Best Gay Erotica 2014 (9 page)

He had the torso of an underwear model: washboard abs and thick shoulders. His body hair grew thicker than expected, scattered along his chest and happy trail. It bushed out at his armpits, holding in the sweat and musk. What set him apart were the two horizontal scars running along the base of his pecs. They curved up to his armpits like anchors. I'd seen scars like that before: on marching topless boys during pride, on a go-go dancer at the club, but never this close. I ran a finger across one shiny line and watched the combative unease on his face.

I suddenly realized what kind of boy I had with me. There weren't many other clues. The height, sure, but some guys are short. I paced around him, looking closer. Not a woman, just another scruffy boy.

Standing close behind him I started to rub against his ass. Grabbed it, slapped it, and let my cock push into the denim covered crack. He moaned.

“Do you want my dick?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Then I'm gonna need to see yours.” He didn't answer. I
unzipped his fly and pulled out a big flexible dildo carved well enough to look real. It was circumcised, complete with a pee hole, veins and peach shading to match his skin. The thing felt warm from being pressed against his body and the material gave when I touched it—as close to real as plastic gets.

I pulled the pants off. They were so tight I had to peel them off. A black leather harness held his dick in place. Sunlight glinted back from the buckles. This time I wasn't surprised. I hadn't ever fucked a transboy before, but I'd watched them and wondered. I had fucked a woman in high school. Well, I'd tried. We were drunk and I couldn't get it up, let alone in. Hadn't been curious about pussy since—but also hadn't found one on a boy.

He had a tight little ass. The hair stood out and got thicker toward his crack. I slapped one cheek, then the other, until both sides were red. I ran a finger along his taint and circled the pink asshole. I felt his hole shudder, then his entire body along with it, as I stroked the sensitive skin. I went along his taint to the bottom of his cunt but didn't go farther. Wasn't sure I wanted to deal with that. Yet. Instead, I slipped a finger in his ass. He swallowed it whole, then another and another.

There was a condom in my wallet. Such a shame. For a moment I was tempted to go bare. Self-control won out. I slid the rubber over my dick, then rubbed the head in his asscrack, waiting as long as humanly possible before shoving it in. He spasmed. Started saying “fuck” over and over again. I clamped my hands into his hip bones and used them like handles to force his ass onto my dick. I fucked him hard and fast, watching him take everything in. This time I didn't last long before unloading inside of him.

The boy didn't look even close to being done. He writhed and squirmed as I pulled out, wanting more. He hung there,
wrists trapped, unable to touch himself while I took my time watching. Putting my dick back into place.

Our bodies were so different. Everything about me was thick and dark in comparison. Years of working with my body had earned me the physique I'd coveted all my life. Course black hair covered my arms, legs, chest. And my dick didn't strap off.

A jigsaw revving up nearby ripped through our quiet. Voices, loud, all business, yelling out measurements and warning one another to watch the fuck out. It sounded like lunch hour had ended. My boy was still hanging naked from the ceiling. I really hoped no one needed to come in here. Fucking on the job was generally frowned on.

I undid his hands. Angry red lines showed where the cord had dug into his skin. He rapped the circulation back in before reaching for the puddle of jeans around his ankles.

“Leave it.” He dropped the denim. “I'm not finished with you.” I grabbed him by the back of the neck and led him over to edge, facing the long drop down. Half a foot farther and he'd fall off the edge. There were people working down there, but no one on the scaffolding too close to us. I let my hand slide down to that other opening between his legs and slipped a finger in. Salty wet lube dripped down my hand.

He wanted more. I massaged my cock through my pants. The blood started flowing back, not hard as before, but getting there. Another finger inside and he started making noise. I reached for my fly but he stopped me.

“Wait.”

“What'd you say, boy?”

“Please wait, Sir. There's another condom in my jeans, Sir.”

“Fine. Bring it.” He did. I ripped open the foil package and put on the snakeskin.

“Now get on your knees.”

His head faced the drop. Naked, vulnerable and hot for my cock. He looked like any other boy from behind. I ran the tip of my cock through his cleft. Soft, wet, and warm. It felt good. His hips bucked down, trying to push my dick in the hole. I pushed back. Everything I had slid through the lips, running up unfamiliar parts. My hand found his dick—not the rubber extension, but his hormone-addled little boy-dick rigid with blood and wet from himself. When I hit that he moaned. Then “Oh…oh my god,” as I flicked over it. His cock was the length and width of my thumb.

Every time I pulled back he contracted, the hole trying to suck me in. After a while I let him. Slowly, so slowly, I entered his cunt. It was tight. I felt him stretch around me, heard him gasp, then felt his body push itself on.

Inside him, pumping, I reached around to grab hold of his dick. It was the rubber one, a little too stiff and too cold, but stroking that, seeing his muscular back bent away, kept things familiar. For a moment I worried that it was too strange, but he gave me no chance to falter. Gone was the quiet, the modesty. His greedy hole sucked at my dick so overwhelmingly I had to fight not to come. I thought about high school reunions, grocery lists and the DMV. I thought about tiling and grout. I thought about the boy who was starting to shiver around me, moaning, louder than was safe for our continued privacy, and dripping juice onto the hard concrete floor.

It tightened up as he came. Little spasms grabbed and released, grabbed and released at my dick. He was loud enough that I clamped my palm over his mouth, and still little grunts came. My hand grew hot from his breath. I pulled out, yanked off the plastic, and jerked until I splattered his back. He didn't wipe off, but stood to gather his clothes from the floor. Flannel
went over the mess. I watched it smear under the fabric then disappear. Good. Take it home. Think of me.

He kissed me. I told him to fuck off. Had work to do. He climbed down with a smile. I had other things to worry about: the job, new cards, getting my truck. I tried to get angry again over my frustrating day, hold on to the jolt and productivity of being annoyed. It didn't work. I thought about what I'd do to that boy for breaking my concentration and grinned. If I ran into him again, I'd teach him a lesson. Show him a thing or two about what it means to wreck my bad day.

FIVE-FINGER DISCOUNT

Huck Pilgrim

Jimmy Manley wandered through the dusty aisles of Murphy Mart, a small department store at the Metro Mall. He strolled the aisles of the store's small electronics section, brushing his fingers over the boxes of video games. To a casual observer, he would appear consumed in making a selection, but this was a ruse. In fact, he was carefully scanning the store, looking for employees, trying to gauge his odds of getting away with a small theft. Jimmy liked to test himself in Murphy Mart: a small lackluster department store even in its better days, the staff here were mostly bored. He'd been caught stealing here a few times before, and the clerks had resorted to mild curses and an invitation to leave the store. One of those times, a heavy-set woman wearing a worn, harried look and a straining Murphy Mart polo shirt had caught him stuffing a hardcover book down the front of his pants. She'd smacked him in the head with the back of her hand.

“You,” she'd said. “Fuck off.” In her thick Russian accent, it had come out:
Joo. Fack off
.

He'd tossed the book back onto the shelf and then run from the store, only to find himself on the other side of the mall, his heart racing, unable to stop laughing.
Fack off
, indeed.

Jimmy couldn't afford to get into any more trouble: the recruiter had told him to keep his nose clean, enjoy his birthday celebration and then graduate high school. Jimmy had just turned eighteen. In a few more weeks, he'd graduate high school. And then it was good-bye Carnal, hello Recruit Training Center Great Lakes—the U.S. Naval boot camp. He'd already signed the papers.

Jimmy's father didn't want him to join the military. Jimmy had laughed at his father's initial assessment of the situation:
You'll get your head shot off
, Don Manley had said in utter dismay. Jimmy thought his father was being overly dramatic, but he didn't particularly mind. It was good to hear an opinion from the old man, even if he thought Jimmy was making a mistake. He'd enjoyed the rare treat of his father's attention.

Jimmy deftly slipped a small electronic gadget into his pants—a USB stick in the shape of a shotgun: Jimmy thought it would make a nice Father's Day gift. The cardboard backing dug into his thighs as he surveyed the store's aisles.

Meandering toward the men's clothing aisles, Jimmy found a tall mirror. Jimmy could see the outline of the package stuffed in his jeans. He skillfully adjusted himself until he was satisfied that his prize was no longer visible. He picked and fluffed at his dark curly hair. He knew all his hair would get cut off in boot camp. His head would be bald and shiny. Jimmy longed to begin his adventure in the military. He hoped to transform his slim, boyish frame into the muscled body of a real man. He squinted his big brown eyes and put on a tough grimace, but he couldn't hold it for long, breaking out into a big toothy smile. Jimmy was not much of a tough, and he knew it. Jimmy secretly hoped
against hope that the military would help him transform more than just his body and his hair. He stuffed his hands in the deep pockets of his pants and wandered into the aisle of paperback books and magazines.

He picked up a fantasy novel and surreptitiously looked at the shelf of pornographic girly magazines: on one was a soft-focus picture of a beautiful girl, her breasts and thighs covered by the wide modesty wrapper of plain white paper. Jimmy could feel his cock moving in his pants. Jimmy remembered that his friend Roger Bones was also at the Metro Mall, but he didn't feel like hanging out with Roger. Each time he hung out with Roger at the Metro Mall, Jimmy ended up at some gay man's apartment, sitting on that man's couch or his bed, with his pants and underwear pooled at his ankles, a pornographic magazine in his hands, the man's mouth on him. Jimmy's cock slid to attention just thinking about it. There was good money in hustling gay men, even after Roger took his cut.

Jimmy put the novel back on the shelf. His penis pressed uncomfortably against the item in his pants, so Jimmy adjusted himself again, letting his fingers linger on his cock perhaps a little longer then he should have. He knew it was foolish, but Jimmy picked up the porno magazine and slipped its wrapper from the cover.

Jimmy hoped that his sojourn into the military would turn him into the kind of man who didn't get a raging hard-on at the thought of having his cock swallowed by a man. With chagrin, Jimmy remembered that he hadn't even been paid for the first blow job a man had given him. Unbeknownst to Jimmy, Roger had kept the money. Jimmy had incorrectly assumed the blow job itself was the reward, his payment for overcoming his fear. And in a way, that blow job was compensation of sorts: Jimmy discovered he loved to shoot his cream into the warmth of
another man's mouth. So much better than firing off into his warm bedsheets, or the cold water of the toilet bowl. Once Jimmy learned there was money exchanging hands, he insisted on collecting the lion's share of the proceeds from Roger. Jimmy felt he had to. Otherwise, he would be in it just for the blow job. And that was only a very small step away from actually being gay.

Jimmy flipped through the pages of the magazine, skipping immediately to the model in the center. He luxuriated in the hard-on in his pants. He'd have to go to the mall restroom and relieve himself into one of the toilets. Jimmy tugged at the gift for his father hidden in his pants. If Jimmy's father thought he'd fail in the military, Jimmy wondered what the old man would think of his adventures with Roger in the Metro Mall? The thought made Jimmy wince, even as his cock throbbed.

Looking up from his magazine, Jimmy spotted a man striding toward him with great purpose. He was a big guy, with a wide face and flat nose. He had strong arms, a big head and chest, and steel-gray hair clipped close to his head. Jimmy felt the hard-on in his pants wither. He put the magazine back, fumbling with the paper modesty wrapper a bit before deciding to just ignore the wrapper and head for the door.

The man was fast. He must have broken into a trot as soon as Jimmy turned, because no sooner did Jimmy take a single step, then he felt a big powerful hand clamp down on his shoulder. The big man swiftly positioned himself between Jimmy and the arch leading into the mall, and then he looked evenly at Jimmy, sizing him up. Jimmy grinned sheepishly. He had a square jaw and deep-blue eyes. He wore dark slacks and a button-down blue oxford shirt, cuffs rolled halfway up his thick, hairy, tattoo-covered forearms.

“You come with me,” he said. Again, a thick accent, Russian
or Eastern European. “You vit me,” the man said. Stepping toward Jimmy, the man used his superior size to intimidate the boy. Jimmy noticed the name badge pinned to the man's deep chest: B
OGDON.