We’re Not Gay (Erotica)

Gay Men Sex and Shame (1)

The shame, the paranoia, the guilt, I’d experienced it all in high school. I’d watch the other guys in the shower out of the corner of my eye, terrified I’d get an erection and be discovered. After that you’d think I’d grow up and come out of the closet, but I pretended to myself as much as anyone else that I wasn’t gay. I dated, I had sex, I got my first apartment, and still I looked at other guys out of the corner of my eye.

My friend Hunter wasn’t gay. Slim, tall and attractive, women draped themselves over him, and though he was too much of a gentleman to boast, I knew he’d had all the sex they could throw at him. Being slim and short, I’d had fewer adventures, but enough to know something was missing for me. I was surprised one night to discover that Hunter wasn’t entirely satisfied with his sex life either.

We’d crashed at my place after too many beers, as we often did since he still lived with his parents. I only had a bachelor apartment, so I opened my bed and he crashed on the couch nearby as usual. I loved this arrangement because in the dark I’d feel myself get hard in the secrecy of my sheets, even if we just talked about work or chicks or whatever. Knowing he lay a few feet away in his boxers made me tremble quietly. I was only twenty after all.

“It’s all about adventure, I guess,” he said that night. “I mean, there’s no challenge. You undo their bra and they pull it off. You’re in bed before you know it. Wham bam!”

“I think you date a different type of woman from the ones I know,” I said, knowing I sounded jealous but not caring.

“I…I mean, I find it more exciting if it takes a bit more work. Like if you have to win a strip poker game, or, well, if you have to restrain them.” I could hear his blush. This was heady stuff to admit. I decided it needed a really frank reply.

“I’m into a little bondage with a willing partner,” I said.

“Oh, me too! I mean, I don’t want to rape anyone or anything like that. I’d be as happy if they tied me down. You know, so one of us had no choice but to go along. Just to spice things up a bit.”

Bondage wasn’t something I was for or against, but suddenly I had an image of my legs high in the air, my hands secured to the bed posts, and Hunter naked on top of me. My quiet tremble began.

“I’ve thought of that,” I lied. “A little playful spanking, a little teasing. I’ve often wondered what it’d be like to be spanked.”

“Yeah.” He sighed that out, and I knew immediately that spanking had played a part in his fantasies. I had to pursue this. I may have felt guilty, but I wanted to see his near naked body again as I had when he had stripped down before he hopped into the sleeping bag on the couch.

“My problem,” I said, trying to keep the quaver out of my voice and sound clinical. “Is that I don’t know what’s reasonable to expect from a spanking. If I fantasize giving or receiving forty slaps, is that too many?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never spanked or been spanked. I guess you haven’t either?”

“I was taking this chick from behind once and I gave her a playful swat. She groaned and pushed into me, which was great, so I gave her a few more. She asked me to stop but she went wild. We had a great fuck, but after that she gave me a lecture about all men being potential rapists and she never slept with me again.”

“That’s what kills me,” said Hunter as he shifted in the sleeping bag. I tried to pierce the darkness with my eyes. Could I see a lump where his groin would be? “It’s not that I want to dominate women. I’d love to be tied down myself. It’s about playing a game. Making things more interesting. I mean, I bet you’d love to have a chick spank you as much as the other way around.”

“Well, I think it’s important if I’m to know if what I’m fantasizing is reasonable. I’d love to know what it would feel like to get ten good swats on my butt. From anyone. Just to know, you know.”

“Yeah, but no chick is likely to comply.” Again I heard him shift. I knew he was as hot as a cat. I could picture those beautiful abs contracting and expanding as he moved. I’d seen him in the change room enough to know that a reasonable sized cock now brushed the inside of his boxers. He had to be hard.

“You know, I don’t even care if it’s a chick.” I knew I was going way out on a limb here. “I mean, I’m just curious to know what ten good smacks feel like. I mean, you could give them to me. It’s just about knowing if any of my fantasies are reasonable.”

The room became heavy with silence, and I panicked for a moment, thinking I’d pushed things too far.

“Well, if all you want is to know what a spanking is like, I can give you one,” he said. His voice sounded thick.

“If you don’t mind. I know it sounds gay and all, but I just want to know, and like you said, no chick’ll teach me.”

“No, no, I know what you mean.” He sat up quickly. His nude chest sculpted by the moonlight through my window; neither of us had chest hair. “It’s a hard thing to ask. It’s not that we’re gay.”

Hard! He didn’t know the half of it. I sat up and tried not to look like I was trembling.

“No, of course not. But if you don’t mind, I mean, I have to be naked for it to work.”

“Oh, yeah, of course. Skin on skin is very important in this kind of game.”

I stood on that cue even though I knew my boxers would tent significantly. I paused for a moment, admiring my lithe frame in the weak light, before I slipped my boxers down to my ankles and stepped out of them.

“Bend over the chair here,” he directed as he stood, pretending he didn’t see my skinny seven-inch erection. He motioned me to my over-stuffed arm chair. I stepped up to the back and he pushed me over it until my hands pressed against the seat, my erection caressing the back of the chair. I knew I’d get pre-cum on the fabric but I didn’t care. I was lost in the touch of his hand between my shoulder blades as he had pushed me down. Even after he let go my skin tingled in that spot.

The first slap only hit one cheek and weakly at that, but still I shuddered and I felt my sex twitch against the chair.

“Did that hurt?” asked Hunter.

I looked over my shoulder, enjoying the vulnerable feeling of being bent over beneath him. My eyes traveled up a leg of light hair to see him over me with one hand in the air, a young athlete with tented boxers. The secreted erection, so close but so obvious, made me wet my lips.

“No, it just kind of surprised me. I imagined spanking would be a lot harder.”

“Like this?” He slapped my left buttock with more enthusiasm. “Or like this?” He slapped my right buttock. Both made me jerk, more because I wanted to rather than from any pain. I suddenly realized that I liked the spanking.

“Even harder.” My voice came out as a hoarse whisper, choked with passion. I prayed he didn’t notice.

“Uhm, little bitch is tough,” he said as he delivered a good crack to my left cheek. This time my jerk firmly ground my organ into the chair until I pushed my behind back into the air. Hearing him call me a little bitch sent a thrill through my veins. Suddenly, as if he were an artillery man who’d found his range, he opened up on me. Six quick hard slaps on each buttock. That was over the ten I’d asked for, but I had no complaints. He stopped and began to massage my left buttock with one hand. It burned in reply.

“Did that hurt too much?” he asked.

I bit back a groan and fought to control myself. I could have pushed my cock into the back of that chair and ruined it with the half-dozen shots that wanted to burst forth.

“No, actually. In my fantasies I’d cry out in pleasure and pain, but I guess you’d have to slap harder and more to make that happen.” I made no attempt to stand, and he switched to massaging my right buttock. I felt so open to him, so ready.

“I can make that happen.” He grabbed my upper arm and pulled me around the arm chair. “Lie across my lap,” he said after he sat down. My mouth went dry. I bent over his knees and felt my erection squash between his upper thigh and my stomach, taking most of my weight. He grabbed my hip and pulled me toward him, as if protecting me from slipping over his knees, but the maneuver pressed my side into his erection. Did I even feel his hips thrust toward me?

He began to slap each buttock hard, and each time my jerking reaction thrust me into his leg and rubbed my side along his firmness. My buttocks began to feel hot, and the slaps really began to sting. Now I didn’t jerk for effect, I spasmed in reaction to the slaps. They hurt! I bit my lip though, not wanting it to end until he was so hot that he’d rip off his shorts and impale me over the armchair right there. Finally a cry forced its way past my lips. He gave me three more good slaps, apparently enjoying each cry that ripped from me.

To my utter disappointment he stopped then, but he massaged my buttocks for a while, pressing in the fire. Lying naked over his knee like that, feeling him caress my behind, remains one of the best memories I have of sex. It didn’t last however. He stood and gently helped me up, but then he hurried to the safety of his sleeping bag.

Suddenly I felt humiliated, but I decided to not be ashamed.

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