Gay stories young

James' Story - James tells the short story of his first gay sexual encounter at fourteen, with his fifteen year old cousin. series Steve's Story - Steve tells the story of his first sexual encounter at eighteen. A boyxboy story. Aspen Taylor is an average 15 year old boy at high school, except for one thing, he's gay. When he meets the new boy Charlie Field, he finds himself in love for the first time in his life.

Every Friday afternoon, after class, Steven brought over dark, tough-guy Brooklyn-Italian, thirteen-year-old boys, to fellate. They came sometimes two or three times. Steven sometimes came over alone. He sexually teased and tormented me. I was under his thumb, scared, ashamed, and aroused. In , I turned thirteen. Read from the Gay Fiction collection of stories on Inkitt.

We’re constantly updating our library with the best stories online and in app for readers like you. New free erotic stories added to Literotica in the last few days. Dad died when I was six. The rabbi who lived in the apartment below took over for him. My brother was four. We would secretly meet in the woods, hug each other and cry. I learned to hate all religion and still do.

Mom was a dark-haired, curvaceous looker, juicy, and in her prime.

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She liked sex but decided that all men had to pay for it. The butcher brought steaks; the florist, flowers; the bagel man left fresh hot steaming bagels by our door every morning for months. Leon, the ice cream man left ice cream. And not to forget Abe, the jeweler, who brought, well, jewels. They all tried to get inside. Some did. When Mom met the man who brought it all, she married him.

We lived in Borough Park, in Brooklyn. Until I ran away, I thought everyone in the world was either Jewish or Italian. I was intimidated by all the dark, Brooklyn-rough Italian boys in my class. Busing started, a few black kids filtered into school, and I made a new friend, Eric, who took me home to meet his mom in Bedford Stuyvesant, thought to be a dangerous black ghetto.

I was the only white person there. Steven was in my history class. Handsome and fair-skinned, he was a Neapolitan boy with curly blond hair. I sensed something different about him, so I asked him if he would like to come over to do homework together. Yes, he had—his junk was twice the size of mine. Every Friday afternoon, after class, Steven brought over dark, tough-guy Brooklyn-Italian, thirteen-year-old boys, to fellate.

They came sometimes two or three times. Steven sometimes came over alone. He sexually teased and tormented me. I was under his thumb, scared, ashamed, and aroused. In , I turned thirteen. I was a wild child, filled with a bursting curiosity about the world out there I wanted to explore. Craving adventure like the feral, ferocious horn dog I would soon become, I was on fire for something more in my life.

In my Catskill Mountains summer camp, just before my thirteenth birthday, Robert, who was twelve, looked over all the boys; then he hit on me. We spent most of the summer hiding in a secret treehouse, having sex above the forest.