Gay Erotic Stories

Even horndogs need to visit the grocery store, and that’s how I met the shelf- stocker. At the ripe old age of 20 he was all man and I have the happy memories to prove it.

I had been working in the yard all morning, doing those chores you put off during the week because you’re too worn out when you get home from work to deal with them, but they never go away so by the time the weekend rolls around you’ve got a mountain of jobs waiting to be finished. You know – those kinds of jobs.

It was getting to be early afternoon and I wanted to take a break as the sweat was pouring down my forehead and into my eyes, practically blinding me. I don’t know about you but my sweat seems saltier than the Dead Sea. I don’t even use salt as a condiment but God help me if I get sweat in my eyes – I’ll be rubbing them for the next 10 minutes … and crying, literally.

That’s why I wear bandanas when I’m doing physical labor. I buy my bandanas at a variety of places – convenience stores or sometimes Walmart. They rarely cost more than a dollar and are like every other bandana you’ve ever seen in your life – a solid color with a white paisley print pattern. But not long ago I discovered a collection of Pride rainbow pattern bandanas for sale on Amazon. I had a few bucks in my gift certificate account so I went ahead and ordered them. I figured I could use them as a form of advertising – you know, in case that hot-looking mailman, or the FedEx delivery guy, had any question as to my availability.

I put my tools away and dumped myself into my favorite chair on the front porch to finish a bottle of water … which reminded me. I needed more bottled water and a few other food items. I had a list inside. Maybe once I cooled off I could run down to the grocery store and cross all these items off my list and get back in time to do a little reading before a shower and dinner. So I gathered my wallet, keys and phone, and headed out, just like I was, dirty, sweaty clothes and all. In the past I wouldn’t have set foot out of the house looking like this but I remembered something my granddad used to say: “You ain’t going to a fashion show.”

The grocery store was one of those modern venues that have been studied by psychologist-decorators who calculate the precise kind of lighting, flooring and display strategies to maximize sales. I found myself wandering past the BOGO tables, the deli with its delectable odor of fried chicken, and the colorful produce department, and over to the aisle that contained water. I decided their prices were too high and skipped the big shrink-wrapped bundles; I’d save that purchase for Walmart. But another item I wanted was a package of Klondike bars. This store had a sugar-free variety I couldn’t find anywhere else. Leaving the water behind, I headed to the frozen food section and scanned the coolers for my beloved Klondikes.

While I was there I noticed this young man, a store employee, staring at me. I caught him looking several times and always, he would jerk his gaze away, only to return it when he thought I wasn’t looking myself. As I said, he appeared to be about 20, had buzzed-short brown hair and a stocky build, like a rugby player. But his freckled face was the mold for that guy-next-door look, the eyes slightly quizzical, the nose a cute anime-style button and a granite chin that was fringed with the barest hint of a 5 o’clock shadow. The moment I saw him I was smitten. My eyes centered on that beefy ass, which filled his corduroys and then some. I could see myself thrusting my face into that meaty crack and attacking the delights that lay within those sweaty depths. I felt my dick growing hard at the thought of it.

I found my Klondike bars and placed them in my basket, and when I turned I caught him giving me the eye yet again. So I decided to be bold and went up to him. His cheeks turned a furious shade of red and he seemed reluctant to look me in the eye. I gave him best smile and said in a quiet voice, “I’ve noticed you looking my way several times. Is there something I can help you with?”

He closed his eyes – that “I’m busted” gesture - and finally nodded. “Your bandana,” he said. “I was just … checking it out.”

My bandana. I had forgotten all about it.

My Pride bandana.

I touched it with my finger and said, “Do you like it? I bought a package of them on Amazon. I can bring one for you if you like.” And then more quietly I whispered, “Or is there something else I can do for you?”

I heard a faint whisper of a sigh. He whispered back, “Yeah, there is.”

I looked around to see if any eavesdroppers were nearby, then said, “And where can I do this thing for you?”

He smiled faintly. “The men’s room is at the back of the store, next to Produce. Five minutes?”

I nodded and walked back to the freezer, returning the Klondike bars where I found them. I had a feeling they’d be melted by the time I finished my other, er, “shopping.”

I headed that way and found the men’s room. I had to stand at the urinal and pretend to pee while a man finished his business in the stall and left. I quickly moved in, and that was a mistake, if you know what I mean. I think all public toilets should be equipped with two things – a sound system to mask the tinkle of pee hitting toilet water, and a powerful exhaust fan to clear out the eye-watering stench some guys leave behind after they’ve voided their bowels.

Just as the air was becoming breathable again I heard the door swish open and peeked through the crack in the door. Yes, it was my rugby playing shelf-stocker. I opened the door and motioned him inside before somebody else came in.

I took a seat on the toilet. I looked up at him. He was smiling as he undid the apron all store employees were required to wear. There were no words exchanged between us. I simply reached up, undid his belt, unbuttoned his jeans and pulled the zipper down. Then, I grabbed his pants and yanked them down. He was wearing a pair of blue boxers with a comet-and-stars print. They came down partially and I finished the job, then leaned back to admire my prize.

To say that this young grocery store worker was hung would have been an understatement. His dick was like a billy club, long and thick and hanging from a dense, unruly thatch of pubic hair which was, strangely, not very curly. It resembled a black lion’s mane, and his monster of a cock protruded from it, giving it definition and scale. I was next stricken by the smell, a potent elixir of sweat and the kind of secretions a young man gives off when he becomes sexually aroused – hormones, pheromones, whatever the medical name is for those things. There’s really no way of describing the smell – a funky, musky odor that, when you take a whiff, reminds you of nights when you were lying in bed, your hand exploring your crotch, your skin salty with sweat and just a little bit tacky, and you were thinking of a certain person, the one you wanted to lie on top of and grind against and drink in their taste and aroma, and your crotch became a steamy furnace of arousal with your dick standing straight out from of it like a divining rod and all you could think of was the need you were feeling to thrust inside him, again and again, your brain giving way to an animal need for sex.

I gently pulled him closer to me and when he stopped shuffling, I took that majestic cock in my hand and just felt it, my fingers rubbing against the warm, sticky surface, as if I had picked up a caramel apple by the wrong end. I could see a fine tracery of veins running just beneath the skin, and as I fondled it, the dick began to grow in my hand, and stand away from the crotch. I slid my hand up and down the shaft and as I did so, the peehole dilated, and I wondered if he would ejaculate prematurely. Some young men do that, you know.

But he didn’t, and I was able to lean in and let my tongue slurp around the luscious head and beneath the rim of the cap, focusing on that spot just below the hole where the two sides of the prepuce fail to join but form the juncture of the glans. His right hand found the back of my head and he simply rubbed it, not forcing himself on me but letting me know he appreciated the attention I was giving his organ.

As I worked my way down the shaft I began to feel those strange, uncurled pubic hairs brushing against my nose and cheek. The odor they carried was the odor of his penis but magnified, as if the funk were emanating from that black forest and not what lay beneath. I raised my hands to his hips and pulled him closer to me as my mouth continued its efforts on his shaft and his breathing became louder and more ragged. He had lovely, hairy thighs and I felt myself running my hands through his body hair, his skin so soft and warm – almost as warm as the cock in my mouth. My hands moved toward his inner thighs and brushed against his testicles, which were on a scale similar to that club of a cock. They too were covered in black hair and the skin was slightly puckered into wrinkles. The scent here was different – a bit muskier and more earthy. You could tell he’d been sweating from his exertions at the store and this region of his anatomy had not gotten aired out until now. The aroma was both potent and stimulating, and I wanted to inhale every molecule of that delicious funk.

I pulled back and glanced up at him. He was gazing down at me and grinning, and then he reached down and guided his cock back into my awaiting mouth. This time, instead of toying with his glans and the shaft I swallowed him whole, burying my face in his pubes as my throat opened up and his cock slipped in so far I could swear it was poking me in the gut. He sucked in a very loud, very surprised breath of air and his fingers dug into my scalp. He started pushing against my face, his cock probing deeper and deeper into my throat until I felt my gag reflex kick in and I was forced to pull off. A huge dollop of spit leaked from mouth and ran down my chin and then to my throat, giving the appearance of cum – but it was not that spicy brew from his balls, of course. Just my own salivary glands working overtime as I again plunged onto his hardened penis again and again.

We did that for a couple of minutes, him fucking my face and me deep-throating him until it seemed he could no longer hold back and would fill me with gallons of his semen. But I wanted to prolong this encounter because for me, it was heaven. The smell of him – the taste: pure heaven. I began pulling off his cock, not to torture him but delay the moment when he could no longer resist the ministrations of my tongue and shoot his man juice. I fondled his balls, loving the bristly feel of the hairs there. And then I got another idea.

“Turn around,” I whispered in a hoarse voice.

He appeared confused but shuffled to comply – his pants were around his ankle – and his ass came into view. I do love a guy with a hairy backside and this thing was majestic, wide as a rugby field and covered with hair – not carpeted but covered sufficiently to give it a darker appearance. I grasped both cheeks and pulled them apart; then it was my turn to gasp. His ass crack was filled with dark, straightened pubes. I pulled his cheeks farther apart and there, I could see it – the winking orifice of his butthole. The sight of it put wood in my cock and I could not resist, oh God no – I plunged my face into his crack, thrusting out my tongue and pushing it – hard – against that wrinkled socket of muscle. He gasped, “Oh,” in a slow, sensual purr, and then he whispered, “Nobody’s ever done that before. Nobody’s ever eaten my ass.”

“Bend over and let me take care of you,” I whispered back, and he did.

I began licking and sucking everything I could find between his ass cheeks. My tongue played with his hole, which would sometime almost open to allow my tongue entrance. I had to pause several times to extract hair from my teeth but it was worth it. This guy was sexy beyond my ability to describe “sexy.” At one point his ass muscles clenched my face as I was trying to force my tongue inside his butthole and I very nearly shot my load, without even touching my dick! I grabbed his butt cheeks and crushed them together against my face, then pulled them apart, savoring the sudden release of heat and the powerful odor of his ass.

“Uh oh,” he said and I didn’t think twice – I spun him around and descended on that fat cock of his, grabbing him by the ass and pulling him into my mouth even deeper. Right at that moment a tsunami of sperm erupted from his engorged penis and flooded my mouth. There was so much of it that I couldn’t keep it all in – jizz was spraying from both sides of my mouth, and running down my chin to my neck and chest. And still he kept pumping, contraction after contraction of warm, salty sperm going into me. I hung on for dear life and swallowed as much of the young seed as I could.

I noticed, then, that his hands had returned to the back of my head, his fingers running through my hair, playing with individual tufts, but when I looked up at him his eyes were closed and he was smiling. It was the contented smile of a guy who has had a desperate need satisfied in the best possible way. I used the opportunity to slip my right hand into his ass crack, where the heat had practically baked away all my spit. My finger found his asshole and as I began rubbing it and gently pushing against it, I heard his breath suck in and another small dollop of cum squirted into my slurping mouth.

God, what a blowjob it had been. My stomach felt as if it were about to explode from the semen forced down my gullet. I removed my fingers from his ass crack and brought them to my nose and sniffed, smelling the faint odor of shit and a stronger odor of musk. Then I slipped them into my mouth alongside his cock shaft and licked.

I sensed his cock was starting to go soft so I pulled off of it. I gave it a close inspection, licking at the tip and sticking my tongue into the pee-hole. It glistened in the harsh light of the men’s room, thanks to my first-class polishing efforts, and I gave it another lick before teasing his balls and then backing away. I used my fingers to scoop up the cream that was on my face and dripping from my chin, and sucked it off. The taste was “stimulating,” to say the least. I felt my cock growing hard again in my pants.

“I gotta get back to work,” the guy said. He pulled up his underwear and shorts, giving me one last glimpse of that fine, hairy ass, and then he opened the door and slipped out. “Thanks, dude,” he said before leaving the bathroom.

I remained behind and, the memories fresh in my mind, jerked off until I blew a huge load of cum – some of it slopping onto the floor, more of it dripping into my underwear. I’d have to clean that up! Couldn’t go around with wet spots on the crotch of my pants, could I?

Afterwards, I retrieved my beloved Klondike bars from the freezer. I couldn’t go home without those.

It was nice to know the frozen food aisle was anything but frigid!

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