Gay Erotic Stories

Right around the corner from the apartment I shared with my mom was a theatre. Actors performed plays there every other week, small bands offered concerts, political groups met, and my mom couldn't stay away. "Do you have to go there every night?" I asked her. "You don't hear me complain when you run off to college every morning!" "It's not the same thing." "It is the same thing. You meet interesting people every day. I meet interesting people every night." One night, mom wanted me to accompany her to a piano recital. Put on a suit and tie, sit through a boring evening of classical music, and then attend a champagne party backstage. Boring didn't even begin to describe the evening and I couldn't stay awake. A hard elbow in my ribs got me to sit up and then mom had me go wash my face. "I'll wait for you in the lobby," I told her. In the men's room was another young fellow having trouble staying awake. I didn't smoke, but I accepted a cigarette and we sat talking. Until almost an hour went by and then he couldn't take waiting anymore. "I'm leaving," he said, snuffing out his third cigarette. "Where ya goin'?" "There's a bathhouse not far from here. I can be there in ten minutes." "A bathhouse?" He shrugged his shoulders. "Well, there's a lot more fun there than there is here, for sure." I watched him go across the lobby and out into the parking lot. If I had hesitated a second longer, I would have been left behind to sit out the evening there in that lobby. I didn't hesitate, I went after him on a dead run. "Take me with you?" I asked him. The bathhouse wasn't more than a few blocks from the theatre. Sixteen bucks and his bathhouse I.D. got us both a towel and a room to share for the next eight hours. In the room was one cot and just enough space for us to undress. "Let's grab a shower first," he said. "Let's not," I said when we found the shower. Two men were in there fucking. Two men were in the steam room fucking. Showing me a huge boner, my friend whispered, "Let's go back to our room." In another room was a real bed and a jar of Vaseline. He took the jar, followed me onto the bed, and put me on my stomach. "Don't be shy about helping me now," he said. I wasn't. Nor was I shy about telling him how I wanted to be fucked. "Where have you been all my life?" he asked. "Why?" "Well, guys I usually end up with worry about how they'll look in certain positions. They have to look over their shoulders to make sure no one's watching." I stopped doing that when I turned 2l. I didn't exactly throw caution to the wind, but I didn't worry about getting caught. Because someday I might have a hard time attracting any guy. All of us grow old. "Well, worry about that when you get old," my friend said, raising my feet to rest on his shoulders. Later, outside my apartment, we sat in his car talking about another night together. A lot of nights together. A commitment--I wasn't ready or able to make a commitment "I'm not going to stop asking," he said. I was in bed sleep the next time he came by. I let him in and he followed me back to my bed. "Get your clothes off," I told him. He wasn't so sure it was the time or place for what I had in mind. "I don't cook," I said. "And I'm not very good at long conversations." "Well, maybe another time?" "So we can talk about a commitment?" "I've been thinking. Maybe I'm not ready for one, either." He kept looking over his shoulder and around for my mom. "No, I don't think you are," I told him, and then he was out the door and gone.