Gay Erotica That Summer

By Justin Mosvitz

Gay Erotica That Summer: The summer that forever changed my life.......Flipping into...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Apr 11, 2015
• ISBN: 9781329057487

Book preview

Gay Erotica That Summer

Gay Erotica: That Summer

Justin Mosvitz

ISBN: 978-1-329-05748-7

Copyright © 2015 by DynnePublisher

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed Attention: Permissions Coordinator, at the Email below

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CHAPTER 1

It's summer of my 20th year, and I am experiencing a life-altering, sizzling, sexual awakening--and, so far, the best summer of my life. I just finished my junior year at California State Poly and came home a week ago.

I'm the second oldest of 4 athletic boys, and my parents are still together and happy, most of the time. I had been looking forward to spending some fun times with my old high school buddies, catching up on what girls they fucked in college, what classes they failed. We'd be sure to go out drinking at McBirdy's Tavern every night, raise some hell, laugh about old times, and the summer standard: lifeguarding while bikini watching at Pine Lake.

My first day home, after conning my folks into believing I got all A's, I called my old boss, but he informed me that he wouldn't be needing me this summer. Budget cuts were affecting even normally thriving summer businesses, he said.

That blows, I told him. I've been guarding here for 5 years.

My hands are tied, Mike, I'm sorry. He almost sounded apologetic. I was so counting on this gig. My credit card debt was mounting, and I had already tapped out my parents for car insurance money.

I begrudgingly picked up a copy of the Star Ledger, a NJ daily, figuring I'd get a jump on any new classified jobs listed. I was actually hoping not to find anything in there; I wanted a fun summer, not one slaving for some asshole. I found one ad that immediately stirred me in the groin. WANTED: Strong, Fit, College Man to Help U.S. Marine with Odd Jobs Around Yard.

Now, that sounds like an awesome job, I mused. I had always fancied myself being a U.S. Marine, or at least being in the company of them. I used to get heartsick--and hard on--looking at this Marine who would visit our campus. I'd become paralyzed by the sight of his tight ass, unable to take my eyes off of the perfect backside as it filled out his crisp pants with military precision. After seeing him on campus, I'd rush to my dorm or a bathroom to assault my manhood and visualize being overpowered by this sexy soldier of stud. I wanted to be his soldier of cock.

I've always thought of myself as basically straight, but I knew that I'd do anything for the chance to just once push my face into another man's ass. When I would see that drill instructor's jaw-dropping, mouth-watering bum, I would imagine what the texture of his pants would feel like as I buried my face into the forbidden zone, kissing him and rotating my face.

I'd envision burrowing my face into this most personal pleasure zone and inhaling the taboo region as deeply as my homo-curious lungs would allow. I'd imagine my lips and nose right about where his asshole would be situated. I'd feel his balls on my chin. I'd feel his powerful thighs squeezing my head, holding my face captive, forcing me to breathe, exclusively, the intoxicating, dick-hardening maleness of his crotch.

I'd pucker my starved lips and push them into where no masculine straight man dare trod. I'd imagine him quietly groaning while saying, Oh yeah, Mike, do it up. Do me good, tongue that hole, son. By the time I violently erupted, I'd try and forget about this wrong fantasy of queers and focus on finding a girl.

Girls were all over me, ever since the 8th grade, but I never could find one that I really wanted to be with. Being 20 now, it was time. I gotta settle for one, any one, I thought. I was afraid my buddies would be talking about me, questioning my life.

It was hard to motivate myself to pursue pussy. Each year, the thought of a man's ass and cock was becoming more and more overpowering. This Marine at college was making if very difficult to rationalize my homo feelings as just a phase. I had to seriously come to terms. Me, Mr. 6 ft., rock-hard-bodied, good-looking, clean-cut stud might be bisexual. I might be gay.

Because I had gotten to the paper early, I was the first one to call the guy. He seemed all business. Get over here and meet with me, son. Can't hire ya over the fuckin' phone. He rattled off the address and hung up.

Sounds like a macho asshole, I surmised. But, inasumuch as I was always a sucker for a military dude, out of curiosity I'd drive on over. And sometimes macho assholes are fucking hot.

I made my way to his street in anticipation, spinning through the narrow-winding, tree-lined roads of Kyle Lake, NJ in my 2000 Mazda. It was a 30 minute drive to 2 Pine Tree Lane, where I politely pulled into the sinuous, and descending, cobble-stoned driveway. At the end of the winding trail, I saw a secluded home.

Sweet, and situated on a lake just like ours, I verbalized as I closed the car door and ambled up the granite, pine-needled front walk. If the car engine didn't announce my arrival, my feet crunching gravel and pinecones with each step certainly would. I heard dogs barking, breaking the overwhelming sense of gorgeous solitude.

On the phone, the guy had mentioned he was a veteran of the Gulf War. He had hurt his back and was temporarily unable to do any lifting or heavy exerting. My job would be landscaping and sundry chores. The property was impressive, had to be several acres easily, and the centerpiece being a modest-sized, yet attractive, cherry-wood log cabin. I hoped the man would not be some bitter old bastard, because this place seemed like one fucking perfect place to spend a summer. I wanted this gig bad!

When the inside door opened, I was met at the screen door by two friendly but imposing German Shepard dogs and one very rugged-looking man. A lot younger, maybe 35, and in better shape than I imagined, I thought. As he opened the screen door and invited me in, I could size him up better. He wasn't just rugged, he was undeniably handsome too.

He was outfitted in Desert Storm, khaki fatigue pants with a healthy bulge in the zipper and a tight gray t-shirt with fading dark blue letters spelling U.S. Marine Corps across his solid pecs. His face was handsome in a hockey player type way. His hair was thick, apparently allowed to grow out while being on leave. He had masculine looking, squared and neat, half-inch sideburns, that made him look even manlier when he smiled. I saw bright, piano key teeth, surprising for someone so rugged.

With the nice tan and lean muscular arms he was sporting, I thought he looked like a Marine poster boy. As he walked, his ass was even better looking than the drill instructor's at college. I thought, If this was going to be my job, working with this stud in this gorgeous place, man oh man, I was going to be one happy recruit!

Hi, I'm Mike, I offered as he told the dogs, Go on, get outta here, boys. The dogs ran outside, and he grasped my hand vice-grip tightly and nodded, appearing to size me up in a once-over glance, and then silently motioned me with a nod of his head to follow him.

He led me through the masculine, sparsely furnished interior which was adorned with Gulf War Hero photos of him and his buddies. My sex-starved eyes gravitated mostly to his photos, particularly the crotches in them: as he was climbing a rope, carrying an assault rifle, driving a tank, broadly smiling with 3 buddies and a beer, and showing off his medals. This dude was male as male ever was, and that fucking bulge was even better looking in person.

As I stepped through the stud's spread, I noticed the upper loft of the cabin and wondered if it led to his bedroom, what it must look like. I wondered if there'd be dry, cum-stained tissues under his bed and who he thought about when he yanked. Did he ever have a gay fantasy?

Come on. I'll show ya around the joint, he offered as he directed me through the sliding glass doors of the living room onto the outdoor deck, which he made a point of bragging that he built himself. The deck overlooked the spacious, crystal-clear lake and was surrounded by pine and oak trees bordering a thousand acres of mountainous, protected state land.

This all gave off more than a secluded feeling; I felt as if we were in the isolated Rockies. Who'd have thought this could be northern Jersey, just a half hour's drive from my home? And this stud might be my boss? Life is sweet!

He had noticed my admiration of the wall photos moments earlier and noted in his very rugged, almost raspy voice, Yeah, those are shots of me back there. By the way, I'm Robert, Lieutenant Colonel Robert Andrews, U.S. Marine Corps." I gulped, and my heart seriously malfunctioned as I made eye contact.

Mike, Mike Johnson, Cal. State. He didn't laugh at my feeble attempt at humor. He got right to business. Look, boot, I hurt my back last month while off, fucked it up as I was building the deck. Wish I could say I had some war injury. Fact is, I just fell on my ass. Got a nice looking physical therapist chick, though, who's working with me. But I need help around here, till I heal.

Did he just call me 'boot'? This guy is a fucking man all the way. He elaborated that he inherited the home and its five acres from his parents, who no longer could endure northeast winters.

They retired to Boca, that's in Florida, where everybody over 65 hops on a fuckin' golf cart these days, I guess.

Yeah, my parents will be heading there soon, too. I had no idea if they were; I just wanted to get some footing with