Best Gay Erotica 2003, page 13
I slept happily against his broad, sweet body, and woke up horny and newly thrilled to find him there looking back at me in the light, bits of sleep-stuff in the corners of his eyes. Pure satisfaction of turning over into his arms and putting my mouth on his, our hard dicks rolling against each other. I crawled down and blew him in the bright, sober light of morning, and came twice, once fucking him, all of it so tender, as if we’d endured some crisis together. It was very nice stepping out of the shower and having him put his arms around me and say how good my hair smelled—to feel, however fleetingly, held dear, desired by someone so beautiful and kind.
We went for a long drive, then stopped in the Castro for breakfast. I had the movie-musical delusion that people were stopping in their tracks to stare at us, and half expected the waiter to burst into song. When Joey dropped me back at 20 Monroe I stood on the sidewalk and watched him out of sight, and felt I’d made it all up by the time I hit the stairs.
July 15, 1981
Michael and Gary called up Sunday afternoon to see if I wanted to go to the End-Up and drink thirty-five-cent beer. I met them at Market and Powell. As we walked along South of Market, you could smell last week’s huge Folsom fire in the distance. The bar was crowded, lots of hot guys. As always, when they’re getting along, I enjoy Michael and Gary’s company immensely—sitting drinking and guiltily listening to Gary making fun of people, or dancing with Michael. They both took quarter hits of acid, but I steadfastly refused, figuring I’d just get self-conscious and stop enjoying myself so much.
We left at twilight, walking up seedy Sixth Street to Market, and caught a Haight bus to their place; I was invited for quiche. We were quite drunk. When we arrived, Michael went into the kitchen and started banging pots and pans around, while Gary filled the tub for a bubble bath. “Go ahead and have a bath with Gary, if you want to,” Michael said. “It’s OK.” I went into the steamy bathroom and took off my clothes and climbed in with Gary, and we sat facing each other in the long, claw-foot tub. We were laughing a lot and Gary was teasing me and then I had a raging hard-on and he got a more serious look on his face and started playing with it beneath the crackling bubble bath foam. We kept almost doing it, then I’d say, “Hey, Michael might be pissed”; then Michael would come in with a dishtowel thrown over his shoulder and sit on the toilet lid and smoke a cigarette and watch us bathing—then go back to his quiche. Gary pulled his legs up and I pointed my cock and it slipped halfway into him dry, and I started to fuck him and he was moaning and the water was sloshing over the sides of the tub. That was when I was most excited and wanted to come, and would have done, but Michael walked in wearing some pajama bottoms and announced we should all take acid and play together. I accepted a quarter hit, then knelt in the tub and sucked his modest, hard red dick, while Gary jerked my cock.
A little later, as I began to come on to the acid, we moved to the large walk-in closet that their pallet and sleeping bags were in, with candles, poppers, Crisco, and the redoubtable “Roy” (the giant, two-headed dildo Michael has named after the little butch straight shipping clerk at the bookstore). We sucked each other in various combinations, then Gary took a lot of the huge dildo, Michael wielding the other end; then Michael backed himself onto it while the opposite end was still in Gary, and I just sat back and stared, amazed. Partly there was that almost tangible acid crackling and popping in the air, but also I felt nearly jolted by the intensity of the sexual connection between them. It was as if I were invisible and watching something utterly private; at the same time, both of them looked at me and muttered shameless, smutty words: My watching cranked up their excitement. Of course their ultimate plan was for me to try it. Gary kissed me so romantically that my eyes welled with tears while Michael slowly pushed and twisted this fucking two-by-four cock in—but even with poppers, I literally couldn’t take it more than a tentative inch. Very stoned on the acid by now, I felt a rush of shame that I’d let them down; I wanted to have done the thing.
After a while—the green-glowing numbers on a clock radio alternately yawning to a halt and double-timing with the acid—we got cleaned up again, Michael put the quiche in the oven, and we went out flushed and wet-haired looking for a store open at twelve so we could snag a six-pack to ensure we’d get to sleep eventually. We had to walk, tripping, all the way to Market and Church Street, each stoplight taking long enough to write a novel before Walk, spooky thrums and waah-waahs pulsing from every passing car or neon sign. If a giant pterodactyl had swooped down on us screeching, I wouldn’t have been surprised. Back at the apartment, starved, we ate warm quiche and gulped malt liquors and several of Gary’s pain pills (he strained a finger last week making pizza at Marcello’s), watching The Maltese Falcon on TV. With typical tactlessness to Michael, Gary said, “I love you, Michael, but Kevin here’s the best kisser I’ve met up with.”
“Well, I’ll admit he’s a great cocksucker,” Michael said.
They had a brief skirmish over who’d sleep in the middle, and Michael got up and watched TV a little longer, drinking another malt and burping noisily, before he crawled back into bed. Then, ten minutes or two hours later, while I lay silent and vibrating alongside, Gary rolled onto Michael, nudged his legs apart, and fucked him vigorously, only the sound of his cock wetly moving in and out and his pelvis thudding against Michael’s ass and the sharp intakes of breath when he came. Then everyone pretended to go to sleep, and then it was stuffy and brighter and eight-thirty and I had to crawl out feeling like an acid zombie, shower, and take a bus to the bookstore and stand in the creaking register box ringing up copies of the latest Danielle Steel for a parade of elderly women in headscarves.
August 30, 1981
Busy seeing Sam or wondering when I’ll see him next. I’m living in a heightened state (and not just when I’m taking MDA with him, which is every weekend); the phrase desperately happy may best apply. We had one of those little necessary what’s-going-on-here discussions last weekend, and decided to agree we’re “in like,” and not to worry about it again for a long time, but I was lying through my chattering teeth.
Last Friday night when I got over to his place he pulled me into his cramped bedroom and we started making out, with the other three roommates talking and laughing in the distance at the kitchen table. He stopped and pulled something wrapped in a piece of foil from the bottom of his sock drawer. “Pull down your pants.” I did as I was told. Kissing me again and stroking my cock, he wet his finger and pushed it up my butt. “Let’s go back out and visit awhile.” Then, as we sat chatting and drinking beers, and he smoked cigarette after cigarette, I suddenly found myself getting very high. He looked over at me sometime after I’d fallen out of the conversation: “C’mon.” Back to the bedroom, where he pulled off my clothes and then stripped off his own while I lay on the bed reeling and throbbing with the MDA he’d put up my ass. He looked stern, deliberate; we kissed a long while, then he pushed me onto my stomach, spread my legs wide apart, and proceeded to fuck me, on and off, for an hour, and I came twice without touching my dick.
May 9, 1982
I just noticed, stretching out my arm to write here, that the inside of my wrist is sown with tiny splinters from the encounter with a stranger I had on the roof today—a work Saturday—at the bookstore. I didn’t get to take lunch till 2: 30. “Isn’t the wind too cool up there?” I asked Franz, the ditsy, permed-blond new clerk, who’d taken his sandwich up earlier. I was tired, and tempted to ditch “hunk school” (as John and I call our springtime tanning and exercise efforts) for the day and just eat at my desk with a book. “No, it felt great, you really should go up!” Franz said.
I grabbed a sandwich and went next door to take the elevator to the Bonanza deck (actually accessed through the old office building next door). Shit, I thought as I pushed the door open and started across the roof—there was some guy stripped down to a tiny yellow Speedo lying on his stomach on one of the ancient wooden benches, probably one of the drones from W. H. Freeman (the science publisher in the adjoining building) that I ignore up there on weekdays. I hadn’t brought my book, so I’d be doomed to some boring conversation. As I clomped up on the noisy deck, he turned over, sat up, and stared at me as though I were some visiting angel. I was happily taken aback: He was cute, with graying blond beard and hair, slim, muscular, nice ass and shoulders, big friendly grin, and, I now saw, a cock that was obviously large and outgrowing his suit even before I’d pulled my T-shirt off. “Handsome man…,” he said, with a hick Texas accent that went straight to my heart and cock.
We chatted for a moment, then I fell to eating my now-leaden sandwich. He went on staring at me and smiling, making no attempt to hide the boner tenting the front of his Speedo. After the last week of frustrated horniness, the summery weather, the lust heavy in the air everywhere lately, shyness couldn’t impede me. I put the other half of my sandwich down, turned around on the bench to face him, stared at his hard-on, and said, “You want to play, or what?” “Wah, ah’d love to,” he said. I walked over as he stood, I crouched and pulled his dick out—big, sweaty, with a fat mushroom head—and started sucking it without so much as a thought of the hundreds of glaring windows on the surrounding skyscrapers, or who else might be working on this sunny Saturday.
May 27, 1982
Now that I’ve been made to understand that Lee’s ardor has nothing to do with romance, I cold-bloodedly agreed to come by his place on Sunday morning for a recreational three-way. His lover Ralph’s odd-looking, slightly walleyed;the bulgy crotch and thirty keys affixed to his back left pocket were, as I’d imagined, false lights. Lee and I went into the bedroom first (“Jes’ relax, honey…”). We were naked and kissing when Ralph came in, pulled off his clothes, and began to blow me. His dick was tiny and didn’t get hard. Lee got very excited watching me fucking Ralph’s face; when I was close to coming, he climbed behind me and shoved his big dick into me dry and started pumping hard, and I came, shooting copiously down Ralph’s throat—he moaned at each jet, pulling on my balls. We all lay still and breathing heavily for a few minutes, my dick still in Ralph’s mouth—then, as Lee crawled up and brought his rock-hard cock to my lips, my dick sprang up and Ralph went back to work, relieving me of a second load while Lee jerked off over my face.
When I got home, Michael was calling with an interesting story. He’d tricked with the muscular hunk he met at Café Flore a few days ago, the one who works Sunday evenings at the Eagle, and he turned out to be quite strange. Michael brought him back to the apartment while Gary was at work; the guy kept claiming he wasn’t human, and could read Michael’s thoughts by putting his hand on his head. When he left, Michael went to the window to watch, but he never saw him leave the building. I told Michael I thought an alien would have better things to do than infiltrate the homosexual community and serve beers in a leather vest at the Eagle.
September 6, 1982
I ran into Gary and Michael leaving the Castro early Sunday evening. We headed for their place to get some of Gary’s new Thai-stick. As we passed Guerrero, Michael saw a light on up at his friend Mark’s. “You go ahead with Gary and get the pot while I see if Mark’s home,” Michael told me, rushing off. This undoubtedly meant that he wanted Gary out of the way so that he could tell Mark about whoever he’d tricked with the night before.
I had a pretty good idea what would happen next. Gary and I went on to his and Michael’s apartment on Haight. We both had to pee badly as we came through the door. He couldn’t wait for me to finish, so he pulled his dick out and peed in the sink, half erect as usual. I finished and went in the other room and sat down on the bed, picked up a porn magazine, and flipped the pages, as if I was in a doctor’s waiting room. He walked out of the bathroom with his dick sticking straight out in front of him. “I don’t think I can get my dick back in my pants like this,” he said, my Romeo. “Maybe you’d like to put your lips around it?”
As always, no kissing, almost no eye contact unless I forced it. I unbuttoned my fly and let my hard-on pop out, crouched on the hardwood floor, and started sucking on his uncut dick, which has a plastic reek, like a new shower curtain. He pulled away periodically and beat off while I licked his balls—all in the near dark, only the silenced TV on for light.
“Stand up and pull your pants down around your ankles,” he said, and I did so, fast, then squatted again. I had my hands on his firm asscheeks while he pumped into my mouth. He yanked away and wanked himself briskly a minute while I jerked off in front of him, looking up at his red dick. He moaned and shot one white jet that hit my shoulder. “False cum!” he said, continuing to stroke with one hand and grabbing the back of my head with the other; then, “OK, OK, here it is!” and he pushed it back in my mouth and came in a bitter flood. I kept sucking and came seconds later, leaning back and ejaculating with an audible crack, panting as if I’d run a race. Impossible to explain the awful love I feel for him, indistinguishable from the lust, while all this is occurring. A few seconds of silent breathing, and then he’s all practicality. “Hey, we should get moving!”
“You’d better not feel superior about this!” I said as we hurried down the two flights of stairs and out onto the twilit street.
“Oh, you bet I do,” he said, laughing nastily; then, “No, I won’t think of it at all!”—lest I try to make some Prince Charming story out of it.
Wanna Wrestle?
Greg Herren
“Wanna wrestle?”
“What?” I ask, not sure I’ve heard him right.
He smiles, blue eyes flashing as he shakes his head, running his left hand through dark, close-cropped curls. The movement of his hand flexes his biceps, veins appearing through the deeply tanned skin. There is a patch of curly dark hair in the center of his chest, outlining hard pecs with quarter-sized dark nipples. “I said, wanna wrestle?”
“Wrestle?” I say. He is taller than me and outweighs me by at least thirty pounds of muscle.
He walks over to me until our faces are only inches apart, our chests almost touching. “It’s very hot.” He reaches behind me and grabs one of my asscheeks with his hand and squeezes it. “It really turns me on.”
I can feel my dick stiffening. “Yeah, sure, OK.”
He smiles and pinches my left nipple gently. “I knew when I saw you in the bar you’d be a lot of fun.”
He walks to a dresser and opens a drawer. He tosses me a black jockstrap. “Put that on.”
I kick off my shoes and unfasten my belt. Then I rip open the buttons of my jeans and slide them down and off. I pull off my boxer briefs and slide the cool cotton jockstrap on. It feels good. I readjust my hard cock and balls so that they are inside the pouch. I look at him. His jeans slide down. He isn’t wearing underwear. His ass is white against the dark of the rest of his skin, hard and round below the dimples in his lower back where it begins to curve out. He slips his feet through the leg holes of a red jock, which he slides up, securing the straps below his ass. He looks at himself in the mirror, and flexes both arms, tightens his ass. I can feel a bit of pre-cum dribble out.
He faces me. He smiles. “You look good in a jock.”
“You too.” He does, even better from the front.
He walks up to me again. He tilts his head forward and kisses me. His lips are strong but soft. His tongue probes my lips until I open my mouth and take it inside. I close my mouth around his tongue and suck on it softly. He moans and he pushes his crotch into mine so that I can feel his hard-on through the cotton. My hands slide down his back and cup his ass. It is hard to the touch, but the skin is smooth and soft. I open my eyes, his are closed, and I gently keep sucking his tongue. His tongue slips out of my mouth and I bite his lower lip, sheathing my teeth in my own lips, and tug on it. He shivers and presses me slowly backward toward the bed. I give in to the pressure, stepping backward until the backs of my legs are up against the side of the bed. He pulls his head away and smiles at me.
“You sure can kiss.” His eyes open all the way. They are soft, almost lazy, as though he has just woken from a pleasant dream.
I smile and touch one of his nipples, tweaking it, pulling it slowly.
He places both hands on my chest and pushes. I fall backward onto the bed, my feet still on the floor. I lie there, looking up at him. He smiles at me, then climbs onto the bed, his knees on either side of my hips. I reach with both hands to touch his stomach, but before I do his hands have grabbed mine and are forcing them away, up, and over my head. I struggle against him, but he has leverage and is too strong. My out-muscled arms are stretched back, my pits coming up and toward him. He is leaning forward, his nipples achingly close to my mouth. I raise my head and take one, lick it, tease it, my tongue running over and over his hard nipple. He is breathing harder now, and now I tease it with my teeth, nibbling it, washing it with my tongue, and then grabbing it with my teeth again. He moans and buries his face in my armpit and starts kissing it. A wave of pleasure rolls over me as he traces the line of my underarm with his tongue, alternating between kisses and licks. I start to squirm under him. He raises his head and smiles at me. I try to force my arms up again but he has them tightly in his grip. I can’t move them.
“Where do you think you’re going, boy?” he whispers, his strong fingers pinning my arms with even more force.
“Nowhere,” I whisper back.
He lets go of my hands and straightens up. He sits back so that the cheeks of his ass are brushing the head of my cock. He shifts his ass slowly back and forth, teasing my cock . He flexes both arms again, and kisses each bicep. He is so perfect, so beautiful above me. I squirm again and he loses his balance. I concentrate and push. He falls over onto his side. I slide out from between his legs and quickly move on top. I lie on top of him, our cocks straining against the cotton jocks and each other, and my legs slide in between his. I lick his nipple, squeezing the other with my hand. I slide that hand down to his pelvic bone and start stroking the line from his hip bone to his balls. He is moaning. I put my mouth over his and take his tongue again, sucking on it. His arms slide around my back and squeeze, pulling me down into him tighter. His legs circle my hips, meeting in back above my ass.
