All Male Fiction: Intimate Strangers

By: Ryan Michaels
ryanxxx@hotmail.com

Ryan drew in a sharp breath as he heard the front door squeak open. It was late, it was dark, and he was home alone, in bed, completely naked.

He heard footsteps, and his body tensed when he heard those footsteps getting closer and closer.

He could hardly breathe as his bedroom door swung open and, even though he was wearing a sleep mask, he shut his eyes.

Ryan felt the fingers and knuckles of what was obviously a man's hand on his skin as the man grasped the top of his blankets and pulled them down, exposing Ryan's bare butt.

As Ryan lay there fully exposed and vulnerable, his ears took in the sound of someone taking their clothes off. Moments later, he felt the mattress go down near the bottom. He remained completely still, barely breathing, as he felt the tip of the man's soft dick lightly brush against his balls before making its way from the base of his ass crack to the top of it.

All Male Fiction: A Real Man

 By: Tommyhawk1

 

"Where the fuck were you?" Gordon asked gruffly as I hurried into the warehouse at ten thirty at night. He was a beefy, large man with a battered face and a ready vocabulary of foul language. Just the sort you’d expect to find working in a warehouse - hard work attracts hard people.

"I'm sorry," I responded sincerely. "I missed my bus." I took my bag from "A Different Light" and hurriedly stuffed it between two pallets of boxes in the warehouse. It would be safe there until I had a chance to sneak them to a better hiding spot, but I couldn't do that now. And showing them to Gordon was out of the question. Half his curse words were "pansy" or worse when he was searching for derogatory remarks to make about someone; "faggot" to him was worse than calling someone a "motherfucker," so I stayed firmly in the closet while at work.

"What you got over there?" he asked as I lifted my hand back. His huge biceps glinted with white crescents from the sheen of his sweat and the glare of the overhead fluorescent lights. His voice was like a god's, the heavy echoes of the cavernous warehouse reverberated back every syllable a dozen-fold.

"Oh, nothing," I said.

"Then haul your pansy ass over here and help me load this truck, motherfucker," he said.

He didn't know I was gay; he talked like that to and about almost everybody. I didn't dare let him see the "A Different Light" book bag, not as big and brawny as this guy was; he could snap me in two without thinking about it.

Taking a gay book and magazines to a job where you're closeted was stupid, I knew that, I knew I should have waited, but the bookstore was right on my way to work. Passing by "A Different Light" bookstore, I made the fatal mistake of peering inside to see what was displayed in the window. A look at my watch to verify I had a couple of spare minutes, and in I went, coming out much later than intended with not only the book but with two porno magazines. And, with my stash now tucked between a pallet of Tide and a pallet of Oxydol, it could wait until I could take it home and give it proper attention.

"Come on, move it, cocksucker," Gordon growled and I hastened over to him. He handed me half of a stack of lists and said, "We got three trucks to do tonight," and I groaned.

Our warehouse takes in the boxcars from individual factories, and from there we load the items ordered by individual supermarkets. We don't handle any of the chain stores, but there are a sizeable number of Mom-and-Pop places that need to furnish their customers with Pop-Tarts and Cheetos; I had plenty of work. In fact, with three trucks needing loading I had more work than I could handle.

Each store had a long page marked with the items and quantities they wanted. We tried to keep the supplies organized so we could go right down the list and grab in order, but in practice, it's never quite that easy. So, you run around until you get all the stuff for one store loaded, then you load that into a larger, plastic shipping box which is then driven over by a forklift and placed into the truck. Gordon drove the little forklift, which was about the size of a Volkswagen, but with only the two of us, he had to jump down from the forklift and trundle a trolley like mine, too.

Once we had the truck filled with the boxes, which contained boxes that contained boxes that contained the essential items for life, we'd move on to the next sheaf of orders. When we finished a truck, we could take a short break, then move the loaded truck out (Gordon did that as well. You have to have a special license and training to drive an eighteen-wheeler) and back another one in and we'd do it all over again. But a truck would take three to four hours to load. Three trucks meant overtime whether I wanted it or not.

So, I worked away on my list, fuming about the unfairness of it all. Damn it, I'd picked up a really butch issue of "Stroke" and couldn't wait to get home and do just what the magazine's title suggested. I had only glanced at the contents, seeing a heavily built, gruff man dominating a younger, more slender man - "Stroke's" favorite form of sex – and it caused my stomach to churn, imagining that big man dominating me, forcing me to take his cock into my mouth... okay, three boxes of salad dressing and I could take this trolley over to the shipping box.

Soon enough my mind was off of sex and back onto my job, because with nothing but cardboard boxes to select from you have to pay attention to what you're picking up. A store orders a box of Ronzoni spaghetti and if you give them American Beauty instead, they don't see it as being all right, you get a nasty restock order and three forms to fill out and sign and initial. One of those goes into your personnel file and they track your performance that way. Sucks. No wonder they had such a heavy turnover of workers on this shitty job.

So, I loaded up that shipping box and the next and the next, and time passed. Soon we'd be finished with the shipping boxes; we could then load the truck with them according to the driver's schedule, and then could take a half-hour break. Sitting and jawing with Gordon wasn't that bad if you let him call you names without flinching. He didn't really mean anything personal by it; it was just his way of talking.

I finished and looked over at Gordon's last box; it was only half-loaded. Hell, he was usually waiting on me, not the other way around. Maybe the guy was slowing down. I decided I could give him a couple of comments while I helped him finish his loading. A few of his choicer comments to me would work nicely, such as "They need to hire some real men to do this work instead of you faggots." I'd like to see his face when I used that one on him!

So, I went in search of him. The warehouse was big (it had to be) so it took some time for me to find him… right by the pallet of boxes of Tide! He had a big load of it on his trolley, and on top of the trolley was a big, white plastic bag… and my copy of "Stroke" was in his hands! And he was looking at the pictures!

All Male Fiction: The Christmas Package

By: Ryan Michaels
ryanxxx@hotmail.com

Warning: Although this story does not involve incest, it does involve a father watching his son having sex. If this type of theme offends you, do not read this story.

I couldn't help but smile as I placed the package in the trunk; I knew my son was going to be so surprised when he opened his Christmas present. It wasn't something he had asked for, but something I knew he was really going to enjoy.

Ben is eighteen years old and is an outgoing and personable individual. He is also athletic, and hard-working. Of course, as his dad, you might think I'm a bit biased, but there are many others who know him who would agree with my assessment 100%.

He is also an exceptional swimmer, and I was so proud when he was accepted to a large Ivy League university and asked to anchor the school's swim team. All of the years of getting up at four-thirty in the morning every day to take Ben to swim practice had paid off.

Still, the house felt so empty without him in it; raising him on my own for his whole life, the two of us have always had a very close relationship, and I have missed having him around.

That however was all about to change, at least in the short-term, as he was coming home for Christmas. He had been unable to get home for the Thanksgiving holiday, so I was looking forward to seeing him even more so.

I smiled as I pulled into the driveway and saw Greg's car. Greg was a friend of Ben's, and he had volunteered to make the trip to pick Ben up from school.

He was spending the holidays with us as well after his parents had decided to spend theirs at a tropical resort. It was Ben who had asked if Greg could spend Christmas with us, and I didn't mind at all; I didn't want anyone to have to spend it alone.

Getting out of the car, I grabbed the package from the trunk and tucked it inside my coat. It was Christmas eve and my boss had let us go home at four o'clock instead of six; this wasn't the norm on Christmas eve, but I wasn't complaining.

I looked at my watch as I made my way up the pathway to the front door. Even after stopping to pick up Ben's Christmas gift, it was still only 4:45.

Ben was always so curious about his Christmas gifts, so I quietly unlocked the front door in an effort to get his gift in the house and hidden away without him seeing me. I could have avoided this had I decided on his gift sooner. As it was, I took too long to make that decision thus ordering it online was not an option if I wanted it to arrive in time. Thankfully there was a specialty store in town that sold the particular item I was interested in.

As I opened the front door, I could hear Ben and Greg talking in the living room which was right to the left of the front entry. So, I quietly closed the door and made my way around to the back door instead.

As I slipped through the back door and into the kitchen, the faint aroma of burning hickory filled my nostrils, and I smiled; Ben knew how I always liked to have a fire on Christmas eve.

After stealthily making my way down the main floor hallway, I felt I would be able to get up the stairs without being noticed, provided the two boys had their backs to the living room doorway. So, I moved close to the wall and peered around it into the living room to check their positions, and my jaw dropped as my eyes took in the sight before me.

All Male Fiction: Relations

By: Marcin904 & Ryan Michaels

I'd known Ed since I was a kid, being that we lived on the same street and I was friends with his daughter growing up. Eventually, I ended up dating his daughter and then, just last year, I married her, so Ed is now my father-in-law.

My wife and I had only been married for just over a year when my in-laws ended up getting divorced. Afterward, Ed up and moved to the edge of nowhere. I never could figure out why; I guess he just needed a fresh start or something.

Ed and I always got along well - I'd always felt we had some kind of connection, although I couldn't quite put a finger on it. I guess I just thought he was a very interesting man's man and I really liked being around him. I missed not having him around anymore, though, and today, finally, I decided to do something about it and pay him a long overdue visit.

Ed lived in a small cabin up near the tree line, and once I saw how beautiful the area was, I understood why he had decided to move to such a remote location.

I arrived a bit earlier than expected and was surprised to find the front door open. I guess I shouldn't have been; when you live out in the middle of nowhere, I suppose you do things like that. I opened the door to call out Ed's name, but he entered the room at the same time. He was wet and wrapped in just a towel. I'd obviously caught him just getting out of the shower.

"Oh, hey, you're early," he said when he saw me there. He told me to make myself at home, and then motioned to his coffee cup on the coffee table and asked if I wanted some. I declined and then he excused himself and left the room.

When he returned, he was clad in a pair of boxer shorts and a wife-beater. He plopped down on the couch, and when he did his cock flopped out the leg of the boxers, which was being strained around its girth.

With a grunt, Ed leaned back, propped one big foot up on the coffee table, and blithely sipped his coffee. He noticed me staring at him, smiled, and raised an eyebrow. It was the same friendly smile I'd seen for years.

But there I was, shrinking in my chair. I crossed my limbs, reversing his open stance. I forced myself to look everywhere else, anywhere but between my father-in-law's legs, but my traitorous eyes kept coming back to him.

Ed reached down to scratch himself, and he froze when his fingers grazed across the exposed flesh of his meaty head. He looked at me and a slow grin spread across his lips. "Whoops. Guess I gave you a little show," he chuckled.

My mouth went dry, but I managed to croak, "Doesn't look so little to me."

We sat there, staring across the living room at each other, in a long, uncertain silence. I could feel my heart thumping in my ears. My face must have been as red as an apple. Ed just kept smirking until he finally nodded and said, "Careful, son, you'll get him going."

My dick was hard in my pants now and my mouth was literally watering, and then I heard myself quietly saying the words, "What if I wouldn't mind that?"

Shit! Did I say that out loud? I thought. Shit! I did! I sat there wondering how my father-in-law would react to such a statement, almost afraid to breathe.

"Then you better get on your knees," he answered

I was relieved that he took it as a joke, and I laughed.

But he didn't.

"You poked the bear, son," he said and his cock jumped, growing down along his thigh. "Only fair he gets to poke you back," he finished, shifting to pop his wrist-thick whopper out through the fly of his boxers. He nodded to the floor at his feet. "Get down there and start sucking, and lose the clothes while you're at it."

Straight Fiction: I am ALPHA!

By: Unknown Author

Girls want to fuck Alpha Males.

Let it piss you off as much as you want, but you know it's true.

That girl you like who is totally sweet and you have the biggest crush on? The one who keeps going back to guys who treat her wrong for reasons you don't understand? The one who calls you up at 1 am to cry about how her boyfriend hasn't called her in three days. The one who will curl up next to you on the couch, hug you close, kiss you on the cheek, and never let you fucking touch her beyond that?

Yeah, I'm fucking her.

The hot girl behind the coffee counter who won't even smile at you? The one who won't even say hi to you? The one who takes your money and shoves your coffee at you? The one who forgets you exist before you've even stepped away from the counter?

Yeah, I'm fucking her too, even harder.

The geeky girl you think might be enough like you that you have a chance with her? The one you think is so incredible? The one you still haven't worked up the courage to tell how you feel about her?

Guess who just sucked me off and told me they'll always love me?

And what's more? I laugh at guys like you. When you cry about how much girls treat you bad and wonder why they can't just see that you're a nice guy who would always treat them right? I nod and tell you to hang in there, you'll find someone right for you someday, don't give up hope man. But inside? I'm laughing my ass off at you, you pathetic fuck.

Every girl you set your sights on, I'm going to fuck six ways from Sunday and cum in their mouths, pussies, and faces before you can even tell her you think she's cute.

And the biggest reason I laugh? Because it's not me doing all this…

All Male True Experience: Ball Camp

By: Jeff C.

I was only eighteen and very nervous being at basketball camp with a whole slew of dudes from all over the state. I can’t remember when I wasn’t turned on by looking at a cute guy, and I knew I was in for a long two weeks.

The day we all arrived, we were split into teams of five, and the five of you were to do “everything” together. We all slept in small cabins with one team per cabin. Each team was then assigned a counselor (college athletes to help with camp). Ours was named Chip and he was a stud that would make anyone drool just at the sight of him. Chip stood six-foot-three, blond hair down to his collar, dark, sparkling blue eyes, and a build that would make the best athlete envious. Chip was in charge of seeing to it that we got to the right places at the right time and keeping an upper hand on us at night.

The first night, Chip informed us that, in his opinion, the key to being a star athlete was to keep completely relaxed and always get a good night's sleep. He said he made it a practice to stretch and relieve tension every night. It sounded good to all of us, so we asked what his routine was. He showed us a few stretches and then told us that the best way to be sure we relieved all of our tension was to whack off twice every night before we went to sleep.

There was some apprehension, but finally, one tall black-haired stud named Rick pulled out his cock and started jacking. I soon followed suit, and everyone else did likewise, including Chip. I thought I was having one of my biggest fantasies come true, watching and jacking off beside these jocks.

All Male Fiction: A Dirty Jockstrap and a Dirty Fuck

By: Unknown Author & Ryan Michaels

"Suck my dick, Shawn!"

"Why don't you kiss my ass, Billy!"

It had always been that way between Billy and me, goading one another on with sexual taunts. There was always a slightly dirty edge to our bantering - on my part at least. I really would've liked for him to kiss my ass, though not in the pejorative way I said it. And as for wanting to suck his dick...

Billy's parents had moved to the neighborhood when we were both in Junior high. We rode the bus together and quickly became friends. Billy had a swaggering, out-going personality that complimented his staggeringly gorgeous looks.

Billy's hair was the blackest I ever saw, and his eyes were dark and brooding, with a stabbing quality, self-assured.

On the afternoon of the mock insults I just quoted, his parents had gone to the cottage for the weekend and we were alone in his house. The verbal exchange was brought about by an argument over who was the better football team, the New York Giants or the New York Jets. We were also kind of buzzed on beer, which fuelled the insults further.

We weren't old enough to drink, but Billy's dad let him have beer, and we had already downed three each and there was no more left. Billy said that his friend's older brother would buy some for us, and he offered to go over and ask and go with the older brother to get us another six-pack.

After Billy left, I went over and looked at the family pictures that were scattered around his living room. In one photo of him, he was in his football uniform, and it had me drooling in seconds. Though I knew that basket showing at his crotch was mostly all cup, it still bulged enticingly. And his jersey didn't quite cover his flat belly, where I could see the deep V of his groin begin.

I knew he'd be gone at least twenty minutes since we lived pretty far out in the suburbs, so I went up to Billy's bedroom to see if I could find his cup. His room had a good man-smell to it, some sort of musky cologne and a faint odor of sweat. It felt erotic to be in the place where my sexy best friend slept, no doubt jacked off, and stood naked, perhaps admiring himself in that full-length mirror on the wall.

I went to Billy's dresser and opened one of the top two drawers. Seeing his white Calvin's folded and piled so neatly did nothing to get my mind off the subject. Opening the drawer next to it, about a dozen jockstraps were strewn inside, but no cups. I grabbed one of his jocks and put the pouch over my face and deeply inhaled. But, unfortunately, they smelled clean and freshly laundered.

But that gave me an idea…

I opened the closet, and, sure enough, there were Billy's dirty clothes. I found a few piss stains on one of his dirty pair of underwear and what looked like cum on one of his jockstraps. The aroma of man-sweat was intoxicating.

I had been aware of my jock fetish for some time now, ever since I first discovered their existence and had bought my first one. Standing there fondling and caressing the stud's underwear and jocks got me hotter than hell. I decided I had to have a quick jack-off session. It was risky, but I figured I'd have plenty of time to do it before Billy returned.

So, I stood in front of the full-length mirror and opened my shirt, shoved my jeans and underwear to my ankles, and grasped my soft but stiffening cock. I pre-cum a lot when I get horny, and right then the clear stuff was oozing out of my dick like a dripping faucet. I smeared the juicy liquid all over my cockhead. Then I held the cum-stained jock to my nose and inhaled deeply, smelling the masculine odor that remained.

As I breathed heavily through the thin material, I got one of the most intense hard-ons I had ever experienced. I got hard-ons all the time, nothing unusual about that for a guy my age, but this was like an explosion of blood to my crotch, an immediate and intensely gratifying sensation as my dick throbbed in my fist.

I bowed my legs a little and rubbed the entrancing jock up under my balls, and up and down the length of my stiffened dick. I sheathed my rod in the soft, white fabric of the pouch and stroked my meat through it. Then I kicked off my shoes, shucked my clothes completely, and put Billy's jock on. My balls nestled into the dirty pouch where his had been, my cock so hard it jutted out the elastic waistband.

I pushed the pouch of Billy's jock to just below my balls, and the pressure from the elastic drove my package up against my heaving stomach. I stood sideways to the mirror, punched out my hips, and pumped my meat in slow strokes, watching myself beat off.

I jacked my cock like a sex-starved maniac and very quickly felt the ecstatic tremors of a powerful orgasm cresting. I punched my hips out even farther and pumped even harder on my meat. As I gasped hoarsely, cum started streaming out of my cock in ropy strands, arching and spurting in thick, milky gushes. Throwing back my head, I squeezed my eyes shut and groaned so loudly that the neighbors must have heard me.

"Feel good, Shawn?!" I heard Billy exclaim, followed by a giggle.

All Male Fiction: Flip-Flop Flap

By: Tommyhawk1 & Ryan Michaels

 

"Sin and iniquity!" intoned my Grandmother when I came out of my bedroom after changing. Grandma was a relic of another era; well into her eighties. When she was my age, they put on more clothes than they took off to go swimming! That or the men wore those silly orange-and-white-striped union suits, with their handlebar mustaches.

"And those things on your feet," Grandma continued. "Flip-flops! What self-respecting person wears a shoe that only holds on by being stuck between your toes like that?"

"Aw, come on Grandma, they're okay," I said. I'd picked a pair of green flip-flops because I had a t-shirt the exact same shade. Pair those with my lemon-yellow swim trunks and I was ready for a day at the beach. "Everyone on the beach is wearing this stuff."

"If everyone went and jumped off a bridge, would you?" Grandma pointed out with her skewed logic.

"They do, and I did, last year, remember?" I pointed out. I had, with a cord around my legs, naturally. Grandma just humphed her opinion of that.

"Hey, bungee-jumping!" my dad put in; he had come out of his own bedroom. His clothes were a longer version of mine: a short-sleeved shirt and shorts that came down to below his knees, but he had on a pair of orange flip-flops.

"More flip-flops!" Grandma zeroed in on those. "Bunch of foolishness, if you ask me."

"Why don't you go sign up for the bingo games, Mom?" Dad said instead of challenging her opinions anymore.

"Gambling?!" Grandma was scandalized.

"They give away the cards to anyone who shows them a hotel key," Dad pointed out. "And you might win a nice prize. The woman next door won a twenty-dollar gift certificate just yesterday. Tell you what, I’ll take you and get you settled at bingo, and give you some cab fare to get home afterward, and then I’ll meet Joe at the beach. We’ll pick up a tan while you have a fun day playing bingo."

"Hmph," was Grandma’s response. Grandma was always entering those drawings at the grocery store and such. She seems to have figured that if she didn't pay for it directly, it wasn't gambling, and quite enjoyed winning if she did. She agreed to play and grumbled at my dad to hurry up and take her so she didn’t miss the first game.

So, while he did that, I went out to enjoy the day on the beach. From the house on the island, it was a matter of a short walk to two out of three local beaches. The first ended up being loaded with families with little kids, so I made my way to the second one. That one seemed to be even more popular than the first, with a huge crowd. I wasn't really into spending my day tanning on a beach that was packed full of people and little kids, so I ventured on to the third one, and was happy to find that it was practically devoid of people, probably because it was more out of the way than the other two.

I found a spot far away from where the only other people on the beach - about a half dozen or so - were spread out in the sand, and settled on my towel and began to work on applying the suntan lotion.

I cursed under my breath when, a few minutes later, a couple of guys came along and spread their towels only a short distance away from me.

After finishing with the lotion, before lying down to catch some rays, I looked over in their direction again, and the two guys were kissing! More than that, the guy on the far side from me had stuck his hand down the back of the trunks of the guy nearest to me, and unless I missed my guess, he was trying to work one finger up the other guy's butt!

"Shit, is this a gay beach?" I wondered aloud, in a sort-of low tone of voice, well, a conversational tone if anyone had been right beside me.

"It sure is," came a voice not far away from me on the other side.

I looked around to see a cute guy, very blond, nicely muscled, and about five-foot-five inches tall, smiling down at me. I thought all blond guys were tall, but not this one! Like any true blond, his pale skin was more sun-burned than sun-tanned, a reddish tint to his skin. But despite that, he only wore a pair of red swim trunks similar to mine.

Holy fuck, I thought, as the guy gave his crotch a squeeze while I drank in his body, Dad booked us onto an island with a gay beach! And here I thought I'd be stuck holding yarn while Granny wound it up for knitting! This vacation just got a whole lot better!

"Hello?" he said waving his hand at me.

"Huh…" I said looking up at his face. "Oh, sorry… yeah, I didn't know… that it was a gay beach."

"Well, now that you do, are you going to leave?" he smiled at me.

"Um… no, not at all. I came to this beach to work on my tan because it was less crowded than the other two, and I still want to tan, so…" I replied.

"That's good…" he said, "that you're going to stay," his smile broadening, and then, uninvited, he lay his beach towel beside me and sat down on it, his leg touching mine. He looked at me for a minute and then said, "I'm Scott."

"Joe," I said in return, and he extended his hand and I shook it, awkwardly, my arm bent at an irregular angle as we were side-by-side. When he let go, I watched his hand, wondering if he'd try to put it on my thigh… or in my lap, and really kind of hoping that he would.

Instead, he gestured around. "Some of these guys are couples, but most of them are singles, just like you and me," he said. "The cops know we aren't here to make any trouble, and the locals know we all congregate here, and they like the money we pump into their economy year-round, so they give us this place and stay away. The water here is no good for swimming, anyway; full of sandbars and riptides, and sometimes a dangerous undertow. Anyone into the beach for swimming goes to one of the other two… which leaves this beach for guys like you and me, you know, guys who just want to work on their tan," he chuckled.

I chuckled as well, then, pointing over to the two guys who were fooling around, asked, "What about that? I know you said the cops don't bother people on this beach, but having sex on a public beach? That can't be allowed, can it?"

"Yeah, totally. As I said, the cops don't bother us, they know everything that goes on here."

"Wow! So… how do you know if someone is looking for sex, or is just here to get a tan?"

He gestured to my feet. "Guys looking for sex on this beach wear flip-flops."

"Oh, uh, okay," I said. I thought that was an odd code of sorts.

He went on, "Yeah, and if you are looking and a guy approaches who you're not into, just give him a shake of the head and a wave of the hand, you know," he did a shake-and-wave that said, no thanks, I don't want any, "and he'll leave you alone."

"And what if you're not looking?"

"If you're taken or not looking at all, you know, if you really are here to just work on your tan, then you wear some other sort of footgear or go barefoot to show yourself unavailable. So, if you're not looking then just take those off," he said pointing at my flip-flops, "and hide them under your towel until you're ready to leave."

I looked down at the green flip-flops on my feet as he pointed at them, and then at his feet. He wore one blue and one red. "Hey, your flip-flops don't match," I pointed out.

"Another little custom we have here," he said, "Trophies."

"Trophies?"

"You have sex with a guy, you take one of his flip-flops and give him one of yours. Then everyone knows who got with who, and can ask one of the guys if the other was any good if they want to get with him too.” He laughed and then continued, “And when you get home, you can put all the mismatched flip-flops in a box or something and have trophies of all your beach conquests."

"Oh," I said, laughing. "So, you already got lucky once today, then?"

He waggled his foot with the blue flip-flop; it was quite a bit bigger than the other one, which fit him perfectly. "Yeah, that was Gregg. He's a big mother, like six-foot-five, built like a football linebacker, and about as subtle as a chainsaw at five a.m. He got here this morning and I was first on the spot and so I got to siphon off his morning load. Gregg's got a lot of, uh, spunk, and energy, but not a lot of tact. He sort of walks up and grabs you; which, when you're looking for that, can be a lot of fun."

"I guess it can," I said.

"You're still wearing your flip-flops," Scott pointed out after a slight pause in the conversation. "Does that mean you're declaring yourself available?"

"Yeah, I guess I am," I smiled over at him.

"Yeah? I thought you didn't want to be at a gay beach?"

"I didn't say that," I replied. "I just didn't know this was one."

"Oh, so when you said, 'Shit, is this a gay beach?' it was an exclamation of glee, not horror?" he questioned with a smile on his face.

"Exactly!"

The smile on his face turned into a grin and he said, "Well, just remember what I said to do if you are looking but not interested in a guy who comes up to you," and this time his hand did come in for a landing on my leg as he spoke the words.

I just nodded but didn't say a word or make any attempt to stop him, as my cock sprang to life from his touch.

When I didn't rebuff his move, it was clear that I was interested in having some fun with him and he slid his hand up my leg, and then over my swim trunks until he found my cock.

All Male True Experience: Breaking in a Virgin

 By: Unknown Author

 

I nailed a beautiful young guy over the weekend. I saw him out at a gay club, one of those that cater mainly to college guys, twinks, and young gym bunnies - nineteen is the legal drinking age where I live.

At this place (and in general) most of these younger guys will ignore you if you are older; in fact, you may as well be dead as far as they're concerned. However, there was always a handful who were into the older 'daddy' types.

I happened to be older at thirty-eight years old, standing 6-feet-tall, with 180 pounds of hard muscle, a tanned body, and a big, thick cock between my legs. Thankfully, I fit into that 'daddy' category some of these twinks liked, and, wanting a young bottom to plant my load in, I couldn't think of a better place to find one.

The young men in this place usually stick together in small groups. The place was hot and already more than half of them were shirtless. Though the hot young flesh on display was nice to look at, I prefer my bottoms to be a little more inhibited. I knew as soon as I saw him, he was the one I wanted.

He was cute, young, probably twenty years old at most. He had that preppy look, with stylish dark hair, green eyes, and a long lean body that was going to look great stretched out naked under me. You could tell he was shy. He was sitting alone at a small table in the corner, nursing a bottle of beer, eyeing the half-naked men dancing under the lights. He hadn't looked in my direction yet.

I walked over by him and stood against the wall. I looked down at the back of his neck, feeling my own neck tingle as I imagined how delicious his skin would feel against my lips. He must have sensed me looking because his head turned. He looked at my face, and then his eyes dropped to my crotch, back to my face again, and then back to the dance floor. I could see the color flush into his cheeks. I didn't say a word, just crossed my legs and waited for him to look back again.

Thirty seconds later he took another look, this time quicker. I walked over and took the other seat at the table. "See anything you like?" I directed my gaze out onto the throng of dancing twinks but made sure he could see my crotch as my hand gently caressed my bulge. He said something to me, but his voice was so quiet and timid that I couldn't comprehend a word of it.

This was bullshit. I cut to the chase. "Why don't we get out of here and fuck?"

The kid knocked his beer bottle over and looked directly at my bulge. Then his eyes met mine. "How about it? You want to see what I have under here?" I asked as I stood and stroked myself obscenely. He just stared like a scared kid but didn't say anything at all.

"Well, if you decide that you do, I'll be outside having a smoke before I go," I told him, giving my bulge a good squeeze, and then I turned and left.

I stood by my car and lit my smoke, waiting to see if the quiet guy was coming out. I was halfway through my cigarette when the door opened and he slid out. He loitered near the front of the club, repeatedly glancing over at me, working up the courage to walk over to me.

Finally, he ambled over. "Got a place?" I asked him. He was shivering a little and I'm not sure it was entirely from the cold.

"Maybe. What about you?" he replied.

"Mine's over on the other side of town. Not really close at all. It's pretty small. Yours is probably closer." I said. I didn't like taking young twinks to my place. I preferred to go to their place, so I could just get up and leave when I was done with them.

I let him yammer for a bit then tossed my smoldering cigarette butt to the ground and exhaled. "You drive. I'll follow," I said, making the decision to go to his place, for him. He seemed like he wanted to say something, but didn't.

He walked to the far end of the lot and started up a small car. I hopped in my own and peeled out after him, making sure to stay right on his ass. Ten minutes later we pulled up in front of a small house in a residential area.

"Nice place," I said, checking out the neighborhood. He looked scared shitless, like one of his neighbors might see him returning home late at night with a stranger, a male stranger.

He walked us up the driveway, to the garage. "I don't live in the house. My place is up there." He glanced up and pointed at the upper level of the garage and unlocked the side door.

The place was small, just a studio with a small kitchenette, a sofa in the middle of the room, and a bed protruding from the wall behind it. It was decorated like a teenager's bedroom and he would inform that it was his parents' house and that when he had turned nineteen a few months back, they had allowed him to move out over the garage.

I listened to him babble on but truthfully, I didn't give a shit about what he was saying; I was just there to fuck some twink ass. I did note that he was nineteen and that I had been pretty close in guessing his age.

"Uh-huh," I said when he had finished yapping and then told him to get himself naked and wait for me on the bed while I used the bathroom, which was barely large enough to stand up in.

In the bathroom, I tore off my shirt, dropped my jeans, and eased my sticky briefs down. I sat on the toilet long enough to kick off my shoes and socks.

Totally naked, I went back out into the main room. "Oh my god!" was all he said, gawking at my cock, which stuck out like a club.

Straight Fiction: Silence Is Goldwyn

By: RejectReality

Once I started high school, my parents told me I was responsible for doing my own laundry. I didn't mind doing it, the problem was the laundry room in our building closed pretty early, at least for my liking.

The motel at the edge of town opening the 24-hour laundromat recently was a godsend and suited me perfectly, allowing me the freedom to do my laundry later at night. I preferred to do my laundry on Friday nights since I stayed up late on the weekends anyway, plus doing it later at night also meant I rarely had to deal with anyone and never had to wait for washers and dryers to be free.

It was one of those Friday nights and I was sitting in my parent's car waiting on my laundry. I checked the time on my phone, shut off the car, and headed back into the laundromat. The place was empty, as it usually was.

Once I transferred all my clothes from the washers to the dryers, I headed back out to my car. It was way more comfortable than the plastic seats inside, and I was parked close enough to use the free Wi-Fi.

With about five minutes to go on the dryers, I saw the motel room door just to my left open. Upon seeing my principal, Mr. Maclean, emerge, I covered the light from my phone and shrank back in my seat. He had developed a serious hate-on for me after I dated and then dumped his daughter.

Fortunately, he walked to his car and drove away. I breathed a sigh of relief but had to wonder why he was leaving a motel after midnight. It didn't really matter, so I decided to go ahead and empty the first dryer, which was a couple of minutes ahead of the one for which I had marked the time.

It worked out perfectly; by the time I'd finished with each load, the next dryer was shutting off. I stashed the first two baskets in my car, and then returned for the final one.

I put the last basket in the back seat and shut the door just in time for the same motel door to open. I could barely believe my eyes when I saw my senior English teacher, Ms. Goldwyn, step out of the door.

I couldn't help but stare.

She had her strawberry blonde hair down instead of tied back in a ponytail — though it looked a little mussed. She was wearing a tight black dress that showed off her body in a way that shocked me compared to the way she'd dressed in school. The skirt was short, and the neckline showed cleavage from tits that were way bigger than I'd realized they were.

I saw her stiffen and heard her gasp when she saw me. That was also the moment when I gathered enough of my wits to realize that my principal had exited the door only a few minutes before. I put two and two together, and the next thing I knew, I heard myself mutter, "Ms. Goldwyn?"

"Shit," she said under her breath.

I'd never heard her curse before, so it was yet another shock to the system that kept me from climbing in my car. We stared at each other in stunned silence for a couple of seconds before my face started to burn. I looked away and reached for the door handle.

"Jason, wait...," she said. I heard her heels clicking on the pavement as she quickly walked toward me.

I was too embarrassed to respond, but by the time I'd opened the car door, she was standing next to me. She put her hand on the door to keep me from opening it more.

"Jason, I can... This isn't..." She let out a great sigh, paused for a moment, and then asked, "Is there any chance you can forget what you saw here tonight?"

"I dunno," I muttered, not really meaning I wasn't sure if I could keep it a secret or not; it was just what came out while I was feeling uncomfortable and avoiding eye contact.

"Oh, God, I can't believe this is happening," she said, panicked. She knew I knew Mr. Maclean was married, and I'm sure she was afraid I was going to say something around school about what I'd witnessed.

She took a breath and said, "I can't believe I'm going to do this," then she took a step closer, and spoke quietly into my ear, "If you forget what you saw here tonight, I'll… I'll have sex with you."

Holy fucking shit! my inner voice screamed as I turned to look at her without thinking. Did she really just say that? All I could do was stand there frozen in place. I'm sure my mouth was hanging open, and my cock had gone from soft to rock-solid in almost an instant.

When I didn't immediately answer, she looked down and saw my hardness, then moved my hand that was holding the door and curled her fingers around my wrist. I let go of the door handle, and she pushed the door closed before pulling on my arm.

"Hurry, before anyone sees us," she said, pulling me in the direction of the motel room.

My heart and my thoughts were both racing as she drew me inside the room. The sight of the unmade bed rather forcefully reminded me of what she was supposed to be encouraging me to forget.

She cupped my chin in her hand and forced me to look at her. She was wearing her teacher expression when she said, "I want your word. I do this for you, and you never tell a soul what you saw here tonight."

"I... I..." My brain simply wouldn't work. All I could do was stammer and stare at her.

"Won't tell anyone?" she prompted, and then licked her lips.

"Won't tell," I repeated.

"Good," she said and smiled at me. "On the bed, then."

Ms. Goldwyn put her hand between my shoulder blades and prodded me to do as she had said with a gentle push. I took the couple of steps forward, still moving on autopilot and in complete disbelief that it was actually happening. Another push on my shoulder turned me around, and another prompted me to sit. I felt like a marionette with no control of my own body.

I was stiff as a board when she tried to lift my leg. My eyes homed in on her cleavage of their own accord. My face burned even hotter when I tore my gaze away from her tits.

"Nervous?" she asked while lifting my leg and putting a hand under the heel of my shoe.

I nodded.

"It's your first time, isn't it?"

I was too embarrassed to tell her she was right. I was awkward around girls, especially when it came to trying to get them into bed, and I had only ever dated one girl — Mr. Maclean's daughter — and she wouldn't put out ('I'm saving myself for marriage,' she told me) which is why I ended up dumping her.

"You don't have to say it. I can see it in your face. Just relax," she said while slowly pulling on my shoestring. "I promise that when I'm done, my mouth will be the only thing you'll remember about tonight."

All Male True Experience: Asshole in the Park

By: Unknown Author

I'm twenty-one, bisexual, and have a girlfriend, whom I have been with for six months. Prior to being with her, I had had sex with two other women, and a lot of other guys – other horny teen guys, anonymous hookups, etc. – the number of guys outnumbering girls because it's just a lot easier to get sex from another guy. My girlfriend doesn't know I'm bisexual, though, and I had decided that while I was with her I would be faithful and not have sex with other men.

I really didn't think it would be that difficult, since I'm more into women than men (I'm attracted to, turned on by and like sex with both equally, but the love and emotional stuff I only feel for women), but, after just six months of not having any sexual contact with another man, I suddenly found myself getting hard several times a day just thinking about it. When that happened, I'd jerk off thinking about other guys, and mostly thinking about and picturing their asses.

I've always considered myself an ass man - there's just something about a man's ass that excites me. Whenever I see a man from behind, I get so hard, especially when I see a guy bent over in a locker room, with his balls hanging and his cheeks slightly open, revealing his asshole. To me this is very arousing, because when you think of all the areas of a man that can arouse sexual excitement in another man, the asshole reflects the most private part of a man.

Sure, a man's cock is a source of sexual arousal too, but most men don't have a problem exposing their cocks around other guys - like at urinals, in the locker room, online, and some guys, especially horny teen guys, will even jerk off in front of each other – so it's not private in the same way. Let's face it, there's no more private part of a man's body than his asshole and, to me, if a guy bends over and exposes his asshole, he's exposing the most private part of himself.

It's the casualness in which it's done in the locker room, or the willingness on his part during sexual encounters to expose his most private place that turns me on, and I'd now like to share an encounter which illustrates exactly what I am talking about.

With the ever increasing thoughts of sex with guys creeping into my head, finally I decided I just couldn't go without any longer, even if it meant being unfaithful to my girlfriend, so I decided to head to a local park (known in certain circles to be a cruising spot for guy-on-guy action) to see if I could satisfy my desire.

It was a Monday night when I went to the aforementioned park. I was fully aware that I'd have a better chance of finding some action there if I had gone late on a Friday or Saturday night instead, but I had made up my mind that I wanted some man-sex ASAP and went in the hopes that I might get lucky anyway.

When I arrived it was still fairly early, just before dusk, and so I wasn't all that surprised to find that there were no other cars there. However, even though the lot was empty, I knew from past experience that guys still went there during the week, too. I also knew a lot of guys would just drive in and then leave again if there were no other cars there, but if they saw even just one car they would be more likely to stick around - so, I backed into a spot in the gravel lot and waited.

After waiting for half an hour or so, and just contemplating leaving, a truck pulled in and parked to the right of my car, backing in several spots away from me. I could see that there was only one person in the truck and it was a man. In these instances my heart begins to race and my cock begins to pulse in anticipation of a sexual adventure, but I think that happens to most guys in these types of situations.

After several minutes he opened the door of his truck and got out. As he closed the door I noticed him reach down with one hand and give his crotch a quick and casual rub, which was always a good sign. I watched as he walked away from the truck and headed across the lot toward the entrance of the path that led into the woods.

Just before he entered the path, his head turned over his shoulder and looked back at my car. I, of course, was looking right at him just for that reason, to see if he would look back; a universal code in cruising spots like this to find out if you are both there for the same reason.

In these situations I always wait a few minutes so as not to appear overly aggressive, plus I don't want to end up walking right behind the guy; I prefer to wait until he is ahead a bit so that I can wander down the path and just 'find' him, as if I had just stumbled upon him on my walk.

After waiting a couple of minutes, I got out of my car and headed across the lot to the path. As I got a ways down the path, I saw the man from the truck standing just to the side of it, leaning against a tree in the near distance. It was dusk now, and the cover of the trees made the area appear darker, and I ducked into the trees and moved a bit closer to check him out.

Within a few seconds he removed his t-shirt, and I watched him begin to run his hands across his chest and down into the waistband of his shorts - he had obviously spotted me ducking into the trees and knew I was watching him. My heart began to pound, and I stepped out onto the path again and began to slowly approach. He turned and looked at me and indicated his interest with a smile, while slipping his hand all the way into his shorts and giving his cock a good grope.

Seconds later I was standing face to face with this man. He was an attractive guy, about six feet tall and, I guessed, around two-hundred pounds; not fat, just solidly built. He had on a baseball cap and had a scruffy five o'clock shadow, and looked to be in his mid-forties, more than twice my age. I'm not usually into older guys, but at this point in time I didn't care, I just wanted cock! I was just happy that he was in-shape and attractive – but, honestly, even if he had had a beer gut and average looks, I probably would have still hooked up with him… desperate times and all.

Still groping himself, I stepped closer, and when I did, he removed his hand from his crotch, reached out and grabbed a handful of my crotch and gave it a hard squeeze. Already swollen, my cock grew completely hard from his touch. I then reached out to get a feel of his, with him moving his hand away from his crotch to allow me to touch it.

I moaned both from another guy feeling my dick and from feeling another guy's dick again. We silently stood and felt each other up for a few moments, and then he removed his hand, squatted in front of me, and pulled my shorts and underwear down.

When he was met with my stiff seven-and-a-half inch uncut cock, he commented on my "nice, hard, young dick" and then he turned his ball cap around backwards, leaned his head in, opened his mouth and fully took my cock all the way into his throat. He pulled back and then took me deeply and slowly back into his throat again and then started bobbing up and down on it in a nice rhythm.

All Male Fiction: Alex's Game (Part 2)

By: sebastian_wallace & Ryan Michaels

Read Part 1

Alex looked down at my dick as though to reassure himself that I was still aroused by this. Finding that I was - my little pencil was still poking upright in my briefs - he went on, "There's something weird about the slit on the head. It's kind of underneath it. I think it has something to do with my cock being so huge. You wanna see it?"

I'd never heard anything about this, even though I'd had dealings with cocks of many different shapes and sizes over the years. It was probably something unique to his own cock, which he just assumed was a consequence of its size; maybe a birthmark or a scar from a long-forgotten injury. I was intrigued, though, and figured it couldn't hurt to take a look, especially considering what had already transpired.

I shrugged. "I suppose so. But after that, we go back into the exam."

He smiled and said, "Yeah sure, whatever," and then, with his hand still on my shoulder, he began pushing down on it and said, "You'll have to kneel down on the floor to see it, though."

My knees began to buckle from the pressure he was exerting on my shoulder. "Yeah, kneel down," Alex urged as I began to willingly bend, lowering myself down until I felt the sharp coldness of the tile floor against my knees.

I peered intently at Alex's large, gently-pulsating organ. The smell of it - the sharp but inviting odor of the sweat in his pubic hair - was quite powerful as I stared closely at his piss slit. I didn't see anything unusual, though, and told him so.

"Take a look at it close up and you'll see," Alex replied. He was insistent, putting his hand on my head, as if to guide me towards the incongruity I was trying to find. He pushed his hips towards me so that his cock, now swollen to its full impressive size, was within an inch of my face.

I opened my mouth to tell him that I still couldn't see anything unusual, when Alex grabbed my head firmly and pushed his cock into my mouth. He slid it in and out a few times, no doubt feeling me resisting it in the initial shock of finding myself invaded by him, and then feeling me responding to him by urgently sucking at it as the pleasure of what he was doing overwhelmed me.

Still holding my head, he pulled his cock out of my mouth and swiveled my neck so that I was staring up at him open-mouthed. "You like that?" he asked. "Do you? Yeah, of course you do," he smirked before letting me answer, and then pushed himself back into my mouth.

I fed hungrily on his cock, as eager to pleasure it as if I were worshipping it; smothering it with my tongue and drinking the slow dribble of pre-cum down into my throat.

Alex soon bent over me as I blew him, and I heard him suck at one of his fingers before groping down my back to lift the bottom of my shirt and grope around my ass. He quickly located my asshole, hot and sweaty at the base of my ass crack, and pressed his moistened finger into me.

Perhaps sensing my intense pleasure at feeling myself penetrated and the eagerness to receive more, Alex stated, surprisingly calmly, "Stand up."

I did as he said, and watched as he reached down into his pants pocket and pulled out his wallet. From that he extracted a condom – a Trojan Magnum condom - and, with a practiced hand, quickly opened the wrapper and rolled the rubber down the length of his oversized prick.