Gay Erotic Stories

I look young for my age, but that means I’m not young. Not just that, but life got busy, so it’s much easy for me these days to buy sex than to go looking it. My type of top is, to put it simply, muscle bears. I like really furry guys who know how to fuck, and muscles rather than bulk are the turn-on. Even when you’re willing to pay, this type is not that easy to find—especially if tats are a turn-off, which they are for me.

I’m an average guy with an average build, no hair on my body but all of it on my head, salt and pepper. My own dick is on the large side, and in the old days guys were sometimes frightened to take it, but now that doesn’t matter. It’s my hole that counts and gets all the action now.

Here’s the game plan. I make a date by phone or email, and say I’m going to want to be screwed and that the detailed instructions will follow when we actually hook up. Escorts are down with that. Before I head over to their place, or they’re scheduled to come to my hotel, I jerk off so that I won’t come too quickly later. I clean myself real good in the shower, because getting rimmed is definitely on the menu. A fresh bottle of poppers, a couple of condoms and a tube of lube, and I’m good to go. Maybe a couple of drags on a joint if I’ve got any.

So when we hook-up, here’s what he’s told has to happen. I ask the escort to slowly –very slowly—strip so that I enjoy his hairy body from a distance while I keep my clothes on (for the time being) and explain precisely what I want. This part gets me very, very hot. So I say to him, I’ll take my own clothes off and explore whatever parts of his bear body I want, but that always means the hairiest. Legs, arms, asses, even backs—all is cool. But the main even for me is always the chest. I like a guy whose pelt goes uninterrupted from his Adam’s apple, across the shoulders down the torso to the belly (yeah, a little pot belly is fine with me!) along the treasure trail to the crouch and finally the Holy Grail of a fat tool. I like to run my hands all over him because I’m so smooth myself (opposites attract, right?). Meanwhile I want my date to improvise and talk in a low, manly about what he’s going to do to me. Which is what I’ve told him to do!

Once I feel like I’m ready to get bred, I lie down on the bed and tell him to lie down on top of me. I like to feel the guy’s entire weight pressing down on me as I wrap my arms around his back—hopefully, a muscled furry one. I like to kiss, but a lot of escorts aren’t into that. So I’ll do the kissing—his scruffy five-o’clock shadow and the whiskers on his neck at the minimum. Anything hairy is an A-plus for me. If the guy has a mustache and trim beard, all the better—particularly if he’s going to eat my ass.

The time comes when I push him up off of me, make him sit back on his haunches between my legs, legs that will now rise in the air or get pulled back to my chest. My stiff prick and eager hole are now totally exposed. I’ve told him to leave my cock and balls alone—go right to the Promise Land. So, I get eaten with a hot wet tongue deep into my fuck hole, his hairy face scratching my butt—or at least teased with some fingers, one at first, then two and finally three. After just a few minutes of this, baby I’m begging to get fucked, split in half, made a woman—and the escort has instructions that I have to beg him for a while before he does anything about it.

He knows to twist my nipples hard as the last step before penetration. For some reason that always makes me spread my legs even wider and relax my hole. I am a very noisy fuck, and if he talks dirty all the better. I like my hole to be called a cunt or pussy, because that’s exactly what it is. I want him to grease me up, put a rubber on and lube up himself. I’m bossy, but I want the top to do all the work. (Notice I haven’t sucked his prick at all—don’t like it, totally anal here.)

The escort’s been told that the signal to enter me is when I take a deep, deep hit of the poppers. An old boyfriend of mine works in a pharmacy, so I get the real good stuff, like in the 70s. He starts by grabbing ankles, lifting them high and wide, and sliding in—I’ve done this enough over the years that my hole can take it in one long, forceful stroke. His instructions are so vary his pumping, slow and fast, deep and shallow, and to do different things with my legs—high in the air to start, later on his shoulders, or wrapped around his lower back. It’s his job to take over. But I gotta stay on my back underneath him, because I need to see that hairy body and his eyes, too. He’s been told to once in a while –but only once in a while—give my lubed-up dick a stroke or two, but no more than that. It’s my hole where all my pleasure is, and his number one job from this point out is to find my G-spot and try to make me cum with the swollen head of his tool, not his hand. Meanwhile, what am I doing? Running my hands all over his furry animal front, and telling him to fucking give me his baby.

As much as I’d like this to last forever, I am paying the guy, so before the clock runs out he’s got to fuck harder and faster and tell me his hot seed’s gonna splash all over my insides. (That’s talk only!) Shouting that he’s got to fuck me because I’m such a horny slut, I’ll use my hand to bring my dick to climax if it doesn’t seem like his prick is going to do the job up inside of me. Once I come, I need him to keep going, either until he blows a load himself or I decide it’s time for him to lower his thick, hairy body back on top of me, to let enjoy a few minutes of after-fuck and run my hands up and down his sweaty, hairy back.

Every time I rent an escort, this is what happens. I am one happy, fucked cunt. If this is what you like to do with –to!—a mature bottom yourself, get in touch with me NOW you goddam stud!