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Archive-name: Samesex/andy.txt


Archive-title: Andy

Amateur erotic fiction: Andy, part 1 (m/m, some adolescent themes)

This is male homosexual erotica. If you skip this article now, there's

nothing on this screen that could possibly irritate you. If you don't like

this kind of fiction, don't write to me about it.

Part one of a multi-part story. Comments, suggestions invited.

Living in my hometown, you weren't a real man unless you wanted to be like

Andy. Strong, handsome, kind and brilliant, he was as perfect a specimen as

you could hope to find. Even self-avowed feminists, with no use for men of

any kind, swooned in Andy's presence. He was just worth it.

  I had known him since high school, when he was the unlikely mix of

scholar and athlete. I was a late bloomer myself, more interested in

computers and the school paper than in doing laps or working out. So other

jocks had their fun at my expense, and I generally took it in stride. I

particularly remembered Andy because he came to my rescue one day. A mean-

spirited oaf decided to pound me because I didn't let him copy my mid-term

test (I only got an 85--he'd have done better to copy from Andy!). I had

already caught one in the face when Andy's voice boomed out from the school

steps. "Hey!" We both turned, and the bully swiftly averted his eyes and

skulked away. Andy looked at me and shook his head, as if to say, "sorry,

kid, some people are just assholes," and he walked back inside. That was as

close as I ever came to knowing Andy. No one bothered me again after that.

  It was some years later--11, to be precise--that I finally started taking

better care of myself. Maybe it was hitting that magical three-oh, seeing

the obits of men buying it at 35 or 40 from heart disease. It was, for me,

time to shape up or risk shipping out. I tried the rower, then the climber,

then the skier, then the bike. Each time, I'd wind up holding a fitness

garage sale a few weeks after the purchase. Knowing my plight, a co-worker

offered to go halves with me on a buy one, get one free membership in a

local health club. This normally wouldn't have been my bag, but after

stepping on the scale that morning, I was ready to take another shot at

being in shape.

  When I first stepped into the club, I was mightily impressed. Everything

gleamed, including the faces of the patrons, and the solid clinks and

thunks of metal-on-metal sounded like music to me. I was psyched. I had

heard rumors that fitness clubs were meat markets, but that wasn't going to

be the case here--the place was full, but there wasn't a woman in sight.

  We paid our dues, picked up locks for our lockers, and trundled off to

the locker room. What a layout! Sauna, whirlpool, big tiled showers...

  Showers. I used to hate them in school. The rest of me developed late,

but parts of me, embarassing parts, were already full-sized by the time I

was 11 or 12. Other boys would point and laugh, or snap their towels at it.

Still others would timidly approach me after gym class and ask me over to

their houses. They'd cook up some pretense, some game, that would have us

undressing in front of each other. Too young to know better, I had quite

the trade in showing curious youngsters what grown-up privates looked like.

Boys with their little pinkies would stare in wide-eyed amazement at this

seemingly monstrous thing. It was in the same place as theirs, but surely I

must have some disease or error of birth that made it so big. It got bigger

when people looked at it, and I worried that I might injure myself when

blood filled it until it shined (as when other boys would touch it).

  I still wasn't tuned in to knowing what sexual pleasure was. I did find

myself dreaming, more than once, that Andy would ask me over to his house

after gym class. We'd go up to his room, close the door, and play strip

poker until we were both in our underwear. We'd make that last deal to show

all, and there he'd be, that pretty boy, showing a stiff dick even bigger

than mine. I attached no emotion to this dream, and didn't even make the

connection that it was a sex fantasy.

  I squeezed my eyelids tight to bring myself back from my reverie. The

shimmering shower tiles came back into focus. I sighed, and headed with my

bag to my corner locker.

  A few minutes later, I emerged in full battle dress, ready to get with

the program. The membership included a few hours with a trainer, and I had

one to myself. Brian was a nice enough guy, with biceps the diameter of my

skull, and he was patient and understanding. "I know you haven't worked out

before," he intoned, "so we'll start you off easy. You'll build some

endurance on the bike, the rower and the climber--use whatever's free, but

don't push yourself." I snickered to myself as I realized I was now paying

to use the same gear I sold in my driveway over the past year. Brian showed

me to the bike first, and that's when I realized that this wasn't going to

be like working out on the Sears KoreaCycle. This bike had a television in

front, headphones and a pulse rate monitor. As I pedaled, the forest path

scene on the TV kept pace, and the headphones murmured with rustling leaves

and bird calls. After what seemed like seconds, Brian's hand was on my

shoulder. I peeled off the headphones and followed him to the next station.

All of the equipment was similarly state-of-the-art, and before long, I had

exhausted myself.

  Brian commended me on my performance (I'm sure he said that to all the

first-timers), gently reminded me that only regular visits can bring you

real fitness, and sent me off to the showers. My tight muscles ached

deliciously as I padded over the carpeted floor to my locker. When my

shorts came off, the air conditioning whirled around my steaming thighs and

crotch. I closed my eyes for a moment and leaned back, propping myself up

by the elbows on the wooden bench, drooping my legs over either side to let

the cool air circulate.

  My eyelids sprung open when I heard the catch of a locker nearby. When I

focused, there was a man standing not three feet from my knees. It must

have been quite a sight, my legs spread wide, my crotch practically pointed

right at him. I sprung upright and pulled one leg over the bench so fast

that I scraped it. "It's okay," the man smiled. "I had a tough workout

myself today. I haven't seen you here before--are you a first-timer?" I

nodded. "Then may I make a suggestion? You really should try the whirlpool.

I'm headed there myself, and I wouldn't mind the company."

  Still feeling a little jolted, I managed a nervous smile and another nod.

Soon we were headed, towels in hand, toward the jacuzzi. I found myself

marveling that I was so relatively calm, despite the unfortunately

introduction, in the presence of another naked man. I walked behind Art,

and allowed myself to notice what a fine shape he had. He was obviously a

weightlifter, because well-defined muscles rippled from his ankles to his

ass when he walked. I marveled at his shape, then felt a little strange

about it--what if he could feel me staring? Nah--just giving myself

something to aim for, I thought. Just think: it'd only take me two or three

years of daily workouts to look that good.

  I stepped into the tub as Art fiddled with controls. No sooner had I sunk

in than fingers of water started rushing over my body. Art showed me how to

move the jets around to massage sore muscles. I did, I thanked him with a

groan, and we settled in to chat and relax. The combination of the rushing,

hot water and the exercise made me feel drunk, and as we talked, I studied

the contours of Art's body. We talked about the economy, and I traced the

line from his chin to his shoulder, down the center of his chest...Art

squirmed in his seat a little, and I realized I wasn't being very careful

about where I stared. I quickly shifted my gaze to Art's face, and realized

that he was looking in my eyes the whole time. He knew I was studying him.

Ah, well. Looking like he did, he was probably used to it.

  We talked a little more, I studied more discreetly, and soon Art

announced that he'd have to get home to his wife soon. I stood up, and felt

compelled to politely wait for Art. He looked up at me and seemed a little

rattled, then stood up very quickly and turned away from me. As he swung

around, I caught a glimpse of Art's semi-erect cock. He headed for the

showers while I stood and puzzled over that for a moment. Then I took off

for a shower of my own.

  The hot water released what was left of my tension, and I was glad to be

rid of the salty coating I had acquired between the gym and the tub. As I

lathered, I thought of asking Art if he could spare time for dinner

sometime after a later workout. "Hey, Art..." I turned around to ask him,

and I found him facing me, several showers away, fully lathered. But now

his dick, which had been only partly erect before, was standing straight

out. Art gasped and turned away from me so fast he almost lost his footing.

"Yeah, um, what is it?", he stammered as he hurriedly rinsed the slippery

lather from his crotch. I inquired about dinner, Art made a nervous

postitive reply, and he ducked back out to the lockers. When he did, I

noticed that he took his clothes from a locker that wasn't in my row.

  When I got home from the gym that night, I tried to do some work on the

computer but found myself distracted. Why should Art be so ashamed of a

silly erection? I got boners in the bath and shower all the time; I didn't

think anything of it, but I suppose it would be a little embarrassing in

front of someone else. No, I couldn't say I didn't think anything of it--I

was surprised at being a little titillated by the sight of a handsome,

muscular man with an erection. Pointed right at me, no less. Should I be

flattered? I wrote that off--no man of his cut could see anything appealing

in a jellyfish like me--and turned in for the night. I dreamed of my

schoolboy idol, Andy, shut in a closet with me. A flashlight shone between

us from the floor as we breathlessly fondled each other's silky young

pricks. I woke up sweaty and hard, calmed myself by alternately drinking

and passing water, and returned to bed.

  I returned to the club two days later. After working out with Brian for a

while, I asked about Art. Brian cocked his head and peered at me with a

strange smile. "Do you know anything about why he left?" When I said I

didn't, Brian explained that Art came in the night before and turned in his

membership. I shrugged, mentioned that I had only met the man once, but he

seemed like a decent chap and it was too bad he wouldn't be around. I was

much more disappointed than I let on, to Brian or to myself.

  Brian left me on my own after that, and I straddled the bike. Headphones

on, I made my way past meadows and pastures, all the while ruminating over

this whole business with Art. I still didn't understand it, although if it

had happened to someone else, I'd know just what to make of it: Art had the

hots for me, I caught him indulging in a fantasy or two, and he blew a

fuse. Of course, seeing that I was involved, I knew there was no way in

hell this built guy would be mooning over the likes of me. There had to be

some other explanation, but how could I explain that I had been counting

the minutes until I could share a bath with this man again? I had to admit

it: I was positively crushed that Art wasn't coming around again.

  Weeks went by. I stuck with my workout regimen and eventually forgot all

about Art. I studied bodies of all shapes in reflections in the chrome

fixtures, even shared a jacuzzi or two with other regulars. I had become a

fixture myself, and hanging out naked with these guys became second nature

to me. Besides, my body was showing changes of its own, and I liked what I

saw. Brian's direction was doing wonders. My belly was firm, my once

mountainous love handles were reduced to tiny hills, and I was feeling good

about myself for the first time in years.

  I must admit that I was given to brief bouts of vanity, standing in front

of my locker door. I'd towel the shower water off my body slowly, feeling

new curves, highs and lows that weren't there only a few weeks before. I'd

plant my foot on the bench, and run the towel up my tight calves and

thighs, squeezing hard to feel the dense muscle underneath. I was no Mr.

America, but I was making good progress.

  I was off in this dreamland, slowly toweling my thigh with one foot on

the bench, when my greatest adventure began. I had lost track of time, and

in my haze, all but a couple of patrons had deserted. I had the whole

locker room to myself, so I took my time. I was indulging my vanity when I

heard a couple of wet footsteps behind me. "Excuse me," a low voice spoke,

and a warm, strong hand gripped my thigh. "My locker's right through here,"

came the voice again, and before I could step aside, the man started past

me. His hand was clearly there to keep me from falling over, but it also

held me firmly in place as he inched by. His thigh touched my ass and I

tried to recoil, but the hand held firm and the body kept moving. There was

obviously no intent--the movements were those of a man squeezing into a

movie seat or on his way to the airplane lavatory. He was facing my

backside, and I felt his warm, hairy leg tickle my skin as it went past. He

scooted inside even more, pressing tighter against me, and with a quick

move I felt his leg, then his inner thigh as he stepped up, then he moved

forward. I felt an unfamiliar shape, then I realized that this man's penis

was nestled between the cheeks of my ass! It only lasted for the merest

instant, and he was, in fact, fully by me in only two or three seconds. I

was frozen there for a moment, looking at this man standing in front of his

locker but stunned that I could still feel a soft, moist cock pressed

against my butt. I found myself with an unconcealable erection, and

suddenly I knew how Art felt. The stranger was turned slightly away from

me, but he'd look over now and then to smile at me. My face was bright red,

and I hurriedly stepped into my briefs in an attempt to get my raging hard-

on under wraps.

  That night, I had that dream about Andy. Only this time we were hiking in

the woods. He said he had to pee, so we stopped and watered a shared tree.

Andy turned to me and asked, "I wonder what it feels like if somebody

kisses it." Kisses what, I asked, and Andy nodded toward his cock. With

each dream, Andy's cock got bigger, and in this one, his was as large

flaccid as mine was fully erect. "I don't know," I offered in response,

"but I bet it feels good." Andy looked down for a moment, then at me. "Can

I try it?"

  I didn't know if that meant I was supposed to kiss his or he was supposed

to kiss mine. Either way, my heart started racing when Andy took a few

steps back from the damp leaves and pulled his pants to his knees. He began

tugging on his cock, and I watched silently as it grew in his hand. He

reached underneath to play with his balls, and when he squeezed his ass

tight, his cock surged and his cockhead got shiny. I knelt down on the

ground in front of Andy, taking tiny steps on my knees. The tip of his cock

appeared and disappeared inside his fist as he worked himself, and his huge

balls hung low between his legs. I wanted his dick in my mouth more than I

ever wanted anything, and the more I walked on my knees, the closer his

dick got, until it was right in front of my face. I could see hole weeping

clear fluid, which he picked up with his fingers and swirled around the

tip. I steadied myself with my hand on his thigh, and opened my mouth. I

closed my eyes so nothing could interfere with the sensation of the tip of

his huge cock cresting over my lips. Andy breathed hard as he guided

himself into my waiting mouth. My own cock suddenly burst in my hand,

gushing hot, sticky juice all over. I opened my eyes to watch Andy's cock

slide over my tongue.

  I saw white linen, lit by the sun from the window. I brought up my hand

to prop myself up, and it was as messy as it had been in my dream. The

bedding was soaked. I chuckled ashamedly to myself--I felt like a damned

kid. Imagine. Wet dreams at my age. I dropped the linens in the washer

while I showered.

  While I was eating my breakfast, a flash of that fast-fading dream

stabbed my mind. I was about to do something. I was...we were in this

forest, and we had just taken a piss, and we...

  I was about to suck that boy's cock! My eyes got wide with that

realization. But it was more than that, because at some level, I obviously

found the concept so exciting that the mere thought of it was enough to

make me shoot into my own sheets. Those last few scenes, the big, hard cock

growing ever closer, just about to taste it now, flickered in my mind like

a silent movie. All through work that day, scenes from that dream flashed

and made me jump up to distract myself. Get a soda, or walk to the copier,

for Pete's sake do something, but you can't spend the whole day with a


  I went straight from work to the gym, hoping to work off some of my

frustrations. I got changed and made a beeline for my bike. I must have

been pedaling at 50 miles per hour because Brian came over and tapped me on

the arm, hard. "Take it easy," he mouthed, knowing that I had the

headphones turned up loud. I nodded a "yeah, sure" in his direction and

picked up the pace again.

  I wore myself out, and by the time I got to my locker, I was about ready

to fall over. I planted a foot on the bench to get my leg dry, hoping I had

enough energy to make the drive home. I toweled quickly, and then heard

sopping footsteps behind me. They seemed to walk past, but then I heard it:

"Excuse me--my locker's just down this way." The hand gripped my waist, and

once again, this stranger's body slid behind me. I must have been a little

further out in the aisle this time, because he had to push into me pretty

hard to get past. When he got halfway through, I lost my balance and

started to tip over. Another powerful hand took hold of my waist on the

other side, steadying me, and only after I regained my balance did I notice

that I had a cock pressed hard into the crack of my ass. He held me there

for a few seconds to make sure I was balanced, and I could have sworn I

felt him press his groin into me. His hands squeezed my waist tight, and

his cock twitched inside my split. But once again, by the time I knew what

was happening, he was already by me, that brief period of slow motion gone.

  I had another intense dream that night. Andy and I were on a bed, naked.

We were stroking each other's stiff cocks and rubbing our hands over each

other's chests. I bent over and took one of his tender, hairless nipples in

my mouth, squeezing his shaft while I traced rings around his tit with my

tongue. I sucked hard and bit down a little. Andy thrust his well-muscled

hips up and gasped, fucking my fist as I munched on his hardened nipple. I

reached under him as he arched, grabbing a handful of his exquisite ass,

kneading and biting and stroking. He played with my hair, then gently urged

my head lower. I left a trail of wet kisses down his chest, across his

belly, around to his sensitive laterals, inside again to his hip. I felt

his giant cock straining against my fingers, anticipating the fateful slide

into my slick, waiting mouth. I righted myself, kneeling over him, gripping

his immense shaft as I lowered my face toward the glistening, throbbing,

purple head. I parted my lips and tasted the rich, salty texture of Andy's

jism on the tip of my tongue. I pursed my lips to encircle the very tip of

his cockhead, darting my tongue against the underside of his shaft as he

gently pushed my head lower onto him. I opened wide to accept him.

  Once again, I was denied. The din of rumbling trash cans outside made me

think it was morning. Actually, a foraging dog had overturned the

neighbor's cans. It was smack in the middle of the night. I lay in bed--at

least it was relatively dry this time--coated with sweat and beset with a

pounding erection. I kicked off the blankets and wrapped my fingers around

my cock. I closed my eyes and tried to recall the dream. I saw the

pictures--Andy's perfect body, that beautiful, giant cock, the reflections

in the shimmering fluid that gathered at its tip--but unlike the dream, I

couldn't taste or feel. No matter, the images were enough. I had never

sucked a cock, but I sunk everything I had into imagining that Andy was

there with me, and that I was going down on him with abandon. I pictured

the wide shot, seeing us both from the side, Andy pumping his cock into my

mouth, arching his back high off the bed when I took him deep into my

throat. I massaged his balls while my fingers probed his ass, the crack

made slick by a mixture of sweat, saliva and jism. I stroked and sucked

Andy's massive cock until he couldn't stand it any more. I shut my eyes

tight and pictured him coming, jets of thick, creamy liquid leaping from

his cock and hitting my face, running in sticky rivers down my cheeks and

around my mouth. I bucked and tensed as my own real-life orgasm matched

his, squirt after endless squirt, pumping with such force that my own cum

was landing around my neck and bouncing off my chin.

[more to come...]


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