Men in Shorts: An Erotic Anthology (5 page)

Once again, Erik's hand did the talking, his fingers slipping beneath the elastic of his shorts and gently easing them off his slim hips until the force of gravity took control and did the rest. At last, the final garment lay at his feet, and with a playful twirl he kicked his foot into the air and watched as the shorts went sailing across the room. They landed on the lamp by his bedside, immediately sending the room into darker shadows. He looked around, and it was almost as though there were three of him in the room.

"Ooh, a threesome. Kink-o-rama," he said, laughing. The sound of his voice echoed in the room. It felt unfamiliar, as though it had disappeared a while ago and only now returned.

By now his cock was fully extended, and he stole another lingering look into the mirror. Being a gay man in his late twenties, it wasn't as though what stood before him was much of a stranger,to him or to others, but still he felt the heat, the anticipation, of what was to come. He'd always been a sexual being, and even though he was cute and had a nice body and most nights had more offers for sex than he could handle, it didn't mean he shied away from the idea of self-pleasure. Toward the end with Dan, sometimes it was better.

Face it, Erik, you're a sexy dude, time to remember that
. The hair at his cock was decidedly trimmed, and just a hint of treasure wound its way up toward his belly. He had considered removing that trail altogether but tonight he was glad for it, ooh how it would look sneaking out from beneath the rim of the shorts.

That's what he said to the mirror, and the smile he received back was devilish. This was fun. Clothes on, he knew his smile was one of his stronger selling points. Shed of society's skin now, he knew there were other attributes he brought to the game, but really, when you got to this point weren't you pretty much playing already?

Reaching down, Erik stroked his cock, watching as the thick head grew just a bit more in size. He rubbed the tip, already beginning to feel the presence of pre-come. Yes, with what was about to happen, it wouldn't be long before satisfaction found it way back into his heart. Not long at all. See, he knew himself and he knew his limit and he knew his boiling point, and so he was right to tell Tim he'd meet them all at the bar in an hour.

The moment of truth had finally arrived. The leather shorts, which had called to him from the store window and had ridden shotgun in the car, and had watched his strip show from inside the paper bag from NightLife. It was now his turn to reveal all. Erik moved back to the bed, and took hold of the bag as he would a first kiss from a new lover. Then he slid his hands inside the hungry mouth of the bag, emitting a sharp cry of desire as his fingers made initial contact with the soft leather. He waited a moment for the feeling to wash over him, coming to rest in the tips of his toes, the sensation orgasmic in nature. But no, he cautioned himself, not yet.

He withdrew the tiny shorts from the bag, brought them over to the mirror. Spread between his hands, he at last drank in their appeal, growing thirsty at the thought of their appeal. His mouth dry, his fingers sweaty, Erik was suddenly a mix of tastes and emotions, the idea that what you most wanted was in close range and you feared they couldn't possibly live up to the expectation. But he knew these shorts would, oh yes, oh yes, oh yes. He knew exactly how they would feel.

Bending down, Erik lifted one leg, then the other, and at last his skin had made contact with the silk-like, buttery leather. As he slowly slid the shorts up his legs, he watched in the mirror as the feathery hair on his legs bristled at the disturbance of the foreign material. But he kept going, the teasing sensation ratcheting up the temptation level. His cock bounced and flounced, as though realizing it was soon to be encased in a prison that threatened to keep it from its desperate, desired outcome. The leather shorts were making their way closer, over the knees and up the thighs, stretching its limits as tight material clung to muscular skin. Erik could feel his legs buckle, and for a moment he thought he might need to sit, to kneel, anything to secure his footing. But the wave passed, and once again the shorts were nearly at their destination. Just a few more inches and the ultimate in pleasure would be all his. The look, the feel, the delicate wonderful enticing touch of the most fabulous piece of clothing he'd ever owned, ever worn.

Finally, he pulled the shorts up against his waist and he watched in the mirror as the tight fabric secured itself around his ass, gazed at his cock as it was swallowed up whole by the mesh pouch in the front. Running his hands against the material, he could almost feel the heat of the leather sink into his pores, burn away the sweat of his palms. The cloying, wonderful smell of leather invaded his olfactory senses, wafting down his throat and settling inside him. He opened his mouth to breathe, and damn if he didn't see smoke escape, the heat coming off his body now.

He fingered the mesh of the shorts, realized there was an opening there, and with careful precision, he guided his thickened cock through the mesh. His engorged penis nearly touched the mirror now, its shaft held in place by the tight leather. A gentle stroke led to another, and then another, and Erik watched in the mirror as the twin cocks—the real and the image—interacted, played, taunted. With his other hand he rubbed the leather shorts, running his thumb again around the thin belt. The cool touch of metal counter-acted with the heat of the leather and Erik could feel the pressure mounting deep within himself.

This was the moment he'd craved, the attention he'd sought, the knowledge that he still had it, that it really didn't matter what you wore, it was how you felt. But sometimes in life you needed a little extra help, and damn damn damn if these shorts hadn't pushed him over the edge…

His cock erupted with a power he could scarcely remember, and for a few moments his breath escaped him and his lungs constricted. Erik closed his eyes and pumped, pumped again, not stopping until every last drop had left him. He shuddered once, twice, and again, and finally, at last, willingly, he opened his eyes and let his lungs take their first deep breath in minutes. He was woozy, lightheaded, but in the mirror was a reflection he hadn't seen in weeks.

"Erik, you're back. And from the looks of it, better than ever."

Stuffing his cock back inside the mesh weave of the shorts, Erik decided it was time to rejoin his friends. Time to rejoin the dating pool. He tossed on his jeans and his shirt quickly, he was anxious now to hit the bar scene. On his floor those old Calvins remained. Erik kept the shorts on. Tonight, he hoped to show them off to someone else.

As he left his apartment, he reached for his phone and tapped away a text message to Tim.

"On my way. R y ready fr axtion? Shorts? HHH? Like me."

Erik grinned widely. He'd felt like himself again.

Man, that felt good. Then again, damn, so did those leather shorts.

by Neve Black

As the summer sun begins to burn through the thick gray marine layer; affectionately referred to as
June gloom
in Southern California, it also begins warming the ocean and surfers hang up their wetsuits in favor of light, comfortable board shorts. Board shorts are made from nylon-like material that dries quickly and can be found in a myriad of appealingly bright colors like succulent clementine orange, rich Russian red, zesty lime green and cheerful sunflower yellow.

The male surfers tend to have godlike bodies, akin to Michelangelo's David, possessing the quintessential triangulated body: broad, well-developed shoulders and trapezoids, strong, muscular arms and flat, six-pack abdominals that taper down to their narrow, sexy hips. I enjoy the way board shorts curve around a man's tight, round ass, especially when the material gets wet from the ocean's ebb and flow, accentuating each taut muscle. The legs of surfers are rock hard and each sinewy muscle is exquisitely defined. Surfers often wear their board shorts past their belly buttons, hugging on their jutting hips. To me, a surfer's board shorts are like brightly colored presents begging to be opened. Once you unwrap the present, you'll find the most delicious cock inside.

It was a typical early summer evening in Southern California – a little chilly – and I opted to wear my eye-catching turquoise board shorts and long-sleeved black rashguard, which hugged my well-toned body in all the best places.

"Jitterbug? Is that you? Damn. You've grown up since the last time I saw you," a vaguely familiar voice called out as I approached my surfing crew, my surfboard under my arm since I was meeting the guys for a session.

I replied, "John Quinones? Wow. Long time no see. How are you?"

I first met John Quinones when I was a curious thirteen-year-old realizing I had some kind of power between my legs but clueless about how it worked or how to use it. He was a confident, seemingly experienced sixteen-year-old. Even then, I had a feeling he'd know exactly what to do with my power. I had a huge and completely impure crush on him the instant we met and he took a liking to me, as well. At that time, his interest in me was more like an older brother. I was simply too young for him. His pet name for me was "Jitterbug." I'm not sure why he called me that, but it stuck and everyone stopped calling me Kathleen and began calling me Jitterbug.

Some things had not changed for me since the last time I saw John, but then again, some things were very different. I was still surfing with the same harmlessly horny guys I'd known since I was eleven years old, but I'd long since moved on from primary school. I had just graduated from college, and I was considering graduate school in the fall while working a full-time job.

When John had moved away to go off to college, he left behind a lusty young girl who was just beginning her journey into womanhood. Over the years of John's absence, my body had started changing. I can remember when my mom sat me down and counseled me on wearing a bathing suit top under my rashguard because my hardened nipples and budding breasts were beginning to show through the white sheer material when wet. I also had to wear my bathing suit bottoms under my board shorts in order to hide the pubic hair that clung to the crotch of my sheer, nylon shorts. Embarrassing, but empowering, too.

"I'm great, Jitterbug. I'm great. You really look amazing," John said with both hands resting casually on his hips. His intense gaze told me his primal self was on high alert.

Standing in the slightly chilly caress of the ocean breeze, my blond hair was cut into a bob framing my high cheekbones and delicate jawline. I was still slender, as I was the last time John had laid eyes on me, which was more than ten years ago. Now, however, instead of having the body of a tomboy, I was a woman with stop-'em-dead curves. My figure had filled out from being skinny and awkward to sleek, slender and athletic. A body made for long, hot nights grinding and bucking under an ardent partner. My skin was golden brown, the amber color of a kelp bed, and ripples easily under the touch. My eyes were round, dark blue like the deepest part of the Pacific, and they're usually filled with mischief – daring to take on a bigger wave, or stay out for one more set, even when my skin is goose-pimpled and my teeth are chattering from the cold.

I had long, graceful arms and muscular legs. My hips and breasts complemented one another and I had a high, firm ass that I was proud to show off. The swell of my small but well-shaped breasts, the natural indentation of my waistline, the sway of my hips greeted John for the first time since kissing virginal childhood behind.

"You look great too, John." I purred, flicking my eyes over him. I could feel my heartbeat thumping in my chest and my stomach flip-flop the way it used to whenever I got close to John Quinones in my wanton wayward youth.

John hadn't changed very much. He had wavy, jet black hair and the very ends kissed the tops of his broad shoulders – shoulders to hold on to. Shoulders meant to grip while straining in the throes of climax. He had lickable mocha brown skin washed with golden honey from the sun, the ocean and the sand. His eyes were round and appraising, the color of warm, melted milk chocolate.

His body was compact and muscular. I stared at his firmly developed chest and muscular arms, wondering what it might feel like to be enveloped inside his warm embrace. His smooth chest drifted enticingly down into his flat, rippled stomach and narrow hips. Today, he wore a pair of jet black board shorts that hit him just above his knees and sat along the ridge of his hips. His hipbones were fingers beckoning me to come closer.

A ridge of silky black hair ran tantalizingly from his belly button down into the front of his shorts. I wanted to trace that dark ebony line of hair with my fingertips, follow it into the front of his board shorts, let my fingers stroke his excited cock lying hidden inside. Slick black hair covered his sinewy calves and quadriceps. His legs reminded me of the base of a palm tree: Strong, solid and firmly planted into the sand.

"Yeah. Jitterbug grew up to be a hottie while you've been gone, John," one of the appreciative guys in the group said.

* * * *

That evening, John and I surfed together and it was much different from when I was an awkward young girl, eager but unable to shed her innocence and totally infatuated with him. We both sat on our boards beyond the breakwater. Our boards drifted together with the ocean current and our legs grazed against the other's legs, sending electric shocks of pleasure throughout my body. I was in heaven. I was laughing, talking and flirting with my greatest crush of all time and this time I was old enough to do something about my feelings. I had to pinch myself as a reminder that this was really happening to me.

As we both straddled our boards, bobbing up and down to the ebb and flow of the swells, our legs swayed with the ocean's movement below. I couldn't help but wonder euphorically what it might be like to straddle John and bob up and down with his movements.

I blushed at my depravity and diverted my eyes away from his gorgeous body, following the waves as they made their way onto the beach. I focused on the sandpipers as they skimmed along the wet sand while trying to avoid the frothy surf as it spread against the shore. As my eyes drifted up, I could see the cliff widows scattered throughout the rocks above the beach looking out toward me. They were waiting for the perfect waves to form too, the wave that would bring their surfer back into shore, into their lusty embraces.

"Jitterbug, I always hoped we'd surf together again when our age mattered less."

"John, you know my real name is Kathleen, right?" We continued bobbing up and down in the swells.

"I know. I like Jitterbug, though. Did I mention how great you look?" John mused.

"Yes. You too." I said, smiling and staving off the butterflies flitting in my stomach.

"Oh yeah? Can I kiss you?" John boldly asked, while he squeezed the top of my thigh and smiled winningly. The reckless gleam in his eyes told me he already knew the answer.

"Um. Um…um…" I stuttered, completely thrown by John's cocksure request. The touch of his hand on my thigh sent more electric voltage up my spine, then nestling between my legs – and it wasn't because I was getting cold. I stayed calm. Surfing with a bunch of guys over the years taught me how to remain cool and collected in most situations, even though I felt prickled and anxious, like I'd just swallowed a jellyfish. John wanted to kiss me. The exquisitely sexy man I dreamed about for years wanted to kiss me.

"Yes… I'd like that." I heard the words escape my lips.

The sun was starting to set over the horizon and John and I were essentially alone now. He pulled my board closer to his, while he tilted his head toward mine. His wet, dark eyelashes framed his deep, compelling brown eyes before he closed them and pressed his soft, wet sea-salt lips onto mine. He kissed me tenderly and sweetly. I moaned and felt the juices inside my pussy start to loosen and flow. I had waited so long for this moment. John pulled his lips from mine, only to plunge them insistently forward again, darting his demanding tongue inside my mouth; probing and tickling my tongue with his.

I wanted to feel John's solid arms around me. I imagined our bodies melding together on the wet sand as he made love to me while the waves crashed over us.

John's strong arms reached down to my waist and lifted me up and onto his board. We both straddled his board now, each staring at the other and his board became submerged a little deeper into the water from our weight. My surf board started to drift away, but it was leashed to my ankle, so I knew it couldn't escape. I lifted my arms up and around John's broad, toned shoulders and carefully scooted my butt closer to him. I could feel the surfboard wax sticking to my board shorts, thwarting my movements. John placed his hands under the cheeks of my ass and lifted me to him. My ass was hot and tingly from his touch. Our lips locked again and we both moaned with pleasure as the ocean water sloshed around us.

Our bodies bobbed up and down on the board with the current and the ocean was quiet below us as our bodies clamored and tore precariously at each other. John's lips made a fervent journey from my lips to other desperately wanton areas of my body. He began suckling my ears, neck and shoulders, playfully biting me like a sea lion does when courting a mate. I threw my head back and let John inhale me in. I smelled of raspberry soap from my shower earlier, the sea, salt and lust. He grazed his lips across my face and neck. The sun had set and it was beginning to get cold and dark.

John was relentless. He lifted my rashguard up, exposing my belly, and pushed my bikini top to one side, sucking on my hardened nipples. Instinctively, I reached for the waistband of his board shorts and the Velcro swatch that opened and closed his shorts. I pulled the band and heard the delightful sound of the wet Velcro ripping open. I pushed my hand inside the front of his board shorts and wrapped my fingers around his pleasantly endowed, semi-hardened cock. He looked at me, blinking back the saltwater from his eyelashes and then arching his back as his hips bucked toward my hand.

Steadying myself with one hand behind me on the surfboard, I used the other hand to pull his cock out of his shorts and I slid my hand up and down along the perfect shaft. John in turn, reached for the Velcro fastener of my shorts and ripped it open. He pushed his free hand down the front of my shorts and inside my bathing suit bottoms. His fingertips moved across my clit. I moaned at his touch, throwing my head back and desperately grinding my pussy downward. Our floating oasis was rocking from side to side and the waves smacked against the Fiberglas surf board, threatening to topple us.

John moaned as I moved my hand faster up and down his hard, smooth cock. We both wanted to flail about from the pleasure we felt, but of course we couldn't or we'd both end up in the sea, losing the moment and lessening our odds of reaching orgasm. I continued to rub his cock passionately up and down as his fingers found their way inside my wet, engorged pussy. He found my G-spot and began massaging, pushing me closer to exploding. I felt his cock gather force and start to spasm and it sent the first waves of orgasm over my impatient body. I shuddered and felt my pussy contract and pulsate as John yelled out into the darkness and his cock spewed hot come into my hand.

We both held each other as we bopped up and down in the ocean, catching our breath, our bodies humming gratefully.

That summer, John and I spent nearly every day together until he moved away for a career opportunity and I was accepted into a graduate school far from Southern California's beaches. I do go back to visit that place and try and get in a session or two of surfing from time to time. The sun, the sea and, more specifically, the men that wear board shorts still make my knees weak.