Gay Erotic Stories

Ralph was slippery with sweat and grunting with effort and, I hope, pleasure as he thrust his much admired cock into me, his balls slapping against my arse, his hand holding my buttocks and his face buried in my neck. I, meanwhile, was on my back, my legs over Ralph's shoulders and my eyes wide in astonishment, not because this was the best sex of my life, although it was very good, but because it was the fourth time Ralph had fucked me in the previous two hours. Poor Ralph. He spent a lot of time doing business in conservative parts of the US where being gay was only slightly better than being black and there were no outlets for his energy. "Yes, I fuck a few women but it's not the same," he told me once. "They're too ... soft. I like hard." So when he returned to Amsterdam, he was ready to explode. I'm surprised the customs officers had avoided being taken. On this occasion Ralph had a house guest who had arrived the same day he got off the plane from New York. We met up at Schiphol and went back to Ralph's house on a canal near Liedseplein. I was in the process of admiring what was a beautifully appointed home when Ralph picked me up and, well, took me to bed. After an experience for which the words "fucked senseless" might have been invented, Ralph dozed for a while and I was just drifting off when I was lifted on to all fours and pummeled again. "Ralph! At least ask. Or kiss me or something," I said as his cock, white with cum, slipped out of me. It didn't look very limp. "Sorry," he said. "I'm climbing the walls by the time I get home. I had two wanks on the plane but it didn't do any good. I'll kiss you next time." Next time? In fact the next time was about 35 minutes later and true to his word, Ralph kissed me very nicely before straddling my face and fucking my mouth before slipping it into my arse again for another pounding. "Fuck! How long does this go on? Do we need to send out for food and more lube?" Ralph laughed. "I think that's it ... I'm starting to feel tired, I think." So it was a bit of a puzzle that 30 minutes later he was in balls-deep again, eyes tightly closed as his cock bucked and added to reservoir of cum in my arse. "Ohhhhh, that's good," he said and rolled off me. "So good." I wouldn't have been surprised if the Guinness Book of World Records people had stepped out from behind a curtain and presented him with a medal and I was relieved as he settled and began to snore softly. As I sat on his toilet expelling a river of cum, I silently marvelled at how my life had brought me here to 1976 Amsterdam. Losing my virginity in Perth in 1975 seemed a couple of universes away and if you want to know how I got to this point, you'll have to read my other stories which record the sexual progress of an 18-year-old Aussie with big ideas and a bigger libido. If you like them, email me and I'll send you the two Menonthenet won't upload, probably because they deal with how I was gay bashed on Hampstead Heath in London and are pretty violent. They're reluctance is understandable, I guess. These are meant to be erotic tales and there's nothing sexy about extreme violence. But that experience, and my recovery, is part of my story. A depressingly important one for many gays in those days.