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  1. Cover
  2. About this book
  3. About the editor
  4. Title
  5. Copyright
  6. The Vector Experiments — by Alex Corey
  7. Practice Pony — by Lawrence Schimel
  8. Lessons — by Jameson Currier
  9. Snowbound — by Dominic Santi
  10. Mind over Matter — by Chris Leslie
  11. In the Pitts — by Michael Lassell
  12. Daddy Lover God — by Don Shewey
  13. Full Service — by David Evans
  14. Tantric Sex — by Dominic Santi

About this book

Just how much can these guys take? Witness everything from the kinky experiments of an inquisitive young scientist, and the adventures with a hot, horny scaffolder, to the bliss of tantric sex. It’s bound to get steamy!

OVERLOAD features stories of classic gay erotica at their best, available for the first time in digital format!

About the editor

David Laurents is the editor of numerous anthologies of gay erotica, including Southern Comfort, The Young and the Hung, Feeling Frisky, Rough and Ready, and Overload. His anthology The Badboy Book of Erotic Poetry was a finalist for the Lambda Literary Award. He lives in New York City.

The Vector Experiments — by Alex Corey

In the dark, there’s only one way to tell the twins apart: Tom’s prick bends to the right, and Tim’s veers left. For that reason, it’s best to have Tom on my left and Tim on my right whenever they both have their cocks in my mouth. Otherwise, it would be a logistical impossibility.

When I’m positioned like that, my head trapped in their crotches, my hands running up and down their hairless torsos, it feels like I’m having sex in stereo. The twins move in unison; when one leans back, the other leans back, and when one caves forward into a pre-orgasmic groan, the other is sure to follow. I try to facilitate this by coordinating my own movements, by tweaking the left nipple on both their chests or dragging my finger from neck to navel at the same rate for each. When I switch to manual, I make sure to grab each shaft with equal pressure and to time my strokes precisely.

Perhaps my experience as a research assistant has rewarded me in this respect. After all, I first met these unusual young gentlemen in the name of science.

Tim and Tom appeared in cut-off shorts and tight white T-shirts one afternoon in response to an advertisement placed by my supervisor and graduate advisor, Dr. Emory Charles, a rather controversial psychiatrist who wanted to investigate claims of paranormal psychic activity between both identical and filial twins. He and I were overwhelmed by the turnout; thirty-four couples called in response to our ad, and we ended up accepting twenty-six for the study. For purposes of anonymity, we code-named them according to the alphabet; the first couple was Adams for A, the second Busby for B, and so on. When we got to Tim and Tom, the twenty-second pair to apply, we nicknamed them Vectors for V.

It was my job to perform the intake interviews, and while I now find it rather amusing that I regularly perform intake on both the Vector boys, our first encounter hardly suggested the eventual course of my own private experiments. I refer to my notes, transcribed from cassette as Tim and Tom started and finished one another’s sentences (dashes indicate a change in the speaker, and though I neglected to note which of the two spoke first, I’m rather certain it was Tim for reasons which will soon become obvious):

“It’s like I’ll be lying there in bed at night and I’ll just know he’s out — you know, picking up some college girl, bringing her back to the apartment — and I’ll know the exact instant he’s got her between the sheets — and I’ll know he knows — it just, like, happens — I’ll be pumping away, just about ready to shoot off, and then bam! — there I am in my own bed creaming the sheets — and I’m thinking my God, get the fuck out of my mind — but he likes me in there, don’t let him fool you — it’s like having two orgasms, his and mine, only his are sometimes, well, kind of weird — he means, well, it happens the other way around, too — only I know he’s not with some girl he’s picked up — it’s just different, almost more intense, like I’m — like he’s doing it to me, you know? Like maybe that’s why he’s so into it — but in some ways, and I know this is gonna sound weird, it’s like I’m doing it to myself — yeah, like he’s fucking himself — kind of like an echo — and no matter when or where I am, I’m coming all over myself — it can be pretty inconvenient — like I was standing in line once with this chick at the movie theater, and all of a sudden bingo! I’m filling up my briefs — or I’ll be in a restaurant on a date, and I’m thinking how am I gonna get over to the men’s room without letting this guy see the wet spot — and once I was in a locker room and suddenly all the guys are watching me get this amazing hard-on, and pow! I’m spewing all over the guy next to me — and believe me, when he spews, he spews! — but it’s weird, you know, that we have this link to one another, because I’m straight and he’s — heterosexually impaired, is what he’s trying to say, but don’t let him fool you, he can — yeah, alright, I’ve been known to swing both ways, but not all the time like you …”

And so on and so on. They went on like this for nearly half an hour, eyes locked on one another as they spoke, hardly noticing how I shifted in my chair and tried to rearrange the contents of my briefs so that my own arousal didn’t interfere with theirs.

That arousal became shamelessly apparent with the next step, a brief physical exam administered by yours truly. The Vectors stood there side by side, T-shirts off and shorts unbuttoned, the waistbands of their Hilfigers slung low amidst thick patches of wheat-colored pubic hair. I thought of how cute that was, how they had probably been dressing alike and acting alike since grade school. Now, in their late twenties, they probably still went on shopping trips together, just like they spotted for one another at the health club and visited the same hair stylist. They smiled at one another, daring and teasing, until finally Tim pushed his down and let his cock spring up to attention, a somewhat thin yet lengthy rod that, as I’ve noted, slanted perceptibly to his left.

When Tom pushed his jeans and jockeys down out of the way, his prick jumped up as well, though it took a moment to stiffen and stretch out the way his brother’s did.

I recorded their specs: 6’1”; both about 185 pounds; hazel eyes; light brown hair; somewhat pale complexions; faint traces of body hair other than the underarms and pubic region; 40 inch chests tapering to size 32 waists.

This last measurement gave me a chance to witness their sexual rivalry firsthand. I had squatted in front of Tim with the measuring tape and was taking the reading when he used the opportunity to rub his cock against my arm. He made the movement seem involuntary, claiming that the tape measure around his belly made him ticklish, but when it happened a third and fourth time, I stepped back with a smile.

“Maybe I should just measure that cock of yours and to hell with the rest of the exam,” I said.

“Never fails,” said Tom. “No matter where he goes …”

“Aw, I’m sure he’ll measure yours too if you ask him real nice,” Tim said. He grabbed his prick and held it up toward me, gesturing at Tom to do the same.

So, for the record, there it was: both five inches thick at the base of the shaft, Tom a dark-veined seven and a half inches and Tim one of the sleekest eight inches I had ever seen.

Owing to the Vector twins’ chaotic work schedule (Tim was a health club trainer; Tom a third shift press operator), Dr. Charles entrusted me with the initial experiments, which were to take place in the evening. Simply put, I was to verify or disprove the phenomenon of their simultaneous orgasms. To do this, I suggested that one of the twins be placed in a booth equipped with a two-way mirror, while the other sat in the lab with me. Video cameras would record the both of them, with the time measured in seconds at the bottom of the screen.

On the first night we met, Tom offered to go into the booth, claiming both birthright (he was technically fifteen minutes older than his sibling) and heterosexual privilege (which he invoked with a laugh). I went with him and wired him up to the monitors, affixing small sensors to chest, back, and stomach so that we might have a detailed record of his breathing and heart rate. I instructed him on how to affix a small metal sensor to the underside of his penis so that I might also keep track of blood flow. Brainwave patterns would come later, and then only if their claims proved true.

I left Tom in the booth with a couple of magazines — some back issues of Playboy that I had borrowed from the fertility clinic down the street and my own copies of FreshMen and Torso from home.

When I returned to Tim, he had stripped completely and sat spread-legged in a folding metal chair, his butt cheeks pressed against the green vinyl seat pad. The video camera stared at him from behind my own chair; a cart with another set of monitors stood to his left. I set about placing the heart rate and breathing sensors on his chest and stomach, noting that he flinched whenever my fingers pressed against his ribs. When it came time to attach the last of the devices, I made a bold move and grabbed the head of his cock, pulling the semi-flaccid thing out slightly so that I might tape the wire just behind the head.

Tim smiled. “Alone at last, and already you’re taking advantage of me,” he said.

“It’s just part of the test,” I said with a wink. “Another measurement.”

I tapped the intercom button that linked our two rooms. “Any time you’re ready, Tom,” I said, then settled into my chair.

In front of me, the two small black and white television screens turned toward me showed both Vector twins — Tom leafing through a Playboy in the booth and Tim sitting patiently in front of me. When Tom found a photo spread he liked, he reached his hand between his legs and began to fondle his balls. In front of me, Tim closed his eyes and sighed. He grabbed the sides of the chair, perhaps remembering that I had forbidden him to touch himself. The muscles along his arms tensed as the rest of his body slouched forward, his hips pushing upward and out as though he were offering himself to me. His ass lifted off the chair slightly so that he looked like a gymnast caught mid-routine. Meanwhile, his cock thickened and stirred, then stretched out slightly along his left thigh.

Back in the booth, Tom had opened up to the centerfold and dangled the magazine in front of himself. His rod had stiffened considerably, and he stroked the shaft slowly, his fingers splayed in a delicate manner that seemed somewhat atypical of his personality. A minute later, his aggressive nature returned, and he grabbed at his muscle like it was the saddlehorn on a bucking bronco. His heart rate soared past one hundred, and his brother’s followed suit.

In the chair across from me, Tim writhed in a nearly prone position. His toes curled under as he pushed his feet across the floor, and I watched as a tiny clear bubble of precome pushed its way out of his prick-slit, smearing against his inner thigh as the head of his cock prodded the skin. I set my clipboard down on my lap and began to write, leaning down against the notepad to contain my own erection as Tim’s lifted steadily upward.

On the video screen, Tom had thrown away the Playboy and now bounced up and down in his chair, his eyes pressed shut and his mouth wide open. I was temptedö to turn up the volume so that I might hear his gasps and cries, but I knew that if Tim heard them, he might know when his brother was coming and ruin the test results.

Tim’s erection was complete now, having completed a full 180-degree arc. The pale pink head of his upturned cock now bobbed just an inch or so away from his puckered navel and pointed up toward his smiling face. I noticed that his nipples had hardened considerably as well, tightening from their normal velvety flatness into nubbly circles the size of dimes. A slight sheen of sweat on his breastbone reflected the fluorescent lights above, and I recorded the wetness of the hair under his arms as well as the appearance of one sweat drop which coursed down along the inside of his arm.

Precome dribbled down each time Tim tensed his abs, leaving silver threads stretched between the head of his cock and his navel, in which a slick little pool had formed. The sight of so much liquid prompted a similar response in me, and before long, I could feel a slippery wet spot forming on the inside of my briefs. I shifted in my chair, but in doing so only allowed the head of my cock to push along my inner thigh and poke out of my underwear, leaving the head in direct contact with the blue scrub pants I was wearing.

Across from me, Tim’s face contorted as though he were in pain. “What’s happening?” I asked him. “What are you feeling right now?”

“Oh my God!” Tim’s voice exploded. “I’m having an orgasm but I’m not coming. Or he’s not coming. But I’m …I’m …right …there …”

On the monitor, Tom sped up his hand motions, jerking himself toward his self-promised moment of ecstasy. At last he shot off, huge spurts that he caught in his free hand. I quickly looked to Tim.

With his hands still tightly gripping the sides of the chair, the head of Tim’s prick swelled and spewed a burst of jism against the underside of his chin. Bolt after bolt followed, the milky globlets spattering all along the length of his breastbone. Tim sucked his stomach in and gasped as the orgasm continued, sending shudders all through his body. The cum trickled in quick streams along the concave walls of his belly, puddling together with the precome around his navel.

As the spasms subsided, Tim’s breathing regulated, and as his chest and stomach filled once more with air, the jism spilled over and ran down his hips to drip onto the chair and the floor.

Tim stretched his fingers out and released the seat of the chair. His lips parted into a goofy kind of grin that one might expect in the cornfield but not the laboratory. He reached up and traced some of the cum-lines across his belly, sliding his fingertips back and forth.

Meanwhile, in the booth, Tom sat his with head between his legs, and whether he did so to keep from passing out or to lick the cum off his skin he never would say, but when I went in to remove the sensors, there were only a few splotches of semen on the floor, leaving a good palmful of jism unaccounted for.

We agreed to meet again three nights later so that the Vectors’ roles might be reversed. They left with a cheerful glow on their faces, proud that they had passed my initial test with such flying colors. Tim joked that he wanted copies of the videotapes to send to all his friends at Christmas time, and I reminded them both of the confidential nature of the study. “Just joking, professor” he said, and he landed a soft playful jab to my chin as he stepped outside.

Once they were gone, I set the latches on the door and walked back into the lab, flicking off the switches on the various cameras and machines I had set up for our experiment. When I got to my station, however, I sat down and looked at the two small televisions, both screens now blank.

I rewound the tape of Tim to the beginning, then pressed play. As his smile flashed in black and white on the screen, I pushed down my scrub pants and reached for my cock. It was still half sticky/half slick with precome from the experiment, so I had no trouble getting a quick hard-on. I timed myself perfectly, varying the speed and strength of my strokes so that at the exact moment Tim’s naked body bucked and jolted in his lab chair, I added my own share of spunk to the floor around it.

Later, when I came back through with the mop, I took further pleasure in the fact that I was swirling his semen together with my own, and that some trace of that magical mixture was bound to remain behind.

Our second encounter began on a less productive note. Tim had been in the booth for fifteen minutes while Tom sat flaccid before me, his limp dick drooping sleepily across the green vinyl padding of the seat. On the camera, Tim flipped through the magazines, stopping here and there to read a passage in one of the short stories, at other times looking at the ads. When he got to a photo spread, he would look at each picture for ten seconds or so, then turn the page.

Finally, he looked up at the camera and spoke. I turned up the volume. “What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

“I said this just isn’t working for me.”

“Are you having an off night? Tense or nervous?” I asked.

“I’m just not used to magazines. I’d prefer more …I don’t know. More action. More life.”

“I can run home and get a video if you want …”

“That’s not what I mean,” Tim said. “And anyway, I think one of these electrodes is slipping off …”

I flicked off the intercom and looked at Tom. “I’ll be right back,” I said. I grabbed my clipboard and walked around the corner to the booth where Tim waited. When I opened the door, he smiled up at me.

“That’s more like it,” he said.

“What?” I asked.


Tim stood in front of me, his cock in his hand. “I need something more …interactive,” he said. He reached for my hand and brought it up to his mouth, licking the fingertips before guiding them down to brush across his left nipple. He laid the flat of my palm against his stomach, then pushed down so that my index finger pressed into the swirled star of his navel. I poked at the nubby growth there, then stretched my thumb down toward the fine hairs of his crotch.

Tim guided my hand further down, releasing me only when my fingers had wrapped around his cock. The skin was stretched smooth and felt as shiny as it looked. My fingertips traced the contours of the shaft and head, circling round and round a slight cleft of skin on the underside of the tip.

Tim moved forward and kissed me, his lips as soft as pudding. Wisps of his hair tickled my forehead, and I could feel him blink against my cheek as his mouth moved lower, over my chin and along toward my neck, then onto my chest as his fingers pushed away the lab coat and quickly unbuttoned the shirt I was wearing. When he had pulled the shirt-tails up out of my pants and parted the flaps to expose my stomach, he sat back down in the chair.

“You’ve got a nice body,” he said.

“I work out some,” I replied.

“What’s the rest look like?” he asked.

“It’s fine,” I said.

“Show me,” he said.

Tim drooled a bit into his hand and resumed stroking his own shaft. As I pushed my pants down around my ankles, I reminded myself that I was acting in the name of science.

“I don’t want to ruin your experiment,” Tim said, “but I’m glad you can watch, and that I can watch you. You grab your cock, too.”

I reached down and touched myself as instructed. My prick leapt to attention.

“Very nice,” Tim said. “Have I told you about my little sexual sideshow?”

“No,” I said.

“Check this out.”

Tim stroked his cock slowly, then sped up, squeezing the flesh so that the precome spilled forth from his slit. With one hand he worked his thickening rod, while the other stroked his torso, squeezing the nipples and fingering the navel, massaging the muscles that strained all over his body as he brought himself closer and closer to orgasm.

My own hand moved instinctively, working the foreskin back and forth along my shaft, matching the rhythm that Tim had set. Just looking at his torso, with the various colored wires hooked up to the monitors, made me well aware of how much current and charge flowed through his muscles, all of that energy now focusing itself like so many rivers rushing toward the ocean.

Just as he was about to peak, Tim rearranged himself slightly in the chair and opened his eyes. “Show time!”

He smiled at me, then gave a series of short hard jerks on his cock. A white bullet of cum flung upward in a high arc; Tim opened his mouth and thrust his head forward, sticking his tongue out to catch the jism. I pulled harder at my own cock, overwhelmed by what I was witnessing. Tim’s head bobbed back and forth as he caught the second and third shots of cum; for the fourth, he had to bend his neck slightly downward, and with the fifth the show was pretty much finished. The drops began to fall short, spattering on his chest and lower stomach instead.

Tim smiled, then swallowed. As I watched his prominent Adam’s apple slide up and down, my own cock jolted in my hand, sending a first jet of cum on a short trajectory toward Tim and unloading the rest on my fingers as they swirled up and around the head of my prick.

“I caught seven one day,” Tim said. “It’s all in the wrist.”

He let go of his cock and jiggled his hand in the air as if to demonstrate, then laid his palm across his stomach and gathered up his juices for a finger-licking finale.

I watched intently, my own mouth watering as his hand went down for seconds and thirds, his fingers working around the electrodes, then squeezing out the last drops from his shrinking dick.

“I’m sorry,” he said just before bringing that last bounty to his lips. “That was awfully rude of me not to share.” He held out his hand, the index finger coated with creamy white.

“Maybe next time,” I said. “I brought my own.” I lifted my hand to show him, and he laughed as jism dripped like melting wax from my fingers. I watched a drop hit the clipboard at my feet, then remembered the video camera pointing into the room, and the fact that Tom had probably just shot his own load as well at the monitoring station.

I pulled up my pants, instructed Tim to do the same, and hustled out of the room, only to find that Tom had already toweled off, dressed himself, and headed outside for a cigarette.

At home the next night, I sat in my living room and watched the video of Tim once again. I had stripped down to my briefs, hoping for some relief from the heat and humidity that had persisted past sunset. In one hand I held the remote control for the VCR; with the other, I fondled my balls and cock. Once in a while, I’d reach out to a glass of ice water gathering sweat beads on the coffee table, dip my fingers in, and drizzle the cold water across my chest and belly before reaching back into my underwear to spread the coolness. The cotton fabric had become nearly see-through with wetness, half from the water and half from precome.

As Tim began his triumphant spasms on the television, I pressed the freeze frame button and marveled at his body, the beautiful grooves and plates of his abdominal muscles and the rounded contours of his shoulders and biceps.

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