Gay Erotic Stories

I have been working for quite some time now at one of Europe’s major regional airports that have known a certain amount of growth over the past years. (I will not mention the name of the airport lest that you, dear reader, come out and try to find me.) There are several business flights spread all over the day going to central and northern European capitals with hardly ever anything bigger than a 50-seater. On weekends, work there can be particularly easy because there are practically no business flights from Saturday morning until Sunday evening and only five or six charter flights with the above mentioned 50-seaters to Mediterranean holiday destinations (such as Majorca, Ibiza, Venice, Rimini, Dubrovnik and Calvi).

The airport is by far too large for the little traffic that is taking place at the moment, but, when the airport was conceived, local authorities already thought about the great future of the area and planned big. The latest enlargement of the airport seemed to be made a bit hap-hazard as it has many hidden shortcuts and passage ways (only known to those who work there) as well as little nooks where the public toilets are sort of hidden. Some of these toilets are actually so far away from the area that is used for departures and arrivals and the land-side shops that I have my greatest doubts if they are ever used by anyone than me and the cleaning women who are supposed to check them no matter whether they are used or not.

It was on one of these weekends mentioned before, after the first (and last) wave of business airlines had departed, quite some time before the first charter flight was due. After leaving the check-in counter declining to go to the employees’ canteen with my colleagues, I went to one of those public toilets at the far end of the airport. (They are for one much cleaner as no-one ever rushes in them as they are so very far remote and so very well hidden behind a placard apologising for some maintenance work.

Have I already mentioned that my name is Sebastian, that I am 19 years old, 6ft5", red-haired, blue-eyed, smooth, slim, well-hung (9.5') and uncut? Well, that’s me. At the time being, I wore my navy-blue uniform with a white shirt (no tie, I was off-duty) and below a white T-shirt and dark-red boxer briefs (those without the button fly).

To understand the story properly you have to know how the toilets are built at this airport. You open the door of the gent’s toilet and you are in a sort of “vestibule”. There are two doors leading off. The one on the right-hand side leads to a room with cubicles, the one on the left-hand side leads to the urinals. For a reason only known to the interior decorator and the masons, you face the urinals directly as you enter the room. There is nothing to hide. It is a row of five urinals in a row, and on entering the room, you can see everyone peeing and, if he has not been entirely disfavoured by nature, you cannot but see his dick.

I will come back to my story: I entered the above-mentioned toilet at the very end of the airport terminal. The swing doors open and close without making the slightest sound, even without the whooshing sound they usually produce. I must have made my way very silently to the room with the five urinals, too, because, when I turned around, I saw a young lad (looking like 16 or 17, but probably a bit older though surely not exactly my age) who was standing at the first urinal in the row (that is only within one yard away from me).

The boy was young and handsome. He had blond hair and blue eyes and even a few freckles on his face (something I do not have although I am a red-head). He was wearing the usual outfit of today’s sports-kids white T-shirt and dark-blue track-suit bottoms. These were partly lowered to allow him to heave his cock over his shining white boxer briefs. I was not surprised to see someone exposed in that way on one of the airport toilets. I had seen men of all ages (and surely not all of them were young and handsome) in that or a very similar position. And even though I am gay, I am not in the habit of staring every man I meet on a public toilet deliberately on his cock, but, this time, I had to… Not only had this boy his cock out, he was actually beating his meat like mad. And, wow, what a boner that was.

I must have watched the happy masturbator for about ten or more seconds, speechless, amazed, bemused, bewildered at what I saw. I instantly felt my dick stiffen in my boxer briefs. The surprise and shock must have been even greater to the little wanker in front of me when he realised that he was being watched at something you usually prefer to do in private. His first idea might have been to put his huge, stiff dick back into his boxer briefs and make a run for it. This, however, proved to be trickier than he might have thought. (Besides, even if he had succeeded in getting his hard-on into his pants, he could not have run out of the toilets either. Firstly, I was standing in the way blocking the door – not intentionally, I just did. Secondly, everyone outside would have seen his massive boner through his clothes.) The idea of at least turning away from me did not occur to him.

His indecisiveness gave me the opportunity to walk past him and to take out my own cock (very hard and throbbing by now) at the urinal right next to him and started to beat my meat just as he had done a couple of seconds before. Although, by now, he might have had time enough to escape, some mysterious fascination for the forbidden fruits seemed to immobilise him. I turned my face towards him and grinned and made a nod in the direction of his cock to get it back out again. With a look of disbelief, he tried to make out whether I was pulling his leg or whether I meant it seriously. Finally, he rummaged in his boxer briefs and produced that nice juicy cock of his again. It had, by now, softened a bit, but, under a few strokes, it soon grew to its formidable length again.

And it sure was a nice boner he had. It must have been at least nine inches long. It had a very clearly perceptible vein on the upper side and a very long and juicy foreskin that covered his dick even when it was fully erect as it was now.

For a minute or so, we wanked in unison, each stroking his own cock and caressing his balls. Then, I became a little more daring when I saw that he had finally overcome his shyness and was enjoying the unforeseen situation as well as I did. I stretched out my hand in order to take over the wanking of his dick. He reluctantly took his hand away and gave me the chance to feel his juvenile cock. It felt so good that I had to stop wanking my own cock lest I should shoot my load within seconds. He was, however, by far too straight a boy that I could make him touch and whack off my cock. I left it at that.

He told me that there was a good practise to feel a very intense orgasm (he sure had lost all his shyness by now!). He said we should both beat our meat till we reached the point of no return, the moment you feel that you will come. At that moment, we should both pull back our foreskins as far down as we both possibly could, actually so far back that it hurt on the under side of the cock. This method, he said, would hold the orgasm back for a couple of seconds and both give us a feeling of explosion if our cum finally made its way out of our cocks.

We both tried very hard to reach our climax at the same time. (We nearly made it.) And each of us shot his load. The sensation of the orgasm was quite what he had said it would be. And my goodness, I could see why this fellow had come into the toilets to wank in the first place. He must have had no wank for at least a week or so. Loads and loads of cum were shooting out of his huge cock. As soon as he had cum, he seemed to regain his senses, shook off some drops of cum, rolled his long foreskin back over the top of his cock, placed the still squirting cock into his pants, pulled up his track-suit bottoms and left the toilet without looking back at me.

I slowly dried my cock off of the cum, adjusted my uniform and went for the tea-break. I thought that I might never see that young fellow again, but I was wrong. When I came back with one of my colleagues to do the check-in to Rimini, I saw him with his parents (now girlfriend in sight!) standing in the queue waiting for his turn. He urged his parents into my colleague’s queue in order to avoid my looks, I imagine. At boarding, however, I collected the boarding passes. That gave me an opportunity to check his passport and learn his name. His surname is, of course, confident, but I can tell you his first name – it is a sufficiently common name anyway: Richard. What is the nickname for Richard in English again? Ah yes, DICK. And what a very suitable name that is for him. As if his parents had known…