Gay Erotic Stories

I met him at the gym. Chuck was one of the most gorgeous men I had ever seen. He caught my eye in the locker room as he walked by, wrapped in a white towel--about 6 feet tall, in good shape, though obviously 40-ish, with beautifully hairy arms and thick, soft, curly brown hair covering and billowing out from his muscular chest. He wasn’t over-muscular. He just had that “fit” look. I later learned he was retired from the Air Force. His large tattoo on one arm bothered me at first. But he had a very cute face, a five o-clock shadow, and short-cropped athletic hair. He seemed “nice.”

I was headed toward the sauna. I had worked out hard and needed to stretch out my 43 year-old and 6'3" frame and pamper my sore muscles. I took a quick look in the mirror after seeing John, and brushed back my short light brown hair, sucked in my tummy, smeared my light dusting of chest hair around on my sweaty chest, and flexed my biceps a few times. I wasn’t bad, I thought to myself. My workouts were paying off.

I got to the sauna, and there he was, reading a sports magazine, sitting on the lower bench inside. I went in, sprawled out on an upper bench across the way, and made conversation. “Feels good in here,” I said.

“Yeah, it does,” he responded, glancing up at me for what seemed an extra second or two as his gaze took me in.

I continued, “This gym has nice facilities. But I haven’t seen you here before. Did you just join?”

He replied, “No, just come here sometimes to relax when I have a day off.” His job, I learned, was a rigorous one involving long hours. And he took an interest in mine, too. But, for both of us, it was Friday afternoon and we had the weekend to look forward to. I could barely keep my eyes off of him.

The sauna was blisteringly hot, and the hair on his chest and arms was starting to become all matted down in sweat, which he would occasionally finger, swirling his chest hair around with his right hand. I stared. I almost drooled. And I know I was getting hard underneath the towel wrapped around my waist. A good looking man with a hairy chest can make me go week in the knees. And Chcuk was having that effect. His chest hair curled gently up toward his Adam’s apple, spread itself evenly across his pecs, and swirled down into a nice little treasure trail disappearing into his loosely wrapped towel. At one point, he leaned back against the wall and raised his arms, placing his hands behind his head, and I was treated to a the sight of the thick hair under his armpits glistening underneath the well-defined musculature of his triceps and biceps. I licked my lips. He was all man. And even the sound of his voice was a turn on, masculine, worldly, but sweet, sensuous . . . a “nice” guy.

“Well,” he said, suddenly standing up, his loose-fitting towel not falling but drooping just enough to expose the thick curly hair of his crotch, “I think I’ll try the steam room.” I just smiled stupidly, wanting to follow him but not wanting to be too obvious. As he left, I could see the top of his hairy ass crack above the drooping towel--beautiful. And then he was gone. I decided to try the hot tub.

Removing my towel and laying it on a chair, I slipped into the warm, bubbling water and, since no one was around, began to fondle my thick 7" cock, still half-hard from the sauna. I just relaxed. After a couple of minutes the door of the steam room opened. John walked out, butt naked, his towel dangling in one hand, his dick flapping in the breeze. Or not quite flapping. It did seem a little swollen, if not stiff. His flaccid cock wasn’t anything to sneeze at, and his crotch was really hairy, the hair spreading broadly from side to side and up into his treasure trail and hairy chest, which were now thoroughly matted down in sweat.

He sat on the edge of the hot tub, dangling his feet into the water and said, “How’s the water, man? Is it hot?” If only he knew just how hot I thought it was! He slowly lowered himself into the water, but remained standing, his dick flapping around just above the water line. He walked around a bit, playfully splashing at the water with his hands, and I just stared. Even as we exchanged conversation, my eyes remained glued to the sight of his cock. And I’m sure he caught my stare. Maybe that is why he took so long to sit down in the water. He moved near to me, my hand still caressing my dick under the bubbles as we talked, and as I watched the water lap up onto the thick curls of hair on his upper chest. I couldn’t take my eyes off of his chest. And he, seemingly, could not take his eyes off of . . . my eyes. He seemed to enjoy the fact that I was so taken by him.

Finally, he headed back to the sauna. I followed, timing my exit from the hot tub so that I could grab my towel without him seeing my stick prick. We chatted some more. The more I talked to him, the nicer he seemed. I loved his personality, and he seemed like someone I should get to know. At the moment, though, I could only dream that he wanted my body as much as I wanted his. He lay there in the sauna with his towel just half-draped over him. I kept mine a little snugger. He would occasionally run his fingers through the hair on his chest, his eyes watching mine. I decided to make my move. As the steam room is much more private, I announced as suggestively as possible that I was headed there and got up to leave. My towel almost dropped, momentarily exposing my stiff manhood before I could catch the towel and hold it dangling in front of me. I heard him chuckle as I left.

And there I was, sitting in the steam room, sitting naked on top of my towel but half-hidden by the steam, slowly masturbating with one hand and hoping he would join me. I saw him just outside the opaque glass door, which provided just enough visibility to tell who it was. He did not come in. Instead, he sat in a chair just outside the door, one of the several chairs around the hot tub. I wanted him to notice. I wanted him to come in. And so, I started jacking off more obviously, hoping he could make me out through the steamy glass. Perhaps he saw me. But he left. And my raging hard-on subsided. I was getting too hot. Literally, my body was reacting to too much heat and steam and I couldn’t get it up. Damn. I couldn’t even get off, now.

And so I finally dragged myself out of the steam room. Chuck was nowhere to be seen. He must have left the wet area and gone into the locker room. I sulked and took myself back toward the showers. The showers at the gym are individualized, with separate curtains, in a long row down a hall, several on each side. Empty. No one was there. I took the very last shower on the left side . . . but I did not pull the curtain behind me. I took a drink from the shower spray and then soaped up my chest and arms and . . . . Suddenly, there he was!

He stepped into the shower stall just across from mine. No one was in any of the showers . . . and he chose to walk all the way down the hall and take the empty shower across from me. And he did not close the curtain as he turned on the shower and began to soap up that hairy chest of his. He soaped up his arms, washed his hair, closing his eyes as he did . . . turning his body now and then to face mine. And then he began to soap up his cock, which seemed to become half-hard under the caress of his strong, soapy hands. I started to jack off, occasionally turning so that he could see me. But I had gotten so damned hot in the steam room that I couldn’t do it! I couldn’t get it up! Damn! I couldn’t even “show hard” at the moment of truth. I wanted to cry, and I felt awkward and embarrassed. I turned off the shower and reached for my towel. He did the same, and our eyes met, awkwardly, as we stood there dripping wet between our showers. “I got too hot!” I said despondently.

“I noticed,” he said with a smile, and I turned red with embarrassment.

But, quick on my feet I said, “Hey, listen, I was gonna go for a beer after this. You wanna join me?”

He smiled, and just said, “Well, how about joining me for dinner, instead?”

I think I fell in love with him on the spot. And yes, dinner was lovely. He had dressed in jeans and a red t-shirt. The way he combed his short hair, sort of spiking it upward in a quasi-military crop, was very sexy. The restaurant w nice oriental place. He had spent a lot of time in the Orient when in the Air Force. We learned a lot about one another, and I was thoroughly taken with him. Eventually, over dessert, and having sufficiently cooled off after an hour or two, I finally got up the nerve to say, “So, I live nearby. You wanna see where I live?”

He smiled, and simply said, “Sure.”

He had to follow me in his car, but it was a short distance. He parked and I led him up to my flat. “Nice place,” he kept saying, as I offered him a beer and sat down with him on the sofa. Finally, in mid-sentenced, I reached behind him and caressed the back of his head, running my fingers through his hair. He kept talking, and I finally leaned into him, looked into his eyes, and kissed him. He kissed back, and suddenly became very affectionate. Not aggressive, mind you--just lovingly affectionate. He unbuttoned a button or two on my shirt.

My hand found its way underneath his red t-shirt and began to caress his fuzzy treasure trail . . . then moving up his torso, my fingers eventually running though the thick curls of his chest hair as I kissed him, again. It was blissful. We kissed continually, his five o'clock shadow occasionally scraping against my scruffy, unshaven face as his hands squeezed my biceps, my hands caressing his hairy arms, the hair on his chest, under his arms . . . and once or twice dropping to the thick bulge in his jeans and giving it a good squeeze. Then his hand fell to mine, and he began to undo the belt buckle on my own jeans, and he whispered in my ear, “Let’s go to bed” just as he kissed me again, deeply, affectionately.

I stood and led him by the hand into the bedroom. I pulled off my shirt and then quickly pulled his shirt over his head and embraced him, feeling his hairy body against mine, kissing him, then sliding down his body, licking my way down his hairy chest, his treasure trail, my chin finally resting on his belt buckle. I began to undo it. I unzipped his jeans, and slid them down off of his body, simultaneously removing his boxer underwear as I pulled. He was huge. This was the first time all afternoon and evening that I had actually gotten a good look. Huge, hairy. Gorgeous. Throbbing. Oozing pre-cum. My lips went instinctively to the tip of his cock and licked. He moaned. And then I engulfed him, taking his throbbing manhood down my throat in one fell swoop. He gasped. Shuddered. My hands, which were caressing his hairy arms, reached around him and caressed his ass, equally hairy, and pulled him toward me. He face-fucked me for awhile and then stopped. He pulled me up off my knees and kissed me, unfastening my belt, pulling my jeans and boxer shorts off of me. They dropped to the floor and I stepped out of them.

He pushed me back on the bed and collapsed on top of me. He ground his erect dick into mine, kissed me, and then hovered over me, almost as if doing push-ups. He had noticed how much I had gotten off on his chest hair, and so he hovered over me, gently brushing his billowy chest hair against my face, teasing my nose and my tongue with it, gently, lovingly. I went wild, and I reached up and ran my fingers through it. And, seeing how loving he was, then I reached up and caressed his face. He was so affectionate, so loving!

We collapsed in each other’s arms and just lay there, intimately, me caressing his chest hair while he caressed my cock, gently, like it was the most precious thing in the world to him. I reached down and caressed his hairy ass crack, which was very hairy, running my fingers back and forth along the length of his crack, slowly, gently, occasionally probing the outside of his hairy hole. I inserted a finger. He moaned. But I continued to caress the hair on his ass, intimately, softly, for what seemed like hours! It was just blissfully intimate. And he kept his hand on my cock, similarly, intimately, lovingly.

We snuggled, and kissed, and caressed, and explored each other’s hairy bodies as if we were one . . . I had barely met the guy and yet I couldn’t have been more in love.

Finally, I whispered into his ear. “I don’t want to ruin this. But I do want to complete it. I want to say something that I rarely say, not to anyone, but I want to say it to you.”

He kissed me, a bit mystified, and said, “And what is that? What do you want to say to me? Say it.”

I turned my face toward his, kissed him again, looked into his eyes, so much in love with this man, this gorgeous, affectionate, hairy-chested, loving and masculine man, that I was almost in tears, and I said, very simply, and softly, “Fuck me.”

And he did, very lovingly, almost painlessly, making love to me as no one ever had before, finally unleashing a bucket load of warm cum inside of me just as I let mine fly all over his chest. And it was wonderful--blissful.

I wouldn’t even let him off the bed to clean up. I licked him clean instead, my tongue finding every last hairy curl on his chest, and every splatter of my salty cum. And then I kissed him, deeply, and he held me in his arms, his hairy chest bushing against my back, his still-wet if flaccid cock nestled lovingly against my ass. And I reached up and caressed his face, and then caressed and kissed those strong, hairy, muscular arms, feeling very safe, and very much in love, as we fell asleep.