Gay Erotic Stories

This is a fictional story about a man who has struggled with his homosexuality and is just coming out in a relationship with an Afro-American man whose name is Alex (The protagonist of the story here has the name Matthew Swan). Prologue: Matt has a son by his ex-wife, Melinda. After the divorce, the 5 year old boy, Jason, went with his mother and her lesbian lover to live in Essex, England. An automobile accident results in the death of Melinda and her lover, leaving the now seventeen year old Jason alone. Child authorities in England have contacted Matt, and Jason is returning to the United States to live with his father. Having just begun the relationship with Alex, Matt is nervous about having his seventeen year old son to live with him. The story picks up with Jason's pending arrival. (Author's note: in Chapter one the author gave as his email address Skydaddy38@aol.com. That was an error. Email address is SkyPoppy38@aol.com. Responses to the story are welcome.)

Chapter Two

"You said that he just had his eighteenth birthday?" Alex asked as they turned off the freeway and started the drive into the airport. "Yes," Matt answered. He maneuvered the car into the terminal parking lane. "You bought him a gift, of course." "Oh, Christ! I can't believe I forgot it. I have been such a mess since I learned that Jason was coming here ... coming home ...Damn!" Alex smiled, reached over and patted Matt's knee. "Calm down, Man! You can get it later. Maybe take himn out to dinner and present him with a gift then." "Yeah. That would be nice. Alex, I am so scared." "He will be nervous, too. You'll both get through it. Remember, he knows that you are gay. He grew up with his lesbian mom and her lover. Just be yourself. It will all be fine. You'll see." Matt was shaking. Even so he managed to drive carefully, maneuvering with the traffic and finally starting up the spirally ramp to the upper level parking. After he had parked the car, he turned to Alex, forcing himself to relax. "Thank you for comingwith me," he said. "I really need your support." Alex gave his soft thunder laugh. "No problem," he said.

They met at the baggage terminal. Even if they had not previously exchanged photographs and described to each other what they would be wearing, Matt knew his son immediately. He was small, which surprised Matt -- small and lithe with almost delicate but not feminine features. His brown hair was medium cut and styled in a wind-blown fashion with a bleached blond streak that was young and impish and very handsome. He was wearing plain blue jeans, obviously favorites, well worn and faded, a simple light green t-shirt with a picture of London Bridge and the letters UK on the front. He had sandles on his otherwise bare feet. He had a digital camera hanging from a strap over one shoulder and a laptop in a handsome and expensive leather case hanging from a strap over the other shoulder. Matt saw instantly that he was wearing the wristwatch Matt had sent him for his seventeenth birthday, and he was glancing at it as Matt and Alex approached. He looked up at them as they approached, flashed a dazzling grin, and mocking the famous greeting with Dr. Livingston, held out his hand and said, "My American father, I presume." "I'm afraid so," Matt said. He shook his son's hand. "Notice," Alex said to Matt, "that he didn't mistake me for you." They all laughed and Matt introduced Jason and Alex to each other. The first meeting was only slightly awkward. After the introductions, Matt put his arms around Jason and gave him a long hug. He was suddenly emotional and tears came to his eyes. "I am so glad to see you at last, Jay. Sorry about the tears. I hope I am not embarrassing you." "Don't worry about it, old chap," Jason said in a characture of a British accent. "Old guys always cry. Not me, though. I'm tough as an old l boot." He pulled back, wiped his beutiful blue eyes with the back of his hand, then hugged Matt again, holding him close, his cheek pressed against Matt's chest, and unashamedly cried. "I'm so glad to have my dad at last." Alex discreetly moved away and contemplated the baggage belt. "I assume you have some luggage," he said over his shoulder. Jason looked over his shoulder, slowly pulling away from Matt. "Yeah. The orange stuff -- oh, there it is! I got it i orange to make it easier to spot." Alex deftly pulled two bright orange bags from the belt. "Charmingly gaudy," he said. "You don't really have an accent,"Matt said to his son. "I'm surprised." Jason grinned at him. "Oh, I can turn it on or off. There were a lot of American kids in my school. And mom didn't have an accent." There was a brief moment of silence, then Matt said very quietly, "I am so sorry about your mom." "It's alright," Jason said in a quiet voice. It was not to be discussed further. The ride home was filled with chatter. Alex sat in the back seat, observing, while Matt and Jay rambled on about everything and nothing. Father and son are going to do alright, Alex thought to himself. They stopped and had dinner at a steakhouse. By the time they got home, Jason had fallen asleep, leaning on his father's shoulder. Alex carried the luggage into the house, then in a private moment with Matt whispered, "I don't need to be here tonight. You two should be alone." Then, seeing that Jason was not present, he gave Matt a quick kiss on the cheek. "I'll call you tomorrow." They said their goodbyes. Matt thanked Alex. And then Alex was gone. It was late. After his shower, Jason came to the den to say goodnight. Matt walked his son to his bedroom and stayed while Jay crawled into bed. He wanted so much to give him a hug and kiss him on the cheek, but he held back, afraid it would embarrass Jay. It was hard to believe that he was eighteen. Jason was so small, so much yet the boy rather than the man. He smiled at him, wished him a good night, then walked down the long dark corridor to his own room. Lying in his own bed, exhausted, Matt closed his eyes, recalling the immge of his son. Beautiful! He was so beautiful. As he drifted off to sleep, he began to have disturbing dreams.