Young and Horny: 10 Gay Erotic Short Stories

by Matthew Rettenmund

  "Yeah," I stammered, suddenly a little giddy. I'd never seen a bona fide queer before except the one in the mirror, and I had a hard time believing that this macho Spanish guy was one, too. Still, I couldn't help thinking that he was looking at me like guys look at cute girls, and that I was in for more than just conversation over the next couple of hours.

  "My Gran's out and about or whatever," I said. "So...you wanna see the whole place?"

  I must've been ridiculously eager-looking, because Nacho said, "Yeah. Let's start with that bedroom of yours."

  In my room, I had to turn off my TV, humiliated that a soap opera had started up after "Wheel of Fortune." Did he think I was watching "All My Children”

  "Here it is," I said lamely. "My humble abode." Just shut up!

  Nacho shrugged off his suit coat and loosened his tie, and I could smell him—in a good way—from across the room. He looked my whole room over so thoroughly I felt like he was patting me down...wished he was. By the time he sat down on my bed and leaned back on his hands and looked me dead in the eye, I was so hard I couldn't see straight. But I sure as hell didn't expect him to say what he did, and almost didn't know how to respond or if he was even serious.

  "I'm damn horny after that beer," he said precisely, and I was still getting used to seeing a Mexican guy—let alone one who talked like a Harvard graduate, let alone one who was telling me straight-out that he was raging. I looked at his crotch and saw what he was talking about—his boner was riding down the thigh closest to me in his dress slacks, probably throbbing just as bad as my own.

  "Yeah?" I said, mock tough. I couldn't decide if I was being tested and was supposed to tell him I wasn't a queer, or if I was being tested and was supposed to play along like some game of chicken. Or...?

  He spread his legs a little more and whispered, "Yeah."

  For about ten heart-stopping seconds, we just sat stock-still, staring each other down. I felt sweat running out the armholes of my T-shirt. My bare legs where my Bermudas didn't cover them went cold. Before I could reply, he pushed the envelope so much further he might just as well have stamped it and mailed the motherfucker. "Why don't you come over here and get a taste of my dick in that pretty face of yours?"

  I didn't need to be asked twice. I didn't give a shit if Gran walked in and surprised us, just like I didn't care when I was at the height of my made-up jerk-off fantasies.

  "Oh-my-God-I-never-done-anything-like-this...," I couldn't help saying as I sank to my knees in front of Nacho. I didn't know if I could go through with it once I got down there and saw that big bulge, bigger than mine. It seemed a whole lot easier to think about cocksucking than to actually face doing it. I was shaking in my boots, except I wasn't wearing any.

  Nacho was so cool. He'd started out all aggressive, but now he got real touchy-feely. He walked me through the whole damned thing. In the spirit of the "Show Me" state, he showed me just what to do.

  "It's okay, Lest," he said quietly. "Just open my pants up." I did. "Now pull 'em down some." I did, and he lifted his ass up off my bed so I could get my hands under there and pull his pants down to mid-thigh. Just brushing my hands over his meaty ass drove me nuts; I left one hand under him the whole time I blew him, just so I could feel his hard, moist ass cheek.

  He was wearing really embarrassing, skimpy black bikini underwear, like a Chippendale's dancer, like any great Casanova would wear. I could see that he'd been out sunning himself on his little business trip, because there was the pale outline where bathing trunks had been, made all the lighter by the black underwear and the curly black hairs sprouting all over his lower body.

  He was kind of panting by now as he talked, and I realized I could barely breathe, too. For me, it was the thrill of my first time, of doing it with a Mexican (uncool by community standards; call me a rebel), and the wicked thrill of getting raunchy right under my Gran's nose in her own house and with the door wide open. Part of me always hoped to God Gran wouldn't disown her faggot grandson, but this part, right here, right now, was too dick-hungry to wallow in angst. And ya gotta love doing it with the door open.

  But Nacho must've been just as excited. I mean, he was about to screw a white virgin in the Bible Belt. Seems like a fair trade, eh? Even if my liberal sensibilities make me cringe now, I still can't get enough of doing it with Latin men if for no other reason that the fact that they're Latin. I guess I have Nacho to thank for that. Nacho and Erik Estrada and the state and time I was born in.

  I rubbed his boner through his underwear, which was soaking with sweat and pre-cum.

  "Oh, that's good so far, baby. Just roll it around...good..." I rubbed it harder until I could feel the friction burning my palm. Then, I boldly put my face into the left side of his crotch and snaked my fingertips under the black fabric at his right. I knew I was doing it right because Nacho started speaking Spanish, the kind I didn't need an interpreter to figure out. He stroked my head and that was enough direction for me going forward.

  He smelled so fucking raunchy down there, so good and musky and sweaty. I'd always loved smelling my fingers after playing with myself, but Nacho's balls smelled so fucking fantastic I couldn't help licking them right through his briefs. Then I pulled them aside and freed those balls up so I could put my tongue on their bareness. He sank back and started swiveling his hips, forcing his balls against my tongue even as I licked at them like a starving country cat at an overripe udder. I fondled his nuts with my free hand, squeezing his ass with the other.

  I couldn't wait to suck him off, so I didn't. I gingerly held the base of his fat prick—hooded with a foreskin like I'd only read about but had never been able to imagine correctly—and wrapped my lips around the sticky head.

  "Oh, kid, that's so fucking hot...lick it..."

  I felt like I was worshipping at an altar, so reverently I mouthed the head of Nacho's sexy dick. I made it wet and slurped at it noisily, licking under the head and up and down the shaft, milking his meat with my lips. I was rubbing my own crotch by humping between my mattresses, right through my shorts. It sure felt good then, even if I would have a burning feeling down there for over a week. Ouch.

  Finally, afraid he was gonna cum and then pass out like I always did when I jerked off, I decided that I had to go for the whole ball of wax. I pulled his bikinis down and just rubbed my whole face over his balls. He spread his legs and lifted them higher, freeing his asshole so that I accidentally bumped my nose against it. At first I freaked out, like I'd made a mistake, but then I was seized by a particularly perverted idea, one I somehow knew he wouldn't resist: I held his ass apart with both hands and started to lick Nacho's asshole. I knew I was rushing directly to the front of the line for going to hell for this, but it was the strangest, most thrilling thing I could ever remember doing. I felt myself exploding in my pants.

  "Oh, God..." I gasped between spurts, my face dripping with my own saliva after rubbing my tongue all over Nacho's asshole.

  "This is the fucking hottest..." is all I remember Nacho saying, and then I could feel him cumming, could feel his ass clenching against my cheek. I pulled myself up on my elbows to watch, mesmerized by the cum flying out of Nacho's dick and landing in pearly ropes across his belly, onto his dress shirt at this chest, and even—impossibly—a direct shot to his chin.

  The moment is suspended in time for me. It is the picture of "hot," and its memory drives me from Latin boyfriend to Latin boyfriend. It also helped me make up my mind to leave my hometown, move to the big city, to become the city boy I'd always known I really was, not so deep down.

  The cum on his belly, translucent and thick as Gran's gravy, was irresistible. I bent down and licked him clean, savoring every drop.

  It wasn't too many more years before I had to give up that special pleasure, too, right after I'd given up Gran's gravy. For my health.

  Nacho and I got ourselves rearranged and even kissed awhile—another first—before we smelled Gran's cooking from the kitchen. I went sick at my stomach rea
lizing she'd been in long enough to start cooking—and me with my bedroom door wide open! But when we emerged, Gran just grinned her jack-o'-lantern grin and said, "I've got some fixin's for you boys."

  Fixings weren't fixings without gravy, and that is how Nacho found himself on the receiving end of one of the finest meals ever served in the state of Missouri. I always took that as a sort of approving nod from Gran, though I doubted she'd seen me going South on Nacho. At least, I've always hoped she didn't see anything.

  And now I'm an engineer and a confirmed city boy and I'm in-between lovers and I'm sitting at a bar and I'm looking across the room at a handsome man: olive skin, dark hair with streaks of gray, a flashing grin, a wink with every word he says, and a pleasantly fleshy body, one that's survived middle-age spread handily.

  And I'll be damned if it isn't Nacho.

  And now he's looking over at me, walking toward me, saying, "I'd recognize those beautiful green eyes anywhere."

  Gravy.

  Bet

  From "Badboy" (May/June 1995).

  I never lose a bet.

  That's why it surprised me when Red bet me he could shoot more hoops in a minute than me. Not to mention the fact that everyone knows I'm a better shot by a mile.

  Just before graduation and just after I finally hit 18, Red and I were up at the school after hours, not too long before the janitors show up to shoo stragglers out of the gym before lights-out and lock-up. It was just us two, a strange combination since we never were the best of buddies, and both of us usually shot hoops after school with other guys on the team, never each other. But it was the middle of the week, nobody else really hanging around, so we just started hanging and shooting some ball and shooting the shit.

  Red's a good-looker. Yeah, I like guys. I like guys quite a bit, actually, though I don't let that get around much, not around here anyway, not yet. When I graduate, it's gonna be a different story. It's gonna be me and some cute blond guy riding around the country, fucking like dogs.

  But a guy's gotta do something to pass the time before fulfilling his life's dream. And there's a hell of a lotta worse ways to kill time than Red.

  Red isn't a redhead, more like a strawberry blond, though it's hard to tell anymore now that he's shaved it so close to his head. But the hairs on his legs are red and his eyebrows are, too, so I guess that's where he gets his name. He's a short guy, about 5'7", but stocky enough to wrestle me and win for three years straight all through middle school. Yeah, I guess I've always carried that grudge against him. Maybe that's one reason I was so eager to take his bet, show him up.

  "Hey," he said cockily, his arms across his broad chest. He was wearing a perforated tank top with a double zero on it and loose shorts cut from an old pair of sweats. I was distracted, checking him out, so I almost didn't catch what he was saying at first. "Hey, wanna bet?"

  "What?" I asked, shifting my weight casually. I'm over 6' on a bad day, not built like Van Damme or Stallone, but I've been working on my arms and I like to think I'm in good shape. I don't think I'm the handsomest guy around, but I've got a good enough face to keep my phone ringing. Girls, unfortunately. But if that's any sign, I thought I was good-enough-looking to bag Red if he was baggable by any guy at all.

  "I'm on a roll," he grinned, swishing another basket. He was, too. "So let's say we bet I can make more baskets than you in a minute. What say?”

  "Okay," I agreed. "But there's no sense in betting just for fun. What's the scoop?"

  He must've had this planned because he spit out this really elaborate bet too quick for it to be off the top of his head. "Well, if you win, I will kiss your ass. Literally, man. That's how sure I am I'm going to win this."

  This, I thought, was a wet dream come true. I asked what was obvious, just to make him say it.

  "And if you win?"

  "You'll kiss mine," he replied with a straight face.

  This idea of a guy offering to kiss your ass is pretty sexy anyway, but to me the other option is even hotter. Maybe I'm a little kinky, but then I see guys doing it all the time in pornos I manage to get in the mail—eating ass, "rimming" it's called. I know a lot of people think guys doing guys is completely disgusting anyway, and would die if they had to think about a guy actually wanting to lick another guy's asshole, but everyone has their own little buttons they like pushed, I guess. And eating ass is mine.

  I don't get many chances to screw guys in the first place, much less lick their assholes. I've only had two guys before, one being this weird older guy who briefly rented a room from my family, and the other being a second cousin at our family reunion. I only got to lick the weird guy's ass, though, and then only because he made me. I didn't think I'd like it, but I was dead wrong. There's something really sexy about it, especially when the other guy's into it, too. It doesn't taste bad or smell bad one bit. It tastes really sweet and the smell is incredible, real musky. Yeah, there's nothing I love more than shoving my tongue up a guy's butt, and I definitely had a primo shot with Red.

  "You're on," I said firmly.

  Twenty shots later, he had a big head start. I was going to have to push it to sink twenty shots in a minute, what with having to shag the damned ball and shoot at the same time. I swished the first one to get off to a terrific start, and at the rate I was going, I could see Red getting a little nervous. Or was he? I kept thinking how bad I wanted to beat this little punk after all those years of being screwed to the mat in wrestling, then suddenly I remembered that in order to kiss his ass, I had to lose. Talk about dilemmas. Shit! I missed three shots just worrying about it, and at the last second, I had to sink a shot just to tie him. I gave it the perfect arch and left my hand in the air where it released the ball, holding it perfectly steady like some sort of radar guidance system. If we tied maybe we both got to kiss each other's asses? I mean, had to—right?

  The ball bounced high off the basket, then rolled lazily around the rim for two or three revolutions, trying to decide if it wanted to sink or swim. I changed my mind; I didn't mind losing after all. I wanted to lose. I wanted to kiss that sweet ass.

  Plunk, the ball fell over the rim, not into the basket. Me: 19. Him: 20.

  Red let out a whoop and paraded around with the retrieved ball. "You gotta kiss my ass, buddy! You made the bet!"

  I was deathly calm. "I'm ready. But let's do it in the locker room. At least give me that much, in case somebody sees."

  He seemed a little shocked I was really going to go through with it, but he agreed it was fair to do it in private. He strutted in front of me, wiggling his ass and showing it off, stopping to bend over and tie his shoe as some kind of joke. Oh, yeah, almost forgot—I was supposed to dread this. I smacked his ass hard and walked past him into the locker room, my mouth watering.

  Inside, he didn't waste much time. We straddled the bench, me behind him sitting down, him in front of me standing up. He leaned forward with his strong arms straight out, palms flat against the wall.

  "Okay," he said, suddenly a little nervous, "Go to it, stud."

  The "stud" part was a little intriguing. Not unusual, but not what I expected right then. I was raging, my boner barely inside my gym shorts, and I worried he'd spot it, get wise and take off. But something inside my head told me he knew the score, and he wanted it just as bad as I did. I pulled down his sweat shorts down real slowly, letting his fat bubblebutt pop out inch by inch. God, it's a great ass, a big, solid, meaty ass with little red wiry hairs all up the crack. I pulled his shorts all the way to his knees, where they were stretched about an inch above the bench.

  "Hey, man, no need to pull my pants down," he said.

  "No prob," I said. "I want to do this up right if I'm gonna lose a bet."

  He was wearing a jockstrap, which I love because they frame an ass so well, push it out even more. I leaned forward and grabbed his cheeks really hard, two handfuls with my fingers under the sexy white straps.

  "Hey!" he said, surprised, but he stayed still.

  I leane
d forward and gave his left cheek a big, wet kiss, smacking it loudly and doing it hard enough to taste his salty skin and get a whiff of that funky jock ass. Then, I did it to his right cheek.

  "Okay, okay," he said. "You proved your point. You live up to your debts..." But he stayed still.

  I leaned forward again and kissed his crack, which is weird since a crack isn't really a thing, it's more like a space. But it must really give you a hint about how good the rest can feel, because Red changed his tune right away.

  "Man..." he moaned, then whispered. "That's...fucking hot."

  I ran my tongue up his sweaty crack, then worked it about a half-inch in and dragged it back down. Damn, it tasted great, felt great with all those curly hairs tickling my tongue. Red spread his legs more and pushed back against my face, burying me in his beautiful butt. I licked the inside of each cheek like a champ, cleaned them out real good, rubbing my cheeks into the musky, sweaty, spit-soaked crack until I felt high on the scent. I whipped out my boner and stroked it hard; this was too intense to be long and slow and leisurely, I was going to have to go for a fast, hot wad or no wad at all.

  "Yeah, French my ass, lick my ass, I frickin' love it..." Red kept saying how great it felt, kept moving back against me more and more, loving the attention.

  Then I flickered my tongue on his puckerhole and he went nuts, really got into it, reached back around and grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled my head in as tight against him as it would go. I could hardly breathe, and all around my face was hot, wet ass. I shoved my tongue up his asshole as far as possible, felt him working my tongue with his muscle and letting me eat him out deep.

  "Oh, man, shit, yeah—yes, yes, do it do it do it, eat me! Lick my asshole!"

  He was rubbing his jock with his free hand, his chest against the wall supporting his weight. His other hand kept me in place, but I wasn't going anywhere except straight to heaven.

  I couldn't take it. I blew my wad with my tongue up Red's asshole, cum shooting on to the back of his leg, just before I felt his ass tighten up for his own nut. He got really quiet when he was cumming, just gasping for air and trying not to yell out.