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Butt Boys: Gay Anal Erotica

Barry Lowe

Sex, drugs, and insatiable bottoms.

Who doesn't love a good bottom boy? The men in these stories are better than good...they're totally insatiable, they simply can't get enough of what keeps them happy. Whether it's the guy who misses his stop on the last train of the night and ends up with three hunky workman repairing  the tracks, a bottom who falls, literally, at the feet of three hot workers putting in a speed hump outside his door, a sex shop worker who goes to the aid of his favorite porn star bottom, a straight boy who bets his ass on a sure thing in a card game, a top man who finds his real calling at a private sex club, or the lead singer in a Korean boy band, these boys give new meaning to Entry at the Rear.

Print ISBN 978-1-909934-64-1 Cover price 12.99

eBook ISBN 978-1-909934-65-8 Cover Price: 7.99

Length: 216 pdf Pages / 48500 words

Gay, Group / Orgy / Menage, Drama

Heat rating: 5


I’m such a fuckwit. How else would you explain my predicament? The facts speak for themselves; it’s two o’clock in the morning, it’s the middle of winter, and I’m pissed off my brain – at least I think I’m pissed because it could be drugs – wearing nothing but a T-shirt, and jeans, with bare feet. I lost my sneakers somewhere during the night. Where am I? Your guess is as good as mine. Godknowswhereville, attempting to hitch a ride outa here. The whole thing is my own fault. There, I freely admit it. Are you laughing yet?

Why are gay men so fuckin’ boring? They’d rather sit around discussing the latest Lady Gaga clip or gay rights for Antarctic penguins than get down to the nitty gritty. Where are the real men? Gay guys who like it rough and ready at the click of their fingers, who want nothing better than to ram a moderately hot just-past-twink-years bottom like me?

I spent the night bored off my brain at a gay pub where a group of gay swingers thought they were on to a good thing by inviting me on a date. Better that they had just thrown me on the ground and had their way with me. A fuckin’ date! Do I look like someone who wants to go on a date? Fuck me. My filthy mouth always gets me into trouble. I’m too direct. There, I managed to restrain myself. I was gonna put the F word before at least three or four more of those words in those couple of sentences but I’ve learned too much of a foul mouth and you sound like one of those wussy porn movies where the actors sprout bad dialogue while looking as bored as I’d felt all fuckin’ night. After the pub almost sent me catatonic I headed to a disco where the music almost burst my ear drums and the only action in the Men’s was of the snorting or injecting kind and I don’t mean injecting in my ass.

It was even an off-night at my favorite leather sex-on-premises venue. It was water sports night. Maybe the idea of a bit of piss turned off the customers because they were conspicuous by their absence. I spent half an hour down on my knees in the prayer position, my jeans soaking up a puddle, wondering whether I’d end up with crippling arthritis in my joints like my old mom, because there was fuck all else going on.

Somewhere between when I’d paid to go into the disco and leaving the leather den, I lost my wallet – or else it’d been lifted by some skanky fag – and I no longer had taxi fare home. Proof enough that I must have been in a bad way, it took me some time to realize I’d left my shoes inside the leather den but when I went back the door was closed and no amount of banging got me an answer. Plus for the first fuckin’ time in living memory the weather bureau got it right and the cold front had moved in: a bitterly cold wind that froze my balls off. Only thing in its favor was it made my nipples hard as icicles. Problem was, no one was sucking.

My lack of mates, the sort who’d allow me to sleep on their living room floor let alone share their bed, sank any chance of a warm place to kip. I guess I must have looked the worse for wear because guys were giving me a wide berth as I walked up the street. In frustration, I shouted at one pissy bunch who giggled like high school girls at the fact I had no shoes. “Have I got two fuckin’ heads or something?”

No cash for a cab meant sleeping in a park or a shop doorway for the night. I glanced up at the clock on top of the gay pub on the corner. Shit! If I hurried, I might just make the subway. Last train was due to leave in about fifteen minutes. I’d have to jump the turnstiles but that wouldn’t be the first time.

I ran down the pavement hoping to make it in time, barging a path through groups of gay men who scrambled to get out of the way of the madman. The underground station loomed and I still had five minutes. My joy was cut short when I noticed the automatic entrance shutter was about two thirds down and closing fast. Bastards. I slid under it on my belly dirtying my fifty-dollar boutique T-shirt. Flinging myself down the escalator because I heard the train pulling into the platform, I managed to wedge myself between the closing doors of the train, scraping my arm against the hard rubber seal but that was the least of my worries.  

The carriage was all but empty, a few stragglers like me curled up asleep on the seats, their heads rested against the graffiti-carved windows. Wrapping my arms around my cold torso and propping my feet up under my body, I managed to warm up a little. Big mistake. I had only a few stops to go; a quick twenty minutes on the train but too far to walk on a cold night when I was next to naked. I leaned my head against the window, wondering where I could find me a man with the requisite attitude to fuck me into the ground. I nodded off dreaming of hairy chests, massive thighs and biceps of steel.

I was just about to be taken by a mob of horny bears (the human variety), my cock hard as iron, my asshole quivering with anticipation…

“Hey, mate, wake up. End of the line.”