Gay Erotic Stories

“Hey!” Carter yelled in that Texas twang of his from across the lobby. It sort of echoed throughout the place, as there was no one other than the desk clerk on duty. The clerk looked up just as I turned his direction. Yep—definitely one of the family—too obvious for my taste. He looked briefly at me and then turned his attentions on Carter—I say attentions—maybe that should be intentions—he was that obvious. For a second or two I actually thought he’d begin whistling, howling, or maybe even jump his counter.

Carter met me mid-lobby and in his folksy way gave be a big Dallas style hug. This was more than a man-to-man greeting…a genuine almost bear hug. As I found myself catching my breath, I glanced at the twerp behind the front desk…the little goofball was licking his lips, which suddenly dropped wide open. I imagined it was from surprise, but it might have been some sort of invitational instruction (as in where to put what).

We turned and walked out the front door into the parking lot, Carter still had his hand on my right shoulder. I guess I really didn’t mind his invasion of my “space” especially since it created a bit of a “show” for the desk jockey. Speaking of jockey’s I bet he already had a problem down there—probably glad to be behind his counter.

We got in my car and headed off to the theater, which was literally just three blocks away. Luckily, there wasn’t much of a line at the ticket kiosk, guess Sunday night was a good night to go. The same held for our seat selection…we had pick of the litter…the place was barely half full. We both agreed that about 2/3 back and dead center was a winner. We basically had the entire row to ourselves, and the nearest patrons were three rows ahead of us, with a scattering of folks at the very back of the place.

“So, I imagine you’re quite excited about your follow-up interview. Sounds pretty much like you’re probably going to be getting an offer.” I initiated a conversation.

“I sure hope so,” Carter said excitedly. “From what little I can see, I just love it here. The people are so nice and friendly, and so helpful.

My thoughts turned to the desk clerk, “Yeah, helpful…”

“What ya gettin’ at?” Carter interrupted, and then he sort of put two and two together. “I bet ya’ll referrin’ to Paulie.”

“Who?”

“Paulie at the front desk,” he clarified then breaking out in a chuckle. “Actually, Paulette would probably be more appropriate—she’s such a queen. Speaks with some sort of phony English accent—and she has a lisp too. He asked me out tonight, but I told him I already had a date.”

“Ho! I’m your date?” I chided. Actually, that sounded pretty good, until the image of Rodrigo flashed through my mind. Flashed being the operative word—in and out in a flash.

Carter put his right hand on my knee and held it there, “Yep, I guess I’d call it that. You got somethin’ better to call it?”

“Well, no actually. Actually it sounds just fine to me!” Jesus! Things might be moving a bit fast here, I thought. But when I looked over at Carter, my eyes having adjusted to the darkness of the theater, those thoughts evaporated. I found myself being drawn in—I really didn’t know him but a few hours—yet it seemed as if we’d been friends for years and were renewing our bonds.

“I sure hope I get the job, I really like it here; and I’m so lucky to have met you, Aaron.”

I noticeably perked up when Carter mentioned my name. He remembered it; actually I didn’t remember whether or not I’d actually introduced myself fully on the plane trip home. Ahh, but I’d given him my business card—of course. Anyway, I was flattered he used my formal name, most of my co-workers and friends just called me “Aerie” or sometimes “Artie”. Anything like that was just fine. My grandmother had always called me Ariel, which I thought always sounded like a girl’s name.

“Thanks, Carter. I’m glad too. Hopefully we’ll be seeing lots more of each other—as long as you get that job. By the way, Aaron’s kind of formal. You can just call me Aerie for short if you like.”

“Sounds fine; just can just call me Carter I guess,” he chuckled, “nobody calls me anything else—unless I pissed ‘em off.”

“Then what’d they call you…” We were cut off by the start of the movie previews. A few seconds later he tugged on my knee—getting my FULL attention.

“You can use your imagination.” He replied.

Hell yes I was already doing that! “What?” I replied.

“About my nickname if I’d pissed off someone…” he replied and gave my knee a good natured tug again.

“Oh, I can just imagine,” I smiled and let the subject and possible expletives and innuendos drop. I broke out into a laugh, which Carter returned.

The movie was a real thriller. It turned out the Carter was his own show when it came to watching him take in the movie. Every time there was a shocker of a scene, it startled him and he dug his fingers into my leg (which he never entirely let go of). This in turn startled me—it also startled something else. This made it occasionally difficult to follow every nuance of the movie—something I was desperately trying to do—taking my mind off of my thoughts of Carter.

I’m terrible with recollection of movie titles and the actors/actresses within them anyway. Guess that gay gene I missed. I decided that this movie would be no exception—other than Tom Cruise and the basic jest of the plot and outcome. The movie didn’t drag—it kept Carter, and therefore me, on the edge of our seats.

After we’d filed out of the theater, I asked him if he’d like to get a bite to eat. Actually I was now getting a bit hungry myself…maybe a function of my nerves being stimulated during the last two hours sitting next to him. Carter readily agreed, saying that dinner was on him. I protested saying that he was a guest and he could treat the next time out. He soon acquiesced; I asked him what he wanted.

“Actually, this may sound corny, but what I’d really like would be a good piece of meat,” he smiled, and then caught his apparently unintended double meaning, “that is a nice thick steak.”

I smiled twice, and Carter’s face blushed in embarrassment. “Sounds like a good thing to me too. Actually I don’t go on with all those diets…I still like red meat.” I smiled back.

Conveniently, there was an Out Back Steakhouse around the corner at the far side of the shopping plaza from the theater. How convenient. Again, since it was a Sunday evening, there was no line out the door, and we were seated immediately. And you guessed it; our waiter was a member of the club. The steaks were superb and the service—oh that—yeah the service was shall we say stellar—more like “star struck”. I doubt that Benjamin would have even noticed if I’d failed to leave a tip on the credit card slip. It was really rather cute that he wrote a personal “Thank You” note on the back of the guest check—with his full name and telephone number. Naturally I assumed it was for our use in making a future reservation.

Benjamin (tall drink of water) judiciously placed the check in the center of the table. His looks gave him away when I reached for the check. He turned and abruptly headed for another of his charges—a nearby table he’d just checked on. What stellar service!

Carter was taking this in also; he just smiled and said, “See it’s just like I told ‘ya—everyone’s so down home friendly.”

I chuckled and thought to myself, “Yeah…down home alright. More like going down at your home. Geeze, I’m turning into a bitter bitch.” I’m sure Carter read me perfectly, I felt my face flush. Carter was just going to be a “problem” I guessed. Speaking of a problem, now what to do? It was barely 9:30. We could go somewhere else for maybe a dessert, but man those steaks were so damn big, there was no way I could shovel anything past my lips—well almost anything (don’t get ahead of me here).

Benjamin soon towered above us, collected the check and gave me my customer copy. “Thanks. You two have a NICE evening.” It was the way he emphatically accentuated the word “nice”.

“God he’s friendly,” Carter quipped.

“Yeah, I bet he’d like to be.” I retorted. It sounded a bit jaded, but I said it genuinely laughing. “Speaking of having a nice evening, I’ve had a wonderful time.”

“Well, it’s still early and it doesn’t have to be over just yet,” Carter replied as we got up from the table.

What was he getting at? I suddenly wasn’t sure what to say, or think. We left the restaurant and walked in silence to the car. I walked around to the passenger side and unlocked the door (I didn’t necessarily have to do this—the car had a central locking system) but I thought it a nice touch—and maybe a bit old fashioned—a nice touch?

Carter took the opportunity to thank me again and gave me another one of those hugs of his—I thought a bit too long. For a fleeting moment I thought he was going to plant a kiss on me right there in the parking lot. Truth be told—I wouldn’t have cared if he had. “Where to? I’m at your service,” I snickered.

“Home James, to my suite—tout suite!” was Carter’s attempt at humor—while also giving what I took as a clear indication as an invitation back to his room. His French had that undeniable Texas twang.

Minutes later, I parked the car and we were walking across the lot to the lobby. It was then I remembered little “Paulie” or what later I would refer to him as “Paws” as in keeping your paws to yourself. I sort of slowed down a bit. Carter picked up on this, reached back and pulled me forward. “Don’t give it a thought,” he said as we waltzed through the doorway.

Sure enough, “paws” was perched behind the front desk. “Back so early?” he remarked, then realizing what he’d said, he added, “Hope you guys had a good time.”

“Just finished dinner, and took in an early movie. Got some work to do—you know prepare for my follow-up interview.” Carter said.

Brilliant! Bet the little poof thought I was probably a business acquaintance, coaching Carter for his interview. We walked brazenly towards the bank of elevators and disappeared from view.

“Friendly!” was all Carter said, then we both burst out laughing.

Carter had a bottle of wine opened and sitting in the room’s ice bucket. It was half full, so it wasn’t there specifically on my account. He immediately offered a glass, and we toasted each other on the events of the evening and to the “ace” of his forthcoming interview. We talked for a good half-hour. Everything just felt right…we fit like a well worn glove—smooth and soft—gentle folksy conversation. We found even more amazing things we had in common and mutual likes and attitudes. Religion and politics be damned—not this night.

The wine bottle was emptied and our conversation found a lull—what to do? Carter broke the momentary silence, starting with a feigned concern with regard to my ability to drive home, “We’ve both had several drinks at the restaurant, and now wine here; do you think you’d rather stay here?” Then he quickly added, “I heard on the news that the cops are stepping up their surveillance tonight and setting up road sobriety checks.”

“Well, I don’t know. Tomorrow’s definitely a work day,” I started. Actually I’d changed into fresh clothes—which I could easily wear to the office on Monday. But this was held in check by the sudden realization that my now semi-stirring crotch was reminding me that it was sore. Hell—the damn thing and area was reddened—al la hairy Rodrigo! Sudden twinges of guilt surfaced. I was indecisive. My head (yeah the lower one) was saying yes—in spite of its workout, but my other head was worried. How would I explain it if Carter noticed?

Well, apparently Carter was making the decision for me. He was already up and setting about turning off the corner light fixture. He walked toward my chair, extending his arm, pulling me up, and into him. His lips found mine. He gave me a reassuring kiss…not a gentle one…a confident one…not hard, but serious and to the point. His tongue shot past my lips. I offered no resistance. My tongue then traded places as I kissed him back.

“It’s settled then, stay,” he whispered. I said nothing.

He began unbuttoning my shirt. I let him. After he’d finished the last button he stopped. Then he reached up and pulled off his polo shirt in one motion. God! What a chest. This child must live at the gym, I thought. I was helpless. Carter excused himself and turned off two more lights, just leaving the light on in the bathroom with the door ajar. My confidence returned, with this little light, he surely wouldn’t notice. I only hoped, I wouldn’t either—that the slight soreness would fade away.

We took turns removing what clothes remained, crawling into his king sized bed clad in our Jockey’s—yeah we agreed on that too. They soon got in the way as our bodies got tangled up between the sheets. I was mesmerized—my body was there and finely tuned and tensed to the occasion at hand—but my mind was drifting back to my first time—THAT TIME—what was to be my first love…that amazing out of body experience that everyone must feel on that first total commitment of love. It had been the beginning of my first relationship which had lasted nearly 15 years. What—why was I thinking of this now?

Back to reality—I realized that Carter’s attentions had drifted lower—I felt hot breath on my penis which made the hairs on my nuts tingle with excitement. Then a warm soothing tongue flicking my shaft, which seconds later found a delirious home in Carter’s juicy mouth. Any thoughts of pain were replaced with absolute pleasure. Maybe it’s true about there not being much difference—one against the other.

I felt Carter’s eager pulsing shaft banging against my lower leg as he bobbed up and down. I curled myself and moved into a reciprocal position; Carter responded knowingly. We were now melted together like a well oiled machine, pistons tuned to perfection.

It was at this point that I realized we’d not discussed anything with regard to one’s preferences. While thinking this, I must have slowed down a bit. Again Carter somehow anticipated my thoughts, “Not to worry, I like it all—anything ya’ll can dish out. Guess I’m kind of a glutton when it comes to the bedroom.”

So, the ball (balls) as it were, were now apparently in my court…sort of a guest’s choice. I decided that I’d go with what I liked best and check out his response. I picked up the pace on his shaft while sliding my index finger past his butt cheeks. I found his rosebud and gently, but not too gently, pushed steadily past his lips. Carter had an immediate response—he began thrashing and moaning softly, “Oh yeah…yeah… “

Suddenly, Carter abruptly cut things off. “Hold on, I got some lube and some juice,” he said as he swung his legs over towards the window side of the bed and stood up. He then headed for the bathroom, emerging with what was clearly a rather good sized bottle of ID Lube, and a brown bottle. Ah yes poppers…we agree again! He got back into bed and handed me the lube, “Here, you play with this. It’s been so long since I’ve had someone—hope you don’t mind but I’ve just gotta…”

He opened the brown bottle and took a few hits, “It’s been a while, so I’m sure I need some help,” he said almost apologetically—but there was excitement in his voice. I guessed he had an “itch” that really needed to be “scratched”. I would be only too happy to help him out.

It was clear that Carter was supremely focused with the business at hand, so I cracked open the lube and set about coating my shaft. Carter eagerly watched as I did this. I said eagerly—since his own dick twitched excitedly at the prospect. He straddled me and his shaft was now pointing straight forward towards my upper chest just over a foot from my face. I playfully took my lubed hand and stroked his shaft. He let out a moan, and then guided my other hand towards his buttocks. “I’ll need a bit more back there,” he said as he took the lube and easily coated where it counted.

A minute or so later, he set down the lube, leaned back and squatted down, pointing my shaft past his cheeks, stopping at his entrance. He wiped his hands and took the brown bottle again, opened it and took another long hit of its contents. “I sort of like the direct approach,” he said. “You ready? Hang on.” With that he simply sat down hard, engulfing my entire penis to the hilt. He let out a semi-controlled yelp and froze.

“I’ll need just a minute to get used to you—you’re fantastic!” he hissed. Then he reached for the poppers again, but instead offered them to me.

“Yes, please!” I said. “Oh yes! Oh man, you’re amazing!” I decided on my own brand of levity, “Where have you been all my life!” I took a couple good hits from the bottle, and barely had a chance to close it up before Carter started bucking up and down.

Even though it was pretty dark in the room, I could see his face and the absolute look of contentment on it. His eyes were wide and glassy—he was like a kid—purely giddy with joy. The silhouette of his upper body against the window was more than any willpower could ever contain.

Yes it had apparently indeed been a long time for Carter. It was a short ride before he lost it and blew a truly amazing load all over my chest, neck, chin, and the first shot the completely cleared my head. He must have felt me getting close because he slowed down, and then stopped dead. He whispered, “No, not yet. I don’t want you to cum. I want this to last a while—who knows it may have to.”

Now at this point I wasn’t having any trouble, but the thought occurred to me, knowing the amount of use old faithful had had, I wasn’t sure just how long I could go. Of course I suffered in silence. A few minutes later, I was back in control and thankfully still very hard and buried all the way in that wonderful cavern.

“If it’s okay with you…” Carter didn’t wait for my reply; he took another hit from the bottle, offered it to me next, and started up his motor again. “Oh yeah, oh man…yeah.” We got back to a good pace, which a few minutes later turned feverish. “Ohhh, mannnn…I’m gonna shoot again!” Carter announced. Then he did something I hadn’t expected. He reached forward and pulled my head upwards, leveled his throbbing meat-stick and shot another eager volley of loads directly at my face.

I was hit three times in the face, a fourth on the upper chest. He then leaned back on his haunches and successive dribblings graced my navel and happy trail.

That was all I could stand. I announced that I just had to cum and asked him if I should pull away, since we were not using any condoms, but he insisted he wanted to feel me shoot. By this point, I was beyond arguing and let go. I was amazed at the extent of my release…all things considered. Carter was in another place.

He eventually leaned forward, pressing his chest (oh that chest) against mine, forcing his spent juices to flow out between the contact points. He then set about licking his cum shots from my face. I’d already gotten a taste of him earlier—very sweet and strangely hardly any salty taste. I got a hefty helping when he kissed me—sharing his sweetness.

My semi-erect shaft slid out of its delightful confinement. Carter jerked a little, giggled contentedly and whispered, “Thank you.” I looked up at him. He had tears in his eyes and trembling lips. I got a lump in my throat, I could also feel my eyes pooling, welling up. I leaned forward and kissed him…hard. His arms reached under me, closed in, and he held me hard. Neither of us spoke for a long time…total silence…yet many things were spoken.

We eventually rolled on our side. “Sorry, but I think we’ve made a mess of your bed. Maybe we should get cleaned up,” I offered.

“Nonsense,” Carter cut in, “I wouldn’t miss this feeling for anything. I want to make this last the night. Besides, we’d only get messed up again when we came back to bed.”

“Point well taken,” I agreed. “Besides, I want to take all of you in.”

“You can take all of me—anytime.” Carter said as he playfully groped my sticky crotch, then running his hands up to my neck. He kissed me again. “I sincerely mean that.”

I was way ahead of him. I was crossing everything I could think of in my head that he’d land that secondary interview. It was then it hit me…my second love of my life was a Texan…oh shit…what they say…don’t mess with Texas?

Genuine bliss gave way to fatigue and we drifted off. I found that we slept well together too, each spooning the other as we turned one way and the other during the night. Everything just seemed so right. In many ways the night was just too short.

I got up quietly so as not to disturb Carter—he could probably sleep in this morning. As quiet as I made myself, minutes later he appeared in the bathroom doorway just as I was getting ready to step in the shower.

“Good morning, I’d imagine you probably will need your back scrubbed,” he offered.

Normally I am able to shower all by myself—I’ve been doing if for years, but when I thought about our rolling around during the night and the sticky condition of the sheets, I thought better of it, “Yeah, you’re probably right—who knows where all that stuff landed.”

My normal 5 minute shower turned into something like a 20 minute affair, but I certainly wasn’t complaining. I managed to separate myself from my doting bath partner, dried off and put my clothes on. I promised Carter that I’d call him from the office, or if he was out, he could call me or in any event reach me on my cell. He made me promise that we’d find something to do Monday night, as he didn’t want to be alone and thinking about THE INTERVIEW on Tuesday morning.

God, I never realized just how much I distained Monday’s. Monday would pass, but it’d be Tuesday that we’d greet with baited breath. Monday morning at the office was surreal. It took me all morning to accomplish what I’d have done by say 10:30. I had to chuckle about “Paws” too bad he wasn’t on desk duty in the morning to see me off. I’d just loved to see the look on the little twerp's face. But then again, with any luck, he’d be working tonight.

It was nearly noon and I was getting hungry. The phone rang…Rodrigo. I’d forgotten.