I haven't gotten my contributor copies yet because it just came out (ha!) but my story "Better Late Than Never" is in Best Gay Erotica 2010 edited by Richard Labonte, out now from Cleis Press. Yay! Gotta get back to writing more, I want to try to send something to Beautiful Boys.
From "Better Late Than Never" by Rachel Kramer Bussel:
One day, coming home on the train, reality caught up with my fantasies. My dick stood to attention when a sweaty young man rushed between the subway doors, fresh from a round of basketball. His brown curls clung to his head, his muscular calves topped by thighs that made me ache. I lifted my gaze and tried to read a subway ad for chewing gum, but my eyes kept darting over to him.
A seat opened up behind me and I sat, almost stunned at the visions swirling through my head. I reached for a copy of Time Out New York and placed it over my lap to try to hide my erection. When I looked up at the basketball player again, his eyes locked on mine, and he casually made his way over to stand right in my line of vision. His crotch was right before me, the outline of his cock visible when I took a quick peek. I flipped a page in the magazine, and he shifted so his leg was brushing mine. I probably looked a little bit crazy, a middle-aged man in a black designer suit, smooth shaven, surely blushing as I sat there with an aching dick hidden by a magazine as a young man, probably a college student, made me hard by brushing his knee against mine. Finally, my stop arrived and I stood, inevitably brushing against him. In a flash, he took my hand and let it trail over his cock. The whole thing took maybe two seconds, and I’d say I imagined it but I know I didn’t because my dick shifted in my pants, responding instantly. You’d have to have been staring intensely to think it anything other than two passengers shifting to make room for one of them to exit, but my face burned with the truth as I rushed home.
I stood before the full-length mirror in my closet and jerked off, holding my cock and wishing it were the sweaty subway guy’s, wishing I could’ve taken him in my hand, wrapped my fingers around his firmness for more than a single moment. I reached behind me and started to gently stroke my anus, which heretofore had been a sexual no-strike zone. I had so little experience with anyone’s back door, but my finger there felt good. I pressed harder, knowing I’d need lube to get the job done right, but being too caught up in the sensations to pause for even a moment. I kept stroking myself, moving my fist up and down, thinking of the sweaty basketball player’s face back there, licking me, opening me up with his tongue. “Yes, harder,” I cried out and then opened my eyes and watched my dick shoot a veritable waterfall of jizz.
Read the whole story in
Best Gay Erotica 2010