Gay Erotic Stories

Why does nudity, alone, grab so much of my memory and fantasy? Is it the idea of shared intimacy and trust? I can look back over the ten years I spent delivering mail in an inner city neighborhood of Birmingham, and my clearest memories are the sparkling flashes of the naked male body I caught on hot summer days, the split seam pants and the wet towel wrapped hips. Almost every day there would be a memory imbedding glimpse of too much skin, too little modesty. Alabama summers grow hot and humid; clothes get to be a hassle. If you have no air conditioning, you just have to strip down to get cool. On Sixteenth Avenue between twenty fourth and twenty fifth streets north, right behind the hospital? There was a young man who slept on the couch directly in front of the front door. I guessed he worked nights because he was there every day when I went up on the porch to put mail in the box beside the door. Each day I looked forward to that mail drop, knowing I would have a screen door framed view of his dark body draped teasingly in a sweat damp sheet, sometimes covering little, sometimes nothing. He slept naked. Always. One fine day I had a certified letter for him. I was required to knock, wake him for his signature on the receipt. Ah, how difficult to wake him. He slept hard and deep. At last, after many knocks, he raised his head to peer sleepily at the door, surprised, then he pulled himself up from the couch, dragging the sheet around him like a long towel, and came stumbling to the door. Up close he was almost too much for my repressed senses to bare. He rubbed at his face and frowned in discontent. The door latch gave him a difficult moment, then he pushed the screen open and received the letter from my hot hand with a barely audible grunt.. I offered my ready pen and when he reached out with the other hand, his sheet slid gently down around his legs like melting snow. He didn’t even acknowledge the exposure that would have had me blushing and ashamed, he simply signed the green slip and handed the things back to me before reaching down to pick up his mantle. The fact that he was flagpole rampant seemed beneath his notice. He took back the letter after I tore off the receipt, nodded numbly as I apologized for waking him, stumbled back to the couch and collapsed on his belly, face to the soft the cushions. I said my good byes to that magnificent brown ass as he pulled the sheet up and drew it over his backside. I doubted he would even remember answering the door. Seeing a man erect and unconcerned was a rarity, usually when I saw a man with a hard-on he was trying to hustle me. Something in the total acceptance of his nature, that is required for a man to ignore his erect state is an admirable thing and noble. It only happened one other time, at two nineteen, ninth avenue west, a young man no more than a teenager. He answered my knock by peeping around a cracked open door, obviously not dressed, but when he saw the big brown paper wrapped package I carried, he grinned wide in happy anticipation and flung open the door to expose himself in a pair of transparent white nylon briefs. The astonishing wooden log bulging from his groin was barely restrained by the diaphanous material. I don’t know if I woke him or even if he was alone, I had no clue. He took the package with great delight. He completely forgot about his aroused state and made no attempt to disguise the evidence, so obviously well pleased, and then withdrew behind the closing door with a hardy, “Thanks, Mr. mailman!” I called back, “Thank YOU!”, and laughed. I always liked delivering packages or checks, because it usually meant a smile of joy. The majority of homes were devoid of women during the day. In this neighborhood, most women worked and most men did not. The guys who did work mostly had swing shifts, caught evening and night jobs. So, when I knocked, I could expect a man to answer the door. Lots of guys met me at the door without a knock. They were bored and glad for a few words, the spice of flirtation, the amusement of teasing me. I’m gay and not especially hiding it. I let my eyes fondle any attractive body part on display. I learned that men appreciated the attention, even when they didn’t intend to let it go any further. One special man comes to mind, Tommy; late thirties, short at maybe five seven, 150 lbs, but well built and the father of three kids...lived on the two hundred block of eleventh court west. He was in a fire at work, stayed off on sick leave several months while getting physical therapy and skin grafts. He was wearing a polyester uniform when it caught fire, clothing provided by his employer, thus laying them open to an unsafe practice suit. They pampered Tommy with excellent health care and mailed his paycheck every week. The worst burns were on his back and right shoulder but he had skin damage that extended down onto his buttock and right arm, even his right side ribs and hip, thigh and part of his lower belly. The skin grafts were on his back, so he didn’t like to put on a shirt, but he was self-conscious of the scars, felt disgusting to anyone’s sight and he always put on a loose shirt or his robe when he came out onto the front porch. Right after he got home from the hospital, while he was still in bandages, he told me all the details of the accident. He talked about it obsessively and I knew it was a very traumatic event, full of nightmare fear and pain. I wondered if anyone else was willing to listen to him talk it out, or perhaps he didn’t like to talk so open with his family, didn’t want to cause them more concern. At any event, I became his medical confidante. After each visit to the doctor or the therapist, he gave me detailed updates on his progress. He had some loss of flexibility in his right arm and hand, otherwise it was just skin burns. While he had bandages still in place, he wasn’t shy about inviting me inside where he could take off his shirt, or drop his robe (he hardly ever dressed, stayed in his drawers until time for the kids to come home from school). When the bandages came off, however, I had to do some fast-talking to convince him to let me see the damaged skin. He really feared anyone seeing his awful scars. It gnawed at him, clearly. When he uneasily consented, he took me into the house and pushed the front door up before he’d open his robe and let it slide off his back. Poor Tommy, it looked like purple livid meat, still deeply cracked and fissured with raw tissue. The new skin had a translucent shine, sickly and pale on his dark brown body. His beautiful body was indeed marred and the ruin was difficult to contemplate. I felt tears welling up but covered it quickly with cheery bravado. “Is that all? Hell, I thought you was burnt up, Tommy! Shit, you riding this just to stay home from work, you lazy asshole!” The relief on his face was as touching as the wounds. He tried to look over his shoulder, “It really ain’t so bad as I thought at first. You think it’s gonna always look so ugly?” “Nawh, it ain’t gonna stay like this. There’ll be scars, sure, but like a tattoo. It’ll look tough. You’ll be telling women you wrecked on a motorcycle and slid down the street two blocks, they’ll be begging to see it!” “You know my wife’s a nurse, and she say’s it gonna fade most away. I think she just says that, don’t like me feeling sorry for myself.” “Well, look at your appendix scar”, He’d dropped the robe, stood in his blue boxer shorts, I pointed at the scar where his waist band rode low. “That was a deep cut but it’s almost invisible, now. You got good skin, it heals up smooth, don’t make thick scar tissue.” “Yeah, can’t hardly see it, can you? And I was burnt all down on my hip, too, but it’s mostly gone, just a little tight.” To show me, he pulled his shorts down off his hip, turned to display his right buttock. He really wasn’t thinking about me being gay, I could tell, he was just so damn concerned with his injuries, he forgot. Maybe he didn’t even think of himself as sexy under the circumstances. “Shit, Tommy, you never showed me all that before! You was burnt that far down?” I reached out to mark with my fingertip the extent of the reddened skin, down low on his ass cheek.” “Yeah, and around here”, he turned his front towards me, “where my shirt tail was tucked inside my pants, all down on my thigh.” He pulled the shorts down lower, exposing his curly nest of black pubic hair and the thick base of his brown dick. The guy was really not thinking! “Gee, must have been a long shirt tail! Way down here?”, I touched the visible edge of inflamed skin, high on his thigh. “Didn’t damage anything vital, did you?”, and I took the elastic band, pulled it out to get a clear look at his genitals. Even then, he was slow to catch the drift. “Nawh, thank god it didn’t burn none of that, just singed the hairs and...”, then his eyes came up to my face and found the teasing smile, he laughed and pulled up his shorts. “You cut that shit out! Thought you was looking at my burns!” “I was, it’s just your big old dick is more interesting than a few sore spots. I still think you faking it, you ought to go back to work, get off your ass!” We laughed at the running joke. Tommy was obviously disabled but it was a more palatable thought that he was grabbing free money, not too weak to work. He liked it, anyway. “Dick ain’t so big, either. I’m short all over!” He ducked his head with an embarrassed smile. “No use lying to me, I just seen it! Wouldn’t want it sneaking up on me in the shower! But turn back around, let me see your ass, again. Maybe if I kiss it, It’ll feel better.” “All right, that’s enough of your shit...”, he picked up his robe and held it in front of his body, but he was grinning. I could see he liked the teasing, better than pity, right? From that day on, he wasn’t in the least shy of letting me see his scars, though he still covered up when we stepped out on the front porch. I’d holler at him every day when I came by with the mail, stop to talk a few minutes. I could usually get a smile out of him with silly gossip about his neighbors or lewd references to his dick. On Fridays, when I brought his paycheck, it became a ritual for him to invite me in for a coke, take a few minutes break to cool off and add more significance to his favorite day. I’d always begin with a close inspection of his back and the fast healing wounds, bragging on his rapid recovery. He’d show me how high he could lift his arm, how tight he could grip my hand. He loved the attention so much that if I didn’t say anything about it, he’d just pull off his robe and tell me to check it out! Afterwards, we’d sit comfortable a little while on the sofa with a coke and a smoke. He’d leave off the robe, relax in his shorts with me right beside him. Sounds like he made an invitation of sex, I know, but you’d have to know Tommy. He just didn’t think of himself in that way. He thought I just teased him about the sex part. I kept it light, too, afraid if he took me seriously he would feel he had to stop the friendship, you know? Wasn’t like I was really drooling for him, anyway. I thought he was attractive, more than he knew, but there were plenty of other dudes out there with more serious sex in mind. Tommy was a friend. Sometime during the summer, when we had made a habit of each other, I got to noticing the buttons of his fly more often open than not... then he had this one particular pair of drawers, light blue and white stripes, that were ripped from the bottom of the fly to the inseam. He wore them almost every Friday! It slowly dawned on me that he was intentionally showing off for me. Well, that’s interesting! I realized I’d quit all the flippant sexy remarks about his body, had become used to his friendship. Maybe he missed it? Maybe the marital bed was chilling off? Maybe he needed a confidence boost, who knows? But there was no mistake; he definitely wore the same wide open, crotchless drawers every Friday when he knew I’d be there, and he sat with his leg splayed, indifferent to his free hanging meat. Okay, not indifferent, he begged comment. Being of a warped sense of humor, I didn’t let on about seeing through his little game. So Friday comes around and I’m hands on his shoulder, feeling how smooth the new skin is getting, bragging like he needs to hear, and I tell him, “You ain’t mentioned your ass or your hip. Are they all healed up, now? Still sore or what?” “Gone, man! Can’t hardly tell I was burnt, down there.” He pulled his drawers down just a little, showing me a strip below the waist. “Hell, Tommy, too late to be shy with me, I’ve done seen everything you got!” I took his waistband and tugged gently. He let go with a grin and I pulled his shorts down to his knees, they fell to the floor. He turned his ass towards me and looked over his shoulder. “You can’t even tell where is was, can you?” , he stepped out of the shorts. “Not a trace, man! Smooth as a baby’s butt.” I ran my palm over his full curved ass cheek, caressing and soft. He turned halfway to me, I sank down in a squatting position, ran my hand up across his hip. He turned fully to me, presenting himself a few inches from my face. “All this is gone, too, even the hair grown back.” I stroked the front of his thigh and breathed on his dick. My other hand came up to his left, uninjured thigh. “They’re exactly the same, Tom, no difference.” Our posture was impossible to ignore, couldn’t be accidental for either of us. He was growing thicker, lifting out from his body. I laid my cheek against the hot flesh and he caressed my hair, pulled me tight. Playing time was over. I’m not fond of just sucking a straight guy, letting him use me from an uninvolved distance, but this was Tommy. I cared for him. I sucked him good, gave him every slow and erotic sensation I could. I focused on his pleasure, made him extend every breath into a gasp, clutched his ass and finished with a fierce and hard driving, gut twisting deep throat massage that lifted him up on his toes. He shot off a powerful load, thrusting his hips against me in a pounding frenzy, then he dropped onto the sofa behind him, pulled me over on my knees between his legs and I lay my head in his lap. He smoothed my hair. “Mmmm. Thanks, that was so good. I been wanting that a long time, you knew it. Why’d you wait so long?” “ ’Cause you’re so fucking straight. I’m always looking for a man who’ll give me some fun, too. I knew you wouldn’t, you’re such a butch!” He laughed. “I ain’t that bad. I just needed it so long. Give me time to get used to it. I might do you, sometime.” “Like shit!” Now I laughed. “Men, they all say the words, got no action, just words!” I tried to stand up, he pulled me back. “Wait, I like this. Stay there a minute.” “ ’Till you get hard, again? No thanks, you had your fun, let me up!” He let me up, then gave me his hands, to pull him up, too. He put his arms around me in a gentle, afectionate hug. “You always make me feel good. I really like you, man, don’t be thinking I’m just a dog.” I hugged him back, kissed his cheek. “Naw, you ain’t no dog, Tom, you just a man.” “Easy, my back!”, he winced. “I’m sorry. See? You ain’t in shape for this, yet. Be careful who you hug!” “Hey, thanks, for real. You make me feel like a man”, and he kissed me, full on the lips, with as much heart and wet tongue as I’ve ever been kissed. “Better stop it, you making me feel like a woman!” I pulled away, gave him my saddest smile. He drew me back, one hand on my ass, the other rubbed my hard dick inside my pants. “Let’s get in a bed, sometime. We’ll do everything, I’ll make you feel stuff you ain’t never felt before. Couple of drinks and no telling what I might do. He kissed me, again, long and deep while his hand tried to jerk me through my pants. I slid my zipper down, forced my aching dick out of the confines of my tight pants and he gripped it’s wet length with a sigh, slid the loose skin up and down the shaft. He sucked on my tongue while I shot spurts of cum on his arm, his thigh and dripped onto the floor. He never stopped kissing me until it was over and I relaxed. He was grinning at me, “Feel better?” By the following week, he was back at work. After that, I only saw him on Saturdays, when his wife and kids were at home. We never got to “get in a bed”, but it couldn’t have been much better if we did. Old Tommy, I still think of him when I jerk off. Scars still turn me on. Jackertoo@AOL.com