Gay Erotic Stories

Soaring

Copyright ¨ May 10, 2001

Chris Carr

My heart’s racing and I can feel the sweat running down my armpits, but it isn’t even hot outside. Emonte is staring at the TV, and so am I, but it’s getting hard (literally!) because I need to move, or at least move it.

Emonte’s my homey. Been friends since 5th grade, Willowbrook elementary, Ms. Rhodes’ class. Ms. Rhodes who always gave homework over the weekend, fucking up our kite time. And dad wouldn’t let me out until it was "all done". Math, hated that shit. Division, multiplication, decimals!

Emonte’s good at math though. He just gets it. Saved my ass, lot’s of times ‘cause, pops would beat the shit out of me when I got bad grades.

Right here in my room, the same one that’s all hot now, we’d sit on the floor, TV going, hunched over math books, giggling and hardly getting anything done. Till we wanted to go kite flying, that is. That was a different thing.

Couldn’t leave till we’d finished all our homework. That’s what dad always said. So I’d sit next to Emonte, my pencil and paper on my lap, struggling to finish Ms. Rhodes stupid weekend math homework.

Never could figure where to put the stupid decimal. "Move it over one more," Emonte would say, the damn decimal in the wrong place again.

Lot of times we’d sit side by side, legs touching, working on our homework, watching TV, playing video games. Sometimes, when we’d both have on shorts, I could feel his soft, smooth skin next to mine but didn’t think much about it. Emonte was my dog… my best friend and we were just hanging out.

My kite was about to get away from me that windy day, but Emonte saved it. "You’ve got too much tension on the string," he instructed, showing me how to slacken the line. I’d seen him in the park a few times, always with a bomb assed kite. Boxes, deltas, diamonds, he had them all.

I was trying out my first kite; a delta called Superflyer, and didn’t know what the hell I was doing. For one, you didn’t run with kites anymore. Just get a good wind against it, and let ‘er rip. Almost tore my arm off, once it took off.

Looked nice up there, rainbow colors, tail whipping in the wind. I was just about to get the big head when it started whipping, dipping and diving all over the place. Good thing though, else I’d never’d met Emonte. At least, I wouldn’t have known any more about him than that he sat in the back of the class and drew in his notebook.

We met all the time at Riley Park after that. Couldn’t believe the kite collection Emonte had. Seemed like every time I saw him, he had another kite. All I had was my little Superflyer, rainbow body, and rainbow tail.

So I’d mostly watch Emonte, see what he was flying that weekend. "Wanna try?" he said, one time, and he let me fly his new fish kite. Had 300 feet of 60 lb., nylon string, on a spool. That sucka would let you know it was there, tugging on the string and then dropping a little. I was a little worried I’d loose it but Emonte said it was cool.

Sometimes there’d be a lot of us flying and sometimes it would be just me and Emonte. I liked those times best. We’d sit on the grass, watching our kites and goofing off. Emonte could do anybody. Ms. Rhodes, my dad, Mr. Payton, the school janitor.

First time he pushed his finger up his nose, making like he was pushing up a pair of glasses, I ‘bout cracked my side. His ass looked just like Ms. Rhodes, pushing those red glasses up on her nose. Then he started talking, giving a math assignment and I was on the ground laughing.

"Do dad," I’d say and he’d get all serious looking, face all frowned up.

"Donnell, you and E… E… Emonte, be back here ‘fo dark," Emonte would say, stuttering just like my dad and I’d roll on the grass.

Emonte spent the night, no school today. Do that a lot, ‘cause his mom and my mom are real cool with each other, PTA, reading circle, all that ‘mom’ shit. Both our parents work though and we’ve got the whole house to ourselves. Guess it takes making high school to get left home alone.

Used to sleep in PJ’s when were younger. Mine had sailboats on them; Emonte’s had polka dots. Red polka dots. Now we sleep in our boxers and T-shirt. And on opposite sides of the bed, not all next to each other, like we did in elementary school.

Had different bodies back then too. No hair on the legs like Emonte has now. Fine hair that lies down on his legs, all going the same direction when he comes out the shower drying off. And a little peach-fuzz mustache and goatee.

Bodies that do weird shit. That I seem to have no control over, ‘cause if I did, why the fuck am I in this predicament?

We ain’t saying nothing, just watching the TV, the morning sports recap on channel 5, UNLV lost but ‘SC won so we happy. Hell, USC might go all the way this year. Ok, so I can dream can’t I?

We don’t talk as much period, anymore. Just grunt and shit at each other. Got to keep it real, nahmean? Would like it if we could talk, though. You know, just guy shit. Like what it felt like when you got that first fuck? Did you know what the fuck you was doing, or was you like me having to listen to the girl say, "that’s not it. That’s not it." How many God damn holes are there down there, anyway?

Or if he jacks off as much as I do, night and day, day and night. Shit, if he wasn’t here right now, I’d be into my second j.o. of the morning. Something wrong, you jack off six to eight times a day? And what way is the best way? On your back? Your side? Or on you stomach?

How long does it take to blow? Can you make it last longer if you stroke real soft and slow? Or hard and fast? You know, shit like that, ‘cause Emonte’s pretty smart and I bet he’d know. But Emonte says guys don’t be sitting around talking about what they do in the bedroom ‘cause that’s faggot. Guys just do it and keep it inside so they’ll look all hard and shit.

Owww! It’s really hurting now, but I’m scared as fuck to move ‘cause he might see it. There goes another trickle of sweat, down my armpit.

Some reporter is giving his Hollywood wrap up, The Mummy Returns is number one at the box office, so what else it new? Don’t fly the kites much now, kiddy shit. It’s in the closet, waiting though, my Superflyer, rainbow body, rainbow tail.

I moved, and now we’re shoulder to shoulder. Shoulder’s warm, a steady pressure on mine. Almost like we’re shoulder dueling, trying to get the other to give in. My leg is next to his and his is next to mine. Big feet sitting on the bed, toes pointed towards the ceiling. Damn, Emonte’s got long toes.

Feet to feet, leg to leg, shoulder to shoulder, somebody should move. But that’s guys for you, nobody's going to give up. Let him move first. Shit, let him move first!

Almost tore a door off the hinges, one time, with that logic. Don’t ask me what we were doing, but he was on the other side of the door, pushing with all he had, trying to get in. I’m pushing back, leg braced behind me.

"Stop pushing, fool," I said.

"YOU stop pushing," He said back.

Stayed like that for at least 30 minutes. We finally called a truce and both let go.

Moved again and now my hand is on my thigh, millimeters from his but he ain’t moved.

So different the way we are now. It’s not like we have fun anymore, like we did when we were kids. If we go to the movies, Emonte don’t want us to sit next to other, we gotta sit a seat apart. He calls movies like Charlie’s Angels or Meet The Parents ‘girlie’ movies, and now we sit in the back, not down front, next to each, sharing a bag of popcorn like we did when we were kids.

It’s killing me, not knowing if he can see my woody so I’m moving a bit so I can see his face and, just like I thought, he’s glued to the TV. But now I’m looking at his hand on his leg, the fingernails short probably ‘cause he bites ‘em. His leg is brown, like a golden brown donut with lots of cream in it.

Why the fuck am I hard? It ain’t a piss hard, already went to the bathroom. What gives? What the hell is it with my dick? Can’t you EVER have a say on when it’ll bust out rock?

Sweating around my hairline now. Neither of us are fresh, we ain’t had no showers yet and the sweating ain’t helping. But it’s… Shit! It’s making me harder.

A commercial is on, some woman talking about a computer school, but out the corner of my eye, I see Emonte looking at me. Just a quick peek, his head still pretty much front and center, but I’m fo’ damn sho’ he’s seen my woody, so now I’m really sweating.

Another commercial comes on for a department store, Target I think, and it’s got some fine ass babes in it, all dancing around in bathing suits and shit.

"She fine," I mumble and Emonte grunts his approval, but I was really looking at him to see what was up. Trying to see if he’s pissed or something.

He ain’t moving from beside me and, far as I could tell, he’s cool, but he keeps shooting his eyes over at my chubby and it’s making it worse. He’s only got one leg on top the covers so his shit is under the covers where I can’t see. Ain’t fair, I say.

There he goes, looking again and every time, he’s looking longer and longer. Em-fucking-barrassing! Wish I could just find a hole to disappear in. Room feels like a furnace now. Sweat’s forming on my forehead and shit.

Maybe I ought to just go and get my shower. Yeah, get my smelly ass up and go take a shower. But I can’t move. I’m like, glued to this spot on the bed and it can’t be what’s on TV ‘cause, Sally Jesse Raphael’s on now. A ‘girlie’ show. One Emonte always bitches about, if it happens to come on.

We both ain’t moving, and my heart’s racing, sweat’s trickling down my armpit and then Emonte gets up. He’s going to the bathroom, and I can finally breath again. I’m thinking I ought to get up and put some pants on but that would probably look weird. Never did that before, why now? Well, for obvious reasons but…

He’s coming back! I’m dying to look at his boxers, see if I can see…see what? I’ve already seen it, hundreds of times--at the pool, coming out the shower, and when we change clothes. It’s a nice size, cut, like mine, and hair at the base, just like me. See what???

Sally Jesse Raphael is still on and they’re doing makeovers. The worse kind of ‘girlie’ show! But Emonte ain’t saying nothing about what’s on. He just sits back down, his leg next to mine again, on top of the covers now.

My dick’s hard again. It had gone down a little while he was gone, but now its all hard and sitting up, not cramped to the side like before. And we’re just sitting here, staring at the damn TV, not watching it at all. I could die!

I’m planning my funeral when Emonte’s hand just plops down on his thigh, right at my leg. My whole world is Emonte’s hand now. The fingers, not too long, not too short, with the bitten down fingernails and where it’s at.

What to do? Quit staring at it. So close. What to do?!

I don’t want him to take it away, so I put my hand on my thigh. My almond brown, hairless thigh. We’re both locked on the TV, but our hands are inches apart and my heart is pounding in my ears so, I’m getting a little dizzy.

Staring at the TV, staring, staring…

His hand is on my dick!! He’s pulling it out my boxers, and running his hand real softly up the shaft. I’m about to pass out. My toes are wiggling and my dick is hard as an iron bar. I can hear myself breathing, and my hands have curled into double fists, the knuckles a little white.

Hand feels so good. Up and down, around the head. Shit! Shit is off da hook! Can’t believe this shit! Emonte is on my dick! My nigga is chokin’ up on my bat!! Aaah…

Every inch of my dick tingles now, and Emonte’s hand feels ten times better than mine does when I stroke it. Got his fist wrapped around my pole, choking up on it just right. Slipping up the shaft, over that…. aaaah… little bump…. ssssss…. right beneath the head.

Quiet… TV’s going, but it’s quiet. All I can hear is me breathing, and that little squishing sound when Emonte’s hand slips around in my juices. Hair stylist…. Sally…. TV playing, eyes on it but seeing nothing. Hissing… Trembling….

Started thinking Emonte might get a little embarrassed, freakin’ like this so, my eyes still glued to the TV, I’m reaching over to find his dick. Can’t find it…. reaching… pulling it out… Don’t have to tell you, it’s hard as a steel pipe.

Up his hard stalk I go, my hand bumping against the fat head. Emonte sighs real low, his long toes bending down on the soles of his feet. Dick feels… different. Ain’t like when I grab mine. Feels…. soft… wet… hard.

Emonte’s dick is really dripping. I can feel it on my hand, running onto my fingers. His toes curl and wiggle, every time I bump my hand up under the head, then glove it around that knob.

Makes my dick go extra hard, every time I see his toes wiggle ‘cause I know it must be ‘cause it’s feeling so good. Damn, Emonte knows how to stroke a dick. Gets a good long pull up the shaft, then…. aaahhh… damn…. slipping it around the head, squeezing just right. Got…. aaahh… my… ssssss… toes… mmmmm… wiggling.

Can’t believe we’re sitting here, on my bed, the same one we’ve goofed around on for years, staring at Sally Jesse Raphael, with our dicks out, freakin’ on the down low! All I can see of Emonte is his foot and his leg, up to his thigh ‘cause, I ain’t moving, and I fo’ damn sho’ ain’t looking at him.

Feels sooooo good, though. Like we’re closer than we’ve ever been. Closer than when we’d sit on the grass, kite strings running from between our legs, kites up in the sky, soaring. Or when we’d sit in this room, Indian style, math books balanced on our knees, legs touching just so… giggling… and getting nothing done.

Toes are wiggling now. His, mine. Big toe going up and down. All the other toes, bending then stretching long. Can hear squishes, every time we stroke now. Sighs, hisses, panting. Hot, so fucking hot. Sweat running down my body, clothes sticky.

"Aaaah!" Emonte sighs, his hips rising.

"Ssssss!" I hiss, my dick standing straight up.

His dick is getting extra hard in my hand, and I'm taking a risk and looking at it. Damn, sucka stretches up from between his legs like a milk chocolate beam about 8 inches long! The head is all shiny and sticky with his juices, like a fat doorknob, sitting on top of his long, stiff shaft. His balls are bouncing up and down, hair covering each one. His legs are spread so they’re free to bounce, and I can just see the top of his crack.

Looking at his stiff, hard dick made his hand on mine feel extra good and as I stared, I could feel him looking at mine. Neither one of us cares about looking now, it seems, and that just makes it all hotter. I scoot over closer, our bodies pressed next to each other, touching like never before then moaned real loud, his hand slipping up my length.

Staring at his dick, I feel mine starting to shoot and, just as the first big drop squirts out, I look into his eyes. He looks back at me, his mouth open, as his dick let’s loose, big ol' drops of cum squirting up and out. I feel it splashing on my arm, my thigh, my hand, but we’re just staring at each other, dicks blowing cum all over the place.

My dick is sending up wet lobs of hot cum all over his hand and body too, and I can feel it all they way down to my wiggling toes. Emonte is moaning, his mouth still dropped open and he looks so cute, then, without thinking, I lean over and press my lips to his. Before I know it, we’re kissing like two lovesick lovers, mouths all open, tongues slapping back and forth as the last dribbles of sticky, hot cum leap out and down our hands.

He’s moaning, I’m moaning and it’s like heaven. Like flying through the sky. Never want this to end. Lips so soft, tongue sticking in my mouth, then mine sliding into his.

We sat there like that forever; mouths pressed together, licking and sucking at each other’s tongues. Before we knew it, our dicks were hard again and we jacked each other off while we were kissing.

Did that for the rest of the day. He lay on top of me and I lay on top of him and we kissed and kissed and were feeling all on each other and shit. Did it in the shower again, then in the kitchen.

"Wanna do it again?" Emonte said, as we lay on the bed that afternoon. And we did, both of us somehow shooting off likes fountains again.

"Like this?" I asked as we looked at our hands going up and down each other’s dicks.

"Yeah," he said, slipping his fist up my rock.

"Wanna do it all the time?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said, and we took off again, soaring.

Copyright ¨ May 10, 2001

Chris Carr http://www.studiesinbrown.com/