Gay Erotic Stories

Waking up Sunday morning, with the usual morning woody, I soon became aware of my pecker’s state of over use. It was sensitive and sore—the sheets felt more like sand paper. Rodrigo was still very much sound asleep, so I was able to sneak a peek and view the root of my discomfort. The damned thing was flaming red—no wonder it hurt. I lay there debating on what to do, then I came up with a rather fetching idea—I’d give the sucker a coating of Vaseline! Brilliant—it would soothe my aching tool and yet appear like I was just lubed up and ready to go if Rodrigo had it in his mind to have a morning wakeup quickie.

I lay there, sort of fidgeting, not knowing just what to do. I could get out of bed and head towards the kitchen, get the Sunday papers and follow my normal routine of juice, coffee, reading a few sections, and clipping out the grocery coupons, and filing them away for the next week’s shopping. Usually I’d also have the TV on with the Weekend Today Show on, followed by the Sunday morning news programs. I debated, but chose to just lie still, not even flicking on the TV in case it would wake Rodrigo.

I didn’t have to fidget too long. Rodrigo stirred, rolled over on his side, and silently backed into me. His butt was right on target. Conveniently still lubed from being fucked a few hours earlier, his butt cheeks almost sucked me inside. I was hoping he’d wake up hungry (as in for food), but my morning woody slid in just fine and with the combination of the Vaseline and his previously cum-lubed man-chute, it felt wonderful. I wasn’t sure just what he had in mind, so I lay still awaiting the next move.

Sure enough…the horny bastard began bucking backwards and forwards on my rod. Shortly the silence was broken by soft, lustful oooh’s and ahhh’s. Soon Rodrigo’s slightly damp and clammy backside broke into a full sweat, which only added to our pleasure—slipping and sliding against his backside. To my surprise, I found myself getting dangerously close—too close. Before I could tell Rodrigo to knock it off for a bit—he finished me off. I blasted three or four good loads inside him, which mingled with the night’s previous deposits, forcing the extraneous amount to ooze out when he pulled forward off me. He surely sensed my orgasm; his butt cheeks clamped down on my spurting cock—coaxing out as much as it could offer. I reached around to grab his member. It was rock hard and mired in a pool of fresh cum—he’d cum without even being touched.

“Good morning,” Rodrigo exclaimed between short breaths. He didn’t turn around, but tortured me after my hands had discovered his release. He kept on riding me—oh shit—this was too much—too sensitive. I involuntarily pulled out and away from his wicked man cunt. He responded by rolling over and facing me, then trying to suck the life out of my panting tongue.

“Jesus! You trying to kill me off?” I kidded.

“Not really, I was just trying to make sure you were wide awake!” he smirked.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m dying of thirst,” I said and excused myself from what was left of the bed sheets, and headed for the refrigerator. “You want a glass of juice or something?” I yelled back.

Rodrigo answered, “Yes please,” but his voice was right behind me. Arms came around my stomach and I felt him press his cum-slick dick between my sweat-moist cheeks. Seconds later Rodrigo made a slow thrust and slid right past my sphincter. He caught me in mid-pour and I knocked both glasses over on the counter, almost dropping the juice container in the process. This horny son-of-a-bitch is possessed!

The orange juice was running off the edge of the counter, but Rodrigo was pushing me against the counter, so my crotch was treated to the shock of ice cold juice dripping against me. I was past the irritation of the spill, and still had the quarter-full carton in my hand. “You want some juice?” I repeated. Rodrigo backed out of me and I turned around. With my other hand I pushed his chin upwards and just started pouring.

Rodrigo tried to speak, but was met with a stream of ice-cold juice, which almost immediately overflowed his mouth and ran down his chest, stomach and happy trail, and onto his poker. “That’ll cool your jets!” I laughed.

He pulled me to him and we were both covered with the stuff. We smelled like an orchard on a sticky hot day. “My fault, guess I’d better clean you off,” Rodrigo said. Then he began to kneel down and set about licking up the juicy mixture. His hot tongue felt great, warming me up. When he was nearly finished, he went for his semi-hard prize. He came back up and kissed me; I took my cue and returned the favor, tit for tit, stick for stick. Now that’s what I call a “Dreamscicle”.

We eventually made it into the shower, and managed an exit a good twenty minutes later. After drying off, we pulled off what was left of the bed sheets and threw them in the washer. Then we set about cleaning up the kitchen, dressed, and headed off for a late breakfast or lunch—what ever they were still serving.

We got back to the apartment around 3:15, and I was strangely sort of thankful that Rodrigo excused himself in the parking lot—but not before making plans for lunch at the office on Monday. I walked up the stairs, thankful that I could recoup, finish the laundry, and reset the bed. As I was putting the pillows into fresh cases, the phone rang. I got to it on the third ring.

“Hey! Bet you can’t figure out who this is!” The voice was familiar, but I couldn’t place it right off. After hesitation and silence he continued, “Hey, ya’ll it’s Carter. Remember me?”

Shit, how could I NOT remember Carter? Of course I hadn’t had much time to think about him and off hand I didn’t remember giving him my home number, but apparently I must have.

“You okay? I call at a bad time?” Carter’s voice sounded worried.

I laughed it off, “No, no way. I just wasn’t expecting your call I guess.” That didn’t come out exactly the way I intended. “So how’s it going? Have you had your interviews yet?”

“Yeah, I just HAD to tell somebody. It looks like I’ve probably got the job! I have a follow-up interview on Tuesday morning. They asked me to stay over a day to meet the head guy I guess.” The words came fast (for a southern drawl) and Carter’s voice was sparkling—he was definitely excited.

“Hey, that’s great! Sounds like congratulations are in order!” I replied, while pangs of impending guilt surfaced.

“Hey man, you doin’ anything special tonight? I’ve been pretty much stuck in the hotel all weekend after the interviews. Feel like takin’ in a movie or somethin’?” he asked.

I hesitated, probably a bit too long. The last thing I really wanted to do was leave the apartment. That freshly made bed was looking pretty good. Dinner and a movie sounded good—but I was thinking the home-spun tube type. “Yeah, actually that’d be fine by me; anything special you want to see?” I was hoping I sounded at least sort of sincere.

“Look, if you’re tired or it’s not convenient, no problem man.” Carter said.

“No, no! You got a paper? You pick then. Just tell me the time and I’ll drop on over. I’ve been cleaning this torn up apartment and was just finishing the bed. (if he only knew the half of it). I’ll jump in the shower and head on over. What’s your room number there?”

“There’s a new Tom Cruise movie out that I’ve been dyin’ ta see. Says here there’s one at 5:30 and another at 7:30, and I think it’s close to the hotel.”

“Yeah, I haven’t seen that one yet. Sounds fine; we’ve got enough time I think to catch the 5:30 one if that’s okay with you, and then we can maybe grab a bite afterwards if you want.” I said.

“Great, I’m in room 510, but I can meet up with ‘ya in the lobby,” Carter replied.

“Sounds great, I’ll see you about 5:00, just in case there might be a line at the theater; meet you downstairs then.” I said and hung up. I glanced at my watch; it was 4:15, good thing I didn’t need to take a shower. I put on a fresh shirt and my jeans back on, a quick wash-up and headed out the door. I’d need to hit the ATM on the way, and would make it easily by 5. I hoped it was a good movie—thankfully an action thriller—I’d look a fool if I fell asleep in my seat!

No way, Carter’s good looks and natural charm could easily wake a dead man…and that’s just about what he was going to meet up with. I decided on a good swig of iced tea from the fridge—it might give me a bit of an edge. On the way over, I felt the tea’s pick-me-up, and also my pecker’s soreness in my shorts.

To be continued…