We came into my cabin. We had been sun bathing on the top deck of this cruise ship, and now it was time for something else.
I told Ray I'd better shower and he could join me if he wanted.
Suddenly he looked a bit shy like he wasn't sure this young man really would be interested in him if I saw him naked. But I was.
"Don't be shy, sweetheart," I said as I kissed him on the lips and started taking off my clothes.
Ray followed my lead and started undressing. Not that we had much on it had been a hot day in the Caribbean.
Ray is cute with his clothes on, but his naked body really turned me on. I had only met him this morning and this was the first time to see him nude.
Once naked, he looked at me and smiled at me. His smile is wonderful.
In we went, to the shower room, which wasn't very big so we ended standing right next to each other with very little space around us.
Therefore it was more natural for us to soap each other rather than ourselves. Soon it was more about kissing and fondling than getting clean.
We came into my cabin. We had been sun bathing on the top deck of this cruise ship, and now it was time for something else.
My name is jakoby and I just turned 17, I have a true dad/son story to tell. First let me go back to when it all started, when I must of been 8, as far as I can remember.
First of all, let me add that I'm gay and very feminine. Even at 8, I acted like a little girl, and my younger brother Derek, who's a year younger than me, was a rough and tumble, aggresive brute and beat on me constantly, when ever he could get a chance, which I tried to avoid as often as possible.
My parents were going through problems with their marriage and were constantly fighting and arguing. My mom, at the time, was 16, and my dad 17 when I was born, they didn't get married until I was 4 and my dad was 21.
Well, they got divorced after a brief marriage and my dad took Derek with him and my mom took me. My dad always favored Derek over me, because he didn't like the way I was, being a sissy and all.
I can remember times when he and my mother would get into arguments about not taking me along to ball games with him and Derek every weekend,probably because of my sissy behavior, I think he was embarrassed of me.
Stan was a widower about 60 years old, and was retired from his engineering job of 35 years six years when his wife suddenly died. Their two kids had long since moved away, and were secure in their own family lives ,and rarely had time to visit the folks, although they did keep in touch with Stan and Helen through long-distance calls, and later on, emails. Since Helen's death, Stan became kind of a loner.
He was not much of a joiner, although he was social, but not a party-guy. He mostly endured the social requirements, and was the butt of soft jokes at his lack of enthusiasm at most events he was forced to attend.There were the invites to dinner by the friends, and the lame attempts to get him 'hooked up' with this lady or that, all to no avail. Stan just wasn't interested, and gently let people know he wasn't interested. He would tell them he was a 'one-woman' man and that usually took care of that, so gradually, people learned that he really would rather be left alone. He was never rude, just distant, they said. Just wanted to be left to his own devices and do the kind of things he enjoyed.
When I was 18 back in the Sixties, in my last year of high school, I met the school bus every day at the gate of the Army post where my father was stationed. Those were confusing years. I was still trying to decide if I wanted to go on to college or get a job -- maybe even enlist in the Army like my father had at my age.
Dad was a drill instructor at a US Army basic training fort. In the Army, "drill instructor" was a military occupational specialty (MOS), meaning that Dad, unlike in the Marine Corps, could be a drill sergeant year after year. After years as an infantryman and a couple of wounds in combat, I think Dad preferred the life of an instructor.
Dad was a tough guy. Maybe because of his combat experience and his day-to-day screaming and raging at the recruits. Maybe he was just the no-nonsense type. But I was always a little afraid of Dad as I grew up. He had a quick temper, and I got more than one smack for doing something he didn't like. He wasn't exactly cruel to me, just . . . distant. Like he couldn't quite figure me out. Like he could deal with Army recruits but not something as complicated as a little kid.
It was my last hour of the day, another boring ass day in Math class, and my teacher was still lecturing about fuckin' algebra shit. I always ask myself why we gotta do this shit? I don't need it in my future. Shit, I'm tryna be a basketball player not a fuckin' math teacher, and it figures this class is my longest. Even though, the class is boring and the work is bullthe teacher ain't that bad lookin'. Naw, he's fine as hell! He was about 6ft 1, nice mahogany brown skin complexion, and big brown eyes with glass over them to make him look studious, short black curly hair, a thick strong neck, incredible sized pecs, beautiful abs, and legs that are just too beautiful to describe. I mean this brotha got it goin' on!
The bell rings and finally this damn class was over for the day. I was in such a hurry to get out; I accidentally knocked all my shit on the floor. "Dayum!" I yelled. Mr. Howard looked over to see what happened. Everyone was gone and I was there on the floor looking like a dumb ass, picking up my papers and shit. "Are you alright, Darron?" he asked me with his baritone voice vibrating over me. I looked up and there was my dream looking down at me. "Yeah, I'm cool." I said in a low tone. "Here, let me help you." He leaned down to pick up the rest of my papers and I noticed his hands.
It is the Easter weekend and the rain has set in and I can't go to the beach so I sit here hoping to get off soon on the erotic stories from Mature Gay Stories and look at some of the hot young naked hunks and nice hard cocks.
It's boring but my thoughts wander back to Easter twenty years ago - I was in my late thirties when at the last minute I decided to take a ten day cruise of the Pacific out of Sydney. I was lucky (in more ways than one it turned out) to get a twin share berth due to a late cancellation.
Upon embarkation I found my cabin - although it was an inside one with no window it was quite roomy and comfortable with two single bunks and bathroom. As I opened my bag to get a change of gear I wondered to myself what the guy was like with whom I would be sharing hoping it was not some really old guy when there was a knock on the door. I opened it and there he was - he looked to be in his fifties with grey hair and wearing dress jeans and polo shirt and sneakers and he seemed to look very straight laced indeed.
Picture it, a town of 900 in 1960 with one barber - that's enough since half the population would be men.
Mr. Daniel, my father's barber, was a nice old man who only charged 2 "bits" for a hair cut - that's two quarters and he even gave us back ten cents if I sat still. Then Bud came to town. He charged a whole dollar. He was also divorced with a son my age.
Bud had all the newest equipment and a shop on the street. Mr. Daniel had his shop in the basement of the hotel. Yes, we had a hotel. Why, no one knew.
Bud also gave the newest hair cuts, flattops with Butch wax and every thing Mr. Daniel had a hard time doing a flattop since he was old and his hands were not steady. So being 15 and wanting to be in style, I went to see Bud.
Sitting in Bud's chair was neat. Bud was over 6 foot tall and had muscles bulging out his sleeves. He wore a white coat which hid most of the rest of his torso.
During my first haircut, I noticed something different about Bud. I sat real still for him, like I did for Mr. Daniel with my hands hanging over the arm rest. But as Bud moved around the chair to cut the sides and front of my hair, he would lean into the back of my hands. At first I didn't think a thing about it, but the second and third time it happened I noticed a large bulge drag across my fingers.
It was my 18th summer. I was on my way to college in the fall. My father suggested I spend the summer at his brother's place on his ranch in Montana. I had never met my uncle, but if he's anything like my father, he's probably beautiful. My Dad has given me great genetics.. We both have muscular bodies and work out together all the time. My Dad is much more developed than I am, with grapefruit shoulders and beautiful tits, capped with pointed brown nipples.
My father decides when we workout, what body parts we work on, and even what we wear. He makes me wear tight spandex clothes, usually sheer. When we start to sweat, our clothes become almost completely see thru in all the right places. My Dad talks about my body while we work out, telling me that my tits are starting to look real good, and my thighs look hard and beautiful.
One day, however, he told me I wasn't working hard enough, and that I needed extra motivation. He said that when you build up testosterone while you work out, it pumps the muscle to bigger extremes.... He told me to play with myself through my spandex. "Rub yourself with one hand while you do bicep curls with the other." I tried to, but couldn't concentrate. He told me to think about the weight... just the weights. and then He started to rub my ass.... he counted each rep as his hands moved to my spandex covered cock. If I stopped pushing the weights, he would get real pissed and threaten to stop the workout. I told him I would do as he says...
This happened back in 1975. I was 23 then. I had moved from Xxxxxxx to Xxxx with my lover in 1973. I had told my folks that I was gay in 1972 and they didn't take too kindly to it, especially my mother. She still treated me okay, but she would never have anything to do with any of my lovers. My family had always liked to go camping as I was growing up and in July of '75 they decided to come up to Kentucky where I would meet them.
They had a small travel trailer which they pulled with my daddy's pickup truck. My sister, 2 years older than me, came with them. They had found a small privately owned campground near Frankfort and when I got there they already had the trailer unhooked and set up. We visited a while and went sightseeing in my car.
We grilled burgers that night and stayed up late visiting and catching up. At bed time, my mother said for me to sleep with daddy in the back bedroom and she and my sister would sleep up front. (The seats for the dining table converted to beds.) Daddy had always slept in his boxers for as long as I could remember and I usually slept naked but needless to say I kept my briefs on.
I had had my eye on Aleksey since the skating season began. He was the new partner for Tonya in the ice pairs division, and he was sheer sex on ice. He was all dark, brooding good looks; muscle and power and with curly black hair on his arms and legs and swirling around his pecs and diving in a wide path down into his leotard. He wore his jet black hair long, in a pony tail, with a few strands loose across his face, only seeming to hide his piercing eyes and sensual mouth, making them all the more desirable.
The public was able to see the loop ring through one ear, but only those of us who saw him in practice and in the showers knew of the ring through a nipple and the other, maddenly intriguing one down below, in the helmet of his cock.
All season long, I had agonized over the thought of that cock ring running up and down my ass canal, but Aleksey had hardly spoken to me at all, let alone given me a tumble. The lack of attention and interminable waiting only made me love and want him more.
As I was growing up, my Dad and I lived in a small town about 4 hours out of Melbourne along the main highway to Sydney. My Dad owned and ran a diner and truck stop (we lived out the back in a small house as there was only the both of us).
My mother died when I was 2 so I never got to know her and grew up alone with my Dad. I was born here in Australia but my Mum and Dad came from Greece way back in the 1940's. Both worked and lived at the diner when I was born - but from the age of 2 it was just me and my Dad.
When I was around 14, my Dad got me to help out during the summer holidays over the Christmas period. I remember I was given general duties (most of the cleaning and running errands for him and some of the local Truckers).
At that stage my Dad was a very quiet man. He was firm and quite strict but he was also very quiet. Some of the guys that would come into the diner were always mouthing off, loud, crass and general really loud. Not my Dad - he was very quiet and spoke very few words.
I was in the 6th grade and couldn't have been more than 12 years old when I first discovered I like boys. It seemed like a natural thing for me. I wasn't too bad to look at with my light blond hair that flung across my forehead, light completion and deep blue eyes. Most girls seemed to like me but I wasn't interested in them.
One of my first and most memorable experiences was right after baseball practice. I had gone into the boy's dressing room to shower and put on my street clothes. For some reason I was one of the last to remain and as I was setting on one of the benches in the locker area putting on my shoes Joe, one of the older 8th graders came into the locker room completely naked after his shower. I was surprised but remained calm. He didn't seem embarrassed; in fact he casually stood near and dried his head with a towel. He looked over at me and nodded and spoke.
"Hey there. How come you didn't get to bat today? I saw you setting on the bench all during practice."
When I think of dirty old men, I think of Ike Thomas and when I think about Ike I get a hard on that won't quit.
Sixty years ago,I worked in what was once my Grandfather's Greenhouses. Gramps had died a year earlier and Grandma, now in her seventies had been forced to sell to the competition. I got a job with the new owners and mostly worked the range by myself. That summer, they hired a man to help me get the benches ready for the fall planting.
Ike always looked like he was three days from a shave and his whiskers were dirty white under the brim of his battered felt fedora.
He did nott chew tobacco but the corners of his mouth turned down in a way that, at any moment, I expected a trickle of thin, brown juice to creep down his chin. His bushy, brown eyebrows shaded pale, gray eyes.
Old Ike, he extended his hand, lifted his leg like a dog about to mark a bush and let go the loudest fart I ever heard. The old man winked at me. "Ike Thomas is the name and playing pecker's my game.
I'm actually in my mid 20's now, but I want to share my first memory of getting caught in the act. I have been caught jacking off many times, but this is the one that sticks in my head the most. Once I figured out that getting caught turned me on, I would actually set it up so I would get caught. For those of you who have been caught before, you might share my fetish. For those of you that haven't, sit back and listen to the best fucking story ever.
It all started when I was a teenager. I was home alone on a Friday afternoon and everyone in my family was out of town for the weekend. Everyone except for my father, that is. But I knew he wasn't going to be home until later. So I had all that time to myself and I knew exactly what I was going to do. I am sure all of you remember being a teenager, and how it was hard to even get five minutes alone. That is why every time I got the chance I would go for it. I would play with myself and do what ever else I wanted, because no one was around. Any guy loves that, no matter what they say.