Gay Erotic Stories

Where I've cruised has had a lot to do with the kind of sex I end up having. Today, we have video arcades with glory holes. In the seventies and eighties, gay sex was illegal, and society forced us to suck dicks wherever we could find them, usually kneeling in the grime of public restrooms. That's where I got my start. But public toilets have their paybacks, like being able to see a lot of straight puds if there was a peephole. Often, though, I had to cut out my own peephole to see the urinals, and the maintenance assholes usually covered the holes up in a few days. But I'm a persistent pervert, and my reward was a front row view of all sorts of pissing dicks.

One mall toilet I vandalized this way back in '84 had an especially good view of straight pissers. Often, dads and sons, or brothers, and of course even friends, would ritualistically piss together. One man made it a point to stand back so that he could be seen; his dick was even semi-erect as his charge stood and stared openly at it pissing. This man really got off on this public exhibitionism. He had a wedding ring, and I remember wondering if he also did that at home for his wife. Later another such pair came in, one with blond hair, a white-trashy baseball cape, and an extra-long foreskin which he pulled out in full view as he was being positioned at the urinal. Still later and in another such pairing, I saw that one had a fat cut pecker, and was held up to piss and dribble in the urinal in full view of the hole while I stared incredulously. The clientele there really was young and family-oriented. One young male about 19, wearing jeans and a blue shirt, once stood at the closest urinal showing one of the most beautiful foreskins I've ever seen, and he pissed through it with memorably tremendous force. On this went for a couple of years, the exceptional view from this small hole in a stall.

Even at 19, though, I had already become more than a passive voyeur. I had started seriously sucking dicks in mens' toilets at the local university. One day shortly into this, an old man, about sixty and wearing a shirt and tie (a professor?), sidled up to a urinal. He had a full head of tossled gray hair, a long-faced sort of Irish look about him. What was interesting about him was his persistence in urging me to suck him off. I didn't want to suck something that old, but I wavered out of teen lust, and before I knew it he had coaxed me into at least squatting before his zipper. At his age, I reckoned, at least he wasn't a cop trying to arrest me, so I squatted. He soon got me to take his average-sized, rigid erection in my young hand, but he didn't unbuckle. He only pulled it out of his fly, and protruding from the zipper also I remember quite a few longish gray hairs. I couldn't bring myself to put that old peter in my mouth. But he decided otherwise.

A hand suddenly grabbed the back of my head and forced my mouth onto his dick with more force than I would ever have expected from someone that lean. Next thing I knew, my lips were slamming into his zipper and my nose into the belt buckle. I pulled off, only to be handled this way over and over, againg and again, until he shot a load of cum into my mouth. It was awful. I had never had my face slammed like that. He didn't even bother to unbuckle for me, and I had never had my head grabbed like that and forced down on a man's dick. It was humiliation, but he knew I needed to be forced, and he did it to me again later on a second encounter, coldly using my head like it was his toy and mashing my young, beautiful face into his gray old crotch. My hormones seemed to make me submit each time. I couldn't believe I was letting stuff like this happen, with just anybody able to make me suck a dick like that. Could I be that big a cocksucker?

My actions outran my ability to label myself. I reacted exactly the same way three years later at another set of stalls. One man cruising with me was an overweight, mid-thirties, low-class oaf with blondish, curly hair, a grizzly face and a slovenly look. He wasn't what I liked, but there was nobody else to suck that day, and he knew he had me. Instead of putting me out of my misery right then, this bastard lit a cigarette and had a slow, pensive smoke in his stall, while one stall over I squirmed in disgust at the idea of having to suck this trash. I squirmed and recoiled, yes, but ... I didn't leave. I couldn't. I sat frozen, right there, until he flicked the butt onto the floor and started whacking. Then he got on his knees, poking his curved hardon under the stall, and it was game over for me. I knew I had to suck it, and he knew he owned me. In a few seconds, I was bobbing up and down on his dick, looking at his yellow blond pubes and fat thighs. Five minutes later came my punishment. This dirtbag shot the biggest load of cum that has ever filled my mouth, before or since. He unloaded in my mouth by the shotglass-full, pulse after pulse of thick spooge, and between gagging and writhing, I gobbled as much of the nasty swill down my throat as I could without retching, determined to stop it from pouring out from my lips and all over my shirt. I just couldn't believe it. I was 22, young and handsome, and I should be able to choose whoever I wanted to suck, right? It wasn't fair, damn it. Here I was with my mouth full to brim with this creep's load, and it took gulp after nauseating gulp to drink it all down in order to keep my shirt and face clean. Yet like that old man earlier, I ran into this guy later on a second occasion, and just like with the old man then, I repeated my defiling performance for this slob a second time. Once more, this man sprayed a massive load of cum into my mouth, and I figured I had to be some sick fuck to gulp it down like I did. Yet back at home on those nights, all a could do was jack off thinking about what I had let this man do to me. How I secretly craved it. I didn't want to be a the town fag, but men like these could tell what I was before I could, and they forced me down that path, training me to get used to taking on any man who needed his dick serviced by a queer.

Rest stop toilets on the expressways proved another place to skulk around. In Louisana in 1991, I washed my hands at the sink late one night when a young redneck with black hair drove up in a red pickup and walked in to piss. He was heavy-set, with a bushy moustache that would've been ugly if he had been a few years older, and as he flushed after pissing, he looked around at me, caught my eye in the mirror, and turned and shook his meat at me. I froze, of course. Quickly, he scooted over to a stall, still unbuckled from his piss. He backed in to give me room, and motioned me with his glance to come in and suck it. He was a little less than average and cut. After letting his jeans drop, with his dick sticking through his striped boxers, he let me go down on him. I liked it because he was bulky at the waist without being fat, and he got hard quickly. Gripping the tops of the stall walls and looking upward, gritting his teeth, he needed only about four minutes to bathe my mouth with his load, which filled my mouth with bitter taste due to the residual piss mixed in with his load. Straight? Maybe. He didn't really seem to know how to cruise other than to shake his penis at me. But he had pegged me for a queer moment he had walked in, and he had acted quickly to relieve his sexual urges using my mouth.

At 39, I found myself sucking dicks late one night in a steaming hot, nasty roadside toilet near San Antonio. I stood at the urinals as a truck driver came in and up to the other urinal. He, too, had instantly pegged me for a cocksucker and didn't bother with pretense. Turning toward me, he merely pulled out his dick, which was short and already bone hard, though still covered with lots of foreskin. He was fat and ugly, and the floor was covered with pubic hair and male piss that stank in the Texas heat, but I knew what my job was. I sank to my knees in the piss, worked his foreskin back with my mouth, cleaned the cheese off his unwashed dickhead with my greedy tongue, then pulled off to gaze at the bulging, shiny, purple head. He was married, about my age and must have been Hispanic, but the only thing that mattered just then was milking him, which I did in about 45 seconds. This trucker had been driving all day and his dick had long been ready to shoot its load when he spotted me walking into the toilets. Again, my mouth and throat took a bath in a spray of hot semen.

From these incidents, you can see the direction I was moving in. It mattered less and less what the guy looked like or where the sex took place or how nasty it got. All that seemed to matter was hot, hard dicks shooting cum.

Cars were a good location to suck dicks except that they were uncomfortable. Even so, beggars can't be choosers, and if a guy wants you to suck his dick in his car, you just have to do it. In my mid-twenties, a short, overweight (but not fat), balding, middle-aged man picked me up and got me stoned. The payoff for him was a blowjob from me, and I went down on his short, stubby dick. He drove around, and as I sucked I kept waiting for him to pull over. Instead, he shot off in my mouth as the car rolled down the street, one arm on the steering wheel. He had never bothered to stop, dumping me out where he had picked me up a few moments after.

Some years later I got into the car of a lean, brown-haired guy with straight hair and a sort of grunge style about him. He told me his girlfriend wouldn't give him any "twat" that night so he was looking for a "gay guy." I was about 32, and he was about six or eight years younger, I figured. Sucking him wasn't bad, but the hand brake in the car made it hard to position myself. His dick was long and straight, a little on the narrow side, and when he ejaculated in my mouth it tasted bitter, so I knew he had pissed recently. A little narcissictically, he asked me right after how his had tasted. I think he was genuinely curious, and was new to getting head this way. By that time I liked breaking in novices. I've ruined many a straight or bi male over the years, knowing their girlfriends can't compare to my expertise. Realizing this has given me a twisted sense of debased satisfaction. I really get off on that.

I offered to suck off a Mexican American outside a Las Vegas porn shop some years later, and he took me to his car, cranked it and got the air conditioner going. He was a good 12-15 years younger than me, and played the radio during while getting his blowjob. He first put on his sunglasses due to the glare, then he pulled down his shorts to expose his short, fat, uncut bone, precum already filling the prepuce that still covered his hardon, which stuck straight out, hands free. I cleaned out that foreskin and lapped up the semen in short order, and after two or three minutes, he creamed in my mouth. I noted while sucking how dark his skin was and his sparse but thick leg hairs. The hair on his head was black, short cropped and straight, but for the most part all I saw were balls, cock, and thigh. I scooted out of his car with his load in my mouth, and he zipped off, the passenger compartment by now cooled in the desert sun and the long-idling engine ready to rip.

Toilets are good and appropriate. Cars are acceptable. But it's better to bring a guy home if you can.

Until next time ...