Best Gay Erotica 2012

by Richard Labonté

  We’d been roommates in a small campus apartment since spring of sophomore year. The first time I met him I couldn’t help but notice his so-black-it’s-blue hair, his eyes the color of espresso, a cocky sideways grin that told me he knew he was hot (so go on and look) and a strong tennis player’s grip as he shook my hand. That’s when a shiver traveled down my spine: I was fantasizing that grip all over my body.

  As is my custom, the first thing I told him was my name. Then I told him I was gay.

  “So, if that’s a problem…” I was always on the defensive in those days.

  “Nah, nah. It’s all good. I’ve got lots of gay friends.”

  I immediately rolled my eyes. “Fuck you!”

  He laughed. “Maybe later,” he said, his grin widening. And so it went. Turned out he really was cool with me being gay. I told him I was cool with him being straight (“No one’s perfect!” I chirped), and we got along. He talked to me as if I were one of his beer-swilling, football-watching alpha male jock buddies. Bragging about the superiority of his manhood (I’d tell him to prove it). Smacking my ass (I’d tell him to dive right in). We developed a back-and-forth that rivaled his tennis game. Once I caught him eating a piece of pizza I had saved in the fridge and gave him hell for it. He tugged at his crotch and said, “Suck my cock.” I told him, “Maybe later,” and he almost choked on his mouthful of spicy sausage and cold dough. “You sound like you have a mouthful of cock yourself,” I said. He grinned and chugged some soda.

  Somewhere along the way, our back-and-forth crossed over into flirty territory, or so I thought. Or maybe I was hoping. Needless to say, this was one of the factors that led to me becoming infatuated with Tyler.

  Another big factor was Tyler’s lack of modesty. He was almost never fully clothed in our apartment. He was forever coming from or going to the gym or practice. On the way out he’d still be yanking his clothes on, and as soon as he came back through the door he’d be pulling off sweat-drenched shorts or shirts. In the mornings it would be a typical sight to see him shirtless at the stove. One time I came in and he’d looked over an exquisitely sculpted shoulder, the stubble from his chin audibly scraping his skin, and in his most sexy voice whispered, “Want some?”

  I had another of those shivers.

  The next shiver came spring of junior year.

  It was late April, in the middle of one of those weeks filled with lots of wind and rain. I was on the computer, finishing up a paper for English, thinking about taking a break and spending the next half an hour looking at porn. I had the place to myself, since Tyler was at his girlfriend’s place—Jill or Pam. I’ll call her Jam. He’d been having trouble with her. Tyler was a guy’s guy. He liked armpit farts and beer and just being generally vulgar. Everybody was “dude” or “bro.” She was, I guess you could say…uptight? She’d get instantly mad at any of his many inappropriate comments. And once she was mad, she’d refuse to speak to him, or clack her pink frosted fingernails against each other or snap her gum to show her disapproval. I really didn’t like her.

  So that night they had a huge fight and Tyler came home early. A moment of wind and cold and the door slammed shut and he was inside. I spun around in my chair and looked at him. His jacket was wet and clinging to his torso and I was reminded how much I couldn’t wait to jerk off. His hair was getting long, a little shaggy, so he had to wipe it out of his face and then fling rainwater off of his hand. He looked at me and saw the puzzled look on my face.

  “Fuckin’ women!”

  “What now?”

  “Blue fuckin’ balls.”

  “Eh?”

  He sat down on the sofa.

  “Long story.”

  “How about a quick summary?”

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Shoot.”

  “You’re gay.”

  “I am. Next question.”

  “Ugh. I’m not in the mood. So. You’re gay. So. That means. You like. Uh…anal sex?”

  “The technical term is butt sex. But yes, I tend to enjoy it.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Okay. So. Um.” I noticed he was blushing. “So the first time. You had…”

  “Butt sex.”

  He rolled his eyes again. “Did it hurt?”

  I paused and looked at him. I laughed. “The first time? Yeah. I guess.”

  He shot up. “Ha! I knew it. I told her!”

  I leaned back in the chair. “Wait, wait, wait. Pump the brakes. You need to back up.”

  He took off his jacket and tossed it on the floor. This was a recent habit of his. He’d wear a piece of clothing, then when he was through with it he’d just throw it on the floor. Usually he’d run out of clothes unless I did the laundry.

  “Okay. So, like, we’re at her place. In her room. She brings up last weekend. She drunk dialed me and so I came over. Whatever. Did I ever tell you she refuses to give blow jobs?”

  Tyler was always telling me about his sex life. This, however, he hadn’t mentioned.

  “No, you haven’t. But it’s ironic, you know. You always telling everyone to suck your cock and the one person who should won’t.”

  “Exactly!” Off came his shoes and his shirt. He went to the fridge and got a beer. “So anyway. Her room. She’s drunk. She decides to blow me. It’s been like, what? Forever since I’ve had a blow job. It’s good. Surprisingly good. She needs to learn proper teeth control, but whatever. No such thing as a bad blow job. Am I right?”

  I raised my hands in a “truer words, man” gesture.

  He went on. “So she’s hot and heavy into it and out of the blue—she puts her finger up my ass. And don’t you fucking laugh!” he said, laughing. “I don’t know how you do it. It felt… weird…”

  “Good weird or bad weird?”

  “Weird.”

  “Go on.”

  “So yeah. I grab her hand and just ask her what the hell she’s doing. She heard some guys like it. I told her some girls like having a dick balls-deep in their ass but I don’t pretend to slip out of her fuckin’ pussy and go to town on her other hole. Then guess what she says? Just guess.”

  “I give up.”

  “‘I’m not strictly opposed to that,’ she says. Can you believe it? So I tell her to prove it. And she’s drunk enough to do it. I’ll spare you the details, but the lady, she didn’t like it. She said it hurt, so I stopped. And now, today, she’s been remembering it. I told her I was sorry, that it would probably hurt. It’s new, y’know? Not used to being plowed. And halfway through a hand job she breaks it to me. She wants out. She says I took advantage of her and she wants out. We’re done.”

  By now he was finished with his beer. At least he put the empty can in the sink instead of tossing it behind him. He was pacing.

  “So,” I said. “Blue balls.”

  “Blue motherfuckin’ balls, man. Dammit.” He grabbed his crotch. “I need to go finish this.”

  “Hey, if you need a hand. Or a mouth…” I half-joked.

  He unzipped his pants and laughed. “Meet me in the shower in five.”

  “Har har. Have fun with yourself.”

  He blew me a kiss and went down the hall. I heard his sopping jeans plop to the floor. My OCD kicked in and I all of a sudden wanted the floor clear. His jacket had already made a puddle on the floor by the table.

  My self-pleasure could wait.

  I saved my English paper and stood; stretched. I finished the last dregs of some tepid tea and picked up the jacket. I kicked his shoes to the door and went into the kitchenette. The ground-floor apartment was the bare minimum. We had a door that came into the living area. There was a sofa, the computer chair and desk, a secondhand beanbag chair I was convinced was infested with bedbugs, and a table. The table straddled the living area and the kitchenette, which was just a couple of feet of counter space with a stove at one end, a fridge at the other and a sink in the middle. Then a little hallway went to two small bedrooms, with a cellar door on the right and a bathroom on the left.
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  I followed the trail of footsteps to the hall, picking up Tyler’s shirt along the way. I came to his pants, then his socks. Right outside the bathroom door was his underwear. Kelly green with white trim. It was oddly cute. The hamper was next to the bathroom door and I tossed the whole outfit in, except for the underwear. I held it in my hand, staring at it, realizing I was hard. That was when I got the shiver. I had a sudden urge to bury my face in the underwear, to learn Tyler’s scent, but I thought that was a bit too creepy. It was a step too far. We were friends. I didn’t want to fuck that up. Him letting me sniff his underwear, that would be fine, but me sneaking a whiff, that was a violation.

  I tossed the crumpled bit of green into the hamper and looked up. The bathroom door was open a crack. Not enough to see anything, but I did hear a low smacking sound—the distinct sound of masturbation. I blushed (how lame! I freaking blushed!) and went into my room. I considered waiting until he was done to take my turn in the shower and take care of myself. But I had been waiting what seemed like forever, so I lay down and jerked off. I fell asleep telling myself to remember to do laundry.

  The next day, I did in fact remember the laundry. Tyler called while I was waiting for the washer to end its cycle.

  “Hey, man, I’m at the store. Anything we need?”

  I was feeling tired and still horny from the night before. The filter from my brain to my mouth wasn’t working right then, so I told him, “Just condoms and lube.”

  There was a moment of silence and he said, “Adding it to the list.” I could hear the smirk in his voice. “Anything else?”

  “That should do it.”

  “M’kay. See you.”

  “See you.”

  I hung up and smiled. The buzzer announced that it was time to dry the clothes. I tried to hide my hard-on as I got up.

  The sky was starting to open up and pour as I got back to the apartment. I went in and dumped the clothes on the table. I was sorting when the door opened and Tyler came in, soaking wet and carrying a couple of grocery bags. He was in a white tank top and shiny silver basketball shorts.

  “Don’t even think about sniffing my undies, you perv.”

  I looked up at him, then back at the clothes in my hand. Those damn green underwear. I dropped them.

  “You wish. And they’re clean, anyway.”

  He smirked and came over to the table and set the bags down.

  “Fuck this weather. At least I missed the rain this time.”

  He plopped on the sofa and raised his arms, stretching. I avoided looking at the tufts of hair in his pits. He was glistening. I turned to the grocery bags. “What are you talking about? You’re soaking wet.”

  “Oh, this,” he said, lifting his shirttail to wipe his face. “I was jogging.”

  “Jogging. In this weather?”

  “Exercise is almost like sex, and I gotta get my sexual frustration out somehow. Still recovering from blue balls.”

  I paused. He was saying his usual flirty things, but the edge of sarcasm was missing. He was just chatting. Casually, quietly. Almost a whisper. I reached into the first bag and heard the plastic rattle. I was shaking.

  “So. How is single life treating you?”

  “Not bad, man. I stopped shaving. She hated body hair. So now I’m getting all scruffy. I hear it’s in.”

  “Scruff is hot, just don’t let your chest hair get to braiding length.”

  He laughed, low and quiet, almost a growl. I calmly took out a tub of peanut butter. A loaf of bread. Some cheese. A bag of Ramen noodles.

  “You know,” Tyler went on, “she even had me shave my pubes. Can you believe it? I let it go for the past couple weeks. I’m getting a bush.”

  I came to the bottom of the bag and went on to the next one. Tyler stood and went to the fridge. I heard the freezer open. I pulled a bottle out of the second bag and almost dropped it. It was lube.

  “Dude, Tyler. You couldn’t even spring for the real stuff? This is generic.” I dumped the rest of the bag out: a couple more packages of Ramen and a box of condoms. Tyler hadn’t said anything, so I turned around.

  He was in front of the sink. He had an ice cube in his hand and was rubbing it over his forehead, down his cheek to his neck. His eyes were closed. I stared at the dark brown nipples standing at attention under his wet tank top. I looked back at his face and his eyes were open. He was watching me watching him. That knowing smile came over his face. He pulled the armhole on the tank top out and exposed a nipple. He rubbed the ice cube over the nipple and sighed, closing his eyes again.

  I laughed, halfheartedly, and joked, “I noticed you didn’t get extra-large condoms. I guess you’ve been lying about your enormous cock.”

  He looked at me again and said, dead serious, “Come on over and find out.”

  Bam. Another shiver. This time it started at my scalp and went down my spine. At the same time a warm pulse radiated out of my gut and into my chest and crotch. My knees were shaking. I knew this feeling. This was the feeling I had the first time I was naked with another guy, alone. This was the feeling I got when I knew I was about to have a good time. All I heard was my heart pounding; all I felt was my face flushing.

  All I could say was: “Huh?”

  He smiled again and put his hands in his pants, ice cube and all.

  “Is this a porn or something? Some porn prank? ’Cause this is just not right.”

  “Come here,” he said.

  What was the matter with me? I’d done this a thousand times. Okay, not a thousand times, but enough. I always had the shaky legs and beating heart and slight nausea, but with each guy it got a little bit easier. Now I had tremors through my whole body. This was different. This was new.

  I gulped and took a step forward. Like I said, it was a small apartment, so one step is all.

  “Tyler, I swear. If this is a joke…”

  He grabbed my hand and put it between his legs. I felt a full-on hard-on. “Is that a joke, dude?”

  I licked my lips, serious now. “Nope. That is not a joke.”

  Tyler reached behind his back and took his tank top off in one quick motion. I stepped back, breathing rapidly. He got on his knees and started untying his shoes. “Dude. Relax. Breathe. We don’t want your heart rate raised too high. Yet.”

  I still wasn’t convinced this was real. This was porn dialogue. No one really talked like this. I told him this. By now Tyler was down to just his shorts. He stood and raised his hands. “Well, it can be porn if you want. This is the last step. It’s up to you, man. Finish this.” He grabbed the waistband of his shorts, pulled it forward, and let it snap back. He patted his crotch again.

  I took a few seconds to look him over, really look at him. Ever since that first day, when I turned off the part of my brain that would normally be attracted to him, I hadn’t looked at him. But something had happened in the past few months. I’d caught myself looking out of the corner of my eyes. Secret glimpses. But this was an open invitation to ogle him.

  He turned, modeling his body. His body was hairier. He always had scruffy legs, the manly legs of an athlete. But now his chest was coated with fine black hair, there was fuzz around his nipples and a trail ran from just under his belly button (an innie, in case you’re curious) into his shorts.

  He was tanned; not that fake orange tan, an athlete’s tan from running in the sun. His arms were a little darker than his torso, this rainy season. But after a few weeks of sun, his body would match his arms. I wondered where his other tan line started. I stepped forward. Tyler had that cocky grin of his. I got on my knees and looked up at him.

  “Porn it is.”

  “Goody!”

  I reached around and rubbed the back of his thighs with slow circular motions, and felt his muscles tighten, then I lowered my hands and stroked the backs of his knees. I leaned in and kissed his calves. I could smell the puddle water that had splashed on his legs when he ran from his car to the apartment. I gave a quick lick, then ran my tongue up the in
side of his leg, around his knee and up his thigh. I took a deep breath and pulled his basketball shorts down.

  “Aw, what an anticlimax,” I sighed.

  “Huh?”

  “You’re supposed to be free-balling it. In porn they never wear underwear, their cock just swings free when the pants are unzipped.”

  “I’ll have to remember that next time.”

  I stood up and looked him in the eyes. “Are you sure? You want this?”

  “I’m sure.” His dick was hard, raging. The outline of the shaft ran just under his waistband, across his thigh. He rubbed the length of it and lingered at the head. I saw a dot of wetness there and licked my lips.

  I wanted to hold him off a bit, make sure he knew what he was getting into, that he could be comfortable with a guy. With me. I kissed his neck, his shoulder. I grabbed his biceps and raised his arms. I buried my face in his pits and smelled him. He smelled clean, fresh, like spring—that muskiness right before rain. He was still slick with sweat, because when I went back to his shoulder and started licking and sucking, I could taste the saltiness. I nibbled and Tyler moaned, quietly, in the back of his throat. His right arm circled my back and grabbed my shoulder. He tucked his left hand between my thighs. I ran my tongue from his shoulder to his chest, licking his musculature. I started in a large circle at his pec, spinning smaller and smaller until I got to his nipple. I lightly sucked and teased it with my tongue.

  The touch of Tyler’s hand on my crotch got more ferocious as he pressed the heel of his hand on my dick. It was a little too rough, but still nice. Then he pulled me gently. “Dude, I gotta tell ya. My blue balls are aching.” He thrust his hard-on against my hip and rubbed.

  “So much for foreplay, straight boy. Way to be a raging stereotype.”

  “Save your mouth for when you wrap it around my dick.”

  “Say no more.”

  I lowered back to the floor. On my knees, looking at Tyler’s next-to-nakedness, I suddenly felt overdressed. I yanked my shirt off and tossed it somewhere. Now I was ready. I grabbed the waistband of his underwear and saw for the first time that it was a brother to the Kelly green pair. These were cornflower blue with black edging. I bit my lower lip and yanked.