My First Gay Erotica

Thank you for reading my first gay erotica. It’s a pleasure to be in your mind and heart. 

Every great work of fiction sprouts from a seed of reality. I’ll leave it to you to imagine which is which.

Enjoy

Alex will read it to you if you’d like. Just find a comfy spot, cozy up, and press play. You may want to have some lube close by…

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Huh? What was that? As you stir awake, it takes a moment to recognize your surroundings. The crisp January air burns your lungs, and the ache in your legs would be more noticeable if not for the rush of adrenaline. It’s dark out—no manmade light in sight. But even the faint sliver of moonlight is enough for you to see the silhouette of one of the older boys standing by a tree. You recognize that familiar sound, the spatter of a man’s warm stream striking rock and frozen ground. Out here, you can unzip and let loose wherever you like, one of the many things that keeps you coming back to your church’s college men’s group hikes. Sure, trekking through the Appalachians in the dead of winter is numbing, and your backpack chafes your shoulders and back. But every time you return home, you feel stronger, more capable, more proud of what you’ve accomplished.

As you continue watching, you recognize the silhouette. It’s Jason—the older guy you’ve always had a bit of a crush on. You’ve often fantasized about what it would feel like to have his stubble brushing against your skin, prickling your neck, then trailing lower. You imagine his warm lips pausing, gently pressing against you. But no one knows about that. You still have plans to find a girl you can trust with your secret. Maybe, together, you can work through this “same-sex attraction.”

Watching Jason now, you wish you had the courage to get up, walk over, and just hold it for him. You know it’s quite a bit bigger than yours—his gray sweatpants held no secrets on the trail earlier. And sitting around the fire tonight, it was all you could focus on while the leader droned on and on about how “real men wait until marriage” and shared tips for finding a “Proverbs-something-or-other” woman. The whole time, you were pretty sure Jason had a raging hard-on, his firm shaft pressing tightly against the fabric, perfectly illuminated by the dancing firelight.

And now, here he is, not thirty feet away, with it out there for all of nature to behold. But not you. Why did he have to face the other way? Still, the silver light traces the exquisite lines of his shoulders and triceps, giving him an ethereal outline. Why can’t your body look like that?

Jason finishes up, and you hear the subtle snap of his elastic waistband settling back into place, concealing again the treasure you so desperately want to see for yourself. His member—the one you lust after—returns to hiding. As his boots crunch back toward his sleeping bag, you shut your eyes, only now realizing how painfully hard your own cock has become. Tonight, you will dream well.

When the warm beams of sunshine finally wake you, you barely realize you’ve been out. Surely you’d only blinked since Jason returned to his sleeping bag. But you reluctantly emerge from your cocoon, preparing for the hike ahead. If you remember correctly, today’s plan is a twelve-mile trek—not the longest you’ve done, but certainly not the easiest. You roll up your sleeping bag, pull out a quick breakfast from your pack, and join the others by the fire.

As usual, several of the guys have their hands down their pants—not for any sexual reason, just to warm their fingers. You wish they’d use their armpits instead; though the sight stirs a thrill in you, you’re also terrified of your feelings slipping through in some visible way. Hyper-aware of your racing thoughts, you even wonder momentarily if they can hear your thoughts. But you quickly dismiss that as a silly worry. No one can hear your thoughts. Thank goodness for that; if they knew, they’d probably exile you.

Your mind snaps back to the present when you see him. Jason, sauntering up to the fire in those same gray sweatpants from last night, his piercing aquamarine eyes bringing color to the faded backdrop of bare trees. He’s so at ease, immediately joining the conversation, his laugh coming naturally, his voice warm and confident. How incredible it must feel, you think, to be part of the group without even trying. It’s this effortless ease that makes Jason all the more magnetic, all the more sexy.

You finish your breakfast—or what passes for breakfast—and it’s time to hit the trail. You welcome the chance to get your blood moving; the fire did little to warm your toes through your thick leather boots. The trail is lively with chatter and laughter, the other guys clearly having the time of their lives. You join in where you can, though it’s never as easy for you as it is for them. Still, as the group begins to thin, separating the slower hikers from the testosterone-fueled “buff guys” in front, you fall in with a classmate, and another guy you’ve become friends with on these monthly hikes. The conversation is engaging enough, and for a while, you even forget you’re different. You forget the fear of being found out, the constant anxiety of being exiled. For these moments, you laugh and joke just like any other guy.

A break for lunch, however, pulls you back to reality. You snap out of your comfort when you catch yourself staring at Jason’s razor sharp jawline. And who could blame you? As he bites into his sandwich, every muscle in his jaw moves with a mesmerizing precision. How the fuck does any human have such a perfectly chiseled face? If you hadn’t fantasized so often about the warmth of pressing up against him, you might picture him as a marble statue. One of the Greek gods for sure, or maybe the statue of David. But marble would be too cold, too lifeless, to capture his vitality. He radiates life.

You feel the lump in your briefs begin to grow. You’ve watched Jason just a little too long. With a flash of embarrassment, you quickly look away, adjusting your manhood covertly so as not to call attention to yourself. You yearn for Jason, and suddenly, you have a plan to get close to him. Once the lunch break ends, you are already prepared. Jason always hikes near the front, and even though you’re not one of the “jocks,” you are determined to keep up.

You’ve done it—you’re hiking with the real men, the ones growing facial hair and building muscles you never even knew existed. So far, they don’t seem to mind your presence. In fact, Jason even greeted you with a “hey” when you set off together. You’re here. You are really here with them. It’s hard to join the conversation; they’re discussing YouTube videos you haven’t seen, but it doesn’t matter. This is the closest you’ve ever been to Jason, and that alone makes it worth every second of awkwardness.

When the conversation shifts to teasing, you see an opening to chime in. Sarcasm has always come easily, especially when you’re out of your element. “Well, Mr. Niagara Falls over here woke me up last night! Gawd, Jason, did you hold your piss in for a week?” Almost instantly, you regret opening your mouth. Hot blood shoots through your face, and you barely hear Jason’s response over the pounding in your chest. He doesn’t seem offended, but your mind races, wondering what he and the others might think of you now. You realize the group is laughing, and someone else has taken over the conversation. Your hot face cools with relief. They haven’t exiled you… yet.

You fall mostly silent for the rest of the hike, only chiming in when one of the guys asks you a question. Other than that, you focus your efforts on looking strong in front of Jason. You don’t want him to think you’re weak, even though your throat is dry from the cold air, and your right heel is blistering terribly in your boot. You feel a wave of relief when you finally reach the campsite. This is your first time keeping pace with the front group, and arriving first gives you a chance to set up your sleeping bag near Jason’s. It’s surprisingly easy; you just make casual conversation about the views on the hike, and before you know it, you’re setting up close enough to talk with him.

The rest of the evening follows the usual pattern: dinner around the fire, a shallow lesson from one of the leaders about the sin of impure thoughts, and logistical reminders like keep water bottles in your sleeping bag to avoid them freezing in your pack. After an hour-long game of flashlight tag, you and the other testosterone filled young men are finally ready to settle down. Stretching out in your sleeping bag, you can’t help but feel pride in how close you’ve gotten to Jason. You had your first multi-word conversation with him today, and now you’re lying down just out of arms reach from him. You rest your eyes, and almost simultaneously drift into dream land.

A stir awakens you. You hear the soft zip of a sleeping bag opening, and a tall sculpted figure rises from the shadows. Though you cannot see his face, you instantly know who it is—no one else has a body like Jason. Just like last night, he’s heading out to relieve himself, and the simple knowledge of that makes you realize you need to pee, too. But should you wait? Before your mind has time to answer, you’re unzipping your bag. You press up to your feet, and walk swiftly to catch up to him.

“Oh, I didn’t see you there. Sorry. I really have to go,” you say in a whisper, trying not to wake anyone else.

“It’s fine,” Jason replies with a smile.

You are walking together now, leaving the camp and heading into the woods. When he stops, you do the same, and as you both unzip, you ask, “Hey, wanna see who can piss the furthest?” The words leave your mouth before you even think to filter them.

“Sure.” Jason chuckles. “But watch out—I’ve got the power of Niagara Falls, remember?”

Your heart leaps. A flash of embarrassment returns as you recall your words from earlier on the trail, but this feeling morphs into a warmer, less familiar feeling. You feel seen. Is he flirting with you?

You both press, aiming as far as you can, and soon your streams are racing. He gains distance; then you gain a little more. He gains again. And in a lapse of self-control, you glance over, catching a glimpse of his thick, smooth, perfect cock. It’s beautiful—better than anything you’ve seen in porn. Not overly long or wide, but definitely not small. Bigger than yours, and more than anything, you want it. You want to touch it, to feel its warmth and weight in your hand.

A jolt snaps you out of your daze. Jason is looking right at you, meeting your gaze. But he doesn’t look angry, as you feared. His expression is… inviting.

He lets go of his shaft, raising his hands to rest them on the back of his neck, his stream still flowing. Is this an invitation? Yes, it is.

You reach out and gently support him, holding his shaft in one hand while your other still holds your own. Your eyes meet again, and he smiles.

A surge of electricity pulses through you. You shiver, not from the icy air but from the rush of adrenaline. You’ve fantasized about this moment ever since you met Jason three whole years ago, but now, having his beautiful, firm manhood in your hand, his gaze fixed on you, it’s better than any fantasy. Here you are, with every last drop of his attention, and it’s more delicious than you’d ever imagined.

Both of you finish relieving yourselves, and nothing but pure instinct kicks in. You lean in. His lips are soft. His tongue is warm. His bicep is firm. His hands are steady. His scruff scratches your neck. He smells like the man you wish you could be.

You drop to your knees, taking a moment to admire him. Hard. Smooth. Big. Hot. Wet with precum.

You know exactly what to do. You slide your mouth around his staff, hungry, like a wild animal freshly awake from hibernation. You move over him again and again. Your hands grasp his muscular cheeks, your need for oxygen disappearing, along with any gag reflex you thought you had. You have everything you need.

He tastes like the way an Abercrombie & Fitch ad looks. He smells like fresh sweat and masculinity. He thrusts in sync with you, like the beat of your favorite song.

The world around you fades away.

Over and over, his sweet, luscious cock slides in and out of your throat.

Pulsing. Throbbing. Pumping. Moaning.

His breath heavy.

“Uhh! Uhh! Ahhhhhh!…”

At last you feel your reward.

Warm custard filling your mouth and throat.

Not a drop goes to waste.

He tastes like… Jason. Exactly like Jason.

It’s beyond words. You feel completely, utterly fulfilled. Your heart is nourished in a way you didn’t know it could be.

Jason’s strong hands lift you up, your legs shaky as you rise.

Your lips meet again, and he tastes himself on your tongue.

You’re not quite sure what happens next—your mind is floating too high. But soon enough, you find yourself back in your sleeping bag, feeling calm, connected, loved. You drift off with a smile so big it almost hurts.

When you finally wake, it’s a bit later than usual. Most of the guys are already finishing up their breakfast and preparing their backpacks for the final day’s hike. You glance over at the fire and see Jason. He and two other guys are in the middle of a push-up contest, seeing who can do the most without a break. These contests usually start as a way to warm up in the chilly mornings, but they quickly devolve into boyish competitions.

You don’t want to get up just yet. From this angle, you can see the curve of Jason’s chest through his collar, his biceps and triceps bulging as they flex, his sleeves nearly stretched to their limit. Your head and heart are still floating on memories from last night.

They were memories, right? You try to reassure yourself, but a familiar anxiety bubbles up in your chest.

This itchy energy drives you to emerge from your warm habitat and prepare for the hike. It looks like everyone else is almost ready, so there’s no time to sit for breakfast. You grab a quick snack, stuffing it in your pocket, and hurriedly shove the rest of your belongings into your pack.

Jason and the other guys have finished their contest now. He won of course. As he comes over to grab his pack, you muster the courage to speak.

“Good morning,” you say softly, still unsure of the connection you’d shared with him.

“Good morning,” Jason replies. His neutral tone offers none of the reassurance you are searching for.

He grabs his pack and you grab yours. And as he swings his pack around, securing both straps around his wide, strong shoulders, you catch a glimpse of his subtle smile.

And in this moment, you know one thing for certain.

You want him more.