Your erotic stories

This might have been 1972 in San Francisco but out here in rural Averill Park it might as well have been 1930. There may have been gay guys my age around, but if there were they kept it to themselves like it did. A couple of weeks ago my Mom let me take the car into the big city, which in our case was Albany, New York.

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"Fuck." Jason gulped as he pulled up to the curb outside of the rented house he shared with his best friend Ryan. He'd been on edge all day. Today was the day that Ryan's little brother was moving in. Being a senior in high school, Nick still lived with his parents, but when a job prompted them to move back to the town that all three boys grew up in, Ryan suggested that Nick live with Jason and himself so he could finish up the semester without transferring. Jason was fine with the idea of Nick living with them. He'd always liked the kid. It was just that lately he was worried that he might like him a little too much...

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All characters are at least 18 years old.. * I saw him while I was pumping my gas, and he immediately got my attention. For one thing, we don't get all that many walking in my neck of the woods, because there's a whole lot of nothing around for miles and miles. Secondly, he was walking in one of our patented torrential rainstorms, and with the wind blowing and the lightning crackling, this was no night for a hike.

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"Ahhh, that were very nice," I said with a deep, satisfied sigh, as I spilled my seed down Des's chin. We were in the boathouse on the lower lake, here because Des had wanted me to fuck him. But now we'd have to sit and talk for a bit, listening to the racing shells grind against the dock outside in the bit of a squall that had come up over Sandhurst. It would take me a few to recharge.

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There is something particularly humiliating about being arrested covered in cum, piss, and surrounded by big black men, especially when you were once a very well-off businessman with a simple insertion fetish. My whole private life had been exposed in a day, and it affected my professional life a great deal. My face was plastered all over the news for weeks. Obviously they weren't flashing my cum covered naked ass on the nightly news, but plenty of pictures surfaced on the Internet and were making their rounds. It was a huge scandal.

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Surrounded by beautiful people, anyone less than breathtaking tends to blend into the wall paper. They are gods who must not be crossed, and everyone else is stupid, boring and irritating. After a few months, when I got used to being ignored and unimportant in my life's passion as I'd been ignored and unimportant in everything else, beauty just became a part of the wallpaper. They were all alike, these beautiful models, each as stupid, boring and selfish as the last.

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After my wife died the house was so empty. Most of the time it was okay. I went to work and didn't think about it. I ate dinner out, came home and watched TV until late. But there was no one to share my bed at night, and the weekends were long and lonely. In a way it was good, because I started being more friendly to people, just to have someone to talk to. My next door neighbor George, for instance.

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Chapter One: Yeah team! It wasn't school spirit that led me to become an equipment manager for our college's track and field team, although I did like the school and did like sports. Maybe part of it was wanting to still be around sports, and having failed to make the freshman soccer team it seemed my own athletic career was over, but I knew the real truth.

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Dear Readers, Everything is going according to plan. -Steve For a minute, I couldn't help but stare at him. Shock washed over me, intermixed with hurt, as if a needle full of misery had been injected into my veins. Whatever had been built last night was beginning to crumble all around us. It was like watching the 1871 burning of Chicago and being powerless to stop the devastation as it swept across town.

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I think I just might be the best peach picker in Virginia. Well, in Rockingham County at least. And that isn't just me boasting. That's what Brother Jeb said all the time I was picking peaches for him. And Mr. Howell said that to me too. More than once he said that. I've heard both men say that, in the peach business, it's getting the first fruit of the season to market before anyone else does that can mean the difference between a good season and a break-even or bad season.

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