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    August In Midtown

    5 November, 2018 (00:45) | Gay Sex Stories | By: admin

    by Xander (xanderdg@hotmail.com)

    ***

    The unabridged and almost wholly true tale of a high
    school jock’s first and only homosexual experience…

    ***

    When I was seventeen years old, in 1990, I had a summer
    job working at a deli on Cheshire Bridge in Atlanta,
    Georgia. Every day, I would carve meat up for the hungry
    masses for eight hours a day – this was probably the
    beginning of my becoming a vegetarian.

    Anyway, at the end of my shift I would change out of my
    sweaty, sometimes bloody work clothes, throw on some
    shorts and walk the two miles home to watch some TV or
    read a book – usually ending the evening with a rousing
    session of masturbation. My longtime girlfriend had
    started college in August, so my social and sexual life
    had found a new crimp.

    I lived in the Virginia Highlands neighborhood at the
    time, and my trek took me through Midtown – the “gay”
    part of town. Almost every day, I was cruised by one man
    or another. Their approaches ran the gamut from the
    benign (“how ya doing there?”) to the lascivious. (One
    guy in a Yugo pulled up next to me and called me over –
    his cock was out and hard as a rock, simply massive, and
    he told me he wanted to break my ass with it. I often
    wonder what would have happened if I had gotten in
    instead of threatening to kick his ass before he sped
    away.)

    One august afternoon, it had to be in the upper nineties.
    I was soaked with sweat, peeled off my shirt and walked
    quickly through a residential neighborhood on the way
    home. I saw the familiar sight of a car passing me one
    way, turning around and going by the other, back and
    forth a couple of times. Finally, it pulled up to the
    curve a few feet in front of me, the automatic window on
    the passenger side rolling down with an audible buzz. I
    knew what was coming as I moved down the sidewalk.

    “You need a ride,” asked the man inside. He was a big
    guy, overweight. He unbuckled his seatbelt as he leaned
    over to look out the open window. “”It’s hot out here.”

    I looked at him. He eyed me up and down. I was a
    letterman in wrestling and baseball back then; my body
    was taut even in the summer off-season. I opened my mouth
    with every intention of saying “no thanks, chief.” But
    that wasn’t what came out.

    “Sure,” I said. He reached down and opened the door. It’s
    funny the things you remember setting things down on
    paper. The car was a big Buick Regency, old and white
    with traces of rust around the tire wells. He looked at
    me for a moment, still leaning into the passenger side
    with his arm over the seat. I only stared.

    “Jump on in.” I looked for another second before I did.
    The air conditioner was cranking, and even as I slipped
    into the seat, the wave of cool brushed against my bare
    chest breaking my skin out into gooseflesh. The man
    retreated into the driver’s side, leaving his arm around
    the seat long enough to draw it over my slick shoulders
    when he reached to put the car back in drive. I shivered.
    Then I reached over and closed the door.

    He pulled away from the curb and we drove in silence for
    a moment. Finally, he asked: “where you headed?” It
    seemed my mouth was on autopilot, driven by some
    hormonal, adolescent need. Instead of guiding him to my
    apartment, I shrugged my shoulders.

    “I just got off work. Don’t really have anything going on
    right now.”

    “You want to come over to my place. Maybe watch a movie?”

    I couldn’t look at him. I stared rigidly through the
    windshield at the stoplight we’d come to. Though I opened
    my mouth to answer, nothing came out. I only nodded.

    “Cool,” the fat man said. I felt his eyes move over me.
    Felt them stop in my lap. The light turned green and he
    drove on. As we went, I remember that he spoke. That I
    even answered now and again. Nothing sexual, just small
    talk that I don’t have the faintest recollection of –
    even his name. All I really remember hearing was my pulse
    in my ears, pounding, pounding. If I’d been standing up,
    my knees would have been shaking.

    We finally arrived at his apartment building – it was
    anonymous, white – and went inside. I hadn’t seen him
    standing up before. The fat man was tall, as well. Maybe
    six-foot-three. I was five-nine, so he towered over me
    and probably weighed close to 275.

    The air was close in the stairwell, hot and wet with
    humidity. The contrast from the freezing car was marked
    and I began to sweat again. I thought about leaving, of
    going home, but I didn’t. Even when we got to his door.

    Inside, the apartment was a sauna. The windows in the
    living room had a western exposure, so the place had been
    soaking up the heat all afternoon. The man walked over to
    a box fan in the window and switched it on – the air it
    blew in was only mildly cooler as evening began. “No
    a/c,” he explained.

    He switched on the television – it was a rerun of cheers
    – then excused himself to the bathroom. I sat down on the
    couch and gawked at the TV. I wasn’t really watching the
    show; I just stared, the canned laughter at every joke
    filtering into my head like static. After some time, the
    fat man came out, chattering amiably about something or
    other. He’d changed clothes. Gotten out of them, anyway.
    He wore a pair of gym shorts and was as shirtless as I
    was. His large body was almost perfectly smooth.

    Without meaning to, my eyes shifted down to his crotch.
    Under the thin, gray fabric, I could see his dick shift
    as he stepped forward. In the locker room, we would have
    given him shit for having a “chubber” – that time when
    your cock isn’t hard, but it’s leaning that way. He moved
    to the couch, reaching into the pocket of his shorts
    before he sat. I tried to keep my eyes on the TV as he
    extracted a condom and a small tube and laid them
    deliberately on the coffee table.

    He sat close to me, feet flat on the floor with his legs
    well apart. His knee touched mine, and though every
    instinct in my body told me to move mine away, I didn’t.
    I could smell him faintly – sweat, some cologne
    underneath it. Maybe Polo, which I wore when I went on
    dates with women. We watched in silence for a few
    minutes. The fan was doing little to alleviate the heat,
    and coupled with my nervousness, I was sweating badly.

    My every nerve ending seemed alive. I felt the fabric of
    the couch against my back, my legs. His knee against
    mine. My eyes kept flicking down to the condom package,
    to the tube of ointment. It was as wrinkled as a
    toothpaste tube closer to empty than full, and was bore a
    label I’d never seen before: “KY Lubricating Jelly.”
    Indeed, my eyes didn’t heed any of my requests to watch
    Sam and Diane. I’d see their antics for a second or two,
    then they’d move down to the coffee table again. Then to
    the fat man’s crotch. The bulge under his shorts was
    growing more pronounced.

    “Do you like pornos,” he asked. I’d seen a lot. My dad
    had a collection that he was certain I didn’t know about.
    I, of course, knew it like the back of my hand. My hand
    did a lot of work with them, in fact. Terrible stories,
    bad music, and very often, Ron Jeremy banging some nubile
    chick in over her head. I *loved* porn.

    “Yeah, man.” He reached to the coffee table and picked up
    the remote control. Pressed a button, and the screen went
    blue. Pressed another, and the movie came on, shot on
    grainy video. The set-up was like just about every other
    skin flick I’d seen. A paperboy (who was probably in his
    late 20s) shows up at a house and knocks on the door. A
    man answers it and brings him inside. It took a few
    moments to understand what was missing – there was no
    bored housewife.

    Instead, two older guys were hanging out around the
    house. The paperboy was below his quota. He just *had* to
    sell five more subscriptions to win the big prize. The
    two men in the house could do that for him. All he had to
    do was work with them.

    The reluctant paperboy agreed (though he’s never done
    anything like this before). Finally, my eyes stopped
    moving around as I was sucked into the movie. For a first
    time, that paperboy sure seemed to know what he was
    doing. The fat man put his arm around me as I watched. My
    eyes never left the screen as the paperboy worked the two
    guys giant dicks. I smelled his sweat, and my heart
    started beating faster in a weird mix of fear and
    excitement. My own cock began to expand. It felt warm,
    hot.

    On the screen, one of the men pushed the paperboy down
    and started fucking him. He moaned in pleasure, shouting
    “yes! Fuck me!” My girlfriend had complained once that I
    was too quiet during sex. I barely made a sound beyond
    the hitch in my throat when I came. The paperboy would
    get no such complaint, and neither would the guys having
    their way with him. They called him a whore and a sissy,
    and it seemed to get him off.

    “You like to fool around?” asked the fat man. He’d
    started softly rubbing my sweat-covered shoulder. At his
    question, adrenaline dumped into my stomach, a cocktail
    of terror and desire. I watched the boy being fucked on
    screen, the other man’s huge shaft in his mouth. The fat
    man’s shorts had created a tent as his cock strained
    against them, a small, wet stain at the tip – precum.
    Unbelievably, I answered.

    “Yeah,” I whispered. The remote was still in his hand.
    Very calmly, he turned the television off. The only sound
    outside her breathing was the fan, and beneath it, the
    VCR still running. The paperboy was invisible now, but I
    knew what was happening to him.

    The fat man slid toward me, pushing my head up with the
    arm he had around me. He leaned in, kissing me on the
    mouth while his other hand pressed down on my sweating
    stomach at the navel. His tongue tasted of cigarettes
    when he pushed it into my mouth, and I remember a
    momentary feeling of distance from myself as I felt the
    stubble on his face touch mine. Girls were smoother,
    their kisses less demanding.

    He slid his hand up my torso, gathering sweat, pinching
    my nipple before pulling away from the kiss. I was
    breathing hard now, my hands resting by my side and
    shaking slightly. He squeezed my peck, then grabbed my
    far hand and put it on him so we were facing each other.
    I’d never had my hands on a man’s body before – not like
    this anyway – and I didn’t know what to do. Once I was
    touching him, he moved his hand back to my face and ran
    his wet fingers over my lips.

    Instinct took over and I opened my mouth, sucking on two
    of his fingers and tasting my own sweat. He started
    moving them in and out while he pulled me closer to him
    with the arm around me. Our bodies were touching now, my
    sweat-covered torso rubbing against his. He put a third
    finger in my mouth and I sucked harder. He responded by
    increasing the pace of his fingers, sticking them deeper
    into my mouth.

    At last, the fat man pulled them out and pulled me to
    him. He brought my face to his chest, pulling me toward
    his nipple. I licked it, again, then opened my mouth and
    sucked on it hungrily. My hand was still idle on his
    belly, and he put his own on top of it, moving it down.
    He laid it on top of his cock, and I could feel the
    hardness through his shorts. Then he closed my hand over
    the large head. I could feel the oily slickness of the
    precum through the fabric, and I started rubbing his
    dick. He moaned and took his hand away, reaching over me
    to rub my back with both hands.

    He stroked my back up and down a couple of times before
    he grabbed my waist and pulled up, guiding me. My feet
    were still on the floor, and I knew what he wanted. I
    stopped sucking on his nipples long enough to climb onto
    the couch on all fours.

    “Yeah. That’s it,” he whispered. “That’s it.” He was
    still sitting, and I was on me elbows and knees. I put my
    hand back on top of his shorts, rubbing his hardness for
    a moment before he reached down and moved my hand under
    the waistband. I was scared, my hand resting on the
    thatch of his pubic hair. He paid little mind to my
    stillness, shifting to move his crotch closer to my face
    and allow himself better access to reach down my back and
    under my shorts.

    “Jerk me off,” he commanded. And it was a command, an
    imperative. I reached down under his shorts and wrapped
    my fingers around the base of his tool. It wasn’t a porn
    star’s cock, but it was big enough. I’d never felt a
    man’s other than my own, but I knew what to do well
    enough. I rubbed it up and down.

    He reached as far under my shorts as the physics of our
    position would allow, snaking his meaty fingers between
    my cheeks and touching the rim of my asshole, this time I
    moaned, pleasure and fear intermingled. His cock jumped
    in my hand at the sound. He liked that.

    He shifted his hips up. “Pull ’em off,” he said. I did as
    I was told, pushing the shorts off him, lifting the
    waistband to get them over his dick and down to his
    knees. I grabbed the shaft again, looking at it. For the
    first time in my life, I was staring down at a man’s
    cock. I squeezed it, a drop of clear liquid emerging from
    the thick head.

    The smell is what got me. He was hot, sweaty, and the
    smell of his cock and balls acted like an aphrodisiac. He
    didn’t have to tell me what to do next. I scooted closer
    on my knees, leaned down and licked the head. His dick
    jumped again as I continued to stroke it, and I relented
    completely to the desire.

    I took it in my mouth and began to suck. I was pouring
    sweat now, sucking and stroking. He took my idle hand and
    put it on his hot balls. I squeezed them slightly as I
    worked, the smell, the taste driving me into a frenzy. At
    that moment, all in the world I wanted was to make him
    come.

    He shifted again, getting even better access to my
    backside. Reaching over me, he worked the first digit of
    hi index finger into my ass. I moaned again, and he
    started thrusting his hips to match my down strokes.

    “Undo your pants.” Still sucking, I let go of his shaft
    and balls and reached down to unbutton my shorts, unzip
    them. As soon as I did, he reached over my back and
    jerked them down, exposing my ass. The thrust jammed his
    cock to the back of my mouth and I gagged, pulling away.
    He quickly reached back to hold my head on either side.

    “Take it. Take it!” He gasped. And I tried. I took it as
    deep in my mouth as I could and held it there as he
    moaned. Then he started thrusting until I couldn’t take
    any more and I coughed. My hands were doing their own
    thing. They pulled my pants down over my cock.

    With my nervousness, it still wasn’t all the way hard. I
    pushed them down to my knees and wriggled out of them.
    “Take it, baby,” he said again. Somehow being called
    “baby,” the very thing I would whisper to my girlfriend
    when she made me talk while we fucked was even more of a
    turn-on. I was the submissive one here.

    He removed his hands from my head and rose to one knee on
    the couch, allowing me to take less of the cock, to use
    my hands to control the strokes. He reached over my back
    and started fingering my ass more completely. I groaned
    into his crotch as my cock grew harder. With his other
    hand, he reached down to play with my balls and my cock.
    There was no insistence needed here: I was moaning hard,
    especially when he stuck a second finger into my asshole
    and started reaming it in and out, finger fucking me.

    He leaned over me and pulled my cock so that it stuck out
    backwards between my legs. Jerking it, he popped the head
    into his mouth and sucked for a moment. It was really
    just perfunctory, though. What he was really interested
    in was my ass.

    Letting my hard dick go, he pulled his fingers from my
    ass and pulled my cheeks apart. “Suck my balls,” he told
    me. I pulled his cock from my mouth and tried to, but the
    angle was awkward – all I could do was lick them with the
    very tip of my tongue.

    For his part, he absolutely devoured my ass. I felt his
    hot tongue against it, heard him spit on it and for a
    second I though I was going to come right there. “My
    balls!” he commanded. I strained, trying to get them,
    strangely obsessed by pleasing this stranger, but the
    angle wouldn’t let me.

    “Come on!” He pulled his mouth away from my asshole and
    replaced it with a finger, then another. I moaned
    hoarsely, moving almost automatically back to his cock
    and taking it deeply into my mouth. He put a third finger
    inside me and started driving them in and out. With his
    other hand, he grabbed my cock and balls around the base
    and pulled on them eagerly. I’d never felt anything like
    it before. Then, suddenly, he let go and yanked his
    fingers free, pulling out of my mouth.

    “Come here,” he said. He all but wrestled me from the
    couch, setting me on the floor in front of it with my
    back resting against the fabric. He stood above me,
    facing me and I moved to take his dick in my mouth when
    he grabbed it and pulled it up. “My balls,” he said
    urgently, pushing them against my face. I opened my
    mouth, reaching up to hold his huge love handles as I
    sucked them. I soaked his sack, wantonly taking both in
    my drooling mouth at the same time. One of his arms
    pushed against the wall supporting him while he jerked
    off with the other.

    “Yeah baby, that’s it. Just like that.” He groaned, and I
    felt his balls tense up. I thought he was going to
    explode, but he didn’t. Instead, he pulled up, balls
    popping from my mouth and turned around over me. I was
    facing his ass now. “Eat it,” he said. I grabbed his
    large cheeks and guided him back. Then I drowned myself
    in him. Licking and sucking, I seemed to totally lose
    myself. I had become little more than a plaything, and I
    loved it. “Yeah,” he whispered again. “Do you like to get
    fucked?”

    I stopped, a kind of conscious uncertainty creeping in
    for the first time. Get fucked? That’s what *fags* do,
    screamed a voice deep in my mind. Get fucked?

    “Yes,” I whispered. “Yeah. Fuck me.”

    He stepped forward and turned around, grabbing me roughly
    by my shoulders and spinning me about. He pushed me up on
    the couch so that my knees were on the cushions and my
    arms were on the back. I faced the wall, heart racing as
    I heard him open the rubber that had been on the coffee
    table. Butterflies danced in my stomach when I heard the
    plastic tear, the liquid rustle as he pulled it onto his
    engorged member. They grew even more restless in my guts
    when I heard him pick up the tube, and I felt his fingers
    spread the cold lubricant on my asshole.

    He pushed a finger in, then another and another. I moaned
    deeply as he moved them in and out. “Will it hurt,” I
    asked.

    “Just relax, honey.” He pulled his fingers out and pushed
    my cheeks open. I cried out when I felt the smooth head
    against my butthole. Then he started pushing.

    “Ohhh, God,” I groaned. The finger felt good, but this
    was hurting. I started to pull away, to pull forward. He
    grasped me around the waist and pulled me back. My
    asshole was spreading, spreading.

    “Shhh. Relax. Just.”

    “God!” I shouted as his head popped inside me. He stopped
    pushing, just let me adjust. I was moaning continually.
    Then he started pulling me back again. I felt it getting
    deeper and deeper. I knew his cock – it had been in my
    mouth, my hands, but it seemed to go on forever. I
    groaned as he pulled.

    “That’s it. That’s it. Back onto it. Come on.” he
    whispered. And I found that I was. He wasn’t pulling. I
    was pushing back. I felt the thickness within me and I
    had never felt as full. Finally, I felt his expansive
    belly against my lower back. Felt myself completely
    speared, full. The pain was giving way to a kind of
    pleasure I’d never known existed.

    He started moving then, gently in and out in very short
    strokes. “Uh-huh, uh-huh, yeah.” I grunted. He leaned all
    the way over me as he fucked reaching under my arms to
    hold my shoulders.

    “Keep moving,” he demanded into my ear. I tried to match
    his strokes as they became faster. Longer. Deeper. My
    moaning became like an automatic response on every
    exhale, deep and wanton. I felt like one of the girls in
    those porn flicks, like the paperboy, completely
    abandoned to the feeling in my bowels as the fat man
    thrust.

    At last, he pace grew to the point that he released my
    shoulders and grasped my hips again. He started fucking
    me hard and I loved it. His belly was slapping against me
    wetly, a high smack every time he thrust. Every few
    strokes, he would alter his rhythm, grinding into me as
    deeply as he could. I was shaking uncontrollably.

    He pulled his cock out with a groan and all but threw me
    as he turned me over on my back. He pushed my legs back
    over his shoulders and jammed himself back inside – no
    gentleness now. He wanted to come. To *cum*. He fucked me
    hard, the motion slapping my own hard cock against my
    belly. I threw my arms up over his neck, pulling him
    down. His weight on top of me was hot, slick.

    As his belly rubbed against my dick, I felt myself
    beginning to orgasm. With his cock in my asshole, it
    seemed to be welling from deep in my stomach. Unlike with
    girlfriends, I wasn’t quiet this time. I was all but
    yelling.

    He pulled away from me as I was about to come, reaching
    down to grab my cock in one hand and my balls in the
    other, squeezing them. “Come on, baby. Come for me!”

    He jerked my dick, and all it took was a few strokes to
    bring me to the most powerful orgasm of my life. I *did*
    yell as I came, the pleasure never seeming to end. My
    sperm sprayed across my chest, even hitting my chin. The
    fat man was close, to. Seeing me cum, feeling my
    contractions brought him to the brink.

    He my dick go and threw pressed down on my chest with his
    hands. He banged me hard, fast, slamming into me hard
    enough to bring some of the early pain back. Then he
    cried out as well, thrusting as deep into my asshole as
    he could. I felt his cock contracting in my anus as he
    came, practically vibrating. Then he collapsed on top of
    me.

    We laid like that for a while, gasping for breath. Then
    he pulled his softening dick out and stood, pulling off
    the rubber. He went into the bathroom as I lay on the
    couch, my own cum a paste across my torso. I grabbed my
    t-shirt and wiped myself off, struggling to pull on my
    shorts.

    When the fat man reemerged, I was fully dressed, still
    breathing hard. He asked if I wanted a ride home, and I
    declined. Fear had taken hold again, and I was ready to
    get the hell out of there. On the way out, he thanked me
    for the good time.

    The walk home was a long one, filled with conflicting
    emotions. The lube on my ass wall all I could seem to
    feel, and when I finally arrived, my first thought was to
    shower. I didn’t though. That night, I jerked off again
    and again, probing my sore ass with my fingers. I smelled
    of sex – a different smell than the one you get with a
    woman.

    That was the only time I’ve been with a man, thirteen
    years as I write this. Yet the fantasy that that evening
    has become has been the one to visit me most regularly.

    END

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