Gay Erotic Stories

“You should have let me help. I told you it was too hot …” He waved his hand at me, dismissively. I knew better than to press his patience when he was tired. “Want a beer?”

“Bear shit in the woods?” He didn’t even grin. His sense of humor depended on irony and a straight face. He pushed dry to the edge of acidity. From the kitchen window I watched while he opened his jeans and slid the zipper all the way down. Fifteen feet away and I still stared at a pale fragment of his dick like a holy relic. Any peek at his dick was a rare treat and a guilty one. I made it a personal rule when he moved in to NEVER try and hit on him. He was straight, that’s with a capitol N-O W-A-Y. We agreed from the beginning, right?

He sat down in the lounge chair but leaned over his knees while he mopped at his shoulders and chest with the tee shirt, drying himself off. I leaned over the sink, wondered where my binoculars were.

Maybe I should have put GWM in the ad. But I just wanted somebody to share the rent and utilities on my townhouse. I didn’t think it made any difference if we were both gay or what, you know? Okay, fuck that. I lie to myself too much. I thought I wanted a straight room mate, all right? Most of the guys that came to check out the room figured me out right off. Some asked about did I have a girlfriend, some asked if they could bring their girlfriend over to stay the night … one or two even asked right out if I was gay. They all seemed to get it real fast, all except Warren. He came, he liked the room, he liked the cheap rent. He only asked if he had to sign a lease. I told him no, move out anytime. No strings. He was ready to say yes. I could feel it … so I told him. I just figured I would regret it if he ever thought I faked him off or something. He didn’t seem the understanding type.

“Uh, listen… maybe I should tell you. I, uh, I don’t date girls, you know? I’m sort of a homebody… just watch TV and read, like that. I don’t go out much.” I tried to give him a clue. He was totally dense.

“Yeah, me too, I’m saving up for a truck. Headed back to Mississippi by winter, I hope. Been trying to put back a few bucks. That’s why I was looking for a cheaper place to stay.” He just didn’t get it.

“For me it’s more like, I really don’t like girls, you know? I go out, to the Eagle and a few other bars … but not often. Catch a movie sometimes.”

“You bring guys back here? To sleep with?” Okay, he did get it.

“Oh, no, I never bring anybody home. Would you want to bring girls back here?”

“Nawh, my girl’s in Mississippi. We don’t bring nobody here, that agreed?” he wanted it clear.

“Sure. That’s our second rule. First is rent paid on the first of every month,” I tried to smile, he wouldn’t let me, shrugged the humor away.

“One more rule …” His eyes went flat. “I pay in cash, not with my dick. Right?”

“Absolutely!” I quickly agreed. And he moved in, like that. He never made any rules about me not laying a hand on him but it wasn’t necessary, believe me. I made it my own personal law! He had that kind of masculine threat that just radiates from the jaw. I being gay was no problem to him, none at all because he just wasn’t interested. At All! He outweighed me by thirty pounds and he was four inches taller. How could I threaten him? He was the kind of man who could wear a pink shirt and never even think about it. Who would kid him about it? I doubt anybody had ever kidded him about anything. He just wasn’t the kind to tease or joke with. Serious? Well, like a bronze casket, okay?

So, anyway, we’d been living together for about six weeks and it wasn’t new anymore. I cooked and cleaned the kitchen and bathroom; he did our laundry (we sent our shirts to the cleaners), took out the garbage and cut the grass. We divided the labor much along the gender lines but we took on chores we didn’t mind. I liked to cook. He claimed he couldn’t. He didn’t mind loading the washer and folding towels. I always put off doing my laundry until I had to buy new underwear! We had a good fit with the chores. We worked the same hours, Monday thru Friday. We even liked most of the same TV shows; both liked action movies and especially cop stuff. It worked. After a few weeks it was better than I expected. I repressed any urge to pat his hand or touch his shoulder. The thought of offering him a hug was totally alien! He just wasn’t the kind of guy to inspire warmth and affection. The bad part? Well, he was exactly the kind of guy to inspire erotic fantasy and wet dreams. Beefy? Yeah, like a whole herd of Texas long horns! But I kept my thoughts entirely to myself. He inspired the thoughts simply by being there, not by intent or purpose. Hell, he started off being purposefully NOT sexy. I guess he was wary, right? Anyway, he never walked around in his underwear. He closed the door every time he went to the bathroom, closed his bedroom door every night. I never even saw him in pajamas, if he wore them. I doubted it, he seemed the kind to sleep raw… but I tried not to imagine that.

Just during the last week or so he’d begun to loosen up. I guess he started to feel at home. He’d neglect to close the bathroom door when he pissed or he’d take off his shirt while he was still in the living room … and a couple of times he came out of the shower at night and sat down to watch TV in his robe. Me? Well, I’d pretty much followed his lead. I played Mr. Modest as long as he did. I couldn’t even pass through the living room half dressed without wondering if it would offend him. No big deal, my mother had always forbade lounging around in underwear, anyway. She said it was cheap and trashy. She had me trained if not convinced. I’d learned to enjoy cheap and trashy at times.

I stood there staring out the kitchen window so long Warren called out, “Mike? The beer?”

“Yeah, coming up!” I went back out and sat in the chair next to him.

He took a deep pull on the beer but continued to dry himself off. He leaned back in the chaise and pressed the tee shirt to his face. Of course, that gave me an opportunity to indulge my stare into his open fly and the naked flesh that peeked from the inch wide open “vee”. He didn’t wear drawers under jeans, huh? Maybe just when he was mowing grass. His cock was well wrapped with purple veins, and heavily wrinkled … couldn’t see the head but I’d already guessed he was cut. Just an impression I glanced once inside his gabardine slacks … More hair than I expected, his chest wasn’t all that…

“What’s for lunch?” He was watching me. I flushed, caught in the act of being my dirty minded self. He pulled a scowl, glanced down in his lap and back at my face. “Hope you wasn’t thinking about hot dogs.” No grin, but no disgust, either. Just his usual hard-nosed and flat realism.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare …” I looked away, squinted at the trees and sky, the yard. “The grass looks great. It’s really greened up … the fertilizer did that, right?”

“What’s for lunch?” He repeated as if to a child.

“Chicken salad. You want a sandwich or over sliced tomato?”

“Sandwich. Wheat bread? Dill pickles?”

“Sure. You want to shower first?” I stood, kept my eyes away from his, started for the kitchen.

“Mike.”

“Yeah?” I glanced back. He pointed at my beer on the deck beside the chair.

“Come back and finish your beer. No hurry. I’ll shower in a minute.”

“Well, I could go ahead and …”

“Come on back.” He waved me over with arched eyebrows and pointed imperiously at the chair beside him. “Sit.”

“Sir. Yes sir!” I grinned. My own sarcasm always made me smile.

“And you can look all you want. Fuck it.” He turned his beer up and closed his eyes against the sun. I checked, real quickly. His jeans were still gapped open, he didn’t cover it up. Still the wrinkled and thick shaft peeping out. It just wasn’t as interesting now. Fun over.

“I told you, I’m sorry. What else can I say? I really didn’t mean to offend you.”

“So? Maybe I’m not offended. I’m hot, I open my pants … you want to look then look. Who cares? Stupid, really, living with you and trying to hide it from you. Just look at it and get over your curiosity, okay? I’m tired of being coy as a goddamn girl scout. I’m through hiding. Just look at it and get over it.” He reached down and folded back his fly to expose his entire toolbox. So, he was cut like I thought. Big, yeah, but I’d seen bigger. He was right. The curiosity evaporated. No fun anymore. One more limp dick, so? I sat back, took a long drink of beer.

“Seen enough?”

“Yeah, thanks. Guess I was just curious. Sorry if it made you uncomfortable.”

“No sweat.” He closed his jeans, pulled his zipper up half way and effectively covered the display. “It’s not just a gay thing, okay? Back when I played football? Every guy in the fucking showers was always trying to look without getting caught. Guys just want to see what you got, everybody’s curious. No big deal. Forget it, okay?”

“Yeah, okay. You want iced tea or more beer with lunch?”

“Another beer. Didn’t sleep good last night. After lunch I’ll maybe nap a while. I’m really tired.”

“All the sweating drains your energy, too.” I stood up again. “I’ll have it ready when you get out of the shower.”

“Okay. Gotta put up the mower.” He groaned as he stood up.

“I got it. You’ve done enough. Go. Shower!”

“Yes sir.” He did grin, then, a little.

When he came out of the shower he was only wearing a pair of blue striped boxers. I note this because it’s such a complete change from his earlier obsessive modesty. He’s not self conscious, he’s relaxed and perfectly at ease. He padded across the linoleum and flopped in a chair. I slid a plate in front of him. Should I comment or not? Too obvious, I have to say something or it’s like phony, right?

“No more coy girl scout, huh?” I turned to the refrigerator for his beer, poured chips into a bowl.

“That’s what I said. Free show, stare all you want. We got any dip? The mushroom kind?”

“I think so, I’ll check …Glad to be past it, really. All that modesty was getting on my nerves. Like you didn’t trust me … you know? … There’s a little, you finish it off. I didn’t much like it.”

“Get tired of the onion kind … You like salsa? With corn chips?” He looked up at me.

“Yeah. I’ll get some. I’m going to the market while you nap, anyway.”

“Cool. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you, okay? Not really. I donno, at first I felt kinda strange about moving in with you. I just didn’t know how to act. I’ve been feeling stupid about it for a while. I mean, why hide it from you? You’ve seen a few dicks, right?”

“A few, yeah. You were just feeling defensive. Understandable; I’m glad you can relax. Forget about it. I’ll try and not stare anymore.”

“But that’s okay … if you do!” He chomped on a mouthful and I waited, kept my eyes on his face, well above his naked chest. “I mean, when you look at me like that it’s kind of flattering, right? You’re not disrespecting me or nothing, you just admiring me. That’s okay. If you didn’t enjoy looking at me I should get worried, right? You like men, I’m a man. Hell, I’m not so different. I’ve wondered what you’re packing, is it bigger than mine, you know?” He actually grinned. “Is it?”

“I like it better when you wonder about it. The mystery is more interesting than the fact. So, I’m not telling you!” I laughed.

“Fine!” He chomped another monster bite. Did he blush a little? “But you better …” He talked around his mouthful of chicken salad, “You damn well better lock the bathroom door when you shower or I’ll just find out for myself!”

I laughed. I really laughed as I had never done since he moved in. He even cracked another of his rare grins. Now, this guy I could like, truly like! “But I always lock the door!”

“Not fair! I showed you mine …” He laughed, too. A low and rumbling noise that echoed from deep in his naked chest.

Things did change that day. It wasn’t just a mood, it was a real change. Warren let go of whatever trace of fear he had left and not only felt easier about his body, he began to share some of his internal life. He’d never been much of a conversationalist before but now he was content to sit in the living room at night and just talk about his day, air his complaints from work, from the evening news. He went from avoiding talk about his past to delivering big chunks of memories and adventures. He was a good story teller and he kept me fascinated with tales from the goal line. I’d always loved football and the dogged male competitive spirit. Warren brought it all to life for me with minute by minute recounts of glory games, homecoming games, the half time speeches and the cheerleaders that paid off in flesh for touchdowns.

“Ah, shit! I bore people to death with this stuff. Why you let me go on and on?” He stood up and went into the kitchen, brought us both another beer. It was late, another Friday evening of sitting home and soaking up the only straight man I’d ever felt close to. I was happy. I was curled into my usual lounge chair, Warren liked the couch. He usually lay down to watch TV or stretched out to talk. We kept a comfortable distance even when our dress code relaxed. He was in boxers, his favorite lounge wear. I wore my robe, my most comfortable and dog eared old flannel. We both wore white socks, they appear to be an American male fetish.

“Thanks.” I accepted the beer with gratitude. “But I’m not bored at all, Warren. That girl, Gina? Was she the one you took to the prom?”

“Yeah, the same. Back then she was a real prick tease, you know? She put on this great sexy act but in a dark car she’d tense up and start bawling if you tried anything. She was messed up, man! Afraid of her own feelings, I guess. She was afraid if she did it once she’d never stop, you know? I’m like that about dope. I smoked a joint with some friends one night and it was the best fucking thing I ever felt. But I looked around at the pot heads and I knew that could be me, right? I think Gina felt that way about sex … she'd always say, “but I’m not a slut!”, if you tried to touch her, see? So I got to thinking that’s what she was afraid of becoming, right?”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. Good call. I’ve had guys do that, act all sexy and flirt with me until I get them alone … then they freeze up and whine, “But I’m not gay!” I laughed, Warren didn’t. He looked pained.

“You ever think that about me, Mike?”

“What?” I frowned. “No way, man … I don’t see…?”

“Well, I mean … I am living with you … here I am lying around in my drawers, right? You must think about it. You ever think I’m teasing you on purpose?”

“Hell no! I thought we were past that. I think you just feel so relaxed around me that you don’t think about it anymore.” I shrugged it away.

“But you? You still think about me like that? You still look if my fly’s open, I’ve seen you. I mean, I like it, okay? It’s good to feel appreciated … but I wasn’t thinking… maybe I was teasing you? I didn’t mean to do you like Gina … That’s not right.”

“Hell no! It’s not like that, not at all. I mean, I know there’s no chance, see? So whatever I feel is strictly my own problem. I never think you’re teasing me on purpose!”

“Ah, don’t be so sure, man!” Warren sat up and lit a smoke, took a drink of beer. I waited, wondered what the hell he meant. I gave him time to explain.

“Sometimes it turns me on, you know? I’ll leave my fly unbuttoned because I know you’ll be looking at it.” He wouldn’t meet my eyes. “I shouldn’t be laying here, like this, not when I know what it does to you but, still …”

“No. Forget that. I ain’t complaining, am I? Why feel guilty about it? Go ahead and enjoy the feeling. Hey, I love it when you show a little skin, sure! But it’s not like a promise is it? I know damn well it ain’t wanting me, right? So you could lay there buck naked and I’d just look and enjoy the show. Wouldn’t bother me so why should you worry about it?”

“I donno if I’m as immune to you as you think, Mike. Times I lie in bed and think about you, you know? Tell me it wouldn’t be as easy as I think … if I came into your room, would you throw me out?”

“Well, yeah. I guess I’d have to, right? It would fuck everything up. Your friendship means more than that. If I blew you one time you’d be gone by morning. I know that.”

“Why you think that?” He looked up at me with true innocent wonder.

“Because, you dumb ass, same reason you wouldn’t ever smoke another joint! Same reason Gina wouldn’t fuck you …”

“You think I’d enjoy it that much?” He grinned.

“I think you’re afraid you’d enjoy it that much. I think it begins to sound like a good thing, a convenient thing, and an easy way to get your nut off…”

“Why couldn’t it be like that, just an easy nut, huh?” He did a dumb shrug.

“Because in spite of the image you work so hard to project, you do have feelings and emotions, Warren! We sleep together and you’ll begin to lose that independence you think so much of, you’ll start to feel close to me and you’ll hate feeling that way about another man and you’ll run from it.” I hated saying it out loud. It didn't sound so convincing.

He was grinning and shaking his head in a negative denial. “Maybe not, man; maybe I’d just get a nut and say, “thanks, dude!” and that’s all. I ain’t afraid of that, Mike. I’m afraid you'd get all emotional and start talking about love and marriage. Not me."

“Well, either way it won’t work!” I stood up and picked up our ashtrays. “I’m going to bed, you staying up?”

“Yeah, a little while. Leave me one.” He put his feet back up on the couch, lay down and fished the remote from under his back. His shorts were unbuttoned and when he raised his butt the fly gapped open wide.

I pointed at it and grinned. “See? Tease me all you want, I’m not having any, thanks!”

He tucked his thumb under the waistband and shoved down, uncovered his hairy bush, “What if I just took them off? You still going to bed early?”

I cocked my head, hands on hips. “I donno, I might stay for the floor show but I ain’t gonna blow you. Forget it, Warren!”

“Then I can tease you all I want? I can swing it right under your nose?” He got the little boy look, the mischievous grin.

“I’m immune! Go ahead, I dare you!” I tried to keep it light but felt the tension tighten my throat.

“Nope! We already played that game and you wouldn’t show me yours.” He laughed. “Stay up and let’s watch the Playboy channel. We can jerk off like high school buddies, what do you say?”

“You really are horny, aren’t you?” I laughed--nervous laughter.

“Hell yeah! You’re just going to do it in bed. I’ve heard your springs squeaking, jerk-off!”

“Like you never?” My voice was getting higher.

“Shit. I do, too. Just I usually do it in the shower.” His thumb pushed the shorts down lower. A thickened shaft threatened to pop out. My own pushed out on the flannel robe.

He swung his feet down to the floor. Hit the remote. “Come on, sit over here by me so you can see better.”

“See the TV or see you?” I moved down to the other end of the couch, sat down.

“So I can see you.” He grinned but he didn’t look at me. He found the Playboy channel. A couple made out in an old fashioned tub with lots of lather. Her plastic inflated tits shined like pink balloons. Warren raised his hips and pushed his shorts down to his knees, kicked them off and sat back. His dick was already plump and trying to stand up. Sweat broke out on my face. My upper lip felt cool.

I stood up, shook my head, “Can’t do it, man! No way. I ain’t built for this, Warren. Sorry.” I started for my bedroom.

“Hey Mike!” He called. I looked back. “Just want you to see what you’re missing.” He was up all the way. He slow stroked a massive erection, his legs spread wide apart. He grinned at me from across the dim lit room. “Think about this while you jerk off in bed, okay?”

And I did.

Saturday morning he came out of the shower and into the kitchen while he dried off, naked. I was on the phone with Harold, my oldest buddy. He called whenever I missed too many Friday nights at the Eagle. He called it the suicide check.

“Ah, the tease goes on!” I told Harold. “Would you believe I have a room mate who thinks he’s straight but he wants me to blow him? … Of course I turned him down! .. No, he’s straight as a fucking freeway through Texas! … His male ego, of course, what else? He thinks he’s teasing me right now, standing naked in the kitchen at eight o’clock in the morning!”

“Is that Harold?” Warren leaned close to the phone, “I’m NOT teasing, Harold. I’m serious as hell. Tell Mike to blow me, okay?”

“Get that thing out of my face!” … I shoved him away, pointed at the coffee maker, held up my cup. He took it. “Harold says come see him, he can handle your problem!”

Warren leaned back down to the phone … “Where do you live, Harold?”

“Coffee now, or no breakfast!” I got louder.

“See Harold? See what I got to live with? He’s a monster!” Warren laughed as I tried to pull the phone back from him. His face brushed mine.

“Harold says he loves monsters … You talk to Harold, I’ll get my own damn coffee.” I gave him the phone.

“Hmm? Yeah, that’s right… no …” He even took my chair and picked up my cigarette. I snatched it from his fingers. “I really am straight, just curious. Curious and horny; why won’t he blow me?”

I got Warren a cup of coffee, too, damn it. Should I pour it in his lap?

“Not me but I think he’s having a crisis. He thinks he’s not really gay, just been faking it. He says he’s afraid I’ll fall in love with him if he … wait! Don’t spill it! That’s hot, damnit!”

“Could I have my chair back, now?” I asked pleasantly. “And the phone? No, I won’t sit in your lap!”

“Harold, tell him to sit in my lap, okay”, he put the phone to my ear and Harold made rude suggestions. “That really burns!” He jumped up and gave me back my chair. “I’m late for gym … gotta run!” He took his coffee and did an exit, stage left.

“No, man … it’s a long story!" I explained to Harold. "Yes, totally insane--a fruit cake. Funny-farm fruit not juicy fruit. He’s really straight, trust me! … listen …”

Continued in Part 2