Gay Erotic Stories

Every Friday night. Like clockwork. They're always there. Shooting the shit. Being loud. Drinking. Smoking. Playing their music. Dancing in the street. The dudes on the street corner. Just hangin'--doin' their thing. You know the kind, the GAP teens in their baseball caps and baggy Levi's, some with their NIKE sweats and High Tops, some in their white T-shirts, ripped jeans and no socks. Always the same. About six o'clock I'd get in from the gym--I stay late at Marcelli's on Fridays, so I don't get to the gym until late. I don't mind. Not a lot of people there anyway on Friday nights. Quiet workout. Peaceful. My workouts are quicker, too...less hard bodies to distract me. So I get out of there around 5:45. I get home around six. And there they are. On the stoop. Just hanging. I don't live in a slum, but I don't live on Park Avenue either. Cops don't care too much about these kids, I guess no one does, really. They crowd around the front stoop to my building. In their little groups. Their cliques, their security packs. Harmless enough, I suppose. They've never caused me any trouble. Then again, who's gonna get in my face? Not many. I pull up in my faded red--and rusted--Camaro. An '84 Piece of shit. But its mine. Yeah, I park on the street. Who's gonna take my shit box? Even for a shit box it's a shit box. I grab my stuff and head their way. They spot me. One of them turns, lighting a cigarette. Probably seventeen. Cute. Tan. Goatee. I call him "Nike." I call him that because he's always sporting a NIKE baseball cap--twisted backwards. "Hey T-tops!" My Camaro's got T-tops. Didn't take them long to give me that nickname.. I've only been living here seven months. But they know me. Friday Night Tradition, I guess. They're cool. Friendly. Don't cause me no problems. "What up guys?" I flash them a winning smile as I make my way through their little circle, moving to the foot of the stoop. "Just kickin' Mr T." It's a younger kid. Black, maybe fifteen. Gold hanging from his ear, tattoo on biceps. I call him "BadAss." Not because he is. Because that's his game. He fits in that way. He raises his hand. I slap it and keep going. A third voice comes up behind, "Hey, Topps, why dontcha stick around?" At the top of the stoop, I turn to face them. The new voice belongs to "Topless." No shirt. Never.. No exceptions. Good thing they don't hang out in winter. Very cut bod on this one. I put him at 18 or 19. Nipples hard and erect. Firm. Latino. Makes me hot. I smile at him. "No can do guys, I'm busy." He smiles back. "C'mon, 'duds,' smoke a bone wit' us." There's a joint in his hand. He raises it and slides it under his nose. "Take a breath and chill, T." I laugh. They're always trying to get me to sit out here with them and smoke that shit. "Nah, I don't do that anymore." They crack up at this. One of them, I don't recognize, snickers, "Oooohhh, not since you were a kid, eh, Topps?" Slightly buzzed, he flashes a sly grin while trying to conceal a bottle of beer. "Whatr'you, an old man now, T? How old?" This new question causes more laughs and fuss from the gallery. They all turn to look at me, waiting for an answer. But, looking down at them, all I can think about is how hot it would be to fuck these dudes--How totally fucking hot and steamy it would be to fuck and get fucked by these young punks. It's a thought that always passes through my head when I make my way through their masses, rubbing up against their shoulders, arms, asses--you name it. They hardly stand aside when I come their way. I don't mind. I love Friday nights. "How old are *you*?" I ask the kid. "Old enough," he says, making sure the bottle is out of sight, "sixteen, yo." "Old enough?" I mock, my dick getting hard. "Well, I got ten years on you, bro." "Shit!" Nike smirks. Another with spiked blonde hair chuckles. "You're an old man, Topps!" They laugh. I laugh with them. "See what I mean? I'm to old for that shit." BadAss grins. "Never too old for weed, Topps." "Maybe," I say and open the front door, "Later guys." I get various street slangs for "bye" as the door closes behind me. I'm hot. My dick's hard. And I'm fucking horny as all Hell. But I try to push the impulses away as I race upstairs to my apartment. I need to take a shower and get dressed. Meeting Rebecca and friends for dinner...but I'd rather be eating something else tonight. Fifteen minutes later, I'm in my towel, standing by the bathroom window. It over looks the alley to my building. And I can just make out the group two stories down. Still at the stoop, drinking, smoking...doing what they do. Doing what I did years ago--being a wise-ass kid, being with my friends and wasting time. I think about getting them up here in my apartment. I think about tearing their clothes off. Hard dicks. Hard young, cum-filled dicks. Tight asses. Tight little holes. I wanna fuck them. I wanna fuck their asses hard and mean. I wanna suck those dicks. Suck'em dry. Make them fill my mouth. I'd do them all. Let them ram-fuck my mouth. Let them fuck me. Sit and squat over their hard, young bodies, letting their rock-hard cocks rip into me. Wanna get fucked by a bunch of young punks. Yeah, that's what I want. I look at my dick, a thick 6.8 inches, standing hard and high. I didn't even touch it. I didn't even touch it and pre-cum is dripping from the head. Fuck, all I have to do is think about those fuckers and I'm dripping. I catch myself in the door mirror. 26 years old. Fine body. Cut. Tan. Smooth. Black hair, dark brown eyes, 32 inch waist, nice fucking ass. I have no problems getting the shit I want. Except when its a bunch of fucking hot, straight street punks. I had an easier time getting those high school chics at the pool last summer than I ever will at getting one of my stoop boys. My girlfriend. Rebecca. I think I love her. Beautiful. Intelligent. She doesn't know. Don't know if she'll ever know. But she's gonna get one hell of a fuck tonight, that's for sure. I feel sort of guilty that she's not even gonna be responsible for it. Fuck it. I need a shower. I need to jerk off. I need to get out with friends and get my mind off this shit. I got two hours. I take my shower. Jerk my prick, stroking it in hard quick beats. The water rains down on my chest hard. The steam clouds around me. My eyes are closed. I can hear them down on the stoop. Their voices. Some Deep, masculine. Others lighter, softer. They swear, cussing at each other. They yell at cars that pass by. I jerk harder. I SEE THEIR BODIES. I stroke my dick faster. HARD FUCKING BODIES. My breath is heavy. I'M FEELING HIS ASS WRAPPED AROUND MY COCK. My teeth begin to grind. THEIR HOT, WET TONGUES LATHERING MY ASS. I pump harder, faster. HIS ASS GETTING SOAKED BY MY TONGUE. With my other hand, I rub my asshole hard! HE SLAPS HIS DICK ON MY OPEN MOUTH. I'm pounding my rigid cock, thrusting my other fingers inside my sore hole! HE RUBS HIS DICKHEAD AGAINST MY ASSHOLE--RUBBING IT HARDER... I pound herder. HE RUBBS IT FASTER ON MY POOR ASSHOLE... My fingers dig deeper into my ass. HE GRABS MY SHOULDERS AND PULLS ME HARD... I feel it cumming... MY ASSHOLE PULLS WIDE--HIS DICK SLIPPING INSIDE MY BODY... I begin to shoot, and shoot, an shoot, and shoot--Exploding with long streams of cum. It won't stop. Visions of getting fucked, sucking cock, kissing lips, fucking asses--all swirl in my head. Then, finally, I stop cumming. I'm breathless. I sink down, sliding against the shower stall, water splashing me with hot spikes. I can hear their voices again. Laughing. Talking. Being young guys on an urban street. Not knowing that I'm lusting after them. Not knowing that I have them in my fantasies. Not knowing that I want to use them and get used by them. How can I let them know? How...? showboys@hotmail.com Zack Carey