Gay Erotic Stories

Thinking back on my early experimentation with sex, as I became “aware” of my body and its needs, pleasures and methodology of gratification, I recall that I was always both interested and thankful for my discovery of frottage.

At the time, I’d never even heard of the word, and certainly wasn’t an authority on the subject. It was just that age of sexual awakening and the discovery that my penis was not just an external pissing tool, but could be a focal point of some really great feelings.

At this point, sure, I’d had some cursory classes with regard to both personal hygiene and care of my “private organs”. Back then, the subject of sex and intercourse was approached in a rather delicate matter, which was dictated by the school system and what they perceived as the correct amount of information to be dispensed according to age and projected maturity levels—individual comprehension or individual proclivity aside.

Our “health education” class was taught by our Physical Education teacher, Miss Shawhan. Yes, a woman, and she was a Miss—never married. Thinking back, I’m not at all sure if she’d even ever had sex. She was pretty much over the hill, over weight, and her boobs sagged. Hence, she’d aptly earned the nickname “Tea Bags”. Of course in retrospect, this was a bit more mean spirited than we’d thought at the time. It was cruel if not accurate observation—kids can be brutally cruel. However, it was absolutely entertaining if not sidesplitting to watch her instruct us on the proper way to do “jumping jacks”. I can still see her topside bouncing out of control. It’s a wonder she never hurt herself.

Ah, but I digress. It was just safe to say that we were fed only the rudimentary elements of “health education” and personal hygiene…leaving the juicy stuff and intimate details to our parents…or if not them…to our own methods of discovery. The latter was the case with me.

I’m not sure just exactly when I discovered that dry humping the sheets in my bedroom, safely tucked away upstairs, resulted in a wonderful feeling. But let me tell you, once I discovered this thrill and the wave of absolute pleasure that swept over my body, literally causing me to shake, I took advantage of every opportunity. Before bed, if I woke during the night, in the morning before I went downstairs. Ah, what fun.

Of course, eventually, when my ever-growing erection finally had a discharge…it was kind of scary. I still had that great feeling, but it was even better. However, I was worried I’d hurt something, or had caught some type of infection, etc. just thinking it might have been some type of puss or something. I worried about it, but kept it to myself. Nothing happened, only just when I humped the sheets.

Within a few more weeks, I had become a slave to my personal pleasure, and was rubbing the hell out of the poor thing. It’s a wonder it didn’t break off or bruise. It wasn’t much longer when we all received an “updated class” and I learned what the stuff was. At home, it was more like “Don’t ask, don’t tell.” And I was not the one to volunteer anything. It was also about this time that I realized that I was curious about other guys…what they thought, felt. Then, oh horror…what if I could fool around with a friend.

Strangely enough, I never did fool around with anyone else until I’d almost graduated from High School. My father had always lectured me (yes he did finally have that talk), telling me to just “keep it in my pants”. Well I sure did…but it sure showed through at the damn worst times!

My cousin was the same age as me—just two week older. We’d had talks and even compared our dick sizes, etc. on visits to each other’s houses, but we lived some 100 miles apart, so it was infrequent—usually at holidays, etc. We’d never done anything (at least I hadn’t) until I was 18 and “legal”. In retrospect, if the opportunity had presented itself earlier, I would have experimented (who knew about all the legal stuff). Anyway, my cousin Randal and I had some really great fun.

Our first real “session” was on Memorial Day. Our family had driven up to visit my grandmother, and pay respects to grandfather’s gravesite, then have a family ‘get-together’ and pot-luck picnic. This offered most of us 14 cousins a chance to see each other and evaluate each other’s growth…fascinating at times.

Randal and I were always close and made sure we spent time alone together. It had started innocently enough when either of us could get his father’s car and we’d be off for a couple of hours—cruising the town and talking about anything and everything. This date was no different. We’d both struck out with regard to acquiring a vehicle…they were in use. Not to be deterred, we set out on foot, heading through the small cemetery to the far end, which once over the fence, we were in an unused section of some farmer’s property. A few hundred feet more, the land sloped down to a small streambed, which always ran with varying amounts of water.

This day was particularly hot and humid, and we’d managed to work up a fairly good sweat. Besides both of us being hot, we were horny. Randal immediately suggested we strip off our clothes and get comfortable, reminding me of “what we both liked” and said he wanted to fool around and have some “fun”. As he said this, I had the same idea on my mind and my cock immediately started springing to life.

Randal had been working out the past few months and at the age of 18, his body had responded in nothing short of miraculous ways. He was broad shouldered and muscular—more so than I (now mind you, I was respectable too). His chest glistened with sweat when he unbuttoned his shirt, which was already sticking to his chest and straining to cover it all). He shucked his jeans and jockey’s at the same time…resulting in his already stiff penis slapping backwards against his stomach, and then standing out and upright at about a 15% angle of dangle.

After seeing this, I too lost my shirt and trousers, then my jockey’s. I eager dick performed the same trick and proudly proclaimed its freedom and arousal. Randal and I closed the 5 or 6-foot gap between us and pressed our sticky bodies and damp crotches together. We be began ‘rubbing’ our penises together and against each other’s stomach, working up to a frenzied pitch. We broke out in more of a sweat with further lubricated ourselves, only serving to heighten our excitement. Just standing their hugging each other and rubbing our dicks against each other’s stomachs was soon enough to put us near the edge.

Randal pulled back, saying he was too close and wanted to make it last. I was pretty far along as well and agreed. He held off for a couple of minutes, our dicks still proudly pointing at each other while we surveyed each other’s bodies and talked sex, asking each other what we liked and were doing. The subject even came up with regard to girls and if either of us had “done” anything with one. I confessed, no, and Randal said he’d “petted a girlfriend, but she’d gotten freaked out all the sudden, and they’d stopped” and that she’d been avoiding him ever since. This is why he was really ready for some “quality rubbing time”.

So--back to our enjoyment. By now, some flies and other pesky pests were on to us—probably getting off on our sweat too. We continued to push our dicks into each other’s crotches until we got close again and stopped to savor the “feeling”. This time, Randal was apparently too close and next thing I know, he grabbed me and his dick started shooting, pulsing and spewing out hot liquid as he rubbed his dick upwards against my stomach. Damn, he shot a load…I could feel the stuff spurting upwards reaching the middle and then upper portions of our chests, then the stickiness spread around on the next up-stroke. This sent me over the edge, and I joined him in creating a sticky, gooey mess.

By the time we’d finished, we were hot, sweaty, sticky and slightly weak in the knees—such violent thrashing takes something out of anyone. Randal decided we should lay down on the damp bank of the stream and catch our breath. I agreed and went to lay down next to him, sort of intent on just looking up at the sky and reveling in our post-ejaculatory bliss. Randal had other ideas. As I drew close to him, he simply pulled me on top of him. Our dicks were still rock hard, and the feeling of the sweat and cum squishing between us was absolutely divine.

He began pushing me upwards and then downward, sliding me against his cum slick body. To our surprise, our cocks were all fired up again and we resumed our rubbing and trashing about in the prone position. We were so intent on our sexual feelings that we’d neglected to notice our forward progress downward reaching the now soft and muddy edges of the stream bank. By the time we realized our position, Randal’s backside was already covered and my knees were sinking into the turf. Randal just didn’t seem to mind at all, and just said that we’d have to clean up in the stream anyway, so we continued our ‘rubbing’ and ‘wrestling’ in the mud until we were covered with the stuff.

The mud felt cool and with enough water, sweat and remnants of spunk, it made a wonderfully slick past, which allowed us to both explode all over each other again.

At this point, it was time to take a breather and let our all too sensitive cocks calm down and at the same time try to catch our breath. It was still a wildly intoxicating feeling to feel Randal’s chest heaving against mine, and the mixture of sweat, mud, and cum squishing in rhythm. After a while, Randal pushed me off of him, saying he had to take a piss. I stood up first, and then he stood next to me, facing the stream. He began to let go an urgent yellow stream as I watched. He turned to me smirking and mumbled something intelligible, then without warning he turned his whole body at me and was suddenly pissing on my feet, then up my legs to my crotch and then lower to middle chest.

I must have had one hell of a shocked look on my face, and I just stood there in sheer amazement. He just said something like, “Well, we’re dirty anyway and we’ll just rinse off in the stream…” Actually, I began to realize that strangely, the warmth of the yellow stream felt warm and good in a weird sort of way. Not to be outdone, I too let go with a stream of piss…intentionally skipping the lower part of Randal’s body, and spraying his crotch and chest. He just stood there and let me wet him.

When I’d finished, I thought it was probably time to clean up and started to turn towards the stream, but Randal had other ideas. He grabbed my arm, turned me around and pushed himself to me again, and then rubbing our pee soaked bodies together. Our dicks were still hard…nothing surprising for a couple of teenagers…and this new slick strangely tantalizing feeling got us both going again. We remained standing up, the piss soaked mud squishing between our toes while we rubbed up and down and side to side, sliding in the marvelous ooze.

It was at this time that Randal surprised me again…he leaned forward and started kissing me. Strangely, we’d never kissed or even thought about it before. However, it just seemed natural and once our tongues were both intent on going down each other’s throat—this added another dimension to our activity, which promptly sent us into mutual throes of ejaculation again. We continued rubbing each other until we couldn’t stand it any longer. We had our hands on each other’s asses, and were a sweaty, muddy, pee and jizz covered mess.

Finally, we both agreed we’d better get cleaned up and get back to the picnic and family before we were missed enough to have them start to look for us. We cleaned up and hiked back through the cemetery, where we met Randal’s older brother parked with his girl. He ignored us and we weren’t in the mood for conversation either and just passed them by. Once back, we cleverly blended in separately into the family gathering. Randal was sure his brother wouldn’t say anything…unless he did, checkmate.

After that Randal and I got together many times, whenever the opportunity presented itself. On fall days, it got a bit cold, and the winter ruled out the stream completely. We did it in a car on a country road for a while, before we came up with the idea of letting ourselves in to our grandmother’s house while she was out. Man, if she only knew what went on in her bed.

We’d raid her bathroom cabinet for anything that resembled a lubricant and go at it, until we made some of our own. On one particular occasion, Randal got the idea he wanted to fuck my ass. We made a pact—turn about was fair play. That day we both lost our virginity to each other. However, we found that it wasn’t what either of us liked, and after that once, we just continued to rub against each other to ejaculation, or jack each other off against each other and trading spit.

The discovery, the closeness, the intimacy of contact, and the sexual awakening of us both was wonderful. We continued to fool around off an on through our college years when the occasion presented itself, even though Randal was actively dating girls. Even after university when I had found my first lover, Randal would sneak by, but wouldn’t fool around unless we were alone. Usually, he’d come by after having been out partying and was half lit and horny. Sam was aware of Randal, and wanted to make it a threesome, but never got the chance. Sam and I were together for 15 years and certainly had our share of fantastic slippery and intimate frottage sessions.

Today, he’s married and both of his daughters are in college, the older one graduating this year. We’re still close, and he knows my story and accepts my gayness completely. After he got married and I moved out of state, we drifted apart, as did our frottage activity. The last time I saw him at my sister’s birthday party while I was in town, we talked and are still close, but nothing further was mentioned regarding our exploratory activities. The only thing Randal said was that he was waiting for his youngest girl to graduate from college, then he was planning on getting a divorce from his all too domineering wife.

He just smiled at me and said, “Who knows, maybe I’ll move down south too!”

I smiled back and just said, “Well, one has to start somewhere.”