Gay Erotic Stories

Mark sat next to me on the over-sized love seat (it was the only thing that would fit in his small living room) placed strategically in front of his 42-inch flat screen television. The standard utilitarian coffee table stood between the sofa and television, littered with chips and empty bottles, looking like the half fallen soldiers of a battle not quite ended. The football game was nearing the climax and Mark seemed excited by the prospect of a win. He emitted the palpable tension of a player on the brink of victory, his conquest just on the other side of the line. Mark and I were co-workers, not really close friends, but the kind of casual friends who always have a friendly hi or quick joke for one another. His invitation to watch the game with him seemed spur of the moment, a chance offering proffered as we dug our lunches out of the fridge during break.

I momentarily waffled at the invitation. I’m not really a jock, though I practice martial arts and yoga, I’m not really a football enthusiast. Mark’s obvious enthusiasm for the game infected me though. That and the feeling (my mind told me “wishful thinking”), that I was reading more than desire to share a game from him.

Mark is cute. Okay, he’s fucking adorable. His short, curly black hair frames a clean- shaven face with steely gray eyes and a mysterious, almost hesitant smile that hints at something hidden. I had harbored a secret crush on him since he had joined our company six months earlier. The months working together had been filled with encounters that fed my secret desires for Mark. He had a quirky, almost clumsy way about him- a Superman/Clark Kent dynamic that wrestled with his put together look. He was always apologetically bumping into me. Or his hand would caress my shoulder as he brushed away his intruding tie while leaning over me at my desk, his breath purposefully scented by Altoids.

I became a participant in his skirmishes. When he would ‘bump’ into me, I would linger, almost lean into his contact, making him be the first to break the passing connection. If the ball was thrown, I did not want to send the message that I was a wall, bouncing him off. I became a catcher’s glove. We had become regular and comfortable in our cat and mouse methods of touch.

The game day arrived. Mark had told me to “dress light” because he kept his apartment “warm… almost hot.” It seemed I had spent the last six months preparing for this day. I spent the whole morning grooming and cleaning my nether regions as I fantasized about what the day might bring. I was so clean I feared I might squeak if tested. I chose a tight T-shirt that I hoped was not too obvious in showing my nipples. I went back and forth about my underwear, should I wear the sport jock strap or the more obvious gay undergarment that emphasized my ass? I went with the latter reasoning: “hey, if things go that far the ‘secret’ will be out.” Choosing my shorts was a little harder. I struggled with the latest fashion trend that put the length of baggy sports shorts down to the knee. I settled on a pair of tennis short that landed a little higher than mid thigh. They were older shorts, I had not played tennis for some time, but I was not interested in fashion-I wanted to send an invitation. Right before leaving for Marks house I went back into my bathroom and grabbed a small bottle of lube and another of poppers and slipped them into my pocket. As I started to leave, I paused. Compelled by a moment of wishful lust, I went back into the bathroom. I retrieved a plastic syringe filled with lube that I kept for randy escapades. I slipped it up the leg of my shorts. Locating the tip against my squeaky hole, I emptied the contents into it immediately transforming it from “squeaky” to wet and silky. I was more wishful than confident of things to come. I reasoned if things went that far, I wanted to make it as easy and inviting as possible, leaving no doubt in Marks mind that he was welcomed. Little did I know how prescient my preparations were.

I arrived at Mark’s door in a semi lustful haze. It had been weeks since my last hook up. I was a shy but could get like a bitch in heat when I had gone without for a while. I was at that point that day and figured I would have to be careful not to be stupidly obvious in my desire in case I had totally misread Mark.

Mark opened the door to my knock. He was wearing a white t shirt and shorts that looked like he had bought from a thrift store. They looked like throw backs to the 70’s, very short and tight runners shorts that looked like he had been poured into them. I tried not to be obvious as my eyes went right to his crotch, kind of bulging and at the same time loose. I would have sworn he had nothing underneath. Thankfully he turned before my staring became evident and led me into the living room… his ass equally and beautifully outlined in his skimpy shorts. I thought to myself, “this looks promising.” In his own way, Mark was seducing me while further testing the water. He motioned me to the small sofa and left into the kitchen returning with a couple of opened beers.

The football game is a blur to me. As the game went on I became more and more obsessed with Mark. It turned out that I was right, he didn’t have anything on under his shorts. As he cheered and bounced up and down on the couch, his cock and ball would occasionally be exposed out the bottom of his shorts, mesmerizing me. His ball sack seemed as large and full as his cock, though I could only steal glances. His thigh kept touching mine as he’d flop down returning from the kitchen with more beer or as he bounced up and down cheering the game. I could feel the lube leaking from my prepped and hungry cunt, forming a little wet spot on the back of my shorts. I chided myself at my stupidity, wondering what I was thinking making my hole so wet and full of lube, not knowing if this guy was even into a guys ass? I excused myself and went to the bathroom, hoping he wouldn’t see the wet spot along the crack of my shorts as I retreated. When I went into his bathroom, I did a quick exam and wiped my crack, peed and returned. He just smiled his mysterious smile at me and looked back at the television.

As the game came to the last minutes, he went to the kitchen and returned with yet another beer for each of us. I was getting a little buzzed, but nothing I couldn’t handle. This time he returned from the kitchen at my side of the sofa, he had to pass in front of me to get to his side, his crotch at my eye level, and seemingly semi ridged. I grabbed the beer and guzzled it, trying to slake my lust and thirst.

In the final moments of the game, Mark turned to me during a particularly great play. He turned his body sideways exclaiming: “did you see that?” A wave of dizziness swept over me as he turned far enough that his crotch touched my thigh, his dangling balls and tip of his cock momentarily touching my outer thigh. I felt kind of weak and at the same time felt my own cock rising with desire. To my relief, he paused there and looked into my eyes, then down at my crotch for confirmation. He saw my cock starting to fill my shorts, and he knew for certain I wanted him. He leaned in closer, transferring his equipment from the outside of my leg to the inside, I could feel his engorged cock and balls slowly tracing the inside of my thigh as he move them up to the V of my shorts.

Mark deftly moved his hand along the outside of my thigh and under my shorts, squeezing my right ass cheek. He smiled and said: “I noticed the wet spot on the back of your shorts.” Moving his face next to mine, his mouth to my ear, his fingers reached between my crack to my wet hole as he whispered: “ I have wanted to own this pussy since I met you, would you like that?” I mumbled a husky “uh-huh” as his fingers found their way into my hole probing and opening it. He whispered again: “I mean “own it.” Will you let me do anything as an owner?” Are you willing to become my cum slut?” I whispered “yes” as I pushed my crotch against his.

To be continued