Gay Erotic Stories

Let me tell you about growing up.

There was just four of us at home, Dad, Mum and my elder brother and me. We had a tidy little house, three bedrooms, on the edge of the village in an attractive little part of the countryside. Nice and quiet. Mum was a housewife and dad was foreman at the local builder’s yard.

He worked out of doors a lot, and his physical job meant that he had a good body. His work also meant that he was home most evenings and usually at the weekends too, and when he was at home he often didn’t bother with clothes.

I never thought it odd growing up, it was just the way it was. Although I don’t ever recall seeing my mum without her clothes, both me and my brother followed after my dad’s example and went without most of our clothing most of the time too. More often than not we would come downstairs for breakfast and all the blokes would be sat there with our cornflakes, tea and toast wearing nothing but a grumpy expression (we weren’t really morning people).

In the summer, or in fact in any good weather, we would be sat outside over breakfast on the back patio. The garden was very private, and ran over almost an acre, and about half of it was given over to vegetables. We also kept a dozen or so hens free-range in the far corner, and as we grew older it was up to me or my brother to let them out of the hen-house each morning and feed them. We could wander out to the pen buck-naked to see to them, and never gave it another thought – again, we were just following dad’s example. While we were looking after the hens he would often be checking over the growing veg and doing the odd bit of digging or weeding with just a stout pair of boots on. Naturally we would wander back inside and get dressed before heading off to school or work.

Colder weather meant covering up a bit with underwear, but that didn’t mean much – it was the late nineteen eighties, and underwear was on the brief side. Dad wore some pretty skimpy bikini briefs, and I remember being so proud when I was old enough to choose my own clothes. I chose some “Stag” brand briefs, to the surprise of the both the rather stuffy shopkeeper and my mum, as they very skimpy and patterned with animal print.

They managed to be even skimpier than my dads, although he did wear a pair of them once after a laundry mix-up. He’d assumed mum had bought him some new stuff so had put them on under his work trousers. The fact that they were at least one size too small meant that he’d had to take them off at work and stuff them in his pocket. He didn’t make the same mistake again, although he did get mum to buy him some in his size.

The transition through puberty was simple for me and my brother, as neither of us were confused by the changes happening to our bodies. Sprouting hair and gaining muscle were anticipated, again because we had the example of our dad to follow. The only problem, of course, was the unexpected effect raging hormones had on parts of our bodies. Dad had a conversation with both of us along the lines that it was okay and natural if we popped a boner, but out of respect for mum we should cover up or leave the room if it happened in front of her.

I remember being about 18 the first time I saw my dad with a boner. It was a weekend when mum was away at her sisters for a few days, and none of us wore clothes from end of school or work on Friday until Monday morning. It was good weather so we were outside for a lot of the time, and dad had fallen asleep in the sunshine with his newspaper. His cock was always quite large, and draped over his balls, but erect in the sunshine it had grown hard and thick but not much longer. It put me at rest a little, because mine never grew much longer when it was erect either, whereas my brother’s started out smaller but grew quite a bit.

Not wanting to disturb him I was sat a little was off reading and having a drink. He shifted in his sleep and woke up, and as he sat up his hand went automatically to his cock and he gave it a few tugs. Just then he saw me, but wasn’t embarrassed at all. “Hi Andy” he called over, “sorry about this – but your mum’s not here, and we blokes have nothing to hide from each other”. He had already explained masturbation to me a long time ago, and that it was natural but shouldn’t get in the way of a proper relationship. “You remember we were talking about ways of exploring your own body? It’s not just something you do when you’re young”, he said, and then shifted round so that his back was towards me.

It was then that I realised that he was wanking, but not in the hurried feverish way that I went about it. He was slow and restrained, and before I was aware of what I was doing I found that I was matching his leisured pace where I was sat on the other side of the garden. It didn’t seem weird or pervy in any way, it was just another way of learning, of following his example. I came much faster than he did, although he beat me for volume – I could see ropes of semen bursting from his cock and whipping through the air.

If me or my brother had mates over dad would usually wear some swimming trunks. He had a pair which were my favourite – they were red tanga briefs with a black waistband. The waistband was less than half-an-inch thick, and the backside was quite narrow, only really enough to cover one of his meaty cheeks. Thinking through my current underwear and swimwear collection I realise that I have a pair almost exactly the same, and just like dad I have a meaty round arse which is barely covered by the skimpy material. But I digress. He would wear these, or swimwear like them, around the house and garden if we had visitors, and would always take some along when we went on holiday for those times when we had to wear something.

When me and my brother were quite young we never bothered with swimwear at all, but as we started to get towards our teenage years mum and dad thought that we should have some for when guests were over. It being the days before the internet, dad got most of his from catalogues, and one morning as we were planning the day dad passed one across. He told me and my brother to make a few choices, and gave us a budget each to spend up to. All we had to do was add our selections to the order form under the items he had picked out for himself. I’d never seen such choice before and it was quite hard to stay within the budget – I wanted to choose so much. The order selected, I was sent to the post box with the envelope.

Within only a couple of days the parcel arrived, and when dad got home from work he opened it up and passed out our individual orders. Both my brother Mark and I had decided to buy one pair identical to some that dad had chosen, and later that day we were hosting a family barbeque which was when we would all wear matching lime green skimpy swim briefs. It sounds corny looking back on it, it but at the time we thought we were simply the best.

The guests at the barbeque were to be my Uncle Dave and Auntie Louise and their three sons, all younger than me and my brother. Uncle Dave was a couple of years younger than dad, and whilst dad had settled down with his school sweetheart and had kids in his very early twenties, Uncle Dave had left it a bit later.

Mum had prepared all the food and dad had got the charcoal going ready to burn it beyond edible when they arrived. They came round the back carrying some salads and drinks to share, and had also brought Louise’s mum along with them as she was staying for a few days.

“Well, I wish you’d told me that you’d gone all modest,” said Uncle Dave, “I’ve not brought any swimming trunks with me!”. With that dad shucked his briefs and dropped them on the table – right next to the bread rolls, which annoyed my mother. The barbeque proceeded with all the menfolk as naked as the day they were born, and the women stayed dressed. Louise’s mum didn’t bat an eyelid, so I assume that she was used to what Uncle Dave wore around the house (funny how it runs in families, isn’t it?). I also never remember feeling the least bit embarrassed or odd.

The embarrassment came when we had people round who were uptight about nudity. My mum’s side of the family were not quite as free and easy about it as mum, and at another barbeque I remember all the blokes on our side happily unclothed whilst her side of the family were obviously trying to keep eye contact with us whilst talking. But thinking about it now, even that wasn’t really embarrassing – just awkward.

When I was in my early twenties I remember an embarrassing time… I had left home and was living with my girlfriend (who is now my lovely wife), and had got a little carried away with the nail scissors trimming my bush. I just could not manage to make it even, trimming this side and then the other side, then a little off the top until in the end I had to make the best of a bad job and shave it all off. That looked odd, because I had a hairy stomach, chest and legs, so I ended up shaving off every bit of body hair. It was fine with just me and Alison, we’d both got used to it. But not so when we racked up at my parents for few days, and as usual I shed my clothes.

My dad just raised his eyebrows and looked at mum. Alison made some quip about me being “high maintenance” and for the first time in a long time I felt really, really naked. I’ve pretty much stayed shaved all over since then, and indeed I don’t think my own son, now a teenager, has ever seen me with pubic hair. Like my dad when I was young, I spend most of the time naked and have brought up my own son the same – to be natural, and not afraid of what God has given him. But those stories are for another time.