Gay Erotic Stories

I reckon I'm a rare bird among gay men. I don't go to bars or discos; nor do I belong to a gym. There aren't any gay nightspots within ninety miles of the tobacco farm that I own. And as far as health spas are concerned, my work serves to keep me in decent shape. Of course my opportunities for meeting like-minded fellas are limited, but the internet keeps me in touch with gay life. Recently, I had a true-to-life encounter which I'd like to share. Since summer is my busiest season, I always hire a handful of local farm boys to help with the crops. Most of these fellas are school aged and most of them are as fetching as any of the models I've seen in gay magazines. It's only natural that I do a lot of fantasizing about getting it on with my hired hands, but I make it a rule not to mix business with pleasure. That doesn't mean I never get to have any fun with the boys, mind you. Pulling tobacco is hard, dirty work, so by the end of the day everyone's covered with sweat and tobacco resin. For this reason, all the workers mosey down to the swimming hole behind my farm and go for a dip before heading home in the afternoon. Bathing suits are considered sissy stuff down in these parts so all the fellas swim in the buff. The sight of all those naked farm boys is better than anything you'll see in a porn movie! Of course I'd be a fool not to take advantage of the free entertainment. This summer, as usual, I made a habit of joining my helpers for their afternoon swim. An exceptional crop of brawny bodies and mouth watering behinds made it hard for me to keep from springing boners on the spot. But by frequently plunging into the icy pond, I kept things reasonably under control. Still, there was one farm hand in particular that I couldn't help but notice more than I should have. Bucky was his name. To be truthful, he wasn't the most handsome fella of the lot. His face looked like it had been kicked in by a mule, but he had a nice head of sun bleached hair and his body was a sight for sore eyes. What made Bucky so special though, was the schlong he packed between his legs. God was good to that boy. No doubt Bucky was awfully proud of his abundant blessing. While the other fellas would splash about the pond he made a point of strutting around the embankment. I had the impression that he liked showing off his wares. Evidently, the others picked up on this too. Bucky came to be known as a "bank walker" -- a title we folks give to big-dicked boys who aren't so modest as their lesser endowed peers. The blond took a lot of good-natured ribbing because of the way his dally-whacker slapped against the breeze when he walked, but none of the remarks thrown at him implied the sort of interest gay dudes generally take in another fella's private parts. Every sign indicated that Bucky was as pussy-crazed as the others. All summer I whacked off thinking about what I'd seen at the swimming hole, but it never crossed my mind that my favorite farm hand was game for some man-to-man action. Not until harvest time rolled around did I discover that the eighteen year old stud and I had more in common than I'd suspected. One day, toward the end of the season, a heavy rain caused me to cancel work. When the weather cleared late that afternoon, I decided to stretch my legs. It happened that my walk led me to the pond nestled beyond my tobacco fields and that was where I spotted Bucky all by his lonesome. He was buck naked, stretched out on a boulder, and working a hand up and down the length of his big ol' cock. My eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets! I tiptoed past a hedge of bushes to get a better look. When I did, Bucky spotted me. His face turned the color of a ripe tomato and real nervous-like, he asked me what I was doing there. I did some quick thinking. I told him that I was feeling all hot an bothered after the storm and that I had a hankering to get some relief out by the pond where it was nice and cool. Then I asked if he'd mind some company. Before Bucky could answer, I stripped down and ambled toward him. My cock was already sticking straight up when I plopped down beside that big-dicked farm boy. He sneaked a sideways glance at my stiffer. Then, as though what he saw had stirred his juices, Bucky set to pulling his pud with a quick, steady rhythm. I couldn't help but gawk. When Bucky caught me eye-balling him, it seemed to egg him on. That I'd caught him with his pants down no longer seemed to bother him. Gripping one hand around the root of his dong, he shimmied a fist up his pole and retraced his path again and again. As I jerked away at my hard eight-incher, I fixed to telling the boy what a nice piece he had and I made a few choice remarks about the size and shape of his hooter. It was an enormous slab of meat; longer than a banana, nearly as thick as a beer bottle, and capped by a shiny, pink mushroom-like head. His balls were the size of goose eggs and the jiggled up and down between his legs when he yanked at his whopper. I wanted to reach over and sample all those goodies bouncing in front of my nose, but a little birdie warned me that Bucky might get riled if I tried any funny stuff with him. Though I was might tempted to test his limits, I settled for enjoying the scenery. Bucky seemed to like giving a show and there couldn't have been a more appreciative audience than myself. We must have beat our meat for a good ten to fifteen minutes, then Bucky began making all kinds of wild panting noises. A jet of spunk shot nearly four feet in the air when he came. The sight of such a gusher caused an indescribably delicious feeling to settle in my man parts. And before I could stop myself, a healthy squirt of love juice cam barreling out of my pecker. It was better than snuff. We just set there breathing real hard for a spell, then ol' Bucky made a dive into the pond. I followed behind and we splashed around to clean off all the goo we'd spilled all over ourselves. Both of us were laughing and lolly-gagging like we were old buddies from way back. When the next day rolled around and I saw Bucky working in the field, neither of us acted like anything out of the ordinary had gone on between us. Bucky's gone off to community college now, but I'm hoping he'll work for me again next summer. If he does, I plan to arrange for us to spend more time alone down by the swimming hole. Tom L Oxford, NC If you enjoyed this story, let me know how high you shot your load! Send e-mail to Nude_Dude@hotmail.com