Blowjob Gay Sex Stories - Page 3

You know the one - I think it was started by some dude named Craig. Just for kicks ('cause I'm straight) I opened the postings for men seeking men. Thought it would be funny to see what the local queers were up to. There was a posting on the site for a glory hole. He showed enough reluctance to convince me he was a virgin to this kind of thing.
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Although I'm not really in the closet, I don't advertise myself, either - especially at work - but after three hours of non-stop drinking, I was feeling reckless. After three hours of staring at Craig, the manager of our company store, I was feeling horny, too, especially since I knew he was gay. Well, I was nervous and excited. Anyway, we went back into his office and he started talking.
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I guess one of the guys who moved back had owned the house but it did not sell so back he came. Let me tell you about this neighborhood, it has some of the hottest men in California. Across the street are a Dad and grown son who works on his cars all the time. Next to them is a married guy with a hairy chest who works in the yard often. He was such a turn on. WOW, I was hooked.
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Nebraska to New York. Nebraska to New York. I guess I've been driving that route for over fifteen years now. It was a long trip and it was a boring trip. Long hours at the wheel of my eighteen-wheel refrigerated trailer-truck, delivering meat from the heartland to the East Coast. I had a good steady job with Macon, Mitchell and Marlin, the big meat company, and I certainly wasn't complaining.
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They all tend to be white-collar business types; men in their late thirties to early fifties; stressed to the max with their "str8" careers and "st8" lives with very little free time to indulge in their real fetishes. These suits are always watching the clock, always racing to appointments, but also anxious for sex and always living double lives; your typical American male masochist.
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My reasons for abandoning the Noble Art were that I was leaving school, starting a good job on the Stock Exchange and was fed up with a life which was limited to studying and training. My last fight was to be against Errol Collins, a black guy who I had fought on a number of previous occasions.
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I was 29 and living in Huntington, West Virginia. It's a city of 60,000 or so on the Ohio river near where West Virginia, Kentucky, and Ohio meet. I was "between" lovers that summer and went out to the gay men's clubs fairly frequently. This black cop pulls me over. He jokes about me not having scored this night and then tells me he will change that.
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Sure, there was really no rush at the bookstore, with an amazing two people in the store at the time -- myself and the owner -- but it was the 23rd of December and the roads were packed with cars doing their Christmas shopping. I chose a transsexual DVD that was a steal, paid the owner/clerk, and left for home.
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We get along very well and often joke that if he were gay, we'd be a couple. He's a hot guy in my eyes, mid 30s, 6 foot, 180, very hairy chest and belly (slight beer belly), doesn't work out but plays sports and has an average build. One night we went to a party and got rather drunk, because his place was within walking distance and neither of us could drive he invited me to spend the night.
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Tricky Dicky was POTUS, 'Nam raged on with body bags arriving at Alameda Naval Air Station every day, and I was a long-haired hippie living in the Bay Area, actually out in a wooded part of Menlo Park at the time, and occasionally I'd make the trip to The City to sex out.
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