Gay Erotic Stories

He wasn’t spectacular. Not even pretty, just an average face with an interesting ... uh, aura? persona? How do you label it? He was on the large size, not his hips but his long bones. He’d need a double x large sweater just to cover his wrists. Belt too high, shirt too plain for him to be gay. He didn’t have the look, either. Maybe that’s what drew my attention, that he didn’t seek attention. He wasn’t even what you could call an observer. He didn’t watch other people around him, just moved through the camp like he was the only one there. Self absorbed, how’s that? But not in a vain way. “Lawrence? Who is that guy, anyway?”

“Huh? Who? Oh, Brook? Alan Brook. Cabin twelve. A paying guest. He’s working on his Ph.D., something about truth. Capital tee, Truth. Philosophy, Columbia, you know.”

“But is he gay?” I bit down on the question.

“Far as I know, honey, he’s not anything. Just a brain visiting our planet.”

“Well, he’s missing the best sites, not even taking pictures.”

“Huh?”

“Does he ever talk to anybody? I’ve never seen him at the discussion groups.”

“He doesn’t do fiction. They have their own meetings. The non-fiction people stand back and point and giggle at fiction. They’re not like us and proud of it.”

“Truth, yeah, I get it.”

“He’s not grouchy or anything. Very polite, maybe shy. I’ve talked to him. He listens, doesn’t say much. Touches his cap like an underling in a Brit mini-series, smiles, nods. Polite but not really there.”

“Maybe it was your breath.”

“How sweet of you to say.”

“If you’re warning me off, forget it. (Oh, mulled cider! Isn’t that wonderful! Just like a theme party! No thanks, maybe later.) With those shoulders? The size twelve boots? I have to try, right?”

“Maybe he’s a pot head, he’s got the eyes for it. Look, there’s Michael Lewis!” Laurence pushed back his hair.

“Six and a half, uncut, five minutes of boredom, snores like a chain saw. B.t.d.t.”

“My, my. Been a busy little beaver, haven’t you? Beaver, cunt, slut, some kind of animal, anyway.” Lawrence did his Mother-smile.

“These are the wild woods, darling. Get primitive!”

................................................... He’s sitting on the rocks by the stream a few yards off the path. Not watching the water, just staring off into space. Could be herbally induced, maybe. I wander down that way, very casually. There’s a level spot just below the rocks. I meander along the stream side and my interest is obviously centered on nature and I’m deff not cruising him. I glance up and he’s focused on me with an amused half grin, hands loose on his knees, palms up ... is that a Zen thing?

“Oh! Hi. Beautiful day, huh?”

“Hi.” He grins wider. One hand reaches up, hesitates. He’s not wearing a cap, the fingers shift into a small wave. He looks foolish as hell. Okay. Pot. Knees wide apart. The basket humongous, not foolish at all! If I reached out, I could touch his knee. I touched his knee. He doesn’t seem to notice. The grin is fixed. Is he looking at my eyes or my forehead? The sunlight glares in my face.

“You’re Alan Brook, right?”

“Sometimes, yeah. Are you?” His loose hand fell back to flop on his knee. His fingers brushed against mine.

“Sorry? What? No, uh, I’m Nathan Donagan.” The pot theory moved up two notches.

“Hi Nathan.” And his gaze moved back to that indistinct point of distant green haze, his grin faded. I faded. I didn’t smell pot. I pulled my hand back from his leg. Seemed intrusive, now.

“Lawrence says you’re at Columbia.” I tried again.

His face came back to me. He frowned. “Am I?”

“Lawrence is our Guide, you know, sort of our social director?”

“One shouldn’t dispute an authority figure, I’m sure he’s right in his own way. Did he say where you are?”

“Did you ever read “Lewis Carol?”

“Did you ever eat guava jelly?” His grin twitched.

“I asked first.”

“Are you claiming dibs on interrogatives?”

“That’s another question and you didn’t answer my first one.”

“Then I suppose you shouldn’t answer mine.” He was like my cat, he could shift moods between eye blinks. I only hesitated a second but his gaze was drifting away like a flock of blue birds. A.D.D.? He was far too lucid for accidental gibberish. I stared right at his crotch. What’s it matter, he could care less. Huge package. Jockey shorts, though. No dangling bait.

“You’re very tall, aren’t you? Do you play basket ball?”

“Not usually, no.” His gaze came back to land on me, gift like. “Well, I’m usually tall, yes, but I rarely play sports. It was an accident that I got so tall. I didn’t mean to. May I have a turn, now? I believe I answered two of yours.” His dimples winked at me. I got the horrible impression he was not at all distracted. He knew exactly what was happening all around him all the time. Mostly, he just didn’t care. It was unnerving.

“Of course. Sure.”

“What do you write, Nathan?”

“Well, fiction really ...”, he waited, not a stir. He knew that. “I write mysteries, the Vic Lane series? and some gothic romance things, short stories ... a few poems.” He still waited. I hadn’t told him enough yet. “I write escapist fiction. Stories to entertain and distract people ... junk, I guess.”

“Junk?” He cocked his head, like it never entered his mind fiction might be considered junk.

“Well, sure. Nothing important. Pop lit, just crap. I’m not trying to change the world or anything.”

“But you do, you know ...”, he peered at me sharply, was I that slow? “You change the world by being in it. Why write stuff you don’t think is important?”

“For money! I have to make a living, buy food, gee!”, I laughed. I glanced at his basket again. I’d never get it, would I? He made me very uncomfortable.

“I never though of writing as an easy way to make a living. Is it? Why not get a job? That’s easier.” He leaned down towards me, his interest was fully engaged and I felt trapped. Lawrence would be setting out the cards. I glanced at my watch.

“It’s always been easy for me, the writing. Actually I think I’m lazy. Writing is the quickest way I know to get money. I really have to go ... Lawrence will be...”

“Wish it was easy for me!” He shrugged off his intense expression. “Thinking is easy, writing it down is difficult. I’m here to learn to write my thoughts down but all I do is think about writing.” He moved suddenly, rose and jumped down onto the path before me. His tallness overwhelmed me up close. I stared up at him.

“God! How tall are you?”

He held a hand horizontally at his head, “About there when I’m standing up.” His grin twitched at his thin mouth. The hand came down and presented itself to me. “Thanks for the chat. See you around, Nathan.”

......................................................

“Well, he’s not stoned out on anything. I could almost hear his brain buzzing! He’s playful, witty... ”

“Listen, I had some shit one time in Mexico ...”

“Lawrence? Are we talking about you or Alan?”

“I thought we were talking about dope.”

“Wrong answer! Boink! We were talking about that guy with the fabulous cock, the brainiac you called a pot head because you struck out with him.”

“I did not strike out with him and how do you know he has a fab cock? Maybe he wears an absorbent pad and has a bladder control problem. It’s just a big mushy basket.” “I don’t know what age men you’ve been dating but he’s not that old, honey! I know meat when I see it.”

“Mmm, and I know bitch when I smell it. I didn’t know you were in love.”

“Yeah right! In love with a non organic philosophy major.”

“Except his cock is organic, right?”

“It fucking better be ‘cause I’m determined to eat it!”

“Oh? Now what are you smoking, honey? Hey, you played void on hearts! I know you did!” “Well, I found that one hiding behind another card, sue me. ...and he’s having trouble with writing his thingy, his thesis or whatever.”

“And you’re going to help him? How altruistic of you.”

“That’s why I’m here, to help struggling writers!”

“Your expertise is in fiction, may I remind you? His thesis in on Truth? Capital T?”

“So? Truth is a form of fiction. Just depends on if you believe it or not, right?”

........................................................

“No. I don’t think so.” Alan leaned back on the bench, propped his big feet up on the porch rail. “I like to think of Truth as existing in a perfect form somewhere like Plato imagined whether or not we believe it. At our best, we try and find imperfect images that remind us, guide us.”

“But it’s all relative, isn’t it?” I tried to make sense of his passion. “It depends on the situation and the context. If Truth is a perfect thing then it can’t exist in an imperfect world.”

“Do you believe that?” He stared into my eyes. “Nathan, is there nothing solid you know for certain?” His voice was husky and intimate. I felt his warm breath on my cheek.

“Uh...uh”, I flushed under his close probing eyes. A surge of blood heated my neck and cheeks. Sweat broke out along my upper lip. “Yes. I know I want to suck your dick. That’s an irrefutable fact.” I caught my breath. Did I say that or think it?

He was surprised but not shocked. His eyes opened a bit then he leaned back and laughed. He slapped his head and laughed harder than I though entirely necessary. His grin came at me in a quirky, sideways manner, “So you know something for sure. That’s good, but can you trust it? Isn’t that just a displacement for what you really want? What you think you can’t have?”

My breath came back while he laughed at me. I would not be coy. Well, too late for coy, huh? “It is exactly what I want and, besides, you’re taking my side of the argument, you’re saying my truth is a deception. It’s the one thing I could think of that I knew to be absolutely certain!”

“But lies and deception prove Truth exists, right? What are they covering up but the truth? Can there be one without the other?” He leaned back near to me. His leg touched mine.

“It’s not a lie. I do want to suck your dick. It’s all I think about, every since I saw you.”

“But, why? It makes no sense.” He didn’t move his leg away. My announcement didn’t scare him at all. He didn’t seem particularly turned on by it, either. Maybe amused but not aroused.

“Why ask why? Sorry. I tend to think in commercial clichés. I mean, why must we ask the deeper questions? Can’t we just follow an impulse? Live in the moment, you know? Isn’t the experience of life what life is all about? There’s no experience in sitting around contemplating it. Sometimes you just have to do it. Oops, there I go again, Just do it. I’ve been brain washed by TV.”

“But if you never think about what you’re doing the act is meaningless, isn’t it? It’s without intent, without judgment or value. Is the unexamined life worth living?”

“Is thinking the point of living?” I grimaced. We were losing the moment. He’d completely passed over my confessed desire. I felt depression adding weight to my body. I gained about fifteen pounds just sitting there while he looked at me with his less than romantic grin. I couldn’t look at him.

“Hey, come on, Nate. What’d you expect? Did you think I’d pull it out? Does that line ever work?”

I sighed, slumped down under my increasing bulk and gravity. “Wasn’t a line, Alan. I just told you something real and you treat it like it’s an exercise in abstract thinking.”

“Oh.” ...pause... “Look, I’m not socially adept. I don’t know what I should say, Nate. I never had anyone just ... you know. I have to intellectualize life to deal with it. That’s who I am.”

“Alan! Don’t you ever want to be impulsive? Ever want to stop thinking a while?”

“Sure. Is that what sex is for you? Like your books? Just a diversion from real life?”

“Fuck it, Alan. I’m getting a headache. You think about it. I need a drink.” I was slow on the steps. He didn’t call me back. Fuck it. .................................................

“Hey, babe. Where you been? Jerry came over for a game of ... what’s wrong?” Laurence squinted up at me.

“Is there a fucking beer anywhere in these stinking piney woods? What’s that? Gin?” I grabbed a half glass of something and poured it down. “Vodka. Close enough. More.”

Lawrence poured. “There’s ice...”

“Fuck it. Had enough goddamn ice for tonight! Don’t be stingy, full!”

“You’ve been to see him, again, haven’t you? Did you suck his cock? I don’t think so!”

“You’d be so easy to kill, Larry, if you weren’t my last friend in the whole world. Ah! Better. One more and I’ll smile for you. Top it off, please. Yes.”

“Come on, give! Are we making progress on the high-Q zipper?”

“It tastes like guava, guava jelly, without the seeds.”

“His cock? You didn’t!”

“His breath. Kind of sweet and ripe. I bet he doesn’t get morning breath. Gods don’t.”

“Did he kiss you?”

“I wish. No … sigh … He told me my desire for dick was a compensatory mechanism. I really want something else I can’t have so I change targets, sort of.”

“Oh. He’s really straight, huh?”

“Absolutely. Not an experimental nerve in his body. He’s got to think about it, about everything. Bet he doesn’t piss on a tree without doing a complete environmental impact study.”

“Oh, dear. Well, he’s just not your type, is he?” Lawrence dismissed the whole thing with a shrug. I couldn’t.

“Do I have a type?”

“Did you meet Alexander’s assistant? Just came in from Boston last night. Very shy, blond thing, white pants.”

“Not too shy for white pants? Blondes bore me.”

“Why, let me thank you for blondes everywhere.”

“You’re not a real blond, intentional blondes don’t count.”

“Mmm, I have a choice here: I may be boring or I may not count?”

“Or you could be a shrew.”

“Oh, much better! ...”

“And I could be an asshole. Sorry, love. I’m turning in early. Night.”

..................................................

I’m typing before dawn, as usual. I don’t trust the sun to come up unless I’m working:

...She looked up into his face and watched the fire glow reflected in his eyes. She

only wished the glow were building from inside him but she knew it never would.

He was a cool and distant man. He’d never even know she loved him, never know

...

Tap ... tap-tap-tap. Shit. If that’s Lawrence I’ll kill him! I jerked the door open.

“It’s office hours. No visitors before ... Oh! .... Hi Alan.”

“Hi. Uh, good morning. Kinda early, huh?” He’s in jogging clothes, ugly electric blue nylon.

“No ... not at all. Come in, coffee?”

“No, not right now, thanks. You’re busy. I’m running. Sorry. I couldn’t sleep, I just ...”

“Please, come in. What is it?”

“No. I’ll go. I’ve been thinking ...” he grinned.

“Shocks me to the quick.” I grinned back. He flushed.

“I’ll do it. What you said ... if you still want to? I’m screwing it up, aren’t I?” His face went down on his chest.

“You’re doing okay. Thought about it a lot, did you?”

“Yeah, I guess. You were right about me. I do wish I could be impulsive and just ..you know, just live my life ... not sit around and meditate on everything. It’s stupid, I know ...and thanks, thanks for being interested in me. I still don’t know why you’d want to, uh, do it? But if you do, then okay. I think I need experience.”

“Right now?” I was startled.

He backed off the top step, almost stumbled, “No! Not now, but sometime. Whenever, okay? If you still ...?”

“Yes. Of course I still, sure. Are you sure? You need the experience or you want it?”

“Does it matter? Is there any difference?” He frowned.

“Forget about it. Don’t think about it, Alan. Go, jog. We will. Yes, we will. But not now.”

“Okay, later, huh?” He backed off the steps.

“Yeah, later. Can you see well enough to run?”

“Not really.” He laughed. “But I need to run, you know?” His laughter came in a thin echo as he trotted off down the path.

Edit mode: ...She looked up into his eyes and wondered if the glow was just a

reflection from the grate or if there was a fire growing from inside him. Could he

know how much she loved him? Would he care?...

...................................................

“I thought you liked salmon. You didn’t..” Larry studied my plate.

I pushed the lunch plate away. “Not canned salmon. Please! I’m not hungry, anyway. You want it?”

“I’ve had enough, I think. Maybe just a bite...”

“Look at the fruit bowl on the desert table, is that a guava? That brownish green thing?”

“Oh, I don’t know from guavas! I thought that was a kumquat.”

“No, they’re the little oranges, right?”

“When did you get this obsession with guavas?”

“Have you ever eaten guava jelly?”

“No! Sounds awful. What is it?”

“I’m not sure but I’m going to find out. I think it sounds wonderful.”

“Oh, you. How’s chapter seven coming?” “Finished it this morning. Half way through chapter eight, The Awakening.”

“That’s not on your outline ... you’re changing the story.”

“The story is changing itself. Here comes your new blond twin. Have fun. I’m off for a long walk before the meeting starts.”

“Don’t stray down by cabin twelve or you’ll be late!”

“Mmm. What a nice idea. If I’m not there, start without me.”

...................................................

He was on the rocks where we first talked. “How much of your paper have you done? Are you making progress?”

He smiled down at me. It that a wistful smile? “I think I’m making progress, yes. But not on the paper. I’m sick of it. Let’s not talk shop.” He jumped down and landed unbalanced, put a hand on my shoulder to steady himself. It stayed there.

He was as tall as ever. The sun still blinded me when I looked up at him. He smiled. “Come on. Let’s walk.” He pulled me along beside the streambed. His arm moved to encompass my shoulders. I leaned into him on each step, felt his steady heat. “You were right about a lot of things, Nathan. You said all the right things. Did you know that? I argued out of habit but I knew you were right. My father was a carpenter. He became a contractor, a business man. He made a fortune but he hated it. I don’t think he was ever happy after he stopped working with his hands, building something good, something strong and real. That’s what I want to do.” He stopped. His hands formed an empty space in front of his chest. “I want to make something real. Solid. Thinking is futile and useless. I’m useless.”

“Alan! Don’t say that. You’re not!” I reached out to hold one of his gesturing hands. It took both mine to capture one of his. Huge, wide hands. A carpenter’s hands? “Your worth doesn’t depend on what you produce, it’s who you are. You’re a good man, Alan, doesn’t matter if you produce papers or houses or just wise thoughts. You’re kind and gentle... you wouldn’t know how to be cruel or destructive. There’s something so great about you, I donno, like a beautiful soul or something. I’m not a spiritual kind of guy but you give me a spiritual feeling. Just being with you, I feel safe from evil and ...”

That’s when he kissed me. It was purely spontaneous. It wasn’t in his face or his eyes before it happened, he just bent down and kissed me. Not sexy. A chaste and affectionate kiss, just lightly brushed my dry lips. His eyes twinkled, if eyes can. The bottom lids went up and the edges wrinkled. His nose did a little twitch. I watched, wondered.

“You feed me that stuff and my head’ll get fat. Enough. Thanks. I love you, too, Nate.” He pulled me along and we just walked. He relaxed, his smile settled in. He glanced around at the water, the sky, the movement of leaves. He took a great big chest full of air.

It was brotherly love. It was sweet. Hell, it was glorious! I doubt I’d ever known a man I really looked up to, really respected and he liked me, accepted me. Alan didn’t care if I was gay or if my hair looked good. He didn’t care if my labels came from the right store or if my books were junk. He just liked me. He almost made me like myself, you know, when I looked through his eyes. Not so bad. Of course, he’d never seen me goggle eyed and dribbling jism down my chin. I doubt he’d kiss me then. He was so fucking innocent.

“Here, right here. Perfect, isn’t it? Is today special or has it been this beautiful all summer?” He dropped to the grassy slope and pulled me down with him. His chest was an open invitation. I accepted. His arms went behind to pillow his head and his eyes closed to the brilliant sunshine. I curled, half on, half against him. I listened to his heart beat. I bet he wouldn’t even get hard. I could probably suck his dick and he’d smile down with beatific blessings and not even get a boner. He didn’t need sex. He was above all that. Then he moved, stroked my hair and my back. My shirt was hot from the sun. His touch burned a little. He took my hand and pulled it down to his fly. Okay, so he did have a boner. My bad. I smoothed my palm over it and he sighed.

“Mmm. Nice.”

I wriggled lower on his chest. No belt. Snap closure. Brass Zipper. Soft cotton duck. White jockeys. Pale and sparse hairs. A smell like high school gym class. Fresh clean sweat. Sweet as a tropical ... He came quickly. He didn’t even grunt. His fingers mussed my hair.

“Stop. Please. It gets sensitive ... after, you know?” He pulled me back up his body. He could drag me by one finger, I weighed nothing. He cradled my head in an elbow, face near his. His grin was not saintly, nor leering. “Here, let me get this...”, a fingertip at my lip. So I did dribble. He licked his finger. Guess the surprise showed in my face. He laughed.

“Well?” He kept looking at me.

I waited, watched his face.

“Were you disappointed? Was it all right?” He frowned. “If I ..?”

“Fine. Fine, Alan. it was wonderful.”

“But it didn’t make you happy? Something’s wrong.”

“Guess you were right. I don’t know what I want.”

“Your one-sure-thing?”

“Guess nothing’s certain, is it?”

“Death and taxes?”

“And always wanting something more.”

“Yeah? I’ll have to think about that one.” He rolled away, fixed his fly. Got up, “Hey, I’m starved. I missed lunch. Wanna race back to camp?”

“You go ahead. Run off your energy. I want to be alone awhile.”

“You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine ... go.” I smiled, released him. “It’s nice here. Feels right.” He loped off, not a good runner, clumsy. “Feels like goodbye,” I muttered, closed my eyes. I had to think about it.

.......................................................................................

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