My Fantasies

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sex.

*****

I'll Do You If You Do Me

"Ohhhh Billy, this is...ohhh God...so wrong...we shouldn't be doing this..." I groaned.

His hand moved faster and harder up-and-down my throbbing erection, and, yes...I did the same for him.

I don't know what's wrong with me -- I'd never done a queer-thing in my life up until three nights ago when I let my friend feel my prick and jerk me off and then he shamed me into doing it for him, too.

"Johnny, please, I did you - it's your turn to do me -- it's what guys do for each other," he'd said while moving my hand up and down his hot and hard prick.

I don't know how it happened but we were sitting on his sofa in the dark smoking a joint and the next thing I knew my pants were open and down to my knees and he was stroking my boner...surreal...now we were doing it again for the third night in a row, only this time, the flickering images from the television lit the room enough so I could actually see our hands stroking each others cocks...oh God, how could I let this happen?

"Ohhhh Johnny, look at that -- ohhhh, that would feel sooo good, wouldn't it?" he moaned in my ear.

My eyes were fixed on the television screen watching a close-up of a pretty girl going down on some guys huge cock. I couldn't believe she was able to open her mouth wide enough to take in that monster-of-a-penis.

"Ohhhh-Johnny, do that for me, pleeeeezzzzzz..."

Huh? What? My urgent need to climax disappeared. He's got to be kidding, right?

"Billy, I can't do that..." I said.

And then the unthinkable happened -- Billy went down on me -- well, not exactly. He lowered his head just above my cockhead and I felt his hot breath on my sensitive cock flesh. My raging boner throbbed and pulsated with anticipation.

"Johnny," he whispered, "no one will ever know what you and I do in private...I'm not going to say anything -- will you?"

"Noooooooo...I won't say a word," I moaned.

He suddenly raised up and said, "Good, you do me then I'll do you," and I felt his hand on the back of my head pushing it downward.

I was so horny I couldn't think straight. This is a dream, right?

Sure, sometimes when I masturbate I fantasize about doing things with guys, but those are only fantasies -- not reality -- I dream about a lot of sexual things I would never actually do -- that's the very definition of a fantasy, isn't it?

He said one more time, "Do it, Johnny, then I'll do you."

It was suddenly the most logical thing I'd ever heard. I'll do him then he'll do me -- that makes perfect sense!

My hard prick throbbed. My head was lost in a dense fog of lust. I groaned, wet my lips and slid them over his pre-cum-slick cockhead and sucked a guys cock for the first time in my life.

He lied to me. I did him but he didn't do me.

He said, "I'm not a fagboy like you, Johnny!"

Two-months after I let Billy cum in my mouth the first time, I couldn't take anymore of his hypocritical condescension, and his blackmailing threats to expose me to our friends and families - I'm a 'fagboy' for going down on him whenever he demands it, but since he doesn't reciprocate, he's normal...really?

The only way out I could think of was to move to another city. You know, 'the-grass-is-always-greener-on-the-other-side' sort of thing.

The major flaw with that idiom is you might be in a brand new city beginning a brand new life but your old thoughts, feelings and habits follow you wherever you go. You can never escape from yourself.

I moved to a warm weather city. I was tired of the snow and cold at home. Yes, the weather is great in spite of the humidity, and I live thirty-minutes from the Gulf, but I find myself in the exact same circumstances I had desperately tried to flee at home: a lousy, near-minimum wage job which means I can't afford to do much of anything when I'm not working.

I live in a downstairs, one-bedroom apartment in a two-story house. I actually like my place. It's bigger than I need and came fully furnished. The rent is reasonable, too. The only drawback is it is near downtown in an old and rundown neighborhood. I can't afford to live in a nice apartment in a good area of town. Oh well, maybe some day...

The only good thing that worked out for me was I was able to find a job within walking distance of the house. Sure, it's a low paying job at a convenience store, but at least I'd save money on gas.

***

I didn't work with anyone I could hang-out with, and the only females were twenty-years older than me so no potential girlfriends either.

It didn't take long for me to fall into my old rut. Wake up with a hang-over; go to work; spend eight miserable hours watching the clock and go home and start drinking again.

The only people I really interact with are both old. Mister Abdul, the owner of the store, and my landlord, Mister Z, and I think they both have ulterior motives for being nice to me: I think they're both trying to get into my pants.

Mister Abdul likes to give me shoulder rubs when we're not busy, and I swear one time he pressed his erection against my butt. He gets this crazy glean in his eyes when he sees me, and now he asks me to go out for a drink with him every day after work. I dunno, I might take him up on his offer. Accepting a couple drinks from him doesn't mean I have to put out, does it? Heh-heh-heh...

***

I didn't think anything of Mister Z's constant attention until last week. He was just being friendly to me. He was living with his wife, or so I thought, until she moved out a few days ago.

"Why did Missus Z move out?" I asked him.

"What? Nooo, she's my sister, not my wife -- I've never been married," he said.

He has taken me out to dinner a few times, and will sit in my apartment drinking with me. I do have a history of getting along better with older guys. Somehow I have a difficult time relating with guys close to my own age.

***

I've done a lot of reading on the subject and have come to the conclusion I use alcohol to sublimate my sexuality. I think I'm queer but can't bring myself to accept it so I get wasted instead.

Makes perfect sense to me. My father brought us up believing there is no greater sin than being gay.

"God doesn't make mistakes -- no one is born queer," he'd say. "A person chooses to be homosexual!"

Every time he said that, I would think, 'Why would anyone choose to be homosexual? Christ, look at all the problems they have -- getting verbally abused and sometimes physically assaulted -- who in their right mind would want to live like that? No, he's wrong -- people are born that way!'

I want to let you in on a little secret: sure, I moved to a new city to get away from Billy, but I also did it in hopes of discovering once and for all who I really am. I never would have had the courage to explore my sexuality back home.

Unfortunately, I can't find the courage here either. I've taken to going online and simply staring at men's hard cocks. When I masturbate, I not only fantasize about when I was sucking Billy's cock, but what it would be like to be tricked or forced into sucking other men's cocks.

Yeah, I can't bring myself to admit I want to do it, no, that is a mortal sin -- but if I have no other choice, well, that's not my fault, is it?

***

So the next afternoon when Mister Abdul smiled, and asked me out for a drink, I surprised the heck out of him by saying, Oh, okay, if I have to..."

His eyes bugged wide. He stammered, "No-no, you don't have to -- I just thought it would be nice if we have a drink together."

"Mister Abdul, I don't have much money -- I can't afford to lose this job...if I keep saying 'No' you're going to find an excuse to fire me, right? Okay, I'll have a drink with you."

The puzzled expression on his face was priceless.

"You're a good worker, I have no intention of----" he said then abruptly stopped. He squinted hard at me and added: "You're a smart boy, meet me down the street at Houlihan's when you leave here."

"Yes sir," I replied.

I had never once called him "Sir" so that took him by surprise as well.

***

I found him sitting at the bar with about ten other customers. He stared at me when I sat down.

I ordered a vodka tonic from the bartender and when he brought the drink I turned to Mister Abdul and said, "You probably want more privacy - I suppose you want me to sit next to you in that booth in the far corner!"

He looked to where I was pointing and a wry smile formed on his lips.

"Yes, we should go sit over there," he responded.

It was a circular booth and I slid myself into the middle. Mister Abdul sat beside me. I adjusted myself until our legs were touching. We drank in awkward silence.

Our drinks were almost gone when I placed my hand on his leg just above his knee. His body flinched.

"I've never done anything like this..." I softly said. When his eyes narrowed, I added, "...but like I said, I can't afford to lose this job..."

I let the back of my hand lightly brush over the crotch of his slacks and felt his erection.

"I suppose you're going to make me sit in your car with you..." I said.

He cleared his throat. He was obviously very nervous.

I added: "I guess if I don't do what you tell me, you're going to fire me, aren't you?"

"Yes, if you don't sit in my car with me, I will fire you," he said hypnotically.

I found his hand beneath the tabletop and placed my hand in his.

"You're going to make me touch it, aren't you?" I asked in a small voice.

Beads of perspiration formed on his brow.

I repeated, "You're going to make me touch it, aren't you?"

He took a deep breath then placed my hand on the bulge in his slacks.

"Yes, touch it -- squeeze it!" he said firmly, with growing confidence.

"All you men are the same...you're going to make me sit in your car and do things for you, aren't you?" I said running my hand back and forth on the outline of his hard cock.

He cleared his throat again and said, "Yes, boy - let's go outside, I want you next to me in my car!"

I gave his hard cock one more squeeze then followed him out of the booth and out the back door.

He unlocked the car and was about to open the front door when I opened the back door and slid into the middle. He followed me inside and closed the door.

There was an awkward pause. He stared into my eyes. Finally, I said, "Please don't make me take it out of your pants, sir...pleeeezzzzzzz."

He took a deep breath and forcefully said, "If you don't take it out of my pants I am going to fire your sorry ass!"

Oooooo...my prick throbbed inside my briefs.

I fumbled with the belt and managed to unfasten his slacks. I hooked my hands in the waistband of the slacks and his boxers and tugged downward. He lifted his hips and his manly cock sprang into view.

I wrapped my hand around it and stroked it up and down. His squirming and writhing body told me he was already close to orgasm.

"Please don't make me take it in my mouth and suck it, sir," I pleaded.

In a raspy and hoarse voice he growled, "Suck it boy -- suck it or else!"

Well, John, you have to go down on him or you'll lose your job!

I wet my lips and slid them over his purple cockhead and began bobbing my head up and down. In less than two-minutes his hips began an urgent upward thrusting. I tasted the pre-cum oozing from his slit.

I pulled my mouth off his cock and said, "Please don't cum in my mouth, sir, please don't make me swallow it!"

"Ohhhhh," he groaned, "...if you don't swallow every drop you're fired!"

My head rapidly moved up-and-down the length of his hot and pulsating cock. Suddenly, his hands tightly held my head to his crotch and he filled my mouth with spurt-after-spurt of hot spunk. I had no choice but to swallow it all.

***

A couple days later it was the first of the month and I found myself knocking on my landlords door.

The old man opened the door and peered down at me.

"Mister Z, please, I need another week -- I don't have all the rent money...please Mister Z, please don't evict me, I have no where else to go...I'll do anything you want, Mister Z -- just please don't evict me!"

"What the hell are you talking about, boy? I always give you leeway when it comes to paying your rent!" he said with a puzzled look in his eyes.

"No, please, Mister Z...I need more time -- I'll do ANYTHING you want, just please, give me more time!" I pleaded with him.

The puzzled look in his eyes disappeared. A small grin formed on his face.

"You'll do ANYTHING I want?" he asked me.

"ANYTHING, Mister Z, just please don't evict me!"

"Come inside, boy, maybe we can work out some kind of payment plan," he said with a lecherous smile on his craggy old face.

"That would be great, Mister Z...I'll do anything to make it up to you!"

"Yes you will, boy, that's what I'm counting on..."

Back-Seat Bobby

There's this gay bar in the city I go to every afternoon to have a few drinks and unwind. It's not a fancy place at all. No, on the contrary, it's a joint where blue-collar workers gather to slam down a few beers while either shooting pool or sitting at the long, oak bar bitching about their jobs.

I get there around one before the young crowd fills the place. Mornings, and up until around four, almost all the customers are retired and over fifty. And, most of them are aging closet queens who never had the nerve to live the life they only fantasized about -- how sad!

Everyone perks up when they see me and they shout friendly greetings. It is flattering and good for my ego to be called 'Cutie' and 'Hot Stuff' and 'Pretty Boy.'

By the time I sit on my favorite bar stool there are always at least two drinks waiting for me. Today is no different. I drink vodka and soda with lemon and I have two of them sitting in front of me.

Dan the bartender winks at me and says, "Hey John, Charlie's all revved-up -- he wants to see you in the worst way...you wanna talk with him yet?"

I quickly drain the first drink, and tell Dan, "Sure."

I watch Dan lean over and say something to Charlie. The old man nods his head and finishes his drink, gets off the bar stool and begins walking towards the back door without so much as a glance in my direction.

I follow him out the back door all the while basking in the smiles of all the old queers sitting around the bar.

I let Charlie settle into the backseat of his car before I climb in beside him. My hands immediately begin to fondle and caress his upper thighs.

"How ya doing today, Charlie?" I ask him while opening his slacks. "I haven't seen you lately."

"Well, my neighbor in the trailer park turned out to be a fruit, and he took good care of me for awhile, but the son-of-a-bitch moved out last week and now I got the worst case of blue balls I ever had!" he said. "I need to bust a nut in the worst way, Bobby!"

I love the way old guys have no filter -- they say whatever is on their minds.

"Here cutie, let me help you out with your rent this week," he said.

I take the ten-dollar bill from his hand and put it in my pocket, smile, and say, "Thanks Charlie, I need all the help I can get!"

Charlie is one of my favorites of all the old guys. I can get him hard in two-minutes and he always shoots his load in less than five. And to honest about it, heh-heh-heh, his spunk isn't as foul-tasting as most of them.

***

I am surprised and relieved when I look at my cell phone and see it is almost four o'clock. It's been an unusually hectic day and I lost all track of time. To make matters worse, I can no longer taste the vodka-soda, if you know what I mean, heh-heh-heh...

While the old queens slowly leave, and the young studs begin to trickle in, I try to remember the number of backseats I sat in today.

Let's see, there was Charlie, One-Eye Eddie, Gary Gump, Luther the Lutheran (although I think his name is 'Earl'), Grumpy Fred, Dallas, The Kid (who is eighty), Pastor Paul, Herman the Accountant, Big Bang Barry (because he looks like Sheldon from the tv show) and Lester the Molester (I don't think he is, but he is awfully creepy).

I left Dan the Bartender a hefty tip even though I never paid for a drink. If it wasn't for him acting as a kind of middle-man and supervisor, my afternoon would have been quite dull.

I always eat dinner between four and five. It's the slowest time of the day in the bar and I need to eat anyway. The diner is just down the street and they make the best meat loaf, and of course, a boy's gotta feed his strength and stamina.

***

I am always amazed when I return to the bar and it is packed wall-to-wall with all sorts of young men. Hunks, twinks, musclemen, sissy boys, you name it, they all come here, and there is always a good number of closeted business men wearing expensive suits.

I am sitting quietly at the bar sipping a drink when I see Bobby across the bar glaring at me. In true form, when he knows I am looking at him he flips me the bird. I give him the finger right back. Bobby is an aging queen who is intensely jealous of me. He's pushing the big 3-0 and looks it. He can't stand all the attention I receive...screw him!

Suddenly, someone behind me grips my shoulder and it startles me. I hear a deep voice say: "A friend of mine says you're a 'Backseat Bobby' - is that true?"

I never liked that nickname -- it's demeaning. I spin around on the bar stool to tell him off and come face-to-face with a gorgeous hunk of man.

I blush, bat my eyes, smile and say, "Oh, hi handsome, I can be anyone you want me to be!"

He has a manly laugh and pearly-white teeth. He leans on the bar close to me. I see his hand pushing something in front of me. He pulls it away and I look down to see a fifty-dollar bill.

"I hear you're working your way thru college," he says with that broad smile still on his perfect face. "I have a job for you if you're interested."

"Lead the way, handsome," I say to him while scooping up the bill and shoving it in my pocket.

I follow him out to the parking lot marveling at his manly thighs and ass. I guess him to be six-feet four and maybe two-hundred pounds. A perfect specimen.

While I wondered what his cock would look like, my own little prick stiffened in my briefs. My heart fluttered as I climbed into the backseat beside him. This was going to be a labor of love, heh-heh-heh...

I begin massaging his huge thighs. He pulls me close to him and begins to unbutton my shirt. I place my hand on his to stop him. I don't have many rules, but I always keep my clothes on in case of an emergency and I need to make a quick escape.

He leans in and whispers, "You are sooo pretty, I want to see you naked!"

I hesitated and he pulled a joint out of his shirt pocket and lit it up. Two-minutes later I was flying high and didn't care that he was undressing me. I felt wonderful this gorgeous man wanted me.

He took my shoes and socks off himself then stripped me until I was down to my red, string bikini briefs. My boner was poking out the crotch and he chuckled and said, "Isn't that cute!"

I thought that would be it -- that he'd leave my undies on but no, I had to lift my hips while he peeled them down my legs. He was a very tidy man -- he placed all of my things on the seat next to him neatly folded.

"Ohhhh, nice," he said. "I LOVE hairless boys!"

I boldly fondled the huge bulge in his slacks. When I went to unfasten them he stopped me.

"Not yet, kid," he abruptly said.

He produced a short, thin leather strap and forced my thighs apart and grasped my scrotum in his big hand. For the life of me I couldn't figure out what he was going to do with the strap.