Your erotic stories

I want to say a quick thanks for all the response I got on the first chapter and sorry for the long delay in between these chapters. It's a story that's been in my head for a while and I just wanted to get some of it out of my brain and into the world. I started writing it all out of order and have been very slow in getting the pieces all connected how I want them. I'm hoping there won't be quite as much downtime between chapters from here on out...

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There had been a few responses to my ad before D's, but there was something about each -- something impersonal and a bit too eager -- that had made me wary about responding to any of them. And then came D's reply. There was something trustworthy in his tone. Patient. Not trying to rush things, but from the start, determined to be sure that I was myself comfortable following through with what I had proposed.

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Wally and I were roommates in college when I realized who I truly was sexually. Before Wally, I had been with girls. Hell, I liked being with girls a lot and loved eating pussy particularly. Hardly the resume of a gay bottom, but maybe the way I lost myself in the act of giving pleasure to women should have been a tip-off to me somehow. There was something submissive about the way in which their pleasure became my pleasure.

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He was there again. 

The man of my dreams. 

Or, to be totally accurate, the man in my dreams.

On an off for over 5 years I'd seen him. He was tall, around 6' 2" as far as I could tell, broad shouldered and muscular with a slim waist and strong legs. Lightly tanned skin and dark brown, shoulder length hair and bright, almost piercing blue eyes.

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"So, would you like to put your mother's name on the card?"

I stood there in the florist shop, completely stunned. I couldn't speak for a moment. My mind was both a total blank and fast-forward video, my whole life racing before my eyes.

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Just like always I can hear the nearest neighbour pour water into something before he shuts the water off. The soft padding of feet floating above my head. I follow the footsteps, wandering beneath him. It's fascinating, how I can hear every move he makes. I know when he goes to work, when he comes home, when he sleeps and when he wakes.

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I walked around him, inspecting his form as my cock grew harder by the second, his beauty and submission almost too much for me to handle. His head was bowed so I couldn't see his face but I heard his breathing accelerate as I ghosted my fingers down his bare back. Nude, he kneeled before me, his hands laced behind his head and his ass resting on his heels, completely vulnerable and at my mercy.

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A week before Christmas, I ducked into the fifth floor men's room. It served as temporary reprieve. The first among twenty or thirty things I could invent to occupy myself while avoiding the remainder of the company Holiday party two floors below. One other occupant was in the room. He barely registered on my eggnog-addled brain. Most years I managed to escape the compulsory merrymaking by being unavoidably detained somewhere else on company business. This year I was unavoidably detained in Los Angeles.

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"Ten full minutes. You gotta lay there, on your back, totally nude. Hands behind your head so you can relax." "Relax, right." How Mike and I wound up in this bizarre, slightly hilarious situation was fueled by very cheap beer and overactive 19 year old hormones. Well, Mike was 19, I was 18, and we'd been buddies since sophomore year of high school. Mike was a bit of a paradox. He was a soccer player who wasn't a jock, a metal head who wasn't a burnout, and a good student who wasn't a nerd.

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We were in the study of Professor Hendrick's house, in the late evening, nearing the end of the tutorial he was conducting. At least I assumed it was nearing the end, because I was very close to coming. We were in a straight chair facing his desk. Professor Hendricks, his hands wrapped around my waist was sitting in the chair; I was sitting on his hard cock—or, rather, fucking myself on his cock in slow risings and fallings and me moaning in tenor to his groaning in baritone.

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