Jump to content

Visions of Grant (Gay Sims Story)

Recommended Posts


Hey Everyone!

I, like most of you, have been outrageously bored at home. So I've done what any Sims loving, sexually frustrated human would do...I've created a bunch of sexy characters and thrown them into dozens of interesting stories. I've been a voyeur of LoversLab for quite some time, posting screenshots here and there (mostly in Share your Male Sims) but I thought it was time for a full-blown story.

I'm just kind of winging it at this point in the game with no definite outcomes. Maybe I'll see these characters through. Maybe I'll come up with some real heart-wrenching Days of Our Lives, Peyton Place type shit. But for now, this is just to pass the time, cure the boredom, and maybe help keep you entertained.

Feel free to reply with your critiques, comments, ideas, etc.

Oh, and for the record, this story (and nearly 99% of my Sims gameplay) is focused on gay romance.



Visions of Grant


Willow Creek – A new home, a fresh start…



There was something about the old shotgun homes that lined the streets near the freight yard. It was this neighborhood that had been cultivated by the fixer-uppers, those annoyingly modern designers who would buy the old bones of derelict buildings and convalesce them into something more. To most, this area of town was an eyesore in the lush garden of Willow Creek. But to those with a discerning eye the homes held something more. They held promise.



I was fresh out of basic training, new to the area from a hometown that I’d never truly inhabit once again. The orders to Willow Creek had come in a few weeks prior; I’d immediately begun my house hunt. My meager grunt-budget didn’t allow me the opportunity to truly call a home my own. Rather, I began scouring the internet for roommate-wanted ads. Given the fact that there was a military base in town, there was no shortage of requests. But I wanted to find something special. I wanted it to feel right.





One evening, I came across an ad for a spare room in a two-bedroom shotgun. The headline read “Roommate Wanted – Adventures Guaranteed!” and being the curiously naïve man that I am, I replied. Within the hour I received a response from a person who introduced themselves as Grant. They were polite enough, explaining why it was they were renting the spare. Like so many before, they had purchased the home as a fixer-upper. Now that the renovations were complete they needed some help to off-set the mortgage.





That's where I came in...





The front door opened and a gentleman in a suit walked onto the porch. At first, I assumed he was an agent until I remembered that the ad was run privately. That meant only one thing: this was the lister. This was Grant.





He was handsome in a sweet way, the way that stirs something in self-proclaimed heterosexual boys who have yet to come to terms with the fact that they’re attracted to men. In short, he was handsome in the way that I wanted nothing more than to see him naked. “To see what it is women want in a man,” would have been my excuse. It had served me well a few times, but it was an excuse that wore thin fast. The truth was I was instantly and irrevocably sexually attracted to this hunk.





I walked up on the porch. “You must be Eric!” the blonde bombshell greeted me with an air of enthusiasm that seemed to echo why it was he had emerged from his home without me knocking on his door. “It’s great to finally meet you!”




“And you must be Grant!” I returned. “It’s a pleasure! Thanks for having me over to see the place.”

He continued to speak, his voice deep, his accent unmistakably Southern. Our conversation on the porch was meandering and nonchalant. He asked where I’d grown up; I asked if he was from the area. He asked if I enjoyed the military; I explained how I’d ended up replying to his ad. He explained his line of work – real estate – which lead me to understand why it was he had come to call this house home.

Our conversation flowed with the eagerness of a mighty river. After some time had passed, and after I’d noticed a glint of sweat starting to bead at his brow, he asked if I’d like to step inside. “You are here to see the house, after all. Not listen to me ramble all day.”




The house was renovated with the simplistic air of modernism that seemed to permeate all fixer-uppers. The exterior had considered the rich history of Willow Creek, but once over the threshold you could have been in a living room in Los Angeles, or Chicago, or Dallas. Still, it was decorated with the finesse of a true real estate agent, the only thing hinting towards any evidence of occupation being a red coffee pot on the kitchen counter.





The room up for rent was just as uncharacteristically charming as the rest of the home. An oversized ad used in place of art, simple SIMKEA furniture, all tied together by a deliciously ethereal blue painted on the walls. What the room lacked in individuality it tried to compensate for in fabricated uniqueness. Even so, it was clean. It was in a good location. And it was affordable.





“If it looks good to you, we can set up shop at the kitchen table for a bit. There’s a few questions that I’d like to ask you before we sign a lease,”

Even though the room was small and basic, I liked it just fine. Sure, I could’ve found another home with an owner who offered more amenities – a pool or more square footage to help make the day-to-day encounters less awkward. But I liked Grant; he could’ve been renting out a shit-hole, and I probably would’ve accepted.

“Sounds good to me,” I smiled and we headed toward the kitchen.





He was more animated than I’d expected him to be; all smiles and boisterous guffaws that I assumed were the product of an affluent upbringing and perhaps more than enough friends in high school. Even so, he didn’t harbor an air of pretension – a nice contrast to his finely cut blonde hair and tailored suit.

“How long are you looking to rent the room?” he asked.

“Just until I can save up enough to find my own place,”

“Gotcha,” he interrupted. “You see, I’m trying to find someone to fill the lease for about a year.”




“I’ve got no problem with that,” I replied. “It’ll probably take me about that long to save up enough anyway.”

He laughed and typed a few things into his computer, clicked his mouse a few times.

His next question came at me in a roundabout fashion. “I’m assuming you’re a clean-cut guy being in the military and all,”

“Unfortunately. I think of myself as a bore,”

Grant smiled and noted that on his laptop. “Well, we’re definitely not boring here. What are your thoughts on casual nudism?

“Casual nudism?” I repeated, feeling a little sideswiped.

Assuming I didn’t know what he had meant, Grant tried to explain with as much couth as he could muster. “Like, you know. Walking around naked, enjoying the home au naturel.”

His faux French accent amused me. No matter how lavish his upbringing may have been, there was no way he’d be able to master the dialect of ‘au naturel’ rolling off his tongue.

“Are you a nudist?” I asked to which he immediately nodded his head, as though he were proud of the fact. Truth was, he probably was. Physically, there wasn’t much for him to be embarrassed about.

“If it makes you uncomfortable, I can keep my good bits to myself in my room,” Grant offered. “But I like your energy and I definitely think you’d be a great addition to the house! I just don’t want you to wake up one morning to find out…well, I’m living with a naked dude.”

If my mind had been at a casual jog before, it was now picking up the pace into a full-on sprint. Was he suggesting that because of my energy, or my energy? I was flattered all the same, but was he interested in having me be his roommate so we could be naked together, or was nakedness merely a byproduct of his everyday life? I was overthinking. I knew that if I signed the lease I’d spend the next year overthinking.

Even so, I did. Grant shook my hand with a hearty Southern grin on his lips and welcomed me to his new home. I half expected him to strip out of his suit right then. To my dismay, he did not.





Like any true grunt, I immediately began working the night shift. I’d return in the early morning hours, before the birds began their daybreak tunes. I’d shower and see myself to bed with Grant emerging just a few minutes after I’d retire.

Grant always began his days in the same way. I could hear him from my new bedroom. Coffee came first thing. I could hear the sharp cuts of his dress shoes against the hardwood floor; I knew he was in a tailored suit. I’d hear the clicking of his laptop keyboard. I’d hear his phone ring and listen to him as he politely requested for the caller to hang on just a moment. “Just gotta step into another room. I’ve got a new roommate. I don’t wanna wake him up,” and I’d hear his bedroom door click shut.

His consideration was appreciated, but truthfully our paths rarely crossed. In my mind I’d allowed our conversation about “casual nudism” to become the cornerstone of our blossoming friendship. As such, every time I’d see him in passing, I’d feel a small jolt of disappointment that he was clothed.




The weekend finally arrived. I kept to myself, believing that I was tired and needed the time to relax. It was a lie; I was afraid to run into Grant. I spent most of the day with prickly ears, listening to his movements around the house, wondering if he was naked. Eventually I grew exhausted by overthinking. I put my battered brain to rest.



I didn’t wake up until it was dark, with the sweet scent of spaghetti sauce seeping through the door from the kitchen. I could hear the clamor of stainless-steel pots and pans. It was one of the first times I’d noticed Grant making unnecessary noise. Perhaps it was my overthinking once again. Either way, I told myself to man-up. It was going to be a long, long year if I chose to avoid this man I lived with.




I walked out of my room and was greeted by my biggest fear. He wasn’t naked, but he was close. And there was an air of casualness that somehow infuriated me. There was no sexual overtone to Grant’s bareness whatsoever. When he’d said “casual nudity” I’d somehow let my mind run straight to the gutter. I conjured up images of my handsome new-roommate nude on the couch allowing his hand to graze his cock, not playing with himself but touching, nonetheless. I pictured him emerging from a steam-filled bathroom with no towel, his dick flaccid but thick, having just been jerked to release in the shower.

But this? Cooking? Naked? What else did he do naked? Read? Browse Simstagram? Shop online? In my core, I felt duped and hugely disappointed. I wanted to run over and pull down his black boxer briefs, tell him to get on the counter and give me a show. I stifled a laugh and drew a chair from the table.




“So this is what you meant when you said casual nudity?” I wretched. Immediately I grew embarrassed; I’d shocked myself. I’d not seen Grant in a week. Where had my attitude come from? Let alone the fact that…

“I’m not even naked?” Grant replied, seemingly nonplussed.

I tried to find a smooth exit – explain to him my visions of steam and sofas, comment on what a rough week it had been, smile and say “Hello!” – something! Anything! But my brain remained disconnected from my mouth. All I could do was try to not look at his ass which was putting the elastic in his boxer briefs to good use.




Thankfully, he picked up the lead. “I made some spaghetti with meat sauce,” he spoke while turning to me. “If you’re hungry,” he capped.

Meat. Sauce. My stomach growled, but not for the pasta that sat steaming on the counter. As he walked toward the table – toward me – I did everything in my power to not look at his body.



But how could I not imagine him naked? His body was beyond anything that I’d hope to one day look like. The mystique of it (how did he get that luscious “V” cut? How old was he when the pelt on his chest began growing in earnest? Does he know that nipples like his are a type of rare perfection?) was what I began to drown in. I had to exercise restraint; I couldn’t imagine his cock. Even for all the overthinking I had put myself through, I couldn’t allow my mind to inhabit the world in which his penis held the answer to all the unanswered questions.



He sat at the table with an easy air, his black boxer-briefs acting as a giant censor bar.

“Long week for ya?” he asked, his Southern drawl rich and intoxicating. I forced myself to snap to.

“Not too bad. Happy to have gotten some rest in today. How was your week?” Perhaps it sounded too off-handed.

He went on to tell me the workings of his day-to-day, to which I listened unabashedly. Even though he spoke chiefly of himself, there still existed no pretension. It was as though he were offering me his life in order to unlock mine. He spoke in-between mouthfuls of spaghetti, explaining the real estate market, how he’d come to settle in Willow Creek (“My sister lives just a few blocks over. Gotta keep my eye on my lil’ sis!) even what he hoped to do as his career moved along.

All I wanted to know was how this infatuation for casual nudity came about, and if he’d like to perhaps show me how it’s done? Like right now? But I remained quiet. Grant ate the last bite and stood to carry his plate to the sink.




The steam rising from the sink made me think of a warm shower, and I realized that I must be a putrid mess having not left my room all day.

“I’m going to take a shower,” I offered as a means of exit.

“There’s some fresh linens in the bathroom,” Grant smiled over his shoulder. “I’m about to hit the sack, but I’ll leave some of this spaghetti out for you in case you get hungry later, you night owl.”

I chuckled and thanked him. I stood from the table, but not before mentally undressing him once more…











Even though the warmth of the shower felt good, I tried to be as quick as possible. I had never felt comfortable in my own skin. For everything that was right on Grant’s body, I could find it being wrong on my own. I was what would be classically described as “big boned.” And it didn’t end there. Where most “big boned” boys end up developing healthy chests of hair and firm butts of raw musk – only adding to their raw masculinity - I was as hairless as the day I was born.

Where Grant’s waist tapered to perfection, mine bulged. Where Grant’s nipples were as small and shiny as newly minted pennies, mine were as dull and round as a dirty quarter. The truth was I envied Grant his body. I was attracted to him but also, I yearned to discover what it felt like to be in possession of something so lauded. What did he feel when he washed his abdomen? Did he take that for granted?

I looked down at my soft belly and noticed my cock peeking out from the edge. Something had to be done about this; I needed to get Grant and our almost-nude encounter out of my head. I turned off the water, wrapped a towel around my waist, and made my way to my room. The house was dark and as soon as I shut the bedroom door behind me, I let the towel fall to the floor.



Almost paradoxically, I had always been at complete ease with myself when I jerked off. I’d grab my balls and roll them around, feeling their silkiness in my palm. I’d stroke my cock in the way that nobody else ever really could – even with guidance. I’d treat myself and touch all those secret spots, tease myself.



But tonight my mind was occupied only by Grant. I could hear him shuffling around in his room. Was he now completely naked? Had he tossed his underwear aside? Was he thinking about me the way I was thinking about him? I began to intoxicate myself with these questions, using them as the energy necessary to power my hand up and down.

I imagined his fingers on my body; where they’d begin, where they’d end, and where they’d searchingly linger. As I touched myself, I imagined that my hands were his. I could feel how turned on he was in the way he took giant handfuls of my chest, how he’d grab my thick shoulders and squeeze the softness of my abdomen. I could hear his deep growl of lust, see the devilish sparkle in his eye.

As I tickled the head of my dick, I imagined his tongue swirling around the tender ridge where every nerve in my body seemed to end. I could feel the scratchy pinpricks of his stubble against my taint and feel the warmth of his breath as he played with my balls.

My hand continued to move in tandem with the heat of his imagined body, pinning me to the bed. I wanted to feel the way his body hair danced with my bare skin, to taste the way his fingers tasted, what his cock looked like when it bounced out from underneath those awful boxer-briefs.

Those unanswered questions hung in the air like a thick fog on a fall morning and as I envisioned their answers, I pushed myself farther and farther. Grant was there, I could feel him hovering over me, eyeing me as a delicious piece of dessert that he was unwilling to share. I could feel him salivating for the sex between us. I could hear him whisper in my ear, in that deep Southern drawl…


Cum for me...




The first stream of jizz shot from my cock and landed on my face. It was hot and thick, the way a good nut always is. But I surprised myself; my body wasn’t done. I possessed no control as the cum continued to streak out of my body and onto my face, then onto my chest. My muscles spasmed and shook under the heady weight of Grant’s imagined body. I could feel nothing but the streams of jizz rocketing from inside me and then the warm pools they made on my skin.


As the bed creaked, I moaned in some sort of insane pleasure that I’d never given myself. I didn’t care if my roommate could hear me; I hoped that he would and in doing so, would throw open the door to my room and see me in my new inebriated state. I was high on sex and as my body began to return to me, my ears clouded over with a sharp ring. Physically, I felt lifeless and beat but inside I was as warm as the pools of cum that had begun cooling to a thick paste all over my body.

I would need another shower. And so, after enjoying the afterglow of my imagined encounter with Grant, I lifted myself from the sweat soaked sheets and marched off to the bathroom. I didn’t dare cover myself. I hoped I’d run into my roommate on the way there.







Link to comment
  • 3 weeks later...

Create an account or sign in to comment

You need to be a member in order to leave a comment

Create an account

Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!

Register a new account

Sign in

Already have an account? Sign in here.

Sign In Now
  • Recently Browsing   0 members

    • No registered users viewing this page.
  • Create New...