Gay Erotic Stories

Catching Up On Things, Part III After the second time with Michael, it was difficult holding onto the facade our intimacy broke down. The mask I wore suddenly appeared to have some cracks in it, and I wasn't all that certain I wanted to repair them. I"d wear that mask my whole life if I didn't learn to live without it. Every moment I was with Michael, I was thinking, "I'll never go back to living a lie," or something like that. In reaching his frontdoor, I turned my back on a fascade I had been protecting. I reaching his arms, I felt free of all the lies. In reaching his bed, I felt . . . well, born again. I don't remember the last time we moved onto his bed, only how excited I was the closer we got to having intercourse. I knew I'd be doing it with a boy I cared deeply about. We thought we could become each other. He asked me if I thought he'd always be good enough for me. I asked him the question whirling around in my head: "Will I always be good enough for you? Because . . . I-I think I'm falling in love with you." "Oh, man," he whispered, and tears filled his eyes, I swear. He had to kiss me again for that. A long, deeply felt kiss it was for both of us. "Oh, Willie," he sighed. "I know this really romantic place we could go to---" "Wha-at?" "I know this really great restaurant." "I know another great place," I told him. "The bed we're in!" He grinned and flexed his erection inside me. "Can you spend the night?" A cool breeze came in through his window at the moment he raised back up out of my arms, I remember. Oohing and aahing, he turned his face toward it, but it was brief. Then he looked back at me and sighed. "Oh, man," I heard him say again, and then he resumed thrusting.