Gay Erotic Stories

It was June 1966. I stood in front of the full-length mirror that hung on the back of my mother’s closet and looked at my image. I was dressed casually but neatly in cuffed dress pants, a button down shirt and my best shoes (bought for the graduation prom, which was another story, and not part of this one. To tell the truth, that night is best forgotten.) Brush cuts now losing ground, my sandy brown hair was parted in the middle and combed back behind my ears. My skin was clear - no zits, thank heavens! My mother said I’d been blessed with good skin. I stood six feet in my socks, slightly taller in my shoes. I had tried a tie, but decided that would be too straight to be believed. After all, I was going out for what I hoped would be my first sexual encounter with a man. I wasn’t exactly a virgin - I’d jerked off with friends at sleepovers and summer camping trips, but this was different. This time, I hoped, I would have real sex with a real man, not an inexperienced boy. Let me back up a bit and give you the full picture. My parents and I moved to this town last fall and I started my senior year at a new school. You can imagine how I did not want to be here. I did not want to be a new kid in a new school in my senior year! The first few days were the hardest. The teachers had a hard time reading my name - Seumas (shay’-mus) - and had to ask me what it was. There was a bit of snickering every time that happened. Some of the guys would say my name, mimicking the teachers, as they walked by me in the hall. The only one who could say it right the first time was Mr. Ferguson, who was also Scottish, and said he had a brother with the same name. Mr. Ferguson was a good teacher: thorough, fair, interesting. He was a young teacher, mid twenties, and in very good shape physically, my height, but with broader shoulders and no paunch like so many of the other older teachers, who were closer to their retirement than to their teenage years. I think he might have been especially kind to me those first weeks. He’d heard the kids razzing me over my name. He said we were kindred spirits. I wasn’t sure what he meant, but I smiled and he smiled back. So, there I was, alone in the crowd, with no one really caring about me as a person except perhaps Mr. Ferguson. I was pretty sure Mr. Ferguson knew. That I was gay, I mean. He saw that the girls’ initial interest in me had faded quickly, and that I was hesitant to make friends. They were good clues, all right. The clincher came when he put his hand on my shoulder as he stopped at my desk to offer some help with a problem in class one day and I think he felt me shudder and definitely saw that I blushed. One day, I was walking home in the rain after swimming practice, and he pulled over in his car and offered me a lift. We didn’t have much conversation - just directions to my house, and comments about the foulness of the weather. But he seemed to come by more often after that on the days I had swimming, and offered me rides good weather or bad. One day he took a big whiff and said he loved my smell - the smell of chlorine, he corrected himself. I just blushed, and hoped he wouldn’t notice the boner I had sprung. I’d started springing boners in his class too. Some days I couldn’t get out of my seat when the buzzer went for fear others would see the state I was in. What would it be like to have sex with him? The thoughts of it drove me wild. I found myself taking furtive little glimpses of his crotch in class, but especially as he drove me home from swimming week after week. One day I was sure he had caught me looking at him, but he said nothing. The next week, as he drove me home, he spread his legs a bit, but didn’t turn his head to see if I was looking. If he had, he would have seen that I was, and I was sure his cock was hard. I’d go home and jerk off, thinking about what was hidden under the fabric of his slacks. One day he told me I had a great body, from all the swimming and related exercising. Again I blushed. He said he knew what I was going through, and if I ever needed to talk, I could call on him. I didn’t answer. It was June before I got up the courage to say anything to him. We had stopped for an iced coffee and a doughnut at one of the local shops on our way home, and when we got back into the car, he asked me if I was going to go to my senior prom. I think my face turned red. I stuttered a bit as I said no, I didn’t think so. He asked me why. I swallowed hard then said, “I’m not really very interested in girls.” He said oh. After a few minutes of silence, he said I should go anyway and if I had no one in particular to go with, there was a girl in our class who really wanted to go. She wouldn’t be looking for any kind of a commitment; she just didn’t want to miss out on her senior prom. I said sure, I’d ask her. I did, and we went. It wasn’t that bad, but as I said, that was another story for another time. Mr. Ferguson met me the next day and asked how it went. I said okay. He smiled and asked if I scored. I blushed and said no. Did he look at my crotch? I think so. I certainly looked at his, and I think he saw me. He could have no doubt now, I was sure. My birthday came two days after the prom and two days before graduation. Mr. Ferguson knew I was turning eighteen, and offered to celebrate with me if I had no other plans. Dinner with my folks, I said, but my mother and father had to go out afterwards. Pick you up at eight, he said. All right, I said. So, there I was, showered and dressed and waiting for my teacher to arrive. Was I reading him wrong? I was at the front of the house when he drove up and I jumped into the car as casually as I could, just as if my blood was not racing through my veins due to my rapid heartbeat. “Happy birthday,” he said. I said thanks. “Where to?” he asked. “You pick,” I said. “My place?” Sure, I gulped. He lived so close that we were there in less than ten minutes. It took a great deal of willpower to calm my throbbing cock, to get out of the car, to walk to the door, and to enter his apartment. Once inside, with the door closed behind us, Mr. Ferguson sighed. “I didn’t think we’d make it,” he said. I turned and looked at him. He looked down at his own crotch, and there was an enormous bulge pressing the zippered front right out. “I’ve got one too,” he said. “We’ll have to do something about these cocks of ours, but perhaps we’ll have a drink first. That okay with you?” I was sitting on the couch in his living room when he brought the whiskeys, neat, on ice. I’d never had Scotch before, so I watched to see what he did, and then took a little sip. It burned my throat going down, but numbed it a bit too, because the next sip actually tasted kind of good. Mr. Ferguson put on some music and then came to sit down, right beside me. “To you,” he said, “and to eighteenth birthdays.” “To you,” I said back and we both took another sip. “So, do you want to start, or should I?” he asked. You, I said. “First, call me Rory. If we’re going to have sex, we should be on a first name basis.” I nearly choked on the sip of Scotch that seemed to want to strangle me. My throat stung, and my eyes started to water, and Rory laughed. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you. You do want to have sex with me, don’t you? I’ve been waiting for tonight since last September. I hope I won’t be disappointed.” Disappointed? Never; unless it was because I didn’t have a clue what to do. Like I said, I’d jerked off with friends, but is that what he wanted to do? I didn’t think so. I hoped not. I never did it, but I knew that guys did more than jerk off. Rory put his hand on my leg and without a moment’s hesitation I put my hand on his. As he moved up, so did I. When he cupped my balls, I did the same to him. Then he reached his hand up and placed it on my chest. I turned to look at him and he kissed me. I kissed him back, nervous at first, but then my raging hormones took over and I threw my free arm around him and hugged him to me. He took my glass from my other hand, placed both our drinks on the coffee table, and hugged back. He sucked my tongue right out of my mouth and circled it with his, pushing his tongue into my mouth and searching around, exploring my mouth. I’d never had a tongue in my mouth that wasn’t my own, but I followed his lead. Finally he broke away, and licked his way down my neck. I threw my head back, enjoying the sensations that coursed through my body. He reached up to unbutton my shirt, one button at a time, all the way down to my belt buckle. He pulled the shirttail out of my pants and then pulled it down over my shoulders. He took it off completely and tossed it on the table. He began kissing me again, this time on my chest, pulling at my wispy chest hair with his lips, teasing my hardened nipples with his tongue. Down he went to my stomach and pulling at the darker hair that started there and disappeared into the top of my pants. I grabbed his head with my hands and pushed him further down. He licked his way to my waist and stopped when he reached my belt. Then he reached down further and gripped my throbbing cock right through my slacks with his teeth. He reached down with his hand and felt my balls and I lifted my hips up to meet him. Then he reached for my belt and seconds later had it opened and my zipper down. My hard cock sprung forward shrouded in my clean white jockey briefs, now drenched with precum. His teeth found my cock again, and he sucked at the precum through the cloth. Then his fingers reached inside and he found my six-inch teen cock, and squeezed. Rory leaned me back until I was lying on the couch. He lifted my hips and pulled my slacks and briefs down. I kicked off my shoes and he pulled my clothes down and off. I was naked except for my socks, which I tried in vain to remove with my feet. Then he took my cock into his mouth and I died and went to heaven! Jerking off was never like this! My own hand, or the hands of my friends at my old school could not do what Rory’s hot, wet mouth was doing to my cock. His tongue circled inside my foreskin, he sucked every bit of precum and swallowed it, and he worked my cock with his mouth and his tongue and his teeth and I came; spurt after spurt of my hot cream flew out of my cock to the back of his throat and he swallowed every bit of it. He sucked and he sucked until I gradually softened, and then my cock slipped out of his mouth. “Your turn,” he said. And then I had my first man! I pulled his shirt off and, trying to follow his example, kissed my way down his neck to his chest and on to his stomach, but he had his belt undone and his zipper down before I got there and seconds later, there it was! His great staff - longer than mine and thicker too, its veins showing clearly along the sides, and its head fully exposed - my first circumcised cock! Where I came from, most boys still had their hoods. Then his cock was in my mouth and I was sucking it and loving it. I loved the salty taste of his precum. I loved the heat of his body around me and in my mouth. I loved his stiffness, and the silkiness of his skin as I slipped up and down his long, throbbing shaft. His cock was longer than mine by perhaps half an inch but I managed to take him all in, my nose reaching into his thick, black pubic hair before I drew up, ready to plunge down again. “Go slowly,” he said. “Make it last. We’ve got all night.” But I didn’t know how to go slow; I didn’t know how to make it last. I was hungry for his cock, and for his cum, and long before he would have preferred it, he shot his hot, salty load to the back of my throat. Try as I would, I could not swallow it all and his cum dripped out from my mouth and matted his short, curly black cock hairs. But when his cock softened and I let it fall from my mouth, I searched the hair with my tongue and licked up every drop. Then I fell back, gasping. “Happy birthday, Seumas,” he said. “Rest for a bit. Before the night is through, I want to fuck your ass.” I rested.