Author Sorting of Gay Sex Stories - Page 108

It wasn't a dream. He's still here. That's his hand stroking my penis, trying to wake me up. I better pretend to be asleep. He's stroking from the base to the tip and I'm getting hard. I daren't look. He's blowing warm air up my spine, wants to fuck me again. I've forgotten his name. I've forgotten what he looks like. I think he has sandy blond hair, tied at the back like a pony's tail.
4.1 2944 words 13 mins historical

Fuckin unbelievable. What am I doin here? I should be home on the range giving head to a ramrod or trail-boss, or even a chuck-wagon cook, not stuck out here, in the middle of the street wilting under a high noon sun with some fucking barn-boy ready to blow my fuckin' brains out.
3.4 2696 words 12 mins historical

Stuck between two points of the compass with no idea of where to go next. I was in a no man's land kind of mood getting over a broken heart, a loss of job, took the golden shower of the golden handshake, packed all my belongings. Threw them in my car, my only a companion a pewter framed picture of Charlie. Charlie with the lying eyes. He'd fallen off his bike, right in front of me.
3.4 2835 words 13 mins beginnings

His face etched in a terminal scowl, his sword always at the ready, and a hardon permanently in erection. A bloodstained sky behind an ominous moon provided a backdrop as he urged his horse on. The captive boy he'd rescued from the white-slave caravan, now blugeoned to oblivion, hung onto Gonad, as the man-giant spurred his horse on toward the city.
3.8 2846 words 13 mins sci-fi/fantasy

He was breathing heavily and slouched on the handle bars and stared through the window at the driver. He was about eighteen, but looked younger. His hair short, with blond bangs, a T-shirt with Ren and Stimpy, short cutoffs, high-tops and slim hips, strong legs. The driver looked back at the cyclist, who was catching his breath.
3.9 2173 words 10 mins beginnings

He was a mid-twenties African-American slacker who wanted to be an underground cartoonist. I'd gotten him a little work at the Ad agency I worked for. He could draw really well, but things were slightly 'off': angst-ridden faces wouldn't do for a story board with Sharon Stone exhorting us to buy Crisco Oil.
3 2769 words 12 mins friendship

I am lucky that we got a laundry room. I don't have to go to the fershlugginger commercial laundrette. Not only I'm spared the trouble, of carrying my stuff but also don't have to wait, bored out of my mind, waiting, waiting for the damn stuff to dry. Much more convenient. However, there's a hitch. Always is. It's when the person before you, has forgotten the stuff. I'm going out tonight.
3.8 942 words 4 mins beginnings

In his hand he had my copy of Out, brown paper wrapped subscription, but the cover was exposed, revealing the issue's contents, and Brian impudently asked asked if I had more copies, as he found the sight of naked men enthralling: I have the entire collection in my closet.
3.7 1380 words 6 mins sci-fi/fantasy hunk muscular

Steak, sausage, salami, pepperoni, chicken veal, rib-eye,lamb and pork. I'd gone into my local supermarket to buy food. I was hungry but looking for something new; I'd had my fill of hamburger and hot dogs recently. I've nothing against vegetables, y'understand. I like root vegetables. I've had carrots, cucumbers and even the odd rutabaga. No radishes! Fruit, well, I can take it or leave it.
4.1 769 words 3 mins encounters

It was comic, in a Charlie Chaplin way, this sexy mime going on before me. The boy and the humanoid look-alike made an odd couple. The assistant was real, but not my type, but the mannequin aroused my curiosity. It had no penis of course, but they had molded a crease between its buttocks. It looked like a man, but was just a real size Ken-doll. No hair and no life in the eyes.
3.8 896 words 4 mins beginnings