Gay Erotic Stories

The grind of college life at a private church-owned Christian school was wearing thin. I sometimes went to classes, although not religiously, I dated girls, and I gave lip service to the ideals of fundamentalism that my family and pastor espoused. But deep down I knew I was different, that I didn't fit into the mold they wanted me to fit into. I had a craving for flesh that no one else I knew at my school felt, and keeping it to myself was tearing me apart. In a moment when I could no longer bury the secret desire for male flesh in the deepest part of my gut, I admitted (only to myself) I was gay. In my town, being gay was summed up in the person of Eric, a tall, flamboyant African-American drag queen in a red dress with a feather boa and Diana Ross wig, perpetually stupefied drunk. I desperately didn't want to be that. The blue-collar working force and the Bible-belt Christian aristocracy who together had a stranglehold on my town would never accept another Eric. They didn't accept the first one.

It was the night before my fundamentalist mother's wedding to my first step-father, and we were staying at the house he was unloading and selling in the urban renewal area of Indianapolis. It was Victorian, small but cozy, with a loft at the top of steep stairs, and had a stylish air about it. He thought he'd never be able to sell it because the gay community was moving into the area in droves, fixing up all the houses that hadn't yet been fixed up, and his had been. I felt a strange thrill, knowing I was in a neighborhood filled with people of my own kind, whom I had never met, and didn't know how I could. I would be sleeping on his leather couch under a stained-glass window, quite possibly with gay people sleeping in houses on either side of me, unseen, not seeable. In the morning we would go to the wedding, the house would be sold, and I would not be back. Around ten o'clock I unfurled a blanket, ready to make up the couch to sleep, when I noticed the deep bass of music booming. I asked my mother's fiancé about it, and he said with a distasteful grimace it was because of the gay bar, and it was that way every night. My secret thrill coursed into a force pounding in my ears. I pictured tall, handsome men walking down this street to meet each other, greeting each other warmly at the bar, its bass tones proclaiming they did not fear the community at large. They would gather with impunity. I pictured the type of men that one might find there, pictured meeting a gay man who did not match the description of my town's Eric. Strong? Masculine? I wondered if it was possible.

The wedding took place, not without its complications, but my mind was often occupied with other things. I had waited my whole life to find intimacy and acceptance with another man, and somehow I would get back to that neighborhood. The night I entered that bar I would begin that adventure of discovery. I didn't know Indianapolis well, or really at all, but over the next weeks I found a day I had business downtown, and in the afternoon after it was complete I followed streets I knew to the east side, little by little finding my way back to where my step-father's house was. Taking a deep breath I walked through the bar's smoked glass door in the late afternoon sunshine, and it was like a brand new world, like stepping into a world of color as in the Wizard of Oz. Strangely though, there were only about four guys there. After twenty minutes or so wandering around looking at homoerotica from the '50s, oversized gumball machines, and colored neon lights, I struck up a conversation on the back patio and got to know a couple of the gay men. They weren't the fantasy figures from my dream the night I stayed in this neighborhood, but were nice enough in their own way. I enquired as to when the bar filled up, if it filled up, and they just laughed. "You've gotta be here after eleven o'clock honey!" was their reply.

That was more difficult. I never had business in Indianapolis at eleven o'clock at night. But I made the trip in my unreliable little college car. It was harder to find the area after dark, as I still did not know the city, but I was ready to meet some real gay men, the kind I fantasized existed. I wore my college sweatshirt and jeans, but when I judged I was close, I pulled into a small parking lot with a wrought-iron fence around it and changed into the outfit I had brought: a sleek nylon/polyester soccer shirt, tight jeans which had holes cut out of them in several key places, properly weathered of course, black compression bike shorts underneath, and my black cowboy boots. Frankly I had no idea what to wear. The only other time I'd been there I'd worn my dress shirt, tie, and slacks, and the guys there wore polo shirts and shorts. But I had looked at myself in my full-length mirror at home, and knew I made an impression in what I now had on.

Once in the bar, I found quite a few more men than were there before, some in tight jeans and cowboy boots as I was, some in comfortable clothes, some decadent in leather chaps and vests, or harnesses around bare chests. I suddenly realized one of the reasons motorcycle men always appealed to me so much--I had a hunger for black leather! I found myself checking these men out harder than any of the others. Meanwhile I was finding out that just being in the gay bar was not in itself entrance into paradise. Some of the men who eyeballed me and brazenly approached me were not at all the ones I would have eyeballed or approached, and some of the ones I would have, studiously avoided my glance like I had the plague. The warm greetings at the door of a community of men who all knew each other and lived in a neighborhood united in the concord of a shared cause of equality against a larger city who feared and detested them gave way to a vision of lack of acquaintance, apathy, and even petty disagreement, of taste, of style, of interest. I also soon learned when making small talk, that if I told a person who was radically interested in me where I went to school, I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach where my prescient sense of imminent stalking lived. So I needed to be more careful what I chose to reveal of myself. I was learning so much this night!

I was watching a dance floor under a radiating disco ball where to my astonishment men danced with other men, when I got the feeling of being watched. I looked over to see a man staring at me with an expression that was bordering on a smile. Around six feet tall, broad-shouldered, barrel-chested, dark-haired, slightly on the stocky side with a little bit of excess flesh around his middle, he was one of the men in black leather chaps, vest, and combat boots. He had hair on his exposed chest, which I was drawn to, and a bristly goatee with just a touch of gray in it. In one hand he cradled a bottle of Budweiser. When he saw me look him from head to toe, he came over and offered to buy me a drink. I had previously gone over in my mind what I would do if that happened, as I didn't intend to end up as someone's "bitch" for the night because I accepted a drink from a stranger. I didn't even really drink except at my fraternity parties just off-campus, where I could easily walk home. But something about him drew me, a hunger I had previously only reserved for guys who never looked at me, who did not ever hunger for me in return. I accepted.

Tony was kind, very open, and not at all as brusque as I had imagined one of the leather men would be. I had totally failed to hit it off with any of the others. Some were too forbidding to approach, and two were obviously a couple, doing things in a corner most couples would only do in a private room--or a porno video. One amazing, tall, butch leather man I had worked up to approaching, coaching myself to compliment him and ask his name, but when I was vectoring in, like a propeller plane approaching a country runway in a snowstorm, I felt the chill radiating from him, vectored off, and decided to put down at a less forbidding haven. By this point in the evening, I was certainly glad I had found Tony, a more considerate specimen than all the other leather men put together.

He held me in his arms in front of him, and we watched the dance of the fairies under the sequined silver light of the disco ball until last call, and then I didn't know what would happen. I asked him if he had somewhere we could go, and he said, "I usually just crash out in the back of my van. It's pretty old, looks like the Mystery Machine, but it serves the purpose, if you'd like to join me . . . ?" I was uncertain whether I really wanted to; after all, I had pictured my first time in a home, in a bedroom, in a hotel room at least, but in the back of a shagadelic van from the '70s? I waffled, I stuttered. Tony led me by the hand out the door of the bar as the lights came up glaring harshly at those gauche enough to stay past their welcome. Around the corner was his van, and at its door I had to choose. I was going on 25 and had never before been touched by a man, by any human being. Did I really want to put this off longer, after the groundwork I had put in tonight? Would he understand if I told him? Would he think me a backwards freak and never speak to me again? My misgivings unvoiced, I let him lead me into the van.

The interior of the van was done in thick shag carpet, much as I expected, and the windows were covered with mini-blinds. The far back seat was laid back to make a full-sized bed. Just inside we found a cozy place to sit, and as I gazed into his eyes I was overcome by the enormity of what we were about to undertake. Tony enfolded me in his arms, and very quickly placed a powerful kiss upon my lips, something I had not done with a man before. His mouth was warm and wet and inviting, and had the lingering taste of Budweiser. His tongue ran its way around my lips, then darted into my mouth to caress my own. His strong arms crushed me to him, and I melted into his embrace. My arms ran up under his leather vest, and I got a feel for the terrain of his back, warm and sinewy as he held me tightly on this cold night. The warmth of his exposed chest hair seemed to radiate right into me through the flimsy soccer shirt I wore. Meanwhile our kiss lingered on as I began to catch the primal rhythm of it, and to respond in kind.

I pushed his vest away from his shoulders from inside it, sliding it down his arms to the floor, and a moment later we were reaching for each other's clothes, his boots and chaps and jeans, my torn jeans and compression shorts, the jock I had on underneath, my soccer shirt. Stripping them away as quickly as possible, we grasped at each other for warmth in the cool April post-midnight air. When the clothes were gone I fell onto the bunk with him atop me, his weight pressing into me, and a rush of warmth filled me so that I feared no chill. My breath was taken away, as he must have weighed over 200 pounds, but I was not afraid of being crushed. I had dreamed of experiencing this as well. We made out for some time, how long I could not tell, and I reveled in the newness of kissing with a man, the scratchiness of his goatee, the warmth and wetness, his hands on me, the way his head went one way when mine went the other.

And then Tony rolled off me, and grasped his erect cock proudly. Something about the way he held it was suggestive to me. "You want to . . . ?" he left it hanging, the suggestion implied rather than expressed. I sensed he meant for me to put my mouth on it, and trepidation mixed with longing. Here was his manhood, exposed for me. But what if I didn't like it in my mouth? What if I was bad at this? Even so, I moved to accommodate what he wanted. He knelt before me and I lowered my head to lick tentatively at his tool. Around seven or seven and a half inches, it was impressive in its own way, a way that was new to me. It jutted out at me, a Popsicle of flesh, curved upward, thick like a plumped sausage, with a round mushroom head. It was sleek, warm, had a velvety feel, and pulsated with a life all its own. The scent of his sweat was more musky here, but not in a bad way. I opened my mouth wide and accepted his cock head into my mouth. I knew enough to move up and down on it, sucking with each up stroke, and very quickly he began to moan and buck his hips, thrusting at me.

I continued to suck on the proffered manhood that filled my vision as Tony moved around, seeming to want to get comfortable, then with his hands on my shoulders he guided me around to face his cock a different way, and arranged my body atop his. Suddenly I felt his mouth on my dick, and looked back to discover we were in 69 position. I had heard of this, and knew from rumor that it was great. I marveled at the sensation of wet lips gliding on my cock, and wanted to share that more than ever with him, so I got back to work on his. From this vantage point, his cock tickled at my gag reflex, the pubes of his meaty testicles were before my eyes, and his masculine scent included a whiff of the more gamey sweat from his ass, so long trapped into his jeans and shorts, now making it known to my nostrils. Tony's hands on my hips had me thrusting in his mouth, and set the rhythm for this exploration. I could sense his excitement building, and as he got closer and closer, he released my dick from his mouth and moved me aside as easily as if I was a rag doll.

Perplexed, I waited to see what would be next. He moved over to retrieve some things from a drawer under the seat. Ripping a small foil package open, he placed a rubber on the head of his dick and began rolling it down. This was an item of titillation for me, as I had never before seen one outside its package. I knew what came next, and I was a little afraid. But I had waited so long! I should experience this. Tony poured out some goop onto his fingers, and reached for my ass. Pushing apart my legs, he unabashedly groped his way into my most private area, and I felt the goop smear around, and a fingertip part my hole and flick a little of it into my deepest crevice. More and more familiarly he pushed a finger deeper with each circular motion of his hand, and to my amazement my legs parted more and more to welcome him! In almost no time he had two fingers inserted, stretching me out with the type of feeling I associated with bowel movement, but so much more erotic and alluring.

Moving to position, Tony rubbed the condom-clad head of his cock against my hole, and I froze with fear. I would be ripped apart! I made myself swallow that fear, and kept my legs open. In slid his cock, and at first the pain seized me, but I remembered I wanted this as Tony paused, seeing pain reflected in my eyes. I calmed myself, he proceeded to put the full length in me, and I was amazed it all fit! Again he waited for me to adjust, and I looked in his eyes, a bitch boy being had by his big strong mate, and I was ready. He began to move his hips according to primal instinct, and I rocked back and forth with his thrusts. I had been propped up with my arms out behind me, but he laid me out on my back and raised my legs to the sky. He fucked his way into me for some time, and my head lolled back with the uncomprehending sensation. Setting my legs around his waist, he lay down on me chest to chest, and we kissed as he fucked me urgently.

Quite suddenly Tony pulled out, gave me a sly smile, and said, "Now it's time for you to do me." He handed me another condom and the bottle of lube. I had no idea what to do; I considered myself in the receiving role, and it boggled my mind to think of switching those roles at this late date. I had had it explained to me in Sex Ed how a condom goes on, and I had just seen it done, so ripping the foil away with my teeth, I struggled to put the slimy thing on. If my big man really wanted this, I would give it a try. I put the grease on my fingers as he had done, dribbling some onto the bedspread laid across the bunk by accident, and began applying it as was done to me. I got a strange thrill plying away at his sensitive butthole, as he wiggled around to give me access to him. This was something I had never thought of before. Soon my oil-slicked fingers were in him, and he writhed in response.

I lathered up my sheathed dick, and put it at his entrance, as he had done to me. I pushed just a little, and in popped the head of my dick, admittedly a smaller helmet than his. His ass was like a vice, unbelievably tight around me. I pushed a little more, and an inch or two went in. His eyes widened in startled wonderment. I waited until they narrowed again, and then put the rest in. He threw back his head and gnashed his teeth, choking back a curse. At that point I assumed I had pushed too hard. I waited. He groaned and looked back at me with one eye open, one closed. He nodded, and I began, finding the primal pulse, as he had, to work on his tight ass. He clenched and released with my thrusts, and constantly I marveled at the tightness of him. Having always before jacked off dry, alone, I wasn't used to the lube, or the clenching vice-grip of his ass, or the clingy condom. I desired him, no doubt, but didn't find myself approaching an orgasm at all, but he seemed to really enjoy having me in him, so we continued that way for a long time.

Finally I was getting tired due to the lateness of the hour, or rather the earliness of it, and I slid out. Tony said, "Let me go again, so I can fill you up right." He positioned me on my hands and knees on the comforter and fished out another condom to put on, then lubed it up really well. Again he put his tool to my stretched-out ass, and started to plug me up. It stretched me open all over again, and seemed so much thicker this way, as I took it from this new angle. I instinctively spread my knees wider and lowered my belly to the blanket, being serviced by my stud like a bitch in heat. He fucked me, and fucked me some more, and sped up his pace as his excitement mounted. I could tell he was building toward something, and at last with a howl and his chest heaving, he emptied himself into me, his hand on my lower back pushing me down onto my face on the bunk as his throbbing cock spasmed and thrust wildly into my hole.

Heaving a sigh of relief and pleasure, he slid out and lay beside me, dropping the used condom to the floor. I cuddled into his arms and soon we were asleep. It was bright daylight when we awoke, and found that we were still lying sweaty in each other's arms. We kissed for a while and talked about common interests. At a lull in conversation, when we realized just how much we didn't really know each other, Tony turned to me and asked, "Wanna go again?"