Gay Erotic Stories

The traffic was surprisingly light for a Friday, and made it to the office a couple minutes past 8—as on time as anyone else in the building. The message light on my phone was blinking, so I set about clearing the 3 messages that were listed. The first two were merely “hang ups” finding our offices were closed. The third call was from Rodrigo.

“I couldn’t sleep very good last night, so I’m already upstairs in my office. I was just thinking, how about we skip dinner tonight?” Now I was listening to his every word. “What say we meet up for lunch instead? I wasn’t hungry so skipped breakfast. Can you get away for say an early lunch? Give me a call when you can…”

“Hey, Rodrigo…it’s me. Lunch sounds just fine to me. How about say, 11:30? We can meet up in the back lobby or by the cars if it’s not raining.”

He readily agreed and at the stroke of 11:30 I met him in the lobby. I caught him just getting out of the elevators. We headed for a nice little Irish-English style pub that was less than half a mile away. I drove, so Rodrigo was seated on my right. Before we even got out of the parking lot, his left hand had already found its way to my thigh. “Hey, better not get me going, or there’ll be no way I can walk into the pub,” I warned him. He thought better of it, and his hand retreated.

We were the first people in for lunch, with the exception of an older guy sipping a Guiness at the bar. From the looks of him, he’d been there for a while. We moved to the back corner of the restaurant section of the pub, so we could view the comings and goings of everyone—and were not in a direct line of sight from the bartender. The waitress pounced on us immediately. This was okay, since I knew what I wanted—Shepherd’s Pie. Rodrigo hadn’t a clue, but just ordered the same.

She left and we were free to talk—at least until other patrons started filing in. Rodrigo started the conversation, “Like I said, we can just skip dinner if you want.” He winked at me and I caught on to what he was apparently driving at.

“Sounds fine with me. Actually, I’m a fair cook, and I can throw something Italian or whatever together at home if you’d rather.” I offered. Rodrigo jumped at the chance, telling me that he’d surely love whatever I was offering…err…cooking. There was that sly, wicked little grin of his. While waiting for the food, I filled him in on the Houston trip, but carefully omitted the details of the flight home, other than to say I had the good fortune to have been upgraded. The other good fortune I conveniently forgot.

The food came in a surprising hurry, and we were already eating before any other patrons entered. Rodrigo said he liked the Shepherd’s Pie, but he was really more or less picking at it. He began fidgeting and I felt one of his knees thumping into mine as he twiddled away. Initially, this was an irritation, but as I thought about it, it caused a stirring between my legs. He looked as if he wanted to confess something, or was unsure how to put what he wanted to say into the right words.

“Hey Mr. Energy, you’re doin’ it to me again! If you keep it up, I won’t be able to get up from the table.”

His twiddling stopped in mid-twiddle, “Oh, sorry. It’s just that…” His smile turned into a toothy grin, “I can actually take the rest of the day off; can you?”

Damn, this kid’s really read to go. Now I WAS having a problem. Just then the waitress stopped by the check if we needed anything else. Actually I was pleasantly full, but suggested dessert so I could rearrange things over time.

“Actually, since it’s my first day back, and it’s Friday, I don’t think I can get away without spending a couple more hours or so. I’ll try to push through the important stuff, and maybe I can knock off sometime after 3 PM or so. Thank sound okay to you?” I countered while my mind was already racing through what I could sort out and put off until Monday.

We finished our desserts, and Rodrigo insisted on picking up the tab for lunch especially since I was going to be dinner, he said. I’m sure his English was better and he deliberately used “be” rather than “do”. We made it back to the office by about 12:15, and as I pulled into the parking space he quickly glanced around, then leaned over and gave me healthy kiss on the lips. “I’ll be ready anytime you are, just give me a call,” he said. I playfully reached for my cell phone, and he just smiled.

I went through the necessary messages, emails, and finished up the Houston related stuff, and was able to put off the remainder of the pending stuff by a whisker after 3 PM. When I call him, Rodrigo answered the phone on the first ring, “Okay, I’m on my way down,” he said excitedly.

“How’d you know it was me calling?” I asked.

“Caller ID, of course.”

Five minutes later, we were both in our cars and he was following me home. Rodrigo, my Latin cutie, was following me home—like a puppy dog. “He followed me home, can I keep him?” I thought—of course I already knew my answer—but for how long?

A few minutes later, both of our cars pulled into my apartment complex’s entrance, and we swung around to my building. The parking spaces were not assigned, so I pulled right up front and he parked next to me. This time of day most everyone was still at work, so there were plenty of prime spaces. I was already out of my car, standing and waiting as Rodrigo got out. He reached back into the rear seat and pulled out a large duffel bag, which looked more like a suitcase.

“Moving in?” I kidded, but he shot me a puzzled look. Then he remembered his bag in tow.

“I am prepared.” He replied.

I wasn’t about to continue this line of conversation in the parking lot, but several evil thoughts came to my mind—like—prepared for what? You brought your collection of toys? A change of clothes? Your pajamas? I just let it drop…somehow I wasn’t sure he’d even connect with my attempt at humor. I checked the mailbox—naturally no mail today yet—the mail never got there before 5 PM at the earliest—but of course I knew that—I was nervously stalling I guess.

I opened the door to my apartment and we walked through. Rodrigo shut the door behind him and immediately dropped his duffel. His arms were around me in a flash and a second or two later we were both kissing—more like trading spit! Hard and passionate kiss—affectionate—hell yes!

He pulled away and looked down—there was my oldest cat greeting Rodrigo by rubbing against his leg—something I’d already been doing! “Guess I’ve got a gay cat,” I quipped. “The other two are a bit shy; they don’t get the chance to see very many people.” It sounded good and put Rodrigo temporarily at ease—besides it was actually the truth.

I gave him the dime tour of the place—something that happened quickly considering it was just a one bedroom apartment. I instructed Rodrigo to just toss his duffel on the bed and I’d set about to fixing us a drink. I asked him what he preferred, and he settled on a gin and tonic. Ah—something I actually have. He asked to use the bathroom to freshen up while I fixed the drinks. I told him he didn’t have to ask, just make himself at home. He grabbed his duffel and went into the bathroom, closing the door. Ah…modest fellow I thought, as I headed off to the kitchen to fix the drinks—strong ones at first I thought.

I had the drinks waiting, but no Rodrigo. Curiosity got the better of me, “Hey, you fall in?” I asked through the door.

“I almost finish…” he replied.

I thought of asking him if he was constipated or had gotten one crossways, but decided the dry humor might not flush. I returned to the kitchen after turning on the stereo, and positioned myself behind the counter with the drinks. I decided to partake of mine, and as I took the first swallow, Rodrigo appeared from the hallway. What a vision—I almost choked on my drink. He had changed into a pair of short-shorts—skimpy gym or athletic shorts, and a muscle T. He came towards me and my eyes sucked him in. I handed him his drink and we toasted.

“See what you like?” he playfully misspoke.

“You mean, like what I see?” I corrected.

“Yeah, that’s what I say,” he replied.

Trust me—his English is good enough for me! I just took a deep breath, heaved my chest and flared my nostrils as I sighed, “Oh, I think you’ll do.” His brown eyes lit up the room as he smiled. It was then that I looked down and noticed he wasn’t wearing a jock or underwear beneath those little gym shorts. He was already starting to hang out of them.

The combination of seeing his smooth olive skinned body, toned chest and muscular arms that his muscle-T clung to, and those toned thighs that protruded from his shorts was a sight to behold. I had all I could do to keep from straight on attacking him while he was still standing in front of me.

“Anything I can do?” Rodrigo asked. I’m sure he was referring to helping me, and the answer was definitely yes, yes, oh yes! He could do me right there…or he could help me out of my clothes…and yeah, he could help me sort out dinner plans if absolutely necessary. To be sure, this was the absolutely LAST thing currently crossing my mind. I nervously gulped down the rest of my cocktail. Rodrigo watched and followed suit, then making a grimace. It was my guess he wasn’t really used to having hefty cocktails. An evil thought surfaced—this was going to be easy—HE as going to be easy—hell I was going to be easy!

I set about fixing a second round while he observed. Ever get the feeling you have a set of eyes that are piercing your whole body? It’s said by some that “clothes make the man,” well my body’s not all that bad, but I’m cool with that statement…clothes make this man. I only hoped he’d approve once they were off.

I handed him his second drink. He picked up his duffel, and motioned for me to follow, “Show me where I need to put,” he beckoned with a smile. He was leading me to my own bedroom. Like I said, dinner was the last thing on my mind…and apparently his too. I was soon to find out.

Once in the bedroom, I pointed Rodrigo to a corner of the room where he could park his duffel on a straight chair. He set it down and turned towards me, smiled and toasted me again, “To a very great time together,” he said. “I want this to…do.”

Okay, you’ve got to know what was going through my mind—good God—I’d already had this guy in my mind! But mostly out of trying to be a good host, I asked him if he was hungry and would like something in the way of a snack with his drink. Rodrigo just replied, “No, I want to snack with you.”

Before I fully comprehended his intent, Rodrigo was pressing himself against me; rubbing his crotch against my leg (he was shorter and more compact). Hey, the guy toasted me right? I took another gulp of my G & T, then turned partially around and set the damn thing on the dresser. As I turned back towards him, I noticed Rodrigo’s bulge had grown and was now snaking out his shorts. So what’s a horny gay guy to do.

I relieve him of his drink, and I set about relieving him of his shirt and shorts. What a sight to behold…very lightly hairy on his upper chest, and a clearly visible ‘happy trail’ down his stomach—an eager arrow pointing to his elongated treasure that hung below. I didn’t actually have much time to take in the view; Rodrigo set about removing my clothes. Admittedly this took a few seconds longer…but who was counting. Safely said, within less than two minutes, we’d gone from toasting to pressing against each other while standing there naked, cocks pointed up and throbbing between us.

It was only late afternoon, but I knew dinner would be fashionable late—if at all. I doubted that either of us was hungry anyway…more like ravenous…for tubular finger food at least. While our lips (like everything else) were pressed together, I just pushed him back next to the side of the bed, and then pushed him over the edge. I landed on top of Rodrigo near the center of my bed. He didn’t seem to mind at all, he just continued to thrash beneath me, grinding his cock into my crotch hairs. This was momentarily uncomfortable, until we both broke a sweat. Then the little bastard (affectionate term I promise) surprised me. He rattled off something in Spanish, and then bit me on my lower lip.

It hurt—damn it—it hurt! I pulled back and slid down his chest a bit, and went for his left nipple. “No bite, please, no bite!” Rodrigo pleaded, but was grinning as he continued to grind his penis into my now sweat covered stomach. I wiped my lower lip to check for blood—none. In the meantime when I’d moved lower, my own shaft had positioned itself squarely between Rodrigo’s legs, just below his balls. I could feel his ass crack, although a bit hairy, was moist with sweat. My only thought was some type of retaliatory move—so I just thrust upwards. To both our surprise—probably more Rodrigo’s—my dick punched right past his sphincter and shot directly into him—I’d buried myself in him to the hilt.

Rodrigo let out a yelp and his fingers dug into my forearms. “Jesus, I’m so sorry, I hadn’t planned on doing that,” I apologized. But before I was able to offer an additional apology, Rodrigo’s ass was bucking against its invader. More Spanish…he was gasping for air…and his eyes were glazed over with way more than pleasure…pure lust.

“So much for having to dance around each other’s preferences,” I thought. “If his energy doesn’t kill me off…I’ll die trying!” My thoughts were stopped in their tracts—by the sharp pain coming from my right tit—the little bastard and curled upward and bit me. There was definitely going to be some ground rules established, but I realized that I was establishing some of my own…as I skewered him again.

Dinner would be very late—but we’d be hungry all right, if I had it in me to make it. And the ice in the glasses on the dresser wasn’t the only thing that was melting away!

(To be continued)