Gay Erotic Stories

DISCLAIMER: What follows is a work of pure fiction. It depicts a sexual relationship between a man and his son and goes on to explore other homosexual relationships. It is important to note that incest has no particular connection with homosexuality, and no such particular connection is implied by this story. This is adult material and not intended for minors. If you are under eighteen years old you cannot legally access this material.

SON LUST By Carl Swank

CHAPTER ONE

It was a different world then, at least for us in our part of the world. Everything gay was still pretty much hidden except in the big cities. Men and women were expected to marry and were under suspicion if they didn’t. So Melinda and I did what was expected of us.

We had grown up in the same neighborhood, attended the same school. In our senior year we became friends. We were both ‘outsiders’, not belonging to the teen social set. It didn’t matter. We were already accommodating to the reality that we would live in isolation.

Not that we understood much then, although Melinda was more knowledgeable than I. There was true friendship between us and even a kind of love. But the love lacked passion, lacked any true sense of sexual need and sexual fulfillment. None the less, we made do. And the sex between was not without its gratifications. We wanted a baby. And when Jason was born we were, like all parents, proud and happy.

The marriage lasted for five years. It was stormy at best, and sometimes it was physically violent. Jason was just four when we finally decided to end it and go our separate ways. I guess I was better than Melinda at suppressing my true sexual orientation. In any event, while I often had dreams she had affairs, secretly at first. She fell in love with a woman whose name was Carla. Carla was a magazine layout artist visiting the U.S. from Essex, England. It might have remained secret for a much longer time, but Carla had to return to her home land and tend to her business there. And so, inevitably, there came the moment of confrontation. Carla wanted -- demanded -- that Melinda go with her to the U.K. And after days of wrangling among the three of us, Melinda made her choice.

I was broken. However troubled our marriage was, I wanted more than anything to sustain it. I wanted to be just an ordinary man, a husband and father, and I despised the thing that was growing inside me, the hunger and thirst, the primal need for a true sexual fulfillment. But my dreams were of men. And, having at last admitted to myself, although to no other, that I was one of the despised and rejected ones, a man who lusted for other men, I yielded to Melinda and Carla, even though it meant losing my four year old son. I had no real choice. We could not take the matter to court without creating a public record of the nature of our relationship. And I decided that it was better for Jason to have two parents rather than one, even if the two parents were two women. Besides, Melinda had grown comfortable with her sexual orientation and I was still fighting my demons.

Jason went to Essex, England. He was just five years old.

The years flew by. Melinda and I communicated frequently at first, then sporadically. She and Carla were good at keeping me informed of Jason’s welfare, and they sent pictures, which I pinned up all over the place; Carla’s career kept her traveling all over the globe. And since Carla and Jason went with her most of the time, it was difficult to sustain contact. I began to get a few letters from Jason. He had a private tutor who traveled with him. He loved the travel, seeing places. He was healthy and happy. By age ten he had learned that Melinda and Carla were lesbian and that I was gay. He didn’t comment on it; he simply noted it in passing.

Then came that dreadful letter from the authorities in Essex. Melinda and Carla had been killed when the small private plane they were in crashed in the mountains over Germany. Jason was not with them. He was currently in a child protective service, and he was well and healthy, although naturally grieving the loss of his mother. “He has expressed his fervent desire to return to the United States to live with you, his father; and we are enquiring to see if this is acceptable and possible. Of course, our child protective service would have to have a clearance from your Child Advocate Agency there before any final decision could be made.” Like that! I had just sent Jason an expensive wrist watch for his seventeenth birthday! And now, his mother was gone, Carla was gone, and Jason wanted to come live with me! Of course I agreed, and I sent off a letter to Essex to begin the arrangements as soon as possible. But I was afraid. I hadn’t seen my son since he was a baby. I had been living alone, throwing myself into my writing, denying myself a personal life, a social life. How in heaven’s name would I adjust to this? Could I adjust to it? And, what about Jason; How would he adjust to living with his father in a country he had never seen before?

I called Alex. I had met Alex at a dinner party just a year earlier. He was the most beautiful man I had ever seen--tall, athletic, with skin the color of lightly creamed coffee. He moved with the agile grace of a cat. And although he was impeccably dressed in a tailored suit and cream colored shirt, one could not help but imagine him in the nude. He wore his clothes well, but his was a physique meant to be unfettered, free and open, a visual delight.

Alex was in a meeting. I left a message for him to call back. Then I began pacing the floor. When the phone did ring, it startled me. I was already shaking.

I told Alex everything that had happened, all about Jason, the words spilling out of my mouth almost randomly. Alex listened for a couple of minutes, laughed quietly, and in that deep cotton soft voice of his, said, “You sound like an expectant mom! Calm down! It will all work itself out. Don’t try to prefabricate it, just let it happen, let it unfold of its own accord.” He paused for a few seconds, and then added, “Can I, ahhh ….come over tonight?”

The old fear reared up in me. I didn’t like gay sex. I liked gay love, but not the sex. But Alex changed that in me. He was the first man who aroused me sexually. I had already explained to him my warped libido. Alex listened attentively then smiled without a word.

We were in his van at the time. We had taken a long drive up into the mountains and were taking our time driving back. Alex had turned off the main highway to explore a narrow country road. We had been talking about where we were in life. Each of us knew that the other was gay. And the conversation had turned to sex.

After a long pause, Alex quietly said, “You’re afraid of being forced to do something you don’t like, of losing control.””

“But, I don’t like any of it,” I said. “I really don’t.”

Alex never really argued. He just persisted in saying what he wanted to say. “You don’t like me?” He asked,

“Of course I do. “I --” I checked myself, because I was about to say, ‘I love you’.’

He smiled and kept on driving. The van easing along at about fifteen miles an hour down the grass covered lane. “Suppose we do a little experiment.”

“What kind of experiment?”

“You don’t have to do anything. Just … when I ask you a question, give me an honest answer.”

“Alright.” He turned the van off the lane into a small clearing where the trees were overhanging very low, and turned off the engine. Then he turned toward me. “Do you think I’m good-looking?”

“You know I do. You’re beautiful.”

“Just answer yes or no. Okay?”

“Okay”.

He was wearing only a soft yellow polo shirt and casual brown pants. He moved his hand down over his chest, down further, stopping at the belt buckle. “Do you like it? Just yes or no.”

“Yes.” I said. He moved his hand down over the huge bulge at his fly, caressed it. “Do you like it?”

“Yes,” I whispered…my pulse quickening.

And very slowly, he began to unzip his fly easing the zipper down, all the while looking directly at me, his face devoid of expression. I watched his hand, swallowing hard. When the zipper reached the bottom, he spread his fly open, exposing the bulging pouch of his white briefs. Then he opened his belt and spread his pants wide open. “Do you like it?” he whispered.

My mouth had gone dry and I could no longer speak. I nodded my head.

He held out his hand. “Can I have your hand?” he asked.

I was shaking, but I put my hand in his and he guided it to the bulge of his sex. My pulse suddenly raced and my heart was pounding in my chest. I moved my fingers, feeling the contours of his long, thick cock, the eager trembling there, the warmth of his balls. He didn’t move. He just sat there letting me do what I was doing. “Do you want to stop?” His whisper was barely audible.

“No,” I rasped. I loved the touch of him, the secrecy of the mountain woods, the breaking of what for me had always been a taboo. As I moved my hand I could feel his cock begin to surge and swell. I, too, was getting an erection, my cock pushing against my pants.

Alex was quiet as he raised his hips and eased his pants and shorts down over his thighs, exposing himself fully. His thick, ebony shaft stiffened, rose up, arching over his taut belly. His massive balls nestled between his muscular thighs, drawn up tight in their sac. I looked up at his beautiful face and saw an expression of complete contentment, his eyes half closed, his lips parted. He looked into my eyes and whispered, “Jack me. Please.”

I ran my palm up over his balls, up the long shaft of his cock to the swollen head, then closed my fingers around it and began stroking it slowly. My anxieties began to fade away. I loved his passivity, his beautiful yielding body, his giving of himself entirely to me. I knew that what I as doing to him, that he liked it, that we would do it again. But did he understand how much I liked doing it?

We weren’t long. I continued jacking him as I slowly leaned over him. I touched his balls with the tip of my tongue, gently, awkwardly at first, then more aggressively, licking them as I stroked his throbbing cock. I heard him suddenly suck in his breath with a hiss, and he raised his hips slightly. His eyes were wide open now, and he was looking down at me. “Do you like it?” he rasped. I nodded and drew my tongue up the underside of his cock and over the head while I pulled his massive cock down and toward my mouth. I had gone this far before with one other man, but not beyond, he had grabbed my head and held it in his rough hands while he tried to force his cock into my mouth, and I had rebelled, angered and frustrated. I had got up, pulled my clothes on, and I had run away.

But this was so different. I wasn’t being raped; I was drinking in the beauty of this gentle yet muscular man. And I loved it!

I eased his cock down and laved the head with my tongue. Then I closed my mouth down over him, hungry, eager, wanting all of him. I sucked his cock and massaged his massive balls, listening to him sigh and moan, the excitement rising in me because I knew that I had so excited him. He had not exercised power over me. He had given me the power and I was ecstatic with it, sucking him with a wild hunger I had never before known! I felt the tide rise in him, sensed it--wanted it! With a sudden jerk his body went rigid, his hips raised high, and the hot, frothy wave flooded my mouth and spilled out over his trembling cock, trickling down over his enormous balls. His body shook in one final spasm, then his hips dropped down to the car seat and he exhaled the long held breath.

I sat up, wiping my mouth and face with the back of my hand. Alex pulled a box of toilets from the glove compartment and gave me one. He took one, too, and we cleaned ourselves up. He started the engine. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

After a long moment, he said, “You don’t hate sex. You just need the right guy.”

So I called Alex. And Alex listened. And Alex was coming over for dinner.

End Chapter One…