Best of Best Gay Erotica 3

by Richard Labonté

  Big Bro dove into Bud’s hairy ass, parting the furry cheeks with his huge paws while his tongue sought the musk of Bud’s sex, the new center of his own joy. On his stomach, Bud felt the rough tongue pluming the depths of his fuck hole, and kneaded the carpet just as Big Bro’s paws were kneading his buttcheeks. Bud lost himself in the pleasure of the grooming, of the bearded face against his furry buttcheeks, in the need mounting in his own loins.

  Bud was roughly turned over onto his back, his legs wrapping themselves over Big Bro’s broad, hirsute shoulders. Big Bro’s cock found its target and entered the snug cavern where so many men had spilled their spawn, but which would now make room only for Big Bro’s essence. He entered slowly, ever alert for whatever sensations were revealed in his lover’s face, as eager to please as to be pleased. Bud gasped, only partly from the pain of being split so roughly apart, and partly from anticipation of the coming ecstasy. He nodded, and Big Bro pushed forward, slowly sliding into the hairy hole, into the depths of Bud’s body and soul.

  The scent of their pheromones thickened the air around them, adding to the urgency of their need to couple, to climax face-to-face, to know and share the agony of the coming climax. They kissed roughly as they fucked, their teeth clashing together while their tongues wrestled for control. Big Bro pushed forward as Bud met each thrust with his own, his cock arching high into the air as Big Bro’s manhood drove deeper and faster into Bud’s body.

  They came together. Big Bro’s cock once again exploded, expanding and stretching the confines of Bud’s guts. With Big Bro’s final thrust, Bud’s body arched toward the ceiling as he ejaculated, covering them both with cum. What Big Bro couldn’t catch in his mouth, he licked from the matted hair on Bud’s body, even as Bud returned the favor by cleaning Big Bro’s sweaty body.

  They slept that night curled together on the floor, their bodies intertwined for the comfort of each other’s company as much as for warmth in the now chilly room. When they awoke, Bud prepared their breakfast, after which they spent an hour grooming each other before a short nap. When Big Bro stretched his body, he found Bud at the window keenly watching high-flying birds race past the apartment. He nuzzled Bud from behind, his cock poking at its new home.

  “How old are you, Big Bro?”

  “Don’t know. Why? Do you know how old you are?”

  “No. I never bothered to count.”

  “Not to worry, little bro, Big Bro will look after you now. Big Bro will protect you and keep you safe, and Big Bro will never put you on a leash.”

  Bud leaned his torso forward and pushed his butt back to find and engulf Big Bro’s cock. That was all he needed to know.

  When the Bills woke up the next morning and found Bud had vanished, they wondered where he had gone, but didn’t worry at first. As the hours passed, they became frantic, showing his picture to everyone and anyone. Finally, on the morning of their departure, someone recognized Bud from the fuzzy image on the mobile phone.

  “Yeah, a couple nights ago he went off with this guy, big ol’ lion of a guy.”

  “Where did they go?”

  The man shrugged his shoulders and nodded to the front door of the hotel.

  On the flight home, the Bills comforted themselves with the thought that strays sometimes disappear.

  MASS ASS

  Robert Patrick

  A boy at the baths

  Opened legs thin as laths

  To invite any dick up his ass.

  We clustered to fuck

  This divine piece of luck,

  Ev’ry putz in the place hard as glass.

  We had come off the streets

  Hunting fuckable seats

  Scorning bars and the park’s grubby groves,

  Seeking nooky, not names

  Or good spirits or games

  Where hot crotches abounded in droves.

  The baths was alive

  As if drones in a hive

  Had come crawling for all they could get.

  We crowded the halls

  With a buzz in our balls,

  But no honey was coming as yet.

  We dropped down to see

  That the steam room was free.

  There was no ass to catch unawares,

  And none in the cool,

  Under-used swimming pool.

  We returned to the hall-hell upstairs.

  There were pungent perfumes

  From occasional rooms

  But most doors were annoyingly shut

  As their renters, like me,

  Walked around cockily,

  Rather randomly roaming in rut.

  Every man there possessed

  What the others liked best,

  Whether asshole or hard-on or mouth,

  But it looked like the nest

  Never would come to rest,

  And all hopes of connections went south.

  Though the usual thing

  At the baths was to fling

  Your door open and get yourself some,

  On a night like tonight

  Everyone was uptight

  And nobody was likely to cum.

  Every mind in the dim,

  Dreamy den was a-brim

  With idyllic, ideal, unreal acts,

  Which seemed to eclipse

  Any real lips or hips

  Ever coming to grips with bare facts.

  So the corridors sludged

  As we judged as we trudged

  All around in the shadows in hordes,

  And the testicles hung

  In between our legs swung

  Full of seed as a garden of gourds.

  When the cute youth came in

  Through the masses of men,

  He was hot, clearly not there to swim,

  For he stripped like a whore

  In his wide-open door,

  And we all caught the heat off of him.

  To conceal our rude dowels,

  We were wrapped in white towels

  But the kid spread his out on his cot,

  Then reclined on his back,

  Plucked open his crack

  And inserted K-Y up his twat.

  Just a blond, bonny boy,

  Not in any way coy,

  Undulating gyrating crevasse,

  Legs divided and bent

  For to better present

  Frontally, cuntily, ass.

  The towel was to catch

  Any leaks from his snatch,

  All ejaculatory excess.

  The thought of those drops

  Seeping out of his chops

  Escalated the hall’s horniness.

  Then the kid closed his eyes,

  Elevated his thighs,

  And commanded all cocks in to cum.

  Elders bruited around,

  “There’s a butt wanting browned.

  Better get into line and get some.”

  Everybody had tongues.

  Everybody had bungs.

  Everybody bore seminal pods.

  But the catamite’s blunt

  Self-reduction to cunt

  Ratified ev’rybody as rods.

  So I felt myself swell

  And I said, “What the hell,”

  And got into the queue to give juice.

  I stood with my hand

  Underneath my towel, and

  Pulled my pud to be ready for use.

  Soon a long line had formed

  And we heard the kid stormed

  By the first fuck to enter his door.

  How he moaned as the first

  Of our company burst

  In his lubricious tube like a boar.

  Now the atmosphere was

  Brash and bawdy, a-buzz

  With the promise of pending release.

  We were boys in a frat

  Lucking out, looking at

  A communal, anonymous piece.

  We were sailors in port,

  Self-advancers at court,

  Soldiers eyeing
a drunk in a bunk,

  Groaning drones servicing

  A great, glistening queen

  Amid sexual, insectual funk.

  The kid was reduced

  To a gap to get goosed

  By our prods with explosive intent.

  As our chargers got charged

  His behind was enlarged

  In our minds to a meat monument.

  Race, religion, and class

  Were dispelled by that ass

  With its massive and passive reproof

  That, divested of duds,

  We were all silly studs,

  Dumb containers for cum on the hoof.

  Men who hardly would greet

  If they passed on the street

  In divisive, diverse uniforms

  Here were stripped of disguise,

  Bound as bulls by the rise

  Of identical sensual storms.

  In the backs of our brains

  We discovered remains

  Of religions remote as we played

  In a crude, incondite

  Eleusinian rite

  That was once dignified and arrayed.

  We were in Babylon,

  Devotees duly drawn

  Toward rolling, controlling white buns

  Of a sexual slave

  Cleft to show his dark cave

  Where initiates got off their guns.

  Deep in wells dug in rocks,

  Persians cut off their cocks

  And their balls to become temple whores.

  So the boy in the room

  Had become a huge womb

  To seduce and reduce our gorged gores.

  When such rites were proscribed,

  Men were bullied and bribed

  To enact them, defying the state.

  In a dark alley-way,

  An asshole in Pompeii

  Scrawled the ritual Show hard, make date.

  This religion, repressed,

  Recrudesced and tumesced

  Any time that men gathered with men,

  And in barracks and ships

  The hot hole in the hips

  Was enjoyed as it always had been.

  In Athenian heights

  On particular nights

  Men would drink not to think as they sprawled,

  Then dishevel their robes

  To reveal hairy globes

  With a butthole that begged to be balled.

  In Catullus’s Rome

  With the Capitol’s dome

  Hanging, clanging that butt was a vice,

  Men ate asses in baths,

  Flouting all aftermaths

  Just to service each other’s sweet splice.

  After pagan defeats,

  In monastic retreats

  Any pretty young novice was told

  That he must grow a beard,

  For the Fatherhood feared

  That a fair face would get his ass poled.

  In my southwestern land

  Where the butthole was banned

  As a joke not to be spoken of,

  Cowboys wooed with the song,

  “Nights are long, oh, so long.

  Gotta get me somebody to love.”

  All of us in that line

  To defile the divine

  Waiting wound that we heard being had

  Had been taught we’d be burned

  In hot Hell if we yearned

  To deliver a load in a lad.

  But the fever of youth

  Told the tenderer truth

  That the cock had to cum in the crack,

  So despite gods and laws

  We were lined up because

  Gut was good and we wouldn’t turn back.

  As engorgement peeled husks

  Off the tips of our tusks,

  Our sarongs bulged with prongs like pale fruits.

  We all jerked uncontrolled

  Through the waistband or fold

  Of the towels that enshrouded our shoots.

  We wankers in line,

  Feeling phallic and fine,

  Gaily joked as we stroked our taut tools.

  Buggers worshiping butt,

  Shuffling stallions in rut,

  We all broke one of Everard’s rules

  As we tugged off our towels

  Among manly avowals

  That the damned things were feeling too tight.

  Uncontained cocks and balls

  Sent their scents down the halls

  As we waited for nooky that night.

  All the bored employees.

  Police-force retirees,

  Saw us standing illicitly stripped

  And were moved to object,

  But retired from respect

  Of the god by whom all goads were gripped.

  A drunk coming in,

  Gaped to see naked men

  As he clawed with a key at his door,

  And a dick brushed my butt

  And my prick pushed a rut

  As we jostled toward our hot whore.

  For, oh, what a mass

  Of assailable ass

  Hung available there where we stood.

  And oh, what a stock

  Of respectable cock,

  And we wondered if maybe we should…

  So we played as we pleased

  With the asses we squeezed

  And the cocks that we teased in the gloom,

  But we all knew we must

  Hold our trophies in trust

  For the priestess oiled up in her room.

  The drunk stumbled out,

  Waving hard-on about,

  Looking funky and phallic and fine,

  Then staggered to stand

  Towel and tool in each hand

  At the end of the lumbering line.

  Like great droplets of dew

  Or thick globules of goo,

  Devotees shuffled forward like slaves

  As the pricks who had spilled

  Came out limp and fulfilled

  Like the undead released from their graves.

  When a man entered in

  To that vaginal den,

  Every aching erection would pulse,

  Throbbing just on the verge

  Of a seminal purge

  As we heard each hot cocksman convulse.

  Every brain in the chain

  Fucked again and again

  That vicarious, visualized slit.

  Every act grew more quick

  As each man felt his prick

  Growing closer and closer to it.

  How I swallowed a laugh,

  Stimulating my staff

  While forbidding my seed to disperse

  In the glory and grief

  Of suspended relief

  Not unlike certain techniques of verse.

  Then a fucker came out

  Drooling cum from his spout,

  And the cock before mine climbed the kid.

  I ogled the mass

  Of his big apple-ass

  Slapping happily as he slip-slid.

  My genitals got

  So unbearably hot

  That I let my hand slide to the tip,

  For had I clutched the rod

  I’d have shot out my wad

  Watching that big behind grind and grip.

  I felt what he felt

  As he made his dick melt

  In the ass that already was soaked,

  And I wanted my stump

  In his high-riding rump

  Which made mean little mouths as he poked.

  I was wildly aroused

  By the thought of what housed

  His exploring and goring extreme,

  And I’d seen the huge knob

  On his fat little lob,

  Just the thing to give gut a good ream,

  And his heaving, hot hole

  Writhing out of control

  Made my schlong long to ruin his rear,

  And panting to pole


  Someone in the male role

  Had me feeling incredibly queer.

  I twiddled my glans

  And the next willing man’s,

  While I watched all I saw of the fun:

  Just my forefucker’s seat

  And a pair of pale feet

  On his shoulders as he got his gun.

  My pulse muttered, “I

  Could cram into that guy

  To fuck him as he bucks in that bung,

  And the next guy, you see,

  Could get on and in me—”

  But I just squeezed my meat where it hung.

  Never, ever before,

  As I eyed his back door,

  Had I so longed to stuff a butt’s yawn.

  I was me, I was him,

  We were us, we were them

  Who’d observe us in rut and climb on.

  Universally male,

  Universally hale,

  Universally under cock’s curse,

  Universally rapt,

  Universally trapped,

  Yawning yoni was our universe.

  So I watched my prior priest

  In the butt of the beast,

  The upreared reliquary he raunched,

  His desirable duff

  Undulating to stuff

  Where so many lewd loads had been launched.

  I was flexing my thighs.