Gay Erotic Stories

While trying to find off-campus housing my first year at the University of Iowa, I met Gordon. He was a natural, hyper-masculine guy who, accompanied by his mother, was looking for an off-campus place to live just like me. Right off I could tell Gordon was hot for my ass. And I do mean my ass. Playing baseball for the Our Lady Queen of Peace High varsity team, combined with my good Polish farm boy genes, rewarded me with a rock hard bubble butt. It always seemed to get a lot of attention.

While Gordon's mother was swimming in the pool at their motel, my studly new friend and I tried some hot and heavy homo action in room 14. Both of us were so crazed for sex and each other that we forgot the old lady was even alive. Gordon had a starving man's appetite for only one thing--eating ass. So my ass got a tongue washing like never before or since. In no time, we both spermed all over the bed sheets. Gordon greedily licked and swallowed every drop. Naked and close together, I could smell my own butt-crack sweat on this stud's face and man-cum on his breath. That sex-smell gave me a fresh hard-on.

Then in walked mother! We had been caught--totally busted. There was nothing to say or do to explain. What possible explanation could there be? At first, Gordon's mom stared in stunned silence--jaw agape. Was this scene on the bed really what it appeared to be? Then suddenly, her nostrils flared. She snorted like a bull in a Barcelona arena catching first sight of a waving red flag. "What the hell are you doing to my son, you goddamn homo!" she demanded.

Gordon was frozen. He didn’t say a word. I did the only thing I could think of. I grabbed my clothes and, still naked, beat cheeks as fast as I could to get out of there. But running away wasn’t enough for mom. She followed, continuing her tirade all the way through the parking lot of the Red Cock Motel. "You'll never turn my son into a fag. He goes to church every Sunday. He's got a girlfriend at home. They're going to be married,” she went on and on and on. The very last thing I heard her say was, "You'll never see or touch my Gordon again." And I didn't.

Five months passed. I tried to forget about sex and concentrate on studying. As it turned out, I rarely even jacked-off. This was a first for me and the explanation was simple--the rooming house where I lived was populated by zitty computer nerds, geeky engineering students and ugly fat girls. The sight of any of them was the equivalent of instant salt-peter.

But a letter from the University housing office changed that quickly. I was assigned to room 37 in Larue Towers. Report to the main desk Monday.

Walking to Larue that Monday, I had no idea just how much my life would be turned upside down. I thought only about getting settled-in my dorm room fast and writing the two term papers that were due in a week. I was focused and determined. Sex was the last thing on my mind. But, after fumbling with the key to number 37, and thumping open its warped door, what I saw inside made my sex drive rush back. I felt like I just took a hit of poppers.

Lying on his bed, in nothing but jockey shorts, while reading a copy of Penthouse, was Tony, a junior physical education major and one of the best wrestlers on Iowa's NCAA championship wrestling team. Being a varsity baseball player in high school myself, I had seen and been around naked jocks almost every day since puberty. And many of them were buffed, muscled, manly studs, even at a young age. But I never saw a body like Tony's. Not even close.

Perfectly muscled, with thick, strong hairy legs, bulging biceps and tough, manly forearms, it was hard to tell his best attribute. Was it that amazing barrel chest, the rock-hard six-pack below, or the bulging 9 inches a little further down? Tony was a combination of Mark Wahlberg, Ken Ryker, and Michaelangelo's David, but somehow, incredibly, even hotter. He must have worked out for hours every day to get into that kind of shape. And it was obvious he didn't use steroids, either. He had none of that puffy, pimply, roid-muscle look. His body showed only good old-fashioned pumped iron and hard sweat.

Tony’s Jockey’s were half-pulled down on his hips, exposing a good inch or so of dark, black pubic hair above the elastic waistband. The outline of his plump log was pushing up against the white fabric of those shorts and looked almost completely hard. One hairy, plum-sized ball had escaped its cotton covering, dangling enticingly against Tony’s muscled thigh. I began to pant and felt faint.

But then I noticed--Tony’s right hand was frozen nearby that glorious package. His fingers looked like they had been interrupted in the middle of something. Oh my god, had he been jacking off? My own cock jumped at the thought--as though it had been hit by a bolt of lightning. I began to sweat nervously. The sight of this sexed-up stud made my precum flow. I feared the growing bulge and now-visible wet spot on my pants would give away my heated lust. So quickly, I moved my hand, covering my telltale cock.

(To be continued)