Your erotic stories

The young man in the story is 19 years old. This story begins in a bathroom at Washington Park in 1973... * Chapter One: Roaming eyes. I was minding my own affairs, just taking a leak in the men's room in the park, when it came to my attention that I had an audience down at the other end of the long through urinal. I glanced over, and saw that it was a guy that had been sitting on the side of the hill watching us work.

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Brock Barry Peterson was the handsomest man I had ever seen. He was over six feet tall and had smooth clear skin, blue blue eyes and white white wavy hair. He was always impeccably dressed in expensive well-tailored suits, crisp ironed shirts, and tastefully colored ties. He wore a special cologne. I don't know what it was, but it was heady. Sitting across from his desk, taking instructions, I was breathing in his aroma and getting absolutely intoxicated.

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Ricky is simply a superb lover. He treats me to the best sexual experiences I have ever had. I get throbbing hard and dreamy-eyed when I think about having Ricky inside me. This is an account of how it goes down when we get together for some fun. Usually we'll chill on a Friday night at home, have a few cold Coronas and pop in a video. We like to kick back on Ricky's black leather sofa, usually just in athletic shorts, no underwear.

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It was the summer of 1976 and I was vacationing with my family in one of several log cabins that were part of an aging camp constructed in the Thirties on the shore of Lake Michigan. Each morning after breakfast I would set out combing the endless beach collecting stones and driftwood, enjoying the waves rolling over my bare feet.

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Chad, breathing easily and looking mighty fine for a man of thirty-seven, ended his run at his usual bench beside a tool house in the remote Myrtle Beach park tucked into a golf course almost within sight of the ocean enough for most not to realize it was a separate public park. As usual, he ran in just athletic shorts and running shoes.

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The melancholy old songs were playing on the stereo. It had been 2 years ago, this day, that Andreas had been taken from me. Listening to the old 70s love ballads – The Carpenters, Barry Manilow, Barbra Streisand... All of those torch songs about lost love and trying to find my man or to try to replace the one that got away...

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I guess it started a few years ago. I have always been a lover of erotica and pornography, so it became a daily ritual for me to get on the ‘Net and do some surfing. I loved the great amount of hot stories and explicit photos I found, and it exposed me to some things that I had never seen.

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Dial the phone, choose a category, wait for a connection with someone in my area. As simple as that. As anonymous as I choose to be. I choose the category man on man phone sex. When I discovered this phone line a couple months back I discovered how exciting phone sex can be. And I quickly realized that men are so much better than women at phone sex.

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Even though my new roommate was straight, he never had any problem with me being gay. In fact, from the start I think he was intrigued by it. More and more he was hanging out with my gay friends and acting totally comfortable among them, unlike many other straights guys I've known. Brian was a freshman and was assigned as my roommate after my old one dropped out of school.

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A meeting with the new boss, great. I hadn't met him yet so he called me away from my busy schedule just so I could meet with him. I hated meetings and was notorious for it, thinking they were usually a diversion from the task at hand. I walked down the hall toward his office, my face with an agitated grimace on it. Some of my co-workers caught on and began cracking jokes about it. "Mark Johnston," a sign on his office door proclaimed as I knocked.

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