Gay Erotic Stories

As I-80 threaded its way through the Rockies and made its descent into the basin of the Great Salt Lake, we were totally engrossed in the beauty of the landscape. Neither Steve nor I had been this route before. It wasn't until we entered Salt Lake City, a rather dreary place despite its setting against western escarpments of the spectacularly beautiful Wasatches we'd being crossing, that conversation began to take a more focused shape. Mike asked Steve, who was sitting in the middle this time, to tell us more about Mark. He began thoughtfully:

"Well, it's hard to know exactly what to say. All of my life, until he went east to school, it seems he's rarely been more than a few feet--or at most a few minutes--away. We grew up on the ranch, where of course we were the only kids. The local school in Saratoga wasn't a one-room school--it actually had four rooms, but it might as well have been a one-room school because it only had one teacher and all the kids from first grade to sixth were taught in the same room. There were only 16 of us, and these days it's closed entirely. As you saw, our Cheyenne house is also out in the country, and our 'high school' - it goes from grade 7 to 12--was fairly small, but surprisingly good.

"Anyway, I thought Mark was just wonderful. He's only 14 months older than I am, but that's significant. When we were young kids he always was able to throw a ball further, read easier, do harder math problems, etc., and he was usually an inch or so taller than I was. Just generally he was bigger and more competent. When you are kids, a year makes a difference, and I thought he was just fucking wonderful. Also, because there weren't many kids around, and our closeness in age, and the fact that we went to such a small school, we always shared the same friends, too. That continued when we went to school near Cheyenne. His friends were my friends and vice versa.

He always was willing to teach me and show me how to do stuff. So I usually was reading his books, and if I ever had a question with fractions, say, he'd always know what to do. And of course he started puberty a year sooner than I did. For a while, that was strange, instead of him being maybe an inch taller than me, he was like three inches taller, though naturally before long I more or less caught up. And of course during those years his dick grew noticeably bigger than mine, and he began to show hair down there before I did. But he was just paving the way for me, and I came to understand that I'd catch up. Not catch up with him, but rather follow where he led. It's not as if I didn't know every detail of the changes he was going through, because we were always completely intimate with one another. We'd always bathed together, showered together, slept together in the same bed. We exchanged backrubs, and even as little kids once we learned (from a classmate, actually) how to masturbate, we did that in the bed (or hid in the closet) together, and it was easy to discover that it was fun to do each other. Of course Mark 'came' before I could, still just another reason to admire him. Under the influence of those raging hormones, by mid puberty we learned what came natural about kissing each other's cocks and sucking 'em, and of course we got very, very good at it, one on the other, and even sixty-nining. And god did I think he was handsome! And the more we were flooded with sex hormones, the handsomer he seemed. Actually, I think the handsomer he actually got. We'd beat off together in front of our mirrors, and blew each other and look at the reflections in the mirrors. And it wasn't an occasional thing. No matter how tired we were, almost never went to sleep without jacking each other, or something.

It wasn't till a few years later that we learned about fucking each other. Somehow that didn't seem as 'natural' as handjobs and blowjobs, but once we tried it, we discovered there are about a million different ways to have fun that way. And that's how it started; and that's how it is today. Whenever we are together, we almost always sleep in the same bed, and enjoy each other in all the old familiar ways. It's really miserable his being 2000 miles away most of he school year. He's an incredibly sweet-natured guy. Everybody loves him.

Even when we were still out on the ranch, our parents made sure that we had chances to get together with friends, sleepovers and camping trips and stuff like that, but for the most part away from school we were more or less together all the time. On the ranch, we were, frankly, little kings. Our grandparents and our parents lavished us with love and non-stop affection; the housekeeper and ranch hands seemed to love us to death and indulge us in any way they could. At the same time our parents and grandparents expected us to do chores. Not that they didn't have plenty of hands to do anything that needed to be done, they just thought that it would be good for us on the one hand, and anyway, one day we would inherit everything and we ought to know how the ranch worked.

As we grew, we became more competent, and we progressed from stuff like feeding the chickens that you can do when you're just four or five years old to mucking out the barn and eventually driving the baler. Along the way we learned to ride and rope, and my grandpa, my dad, and the hands taught us a lot about horses and cattle. So Mark and I spent a lot of time together out in the pastures and on the range, looking for a strayed cow her calf and stuff. Even when we moved to our Cheyenne house, we always spent our summers on the ranch, and lots of weekends too, especially during in calving season in the spring and roundup in the fall.

Thrown together so much alone, we always seemed to be a team, and cooperated. I can't think of a time in which we got really mad at one another, and certainly we never had a fight. I dunno exactly why, because I hear stories from classmates and friends in which brothers are fierce rivals and competitors. In our case, there wasn't much (or anything) to compete for. We were like swamped with love and affection no matter where we turned, and it always seemed like we had everything that we could want before we even could know we wanted it. We got ponies as soon as we could sit ‘em, and horses as soon as we could manage them, and cars as soon as we were legal, and so forth. Our parents seemed to think we could do no wrong, and you know what, we never did. We always seemed to want to please our folks as much as we could. And anyway it was easy. Schoolwork has always been easy for us, and our teachers just seem to love us. What can I say?

We were just naturally good riders, it seemed, and with practice we became really good at calf roping. The bareback stuff came later, after we'd become proficient gymnasts. Our father had been a gymnast in high school later at Columbia. When we were little he taught us the rudiments of tumbling, and how not to be afraid to take a chance while on the mat. And he got us familiar with the apparatus (though really using the apparatus that really doesn't come until later). The main thing is that that we stayed with it and continued to be very flexible, and with time developed some reasonable skills. Luckily, our high school (as I said, grades 7 through 12) though small, had a good gymnastics teacher. He was a math teacher but had been a collegiate gymnast and taught gymnastics as a side thing. He was really a very good coach, and our school, even though it was small, always fielded a team who could kick butt around the Cheyenne area.

Anyway, both Mark and I were pretty good. My dad built us a gym of our own (I think, Mikey, you may have seen it this morning), and when we practiced at home, he coached us. Our parents were hugely proud of us and almost never missed a competition, even if it were miles away.

Gymnastics is mainly made up of individual skills, but Mark and I worked up some sorta fancy exhibition routines that people liked. In any case, we really enjoyed it (and do to this day), and of course there were a lot of good sort of by-products from it, too. For one, it really helps in bareback riding. But it also kinda helps to develop the body real nice. Mark and me, we were never going to see 5'8", not by a long shot, but nevertheless we were considered very studly in our high school and very datable. Actually, we dated a lot. It was just another one of those things that came easily to us. And we got a lot of action, too. We very often double-dated. And quite a lot of times we would wind up four in the same bed somewhere. A surprising number of the nicest girls in our school thought that it was really hot to double date with Mark and me.

I have to say I thought for sure that it was hot to double with Mark. He was always just a little bit more advanced than I was when it came to women. He fucked at least a year earlier than I did, he got sucked by a date earlier than I did, and when we doubled, I would mostly follow his lead and do whatever he was doing. I thought it was really super hot to be in the same bed with him and look over and see some girl stroking him and sucking his dick. Actually I think I may have liked watching his date suck him even more than I liked my date sucking me, even at the same time. It was great to share times like that.

Of course our school was small, and so there was just so far that we could go without crossing some sort of invisible line and making headline high school news, so while our double-dates got whispered about respectfully, Mark and I never did anything more than watch each other, or make sure that we were lying side by side, with our legs and arms touching or something. We never, say, otherwise touched each other or kissed each other even on the hottest double dates. We saved that for times when we were alone. So as you can imagine, it was a real loss when Mark went off to Penn. Sure he came home a few times each school year, and I go out to see him a couple of times during school breaks back in Cheyenne, but we missed each other a lot, even with phone calls and emails and stuff like that.

My senior year in high school, I continued to date girls a lot. But I did miss those double dates, and even more I missed my brother's cock up my butt or my brother's mouth on my cock. It wasn't until I started at Wyoming and met Joe (whom I told you about that) I had my first boyfriend. Like me, Mark dates women, but he has also had some really hot boyfriends at Penn. Some of those Wharton kids are really hot, hot, hot!

What do our parents think? I'm not sure. Mark and I never talk about our own relationship, we never joke about it, we never hint about it. Of course everyone in the household, servants and as well as our parents know that we sleep in the same bed, shower together, date together, and so forth, and that we are as totally affectionate as we can possibly be. In any case, our parents seem to think we walk on water, we've never given them the slightest reason to be concerned about us, and anyway, they are both completely original thinkers with open minds."

By the time Steve had gotten to this point, with all the stuff about him and Mark doubling and sleeping together, Mike and I were pretty hot ourselves. Once again, our engorged cockheads were poking over the elastic waistbands of our little running shorts. And in the telling of the story of him and Mark, Steve had pulled down his shorts and placed Mike's hand on his throbbing erection. It was late afternoon, but it was still bright, even though the sun was fairly low in the western sky. We were across the line in Nevada, and Mike, who was driving, glanced up and saw a sign saying "Montello exit, 1 mile." He pulled into right lane and just after the sign saying "Montello, 40 miles," and he took the ramp. I-80 was moderately traveled, cars and trucks coming by every minute or so. But it didn't look as if anybody ever traveled on unnumbered "Pilot Road," a sort of back way to the remote and isolated desert town of Montello.

Mike drove the car about 200 feet from exit and pulled off the side of the unpaved road, just to the left of a clump of creosote bushes. Mike could have pulled the truck (and trailing Porsche) under the overpass so that we would be screened from the expressway but he didn't. He could have parked to the right of the creosotes so that views from the expressway would be blocked, but he didn't. Instead he drove up to a red rock outcrop. Red rock is a sandstone that weathers in flat lamellae, and this particular outcrop, not unusually, was an extensive table-like formation only about 20 inches off the desert floor hardpan.

He went to the back of the truck and got the blankets we'd used at lunch, and spread them on the red rock to the right of the truck, that is, closest to the highway. It was a deliberate decision on his part. He seemed full of ideas. He told Steve, who was buck naked without his little shorts, but with his impressive erection, to sit near one corner of the blanket, with his feet near the edge of the red rock table. He gave me instructions, and I obeyed, kicking off my shorts and kneeling in front of Steve, between his open legs. I leaned over Steve, supporting my body on my hands and knees and leaning down to kiss Steve all about the face. Steve reached out and held my face in his hands, and returned my kisses. Mike looked with satisfaction upon the scene and said, "Mike, sit up. Steve, grab your ankles and put them on Mikey's shoulders." He reached in between us and slathered my veiny cock with lube from root to tip. And, for good measure, he put a dab on Steve's rear. It wasn't hard to picture what Mike had in mind, but this was a first time for me. I had never fucked anyone up the rear before. I'd had had enough compliant girlfriends who would have done anything that I said, but somehow it had never occurred to me to suggest it, and certainly not to require it. But in the last three days I'd been united with my uncle three times in this way, to my intense satisfaction, and I was ready to try doing it myself.

Recalling just exactly what Mike had done the first time he'd fucked me, back in Galena, I poked the very tip of my glans onto Steve's tight anus. Sure that I was situated exactly correctly by the touch of the wrinkles of his rosebud on my hypersensitive cockhead, I pushed quite definitely and was surprised as how easily I entered his body. Under good control but uncertain as to exactly what this would all be like, I continued pushing another inch or a little less until my entire cockhead had passed his sphincter, and somehow there was some sort of relaxation going on. Not wishing to pull out and lose contact, I pushed a bit more, and more of my cock disappeared. Steve said, "Oh, Mikey, Oh, Mikey!" I withdrew until the rim of my corona caught on the ring of his sphincter, and then pushed again, and still more of my cock vanished as though by magic. I was puzzled and pleased in that this was not at all like vaginal intercourse, for I was gripped very tightly.

With my sizable penis I've been told by several girlfriends that I fill them up in a way their previous boyfriends did not. Maybe that's so and maybe it's just flattery. It's easy to believe that sort of thing if you want to, and I always did. I know damn well I always have sent my member all the way up girls' vaginas to the very end, to the very door of their uterus, but none of them had really gripped me with such force as Steve was doing. Now that it was well established, I took my eyes off our fleshly connection, and looked down into Steve's face. It was, frankly radiant, with another of those big as all outdoors smiles of his. And he and I looked deep into one another's eyes. I felt a hand on Steve's right ankle, which had been resting on my left shoulder, and then his other hand on my right shoulder, where Steve's left ankle lay. It was Mike, who caressed my neck, my cheek, and my shoulder again, and Steve's feet and ankles and calves. He gently pressed with both hands, and lowered my upper body so that I was leaning right over Steve, supported now by my elbows. Steve's face and mine were right together and I could easily kiss his dear sweet lips. Fortunately Steve was wonderfully flexible or this would have been impossible, but Steve seemed to be comfortable though folded like a Parker house roll, but with his butt well off the blanket, for the point of our union was of course at my groin level, and I myself was on my knees and elbows, but also folded or flexed at my hips, with my butt now the highest point on my body.

It was there that I next felt Mike's gentle touch, applying a cool dab of lubrication to my anus. And the immediate sequel was the introduction, suavely and leisurely, of his mighty cock, slick with lube. In a moment or two he had sent his phallus home, right to the root, and I felt his dangling balls sway against my body, just as my balls lay on Steve's butt. Mike was standing on the desert hardpan, while we were on the red rock shelf. He was supporting himself in part with his hands on my hips, but he was in complete control and had adequate freedom of motion to fill me with delight as he slowly pistoned my rear. I was swimming in, drowning in sensations--I was being fucked by my wonderful uncle--a pleasure that while not entirely new to me, still had the high excitement of novelty, and while it should be commanding all my attention--and it really was! - At the same time I was fucking my dear friend Steve.

And it was the first time I had ever had anything so intensely grip my cock, and so on top of a maximum of excitement and joy comes another jolt, kicking me into the realm of hyper excitement, a realm I did not know, could not have suspected, even to exist. And all of this was taking place 200 feet from a fairly busy expressway--we may have been seen by the drivers of dozens of cars and trucks, if they chanced to look our way. In point there wasn't much else out there in the desert and most passersby probably did see us, at least those in the west-bound lanes; but if they did, and had time to resolve what was going on (hell, in the middle of it all I had a hard enough time figuring out what was going on), by then they were many hundreds of feet beyond the only exit for 25 miles, and there was no turning back to make sure what they were seeing.

As awkward was my posture, I was nevertheless in sensory overload, with my uncle's heavily furred belly against my butt, his magisterial cock pumping in my rear in a stately tempo, his heavy balls swaying against me, his hairy legs gripping mine, his big hands on my hips. And me with my cock buried to its hilt in the flesh of my new but very dear friend. It's true that I had a very limited scope of action, but it was just enough. Anyway, I was so strung out with hyper-stimulation that, suddenly over any limit of toleration, a thrill ran up and down my legs and my cock gave a huge jolt, and I was done, my seed now deep within Steve. My uncle was still pumping, but I was a dead soldier. In a moment or two, I felt a short series of extra-hard pumps and a banging of my uncle's testicles against me, and he, too, was done. He withdrew, and gave my hairy butt some fond caresses, even as his semen leaked down onto Steve.

Once Mike had withdrawn, I pulled away from Steve, who was then able to unfold himself, and lowering his legs around me. Now kneeling between his legs, I reached down and gripped his phallus down near its root, and with the last inch of the shaft and the cockhead in my mouth I worked him for all he was worth. Meanwhile, interestingly, but messily, Mike had stuck just one of his long fingers up my butt, now lubricated with his own slick, and he moved it in and out slightly. It was only a very few more minutes before Steve stiffened and his body gave a series of involuntary spasms and my grateful mouth was filled with his now familiar cream.

With no ceremony whatsoever, other than Mike's offering Steve his right hand to pull him upright, and his offering me his left, we rolled up the blankets, slipped on our shorts, and got back in the truck; and soon we had rejoined the cars and trucks passing on I-80, some of whose occupants were still puzzling at what they had seen, or thought they had seen, or maybe had seen. In point of fact, miles down the road, but before full dark, occasionally we would be overtaken by a car whose driver had probably stopped for gas in Proctor or Oasis, and whose occupants recalled the distinctive rental truck trailing the midnight blue Porsche parked out on the desert near the highway, and they slowed up and stared up into the cab of the truck in wonderment.