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Peter's Free Stories Archive

Little Shamus

I’ve written four stories about Shamus, and this is a fifth – but it’s the first, chronologically – a prequel if you will. It’s called “Little Shamus” It’s told in first person, a little different from the other Shamus stories like “Muscle Beach” or “Dirty Cop.”

Here’s an excerpt from the novella:

One day, I was doing squats, and I seen Coach Hurley standing in the doorway watching me. He was looking at my legs, I figured. But he wasn’t.

He said, “Shamus, after this, come see me in my office.”

I thought I was in trouble, but when he smiled, I felt something funny going on in my gut.

“Hey Coach, what’s up?”

By Adam Maxwell Bigglesworth

Nick was too big to hide it, so he didn’t try. He had a monster cock, way too big for a quickie. Women didn’t interest him much. He liked boys, men, dudes, anything with a dick. He spent a lot of time in the gym showers showing off and watching the other men subtly bow in deference to his mighty cock. He’d never seen a bigger dick than his. He didn’t want to. He got off on his superiority.

Sex was problematic for Nick. He went to the baths and watched the men sucking and fucking. It got him hard. But even the greediest cock pig balked at Nick’s enormous meat. He got plenty of worshippers but no actual sex. The greedy boys would hold his cock in their arms, licking the tip, but none dared put more than the head in their mouth. And nobody could take him in the ass, or at least he had never found anyone willing to try. He got a lot of ‘no-thank-yous’ and a few ‘let-me-tries,’ but he never succeeded in fucking a man. He got the tip in once or twice, but that was it. His massive cockhead was big around as a beer can, but the shaft was even thicker, like a stack of large tomato cans. It was magnificent, powerful, and frustrating. He had so much pent-up sexual energy and nowhere to release it except between his two hands. 

Adventure On a Desert Island

My latest novella needed a title: I decided on Desert Island Daddies. It’s a hot adventure story in the style of those old pulp adventure novels where two men are pitted against nature but survive against all odds. It reminds me of that old radio show “Escape”. Here’s an unedited chapter from the book:

When Pinky woke up, Butch was already up and about. He’d taken off his clothes and hung them out to dry. The boa constrictor between his legs flopped from side to side, casting a shadow in the sand that made it look like a third leg.

“Wake up, sleepy head. Help me start a fire. And give me your clothes.”

Pinky reluctantly stripped off his linen pants and shirt, his socks, then his underwear. He put a hand over his crotch to hide his shame.

The Spotter
Garret peeled off the shorts, revealing a cock the size of two coffee cans. It was misshapen, but it was a gigantic dick. Bryan grew weak in the knees looking at it.

Bryan was a gym bunny. He spent most days there, and his social life revolved around the people he met there. He was of average height and weight and was average everywhere except between his legs. There he was below average, which was a source of anxiety for him. His dick wasn’t tiny; it was short and thin. He was uncircumcised, adding to his fears of being different down there. In his social circle, most of the guys were cut. The only person who really cared about Bryan’s dick size was Bryan himself.

What began as a simple comparison evolved into an obsession. Bryan’s sexuality blossomed out of his obsession with size. He avoided guys with little dicks, and started lusting after the guys in the locker room with huge cocks. He was very fit and caught the eye of many men, some who identified as straight and others who were as gay as Bryan was becoming.

One day, the holy grail walked into the locker room. Garret was a new member with huge muscles and a massive bulge in his workout shorts. It was so big it defied explanation. Bryan wondered if the guy had elephantiasis or some other disorder that caused him to swell up. He didn’t want to be obvious, but his eyes kept darting toward Garret’s crotch as they worked out beside each other.

Garret smiled at Bryan. “Do you mind spotting me?”

Los Angeles was 100 miles away, but it might as well have been 10,000 miles. I was finally relaxed. Someone in the hot tub commented that I had a nice smile. I don’t think I’d smiled for years.

Poolside Plantings

After endless years on contract at MGM, I was finally able to take a vacation. The contract expired. I had saved enough to live for a few years if I chose not to work again. This trip to Palm Springs was quite literally what the doctor ordered. My blood pressure was through the roof. I was starved of vitamin D. Basking in the sunshine in my speedo I could feel my skin drinking in the light. That’s when I saw Bailey.

The clothing-optional resort catered only to men. The owner was queer, as were all his clientele. Nobody was required to wear clothing. This meant that the employees of the resort had to be comfortable working around a bunch of naked gay men. Bailey was the new groundskeeper. He was so good looking, he had to dress ugly on purpose. He as over six feet tall, with dirty blonde hair. He wore coke bottle glasses and a thick mustache, hiding his handsome face. Every time he moved, his muscles threatened to burst through the fabric of his clothes. I was surrounded by a crowd of mostly naked men, but all I saw was Bailey, bending to pick up a pot of geraniums. Even from behind, I could see the outline of his cock running down the inside of the left leg of his jeans.

Under the Boardwalk
Cleve was built for fucking

This scene is from a novel-in-progress set at the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk, and also underneath it. Harry, a smooth young man with a very small penis envies guys with hairy bodies and big cocks. When he meets Cleve, a super-hung sex machine, Harry learns his mouth and his ass are vital sex organs that many men want!

* * *

Since he was old enough to stand, Harry’s favorite place on Earth was the Santa Cruz Boardwalk. Every summer, he and his parents stayed at a motel near the beach called the Sandpiper Inn. He heard the sound of the rollercoaster roaring long past his bedtime. The room was lit by the flashing lights and neon glow of the amusement park. Despite many troubles and unhappy times, the weekend at the beach was always a sanctuary for Harry. It was something he could rely on for most of his childhood.

When Harry applied to UC Berkeley, he was deferred to UC Santa Cruz. His mother and father didn’t have a lot of extra money, so he was going to have to work. Like a fool, he chose to work on the boardwalk, thinking it would be the most fun anyone could have. He found out quickly that visiting an amusement park is very different from working there. His eyes were opened to the terrible people of the world who lived to make minimum wage employees suffer. It was a rude awakening.

Hotshot – Free erotic ebook preview
Hotshot – Hot Gay Erotica Excerpt

From Peter: the following is the raw, unedited first chapter of an in-progress hot sexy novel about truckers. Although this is only one chapter, I’ve already written a dozen chapters and will probably wrap it up around twenty.

It will be interesting for anyone wanting to learn how to write an erotic story. You may find typographical errors, grammatical mistakes, or run-on sentences. There are many ways to write, but my preferred method is to do lots of research up front, then write through without stopping to make a lot of corrections. I do stop to conduct further research as needed. Once the story is told (and story is the most important piece), it can be edited. When editing, you make many different “passes” – one is for story structure and missing details, one is a pass to make the hot and sexy story hotter and sexier, one is for reducing overused words (penis, cock, huge, enormous, massive), one is for spelling and grammar, and the last pass is a polish – just tweaking anything that stands out.

The following first draft has had none of these passes. It’s an erotic story that flowed right out of the author’s head and onto the page after a lot of research into the trucking industry.

Wilbur waited at the gate for his flight back to Albuquerque. He dreaded the long, boring pep talks at Limon headquarters. Every three months, Limon Corporation required the sales staff to fly to Topeka and endure the long-winded talks from the CEO. Wilbur was sales support, a technical role that had absolutely no business listening to the incessant bullshit they were shoveling. The only thing about these trips that he enjoyed was the time away from the wife and kids.

When Wilbur was younger, his classmates bullied him. It was deep cruelty because Wilbur had the shortest, thinnest penis in gym class. They called him “Clitty Boy” and “Pinky.” When Juan, his supposed best friend, joined in, it was almost too much to bear.

Juan took Wilbur aside. “Listen, man, I know this hurts, but you got to hear it. With a dick like that, no woman is gonna want you.”

@PeterSchutes is producing illustrated micro-smut on Twitter. What is micro-smut? It’s extremely short fiction, limited to 280 characters. The challenge is to turn on the reader in just a few words. Below are a few of the best:

Alec put Ralph on the sofa and held one leg aloft. This allowed him to fuck ferociously from the side. Ralph had never seen such a big dick, and now it was thrusting harder and harder in his ass. The pain subsided. Alec was an expert fucker.

Hobo Honey – a free erotic novella set in the hobo jungles of Depression-era United States.

Hobo Honey – FKA The Ambitious Hobo
Hobo Jungle, circa 1931

Riding the rails was no life for a beauty like Fred Talmadge. His face was too pretty to be covered in all that soot. Riding from Dallas to St. Louis, he shared a boxcar with a thick hunk of meat named Idaho Jones. Idaho felt protective of the pretty boy with nowhere else to go. Hobos don’t get a lot of sex, and when they do, it isn’t always mutually consensual. It’s almost always with other hobos. No women hang out in the hobo jungles or ride the rails except for a few bull dykes. Idaho preferred women, but only if they preferred him. He hadn’t been with a woman in a long time. Freddy was starting to look mighty appealing. But Idaho was a hobo with principles. He would never take advantage of a young soul. But if Fred wanted it, Idaho would be happy to give it to him.

Idaho was the humble owner of a gigantic cock. Hanging nearly to his knees, the monster, as he called it, was enough to scare away even the most cock-hungry slut out there. He had met a few loose women who could take him halfway. They never walked right afterwards.

Fred interrupted Idaho’s thoughts. “You got a cigarette, sir?”

“Call me Idaho, son. Yeah, Lucky Strikes means fine tobacco.” He held out the pack and Fred gently removed one cigarette.

“You got a light?”

I spent most of my adult life getting paid to get fucked. I had seen my share of big dicks, and I’d seen a few huge ones. But Roger’s was in a separate league. I had never seen anyone that big hard, let alone soft. A client interrupted my thoughts. It was Roger.

“You’ve been staring off in space all night. Is everything okay?” His mustached grin was so sexy, I felt my knees tremble.

“I’m fine. It’s the first time I’ve seen a dick as big as yours.” We were both porn stars, it was fine to talk shop.

Roger winked. “I need that vodka cranberry, please.”

“One Cape Cod, coming up.” I quickly made his drink and watched his muscular ass as he walked away.

In my youth, I was an actor. Not what Hollywood folks call a “legitimate” actor. I was on the other side of the hill, in the San Fernando Valley. My parents moved to Reseda from Chile when I was just a boy. I could speak fluent Spanish, but I chose to speak English most of the time.

Living in the Valley, you couldn’t miss the effects of the $4 Billion adult entertainment industry. Gentlemen’s clubs, sex shops, arcades, X-rated movie theaters – they were all around us. We all remember high school dares. In some parts of the USA, it might be cow tipping or streaking through the barn. At our high school, friends used to dare each other to go into a video arcade and try to pass as an adult.

It was senior year, during just such a dare that I met Gary Hauser. Gary not only produced porn, he was an actor as well. I had never seen him before. I didn’t realize I was gay until the moment I set eyes on Gary jacking off in one of the private booths. His door was propped open. He took one look at me and he knew what I was, even before I knew myself.

“Come here, kid, and suck my cock.”

At the Lucky Market – An erotic story

…the way he squeezed the banana was more than suggestive…

On summer break from college back East, I came to stay with my Grandmother in Fresno, CA. Fresno is the largest city between Los Angeles and San Francisco. It sits in the middle of the Central Valley, where it bakes like the raisins and prunes it is famous for producing. Fresno was trying to be a big city, but it was a farming town at heart, so all the trappings of a proper city were there, but there was no one to use them. The Rumpus Room, the one gay bar in town, seldom had more than twenty lonely men who all knew each other. It wasn’t officially gay, but all the clientele were bisexual or gay men. Women didn’t go there.

Grandma drove a massive Town & Country station wagon. At night, she let me use it to “go do your college stuff” which was her way of saying “cruise for chicks”. I cruised for dicks. Having a rather small penis myself, I fantasized about playing with a big one. My boyfriend in college was average; we broke up in the Spring. I was too afraid of seeing someone I might know at the Rumpus Room, so I just drove endless streets in the swollen suburb to no avail. Who was going to get it on with a guy in a station wagon? I knew about parks and rest areas, but I preferred to know my date before we fucked.

That was why I was so surprised when a trip to the grocery store turned into the raunchiest, sexiest encounter of my life.

Miles High: An erotic short story by Peter SchutesJeffrey clutched his ticket in sweaty palms. He didn’t like flying. Whenever he had a choice, he took a train, or a bus. This was a transcontinental flight on a DC-10 from Los Angeles to New York.  He could choose between three days of solid discomfort or six hours of terror…each way. But the meeting was tomorrow, so he really had no choice. 

Jeffrey ducked into the restroom for a quick pee before the boarding began. He groaned when he saw the urinal, a single trough. He hated other men looking at his depressingly tiny penis. He scanned the stalls to see if a private toilet was available; all full. His short pause caused a gentleman to bump into him.

“Ey, are you going or not”?

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