Gay Erotic Stories

Apples Can't Be Oranges My roommate in college was the poster boy for all-American good looks and academic achievement. He was the son every ambitious parent dreamed of, the prize catch every dreamy-eyed girl ever wanted, and the example every college administrator ever pointed to with pride. He was also a drunk. I never knew what was behind the drinking because he never confided in me. Our conversations had to be light because we lived in such tight little quarters. "If I lay some heavy trip on you, you might not want to be my roommate anymore," he said. That was why I never told him I was gay. Other people had to lay their heavy trips on us before Johnny and I became close. A mutual friend had to enter a drug rehab center and a teacher we both admired had to resign after a scandal. "You know what I'd like for the both of us?" Johnny asked. "A long drive down the coast. Just a drive. I think it would do us both a lot of good." We took that drive the very next morning. It ended in a cheap motel room after his car blew its cooling fans. After a shower, Johnny accepted my offer of a backrub and lay naked across the bed. We had to end up in a place like that before I felt comfortable touching him. Bad news from the mechanic working on his car brought Johnny back to the motel with a six pack of beer. "You're not going to start drinking, are you?" I asked. He looked at the beer, then at me over on the bed, then at the beer again. "C'mon, I'll rub your back some more," I said. He undressed, got under the sheet with me, but lay facing me, grinning. "This IS nice, isn't it?" he asked. "Oh, you!" I exclaimed, and burrowed into his arms. His dick was hard and in his hand. I pushed the sheet away for a peek and watched him stroke it. I couldn't stand just watching, he knew, and he put my hand around it. I moved down and took it into my mouth. He went rigid and trembled like a little kid. "This is what's behind your drinking, isn't it?" I had to ask him. "My dad, my mom, everyone expects so much from me," he complained. "I can't tell them I'm gay." He pushed my hand away, rolled over onto his stomach, and buried his face in a pillow. He didn't want to talk anymore. "Anytime you want to talk, I'll be ready to listen," I said. "A motel room isn't a place for talking." With my hard-on inches from the crack of his ass, it sure wasn't the time for talk. "I'll just be a second," I whispered, and left the bed to go find something to use as a lubricant. "Look in the sack!" he called. "What?" "In the sack with the beer! I bought a tube of KY!"