Best Gay Erotica 2011 (14 page)

“He failed to pass on the same information regarding you,” said the boy, “although he told me pretty well everything else. Well, I mean, he left out a few other things, I guess.”

Gary forbore to ask what those things might be. Size of dick, perhaps? That he was circumcised? And that when he masturbated, he preferred to do it slowly?

David spoke. “I was wondering if you could look after Mark for me this evening. Be my stand-in and give him a tour of Oxford. Show the kid the inside of a few pubs. Not too many, mind—he does have an interview tomorrow.”

Gary found his heart cheering at the prospect of an evening with a cute kid who seemed to have a nice personality, and about whose sexual habits he already knew more than a little. And clearly, Mark had more than an inkling about Gary's own. It promised to be a fun evening. “Sure,” he told David. “Of course I'll do that, if Mark would like it too.” Mark nodded and grinned. “But what about you? Won't you come with us?”

David looked a bit sheepish for a moment. But only for a moment. “Actually,” he said, “I've got something on with your little friend Rob.”

“Oh, have you, now?” Gary said archly and saw Mark catch his eye and wink at him. He sniggered in reply but asked no further questions.

 

Oxford after dark, on an early autumn evening, took on the look it had worn a hundred, two hundred—in places six hundred—years ago. Old-fashioned streetlamps in antique cast-iron frames cast gleaming glances along shadowy streets. Gothic windows peered darkly or with a lemony light. Even the names of the streets that Gary took Mark wandering through seemed to come alive with the ghosts of history: Friars' Entry, Longwall Street, Holywell. Fearsome gargoyles looked down at them from the pediments of the Sheldonian Theatre, and moonlight winked and flittered through the traceried battlements of St. Mary's church. Gary felt oddly proud of his new charge: his lovely friend's very pretty, chunky little brother, two years younger than himself, walking at his side in his very tight blue jeans, the top of his head level with Gary's eyes. And not least of the attractions of this novel situation was the fact that Mark seemed more than ready to steer the conversation, at every opportunity, round to the subject of sex.

They sampled the wares of a number of the city center's pubs: the Bear in Blue Boar Street, the Lamb and Flag in the Broad, the White Horse in the Corn. “I suppose I owe it to you,” Mark said to Gary, “that I got fucked by David last time he came home.”

“I hope you won't hold that against me,” Gary said. They were sitting at the same candlelit table in the alcove in the White Horse where, a few weeks earlier, David had begun to tell Gary about his teenage adventures with Mark.

“Quite the reverse actually,” said Mark now. “He'd never fucked anyone before he first did you. Now he's kind of got the bug. Couldn't get enough of it with me.” He leaned across the
table conspiratorially, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “And I wouldn't be surprised if he's busy ramming his rod into little Rob up in his bedroom even as we speak.” He leaned back again. “Anyway, I'm not complaining. I'd never been fucked before. My friends at school mostly wank me, and I them. Which is great. But fucking's kind of extra isn't it?”

Gary blinked—this was all pretty frank from a schoolboy he'd only just met and in a crowded pub—but he had to agree that it was.

“I'm hoping I'll get a fuck from you this evening,” Mark went blithely on. “Though maybe that's wishful thinking. First meeting and everything. But at the very least I'm looking forward to seeing your cock. David tells me it's very nice.”

“It's very much like his, to be honest,” said Gary. “In color, shape and size. Seven and three-quarter inches each. The only major difference is that he's got a foreskin and I haven't. A minor source of regret, that is,” Gary admitted. “I'm slightly jealous of his.”

“Well, I hope you won't be too jealous of me then,” said Mark. “I've got a foreskin too. I'll show you later.”

Gary smiled. “I'll look forward to that. And if you're looking forward to getting fucked by me tonight—well, I was a bit surprised to be told that but…after such an invitation, I can hardly refuse. Though maybe your brother won't be too happy about it.”

“I already told him that was my ambition for this evening. He told me not to count on it, but he wished me luck all the same.” Mark took a swig of lager and then looked around the crowded bar. “It'd be fun to do it right here, wouldn't it?” he said, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “In the middle of the floor. In front of all these people. Cheering us on.”

Gary laughed. “You're an outrageous boy! Nice idea though,
except the nice people wouldn't be cheering us on; they'd be unceremoniously chucking us out and calling the police. Fantasy is one thing; real life is quite another.”

“Pity,” said Mark. “Hey, guess what?”

“What now?” said Gary with mock weariness.

“I've just pulled my cock out of my jeans. It's really stiff already.”

There was no way Gary could check whether this was true. A heavy oak table lay between them, and he would have had to either stand up and peer over it or get down on his knees on the floor and peer up from underneath. Both moves would have drawn a lot of attention from the other customers in the pub, and attention was the last thing Gary wanted when he was escorting a boy who, according to the law, was too young to be drinking beer in a pub at all. “You're a very naughty boy,” he said instead, smiling.

“Dare you to get yours out,” Mark said. “Go on.”

“It's all very well for you,” Gary told him firmly, “snugly hidden behind the table. But I'm sitting in full public view. You can see it later. I promise.”

Mark nudged the conversation a little way back the way it had come—though not all that far. “About this fuck then,” he said. “So you've vetoed the floor of a public bar. Pity about that, but I suppose I'll have to live with it. So, anywhere then. Where do you recommend?”

“I suggest the bed in my bedroom,” Gary said. “Or in your brother's room if he happens to be occupying my room with Rob. Or else in the guest room that's been earmarked for you.”

“Bit tame though,” Mark said, sounding a little disappointed. “Like being back at home. Whereas here we are in Oxford. There's riverbanks—like where you and David do it—I know that 'cause David told me. “Or,” a thought appeared to strike
him, “we could do it standing up in the street. You could do me up against a wall. Bet you haven't done that with David.”

Actually that was true. Gary had never done it up against a wall with anyone. He made a mental note to remedy the omission with David some time soon. On the other hand, doing it in a more or less public place with this kid… It was just too dangerous to consider. And yet…Gary felt his cock stirring in his jeans. He wondered if Mark really did have his dick out under the table, stiff. He found himself impatient now to see it.

But not quite as impatient as Mark was. He drained the last of his beer. “Let's go,” he said. “It's nice just walking in the dark old streets. We could—er—sort of stroll around a bit and see what happened. Couldn't we?”

Laughing, Gary nodded his acceptance, drained down his own glass and got to his feet. “If you have got your cock out,” he told Mark, “then for god's sake put it away before you stand up. I'm not walking to the door with you if you've got a little erection poking out of your flies.”

“Or even a big one,” Mark said. He made a movement under the table and stood up. He was perfectly respectably zipped up, Gary was relieved to see. But he wasn't displeased to see a promising looking bulge in the boy's crotch: a quite long and substantial ridge, in the ten o'clock position. Gary permitted himself a comment. “You dress to the right, I see.”

They walked out into the balmy air of an evening that spoke of an Indian summer still lingering in this early autumn term. Along Cornmarket Street (the Corn), up Longwall Street and then left into the long and winding lane, dark and unpeopled, that is called Queen's Lane at one end but has metamorphosed into New College Lane by the time you get to the other. Both sides of the lane were formed by high stone walls of great antiquity, protecting the grounds of the colleges that lay behind
them. At intervals there were streetlamps, which shone dimly, their light-pools not quite extending far enough to overlap their neighbors' and so leaving little pockets in between them of relative darkness.

“Should have had a piss before we left the pub,” Mark announced. “Need to go now.” And he began to fiddle with his flies.

“Me too,” said Gary and began to unzip his own. It was true that he too needed to pee, but he was also pleased that the time had come to catch a glimpse of Mark's young cock at last and—to be honest—he would enjoy showing off his own at the same time.

But Mark surprised him beyond all expectation. He didn't just unzip, but pulled his jeans—no underwear lay beneath them—about halfway down his thighs all in one go, so that out sprang his dick, he revealed his sturdy tight-furled balls, and at the same time he exposed his pretty bottom to the night air. And of all those revelations, the greatest—and the greatest surprise—was the size of young Mark's cock. Which (no surprise here, though) had popped out fully stretched and hard and at once was pissing, like a fire hose.

“My god, you're massive!” Gary blurted out. It was true. Never had he seen such a heavyweight piece of apparatus attached to so small a body. Back at school, he had been more than impressed by his roommate, Chris, who, at the age of sixteen, had sported a dick that was out of all proportion to his body size. But this boy's equipment knocked Chris's impressive dimensions into the proverbial cocked hat. Mark's cock was considerably bigger than Gary's own. (Which meant it was bigger than Mark's brother David's, since that—give or take a foreskin—was the twin of Gary's.) It was as big, at least, as the two biggest numbers he'd been privileged to handle: they'd
belonged to Martin, the one-time head boy of his school, and to Michel, boyfriend of his former fuck-buddy, Pete. Perhaps Michel's had had the edge where length was concerned. He'd boasted eight and a half inches, and Mark probably didn't have that (yet). But its girth at the base was far in excess of anything Michel could boast of, even at maximum stretch. No wonder David had stopped letting Mark fuck him a year or two ago.

Standing next to his young friend, Gary aimed his stiff prick at the wall and fired the contents of his bladder down its tube. “Why does it always come out in a twist?” Mark asked him. “I mean, like a drill bit. Do you think our cock tubes are rifled on the inside, like guns?”

“I don't know the answer to that,” said Gary, as they both continued to fire their fat cocks, like giant water pistols, at the wall.

“Anyway,” Mark said conversationally, even before he'd finished pissing, “your prick's looking pretty splendid too, foreskin or no foreskin. While we're both standing here with our pants down, why don't you make my day and give it to me from behind?”

Gary might have stamped on the idea as recently as two minutes ago. But now, with this delectable boy showing off his arse, balls, thighs and stiff cock right beside him—and with his own jeans sliding down his thighs as he finished peeing and his cock rose fully to the occasion—he was unable to resist the renewed invitation. Standing cocks are strangers to circumspection. After no more than the quickest look around to check the lane was empty he moved round behind Mark, then pulled both their pairs of jeans right down till they snagged around their ankles. He gave an approving glance at Mark's pert, strong calves. Then, spitting on his hand and applying that to his dick for want of other lubrication, he prepared to insert
his twitching member inside the younger lad. He was acutely conscious of the fact that, in common with Mark, he'd never fucked anyone standing up against a wall before, let alone done it in the street.

Gary had a vivid memory of his fuck-buddy Peter giving Michel a fine rogering against his bedroom wall two years before. Peter had had to stand on tiptoe in order to get his not-very-long prick up inside the taller Michel. But now, here, the condition was the opposite. Mark's hole was located some three inches nearer the ground than the base of Gary's now-stargazing dick, and he had to bend at the knees in order to push the long thing in. Mark meanwhile had to place the palms of his two hands against the wall to prevent himself (and more particularly his exposed erection) being crushed against it once Gary started thrusting. This had one negative side effect. As Mark put it himself: “Bugger. I can't wank myself.”

“Don't worry, kid,” said Gary, poking about to find Mark's back entrance. “As soon as I'm properly in, I'll look after that.” And just as he finished speaking he popped quickly and easily into Mark, almost by accident.

“Ow,” said Mark. Then, “Oh, wow, that feels so lovely.”

It felt lovely to Gary too, snug and warm in Mark's inside. “I'll have to get on with it, though,” he said a bit apprehensively, as he began to thrust away urgently, using his bent knees as levers, “before anyone comes round the corner.” He had begun to be anxious again about being seen. Someone was sure to appear. His heart was beating like a drum. Really, this was insane. He reached round and grabbed Mark's big cock—that action shook the final sparkling drops of water from it—and began to move his hand up and down the thick shaft, feeling Mark's foreskin slippery-sliding back and forth as he did so, in rhythm with his own thrusts but, of necessity, in contrary motion.