Rough Velvet: Alternative

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Frustrations of a gay virgin man after hours.
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'Rough Velvet' is my collection of short stories, focussing mainly homosexual male erotica, and is made for those looking to get to the heat of the moment a bit more quickly by painting vivid pictures for the imagination, rather than detailed story and character development. The series is all about presenting gay male eroticism, usually sans romance and intellectual facets, amidst exotic backdrops to provide an evocative image for the mind, as well as an exploration of the many aspects and fantasies of this subsection of erotica. In time, the 'Rough Velvet' series will hopefully have something for every fan of the genre.

Not every man who has homosexual desires are flamboyant gays or depraved sex addicts. Some of them just want a normal life, with a chance to indulge in their sexual preference as others might pursue their heterosexual tendencies. It's so simple a thing, yet not easily done -- despite how far society has come, there's still that bit more to go. Such a man has to worry about its effect on his career if he's successful, or how many real friends he really has when he finally comes out of the closet. What about his family's reaction -- the anger of the almighty father figure, the disappointment of a mother? Some lucky few find acceptance, many do not. It comes as no surprise that most prefer to play this ground cautiously. Of course even such a man still has his desires and longings -- for him, the privacy of his house is, for the longest time, his surest sanctuary, and the relief of masturbation his most reliable outlet to enjoy the fantasy of being with another man. At least until the real thing should chance along...

[**Disclaimer**] This story is purely a work of fiction, including all characters described herein. Similarities between people living or dead are purely coincidental.

Sitting in his armchair, Tom studied the glass in hand -- the two ice cubes and the inch of amber whiskey at the bottom -- the day had been long but it was at an end and this was his private time. Moderately successful, his condo reflected that he had money to spare with its polished wooden flooring, elaborate carpets, a broad cedar wood cabinet on which reposed a wide plasma television and entertainment system, even a quartz chandelier and glass cabinet with selected spirits and wines. The ice slipped noisily, prompting a sigh from the owner and he set the glass to his lips and drained it in a single draught.

Despite luxurious surroundings and Tom's success as a businessman, he lived here alone. It would not take any great stretch of time or effort on his part to have female companionship if he wanted or even just a lady for the night; he was handsome enough with the dark waves of his hair and chocolate eyes, complemented by a squared jaw and his clean-shaven features helped to accentuate youth without detracting from manhood. Rather, he had never felt the need or desire to bring women to his apartment.

When his restlessness finally gnawed too hard, he stood up abruptly and with purpose, marching to his bedroom, and shuffling through a drawer of papers before finding the small pendrive he was looking for. On his way out, he briefly considered the bed with moody eyes, before passing it over. Setting it into his video system, he allowed himself to collapse heavily onto the leather couch, stretching for the remote controller and flicking the screen into life. Images flared and animated themselves on the display for his entertainment, but the first few minutes were boring and Tom looked on flatly, though he did loosen his tie as the whiskey's heat began to rise.

Like many men at this hour of the day, Tom's thoughts had long since drifted to something of a more carnal nature. Unlike many men, he did not think of the slick wetness of a woman's crotch, parted and willing, but rather the urgent rigidness of a man's erection, arrogant and demanding. Contrary to all the stereotypical displays of manliness he promoted in public, Tom's private desires were for his fellow man. He did not think of the coy blonde secretary, but rather the smirking office boys; the no-nonsense executive; the rough, hard-drinking stranger in the bar. It was not a part of his life that anyone knew about, the times being what they were, and it was a constant source of frustration. Sometimes he wished he was just another nobody with a replaceable job, so that he could enjoy a robust sex life to indulge his homosexual desires, rather than constantly worry about its cost to his career in a society that had expectations for a successful man.

Gritting his teeth, he finally set upon the buckle of his belt and freed himself of his trousers, kicking them into the corner of the room. His socks and shoes and briefs followed, and he had unbuttoned the front of his shirt to free himself of that as well, but the film had finally reached its more interesting segments and he still had the wrists to unbutton and the tie to remove, so he left it on, opening the shirt to at least free his stomach and chest.

The film was obviously pornographic in nature, but was of the lesser spoken of variety, where one man knelt before another and applied his mouth for the pursuit of pleasure. The man who stood was well endowed, as could have been expected, and made a show of stretching the other's lips as the kneeling man bobbed his head lustily, as if he couldn't get enough. Tom himself was in the motions of stroking his own length, though he himself did not desire a blowjob; rather, he would have preferred to be the one to give the use of his lips for such a sleazy pursuit. It had been his desire for many years now to put himself at the disposition of another man pleasures. Watching the other as he continued to suck, Tom could only lick his own lips in vain wanting.

By the time the film had moved on to more urgent business, Tom was largely lost to his own fantasies, using the dancing images only occasionally to fuel his lusts, stoking it from heated flame to swirling inferno. In them, he knelt before the office boy, whose relative youth made him overly horny and eager to present a hard young cock. The executive used him as a sex slave, providing verbal abuse of a sexual nature and sodomising him sadistically over the desk. The tough hard-talking stranger, he worked up the nerve to invite back to his apartment where he was seduced and screwed gasping through the night in his darkened bedroom with the windows wide open.

The sudden spasm and aching throb in his shaft convinced him to ease off a bit; he was stroking too hard and too wildly -- the orgasm would be intense but empty. Reluctantly, he took his hand off his manhood and threw his head back, breathing deeply. He took a glance at the pornographic feature. It was dull and boring and pointless -- tedious and repetitive -- but provided enough to prevent him from slipping past a semi-erection. He watched as the other suddenly ejected himself from the gapping anus of his lay and proceeded to ejaculate over his face in the standard porn flick ending.

Looking at his own penis, he drew a finger over the head, watching the long glimmering string that pulled away with it. Between his fingers, he felt the exquisite slipperiness of his pre-ejaculate, and, in a moment of perverted daring, brought those fingers to his face where he painted his lips and plunged them in his mouth to sample the texture and taste. It was far from delicious, but provided him with a strange debasement that was erotic in its appeal.

Glancing to the bedroom, he remembered that his neighbours were occasionally not shy to allow base passions to run wild. Though he derived no enjoyment from the thought of what the man and woman were doing, he wondered if, one day, he himself might now present his own set of lustful sounds with his hips raised off the mattress and his feet touching the head board as he groaned in the grip of some mystery paramour. His shaft leapt to attention at the thought and he groaned in frustration that he had no means to make the fantasy reality.

A second movie in the playlist had started, but he turned off the TV and threw the remote aside where it bounced off the leather and fell to the floor. It irritated him vaguely, but not enough to ruin his arousal. His mind was addled by it, and he switched his position to kneel on the couch as though astride some invisible partner. Rocking back and forth, he imagined the creaking the leather would make if he were riding another man right there and then.

When that thought waned, replaced by a desire for lewdness, he shut his legs, trapping his cock between them, and bent himself over the top of the couch, stretching his buttocks upward in seductive presentation to an absent lover. With his head bent over, he thought about this for a long stretch, dragging his fingers through the short soft hairs of his chest, pinching at his nipples. Then he stood up, disappeared into his room again and returned with his most prized secret.

Returning himself to the couch, he reassumed the position, breathing deeply to steady himself before reaching between his legs. The dildo he pressed against his opening was realistic and generously invested, glistening over the inches with liberally applied lubrication. Pushing upwards, he brought his hips down on it, and, in the space of a dozen heartbeats, his squirming backside proved accommodating. There was a ragged gasp from his lips -- that was all -- evidence enough that there had been many times of arduous and lustful practice before now.

Controlling his breathing through clenched teeth, his forehead was shiny with sweat as he waited for the dull pain to pass before he began the motions that would drive the fake cock into him over and over in mimicry of sex. Though his own shaft ached, he did not touch it, knowing from experience he would climax much too quickly in this state if he dared. As he drove the latex rod into his forbidden opening, his eyes were closed and his lips worked as though mouthing words he dared not say too loudly. When he finally did, it was to groan aloud; a deep and masculine sound, accented in lusty torture. In his fantasies, Tom made no illusions about wanting to take a woman's role in this -- he wanted to be a man being fucked by another man -- there was nothing feminine about his performance, save that he offered himself as a wanton woman might offer herself.

He quickly flipped through lovers, scenery, and scenarios as his mind raced for the perfect fantasy with which to climax to, though no single one of them seemed satisfactory. He was on a tropical beach, amongst hidden granite boulders, being serviced by a man friend he had brought along for the trip. That friend was quickly replaced by a powerfully built native, who offered him the local delights of his puissant manhood. He was in an alley, pinned to a wall, his legs wrapped around a randy young man who had taken him up on his offer. Even his office became a playground for lustful orgies of eager co-workers, all male. His lips curled at the thought of shocking them with this fantasy.

With so many titillating images, his mind was quickly overburdened and oversexed by desire. He did not delude himself into thinking that the real thing would be as flamboyant and exotic, but it would provide him with something his fantasies were sorely lacking -- the touch, the release, and the satisfaction of giving pleasure. At the longing for these things, he grabbed his length and began to masturbate furiously, never pausing as he continued to give the dildo sordid employment. At the moment of orgasm, the muscles of his backside tightened convulsively and blocked by the intruding length; the sensation was deeply gratifying -- to feel the vice-like grip of his own muscles and imagine the effect it would have on another man. The sphincter of his anus clenched in time with the spasms of his cock as he spilled his seed on the brown leather of the couch. He continued to stroke until he was completely spent.

Standing up on shaky legs, he ran his fingers through his damp hair to give it some semblance of order, his breathing still deep. Stripping his shirt, he wiped the mess from the couch, tidying the room before heading for the shower, collecting his trousers on the way. Most of his stroke sessions were mundane, merely a form of frustrated release, but for ones like these he lived for. He wondered how long he could continue with such a life. Masturbation could only ever provide relief, never fulfilment.

The water in the shower had only just begun to steam when the chime on his door rang. Having achieved sexual release, he now found that irritation outweighed anything else. The chime rang again. And again.

Pulling on his trousers hurriedly, with numerous harsh imprecations directed at the caller, he rushed, stubbing his toe on the way and it was with great effort that he straightened his face before opening the door.

It was his neighbour down the hall that greeted him. He lifted a portable drill, presenting the reason for his presence. "Sorry Tom, maybe it was a bad time," said the other apologetically, taking in Tom's shirtless torso and slightly sweaty condition.

"It's fine Peter; I was about to jump into the shower, no big deal," demurred Tom, remembering that Peter had taken the drill over a week ago. A sudden, errant thought crossed his mind as he remembered that Peter was in a failing and unsatisfactory marriage. Though he presented a calm face, Tom furiously cursed his mind for pulling up such a random thought. It did not suppress the sudden return of arousal.

Apart from a six foot build and an appealing smile, that often twitched into a prankster's smirk, Peter was quite average in every way. But, right now, it was enough that he was a man. Tom began to notice other details now. Despite a slight paunch, Peter's arms were strong-looking and his light stubble was appealing, as was the dark wiry hair on his body. Forcing a smile, he tried to find something else to say. "Trouble with the wife again?" He almost regretted speaking, for it seemed to himself too obvious a line to steer the conversation towards... other ends. Peter's answer, though, was friendly and affable.

"That obvious, huh?" he chuckled. "I guess the missus and I should have taken more time to get to know one another. I should have probably taken more time to get to know myself -- guess I wasn't all that ready to settle down -- but I have man up and take responsibility. But it sure ain't easy when the music starts though."

"So basically the drill was an excuse to get a breather."

"Bingo."

Tom hesitated, his mouth dry from nervousness. He struggled between daring and safety; after all, there had never been any evidence now or before that Peter was so... inclined. It could go really, really wrong. He who dares wins, or so the saying went. "Well, now that you're here, why don't you come in? Game's about to start in half and I think I got a few beers in the fridge I might as well share."

************************

The game was playing on the screen and the voices of the spectators and commentators were thin and static over the television speakers. It had been a crazy, nerve-wracking hour of jokes, tests and subtle (he hoped) double-entendres. In the end he still hadn't been sure. It had been Peter who had asked the crucial question; a bit bemused, a touch repulsed, somewhat intrigued, a little hesitant. Now the darkened room had no viewers, but the wan light of the television revealed a line of clothes leading from the living room into the bedroom.

Soft sounds of flesh striking flesh grew louder the closer one approached to the bedroom where Tom lay on his back, naked and gasping under a grunting Peter who worked his hips relentlessly, driving his hairy groin between Tom's legs. Clenching his arse until his buttocks was nothing but rigid muscle, he provided Peter with the tightest hole he had ever fucked. Their faces were graven images of agonised resentment -- glaring eyes, furrowed brows of concentration, and clenched teeth -- it was a less than intimate coupling, both men desiring the release of harsh sex, fuelled by testosterone, rather than loving gestures of comfort.

Peter's rapid thrusts gradually slowed and he began to drill his partner deeply, each push of his rigid cock rough and unbearably gratifying. In response, Tom reached between them and took hold of his shaft, jerking at it with a choking grip. He opened his mouth, his breath hot and humid on Peter's face, his tongue touching his lips as he edged himself ever closer and as his orgasm erupted, he planted his feet on the mattress, thrusting his hips upward as he clenched his buttocks; it was all the encouragement Peter needed to empty himself, burying his dark-veined cock to the hilt and spewing an achingly hot load of semen deep inside the hole Tom had provided for him. That was a mistake, but both men had been past caring when the animal in them took over. Tom flung his head back, a low grunt escaping his lips, his hands gripping at the sheets as he felt Peter's quivering hips.

Lying amidst the damp sheets of his bed, the body of Peter collapsed heavily beside him, Tom wondered idly as he looked to the ceiling, if this would become a secret affair or just a sordid one-night stand...

... but, he now knew that with just a little courage and a bit of daring, he might just be able to start living the alternative lifestyle he always wanted.

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AnonymousAnonymousover 10 years ago
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The first time is always special..I am A married bi guy in love deeply,with my wife...My first time was with my best friend,at age 12...Exploring,as young boys will..Jacking off together,led to him letting me take,his boy cherry...For the next 20 years,even though,we both were married,I fucked him 2-3 times a week..Last time was in 1985...My mom had died,and I went back home...At her grave site,I saw him for the first time in over,20 years...We talked for hours,there in the shade,at the grave site..Everyone had been gone a long time...I was driving,my conversion,van,and he reached over and stroked my dick...Within 5 minutes,the darken windows were up,he was nude,on the rear bed,and I was fucking him...Damn he was still tight,as ever...We parted company,I returned to my home,and family...My dad called me about,a month later,telling me,that Roland had passed away...I still miss him...

chesthairslavechesthairslaveover 10 years ago

Given the caveat in your preface, the series begins well. You delivered much more than promised. I enjoyed reading 'Alternative'.

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