Samesex/andy
                                          Andy
                 Amateur erotic fiction: Andy, part 1 (m/m, some adolescent themes)
               This is male homosexual erotica. If you skip this article now, there's
             nothing on this screen that could possibly irritate you. If you don't like
                         this kind of fiction, don't write to me about it.
                   Part one of a multi-part story. Comments, suggestions invited.
             Living in my hometown, you weren't a real man unless you wanted to be like
            Andy. Strong, handsome, kind and brilliant, he was as perfect a specimen as
             you could hope to find. Even self-avowed feminists, with no use for men of
                    any kind, swooned in Andy's presence. He was just worth it.
                  I had known him since high school, when he was the unlikely mix of
                scholar and athlete. I was a late bloomer myself, more interested in
             computers and the school paper than in doing laps or working out. So other
              jocks had their fun at my expense, and I generally took it in stride. I
             particularly remembered Andy because he came to my rescue one day. A mean-
             spirited oaf decided to pound me because I didn't let him copy my mid-term
              test (I only got an 85--he'd have done better to copy from Andy!). I had
            already caught one in the face when Andy's voice boomed out from the school
              steps. "Hey!" We both turned, and the bully swiftly averted his eyes and
             skulked away. Andy looked at me and shook his head, as if to say, "sorry,
            kid, some people are just assholes," and he walked back inside. That was as
             close as I ever came to knowing Andy. No one bothered me again after that.
              It was some years later--11, to be precise--that I finally started taking
             better care of myself. Maybe it was hitting that magical three-oh, seeing
             the obits of men buying it at 35 or 40 from heart disease. It was, for me,
            time to shape up or risk shipping out. I tried the rower, then the climber,
              then the skier, then the bike. Each time, I'd wind up holding a fitness
             garage sale a few weeks after the purchase. Knowing my plight, a co-worker
              offered to go halves with me on a buy one, get one free membership in a
               local health club. This normally wouldn't have been my bag, but after
              stepping on the scale that morning, I was ready to take another shot at
                                          being in shape.
               When I first stepped into the club, I was mightily impressed. Everything
               gleamed, including the faces of the patrons, and the solid clinks and
              thunks of metal-on-metal sounded like music to me. I was psyched. I had
            heard rumors that fitness clubs were meat markets, but that wasn't going to
              be the case here--the place was full, but there wasn't a woman in sight.
                We paid our dues, picked up locks for our lockers, and trundled off to
               the locker room. What a layout! Sauna, whirlpool, big tiled showers...
                Showers. I used to hate them in school. The rest of me developed late,
             but parts of me, embarassing parts, were already full-sized by the time I
            was 11 or 12. Other boys would point and laugh, or snap their towels at it.
             Still others would timidly approach me after gym class and ask me over to
             their houses. They'd cook up some pretense, some game, that would have us
              undressing in front of each other. Too young to know better, I had quite
            the trade in showing curious youngsters what grown-up privates looked like.
             Boys with their little pinkies would stare in wide-eyed amazement at this
            seemingly monstrous thing. It was in the same place as theirs, but surely I
            must have some disease or error of birth that made it so big. It got bigger
              when people looked at it, and I worried that I might injure myself when
                blood filled it until it shined (as when other boys would touch it).
               I still wasn't tuned in to knowing what sexual pleasure was. I did find
             myself dreaming, more than once, that Andy would ask me over to his house
              after gym class. We'd go up to his room, close the door, and play strip
            poker until we were both in our underwear. We'd make that last deal to show
             all, and there he'd be, that pretty boy, showing a stiff dick even bigger
              than mine. I attached no emotion to this dream, and didn't even make the
                               connection that it was a sex fantasy.
                I squeezed my eyelids tight to bring myself back from my reverie. The
             shimmering shower tiles came back into focus. I sighed, and headed with my
                                      bag to my corner locker.
                A few minutes later, I emerged in full battle dress, ready to get with
             the program. The membership included a few hours with a trainer, and I had
             one to myself. Brian was a nice enough guy, with biceps the diameter of my
            skull, and he was patient and understanding. "I know you haven't worked out
                before," he intoned, "so we'll start you off easy. You'll build some
             endurance on the bike, the rower and the climber--use whatever's free, but
             don't push yourself." I snickered to myself as I realized I was now paying
            to use the same gear I sold in my driveway over the past year. Brian showed
             me to the bike first, and that's when I realized that this wasn't going to
             be like working out on the Sears KoreaCycle. This bike had a television in
             front, headphones and a pulse rate monitor. As I pedaled, the forest path
            scene on the TV kept pace, and the headphones murmured with rustling leaves
               and bird calls. After what seemed like seconds, Brian's hand was on my
            shoulder. I peeled off the headphones and followed him to the next station.
            All of the equipment was similarly state-of-the-art, and before long, I had
                                         exhausted myself.
                Brian commended me on my performance (I'm sure he said that to all the
              first-timers), gently reminded me that only regular visits can bring you
                real fitness, and sent me off to the showers. My tight muscles ached
               deliciously as I padded over the carpeted floor to my locker. When my
            shorts came off, the air conditioning whirled around my steaming thighs and
             crotch. I closed my eyes for a moment and leaned back, propping myself up
            by the elbows on the wooden bench, drooping my legs over either side to let
                                      the cool air circulate.
               My eyelids sprung open when I heard the catch of a locker nearby. When I
              focused, there was a man standing not three feet from my knees. It must
            have been quite a sight, my legs spread wide, my crotch practically pointed
              right at him. I sprung upright and pulled one leg over the bench so fast
               that I scraped it. "It's okay," the man smiled. "I had a tough workout
              myself today. I haven't seen you here before--are you a first-timer?" I
            nodded. "Then may I make a suggestion? You really should try the whirlpool.
                     I'm headed there myself, and I wouldn't mind the company."
              Still feeling a little jolted, I managed a nervous smile and another nod.
              Soon we were headed, towels in hand, toward the jacuzzi. I found myself
                 marveling that I was so relatively calm, despite the unfortunately
              introduction, in the presence of another naked man. I walked behind Art,
             and allowed myself to notice what a fine shape he had. He was obviously a
             weightlifter, because well-defined muscles rippled from his ankles to his
              ass when he walked. I marveled at his shape, then felt a little strange
                about it--what if he could feel me staring? Nah--just giving myself
            something to aim for, I thought. Just think: it'd only take me two or three
                             years of daily workouts to look that good.
              I stepped into the tub as Art fiddled with controls. No sooner had I sunk
            in than fingers of water started rushing over my body. Art showed me how to
             move the jets around to massage sore muscles. I did, I thanked him with a
            groan, and we settled in to chat and relax. The combination of the rushing,
             hot water and the exercise made me feel drunk, and as we talked, I studied
             the contours of Art's body. We talked about the economy, and I traced the
               line from his chin to his shoulder, down the center of his chest...Art
             squirmed in his seat a little, and I realized I wasn't being very careful
            about where I stared. I quickly shifted my gaze to Art's face, and realized
             that he was looking in my eyes the whole time. He knew I was studying him.
                     Ah, well. Looking like he did, he was probably used to it.
                   We talked a little more, I studied more discreetly, and soon Art
            announced that he'd have to get home to his wife soon. I stood up, and felt
             compelled to politely wait for Art. He looked up at me and seemed a little
              rattled, then stood up very quickly and turned away from me. As he swung
               around, I caught a glimpse of Art's semi-erect cock. He headed for the
             showers while I stood and puzzled over that for a moment. Then I took off
                                      for a shower of my own.
               The hot water released what was left of my tension, and I was glad to be
             rid of the salty coating I had acquired between the gym and the tub. As I
                lathered, I thought of asking Art if he could spare time for dinner
             sometime after a later workout. "Hey, Art..." I turned around to ask him,
              and I found him facing me, several showers away, fully lathered. But now
              his dick, which had been only partly erect before, was standing straight
            out. Art gasped and turned away from me so fast he almost lost his footing.
             "Yeah, um, what is it?", he stammered as he hurriedly rinsed the slippery
                lather from his crotch. I inquired about dinner, Art made a nervous
               postitive reply, and he ducked back out to the lockers. When he did, I
               noticed that he took his clothes from a locker that wasn't in my row.
               When I got home from the gym that night, I tried to do some work on the
              computer but found myself distracted. Why should Art be so ashamed of a
             silly erection? I got boners in the bath and shower all the time; I didn't
              think anything of it, but I suppose it would be a little embarrassing in
             front of someone else. No, I couldn't say I didn't think anything of it--I
               was surprised at being a little titillated by the sight of a handsome,
              muscular man with an erection. Pointed right at me, no less. Should I be
            flattered? I wrote that off--no man of his cut could see anything appealing
                in a jellyfish like me--and turned in for the night. I dreamed of my
             schoolboy idol, Andy, shut in a closet with me. A flashlight shone between
               us from the floor as we breathlessly fondled each other's silky young
              pricks. I woke up sweaty and hard, calmed myself by alternately drinking
                              and passing water, and returned to bed.
              I returned to the club two days later. After working out with Brian for a
              while, I asked about Art. Brian cocked his head and peered at me with a
               strange smile. "Do you know anything about why he left?" When I said I
            didn't, Brian explained that Art came in the night before and turned in his
             membership. I shrugged, mentioned that I had only met the man once, but he
             seemed like a decent chap and it was too bad he wouldn't be around. I was
                    much more disappointed than I let on, to Brian or to myself.

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               Brian left me on my own after that, and I straddled the bike. Headphones
             on, I made my way past meadows and pastures, all the while ruminating over
             this whole business with Art. I still didn't understand it, although if it
            had happened to someone else, I'd know just what to make of it: Art had the
               hots for me, I caught him indulging in a fantasy or two, and he blew a
              fuse. Of course, seeing that I was involved, I knew there was no way in
             hell this built guy would be mooning over the likes of me. There had to be
              some other explanation, but how could I explain that I had been counting
             the minutes until I could share a bath with this man again? I had to admit
                 it: I was positively crushed that Art wasn't coming around again.
               Weeks went by. I stuck with my workout regimen and eventually forgot all
               about Art. I studied bodies of all shapes in reflections in the chrome
             fixtures, even shared a jacuzzi or two with other regulars. I had become a
             fixture myself, and hanging out naked with these guys became second nature
             to me. Besides, my body was showing changes of its own, and I liked what I
                saw. Brian's direction was doing wonders. My belly was firm, my once
            mountainous love handles were reduced to tiny hills, and I was feeling good
                             about myself for the first time in years.
              I must admit that I was given to brief bouts of vanity, standing in front
             of my locker door. I'd towel the shower water off my body slowly, feeling
             new curves, highs and lows that weren't there only a few weeks before. I'd
                plant my foot on the bench, and run the towel up my tight calves and
              thighs, squeezing hard to feel the dense muscle underneath. I was no Mr.
                              America, but I was making good progress.
                I was off in this dreamland, slowly toweling my thigh with one foot on
             the bench, when my greatest adventure began. I had lost track of time, and
               in my haze, all but a couple of patrons had deserted. I had the whole
             locker room to myself, so I took my time. I was indulging my vanity when I
             heard a couple of wet footsteps behind me. "Excuse me," a low voice spoke,
            and a warm, strong hand gripped my thigh. "My locker's right through here,"
             came the voice again, and before I could step aside, the man started past
              me. His hand was clearly there to keep me from falling over, but it also
              held me firmly in place as he inched by. His thigh touched my ass and I
            tried to recoil, but the hand held firm and the body kept moving. There was
              obviously no intent--the movements were those of a man squeezing into a
                movie seat or on his way to the airplane lavatory. He was facing my
            backside, and I felt his warm, hairy leg tickle my skin as it went past. He
              scooted inside even more, pressing tighter against me, and with a quick
             move I felt his leg, then his inner thigh as he stepped up, then he moved
             forward. I felt an unfamiliar shape, then I realized that this man's penis
              was nestled between the cheeks of my ass! It only lasted for the merest
             instant, and he was, in fact, fully by me in only two or three seconds. I
            was frozen there for a moment, looking at this man standing in front of his
               locker but stunned that I could still feel a soft, moist cock pressed
                against my butt. I found myself with an unconcealable erection, and
              suddenly I knew how Art felt. The stranger was turned slightly away from
            me, but he'd look over now and then to smile at me. My face was bright red,
            and I hurriedly stepped into my briefs in an attempt to get my raging hard-
                                          on under wraps.
              That night, I had that dream about Andy. Only this time we were hiking in
             the woods. He said he had to pee, so we stopped and watered a shared tree.
               Andy turned to me and asked, "I wonder what it feels like if somebody
              kisses it." Kisses what, I asked, and Andy nodded toward his cock. With
               each dream, Andy's cock got bigger, and in this one, his was as large
              flaccid as mine was fully erect. "I don't know," I offered in response,
             "but I bet it feels good." Andy looked down for a moment, then at me. "Can
                                             I try it?"
              I didn't know if that meant I was supposed to kiss his or he was supposed
               to kiss mine. Either way, my heart started racing when Andy took a few
            steps back from the damp leaves and pulled his pants to his knees. He began
               tugging on his cock, and I watched silently as it grew in his hand. He
              reached underneath to play with his balls, and when he squeezed his ass
               tight, his cock surged and his cockhead got shiny. I knelt down on the
            ground in front of Andy, taking tiny steps on my knees. The tip of his cock
            appeared and disappeared inside his fist as he worked himself, and his huge
             balls hung low between his legs. I wanted his dick in my mouth more than I
              ever wanted anything, and the more I walked on my knees, the closer his
             dick got, until it was right in front of my face. I could see hole weeping
              clear fluid, which he picked up with his fingers and swirled around the
              tip. I steadied myself with my hand on his thigh, and opened my mouth. I
             closed my eyes so nothing could interfere with the sensation of the tip of
                his huge cock cresting over my lips. Andy breathed hard as he guided
               himself into my waiting mouth. My own cock suddenly burst in my hand,
             gushing hot, sticky juice all over. I opened my eyes to watch Andy's cock
                                       slide over my tongue.
               I saw white linen, lit by the sun from the window. I brought up my hand
               to prop myself up, and it was as messy as it had been in my dream. The
              bedding was soaked. I chuckled ashamedly to myself--I felt like a damned
               kid. Imagine. Wet dreams at my age. I dropped the linens in the washer
                                         while I showered.
                  While I was eating my breakfast, a flash of that fast-fading dream
               stabbed my mind. I was about to do something. I was...we were in this
                          forest, and we had just taken a piss, and we...
                   I was about to suck that boy's cock! My eyes got wide with that
             realization. But it was more than that, because at some level, I obviously
              found the concept so exciting that the mere thought of it was enough to
            make me shoot into my own sheets. Those last few scenes, the big, hard cock
             growing ever closer, just about to taste it now, flickered in my mind like
             a silent movie. All through work that day, scenes from that dream flashed
             and made me jump up to distract myself. Get a soda, or walk to the copier,
               for Pete's sake do something, but you can't spend the whole day with a
                                              hard-on.
                 I went straight from work to the gym, hoping to work off some of my
              frustrations. I got changed and made a beeline for my bike. I must have
            been pedaling at 50 miles per hour because Brian came over and tapped me on
                 the arm, hard. "Take it easy," he mouthed, knowing that I had the
              headphones turned up loud. I nodded a "yeah, sure" in his direction and
                                     picked up the pace again.
               I wore myself out, and by the time I got to my locker, I was about ready
            to fall over. I planted a foot on the bench to get my leg dry, hoping I had
              enough energy to make the drive home. I toweled quickly, and then heard
            sopping footsteps behind me. They seemed to walk past, but then I heard it:
            "Excuse me--my locker's just down this way." The hand gripped my waist, and
             once again, this stranger's body slid behind me. I must have been a little
             further out in the aisle this time, because he had to push into me pretty
                hard to get past. When he got halfway through, I lost my balance and
              started to tip over. Another powerful hand took hold of my waist on the
            other side, steadying me, and only after I regained my balance did I notice
             that I had a cock pressed hard into the crack of my ass. He held me there
              for a few seconds to make sure I was balanced, and I could have sworn I
              felt him press his groin into me. His hands squeezed my waist tight, and
             his cock twitched inside my split. But once again, by the time I knew what
            was happening, he was already by me, that brief period of slow motion gone.
               I had another intense dream that night. Andy and I were on a bed, naked.
             We were stroking each other's stiff cocks and rubbing our hands over each
            other's chests. I bent over and took one of his tender, hairless nipples in
             my mouth, squeezing his shaft while I traced rings around his tit with my
             tongue. I sucked hard and bit down a little. Andy thrust his well-muscled
             hips up and gasped, fucking my fist as I munched on his hardened nipple. I
              reached under him as he arched, grabbing a handful of his exquisite ass,
            kneading and biting and stroking. He played with my hair, then gently urged
               my head lower. I left a trail of wet kisses down his chest, across his
              belly, around to his sensitive laterals, inside again to his hip. I felt
            his giant cock straining against my fingers, anticipating the fateful slide
            into my slick, waiting mouth. I righted myself, kneeling over him, gripping
              his immense shaft as I lowered my face toward the glistening, throbbing,
             purple head. I parted my lips and tasted the rich, salty texture of Andy's
             jism on the tip of my tongue. I pursed my lips to encircle the very tip of
              his cockhead, darting my tongue against the underside of his shaft as he
                 gently pushed my head lower onto him. I opened wide to accept him.
               Once again, I was denied. The din of rumbling trash cans outside made me
                 think it was morning. Actually, a foraging dog had overturned the
             neighbor's cans. It was smack in the middle of the night. I lay in bed--at
             least it was relatively dry this time--coated with sweat and beset with a
             pounding erection. I kicked off the blankets and wrapped my fingers around
                 my cock. I closed my eyes and tried to recall the dream. I saw the
             pictures--Andy's perfect body, that beautiful, giant cock, the reflections
             in the shimmering fluid that gathered at its tip--but unlike the dream, I
               couldn't taste or feel. No matter, the images were enough. I had never
              sucked a cock, but I sunk everything I had into imagining that Andy was
              there with me, and that I was going down on him with abandon. I pictured
             the wide shot, seeing us both from the side, Andy pumping his cock into my
               mouth, arching his back high off the bed when I took him deep into my
              throat. I massaged his balls while my fingers probed his ass, the crack
              made slick by a mixture of sweat, saliva and jism. I stroked and sucked
              Andy's massive cock until he couldn't stand it any more. I shut my eyes
              tight and pictured him coming, jets of thick, creamy liquid leaping from
             his cock and hitting my face, running in sticky rivers down my cheeks and
              around my mouth. I bucked and tensed as my own real-life orgasm matched
             his, squirt after endless squirt, pumping with such force that my own cum
                        was landing around my neck and bouncing off my chin.
                                         [more to come...]
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