Gay Erotic Stories

Like a lot of guys entering college, I needed a job to meet expenses. And a roommate if I wanted to take an apartment close-by A call went out for a gym and lockerroom attendant. It was a salaried job, I was told, because it was difficult to fill. "Guys around here feel its a job only a gay student would want," the coach who interviewed me complained, "and they don't want gays hanging around. Everytime I start looking for a student to do a job, somebody starts telling me who I can or can't hire. You want the job, you can have it." He was out from behind his desk before I could thank him and calling other coaches into the office to introduce me. "Thank God," was all one coach said to me and then I got a quick description of my duties and a tour. Everything happened so fast, I didn't have time to worry about anyone objecting to me. Nor did I have time to think about the rewards of a job serving naked young men. At the towel window observing the guys in the showers, however, I thought a lot about the rewards. An awful lot. "This might be the best job in the world," I heard myself say. It got better as the boys in the showers got friendlier. One nineteen-year-old had to tell me his life story while another wanted to hear mine. The one who did all the talking would be easier to ask out on a date, I was sure. He liked me because I was a good listener. "Why don't you come by my apartment sometime?" I asked him right there at the towel window. "We'll have dinner and enjoy a real gabfest?" "Friday night okay?" That was easy, I thought. Getting him to let me rub his back while we watched TV was easy. And getting him out of his clothes was easy. "Since it's getting late, why don't you spend the night?" I asked. "There's no school tomorrow, so you won't have to get up early." "Sounds like a plan." "Okay then, just relax," I said, and took down his underpants. Naked in front of me now, he looked younger than his nineteen years. And he squirmed under my hands like he hadn't ever been touched before. He couldn't be a virgin? Could he? "Did you really come here just to talk?" I had to ask him. "I came here for a gabfest. Now I'm thinking we could be roommates. Providing, of course, that you could do this to me every night. This is great!" "You like this, huh?" "It's great!" "Then let me show you something else," I said, and leaning across the bed I went into a drawer of my dresser after a jar of Vaseline to use as a lubricant. He looked back at me over his left shoulder, watched me unscrew the cap off the jar, and then asked for the jar. He took it to his nose, made a face, and then handed it back. "That odor will stay with us forever," he said. "I know, it took forever to get it off my sheets at home." "Wha-at?" "Here, I brought this," he said, and leaned over the bed to reach his jeans. Out of the left front pocket he drew a tube of KY. "You brought this with you?" "I never leave home without it." "But how did you know I'd try something?" "When you asked me here for a gabfest. I had your job working in the lockerroom for six months. I asked gay guys to come to my apartment for a gabfest. By the way, just exactly what is a gabfest, amyway?"