Gay Erotic Stories

He was an angel. At least, he had the face of one! Huge, saucer-like eyes of the deepest, clearest blue, a tangle of golden, blond hair, chiselled cheekbones, full lips, and a body that was hewn from marble. He was perfect and I worshipped him. From afar, I have to say, because for me he was as unattainable as the stars. Everyday I’d pass him in the corridor, or gaze at him from across the classroom, and every time I’d feel that little thrill of electricity rushing through my loins. Once I even saw him emerging from the showers and it was as if nothing else mattered in the entire world except that vision of his perfect body. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Slim hipped, narrow waisted, a ripple of muscles running across his abdomen, and those limbs! Long, smooth, muscled. I felt my heartbeat pounding in my ears, my mouth was dry. If others were looking at me, mocking me, I didn’t care. All I wanted was for this view to last forever. Which, of course, it didn’t. A towel was around his waist, so I never caught a glimpse of the beauty beneath. But my imagination was working overtime and that night, alone in my room, I gave myself up to the fantasy and masturbated my way into heaven.

I knew him from our last year at school. I’d fantasised about him, never really believing we would ever meet. How could we? He was from a different world. His friends were bright, intelligent, and handsome. I was a geek, with glasses and no pretensions towards learning at all! Indeed, in the past, I was often to be found standing outside the Headteacher’s office, waiting for my Mum to be summoned yet again. I was the quintessential bad boy, the class fool, the one who would never amount to anything. What hope did I have?

But perhaps, that was just it. I was so different to him that possibly he found me intriguing. So it was that one night after school we found ourselves standing at the same bus stop. I’d been for a ‘chat’ with my House Master yet again and he, I assume, had been to one of the many after-school clubs that were so popular with the ‘ruling-elite’! Whatever the reason, there we were, for the first time alone! I could hardly breathe! He had his head down and he was deep in concentration, reading a book. I had no idea what to say to him, to engage him in conversation, but I knew I had to. Anything would do. But I had to hurry because once the bus came, my chance would be gone and I might never get another one. I took a tiny step towards him and coughed politely, “What are you reading?” I asked in a very small voice.

His head game up and he turned those gorgeous blue eyes on me. For a moment my heart stopped. Was he angry, insulted, or was that a look of sheer horror on his face? I couldn’t tell which, but he held my gaze for what seemed like an age. I knew I should look away, but I steeled myself and held my ground and I found myself being drawn into those deep pools of purest blue. They held me, captivated me, and I knew I was his! Then his mouth opened and he spoke, “Just a book,” he said. I’d heard him speak before, of course, but never this close. His voice had a velvet softness, yet it was assured and confident. He had nothing to prove, of course. He had no need of me! But those words, so simply said, were the most perfect I’d ever heard! Looking back, I must have seemed like a complete idiot. I feel like one now, relating this, but then…then, it was different. I was transfixed, mesmerised. Words of absolutely no importance had captured me and there was no escape.

Then he smiled and my whole stomach completely turned over. “Are you okay?” he asked gently.

I recovered myself a little, blinking back my tears of joy, and I blurted out, “Yeah, I’m great! You?”

I could have kicked myself. He just smiled again, this time in a more dismissive way, shrugged his shoulders, and went back to his reading. Standing there, my mouth hanging open, I felt a yawning, gaping chasm of intense despair opening up around me. I’d lost the opportunity--an opportunity that would probably never, ever come again! What a fool I was, thinking that this vision of loveliness would ever find anything remotely interesting or attractive about me! With my heart still pounding, I drew the back of my hand across my face as the first tear began to roll down my cheek. As I reached inside my pocket for a handkerchief, I sensed rather than saw his eyes boring into me. As I patted my eyes, I looked up and there he was, a look of real concern on his face.

“You’re not alright,” he said, closing his book and coming up to me. My God, I couldn’t believe it! This wasn’t happening! He was so close I could smell his sweet perfume. Then the unbelievable happened, a moment that his stored into my memory as one of the most beautiful moments of my life. His hand rested on my arm, gripping it ever so gently! I gasped, but he held it there and looked into my face. “What’s the matter?”

If I’d suspected he was an angel from heaven, I now knew that he was! His voice was so concerned, so genuine, that I felt a new feeling opening up inside me, warm and lovely. He was holding my arm! And he was talking to me! Me!

Recovering myself only slightly, I shook my head and returned his smile. “Sorry, I’m just…” I shrugged. Here I was, the fool, the idiot, the one who never did his homework until the very last moment, the one whom everyone believed was as thick as pig-shit, and here I was beginning to articulate my feelings in a way that no one at school could ever believe possible! “I’m just confused. Troubled. Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“It’s no bother.”

We looked at each other for a long time, seconds expanding I into hours. And still he held my arm. “I was just interested in what you’re reading. You must think I’m an idiot.”

He shook his head, “No. No, I’m just surprised.” He brought up his book. It was ‘Death in Venice’. For another moment I held my breath. This wasn’t real! Unknown to almost everyone at school, I was an avid reader, consuming books as if they were food. As indeed there were – food for my brain. And Thomas Mann’s captivating tale of an aged artiste falling hopelessly for a younger boy in the midst of a cholera-infected Venice seemed to mirror my thoughts perfectly! With the exception being, of course, that I wasn’t the older man! But I was infatuated, for that there could be no doubt! Then a sudden thought, one which hit me like a blinding bolt. Why was he reading that? So I asked him, and he smiled a little awkwardly and told me that he’d seen the film and wanted to know if the book was the same. When I told him that they were, almost, he seemed genuinely surprised. “You’ve read it?” he asked, not able to disguise how impressed he was.

I nodded, “Oh yes. It’s a very moving story.”

He frowned, “Moving?” He said the word so quietly that it was almost as if his lips alone were forming the word. His mind must have been reeling. How could such a buffoon use such a word as ‘moving’ to describe a piece of literature? Where could he find the ability?

I suppose it was then that we both realized that his hand was still on my arm. I looked down at it and he gave a little snigger, pulling his fingers away. Then he looked at me again and smiled. “I’m Cristoff,” he said simply.

“I know,” I said. And I love you, I wanted to add, but of course I didn’t. Suddenly a sense of panic gripped me--the reason being that the bus was approaching. But I needn’t have worried! We got on the bus together and, without my even thinking about it, we sat next to each other and began to talk. Words simply poured out and we even shared laughter. By the time my stop had arrived, we’d even swapped telephone numbers. As the bus moved away I raised my hand in a wave and, amazingly, he waved back, that gleaming smile of his sending my senses soaring! I floated home that day without a care in the world.

Over the next few months we got to know each other really well. Not quite as well as I would have wished, but just being in his presence was enough! He even invited me to tea one day and we spent a glorious Saturday afternoon together. I was in a strange, dream-like world. When I was with him, everything was perfect and when we were apart, all I could think about was being with him again! And that wasn’t all. As if to solidify the impression I made on him, I began to really work at school! The reason was a purely selfish one. He was in Set One for English Literature and I was in Set Two! To the wonder and amazement of my parents – and I dare say their total pleasure too – my report cards began to burnish with the glowing results of improved test scores and rousing teachers’ comments! My old self had been replaced with a vibrant, hard-working and surprisingly talented individual who had remained well hidden under layers of sarcasm and apathy. Now, in my last few months, with “A” levels looming the chance of a place at university actually seemed credible!

No one, not even him, knew it was all down to Cristoff!

We carried on like this for the rest of the school year. When the summer holidays came along, we planned to meet up and continue our relationship, a fact that filled me with deep excitement. Amazingly, both of us were going to go to the same FE College. University didn’t quite have the allure for either of us, it would seem! For the moment, none of that mattered however. Now I could be with him everyday and everyday would embolden me to reveal to him, as I knew I must, how I really felt about him. However, as I grew to know him better, I began to discover a new, previously unknown side to Cristoff’s character. I said he was an angel, but he was certainly no angel inside! He was actually quite impish, somewhat immature, and he relished playing practical jokes on his older sister. Nothing terrible or nasty, but enough to show that he had a few chinks in his otherwise perfect armour! Because, despite our growing friendship, there was still an aloofness about him, an imperiousness that I sometimes found galling. I think he actually believed he was my better. This didn’t really bother me that much, because he was still the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen and, therefore, I was willing to forgive him anything. However, I did find myself hoping that one day he would begin to truly open up and accept me as his true equal.

It was one particular warm and wonderful summer’s day that everything began to change. Cristoff’s impish nature had led us both to the grounds of the Lansbury Estate. This was a private, sprawling area of woodland that was some miles outside our small town. Cristoff had spoken about it many times, as if the place fascinated him to the point of obsession. He said he wanted to know what was beyond the high stonewalls that encircled the place. I was open-minded, not having any particular views on the place. But for Cristoff, it seemed to hold a particular attraction that I found somewhat disturbing. I never questioned him and when he came to me with the plan for the day, which included exploring the Estate, I acquiesced. Because, for him, I would do anything!

We’d scaled the walls with some difficulty and now tramped through the woods. They were deep, dark, a little foreboding. But the day was young and I had no real fear. When we stopped for lunch, we spread out in an open glade and let the warmth of the Sun bask over us. It was wonderful, just the two of us. I’d brought a small rucksack, filled with sandwiches and drinks and, as my mother had insisted, a large tube of antiseptic cream, “In case you cut yourself!” she’d explained. I smiled at that. Only my mother could think of such a thing, forever treating me as her little boy! I handed Cris a sandwich and he accepted it willingly, munching it down with gusto. I looked across at him. He was lying on his back, right leg raised. He was wearing shorts and his legs were lightly tanned and gorgeous. Eighteen years of age and the most perfect living thing I had ever seen. He became aware of my stare and turned to look at me. Embarrassed, I looked away, but I knew that he was aware of my prolonged gaze. He didn’t say anything, but then he didn’t need to. It was then that I begin to believe that he really did know how I felt about him! Suddenly, from out of the trees, came a horse and rider. They blasted through the trees like some knight of old, huge and terrifying, the horse rearing up and snorting loudly. The rider dismounted in one movement and strode towards us. He was a big man, a mop of black hair masking his features. But I could see his eyes, and they were full of fury. We began to scramble to our feet but before I could say a word, he struck me across the face with the back of his hand. I fell to the ground, more stunned than hurt, and looked up towards him.

He towered over me, his feet splayed, riding boots and jodhpurs lending him an air of total arrogance. His white shirt was half tucked into his trousers, and over this he wore an unbuttoned waistcoat. It was almost as if he had been caught in the act of dressing, so dishevelled was his appearance.

“You little shits!” he spat, then, without explanation, he whirled on Cris, taking him round the throat and propelling him backwards, slamming him against a nearby tree. I watched Cris struggle, but the man was far too powerful. His grip was so tight, that Cris could barely even croak! “I’ve had enough of kids like you coming in here, doing your drugs or whatever else you fucking well do!”

I wanted to cry out, tell him it wasn’t true, that we were innocent, innocent of anything at all. Just two young, naìve teenagers out for a picnic in the sunshine. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I was transfixed with fear as I watched what happened.

The man span Cris around to face the tree, one hand holding him by the collar, whilst the other, unbelievably, unbuckled the belt of his shorts and began to tug them down. Cristoff’s full, round buttocks sprang out into the air. Exposed like this, they looked glowing and perfect as the sunshine played across them. At any other time I would have found the sight intoxicating, but now I felt a chill fear rising within me. From somewhere, the man had a riding crop, and now began to beat it across Cristoff’s gorgeous arse. At first quite gently, after the first couple of blows the man gradually increased his strength and tempo. I then saw that he had let go of Cris, but my friend made no attempt to escape. He held onto the tree trunk, face pressed into the bark, and with each blow, he gave a little whimper, but nothing else. Indeed, as each blow struck him, he flinched, but then, as the man’s arm withdrew, his arse came back up, as if in anticipation of the next! I was actually witnessing my friend enjoying the whole experience!

All at once, it was over, and the man stepped back, breathing hard, as Cristoff slowly slid to the ground where he lay, quite still, his face still buried and hidden from me. The man turned to me and I saw the unmistakeable bulge in his tight riding trousers. For one terrible moment, I thought I was next and I recovered myself enough to begin to scurry backwards. But he didn’t do anything. He just snarled, “Get the hell off my property!” then he returned to his horse, which had stood grazing throughout the whole, violent incident, and threw himself up into the saddle. As he turned his mount away, he pointed the riding crop directly at me, then Cris, “As soon as he’s recovered, leave! If you ever come here again,” he kicked his horse and began to ride off, “I'll rip our your lungs!” Then he was gone.

A strange, aching silence descended. As if in a trance, I went over to Cris. I heard him quietly weeping, and I gently pressed my hand on his shoulder. He flinched, and gave a single, louder sob. Then he returned to his quiet whimpering. I didn’t know what to do. His buttocks were still exposed, but there were livid and red, great welts running across the skin. In parts the flesh was broken and tiny beads of blood appeared. I remembered my rucksack and pulled out the cream my Mum had so gratefully packed. With extreme care, I squeezed out a great gob of cream and gently began to work it into his buttocks. All at once his whimpering ceased and he seemed to relax as the cream slowly began to reduce the redness and soreness of his wounds. I put more cream on and slowly worked it over the entire surface of his buttocks, and his whimpering turned into moans. Not stopping now, and feeling the stirring between my legs, I worked my fingers gently between his cheeks and began to probe his arse hole. He responded by arching himself upward, opening up to me, giving me greater access to this most private part of his body. Without even trying, my greased fingers slipped inside him and he began to writhe under me as I worked my fingers deeper inside him. Suddenly, his hand came round and gripped mine, taking me out from his hole. I held my breath, fearing I’d gone too far, but then he turned his face to me and he smiled. It was the most beautiful smile I’d ever seen. Then he turned himself over and revealed his cock, rock-hard, standing up proud and enormous. I just gaped at it. It was bigger than I could ever have imagined, looking like a hard piece of smooth granite. Before I knew what I was doing, I was closing my lips over the big purple head, tasting his hot stickiness for the first time.

He was moaning loudly now, falling back onto the ground, his arms above his head, giving himself up totally to me as I worked on his cock with a feverish relish. I drew my head backwards and forwards, building up the pace, drawing him deeper and deeper into me. And his moans became cries, “Oh God, I’m gonna cum!”

I pulled back, an evil smile on my face. The palms of my hands pressed down on his hard, flattened stomach, and I ran my tongue over the soft ,golden down than ran up from his navel to his chest. “I think I love you,” I said softly.

His eyes sprang open and he gave me a measured look, “You think?” he asked breathlessly. I laughed at that, gingerly touching his cock with my finger tips. He moaned and his head fell back.

“All right,” I said, “I know I love you.”

His eyes were closed, but he still smiled. “Me too.” Then he sat up, his fingers pulling at my belt, and he brought out my own cock and began to play with it. I just let myself go and within just a few short strokes I came, gushing out my semen over his body. He didn’t flinch, just grinned broadly, and he kept milking me until every drop had been forced out of me. I felt suddenly embarrassed and sat back. He followed me, kneeling down, with his still hard cock sticking out towards me. I just gazed at it. It was truly huge. Every other time I had wanked myself off, my sexual desire had disappeared the moment I had cum, but not this time. His cock was so gorgeous that my own erection was still there, throbbing hard, eager and ready. It was an extraordinary yet wonderful feeling and I bent to take him in my mouth again.

Later we both lay in the Sun, our arms around each other. We had no need for words. What possible use were words when we had discovered something much more meaningful? Both of us had cum, twice more, and neither felt awkward or ashamed in any sense. Indeed, it felt right and good. We lay there for a long time.

When we returned home, I remember standing outside his door, and I squeezed his hand. He smiled. There was more sincerity in that smile than in a million words. Walking home I felt alive for the first time in my life.

Of course, it couldn’t last. How could it? We were both young, still at school, the whole of our lives ahead of us. And they were lives which were beyond our control. Perhaps Cris had known for a long time, I'll never know, but the following week we met and he took me to the beach. We strolled along the shoreline, talked a little, but I could sense a change in him. It was when we lay down amongst the dunes that he told me and my life began to disintegrate. He was going away. His father was moving because of his job and the whole family were going. Even Cris, who had enrolled in a college there. To Yorkshire. Not a million miles away, but far enough for me to feel that the world had come to an end. Cris cried then and I held him, comforting him. We made love. For the first and only time. It was the most magical experience of my life and when we walked home, although no words were spoken, we both knew that neither of us would ever feel like this for anyone, ever again.

I saw him a few times more but then he finally left and with him went my soul. College became what I always suspected it would be. Hollow, cold, meaningless. I did my best, but I didn’t care anymore. At night, in my room, I’d cry into my pillow, dreaming of him. He said he’d write, but he never did. Perhaps that was for the best, because eventually he would only have told me that he no longer had feelings for me. So I went through my life, gaining knowledge and experience of this world, but never forgetting that wonderful boy with the golden hair and the majestic body. True I had other relationships, but none of them lasted. How could they? No one could compare.

Years later I saw him in a shopping centre. I was in Manchester, with a good friend, to watch a Test Match. And there he was. He wasn’t the same, of course. His hair was now brown, not golden, and his skin had lost that burnished youthfulness. But there was no mistaking him. When he saw me I felt sure that for an instant there was a little twinkle of recognition in his eyes, but then he was gone. I’d changed. A lot. Gone were the glasses, the awkwardness, even the hair! I should have run after him but as I watched I gave a little prayer of thanks that I hadn’t. For there he was, going up to a young woman who was pushing a pram, and they held each other, laughed and kissed. Cristoff had found a life, normal and well rounded.

I felt happy for him. Truly. And for me…well, I'll always have the memories.