Gay Erotic Stories

“I sure hope the maid didn’t leave the A/C on full blast. I had it turned off last night; I’m not used to sleepin’ with it so damn cold. Nothin’ better than good ole fresh air.” Blake stated. (Well it was cooler that I’d like—and I’m sure Blake could warm us up—but I’d rather have the A/C than not. But this was a moot point—this had absolutely nothin’ to do about sleepin’!)

Blake opened the door to his room…a rather Spartan looking single with one double bed (pronounced work bench), minimal furniture and a TV. Thankfully the maid had left the room as she’d found it…the A/C was not running. The room was still cool, but warmer than the hallway had been. Blake locked and latched the door, then turned the safety lock. A shiver went through me…I was trapped! Then again, it’s not possible to rape the willing!

As soon as he’d done this, Blake walked over to the bed and putting heel against the other leg’s toe, pulled off both of his boots (yes, they turned out to be cowboy style western boots—but like him—nothing fancy—just functional—VERY fucktional…ooops Freudian slip there.) As soon as the boots and wet socks were off he unbuckled his belt, loosened the top button of his Levi’s, and unceremoniously unleashed the zipper. His wet jeans, now heavier than normal, fell in a clump around each of his ankles. And he didn’t wear underwear—or uh—skivvies!)

“Nah, never bother—just extra baggage and something more to wash up,” he apparently was reading my mind. “Hey, aren’t you gonna get out of those wet jeans?” He’d caught me being a mesmerized spectator…and had suddenly reminded me that yes…the jeans were wet and pretty cold. I followed suite—no boots, just soggy tennis shoes, no socks, and what were now a “see-thru” pair of white Jockey’s. Before I got to the Jockey’s he let out an Okie horse laugh, “Nice cakes…let’s see the crank…” It took a couple seconds to get the meaning of what he was talking about, but when I turned around he let out a, “awh, not bad.”

“Not BAD—it’s all I got! No complaints so far…”

“Hey, I ain’t complainin’… c’mere let me hep ya outta them damn things.” With that I took a couple steps closer and he grabbed the waistband and ripped the suckers off…and I mean almost ripped the suckers. My dick slapped smartly against my stomach with a very audible smack. “Nice, I just love that sound!” Blake said with an evil grin and smacked his lips mimicking the dick slap.

“I’m no ‘syzzze queen’ but I’ve no hankerin’ for midget weenies; ya’ll do just fine,” Blake drooled. (Not drawled—drooled!)

“And if I don’t?” I bantered. “And where I come from that’s … I’m no size queen, but I hate small meat.”

”Yeah, that’s what I said,” he protested. (Okay, just drop it.) I just shook my head and had to laugh.

“Ya’ll better not be laughin’ at ole’ pee tee, there,” Blake said slightly on the defensive.

“Pee Tee? That THANG has a name?”

“Sure, don’t ya name yours?”

“Never gave it a thought,” I confessed. (Actually what I did give a thought was to that horse dick he was sportin’—Pee Tee. If I’d named it, I’d probably called it “Ole’ Paint” which would be more fitting…horse dick and all.)

Blake took a dive on the bed, rolled over onto his back and patted the space next to him. Then he reached over to the nightstand and pulled a small can of Crisco from the drawer. “Come pile on now,” he said as he waived me to the bed.

(Now there’s TWO things I gotta tell ‘ya right now. First, back then there were no designer lubes or what have you. And second, I wasn’t that experienced, so seein’ a can of Crisco didn’t scare the hell out of me. Back then you just used what was around, or what you could come by without being too obvious in the drug store…get the picture?)

“Okay, you first,” Blake said. He stuck his hand into the Crisco, pulled out more than a little dab, lifted his legs and coated crack of his cheeks below his balls. “Hey it ain’t Brylcream…need more than a little dab. Ya’ll ever ridden a cowboy?”

I was thunderstruck…this Okie package of masculinity wanted me to FUCK him? Then his words replayed in my mind… “You first…” Yeah, there was going to be a second…I’d best count on it. Well I’d worry about that later…maybe he’d get himself off and take a rain check (yeah I thought it funny too at the time).

“Come on, stick it up there…Blakie needs your dickie…” (Jesus! You’ve got to be kidding!) This guy certainly doesn’t believe in the concept of foreplay. Then again—neither did I seein’ as what kind of ‘Grade A’ specimen of beef I was looking at!

“Let me know if it hurts…or I should stop…” I cautioned him (Feigned concern).

“Hell, it won’t…” (Did this kid have something to tell me…did he have practice with farm animals? More info than I needed to know.) “Just stick ‘er in…” he ordered, “I just gotta have that…”

So what’s a guy to do? I just gave it to him and damn…I sank right into the hilt. Next thing I knew, my crotch hairs were laced with Crisco. “Ohhhh, yeaahhh! FUCK THAT ASS! Pull it all the way out and ram it home.” (This guy’s really into it…okay…ask and you SHALL receive!) I fucked him with all the ferocity I could muster. (Sure I was enjoying it too!)

His hole just took it and he whimpered for more. Jesus, his appetite could only be compared to a Preacher’s son—denied sex—who’d abstained all his life and just found out he’s being sent to a Missionary School! (The thought then occurred to be that Blake might actually LIKE the missionary position…)

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, cowboy was strokin’ his weapon for all he was worth. Up to that point, I’d never seen a guy whacking is own meat that hard. Occasionally he’d stop (guessed he was getting close) and then slap the THANG from side to side. (Never seen that either!) Anyway getting back to business…yeah my legs were getting tired…the business at hand was sort of turning into work—but I was NOT complaining. The muscles in the calves of my legs were beginning to feel like rubber…but I was intent on giving ole’ Blake (wonder if he had a name for his hole too) the ride of his life. (Somehow I’d be happy with a “place” or “show”.)

Both of us had sweat pouring off of us. Sweat dripped down my forehead stinging my eyes on its path to either the tip of my nose, or my chin, before leaping off onto Blake’s crotch or stomach—depending on the part of the cycle when it fell. “Oh, SHEEEIT! I’m gonna shoot!” Blake roared—one mighty sexy Okie. (I just gotta see this—wonder if everything’s nearly as big in Oklahoma?)

Blake had momentarily lowered my concentration and in inadvertently eased up on the rate of my thrusting. “Don’t stop!” he yelled just before he let loose. Jesus, Mary, Joseph and ALL the saints! The first spurt sailed over his head and splatted on the headboard. The next volleys hit him in his face—one, two, three. The fourth (and from there on I sort of lost count) landed in succeeding lower places from his neck—to upper chest—to stomach—go mixing with the churned remnants of the Crisco in his sweaty crotch hair.

This spectacle was too much for yours truly, so I let him have it. He was wildly pushing my butt cheeks—pulling me into him while hissing…”Yes…Yes…YES!” My dam broke and I sent all I had into that throbbing, pulsing, squeezing receptacle—his ass. I gave him all I could…but his sphincter was squeezing me for more. I took it as long as I possible could…but before I lost it completely I yanked the damn thing loose from that “machine”. The suction of that THANG would do a new Hoover justice! I just bet he could have held a tennis ball there…(okay you just KNOW what I’m thinking!)

I gotts say, don’t know the size of my load…but if it was commensurate with my effort…it was a definite “win” for me—probably only a “place” or “show” for him. His ass didn’t loose a drop. Then again, I guess I really couldn’t tell with all the liquefied Crisco spread around.

“What are you tryin’ to do—KILL ME?” I asked.

“Blakie likes it…” (Couldn’t help thinking about Mikey hawking Life Cereal) “Blakie’s ready for seconds…” (Like hell—get the fuck away from me bunko.) “Blakie wants to fuck…” (Fuck NO!).

“You’re out of your ever lovin’ mind! I’ve gotta have a breather,” I protested as I glanced at my watch, “besides, it’s only 9:30! Give it a rest…maybe an hour, okay?” Now I was actually pleading…besides I’d have to be in a state of rare horniness—if not out of my mind to try and tackle his THANG.

“Okay, ya’ll win,” he said as he reached out and pulled me down on top of him. You could actually hear the squishing sounds, and a couple distinctive “burps”. We both laughed…again more burps…it was infectious…it was deliciously slick…and oh the smell… Blake had an expression for that too… “…new mowed pasture on the west 40 after a limp shit rain…”

Maybe he was right…

(Continued Part 5)