Best Gay Erotica 2005 Read online

  “I do too,” he continued carefully. “And so do Chris and Mike. We’ve been thinking that…maybe your basement would be cool for a secret club or something, just us four….”

  I remember resenting that I’d been left out of the loop until then, but that subsided after the other two returned, bearing treats. It was then that The Three Mikes and Chris—timidly at first, but with gathering excitement—began laying the foundation of a Boys Club that would forever change my life. Ah, recalling that innocent initiation into the spurting realms of same-sex activity, and how it rendered, and still renders, time momentarily meaningless, tempts me to shamelessly unzip my baggy shorts and free up the heavy cargo straining within. Surely you won’t mind my succumbing.

  It is at this point that I must also request that you make the leap from Louisville to Paris, where, traveling alone (my lover would join me the following week), I found myself—temporarily writer’s-blocked and feeling restless—engaging in a wee bit of infidelity with a late-afternoon trick I’d picked up at the Café La Marronnier, located in the very gay crotch of Le Marais. The humpy, if eccentric, Alain had already proven himself a fantastic paramour. Following a sweaty aperitif of making out, extended oral sex, and mutual masturbation, begun the moment we crossed the threshold of my rented apartment in the Rue des Tournelles, we took a break, drank some wine, smoked a few cigarettes. After surviving a ridiculous argument (you know the French!), we hastily made up and had begun making love again, getting very worked up, when suddenly, pulling away from a round of my finest rimming, Alain announced that he needed to evacuate his bowels, for obvious reasons.

  Take it away, Alain! Take it away, as I delve through my zipper and reach into my past….

  “Oh stop, Baby, please…!” he cried. “Michael, I mean it; I must make a shit! I am very romantic, no? Do you have condoms?”

  “Well, yeah, of course,” I laughed, undaunted by Alain’s exuberant madness.

  “Get them,” he commanded. “We will be ready when the moment is right!” He dashed into the bathroom, not bothering to close the door behind him, calling from within: “We must have more wine; there is no need for us to rush our love! Fill our glasses, Baby, as full as my heart!” A significant moment later he added: “…Mmm, my shit stinks!”

  “Jesus Christ, turn the fan on!”

  “No no! I love my odor! Can you smell?”

  “Not yet,” I answered warily. “But I’ll keep you posted.” I refilled our wine glasses and set up the condoms and lubricant on the bedside table. The toilet flushing signaled Alain’s beaming, little-boyish return.

  “I feel fantastic,” he said, tugging his semihard cock and flopping onto the bed next to me. After a moment’s pause his eyes brightened. “Michael! Tell me the history of your first sex.” He took a sip of wine, reached for the smokes and lighter.

  “My first sex?” I said, not really getting it, indicating the cigarettes. “Here, give me one of those.”

  “Not your first sex,” he clarified, lighting a cigarette for me and placing it between my lips before lighting another for himself. “Your first orgasm.”

  “Leave it to you to ask me that.”

  “And why not ask about such an important event?” he countered. “It is a moment that changes a man’s life forever. What was your age?”

  I smiled nostalgically as I brought the memory into focus. “I was thirteen….”

  “Were you alone? You must tell me in detail how it happened, Michael, how it felt.” He flicked his ash, savored another sip of wine, and settled back against the headboard, fully attentive.

  Oh, my…I thought, observing Alain lounging on the bed: naked, idly fiddling his semierect masterpiece of circumcision, the half-smoked cigarette smoldering between the fingers of his other hand, his arm resting on one raised knee. I was getting hard just looking at him. He was so bonkers, overwhelmingly sexy, such a babe! Resisting a ferocious urge to pounce on him, I couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel to penetrate Alain’s ass with my hard-on, thinking: God, I wanna fuck him something fierce, feel his insides with my big one right here and now, but… first things first.

  “No, actually I wasn’t alone,” I began my tale. “I’d been playing sex games with a group of friends for months before that.”

  “Boys?” Alain inquired, raising his wine glass to his gorgeous lips.

  “Yes, there were four of us in the club: ‘The Three Mikes and Chris.’ ”

  “Le Club Mauvais Garçon! I love it,” he said delightedly. “You were very bad boys….”

  “I don’t know how ‘bad’ we were,” I corrected, “but we did share an interest in spending time together naked, with erections—‘boners,’ we called them. We’d go down in my basement; there was a storage room, set up with an old sofa and a couple of overstuffed chairs. It was perfect. We rigged a lock from the inside and put up a sign that read —not that anyone but the four of us ever went down there.”

  SECRET CLUB—DO NOT ENTER!

  NO GIRLS ALLOWED!!

  “And then ‘The Three Mikes and Chris’ would get naked together?” Alain prodded.

  “Yes. We were frisky young boys, and oh-so-willing…. None of us had any hair on our bodies to speak of yet, except on our heads. Our sweet hard-ons were as smooth as silk and so sensitive, Alain! But even then I was conscious of size and looks. Chris had a small dick, even when hard. Too bad, because—next to me, of course!—he was the best-looking one. Mike Hannon’s cock was average, I guess, and he was average looking, but Mike O’Day was much cuter, and had a really nice dick—as big as mine, maybe even larger in circumference. He and I were the ones who really enjoyed the club. After a while the other two could take it or leave it.

  “Anyway, we’d go down there, strip naked, and get turned on and hard and compare boners and touch each other and talk about sexy stuff—about how people fuck like animals in secret to make babies and all that. We used to wonder what it would have been like had Eve not enticed Adam to eat the apple, and people walked around naked and fucked in the streets whenever they felt like it, for all the world to see. We talked about how much we wanted to fuck girls in that decidedly ‘better’ world, all the while playing with each other’s cocks. In retrospect, for all our talk about hetero fucking, go figure why we put ‘no girls allowed’ on the sign. We knew nothing about homosexuality, really, only that calling someone a faggot was a bad thing. But I loved our club, Alain; that, I did know! It was so much fun, such a turn-on, felt so dirty, so taboo.

  “As time went on, our games became more serious. We started to experiment with jerking off and sucking dicks, just figured it out. Jerking off was okay, although we never came, never ‘got the white stuff’ like Chris said his older brother did. But sucking cock: Man, did that ever feel great! Still, even doing that, we never came. I just assumed we weren’t old enough, but the truth was, we never did it long enough. The one sucking would become impatient to get sucked, so around and around we went, getting hotter than hell and winding up deliciously frustrated time and again.”

  Watching Alain play with his no longer semihard cock compelled me to break from my story. “Good god, Alain, you’re as hard as limestone! C’mon, man, fuck this. Let me suck your dick a little,” I implored seductively. “C’mon….”

  “No, Michael. I am very much liking your bad boy story.” Alain crushed his cigarette in the ashtray, then grabbed the container of lubricant. “Will you mind if I play while you continue? I promise not to come. I want to prepare for when you fuck me, hm?”

  “Whoa, don’t say that, or I’ll never finish the damned story! Look at this: I’m in pain, man. I’m dripping like mad.”

  “I see that, Michael.” He reached over, pumped a dose of pre-cum up and out of my many rigid inches, and spread it over his middle finger, commenting: “Mmm…perhaps we will not need the bottled stuff.” And then, damned if he didn’t raise a leg and work the shiny finger up his ass! “Oh, I am so clean inside, so warm and smooth,” he taunted. “It wi
ll be like paradise for you…. What happened then, Baby? Tell me, while I play. Did you experiment with fucking, you and your friends? Tell me more, Michael.”

  Continuing my tale proved an interesting challenge from that point forward, as Alain reinforced his erection by tenderly finger-fucking himself. “All right, then,” I said, clearing my throat, my eyes beholding him from behind a mask of Eros, as if through the medium of fever. “Experiment with fucking…?” I absentmindedly mumbled, backtracking. “Yeah, we did, but that went nowhere; we couldn’t handle the pain. But sucking cock definitely changed the club’s dynamic. We paired off. Of the three, Mike O’Day was by far the best at giving head; he did it longer and slower, really seemed to enjoy it. He and I….”

  “Became lovers,” Alain interrupted, correctly finishing my sentence.

  “Yes. The other two fell by the wayside, became secondary . One day, when we were alone…I don’t know how it came up, but I asked Mike if we could kiss. I remember being incredibly afraid to ask him that. It’s funny….”

  “Not funny at all, Michael, to be shy about asking for something as intimate as a kiss,” Alain responded throatily, utilizing a bit of “the bottled stuff” to slip a second digit into his ass-play. “Mike said ‘yes’ to your lovely request?”

  “Jesus Christ, Alain….” I paused, twice as inflamed. “Yes, he did; he loved it.”

  “You found each other’s tongue?”

  “Right away. We knew what to do, somehow.”

  “The human animal knows,” he said with a smile.

  “It was wonderful. We made out all the time after that, whenever we were alone; we couldn’t get enough. Naturally, kissing would get us big-time in the mood for sucking, but we still weren’t quite ready to come yet.”

  “When did it happen, Michael?” inquired Alain, studying me with half-shut eyes. “How was it that you came with your Mike?”

  “He was at my house for a sleepover—spending the night, like friends do—some weeks later,” I continued. “Both of us were going through fairly dramatic puberty changes by then, growing pubic hair, the whole bit. Our cocks were getting bigger too. Oh, he had such a pretty cock, Alain!

  “I remember it so vividly, now that I’m called to task to tell it. My bedroom door was locked. The television was blaring, but we weren’t paying any attention to it. Hell no, we were naked, on my bed, making out, holding each other tightly, dry humping, very, very turned on, like never before. We knew from the onset that the whole experience was different from other times, was far more focused. We had to be quiet; I didn’t want my mother to hear us moaning, which excited us even more. It felt unbelievably better than usual when he began blowing me. I recall whispering, ‘Mike, don’t stop this time; it feels so good,’ and him responding, ‘I don’t even wanna stop!’ And to be sure, he didn’t; he kept doing me and doing me, on and on. I was sitting up, my back resting against the pillows, my legs stretched out—like you’re sitting right now, Alain—quietly freaking out, whimpering with pleasure. Mike was kneeling to my side, balanced on one arm, just going for it. My god, that kid could suck cock! I was watching him jerk off, his gorgeous dick so big and veiny and hard in his hand. All at once, he struck me as looking… so much like a man. Watching him took me to a level I didn’t understand, had certainly never experienced before. I couldn’t believe how fantastic Mike was making me feel! I was breathing hard and sweating; my heart was going berserk. I began to think that maybe something was going wrong, but kept whispering, ‘Don’t stop, Mike; don’t ever stop…’ even though I knew he was super-into it, that no way was he going to stop.

  “My cock: My god, it was bursting with increasingly intense waves of pleasure! My first orgasm escalated in such an unexpected way, there was no time to analyze it, no time for anything but to experience it. And that’s when it happened: I came like a motherfucker in his mouth. Totally overwhelmed, I cried out, god knows what, but loudly, and Mike bellowed like a wounded steer when he shot his first load on my bedspread, gagging a little and coughing. I never suspected that a physical sensation could offer so much joy, and wanted more than anything for that feeling to last forever, but then again—don’t we all? This may sound strange to you, Alain, but I knew right then that there was something besides reading and writing to live for. I wasn’t afraid of becoming an adult after that.”

  Alain withdrew his fingers from his rectum, filled his palm with lubricant, and, reaching over, smoothed it up and down my impossibly erect penis. “Oh, Baby, thank god…” I swooned. Wordlessly, he tore open a condom and rolled it down my glistening, prized possession. Adding another layer of lube, he said: “We aren’t little boys anymore, Michael. What do you want from me?”

  “I wanna fuck you very badly, Alain.”

  “Tell me how, Michael. How do you ‘wanna fuck’ me?”

  “Lie on your back,” I replied. “Raise your legs. Yeah….” Mounting him, going for broke, I eased myself through his compliant, puckered circumference into unimaginable ecstasy. Such a relief….

  Epilogue

  Yeo! I should have grabbed a towel first. Would you hang on for a second? Seems I’ve “procreated” quite a mess here, rather close at hand, that needs cleaning up….

  …There now, that’s better. Whew! Okay, where were we? Oh yes….

  From that momentous evening, Mike’s and my affair lasted a mere six months, but within that time frame we made love many, many times, keeping our secret sweetly exclusive.

  Later that Parisian evening, after we had shared what can only be described as a mystical sexual experience, Alain asked me: “What happened to your first love, with your Mike?”

  “My family moved to Cincinnati, about a hundred miles away, the following summer,” I explained. “Mike and I cried and cried and cried.”

  Indeed we had. Unfortunately, Mike and I lost touch, both figuratively and literally, after those tears were shed. I am confident, however, that Michael O’Day will fondly remember, as will I, our budding passion, our poignant, transitional time spent together, until the day he dies, for who could possibly forget their first true love?

  Dejected and hopelessly addicted, yet finding no substitute for Mike in Cincinnati, I settled into a sad subversion of watering the societally sown seeds of guilt sprouting in my closet, nonstop masturbation, obsessive fanaticizing, and…well, nonstop masturbation, which lasted until my junior year in high school. Subsequently began my three-year experiment in denial—with heterosexuality—that proved such a fabulous disaster.

  Not to sound too Will and Grace about it, but Vicky was my best friend. I loved everything about her, except having sex with her. Yes, I “lost my virginity” with Vicky, and she with me. When, early in my sophomore year at college, I told her—before I’d even fully admitted it to myself—that I was homosexual, Vicky was rendered speechless with disbelief, utterly shattered, and ultimately heartbroken. So it was that I lost my best friend, but gained a much healthier life-perspective.

  Enter, the following semester, my new roommate, Marc: a theater major….

  I’ve had many “first-time,” same-sex experiences in the years since college. With luck and perseverance on my part, perhaps you will read about them down the often blurry line that separates fiction from non-. Whether so or not, however, it is through embracing the innate, biological imperative of my loving cock, of loving men, of loving myself, that I now celebrate my capacity to fully experience love, and resolve to continue the composition of my life’s story accordingly, as nature intended.

  Thank you, Alain, for asking.

  Derelict

  Steve Berman

  Bravey Boy stood where strawberries once grew. He nudged the earth with the toe of his worn sneakers, disturbing browned weeds and cigarette butts. October in Philadelphia could be fickle. He had left his tenement building wearing a jacket, but as the sky darkened the air turned warmer, so he unzipped, letting the sweat cool on a bare chest the color of dark coffee.

  Some years back, a garden
had filled the lot where he stood. Nothing grand, a site large enough to bring the community together to plant a few greens and build a place for the kids to play safely. Then six months back, the mayor chanted safe streets to every news camera, newspaper, and council meeting. The cops descended on the street corners, forcing the dealers to move on. They had found the garden an earthly delight, where they could lounge during the day and sell at night. Parents had boycotted the garden, keeping inside at all hours, and the lot quickly fell into despair. When some other crime crisis drew the mayor’s attention, the cops turned their attention elsewhere and the dealers reclaimed the street corners.

  So an entire city block was abandoned, except for dying brush and a sickly couple of trees along the rusty fence.

  Then the men and the boys came, looking for sex—another addiction.

  Bravey heard the normal sounds of the night: hip-hop music banging as a car floated by, someone somewhere yelling, a bloody fight between feral dogs. A breeze blew, carrying a deep, musky odor, a touch of old sweat on an unwashed body. Bravey closed his eyes and shook his head even as he breathed in deeply. Please, he thought. Not him, not tonight.

  A muttered “Yo, my brotha” came from behind. The smell intensified. He turned around to see Demonte shuffling up to him.

  He hadn’t seen Demonte in more than a week. The boy didn’t look so good. His left eye was swollen half-shut, blood crusted one nostril, and the blatino’s strut had more limp than swagger. Yet he swung his arm around Bravey as if nothing were wrong.

  “What’s up?” Bravey kept his tone steady and cool, though in his head he urged Demonte to move on, get lost. If Lashon saw them standing there….

  Demonte shrugged. “Same shit.” His breath smelled sickly-sweet, of flavored cheap wine. He reached over to tug lightly at Bravey’s jacket, revealing more smooth, toned chest. “Heh, what have we here?” Fingers scuttled over one nipple.