Gay Erotic Stories

My roommate in college was a guy named Hank. Hank was seriously dumb, but he could throw a football to the moon if someone would just show him where it was. I was smart enough, but a physical retard. I wear slip-ons because it's too complicated to tie shoe laces. If you had disassembled Hank and me you would have had enough parts to construct one reasonably competent human being-and the rest you could flush right down the toilet. There are a couple of other things you should know about Hank-one is that he was built like a Greek god, and the other is that he was a genuinely nice guy. I try to be a nice guy-I don't always succeed-but I'm definitely not built like a Greek god. I'm built like a grandfather clock-tall and skinny-but without a long pendulum. Outside of being roommates, Hank's and my paths didn't cross often. I was majoring in computer science; Hank had several different majors, none of which actually involved opening a book. But we hit it off okay. We even discovered that we had a few things in common. Early on we found that we both liked beer. Later we discovered that we both liked to stroke our meat. You probably don't want to hear about the beer, so I'll skip that and get to the good part. One Sunday afternoon, a couple of weeks into the semester, Hank and I were sitting in our dorm room drinking beer that he had smuggled in. It was hot and we had both stripped down to our jockeys. That was a concession on my part. Like I say, I'm not Mr. America, and I've always been a little bit shy about skin. I was an only child; I didn't play sports; and I'd never even seen my Dad without at least his shorts on. The jockeys were probably also a concession on Hank's part. To Hank, the world was one big locker room. The boy was a fuckin' nudist. He used to bound out of bed every morning, naked as a jaybird, and drop to the floor for 100 push ups. Actually, if you have a shag rug and a piss hard, push ups aren't a bad way to start the day, and when Hank would head off to the showers, sweating and puffing, he was always just as stiff as when he woke up-and as uninhibited. He didn't even wrap a towel around him when he walked down the hall. Mornings are when I like to beat off anyway, and watching Hank's ass bob up and down beside my bed always put me in the mood, so I would use his shower time to work on my hobby. I don't know when he did it-probably when I was in class. But the bad part to all this was that I discovered that Hank's dick was about the same size soft as mine is when it's hard. I'd always been in the "gifted and talented" program at school. When it came to sex, I was willing to admit that I wasn't talented, but now I had to face up to the fact that I wasn't gifted either. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. The Lord had given to me between the ears, and He'd given to Hank between the legs. But He had taken away from both of us the other way. That's why I kept my briefs on whenever I was around Hank.. When the heat finally got to him that Sunday afternoon, Hank headed for the showers, and I turned on the computer and started to play a video game that I had been getting pretty good at lately. It was a war game where you had to plan each move. When Hank came back, I invited him to try his hand at the game. As I think about it, it wasn't altogether a friendly gesture on my part. I think I resented him for having such a great body, and wanted to show him up. He spread his towel across the chair and sat down at my computer naked. I stood behind him, coaching. Like I say, Hank was not an intellectual, but he was competitive. He gripped the mouse in his hand and leaned forward into the screen, concentrating hard, and when he made a mistake, displaying the only extensive part of his vocabulary-four letter words. I hung over his shoulder, watching and making occasional suggestions. After a few minutes I noticed a movement out of the corner of my eye. I looked down and was partly shocked and partly amused to see that Hank was playing with himself. He had his dick in his other hand and was easing the foreskin back and forth over his rapidly swelling glans. I honestly don't believe he was aware of what he was doing. He was just so intent on the game that he was unconsciously doing what every guy does-at least when he's alone. "Are you having fun?" I asked him. "This is a good game," he answered, "My red guys are gonna blow them little blue fuckers right off the screen." "Which hand are you having more fun with?" He glanced down at his crotch and quickly pulled his hand away. "Oh shit!" he said, "I gotta quit doing that. It could be embarrassing if it happened in front of the wrong people." "Who are the right people?" He grinned self consciously; his face had turned very red. "Well . . . you, I hope. If you're gonna get caught playing with yourself, it should be by your best friend." I was torn by conflicting emotions. On the one hand I was happy that Hank had called me his best friend, but on the other, I was suddenly uncomfortably aware that he was naked with a hard on and I was almost naked and pressed up against him with my arm across his shoulders. Worse than that, I was becoming aroused. I walked over to my bed and threw myself down on it, drawing up my legs and hoping that my dick would go down. I didn't want to lie face down because that would be too obvious. Hank came over and sat down on the edge of my bed. "Hey, can I ask you something?" I nodded. "Do you jerk off too?" I nodded again, without meeting his eyes. He relaxed visibly and smiled. "That's good. But . . . well . . . are you circumferenced? It took me a few seconds to figure out what he was asking. Hank's grasp of medical terms was not as sure as his grasp on a baseball bat. "Yeah, mine's been cut," I said. He was silent for another minute, "Well, how do you do it?" "What do you mean, 'How do I do it?' Pretty much like everybody else I suppose." "Yeah but, you don't have nothin' to slide up and down it like I do," he pursued. "I mean, I always wondered how you guys do it." "You just do it the way they show you in masturbation class," I answered. His eyes widened. "Shit! I didn't know they had classes. Can uncut guys like me take them too?" Poor Hank. He was so gullible. For a moment I toyed with the idea of sending him to the registrar's office to ask about JO-101-he probably would have done it-but I couldn't go through with it. "I was just kidding," I said. "They don't really have masturbation classes." "I knew that," he answered quickly. But his face turned red again, and I felt bad. Hank may have been dumb, but he was smart enough to know that he was dumb, and I shouldn't have embarrassed him when he was already feeling awkward about being caught jerking off. "Hey, I'm sorry," I apologized. "That's okay," he said. "The guys on the team play tricks on me all the time. That's was a pretty good one. I'm gonna try that one on Bernie. He's even dumber than I am. He'd probably fall for it. He went over to the cooler and got us two more beers. His hard on had gone down by then and his cock had shrunken to the size that I thought of "monster normal." He sat cross-legged on the foot of my bed facing me and drained about half of his beer at a single gulp, then looked at me uncertainly. "Well, are you gonna show me, or not?" Now it was my turn to be embarrassed. But I was strangely excited too. I took a long drink of beer and thought about it for a while, then I lifted up ass and slid my briefs off, dropping them on the floor. I spread my legs so they were hanging off opposite sides of the bed and Hank was sitting between them looking directly into my crotch. Pay back time. Let him say whatever he wanted about my puny equipment. Probably I deserved it. "Jesus!" he exclaimed. "You're a hairy motherfucker, ain't you? I wish I had that much public hair." Another swing and a miss, Hank. That word is "pubic." But it didn't matter. Like I say, Hank was a truly nice guy. And despite everything he could have said about my body, he chose to pay me a compliment instead. I stroked myself self-consciously at first, but quickly getting into it. It was a turn-on doing it in front of someone, and the fact that it was the most gorgeous guy on planet earth didn't hurt. My proud beauty raised its head and quickly swelled to its full magnificence of just over five inches. Hank watched with rapt attention. "Hey, can I try?" he asked after a few minutes. I took my hand away. He wrapped his fist around my dick, and began tentatively stroking it. God! It felt so good. No one except me had ever touched my boner before. "Am I doing it right?" he asked. Oh Hank! Are you ever! My breath was beginning to come in ragged gasps, and I moaned and thrashed about on the bed. "You want to try mine?" Hank asked. I scooted down in the bed so our dicks were almost touching and reached for him. It was grabbing a telephone pole. You're going to have to figure out for yourself which one of us is talking from here on, because I'm not even sure myself. But it kind of went like this: "More! More!" "Yeah, keep doing it like that." "Oh God, that feels so good." "Yeah! Yeah! That's it. Harder! I'm almost there." "Oh shit, I'm gonna come!" "AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!" "AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!" I collapsed in a pool of sweat and semen. I'd spurted all over myself. Some of it had even got in my hair. And some of it wasn't mine. Hank had shot a pretty good load too. "Damn!" he said. "That's the best organism I ever had. You want to do that again?" We both looked at each other and knew that it wasn't going to end with JO-101. "Hey, can I ask you something?" I said. He nodded. "Well, what do you with a foreskin when somebody sucks your cock? I mean I always wondered. Do you pull it back, or do you just . . .?"