Men on the Make: True Gay Sex Confessions (21 page)

“Closing for cleaning in fifteen minutes,” Kim yelled. She’s the only one in the store that’s cool with what we do, who turns the lights down just so.

We were well into it: dicks being sucked, your ass getting fucked. When all the dirty words were said, you came on my jeans.

“Sorry,” you said, all embarrassed, but you were not the first or the last dude to come on my clothes.

Now here we are again with your dick erect and just as ready. I hook my fingers in elastic and free it from a cocoon of femininity. It’s thick and pink, God-like even. I fondle it. I grab your ass and press. My glasses graze and smudge against your stomach. I take them off, laying them on top of the tissue dispenser. I suck you like I haven’t had a dick in decades. My mouth collapses onto your love, palate tightens wet under your shaft as my lips sink into you.

“You want me to come in your mouth?” you ask.

I only do that with Chris. You don’t know me like that to earn that privilege, bitch. I tear away at the stockings, force the girlish garments down around your legs. The flesh of your butt fills the grooves between my fingers. I watch our actions in the mirror behind us, my lips around your hard-on, my fingers
traipsing along the ditch of your ass. I move in slow. Like to take my time and you don’t seem to mind. You whisper under your onion breath ’bout how you want me to be your boy, how you’re looking for a steady fuckbuddy. You squirm a bit when I shove a finger up your pansy ass. Your muscles tense to my touch as I explore you like a cave. Your dick strains in my mouth. I don’t want you to come yet, whore.

“Do you suck?” I ask.

You tell me no but I’ve seen you through the cracks of doors, in the darkest corners, giving head to mysterious men. All punks suck dick, even my Chris. So what if he’s not that good at it? You tell me you want to get fucked. Figured as much. I can look at you and tell. You’re a bottomless pit who can take an L.A. gang of dicks. I’ll be lucky to get my cock back fucking with you. We switch hits. You bend and grip the pipes of the toilet. We keep quiet when the occasional breeder enters. You ask me if I have a rubber, as if you’re worthy enough to be fucked without one, slut. I fork a French tickler out of the pocket of my shirt and tear it open. I roll the latex on my dick. It’s a little cold going on over the head, over veins. I pull your hips forcefully instead of tenderly like Chris’s. You are good and loose due to my fingers. My dick’s the perfect fit. I hold on to your shoulders like reins. You grab on tighter to the pipes. You feel warm on me. I stand on the tips of my Saucony’s ’cause I want to get in you completely. There’s nothing like a seasoned piece of ass to devour. The buckle of my belt clanks against the floor as I fuck. I tug and jerk at your hips, slapping your ass.

“Fuck me this and fuck me that!” you shout. What would your mother say if she heard you talking this way? I warn you to keep it down. Tell you that I almost got busted last week for this same shit. My gluteus muscles are on fire, but there’s no better workout than a good fuck. I reach up to tweak your
nipples. You tell me that I’m too rough, but rough is the way two men oughta fuck, with sweat trickling down our backs into the cracks of our asses. If only you could witness the sheer beauty of my dick going in and out of you. You’re a nice piece of ass, but you don’t hold a candle to Chris. His dick is a monkey wrench he throws into my butt twice a week when his girl ain’t around. I can feel myself flowing up into the gas-mart rubber. I hook my arm under your waist and pull you farther into me. Your insides couldn’t get any hotter on my cock. I imagine that your ass is Chris’s as I come inside you. I pull out slow, careful not to hurt or bruise. I unfurl some tissue and use it to take off the latex. I normally zip up and take off, leaving horn dogs like you to your own devices, but I’m not one to leave ends loose. I take you back into my mouth.

“Suck my balls.”

I pull your panties farther below and bring your perfumed balls to my mouth. My tongue slides along your cock, along the slit of the head. A few hard sucks is all it takes for you to bust a nut, soiling my shirt with your juices. We tuck in our dicks and exit the toilet quick, walking back to our tables with spent dicks.

“Not bad for a white guy, huh?” you tell me. You scribble your number on a piece of paper. I promise to drop you a line, but I’m lying, and toss it into the trash much like the last time you slipped it to me. I know I will see you again, panties down around your ass in a nasty little booth of a super-center sex store where cell numbers are sprawled on glory-hole walls by those seeking a good time.

A HAPPY ENDING

Logan Zachary

I
was still a virgin at twenty-five.

At that point, I already knew I was gay and always would be. It wasn’t a choice; but a genetic preprogrammed trait, like my hazel eyes, light-brown hair, furry chest, stocky body and huge Polish penis.

Needless to say, I was a late, closeted bloomer, a romantic at heart. So it was no wonder I was so naïve and easily led astray, but I enjoyed it.

The YMCA had a regular membership and a fitness center membership. Since I worked at the hospital, we had discounts to their memberships.

The fitness center had a steam room and a hot tub in the men’s locker room. I was in hog heaven watching the men prance around naked, their dicks hanging low between their legs.

I was never brave enough to go au natural, but enjoyed the view. I’ll never forget Phil, this hot massage therapist.

Seemed like he was always at the Y. He was nice, always smiling and always so cordial. He was as muscular as a bull, wearing tight clothes to show off every firm curve.

“Hey Phil, how’s it going?” I asked.

“It’s been a slow day. Must be the stress of the holidays; no one’s got time for a massage.”

“Do you work on a commission?”

“I get my salary, but I get extra for each massage I give, along with any tips. I haven’t even started shopping yet, no cash flow. My car is in the garage and my insurance is due.”

“Sucks to have all the extra bills at this time of the year.”

“Tell me about it. You swimming today?”

“Yup.”

He handed me two towels. “Don’t tell anyone.” He smiled as his hand brushed against mine in the hand off.

I watched Phil in the mirror watch me walk to my locker. I took off my down coat and stripped to my underwear. As I bent over to get my swimming trunks, I glanced into the mirror.

Phil was still watching me. I pushed my underwear down and slipped my feet into my trunks. As I pulled the waistband up to the bottom of my ass, I met Phil’s eyes in the mirror. He smiled at me as I pulled them up and tied the drawstring. I threw a towel over my shoulder and walked back to the massage tables.

“Can I get you something?” Phil asked.

“Do you have time for a massage, after I get done swimming?”

Phil looked at the clock and said, “We close at six on Sunday, so if you can be back here by five, I can give you an hour massage.”

“Perfect,” I said.

“Make sure you take a shower to get off all the chlorine then
jump in the steam room to warm up.”

“I’ll do that.” I walked through the bathroom and shower area, and exited the door to the pools. I set my towel over a bar by the pool and did my laps. I had an erection as I swam, as I was thinking about my upcoming massage. I hated how easily aroused I was and worried about having a hard-on when Phil worked my body.

I noticed the time as I finished my last lap. I grabbed my towel and walked back to the showers. I showered quickly and used the bathroom before I stepped into the steam room. My first towel was used after the shower and I used the second one in the steam room. The towel absorbed the humidity and was damp around my waist. My swim trucks were on top of the wet towel.

I sat back and let the heat soak into my body. I breathed in deeply the eucalyptus from the steam and savored the warmth and relaxation.

The door opened and Phil poked his head in. “I’m ready whenever you are,” he said.

I opened my eyes and smiled. “Okay.” I stood up and almost lost my towel. I quickly tied the ends at my waist and followed Phil to the massage tables.

He had a warm sheet over a table and motioned for me to lie down. He took my wet towel and trunks. He tossed the wet towel into a laundry bin. He held his hand out for the other one.

I felt my cock jump as I swallowed hard. I turned my back to him and released my towel and handed it to him. I crawled onto the table and pulled one edge of the sheet over my ass.

Phil stepped to the foot of the table and covered one leg and then the other. His hand caressed my ass as he smoothed the sheet over my butt and pulled the top corners over my shoulders.
“Let me get the warm oil and we can start.” He tossed the damp towel into the bin and headed over to a cabinet on the wall and opened it. A big bright light was on and a plastic bottle rested next to it. He pulled the bottle out and closed the small door.

He pulled the sheet off my shoulders and exposed my back just above my butt. He poured oil into his hand and set the bottle on the table next to me. His hands touched my shoulders and started to roll over my delts and shoulder blades.

The extra warm oil ran down the center of my spine and pooled above my cheeks. As more collected, the liquid flowed over and along my crease. It filled my opening before flowing over my balls.

He worked my back and shoulders, releasing the knots and kinks. He pulled out my left arm and stroked down the shoulder to the elbow. He slipped his fingers between mine, interlocking them, massaging along my forearm.

The massage relaxed me, lulling me to drift off to sleep. He worked slow, relaxing me. He wrapped my shoulder and arms back up and stepped to the foot of the table. He pulled the sheet free of one leg and exposed a cheek. The cool breeze startled me, but he re-covered my butt and oiled my leg. His fingers slid along my hairy leg and up and over my cheek. One finger slid between my legs and brushed the hair on my balls.

My cock leapt.

He pulled down my leg and worked my calf before doing my foot and each toe separately. He went back up my leg, tickling the ball sac and kneading the glute. His fingers rolled over the crest of my crease, sinking slowly, deeper. His finger edged along my opening, allowing the excess oil to escape and trickle down my balls.

He covered that leg and exposed my other one. He repeated
the process. As he neared my sac, my cock filled, and my ass wanted to rise up and thrust itself onto his hand.

I savored his skill, wondering why I hadn’t signed up for a massage before. My body was warm and oiled. I felt my legs slip against each other as I shifted on the table. His hand glided over my butt and down along the crease. His finger pulled the excess oil along its trail and paused over my pucker. His finger skated over it and the oil followed down to my balls.

He pulled the sheet off my shoulder and said, “Roll over on your back.”

I looked above my head into the locker room; no one was around. I rolled away from him so he couldn’t see my hard dick and pulled the sheet over me to cover it.

He tucked the corners in and ran his hand over me, over my erection.

My buttcheeks oozed oil and slipped against each other.

He pulled the sheet back to expose my hairy chest and kept my groin covered. His fingers combed oil between each hair on my chest, rolling over my abs, moving lower, then as his hand came close to the tip of my dick, he started back up. Each hand covered a pec and rolled my nipples between his fingertips. He pinched them gently as he pulled up on them.

My cock jumped in the sheet.

His hands trailed along my abs. His fingertips pushed deeper into my thick hair, parting it as he headed lower. His hand stopped at the fat head of my dick.

I could feel the gentlest of pressure at the end.

He covered my chest, tucking me in safe and warm.

A member asked him a question, and he helped him. He looked at the clock. It was six. “I’m locking up, anyone still in here?”

No one responded. He locked the door to the pool. He
looked through the showers and bathroom. Everyone was gone. He locked the main locker room door and came back to me.

“I never heard the announcement the Y was closing.” I started to get up.

His hand touched my chest, holding me down on the table. “We’re not done yet. I had to help the members, so you lost some time. Let me finish you.” He picked up the bottle, squeezed some more oil into his hands. He pulled the sheet off one leg and poured oil up my leg. He set the warm bottle between my legs.

He did long strong strokes up my leg, up to my torso. His little finger rode through my pubic bush.

My cock stained to be touched. Was he teasing me? Was he going to? Or was I reading too much into his massage?

He went down to my foot and back up to my hip. His fingers tickled my hip, as his finger explored the pubic bush. His hands rolled back and forth over my thigh and guided along the crease of my leg and hip. His finger explored deeper and stopped at the start of my ball sac.

I spread my legs wider, giving him more room to go farther.

He did and his knuckle traced my testicle. He walked to the foot of the table and pulled the sheet off my other leg.