Gay Erotic Stories

Furthermore, back then there were no VCR’s or DVD players, no Internet, or online streaming videos, or Video On Demand. Damn, when I think of it—we were really at a disadvantage. Our Midwestern city also was not big enough to have but one or two Adult Movie Theaters—much less a Gay Adult Movie Theater. Not to mention that at 19 I wasn’t old enough to enter anyway, so cruising the parks and the familiar street corners were just about the only way of meeting up.

I’d gotten used to spending a fair amount of my ‘free’ time with Bob, so I’d not been frequenting the normal known ‘gay areas’ for two to three weeks, so the thought of checking things out was a bit more exciting than usual. It was a Thursday night, so there always was a bit more ‘traffic’ around in anticipation of the weekend. I had been able to breeze though dinner and get away without much creative effort, and my crotch tingled with anticipation.

The night was still very warm—it hadn’t cooled off from the nearly 100 degree day we’d had. Earlier, just before dinner time, we’d had a brief thunderstorm that had blown through rather forcefully, but had left little in the way of rain, so it was definitely muggy. This at least had the effect of limiting the number of summer nighttime bugs and mosquitoes. There was still what appeared to be heat lightening in the western sky, but just before I made it downtown, the lightening was followed to tell-tale claps of thunder. Damn, it would be raining before I’d get much man-fishing accomplished, I thought.

There were few of the normal guys and familiar cars this early, with one notable exception…one older guy named “Harold” who drove a little red Mustang convertible. Nice car, but he was bald as a cue ball and had two teeth missing in front. I’d gotten quite a surprise when I’d checked him out previously. He was friendly and sort of giggled constantly in a shrill, flinty voice. The combination instantly made my perky pecker fizzle out. I’d promised myself that I’d never get that old and lonely and hopefully not that desperate.

As I was recounting my mistake with Harold, I noticed he was actively following a nice clean older Chevrolet Impala SS coupe. It had all the tell-tale signs of belonging to a youthful guy—probably somebody worth looking at. I stepped in behind the little red Mustang and executed the same turns as Harold and the driver of the Impala. We went around the gay “circuit” nearly twice before our mysterious leader stretched a yellow light, and we were forced to hit our brakes. There we were hung up at the red light. In the distance, the Impala now went straight for two blocks before making a left turn—breaking the circuit. I figured either he was just a tease, or possibly was just intent on shaking off old Harold. In any event, he’d succeeded.

Harold went forward one block after the light changed and made the normal right turn. There was futile to follow up, so I continued straight on, then another block and made a left where I’d seen the Impala turn. I looked, but didn’t see anything, I’d apparently lost him. I continued south another two blocks, and then made another left. I looked in my rear view and right on my tail was the Impala. No clue where he came from, but so what.

I made another left and the next cross street and he followed. I decided to pull into a metered spot while monitoring his car. He just drove by, and then made another left turn. I decided to stay put for a while, figuring if he was interested, he’d come around again. As I sat there, a flash of lightening (noticeable above the city lights) immediately followed by a hefty clap of thunder startled me and the vibration shook the car. In another thirty seconds or so, big drops began to splat on the windscreen. Disgustedly, I got out of the car, ripped off the boot, and set about putting up the top (yeah, my little Camaro had a manual top—rather unheard of these days).

While I was busy flipping up the top before the anticipated onslaught, a voice from behind me asked if he could help. It was the guy from the Impala and I’d not heard him pull up. I was inside the driver’s seat pulling down the left top clip. I first caught sight of his car, and then turned the other way to face him. There stood an over 6 foot tanned and shirtless specimen of prime Midwestern beef!--dark hair, muscled chest and arms, clad in a pair of jeans and boots.

“I’ll get the right clip ‘fer ya,” he said and disappeared behind the car, then a second or two later helped himself to the passenger seat. He expertly clipped the top down, and was looking for the window buttons.

“Sorry, but the windows are manual too,” I said. He laughed and reached behind him and rolled up the rear window, then the front. I did the same and we finished in unison. I turned and thanked him for the help.

“Name’s Blake. Anytime guy!” he said. He had a raspy low-toned voice that gave no clue as to any special reason he was helping me, other than just being nice in a neighborly sort of way.

“Hey, thanks man…ahhhh…Blake.” I responded and was about to introduce myself when literally a huge gust of wind and sheet of heavy rain pounded the car. “Damn, just in the nick of time…that was a close one. If I’d been caught driving, I’d be soaked by now I guess,” I added. Next thing we knew, small bits of hail were bouncing off the hood of the car. They were relatively small, but they made a lot of racket and you could hear their distinct sharp thump as they hit the canvas above us.

“Sure those pellets don’t come through? Blake asked, looking over at me.

I sort of lost the conversation of the moment. This guy was ruggedly handsome, angled face with either a very hefty late day shadow, or a couple day’s growth. He looked sort of like the Marlboro man without the hat—and thankfully the shirt too. “Ugh, well…probably not unless we start seein’ golf balls or better,” I finally replied.

“Sure ain’t no point in gettin’ out just now,” he said, “best sit here a spell…guess ya’ll gonna be stuck with me…okay?”

Okay? OK? Minutes before I’d been pissed at the storm, right now I was grateful. “No problem, don’t think I’d be going anywhere anyway…you can’t see for shit,” I agreed in a purposely lowered voice. The sudden drop in the outside temperature due to the rain and hail caused all the car’s windows to steam up.

Silence…for some thirty seconds…suddenly conversation seemed an effort. I fumbled for something to say, “You sound like you’re not from around here…are you?”

“Naw, just been in town the past week or so checkin’ out you’re ‘A…eye…B’ school,” Brian drawled out…then added, “uhh, school of business,” when he realized I wasn’t following him. (Oh I was following him all right—just not what he was saying.) “I come here from Oklahoma, ‘bout a hundred mile west of Tulsa.” (I was having great difficulty picturing Blake as the banker type.)

He broke into a smile and my nervousness rapidly started to melt away. I was just about to “welcome” him (yeah, I’d be only too happy to be the welcome wagon) when he asked, “What cha doin’ drivin’ round down here?”

I didn’t know how to read this guy, how to play it. He could just be a friendly Okie and might not take too kindly to any kind hand-on-leg contact or come-on. “Not much, just got out of the house, nothin’ much on the tube. Figured I’d just drive around a bit, and see what’s shakin’.”

The interior temperature was becoming “close” and our body heat wasn’t helping. When I looked at Brian I could see beads of sweat glistening and coating his chest, which made him look like a bodybuilder in a contest being spritzed up. I was feeling a definite swelling in my crotch and was hoping it wasn’t showing…and I didn’t dare look down at it and become obvious. I just let out a sigh as I ran my fingers around the neck of my knit shirt.

Blake picked up on it right away, “Damn, sure’s pesky…could crack the window, but it’s comin’ down like a heffer pissin’ on a flat rock! Bet you otta’ jus loose the shirt.”

His colorful expression caught my funny bone, and I broke out into a laugh, “Yeah, you’re probably right,” I added as I peeled off my top.

“Hey, guess you play ball or somethin’?… Nice arms,” Blake observed.

“Not much ball, mostly tennis and some golf’s about all,” I added sort of absently. My mind was picking up on the ‘why’ of his observation.

“I used to play ball…was a pitcher ‘till my wrecked my arm, the I become a catcher,” Blake drew out with a big smile as he raised his left hand in animation, then slapped it good-naturedly on my right leg just above the knee. I must have involuntarily flinched, he noticed and added, “I hope ya don’t take no offense, it’s just kinda my way, ya know.” He then proceeded to pat me again in the same spot. This time he held it in position.

“Way I figure, you’re not much into ‘Phillies’…more hankerin’ for Billy’s,” he smiled after he finished. My mouth must have been catching flies at that point. Then he just rubbed my thigh, “yeah, sorta like me.” He finished up with a flex of his bicep.

“Well, I’ll be damned! I guess they come in Okies too!” I thought. Then for some reason, I stammered, “Well, I’ve got a girlfriend…” (a visibly feeble effort at a screen).

“Hey man, so’d I—but that don’t stop me from havin’ fun with my buds… When ‘yer cranked up and ya gotta get off… whatcha goin’ do—get blue balls? Gotta keep the plumbin’ runnin’—that’s what my old man says too.”

Man, was this guy for real? Or did I eat something funny at dinner? I could only laugh—not at him, but with him. Here was this lanky, muscular “cowboy type” with rough hewn good looks that was fixin’ to nail my ass. The thought of it suddenly made me hesitate…

“Ya got a place?” Blake broke the silence.

“Actually, I live with my parents. I’m sophomore year University and staying at home to save money I guess…” (Actually it was more like saving face.)

“No problemmmo, I got a MO-tel place we cun use…if ya want.”

I answered by rubbing his thigh—the nearest one—damn it was rock hard—and apparently so was his middle leg judging by the distended lump snaking down his other inner thigh. Ten to one he wasn’t in the custom of wearing underwear—or whatever they call ‘em in Oklahoma—skivveys? Anyway, thank GOD I was—I had one big problem.

“Then she’s settled…ya’ll follow me back to the MO-tel…” he leaned against the door, found the handle, opened it and got out. It was still moderately raining, but that didn’t stop him, “No mind, won’t melt…cools ya off. MO-tel’s about 6 er 7 blocks thatta way—Travelodge. Ready for some good sack time?” With that he shut the door and swaggered back to his car…didn’t run…like he said…he didn’t melt.

“Sack time?” I thought, “Yeah some serious sack time.” The concept excited me—like I needed any more excitement down there. It also kind of frightened me…more like concerned me. Too many questions still unanswered…like what he liked to do…his idea of getting off…sweet and sensual…or sweaty and rough? I was outclassed when it came to stature and size…oh and size…that was still another concern.

Blake pulled the Impala by me, slowed slightly and beeped the horn. (He was the only other car on the street—I was going to miss him?) I pulled in behind him. I’d wiped down the windshield with my shirt, so I could see where I was headed. Within five minutes or so, we’d pulled into the parking lot and had considerable choice of spaces to choose from. I pulled next to him. Blake was already out of the car, the rain was coming down a bit harder now, but that didn’t phase him. My stiff dick had its own umbrella.

He met me as I was shutting the door; he grabbed me around my waist from behind when I turned to put my key in the lock. What a FEELING…that muscular V-shaped chest pressing against my back. I stood straight; Blake turned me around and pressed straight into me, drawing me tightly against him—oblivious to the rain that was cascading in earnest again. Then he just kissed me squarely on the lips—direct and hard. No pussy footin’ around—his tongue thrust past my lips. Blake was like a big kid at Christmas. Never mind we were now soaked…but what the hell…jeans…no shirt…what could it hurt?

“I always wanted to do that… ya know…just like in them movies… I know it sounds corny…but I just like it… ya know?”

My mind was spinning… “If this guy’s kissing was anything like what’s to come—forget the foreplay…straight to the foray! Hooray!” These wild thoughts were brought home to me when I became aware of the size of his hardness pressing against mine.

“CRASH!!!” I jumped, I’d not even seen the lightening—or maybe confused it with the flashes and stars running through my head.

“We’d best be gettin’ inside,” Blake mumbled as his hand pulled me in tow. I didn’t see, or did I care if there were other people in the parking lot—or possibly looking out their windows. Normally I would have…but not now.

(Continued in Part 4)