Best Gay Erotica 2012

by Richard Labonté

  Jason turned his attention to his dick. This might be the only occasion on which Simon would ever see it. They might meet again socially, in the pub, fully clothed, and Jason didn’t want the boy to keep with him the memory of a big hunky man, impressive without his clothes on except in the matter of his sea-shrunk cock. He touched it with his finger and tried to tickle it into life, then he tried pulling it with thumb and forefinger made into a ring, the way he had often seen Danny handle his own small prick. Still it refused to react. So he left it alone, instead lounging forward in his seat and spreading his legs wide, exposing his organ to the maximum in the glare of the sun. He guessed that if only his welcome lasted a little longer his diminished member would have time to warm up in the sunlight and return to at least some semblance of its usual size and majesty. Simon would at least take away from the morning’s encounter a decent memory of the sight of Jason’s cock even if, as seemed likely, the situation never developed to the point of anything happening between them.

  Simon came back carrying two glasses of gin and tonic, garnished with lemon, chinking with ice and sparkling in the sun. He handed one to Jason, then went and sat opposite him, facing him once again across the cockpit. Jason noticed the boy’s eyes flick toward his crotch. Simon was clearly aware that Jason was putting his goods on display, though perhaps a little puzzled that he was so anxious to display something so run-of-the-mill in terms of size. But Jason took heart from that fact that Simon not only sat directly opposite him, drink in hand, but was mirroring his posture, crotch thrust well forward and legs spread wide apart so that their knees were little more than a foot apart.

  “I’m glad you came,” said Simon. “It was nice to meet the three of you last night. But what brought you all the way across the sea this morning—without swimming trunks?” He stopped, surprised perhaps by his boldness, grinned, and then giggled.

  That gave Jason enough confidence to answer with at least a little bit of the truth. “I’m embarrassed now,” he said. “I think I’ve made a bit of a gaffe. If I explain, promise you won’t throw me overboard?”

  “Promise,” said Simon with a laugh. Jason thought, though perhaps it was only wishful thinking, that a bit of a ridge was becoming visible on the dome that already nicely mounded Simon’s tight shorts. Looking down he saw that his own cock, warming nicely in the sun, was already appreciably bigger than when he’d last looked, two minutes before.

  “The thing is,” Jason explained, “the other lads and I—well, we quite like messing around in the nude when there’s no one but the three of us. I’d spotted you and Pete on the boat from a distance and thought, wrongly as it turns out, that the two of you also… But there you are in tan-colored shorts. My mistake. Beg pardon!”

  “You don’t need to. Like I said, I’m glad you came. And how do you know we don’t go naked out on the boat here sometimes? Maybe you were right all along.” Simon stole another look at Jason’s lengthening penis. It seemed to be showing some definite interest in the developing conversation. This gave him the courage to develop it a little further. “Tell me to mind my own business if you like but when you say messing around together, what exactly do you mean?”

  “Well,” said Jason treading carefully, not wanting to frighten Simon off. “All kinds of boy things.” The thought made his cock positively stir. Simon saw that, and now Jason no longer had any doubt that Simon’s dick was swelling strongly in his shorts. He looked into the boy’s eyes and seeing only encouragement and eagerness there, came out with it. “You know. Sexy things.” He paused a second. Simon did not take fright; instead his face relaxed into a grin. But Jason’s voice still showed a hint of caution as he asked, “You and Pete?”

  The grin faded. “I wish,” he said. “But no.” Suddenly they were both totally relaxed together. The unsayable had been said by both sides.

  “Tell me,” said Jason gently.

  “We’re cousins but also good friends, and have been all our lives. Now we’re here together, smartening up this boat, which belongs to Pete’s father. Sharing a cabin, you know, and working side by side. By the way, I was misleading you when I said you might be right about the two of us working naked together. We never do. Even when we get undressed to get into our bunks Pete turns his back to me.” Simon shook his head. “Weird, you know. Here I am talking to you about all this, to a near stranger, and you’re sitting there right in front of me with a fantastic big cock and the sun shining onto it, and I’ve never even caught a glimpse of Pete’s. If I want to wank I have to do it in the shower, or else when he’s in the shower. I seem to have fallen for him in a big way. I don’t know if it’s love exactly, but it’s certainly lust. And all totally one sided. And it’s doing my head in.” He stopped. “I don’t know why I’ve just told you all that. You will keep it to yourself, won’t you?”

  Simon looked again at Jason’s cock. “Hey, you’re getting pretty hard now.” It was true. Aroused by Simon’s story of what sounded like a bit of teenage heartbreak, Jason’s dick was morphing from sausage to pole. It hadn’t quite reached full stretch yet; it still curved downward a little even as it rose free from the cushion of his balls. The big cherry tip of Jason’s glans was beginning to peep from under his foreskin.

  “If I’m getting a hard-on it’s because I’ve been watching you getting hard in your shorts too,” said Jason. “Couldn’t fail to notice, actually.”

  They both peered at Simon’s crotch. Something that looked like a length of hose pipe was forming a tense curve, trapped in his shorts. Every feature of it was clear to see through the fabric, the long underside ridge and the V-shaped underside rim of his cockhead. He was almost certainly circumcised, Jason thought, showing off a helmet-rim as well defined as that. And the cockhead was pretty massive, the shaft solid and thick, though its length was difficult to gauge as yet. Under Jason’s gaze Simon suddenly wet his shorts with a generous spill of precome. Simon also saw the sudden seepage. He giggled. “Now look what you’ve made me do,” he said.

  “It looks like you’d be more comfortable without the shorts on,” Jason said, trying to keep his voice even.

  “Maybe I would,” Simon answered a bit tremulously. “But then what’s going to happen? And with Pete due back at any moment.”

  “Why don’t we cross our bridges as we come to them?” said Jason. “Pete’s your cousin, not your lover. It might be a bit embarrassing if he turned up and caught us doing something, but he could hardly claim you’d been unfaithful to him. And you’re not a child.”

  It wasn’t Jason’s reasoned argument but rather the unreasoning, not to be denied, urgency inside his scouting shorts that caused Simon to stand up just then, unbelt and then unzip those shorts, and then wrestle them (they were far too tight to slide) down his chunky blond-furred thighs. Jason watched in wonder as Simon’s big, thick dick came bouncing out of its taut captivity. Big, thick cock, a head like a pink Ping-Pong ball, shining and dripping wet, and big chunky, furry balls. His prick wasn’t especially long, Jason noticed, but who cared about that; the boy was simply beautiful and that was all there was to it.

  “Come here,” Jason told him, though the instruction was hardly necessary. Without either of them seeming to move they were in each other’s arms, hugging, stroking and caressing each other’s warm tanned skin and sea-salty hair. Their cocks ground achingly together between their hot bellies. They were wetting each other with unstoppable flows of precome and tickling each other with their pubes.

  Jason reached down Simon’s back and slid the blade of his hand down Simon’s soft buttock cleft. When he was certain he’d found the right place he gently fed the tip of a finger into Simon’s most private little space. “Has anyone done this with you before?” he asked softly. It wasn’t clear whether he meant explored his arse with a finger, or the whole idea of sex with another man or boy.

  “Only at school,” Simon answered, as though school didn’t count, and not seeming to care exactly what the question meant either.

 
“School. Best place to learn,” said Jason. “That’s where I started too.”

  Simon pulled back a little way from Jason; only a little, though. Just far enough to be able to see and admire his massive cock, straining upward and dispensing precome as freely as a faulty tap. Tentatively he placed his hand on it, then circled the shaft with his fingers. They didn’t quite meet around the base. Then slowly he began to move his grasping hand up to the slippery foreskinned tip and then back down again to the root. Meanwhile Jason reached for Simon’s short but sturdy pole and began to do the same. “You’re beautiful,” Simon said, and Jason answered softly, “So are you.”

  “Isn’t he just,” said another voice near at hand as the boat lurched suddenly downward on one side. That caused them to spring apart with a start, though neither of them had any doubt about who the voice belonged to. There was Pete, peering at them from over the rail, just where Jason had climbed over a short time ago, dressed in T-shirt and jeans, his feet presumably still standing in the bottom of the inflatable dinghy below and out of sight. He might well have looked angry or outraged. But he didn’t. He was grinning broadly.

  Pete quickly tied the dinghy to the rail and climbed aboard. A pretty substantial something was arching up inside his denims. He said to Jason, without malice, “My little cousin, with whom I’ve been aching to do what you’re doing, and you get there first! Never guessed about him, all these years. Sharing a cabin with him’s been torture. Had to wait till he was in the shower, or I was, before I could even play with myself. Now look at him, the crafty little devil!”

  Simon said to him, “I wanted you all that time too. I never guessed that you…”

  Pete hadn’t waited for an invitation to pull his jeans down and join in the onboard activities. Jeans were already around his tanned, muscular calves, underpants halfway down his thighs like a safety net. His cock had come soaring out of its confinement, a great, up-curving, circumcised boner that Jason realized was nearly as big as his own, now bobbing about in the aftermath of its sudden upswing. He stepped—or rather stumbled, since he had his pants down—toward the other two, and drew them both into the embrace of his arms, and then, in a second, they were all madly at work with their hands on each other’s cocks. Jason was firmly pumping Simon’s thick short one, Pete had his hand clasped round Jason’s and was hauling at its massive length till Jason’s foreskin flickered like a fluttering eye. And Simon had his own hand where he’d wanted it for years, tugging the thick curved length of Pete’s most private organ—that massive but svelte adornment that he’d never seen before.

  After a minute Pete gasped, “I can’t stand up, my legs are buckling.”

  “Mine too,” whispered Simon and, as one, the three of them gratefully sank to their knees on the deck, though without interrupting the flow of their piston strokes by so much as a beat. Anchored by their knees now, they found themselves helplessly jerking their crotches in and out in uncontrollable pelvic thrusts that threatened at times to pull their penises right out of the grasp of the hands that were milking them.

  Simon, younger than the other two by a few years, did not surprise them when he announced quite loudly that he was going to come. “Oh, man, guys, I’m going to shoot!” The words were hardly out of his mouth before his sperm was out of his short, fat, round-headed cock. It fell heavily, a massive load, onto the deck just in front of his bare knees, with an audible plip. The sight of this was too much for the other two. Pete’s strong, fast-moving hand caused Jason’s prick to spurt out a long, white string of spunk that landed right inside Pete’s underpants, which were still stretched, net-like, between his thighs. Simon, seeing this, said, “Looks like you’ve caught a fish, Pete.” And that, in turn, proved the trigger to make Pete’s cock unload its own supply of sperm.

  Perhaps Pete hadn’t come for a few days, or longer. He delivered the biggest spunk-squirt that Jason had ever seen, and one of the most energetic. It was giant water pistol time. His first, fast, upward squirt went arcing between the shoulders of the other two, and disappeared from sight behind them. Then came another, which caught Simon on the chin, and a third that made it no higher than Jason’s belly button and landed on his upper thigh, but then pearls of diminishing size kept popping out, not traveling far now before they fell to the deck, but they went on and on and on. He was helped in this by Simon, who didn’t cease or slow his frenzied strokes on his cousin’s cock after he had come himself. Simon might have been only a private masturbator before today, but he had certainly proved that he knew what to do when the time came to pump spunk with somebody else.

  It took them a few moments to recover themselves. Still kneeling and naked, Jason addressed Pete, himself kneeling on his crumpled denims, his slowly deflating cock still oozing the last threads of its abundant store of come. “I’m Jason. Don’t know if you remember, but we met last night. And I’m sorry, but I seem to have shot into your underpants.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Pete said, broad-mindedly. “I don’t reckon I’ll be pulling them back up any time soon. Like any time in the next few weeks.” He grinned and jerked his head toward his young cousin. “Now that the two of us know each other a bit better.” And Simon giggled and tousled Pete’s hair.

  That evening it was Jason’s turn to tell his tale to Nick and Danny in the village pub beside the beach. “They wouldn’t hear of me swimming all the way back,” he finished, “but took me in the inflatable, all three of us bollock-naked now, and dropped me near where I’d left my trunks. They headed back out to their yacht—presumably to try a few more adventurous ways of having sex together. But they said they’d see us here for a drink sometime later tonight. And—I hope you both don’t mind—I’ve told them they must come up to Wrynack Cottage and see us at home quite soon.”

  “Sounds like that might be something to look forward to,” said Nick a bit archly. He took a gulp of his Badger ale. Then a smile spread slowly across his face. In through the pub doorway came his friend’s new friends. All five of them were fully dressed right now. But all of them privately thought—smiles breaking out as eyes met across the room—that that would not remain the case for long.

  FOR JORDAN

  Rafaelito V. Sy

  “One thing my films always have is ass eating. Make sure you guys do that.”

  No problem, I thought. Gladly, I thought.

  “Have some dialogue to start the scene.”

  What? This is porn. I’m not supposed to think, much less think about conversation. I asked, “What sort of dialogue do you want? What’s the scenario?”

  He looked peeved, the director did. Not a bad-looking director to be having sex in front of, though—salt-and-pepper hair, military cut; features that were chiseled and boyish; hazel eyes that indicated his impatience to get the scene started. I would’ve expected more direction since that was his job. He fucked me once, too, days after the first shoot I did for him. He had called me to his studio, where I climbed a ladder to his loft. I stripped butt naked. My body was still brown from the tan I had gotten for the shoot, pumped as always from my four-day-a-week workout. He dropped his pants—that was all, didn’t take off his shirt or anything else. I lay on my back on his unmade bed and raised my legs. He clamped his hand around my neck. I saw wooden walls, a wood ceiling, a wood floor.

  Everything was wood, wood painted black; and white, white sheets, white pillows.

  He spat on his prick, shoved it up my butthole, closed his eyes, ejaculated into my gut and told me to get dressed and get out. That was fine with me because that was exactly what I wanted from him. The beautiful thing about us men is that we can get in touch with our animalistic side and not feel like shit about it.

  You were in that first video with me, Jordan, you and another guy, some mean, lean soldier dude with a blond buzz cut. I was on all fours on a lazy Susan built for a body. The two of you were spinning me around, taking turns plugging my mouth and my fuckhole, raising my legs over my head, standing with your hard cocks inside
of me, hammering mercilessly.

  What a duo you and the other top made, Jordan. You: six-one; early thirties; bodybuilder’s hard, thick physique blurred by reddish-blond hair; pierced nipples and ears; cleft chin. Him: six feet; midforties; swimmer’s build; a biohazard tattoo to the left of his navel; eyes blue and intense as the deep sea; a lean and long cock challenging your thick manhood. And me: five-seven; age somewhere between the two of you; black hair and black eyes; a twenty-nine-inch waist; muscular pecs; brown skin. The two of you tagging me was enough to get my mouth going: “Slam it up my nasty butthole… Ravage my filthy whore guts… Heat up my insides with your gnarly man juices…” When the video came out, a brochure wrote of our scene: Most bottoms just lie there. But this Asian is one aggressive fuck who calls the shots.

  Now we were cast together again, one-on-one this time, the scene set in a bar in a sordid district of San Francisco where trannies loiter the streets at night, drug deals run rampant and police cars patrol every block. You were playing the role of a bartender and I was playing the role of the last patron, revving up to get twisted once again with each other in front of the camera. You were standing behind the bar. I was sitting on a stool across from you. A black frame bordered a mirror behind you. Another mirror covered the length of the wall behind me. Liquor bottles lined glass shelves. Black leather covered the stools. The floor was a checkered black and white. It seems that wherever there’s raunch, there’s black. One is synonymous with the other—dark, depraved, the depths of carnality contrasting with the uplifting white of love.