Gay Erotic Stories

Becoming a cocksucker involves both genes and environment. My earliest arousal by men came in second grade when I chanced past a man at our school using the boys’ room, so the instinct is deeply rooted. But the conditions in which the sex drive develops play a role in the particular kind of queer any such kid is fated one day to become.

It was shortly after my first orgasm that I first saw another classmate in a sexual way. Three of us seventh graders were in the boys’ room talking to a fourth, Joey, who was sitting on toilet. As Joey, a not-yet-mature dishwater blond, stood up to pull his pants up, I caught sight of his small, circumcised member. The view jolted me so that I wheeled away momentarily to hide my instant boner from the others. I somehow understood at that very instant that this reaction was homosexual. But our religious society of the early seventies was so repressed that it would take another 15 years to apply that description to myself as such, not merely to my reactions.

A repressed and mostly rural upbringing leaves little chance for experimentation, so I didn’t lose my virginity until high school. Rene, a friend of my brother, was staying with us. The first morning I was by myself with him he got me high. And despite my inhibitions, he seduced me. The seduction culminated in his face-fucking me, then ejaculating into my mouth. It was an incredible experience, and I swallowed it as if by instinct, though strangely I would have a hard time handling the taste in future encounters at first.

Maybe I was too high, or he was too far into my mouth, or that particular load wasn’t all that pungent. Afterward, he asked if I’d done this before, and in a bit of teenage bravado I lied and said yes. But he was the first. To make it better, he was a Puerto Rican with a dark, uncircumcised dick I just couldn’t get over. He was from New York, and though gay, a masculine, dominant, smoldering man – just what I needed and a perfect seduction. If anything, I was more freaked out by the fact that Puerto Ricans are part black than that I’d sucked my first dick, but in the South, that was a deeply ingrained taboo. Even so, I think all teenagers need to be whacked on the back of the head with a rolled-up newspaper from time to time until they can get their priorities straight.

High school was hell. I wasn’t really effeminate, but I was a nervous teenager and the other boys quickly picked up on that. They distanced themselves, so I couldn’t get a look at the dick I so craved. One boy did come over and got me to suck his cock. But he was straight and didn’t cum; what he really wanted was to steal my pot. The incident got around at school. While walking past the recess yard one day, some guy yelled out, “Rick D----- is a faggot!” I slinked into the building to escape the stares and laughter, but the humiliation was total. Ostracized and degraded, I found myself pushed to the margins, never to regain a grasp in decent society.

But it’s better to be degraded than ostracized and ignored. If I could go back in time, I’d thwack myself on the head with that newspaper and say, “Look, get over it; admit you’re a dick sucker. It’s better to be the class fag than to be totally shunned and ignored. And don’t worry about hell, either. This is the South, and everyone here ends up going there anyway. That’s what hellfire and damnation’s all about. If you’re gonna go, they are, too, and you’ll all want it by that time. Listen to grandma, and if you’re gonna suck dicks, then be the best darn dick sucker you can be.” Grandma didn’t really say that, but at least it would have caught my attention.

So this is how I was primed for my future as a sucker of men’s dicks. Testosterone slowly took effect, and sex became something I had to have, not an indulgence. I picked up my first trick a year later, a 35-year-old, dark-haired college professor from Alabama. During my tryst at his hotel, he said this was a very lonely life to choose. I could never figure out what prompted him to tell me that. Could he see something about me, or was he talking about himself? It was weird that he used that word – choose. But to say it’s been lonely doesn’t quite do justice to the actual experience.

By 19 I was cruising the men’s toilets at the university, and soon not even that was enough. Along the way, I finally learned to look in the mirror and call myself the fatal “F” word. And with this bit of background, the context for the themes of my sexual encounters is a little better drawn.

Until next time…