Best Gay Erotica 2014 Read Online Free PDF Page B

me as best he could, his love of man-meat, which even family ties and high-society business connections couldn’t break, urging him on. He sucked sloppily and jerkily. I listened to the hissing breath steaming out of his flared nostrils on the other side of the thin wall, the gurgling in his throat, feeling his frantic sucking on my cock right down to my balls.
    All in a day’s work. Getting blown by some stranger in a shabby downtown bar, a gloryhole hummer minus the glory. I gently pumped my hips, nonetheless, helping Businessman get a better vaccing rhythm going on my dong. Turning fifty-dollar tricks in broken-down pickup trucks with fumbling boys, hundred-dollar suck-offs in stinking bathroom stalls with slumming businessmen — this is your typical day? It wasn’t howI’d envisioned it at all, when I’d first started selling my cock on the street.
    Businessman caught on to the pumping pace with his mouth, easing back on his greedy nature and taking what he was given, sucking smoother, tighter, more sure and sensuously. I felt the improvement, the wet, warm, wonderful sensation of velvety man-mouth tugging on my organ, and I pumped faster and more urgently.
    Businessman rubbed the wall with delight, overjoyed with his cocksucking, overwhelmed with all the meaty manhood he was sucking on; his inner homo set free. I kissed the metal, squirmed my tongue over it, hands splayed out and body flattened against it, hips thrusting, cock feeding into the hungry, happy mouth on the other side.
    Businessman’s time was up. He’d gotten more than his money’s worth. I pumped fast and furious into his mouth, then gushed down his throat, giving out a deserved bonus in salty, quivering bursts. The man swallowed with a skilled gusto born of the highly sexed situation, our mutual connection, gulping everything I gave him as I clawed at the wall in ecstasy.
    The fuck-pads were on the fifth floor of the Hotel Sinclair. That’s where I headed next, after leaving Businessman smacking his lips on the other side of the heated gloryhole. I thought about having a drink or two at the bar, but I knew the hot sun and clear blue sky, and the sight of the sparkling green river water would do more to clear my fuzzy head.
    The Hotel Sinclair was three blocks over on Perth Avenue. The streets and sidewalks were crowded now. I was just another faceless, nameless person pushing his way through the throng, a workaday stiff in more ways than one.
    You could’ve had it so easy , I thought to myself, as I wasjostled this way and that. Up at noon, fresh from a sound sleep between silk sheets, brunch out on the balcony, looking down on these very same masses hustling to make a buck. No worries about this month’s rent, next week’s food, clothing bills and transportation. You just had to grin and bear it and suck it and fuck it, treat the one man — or maybe a few on a string — right and everything would be laid out for you. No running with the little people .
    It was hot now, the sun blazing down, baking the dusty city core. It was only slightly cooler in the Hotel Sinclair and even dustier. Three old men were slumped in the musty armchairs in the dilapidated lobby. The hunchback behind the front desk glanced up only briefly from his porn mag, nodded at me, then went back to his drooling, as I thumbed the rickety elevator open and stepped inside.
    The fuck-pads were quiet, empty, except for Room 512: my room. I could hear the telltale grunting and groaning even before I pushed open the door. Two men were inside: a large, muscular black man and an even larger, more muscular Hispanic. The black man sported a shaved head and body, gold earrings. His ebony muscles gleamed and bulged as he crouched down and drove his cock into the muscular ass of the man on all fours on the floor.
    The Hispanic man taking the licorice dong deep into his anus had slick black hair and a slick black mustache, diamond studs in