GAY EROTIC STORY
"My Gay Uncle"

“Well, Nick, you’ve grown a foot and a hundred pounds since I last saw you.”

“It’s great to see you, Uncle Allston. It’s been what – ten years?”

“As I remember, you were starting high school, and now you’ve got a college degree. By the way, please drop the ‘uncle’ thing. Call me Al.”

I’d come west to help Uncle Allston out. He’s my dad’s youngest brother – and although my parents didn’t talk about him much, I was always intrigued by his free spirit. He would disappear for months at a time, travelling to who-knows-where on his motorcycle, or working at odd jobs. Last year, I heard that he’d come by some property near the Rockies, and I wrote him, asking if he needed any help, and, if so, could I spend the summer working for him, in exchange for meals.

He’d replied enthusiastically. So, here I am, after an overnight flight and a three-hour bus trip, meeting him. After we pitch my stuff into the back of his pickup truck, we head to what he calls his homestead. He looks in great shape – his open shirt frames a burly, hairy chest – and he’s sporting a black Stetson. Shaving doesn’t seem to be a priority – just the way I remember him.

“You realize that I’ve got some heavy-duty jobs lined up for you.”

“I can’t think of a better way to get rid of the city and the bullshit.”

He laughs. “You and I are going to get along just fine. And from what I see, I’d better think twice before wrestling with you. You didn’t get that body reading books.”

“I work out, plus the part-time construction jobs I wrote you about.”

We make small-talk about those jobs, my college courses, and our various relatives. From time to time, he loosens the crotch of his jeans.

“If you want to take a whiz, I wouldn’t mind unloading my bladder, too,” I suggest.

“That’s not what’s causing this problem,” he says, flashing me a grin, “but I’ll pull over so you can unload while I make some adjustments.”

Al parks at the side of the road, and while I piss into the ditch, I half-watch him as he kicks off his boots and removes his jeans and jockey shorts. His cock is at full mast. He flings his briefs into the truck, saying, “I don’t know why I put them on. Usually I wear as little as possible. Hope you don’t mind?”

“Of course not. If the weather stays this warm, I might do the same.”

“Why wait?” he asks, teasingly.

In an effort to hide my shyness, I reply, “Okay, why not? When in Rome ...”

“Romans wore togas, Nick. They were smart,” he chortles, watching me shed my trousers and underwear. As I toss my shorts into the truck, he adds, “Well, you certainly have nothing to hide.”

Then I notice a large ring that circles his cock and balls – and I’m not sure what to make of that. We put our clothes back on, and I’m thinking: Al is what? Forty? He’s never been married that I know of. If he’s gay, why live way out here, on his own? Oh well, it’s none of my business. When we continue down the road, he’s got one hand on the wheel and the other on his crotch. Somewhere along the way, I doze off.
The next thing I know, he’s announcing, “We’re home, Nick. Time to wake up, although your friend there has been up for quite a while” – and I realize I’ve got a major erection.

“I’m sorry Al, I didn’t mean to go to sleep on you,” and I get out of the truck, stretch my body, and survey the scene. “This is idyllic!” I exclaim. “I had no idea. Did you build that house? And you’ve got horses! Hey, how about a tour?”

During our stroll, he often puts his hand on my back or grips my biceps, even wraps his arm around my shoulders. At one point, he removes his shirt and tucks it under his belt. At first, I feel awkward, but he’s so open and friendly, my inhibitions vanish. Then, when he’s introducing me to his two horses, Dorothy and Nellie – both Morgans – he asks, “Ever ridden bareback? I mean horses, not men.”

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