'Rough Velvet' is my collection of short stories, focussing mainly homosexual male erotica, and is made for those looking to get to the heat of the moment a bit more quickly by painting vivid pictures for the imagination, rather than detailed story and character development. The series is all about presenting gay male eroticism, usually sans romance and intellectual facets, amidst exotic backdrops to provide an evocative image for the mind, as well as an exploration of the many aspects and fantasies of this subsection of erotica. In time, the 'Rough Velvet' series will hopefully have something for every fan of the genre.
Not every man who has homosexual desires are flamboyant gays or depraved sex addicts. Some of them just want a normal life, with a chance to indulge in their sexual preference as others might pursue their heterosexual tendencies. It's so simple a thing, yet not easily done -- despite how far society has come, there's still that bit more to go. Such a man has to worry about its effect on his career if he's successful, or how many real friends he really has when he finally comes out of the closet. What about his family's reaction -- the anger of the almighty father figure, the disappointment of a mother? Some lucky few find acceptance, many do not. It comes as no surprise that most prefer to play this ground cautiously. Of course even such a man still has his desires and longings -- for him, the privacy of his house is, for the longest time, his surest sanctuary, and the relief of masturbation his most reliable outlet to enjoy the fantasy of being with another man. At least until the real thing should chance along...
[**Disclaimer**] This story is purely a work of fiction, including all characters described herein. Similarities between people living or dead are purely coincidental.
Sitting in his armchair, Tom studied the glass in hand -- the two ice cubes and the inch of amber whiskey at the bottom -- the day had been long but it was at an end and this was his private time. Moderately successful, his condo reflected that he had money to spare with its polished wooden flooring, elaborate carpets, a broad cedar wood cabinet on which reposed a wide plasma television and entertainment system, even a quartz chandelier and glass cabinet with selected spirits and wines. The ice slipped noisily, prompting a sigh from the owner and he set the glass to his lips and drained it in a single draught.
Despite luxurious surroundings and Tom's success as a businessman, he lived here alone. It would not take any great stretch of time or effort on his part to have female companionship if he wanted or even just a lady for the night; he was handsome enough with the dark waves of his hair and chocolate eyes, complemented by a squared jaw and his clean-shaven features helped to accentuate youth without detracting from manhood. Rather, he had never felt the need or desire to bring women to his apartment.
When his restlessness finally gnawed too hard, he stood up abruptly and with purpose, marching to his bedroom, and shuffling through a drawer of papers before finding the small pendrive he was looking for. On his way out, he briefly considered the bed with moody eyes, before passing it over. Setting it into his video system, he allowed himself to collapse heavily onto the leather couch, stretching for the remote controller and flicking the screen into life. Images flared and animated themselves on the display for his entertainment, but the first few minutes were boring and Tom looked on flatly, though he did loosen his tie as the whiskey's heat began to rise.
Like many men at this hour of the day, Tom's thoughts had long since drifted to something of a more carnal nature. Unlike many men, he did not think of the slick wetness of a woman's crotch, parted and willing, but rather the urgent rigidness of a man's erection, arrogant and demanding. Contrary to all the stereotypical displays of manliness he promoted in public, Tom's private desires were for his fellow man. He did not think of the coy blonde secretary, but rather the smirking office boys; the no-nonsense executive; the rough, hard-drinking stranger in the bar. It was not a part of his life that anyone knew about, the times being what they were, and it was a constant source of frustration. Sometimes he wished he was just another nobody with a replaceable job, so that he could enjoy a robust sex life to indulge his homosexual desires, rather than constantly worry about its cost to his career in a society that had expectations for a successful man.
Gritting his teeth, he finally set upon the buckle of his belt and freed himself of his trousers, kicking them into the corner of the room. His socks and shoes and briefs followed, and he had unbuttoned the front of his shirt to free himself of that as well, but the film had finally reached its more interesting segments and he still had the wrists to unbutton and the tie to remove, so he left it on, opening the shirt to at least free his stomach and chest.
The film was obviously pornographic in nature, but was of the lesser spoken of variety, where one man knelt before another and applied his mouth for the pursuit of pleasure. The man who stood was well endowed, as could have been expected, and made a show of stretching the other's lips as the kneeling man bobbed his head lustily, as if he couldn't get enough. Tom himself was in the motions of stroking his own length, though he himself did not desire a blowjob; rather, he would have preferred to be the one to give the use of his lips for such a sleazy pursuit. It had been his desire for many years now to put himself at the disposition of another man pleasures. Watching the other as he continued to suck, Tom could only lick his own lips in vain wanting.
By the time the film had moved on to more urgent business, Tom was largely lost to his own fantasies, using the dancing images only occasionally to fuel his lusts, stoking it from heated flame to swirling inferno. In them, he knelt before the office boy, whose relative youth made him overly horny and eager to present a hard young cock. The executive used him as a sex slave, providing verbal abuse of a sexual nature and sodomising him sadistically over the desk. The tough hard-talking stranger, he worked up the nerve to invite back to his apartment where he was seduced and screwed gasping through the night in his darkened bedroom with the windows wide open.
The sudden spasm and aching throb in his shaft convinced him to ease off a bit; he was stroking too hard and too wildly -- the orgasm would be intense but empty. Reluctantly, he took his hand off his manhood and threw his head back, breathing deeply. He took a glance at the pornographic feature. It was dull and boring and pointless -- tedious and repetitive -- but provided enough to prevent him from slipping past a semi-erection. He watched as the other suddenly ejected himself from the gapping anus of his lay and proceeded to ejaculate over his face in the standard porn flick ending.
Looking at his own penis, he drew a finger over the head, watching the long glimmering string that pulled away with it. Between his fingers, he felt the exquisite slipperiness of his pre-ejaculate, and, in a moment of perverted daring, brought those fingers to his face where he painted his lips and plunged them in his mouth to sample the texture and taste. It was far from delicious, but provided him with a strange debasement that was erotic in its appeal.
