Gay Erotic Stories

In February 2002 I drove down to New Orleans with my best friend Buffy for the biggest party in the world. Every way into the city was blocked by festive parades and drunken partygoers. But after a little while we made our way to the edge of the French Quarter and found our hotel. We were amazed at the nineteenth-century architecture, the capitals over the lintels, the antique furniture, the Jacuzzi on the balcony. In fact, soon after arriving we were relaxing in it in the nude, calling down to handsome passers-by to ask if they would like to join us.

Buffy had been to Mardi Gras before, but I had not, and had little idea what to expect. I wasn't much of a drinker, so I didn't have much of a clue how I would fit into this week-long drunken festival. It didn't take long before Buffy and I were out in the city, visiting the bars, sex shops, voodoo shops, and famous restaurants. Over the next few days we visited the Aquarium of the Americas, and attended several parades. I was really taking a liking to this ancient city full of history. I soon learned that if we went far enough down Bourbon Street, we would arrive in the gay district, and I couldn't wait to see what was waiting for me there.

The people lining the balconies, some in fabulous costumes, some reeling with strong drink, and all with a wild gleam of pleasure and desire in their eyes, would call down to us as we passed, "Show us your tits! Show us your tits!" Buffy needed no other encouragement. Not at all a small woman, my fag hag best friend is a pretty woman with long dark hair and an ample figure, and huge double-D breasts, which she exposed in a heartbeat with the slightest provocation. Straight men and easily titillated women, whether bi-curious or not, alike "Oooo"-ed in pleasure and admiration. The strings of colorful beads rained down upon us, and I thought, "Finally these fleshy sacs are paying off for us. I could really get to like this." Thick ropes of beads, beginning to weigh us down, adorned our shoulders in every color imaginable as we continued.

When we passed a certain point on Bourbon Street, the call for exposing the breasts gave way to calls of "Show us your dick! Show us your dick!" Buffy turned to me and said, "Your turn to show what you've got." Not to be outdone by her impressive cache of female flesh, I undid my belt. With a little flutter of nerves, I unzipped and pulled my briefs down to expose my flaccid cock and testicles. I worried a little about the reception of my privates in the cool February air, but I had stripped just once to fulfill an exhibitionist fantasy, and had my nude photographs on the internet. So I knew I shouldn't really be worried. Now I am a smaller guy, blond and blue-eyed, a former gymnast with a decent build. I got whistles of admiration of my own, and knew I still had the good stuff, as beads and compliments rained down. I knew I was coming back here every day of my stay.

The next day, Buffy woke up with a cold and packed sinuses, and could barely stand to get out of bed. We went out to the French Quarter, but it soon became clear she was not operating at full efficiency, and so she retired to our suite. I went to the gay area by myself, thinking how perfect that this was my chance to immerse myself in the culture of the gay community, amassed here from literally all over the world, joined to pay tribute to this city, this festival, Bacchan revelry, the fabulousness of the costumery and the moment, and the opportunity to make a memory for all time in the arms of a complete but completely hot stranger.

I had a few drinks with men in the bar, handsome locals and outlandish outlanders. A tall local man with a great build was telling me of some of the sites to see in the city, his languid, drawling speech weaving a spell on my northern ears. A master-and-slave couple from the north enticed me with threats of pain and pleasure to come, and I fear they made me blush fiercely by the time I stumbled away, sure they had got the better of me in that conversation. I realized there was a back stairway by which I could get up to the balcony, and see for myself what the festivities looked like from aloft. I started up the stairs, and that's where I saw him.

He was making his way down, calling out to anyone who would listen, flirting outrageously, a yellow sailor hat perched at an odd angle on his head. And what a head! He was handsome in a broodingly masculine way, with deep-set blue eyes, a slightly upturned impish nose, and day-old stubble melding into close-cropped medium brown hair. About six feet tall, he had broad shoulders and rippling muscles, not the rock-hard kind, but the kind that has got just the right fleshiness running over it, but turns rock-hard when flexed. His impressive pecs, barely restrained by his V-neck crew shirt, pushed their way down the crowded stairs, and his unflexed but still large biceps seemed to command a space of their own. Awed men slipped aside to make room for this beautiful man.

And as we passed and he felt my eyes run all across his face and chest, this man stopped, turned on the steps and issued me a broad smile full of perfect white teeth. His body was turned just far enough away from me to see that his perfect physique ran all the way to the step he was standing on. Looking at his profile, I could see by the tightness of his jeans he had a round plush butt and a mounded package. He said, "Hey there, boy, are you having a nice time?"

The world had frozen all around me, so I no longer noticed the gay men going up and down the stairs, as he and I stood locked by each other's eyes. I tried to think of something witty to say, but time stretched around me, and finally I managed to say, "Better now that you're here," and I had no idea if that was witty or lame. Whichever it was, whether in genuine humor or to humor me, he threw his head back and laughed deeply, his gorgeous eyes crinkling at their edges.

"I'm taking you with me," he told me, and added, "and I think I'll go back upstairs if that's where you're going." He took my hand, and, not believing this could be happening in my life, I led him the rest of the way up to the second floor he had just left. Out a door onto the second-floor gallery open to the sky, I got my glimpse of the world's greatest party from above as I had hoped. His friends knowingly made a space for us at the rail, as though men everywhere naturally and instinctively deferred to him, this good-looking man's man, the ideal alpha male. He told me his name was Paul, and for a long time we just soaked up each other's presence. I spent most of the day standing at the rail, watching the festivities below, the people milling about in the street, some of whom I had talked to and some total strangers, while Paul held me in his arms, tightly crushed to his chest. From time to time he directed me to toss strings of beads to deserving guys below us, based on the shows they put on. He would whisper in my ears things he knew about the various guys, some funny, some lascivious so that I blushed heartily all over again. Sometimes he simply chewed on my ears, so that I leaned back into his embrace, completely overcome with pleasure and desire.

As the morning waned and afternoon began, he finally asked what I'd been waiting to hear: he asked if I would like to accompany him back to the villa he rented every year for this event. Not trusting myself to speak, I simply nodded my agreement. After all, in my experience, men this amazing and gorgeous never got with little blond boys like me. He said, "Wait just a moment; I have to ask my husband for permission." Suddenly I was confused and realized how thoroughly I didn't know this guy at all. He looked to a rather stocky older bear standing alone on the street, whom I hadn't noticed before, but who was looking up at us intently, and in a pre-arranged signal Paul indicated me, the older bear nodded gravely, and we had permission. I didn't know what to feel about that. In a way I felt bad for this guy standing alone on the street, watching his husband blatantly fool around with a strange boy, but then I remembered he got Paul all the rest of the year, while I was alone, so maybe it was I who was jealous of him. It made for a strange dynamic, and I found it easier to put it aside to ponder later than to let it affect me now. Especially now, with Paul nibbling on my earlobes and guiding me in front of him to the door back inside.

As we walked he told me about his life, his home, his Harley-Davidson, and other small talk to put me at ease. His villa was in the French Quarter, so nearby and easily three or four hundred years old, brick with a stucco overlay, with a small courtyard and dark, baroque furnishings. He lit some candles in the bedroom, glanced around to see if everything was in order, in a way that made me feel we were about to embark on something romantic, then looked back to me, and issued me the same smile as before in the stairwell, but this time it had a predatory feel to it. He tossed the pale yellow sailor hat to a chair, and for the first time I saw he had a crew cut, reminiscent of a Marine's. He reached out to take my arm, pulled me close, crushed me to him, and kissed me fiercely, forcing his tongue into my mouth. He tasted sweet but musky and his masculine scent filled my nostrils. Our fierce kiss became an animal expression, as we pawed at each other, thrashed our heads around, and our breath became heavy, but our kiss did not break. I wrestled his tongue with my own, as the two fleshy members strove with each other for dominance, first in my mouth, then in his, our saliva no longer distinguishable as his or mine, but a mixture. The tip of my tongue found the hole in his, from an absent piercing, and I sought to insert my tongue into that hole.

I found the bottom of his shirt, a thin sheen of sweat plastering it to his lower back like a second skin. Pulling it up out of his jeans, I stripped it off him inside out, and finally our passionate kiss broke so it would come over his head. Soon our clothes were littering the floor, and still kissing deeply, we tumbled to the bed in a heap. We explored each other's bodies with a child's fascination for the alienness of the world, a toddler's desire to put everything in his mouth. I lathered him up with my spit, sucking on his neck, licking patterns of swirls into his fine brown torso hair. I discovered he had holes in several places where he'd left his piercings at home: his distended nipples, his thickly erect eight-inch cock. I sucked on each in turn, taking them tenderly into my mouth, hungrily devouring every inch of his flesh as he did for me. We wrestled in the bed to find positions to orally stimulate each other, and I thrilled to his mouth on my neck, his teeth on my nipples, the vacuum feel of his suck job, the wetness of his tongue bath.

I whispered to Paul that I wanted him inside me, to have him pull my legs apart and thrust up into my most private parts, to be invaded by him. He got a packet of lube and a condom from somewhere and I marveled at the suppleness of his muscles and the rondure of his butt cheeks as he moved. He tore open the lube and started applying it to my ass, his fingers working the cool, cool jelly ever deeper into me. I was getting really excited now, and jacked on my cock, still wet from his earlier ministrations. Then he knelt between my knees, raised my ankles to his shoulders, rolled the latex sheath onto his weapon, and began working his powerful tool into my hole. At first I gasped at the knobby head parting my sphincter ring, but I wanted him so bad, I thrust onto it, engulfing it, eager to be filled by his manhood. He quickly found a rhythm, showing me exactly why I had characterized him in my mind as the perfect alpha male: masterful, powerful, sweat beading on his masculine jutting brow over deep-set eyes framed by smile lines. I felt like if he wasn't from another part of the country, and already in a committed relationship, I would have done anything to hold him forever, inside me as he was.

He warmed up to our fuck, making long strokes, moving around in me in a stirring motion, stretching my rectum to its limits, as he showed my ass exactly who was in charge. He wrapped my legs around his ribcage as he leaned down to continue the kiss that we had left off before. As he tenderly kissed me, his amazing cock never left off pistoning in and out of me like a jackhammer. I had never before known a guy who could match a tender kiss with a raunchy fuck, but Paul was that kind of guy. After a while he pulled out of me, motioned me to flip over, and soon I felt his chest hair tickling my back, and looking over my shoulder I saw his engorged cock, purple with pent-up blood, ready to part my asshole once more. I didn't have long to anticipate that, and it felt even larger this way as it slid all the way up me. I thought I had been stretched wide open before . . . now I thought I would be torn apart! But I welcomed it, as I felt his muscular arms wrap around me, and his weight pushed me from my knees onto my belly. He took me that way for what seemed like hours.

Finally he pulled out, and whispered to me that he would like me to top him. He slid off the condom and lay down on his back next to me to await my fulfillment of his request. I am normally a total bottom, and really don't think of myself in that position, but I also think there is something incredibly meaningful in being inside each other, at least once, and if this would please him, then of course I would do it for my big Harley stud. He handed me the second condom he had gotten out. I knew as oral as this man was, he would appreciate if I lubed him up personally, the most personal way I could think of. I rolled him onto his belly, spread his legs out, and delved between the perfect golden orbs of his bubble butt. I spread his cheeks with my hands, ran my tongue across the puckering flesh of his sphincter, eliciting a shiver up and down his spine that only added to the vibration of the rimming he was getting, elevating the level of his shiver of pleasure and drawing a low moan. I darted my tongue in and out of his hole, which was now opening and closing in anticipation. I savored the musky, slightly sweaty, but thoroughly masculine taste of his flesh, only slightly more spicy and exotic here than in other places I'd tasted him before.

It didn't take long for his shuddering to mount, and I heard him moan, "Please--do me--fuck me . . .” Not one to disappoint my lover with excessive waiting, I rolled the condom onto my still-erect cock, drooled more saliva into his hole, spread his legs as far as I could, and put my dick head to the entrance to the man of my dreams. Slowly and deliberately I entered him, and like I had, he pushed back with desire for it. I lay down on his back, rubbing his shoulders and laying out kisses on his neck as I waited for tension to drain away from his butthole. In just a couple of minutes he was bucking against my cock, eager for me to begin fucking him. I got into the rhythm, speeding up, drawing my member in a deliberate manner most of the way out before plunging in again. I felt strange, a little guy perched upon the back of a big guy, humping him, and I longed to look in his eyes as I fucked him. I pulled out. Sensing my intent, he instinctively rolled over and raised his legs. I took the invitation and slid in again, and his eyes rolled back in his head. Now I had his cock staring me right in the face, and I was perplexed as only a bottom fucking a top staring at the object of his desire ever is.

Without even really thinking about it, I leaned down into his crotch, and once again engulfed his cock in my mouth. Suddenly I realized I was doing something I hadn't known could be done. I was fucking a guy and sucking his dick at the same time. I rolled up my eyes to look him in the face. I saw my own amazement mirrored there, as he experienced what I assume he never had before. I sucked. I fucked. I concentrated my energies on both at once. I could tell by the rapidity of his breathing he was getting close, so I went a little faster, thrusting my hips while milking his cock with my eager mouth. It paid off. He threw back his head and whooped, and his chest heaved and he gushed his daddy juices into my mouth, which I gulped down, hungry and thirsty and horny for his seed. He came for a time that must have been at least fifteen minutes, it seemed, but then collapsed in on himself, unable to accept any more pleasure. My desire for him was already heightened to its absolute limits, so I pulled off his dick, out of his ass, and laid down next to him to jack off. I rolled the condom I had used off, motioned for him to kiss my neck and nipples, and felt the stirrings of my own approaching orgasm. Not completely exhausted, he nuzzled me and shared a long kiss with me, as I pumped out string after string of pearly cum onto my chest, shaking with the intense, almost painful, pleasure. Paul's hand rubbed my semen around my belly even as it landed.

We kissed again, exchanged email addresses, and I knew I would not see him again as I kissed him the last time. We toweled off and dressed, and when we went out I was surprised to see it was dark outside. We had spent hours making love! Back at my suite, I found Buffy still asleep in her bed, her cold running its course. I took a shower, and was surprised to find blood at the entrance to my back door. But I had surrendered completely to his rough fucking, so I had no reason to complain. Paul had done everything exactly right, and I was glad I had made the most of my last night there. Especially now, when New Orleans has been decimated by hurricane and flood, I am glad that I took my chance to go, and had my moment in the arms of Paul, known to his friends as the King of Mardi Gras. It has provided me with many hours since of hot masturbatory fantasy, and I will cherish the memory always.