Gay Erotic Stories

I was so stoked. It was my first time at Mardi Gras in New Orleans. I'd booked my flight and got an amazing hotel room – four poster bed, and floor to ceiling windows with shutters opening onto the street. I wasn't so familiar with the city or how I was supposed to prepare for the event – I was just a budding slut at the time. So I went out on Fat Tuesday hoping for the best, with a nice new button-down (the better to unbutton) shirt and old torn jeans. I made my way over to the parade route on Canal Street, and parked myself on a light pole. I was determined to get some beads. I didn't know there was an easier way back on Bourbon Street.

Okay, a few hours later, with tired muscles and a neck of some beads, I trudged back to where the real action was. I was determined to get drunk and have more fun than I ever had. First up was this old bar on Bourbon, two floors like most gay bars there. I wandered among the crowd, maybe it wasn't late enough, the sleaze factor hadn't kicked in yet – guys were still working on their buzz. But outside was amazing. Guys were dressed in costumes that ranged from elaborate to minimal. Showing your dick for beads was the rule of the evening. Of course when they're throwing them from the third story balcony you have to be a good catcher as well as semi-naked. So anyway, my neck did become more adorned on the street. I'd bought the full-access pass to the biggest gay club on Bourbon. Easy to get in and out. Which is what I had in mind for sometime that evening. As an “innocent” gay boy, I was astounded by the dancers on the bar and around the place on pedestals. They were practically naked, usually their cocks hidden only by a small towel or as minimal underwear as they could have. They were either semi-hard or just hung. Well, that sure got me in the mood. More beers and hurricanes hastened the feeling of euphoria.

The dance floor was upstairs. I passed by a hunky dancer who was gyrating by himself on a small stage, kind of oblivious to the crowd. Everybody else was doing their own thing up there and I felt bad that this hot nude sweaty stud wasn't the center of attention. So natch, I had to go up to him and tell him how hot he was and he was the highlight of my evening so far. He smiled a big smile and pulled me close to his warm body and gave me a hard long kiss. I got hard so quick I couldn't believe what was happening. I grabbed a bunch of crumpled singles from my pocket and handed them to him. He pulled me close again and whispered in my ear that he was done dancing in another hour or so and that he'd keep an eye out for me later. I couldn't believe it.

Well, I went into the dance area with some more drinks and started dancing by myself. Other guys were doing the same. There was a low stage around the room where we could all indulge our exhibitionist selves. And that was in the days (the 90s) when gay bars during Mardi Gras were packed with men, and men only. The memories get kinda hazy now, but I remember the music was great, the beats I could dance to, and I didn't really care how I looked while I danced, I just was so into it like everyone else. I was hot and sweaty so I pulled off my shirt and stuffed it in the back of my jeans. The lights were down, the music was loud, the boys were sexy. The state of dress and undress at this point varied from underwear and up. Nobody seemed to care anymore. After all, it was the last party of Mardi Gras and all inhibitions had to be lost by midnight.

I suddenly saw dancer dude on the low stage, again dancing by himself by this time off the clock. He was wearing a pair of short retro denim cutoffs, with the fly down, showing pubes and the base of his cock. He spotted me and beckoned me over. We didn't talk, we just danced. I was drunk enough, and horny and turned-on enough at this point that anything could happen and did. I went down and pulled him closer by his muscle-butt and I started sucking on his denim-covered cock. It grew quickly in his shorts as I tongued it through the fabric. I very slowly started pulling his shorts down so I could swallow his hard dick. It was just the right size for me, big enough for a challenge to my cock-sucking abilities, but not so huge as to make me gag.

His shorts were down by his ankles now and he danced around slowly as I worked his beautiful dick with my mouth and tongue. I caressed his ass-cheeks as I did but was still too shy, if that was possible, to stick any fingers in his hot hole – I wouldn't presume, the gentleman that I was. Anyway, he grabbed me and pulled me up for some more kissing and slow dirty dancing. Everyone else in the crowd was still doing their own thing, we weren't the center of attention and that was alright by me. While we were lip-locked, he unbuttoned the buttons on my levi's and pushed them down. I shook them off and kept on dancing. I was naked too. No sense in wearing underwear for Mardi Gras. We were dancing naked and making out on the dance floor and it was hot, sexually and temperature-wise. And we weren't the only couple like that. It was a true hedonistic gay Mardi Gras. As I continued to dance, he kneeled down and put his mouth around my cock and balls. His mouth felt so warm and comfortable. He sucked me off slow and tight. It felt so fucking good. Then more kissing, dancing, sucking, kissing, dancing, sucking.

Then all of a sudden, the lights came up. It was late, the time got away from us. Whenever it was, the bar was obligated to close for the end of Mardi Gras to clean up, and I guess let the staff go home and rest up. Whatever. I pulled my jeans back on, and he pulled his cutoffs back on. And we left. He stopped at the office on the way out to get his backpack and his tip money which he left there for safe-keeping. I asked him back to my hotel room and I guess he trusted me enough to take his earnings with him. We walked back through the mostly deserted streets hand-in-hand, shirtless, sweaty, but still horny. The best was yet to come, in bed this time.

Okay, there's no part 2 to this story. We got to my room and just fucked like rabbits till he had to leave. I went back to the bar the next day and found my shirt, still there in the lost and found. Lucky twice!