Gay Erotic Stories

When I was growing up in the Midwest back in the 50's, the arrival of the Sear-Roebuck catalogue would make my days for quite a few of them. This was after, of course, my mother and older sister had pawed over it for what seemed like an eternity. I could hardly wait to see the men in their t-shirts, briefs and long johns. I think there were those of guys in boxers, too, but I was never that interested. No one I knew wore boxers...then. The times have certainly changed. Every morning now all I need to do is get into the newspaper to find men's underwear advertisements. Every morning, too, are a host of websites and newsgroups easily connected to where one is offered not only the outer underwear, but a lot of what is under it. Although not as regular, a trip to the gym offers peeks and even peers at what all the guys are wearing under their slacks. Seeing their underwear is more "hot" these days than seeing their dicks, balls and butts when they slide their shorts off. What I would not have done for a pair of blue, red or even black underwear when I was leaving all those stains for my mother to see when she was doing my wash. There were those couple of occasions when my father would intercept me as I was throwing the dirties in the hamper and suggest that it might be less embarrassing for my mother for me to wash out my shorts before depositing them to mix with the rest of the laundry. He had snickered and reminded me how easily my mother could be offended by "men things." Although I had caught sight of his briefs in the laundry hamper, I never saw my father clad only that way - naked would be less of a chance despite the fact I did not even think about that. I could not imagine (or stopped too often to do so) either of my parents not completely clothed. I would occasionally try to spy on my sister to catch her in stages of undress, but no adults until... High School was my introduction to seeing guys in their underwear and naked. I realized I liked to watch and compare myself to them. There were a lot of the kids from less comfortable families than mine whose underwear misfit and were forever stained or yellowed from use and lack of use of bleach. Our house smelled of the stuff, and my underwear were always the whitest of anyone's. I was also comfortable that both mine and my mother's treatments of any of the stains I may have caused from doing 'men things' were never ever seen by anyone else. I was not ashamed to be seen in my briefs or naked. I was not a big kid in any way, but did not care who in the gym would see me. There were a few of the kids that never took their jeans or shorts off in front of anyone else. The PE teacher would remind those kids every class that they could use one of the extra jockstraps that were kept by the school because many of them could not afford new underwear let alone an athletic supporter. The one thing which occurred to me that I was sure had "made me" gay and into underwear more than even I could imagine was this student teacher who had come to our town from Purdue. He was there to help the coach of the football team. He was a member of the Boilermakers' football squad and almost made All American earlier that school year. He had come in January so his involvement with Coach was to teach PE for him and to listen to the older man's exploits on the football field when he was in college. The other coaches had heard all the stories and, like many of the kids and our parents, were always excusing ourselves from Coach when he would say "which reminds me..." Stan did not have that opportunity and would often be seen inside the Coach's office just listening. My dream was to be bigger and able to play football like some of my best friends. I had tried out my freshman and sophomore years, but was always informed by Coach that I needed more weight to block, run or tackle. He would always than offer me to be the team manager, and I would accept. I was also the choice of his to run the "cage" where I would pass out the baskets for those in my PE classes to put their clothes, receive them back, lock the cage and arrive at class late. I was also in charge of handing out the jockstraps to those who did not have them or had forgotten to put them in their bags. I would suggest to some of the ones I knew did not have them and were always being told by the Coach to wear them that they avoid problems and take one. They seldom did because it would mean removing their shorts to put that underwear on... Unlike today where most showers I have seen are open, the locker room at the school had only three individual stalls (and with shower curtains) for us to use. Because of time, a lot of the kids would not even bother to take a shower. I was also allowed to be late for my following class to give out the clothes and then receive the empty baskets back from my classmates. It was one of those after class times that I thought I was alone and had walked with my towel around my waist from the "cage" to the shower room. I always showered and usually alone. I was somewhat surprised to find that another shower was running when I got there. I called out something to the effect that whoever was there was going to be late for their next class. I was more surprised when the curtain to the shower opened and Stan stuck his head out. "Not to worry about me, Pepper, but you should hurry." He continued to keep his head outside the curtain. I kept the towel on as I entered another of the shower stalls and then threw it up (and mistakenly over) the curtain rod. The accompanying splash or splat which followed as the towel hit the wet floor caused me much grief. How was I going to get back to the "cage" and a dry towel with Stan there in the shower room? What was he doing there anyway? The Coach had a private shower in his office downstairs and that is where I always figured that Stan would shower before he headed back to Purdue each night. It was not a hard decision. I slipped open the shower curtain without turning on the water, grabbed the now wet towel and started back to the "cage." I had heard the water shut off in the other shower while I was deciding what to do, but did not look back at it or around when I decided and then left without showering to not get caught by that damned student teacher. His voice almost stopped me as I started across the dressing room, pulling the wet towel somewhat across my butt and front. "You better get showered young man or none of the girls in your next class will want to be near you." "I did." "Pepper, there was no running water from your stall. Now get back here and, at least, get a little wet." My turn back to the shower room was one of the most pleasant sights I have ever seen. Stan stood inside the shower room with his towel around his neck, wearing only a pair of white briefs. I had never realized that his chest could be as hairy as it was when he was clad in a sweatshirt and pants the coaches wore for winter classes. I knew that my mouth dropped open. "I was just going back to get a dry towel." "That was funny. I had the curtain opened and, as I was turning off the water, looked out and saw your towel fly over the curtain rod. Then you went out and grabbed it, appearing to me to be avoiding not only a shower, but being caught not taking one at all. You get into the shower and I will get you another towel." Something had drawn me back into the shower room. When Stan took my towel and then held the shower curtain open for me to enter a stall, I felt the stirring of a hard-on developing. I quickly pulled the curtain closed and turned on the water. I allowed the water to run over me, but hesitated about touching myself with the soap for fear any contact with my body would have me shooting my rod. From outside the stall, Stan called that it sounded like I was just standing under the water and needed to move around to make sure I got all the soap off. I turned slowly and then moved a bar of soap up into my armpits. I reached to turn off the shower after washing away those suds. My dick was still showing the sign of being hard and feeling that way, too. I could not walk out like that if Stan was still around. I stuck my head out of the curtain and saw him walking back from the "cage" area. He saw me and said that he was unable to get inside without the combination for the lock and, therefore, could not get me a dry towel. He was still dressed only in his briefs and he had removed the wet towel from around his neck. "Guess you will have to either give me the combination or run your naked little butt over wet." "Where's the other towel?" "I threw it in the bin. Besides being soaked, it had been on the floor. So either tell me the combination or move on out of there. I won't watch if you are so upset about being seen naked. I have seen you before up here and you do not seem to have any problem being seen." He remained outside the stall. I remained inside with only my head sticking out the curtain. I could not remember the combination with all the rights and lefts and knew that I would need to undo it myself. "You want to put on my shorts?" As he started to put his thumbs into the waistband, I ducked back into the stall. "It's all right. Why don't you go on and get dressed and I will go into the "cage" in a minute." "Okay, Pepper, but you have nothing to be ashamed of. You might be little in some places, but you got nothing to hide where your dick is concerned." Wow, I could not believe this guy. I knew he was good looking, but he had not been all that attractive to me. My sister was always oohing and aahing about Stan when she and her girlfriends got together. She had even asked me once if I had seen him naked in the showers. I had disgustedly informed her that the coaches don't need to shower with us kids. Now, I could tell her I saw him almost naked and that... what? Could I say anything without oohing (oozing, too) and aahing myself. My bravery took hold and I opened the curtain and stepped out of the stall. Stan remained there facing me. He had kept his shorts on, thankfully. I had willed my dick to not be hard and it minded me. I did pull one of my hands over to cover myself as I walked out of the room and across the dressing room to the "cage." The wolf whistle Stan let out as I walked away from him made me take my other hand and place it over my butt. I could not help but laugh and, when I turned my head to look back at him, he was thrusting out his hips and with his hands cupping his underwear crotch. He, too, was laughing and said "nice ass." He followed me into the cage after I had unlocked the door and myself entered. I grabbed a dry towel from the stack and rubbed hard on my head and hair. Another dry towel ran down my back and over my buttocks. I was not surprised, but turned into Stan standing behind me. I could not help but notice that his shorts had tented and that an area between both his legs shown beneath them. He moved the towel to my chest and asked if it was all right to help me. I was speechless and had a difficult time raising my eyes from the hard dick in his briefs. I, too, was again hard. Stan moved the towel lower across my stomach and into my crotch. The towel was then dropped and he held my hard penis in his hand. He took one of my hands and moved it down onto his cotton covered crotch. "You like that? I knew you would." He next bent down onto his knees and took my dick into his warm mouth. The new experience was too much for my eighteen year old body and I creamed the largest load I had ever unleashed into his mouth. He continued to suck until I pushed him away because of the sensitiveness of my now (I was sure) sore cock. He had removed his own cock from the leg of his shorts and was masturbating to his own climax which came shortly after I had pushed him away. The weakness I was feeling was too much, and, as Stan had explained later, I passed out. He had gotten me into my clothes (and he into his) before telling the Coach that he had found me fainted when he went to check on the dressing room and "cage." The Coach accompanied me across the street to our family doctor when I was able to get up and walk on my own. He kept telling me that I was lucky that Stan was such a good student teacher to feel the need to check on the security of the dressing room. I assured him I was appreciative of Stan, but not the reason why. I finally told about that time and a couple more when Stan would help me close up the "cage" to a friend after Stan had returned to the university. The friend said she long ago determined that I was homosexual and that she could then see that Stan was also. She said she envied my experience and would now think of Stan and I sucking one another when she was masturbating. I never told her that I had also stuck my dick up and came in Stan's ass or that I had tried to take his dick up mine. I had to wait for a few years before I experienced being butt-fucked, but I wish I could have had Stan as the first there, too. He was a nice guy. I later saw that he had married a woman whom he had dated throughout college. I never saw him again after he had left. The image of that guy in his white briefs and later with them tented has kept me watching and admiring other guys in their shorts. I am an underwear freak. I prefer white in my briefs and boxer briefs, but multi-colored boxers in cotton and flannel when I am in jeans and lounging around the house. I was married myself for a while. Part of the wife and my problem was my insistence that she not take it upon herself to think about purchasing my clothes, especially my underwear. She told me when I was leaving her that she was sure I was too fascinated with how I appeared in my underwear to think about anything or anyone else. I wish I would have been honest and told her seeing other guys in their shorts was more appealing than the image I caught of myself when I have looked in a mirror.