Gay Erotic Stories

“It’s on the first floor,” he said. “On the west side of the building.”

I couldn’t figure out my east from north or west from south, but every day that semester I made sure to use any of the four bathrooms on the first floor until I saw some sign of “cruising.”

I was new to “the scene” and just learned about “cruising.”

“Trust me, you’ll know if someone is cruising you,” my buddy reassured me. “It’s at that point that you’re gonna have to decide to either ignore it and get your ass outta here, or do something about it, and follow through.”

I was fresh out of high school, my first year at the university. Aside from my first time, my only other “gay” experience was with one of the senior guys from high school. He and I made out and played with each others’ cocks in his car one Friday night after a movie at his place- neither of us came though. I had tried my best to do as much research online as I could. I was naïve though and this was 2002- a lot has changed in eight years. Free porn was not as accessible then and I had very limited knowledge to the “gay” World Wide Web. But still I persevered and when I found out about that bathroom right on campus, I was dying to experience it for myself. Little did I know what was in store….

Well: Surprise, surprise.

I walked in on a Tuesday afternoon in October. It was sometime between 2 p.m. and 3 p.m. I saw him as soon as I turned the corner. He was standing at the urinal but his body was facing the entryway. Anyone who walked in and turned the corner would see him. Anyone like me. He wasn’t looking my way though. He was looking at the wall directly in front of him. But his body, it was turned such that it was obvious what he want someone – me – to see him, full frontal.

He was wearing a brown shirt and khakis. His skin had a nice, light brown complexion and he had dark black hair, slicked back with gel. He was definitely Hispanic but could easily pass for Middle Eastern. Not an unattractive guy by any means, but I wouldn’t say he was “cute” either. He was decent. That’s the word. “Decent.” But his fly! His fly was unzipped, his right hand holding down his underwear (his other hand out of sight) and his cock was out.

All of this recorded in my memory in a flash. And as quickly as I read him, from head to dick to toe, my eyes instinctively went to his face and then down to the floor. I made straight for the sink, turned on the faucet and started to wash my hands…

Why is he standing like that? What is happening? O.M.G. – is this it? Is he here with his dick out because he wants action? Is this what OB meant when he said I’d know it if someone were cruising? Did he notice that I looked at it? I don’t think he did? Did he? What should I do?

I turned off the faucet and looked in the mirror. He had moved. His back was now to the urinal and I could see his cock, but he was looking towards the entryway.

Why is he looking away?

I studied his cock for a quick minute: he didn’t trim the brush but he seemed to have trimmed everything else. He was cut. Big, thick head- but that was probably as big as it got from the looks of the package. His balls looked big and full though.

A second later my eyes found his. He caught me looking.

Shit.

I turn around to face him. My hands are still wet. I’m nervous. I’m scared.

Holy shit! This is it. This has got to be it. It’s true then. Guys come here for sex. Fuck. And he saw me looking… What do I do? What if someone comes in?

He nods at.

I stare back. Blankly.

He motions to the right with his head. I look. It’s the handicapped stall.

I look down again at his dick. He’s growing. And I was right: he wasn’t very big, but fuck that’s a big head.

“It’s now or never,” I tell myself.

I move towards him and we both enter the stall together.

Click. It’s locked.

“Great. Now what the fuck am I supposed to do,” I think to myself.

But just as soon as I thought it, I found myself on knees with his dick in my mouth. And as if by instinct, his hands automatically found the top of my head.

Second blow job ever. Let’s make this work.

And so it happened. For the next few minutes I found myself kneeling in the handicap stall of a bathroom in a very public, big university. I was giving head to someone I’ve never seen before, never mind the fact that he and I had yet to exchange a single word. And yet there I was. Giving him head. Working his dick with my mouth. Trying myself to figure out how best to please his cock with that abnormally-sized head.

I tried thinking of any techniques I used with my first but I kept drawing blanks. I just tried my best to get him off.

“What if someone comes in?” I thought all of a sudden. “Shit. I better make this quick. He better fucking cum and he better fucking cum now!”

His breathing had certainly deepened and gotten louder, but aside from that he wasn’t making a single noise.

I gave out a little moan with a slight hum.

“Shh!” he said and roughly grabbed my hair.

I guess you keep it down when you’re having sex in public?

And just like my first time, I suddenly became aware of my hands. My right hand was holding on to his left leg, but my left hand was resting on my lap. So I decided to do something with them. My right went straight up, under his shirt, past his smooth torso and found his left nipple. My left hand cupped his balls.

I gently pinched his nipple and pulled ever so slightly on his balls, and just like that he grabbed my hair roughly, gave out a long sigh and came in my mouth.

I remember swallowing it but I can’t remember the taste. I can’t even remember if it was a big load or not. But as soon as he had finished emptying his scrotum, he took his dick out of my mouth, put it back in his pants, unlocked the stall, walked out the stall, and a second later I heard the bathroom door open and close.

I stood up. Legs shaking. I wiped my lips with my left hand. I walked over to the sink in the stall, dispensed the soap and started to wash my hands. I then cupped some of the soapy water with my hands, brought it to my mouth and rinsed. I can’t remember what he tasted like, but I do remember it wasn’t unpleasant. Still, I couldn’t help but feel like my mouth was dirty.

After I spit out the soapy water, I rinsed again with clean water. Spit. And washed my hands again.

I grabbed some of the standard public bathroom, brown paper towels and walk out of the stall, and make for the bathroom exit.

A foot from the door I pause: “That guy never washed his hands,” I said to myself.

I pushed the door open and left.