- About this book
- About the editor
- After Hours — by Chris Leslie
- Nine Lives — by Dominic Santi
- Leash Broke — by Barry Alexander
- Spanish Summer — by Lawrence Schimel
- Yoshi, Honolulu, and the New Tattoo — by Michael Lassell
- Remembering — by Tom Caffrey
- FOR THE RECORD — by Jameson Currier
- Kissing Cousins — by Walter Wilde
- Off the Menu — by Barry Alexander
- Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell — by David Laurents
- Bringing Roger Home — by Gilles Packer
About this book
Cruising the Spanish Alhambra, getting hot massages in Hawaii, or sexing it up inside the hot confines of a military tank — the boys in these stories get exactly what they want. Going at it without any taboos, they won’t stop until all their cravings are satisfied!
FEELING FRISKY is classic gay erotica, available in digital format for the first time!
About the editor
David Laurents is the editor of numerous anthologies of gay erotica, including Southern Comfort, The Young and the Hung, Feeling Frisky, Rough and Ready, and Overload. His anthology The Badboy Book of Erotic Poetry was a finalist for the Lambda Literary Award. He lives in New York City.
After Hours — by Chris Leslie
The best part about night life in New York City is that the game is not over when you leave the club. If you don’t find someone while you’re out, there are plenty of good-looking guys on the street. At closing time, certain neighborhoods are crawling with guys.
One night when I was out late I decided to cruise the neighborhood a little before heading home. I walked over to Ninth Avenue and started walking uptown, checking out the surprising number of drunk Chelsea boys walking their dogs and partaking in otherwise suspicious activities. I reached Twenty-Second Street and headed east, intending to hop on the F train and head home.
Fortunately, I was waylaid. About halfway down the block, this rather short but wide man passed me. He was kind of cute, so I looked back over my shoulder a few steps after we passed. He was looking, back, too. I took a few more steps and looked back again, and again he was looking at me. I stopped walking and turned around, trying not to look too threatening. He looked back a few more times but didn’t stop walking, so I started to follow him.
When he got to the park on the corner he jumped the fence and disappeared into the bushes. I followed, and found him standing against a tree. Without a word, he unzipped his navy blue parka and put his hand on his crotch. I stood in front of him and nodded my head. He nodded back, looking me in the eye, and unzipped his pants. He looked a little fat at first, but as he opened his coat I realized that it was in fact the layers of clothing that made him look so bulky. He was shorter than me with longish brown hair that was thinning a little over his temples. He was wearing a white T-shirt and black jeans, and a baseball cap that advertised a brand of farm equipment.
He pulled out his dick and I followed suit. It was pretty cold out, and his dick was shriveled up to an embarrassing size. I was a little hornier, but even so my half-hard dick recoiled at the cold air. I took a step closer to him and grabbed his dick away from him. Jerking us both off, I started to get harder but his dick remained flaccid. I began to get nervous — this park, now closed for construction, used to be a popular cruising area until a few gay-bashings occurred. I wondered what he was up to — he looked gay, certainly, but you never know these days.
“Do you want to suck my dick?” he asked, roughly. I looked around to make sure that there was no one there and squatted down. I put his flaccid dick into my mouth and started to suck. He started muttering all the standard shit — ”Yeah, suck that cock” — while holding my head with strong hands. I reached up and felt his stomach, and instead of a paunch I found carefully sculptured abs. His thighs were thick and beefy. Despite myself, I started to get turned on by his huge, muscular body.
But for whatever reason, his dick refused to get hard. I jerked off while sucking him. When I started to get really turned on, though, he pulled me off his dick. “This is no good here, guy. Do you want to come to my place?”
“All right.” I said. I stood up and we put out shit away. I followed him out the park, and we walked to his apartment a few blocks away. We didn’t talk much; we exchanged names and trivial information. He told me he was born in Pennsylvania, he had just moved to the city about two months ago, and he was twenty-nine. He wouldn’t tell me where he worked (“mostly odd jobs”).
He lived in a standard city brownstone. His apartment was on the top floor, and we had to climb five flights of stairs. Once inside, I took of my coat and sweat shirt. He got himself a beer and went into the bathroom. I sat down on the couch to look at the bookshelf, trying to get a clue as to what this guy was all about. There was a lot of weird titles there — shit like anthologies of essays on Jacques Lacan, books by Michel Foucault, and other pop postmodern study aids. While it was stuff that no casual reader comes across, the collection lacked any quirks — science fiction novels, or biographies, or murder mysteries — that would indicate some kind of intellectual personality.
When he got out of the bathroom, I nodded to the bookshelf. “So, do you go to school?”
“No,” he said. He saw me checking out the bookshelf and added, “those are my roommates’ books. He’s into some pretty heavy stuff.”
“So where does your ‘roommate’ sleep?” I asked.
He ignored my question. “You want to suck my dick?” he asked. He sauntered over to the couch, unzipping his pants as he walked. Standing in front of me, he pulled out his soft, small dick. I took it into my mouth, and did my best to suck on the limp meat.
“You better be a good cock-sucker, guy. I’ve been doing coke all night.”
That would explain it. I reached inside his fly and pulled out his balls, which were freshly shaved. Massaging them with one hand, I sucked hard on his cock, trying to break through his coke haze. His dick got a little bigger — but he didn’t really start to get hard until I started to moan a little, like the idea of sucking his dick was turning me on. That works every time, and his dick started to swell as I pretended that I liked nothing better to suck on some Chelsea boy’s flaccid dick. I rubbed his thighs, which were also shaved, and then moved around to his full, hard ass. He was quite built, by far the largest boy I had ever had sex with, and the novelty of it all started to turn me on in spite of myself.
The boy started to moan, and his dick continued to grow. To my surprise, it was getting really long and thick — I wondered how far it would go. I picked up the pace, moaning and breathing heavy, and soon he clasped his hands behind and started to fuck my face. He started to moan, too, and as his dick grew to choking size, it still wasn’t really hard. Cool.
“I’m gonna fuck you so hard, boy. I’m gonna fuck you with this dick so hard that you’re gonna cry,” he muttered. With that, his sphincters contracted, and a little pre-cum leaked out. He was really getting himself turned on. Suddenly, he pulled out and stood back. “Take off your clothes,” he said. I unlaced my boots and pulled them off, then stood and stripped off my shirt and pants. My dick wagged out of my boxer’s fly. I grabbed it and started to jerk off. “All of them. I want you completely naked.” I pulled off my socks and underwear. “Go into my bedroom and wait for me,” he said.
I walked down a short hallway. Past the bathroom there was a door which I expected was his bedroom. I opened the door and was greeted by a rush of cold air. Once my eyes adjusted to the low light, I saw all sorts of dirty clothes littering the floor and draped from the loft bed. After looking about, I climbed up to the loft.
A minute later the boy joined me, condom and lube in hand. I lay on my back, and he rubbed my thighs and chest for a minute. “You’ve got a hot body,” he said. He grabbed my dick and jerked me off a little. I closed my eyes and threw my hands over my head, expecting at least a little service. All he gave me, though, was a quick little suck before he remembered the role he was playing. He got up on his knees and ripped open the condom. “I can’t wait to fuck that ass.”
He unrolled the condom, but his dick had softened to a point where he couldn’t get it on. “Come here and give me a hand. I’m still a little high.” I got up and he pulled my head to his crotch. “Get that dick ready for your ass,” he said.
Within seconds he was fully hard again, this time much bigger than I had remembered. “Get that rubber on my dick,” he said. I unrolled the condom over his dick, then covered it with lube. It was actually quite big, and I conserved a little lube which I discreetly applied to my ass hole as I got on my back. He lifted my legs into the air. “I hope you’re ready, boy.” he said. “This is going to hurt.” I doubted it, but I kept my mouth shut as he leaned forward and pushed into me with a firm pressure. Once he got it home, he pulled my ankles to his chest.
Big, white boys from Chelsea certainly are not my thing. But since I was here, I planned to take full advantage of the situation. I moaned and muttered incoherently. And then I started to feel his huge shoulders and tight waist, and as my moaning and touching turned him on, he started to fuck me harder and deeper. And in spite of myself, I started to get turned on, too. I sincerely started to moan, and muttered for him to fuck me.
He could tell the difference, and as I started to really get into it, he started to play it up a little. “Yeah, you like my dick, don’t you?” he asked, slapping my ass. I moaned back, and reached down to start jerking off. “Don’t touch your dick, fag. I’m gonna fuck you so good that you won’t need to jerk off.” I put my hands back on his arms again, which were so fucking muscular and tight.
He closed his eyes and held my ankles tightly, releasing them only to slap my ass, hard, from time to time. “You fucking whore. You just walk the streets, waiting for someone to fuck you. You like being a whore, don’t you?” He slapped me hard on the ass and jammed his dick deep inside my ass. I winced in pain, and turned my head away. “How much are you gonna charge me for this?” He was ramming me hard, and starting to get out of breath. “You should pay me, faggot. I’m giving you what you need.”
I started to get a little nervous, and must have tensed up because he calmed down a little. He slackened his pace and stopped going so deep, getting my ass back in the mood for his dick. “You’re so hot,” he whispered a few times, uncharacteristically tender. The boy was pretty high, and he kept things going at the same pace, like a machine, for longer than I thought I could take it. Sweat was dripping off his brow, stinging my eyes, and everywhere our bodies touched was slick.
Finally, the repetition sunk through his coke haze and he started to get closer to cumming. His dick started to expand as he entered the home stretch. He opened his eyes and kissed me as he pushed my thighs up against my chest, holding my ankles nearly at the level of the bed. I could hardly breathe, but the position opened my ass up wide, helping to accommodate his growing shaft. “This is how I fuck my girlfriend,” he whispered. He started to grunt, and fucked me with short, hard thrusts. I was boiling inside, and finally he told me he wanted me to cum for him. He put my hand on my dick, and commanded me to shoot while I fucked him. Within seconds, I was shooting a load that I won’t soon forget as my ass clenched tight around his cock.
After I finished cumming I tried to get him to pull out, but he would have none of it. “Give me what I paid for, you fucking whore,” he said. “You came too fast, now you’re gonna pay.” He forced my knees into my chest and eased his dick deep inside my ass. I squirmed and tried to get him off, but he held me still. I’m sure he would have given up if I put up a serious struggle, but I decided to lay still for a minute, waiting for him to cum, before realizing that my struggling was turning him on. I started to struggle again, and muttering things like his dick was too big and that I couldn’t take it. Within thirty seconds his dick was throbbing cum into the condom inside my ass.
After cumming, he collapsed onto me for a minute, out of breath. “That was really good,” he said after a moment. He leaned over to kiss me, but then we heard the door slam. We looked over, and his boyfriend was just coming into the apartment. I thought it was an amazing coincidence until I realized that he must have entered the apartment in the middle of our fucking, watched most of the show, and then slammed the door afterward so that we would know that he came in.
The boy leaned down to kiss me again, and I asked him if I should take off. He said not to worry about it. “Isn’t that your boyfriend?”
“Yeah,” he said. “But don’t feel like you have to rush off if you don’t want to.” He kissed me, then jumped off the loft and went to the front of the apartment. I lay in his bed as he had a whispered conversation with his boyfriend. I lay glowing for a few minutes, and then peeked out the bedroom door, trying not to get lube or butt juice on the sheets, which seemed like they had just been washed. I could see my boy’s cute ass and shoulders, and that was about it. I laid back down and waited for him to finish chatting with his boyfriend.
It seemed like they were going to talk forever; maybe they were in the middle of an argument. I got off the loft and walked into the bathroom. They were quiet when I came out of the bedroom, but started talking again once I closed the door. I wiped the lube and juice off my ass with some toilet paper, washed my face, and ran some water through my hair (it was cropped really short, but still was sticking up in a weird way).
I came out of the bathroom in time to be introduced to the boy’s boyfriend before he walked into the bedroom. I looked at the boy and shrugged my shoulders. He came over, put his hand on the back of my head, and kissed me. We kissed, dry, for a minute, and then I said I should be going. I dressed quickly as the boy washed up in the bathroom. He showed me to the door, and he kissed me again before I went down the stairs.
Nine Lives — by Dominic Santi
So I can lick my own dick now. I don’t like the taste of fur. Reincarnation is not all it’s cracked up to be.
I lowered my leg and stretched, kneading my claws in the Irish linen tablecloth. I’ve always liked the finer things in life. Not that I was supposed to be playing centerpiece. But Steve had outdone himself this evening. The table was set for a seduction — good china, Waterford, sterling. Jarre playing softly on the stereo. Candles. I was trying to be helpful.
That cute little trick he’d picked up on Santa Monica Boulevard last night was definitely worth the effort. At least, I assumed he would clean up well. The Halloween costume had covered too many of his assets for my taste, but a basket like that is hard to hide. And I know there were nipple rings hidden under that Roman soldier’s tunic.
I never would have bought the guy’s “not tonight — I’m drunk, and I want the first night with you to be special” routine. Granted, he and Steve had seemed to have more than a passing interest in each other. But I was a real slut in my previous life. I would have wanted that little snuggle bunny drunk and sober.
I nuzzled the rim of a wine glass, marking it with my scent. That was a close as I came to a man’s lips these days. All I got to do was watch. Well, almost all. I sat back down and raised my leg again, giving myself a couple of quick licks. There were some compensations.
Doorbell! I hopped down off the table and ran under the loveseat, peeking out as Steve opened the door.
Oh, yeah. Even without the costume, this one was a keeper. Not too tall. Gymnast’s build. Soft brown curls and hazel eyes. And dimples! Quite a contrast to the former middle weight wrestler with the close-cropped blond hair and green eyes that I’m used to seeing crawl out of bed each morning.
Our guest blushed as he handed Steve a bouquet of yellow roses. Half a dozen. Tastefully understated.
Steve was eloquent, as always. “Wow, you’re even cuter than I thought! Um, … Mike?”
Smooth move, cowboy. I sighed and shook my head.
The date didn’t do much better. “Thanks. You, too … Steve?”
Human intellect is vastly overrated. They’d gotten the names right, but it was definitely time to take matters into my own hands. I raised my tail and sauntered out into the entry.
“Meow.” Not too loud. Polite. Inquisitive. Just enough to get their attention. As usual, it worked.
“Hey, that’s a beautiful cat!”
Mike reached down to pet me and I gifted him with one more quick meow — slightly friendly, appropriately regal — as I rubbed up against his khaki pants.
“Dammit, Bagheera! You’re getting fur on him!”
I sneered at Steve as he pushed me out of the way. The fur looked rather good, I thought. Short, black wisps all along the calf. A nice contrast to the cream of the fabric.
Steve stumbled all over himself with apologies. “Hey, man. I’m sorry. You want me to put him in the bathroom?”
Ha! Not without chain mail, you won’t!
I was tempted to teach Steve a lesson. With company this good in the house, he knows I’m going to be a guest at the party. Steve took a step towards me. I growled, feeling the frisson all along my back as my fur rose.
Fortunately, Mike stepped in before Steve got hurt. “I really like cats. And this guy seems friendly.”
If nothing else, Mike certainly knew how to make brownie points. I gave Steve a look, then pointedly ignored him as I marched back to rub against Mike’s leg again. I smirked as Mike scratched behind my ears. Good technique. He knew right where the sweet spots were.
When I’d been petted enough, I turned and led the three of us into the living room for some hors-d’oeuvres and wine.
I stayed until I was comfortable they’d be able to handle the conversation on their own for a few minutes. I can never be too sure with Steve. Graphic designers are so unpredictable. But he seemed to be doing okay, and I was hungry. I figured I had time to grab a quick bite from my bowl before dinner. Besides, Steve wouldn’t make any moves until after he’d served the entree. He’d spent hours on dinner, cooked the marinara sauce from scratch to impress this guy.
I walked into the kitchen and sat down. Kibbles. Oh, joy. But it was better than starving. I batted a couple onto the floor, then settled in and started crunching.
I don’t know exactly how I got here. Got to be a cat, that is. One moment I was a human, waking up with this gorgeous, sated man in my arms. Having my way with him again anyway. Going out for breakfast together before I headed to the airport. Next thing I knew, I woke up in a pile of kittens.
Steve picked me out of the window in the pet store. At first, I wasn’t sure how things would go. I approved of his reading material right off, especially the stroke mags on his nightstand. That first weekend, though, when he brought home a feisty redhead he’d picked up in a bar, I knew I’d found my home. I curled up on the headboard and watched them fuck each other senseless. Man, did that bedroom smell great.
Of course, I made Steve earn the privilege of my companionship. He takes care of me. I let him pet me when I’m in the mood. I purr when I want to. Nap. And we came to an understanding real quickly about this getting fixed business. I don’t mark territory in the house. He ignores my propensity for extreme genital hygiene. And I get to watch him fuck.
Just thinking about that got my juices flowing. I finished my snack and went back into the living room to see how things were going.
The wine glasses were next to each other on the coffee table. Mike was sitting on the couch, leaning back into the cushions. Steve was on the other side of the room, perusing his music selection. They were talking about their jobs. Boring! But at least they were watching each other. Pretending they weren’t. There was a nice little bulge growing in Mike’s lap that he was trying to hide. It got bigger as Steve bent over to change the CD.
“What type of stuff do you have?&