I've got a thing for Straight Guys....

[BigCockHost]

Josh was moaning now.

Muffled, throat full, mouth wrapped around my cock.

His ass? Getting split open by Zack’s monster. Inch after thick inch. His back arched. Fingers clawing the tile. His cock, hard and leaking, untouched and ignored.

Zack leaned in, hands firm on Josh’s hips, driving deeper.

“You wanted it,” he grunted. “Now take it.”

Josh gagged around me. Groaned. Nodded.

But the sound that surprised us all came from behind.

Tyler.

Still wrecked. Still sweaty. Still open.

But standing now.

Watching.

Hard again.

His voice was quiet but clear.

“I want to ride him.”

Zack looked over.

“Josh?”

Tyler nodded. “Let me ride his cock. While you’re still inside.”

I pulled out of Josh’s mouth, stunned.

Zack laughed, breathless. “You serious?”

Tyler walked forward.

“Dead serious.”

He climbed over Josh slowly. Straddled him. Reached between their bodies and grabbed Josh’s cock — slick, wet, neglected. He lined it up.

His hole was still wide. Still messy. But hungry.

And he sank down.

Josh gasped beneath him.

Zack growled. “You’re fucking filthy.”

Tyler smiled over his shoulder.

“I know.”

And now?

Josh was double stuffed.

Zack deep in his ass.

Tyler bouncing on his cock.

Tyler’s hands braced on Josh’s back, his body moving in rhythm, fucking himself on that thick shaft while Zack pounded from behind.

Josh couldn’t even speak.

Just noise. Just sweat and muscle and surrender.

And Tyler?

He was moaning louder than both of them.

“Fucking hell... this feels insane.”

Zack grunted. “Keep riding.”

Tyler did. Faster. Harder.

Josh’s cock twitching inside him. Zack driving from behind.

And just when I thought I’d seen it all, Tyler leaned down, licked the sweat off Josh’s neck, and whispered, “You still think you’re the top?”

Josh didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

He was too busy cumming.

His whole body bucked. His cock erupted inside Tyler, deep, messy, hot.

Tyler moaned like it was his own orgasm.

And then Zack slammed forward, held, and flooded Josh’s hole a second time.

One on top.

One beneath.

Josh was shaking. Whimpering.

And Tyler?

He turned, still full of cum, and looked straight at me.

“Now it’s your turn.”

 

[Txprvdude]

The door creaked. The steam shifted. Footsteps, slow, heavy, echoed on the tile.

Tyler froze like he’d been caught stealing. Still kneeling. Still hard. Still inches from mine. His eyes darted up to mine, unsure. Then to the door.

I stayed where I was. Arms behind me, legs relaxed. My cock still thick and rising.

Let them see.

That’s what I was thinking. Not out of arrogance. Out of instinct. The moment was too hot, too loaded to fake shame now. Besides, it’s a steam room. If you walk into that kind of heat, you take what you get.

The guy who entered was older. Late 30s maybe. Thick neck. Gym shorts. Towel draped low across his hips. He paused just inside the room. Took it in. Didn’t say a word.

I saw it happen, the flick of his eyes. The subtle double-take.

Tyler straightened up, grabbing for his towel. He covered himself quickly, but not before the guy got a full view of what was going down.

“You good?” the man asked casually, voice low. Not mocking. Just… knowing.

Tyler nodded too quickly. “Yeah, just, yeah.”

The guy didn’t press. He sat on the far bench, towel still on, head leaned back like nothing was unusual. Like this was just another night. Maybe it was.

I glanced at Tyler. He wasn’t looking at me now. Eyes down, towel clutched tight, chest rising and falling fast. He looked flushed, but not from heat.

The older guy closed his eyes.

Silence.

Thick, charged, unreal.

Then I did something I probably shouldn’t have.

I reached down again.

Just once. Just enough to stroke the base of my cock, slow and firm. A stretch. A sigh. A reminder.

I didn’t look at Tyler. I didn’t have to.

He got up and left.

No words. No glance back. Just steam and footsteps and the lingering scent of cologne and heat.

I waited another five minutes before leaving.



I didn’t expect to see him the next day.

But there he was. Saturday morning. At the squat rack. Focused. No hat. Tight black shorts. And something in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

Resolve?

Shame?

Curiosity?

He saw me. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t wave either.

I worked out like usual. Didn’t chase. Didn’t linger.

But after I showered and started getting dressed, I noticed something.

My phone buzzed.

Unknown Number.

“Was that guy your thing? Or do you just not care who sees?”
I smirked. Texted back.

“Depends. Did you like being seen?”
No reply.

Two minutes passed.

Then:

“Meet me tomorrow. Steam room. 7pm. Don’t bring the attitude. Just bring that dick.”
And that’s when I knew

This wasn’t just about teasing anymore.

This was about control.

This was about surrender.

This was about what straight boys do when they think nobody’s watching... and what they’ll do when they know someone is.

Fucking epic story man


Tho one question … How did Tyler get the narrators cell phone number?

 

[Stephenmass]

I wondered the same thing as you @Txprvdude

 

[BigCockHost]

I didn’t expect to see Tyler again after that first week.

He’d disappeared.

No texts. No gym check-ins. Not even a sighting in the locker room mirror.

I figured maybe it was too much. Maybe that night, three guys, too many loads, too many lines crossed, had pushed him past whatever edge he’d been dancing on. Some straight guys get curious. Fewer come back for more. Even fewer admit it changed them.

But then, one night, out of nowhere, I got a text.

“That thing you said... about not everyone getting to touch you?”

“I want to.”

It was him.

Tyler.

I still remember how I got his number. The night Zack showed up. Right before everything went feral. Tyler had handed me his phone without thinking — locker room towel still wrapped low — and said, “In case I can’t look you in the eye tomorrow.”

At the time, I thought it was a joke. Now I know better.

Tyler was never joking.

He just didn’t know how badly he wanted it yet.

Now? He did.


We met again. Not in the steam room. Not at the gym.

At my place.

He showed up wearing sweats and a tank top, no underwear. His cock was semi before he even walked through the door. He didn’t say much. Just looked at me like he was starving.

“I’ve been thinking about it every night,” he said. “That night. All of it.”

I watched him strip.

Every piece of clothing hit the floor with purpose.

He stood naked in front of me, taller than I remembered, toned, confident now, but there was something in his eyes. Something raw. Something wanting.

I stepped forward.

Grabbed his jaw.

“You came here for a reason.”

He nodded. “I came to give you something.”

I raised a brow. “What’s that?”

He dropped to his knees.

But this time, he didn’t go for my cock.

He turned around.

Bent over.

And looked back at me.

“My hole,” he said. “Yours. All night.”

I swear I stopped breathing.

He’d been used. Watched. Filled. But this was different. This was offered.

I took my time.

No rush. No one else here. No need to put on a show.

Just me. And him.

I got behind him. Let my fingers trail over his back. His ass. His thighs. Felt the tension under the skin. The need.

I kissed down his spine.

Bit the back of his neck.

Made him feel it.

When I spread him open, he moaned already.

“Still sore?” I asked.

He nodded. “Stretch me anyway.”

I spit. Rubbed. Teased.

The tip pressed in.

His back arched.

I watched his hole open around me, twitching, trying to pull me deeper. He was wetter than I expected. Like his body had been waiting.

I slid in.

He gasped.

I held there, just buried, not moving.

“This what you wanted?” I whispered.

He nodded fast. “More.”

So I gave it to him.

Slow, deep strokes. Letting him feel every inch. No rush. No pounding.

Just pressure. Heat. Connection.

Every time I pulled back, he pushed toward me.

Like he didn’t want to lose contact.

His moans changed. Got deeper. Needier.

“You love this,” I said. “Being fucked slow. Being owned.”

He moaned louder. “Yes.”

“I watched you get used like a toy.”

“I was a toy.”

“You still are.”

That’s when I reached around and stroked his cock.

One stroke. Two. He was already dripping.

“You gonna cum for me?”

“Only if you stay in me.”

I groaned. Fucked deeper. Harder now.

He pushed back. Took it all.

And when I came, loud, rough, holding him by the hips and slamming, he shot at the same time. All over my hand. All over the sheets.

Collapsed forward.

Whispered into the pillow.

“I don’t want this to be the end.”

I lay on top of him. Still inside.

“It’s not.”

 

[San Clemente]

This is such horseshit

 

[elixer26]

I’ll admit it, I’ve got a thing for straight guys.

Not in some desperate, chasing-the-unavailable kind of way. I just love the tension. The mixed signals. The way a guy’s eyes flick down and then pretend they didn’t. The way a cocky bro loses track of his sentence when he catches a glimpse of what I’m packing. That little stutter in his confidence? That’s what gets me off.

And yeah, I’m hung. Thick, long, veiny. I don’t hide it. Ever. If anything, I lean into it. That’s why we’re all here on LPSG, right?

So here’s how it started.

New gym. One of those bare-bones industrial setups where the walls are unfinished concrete and the music is just bass drops and testosterone. I didn’t care, it had a steam room. And for me, that’s where the fun begins. Not always in the way you think. I don’t need a hookup every time. Sometimes the tease is hotter than the touch.

I scoped the place for a few days. Morning crowd? Too old. Lunchtime? Too dead. But 5:30 to 7:00pm? That was the sweet spot. Construction guys, desk jockeys, sales bros. Straight guys. Tired, sweaty, off-guard.

That’s when I first noticed Tyler.

Mid-twenties. Clean cut. Wore a tank top even on leg day. Always stretching too close to the mirror. Always looking like he needed to prove something, to himself, to others. And every time we passed in the locker room, his eyes almost didn’t look down.

Almost.

So I gave him something to look at.

Started going towel-free. Sat on the bench like I owned it. Let my cock rest on my thigh, not hard, not soft, just there. The kind of weight that catches attention without trying. The kind that straight guys tell themselves they didn’t notice, even as they adjust their shorts.

First time I did it, Tyler dropped his shaker bottle. Didn’t say anything, just crouched to pick it up, his eyes darting down, then up, then back down.

I raised an eyebrow. Said nothing.

He left five minutes later, face flushed.

By Thursday, he was waiting in the steam room. Towel on his lap, earbuds in, pretending to scroll on his phone. I walked in, glistening, towel draped over my shoulder. Sat across from him. Let it hang. The air was thick with heat — and something else.

He didn’t look up. But he didn’t leave either.

The next few days became a pattern. We didn’t speak. But every time we saw each other, the tension got heavier. In the locker room, he’d change slower. Take longer tying his shoes, drying his hair, doing anything to stay a bit longer. I never broke the silence.

Until I did.

Friday. Nearly 7:30pm. Gym was thinning out. Locker room mostly empty. I finished my workout, hit the steam room. And there he was, already inside.

“You’re always here,” he said, not looking at me.

“So are you.”

He smiled. “It’s hot in here.”

“That’s the point.”

He laughed quietly, then fell silent again.

The room was heavy with more than steam. I let my towel fall when I sat. My cock hung thick between my legs, relaxed but undeniable. I leaned back, arms behind me, letting the heat do its work.

“You always sit like that?” he asked after a moment.

“Like what?”

He didn’t answer. Just stared.

“You mean like I want people to look?” I added.

He nodded slightly.

I smiled. “I do.”

His jaw tensed. “That’s bold.”

“I’m not the one staring.”

He looked away. Then back.

“You ever wonder,” he said slowly, “what would happen if someone didn’t just stare?”

I let the silence stretch between us. His chest rose and fell faster. I could see the sweat tracing his collarbones, his towel tenting slightly.

“You talking about someone in this room?” I asked.

He didn’t speak.

Just dropped his towel.

And there it was. Hard. Bigger than I expected, but his eyes were still on mine. Then they drifted down.

To mine.

The shift in him was visible. From playful to serious. From guarded to hungry. I didn’t say a word as I reached down and gave it a slow stroke. Just once. Just enough to let it lift.

He moved closer. Still no words. Just this heat between us that had nothing to do with steam.

I felt his breath on my thigh.

Then

The door creaked open.

Another pair of footsteps.

Tyler froze.

I didn’t.

I miss those days lol oh the memories