Your erotic stories

Walking through O'Hare airport in Chicago, I stopped short when I recognized my old friend Roger, whom I had not seen since our college days back in Oklahoma. Roger recognized me as well, as he smiled broadly and stuck out his hand. It had been almost 35 years since we had last seen each other and now we happened to meet by chance in an airport, both of us laying over for the night on business.

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My name is Damien and I am 30 year old single guy. I am just under 6 foot and I have a slim fit build. My hair is receding a these days – but what I do have I like to keep neat and short but not shaven. The hair is dark and the eyes are brown. Women say there are jealous of my long eyelashes. All in all I am not a bad looking guy without being a 'hunk'.

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Warning: I write love stories with graphic sex. Sometimes the lovers are of the same gender. So if love offends you, you'd best move on. MJL * As I sat in the unknown room, blindfolded, my hands tied behind my back, I was apprehensive, but not really scared. While it’s true there had been stories around for years about hazing stunts gone terribly wrong, resulting in serious injuries and even deaths, nothing like that had ever happened at my university. Also, the fraternity I was pledging was probably the last one where such a thing ever would happen.

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I hate camping; I think that it is the stupidest thing ever. Why would people want to go out into the wilderness and with no bathroom, no shower, and no electricity? But despite that my Dad would insist once a year that he and I went out to this obscure little clearing in the woods which wasn't even a real campsite. We would go out pitch a tent; eat fish that he caught in the lake, and sleep on the cold hard ground. 

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At first glance, you probably wouldn't guess me for the type that I really am. I look no different than any other college student. Eighteen years old, medium long blonde hair, nice smile, honest eyes, decently built. I spent most of my time like all my other friends. I go to lectures, I do my homework, I party, I go out with friends. Nothing really special...

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As the door shut behind us, he attacked my mouth with all the vigor and passion built up all evening. I could only submit to him and moan wantonly into the kiss that has got me weak in the knees, literally. I sagged against the wall with only Jon's arms pinning me to keep me from falling. His thigh slowly found its way between my legs and started the hypnotic grind against my crotch. The wave of ecstasy hit me like I couldn't imagine and I started to beg him.

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Like many gay men I know, I questioned my sexuality in silence for a very long time. On countless occasions I had sat in my room and fantasized about what it would be like to be with another man, but I had never had the courage to do anything about it or even try and find others who felt the same way I did. After all, where would I look? I was too timid to venture into the bars, and was too afraid that someone would discover my dark secret.

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The newest additions to my suburban world were a pleasingly attractive and friendly couple and we were exchanging pleasantries while their belongings were being moved into their new home. Almost immediately I sensed a comfortable, easy sexiness about them as they laughed and touched each other casually while helping the movers get the job done right.

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My summer vacation from university was almost over and since the moving day incident nothing at all had happened between Edward and me. But the memory was vivid. I remembered being on my knees before him, looking up into his eyes and he said, "I have so much more to teach you," with his big, softening cock resting against my lips and the salt of his cum on the back of my throat.

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He's leaving after graduation, next week. Leaving for another city so far away. He's my best friend. He's been the only best friend I've ever had. John. A simple name does not do judge to the complexities you've shown. He's leaving after graduation, forcing me to attend university all alone, with no support, no back up. I'm supposed to step into the tumultuous sea of books, rhetoric and profs, haranguing me with papers, exams and the answer to whether or not Leopold Bloom liked to eat feces. Who knows? Who dares? Who fucking cares?

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