Gay Erotic Stories

so i like damaged goods. so what?

what’s makes your boner.

it was a friday night when i met him.

i prefer going out on friday nights to saturday nights.

the saturday night crowds are too self-conscious. they are the guys who only go out once a week because they think that the rest of the world—or only the cool gay world—goes out on a saturday night. they think that they had to spend the day at the gym or having a nap or ironing a shirt in order to get prepared for their big night out. as if it would be their only chance for action that week. they think saturday night is a special occasion. as if saturday were somehow more magical than any other day.

people who go out on a friday night are not like that. they want to get the weekend started. they are not going to care that much about what they wear or who sees them out. they’re going out for the drama of the life. and for sex. they know that life and the bars are what you make them. they have more nerve than the saturday night crowd.

so—anyway—it was friday night, and i was in one of the dark levi/leather bars that i like so much. that is where you find drama. the cruising, the sighting, the chase, the wrestling to the ground of your prey, the taste of blood as you bite into their flesh, tearing their muscles apart with your jaws, so that you can watch them lie there twitching on the ground, drained and destroyed.

well, you know what i mean.

on the particular friday when i picked this guy up i was just hanging out. i had had my two or three beers and my one or two shots and was feeling rather mellow. it wasn’t late, relatively speaking, and i was observing the scene.

my main entertainment when i go out is not finding sex—that is a serious occupation, not an entertainment—but watching the guys and their games. i go from bar to bar and room to room observing the boys and their progress toward the sacred goal.

i think there tend to be several types.

there are the ones who come in early and leave early without making much of an effort. how do they ever manage to get laid?

there are the ones who come in early and stay and get wasted and leave in frustration when they’ve gotten too drunk to hold a conversation, much less to fuck.

there are the ones who come in late and expect that—since it is almost closing time—everybody else will be drunk and ready to lower their standards just enough to make it easy work for them to get laid. they are the smart ones.

i stand and study them all.

do not let my detached attitude lead you to believe that i am a wallflower. i am not shy once i see something that i want, and i frequently get offers from guys who like what they see.

i’m what you would call a clone—dark hair and mustache and all that—but a clone plus. just a little more bulk to my muscles. just a little more hair on my chest. and i know how to play up my best features.

and i add something to the bar. the bartenders and the doormen and the owners like me to be there because i keep the scene interesting. i’m one of the sexy ones that decorate the place and make you realize it was worth coming out. yes, i play some game. i strut and cruise and flirt just enough to make the other guys think that they might have a chance to get my dick.

you might. but do you have the balls to try and find out if you’ve got what i want?

on that particular friday night i was not all that into parading my stuff and getting the men all hot and bothered. the crowd was uninteresting and definitely not pretty. i was almost bored.

but i had noticed this one guy.

he had come in about twelve. he had quietly entered the room, gotten a beer, and gone over to one of the dark corners where there were some elevated benches. he had climbed up to the highest of the three rows and sat there, in the corner, checking out everyone who came in and watching the guys shoot pool. every now and then he would descend to get another beer, but then he would return to his perch where he would sit and look over the crowd. several times i caught him glancing in my direction. no surprise there.

as far as looks go, he was not bad, though undistinguished. jeans and a black t-shirt, cowboy boots, black cowboy hat. medium length dirty blond hair, mustache. but then he had the eyes that i mentioned before.

he looked like he hadn’t slept in three days. poor sad puppydog.

i decided that if he came over to me i wouldn’t scare him away. but he had to make the first move.

and he did.

i was leaning against the bar next to the service station. after he paid for his latest beer, he struck up the conversation.

“hey. what’s up.”

“not much.”

he told me his name, but i forget what it was. we shook hands, and he continued talking.

“have you been anywhere else tonight?”

“no.”

“not much going on here.”

“no.”

“you look like you’re pretty bored.”

“well, i’ve seen most of these people before.”

“i don’t remember seeing you here before.”

“i’m here nearly every weekend.”

“i don’t go out that much.”

“i do.”

“i don’t go out much.”

this conversation was headed nowhere. i couldn’t tell if he was trying to pick me up or not.

i do not have time for this. let’s try the direct approach. if nothing else it will amuse me.

“what are you looking for?”

he looked at me blankly.

“are you looking for dick?”

he didn’t reply. his eyes shifted off.

“if you are, let me know if you see anything you like and i’ll see what i can do.”

“no. no. i’m alright.”

wussy boy.

he went back to drinking his beer.

on the wall next to us was a poster advertising a bar in texas. there were posters like this all over the walls. photographs and drawings of sexy men advertising one club or bathhouse or another. the drawing on this poster was very tom of finland. a shirtless overmuscled guy in a leather vest stood in stud position, a leer on his face and his hands in his front pockets. the bulge inside his jeans went halfway down his thigh.

the guy in the cowboy hat turned and studied the poster.

“i like that.”

“i’ve been there.”

“what’s it like?”

“nothing special.”

“he’s hot.”

“it’s a drawing.”

“i’d like to meet a guy like that.”

o.k. . . .

“wouldn’t we all.”

“he kind of looks like that bartender.”

i looked toward the three bartenders. none of them were really like the guy in the poster, although one of them looked like he made regular trips to the gym.

“the one on the end.”

“yeah.”

“he’s alright.”

“i think he’s hot.”

“he’s alright.”

we drank our beers and stood there.

my attention began to wander. wasn’t there anyone more interesting here?

a lanky blond hustler type walked by. the guy in the cowboy hat followed him with his eyes and then commented.

“i’ve been home with him before.”

“really.”

“he’s got a big dick.”

“does he.”

“yeah. it’s probably about ten inches long. and thick. i could barely get my mouth around it.”

“well.”

“he’s got this other friend who’s kind of like a biker. i went home with him one night. he had a big dick too.”

“lucky you.”

“i like guys with big dicks. i’ve got a big dick.”

oh, jesus. where do these people come from.

“good for you.”

“how about you? do you have a big dick?”

i looked at him.

“big enough.”

“how big is it?”

o.k., bucko. now i’ve got your number.

“big enough.”

“but how big?”

“seven plus.”

“is it thick?”

”thick enough.”

he considered this.

“are you a top or a bottom?”

like i have to think about what you want me to say.

“top. definitely.”

he considered this too.

“i like getting fucked.”

oh, my, what a surprise.

“good for you.”

“would you like to fuck me?”

wham. i didn’t see that one coming. for such a reticent child he sure worked around to his point quickly.

so what did i want? did i want to get laid?

sure, why not. he wasn’t bad looking. and as i pondered the possibility, i saw that look. hollow-eyed and hungry. yes, he wanted it, and had wanted it badly enough to ask for it straight out.

sure, i thought. easy entry. no problem.

“o.k.”

i followed him back to his place in my car.

he lived on the top floor of a converted house. that’s always a problem for me because i’m tall, and those sloping ceilings can be a pain.

we sat down at his kitchen table and he opened a couple of beers.

he had apparently decided that conversation was no longer necessary.

while we sat there silently drinking our beers, i noticed a newspaper clipping on his refrigerator. it was a photograph of some cowboy from a rodeo somewhere. the clipping was already deeply yellowed, so it had to be old. the guy in the picture was deeply sexy. he looked straight. as if i could tell from the photograph, but i think it was a safe bet that he had never had a cock in his mouth.

it was a full body shot of him walking through a corral. leather chaps, hands on hips, rope in hand. short dark hair, butch mustache. he had probably just finished winning something. he looked happy. the smile on his face would have lit up a room.

i pointed at the clipping.

“nice looking guy.”

he looked at the photograph.

“i think he’s very good-looking.”

“yes.”

“i like masculine-looking guys.”

“yes.”

“that’s why i think you’re so hot.”

“thank you.”

“no, i mean it. you’re really very hot.”

“thank you.”

he paused, hesitating.

“you’re my type.”

o.k., so i’m your type. so fuckin’ what. what should i reply?

“you’re good-looking too.”

he looked at me.

“no, i’m not.”

“yeah, you’re very sexy.”

well, he wasn’t, but . . . you know. you have to say some things.

“i wish i looked more like him.”

christ. can’t we just get on with this. i sat and drank more of my beer. fortunately, i didn’t have to wait much longer. he was ready.

“how about we go to bed?”

“o.k.”

“wait a minute.”

he disappeared into another part of the apartment. i stared at the clipping on the refrigerator, wondering what was going on. he came back.

“o.k. it’s ready now.”

we went into his bedroom.

as i said, his apartment was at the top of his building and had sloping ceilings. a window at one end looked out into the top branches of a tree. although his bedroom was apparently the largest room, it was not all that large. the bed was one of those old black iron bedsteads. it took up most of the floor space, with only about three spare feet on any side of it.

i could tell now why he had absented himself. it was to light the candles. there were about ten or so, of all different sizes and shapes, spaced around the room. some were on his bedside table. several more were on shelves attached to the wall. was this his idea of romance?

it was dark, but when the candles started to get going, they gave enough light for me to see the rest of the decor. it took me a moment to focus, but then i could pick out details.

there were framed pictures on the walls. as my eyes adjusted to the candlelight, i could see what they were.

he had taken pages from gay porn magazines like mandate or inches, or the glossy colt collections, and he had framed them like they were art photographs. he had put them on the walls and on the bedside tables and on the shelves with the candles.

the closest one to me was on the table at the head of his bed. behind one of the candles, in a silver frame, a beefy colt model with a full erection was displayed.

i looked around. there were more on the walls. not so many as to be overwhelming, but more than a few. if he had chosen his favorites, he apparently he had quite a few favorites.

in one frame a lean muscular guy with a mustache was standing sideways, holding what looked to be a ten-inch hardon.

in another picture, a lumberjack-looking guy lay back on a bed, his huge dick slap up against his belly.

i would say there were probably about ten to fifteen photographs all around the room. i couldn’t avoid commenting.

“i’ve always liked an audience.”

he looked around.

“don’t you think they’re hot?”

“well, yeah.”

“i like looking at hot guys.”

“who doesn’t.”

he sat down on the edge of his bed. i walked over and looked more closely at some of the pictures.

a porn star leaned forward. his tongue was trying to lick the head of his own dick, which he was urging up to his mouth with his hand.

a biker type in a glossy black-and-white photograph had his left hand twisting his left tit while his right hand pushed his cock and balls out toward the camera.

a cowboy was standing outdoors in an old-fashioned washtub. his erection was big and fat. his mouth was open and his tongue was lasciviously licking his lips.

when i looked back at the bed, the guy was lying back. he had unbuttoned his shirt and was playing with his chest. after seeing the hard bodies and hard cocks in the photographs, i remembered what i liked.

i was ready for some real in-person dick action.

if these were the kind of guys he was attracted to, i knew what act to give him.

i stood by the side of the bed. i looked down at him while he ran his hand over his chest. i batted his hand away and pushed his shirt all the way open. i brushed my hand across his chest. he watched me. i took one of his nipples between my finger and thumb and held it tightly. he caught his breath. i started to apply pressure. he moaned. i twisted it ever so slightly. his back arched as he pushed his chest up toward me. i twisted harder. he groaned out loud.

sick fuck.

“you like that?”

“yes.”

“yes . . . ?”

“yes, sir.”

i went back around to the other side of the bed and sat down.

“take my boots off.”

he got off the bed and came around to my side. he unlaced my workboots, and pulled them off. he started to stand up again, but i put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him down.

“not yet.”

i lay back on the bed and started to rub my crotch. he watched my hand.

“get your mouth up here.”

he moved up and ran his tongue over the front of my jeans. as i watched him lick the rough material, my dick grew harder. it made a ridge underneath his mouth. i held the back of his head and guided it over my crotch. soon i had a full erection underneath the denim.

“take off your clothes.”

he stood in front of me and undressed. his body was o.k., but he was right about one thing. he did have a big dick. it was probably about nine inches long and thick enough to be impressive. i don’t know why he wasn’t more self-assured. i have major attitude and his dick was bigger than mine.

there’s no figuring some people out.

“take my cock out.”

he unbuttoned my jeans. he reached inside and pulled my meat out. i measure in at just below eight, so i was worried that it might not be big enough for him. but he didn’t kick me out into the night. and the way he started to suck me, i don’t think he was going to do so within the next five minutes.

you know how it is when you get someone who’s really hungry for a cock. he worked me over good. i thought it was kind of cool to lay there with all my clothes still on, and my hardon sticking out of my jeans, with him all naked and blowing me. he was the needy subservient one, and i was the big stud being serviced. i knew i was playing it right. i had his number.

having nothing else to do as he kept sucking me, i looked at the pictures.

they were the kind of guys most faggots dreamed about. handsome and hung. i focused on the one closest to me.

he was looking at the camera with a smile on his face. one hand was rubbing his hairy chest. his dick was hard and long, at least nine inches. i pictured sucking his cock while this other guy was sucking me. i imagined the guy in the picture being over me on the bed, shoving his cock in my mouth. i started to respond to my own fantasy and i pushed my dick up into the guy’s mouth. i started to get verbal, telling him to suck my fat cock and all that. he liked that, and sucked harder.

then he moved off me, reached into the top drawer of his bedside table, and pulled out a bottle of poppers. he took a couple of hits.

“do you want some?”

“sure, why not.”

i did my share and handed them back to him. he did a couple more hits and then went back to work on my cock. of course he went intense. he started sucking and moaning without shame.

i fixed my eyes on the photograph again and returned to my fantasy.

i looked at the guy. he had a hard muscled chest, and the hair spread across it, bushy and dark. there was another dark mass of hair above that big dick of his. i pictured myself sucking it again. i fantasized about taking that big cockhead in my mouth. i fantasized about sucking that big dick. a dick as big as a horse. i like big dicks. i liked sucking big dicks. that guy in the picture was hot and he was shoving that big fuckin’ cock down my throat.

this was the poppers talking in my mind.

the guy sucking me off was jerking me with his hand too. i was getting turned on and my dick was superhard. i was going to shoot soon if i didn’t shift gears.

“hey, back off. i don’t want to come yet.”

“yes, sir.”

he leaned back and waited patiently, all the time stroking his dick. i looked at him and his cock.

yeah, whatever. you think it’s big. i’ve had more and i’ve had less. it doesn’t matter.

too bad that dick’s not attached to somebody else. somebody with a personality.

i thought, what a waste.

my contempt met my lust, shook hands, and made a deal.

“what do you want?” i asked.

“sir?”

“i said, what do you want, fuck!”

he flinched. good.

“whatever you want, sir.”

i stroked my dick and peered at him.

“i thought you said you like to get fucked.”

he looked relieved.

“yes, sir.”

“do you want me to fuck you?”

“yes, sir.”

i shook my cock.

“do you want this big dick up your ass, boy?”

“yes, sir. please, sir.”

if you don’t lighten up on this ‘sir’ bullshit i’m going to slap your face, bitch.

“you got some lube, boy?”

“yes, sir.”

he opened a drawer in the bedside table and got out a bottle of lube.

“why don’t you grease up your ass?”

he popped the lid and squeezed some onto his fingertips. he reached under himself and spread the lube around. his hand was shiny when it came back into view.

“put some of that on my dick too.”

he put some more on his hand and then rubbed it over my dick.

truth be told, i’m a lube freak. a dry jerk-off does nothing for me at all. spit is better. i don’t care for crisco or vaseline. but the shiny plastic slickness of industrial strength lube is as good as a tight wet ass for me.

he greased me up good, then used both hands to stroke my dick up and down. his eyes slipped back and forth from my cock to my face. i was getting close to coming.

“that’s good enough, boy.”

he stood up.

“get back down on your knees, boy!”

he quickly dropped.

“tell me what you want.”

“i want you to fuck me, sir.”

“say what?”

“i want you to fuck me, sir.”

“say ‘please’.”

“please fuck me, sir.”

haven’t you got any fuckin’ pride at all, child? jesus.

i grunted at him, like i would even consider such a thing.

“you want this cock, boy? you want this big cock up your ass?”

those eyes got sadder and more imploring.

“yes, sir. please sir. i need your big cock up my ass, sir.”

and i came this close to getting up and walking out.

what’s the point in fucking somebody that down, somebody who’s barely there? there was some role-playing on his part, but not completely. this was how he saw himself. as not handsome enough or sexy enough or masculine enough. this was somebody who saw everybody else over him.

all those guys in the photographs had done their job well.

and i was just one of them for him.

maybe i should have walked out. maybe i should have shoved my cock back into my pants, laughed at him, and left.

i stayed because i wanted sex that night. i stayed—finally—because i was already there and it was late and i wanted to shove my cock up some guy’s ass. that’s all.

i got off the bed and started undressing.

“lay down,” i said.

he pulled down the covers. white sheets. you’re going to have to wash those tomorrow, i thought.

he lay flat on his back, waiting for me. his hard cock stretched up his belly and onto his stomach.

i crawled onto the bed and got between his legs. he lifted them up and spread them open.

he was ready for me.

even in the dimly lit room i could see the hairs on his ass and around his asshole pasted down with grease. his asshole was a dirty circle. it had the dark shadow around it which came from having been fucked a lot and having the hole stretched open. i could tell there wasn’t going to be any trouble with working it in, like there could be with some guys. i held my cock with my hand and pushed the head up against him. it slid in right away. he shut his eyes and groaned.

i stuck my cock all the way in and started fucking him. i didn’t start with no easy stuff. from head to base right from the beginning. he took it all.

we did this for a couple of minutes. then he reached over and got the poppers off the table. he held them under his nose while i kept my cock up his ass. he handed them up to me and i did my share. he did some more, and then shoved them up under the pillow beneath his head.

you know i fucked his ass good then.

i heard slapping sounds. my balls were banging against his butt. i grabbed his ankles and spread his legs further apart. the poppers made me feel like i was fucking him with a fifteen-inch-long four-inch-thick piece of monster meat. and his asshole turned into a wet blast furnace wrapped around my dick.

i realized then how hot it was in that bedroom at the top of the house. i started to sweat.

i got off my knees and onto my feet so i could mount him from the top. i kept fucking away at his ass while i pushed his thighs down. i could have hurt him then, i was so much larger than him and i was riding him so hard. but it’s a really good position if you want to dominate somebody.

i was getting close to coming again, so i pulled my dick out. he was more than willing to keep on going. he reached back with his arms and grabbed the black metal poles of the bedstead with his hands. he used the leverage to raise his ass up in the air toward me. he moaned excitedly.

“come on, daddy. fuck my ass.”

shut up, fuck. i don’t care what you want. but what did i want?

seeing him there, presenting to me, i got an urge.

i wanted to lick that greasy hairy asshole that i had been fucking. might as well go for it.

i put a hand under each of his thighs and held his ass up in the air. i got down with my tongue and licked his butt all over. it was wet down there from all kinds of stuff. lube and my sweat and his sweat and god knows what else. i loved the taste on my tongue. i licked his ass up one side and down the other, sometimes giving him big broad strokes with my tongue up the crack.

then i put my tongue into his asshole. i put my tongue up his asshole as far as i could. i could taste the grease and the taste of a man’s hole. i thought, this was where my cock has just been and this was the asshole i’ve been fucking. i sucked the lube out and into my mouth and worked my tongue all around his hole. he was pretty hairy down there, and i sucked and licked the lube off his hairs too.

i don’t know whether he cared for this part of the game, but i was really into it. he did make some kind of noise once i stuck my tongue out as far as i could and started acting like it was a hard cock, shoving it as far in and out of his asshole as i could, trying to fuck his ass with my tongue.

he searched around under the pillows trying to find the bottle of poppers again. he found them and hit them while i was still working on his ass. he started to buck like a horse then, shoving his ass up into my mouth as i tongue-fucked him. it was getting wild. when i thought his rush was over i dropped back, exhausted. his legs fell to the bed.

his dick was only half hard now. his belly was wet from the lube, and the precum that had leaked out of the end of his dick. it was still dripping out. he wrapped his hand around his dick and squeezed it. more precum came out of the end. i put my mouth on his dick and sucked it up right away. i started sucking on his dick to get it hard again. while i did that, i started jerking on my own cock to get it hard again too.

“wait a minute,” he said.

“what?”

“wait a minute.”

he got off the bed and went to the closet. he came back with a framed mirror. it was about three by five feet. he leaned it against the wall by the side of the bed.

“o.k.”

he got on his back and lifted his legs. now he was ready to get fucked up the ass again.

he did his poppers and handed them over to me. i really got going with them and took six or seven hits. i gave them back to him, and he did as many as i could while i got on top of him. my cock slid into his ass. the poppers kicked in and i started to fuck his ass hard. i looked down at him. he was looking sideways at the mirror. i looked over too.

i had a good view of me fucking him. he was on his bed with his legs up in the air and i was on top of him fucking away. i pulled out a little bit and i could see the hard shaft of my dick stuck up his ass. i put it back in. i started watching my cock going in and out of his ass. he was watching it too. we were both watching him getting fucked. i slowly pulled it all the way out until i could see my entire dick. the head was all red and my whole dick was greasy. i could see my balls—all loose and hairy—hanging down. i made sure he was looking in the mirror at my cock, then i shoved it back up his ass again. and i fucked him some more.

the mirror part was turning me on. i saw myself all naked and sweaty up above him. i held his ankles with my hands while i fucked him. and while i fucked him i looked at my chest and stomach. still in good shape, guy. my ass was nice and round and pale above my tanned and hairy legs.

i looked at my dick going in and out of his ass. going in and out of his ass.

i was one good-looking hot fucking stud and i was fucking his ass. i was the top. i was a hot fuckin’ top. and i was fuckin’ his ass good like i was supposed to.

and him? a guy who lifts his ass up in the air like that is a dog. a dog wanting to get fucked in the ass. a guy with his legs up in the air is the ultimate in submissiveness to my cock. he’s giving up his body. he’s saying ‘i’m just a fuckin’ hole. use me’.

o.k., then. let’s do it.

i pulled my dick out, grabbed the poppers out of his hand and did a hit.

i needed to say something.

“i’m gonna fuck you, faggot.”

he looked up at me, blankly for once. he was drifting away from me.

come back, i thought.

“yeah. i’m gonna pound your fuckin’ hole until you scream. and then i’m gonna keep fuckin’ you until your fuckin’ asshole is split fuckin’ open. and i’m gonna keep on fuckin’ you until i shoot my hot cum up your ass. you want that, faggot?”

he managed to speak.

“yes, sir.”

“o.k., boy. get ready. i’m gonna fuck your ass.”

i tossed the poppers back to him and got ready to put my dick back inside him. he did a couple of hits. he grabbed the back of his thighs just below his knees and lifted his ass again.

he turned his head and looked into the mirror.

he kept staring into the mirror while i fucked him. he wasn’t looking at me so much as he was looking at his ass getting fucked. all he was concentrating on was seeing my cock go into his asshole. the rest of me didn’t have to be there at all.

i watched his face while i fucked him.

his mouth hung slack. his eyes were desperate as he stared into the mirror. if was as if all he wanted was right there in front of him, but he couldn’t reach out and take it. not really. it was something he could only watch, not something he could have.

sweat fell into my eyes and burned. i flipped my head around to shake it off, but that only made my hair hit my eyes like a whip, stinging me with more sweat. that irritation grew like the tension that was mounting from the base of my dick, the pressure that was growing in my balls. i was getting closer.

i kept riding him.

i liked his hunger and his desperation. i liked his emptiness. i liked him feeling like he would never be satisfied. that no matter how hard i fucked him, or how hard any other man fucked him, whether he got fucked by a man every night, whether he got banged by twenty men in a row, no matter how big any of our dicks were, he was never going to be filled up. he was never going to get fucked enough by a dick that was big enough.

i liked his hopelessness.

i liked the fact that he was such a whore. that i was fucking such a hopeless and worthless piece of shit.

i knew i was a good-looking fuck and he was lucky to have my dick up his ass. it turned me on to know how much i outclassed him.

i was as hot as any of the men whose photograph he had cut out and framed.

i looked up and saw that right in front of my face on the wall was another picture. the guy in the picture was hunky and hairy. he had a big cock. it pushed out of the picture toward me. i wanted it in my mouth while i was fucking the guy under me. i pictured myself sucking that big cock. i opened my mouth slightly and imagined that big cock in my mouth. sucking it and sucking it and sucking it and sucking it.

i came up the guy’s ass. again and again and again.

he was shouting something but i wasn’t paying any attention to him. his asshole had tightened up on my dick, so he must have been coming right after i shot. i kept my cock in him until he had finished pushing up against me.

i looked at the picture on the wall one last long time before i pulled my dick out, climbed off him, and went to sleep.

the next morning i woke up early, about four-thirty. the candles were still burning, but a low light came through the window. the guy was asleep on his stomach.

as i lay there on my back, my head was throbbing and my eyes were blurry.

looking around, i could see the pictures.

i began to massage my dick. it was still greasy from the night before.

i looked at the pictures on the wall and got a full hardon. i felt under the pillow and found the poppers. i did a hit and looked at the pictures on the walls around me.

all those hot-looking guys with their hardons.

i did another hit and started jerking myself off harder.

the guy beside me was dead to the world. i didn’t care.

i looked at all those other hard cocks and jerked on my dick until i came. it shot up and landed all over the hair on my stomach.

i got up and left.

i saw the dark-eyed guy in the bars from time to time after that. he never approached me again, or even acknowledged that we knew each other.

so we never got together again. it wasn’t any great loss to me. he wasn’t that good-looking or that special a fuck.

but he did give me the idea of cutting a picture out of a magazine and hanging it up.

one of the photographs i liked most was of this guy who was set up to be a mechanic in a garage. he was tall and kind of built. he had blond hair and a kind of scruffy beard. his dick curved down.

it was thick and about nine inches long.

i put the picture on the back of my bathroom door. sometimes when i’m sitting there i look at it and jerk off.

he’s one hot-looking fuck.