The Toyboy Experiment: A Steamy Gay Adult Story You Don’t Want to Miss
Dive into “The Toyboy Experiment,” a tantalizing gay adult story that explores passion, desire, and unexpected connections. Join our intriguing characters as they navigate steamy adventures and seductive experiments that will leave you breathless. Don’t miss out on this unforgettable journey of love and lust!
I woke up, my face filmed with sweat, and had a drink from the glass of flat, room temperature water on the bedside table. I could hear the sounds of people in the pool, having a morning swim; the rasp of crickets in the grass; the chirp of birds. Through the slats in the shutter I could tell that the sky was clear as ever.
Great, I thought gloomily. Another beautiful day.
Going on holiday by myself had seemed like a great idea. I”d be free and unencumbered and none of my friends would be around to move in on any interesting woman I encountered. And there were plenty of interesting women at the hotel, but most of them seemed to be either married, or partnered, or 18 and looking for horny male 18-year-olds, not a horny male 28-year-old. I was in good shape and not bad-looking and I kept myself fit, but unlike a lot of the men in the hotel I didn’t tan. I had dark hair and pale skin and after the first day, sunburn on my shoulders and back where I hadn’t been able to reach with the sunspray. My face got a good colour but the rest of me remained obstinately pale.
So that first week, I consistently went to bed alone. It wasn’t for want of trying. I managed to chat to some cute women at the bar, a young, single Englishwoman who was on holiday with friends and a rather drunk Dutch girl who actually snogged me and suggested we date, and then went to the toilet and never came back. By the time I’d been in the hotel for a week, I was becoming increasingly frustrated.
I had a routine. I got up, had breakfast, swam for a couple of hours, had lunch, then took a siesta in which I read, or wrote, or napped. Then I went for another swim, groomed myself, ate some dinner and hit the bars. But it seemed like nothing could shake the aura I had of Lonely Single Man.
After a while, however, I became aware that someone was watching me.
There were other single men at the hotel but most of them were fat, or middle-aged, or even more obviously desperate than I. But one of them was different.
He was older, probably sixty, and tall, taller than I am, with short cropped silver hair and a goatee. He had a deep tan and a lean, rangy body, visible whenever he went swimming (which was often, in a pair of tight trunks that couldn’t have been more different from my baggy blue swim shorts) and an air of remote amusement. And I was sure that he was watching me. Whenever I glanced his way, his eyes would be on me. Sometimes he’d return my gaze until I broke away, sometimes he’d go back to his book or stare out to sea or pretend that he hadn’t been looking at me.
I found this slightly unnerving, in that I had no idea why he was staring at me, unless he just found the spectacle of a young man trying to pick up girls very funny. He himself appeared to be alone, although once in a while I saw him dining with friends — always a different set every time. He would be chatting and drinking wine and being charming, and then he would glance over at me and his gaze seemed to contain an element of taunt: don”t you wish you were doing this?
After a couple of days in which his attention seemed to wander off me I decided that he’d lost interest in me. I couldn’t blame him. I’d almost lost interest in myself at that point, and spent my late nights staying up and playing World of Warcraft and drinking the contents of the minibar.
Then, the day I woke up and noticed with gloom that it was a beautiful day, he finally said hello.
I had my customary light breakfast, read for a bit and then went back to my room and put on my trunks and headed down to the beach.
It was blisteringly hot and I was, as usual, coated in sunscreen. After an hour of crawling up and down and basking and watching the wildlife, I had just about accepted that this was going to be a day like any other when all of a sudden, he surfaced next to me, blinking the water out of his eyes. He smiled.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hello.”
“Another beautiful day,” he said drily. I smiled.
“Yeah,” I said.
“They can get a bit monotonous, can’t they?” His accent was middle-class south of England, slightly refined; beyond that I couldn’t be sure.
“A little bit.”
“If you’re with company it can be fun.”
“It happens that I’m not,” I said.
“Oh dear,” he said.
“Not for the want of trying, mind you,” I said, feeling that I shouldn”t moan too much on a first acquaintance.
“We can only try,” he agreed.
We floated there for a while in a peaceful silence.
“Are you staying at the hotel?” I asked out of mere politeness.
“Oh no,” he said. “I have a house down the coast.”
“Ah,” I said.
“They let me use the beach because I have shares in the hotel,” he said.
“Nice,” I said.
“It is,” he said. “Very convenient for meeting people.”
There was another pause. Then he said “Well, better crack on. It was nice to meet you.”
“You too,” I said, reflecting that this was the longest conversation I’d had in days. He smiled warmly and struck off in his powerful crawl.
About 20 minutes later I got out and headed for the showers. There was a shower block on the beach, a long, low building. There were sinks, and you could wash up and put your belongings in a crude locker with a key on a chain that you wore round your neck in the shower, and then you retrieved your stuff and dressed and went back to wherever you were staying. I had left it so late that there was nobody else on the beach, although there was a solitary swimmer coming in.
I stood at the sink in my dripping trunks and washed my face with face scrub and cleanser. Then another man came in.
It was the older guy from earlier, the guy with the house down the coast, dripping wet. He nodded and smiled at me, then quickly eased his trunks down his hips and stowed them in his locker and got under a shower. I finished washing my face, slid my swim shorts down my legs and put them in a locker, then I lathered my face with shaving foam and stood in front of the sink, naked, shaving.
I didn’t mind being naked among other men, especially on holiday where everyone was nearly naked most of the time. This time seemed a little different, however. Although I wasn’t looking at him, I had the strangest suspicion that he was subtly checking me out.
I found myself standing a little differently at the sink than I had been doing. I stood up a little straighter and squared my shoulders. If strange men were going to check me out, I didn’t want to look bad. I’m not gay, and I”d never even been tempted to fool around with a guy, but on some level I felt that even a glance across the room from a possibly gay and rather elderly man was attention, and attention was what I’d been craving.
And then he spoke.
“You look fit,” he said, washing his hair. I glanced over at him and smiled briefly in response.