Gay Erotic Stories

The rest of the afternoon I wandered around in a kind of daze. My son was gay, and I was going to spend the evening with his one-time lover. At least, I think they must have been lovers. That’s the impression I got from Alan. Maybe I read him wrong. Maybe they were both gay, but not lovers. Alan was so handsome. I looked him up in my son’s yearbook and sure enough, there he was, and I remembered him more when I saw what he looked like in the candid shots, taken six years ago: tall and lanky, long hair, a few pimples, dirty jeans torn at the knees. I remember he sometimes wore obscene tee shirts. I remember how startled I was one day when he arrived at the house wearing one labeled ‘Makin’ Bacon’ with two pigs doing it, the top one sweating and the bottom one with his tongue hanging out. His? Was it a male pig on the bottom? I’d never thought about it before. Was the tee shirt a gay statement? Did Alan and my son have sex together? Of course they must have, if they were young and gay and no fathers they could turn to, to ask about what was going on inside them. I could have told them. I could have told them what it was like for me growing up in a small town where it was absolutely forbidden that anyone be gay. It was easier today. People accepted things like that. People can be open and honest now about their sexuality, and no one minds. If I had been honest, honest with myself, I could have told them how I longed for male companionship when I was their age. I had to work to help the family. Ever since I was twelve, I had a job, and I had very few friends, none close. Even if my father had let me participate, I wasn’t good at sports, and I was terrified to take my clothes off in the locker room at school. I always had a hard-on in that locker room, I can remember. I’d never look up. I’d never look at the other boys, but I’d always get a hard-on and when I’d get home I’d masturbate. I could have told them that lots of boys like other boys’ bodies, especially when they are young. Most end up straight, though some don’t. It’s not their fault. It wasn’t my fault. I tried to be straight. Here I was, forty-seven years old, and I’d never had sex with a man. Not even with another boy when I was young. I married during my first year at university and Geordie was born less than a year later. But the sex wasn’t good. My wife got busy looking after Geordie and when we did have sex, it was sort of just because we were supposed to. We were married. It wouldn’t have seemed right if we didn’t do it at least once a week. I liked masturbating better. I was showered and dressed by seven o’clock and had dinner in the oven when the doorbell rang promptly at eight. The tight apron I had on in the kitchen was showing a sudden swelling in my crotch, so I took it off before opening the door. I even stood with my pelvis tilted back so as not to let the bulge show too much. I’d worn a pair of trousers with lots of pleats in the front so as to hide a hard on behind lots of loose fabric if I needed to, and I did need to. “Hello, Mr. Ferguson,” Alan said as he came through the doorway. “Hope I’m not too early. These are cold, if you want to put them in the fridge.” He handed me a six pack of beer. I didn’t recognize the brand name. I usually drank Scotch, single malts when I could afford them, when I wasn’t sending money to Geordie for his rent or his books, or when I had something left after the alimony checks. “No, you’re right on time. Dinner will be at least a half an hour, so we can crack this six pack first if you like.” Alan followed me into the kitchen. I took two bottles of the beer and put the rest in the fridge. Then I opened several drawers looking for a bottle opener. Alan realized what I was doing and he took one of the beers from me and twisted the cap off with his hand. Smart idea, I thought. Wonder when they developed that kind of top? There had to be a knack to it though, because I barely managed to get the top off mine without ripping my hand open. I followed him back into the living room and we sat down. I had already closed the drapes and had put on some music; not to his taste, perhaps, but to mine. I felt more comfortable in my own house with my own music and with him sitting on the couch and me on a chair than when we met face to face on the street. “Here’s to Geordie,” Alan said, holding the bottle high. I raised mine and then we both drank. I watched him as he looked around the room. The silence seemed to grow, despite the music on the stereo. “Looks different,” Alan said. “Different furniture. Different paint. You do that? After your wife left, I mean?” “Yes and no’” I answered. “She painted this room before she left. It needed doing, and she didn’t think I had much taste when it came to selecting colours. She didn’t want anyone thinking she had left me with decorating left undone. I bought the furniture though. She took our other stuff.” Alan smiled. “The room I remember best was Geordie’s room,” he said. “That’s where we spent most of our time.” My cock twitched as I envisioned what they were doing up there in that room. Geordie was so lucky, I thought. He had someone to share his torment with as he discovered his sexuality. No one wants to be gay. No one wants to be different. I was all alone. Geordie had Alan. “His room’s the same,” I said. “We didn’t change that. This is still his home.” There was an awkward silence as we both sipped at our beers, wondering how to begin. “When did you know,” I asked. “Know?” questioned Alan. “Oh, you mean, when did we know we were gay? We knew all along, I think. Since we were kids. You know these things, Mr. Ferguson. It doesn’t happen all of a sudden. But we never even experimented until we were in our senior year. We weren’t really sure before that, you see.” Alan smiled that drop-dead gorgeous smile. I can see why Geordie was drawn to him. He was so handsome, and genuine. No fake bravado, or inflated ego. Geordie was a handsome boy too, and I don’t say that just because he was my son. He was. In many ways, he looked more like his mother than me. “Anyway, like I said, we were in our senior year when we really knew for sure. How did we find out? Well, there was this new guy who came, and he was in our class at school. He was a jock. You know, good at sports and stuff, and he soon made lots of friends. But Geordie and I weren’t in that crowd. Neither if us was very athletic. I don’t know how he knew about us, but he did. He used to look at us in class and smile. Some times, he even followed us around after school. He made us nervous. “He got us in the washroom with him one day and he showed us his hard cock. You don’t mind me using that word, do you Mr. Ferguson?” I nodded, no. Alan continued. “We were interested and he knew it. He got us to hold it and he put his hands on our shoulders and he began to shove his cock in and out of our fists. We took turns, Geordie and I, and before we knew it, he’d shot his cum all over the front of our shirts, mostly on Geordie. Boy, was Geordie scared. He was afraid his mother would see the stain and she would kill him. He took the shirt off and rinsed it under the tap and put it back on wet. Mrs. Ferguson never knew. “Anyway, this guy, I won’t tell you his name, he still lives in town and you likely know him. He tells us to meet him after school and we do. We’re a little nervous now, because he was kind of mean about it. He didn’t just ask us, he ordered us. We were afraid he’d tell on us or call us queers and we’d get into deep shit if we didn’t do what he said. “So, we met him at the back gate behind the school and he told us to follow him, but not too close. He didn’t want anyone to see us with him. So we followed him and before we got to the woods, he was joined by two of his friends, jocks, guys we knew, but never hung out with. They were talking and laughing and turning back to see that we were still following, and we were too scared not to. “Once in the woods, not far in, but just out of sight, they stopped and we caught up to them. They didn’t waste any time. ‘Show us your pricks,’ one of the guys said. We were not quite sure what to do so we stood there, kinda stupid like. ‘I said drop your pants,’ the fellow said again. ‘Show us your cocks.’ and then we knew. “Anyway, we dropped our pants and the other guys started feeling our cocks and of course they got hard. They made us lie down on the ground and the two other guys started masturbating us. They wanted to see which one of us would cum first. I think they even bet on it. The first guy, the one who made us jerk him off in the bathroom, he was stroking his own cock and his friends were jerking us. At first we were scared, but then we liked it. Before long we were thrashing about and when we finally shot our cum, the ecstasy of the moment nearly sent us into outer space! Least ways, that’s how we described it when we talked about it later. Whenever we wanted to jerk off after that, we talked about going into outer space.” “I remember that,” I said. “I remember Geordie talking about going into outer space. He talked about it a lot. I thought he was being literal, not figurative. I thought it was a phase he was going through, that he wanted to be an astronaut.” “He was talking about jerking off,” Alan said. “We did it every day after that, usually upstairs in his room. You were never around much, and Mrs. Ferguson always left us alone in Geordie’s room. If she ever came in, she always knocked first. She never caught us.” “But I think she knew,” I said. “She’d see the evidence on the sheets or in Geordie’s underwear, or did you wipe the cum up with tissues and put them in the toilet? That’s what I used to do when I’d do it in my room. Anyway, I remember she started getting after me to have the ‘talk’ with Geordie, but I never did. I was afraid to. I was afraid that I’d go hard and he’d know.” Alan looked at me with a very sad look in his eyes. “Yeah, my father never had the ‘talk’ with me, either. Most fathers can’t do it. And by the way, we did use tissues, at first.” It took a moment for that to sink in. At first. So what did they do later? My cock was twitching in my pants as I envisioned what they did with their cum later. Did they suck each other off? Lick up the evidence? I saw that in the magazines I bought, but I never did it. Was it satisfying? What did it taste like? “What about those boys?” I asked. “Did they leave you alone after that day?” “No, we spent a lot of afternoons with them and with some of their other friends,” said Alan. “We even went camping over to Miller’s pond. We used to go skinny dipping there, and then we’d all jerk off afterwards. Well, sometimes we took a tent and slept out, overnight. The cum would be flying then! Look, Mr. Ferguson, if this is shocking you, I’ll stop. But you asked. You said you wanted to know.” “I do want to know,” I said. “I’m not shocked. Perhaps I’m jealous,” I added. “I had no one when I was a kid. No jerk off partner. I was all alone.” “Geez, man,” said Alan. “That must have been rough. I don’t think I could have made it without Geordie.” There was silence for a moment. Then Alan went on. “So we had those guys, and we had their friends, and they made us do stuff. They never hurt us, or never really forced us, not after that first day. We wanted to do stuff with them. We’d meet and jerk off together, sometimes we’d each do our own thing, but most of the time we’d do each other. It was more fun, you see, doing each other. “Have you ever felt another guy’s cock in your hand and knew that you had the power to make him cum? No, I guess you didn’t, eh? You could jerk him fast and really punish his dick, and he’d blow his load clear across the room; or you could jerk him slow and make him moan and cry out for release. It was much better doing it to someone else and having them do you than doing it by yourself. “Anyway, it was late in the spring in our senior year and there was this other new guy came to town. He was a bit older than us, maybe a year, and it wasn’t long before he found out about our after school activities and one day he came along. We were glad to see him. He was really good looking, and we were starting to notice things like that. He was really tall, and had broad shoulders and muscles, and we were just skinny kids then. Anyway, he came one afternoon and after we started jerking off, he showed us something else that was even better. He showed us how to suck cock. “Mr. Ferguson,” Alan said, apologetically. “I’ll stop if you want me to. I don’t know how far you want me to go.” “I want you to go all the way,” I said, well aware that my comment had a double meaning. I hoped Alan did, too. He smiled. “Can I have another beer first?” Alan asked. When I got up to get the beer, I had to straighten my semi-hard cock in my trousers and Alan could have no doubt now that his story was turning me on. In fact, Alan was turning me on. If only this evening could lead where I wanted it to go, I’d be the happiest man in the whole damn town!