Forward: For more than twenty years, I have looked back on my first same-sex experience with satisfaction. Satisfaction that I did not shy from the experience, that I freely enjoyed myself and my partner, that I have a base of familiarity upon which to develop an understanding of my sexuality, as well as my inhibitions. I accept my own sexuality, on my terms and however I define it. In that spirit, and with a very warm "thank you" to BlueEyed5ftAngel for her editing expertise, here is my first effort at erotic fiction. Hope you enjoy. – Cjontherocks
Another lazy summer Sunday crept into Scott's life and overcame him with a feeling of anxiousness he couldn't define. He knew he should be out doing something more exciting, but there seemed to be nothing left but a daily routine of chores around his apartment. Scott was bored with the repetition of his weekend activity and needed to do something,
anything
, different. Laundry: check. Vacuum: check. Dishes piling up in the sink and actually beginning to smell a little: check. Find something of substance to occupy his time: uncheck.
He knew Paul always had weed and was always willing to spark one up, but Scott really didn't want to spend another day getting stoned only because he couldn't think of anything else to do.
David might be home, he thought.
Scott threw a tee-shirt over his head snaking his arms through, his tanned and sinewy torso now hidden under the bagginess of his cotton Beefy-T.
Of all his old friends from high school, Scott always liked David the best. He was super cool, and always had something in mind when no one else did.
The boys knew they were in for a good time when David came up with his infamous line, "I've got an idea for something wild!"
He was funny as hell, never got into the bullshit and arguments that plagued high school boys back then and had this uncontrollable passion for red-haired girls, just like Scott. It seemed only natural, of course. David's shoulder-length auburn curls and his cavalier manner attracted more than his fair share of women. And he'd maintained his slender track-star physique even now, five years after that final state championship.
Scott and his buddies never forgot to call David when they went out. They called "shotgun" on the way to the car, and "wing-man" on the way to the clubs.
David lived in a condo just a few short blocks from Scott. A walk might do him some good, he thought, as he left his apartment and headed down the stairs.
Walking up the street, Scott couldn't help people-watching. He'd classify drivers by the cars they drove. There went a small-town transplanted redneck in a four-wheel drive truck, primer hood and 40-inch tires. The rainbow sticker in the back window threw a kink in Scott's assessment… a rainbow sticker? Maybe he bought the truck from a dyke, too naïve to understand that men everywhere were pointing him out as a fag. Maybe he's a loud, obnoxious idiot by day and a flaming homo when the lights go out, Scott thought.
Scott realized on some level he had no business thinking this way. He thought of his own experiences. Not much in the way of homosexual activity but he'd been trying to suck his own dick since shortly after he discovered masturbation. And that one night… the girl who insisted he'd like it up the ass if he'd just try it. He'd considered that some; even fingered his prostate a few times while masturbating. That
was
pretty wild. For a few moments, he'd felt he'd never stop cumming. But a dick in his ass? He didn't think so. That was way too gay.
Walking up to David's door, Scott could hear the music blaring from inside, the drums pounding along to Led Zeppelin; David obviously hard at practice. Knowing David would never hear the doorbell, Scott waited for "Rock and Roll" to finish… a mental picture of David, bare-chested, sweat dripping from his hair, slamming away with the sticks, nothing on his mind but the beat.
Scott envied David's talent, or if not his talent, then his gusto. Scott always felt a passion for music and knew he had an ear for it. But he never seriously pursued playing or singing.
He pushed the doorbell twice as the reverberation from the cymbals died.
"Yeah, I'm in the back," was David's invitation.
Scott walked through the living room, around the corner and down the hall into the spare room of the condo, where David kept his indoor toys--drum set, Bow-Flex and a wall-length bookcase packed with all sorts of books, from classics to contemporary literature. David didn't even own a television. When would he find the time to watch?
