Gay Erotic Stories

The Story of Us.

Although it’s been twenty years, I can remember my first time like it was only yesterday. I was 19 and had recently finished college. I was what you’d call a late developer; I’d only begun puberty the previous year. At 18, it was little unusual but according to the medical profession, perfectly normal. I knew I was gay around the same time my body was changing because along with puberty came my attraction to men. At that age it was all quite innocent, the odd fantasy about a film star, a crush on a guy at school, that kind of thing.

To celebrate our graduation, there was a party at my friend Juma’s house. Dr. & Mrs. H - Juma’s mom and dad - went out for the evening with instructions not to overdue it with the beer they’d left. Of course they hadn’t left much so it was gone by 9pm. A few of the older guys went to the bottle store to buy more; they also brought back vodka. It was my first and last time to drink the stuff. I drank four or five large ones mixed with a little orange juice.

I don’t know if it was my age, the vodka, the beer or a combination of all three but by 11.00 I was pretty sick. I felt nauseous, hot and shaky. After throwing up a couple of times in the garden, I staggered back to the house were Juma’s sister Laura helped me to the bathroom to threw-up again. My head was spinning. I felt such a fool and kept apologizing, much to everyone’s amusement.

As I stood in the kitchen another of wave nausea hit me so when Dr. and Mrs. H. walked in at that moment I was throwing up on their kitchen floor. Needless to say they were not amused. Mrs. H made coffee while her husband cleared the house. He told everyone to go home, the party was over. My friend Juma got the brunt of his dad’s anger, going on about trust etc. the usual parental stuff.

Juma’s mom insisted I drink two cups of coffee which made me feel a little better. His dad suggested he take me for a walk, said it would clear my head, that I was in no fit state to go home, what would my parents think etc. He seemed to drone on and on, I guess he felt a little responsible. Juma said he’d come along but his dad had other ideas. Poor Juma had to mop up the vomit from the floor and clean up the house. We laugh about that today but at the time it was no joke.

Dr. H and myself headed off in the direction of the local park. It was a beautiful warm summer night. If I hadn’t been feeling so sick, foolish and dejected, I’d have appreciated it more. There was a gentle breeze coming in off the ocean that revived me and made me feel a lot better. I kept apologizing to Dr. H. who told me to forget it; he said he’d been drunk enough times himself in his youth. He laughed and told me not to mention that to Juma.

I’d always liked Dr. H, and had done so since I was a little kid. I was friends with Juma since I started school at five years old. Dr. H. was originally from Tanzania. He had the darkest ebony skin I’d ever seen on a man, it was something I’d always admired and found attractive about him. He was 37 at the time and when your 19 that seems really old. He was an extremely handsome man - he still is today. But back then, in his prime he was a picture of handsome masculinity. He was 6’ 2’’ muscular, with black tightly cropped hair and hazel eyes that lit up when he smiled, and boy what a smile, his perfect white teeth seemed so luminous against his ebony skin. He had two small scars on each of his cheeks, a result of a childhood initiation ceremony. Somehow those scars enhanced his good looks and made him look even more beautiful. I on the other hand was white, ghostly white with reddish-brown hair and crystal green eyes. I stood 5’11” with a slim build, I’d yet to fill out and be comfortable with my body. I was always being told I was good-looking, but because I lacked confidence at that time, I never really believed it. Myself and Mr. H. arrived at the little wall that encircled the park. It was no more than a foot high. We stepped over it and headed toward the trees that grew in the centre. As we walked we chatted about incidental stuff. I was usually shy with adults or authority figures in general and I hardy ever spoke to Dr. H. but I guess the alcohol made me more confident, more talkative. I knew Dr. H. was being considerate, helping his son’s friend. After all, he’d known me since I was a kid but there was something different about that night. There was a sense of anticipation in the air, I felt safe and at the same time excited to be alone with this man.

As we continued on into the park, Dr. H talked about girls. He asked if Juma was seeing anyone and if I had a girlfriend. I felt a little uncomfortable at this line of questioning and answered in my own clumsy way. As we neared the trees, I stumbled in the dark and Dr. H. put his arm out to steady me. It was a simple gesture but one that was to change everything.

As he reached out to steady me, he moved in close and I kissed him on the mouth. To this day I don’t know why I did that, it just seemed natural, like the right thing to do. But Dr. H. didn’t think so; he pushed me away and yelled,

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing Mike, are you mad?”

I fell down hard on my ass; I was stunned, so stunned I started to cry. There I was, 19 years old, sitting on my ass and crying like a preschool child. It was humiliating but as much as I tried, I couldn’t control the sobs that shook my body. I guess a lot of stuff had been building up.

I staggered awkwardly to my feet. I remember I had to get away; I had to escape the embarrassment. Dr. H. said something but I couldn’t hear him through the tears and the pounding of my heart; all I could hear was the blood pulsing through my head and ears.

“Where are you going!” he shouted, coming after me.

“I have to go…to go home, I’m so sorry” I sobbed. “I’ve ruined everything, you hate me now, you think I’m just a queer.” (What a drama queen!).

“Wait! Don’t be so stupid, I don’t hate you, you can’t go home like that.”

I stopped and turned to face him, “you think I’m just a dumb kid…that I don’t know anything…that I’m too young to know….” I turned and walked away. Dr. H. came after me.

“Wait, Please Wait!” he caught up with me and spun me round. “Mike wait, just wait, we can talk about this, it’s no big deal, look your just confused…lets just calm down and talk OK…OK?”

He guided me back towards the trees and we sat down on a fallen log. I was glad it was dark; it hid my embarrassment. I just wanted to go home, to get away. Dr. H. took a handkerchief from his pocket and gave it to me. I remember its masculine smell of soap, aftershave and the merest hint of tobacco.

“I’m sorry I pushed you Mike and I didn’t mean to yell but you gave me quite a scare. Don’t cry, ok…please don’t cry,” he said softly, putting his arm around me and resting my head on his shoulder.

Eventually I calmed down and the sobs subsided. Dr. H. lit a cigarette; he gave it to me and lit another one for himself. We sat in silence.

“Why did you kiss me like that?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I let out a deep sigh.

“C’mon, tell me, no need to be embarrassed or ashamed, are you gay?”

“I…I don’t…I guess…I must be…yeah...I guess I am,” I stammered.

“So why me, why’d you kiss me…have you ever kissed a man before,” he asked.

“No, never…but er…I like you, em…I…I guess I always have and you were…you know…being nice to me and I just…em…I just wanted to show…to show…it just felt right.” There was another long silence until Dr. H stood up suddenly and said,

“Christ! Is my son gay too, is Juma gay?”

“No! No I don’t think so, please…this has nothing to do with him, oh God,” the tears welled up again and I started to tremble.

“Dr. H, please…Juma isn’t gay, I mean…I…I’m sure he’s not, he never gave any sign, we’ve always just been friends…I…I mean… oh God!”

I jumped up and ran, ran back the way we came. Dr. H. gave chase, he caught up with me and spun me round, he grabbed me and held me tight against his chest as I sobbed and tried to pull away. I could feel his breath in my ear as he whispered,

“It’s okay Mike, calm down, shhh…it’s okay, I’m...I’m gay…I’m gay too, it’s okay.”

I don’t know if it was the mind boggling news or my emotional state but my legs gave way at the moment and I sat down on the ground. Dr. H. sat down too. I noticed his hand shook as he brought the cigarette to his lips. I know it sounds strange but I found this very reassuring. I knew at that precise moment that this man would always be special to me. I reached out and took the cigarette from his trembling hand and squashed it into the ground. I took his hand in both of mine and simply said, “tell me, tell me everything”. And he did.

He spoke of his life, about growing up in Tanzania and how he left at 18 to study medicine overseas under a United Nations scholarship program. How he met his wife at university and the circumstances of their marriage. It turned out they married because she was pregnant with Laura and their parents insisted it was the right thing to do. He told me of the early days of their marriage, about the racism and prejudice they suffered from both blacks and whites who frowned on their mixed marriage, the resentment he received for marrying a white women. He told me he loved his wife and adored his kids. That he always knew he was attracted to men but as it would only add to his already complicated life, he suppressed it. He said he found it increasingly difficult of late and had recently started to explore his sexuality by having an affair with a junior doctor at the hospital and a couple of brief encounters on seminars abroad.

We spoke for hours. It was 4am, almost dawn when we finally stopped. It was so great to finally admit I was gay, to give voice to my thoughts and fears. All the while we talked I had my head resting on his shoulder, stroking his hand or sometimes caressing his face as he told me his life story.

When we finished, the silence seem to stretch before us, we were both preoccupied with our own thoughts. Dr. H. was the first to break it, “We should be going, they’ll be wondering what happened to us.”

“Just a few more minutes,” I said. “It’s nice being with you like this.”

“You never really answered me when I asked why you kissed me,” he said smiling.

“I did but you weren’t listening,” I laughed.

“Okay, so tell me again, something about you liking me,” he said with a grin.

“C’mon, you know I like you, more now that we’ve talked like this, er…em, to you think I could kiss you again?” I asked sheepishly.

“I don’t think so, I mean…er…well, Mike you’re very young, it wouldn’t be right.”

“Don’t tell me I’m too young, that I’m just a kid.” He was about to reply but before he could say anything I moved closer and kissed him full on the lips. This time he didn’t protest or push me away but returned the kiss and boy was it good. I’d never received such a kiss; I’d kissed a number of girls but as Dr. H. probed my mouth with his tongue I thought it was never ever felt this good.

We stood up then and moved to the relative privacy of the trees. I pushed him against a large oak and we kissed deeply. I was in ecstasy as our tongues explored each other’s mouths. I couldn’t get enough of the new sensation. Dr. H. lifted my T-shirt up over my head and the soft cool breeze caused goose bumps to break out upon my skin. There was such passion and urgency to our movements. I tucked frantically at my denims, struggling to open the buttons and quickly dropped them to the ground; I kicked them off.

My cotton shorts quickly followed. I tore open his shirt to reveal a smooth coal black chest that glistened in the gray morning light. I kissed his face, his neck, his chest, running my tongue down the length of his torso as I sunk to my knees. I paused briefly at his waistband before popping the buttons of his denims. I lowered them to his feet. His cotton whites soon followed, whispering gently against his dark muscular legs as I drew them down to rest against the denims already gathered at his feet. It was such an intense experience seeing another mans cock. I reached up and took it in my hand and watched it swell and throb as I peeled back the foreskin. I took it in my mouth; it tasted salty sweet and musky. He was not large, about average but it was thick and beautifully formed. I caressed his balls; now they were big, unbelievably big, like kiwi fruit. As he probed my mouth with his cock I raised my arms to pinch his swollen nipples and he groaned with pleasure.

I sucked him until my throat was sore and my jaw ached. I could sense he was near the edge so I sucked harder, faster, running my tongue along the base of the cock-head and it wasn’t long before I felt him splattered against my throat and I swallowed furiously to take it all in. My whole body tingled with lust as he put his muscular arms around me and brought me to my feet. I pushed against his body and kissed him deeply as he pulled on my cock, jerking it faster and faster. I felt a deep sound in the base of my throat long before it reached my mouth, a soft sound of ecstasy that built to a crescendo to reverberate around the confined space as I erupted spurt after spurt of hot semen onto his dark firm flesh.

We were both breathless; I leaned against his warm glistening chest and felt it rise and fall as he struggled to take in life giving oxygen. I looked up at him and he smiled, our lips met and we kissed softly.

“I never imagined it would be so good,” I said, smiling. “Can we do it again?”

He laughed loudly and said something about horny 19-year-olds.

But it was time to go. We dressed quickly and headed out of the trees. I grabbed him just before we reached the clearing and we kissed again. We walked towards the edge of the park. The sun was slowly rising and the first birds of the day were singing the dawn chorus. We stood briefly outside my house and he promised to call. I could tell he was concerned, maybe feeling a little guilty. I reassured him as best I could but I knew he’d have to deal with his inner demons. We said goodbye and I watched him walk down the road until he was out of sight; I was overcome by a deep sense of loss. I tiptoed quietly into my house.

Needless to say, he never called. I waited a couple of days before going round to the house. Mrs. H. and Laura where sitting in the kitchen. They ribbed me about drinking too much at the party. I laughed and told them I was never touching vodka again. I went into Juma’s room; he was still in bed. We talked about the party before I brought up the subject of his dad. He told me his dad had gone overseas on a six-month contract. Apparently it had been arranged for some time. I was downhearted but managed to hide it. Juma suggested a movie but I made my excuses and headed back home where I lay on my bed feeling abandoned and alone.

I went off to university that September and threw myself into academia and tried to forget Dr. H. I joined the gym and the GLBT society where I discovered a whole new way of life. I experimented with both guys and girls during those years but there was never anyone special. For the most part, I kept my head down and concentrated on getting a first class degree. On trips home I continued to see Juma. I even met his father on occasions but never alone. We’d make small talk that always left me feeling uncomfortable and confused; it did wonders for my self-esteem too. I couldn’t understand why he treated me so shabbily. To be in the same room, so close, yet so far was deeply painful for me.

The three years at uni passed relatively quickly and after I graduated I found a job in the city. I moved into my own small apartment and commenced on building a life. I jogged every morning in the park and visited the gym three times a week. I socialized with co-workers and sometimes I’d meet friends at the bars. I came out soon after moving to the city. Most people took it well. Mom and dad found it difficult, like many parents they blamed themselves. I tried to explain it was just how it was, that it was nobody’s fault.

I was living in the city a little over a year when Juma got married. I travelled home for the wedding bringing my then boyfriend John with me to the ceremony. I greeted people I hadn’t seen in a long time, laughing and joking with them but I was far from happy, inside I was miserable. My eyes seemed to take on a life of their own, they would traverse the room and seek out Dr. H. and every time I caught his eye he was looking right back at me.

We spoke briefly later that evening when the bride and groom had left for their honeymoon. I was at the bar ordering drinks when he came up and said hello. I looked into those beautiful eyes and thought how handsome he looked in his tuxedo, I liked the way it defined the contours of his body and how the whiteness of the shirt contrasted with the darkness of his skin. He commented on how my gym membership was paying off, how good I was looking, how grown-up. We spoke about the wedding and I said how it must make him think about his own happy nuptials. I didn’t intend to be so cruel; I guess I just wanted him to feel as bad as I did. I remember how his face fell before he walked away without saying another word. It was eighteen months before we saw each other again.

I returned home from work one evening and found a message on my machine asking me to call him at his hotel; he was in the city on business. I knew from trips home that he’d left his wife the previous year and moved into a place of his own. I called the hotel and was put through to his room. After the initial small talk, I said I’d come over to his hotel after work the following day but he asked if I could come over now. There was a slight urgency and a hint of desperation in his voice so I agreed. I quickly showered, dressed and caught a cab to his hotel. As I knocked on the door of his room I resolved to keep things formal, telling myself I was just visiting the father of a friend but when he opened the door my resolve fell away. He looked so lost, so apprehensive and uncertain, it melted any resolve I had.

He motioned me into the room and I could hear the quiver in his voice as he asked if I wanted something to drink. I stood in silence looking at him. He was such an attractive man, I knew I still loved him, his obvious discomfort and vulnerability only added to the attraction. He moved nervously around the drinks cabinet, several times opening and closing doors and talking rapidly, pausing only to ask again if I wanted something to drink. I continued to look at him until my silence forced him to stop chattering and face me. When he finally did stop I held out my arms and he fell into them, now it was his turn to cry. He buried his head against my neck as muffled sobs shook his body. I kissed his face and neck and told him everything would be okay.

“I’m such a fool,” he said. “I thought I lost you, that you hated me,” he said weeping.

“I could never hate you silly,” I replied. “I was hurt and angry but I never hated you…never!”

It was to be three days before we left that hotel room, not counting my brief dash to the pharmacy for condoms and lube. Three glorious days spent naked with marathon bouts of lovemaking. We lived on room service and talked about our lives. He told me everything that had happened since that faithful night in the park, his fear and concern for his family. He talked about his deep feelings for me; how he never stopped thinking about me and how on many occasions he tried to call me but would hang up after dialing, too scared to take that step. The age gap was a major concern for him, as was the racial issue, what would people say. I spoke of my pain and confusion, how I never stopped thinking about him. How I didn’t care what people would think or say.

He laughed when I told him I could teach him to be indifferent to what goes on in the minds of other people, how it was relatively easy, especially when you consider the narrowness of their views and the superficial nature of their thoughts. That if you place a lot of value on the opinions of others, you pay them too much honor and make yourself miserable in the process. How you have to remember that most of the people who’s good opinion we crave don’t actually know us, so why let their verdict govern what we make of ourselves. That if he was honest with me about his feelings we could handle anything as long as we were together.

All that was 16 years ago and we are still together today. I know as I type this story it comes across as a romantic tale, but believe me, for the most part it was far from romantic. In reality it was really tough; the actual events would fill a novel. Our families took years to accept us as a couple. My folks hit the roof; the age thing was a huge problem for them and the fact he was once a married neighbour. On the issue of race, I was surprised that the people I’d always assumed to be liberal turned out to be the most lethal, the most venomous, the most racist and homophobic.

As the years went by my family eventually came round, they could see that in the face of adversity we were committed to each other and would never give up. But it wasn’t easy, the first few years were the most difficult, there where many occasions when the mounting pressure of disapproval took its toll and almost broke us up but we persevered during those tough times and somehow managed to see it through.

Juma was a tough nut to crack. It was years before he came round to the idea of his dad and his best friend being together as a couple. Today we get on great, thanks largely to his wife, Anne. They visit often with their two daughters. As does Laura, her husband and son. They come to see their granddad and Uncle Mike.

I’m 41 next year and Rakanja – that’s Dr. H. – will be 59. It’s 10.30pm, and as I type this and look across at him lying on the sofa in just a pair of white boxer shorts, his body illuminated by the flickering TV set, I’m overwhelmed by the feelings I have for him. He looks great, still the muscular man I fell in love with at 19. His hair went gray awhile back so he shaves it, but the kiwi fruits are still as big and beautiful as ever. Life is good.

This is my first attempt at writing so I would love some feedback. aveeno2005@yahoo.co.uk