like a starving man he fed on that delicious meat and inhaled the fragrant moist heat emanating from nowhere. A loud moan issued from above and filled the room. His mouth gobbled down inch after inch of that tasty flesh insistently pumping in and out of his lips. He savored each jab into his mouth as much as the sharp flavor of the precum lacing his swirling tongue. He relished the feel of a pair of soft balls slapping at his chin as much as the ecstatic groans that echoed all around. Marc reached up to fondle jutting pecs and his wandering fingers connected to erect nipples. He pulled and twisted at them eliciting more moans.

Again, the body moved, pulling that luscious cock from his lips with a popping sound. His mouth hung open, anticipating he knew not what. Suddenly, his legs were being pulled and held up in the air. He felt his ass being pried open by the same cock he suspected he was eating just seconds ago. This time it was his turn to groan as he felt the full assault of that incredible cock. It pierced him in one move of searing pleasure. His arms spread out on the bed and he began pulling at the sheets beneath him. The body fell back on top of him even as that burning cock continued to thrust inside him again and again. Marc felt the shape of what surely was a face nuzzle his cheek. A heady scent of soap and clean sweat filled his flaring nostrils and he softly urged the emptiness, "Fuck me!" His entire body shook deliriously in rhythm with the relentless fucking and his moaning was now joined by the measured grunts of this amazing, ghostly lover. His writhing on the bed in a tangle with some unseen fucking machine seemed to go on forever. Until, for an instant, the whole world stopped shaking and his entire body exploded with indescribable ecstasy. And this man, this specter, began to spurt scalding come inside him, and then pulled out to shoot all over him. This Marc could see--out of thin air a shower of come spitting out at him, all over his chest, his wide-open mouth and his waiting tongue. And somehow, he knew this was hardly the end.

EPILOGUE

Things were no clearer to Marc in the blinding light of morning. He awoke practically glued to the sheets with dried cum. He couldn't remember how many times he had ejaculated. He didn't know what time he finally fell asleep nor when his phantom intruder had retreated back to whence he came. He couldn't have imagined the entire thing. No, his entire body felt spent and blissfully sore. And Marc could still taste him.

Later, showered and dressed he stood by the taxi outside the hotel, stopping for a minute to decide that last night would remain a wild and amazing mystery. His luggage was already loaded in the trunk. With bored, indulgent patience, the female cab driver sat behind the wheel letting the engine run idly as he hesitated to get in. He looked around at the passing vehicles and the wandering tourists, desperately hoping to see Josh among them. And just as much wanting to believe he was better off not having seen him at all. He closed his eyes and suddenly felt a gentle kiss on his cheek. "Josh," he whispered. He opened his eyes but saw no one and nothing there.