Gay Erotic Stories

THE LONG ROAD HOME I shall never forget that stormy Friday night in Los Angeles. And who says it never rains in LA. I guess I should tell you a bit about me. I am 35, 175 pounds, 5’11, a light skinned man of color, piercing green eyes, and an award-winning smile. I have an excellent body, thanks to working out twice a week with a personal trainer. I am considered by the ladies, a fine brother. My father is British, and me mum is African American. I grew up in a very ritzy suburb of Los Angeles. You know the community that has a guardhouse, and every home has a live in maid. Being the only child, I was spoiled rotten. I was well educated and speak three languages. After college I traveled Europe for about a year, and would have continued until my father told me to get my ass on a plane and come home ASAP or be cut off. So being the good son I hurried home, on the Concorde. (he he) I then went to work for Coast Recordings, one of LA’s largest record companies, and through hard work and the occasional flirting, I quickly rose in the ranks, after discovering seven R&B groups, who’s songs have all won Grammy’s. Now at 35, I am the youngest Recording Producer/Vice President that my company has ever had. Friday had finally come, and it had been the week from hell. I had had to fly to New York on Monday for a meeting, then to Boston for a conference, then to Dallas to have lunch with one of our firm’s newest rap stars. So when Friday rolled around I was exhausted. After reviewing a budget for a video we were producing for Brandy, and satisfied all was well, I decided to pack it in. I walked over to the armoire and made myself a strong Stoli tonic. One of the executive perks, a bar in my office. Being so tried, I normally would have raced out the office, but I did not, I just stood staring out of my 29th floor Century City office building. The rain always made me mellow. Tonight it made me sad. I could not get Dane out of my mind. We had been together for 7 years, and one day he announced he was leaving me for someone else. I damn near passed out. As I gazed out the window at the city lights in the canyon communities, I reflected back on how we had first met. It was on British Airways, flight 312, first class, bound for London, seven years ago. He was seated next to me, and we talked for the entire flight Toward the end of our flight we were holding hands. We started kissing in the elevator of the Dorchester Hotel, and damn near were undressing each other as we staggered in one another’s arms down the hallway. Dane and I made love for two days nonstop. Dane was 6’1, very muscular, steel gray eyes, long blond hair; that he wore in a ponytail, and the jaw line of death. He always reminded me of a Nordic prince, or one of those big strapping Vikings. And that Swedish/German accent, was enough to woo me. I was so in love with him. What had I done, where had I failed him? Our life was every gay couple’s dream. A sprawling hi-tech house in Malibu. And not just Malibu, but in the Colonies baby, behind the gilded gates. Furnished to perfection of course. The garage housed a 1998 SL 500 Mercedes, a 1999 Range Rover, and a 1999 Jaguar Vande Plas. We belonged to the Velvet Mafia (The powerhouse gays in LA, folks like David Giffen) We owned a New York loft, and a cabin in Aspen. We would fly to Hawaii just to have lunch at our favorite seafood joint. Dane and I did not have sex. We made love, mad, passionate, crazy love that only couples who have been together for years know how to do. And one night, as I was grilling lobster tails on the patio, enjoying a glass of Kendall Jackson Chardonnay, admiring my handsome Swedish mate swimming. The sun had set an orange glow over the sky, and the sultry sounds of Nancy Wilson echoing through the house. What could go wrong except for a tidal wave or earthquake? And this son-of-a-bitch says he is leaving me. Just like that. He surfaces from the water, and says, “El, we need to talk, I have met someone.” I am excellent with numbers for the career, but other numbers escape me. But baby for that split second, I was able to recall two numbers immediately, my attorney’s home number and 911, because, I was a second away from drowning him. But instead I just collapsed onto a lounge chair, and listened to his story. He had met someone in New York, and that was that. Of course, the little fuck was some 22-year-old. Our life had become to routine he said. Routine I thought. I don’t call flying to St. Croix for a party on Friday, then to New York for a Saturday dinner at Cipranna’s, routine. It was simple; he had fallen out of love. I felt like Norma Shear in the movie the “Women” when that bitch manicurist tells her the latest gossip…. about her own husband. In the next two weeks, Dane had left for NY, and I just wondered around the house in a drunken stupor. Listening to all my friends, and hearing that famous line, that time will heal all wounds and you’ll get over it. At one point I actually thought of suicide. But, since I could never figure out what to wear for the occasion, I forgot the idea all together. So, in the long run, he got the Range Rover, the loft in New York (I had a hard time with that one, imagining some 22-year-old in our bed) and a few art pieces. I got the house in Malibu, the Mercedes and Jaguar, and life goes on. Bullshit…there was not a day when I did not think of that motherfucker, and how he ripped my heart out. Divorce is hell! I think I must have been standing by the window for a least 30 minutes because my ice had melted. I downed my martini, put on my Armani suit jacket, picked up my Coach briefcase and headed out the door. I walked out to the valet section of the Twin Towers, and waved to Jessie. With a uniformed nod, he signaled to another attendant. “Good Evening Mr. Phillips, how are you?” ”I’m fine Jessie, how are you doing on this rainy Friday”I asked. “Fine sir” My car arrived and he took my briefcase and put it in to the trunk, and then motioned me to give him my topcoat, and hung it in the backseat. “Thanks Jessie, have a good weekend.” He nodded, and I slipped him a 20 dollar bill.”Mr. Phillips, we are not allowed to take tips,” he said with his hands in his pockets. I smiled and put it into his top jacket pocket. ”Stay dry” I said, giving him a wink. As I steered the Jag out of the underground garage, the rain was coming down harder. Jessie watched as the Jaguar disappeared down the driveway. Enrico walked over to Jessie, and stared at him. ”What’s up dude?” ”That Phillips is a cool brother, he just gave me a twenty for doing nothing.” Enrico shook his head, “Fag” he muttered under his breath and walked away. Enrico did not like Phillips; he was just to pretty. He hated pretty men. They always reminded him of his younger brother Carlos. All his life it was how handsome Carlos is, and how smart he is. Even when he found out his baby brother was gay, and spilled the beans to the family, they embraced him. And Elliot Phillips was the same way. Always perfect looking, never a hair out of place. All the women executives who parked in valet always stared him up and down. Some, he heard, would even find out when he was leaving so they could be there to ogle him. And what was a black man doing with eyes that color? Even his homey Jessie could not stop staring at him. Jessie continued to stare until the car was out of sight. Elliot Phillips was the sexiest man on the planet, dressed to perfection every day, and sported the hottest butt. He was always so well groomed, and wore the best colognes on the market. Jessie loved to park his car in the mornings and be engulfed with the scent of Bijan, or Bvlgari. Sometimes he would sit there for a few minutes trying to imagine making love to him. One day he arrived in blue linen shorts, a white Polo shirt and a pair of Cole Hann sandals. Jessie had purposely brushed up against his leg as he was getting out the car and got a hardon. He watched him walk into the building, and stared at his butt until Phillips was no longer in site. The local gossip was that his boyfriend had flown the coup, some German guy or something. He took the twenty from his top pocket, and put it into his pants pocket and turned around and walked back to the valet station. One day, I will meet someone like Elliot Phillips, he signed, and wondered if he was the only guy on the planet who longed to be in love. I drove slowly westbound on Santa Monica Blvd., to the 405 freeway, and then made my way to the Santa Monica freeway. It was a slow crawl until the Santa Monica freeway turned into Pacific Coast Highway. I opened the Jag up to 60 miles per hour and admired how she purred through the rain and mud, with the sound track of 'Waiting To Exhale' belting out over the twelve speaker sound system. I decided to stop at Geoffrey’s for a drink. Geoffrey’s is in Malibu and is one of those industry power broker restaurants. I pulled into valet and made a dash inside. “Good Evening Mr. Phillips, some weather we are having” remarked Claire, the owner. “Are you dinning with us this evening?” she asked with that luminous smile of hers. ”No Claire, I’m only here for a Cognac, to warm the cockles,” I replied, while giving her a peck on the cheek. I walked into the crowded bar area, and spotted my favorite bartender Terry. ”Hey. It's mister mover and shaker” Terry said, in that New England accent, extending a hand. ”Hey Terry, how are you on this intrepid night?” ”Man I had no ideal this many folks would be out in this weather, but you folks got the bucks, so I guess you have to spend em,” he laughed, as he brought over my cognac. Terry was a sweet kid. He did acting and modeling during the day and bartended by night. He was a handsome guy. About my build, 6”1, and the most amazing blue eyes.” So Mr. P, how you doing with, you know,” he asked. The word was out. Dane and I were regulars there from the first day we moved to Malibu. You see in this town, know one cares that you are gay. Cause if you got the bucks to live here, you are immediately part of the gang. ”Thanks for asking, I’m hanging tuff, it’s only been six months, but I am a survivor, I think.” I was cut off by a hand on my shoulder, and a kiss on my cheek. “Hi handsome,” the voice said, as I was engulfed by the scent of Elizabeth Taylor’s Passion. I swivelled around to be greeted by the Queen Bitch of television. She was wearing a red Channel suit, and enough diamonds to feed a small third world country. It was none other than Myra Reynolds Allendale Silverman, the biggest producer of daytime soaps. Silverman being the latest husband. She always traded up. Believe me, it paid to be nice by this harppy. ”Myra, you look delicious.” “How are you?” I said, giving her my 150 watt smile?” “You naughty boy, you were supposed to meet us at the Ivy for dinner last week, I had something handsome for you to meet. He was highly interested in you, especially when he saw your picture on the cover of Variety”, she cooed in my ear. “Now Myra, thanks but I am not ready to settle down so soon after you know who.” I replied, not knowing that I was about to cry. Why is it men aren’t so supposed to cry, least of all in public. I downed the remainder of my cognac, kissed Myra good night and a nod to Terry, and was out the door. The rain had eased to a faint drizzle as I was driving home. I opened the glove box and was sifting through trying to find my emergency pack of cigarettes and keep my eyes on the road. ”Damn,” I hollered out loud; she had done it again. My faithful housekeeper, Nina, had removed my cigarettes from the car. She was determined to make me quit. I spotted a 7 Eleven and pulled into the parking lot. There were no available spaces so I doubled parked on the side of the building. I dashed in to buy a pack or two. It did not occur to me to arm the alarm for such a short stay. As I was paying for my purchase, I noticed a guy standing next to me in line. He had one of those faces that just radiated sensuality. He was indeed a handsome chap, with those full lips.”What a night,“ he said, smiling. “Yea, I only hope the Coast highway is not flooded out past Verdugio Canyon,” I replied, still entranced with those eyes of his. I said good night and made a dash back to my car. For a moment I thought I saw the inside car light go on and off. Happy with my cartoon of St. Moritz’s, I proceeded home. The next moment was out of the beginning of a nightmare. ”Do as I tell ya, and I won’t blow your fuckin head off pretty boy,” the voice said with a gun a my head. This was not happening, it couldn’t, this is Malibu, not East LA. He pushed the gun harder against my head, and called me a few more names. I had started to seriously cry. "Ah, what’s wrong, cry baby” he whispered in my ear, smelling of cheap liquor. “What do you want?” I finally managed to utter through my tears. “For starters your car, your Rolex, and your jewelry…and maybe something more.” ”What more,” I asked; now even more shaken. ”You got a face like a girl, and you smell like a girl, all prettied up, maybe I’ll let you blow me for I kill ya.” All I could do was to beg, ” Please, you can have whatever you want, just please don’t kill me. I’ll do whatever you say. Wherever you want to go, I’ll drive you. Just please don’t hurt me.” I begged to the faceless man in my rear seat. His body order was so repulsive I thought I was going to wolf my cookies any minute. I told myself to stay calm, and do whatever he wants. It was the only way I would survive. I hoped. He told me to make a right on Carbon Canyon Road. God, it was deserted after about 20 miles into the canyon. Here is where he would kill me; no house’s around for miles. Here is where America would find my bloody body. I visioned CNN reporting my death. ”PROMISING YOUNG EXECUTIVE, ELLIOT PHILLIPS, WAS FOUND BY A JOGGER THIS MORNING. HIS MULILATED BODY WAS FOUND INSIDE THE BACKSEAT OF HIS JAGUAR. PHILLIPS WAS LAST SEEN DINNING AT THE SWANK EATERY, GEOFFERY’S AND WAS REPORTED TO HAVE LEFT ALONE..… ”Where are we going?” “Just drive fucker,” he yelled, sending the back of the gun crashing onto my head. The blood was running down the right side of my face, dripping onto my cobalt blue Hugo Boss shirt, making its way to my cream Armani suit lapel. It was so dark on this road, only three cars had passed us. ”Pull over there.” I did as I was told, and steered the Jag down a dirt road. Oh God, I thought its really going to happen. ”Stop the car sissy boy, and get out,” he barked. I got out and stood by the car. “Give me your watch and jewelry and wallet,” he wailed. I was so nervous I was having trouble getting my David Webb bracelet off. My kidnapper noticed this and slapped me down to the ground. I landed face first in the mud. As I tried to get up, I slipped back into the mud. He stood over me waving his gun and shouting. ”Come on ya fucker I ain’t got all night.” I was now bleeding from the lip. He grabbed me by my left arm and threw me into the driver’s side of the car. ”You got lips like a pretty girl,” and he started to kiss me, and I pushed him forcefully away. ”Get off me!” He went backsliding into the mud, and I tried to open the car door. A shoot fired across my shoulder and exploded into a nearby tree. There was no escape. ”Trying to run were ya” he growled. ”Well, I done had enough fun,” “I’m gonna splatter your pretty face all over ya pretty car.” He forced the gun in my mouth, and I could taste the salt from my tears. A second later a light was shining on us. ” Put the gun down motherfucker, or I will blow your brains,” shouted a man whom I could not make out. Another voice yelled, ”drop it man,” but I could see a gun at my assailants head. He slowly took the gun out of my mouth, then dropped it to the ground, and raised his hands in the air. He was yanked back, and thrown to the ground. I hear several voices now. People yelling at him, and shouting orders. Some man had his arms around me, telling me it was over now, and I was going to be ok. I had a complete emotional breakdown as this towering man held me. I remember taking a few steps, then I believe I slid down the side of the car. Strong hands picked me, and I heard a voice say, “Lean on me, its alright now.” He had his arms around my waist at this point. I took a few more steps, then for some odd reason; I stopped and looked at his face. He simply smiled at me, and tightened his hold on me. I tried to force a smile, but when I heard my kidnapper shouting vile words at me, my smile faded away. So did my body. It felt like I was floating. I had no control off my movements. I came to in the back of a Ford Explorer. My head was spinning so badly; it took a few minutes for my vision to return. I got up, and staggered outside, and would have fallen into the mud if it had not been for this guy’s powerful arms I feel into. ”Mr. Phillips, take it easy, you’ve had a head injury,” the soothing voice said. “Come, sit down over here.” ”Who are you?” I asked, like some damsel in distress. Correction, I was a damsel in distress. ”My name is Adam Everheart, I am a detective. I was on my way home and stopped into the 7 Eleven on the Coast Hwy. I noticed a guy getting into your car, but before I could warn you, you had speed off. I followed you, and called for some backup. You are a very lucky guy,” Adam said, with those haunting brown eyes. I swear I could not stop looking into his eyes. I now started to look him over. He was about 6’2, with a nice buffed chest. He was wearing jeans, cowboy boots, polo shirt, leather bomber jacket and a Dodgers baseball cap. From where I was sitting, he was packaged very nicely. ”Thank you Det. Everheart, I don’t.” ”Call me Adam,” he said rubbing my shoulder. Here I was all muddy, just missed death by a minute, and all I could think off was how handsome this man was. And more so, what I looked like. ”Thank you Adam…when can I go home.” I glanced into the window of the Explorer, ”I look like shit.” ”I think you look ok for what you went through.” He produced a handkerchief, and as I grabbed for it he pulled his hand away and wiped the now caked mud from my face.” There, almost back to your handsome self,” he said smiling, putting the handkerchief into his back pocket. ”Come on, let me drive you home.” ”Excuse me. Mr. Phillips, here is your watch and jewelry,” a uniformed policeman said. ”Mr. Phillips, I know this has been a horrible ordeal for you, but we still have some questions for you…” ”Come on Joey, give the guy a break, this can wait till morning. I will personally see that Mr. Phillips comes in to make an official statement.” ”Yes Det. Everheart”. The young officer nodded to me and walked back to the crime scene. I thanked him, and walked to my car. ”Oh no you don’t, I’ll drive you”. I walked around to the passenger side and got in. Why did this man look so familiar? As we turned left onto the Coast Hwy, it felt so good to be alive. I instructed Adam how to get to my house and curled up in my seat. He pulled into the circular driveway, got out, and almost broke his neck to get the door for me. He then picked up his cell phone and gave someone my address. I assumed it was to pick him up. “Please come inside Adam, I am sure we could booth use a drink”. He smiled and nodded. Once again, that hand was on my back. I opened the front door, punched in my alarm code, and the lights came on. Adam did a short gasp. ”Anything wrong?” I asked. “No, this is beautiful. This is absolutely great” he remarked, starring at the bronze statues in one lit glass shelf, and the crystal collection in another. I noticed his eye caught the David Hockney print on the wall in the living room, titled Nickels Canyon. “The bar is over there, I’ll take Vodka with very little ice please.” He patted me on the back, and I went upstairs to clean up. I took off all my clothes and let the water in the sink get hot. Then washed my face and hands, and stood with a blank stare looking at myself in the mirror. “Thank you God,“ I said aloud. I looked at the bump on the side of my head. I was lucky to have just that tiny scar as a remembrance. I changed into some sweat pants, and was walking out of the bathroom, and collided with Adam. He was standing there with his shirt and socks off, just wearing his tightly fitting jeans. I felt like a jerk, this man had just saved my life, and I didn’t even think to ask him if he wanted to get out of those wet clothes. He stood there frowning at me, as he placed my drink on the bathroom counter ”Did you put anything on that “ he asked?“ You should have gone to the hospital like I asked you to,” he said, now in a rather stern fatherly like tone. I showed him where the first aid stuff was, and he went to work. He cleaned out the scratch with alcohol, and then put something else on it. Then he put a Band-Aid on. He stood back and smiled. My God this man had the most beautiful chest, with swerves of chestnut colored chest hair. I quickly snapped back to reality. He was the guy in 7 Eleven. ”Can I get you a shirt or some socks, or,” I said stammering, trying to focus on anything but him.” No, I’m fine.” I stood up, picked up my drink and exited the bathroom. I walked over to the fireplace and through on a few logs and starred at the dancing flames. The sliding glass door to the balcony shook for a second or two and I noticed the rain had started to come down again. I was staring out the window, toward the ocean. Drifting, and more so, trying to find some words to say, any words. My mind went blank as I heard him walking toward me, his feet echoing on the hardwood floors. I turned around, slowly, unaware how the flames form the fireplace danced across my chest, and how my green eyes pierced thought the dimly lit room, into his. He stared at me, licked his lips and took another sip of his scotch, then put the Waterford tumbler down on the table next to me. I stared at the glass, looking at the color of the scotch dance around the ice. He engulfed me in his arms, and held me. I whispered several times in his ear, ”Thank you, thank you”. He gently pushed me back a little; his right hand caressed my face, and then brought my lips to his. His tongue entered my mouth so invitingly it made me dizzy. His hands now were exploring all parts of my body, and my manhood had risen from its silent hibernation. I let my strong manicured hand caress his nipples, and then the base of his neck, and then through his short wavy hair. I wandered down to his firm buttocks, and gently undid the buttons to his jeans, and felt his powerful rod. Adam pulled the drawstring to my sweats, and they lazily fell to the floor. His kisses were spinning me out of control. I mean I was being transported to heaven. The fireplace was crackling, and the rain was beating down the window. It was the perfect setting. My gasps and sensual moans seem to be playing to the sound of the wood crackling. I extended my arm and lead him to the massive four poster Rinnai bed. He lifted me on to the bed, and then climbed on top of me. I could smell his cologne, his sweat, and his passion. Adam had me in a grip with both of my wrist above my head held in his powerful grasp. I was trapped, but where else would I have wanted to be. His tongue went from my ear to my nipples. Then he slid back up and presented me with that sensual tongue in my mouth. He stopped suddenly, smiled and got up. He took something out of his pants that were lying on the floor and smiled. “I won’t hurt you baby boy, I promise.” “Do you trust me?” I just smiled He placed my arms above my head and handcuffed my wrist to the bars on the bedpost. “You’re my prisoner now. ”He smiled a wicked grin, and asked another question in my ear. He smiled, nodded, and leaned over to the nightstand. A few minutes later he found what he needed. He lay along side of me, and kissed me feverishly, he gently slid a finger up my ass. I screamed with delight, as his other hand was slowly massaging my dick. Adam slid on a condom, and slowly entered me. I screamed from the initial pain, but he took his time and once inside me, he continued to move his skilled hand up and down my shaft.”Oh baby boy, that feels so good.” He moaned into my ear. He then whispered, ”I wanted you from the moment I saw you. Your face was so sad, it made me want to just take you in my arms and hold you.” He showered me with more of those sweet kiss on my face” I prayed to God I was able to prevent him from hurting you, I don’t know what I would have done had he.” His words transformed to his tongue in my mouth. His rhythm was becoming more and more powerful, and with one mighty thrust he screamed with ecstasy as he came. A minute later I let out the loudest note of pleasure as my sweet juices erupted in a volcanic frenzy onto my chest and silk Nicole Miller sheets. We lay there engulfed in the moment. I stared at the fireplace, and lifted my head a little to look at the rain cascading down the window. Adam lowered me onto my back and got on top of me, and kissed every inch of body. He unhandcuffed me, and my arms were now free to shower him with caresses. He looked up for a minute, in a pensive way, ”please tell me you are single?” I smiled devilishly and brought his face to mine and kissed him. I had given him my answer. Ever so slowly I drifted to sleep in his arms as the wind did its mighty blows to the house, and the waves pounded onto the rocks below, and the fireplace did its ritual dance on the walls. In a few short hours, I had almost been killed, and now in the arms of a total stranger whom I was falling in love with. Maybe I was reading to much into this, but before I drifted off into the land of dreams, I heard ever so faint, ”I love you baby boy, I love you Elliot Phillips” A single tear dripped down his handsome face and landed on mine. The words to Nina Simone’s song, Hey Baby Boy, Don’t Ya Know I Love Ya, played over and over in my mind. Adam was a stranger no more. It had been a night, but the long road to home was over. I was home, and more so I was safe. Story by: Pretty Boy E-Mail address: prettyboyca@hotmail.com