Your erotic stories

Chapter One: What ever happened to... It was something that had been on my mind for much of the summer, but I hadn't mentioned it to my son until the day he was heading off to college. I tried to be as casual and distant as possible when I broached the subject while we drove out to the University of Buffalo, where he would be starting his freshman year of college, not wanting to expose my more than casual interest.

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Les, my closest friend now that Mike has been killed in Iraq, sits quietly on the couch listening intently as I tell him about my explorations with Mike in that scout tent so many years before. How our relationship had grown beyond experimentation. How our experiences had left me shaken, doubtful about my sexuality, but oh so excited. About how I believed that I had "loved" Mike in a way that was very close to the love I had felt for women.

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I was getting ready for a trip to Washington on business, for work when Bill, a guy I didn't like at all, said at coffee, "If you are in D.C. you have got to go to the Iron Rod." "The what?" I asked, barely listening since all the guy did was bullshit. "The Iron Rod is the best pick-up bar in Washington. You are literally guaranteed to get fucked," he explained.

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I was working from home today, when the doorbell rang. It was Gary, my son's friend from the local community college they both attended. "Hi Gary, Bobby's not home right now, but I expect him shortly," I said. "You are welcome to wait for him." "I think I will do that Mr. Thomas, thanks," Gary replied to me.

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I am the world’s greatest gigolo. Well, at least I was the world’s greatest gigolo. My clientele were usually wealthy women with husbands who rarely spent two seconds at home, much less tended to the raging sexual desires of their wives.

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When I first met Mark I was totally unaware that his wife, Eileen, worked at the college with my wife, Susan. It was not until a few weeks later when we all came together at a faculty party. I am Tony, age 25, and Susan is 39. We first met in college when I was 18 and she was 32. I was a horny teenage accounting major and she was in her first year at the college as an assistant professor of economics. We hit it off like an atom bomb when I took her class in advanced macroeconomics and within two weeks of class beginning I was fucking her daily. It was like every teenage boy's dream happening to me -- an older sexy woman with big tits and an unbelievable pussy for me to fuck. 

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The first thing I noticed when I woke up is that I was unable to move anything but my arms. I was lying naked, on my back, strapped down onto a padded leather surface. I couldn't really see what was holding me in place as my head was tilted back quite far by a wide leather strap wrapping around my forehead.

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The boy had no real name. He was the tanner's get, below even the whore's runts, responsible for soaking the hides in urine. The tanner called the child "Boy," long after the boy had left childhood behind. The town was large enough that most forgot to which tannery the young man belonged; everyone called him "the tanner's boy" for so long that it became his moniker.

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My boss Justin wasn't a beautiful man. He was short with a badly trimmed moustache, a thatch of white hair, huge sweet patched under his armpits & rather a large beer belly. But he was my boss so I treated him with a certain amount of respect. After a few too many glasses of champagne at the Christmas party I'd let it slip that before I'd married my wife I had in fact had a boyfriend.

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The shame, the paranoia, the guilt, I'd experienced it all in high school. I'd watch the other guys in the shower out of the corner of my eye, terrified I'd get an erection and be betrayed. After that you'd think I'd grow up and come out of the closet, but I pretended to myself as much as anyone else that I wasn't gay. I dated, I had sex, I got my first apartment, and still I looked at other guys out of the corner of my eye.

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