Gay erotic fiction inspired by model Keegan courtesy of Southern Strokes. Click to see more!
I'd roomed with Joe for six months, but he didn't know I was gay. I longed to hold him in my arms—to make love to him, but I knew I never would. He had a vehement hatred for `queers', a word he used far too often. We were college juniors and lived in a nice apartment complex with a private balcony. One day I pulled on my little bikini and went to tell Joe I was going for a swim. He was stretched out in the lounge chair on the balcony wrapped in a towel as he'd been waiting for his turn in the shower. He was flipping through a girlie magazine, interested only in the pictures. "I'm going down to the pool, Joe." "Fine—see you later," he said, without even glancing in my direction. "Oh—uh, how long will you be gone?" "About an hour." It was an unusually bright day and I no sooner reached the pool than I decided to return for my sunglasses. I stepped inside the apartment and immediately learned the reason for Joe's curiosity. The towel and magazine lay beside the lounge. Joe's hands were at his groin, rhythmically massaging his cock and balls. I quickly tiptoed to a vantage point where I could see Joe but he couldn't see me. His beautifully shaped feet were propped up on the balcony railing. How I ached to slip my tongue between his long shapely toes. My gaze traveled the length of his muscular legs to where his hands cupped what I longed for most. His beautiful chest rose and fell as his breathing quickened. His nipples hardened as his passion increased. His tongue slid over his lips leaving them moist and shiny. How I longed to run my own tongue between his lips. His hands fell away and I held my breath as I watched his magnificent meat rise up and throb invitingly in the summer air, thick, creamy pre-cum oozing from its tip. He kneaded his swollen nuts for what seemed an eternity before getting down to serious business. Taking his dick in hand he began with long, slow strokes that soon increased in speed to spastic jerks. Reaching the pinnacle, he drew his hand away. His dick stood straight up, pausing a split second, before bursting and sending rivers of semen to spill down the shaft like ice cream melting over a cone. I quickly slipped from the apartment, dazed by what I'd witnessed. Returning to the pool I seemed to be getting more than my share of quick glances and outright stares. I passed it off as my imagination. But it wasn't my imagination. As I sat in the deck chair, I had a rather squishy sensation. I looked down and to my embarrassment my bikini was cum soaked. A huge, dark, wet spot glistened boldly in the 'sunlight. In my overwhelming desire for Joe I had literally creamed my jeans—so to speak. I never knew that sort of thing was possible until now.
