Gay Erotic Stories

I’d been playing Volleyball with my family. Acting all nice and friendly…like the good guy they all think me to be…and secretly stealing glances at the hot guys on the beach. I never remembered the guys in Chicago to be this hot. Then again, I’d been living in the ‘burbs and going to the gay bars. Nobody really hot ever goes to the gay bars. The hot ones are too busy fucking at home. These guys are all so Midwestern. And in this really hot, macho way. My girlfriends say you can’t date them because they don’t have any substance. I feel like Chicagoans in general just aren’t all that experienced. They’re isolated in Chicagoland and put on this bravado like they know and have done everything. And while this mock bravado doesn’t make for a great conversation, it does make for a really hot swagger.

I finally break away from the family and ran off for a bathroom break. I used to fuck around in the stalls of my university. I’d be studying and get bored and head on up to the third floor…or to the basement bathroom. Shit stalls historically known for their cock sucking tenants. I did it there, but it was never any good. The guys were ugly or old….mostly old….mostly the librarians. And then there have been the quick gay bar romps. Pretty common in New York. Late enough into the night you’re sure to find several gays prowling the stalls and sometimes pretty hot.

I was getting myself worked up, thinking about these times and thinking about the damp, concrete walls and stalls that awaited me. Nothing would really happen though. I popped in and headed for a stall. There were two guys there but I hadn’t really looked at them. The one to the right of me was a dad type. He does his business and leaves. But the one on the left…two urinals down…

I can see in my periphery tan skin….golden and muscular….loose fitting, low hanging shorts, white sneakers with some sand on them. I think he might have caught me looking at him and I stared down at my dick. It was semi-erect. Not hard, considering I’ve been staring at all these guys all day. He was shaking his dick now. I imagine the breeze coming from his big, floppy dick passing over my face. I’d even be happy to have a few errant drops of his piss fall on my cheek. He pulls away from the urinal. I was hoping maybe he’d give it a pull or two and we could get something started.

I concentrate on my dick again and realize I haven’t even started peeing. I close my eyes and contract, heaving inside until it starts to flow. I’ll just have to stick to my fantasy, I guess. Hah. Here I am attacking the worldliness of Chicagoans when the half site of a muscley guy in long shorts turns my dick to stone. I don’t even know if he was hot. Usually my fantasy of a guy will be more exciting then what he actually looks like. I see hundreds of hot guys everyday from the back. They’re hot until they turn around and I see their face.

I put my boy away and turn around. He’s still there--washing his face now and arms in the sink. I guess he was sweaty. And now I look at him completely. I’m looking from the back but I can see his face and chest in the mirror. I look at his arms and want to press my fingers around them. His back is chiseled but soft. That effect you get from playing sports a lot and being relaxed the rest of the time. His tan is dark, even and unblemished. There’s no hair except for a tiny blond tuft on his back right about his narrow waist and maybe some fuzz on the front of his calves. He’s pretty wet from the water and sweat and it’s sweeping down onto his shorts. Darkening the top and absorbing into his underwear. I think his dick must be feeling a little cold with the water dripping down onto it, making his balls shrink and tickling him a little.

He looks straight at me and I realize I’m staring. I smile and he smiles back. At least I don’t look down at the floor when someone looks at me now. New York has taught me something. There are only two sinks so I don’t feel weird about walking up to the one next to him. I start washing my hands and feel his foot press against mine a little bit. Hot.

He’s tall and his legs are spread apart pretty wide so he can fit his head in the mirror. Maybe it’s an accident. I don’t move though. I learned that on the subway. Maybe it’s a little creepy of me, but if someone presses up against me on a train and they’re even remotely hot, I usually don’t move. I just let our bodies press up against each other, making contact and exchanging heat. I leave my foot there and notice that he’s not making any effort to separate. He’s wetting his hair now. I’m done washing my hands and figure I have to find something to do. Rinse your mouth. You don’t want to get his dick dirty, right? I look at him as I come up and see him looking at me. He finally separates and starts rubbing water on his chest, slightly massaging his pecs and letting handfuls of water dribble over his small, tight nipples. I picture my tongue running over all of it, sucking on his nipples and slurping everything up.

Holy shit! My dick’s hard again and I’m at the fucking beach with this hot guy. I look around the bathroom and realize no one has come in. Do I really have a shot with this guy? This hot, so-not-your-typical gay, wet bathroom guy? What the fuck do I do? Do I say something? In a deep voice: “Hey.” Pause. Pause. Pause. “What’s up?” or “What’s your name?” or “Can I stick my face in your shorts.”

This is ridiculous. I gotta get out of this bathroom before I make a fool out of myself or have this guy lash out at me. I back away from the mirror and plan to go around him to get to the dryer. There’s one on my side but I guess this is my one last shot. I pass by really close to him and feel the warmth of his back on my arm. I slow down. I think about grabbing him and squeezing him. Tearing off his shorts and sticking my face in his dirty, hairy, wet asshole. I look over at him in the mirror and he’s looking at me. He’s intense. I stop. I straighten up and our shoulders meet.

We stand their locked by skin, not moving and starting at each other through the mirror. He turns around and I back up towards a stall with him matching my every step. We enter the stall and he slams the door shut. We start ramming our tongues down each other’s throats and he pulls at the hair on the back of my head, his arms wrapped around me and his arm-pit hair brushing against my shoulders. I start biting his neck and arms and licking his chest. He grabs my ass and lifts me up a little. We rub against each other, feeling our flesh press into the other’s. I work my way down, biting his chest and stomach as he undoes his shorts and there it is, the dirty little monster I saw waving at me from the corner of my eye. Thin at the base and working its way up in fatness up to the beautiful, plump, soft tip. I lick from the base up and work at the head, finally swallowing it and working it deep into my throat. I lick his balls and bite the blonde/brown tuft right above. I grab his ass and feel up and down his legs and up his waist. He pulls on my hair and ears and squeezes my triceps. I feel sweat build up on my forehead and taste and combination of salt and water hitting my lips each time and take it into my mouth. I’m playing with my dick and swallowing everything I can and loving it all. He pulled his dick out of my mouth right as he was about to cum and moaned a little as he shot all over my face. Then he gently wiped the cum on my face a little, put his shorts back on and walked out.

Like I said, you can’t actually talk to any of these hot Chicago guys…just watch ‘em swagger and feel ‘em fuck.