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Andanda's Way

by Billy Jay

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Pops, darts and twirls. Twinkling of half looks at one another. Longtime stretch of this partytime non-encounter is that he and I can't seem to get close enough to one another to satisfy the need to have each other in full view. What agony. I'm seeing enough that I have a drilled heat shimmering in my insides that is intensified by the absolute necessity to appear cool as I move in this crowded room positioning myself for the meeting that must happen. He's here at Penn State studying Geology and his name is Andanda. That's all I learn from my casually asked, "Who's that guy over there?” What is it about him that is turning me on? His olive skin, the bare trace of a mustache, those dark eyes, yes these, so commonly seen among Indian males, but more--I love his butt that is wrapped round by black Guess jeans with that little bit of denim that forms a little tent at the top of his ass cheeks. The movement of that tent as he shifts his weight is like a finger inviting me to him. I love his greased-up long black hair. The sheen of Andanda's hair as the allure that the glaze of lipstick on a man's lips. It's a hot wet look and even if you're a private and reserved Indian Geology student it's going to get you into trouble. This reception for science majors and has included Education majors like me, but I'm no scientist and can't fake that lingo, so my meeting Andanda is going to have to come from the jangle of my balls and swirling brain, by just standing up in my pink chinos and my weathered green Adirondack's sweat shirt, pressing myself into that four inch space behind him on the pretext of going to the kitchen. It has to be done...now! GD-it, make the move to contact! With visually cool exterior, but with telltale warmth of that certain touch laid on his upper arm and the small of his back, I press myself into that tight space and then stop. "Excuse--ohh, I'm sorry, did I make you spill your drink?" "Just a little, that's all right." "No, let me get you another one." I won't let him refuse and take the drink from his hand using both my hands to embrace it and to touch his hand as I insisted he join me in the kitchen so that I could make him a new one. "Come, I'll show you around." So Andanda was cut away from the others so that we could rest our eyes safely in one another even if our talk was still not connected to what we were truly about. He laughed a good bit about the double meaning in my silly name--"Tug." enjoying my silly name, "Tug." That I am good at what my name means I didn't have to spell out for him. What surprised me was that the stereotype I had about Indian men being reserved, even remote, was turned around in Andanda, who had in him the Indian warrior spirit. We stayed together telegraphing one simple message to each other repeatedly: You turn me on and I want to make love with you. We were two warriors. But to tell the truth, I was so smitten by the intensity of his look into my eyes, my own eyes stayed with him in a yes-let's-do-it look which I broke only briefly to excite myself with the beauty of his slim hips. Black jeans, olive skin and wet hair. I had never kissed a man like this and that was my desire. The reception was coming to an end and Andanda said to me quite simply, "Come with me to my apartment." I didn't ask why. When an Indian man wants something, I learned, he is direct in a way that can be a shock. As we walked to his off-campus apartment I found that I would make excuse to lag just a little behind him to let my eyes enjoy the virility of his movement and to watch those jeans work around his ass and thighs. When I did this he looked back and said, "Come on Tug, I have treat for you." At 6 PM we reached his place which was a second-floor studio apartment that had twin doors opening onto a large deck. When Andanda opened the doors, a fair breeze played into the room and I became fair game, his frank lover, whom he took to himself with a warrior's arms in a direct and wild embrace. My two-day-old beard, rough against his cheek met the bristle of his moustache and then our wet lips met in a front-door kiss, just lips learning lips. I wanted more, but I was being taught how to share a kiss. "I like your pink pants. You too are a man of color." "Unzip them and see if there's a prize." "Yes, my prize--I want my prize." Andanda and I press our torsos together really tight as each of us uses the arm that is pinned against the other's body to reach for the hard cock behind our pants. "Yes, this is good. This is really good. I like it." "Andanda, your cock is sexing me up. Feel this? And how about this? You like me having your monster in my hand? I can do more." "Tug, show me what you can do." I have us take off our shoes and socks and our shirts so that all that stands between us is his tight black jeans and my pink chinos. "Andanda, I want you to just drop my pants for me--and my underpants." He does this and more. My huge dick stands up to him. I caress it as I go crazy with the sensations he produces through his experienced touch. He has a nice way of working his thumbs on my glans and damn it I have to stop him or I'll come too soon, too soon. You're a school kid if you come one at a time and too soon. Warriors come together! I pull his hands from my sex. I work his black jeans down to see for the first time the true form of his manhood. It is still behind CK boxer briefs which show off a cock better than anything, but with Andanda's eyes on me I have a piece of pleasuring to do. So down they come and wow! I am going to let him know something new. What man is this? Uncut glory and satin smooth skin of marvelous color! "Let me do this for you--please." My tongue opens his cockhead and I swallow repeatedly, hot as we are, I swallow a lot of cock, and a lot of precum. I take his cock in my hands as I give him Tug at Andanda's sex--in which I set to flow sex electrons around his tool while my pursed lips pull with great exotic suction to bring him to a place where a man ought not have to be--the place where he says I'm gonna cum, but needing to hold it off. But as we were made for union in our climax we defer to his almost made bed and things you will, dear reader, mention in your mind so that we will all have ecstasy....

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27 Gay Erotic Stories from Billy Jay

A Durable Sex Life

A guy with a really hard slap-shot erection feels like his tool is bound with cinched-up thick leather straps and at the core of this bull-leather fuck tool he carries a totally awesome sensation like something is jammed down the center of his cock, an inflamed wire that spreads out with leads to both his balls, feeling like they're pulsing and radiating something that must happen,

A Major Fuck

Sir, Can I have a pull on your dick? Yes, but you must start out with the lightest touch you can. I like to feel it. I like to feel it good. Crunching down his boxers in a move devoid of strain, a move that was athletic and masterful, he exposed his organ and I almost took it in my mouth when I felt the shock that came from seeing his erection. He was a major and I was a

Andanda's Way

Big Dick in Evenin' Time

Teddy was a pick-up artist, which was clear. And me, I stay clear of trickers--AIDS is big in my head and that's not my game, to die of AIDS. I'm always doing a self-test of what it is I think I'm doing when I head into a gay bar: I don't drink. I'll order a gin and tonic and nurse it with a big tip up front. Basically, I'm looking for a clean guy for some kind of relationship that

Different Strokes For Me And Franky

Wildwood was our target. The 'Coney Island' of South Jersey is what it is and is the only place to go when you want to hang out looking for excitement. Franky and I worked for Sears in Receiving and got each other hooked on the idea of taking our three days off on the 4th of July in Wildwood. It's a place for guys on the make and just about anybody who's lookin' for a good time.

Farmboy Foolin', Part 1

Sitting on the edge of his chair at the kitchen table, Ned's right leg was bouncing rapidly and as he leaned over the table his muscular arms encircled the bowl of Cheerios he was spooning into himself while he gazed blankly at the sports page. Baseball season was in its early days and he liked seeing photos of the players in their tight pants more than he liked the game.

Farmboy Foolin', Part 2

Whoever said it was OK for guys to be gay? Dumb question. But not for Ned. And Lord knows this dumb question must be around--it's rare for dumb questions to exist isolated in only one individual. That would be genius, wouldn't it? No this dumb, right-on question that was aching inside Ned was in Lester's gut, too. In Ned, whose unrealized vagrant sexuality was throwing the furniture

Farmboy Foolin', Part 3

Jim O'Brian stood behind his wife on their farmhouse porch with his arms wrapped warmly around her, rocking the two of them gently side to side. After 30 years of almost non-stop labor they saw in their family and abroad their hundreds of acres of well-tended farmland something that filled them with deep joy. The pleasure of this particular morning's snuggle on the porch was knocked

Farmboy Foolin', Part 4

At puberty a boy's eyes grow. His first intentional ejaculation with its bracing horror and glazed trance of dilated pupils fixed to his hard dick is a once-in-a-lifetime experience that triggers every shaggy rocketing of cum from then on. He is awarded a hot body--a hot body with more erections than a field of weeds. This morning on the farm Ned and Les were hot-wired to get back

Farmboy Foolin', Part 5

Les was certain as any virgin boy could be that he could tease and seduce Ned just by fitting himself into a perfect pair of cock-and-ass jeans. Seeing himself in them got him to feeling like a rooster and he let out one hell of a Rebel Yell to let the world know he was ready to let ride, oh yeah, Sally, oh yeah, RIDE! But it was that yell that jumped out of him that brought Ned

Farmboy Foolin', Part 6

Back when Ned was in the 10th grade at McFarland High, he tried doing something that gave him a lasting scare. He had seen the way Lonnie, the class queer, walked and Ned, who had just admitted to himself that he was gay, wanted to try walking like Lonnie to see what it was all about. He picked a place where nobody could see him and in a few minutes he had it down: he could walk as

Farmboy Foolin', Part 7

"Did ya swallow it?" Les looked up at Ned with a sly look, his mouth partly open. At each corner of his wide mouth were small streams of cum and you could see on his tongue a little lacey evidence of the creaming he had gotten from Ned. But he stuck his tongue way out the way a kid does and said, Yeth, I-think-I-god-eth-awe." Then, to drive his joke home he switched to a mock snob

Farmboy Foolin', Part 8

Ned's eyes popped open when he felt his dick getting hard again. He had been having a dream that he was a trapeze artist and that he was coupled with Les high in the circus tent having sex, and the excitement was derived from their swinging so high with a degree of pride that was above all fear of death. The high-flying dream of sexual prowess worked on his recumbent cock and, with

Farmboy Foolin', Part 9

Les left Ned's hot embrace and scampered to the bathroom to prep his ass so that Ned could do everything to him that comes with a good fucking--his first. Their first. Ned was left alone in a highly aroused condition. Even without an aching hard-on he hated being apart from Les. He picked up Lester's bib overalls from the floor and went through his buddy's pockets to find the condoms

Farmboy Foolin', Part10

Les's mother died when he was twelve. She died suddenly from a ruptured aneurysm just minutes after she saw Les off on the school bus that October day. Blue sky day, but it was horrible. The tragedy was compounded when Les's father, who had always been a little sharp with his kids, became ever more irritable and his children were not exempt from his angry outbursts which worsened each

Farmboy Foolin', Part11

Two naked lovers jostled one another intentionally in the hall as they made their way to the shower. Ned pushed and tickled Les and Les came back laughing with his own poking finger. They were making some headway towards the shower the way Daffy Duck of cartoon fame made headway--bouncing off walls. Les took up the goofy thing and turned the tables on Ned, pushing him up against the

Felling The Big Pine

The windows are open and a light cool breeze is blowing into my room where I'm stuck in a pile of books required for my Landscape Design 102 course. The finals are close and I have already shot half the weekend reviewing the course materials. It's Saturday night and I'm dull to the books, drifting into a dreamy thing that is a mix of this text which covers the varieties

Flyer Boyz Obligato

He's wearing dirty white jeans and a gray T-shirt. Bondage and masturbation indicated. He doesn't look the type--they never do. But fuck man, he's got the bod I like an' in this soaking rain we've gotta hustle to get a whole sack of damn flyers delivered to four blocks of houses. I'd dump them, but the bastard told us he'd drive around to see 'em before he paid us. We're keepin'

Fratboy High Rollers

"Gotta tell you somethin' you already know." "Yeah, what's that?" "You've been checkin' me out." "Yeah, you like that?" "Yeah--yes I do. But it drives me nuts not doin' somethin' about it. The other guys went up to Newgate and won't be back ‘til tomorrow. Like to see what I really look like?" "I'm game. But tell ya what--we both make an entrance to the room and come in on the

Gettin' Him Good

Soren and I had just about had done all we could in making a clearing near the pond for his family's upcoming reunion picnic. With mowers and saws and whackers we sweated up a hundred foot space for a half dozen picnic tables and a couple of bar-b-ques. "Kirk, take a drink of this." I was handed a bottle of Mountain Dew and knocked it half down before I got a jolt from Soren who

Hot Cock Rules!

Just a few minutes before Bram and I were standing shoulder to shoulder on the wooden porch drinking our beers, looking out at this strange town that sits alongside the Schuylkill River, which here, sixty miles north of Philly, is just a broad shallow creek good for skipping stones and fishing. It's late November we're only standing outside because the wood frame house I inherited

Just On The Rocks

Tight purple jeans. You don't see jeans like this on guys, but from my experience, just follow the tight purple jeans like you follow the yellow brick road. The guy wearing them was about 23 or 24 with streaked shaggy-blonde hair, eyes which were dark brown and locked onto the eyes of his targeted sex-mate for the night. Powerful biceps popping out of a muscle T-shirt and thighs that

Mac Had A Switch

Even the nastiest blue collar jobs have this in common with the executive positions of any kind, they all involve a great deal of time just standing around. There are exceptions to this, like the pot washer and the miner. But from what I've seen, even when you're geared to do a job there are just times when you can't do a thing because you have to think it through or because you're

My First Time Doing Phone Sex

I remembered that John told me one time that he did phone sex and because we had just begun living together it was just an item I tucked away, I guess, for today. He's taking a summer course in Toledo, Ohio, and I'm stuck here in Philly. I'm horny and it's phone sex time--9 PM. He'll be studying and now I'm gonna blow him away. Billy: Hi John what cha doing? Could I string you up

Stripping Down The Speedos

I'm Klick and my best friend got his nickname at the same time I got mine--he's Ridge. How? We were always taking out war movies and it's always the same story in the infantry: "Hey, how many more klicks do we have to go? Answer: About another three klicks across this ridge." Etc. So our friends named us Klick and Ridge. We were always hanging around one another. With four years

We Oughta Get Up

My cot was jammed next to Terry's in the Senior Counselors tent, so close that I could reach across to his cot. I had kicked off the blanket and top sheet in the night, so wearing just a white tee and white boxer briefs I was laying in a bed with everything in a tangle. The sweaty sheet that I was laying on had come loose and exposed the lumpy old mattress. Laying on my

Wranglers Workin' It On The Side

When you want a guy you want him. So I wasn't going to play games with Lee. Here was a guy who was tall and so lean that his dick was something that lay in his jeans like a fist. This cowboy wore his Wranglers like they were part of him and he was the sexiest bastard I ever saw except for myself. I had a picture of what I wanted to happen. Those work jeans, tight and torn and

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