Best of the Best Gay Erotica

by Richard Labonté

  “At least now we can both say we’ve been in Thomas,” I joke as we rejoin I-95 North.

  Geof groans. After a week in New Orleans, a night in Savannah, and that gay bar in Mobile, I think he’s getting sick of my faggot shit. (I appease him by promising to take him to lesbian night at Life when we get back to New York.)

  Steel Gray

  Ken Butler

  The bar was dark, and I searched for a seat as my eyes adjusted to the light spilling over from the dance floor. I found an empty stool at the bar and slid onto it. The guy on my left was lucky that the bartender hadn’t carded him—if he was twenty-one, I was a straight arrow. Since I’m attracted only to older men, I ignored him. After an initial gawk and hesitation, he actually had the guts to cruise me with his eyes, but one hard stare from me and he quickly turned away. I ordered a beer and took a look around.

  The guy on my right seemed much more interesting, even though I couldn’t see his face. He was in a fairly intense conversation with the man to his right, and all I could see was the great shock of silver-gray hair covering his head. But his shoulders were wide and his waistline was just perfect as far as I was concerned—not fat and not fit. A small paunch had begun to creep over his belt and the butt on the stool had begun a little spread of its own. Just my type.

  I didn’t have a chance. In a few minutes, he stood and left with his companion after calling a good-bye to the bartender. The voice was a relaxed baritone that sent a wave from my gut down to my cock. I cursed my luck as I watched his back leave the bar. Damn, not even a glimpse of his face, I thought, as I signaled for a beer.

  The bartender, who couldn’t have been farther from my type but assumed that I must be attracted to him simply because he was good looking, sauntered over with a longneck for me. Tony was taut, muscular like me, and wore only a worn pair of chaps behind the bar, his sizable meat swinging freely between tree-trunk thighs.

  “Who was that, Tony?”

  “Don’t know. Haven’t seen him before. Good tipper, though, especially for a Friday.” He sauntered away, sure he had broken my heart once again.

  The next week, I was at the bar a half-hour earlier in the evening, but that shock of silver-gray was nowhere to be seen. The same the next week, and the next. I decided I’d give him one more week. Hell, maybe he was a travelling salesman with a month-long route. I couldn’t believe how obsessed I was becoming with a man whose face I’d never seen, but that wasn’t going to stop me from sitting on that bar stool for at least one more Friday.

  I had to work late that Friday, so I didn’t have time to change clothes, but drove straight to the bar, still in my suit and tie. The shoulders I’d memorized were not in evidence, though, so I found a stool and didn’t even look up to acknowledge Tony when a beer appeared.

  “Thanks,” I mumbled.

  “What’s with you?”

  “Nothing, I guess.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” and he was gone, seeking adulation from another.

  After a bit I headed to the bathroom and caught a flash of gray hair at the front door out of the corner of my eye. I backed up a step to peer around—and there he was, paying the cover charge. He was alone, and I willed my bladder to relax. I wasn’t going to let him out of my sight again.

  He spoke to a few men at tables and nodded to a kid on the dance floor, but settled onto a stool by himself. I willed myself to walk over slowly to the stool on his right. He was watching Tony’s ass jiggle as his martini was shaken, and I waited until Tony placed the drink down; then I took a deep breath and said, “I’ll have another beer, Tony.”

  Tony cocked his head quizzically, then looked at my eyes and didn’t have to ask why I’d moved down the bar. “Sure, Jerry, coming right up.”

  The object of my fascination turned to me, I think to say good evening, but the words never made it out of his mouth. I was about to make my standard self-deprecating joke, but I took one look at his eyes and was equally tongue-tied.

  They were like none I’d ever encountered: large, somewhat rounded at the corners, a bright gray that stopped me cold. They sparkled like highly polished stainless steel, and the thick lashes that encircled them were the same silver-gray as the hair on his head. So was the bushy mustache hanging over his lip, and his ruddy complexion made the intense gray even brighter. And despite the gray, I guessed he was no older than fifty.

  He was as surprised as anyone is when he first lays eyes on me, I guess—I’m living proof that they grow ’em bigger out in the Midwest. Indiana-born and raised, I grew up in a farming family and never felt out of place physically until I moved west. I’m six-foot-seven and weigh about three hundred twenty pounds, the last twenty of which is extra weight, gained when I stopped working out, trying to break the jock image I was afraid I’d never shake because of my size and the circumference of my biceps. I have straw-yellow hair, fair skin that reddens instead of tanning, and blue eyes that are considered piercing in their own right, though nothing like the pair staring back at me.

  He regained his composure first. “Forgive me, son, I didn’t mean to stare, but it’s not often you turn around to see a linebacker next to you. I hope you won’t take offense.”

  “None taken,” I said, pleased I could speak again. “And I hope you don’t consider this a cheap pick-up line, because I don’t mean it to be, but I’ve never seen eyes the color of yours. They’re beautiful.” I started to blush. I embarrass easily. I tried to cover up by sucking down half my beer.

  “I’ll take it as a compliment, then,” he said with a wink. “Thank you. My name’s R.J., and yours is Jerry, right?”

  “Right. Jerry Sanders.”

  “R.J. McIntyre.” He offered his hand.

  “I saw you here a month ago,” I said. “I hoped you’d come back. I wanted to meet you.”

  He raised one bushy eyebrow. “I don’t remember you, and I think I would.”

  “I sat next to you at the bar, but you were really involved with some guy.”

  After a beat, he said, “Oh, him. What a waste of time.”

  “Sorry.” I grinned.

  “So, Jerry,” he said, “I’ll be obnoxious. Just how big are you, son?”

  “Six-seven, three-twenty.” At least he hadn’t beat around the bush before he asked. “Does that make some sort of difference to you?”

  “No, son, not at all. I’m just curious, and crass enough to ask. But I suppose everyone asks you that.”

  “Sooner or later. I’ve got all the comeback lines down pat.”

  At that, he reached over and patted my forearm, squeezing its muscled firmness gently before reaching back for his drink. I went for more of mine, too, only to find the bottle nearly empty. Tony walked by, and R.J. said, “Another beer for my newest friend, bartender.”

  Tony smiled. “Sure thing.”

  “So,” R.J. said, “tell me a little about yourself.” That was always the next question, after they’d asked about my size. By now, I had an honest, pat answer.

  “Midwestern. Farmer. 4-H blue ribbons to prove it. Football and wrestling at Indiana University. Excelled at neither—no killer instinct, my coaches said. Degree in computer science like everybody else in the mid-eighties. Moved to the Silicon Valley just in time for the layoffs to begin. Moved north and managed to get into computer games at just the right time. I make a comfortable living, but don’t have many friends.

  “And I’m not a top,” I finished. “Surprised?”

  “Yes, but not disappointed.” My heart beat a little faster. “Okay, my turn. California. Common as dirt. No college. Worked for my pop’s construction business until he died; that was years ago. Took it over, became very successful, but hated it, so I sold it and live on the dividends. I’m lazy, I guess.” He chuckled. “Actually, I raise money for charities, just to keep myself from drying up and blowing away. You gotta do something when you’re my age, or your brain just quits.”

  “You sound like you think you’re old.”

  “I am old.�
�

  “Fifty isn’t old.”

  He patted my arm again. “Bless you, son. You sure know how to stroke an old man’s ego.”

  “How old are you?”

  “I just celebrated my sixty-second birthday.”

  “Bullshit.”

  He reached back and pulled out his wallet with a little sigh, like maybe he too had done this often before, and opened it to the first cellophane window. “Read it and I’ll weep for you.” Sure enough, the birth date read June first, 1935. I was impressed, and said so.

  “Don’t be. I’ve just got good genes. God knows I don’t take care of myself like you do.” I blushed and he noticed. Slapping his forehead with his hand, he said, “Shit, Jerry, I’m sorry. I just keeping chewing on that foot in my mouth, don’t I?”

  “It’s okay,” I said, because I sensed that he was truly contrite.

  “It’s just that you’re so damned built. Good-looking, too.” My blush doubled and he chuckled. “So, go ahead, ask me something personal—anything.”

  I knew just what I wanted to ask. “Is the hair on your body the color of your mustache?”

  “Well, why don’t you reach over, unbutton my shirt, and find out for yourself?” And he stared into my eyes with those killers of his.

  I was flabbergasted. No one had ever been this direct with me, and my cock started to grow in my slacks as I shakily reached out to finger the top button of his cotton shirt. It slipped out of the hole easily, and I ran my hand down to unfasten the next button, and the next. I then used the side of my hand to pull back the edge of the shirt and was rewarded with the gray forest for which I’d hoped. Tony walked by, acted like he was going to say something, then walked on silently.

  I sucked in a breath. “Like what you see?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, boy,” he replied, lowering his voice slightly, “if you’ve got a place, you could see the whole package.”

  I was shocked at his candor, but turned on by the direct proposition. I blushed yet again.

  R.J. put an arm on my shoulder and kneaded it gently. “Boy, you’re just about the best-looking man I’ve ever seen. Doesn’t everyone say that to you?”

  “No, they don’t.”’

  “They should.” He stood, left Tony a ten-dollar tip, straightened something that seemed cramped in his pants, and started off through the crowded bar.

  He stopped outside. “Where are you parked?”

  “Right over there. Do you want to follow me?”

  “No, son, I want to ride with you. That way you can’t just kick me out the door if you don’t like me,” he said, laughing.

  “Don’t worry. I like you. Very much.”

  R.J. reached up and caught the back of my neck, pulled my face down to his, and kissed me. I could feel the heat in my face as he let me go, and was glad it was dark enough that he couldn’t see my now perpetually red face. I couldn’t believe how bold he was, kissing me like that out in the open, but I liked it. I knew he simply didn’t care who saw.

  I opened the door for him, then walked around and got into the Lincoln, one of the few cars large enough for my frame.

  My house isn’t far from the bar, but the ride was memorable. As soon as I pulled out of the lot, he grabbed my hand and placed it on the crotch of his pants. The bulge beneath the cloth was sizable and rock hard. I kneaded it carefully, gauging its size, then reached down to cup his scrotum and gently squeeze his balls. He sighed and unzipped his pants.

  I tried to extract his cock from the folds of cloth.

  “Wait,” he said. He unbuttoned his slacks, pulling back the edges of the fabric, then reached down into his boxers and pulled out his cock and balls. The car swerved slightly as I looked over in fascination.

  R.J. guided my hand to his thick shaft, and I gently pumped him a few times, then kneaded his balls again. I’m especially fond of testicles, and his felt fat, just like the cock above them. I was slightly surprised that he was circumcised, but filed that question away for the future.

  “Now, pull on my balls.” I complied, and he sighed again.

  I pulled into my driveway and had no sooner stopped the car than he was getting out, holding his pants with one hand as he stroked his shaft with the other. I prayed that none of my neighbors were looking out their windows, and moved quickly to open the front door.

  He walked right in, then turned to face me as I locked the door. He opened his hand, and his pants fell in a heap at his feet. I stepped forward and pulled the boxers down with a jerk. He kicked off his loafers and stepped out of the heap around his feet. “R.J.” I began.

  Those beautiful eyes narrowed. “What happened to ‘sir’?” There was no menace in his voice.

  “I’m sorry, sir.”

  “Get on your knees.” I obeyed. He loosened my tie, slipping it out from around my button-down collar. Then he tied it tightly around his cock and balls. I gasped as his cock grew another inch before my eyes, then looked at him in wonder and lust. “I like that look in your eyes, Jerry. We’re going to enjoy this, aren’t we?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He grabbed me gently by the neck and guided my face to his cock. I opened my mouth, saliva collecting in its crevices. In one smooth motion, he buried most of that cock down my throat, backing out gently to let me lube him with spit. Then he plunged roughly down my throat again, and we both moaned in pleasure.

  “When I first looked at you, I didn’t think I’d have a chance. But when you said that you weren’t a top, I knew I was going to have you, boy.” I groaned around his shaft, and he continued. “I didn’t think you’d unbutton my shirt, but you did. That’s when I knew I could probably do whatever I wanted with you. Right?”

  I tried to nod, and he backed out so I could get a breath of air. But he plunged back in before I could speak, and I looked up at him as he said, “You don’t need to talk, Jerry. I know all about you. I’m gonna work you over good, boy, and we’re both gonna enjoy it.” A tear slid down my cheek. This was what I so desperately needed and never seemed to find, and I couldn’t believe that it was happening to me with this gorgeous man.

  He looked down, saw the tear, reached to brush it away, then backed out of my throat. “Stand up.” He took me in his arms and I leaned to kiss him. The kiss became passionate, and my breath became ragged as it continued for the next minute.

  He broke. “Where’s the bedroom?” He stripped off his shirt as he followed me there, then collapsed onto the bed. I turned on the lamp on the dresser so I could get a look at him naked.

  He was covered in that beautiful gray hair, and looked as if he had once been muscular. Time and a thin layer of fat, along with all that hair, had softened the outlines of his body. He turned me on naked more than he had clothed, but I found myself constantly drawn back to his eyes.

  “Strip for me, boy. Let’s see what’s under that suit.” I pulled frantically at my coat. “Slower.” Off came my coat, then, slowly, my shirt, then my loafers. Then I unbuttoned my braces and unhooked my pants, letting them fall as I pulled the braces up over my shoulders. That left only my undershirt and my briefs, which were tented out uncomfortably in front of me.

  “That’s far enough for now. I want to make you sweat before I peel those briefs off of you.” His sexiness made my balls ache.

  “Come to me.” I walked to the edge of the bed and placed one knee on the mattress, then lowered myself beside him, took him in my arms while he kissed me—for a long time. I was panting again before he let me up for air.

  He backed out of my embrace and casually lifted an arm. I attacked the pit without being asked, pleased that he wore no deodorant, and licked and sucked the skin clean, revelling in his musk. He lifted the other arm into the air; I worked my mouth across his hirsute chest, paying attention to both erect nipples before plunging into his other pit, snorting in the thick nest of hair and sweat.

  When he was clean, I got up on my knees and licked down his chest, cleaning his navel along the
way. My forehead bumped against something and then my lips found the base of his cock.

  I made a hard arrow of the tip of my tongue and jiggled it up his shaft, plunging down over him with my mouth when I reached the tip. The wide head bumped against my soft palate and I fought the urge to gag. I forced myself down farther, and the tickle subsided as the shaft penetrated deep into my throat. I held him as long as I dared, then swiftly expelled him, sucking in a deep breath. But his hand found the back of my head and he shoved down, hard. I took all of him again, and we groaned together again as my nose bumped against his soft, fleshy scrotum.

  He worked my mouth around his cock, pushing with his hand and urging me on with shallow thrusts from below. I started to sweat. At some point my pelvis began to thrust of its own accord, and soon I felt a knuckle kneading my asshole through my briefs. I backed against it, eager for the pressure. A hand landed on my ass, hard. I groaned louder.

  Then R.J. pulled on my balls through the cloth, and groan turned to plaintive moan.

  “Like that?” I nodded furiously. “So do I.” Still sucking his shaft, I reached around my head to grab his scrotum. His balls had a nice heft, and I pulled them out and away from his cock. I was surprised at how far the flesh stretched, but finally the skin tightened. I pulled my mouth away, then let myself fall on his sword yet again, swallowing hard as my nose touched the tightly stretched skin. I twisted the testicles a quarter turn, and this time the groan from above was half an octave deeper.

  “Oh, yeah, Jerry. I like that.” His grip on my testicles was merciless, and the bunched cotton cloth was rough against my now-sensitive sac. He released me suddenly.

  “Stand up. Take ’em off.” I grabbed the hem of my undershirt and pulled it over my head. He gasped when he saw my chest, which I keep hairless despite the fact I’m not working out anymore. It’s one of my best features, and he sat up to run a hand over my pecs.

  Then I hooked my thumbs in my briefs, turned to face away from him, and bent over as I slid them over my thighs. I wanted him to know my ass was his if he wanted it, and was rewarded with his thumb against my hole.