Gay Erotic Stories

(c) Copyright, June 1999 - 2000, Michael Edmond, All Rights Reserved

Aboard Air France, June.

As I nestled into my seat and sipped on my drink, I realized life is a series of compromises between what you want and what you get. I never get what I want, or at least I don't think so. But what I do receive is pretty good; at least it seemed so at 30,000 feet after three scotch doubles. Actually, over this last academic year a number of situations turned out very well, considering what could have happened. Many people were very understanding, people who could have made my life miserable. And for whatever reason - a five-hour flight, three drinks, or genuine gratitude - I decided to write and thank them.

Postcard to Paul: At the beginning of the school year, while talking to you as a freshman member of the swim team, my Speedos accidentally fell off. This coincided with my statement that a well-rounded education included "sex with the same sex." Although I'm still convinced it was a product defect in my swimsuit, I want to thank you for not making a big deal of it and for being so open minded and understanding. And oh yes, I want to assure you I haven't forgotten what you said. "If you so much as look at me while I'm nude in the locker room, I'll file a sexual harassment complaint."

Postcard to my close friends: I want to thank my close friends for all of your sincere advice and counsel about setting up my webpage. Although I completely disregarded all of it and set up the "smut center," as some of you called it, I want all of you to know I don't hold any grudges. P.S. The webpage and my gay pornographic stories have been a great success, bringing entertainment and arousal to thousands.

Postcard to my readers: I want to give an especially big thanks to my readers. You have enthusiastically encouraged me to continue providing you with the lurid details of my sex life in fictional form. As a professional pornographer, I try to describe it as I feel and experience it. And I practice as much as I can - writing of course - always pushing myself toward perfection.

Postcard to my ancestor Michael Edmond: I want to thank you for letting me use your name as a pen name. And although I don't technically have your consent, because you're dead and hopefully in Heaven, I'm sure you wouldn't object. You'll be pleased to know I selected your name over the name of another ancestor, Lew Wallace, the big shot Civil War general and author of "Ben Hur." (I'm really sick of hearing from my family about what a great general and Christian he was. I bet you felt the same way when you were alive.)

I thought about using the name Lew Wallace, because I thought what great irony - Lew Wallace writing gay pornography. I'm sure the parties in Rome included gay sex, at least it appeared so in the movie. (Although you can't tell if Charleston Heston was enjoying straight or gay sex. My bet was both. In any case, it's obvious he carried a big gun in the movie, just as he does now for the NRA.) But, aside from Charleston Heston's sex life and the caliber of his gun barrel, I decided not to use the name Lew Wallace. And it's absolutely false that I was intimidated. Lew Wallace maybe a great writer and Christian, but that doesn't mean he would have an "in" with God.

In any event, your name won. As far as I could determine, you were not a writer. But you probably harbored secret longings to be one, maybe even a writer of gay pornography. However, if by some remote chance you do object, I hope you do not have influence with God or any big shots in Heaven, like our ancestor Lew Wallace.

Postcard to my parents: I want to especially thank both of you for finally forgiving me and allowing me to go to Europe. As I have said - over and over - I regret my callous answer to my Aunt's question about one of her dishes at a recent dinner. Even though she knows how much I detested them and I had politely asked her twice not to give me any, she still served me escargots! When she asked me how they were, I sincerely regret saying they tasted "like rubber gonads drowned in garlic butter." First, I want to assure both of you I have never tasted gonads drowned in anything, and second, the remark was thoroughly thoughtless and insensitive, especially since my Uncle has only one testicle.

Postcard to the board of trustees of the golf club: While on Spring Break and in the middle of the Bible Belt of Oklahoma, I now realize it appeared to some that I was having sex with a caddy on the 9th hole. Even though it was completely consensual - whatever we were doing and I'm not admitting anything - I want to thank the club management and board of trustees, the golfers we let play through, and the twenty or so diners on the club's patio for being so understanding. I really appreciate it that no one reported me to the authorities, my aunts or uncles, or to my parents.

And since half of me belongs "to the land" on my mother's side, I'm very sorry the course was destroyed at a loss of many millions of dollars. However, I do not think they were a sign of God's anger about the club's laxity over "unnatural" sexual acts, not that I think sex between any consenting adults is unnatural.

Postcard to the University: I want to thank the University for putting me under the recent stress of finals. I'm always pleased to be enriching my life with really important information and studies. And I'm also thankful for what finals do to my libido. Basically, the tension sends my hormone level off the charts, vastly enhancing any sexual experience. This seems to happen to many students during finals, which after appropriate pairing, allows us to enrich both our minds and bodies, especially certain cavities and appendages. However, for the record, I have never let my base hormonal urges interfere with my responsibility to study and get good grades. Studying always loses.

Another postcard to my parents: I especially want to thank you for this summer trip to Europe. Even though I wanted first-class airfare, a new BMW 2000 Z3 convertible, and rooms at the George V in Paris and at the Kempinski in Berlin, I stopped arguing, whining and throwing hissy fits when Dad announced his final and last position: "If I hear one more mention of first-class airfare, BMWs, the George V or the Kempinski, then you can FUCKING swim to Europe, FUCKING hitchhike while over there, and FUCKING sleep under the Pont Neuf and in U Bahn stations!"

Another postcard to my parents: In case Dad got the wrong impression from the last postcard, I want to thank Dad for being a patient listener and for clearly expressing his feelings over the last several months. I know we had constructive discussions about my expense account in Europe, although he felt they were too long. I'm also sorry I interrupted a number of board meetings. But as you have told me, Dad, communication between father and son is very important. It's rare that a father and son, particularly a father and son as strong willed as we are, can have a meaningful conversation, exchanging honest feelings in a constructive dialogue.

However, I must admit, I didn't know if you were joking or serious when, at one point after many hours of what I thought was a constructive discussion, you pointed out that the Israeli and German armies both accept gay recruits and volunteers. I'll assume you were just being your good-natured, jovial self.

Another postcard to my parents: And in case there was any misunderstanding about the last postcard - and this is not to open up the discussion about my expense account in Europe again - but to make it clear how much I love you both - equally - and how much I appreciate very much the business class airfare and the VW Jetta rental car. And the same is true for the apartment in Paris and the one in Berlin, even though - and I'm not arguing or being judgmental here, just pointing out a fact - both of you always stay in the George V and the Kempinski when you go to Paris and Berlin.

Postcard to Gramps: Thank you! Oh God, thank you! It's the nicest bon voyage present a grandson could receive - advice and cash. And remember it's our little secret. I won't tell Mom and Dad, and neither will you. Now don't forget. Knowing how happy it will make both of us, I fully intend to honor your advice and spend the money on "wine, women and song." Well, I intend to honor at least 2/3 of your advice. As much as I want to please you, I just don't think I can bring myself to spend money on women. It would be against my personal code of honor to spend that much money chasing women. Having told me how important honor and integrity are, I'm sure you understand. But rest easy, I'll work very hard to find an appropriate substitute. As you always say, "It's not what you want, but what you get that makes you happy."

The End

Compliments - Complaints – Comments

Email: Edmond_Michael@hotmail.com

More stories? Please visit my website: http://www.pridesites.com/teen/mickedmond/