- mogo,
Most of the stories I read on this forum are clearly fictional. That’s not a criticism: Hot is hot. But sometimes the guys in the stories seem too good to be true, and sometimes reality is hotter than fantasy. Since this is LPSG, I’ve selected from my biggest and my best for you.
Josh, 1980
I was once a young hippie with tie-dye shirts and patched jeans. At the time, I didn’t realize how hot I was: Six foot, slim, full lips, nice eyes, nicer ass. Olive skin, dark curly hair to my shoulders. Average uncut dick. Not super butch, but not femme either.
I went to a small liberal arts college in the middle of nowhere. Fortunately, it had lots of like-minded people and an active gay community. The school threw dances every Saturday night—there was no other show in town and the college had to keep the students occupied.
I was sitting at my first dance with my dorm mates, bopping to the music, when I saw him. Another hippy guy, a white boy dancing like a spinning leaf. Tall and skinny, thick brown hair down to his shoulder blades. Not handsome, but there was something about him. Mischievous, playful. Maybe it was that he moved to the music, eyes closed, unconcerned, smiling. Joyous. Sexy.
I didn’t talk to him that night and, although I was half-looking for him, I didn’t see him around campus. Until the first meeting of the Gay Alliance. There were about twenty people in a meeting room in the student union, and he was one of them. We went around the circle and introduced ourselves. His name was Josh, and he was a freshman too.
That day, the Gay Alliance made plans for the semester. I volunteered to do some tabling outside the student union, and luckily, Josh volunteered too. (I later found out that it wasn’t luck at all: he wanted to get to know me.) We hit it off immediately. He was sweet and goofy, a gentle butch. He loved his truck, his guitar, and the Grateful Dead. I was less musical and more bookish, but we got along great and started hanging out pretty much all of the time. I had a huge crush on him but I was shy and inexperienced.
Josh was neither inexperienced nor shy. We were the same height and would walk in the same cadence. Josh would take advantage of that and come closer so that we were often bumping shoulders. He would touch me to make a point when we talked, or punch me playfully. And so I started touching and punching, secretly happy. One day in October we were walking in town together. I was wearing a super loose hoodie, no zipper. It started raining, and Josh slipped behind me, climbed up into my hoodie and threaded his arms next to mine in the baggy sleeves. He hugged me close as we walked down the street like a man with four legs. We started laughing so hard that we fell down onto the sidewalk, which made us laugh more. The passers-by looked at us strangely, but we didn’t care. What I hadn’t figured out yet was that we were already in love.
A few days later, we were sitting on the bed in his dorm room, studying and listening to music. I don’t know where I got the courage, but I swung around, put my head in his lap, and pretended to read. He put down his book and stroked my hair. It was late, and we eventually fell asleep in his narrow dorm bed; he was the big spoon, I was the little.
Over the next few days, I think we both knew where things were going. Where we usually talked to each other a mile a minute, now there were long, comfortable silences. We cuddled. I started sleeping in his room every night; luckily, he had a single.
Saturday came and it was time for another dance. We went together and danced together the whole night. We ground against each other to Rufus’ “Tell Me Something Good.” We held each other tight to the Bee Gees “How Deep Is Your Love.” I could smell his musk, I could feel his heat and his hard cock against mine. When the Bee Gees were done, we kissed for the first time. (It was a very progressive school.)
We walked back to his dorm, his arm around my shoulder, mine around his waist. It was late, the campus was quiet, and we didn’t break the silence. When we got to his room, he held me against the door and kissed me again, lightly at first, then deeper, faster, more passionately. We grabbed at each other and started grinding. After a couple of minutes, he whispered into my ear, "I’m close." I said, "Me too. Let’s go for it." And so we kept at it, fully clothed, making out and moaning and thrusting and rubbing against each other. Our moaning got louder, our grinding more intense, until he grabbed me tight and went rigid. He grunted rhythmically: He was cumming. I shuddered and came too. If felt like I would never stop shooting.
He was a wild man afterwards, ready for a second round right away. I was too: We were eighteen, after all. We stripped quickly, kissing when we could, our still-hard cocks cummy and waving in the air. We sat down on the bed facing each other, his legs around me, my legs on top of his and around him. He smiled his goofy smile grabbed my cummy cock. I grabbed his and we started jerking each other off.
Now, this was the first time I had seen Josh naked, and certainly the first time I had seen his hard cock. It was cut and huge. So fat that at first I didn’t notice how long it was. As fat as those sex toys that you think no one could fit up their ass. A big, fat monster cock surrounded by a thick bush of brown hair and two low hangers. I felt like I had won the lottery. To this day, forty-five years later, I have never seen a fatter cock, and let’s just say that I have not been a monk. I couldn’t fit my hand around it, and my hand is not tiny. As for length, I have just under six inches, and he easily had two inches on me.
I couldn’t take my eyes off of his thick cock as we jerked each other. The feel of its heft in my hand drove me crazy. My cock got hard as a bone. Josh noticed my reaction and chuckled, and then closed his eyes and got lost in the feeling. We quickly synchronized our strokes. Josh had begun to sweat and some of his hair was plastered to his face. Eventually, his eyes popped open and he looked crazily into mine. He started chanting quietly as he held my gaze: "Dick, dick, dick." I didn’t look away and joined him: "Dick, dick, dick." Now his cock was rock hard too. I was close. The chanting gave way to grunts and groans, our stroking got faster and tighter, and I felt like I was about to fall off a cliff. And then we were shooting cum everywhere, on our hands and cocks and bellies and chests. It was the most intense orgasm I’d ever had.
Afterwards, we fell towards each other, forehead to forehead. Then he cupped my head with his dry hand, pulled me closer, and kissed me. His tongue entered my mouth slowly and lingered. I sucked it for a moment then gave him mine.
Then he pulled back and gave me a wicked smile. Still looking at me, he starting licking my cum off his hand. "Try mine," he said. I brought my hand up and licked. Salty and so good. I licked it up eagerly, putting my fingers in my mouth one-by-one, and then disentangled myself from him and went for his chest and belly, cleaning him up, sucking it up like it was a snack.
He swung around and started doing the same and, well, you can figure out what happened next. Soon we were both face-to-cock. As we licked each other clean we both sprung boners again. When he took me in his mouth I almost lost it: No one had ever done that before. It felt sooo good. I struggled with what to do: His cock was just too fat. He whispered, "Just jerk it and suck the head." I’m good at taking direction, and soon we were moaning and squirming again, his head bobbing up and down, my mouth and tongue sucking and licking as my hand stroked. Before I knew it, his cock got super hard again and he started shooting. Not as much as the last time, but I was still greedy for his cum. I was surprised by how hot it was directly from the spout. He had stopped sucking when he came, but after a minute he went back to my cock, working for my load. I came down his throat, his half-hard cockhead still filling my mouth.
When we were done, I looked at his clock radio. We had been in his room less than half an hour. And we had both cum three times. Youth. I swung around and we kissed some more, tasting each other. And then we fell asleep in his twin bed, entangled and sticky and happy.
From that day, we were officially boyfriends. And, like lots of young lovers, we started having sex all the time. In the stacks of the library. In the campus bell tower. In the dorm shower. In classrooms at night. Once we stopped an elevator in the administration building between floors. Maybe it was because we were eighteen, but whenever one of us came, it set off the other. One of my favorite memories: We broke into the alumni room in the middle of the night. He sat in a big easy chair and I knelt before him, slowly working over his monumental cock and balls with my mouth and hands. By then, I had learned the signs and knew when to back off and how to prolong his pleasure. When he finally came an hour later, I sucked down his load as he groaned and trembled. He couldn’t move for ten minutes afterwards. A (blow) job well done.
My one regret about sex: He never fucked me. He just wasn’t into butt stuff, and to be honest, his tree trunk would have been difficult to take. At that time. Now, I have skills.
Oh, and just to be clear: Our relationship was about a lot more than sex. But this is LPSG, after all, and I’m focusing on a certain part of our story.
Josh and I had an amazing year together. Unfortunately, he spent more time playing his guitar than studying, and so he dropped out at the end of our freshman year. We spent the summer working on a farm in Vermont and then hiking in New Hampshire. In the fall, I went back to school and he went on his own adventures. It broke my heart, and I thought about following him, but he had his dreams and I had mine. We lost track of each other over time, but now we’re back in touch. (Thanks, Facebook!) He’s a baker, living on the west coast; he has a husband and a good life. He’s still a sweet man, and I’m glad he was my first love.
Josh, 1980
I was once a young hippie with tie-dye shirts and patched jeans. At the time, I didn’t realize how hot I was: Six foot, slim, full lips, nice eyes, nicer ass. Olive skin, dark curly hair to my shoulders. Average uncut dick. Not super butch, but not femme either.
I went to a small liberal arts college in the middle of nowhere. Fortunately, it had lots of like-minded people and an active gay community. The school threw dances every Saturday night—there was no other show in town and the college had to keep the students occupied.
I was sitting at my first dance with my dorm mates, bopping to the music, when I saw him. Another hippy guy, a white boy dancing like a spinning leaf. Tall and skinny, thick brown hair down to his shoulder blades. Not handsome, but there was something about him. Mischievous, playful. Maybe it was that he moved to the music, eyes closed, unconcerned, smiling. Joyous. Sexy.
I didn’t talk to him that night and, although I was half-looking for him, I didn’t see him around campus. Until the first meeting of the Gay Alliance. There were about twenty people in a meeting room in the student union, and he was one of them. We went around the circle and introduced ourselves. His name was Josh, and he was a freshman too.
That day, the Gay Alliance made plans for the semester. I volunteered to do some tabling outside the student union, and luckily, Josh volunteered too. (I later found out that it wasn’t luck at all: he wanted to get to know me.) We hit it off immediately. He was sweet and goofy, a gentle butch. He loved his truck, his guitar, and the Grateful Dead. I was less musical and more bookish, but we got along great and started hanging out pretty much all of the time. I had a huge crush on him but I was shy and inexperienced.
Josh was neither inexperienced nor shy. We were the same height and would walk in the same cadence. Josh would take advantage of that and come closer so that we were often bumping shoulders. He would touch me to make a point when we talked, or punch me playfully. And so I started touching and punching, secretly happy. One day in October we were walking in town together. I was wearing a super loose hoodie, no zipper. It started raining, and Josh slipped behind me, climbed up into my hoodie and threaded his arms next to mine in the baggy sleeves. He hugged me close as we walked down the street like a man with four legs. We started laughing so hard that we fell down onto the sidewalk, which made us laugh more. The passers-by looked at us strangely, but we didn’t care. What I hadn’t figured out yet was that we were already in love.
A few days later, we were sitting on the bed in his dorm room, studying and listening to music. I don’t know where I got the courage, but I swung around, put my head in his lap, and pretended to read. He put down his book and stroked my hair. It was late, and we eventually fell asleep in his narrow dorm bed; he was the big spoon, I was the little.
Over the next few days, I think we both knew where things were going. Where we usually talked to each other a mile a minute, now there were long, comfortable silences. We cuddled. I started sleeping in his room every night; luckily, he had a single.
Saturday came and it was time for another dance. We went together and danced together the whole night. We ground against each other to Rufus’ “Tell Me Something Good.” We held each other tight to the Bee Gees “How Deep Is Your Love.” I could smell his musk, I could feel his heat and his hard cock against mine. When the Bee Gees were done, we kissed for the first time. (It was a very progressive school.)
We walked back to his dorm, his arm around my shoulder, mine around his waist. It was late, the campus was quiet, and we didn’t break the silence. When we got to his room, he held me against the door and kissed me again, lightly at first, then deeper, faster, more passionately. We grabbed at each other and started grinding. After a couple of minutes, he whispered into my ear, "I’m close." I said, "Me too. Let’s go for it." And so we kept at it, fully clothed, making out and moaning and thrusting and rubbing against each other. Our moaning got louder, our grinding more intense, until he grabbed me tight and went rigid. He grunted rhythmically: He was cumming. I shuddered and came too. If felt like I would never stop shooting.
He was a wild man afterwards, ready for a second round right away. I was too: We were eighteen, after all. We stripped quickly, kissing when we could, our still-hard cocks cummy and waving in the air. We sat down on the bed facing each other, his legs around me, my legs on top of his and around him. He smiled his goofy smile grabbed my cummy cock. I grabbed his and we started jerking each other off.
Now, this was the first time I had seen Josh naked, and certainly the first time I had seen his hard cock. It was cut and huge. So fat that at first I didn’t notice how long it was. As fat as those sex toys that you think no one could fit up their ass. A big, fat monster cock surrounded by a thick bush of brown hair and two low hangers. I felt like I had won the lottery. To this day, forty-five years later, I have never seen a fatter cock, and let’s just say that I have not been a monk. I couldn’t fit my hand around it, and my hand is not tiny. As for length, I have just under six inches, and he easily had two inches on me.
I couldn’t take my eyes off of his thick cock as we jerked each other. The feel of its heft in my hand drove me crazy. My cock got hard as a bone. Josh noticed my reaction and chuckled, and then closed his eyes and got lost in the feeling. We quickly synchronized our strokes. Josh had begun to sweat and some of his hair was plastered to his face. Eventually, his eyes popped open and he looked crazily into mine. He started chanting quietly as he held my gaze: "Dick, dick, dick." I didn’t look away and joined him: "Dick, dick, dick." Now his cock was rock hard too. I was close. The chanting gave way to grunts and groans, our stroking got faster and tighter, and I felt like I was about to fall off a cliff. And then we were shooting cum everywhere, on our hands and cocks and bellies and chests. It was the most intense orgasm I’d ever had.
Afterwards, we fell towards each other, forehead to forehead. Then he cupped my head with his dry hand, pulled me closer, and kissed me. His tongue entered my mouth slowly and lingered. I sucked it for a moment then gave him mine.
Then he pulled back and gave me a wicked smile. Still looking at me, he starting licking my cum off his hand. "Try mine," he said. I brought my hand up and licked. Salty and so good. I licked it up eagerly, putting my fingers in my mouth one-by-one, and then disentangled myself from him and went for his chest and belly, cleaning him up, sucking it up like it was a snack.
He swung around and started doing the same and, well, you can figure out what happened next. Soon we were both face-to-cock. As we licked each other clean we both sprung boners again. When he took me in his mouth I almost lost it: No one had ever done that before. It felt sooo good. I struggled with what to do: His cock was just too fat. He whispered, "Just jerk it and suck the head." I’m good at taking direction, and soon we were moaning and squirming again, his head bobbing up and down, my mouth and tongue sucking and licking as my hand stroked. Before I knew it, his cock got super hard again and he started shooting. Not as much as the last time, but I was still greedy for his cum. I was surprised by how hot it was directly from the spout. He had stopped sucking when he came, but after a minute he went back to my cock, working for my load. I came down his throat, his half-hard cockhead still filling my mouth.
When we were done, I looked at his clock radio. We had been in his room less than half an hour. And we had both cum three times. Youth. I swung around and we kissed some more, tasting each other. And then we fell asleep in his twin bed, entangled and sticky and happy.
From that day, we were officially boyfriends. And, like lots of young lovers, we started having sex all the time. In the stacks of the library. In the campus bell tower. In the dorm shower. In classrooms at night. Once we stopped an elevator in the administration building between floors. Maybe it was because we were eighteen, but whenever one of us came, it set off the other. One of my favorite memories: We broke into the alumni room in the middle of the night. He sat in a big easy chair and I knelt before him, slowly working over his monumental cock and balls with my mouth and hands. By then, I had learned the signs and knew when to back off and how to prolong his pleasure. When he finally came an hour later, I sucked down his load as he groaned and trembled. He couldn’t move for ten minutes afterwards. A (blow) job well done.
My one regret about sex: He never fucked me. He just wasn’t into butt stuff, and to be honest, his tree trunk would have been difficult to take. At that time. Now, I have skills.
Oh, and just to be clear: Our relationship was about a lot more than sex. But this is LPSG, after all, and I’m focusing on a certain part of our story.
Josh and I had an amazing year together. Unfortunately, he spent more time playing his guitar than studying, and so he dropped out at the end of our freshman year. We spent the summer working on a farm in Vermont and then hiking in New Hampshire. In the fall, I went back to school and he went on his own adventures. It broke my heart, and I thought about following him, but he had his dreams and I had mine. We lost track of each other over time, but now we’re back in touch. (Thanks, Facebook!) He’s a baker, living on the west coast; he has a husband and a good life. He’s still a sweet man, and I’m glad he was my first love.
