Gay Historical Sex Stories

Sydney Rent Boy Spanking

A time when sex was for sale in city parlours. This was an illegal activity so part of the profits went towards bribing the authorities. An evening newspaper published adverts in their Personal columns offering forbidden delights 'down queer street'. Horny punters soon worked out what was on offer and called the advertised telephone number. I worked in one such parlor at the age of 18.
3.5 beginnings

How a Boy Survives in Athens Among the Spartans

They trained for hours, never ending; block and parry, doge and thrust, back again. From sunrise to sunset there was only heat, the clash of metal, and the grunting of men. I was never able to join in, of course, I wasn't one of them. My parents died when I was young, so I had to manage on my own.
3.4

Welcome Home, Soldier

A veteran of the Desert Campaign, I was delighted to once again be on Australian soil. Actually, I only had to walk a few yards from the troop ship tied to a wharf in Sydney harbor to a train which was waiting on the wharf. While I walked, I breathed in the clean, fresh air and felt the warm sunshine on my face. It was good to be home. The sleeping car attendant showed me to my compartment.
3.7

The Wild Boy Prince

There was a big tub in one of the chambers that I would use; the process of first boiling and then cooling the water for me always took most of the day. I took baths for fun. I loved collecting the bubbles in my hands and letting them run down my body. I loved the curtain of steam that would form over me, partially covering my skinny white figure in the midst of that large, ugly room.
3.5

Prince And Pauper

A little too much of London's grimy streets. " Prince Hal couldn't be punished for being bad, after all, he was the boy-king to be. But I could be punished in his place. I had this great job inside the palace; I was the whipping boy. If Hal forgo a royal prerogative and broke etiquette, like farting and giggling in front of the Spanish Ambassador, I'd be in for it.
3.4

Plantation Slave Fucks White Guy

I am a slave on a cotton plantation, I live with my woman called Portia and my child. Life is hard but good for us slaves, master Johnson up in the big house is good to us all. Well, as good as a white master can be to his slaves, but his no good white trash overseer is hard and cruel.
3.8

The Trial

It wasn't a dream. He's still here. That's his hand stroking my penis, trying to wake me up. I better pretend to be asleep. He's stroking from the base to the tip and I'm getting hard. I daren't look. He's blowing warm air up my spine, wants to fuck me again. I've forgotten his name. I've forgotten what he looks like. I think he has sandy blond hair, tied at the back like a pony's tail.
3.2

Torpedoed

At the age of 18, I was the only member of my family to have survived the bombing of Dresden. After the war I was repatriated to Australia to live with my mother's only brother. Uncle Kurt was in his late twenties. A friendly, outgoing man, he helped break down strong anti-German feelings, still present in a country which had lost so many of its sons.
3.7

Gay Western Showdown

Fuckin unbelievable. What am I doin¹ here? I should be home on the range giving head to a ramrod or trail-boss, or even a chuck-wagon cook, not stuck out here, in the middle of the street wilting under a high noon sun with some fucking barn­-boy ready to blow my fuckin' brains out.
3.9

Rambone Gay Cowboy Story

It was late evening, we sat in front of the roaring fire. Harvest Rambone, U. S. Marshall, sitting in the big armchair, his belly full of my good cooking. I sat on the carpet by the hearth, gently laying my arms on his broad thighs, my head in his lap. The fire lapped us with bright orange gleams, and it was time for stories.
3.4

Post Your Stories on Taletopia