When I Stopped Waiting

Note: This is a true story. Some names and details have been altered to protect the privacy of those involved, but the feelings—and the heat—are 100% real.

I

I’m not entirely sure how to start this confession. I suppose the best way is to lay it out straight: this is a true story. Obviously, I’ve changed the names and blurred the identifying details, because by putting this out there, I’m risking an eight-year relationship with my partner—and a hell of a lot more. But I think it’s a story worth telling, if only to prove that sometimes, your darkest fantasies actually do come true. For better or worse. And always when you least expect it.

My name is Luis. I’m thirty-six years old, and I’ve been hopelessly in love with Sergio, my best friend, for almost fourteen years. We met at Pappy Dog, a sweaty, pulsing gay club, back in August of ’94. He was a friend of a friend, but Sergio was strictly straight. He only ended up at Pappy’s because his gay friends had made the sacrifice of dragging him to Tretas first—an old-school straight club—hoping he’d finally hook up with a female. The kid had just turned nineteen and hadn't even popped his cherry yet. But he’d completely chickened out, anchoring himself to the bar, nervously sipping his rum and coke, too paralyzed to make a move on a single woman there.

And once he stepped into Pappy’s, well... his chances of getting laid were pretty much shot.

To put the final nail in the coffin of his night, his buddies vanished into the darkroom, leaving Sergio completely stranded in the quietest corner of the bar. He just stood there, watching a sea of jacked guys rolling on ecstasy grinding against each other, occasionally shooting a hopeful glance at some lesbian walking past on her way to the dance floor.

His night was a total trainwreck until I bumped into our mutual friend in the bathrooms. He was thrilled to see me, dragged me upstairs, and planted me right next to Sergio. He introduced us, begged me to babysit him, and immediately bolted off to suck some cock.

I didn’t mind playing babysitter one bit. The kid was charming, and he was massive—a broad-shouldered guy from the north who easily passed for twenty-five despite being nineteen. And handsome as fuck. Or *guapo de cojones*—handsome as balls—as we say here. Not that I actually got to see his. I fucking wish.

The point is, we hit it off. We started talking, knocking back drinks, and I found out he lived just a couple of blocks from my apartment. At some point in the night, he finally asked me where the hell his friends had disappeared to.

"The darkroom," I replied.

He looked at me, completely clueless.

"What’s that? The bathroom? Is it really that filthy?"

You have to remember, back then, barely anyone had the internet—if it even existed for us yet—and there weren't any explicit shows on TV. Straight guys were completely oblivious to how things actually worked in the gay scene compared to how they are today.

So I explained the concept of a darkroom to him, and his eyes went as wide as dinner plates.

"Wait, so guys just go down there and start fucking?"

"Or sucking cock."

"And there’s no light at all?"

"Just the spark of a lighter every now and then."

"Holy shit. They definitely don’t have that in *normal* clubs."

I let the *normal* comment slide. I didn't bother lecturing him about how Pappy’s was perfectly normal despite being packed wall-to-wall with fags. I had already decided right then and there that he was going to be one of my best friends. I figured I’d be seeing a lot of him, so I’d have plenty of time to educate him later.

Instead, I just grabbed his large hand and pulled him toward the stairs. "Come on. I’ll show you."

"Alright. But if anybody touches me, I’m screaming."

"Deal. And I’ll run you right out of here."

We stepped slowly into the darkroom. The first narrow hallway was lined with men, their eyes tracking us intently under the faint, blueish glow spilling in from the bathrooms. We had to shuffle past them in a tight little train, mostly because Sergio had plastered his front right against my ass like he was glued there. Honestly, it made walking a pain, but the poor kid was spooked. We pushed a little deeper, and soon enough, the darkness swallowed us completely.

"Does it bother you that I'm pressed up against you like this? I'm practically fucking you in the ass," he whispered right into my ear.

A jolt of pure heat shot down my spine.

"God, no. You're turning me on so fucking much right now. You won't hear a single complaint out of me."

"You're fucking with me, right?"

"Not even a little. But don't worry. It doesn't hurt."

"If it doesn't hurt, you can't be that turned on."

"Reach down and feel for yourself."

"Not a fucking chance."

"Alright, alright. Suit yourself."

Like I said, a textbook straight guy. We kept pushing through the pitch black until I let go of his hands. Not that it mattered—he had immediately locked his fingers together right over my stomach, making damn sure I couldn't slip away from him.

"What are you doing?" he asked, sounding borderline panicked.

"Feeling around for the wall. Unless you want me to bust my teeth open in the dark."

"Right. Obviously."

That’s when we heard it. Just to our right. A wet, sloppy sucking sound. The unmistakable noise of someone licking their lips.

"Someone's getting a hell of a blowjob," Sergio whispered, a slight edge of hysteria in his voice.

"Actually, I think someone's getting their ass eaten," I corrected him.

To my surprise, Sergio was the one who pulled a lighter from his pocket and flicked it on, illuminating the whole damn scene.

For a split second, I caught a glimpse of about thirty men getting off in every way imaginable, working with tools of all shapes and sizes.

"Fuck, it's packed in here tonight," I muttered.

Suddenly, someone swatted Sergio's hand hard, sending the lighter flying out of his grip.

"Don't pick it up," he pleaded, as the pitch-black swallowed us again.

"Wasn't planning on it," I replied.

"Jesus, they play rough in here!"

"Did they hurt you?"

"Nah, I'm good."

"It's called a *dark*room for a reason, idiot," I scolded him affectionately. "By the way..."

"A blowjob," he answered. "I was right."

We kept pushing deeper into the darkness for another ten minutes. At one point, a frantic, wet *slap, slap, slap* let us know someone was getting absolutely railed just inches away from us. I waited, my pulse hammering, desperate to feel even the slightest twitch in Sergio's crotch—which was still pressed flush against my ass—but absolutely nothing stirred down there.

When we finally made it out into the light, I gave him the third degree.

"Well? What did you think?”

"Fascinating."

"You didn't even get hard."

"Was I supposed to?"

"When I was your age, just the word 'sex' was enough to get me rock hard."

"You're only three years older than me. And I don't swing that way. Guys don't do it for me."

"But there were people in there literally choking on cock."

"But they were *dudes*."

"But it could've been *your* cock."

"But it's not the same."

"But..."

And he let me keep throwing "buts" at him for the rest of the night, though he stopped arguing back. I suppose Sergio had already decided right then that I was going to be one of his best friends, and that he’d have plenty of time to educate me until I finally grasped that straight guys don't get hard watching men fuck.

Days bled into each other, and I fell hopelessly, disastrously in love with Sergio.

Weeks passed, and I confessed it to him.

Months went by, and our bond only deepened. He gave me all the love I craved—the tight hugs, the raw affection, the constant, lingering physical touch.

Everything. Except sex.

Sometimes we’d even crash in the same bed after a night of heavy drinking. Nothing ever happened, though. Even when I was starving for him, dying to just lean over and taste his mouth, I refused to make a move that might ruin the beautiful thing we didn't quite have.

And I was happy like that for two years. Until Sergio met Marta. And they got married. And I had to go find my own happiness with a guy who was a hell of a lot less straight.

We kept the friendship alive. So much so that Marcos (my boyfriend back then, now my husband), Sergio, his wife, and yours truly would get together for dinner two or three times a month. We spent New Year’s Eve together, organized camping trips, parties, card games, and the occasional vacation. More recently, we’d spend entire weekends binge-watching the first few seasons of *Lost*.

I’m not ashamed to admit that through all of this, I’ve stayed secretly, desperately in love with him. Or that, as the years went by, any physical contact with Sergio—the tight hugs, the casual cheek kisses, the firm handshakes—took on a deeply sexual weight for me. Sergio makes me rock hard. Now more than ever. And I’ll confess right here that I’ve jerked off in his bathroom more than once, fishing his worn boxers out of the laundry hamper and burying my face in the fabric, breathing in the raw, musky scent of his cock.

Anyway. About two months ago, Sergio called my cell. He sounded on edge.

"Did you guys have a fight?" I asked. Sergio and Marta don't usually fight, but when they do, they make a hell of a racket, and it’s usually the DVD player that pays the price, ending up launched right off the balcony. It’s always some cheap DVD player from the supermarket. For some reason, their rage never quite pushes them to smash the expensive premium cable box.

"No. It's not that. Can you come over?”

"Of course. I'm on my way."

It was a Thursday afternoon. I finish work early, and Marcos doesn't get home until nine. I had about two and a half hours to dedicate entirely to Sergio.

I got to his place, rang the bell, and he opened the door shirtless and barefoot, wearing nothing but a pair of loose, white cropped pants hanging low on his hips. The second I saw him, my mouth watered and I was instantly dripping—or as a friend of mine likes to say, my pussy turned into a puddle.

"Come in." To my absolute dismay, he didn't give me his usual welcoming hug.

I followed him to the living room couch, where he slumped down, looking completely defeated.

"What happened?" I asked, starting to actually worry.

"I can't take it anymore. If things keep going like this, I'm leaving her."

So it *was* about Marta after all.

"Same old story?" I asked.

He nodded, giving me these pathetic, kicked-puppy eyes.

The thing is, after more than ten years of marriage, Marta was still absolutely unwilling to suck his cock.

"She has zero problem with me burying my face between her legs and eating her out, but she won't even taste it. Won't even smell it. She won't even let me blow my load on her tits!"

I knew this song and dance by heart. Marta had this bizarre phobia of semen. Just looking at it made her gag, so the risk of him unloading on her tongue was completely out of the question...

"I can't do this anymore. I'm up to my fucking balls with this.”

"Come on, man. You can't rethink your entire marriage over something as trivial as Marta refusing to suck your cock, Sergio."

"Sure, easy for you to say. You actually get your dick sucked..."

"If she was freezing you out completely, that'd be one thing. But you guys are still fucking."

"But I want a fucking blowjob. And then two thousand more, just to make up for lost time."

"And what does she say when you ask?"

"She tells me to go jerk off."

"Have you ever thought about stepping out on her?"

"Have you? Have you thought about cheating on Marcos? Exactly. It's not an option."

I'd cheat on him with you in a heartbeat, you bastard, I thought.

"Well, I don't know what else to tell you. It's a tough problem to fix," I lied, considering I was fully prepared to drop to my knees and solve it for him right then and there.

"For what it's worth, I've always said blowjobs are overrated."

"Right now, I can't think of a single thing I want more."

"That's because you're a prisoner of your own heterosexuality. I'd trade a great blowjob for getting my ass eaten any day of the week." I didn't say it like a transaction, but God, I wished Sergio had taken it as an offer.

"I don't know, man. I think that would gross her out even more."

"Ah. So she hasn't done that either."

"Don't torture me, alright? I already know you get to play the field a lot more than I do."

"Only because you choose not to."

"I think we've made that pretty fucking clear by now, don't you?"

"I didn't mean with me, dumbass—though I wouldn't exactly complain if you offered. I meant with her. I bet she's never even sucked your nipples, has she? I bet it hasn't even crossed your mind to ask."

"She accidentally got a mouthful of my armpit once and looked disgusted for three days straight. Besides, my nipples aren't even sensitive."

"Bullshit. Give me twenty seconds and these two fingers, and I could have you rock hard."

"But you're you, not her."

"So?"

"You're a dude. You couldn't turn me on if I was blackout drunk."

"Come here and prove it."

"No way. If I actually get hard, you'll hold it over my masculinity for the rest of my life."

"You have a seriously warped concept of masculinity. Come on. Get over here. Twenty seconds on the clock."

"Fine."

And to my absolute surprise, he shifted over, laid his head right in my lap, and closed his eyes.

"No tickling."

"I'll stick strictly to the nipples."

"With your fingers."

"Obviously."

"Alright. Go. I'll count in my head."

My heart instantly started hammering against my ribs. For the first time in my life, I had Sergio completely surrendered to my touch for something explicitly sexual. I was actually going to try and turn him on. I was going to rub his nipples with my bare hands, and... I got rock hard, right beneath the weight of his head. He had to be feeling my erection pressing against him, but he didn't pull away.

"Are you gonna start?" he murmured, keeping his eyes closed as he started humming the theme from Kill Bill.

So I brushed his right nipple, agonizingly slow, tracing tiny circles with the tip of my index finger. I was dying to tangle my fingers in the thick, dark hair covering his chest, but I forced myself to stick to the rules, lightly grazing one nipple, then the other.

Sergio shivered slightly. I kept working his nipples, slow and deliberate, while my cock throbbed relentlessly under the weight of his head, which suddenly felt like it was pressing much heavier into my lap. At some point, I realized Sergio had stopped humming. He didn't seem to be counting anymore, either.

I kept massaging him, fully aware that the twenty seconds were long gone and that this could end at any second. So I started pressing a little harder. His nipples went completely rigid, the hair on his arms stood on end, and suddenly, he jolted—and shoved his loose white pants all the way down to his knees.

Without opening his eyes, he leaned back against my crotch, grabbed his cock, and started stroking himself with a brutal, frantic rhythm. My heart was hammering so hard against my ribs that I barely even dared to look down at it. I just kept working his nipples while he jerked off. But then the raw, heavy scent of his cock hit me, and I had no choice but to look.

It was massive—thick, heavily veined, and the exact perfect size to make my mouth water like a starving man. But his balls were almost better. They were so heavy and full that I was desperately tempted to reach down just to weigh them in my hands. Still, given the miracle of what was already happening, I figured I had more than enough, so I didn't dare move.

Sergio seemed to have other plans. Keeping his eyes firmly shut, he shifted his body closer, pressing his back flat against my thighs. I adjusted my position so he could rest against my chest. Now, while my fingers kept playing with his nipples, my arms were brushing against his shoulders, and my raging erection was trapped flush against his lower back.

His strokes hit a wicked, frantic pace, and I sped up my hands to match him. Then, Sergio started tilting his face up, as if he were searching for my lips. He parted his mouth, his tongue darting out just a fraction.

Fuck it, I told myself, and I kissed him.

He opened his lips wider, inviting me in, and I devoured his mouth with years of starved, pent-up desperation. Our tongues tangled together, and that was all it took for Sergio to come with a violent intensity I had rarely seen in another man. Thick ropes of cum shot out, splattering across his chest in heavy waves that felt like they were never going to end.

One of those heavy ropes splattered across my fingers. Sergio had broken the kiss, surrendering completely to the overwhelming force of his climax. His eyes were still squeezed shut, so I seized the moment, bringing my slick fingers to my lips to finally taste him.

We stayed frozen like that for a few minutes, the only sound his ragged breathing slowly evening out, while my own cock kept hammering relentlessly against his spine. Suddenly, he stood up and casually asked if I wanted a Coke.

I told him I needed a paper towel first.

He opened the fridge, grabbed a can, and poured the soda into a glass. But he didn't hand me a towel, even though there were two or three rolls sitting right there on the kitchen counter. I still had streaks of his cum drying on my arms, but he had clearly made the executive decision to completely ignore what had just happened.

"I'm gonna take a shower. It's fucking boiling in here."

And just like that, he vanished into the bathroom.

I ended up washing his load off my skin at the kitchen sink.

Ten minutes later, he had practically shoved me out the front door.

And, as you can probably guess, it didn't end there.

Part 2 coming in a few days. Follow my profile so you don't miss the rest of this story.

When I Stopped Waiting

Note: This is a true story. Some names and details have been altered to protect the privacy of those involved, but the feelings—and the heat—are 100% real.

I

I’m not entirely sure how to start this confession. I suppose the best way is to lay it out straight: this is a true story. Obviously, I’ve changed the names and blurred the identifying details, because by putting this out there, I’m risking an eight-year relationship with my partner—and a hell of a lot more. But I think it’s a story worth telling, if only to prove that sometimes, your darkest fantasies actually do come true. For better or worse. And always when you least expect it.

My name is Luis. I’m thirty-six years old, and I’ve been hopelessly in love with Sergio, my best friend, for almost fourteen years. We met at Pappy Dog, a sweaty, pulsing gay club, back in August of ’94. He was a friend of a friend, but Sergio was strictly straight. He only ended up at Pappy’s because his gay friends had made the sacrifice of dragging him to Tretas first—an old-school straight club—hoping he’d finally hook up with a girl. The kid had just turned nineteen and hadn't even popped his cherry yet. But he’d completely chickened out, anchoring himself to the bar, nervously sipping his rum and coke, too paralyzed to make a move on a single woman there.

And once he stepped into Pappy’s, well... his chances of getting laid were pretty much shot.

To put the final nail in the coffin of his night, his buddies vanished into the darkroom, leaving Sergio completely stranded in the quietest corner of the bar. He just stood there, watching a sea of jacked guys rolling on ecstasy grinding against each other, occasionally shooting a hopeful glance at some lesbian walking past on her way to the dance floor.

His night was a total trainwreck until I bumped into our mutual friend in the bathrooms. He was thrilled to see me, dragged me upstairs, and planted me right next to Sergio. He introduced us, begged me to babysit him, and immediately bolted off to suck some cock.

I didn’t mind playing babysitter one bit. The kid was charming, and he was massive—a broad-shouldered guy from the north who easily passed for twenty-five despite being nineteen. And handsome as fuck. Or *guapo de cojones*—handsome as balls—as we say here. Not that I actually got to see his. I fucking wish.

The point is, we hit it off. We started talking, knocking back drinks, and I found out he lived just a couple of blocks from my apartment. At some point in the night, he finally asked me where the hell his friends had disappeared to.

"The darkroom," I replied.

He looked at me, completely clueless.

"What’s that? The bathroom? Is it really that filthy?"

You have to remember, back then, barely anyone had the internet—if it even existed for us yet—and there weren't any explicit shows on TV. Straight guys were completely oblivious to how things actually worked in the gay scene compared to how they are today.

So I explained the concept of a darkroom to him, and his eyes went as wide as dinner plates.

"Wait, so guys just go down there and start fucking?"

"Or sucking cock."

"And there’s no light at all?"

"Just the spark of a lighter every now and then."

"Holy shit. They definitely don’t have that in *normal* clubs."

I let the *normal* comment slide. I didn't bother lecturing him about how Pappy’s was perfectly normal despite being packed wall-to-wall with fags. I had already decided right then and there that he was going to be one of my best friends. I figured I’d be seeing a lot of him, so I’d have plenty of time to educate him later.

Instead, I just grabbed his large hand and pulled him toward the stairs. "Come on. I’ll show you."

"Alright. But if anybody touches me, I’m screaming."

"Deal. And I’ll run you right out of here."

We stepped slowly into the darkroom. The first narrow hallway was lined with men, their eyes tracking us intently under the faint, blueish glow spilling in from the bathrooms. We had to shuffle past them in a tight little train, mostly because Sergio had plastered his front right against my ass like he was glued there. Honestly, it made walking a pain, but the poor kid was spooked. We pushed a little deeper, and soon enough, the darkness swallowed us completely.

"Does it bother you that I'm pressed up against you like this? I'm practically fucking you in the ass," he whispered right into my ear.

A jolt of pure heat shot down my spine.

"God, no. You're turning me on so fucking much right now. You won't hear a single complaint out of me."

"You're fucking with me, right?"

"Not even a little. But don't worry. It doesn't hurt."

"If it doesn't hurt, you can't be that turned on."

"Reach down and feel for yourself."

"Not a fucking chance."

"Alright, alright. Suit yourself."

Like I said, a textbook straight guy. We kept pushing through the pitch black until I let go of his hands. Not that it mattered—he had immediately locked his fingers together right over my stomach, making damn sure I couldn't slip away from him.

"What are you doing?" he asked, sounding borderline panicked.

"Feeling around for the wall. Unless you want me to bust my teeth open in the dark."

"Right. Obviously."

That’s when we heard it. Just to our right. A wet, sloppy sucking sound. The unmistakable noise of someone licking their lips.

"Someone's getting a hell of a blowjob," Sergio whispered, a slight edge of hysteria in his voice.

"Actually, I think someone's getting their ass eaten," I corrected him.

To my surprise, Sergio was the one who pulled a lighter from his pocket and flicked it on, illuminating the whole damn scene.

For a split second, I caught a glimpse of about thirty men getting off in every way imaginable, working with tools of all shapes and sizes.

"Fuck, it's packed in here tonight," I muttered.

Suddenly, someone swatted Sergio's hand hard, sending the lighter flying out of his grip.

"Don't pick it up," he pleaded, as the pitch-black swallowed us again.

"Wasn't planning on it," I replied.

"Jesus, they play rough in here!"

"Did they hurt you?"

"Nah, I'm good."

"It's called a *dark*room for a reason, idiot," I scolded him affectionately. "By the way..."

"A blowjob," he answered. "I was right."

We kept pushing deeper into the darkness for another ten minutes. At one point, a frantic, wet *slap, slap, slap* let us know someone was getting absolutely railed just inches away from us. I waited, my pulse hammering, desperate to feel even the slightest twitch in Sergio's crotch—which was still pressed flush against my ass—but absolutely nothing stirred down there.

When we finally made it out into the light, I gave him the third degree.

"Well? What did you think?”

"Fascinating."

"You didn't even get hard."

"Was I supposed to?"

"When I was your age, just the word 'sex' was enough to get me rock hard."

"You're only three years older than me. And I don't swing that way. Guys don't do it for me."

"But there were people in there literally choking on cock."

"But they were *dudes*."

"But it could've been *your* cock."

"But it's not the same."

"But..."

And he let me keep throwing "buts" at him for the rest of the night, though he stopped arguing back. I suppose Sergio had already decided right then that I was going to be one of his best friends, and that he’d have plenty of time to educate me until I finally grasped that straight guys don't get hard watching men fuck.

Days bled into each other, and I fell hopelessly, disastrously in love with Sergio.

Weeks passed, and I confessed it to him.

Months went by, and our bond only deepened. He gave me all the love I craved—the tight hugs, the raw affection, the constant, lingering physical touch.

Everything. Except sex.

Sometimes we’d even crash in the same bed after a night of heavy drinking. Nothing ever happened, though. Even when I was starving for him, dying to just lean over and taste his mouth, I refused to make a move that might ruin the beautiful thing we didn't quite have.

And I was happy like that for two years. Until Sergio met Marta. And they got married. And I had to go find my own happiness with a guy who was a hell of a lot less straight.

We kept the friendship alive. So much so that Marcos (my boyfriend back then, now my husband), Sergio, his wife, and yours truly would get together for dinner two or three times a month. We spent New Year’s Eve together, organized camping trips, parties, card games, and the occasional vacation. More recently, we’d spend entire weekends binge-watching the first few seasons of *Lost*.

I’m not ashamed to admit that through all of this, I’ve stayed secretly, desperately in love with him. Or that, as the years went by, any physical contact with Sergio—the tight hugs, the casual cheek kisses, the firm handshakes—took on a deeply sexual weight for me. Sergio makes me rock hard. Now more than ever. And I’ll confess right here that I’ve jerked off in his bathroom more than once, fishing his worn boxers out of the laundry hamper and burying my face in the fabric, breathing in the raw, musky scent of his cock.

Anyway. About two months ago, Sergio called my cell. He sounded on edge.

"Did you guys have a fight?" I asked. Sergio and Marta don't usually fight, but when they do, they make a hell of a racket, and it’s usually the DVD player that pays the price, ending up launched right off the balcony. It’s always some cheap DVD player from the supermarket. For some reason, their rage never quite pushes them to smash the expensive premium cable box.

"No. It's not that. Can you come over?”

"Of course. I'm on my way."

It was a Thursday afternoon. I finish work early, and Marcos doesn't get home until nine. I had about two and a half hours to dedicate entirely to Sergio.

I got to his place, rang the bell, and he opened the door shirtless and barefoot, wearing nothing but a pair of loose, white cropped pants hanging low on his hips. The second I saw him, my mouth watered and I was instantly dripping—or as a girlfriend of mine likes to say, my pussy turned into a puddle.

"Come in." To my absolute dismay, he didn't give me his usual welcoming hug.

I followed him to the living room couch, where he slumped down, looking completely defeated.

"What happened?" I asked, starting to actually worry.

"I can't take it anymore. If things keep going like this, I'm leaving her."

So it *was* about Marta after all.

"Same old story?" I asked.

He nodded, giving me these pathetic, kicked-puppy eyes.

The thing is, after more than ten years of marriage, Marta was still absolutely unwilling to suck his cock.

"She has zero problem with me burying my face between her legs and eating her out, but she won't even taste it. Won't even smell it. She won't even let me blow my load on her tits!"

I knew this song and dance by heart. Marta had this bizarre phobia of semen. Just looking at it made her gag, so the risk of him unloading on her tongue was completely out of the question...

"I can't do this anymore. I'm up to my fucking balls with this.”

"Come on, man. You can't rethink your entire marriage over something as trivial as Marta refusing to suck your cock, Sergio."

"Sure, easy for you to say. You actually get your dick sucked..."

"If she was freezing you out completely, that'd be one thing. But you guys are still fucking."

"But I want a fucking blowjob. And then two thousand more, just to make up for lost time."

"And what does she say when you ask?"

"She tells me to go jerk off."

"Have you ever thought about stepping out on her?"

"Have you? Have you thought about cheating on Marcos? Exactly. It's not an option."

I'd cheat on him with you in a heartbeat, you bastard, I thought.

"Well, I don't know what else to tell you. It's a tough problem to fix," I lied, considering I was fully prepared to drop to my knees and solve it for him right then and there.

"For what it's worth, I've always said blowjobs are overrated."

"Right now, I can't think of a single thing I want more."

"That's because you're a prisoner of your own heterosexuality. I'd trade a great blowjob for getting my ass eaten any day of the week." I didn't say it like a transaction, but God, I wished Sergio had taken it as an offer.

"I don't know, man. I think that would gross her out even more."

"Ah. So she hasn't done that either."

"Don't torture me, alright? I already know you get to play the field a lot more than I do."

"Only because you choose not to."

"I think we've made that pretty fucking clear by now, don't you?"

"I didn't mean with me, dumbass—though I wouldn't exactly complain if you offered. I meant with her. I bet she's never even sucked your nipples, has she? I bet it hasn't even crossed your mind to ask."

"She accidentally got a mouthful of my armpit once and looked disgusted for three days straight. Besides, my nipples aren't even sensitive."

"Bullshit. Give me twenty seconds and these two fingers, and I could have you rock hard."

"But you're you, not her."

"So?"

"You're a dude. You couldn't turn me on if I was blackout drunk."

"Come here and prove it."

"No way. If I actually get hard, you'll hold it over my masculinity for the rest of my life."

"You have a seriously warped concept of masculinity. Come on. Get over here. Twenty seconds on the clock."

"Fine."

And to my absolute surprise, he shifted over, laid his head right in my lap, and closed his eyes.

"No tickling."

"I'll stick strictly to the nipples."

"With your fingers."

"Obviously."

"Alright. Go. I'll count in my head."

My heart instantly started hammering against my ribs. For the first time in my life, I had Sergio completely surrendered to my touch for something explicitly sexual. I was actually going to try and turn him on. I was going to rub his nipples with my bare hands, and... I got rock hard, right beneath the weight of his head. He had to be feeling my erection pressing against him, but he didn't pull away.

"Are you gonna start?" he murmured, keeping his eyes closed as he started humming the theme from Kill Bill.

So I brushed his right nipple, agonizingly slow, tracing tiny circles with the tip of my index finger. I was dying to tangle my fingers in the thick, dark hair covering his chest, but I forced myself to stick to the rules, lightly grazing one nipple, then the other.

Sergio shivered slightly. I kept working his nipples, slow and deliberate, while my cock throbbed relentlessly under the weight of his head, which suddenly felt like it was pressing much heavier into my lap. At some point, I realized Sergio had stopped humming. He didn't seem to be counting anymore, either.

I kept massaging him, fully aware that the twenty seconds were long gone and that this could end at any second. So I started pressing a little harder. His nipples went completely rigid, the hair on his arms stood on end, and suddenly, he jolted—and shoved his loose white pants all the way down to his knees.

Without opening his eyes, he leaned back against my crotch, grabbed his cock, and started stroking himself with a brutal, frantic rhythm. My heart was hammering so hard against my ribs that I barely even dared to look down at it. I just kept working his nipples while he jerked off. But then the raw, heavy scent of his cock hit me, and I had no choice but to look.

It was massive—thick, heavily veined, and the exact perfect size to make my mouth water like a starving man. But his balls were almost better. They were so heavy and full that I was desperately tempted to reach down just to weigh them in my hands. Still, given the miracle of what was already happening, I figured I had more than enough, so I didn't dare move.

Sergio seemed to have other plans. Keeping his eyes firmly shut, he shifted his body closer, pressing his back flat against my thighs. I adjusted my position so he could rest against my chest. Now, while my fingers kept playing with his nipples, my arms were brushing against his shoulders, and my raging erection was trapped flush against his lower back.

His strokes hit a wicked, frantic pace, and I sped up my hands to match him. Then, Sergio started tilting his face up, as if he were searching for my lips. He parted his mouth, his tongue darting out just a fraction.

Fuck it, I told myself, and I kissed him.

He opened his lips wider, inviting me in, and I devoured his mouth with years of starved, pent-up desperation. Our tongues tangled together, and that was all it took for Sergio to come with a violent intensity I had rarely seen in another man. Thick ropes of cum shot out, splattering across his chest in heavy waves that felt like they were never going to end.

One of those heavy ropes splattered across my fingers. Sergio had broken the kiss, surrendering completely to the overwhelming force of his climax. His eyes were still squeezed shut, so I seized the moment, bringing my slick fingers to my lips to finally taste him.

We stayed frozen like that for a few minutes, the only sound his ragged breathing slowly evening out, while my own cock kept hammering relentlessly against his spine. Suddenly, he stood up and casually asked if I wanted a Coke.

I told him I needed a paper towel first.

He opened the fridge, grabbed a can, and poured the soda into a glass. But he didn't hand me a towel, even though there were two or three rolls sitting right there on the kitchen counter. I still had streaks of his cum drying on my arms, but he had clearly made the executive decision to completely ignore what had just happened.

"I'm gonna take a shower. It's fucking boiling in here."

And just like that, he vanished into the bathroom.

I ended up washing his load off my skin at the kitchen sink.

Ten minutes later, he had practically shoved me out the front door.

And, as you can probably guess, it didn't end there.

Part 2 coming in a few days. Follow my profile so you don't miss the rest of this story.

When I Stopped Waiting

Note: This is a true story. Some names and details have been altered to protect the privacy of those involved, but the feelings—and the heat—are 100% real.

I

I’m not entirely sure how to start this confession. I suppose the best way is to lay it out straight: this is a true story. Obviously, I’ve changed the names and blurred the identifying details, because by putting this out there, I’m risking an eight-year relationship with my partner—and a hell of a lot more. But I think it’s a story worth telling, if only to prove that sometimes, your darkest fantasies actually do come true. For better or worse. And always when you least expect it.

My name is Luis. I’m thirty-six years old, and I’ve been hopelessly in love with Sergio, my best friend, for almost fourteen years. We met at Pappy Dog, a sweaty, pulsing gay club, back in August of ’94. He was a friend of a friend, but Sergio was strictly straight. He only ended up at Pappy’s because his gay friends had made the sacrifice of dragging him to Tretas first—an old-school straight club—hoping he’d finally hook up with a girl. The kid had just turned nineteen and hadn't even popped his cherry yet. But he’d completely chickened out, anchoring himself to the bar, nervously sipping his rum and coke, too paralyzed to make a move on a single woman there.

And once he stepped into Pappy’s, well... his chances of getting laid were pretty much shot.

To put the final nail in the coffin of his night, his buddies vanished into the darkroom, leaving Sergio completely stranded in the quietest corner of the bar. He just stood there, watching a sea of jacked guys rolling on ecstasy grinding against each other, occasionally shooting a hopeful glance at some lesbian walking past on her way to the dance floor.

His night was a total trainwreck until I bumped into our mutual friend in the bathrooms. He was thrilled to see me, dragged me upstairs, and planted me right next to Sergio. He introduced us, begged me to babysit him, and immediately bolted off to suck some cock.

I didn’t mind playing babysitter one bit. The kid was charming, and he was massive—a broad-shouldered guy from the north who easily passed for twenty-five despite being nineteen. And handsome as fuck. Or *guapo de cojones*—handsome as balls—as we say here. Not that I actually got to see his. I fucking wish.

The point is, we hit it off. We started talking, knocking back drinks, and I found out he lived just a couple of blocks from my apartment. At some point in the night, he finally asked me where the hell his friends had disappeared to.

"The darkroom," I replied.

He looked at me, completely clueless.

"What’s that? The bathroom? Is it really that filthy?"

You have to remember, back then, barely anyone had the internet—if it even existed for us yet—and there weren't any explicit shows on TV. Straight guys were completely oblivious to how things actually worked in the gay scene compared to how they are today.

So I explained the concept of a darkroom to him, and his eyes went as wide as dinner plates.

"Wait, so guys just go down there and start fucking?"

"Or sucking cock."

"And there’s no light at all?"

"Just the spark of a lighter every now and then."

"Holy shit. They definitely don’t have that in *normal* clubs."

I let the *normal* comment slide. I didn't bother lecturing him about how Pappy’s was perfectly normal despite being packed wall-to-wall with fags. I had already decided right then and there that he was going to be one of my best friends. I figured I’d be seeing a lot of him, so I’d have plenty of time to educate him later.

Instead, I just grabbed his large hand and pulled him toward the stairs. "Come on. I’ll show you."

"Alright. But if anybody touches me, I’m screaming."

"Deal. And I’ll run you right out of here."

We stepped slowly into the darkroom. The first narrow hallway was lined with men, their eyes tracking us intently under the faint, blueish glow spilling in from the bathrooms. We had to shuffle past them in a tight little train, mostly because Sergio had plastered his front right against my ass like he was glued there. Honestly, it made walking a pain, but the poor kid was spooked. We pushed a little deeper, and soon enough, the darkness swallowed us completely.

"Does it bother you that I'm pressed up against you like this? I'm practically fucking you in the ass," he whispered right into my ear.

A jolt of pure heat shot down my spine.

"God, no. You're turning me on so fucking much right now. You won't hear a single complaint out of me."

"You're fucking with me, right?"

"Not even a little. But don't worry. It doesn't hurt."

"If it doesn't hurt, you can't be that turned on."

"Reach down and feel for yourself."

"Not a fucking chance."

"Alright, alright. Suit yourself."

Like I said, a textbook straight guy. We kept pushing through the pitch black until I let go of his hands. Not that it mattered—he had immediately locked his fingers together right over my stomach, making damn sure I couldn't slip away from him.

"What are you doing?" he asked, sounding borderline panicked.

"Feeling around for the wall. Unless you want me to bust my teeth open in the dark."

"Right. Obviously."

That’s when we heard it. Just to our right. A wet, sloppy sucking sound. The unmistakable noise of someone licking their lips.

"Someone's getting a hell of a blowjob," Sergio whispered, a slight edge of hysteria in his voice.

"Actually, I think someone's getting their ass eaten," I corrected him.

To my surprise, Sergio was the one who pulled a lighter from his pocket and flicked it on, illuminating the whole damn scene.

For a split second, I caught a glimpse of about thirty men getting off in every way imaginable, working with tools of all shapes and sizes.

"Fuck, it's packed in here tonight," I muttered.

Suddenly, someone swatted Sergio's hand hard, sending the lighter flying out of his grip.

"Don't pick it up," he pleaded, as the pitch-black swallowed us again.

"Wasn't planning on it," I replied.

"Jesus, they play rough in here!"

"Did they hurt you?"

"Nah, I'm good."

"It's called a *dark*room for a reason, idiot," I scolded him affectionately. "By the way..."

"A blowjob," he answered. "I was right."

We kept pushing deeper into the darkness for another ten minutes. At one point, a frantic, wet *slap, slap, slap* let us know someone was getting absolutely railed just inches away from us. I waited, my pulse hammering, desperate to feel even the slightest twitch in Sergio's crotch—which was still pressed flush against my ass—but absolutely nothing stirred down there.

When we finally made it out into the light, I gave him the third degree.

"Well? What did you think?”

"Fascinating."

"You didn't even get hard."

"Was I supposed to?"

"When I was your age, just the word 'sex' was enough to get me rock hard."

"You're only three years older than me. And I don't swing that way. Guys don't do it for me."

"But there were people in there literally choking on cock."

"But they were *dudes*."

"But it could've been *your* cock."

"But it's not the same."

"But..."

And he let me keep throwing "buts" at him for the rest of the night, though he stopped arguing back. I suppose Sergio had already decided right then that I was going to be one of his best friends, and that he’d have plenty of time to educate me until I finally grasped that straight guys don't get hard watching men fuck.

Days bled into each other, and I fell hopelessly, disastrously in love with Sergio.

Weeks passed, and I confessed it to him.

Months went by, and our bond only deepened. He gave me all the love I craved—the tight hugs, the raw affection, the constant, lingering physical touch.

Everything. Except sex.

Sometimes we’d even crash in the same bed after a night of heavy drinking. Nothing ever happened, though. Even when I was starving for him, dying to just lean over and taste his mouth, I refused to make a move that might ruin the beautiful thing we didn't quite have.

And I was happy like that for two years. Until Sergio met Marta. And they got married. And I had to go find my own happiness with a guy who was a hell of a lot less straight.

We kept the friendship alive. So much so that Marcos (my boyfriend back then, now my husband), Sergio, his wife, and yours truly would get together for dinner two or three times a month. We spent New Year’s Eve together, organized camping trips, parties, card games, and the occasional vacation. More recently, we’d spend entire weekends binge-watching the first few seasons of *Lost*.

I’m not ashamed to admit that through all of this, I’ve stayed secretly, desperately in love with him. Or that, as the years went by, any physical contact with Sergio—the tight hugs, the casual cheek kisses, the firm handshakes—took on a deeply sexual weight for me. Sergio makes me rock hard. Now more than ever. And I’ll confess right here that I’ve jerked off in his bathroom more than once, fishing his worn boxers out of the laundry hamper and burying my face in the fabric, breathing in the raw, musky scent of his cock.

Anyway. About two months ago, Sergio called my cell. He sounded on edge.

"Did you guys have a fight?" I asked. Sergio and Marta don't usually fight, but when they do, they make a hell of a racket, and it’s usually the DVD player that pays the price, ending up launched right off the balcony. It’s always some cheap DVD player from the supermarket. For some reason, their rage never quite pushes them to smash the expensive premium cable box.

"No. It's not that. Can you come over?”

"Of course. I'm on my way."

It was a Thursday afternoon. I finish work early, and Marcos doesn't get home until nine. I had about two and a half hours to dedicate entirely to Sergio.

I got to his place, rang the bell, and he opened the door shirtless and barefoot, wearing nothing but a pair of loose, white cropped pants hanging low on his hips. The second I saw him, my mouth watered and I was instantly dripping—or as a girlfriend of mine likes to say, my pussy turned into a puddle.

"Come in." To my absolute dismay, he didn't give me his usual welcoming hug.

I followed him to the living room couch, where he slumped down, looking completely defeated.

"What happened?" I asked, starting to actually worry.

"I can't take it anymore. If things keep going like this, I'm leaving her."

So it *was* about Marta after all.

"Same old story?" I asked.

He nodded, giving me these pathetic, kicked-puppy eyes.

The thing is, after more than ten years of marriage, Marta was still absolutely unwilling to suck his cock.

"She has zero problem with me burying my face between her legs and eating her out, but she won't even taste it. Won't even smell it. She won't even let me blow my load on her tits!"

I knew this song and dance by heart. Marta had this bizarre phobia of semen. Just looking at it made her gag, so the risk of him unloading on her tongue was completely out of the question...

"I can't do this anymore. I'm up to my fucking balls with this.”

"Come on, man. You can't rethink your entire marriage over something as trivial as Marta refusing to suck your cock, Sergio."

"Sure, easy for you to say. You actually get your dick sucked..."

"If she was freezing you out completely, that'd be one thing. But you guys are still fucking."

"But I want a fucking blowjob. And then two thousand more, just to make up for lost time."

"And what does she say when you ask?"

"She tells me to go jerk off."

"Have you ever thought about stepping out on her?"

"Have you? Have you thought about cheating on Marcos? Exactly. It's not an option."

I'd cheat on him with you in a heartbeat, you bastard, I thought.

"Well, I don't know what else to tell you. It's a tough problem to fix," I lied, considering I was fully prepared to drop to my knees and solve it for him right then and there.

"For what it's worth, I've always said blowjobs are overrated."

"Right now, I can't think of a single thing I want more."

"That's because you're a prisoner of your own heterosexuality. I'd trade a great blowjob for getting my ass eaten any day of the week." I didn't say it like a transaction, but God, I wished Sergio had taken it as an offer.

"I don't know, man. I think that would gross her out even more."

"Ah. So she hasn't done that either."

"Don't torture me, alright? I already know you get to play the field a lot more than I do."

"Only because you choose not to."

"I think we've made that pretty fucking clear by now, don't you?"

"I didn't mean with me, dumbass—though I wouldn't exactly complain if you offered. I meant with her. I bet she's never even sucked your nipples, has she? I bet it hasn't even crossed your mind to ask."

"She accidentally got a mouthful of my armpit once and looked disgusted for three days straight. Besides, my nipples aren't even sensitive."

"Bullshit. Give me twenty seconds and these two fingers, and I could have you rock hard."

"But you're you, not her."

"So?"

"You're a dude. You couldn't turn me on if I was blackout drunk."

"Come here and prove it."

"No way. If I actually get hard, you'll hold it over my masculinity for the rest of my life."

"You have a seriously warped concept of masculinity. Come on. Get over here. Twenty seconds on the clock."

"Fine."

And to my absolute surprise, he shifted over, laid his head right in my lap, and closed his eyes.

"No tickling."

"I'll stick strictly to the nipples."

"With your fingers."

"Obviously."

"Alright. Go. I'll count in my head."

My heart instantly started hammering against my ribs. For the first time in my life, I had Sergio completely surrendered to my touch for something explicitly sexual. I was actually going to try and turn him on. I was going to rub his nipples with my bare hands, and... I got rock hard, right beneath the weight of his head. He had to be feeling my erection pressing against him, but he didn't pull away.

"Are you gonna start?" he murmured, keeping his eyes closed as he started humming the theme from Kill Bill.

So I brushed his right nipple, agonizingly slow, tracing tiny circles with the tip of my index finger. I was dying to tangle my fingers in the thick, dark hair covering his chest, but I forced myself to stick to the rules, lightly grazing one nipple, then the other.

Sergio shivered slightly. I kept working his nipples, slow and deliberate, while my cock throbbed relentlessly under the weight of his head, which suddenly felt like it was pressing much heavier into my lap. At some point, I realized Sergio had stopped humming. He didn't seem to be counting anymore, either.

I kept massaging him, fully aware that the twenty seconds were long gone and that this could end at any second. So I started pressing a little harder. His nipples went completely rigid, the hair on his arms stood on end, and suddenly, he jolted—and shoved his loose white pants all the way down to his knees.

Without opening his eyes, he leaned back against my crotch, grabbed his cock, and started stroking himself with a brutal, frantic rhythm. My heart was hammering so hard against my ribs that I barely even dared to look down at it. I just kept working his nipples while he jerked off. But then the raw, heavy scent of his cock hit me, and I had no choice but to look.

It was massive—thick, heavily veined, and the exact perfect size to make my mouth water like a starving man. But his balls were almost better. They were so heavy and full that I was desperately tempted to reach down just to weigh them in my hands. Still, given the miracle of what was already happening, I figured I had more than enough, so I didn't dare move.

Sergio seemed to have other plans. Keeping his eyes firmly shut, he shifted his body closer, pressing his back flat against my thighs. I adjusted my position so he could rest against my chest. Now, while my fingers kept playing with his nipples, my arms were brushing against his shoulders, and my raging erection was trapped flush against his lower back.

His strokes hit a wicked, frantic pace, and I sped up my hands to match him. Then, Sergio started tilting his face up, as if he were searching for my lips. He parted his mouth, his tongue darting out just a fraction.

Fuck it, I told myself, and I kissed him.

He opened his lips wider, inviting me in, and I devoured his mouth with years of starved, pent-up desperation. Our tongues tangled together, and that was all it took for Sergio to come with a violent intensity I had rarely seen in another man. Thick ropes of cum shot out, splattering across his chest in heavy waves that felt like they were never going to end.

One of those heavy ropes splattered across my fingers. Sergio had broken the kiss, surrendering completely to the overwhelming force of his climax. His eyes were still squeezed shut, so I seized the moment, bringing my slick fingers to my lips to finally taste him.

We stayed frozen like that for a few minutes, the only sound his ragged breathing slowly evening out, while my own cock kept hammering relentlessly against his spine. Suddenly, he stood up and casually asked if I wanted a Coke.

I told him I needed a paper towel first.

He opened the fridge, grabbed a can, and poured the soda into a glass. But he didn't hand me a towel, even though there were two or three rolls sitting right there on the kitchen counter. I still had streaks of his cum drying on my arms, but he had clearly made the executive decision to completely ignore what had just happened.

"I'm gonna take a shower. It's fucking boiling in here."

And just like that, he vanished into the bathroom.

I ended up washing his load off my skin at the kitchen sink.

Ten minutes later, he had practically shoved me out the front door.

And, as you can probably guess, it didn't end there.

Part 2 coming in a few days. Follow my profile so you don't miss the rest of this story.

When I Stopped Waiting

Note: This is a true story. Some names and details have been altered to protect the privacy of those involved, but the feelings—and the heat—are 100% real.

I

I’m not entirely sure how to start this confession. I suppose the best way is to lay it out straight: this is a true story. Obviously, I’ve changed the names and blurred the identifying details, because by putting this out there, I’m risking an eight-year relationship with my partner—and a hell of a lot more. But I think it’s a story worth telling, if only to prove that sometimes, your darkest fantasies actually do come true. For better or worse. And always when you least expect it.

My name is Luis. I’m thirty-six years old, and I’ve been hopelessly in love with Sergio, my best friend, for almost fourteen years. We met at Pappy Dog, a sweaty, pulsing gay club, back in August of ’94. He was a friend of a friend, but Sergio was strictly straight. He only ended up at Pappy’s because his gay friends had made the sacrifice of dragging him to Tretas first—an old-school straight club—hoping he’d finally hook up with a girl. The kid had just turned nineteen and hadn't even popped his cherry yet. But he’d completely chickened out, anchoring himself to the bar, nervously sipping his rum and coke, too paralyzed to make a move on a single woman there.

And once he stepped into Pappy’s, well... his chances of getting laid were pretty much shot.

To put the final nail in the coffin of his night, his buddies vanished into the darkroom, leaving Sergio completely stranded in the quietest corner of the bar. He just stood there, watching a sea of jacked guys rolling on ecstasy grinding against each other, occasionally shooting a hopeful glance at some lesbian walking past on her way to the dance floor.

His night was a total trainwreck until I bumped into our mutual friend in the bathrooms. He was thrilled to see me, dragged me upstairs, and planted me right next to Sergio. He introduced us, begged me to babysit him, and immediately bolted off to suck some cock.

I didn’t mind playing babysitter one bit. The kid was charming, and he was massive—a broad-shouldered guy from the north who easily passed for twenty-five despite being nineteen. And handsome as fuck. Or *guapo de cojones*—handsome as balls—as we say here. Not that I actually got to see his. I fucking wish.

The point is, we hit it off. We started talking, knocking back drinks, and I found out he lived just a couple of blocks from my apartment. At some point in the night, he finally asked me where the hell his friends had disappeared to.

"The darkroom," I replied.

He looked at me, completely clueless.

"What’s that? The bathroom? Is it really that filthy?"

You have to remember, back then, barely anyone had the internet—if it even existed for us yet—and there weren't any explicit shows on TV. Straight guys were completely oblivious to how things actually worked in the gay scene compared to how they are today.

So I explained the concept of a darkroom to him, and his eyes went as wide as dinner plates.

"Wait, so guys just go down there and start fucking?"

"Or sucking cock."

"And there’s no light at all?"

"Just the spark of a lighter every now and then."

"Holy shit. They definitely don’t have that in *normal* clubs."

I let the *normal* comment slide. I didn't bother lecturing him about how Pappy’s was perfectly normal despite being packed wall-to-wall with fags. I had already decided right then and there that he was going to be one of my best friends. I figured I’d be seeing a lot of him, so I’d have plenty of time to educate him later.

Instead, I just grabbed his large hand and pulled him toward the stairs. "Come on. I’ll show you."

"Alright. But if anybody touches me, I’m screaming."

"Deal. And I’ll run you right out of here."

We stepped slowly into the darkroom. The first narrow hallway was lined with men, their eyes tracking us intently under the faint, blueish glow spilling in from the bathrooms. We had to shuffle past them in a tight little train, mostly because Sergio had plastered his front right against my ass like he was glued there. Honestly, it made walking a pain, but the poor kid was spooked. We pushed a little deeper, and soon enough, the darkness swallowed us completely.

"Does it bother you that I'm pressed up against you like this? I'm practically fucking you in the ass," he whispered right into my ear.

A jolt of pure heat shot down my spine.

"God, no. You're turning me on so fucking much right now. You won't hear a single complaint out of me."

"You're fucking with me, right?"

"Not even a little. But don't worry. It doesn't hurt."

"If it doesn't hurt, you can't be that turned on."

"Reach down and feel for yourself."

"Not a fucking chance."

"Alright, alright. Suit yourself."

Like I said, a textbook straight guy. We kept pushing through the pitch black until I let go of his hands. Not that it mattered—he had immediately locked his fingers together right over my stomach, making damn sure I couldn't slip away from him.

"What are you doing?" he asked, sounding borderline panicked.

"Feeling around for the wall. Unless you want me to bust my teeth open in the dark."

"Right. Obviously."

That’s when we heard it. Just to our right. A wet, sloppy sucking sound. The unmistakable noise of someone licking their lips.

"Someone's getting a hell of a blowjob," Sergio whispered, a slight edge of hysteria in his voice.

"Actually, I think someone's getting their ass eaten," I corrected him.

To my surprise, Sergio was the one who pulled a lighter from his pocket and flicked it on, illuminating the whole damn scene.

For a split second, I caught a glimpse of about thirty men getting off in every way imaginable, working with tools of all shapes and sizes.

"Fuck, it's packed in here tonight," I muttered.

Suddenly, someone swatted Sergio's hand hard, sending the lighter flying out of his grip.

"Don't pick it up," he pleaded, as the pitch-black swallowed us again.

"Wasn't planning on it," I replied.

"Jesus, they play rough in here!"

"Did they hurt you?"

"Nah, I'm good."

"It's called a *dark*room for a reason, idiot," I scolded him affectionately. "By the way..."

"A blowjob," he answered. "I was right."

We kept pushing deeper into the darkness for another ten minutes. At one point, a frantic, wet *slap, slap, slap* let us know someone was getting absolutely railed just inches away from us. I waited, my pulse hammering, desperate to feel even the slightest twitch in Sergio's crotch—which was still pressed flush against my ass—but absolutely nothing stirred down there.

When we finally made it out into the light, I gave him the third degree.

"Well? What did you think?”

"Fascinating."

"You didn't even get hard."

"Was I supposed to?"

"When I was your age, just the word 'sex' was enough to get me rock hard."

"You're only three years older than me. And I don't swing that way. Guys don't do it for me."

"But there were people in there literally choking on cock."

"But they were *dudes*."

"But it could've been *your* cock."

"But it's not the same."

"But..."

And he let me keep throwing "buts" at him for the rest of the night, though he stopped arguing back. I suppose Sergio had already decided right then that I was going to be one of his best friends, and that he’d have plenty of time to educate me until I finally grasped that straight guys don't get hard watching men fuck.

Days bled into each other, and I fell hopelessly, disastrously in love with Sergio.

Weeks passed, and I confessed it to him.

Months went by, and our bond only deepened. He gave me all the love I craved—the tight hugs, the raw affection, the constant, lingering physical touch.

Everything. Except sex.

Sometimes we’d even crash in the same bed after a night of heavy drinking. Nothing ever happened, though. Even when I was starving for him, dying to just lean over and taste his mouth, I refused to make a move that might ruin the beautiful thing we didn't quite have.

And I was happy like that for two years. Until Sergio met Marta. And they got married. And I had to go find my own happiness with a guy who was a hell of a lot less straight.

We kept the friendship alive. So much so that Marcos (my boyfriend back then, now my husband), Sergio, his wife, and yours truly would get together for dinner two or three times a month. We spent New Year’s Eve together, organized camping trips, parties, card games, and the occasional vacation. More recently, we’d spend entire weekends binge-watching the first few seasons of *Lost*.

I’m not ashamed to admit that through all of this, I’ve stayed secretly, desperately in love with him. Or that, as the years went by, any physical contact with Sergio—the tight hugs, the casual cheek kisses, the firm handshakes—took on a deeply sexual weight for me. Sergio makes me rock hard. Now more than ever. And I’ll confess right here that I’ve jerked off in his bathroom more than once, fishing his worn boxers out of the laundry hamper and burying my face in the fabric, breathing in the raw, musky scent of his cock.

Anyway. About two months ago, Sergio called my cell. He sounded on edge.

"Did you guys have a fight?" I asked. Sergio and Marta don't usually fight, but when they do, they make a hell of a racket, and it’s usually the DVD player that pays the price, ending up launched right off the balcony. It’s always some cheap DVD player from the supermarket. For some reason, their rage never quite pushes them to smash the expensive premium cable box.

"No. It's not that. Can you come over?”

"Of course. I'm on my way."

It was a Thursday afternoon. I finish work early, and Marcos doesn't get home until nine. I had about two and a half hours to dedicate entirely to Sergio.

I got to his place, rang the bell, and he opened the door shirtless and barefoot, wearing nothing but a pair of loose, white cropped pants hanging low on his hips. The second I saw him, my mouth watered and I was instantly dripping—or as a girlfriend of mine likes to say, my pussy turned into a puddle.

"Come in." To my absolute dismay, he didn't give me his usual welcoming hug.

I followed him to the living room couch, where he slumped down, looking completely defeated.

"What happened?" I asked, starting to actually worry.

"I can't take it anymore. If things keep going like this, I'm leaving her."

So it *was* about Marta after all.

"Same old story?" I asked.

He nodded, giving me these pathetic, kicked-puppy eyes.

The thing is, after more than ten years of marriage, Marta was still absolutely unwilling to suck his cock.

"She has zero problem with me burying my face between her legs and eating her out, but she won't even taste it. Won't even smell it. She won't even let me blow my load on her tits!"

I knew this song and dance by heart. Marta had this bizarre phobia of semen. Just looking at it made her gag, so the risk of him unloading on her tongue was completely out of the question...

"I can't do this anymore. I'm up to my fucking balls with this.”

"Come on, man. You can't rethink your entire marriage over something as trivial as Marta refusing to suck your cock, Sergio."

"Sure, easy for you to say. You actually get your dick sucked..."

"If she was freezing you out completely, that'd be one thing. But you guys are still fucking."

"But I want a fucking blowjob. And then two thousand more, just to make up for lost time."

"And what does she say when you ask?"

"She tells me to go jerk off."

"Have you ever thought about stepping out on her?"

"Have you? Have you thought about cheating on Marcos? Exactly. It's not an option."

I'd cheat on him with you in a heartbeat, you bastard, I thought.

"Well, I don't know what else to tell you. It's a tough problem to fix," I lied, considering I was fully prepared to drop to my knees and solve it for him right then and there.

"For what it's worth, I've always said blowjobs are overrated."

"Right now, I can't think of a single thing I want more."

"That's because you're a prisoner of your own heterosexuality. I'd trade a great blowjob for getting my ass eaten any day of the week." I didn't say it like a transaction, but God, I wished Sergio had taken it as an offer.

"I don't know, man. I think that would gross her out even more."

"Ah. So she hasn't done that either."

"Don't torture me, alright? I already know you get to play the field a lot more than I do."

"Only because you choose not to."

"I think we've made that pretty fucking clear by now, don't you?"

"I didn't mean with me, dumbass—though I wouldn't exactly complain if you offered. I meant with her. I bet she's never even sucked your nipples, has she? I bet it hasn't even crossed your mind to ask."

"She accidentally got a mouthful of my armpit once and looked disgusted for three days straight. Besides, my nipples aren't even sensitive."

"Bullshit. Give me twenty seconds and these two fingers, and I could have you rock hard."

"But you're you, not her."

"So?"

"You're a dude. You couldn't turn me on if I was blackout drunk."

"Come here and prove it."

"No way. If I actually get hard, you'll hold it over my masculinity for the rest of my life."

"You have a seriously warped concept of masculinity. Come on. Get over here. Twenty seconds on the clock."

"Fine."

And to my absolute surprise, he shifted over, laid his head right in my lap, and closed his eyes.

"No tickling."

"I'll stick strictly to the nipples."

"With your fingers."

"Obviously."

"Alright. Go. I'll count in my head."

My heart instantly started hammering against my ribs. For the first time in my life, I had Sergio completely surrendered to my touch for something explicitly sexual. I was actually going to try and turn him on. I was going to rub his nipples with my bare hands, and... I got rock hard, right beneath the weight of his head. He had to be feeling my erection pressing against him, but he didn't pull away.

"Are you gonna start?" he murmured, keeping his eyes closed as he started humming the theme from Kill Bill.

So I brushed his right nipple, agonizingly slow, tracing tiny circles with the tip of my index finger. I was dying to tangle my fingers in the thick, dark hair covering his chest, but I forced myself to stick to the rules, lightly grazing one nipple, then the other.

Sergio shivered slightly. I kept working his nipples, slow and deliberate, while my cock throbbed relentlessly under the weight of his head, which suddenly felt like it was pressing much heavier into my lap. At some point, I realized Sergio had stopped humming. He didn't seem to be counting anymore, either.

I kept massaging him, fully aware that the twenty seconds were long gone and that this could end at any second. So I started pressing a little harder. His nipples went completely rigid, the hair on his arms stood on end, and suddenly, he jolted—and shoved his loose white pants all the way down to his knees.

Without opening his eyes, he leaned back against my crotch, grabbed his cock, and started stroking himself with a brutal, frantic rhythm. My heart was hammering so hard against my ribs that I barely even dared to look down at it. I just kept working his nipples while he jerked off. But then the raw, heavy scent of his cock hit me, and I had no choice but to look.

It was massive—thick, heavily veined, and the exact perfect size to make my mouth water like a starving man. But his balls were almost better. They were so heavy and full that I was desperately tempted to reach down just to weigh them in my hands. Still, given the miracle of what was already happening, I figured I had more than enough, so I didn't dare move.

Sergio seemed to have other plans. Keeping his eyes firmly shut, he shifted his body closer, pressing his back flat against my thighs. I adjusted my position so he could rest against my chest. Now, while my fingers kept playing with his nipples, my arms were brushing against his shoulders, and my raging erection was trapped flush against his lower back.

His strokes hit a wicked, frantic pace, and I sped up my hands to match him. Then, Sergio started tilting his face up, as if he were searching for my lips. He parted his mouth, his tongue darting out just a fraction.

Fuck it, I told myself, and I kissed him.

He opened his lips wider, inviting me in, and I devoured his mouth with years of starved, pent-up desperation. Our tongues tangled together, and that was all it took for Sergio to come with a violent intensity I had rarely seen in another man. Thick ropes of cum shot out, splattering across his chest in heavy waves that felt like they were never going to end.

One of those heavy ropes splattered across my fingers. Sergio had broken the kiss, surrendering completely to the overwhelming force of his climax. His eyes were still squeezed shut, so I seized the moment, bringing my slick fingers to my lips to finally taste him.

We stayed frozen like that for a few minutes, the only sound his ragged breathing slowly evening out, while my own cock kept hammering relentlessly against his spine. Suddenly, he stood up and casually asked if I wanted a Coke.

I told him I needed a paper towel first.

He opened the fridge, grabbed a can, and poured the soda into a glass. But he didn't hand me a towel, even though there were two or three rolls sitting right there on the kitchen counter. I still had streaks of his cum drying on my arms, but he had clearly made the executive decision to completely ignore what had just happened.

"I'm gonna take a shower. It's fucking boiling in here."

And just like that, he vanished into the bathroom.

I ended up washing his load off my skin at the kitchen sink.

Ten minutes later, he had practically shoved me out the front door.

And, as you can probably guess, it didn't end there.

Part 2 coming in a few days. Follow my profile so you don't miss the rest of this story.

Death Becomes Us...

I

It was pushing midnight, and the train car was completely empty except for me. I checked the time again. Twenty minutes left until we rolled through my town. But for the first time in a long while, I wasn't eager to get home. No one was waiting for me there anymore.

I rested my head against the seatback and closed my eyes, fighting the urge to dwell on what had happened. Still, the images of the impact kept burning into my retinas on a relentless loop. I didn't want to keep reliving it. It was too agonizing.

A sudden noise made me open my eyes. The sliding door at the end of the car had opened, and the ticket inspector stepped through. He was a guy of about twenty-five whom I’d never seen before, despite taking this exact train every single night.

I flashed him my ticket, and he offered me a smile.

He moved on to the next car, leaving me alone with my grief. But a few minutes later he came back, and to my surprise, he spoke to me.

"The train's empty. Mind if I sit with you?"

He didn't wait for an answer before dropping into the seat across from me. I closed my eyes, trying to ignore just how fucking gorgeous he was.

"I'm really sorry about your guy," he said.

My eyes snapped open.

"How did you...?"

"I saw you on the news. You've got unmistakable eyes."

I didn't know how the hell to respond to that.

"Has the funeral happened yet?"

"This morning," I replied, thrown off balance by his bluntness.

"Don't worry. It'll pass." His sheer audacity was starting to piss me off, but he kept talking, and my anger slowly dissolved. "I've lost three people I loved deeply in the last three years. Once you realize they're still alive as long as you are, everything gets easier. Look at Freddie Mercury. He's more present now than when he was breathing. What's your name?"

"Rafa."

"I'm Julián, but you can call me Lían. It doesn't sound quite as awful."

"Lían?"

"It started as a nickname on IRC. Now everyone calls me that. Do you want to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?"

"About what happened to your guy."

"I don't think so."

"Suit yourself. But I promise you, the sooner you do, the sooner it stops torturing you."

After thinking it over for a moment, I asked:

"Who did you lose?"

"First my mom, then my dad, and six months ago, my girlfriend."

My most selfish self, the part of my brain that was always on high alert looking to score, cursed silently. The gorgeous ticket inspector was straight. Then I felt like absolute shit for thinking that on the exact same day I'd buried my guy.

"What happened to your girlfriend?"

"We had some of that canned mushroom soup. Apparently, it had gone bad. I survived, she didn't."

"What a shitty life."

"Well, I like still being here."

"I mean it's so easy to check out... We should come armor-plated from the factory. Did you sue the soup company?"

"Didn't have to. They paid us a fortune not to sue. Both my in-laws and me. Anyway, our lawyer said it was a lottery, that proving negligence was really tough, that the can could have taken a hit during transport or right there in the supermarket, and if we went to trial, odds were we wouldn't see a dime."

"Then how come they gave you so much money just like that?"

"To save themselves the bad press. And now you're going to ask what I'm doing working, with all that cash sitting in my checking account. Truth is, I get bored. Even though I could easily take a few gap years. Your turn."

"My turn?"

"To talk about your shit. I'm sure whatever they said on the news is total bullshit, like always."

"What did they say on the news?"

"Well, they really hammered home the fact that you're both guys, as you can imagine. And they talked about... well, about how the whole thing might have been triggered by your partner discovering you were cheating on him."

"Seriously? I don't believe it."

"They dropped the hint, pure Tomate style. TV is fucking disgusting. Then they ran a segment on the gay scene, the nightlife, the coke, the booze, the reckless sex, and the pills."

"Jesus Christ, what a disgrace."

"Maybe if you sue them you can get something out of it too. I can advise you."

"All I want is to forget about everything as soon as possible."

"Tell me about it. You'll be taking the first step."

I looked at him, unconvinced, raising an eyebrow to emphasize my skepticism, but in the end, I let myself be dragged into it.

"Fine. But you have to promise me it never leaves here."

"I'll take it to my grave. Well, our partners are the ones in the graves."

"I don't know if I like your sense of humor."

"You made it too fucking easy."

"Let's see. The story starts seven months ago."

"Go ahead."

"Esteban and I were coming back from a night out. I was pretty wasted; Esteban hadn't touched a drop so he could drive. That's important because we can't blame alcohol for what happened that night."

"Uh-huh."

"Esteban was driving pretty fast. We were in a rush to get home because we both had work the next day. Actually, we'd gone out clubbing after a birthday party. We hadn't planned on it. Anyway, who gives a shit. The point is, it was pitch black, and as we were getting close to home, Esteban blew through a crosswalk and we took out a girl."

Lían didn't seem the least bit surprised at this point, which somehow disappointed me. Since he didn't say a word, I kept going.

"We hit her dead on. She went flying right over the car. I still see her face when I close my eyes at night." I waited for Lían to comfort me, but he didn't. "Well. I know it sounds horrific, but we didn't stop. Esteban kept driving, saying he couldn't pull over, that he couldn't face the fact that we'd killed her. So we locked the car in the garage and went to bed. We didn't call the cops, we didn't tell a soul. We just waited. To this day, I still don't know if that girl died that night. We didn't leave the house for a week, didn't read the paper, didn't even go online. We didn't want to know. If the cops showed up at our door, we'd sing, obviously. But the cops never came. Esteban never drove his car again. It's been sitting in the garage since that night."

"So, what happened to Esteban? Did that girl show up with an axe to get her revenge?"

"Esteban killed himself. He hanged himself. But not because I cheated on him, like you said they're hinting at on TV, but because he didn't stop the car that night. It was like killing her twice—first by running her over, and then by leaving her there to die. Esteban became obsessed. He lost his fucking mind. He looked for a thousand and one reasons for what had happened. In his final days, he started blaming me. He said he was actually thinking about me when he decided not to stop. That he loved me so much he wanted to spare me the ordeal."

"It must have been hell living with that."

"It was hell living with him, more like."

"I see the thing with that girl affected you a lot less than it did him."

"I know it sounds cruel, but I wasn't the one behind the wheel."

As I said that, I realized the train had come to a stop, and I stood up.

"I have to go."

"Wait!"

"This is my stop."

"Stay, please."

"Why?"

"Because what you just told me is something you tell a friend, not a stranger. And if you walk away now, we'll stay strangers."

"But it's my stop..."

"There are only three left until the end of the line. My shift is over anyway. I can drive you home. Maybe we'll run over another chick at a crosswalk."

"I shouldn't stay, not after hearing you say shit like that."

"But are you staying?"

"Not like I have a choice," I said, seeing that the doors had already slid shut and the train was moving again. "But you've got a pretty twisted sense of humor, just so you know."

"It's part of my charm."

The truth was, I didn't know what to make of Lían. He scared me a little. I had just shown him my darkest side, talking shit about my freshly buried boyfriend and completely washing my hands of what we'd done to that girl. Esteban had killed himself. That didn't exactly speak highly of me. I hadn't known how to support him. I hadn't shared the blame. I had left the crushing weight of that night squarely on his shoulders, and he hadn't been able to bear it. In a way, Esteban's suicide was my fault. I was sure Lían had picked up on that while listening to my story, and instead of letting me walk away, he was saying he wanted to be my friend.

There was something strange about that (I already know there's something strange about me, but I have to live with myself and love myself, I don't have a choice). There was something enigmatic about Lían, something that terrified me. And turned me on.

He had his car parked next to the station. It was an ancient Ford Ka that looked like it was going to fall to pieces at any second.

"For a newly rich guy, your car is a piece of shit."

"I know. But I'm attached to it. It was my girlfriend's car."

"Touché. I keep fucking up tonight."

"Someday you'll understand that talking about the dead isn't fucking up, and that nothing you do or say in this world is wrong."

"That makes two."

"Two what?"

"I don't like your sense of humor, and I don't like your cheap philosophy."

"Rafa... I know I promised to take you home, but... want to come to my place?"

"Why the hell would I do that?"

"Because you fit."

"I fit? Fit where?"

"I've got a hole in my basement where I keep bodies. There's room for you."

"Are you threatening me?"

"I'm asking you to come fill a hole. It's a beautiful thing."

"Shoving my body into a ditch full of corpses isn't a beautiful thing."

"Are you coming?"

"Alright. I don't have anything better to do. But promise me I'll make it out alive."

"I can't promise you that. People die in the weirdest places. The world is a strange place."

"El Mundo is a newspaper."

"See? I don't like your sense of humor either. Now we have something in common."

During the drive, we kept up the same stupid banter, but I have to admit I was having a pretty good time, which was the last thing I expected today. When we got to his place, he parked the car and looked at me.

"This is going to be our last moment alone tonight," he said.

"How interesting. You don't live with your parents because you told me they were dead. Who else is in your house? Are you keeping your girlfriend's corpse up there?"

"This is going to be our last moment of solitude tonight. Don't fuck it up."

"Okay."

"Before we go up, I want you to know I'm into you."

"You're into me?"

"Physically."

"I thought you were straight."

"I thought so too, until I wasn't."

"Okay."

"I'm into you physically, intellectually too, and it's possible that someday I might even fall in love with you."

"Wow..."

"That's it."

"That's it?"

"I had to tell you before we went up. You know... to have a bit of an edge."

And he got out of the car.

"Hey," I said, getting out after him. "Don't you want to know if I'm into you too?"

"I don't want you saying anything you'll have to regret in a few minutes"—another clear allusion to whatever was waiting for us inside his place.

I decided to take his advice. I didn't say a fucking word and followed him upstairs, thoroughly intrigued.

He took out his keys. From inside the apartment, I could hear a TV, turned up pretty loud. He opened the door. The hallway was pitch black. Lían grabbed my hand and said, "Come."

I let him lead me, obediently, into the living room. I saw a massive, hundred-inch TV and recognized the movie El orfanato (a horror flick).

There were seven guys scattered across two sofas and some floor cushions. Their ages ranged from 20 to 35. But the crazy thing was that they were all incredibly gorgeous, each in his own way. It was like a collection of dream guys. They were too fucking beautiful to coexist in the same room without the planet exploding or, at the very least, the walls cracking.

"Hey," Lían said.

There were seven symmetrical heys from his friends. Someone paused the DVD, and someone else flipped on the light.

"Is that him?" asked one of those dream guys.

"You brought him?" asked another.

Suddenly, I felt like a defenseless puppy cornered in the kitchen after peeing where I wasn't supposed to. They were talking about me. There had been a premeditated plan to bring me to this house. I felt fear, I admit it.

"His name is Rafa. And he meets the requirements," Lían explained.

I started wondering if he was actually serious about filling a hole in the basement with my body.

"Lían... Can we talk in the kitchen for a second?" I suggested.

"He's scared," someone said.

"Take him to the kitchen, Lían. We'll finish watching the movie."

Lían led me into a massive, fully equipped kitchen where, I assumed, there wouldn't be a single can of soup.

"Explain yourself before I run right out that door."

"I live with them."

"I can see that."

"I watched the news with them. We saw you on the news."

"Keep going."

"I told them I knew you. That you take the same train every day."

"I've never seen you."

"You never see anyone. You spend the whole ride staring at your hands and listening to music."

"Maybe."

"So I told them if I saw you on the train, I'd talk to you, see if you fit the profile. Honestly, I didn't think I'd see you tonight. I didn't go to work when I buried my girlfriend."

"I went to keep my mind occupied. What's this about fitting the profile?"

"Well... My roommates and I are part of a club. Hold on, I'll introduce you."

We went back to the living room. Lían snatched the remote from one of the guys and paused the movie again.

"Alright, line up."

The guys obeyed, smiling. Truth is, they looked like a bunch of kids gathered for a sleepover, only older and definitely with a lot more hair on their balls. I wondered if they actually all lived there, like Lían claimed, or if they just got together at his place every now and then.

"Boys, this is Rafa."

"Hiii, Rafaaaa!" they all chorused in pure Alcoholics Anonymous tradition.

"We love you," one of them muttered under his breath, just to top it off.

"Rafa lost Esteban, his boyfriend. Was he your boyfriend or your husband, Rafa?"

"Boyfriend. Just my boyfriend."

"He lost Esteban, his boyfriend. He hanged himself."

"How awful," someone said.

"I'm so sorry," added another.

"He must have done something wrong," a third one chimed in.

Someone elbowed the third guy.

"He still doesn't know if he's joining the club or not. He wants to meet you guys first."

"Makes sense, makes sense."

"Alright. Rafa, this is Just Juan," Lían said, introducing me to the first in line, a gorgeous bear, dark-haired with blue eyes, and a beard that made you want to run your fingers through it.

"Just Juan?" I asked.

"Because there are two Juans"—the second Juan, a muscular, shirtless blond guy, raised his hand and shrugged. "We call him Juan Cubed. Anyway, right now we're on Just Juan. Just Juan lost his partner last year. But let him tell you."

"His name was Tomás and he was an air traffic controller. But he didn't get run over by a plane or anything like that. He had a massive heart attack during a marathon."

"Why are you dancing, Just Juan?" Lían asked, teasing him.

"I'm pissing myself, but I was too creeped out to go to the bathroom. We just watched the scene where the old lady gets run over. Creepy as fuck."

"Go on, go."

Just Juan bolted out of the room.

"This is Néstor. His wife and two kids, who were only two and three years old, died in a car crash about three years ago."

"They were coming back from visiting my mother-in-law. The woman's a pain in the ass, no wonder Lola fell asleep on the drive back."

"Actually, the causes of the accident aren't clear," Lían explained.

"I'm sure she fell asleep. She used to fall asleep standing up," Néstor said.

Lían went on introducing me to the rest. They had all lost at least their partners, and none of them had any problem talking or joking about it.

"And this is Gerardo," Lían said when we reached the last one. Gerardo was pretty weird. Dressed in black up to his neck. He was pale, but that didn't make him any less attractive. He had long, black hair. It reached past his waist. He looked like a vampire straight out of an erotic novel. "His boyfriend died last week. He hasn't wanted to tell us how, but we suspect he killed him himself just to get into our club."

Gerardo smiled enigmatically at the introduction, but didn't say a word.

After the introductions, everyone sat back down to finish the movie, and Lían took me to his bedroom.

"What do you think of them?"

"Honestly? A little crazy. And they're hot as fuck."

"Right?"

"Do you have to be hot to join the club?"

"No, no. That was just a coincidence. Besides, you break the rule."

"Thanks a lot."

"No, no. I mean you break the mold. You're way hotter than them."

"I repeat. Thanks a lot. But it's not true. Hey... There's a majority of gay guys. Is there a specific reason for that?"

Lían took a moment to answer.

"It just happened that way. First I met Néstor, about four months ago. Actually, I already knew him by sight, from a coffee shop we both go to. One day we just started talking and he told me about his wife and kids, and I told him about my girlfriend. We hit it off, and after spending two days together, we ended up in my bed. Up until that point, neither he nor I had been with men, so it was a new and exciting experience for both of us. For a few weeks, we thought we'd become a couple, but then the passion fizzled out and we realized there was no more chemistry. Then the others started joining, spontaneously. It's like we're a magnet for gorgeous widowers. I don't know how we founded the club or why they all end up moving in with me, but I like it. As for the gay majority, honestly, I don't think we can accept very straight guys or women into the club anymore, because this place has turned into a total whorehouse. Everyone hooks up with everyone, and I don't know if that might make a straight guy who isn't into excesses uncomfortable."

"Everyone with everyone?"

"Basically. It goes in phases. Couples or threesomes form and then dissolve. I don't know how it works, I don't participate."

"Seriously?"

"Really."

"And why don't you participate?"

"Because I actually fell in love with Néstor."

The next part is coming in a few days. Follow my profile so you don't miss the rest of the story.

Death Becomes Us...

I

It was pushing midnight, and the train car was completely empty except for me. I checked the time again. Twenty minutes left until we rolled through my town. But for the first time in a long while, I wasn't eager to get home. No one was waiting for me there anymore.

I rested my head against the seatback and closed my eyes, fighting the urge to dwell on what had happened. Still, the images of the impact kept burning into my retinas on a relentless loop. I didn't want to keep reliving it. It was too agonizing.

A sudden noise made me open my eyes. The sliding door at the end of the car had opened, and the ticket inspector stepped through. He was a guy of about twenty-five whom I’d never seen before, despite taking this exact train every single night.

I flashed him my ticket, and he offered me a smile.

He moved on to the next car, leaving me alone with my grief. But a few minutes later he came back, and to my surprise, he spoke to me.

"The train's empty. Mind if I sit with you?"

He didn't wait for an answer before dropping into the seat across from me. I closed my eyes, trying to ignore just how fucking gorgeous he was.

"I'm really sorry about your guy," he said.

My eyes snapped open.

"How did you...?"

"I saw you on the news. You've got unmistakable eyes."

I didn't know how the hell to respond to that.

"Has the funeral happened yet?"

"This morning," I replied, thrown off balance by his bluntness.

"Don't worry. It'll pass." His sheer audacity was starting to piss me off, but he kept talking, and my anger slowly dissolved. "I've lost three people I loved deeply in the last three years. Once you realize they're still alive as long as you are, everything gets easier. Look at Freddie Mercury. He's more present now than when he was breathing. What's your name?"

"Rafa."

"I'm Julián, but you can call me Lían. It doesn't sound quite as awful."

"Lían?"

"It started as a nickname on IRC. Now everyone calls me that. Do you want to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?"

"About what happened to your guy."

"I don't think so."

"Suit yourself. But I promise you, the sooner you do, the sooner it stops torturing you."

After thinking it over for a moment, I asked:

"Who did you lose?"

"First my mom, then my dad, and six months ago, my girlfriend."

My most selfish self, the part of my brain that was always on high alert looking to score, cursed silently. The gorgeous ticket inspector was straight. Then I felt like absolute shit for thinking that on the exact same day I'd buried my guy.

"What happened to your girlfriend?"

"We had some of that canned mushroom soup. Apparently, it had gone bad. I survived, she didn't."

"What a shitty life."

"Well, I like still being here."

"I mean it's so easy to check out... We should come armor-plated from the factory. Did you sue the soup company?"

"Didn't have to. They paid us a fortune not to sue. Both my in-laws and me. Anyway, our lawyer said it was a lottery, that proving negligence was really tough, that the can could have taken a hit during transport or right there in the supermarket, and if we went to trial, odds were we wouldn't see a dime."

"Then how come they gave you so much money just like that?"

"To save themselves the bad press. And now you're going to ask what I'm doing working, with all that cash sitting in my checking account. Truth is, I get bored. Even though I could easily take a few gap years. Your turn."

"My turn?"

"To talk about your shit. I'm sure whatever they said on the news is total bullshit, like always."

"What did they say on the news?"

"Well, they really hammered home the fact that you're both guys, as you can imagine. And they talked about... well, about how the whole thing might have been triggered by your partner discovering you were cheating on him."

"Seriously? I don't believe it."

"They dropped the hint, pure Tomate style. TV is fucking disgusting. Then they ran a segment on the gay scene, the nightlife, the coke, the booze, the reckless sex, and the pills."

"Jesus Christ, what a disgrace."

"Maybe if you sue them you can get something out of it too. I can advise you."

"All I want is to forget about everything as soon as possible."

"Tell me about it. You'll be taking the first step."

I looked at him, unconvinced, raising an eyebrow to emphasize my skepticism, but in the end, I let myself be dragged into it.

"Fine. But you have to promise me it never leaves here."

"I'll take it to my grave. Well, our partners are the ones in the graves."

"I don't know if I like your sense of humor."

"You made it too fucking easy."

"Let's see. The story starts seven months ago."

"Go ahead."

"Esteban and I were coming back from a night out. I was pretty wasted; Esteban hadn't touched a drop so he could drive. That's important because we can't blame alcohol for what happened that night."

"Uh-huh."

"Esteban was driving pretty fast. We were in a rush to get home because we both had work the next day. Actually, we'd gone out clubbing after a birthday party. We hadn't planned on it. Anyway, who gives a shit. The point is, it was pitch black, and as we were getting close to home, Esteban blew through a crosswalk and we took out a girl."

Lían didn't seem the least bit surprised at this point, which somehow disappointed me. Since he didn't say a word, I kept going.

"We hit her dead on. She went flying right over the car. I still see her face when I close my eyes at night." I waited for Lían to comfort me, but he didn't. "Well. I know it sounds horrific, but we didn't stop. Esteban kept driving, saying he couldn't pull over, that he couldn't face the fact that we'd killed her. So we locked the car in the garage and went to bed. We didn't call the cops, we didn't tell a soul. We just waited. To this day, I still don't know if that girl died that night. We didn't leave the house for a week, didn't read the paper, didn't even go online. We didn't want to know. If the cops showed up at our door, we'd sing, obviously. But the cops never came. Esteban never drove his car again. It's been sitting in the garage since that night."

"So, what happened to Esteban? Did that girl show up with an axe to get her revenge?"

"Esteban killed himself. He hanged himself. But not because I cheated on him, like you said they're hinting at on TV, but because he didn't stop the car that night. It was like killing her twice—first by running her over, and then by leaving her there to die. Esteban became obsessed. He lost his fucking mind. He looked for a thousand and one reasons for what had happened. In his final days, he started blaming me. He said he was actually thinking about me when he decided not to stop. That he loved me so much he wanted to spare me the ordeal."

"It must have been hell living with that."

"It was hell living with him, more like."

"I see the thing with that girl affected you a lot less than it did him."

"I know it sounds cruel, but I wasn't the one behind the wheel."

As I said that, I realized the train had come to a stop, and I stood up.

"I have to go."

"Wait!"

"This is my stop."

"Stay, please."

"Why?"

"Because what you just told me is something you tell a friend, not a stranger. And if you walk away now, we'll stay strangers."

"But it's my stop..."

"There are only three left until the end of the line. My shift is over anyway. I can drive you home. Maybe we'll run over another chick at a crosswalk."

"I shouldn't stay, not after hearing you say shit like that."

"But are you staying?"

"Not like I have a choice," I said, seeing that the doors had already slid shut and the train was moving again. "But you've got a pretty twisted sense of humor, just so you know."

"It's part of my charm."

The truth was, I didn't know what to make of Lían. He scared me a little. I had just shown him my darkest side, talking shit about my freshly buried boyfriend and completely washing my hands of what we'd done to that girl. Esteban had killed himself. That didn't exactly speak highly of me. I hadn't known how to support him. I hadn't shared the blame. I had left the crushing weight of that night squarely on his shoulders, and he hadn't been able to bear it. In a way, Esteban's suicide was my fault. I was sure Lían had picked up on that while listening to my story, and instead of letting me walk away, he was saying he wanted to be my friend.

There was something strange about that (I already know there's something strange about me, but I have to live with myself and love myself, I don't have a choice). There was something enigmatic about Lían, something that terrified me. And turned me on.

He had his car parked next to the station. It was an ancient Ford Ka that looked like it was going to fall to pieces at any second.

"For a newly rich guy, your car is a piece of shit."

"I know. But I'm attached to it. It was my girlfriend's car."

"Touché. I keep fucking up tonight."

"Someday you'll understand that talking about the dead isn't fucking up, and that nothing you do or say in this world is wrong."

"That makes two."

"Two what?"

"I don't like your sense of humor, and I don't like your cheap philosophy."

"Rafa... I know I promised to take you home, but... want to come to my place?"

"Why the hell would I do that?"

"Because you fit."

"I fit? Fit where?"

"I've got a hole in my basement where I keep bodies. There's room for you."

"Are you threatening me?"

"I'm asking you to come fill a hole. It's a beautiful thing."

"Shoving my body into a ditch full of corpses isn't a beautiful thing."

"Are you coming?"

"Alright. I don't have anything better to do. But promise me I'll make it out alive."

"I can't promise you that. People die in the weirdest places. The world is a strange place."

"El Mundo is a newspaper."

"See? I don't like your sense of humor either. Now we have something in common."

During the drive, we kept up the same stupid banter, but I have to admit I was having a pretty good time, which was the last thing I expected today. When we got to his place, he parked the car and looked at me.

"This is going to be our last moment alone tonight," he said.

"How interesting. You don't live with your parents because you told me they were dead. Who else is in your house? Are you keeping your girlfriend's corpse up there?"

"This is going to be our last moment of solitude tonight. Don't fuck it up."

"Okay."

"Before we go up, I want you to know I'm into you."

"You're into me?"

"Physically."

"I thought you were straight."

"I thought so too, until I wasn't."

"Okay."

"I'm into you physically, intellectually too, and it's possible that someday I might even fall in love with you."

"Wow..."

"That's it."

"That's it?"

"I had to tell you before we went up. You know... to have a bit of an edge."

And he got out of the car.

"Hey," I said, getting out after him. "Don't you want to know if I'm into you too?"

"I don't want you saying anything you'll have to regret in a few minutes"—another clear allusion to whatever was waiting for us inside his place.

I decided to take his advice. I didn't say a fucking word and followed him upstairs, thoroughly intrigued.

He took out his keys. From inside the apartment, I could hear a TV, turned up pretty loud. He opened the door. The hallway was pitch black. Lían grabbed my hand and said, "Come."

I let him lead me, obediently, into the living room. I saw a massive, hundred-inch TV and recognized the movie El orfanato (a horror flick).

There were seven guys scattered across two sofas and some floor cushions. Their ages ranged from 20 to 35. But the crazy thing was that they were all incredibly gorgeous, each in his own way. It was like a collection of dream guys. They were too fucking beautiful to coexist in the same room without the planet exploding or, at the very least, the walls cracking.

"Hey," Lían said.

There were seven symmetrical heys from his friends. Someone paused the DVD, and someone else flipped on the light.

"Is that him?" asked one of those dream guys.

"You brought him?" asked another.

Suddenly, I felt like a defenseless puppy cornered in the kitchen after peeing where I wasn't supposed to. They were talking about me. There had been a premeditated plan to bring me to this house. I felt fear, I admit it.

"His name is Rafa. And he meets the requirements," Lían explained.

I started wondering if he was actually serious about filling a hole in the basement with my body.

"Lían... Can we talk in the kitchen for a second?" I suggested.

"He's scared," someone said.

"Take him to the kitchen, Lían. We'll finish watching the movie."

Lían led me into a massive, fully equipped kitchen where, I assumed, there wouldn't be a single can of soup.

"Explain yourself before I run right out that door."

"I live with them."

"I can see that."

"I watched the news with them. We saw you on the news."

"Keep going."

"I told them I knew you. That you take the same train every day."

"I've never seen you."

"You never see anyone. You spend the whole ride staring at your hands and listening to music."

"Maybe."

"So I told them if I saw you on the train, I'd talk to you, see if you fit the profile. Honestly, I didn't think I'd see you tonight. I didn't go to work when I buried my girlfriend."

"I went to keep my mind occupied. What's this about fitting the profile?"

"Well... My roommates and I are part of a club. Hold on, I'll introduce you."

We went back to the living room. Lían snatched the remote from one of the guys and paused the movie again.

"Alright, line up."

The guys obeyed, smiling. Truth is, they looked like a bunch of kids gathered for a sleepover, only older and definitely with a lot more hair on their balls. I wondered if they actually all lived there, like Lían claimed, or if they just got together at his place every now and then.

"Boys, this is Rafa."

"Hiii, Rafaaaa!" they all chorused in pure Alcoholics Anonymous tradition.

"We love you," one of them muttered under his breath, just to top it off.

"Rafa lost Esteban, his boyfriend. Was he your boyfriend or your husband, Rafa?"

"Boyfriend. Just my boyfriend."

"He lost Esteban, his boyfriend. He hanged himself."

"How awful," someone said.

"I'm so sorry," added another.

"He must have done something wrong," a third one chimed in.

Someone elbowed the third guy.

"He still doesn't know if he's joining the club or not. He wants to meet you guys first."

"Makes sense, makes sense."

"Alright. Rafa, this is Just Juan," Lían said, introducing me to the first in line, a gorgeous bear, dark-haired with blue eyes, and a beard that made you want to run your fingers through it.

"Just Juan?" I asked.

"Because there are two Juans"—the second Juan, a muscular, shirtless blond guy, raised his hand and shrugged. "We call him Juan Cubed. Anyway, right now we're on Just Juan. Just Juan lost his partner last year. But let him tell you."

"His name was Tomás and he was an air traffic controller. But he didn't get run over by a plane or anything like that. He had a massive heart attack during a marathon."

"Why are you dancing, Just Juan?" Lían asked, teasing him.

"I'm pissing myself, but I was too creeped out to go to the bathroom. We just watched the scene where the old lady gets run over. Creepy as fuck."

"Go on, go."

Just Juan bolted out of the room.

"This is Néstor. His wife and two kids, who were only two and three years old, died in a car crash about three years ago."

"They were coming back from visiting my mother-in-law. The woman's a pain in the ass, no wonder Lola fell asleep on the drive back."

"Actually, the causes of the accident aren't clear," Lían explained.

"I'm sure she fell asleep. She used to fall asleep standing up," Néstor said.

Lían went on introducing me to the rest. They had all lost at least their partners, and none of them had any problem talking or joking about it.

"And this is Gerardo," Lían said when we reached the last one. Gerardo was pretty weird. Dressed in black up to his neck. He was pale, but that didn't make him any less attractive. He had long, black hair. It reached past his waist. He looked like a vampire straight out of an erotic novel. "His boyfriend died last week. He hasn't wanted to tell us how, but we suspect he killed him himself just to get into our club."

Gerardo smiled enigmatically at the introduction, but didn't say a word.

After the introductions, everyone sat back down to finish the movie, and Lían took me to his bedroom.

"What do you think of them?"

"Honestly? A little crazy. And they're hot as fuck."

"Right?"

"Do you have to be hot to join the club?"

"No, no. That was just a coincidence. Besides, you break the rule."

"Thanks a lot."

"No, no. I mean you break the mold. You're way hotter than them."

"I repeat. Thanks a lot. But it's not true. Hey... There's a majority of gay guys. Is there a specific reason for that?"

Lían took a moment to answer.

"It just happened that way. First I met Néstor, about four months ago. Actually, I already knew him by sight, from a coffee shop we both go to. One day we just started talking and he told me about his wife and kids, and I told him about my girlfriend. We hit it off, and after spending two days together, we ended up in my bed. Up until that point, neither he nor I had been with men, so it was a new and exciting experience for both of us. For a few weeks, we thought we'd become a couple, but then the passion fizzled out and we realized there was no more chemistry. Then the others started joining, spontaneously. It's like we're a magnet for gorgeous widowers. I don't know how we founded the club or why they all end up moving in with me, but I like it. As for the gay majority, honestly, I don't think we can accept very straight guys or women into the club anymore, because this place has turned into a total whorehouse. Everyone hooks up with everyone, and I don't know if that might make a straight guy who isn't into excesses uncomfortable."

"Everyone with everyone?"

"Basically. It goes in phases. Couples or threesomes form and then dissolve. I don't know how it works, I don't participate."

"Seriously?"

"Really."

"And why don't you participate?"

"Because I actually fell in love with Néstor."

The next part is coming in a few days. Follow my profile so you don't miss the rest of the story.

Death Becomes Us...

I

It was pushing midnight, and the train car was completely empty except for me. I checked the time again. Twenty minutes left until we rolled through my town. But for the first time in a long while, I wasn't eager to get home. No one was waiting for me there anymore.

I rested my head against the seatback and closed my eyes, fighting the urge to dwell on what had happened. Still, the images of the impact kept burning into my retinas on a relentless loop. I didn't want to keep reliving it. It was too agonizing.

A sudden noise made me open my eyes. The sliding door at the end of the car had opened, and the ticket inspector stepped through. He was a guy of about twenty-five whom I’d never seen before, despite taking this exact train every single night.

I flashed him my ticket, and he offered me a smile.

He moved on to the next car, leaving me alone with my grief. But a few minutes later he came back, and to my surprise, he spoke to me.

"The train's empty. Mind if I sit with you?"

He didn't wait for an answer before dropping into the seat across from me. I closed my eyes, trying to ignore just how fucking gorgeous he was.

"I'm really sorry about your guy," he said.

My eyes snapped open.

"How did you...?"

"I saw you on the news. You've got unmistakable eyes."

I didn't know how the hell to respond to that.

"Has the funeral happened yet?"

"This morning," I replied, thrown off balance by his bluntness.

"Don't worry. It'll pass." His sheer audacity was starting to piss me off, but he kept talking, and my anger slowly dissolved. "I've lost three people I loved deeply in the last three years. Once you realize they're still alive as long as you are, everything gets easier. Look at Freddie Mercury. He's more present now than when he was breathing. What's your name?"

"Rafa."

"I'm Julián, but you can call me Lían. It doesn't sound quite as awful."

"Lían?"

"It started as a nickname on IRC. Now everyone calls me that. Do you want to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?"

"About what happened to your guy."

"I don't think so."

"Suit yourself. But I promise you, the sooner you do, the sooner it stops torturing you."

After thinking it over for a moment, I asked:

"Who did you lose?"

"First my mom, then my dad, and six months ago, my girlfriend."

My most selfish self, the part of my brain that was always on high alert looking to score, cursed silently. The gorgeous ticket inspector was straight. Then I felt like absolute shit for thinking that on the exact same day I'd buried my guy.

"What happened to your girlfriend?"

"We had some of that canned mushroom soup. Apparently, it had gone bad. I survived, she didn't."

"What a shitty life."

"Well, I like still being here."

"I mean it's so easy to check out... We should come armor-plated from the factory. Did you sue the soup company?"

"Didn't have to. They paid us a fortune not to sue. Both my in-laws and me. Anyway, our lawyer said it was a lottery, that proving negligence was really tough, that the can could have taken a hit during transport or right there in the supermarket, and if we went to trial, odds were we wouldn't see a dime."

"Then how come they gave you so much money just like that?"

"To save themselves the bad press. And now you're going to ask what I'm doing working, with all that cash sitting in my checking account. Truth is, I get bored. Even though I could easily take a few gap years. Your turn."

"My turn?"

"To talk about your shit. I'm sure whatever they said on the news is total bullshit, like always."

"What did they say on the news?"

"Well, they really hammered home the fact that you're both guys, as you can imagine. And they talked about... well, about how the whole thing might have been triggered by your partner discovering you were cheating on him."

"Seriously? I don't believe it."

"They dropped the hint, pure Tomate style. TV is fucking disgusting. Then they ran a segment on the gay scene, the nightlife, the coke, the booze, the reckless sex, and the pills."

"Jesus Christ, what a disgrace."

"Maybe if you sue them you can get something out of it too. I can advise you."

"All I want is to forget about everything as soon as possible."

"Tell me about it. You'll be taking the first step."

I looked at him, unconvinced, raising an eyebrow to emphasize my skepticism, but in the end, I let myself be dragged into it.

"Fine. But you have to promise me it never leaves here."

"I'll take it to my grave. Well, our partners are the ones in the graves."

"I don't know if I like your sense of humor."

"You made it too fucking easy."

"Let's see. The story starts seven months ago."

"Go ahead."

"Esteban and I were coming back from a night out. I was pretty wasted; Esteban hadn't touched a drop so he could drive. That's important because we can't blame alcohol for what happened that night."

"Uh-huh."

"Esteban was driving pretty fast. We were in a rush to get home because we both had work the next day. Actually, we'd gone out clubbing after a birthday party. We hadn't planned on it. Anyway, who gives a shit. The point is, it was pitch black, and as we were getting close to home, Esteban blew through a crosswalk and we took out a girl."

Lían didn't seem the least bit surprised at this point, which somehow disappointed me. Since he didn't say a word, I kept going.

"We hit her dead on. She went flying right over the car. I still see her face when I close my eyes at night." I waited for Lían to comfort me, but he didn't. "Well. I know it sounds horrific, but we didn't stop. Esteban kept driving, saying he couldn't pull over, that he couldn't face the fact that we'd killed her. So we locked the car in the garage and went to bed. We didn't call the cops, we didn't tell a soul. We just waited. To this day, I still don't know if that girl died that night. We didn't leave the house for a week, didn't read the paper, didn't even go online. We didn't want to know. If the cops showed up at our door, we'd sing, obviously. But the cops never came. Esteban never drove his car again. It's been sitting in the garage since that night."

"So, what happened to Esteban? Did that girl show up with an axe to get her revenge?"

"Esteban killed himself. He hanged himself. But not because I cheated on him, like you said they're hinting at on TV, but because he didn't stop the car that night. It was like killing her twice—first by running her over, and then by leaving her there to die. Esteban became obsessed. He lost his fucking mind. He looked for a thousand and one reasons for what had happened. In his final days, he started blaming me. He said he was actually thinking about me when he decided not to stop. That he loved me so much he wanted to spare me the ordeal."

"It must have been hell living with that."

"It was hell living with him, more like."

"I see the thing with that girl affected you a lot less than it did him."

"I know it sounds cruel, but I wasn't the one behind the wheel."

As I said that, I realized the train had come to a stop, and I stood up.

"I have to go."

"Wait!"

"This is my stop."

"Stay, please."

"Why?"

"Because what you just told me is something you tell a friend, not a stranger. And if you walk away now, we'll stay strangers."

"But it's my stop..."

"There are only three left until the end of the line. My shift is over anyway. I can drive you home. Maybe we'll run over another chick at a crosswalk."

"I shouldn't stay, not after hearing you say shit like that."

"But are you staying?"

"Not like I have a choice," I said, seeing that the doors had already slid shut and the train was moving again. "But you've got a pretty twisted sense of humor, just so you know."

"It's part of my charm."

The truth was, I didn't know what to make of Lían. He scared me a little. I had just shown him my darkest side, talking shit about my freshly buried boyfriend and completely washing my hands of what we'd done to that girl. Esteban had killed himself. That didn't exactly speak highly of me. I hadn't known how to support him. I hadn't shared the blame. I had left the crushing weight of that night squarely on his shoulders, and he hadn't been able to bear it. In a way, Esteban's suicide was my fault. I was sure Lían had picked up on that while listening to my story, and instead of letting me walk away, he was saying he wanted to be my friend.

There was something strange about that (I already know there's something strange about me, but I have to live with myself and love myself, I don't have a choice). There was something enigmatic about Lían, something that terrified me. And turned me on.

He had his car parked next to the station. It was an ancient Ford Ka that looked like it was going to fall to pieces at any second.

"For a newly rich guy, your car is a piece of shit."

"I know. But I'm attached to it. It was my girlfriend's car."

"Touché. I keep fucking up tonight."

"Someday you'll understand that talking about the dead isn't fucking up, and that nothing you do or say in this world is wrong."

"That makes two."

"Two what?"

"I don't like your sense of humor, and I don't like your cheap philosophy."

"Rafa... I know I promised to take you home, but... want to come to my place?"

"Why the hell would I do that?"

"Because you fit."

"I fit? Fit where?"

"I've got a hole in my basement where I keep bodies. There's room for you."

"Are you threatening me?"

"I'm asking you to come fill a hole. It's a beautiful thing."

"Shoving my body into a ditch full of corpses isn't a beautiful thing."

"Are you coming?"

"Alright. I don't have anything better to do. But promise me I'll make it out alive."

"I can't promise you that. People die in the weirdest places. The world is a strange place."

"El Mundo is a newspaper."

"See? I don't like your sense of humor either. Now we have something in common."

During the drive, we kept up the same stupid banter, but I have to admit I was having a pretty good time, which was the last thing I expected today. When we got to his place, he parked the car and looked at me.

"This is going to be our last moment alone tonight," he said.

"How interesting. You don't live with your parents because you told me they were dead. Who else is in your house? Are you keeping your girlfriend's corpse up there?"

"This is going to be our last moment of solitude tonight. Don't fuck it up."

"Okay."

"Before we go up, I want you to know I'm into you."

"You're into me?"

"Physically."

"I thought you were straight."

"I thought so too, until I wasn't."

"Okay."

"I'm into you physically, intellectually too, and it's possible that someday I might even fall in love with you."

"Wow..."

"That's it."

"That's it?"

"I had to tell you before we went up. You know... to have a bit of an edge."

And he got out of the car.

"Hey," I said, getting out after him. "Don't you want to know if I'm into you too?"

"I don't want you saying anything you'll have to regret in a few minutes"—another clear allusion to whatever was waiting for us inside his place.

I decided to take his advice. I didn't say a fucking word and followed him upstairs, thoroughly intrigued.

He took out his keys. From inside the apartment, I could hear a TV, turned up pretty loud. He opened the door. The hallway was pitch black. Lían grabbed my hand and said, "Come."

I let him lead me, obediently, into the living room. I saw a massive, hundred-inch TV and recognized the movie El orfanato (a horror flick).

There were seven guys scattered across two sofas and some floor cushions. Their ages ranged from 20 to 35. But the crazy thing was that they were all incredibly gorgeous, each in his own way. It was like a collection of dream guys. They were too fucking beautiful to coexist in the same room without the planet exploding or, at the very least, the walls cracking.

"Hey," Lían said.

There were seven symmetrical heys from his friends. Someone paused the DVD, and someone else flipped on the light.

"Is that him?" asked one of those dream guys.

"You brought him?" asked another.

Suddenly, I felt like a defenseless puppy cornered in the kitchen after peeing where I wasn't supposed to. They were talking about me. There had been a premeditated plan to bring me to this house. I felt fear, I admit it.

"His name is Rafa. And he meets the requirements," Lían explained.

I started wondering if he was actually serious about filling a hole in the basement with my body.

"Lían... Can we talk in the kitchen for a second?" I suggested.

"He's scared," someone said.

"Take him to the kitchen, Lían. We'll finish watching the movie."

Lían led me into a massive, fully equipped kitchen where, I assumed, there wouldn't be a single can of soup.

"Explain yourself before I run right out that door."

"I live with them."

"I can see that."

"I watched the news with them. We saw you on the news."

"Keep going."

"I told them I knew you. That you take the same train every day."

"I've never seen you."

"You never see anyone. You spend the whole ride staring at your hands and listening to music."

"Maybe."

"So I told them if I saw you on the train, I'd talk to you, see if you fit the profile. Honestly, I didn't think I'd see you tonight. I didn't go to work when I buried my girlfriend."

"I went to keep my mind occupied. What's this about fitting the profile?"

"Well... My roommates and I are part of a club. Hold on, I'll introduce you."

We went back to the living room. Lían snatched the remote from one of the guys and paused the movie again.

"Alright, line up."

The guys obeyed, smiling. Truth is, they looked like a bunch of kids gathered for a sleepover, only older and definitely with a lot more hair on their balls. I wondered if they actually all lived there, like Lían claimed, or if they just got together at his place every now and then.

"Boys, this is Rafa."

"Hiii, Rafaaaa!" they all chorused in pure Alcoholics Anonymous tradition.

"We love you," one of them muttered under his breath, just to top it off.

"Rafa lost Esteban, his boyfriend. Was he your boyfriend or your husband, Rafa?"

"Boyfriend. Just my boyfriend."

"He lost Esteban, his boyfriend. He hanged himself."

"How awful," someone said.

"I'm so sorry," added another.

"He must have done something wrong," a third one chimed in.

Someone elbowed the third guy.

"He still doesn't know if he's joining the club or not. He wants to meet you guys first."

"Makes sense, makes sense."

"Alright. Rafa, this is Just Juan," Lían said, introducing me to the first in line, a gorgeous bear, dark-haired with blue eyes, and a beard that made you want to run your fingers through it.

"Just Juan?" I asked.

"Because there are two Juans"—the second Juan, a muscular, shirtless blond guy, raised his hand and shrugged. "We call him Juan Cubed. Anyway, right now we're on Just Juan. Just Juan lost his partner last year. But let him tell you."

"His name was Tomás and he was an air traffic controller. But he didn't get run over by a plane or anything like that. He had a massive heart attack during a marathon."

"Why are you dancing, Just Juan?" Lían asked, teasing him.

"I'm pissing myself, but I was too creeped out to go to the bathroom. We just watched the scene where the old lady gets run over. Creepy as fuck."

"Go on, go."

Just Juan bolted out of the room.

"This is Néstor. His wife and two kids, who were only two and three years old, died in a car crash about three years ago."

"They were coming back from visiting my mother-in-law. The woman's a pain in the ass, no wonder Lola fell asleep on the drive back."

"Actually, the causes of the accident aren't clear," Lían explained.

"I'm sure she fell asleep. She used to fall asleep standing up," Néstor said.

Lían went on introducing me to the rest. They had all lost at least their partners, and none of them had any problem talking or joking about it.

"And this is Gerardo," Lían said when we reached the last one. Gerardo was pretty weird. Dressed in black up to his neck. He was pale, but that didn't make him any less attractive. He had long, black hair. It reached past his waist. He looked like a vampire straight out of an erotic novel. "His boyfriend died last week. He hasn't wanted to tell us how, but we suspect he killed him himself just to get into our club."

Gerardo smiled enigmatically at the introduction, but didn't say a word.

After the introductions, everyone sat back down to finish the movie, and Lían took me to his bedroom.

"What do you think of them?"

"Honestly? A little crazy. And they're hot as fuck."

"Right?"

"Do you have to be hot to join the club?"

"No, no. That was just a coincidence. Besides, you break the rule."

"Thanks a lot."

"No, no. I mean you break the mold. You're way hotter than them."

"I repeat. Thanks a lot. But it's not true. Hey... There's a majority of gay guys. Is there a specific reason for that?"

Lían took a moment to answer.

"It just happened that way. First I met Néstor, about four months ago. Actually, I already knew him by sight, from a coffee shop we both go to. One day we just started talking and he told me about his wife and kids, and I told him about my girlfriend. We hit it off, and after spending two days together, we ended up in my bed. Up until that point, neither he nor I had been with men, so it was a new and exciting experience for both of us. For a few weeks, we thought we'd become a couple, but then the passion fizzled out and we realized there was no more chemistry. Then the others started joining, spontaneously. It's like we're a magnet for gorgeous widowers. I don't know how we founded the club or why they all end up moving in with me, but I like it. As for the gay majority, honestly, I don't think we can accept very straight guys or women into the club anymore, because this place has turned into a total whorehouse. Everyone hooks up with everyone, and I don't know if that might make a straight guy who isn't into excesses uncomfortable."

"Everyone with everyone?"

"Basically. It goes in phases. Couples or threesomes form and then dissolve. I don't know how it works, I don't participate."

"Seriously?"

"Really."

"And why don't you participate?"

"Because I actually fell in love with Néstor."

The next part is coming in a few days. Follow my profile so you don't miss the rest of the story.

Death Becomes Us...

I

It was pushing midnight, and the train car was completely empty except for me. I checked the time again. Twenty minutes left until we rolled through my town. But for the first time in a long while, I wasn't eager to get home. No one was waiting for me there anymore.

I rested my head against the seatback and closed my eyes, fighting the urge to dwell on what had happened. Still, the images of the impact kept burning into my retinas on a relentless loop. I didn't want to keep reliving it. It was too agonizing.

A sudden noise made me open my eyes. The sliding door at the end of the car had opened, and the ticket inspector stepped through. He was a guy of about twenty-five whom I’d never seen before, despite taking this exact train every single night.

I flashed him my ticket, and he offered me a smile.

He moved on to the next car, leaving me alone with my grief. But a few minutes later he came back, and to my surprise, he spoke to me.

"The train's empty. Mind if I sit with you?"

He didn't wait for an answer before dropping into the seat across from me. I closed my eyes, trying to ignore just how fucking gorgeous he was.

"I'm really sorry about your guy," he said.

My eyes snapped open.

"How did you...?"

"I saw you on the news. You've got unmistakable eyes."

I didn't know how the hell to respond to that.

"Has the funeral happened yet?"

"This morning," I replied, thrown off balance by his bluntness.

"Don't worry. It'll pass." His sheer audacity was starting to piss me off, but he kept talking, and my anger slowly dissolved. "I've lost three people I loved deeply in the last three years. Once you realize they're still alive as long as you are, everything gets easier. Look at Freddie Mercury. He's more present now than when he was breathing. What's your name?"

"Rafa."

"I'm Julián, but you can call me Lían. It doesn't sound quite as awful."

"Lían?"

"It started as a nickname on IRC. Now everyone calls me that. Do you want to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?"

"About what happened to your guy."

"I don't think so."

"Suit yourself. But I promise you, the sooner you do, the sooner it stops torturing you."

After thinking it over for a moment, I asked:

"Who did you lose?"

"First my mom, then my dad, and six months ago, my girlfriend."

My most selfish self, the part of my brain that was always on high alert looking to score, cursed silently. The gorgeous ticket inspector was straight. Then I felt like absolute shit for thinking that on the exact same day I'd buried my guy.

"What happened to your girlfriend?"

"We had some of that canned mushroom soup. Apparently, it had gone bad. I survived, she didn't."

"What a shitty life."

"Well, I like still being here."

"I mean it's so easy to check out... We should come armor-plated from the factory. Did you sue the soup company?"

"Didn't have to. They paid us a fortune not to sue. Both my in-laws and me. Anyway, our lawyer said it was a lottery, that proving negligence was really tough, that the can could have taken a hit during transport or right there in the supermarket, and if we went to trial, odds were we wouldn't see a dime."

"Then how come they gave you so much money just like that?"

"To save themselves the bad press. And now you're going to ask what I'm doing working, with all that cash sitting in my checking account. Truth is, I get bored. Even though I could easily take a few gap years. Your turn."

"My turn?"

"To talk about your shit. I'm sure whatever they said on the news is total bullshit, like always."

"What did they say on the news?"

"Well, they really hammered home the fact that you're both guys, as you can imagine. And they talked about... well, about how the whole thing might have been triggered by your partner discovering you were cheating on him."

"Seriously? I don't believe it."

"They dropped the hint, pure Tomate style. TV is fucking disgusting. Then they ran a segment on the gay scene, the nightlife, the coke, the booze, the reckless sex, and the pills."

"Jesus Christ, what a disgrace."

"Maybe if you sue them you can get something out of it too. I can advise you."

"All I want is to forget about everything as soon as possible."

"Tell me about it. You'll be taking the first step."

I looked at him, unconvinced, raising an eyebrow to emphasize my skepticism, but in the end, I let myself be dragged into it.

"Fine. But you have to promise me it never leaves here."

"I'll take it to my grave. Well, our partners are the ones in the graves."

"I don't know if I like your sense of humor."

"You made it too fucking easy."

"Let's see. The story starts seven months ago."

"Go ahead."

"Esteban and I were coming back from a night out. I was pretty wasted; Esteban hadn't touched a drop so he could drive. That's important because we can't blame alcohol for what happened that night."

"Uh-huh."

"Esteban was driving pretty fast. We were in a rush to get home because we both had work the next day. Actually, we'd gone out clubbing after a birthday party. We hadn't planned on it. Anyway, who gives a shit. The point is, it was pitch black, and as we were getting close to home, Esteban blew through a crosswalk and we took out a girl."

Lían didn't seem the least bit surprised at this point, which somehow disappointed me. Since he didn't say a word, I kept going.

"We hit her dead on. She went flying right over the car. I still see her face when I close my eyes at night." I waited for Lían to comfort me, but he didn't. "Well. I know it sounds horrific, but we didn't stop. Esteban kept driving, saying he couldn't pull over, that he couldn't face the fact that we'd killed her. So we locked the car in the garage and went to bed. We didn't call the cops, we didn't tell a soul. We just waited. To this day, I still don't know if that girl died that night. We didn't leave the house for a week, didn't read the paper, didn't even go online. We didn't want to know. If the cops showed up at our door, we'd sing, obviously. But the cops never came. Esteban never drove his car again. It's been sitting in the garage since that night."

"So, what happened to Esteban? Did that girl show up with an axe to get her revenge?"

"Esteban killed himself. He hanged himself. But not because I cheated on him, like you said they're hinting at on TV, but because he didn't stop the car that night. It was like killing her twice—first by running her over, and then by leaving her there to die. Esteban became obsessed. He lost his fucking mind. He looked for a thousand and one reasons for what had happened. In his final days, he started blaming me. He said he was actually thinking about me when he decided not to stop. That he loved me so much he wanted to spare me the ordeal."

"It must have been hell living with that."

"It was hell living with him, more like."

"I see the thing with that girl affected you a lot less than it did him."

"I know it sounds cruel, but I wasn't the one behind the wheel."

As I said that, I realized the train had come to a stop, and I stood up.

"I have to go."

"Wait!"

"This is my stop."

"Stay, please."

"Why?"

"Because what you just told me is something you tell a friend, not a stranger. And if you walk away now, we'll stay strangers."

"But it's my stop..."

"There are only three left until the end of the line. My shift is over anyway. I can drive you home. Maybe we'll run over another chick at a crosswalk."

"I shouldn't stay, not after hearing you say shit like that."

"But are you staying?"

"Not like I have a choice," I said, seeing that the doors had already slid shut and the train was moving again. "But you've got a pretty twisted sense of humor, just so you know."

"It's part of my charm."

The truth was, I didn't know what to make of Lían. He scared me a little. I had just shown him my darkest side, talking shit about my freshly buried boyfriend and completely washing my hands of what we'd done to that girl. Esteban had killed himself. That didn't exactly speak highly of me. I hadn't known how to support him. I hadn't shared the blame. I had left the crushing weight of that night squarely on his shoulders, and he hadn't been able to bear it. In a way, Esteban's suicide was my fault. I was sure Lían had picked up on that while listening to my story, and instead of letting me walk away, he was saying he wanted to be my friend.

There was something strange about that (I already know there's something strange about me, but I have to live with myself and love myself, I don't have a choice). There was something enigmatic about Lían, something that terrified me. And turned me on.

He had his car parked next to the station. It was an ancient Ford Ka that looked like it was going to fall to pieces at any second.

"For a newly rich guy, your car is a piece of shit."

"I know. But I'm attached to it. It was my girlfriend's car."

"Touché. I keep fucking up tonight."

"Someday you'll understand that talking about the dead isn't fucking up, and that nothing you do or say in this world is wrong."

"That makes two."

"Two what?"

"I don't like your sense of humor, and I don't like your cheap philosophy."

"Rafa... I know I promised to take you home, but... want to come to my place?"

"Why the hell would I do that?"

"Because you fit."

"I fit? Fit where?"

"I've got a hole in my basement where I keep bodies. There's room for you."

"Are you threatening me?"

"I'm asking you to come fill a hole. It's a beautiful thing."

"Shoving my body into a ditch full of corpses isn't a beautiful thing."

"Are you coming?"

"Alright. I don't have anything better to do. But promise me I'll make it out alive."

"I can't promise you that. People die in the weirdest places. The world is a strange place."

"El Mundo is a newspaper."

"See? I don't like your sense of humor either. Now we have something in common."

During the drive, we kept up the same stupid banter, but I have to admit I was having a pretty good time, which was the last thing I expected today. When we got to his place, he parked the car and looked at me.

"This is going to be our last moment alone tonight," he said.

"How interesting. You don't live with your parents because you told me they were dead. Who else is in your house? Are you keeping your girlfriend's corpse up there?"

"This is going to be our last moment of solitude tonight. Don't fuck it up."

"Okay."

"Before we go up, I want you to know I'm into you."

"You're into me?"

"Physically."

"I thought you were straight."

"I thought so too, until I wasn't."

"Okay."

"I'm into you physically, intellectually too, and it's possible that someday I might even fall in love with you."

"Wow..."

"That's it."

"That's it?"

"I had to tell you before we went up. You know... to have a bit of an edge."

And he got out of the car.

"Hey," I said, getting out after him. "Don't you want to know if I'm into you too?"

"I don't want you saying anything you'll have to regret in a few minutes"—another clear allusion to whatever was waiting for us inside his place.

I decided to take his advice. I didn't say a fucking word and followed him upstairs, thoroughly intrigued.

He took out his keys. From inside the apartment, I could hear a TV, turned up pretty loud. He opened the door. The hallway was pitch black. Lían grabbed my hand and said, "Come."

I let him lead me, obediently, into the living room. I saw a massive, hundred-inch TV and recognized the movie El orfanato (a horror flick).

There were seven guys scattered across two sofas and some floor cushions. Their ages ranged from 20 to 35. But the crazy thing was that they were all incredibly gorgeous, each in his own way. It was like a collection of dream guys. They were too fucking beautiful to coexist in the same room without the planet exploding or, at the very least, the walls cracking.

"Hey," Lían said.

There were seven symmetrical heys from his friends. Someone paused the DVD, and someone else flipped on the light.

"Is that him?" asked one of those dream guys.

"You brought him?" asked another.

Suddenly, I felt like a defenseless puppy cornered in the kitchen after peeing where I wasn't supposed to. They were talking about me. There had been a premeditated plan to bring me to this house. I felt fear, I admit it.

"His name is Rafa. And he meets the requirements," Lían explained.

I started wondering if he was actually serious about filling a hole in the basement with my body.

"Lían... Can we talk in the kitchen for a second?" I suggested.

"He's scared," someone said.

"Take him to the kitchen, Lían. We'll finish watching the movie."

Lían led me into a massive, fully equipped kitchen where, I assumed, there wouldn't be a single can of soup.

"Explain yourself before I run right out that door."

"I live with them."

"I can see that."

"I watched the news with them. We saw you on the news."

"Keep going."

"I told them I knew you. That you take the same train every day."

"I've never seen you."

"You never see anyone. You spend the whole ride staring at your hands and listening to music."

"Maybe."

"So I told them if I saw you on the train, I'd talk to you, see if you fit the profile. Honestly, I didn't think I'd see you tonight. I didn't go to work when I buried my girlfriend."

"I went to keep my mind occupied. What's this about fitting the profile?"

"Well... My roommates and I are part of a club. Hold on, I'll introduce you."

We went back to the living room. Lían snatched the remote from one of the guys and paused the movie again.

"Alright, line up."

The guys obeyed, smiling. Truth is, they looked like a bunch of kids gathered for a sleepover, only older and definitely with a lot more hair on their balls. I wondered if they actually all lived there, like Lían claimed, or if they just got together at his place every now and then.

"Boys, this is Rafa."

"Hiii, Rafaaaa!" they all chorused in pure Alcoholics Anonymous tradition.

"We love you," one of them muttered under his breath, just to top it off.

"Rafa lost Esteban, his boyfriend. Was he your boyfriend or your husband, Rafa?"

"Boyfriend. Just my boyfriend."

"He lost Esteban, his boyfriend. He hanged himself."

"How awful," someone said.

"I'm so sorry," added another.

"He must have done something wrong," a third one chimed in.

Someone elbowed the third guy.

"He still doesn't know if he's joining the club or not. He wants to meet you guys first."

"Makes sense, makes sense."

"Alright. Rafa, this is Just Juan," Lían said, introducing me to the first in line, a gorgeous bear, dark-haired with blue eyes, and a beard that made you want to run your fingers through it.

"Just Juan?" I asked.

"Because there are two Juans"—the second Juan, a muscular, shirtless blond guy, raised his hand and shrugged. "We call him Juan Cubed. Anyway, right now we're on Just Juan. Just Juan lost his partner last year. But let him tell you."

"His name was Tomás and he was an air traffic controller. But he didn't get run over by a plane or anything like that. He had a massive heart attack during a marathon."

"Why are you dancing, Just Juan?" Lían asked, teasing him.

"I'm pissing myself, but I was too creeped out to go to the bathroom. We just watched the scene where the old lady gets run over. Creepy as fuck."

"Go on, go."

Just Juan bolted out of the room.

"This is Néstor. His wife and two kids, who were only two and three years old, died in a car crash about three years ago."

"They were coming back from visiting my mother-in-law. The woman's a pain in the ass, no wonder Lola fell asleep on the drive back."

"Actually, the causes of the accident aren't clear," Lían explained.

"I'm sure she fell asleep. She used to fall asleep standing up," Néstor said.

Lían went on introducing me to the rest. They had all lost at least their partners, and none of them had any problem talking or joking about it.

"And this is Gerardo," Lían said when we reached the last one. Gerardo was pretty weird. Dressed in black up to his neck. He was pale, but that didn't make him any less attractive. He had long, black hair. It reached past his waist. He looked like a vampire straight out of an erotic novel. "His boyfriend died last week. He hasn't wanted to tell us how, but we suspect he killed him himself just to get into our club."

Gerardo smiled enigmatically at the introduction, but didn't say a word.

After the introductions, everyone sat back down to finish the movie, and Lían took me to his bedroom.

"What do you think of them?"

"Honestly? A little crazy. And they're hot as fuck."

"Right?"

"Do you have to be hot to join the club?"

"No, no. That was just a coincidence. Besides, you break the rule."

"Thanks a lot."

"No, no. I mean you break the mold. You're way hotter than them."

"I repeat. Thanks a lot. But it's not true. Hey... There's a majority of gay guys. Is there a specific reason for that?"

Lían took a moment to answer.

"It just happened that way. First I met Néstor, about four months ago. Actually, I already knew him by sight, from a coffee shop we both go to. One day we just started talking and he told me about his wife and kids, and I told him about my girlfriend. We hit it off, and after spending two days together, we ended up in my bed. Up until that point, neither he nor I had been with men, so it was a new and exciting experience for both of us. For a few weeks, we thought we'd become a couple, but then the passion fizzled out and we realized there was no more chemistry. Then the others started joining, spontaneously. It's like we're a magnet for gorgeous widowers. I don't know how we founded the club or why they all end up moving in with me, but I like it. As for the gay majority, honestly, I don't think we can accept very straight guys or women into the club anymore, because this place has turned into a total whorehouse. Everyone hooks up with everyone, and I don't know if that might make a straight guy who isn't into excesses uncomfortable."

"Everyone with everyone?"

"Basically. It goes in phases. Couples or threesomes form and then dissolve. I don't know how it works, I don't participate."

"Seriously?"

"Really."

"And why don't you participate?"

"Because I actually fell in love with Néstor."

The next part is coming in a few days. Follow my profile so you don't miss the rest of the story.

When I Stopped Waiting

IX

I met Sergio the following day. At a café, to keep temptation out of the equation.

I felt utterly betrayed. Not by Marcos—who, at the end of the day, had only fucked Sergio, exactly like I had—but by Sergio himself. For deceiving me for years. For telling me he loved me that night we made love in the park, only to turn around and fuck my husband without a second thought. For playing sick mind games with my feelings, with Marcos, with Marta, with the whole damn world. For being sick in the head—because what Sergio had was a sickness. But most of all, I hated him for ripping away any chance I ever had of being happy... by his side.

When I walked into the café, he was already there. And he wasn't alone, which instantly made my blood boil.

Sitting to his right was a kid, maybe twenty years old. He was wearing sunglasses indoors, and even though he gave off major fuckboy vibes, he was undeniably, devastatingly gorgeous.

To his left sat a man in his early forties with salt-and-pepper hair, broad shoulders, and an immaculate, tailored suit—looking like he’d just stepped off the set of some American legal drama. But more than anything, he radiated this overwhelming, unapologetic aura of an absolute sexual predator. It hit you like a physical wall.

"Luisito, sit down," Sergio said the moment he saw me.

I didn't appreciate him using that name in front of strangers.

Luisito made me sound fragile. Easy to control.

"I told you I needed to talk to you," I said, my voice sharp. "I assumed you'd understand I meant alone."

His companions exchanged a smirk, and it hit me—they were sharks, just like Sergio. Neither of them made the slightest move to leave.

"Come on, Luis. Don't be rude. You don't know these men. They could be my bosses, or my cousins. Hell, we could've just come from a funeral. It's not polite to just shoo people away, don't you think?"

My stomach churned. His tone left zero room for doubt: he didn't give a flying fuck about me. Sergio couldn't even begin to fathom the damage he was doing to me. Or worse—maybe he knew exactly what he was doing.

Still, I had come here for answers. This might be the final chapter of our friendship, but I wasn't walking away without the truth. So I sat down, bracing myself to have this conversation even if these two strangers refused to give us the room.

"We need to talk," I tried again.

"Let's talk. But don't you want me to introduce you to my friends first?"

I gave a tight, resigned nod.

"This one here," he said, gesturing to the younger guy, "is Daniel."

"Hey, Luisito," Daniel said.

Even though he used the pet name, there was no mockery in his tone.

"And this is Braulio. They're both heading to Barcelona in a few hours. Right now, the three of us could be fucking—hell, all four of us, if you were up for it—instead of wasting our time in a café."

The whole situation was bordering on surreal. If someone had told me this story, I would never have believed it.

"You'd rather... fuck than talk to the man who's supposed to be your best friend?"

"I'd rather fuck than do just about anything, Luisito. And honestly, it's getting a little boring how you never seem to catch on."

Now it was crystal clear: he was trying to hurt me on purpose. He was putting on a calculated, dominant show just to impress the two assholes sitting next to him. But I refused to play along.

"Fine. Like I told you on the phone, Marcos came clean last night about you two."

"What exactly about us?"

"That you fucked a couple of times."

"A couple of times?"

"When did it start?"

"A long time ago. Did you happen to mention that you fucked me too?"

I stayed dead silent, glaring at him with every ounce of hatred I could muster. I hadn't been able to tell Marcos a damn thing. I’d barely managed to get him to even look me in the eye again. Deep down, I knew that coming clean would ease his guilt, but it could also destroy our marriage for good, and I wasn't willing to take that risk. The sun was almost coming up by the time we agreed to bury the whole thing and cut Sergio out of our lives. Not only had I kept my own cheating a secret, but here I was, already breaking the one promise we had just made.

"So you didn't have the balls, Luisito. Classic."

I knew if he kept talking to me like that, I was going to smash a beer bottle over his fucking head.

"When did it start?" I repeated. "You didn't answer the question. And since when did you become such a massive prick?"

"Which question do you want me to answer first?"

"The first one."

"Fine. I think I started fucking Marcos about two years ago."

It felt like a swift kick to the balls. Two years? Sergio and Marcos had been fucking for two years?

I was suddenly forced to rewrite every single memory from the last two years. It was like one of those time-travel movies where the protagonist changes one tiny detail in the past, completely shattering the timeline and waking up in a twisted, alternate reality.

I finally understood why Marcos was always so on edge whenever the three of us hung out. It wasn't because he suspected Sergio and I were hooking up—it was because he was terrified I’d find out they were. What a fucking disaster.

"Why didn't he tell you the rest?" Sergio asked. "If he had the balls to come clean, why not go all the way? What difference does it make at that point?"

"It's complicated. Those of us who actually have feelings find it a lot harder to destroy people than you do."

"So, what exactly did he tell you?"

"That he slept with you a couple of times. I already told you."

"And he didn't mention how he tried to break it off every single time I came inside him? Or on his face, or all over his back? Only to come crawling right back to me the very next day? He didn't tell you we were fucking every single day? Honestly, I think I've fucked him more times than anyone else I've ever been with. Did he also forget to mention that he was on the verge of leaving you a dozen times, and the only reason he didn't was because I refused to leave Marta? Sounds like you two barely talked at all."

"And I think you're completely sick in the head, Sergio. And you fucking know it."

"He didn't tell you anything else?"

"What else was there to say?" I asked, entirely convinced that nothing Sergio could possibly add would be more devastating than what he had already confessed.

"For example, he could've mentioned that Marta walked out on me when she caught us—me and Marcos, your perfect fucking husband—fucking like dogs in the kitchen."

The shock completely knocked the wind out of me. Sergio grinned from ear to ear, practically glowing at the devastation his words had caused.

"Get him a drink. He's gonna need it," he told his friends. Then he got up and headed for the restroom.

I just sat there, staring blankly at the table. I didn't dare look at the two strangers; I knew damn well they were either laughing at me or pitying me.

Then Braulio, the older man with the salt-and-pepper hair, dragged his chair closer to mine and rested a heavy hand on my knee.

"Have you ever stood completely naked in a narrow hallway, with barely enough light to see where you're stepping? Surrounded, besieged, completely swallowed up by the bodies of over seventy men—all just as naked as you—grinding against every inch of you? Pressing their cocks against your ass, hands roaming everywhere, mouths kissing every part of your body? Can you even imagine what it’s like to drop to your knees in a place like that? To taste those cocks, to lick those asses, to be brushed by a sea of heavy balls? To be impaled by one cock, then another—taking them two at a time, three at a time? Having them in your mouth, deep in your guts, in your hands... everywhere, all at once? Your friend knows exactly what that’s like. He hasn't just tasted it; the experience completely broke him. Sex has entirely replaced everything else in his life. Your friend is good for absolutely nothing, except for guys like us to fuck him five times in a single afternoon—and even then, we wouldn't even scratch the surface of the dark, gaping void that replaced his soul. Don't waste another second on him. Go get your man and be happy."

While Braulio unloaded all of that on me—making me feel like I was trapped in some fever-dream Almodóvar film—the younger guy had been scribbling something on a cocktail napkin. He slid it across the table to me.

"Here's my cell and my email. If you ever need to talk to someone..."

I took the napkin, completely dazed. Then I stood up, gave them both a brief nod, and walked out of that café. I left knowing that Sergio was now nothing more than a painful memory—a chapter of my life I desperately needed to forget.

And I try. I keep trying with everything I have.

This is the end of the story. Thank you so much for reading. If you enjoyed this and want to read more dark, uncensored MM stories from me, check the PINNED POST on my profile.

When I Stopped Waiting

IX

I met Sergio the following day. At a café, to keep temptation out of the equation.

I felt utterly betrayed. Not by Marcos—who, at the end of the day, had only fucked Sergio, exactly like I had—but by Sergio himself. For deceiving me for years. For telling me he loved me that night we made love in the park, only to turn around and fuck my husband without a second thought. For playing sick mind games with my feelings, with Marcos, with Marta, with the whole damn world. For being sick in the head—because what Sergio had was a sickness. But most of all, I hated him for ripping away any chance I ever had of being happy... by his side.

When I walked into the café, he was already there. And he wasn't alone, which instantly made my blood boil.

Sitting to his right was a kid, maybe twenty years old. He was wearing sunglasses indoors, and even though he gave off major fuckboy vibes, he was undeniably, devastatingly gorgeous.

To his left sat a man in his early forties with salt-and-pepper hair, broad shoulders, and an immaculate, tailored suit—looking like he’d just stepped off the set of some American legal drama. But more than anything, he radiated this overwhelming, unapologetic aura of an absolute sexual predator. It hit you like a physical wall.

"Luisito, sit down," Sergio said the moment he saw me.

I didn't appreciate him using that name in front of strangers.

Luisito made me sound fragile. Easy to control.

"I told you I needed to talk to you," I said, my voice sharp. "I assumed you'd understand I meant alone."

His companions exchanged a smirk, and it hit me—they were sharks, just like Sergio. Neither of them made the slightest move to leave.

"Come on, Luis. Don't be rude. You don't know these men. They could be my bosses, or my cousins. Hell, we could've just come from a funeral. It's not polite to just shoo people away, don't you think?"

My stomach churned. His tone left zero room for doubt: he didn't give a flying fuck about me. Sergio couldn't even begin to fathom the damage he was doing to me. Or worse—maybe he knew exactly what he was doing.

Still, I had come here for answers. This might be the final chapter of our friendship, but I wasn't walking away without the truth. So I sat down, bracing myself to have this conversation even if these two strangers refused to give us the room.

"We need to talk," I tried again.

"Let's talk. But don't you want me to introduce you to my friends first?"

I gave a tight, resigned nod.

"This one here," he said, gesturing to the younger guy, "is Daniel."

"Hey, Luisito," Daniel said.

Even though he used the pet name, there was no mockery in his tone.

"And this is Braulio. They're both heading to Barcelona in a few hours. Right now, the three of us could be fucking—hell, all four of us, if you were up for it—instead of wasting our time in a café."

The whole situation was bordering on surreal. If someone had told me this story, I would never have believed it.

"You'd rather... fuck than talk to the man who's supposed to be your best friend?"

"I'd rather fuck than do just about anything, Luisito. And honestly, it's getting a little boring how you never seem to catch on."

Now it was crystal clear: he was trying to hurt me on purpose. He was putting on a calculated, dominant show just to impress the two assholes sitting next to him. But I refused to play along.

"Fine. Like I told you on the phone, Marcos came clean last night about you two."

"What exactly about us?"

"That you fucked a couple of times."

"A couple of times?"

"When did it start?"

"A long time ago. Did you happen to mention that you fucked me too?"

I stayed dead silent, glaring at him with every ounce of hatred I could muster. I hadn't been able to tell Marcos a damn thing. I’d barely managed to get him to even look me in the eye again. Deep down, I knew that coming clean would ease his guilt, but it could also destroy our marriage for good, and I wasn't willing to take that risk. The sun was almost coming up by the time we agreed to bury the whole thing and cut Sergio out of our lives. Not only had I kept my own cheating a secret, but here I was, already breaking the one promise we had just made.

"So you didn't have the balls, Luisito. Classic."

I knew if he kept talking to me like that, I was going to smash a beer bottle over his fucking head.

"When did it start?" I repeated. "You didn't answer the question. And since when did you become such a massive prick?"

"Which question do you want me to answer first?"

"The first one."

"Fine. I think I started fucking Marcos about two years ago."

It felt like a swift kick to the balls. Two years? Sergio and Marcos had been fucking for two years?

I was suddenly forced to rewrite every single memory from the last two years. It was like one of those time-travel movies where the protagonist changes one tiny detail in the past, completely shattering the timeline and waking up in a twisted, alternate reality.

I finally understood why Marcos was always so on edge whenever the three of us hung out. It wasn't because he suspected Sergio and I were hooking up—it was because he was terrified I’d find out they were. What a fucking disaster.

"Why didn't he tell you the rest?" Sergio asked. "If he had the balls to come clean, why not go all the way? What difference does it make at that point?"

"It's complicated. Those of us who actually have feelings find it a lot harder to destroy people than you do."

"So, what exactly did he tell you?"

"That he slept with you a couple of times. I already told you."

"And he didn't mention how he tried to break it off every single time I came inside him? Or on his face, or all over his back? Only to come crawling right back to me the very next day? He didn't tell you we were fucking every single day? Honestly, I think I've fucked him more times than anyone else I've ever been with. Did he also forget to mention that he was on the verge of leaving you a dozen times, and the only reason he didn't was because I refused to leave Marta? Sounds like you two barely talked at all."

"And I think you're completely sick in the head, Sergio. And you fucking know it."

"He didn't tell you anything else?"

"What else was there to say?" I asked, entirely convinced that nothing Sergio could possibly add would be more devastating than what he had already confessed.

"For example, he could've mentioned that Marta walked out on me when she caught us—me and Marcos, your perfect fucking husband—fucking like dogs in the kitchen."

The shock completely knocked the wind out of me. Sergio grinned from ear to ear, practically glowing at the devastation his words had caused.

"Get him a drink. He's gonna need it," he told his friends. Then he got up and headed for the restroom.

I just sat there, staring blankly at the table. I didn't dare look at the two strangers; I knew damn well they were either laughing at me or pitying me.

Then Braulio, the older man with the salt-and-pepper hair, dragged his chair closer to mine and rested a heavy hand on my knee.

"Have you ever stood completely naked in a narrow hallway, with barely enough light to see where you're stepping? Surrounded, besieged, completely swallowed up by the bodies of over seventy men—all just as naked as you—grinding against every inch of you? Pressing their cocks against your ass, hands roaming everywhere, mouths kissing every part of your body? Can you even imagine what it’s like to drop to your knees in a place like that? To taste those cocks, to lick those asses, to be brushed by a sea of heavy balls? To be impaled by one cock, then another—taking them two at a time, three at a time? Having them in your mouth, deep in your guts, in your hands... everywhere, all at once? Your friend knows exactly what that’s like. He hasn't just tasted it; the experience completely broke him. Sex has entirely replaced everything else in his life. Your friend is good for absolutely nothing, except for guys like us to fuck him five times in a single afternoon—and even then, we wouldn't even scratch the surface of the dark, gaping void that replaced his soul. Don't waste another second on him. Go get your man and be happy."

While Braulio unloaded all of that on me—making me feel like I was trapped in some fever-dream Almodóvar film—the younger guy had been scribbling something on a cocktail napkin. He slid it across the table to me.

"Here's my cell and my email. If you ever need to talk to someone..."

I took the napkin, completely dazed. Then I stood up, gave them both a brief nod, and walked out of that café. I left knowing that Sergio was now nothing more than a painful memory—a chapter of my life I desperately needed to forget.

And I try. I keep trying with everything I have.

This is the end of the story. Thank you so much for reading. I'll be posting my next dark MM stories directly on my profile.

When I Stopped Waiting

VIII

The deeper I took his cock, the faster my anger melted away. Honestly, it was a fucking relief. Sergio was a degenerate, maybe even an addict, but that wasn't my fault. I hadn't opened his eyes to some new world of forbidden pleasures by seducing him; he had discovered all of that on his own, years ago.

As for the lies, Sergio actually had a point. I was a different person depending on who I was with, too. To Sergio, I was the gay best friend, hopelessly and eternally in love with him. To Marcos, I was the loving, devoted husband. And to Marta, I was the ultimate confidant. The guy who, no matter what happened, would never be crazy enough to sleep with her husband—which was exactly what I was doing right at that very second, all over again.

I was no better than Sergio. So there was no point in beating myself up over it. But there was definitely a point in sucking his fucking dick.

Besides, for some twisted reason, knowing that Sergio wasn't the innocent little angel I thought he was actually got me incredibly hot.

"Luis, believe me. You have the best mouth I've ever felt. You give a phenomenal fucking blowjob." As he said it, he reached down and pulled his balls back with both hands, forcing out a couple more inches of thick shaft just so I could choke on him exactly the way he liked.

And I did. I didn't choke, but I made room for his flesh, impaling myself on his cock, holding my breath, just reveling in the feeling of having his impressive shaft stuffing my mouth all over again. I felt him growing thicker and harder. It seemed like watching me take him so greedily was turning him on. I surrendered completely to the task, focusing only on the hot, heavy flesh pushing deep into my throat, refusing to think about anything else. I loved it when his balls slapped against my chin. It meant I was a perfect swallowing machine, especially considering the massive size he reached when he was genuinely turned on.

And with me, he was genuinely turned on—or at least, that's what I liked to tell myself. I had to tell myself that kind of shit so I could still stomach being with Sergio after everything he had done to me. And I needed to keep wanting him, because I still loved him.

"Let's take this to the bed," he said suddenly, pulling his thick shaft out of my mouth.

I tried to grab him, desperate not to be deprived of his cock for even a second. He just laughed and forced me to stand up.

"Let's go to the bed," he repeated. "We'll be more comfortable."

"I'm perfectly comfortable right here, thanks."

"Suit yourself. But I'm going to the bed."

I followed him, obviously.

He lay back, propping himself up against a pile of massive pillows, and pointed both index fingers right at his raging hard-on.

"Go ahead. Swallow."

I reminded myself that this was the bed where he fucked Marta. I wondered if he brought guys back here too, or if he kept his hookups outside the house.

"Swallow, you fucker," he urged.

I stripped my clothes off first, just to make him wait. He took the opportunity to stroke himself slowly, completely aware that I loved watching him do it. Once I was naked, I climbed onto the bed and crawled toward him on all fours, like a she-wolf, full-on Shakira style.

"You're a first-class slut," he told me, using the feminine word in Spanish.

I hated, hated, hated being referred to in the feminine. I despised those stories where some dominant guy grabs a kid, shoves his dick down his throat, and calls him a little bitch, a whore, or shit like that. But I realized that Sergio could say whatever the fuck he wanted. Absolutely anything that came out of his mouth was music to my ears.

"Come on, Luisito. Swallow my cock."

First, I dragged my tongue across his balls, and he shuddered.

"Swallow," he demanded again. The man had a one-track mind.

Then I buried my face in the crease between his right thigh and his balls, licking the sensitive skin.

"Come on, fucking swallow it," he growled.

I ran my hands up and down his legs while I sucked and licked all around his genitals.

"Swallow it already, for fuck's sake!" Sergio barked, his body writhing in pleasure. "Take my cock, you miserable fuck!"

I dragged my tongue briefly across the tip. He tried to thrust upward, chasing the friction, but I pulled back.

"I want your mouth on it. Now," he commanded.

Ignoring the order, I trailed my hand up to stroke his chest. He glared at me, dark and frustrated, yet his lips parted. The slight glimpse of his tongue was an open invitation. I leaned in and tasted him, slow and deliberate. My hand wrapped firmly around his length as I kissed him, my teeth grazing his lower lip. A heavy sigh spilled from him, straight into my mouth.

"Luisito…" he murmured.

I worked his zipper down further, and his breathing hitched. He crashed his mouth against mine—urgent, starving. As my hand stroked him, his strong fingers framed my face, gripping me tight.

"Luisito," he breathed out between heavy pants.

Suddenly, he shifted, forcing my head down toward his lap.

"I told you to take it," he ordered, his voice sharp and absolute.

He shoved my head down with ruthless precision, burying himself exactly where he wanted to be. The sheer dominance of it went straight to my head, intoxicating me.

"Take it!" he demanded. "Yeah, just like that. Now!"

I did exactly as I was told. My mouth full, barely able to breathe, but completely surrendered—utterly drunk on the heat and the closeness of him. He wouldn't stop forcing my head down, driven by a primal frenzy, grinding me against his massive cock while I struggled to take the sheer bulk of him. I gagged, feeling Sergio's control slipping, but I didn't give a fuck. I wanted more. I wanted him to impale me all the way down. Sergio eased up for a split second, pulling back just enough before burying himself even deeper into my throat. His grip on my head was brutal; it hurt, but the pain only spiked my arousal.

"Take it, fuck, take it," he demanded.

I pushed myself to the absolute limit.

"Take more, you can fit more," he insisted.

One hand kept shoving the back of my neck flush against his groin; the other wrapped around my own cock, jerking it with a rough, punishing grip.

"Take it, take it, take it," he repeated.

I lost all sense of time. All I knew was this twisted, euphoric high—I never wanted it to stop. I loved being his toy.

For a fleeting moment, I actually thought about leaving Marcos just to stay with Sergio. Not in his house, but in his bed. I wanted him to tie me up and use me, to fuck me whenever the urge hit him, to keep me locked away between sessions. For that one instant, desire pushed me completely over the edge. I was out of my mind with lust.

I swallowed, swallowed, and swallowed, choking on his cock.

"Spit on my dick," he barked.

His cock and balls were already slick with thick trails of saliva, so I didn't know why he needed more, but I spat on him like a good little whore.

"Now you're gonna find out what's good," he suddenly growled. He ripped his cock from my mouth, shoved me down with brutal force, and threw himself over me, his heavy frame crushing me completely.

For a terrifying second, the wind was knocked out of me. I thought he was going to snap one of my ribs. Then I felt his cock—absolutely monstrous against me—fighting to breach my hole, and it hit me: he was going to take me by force.

Sergio ground his hips erratically against me, completely out of his mind. A blinding flash of pain tore through me as he forced his way past my entrance. I fought with myself, desperate to make the right choice.

Finally, sanity won out. I have no idea where I found the strength, but I shoved him off me with a violent push.

"Not without a condom!" I yelled.

Sergio stared at me, completely dazed. His face was flushed dark red, the veins in his neck bulging. He didn't even look like himself. And without really knowing why, I broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. It took Sergio a moment to process what had happened, but eventually, he pulled me into a tight embrace, holding me fiercely until my sobbing finally subsided.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he whispered into the quiet.

We lay there side by side. I could feel his cock pressing against my thigh. It was still rock hard. The guy wasn't even human. But then again, feeling my own dick getting hard just from his touch proved that I wasn't either.

"I'm married to a great guy," I said.

"I know," he replied.

"I shouldn't cheat on Marcos again. But if I do, it's going to be with a condom."

"We didn't use one in the park."

"In the park, I thought you were a guy who had been fucking the same woman for ten years and had never tasted anything else."

"I'm sorry, Luisito."

"Don't you ever lie to me again."

"I won't."

"Good. Because if you do, I'll fucking kill you."

"I'd let you."

"Bullshit."

He kissed me, trying to smooth things over, but my mind was already made up. I knew damn well I had to get the hell out of there.

"I'm leaving," I told him.

"You're not leaving."

"Yes, I am."

I got up and started hunting for my boxers around the room. He leaned back against the pillows, putting his rock-hard cock on full display.

"I'm still hard as a goddamn rock. You can't leave."

I ignored him, having just scooped my boxers off the floor.

Then he started jerking off. I tried not to look at him as I gathered the rest of my clothes. But as I grabbed my shirt, my eyes betrayed me and I looked back.

He was fondling his massive, hairy balls with one hand, while the other rubbed spit over the head of his cock. He writhed in pleasure, his dark eyes locked onto mine the entire time.

I put my shirt on. He coated the fingers of his left hand in spit, spread his legs a bit, and lifted his hips off the mattress. While his right hand kept stroking his cock, he dragged his slick fingers over his hole.

I pulled my pants on, desperately trying to hide the fact that I was fully hard again. He slipped a finger inside his hole, sliding it in and out agonizingly slow, while his right hand pumped his cock faster and faster.

I slipped my sneakers on, my eyes glued to him. Seeing he had me hooked, his pace quickened, jerking himself off with rougher, faster strokes.

Right as I was tying my laces, he started shooting his load. Sergio was a gorgeous man, but watching him come was something else entirely. I had never seen anything like it in my life. It completely scrambled my brain. I had to get the fuck out of there.

And I was dead set on never coming back.

On the walk home, I decided the only way out was to come clean to Marcos. If I told him the truth and he forgave me, I could force myself to cut Sergio out of my life for good. Sergio was too fucking dangerous for me.

I walked up the stairs, refusing to entertain any other options. Marcos needs to know. I owe him that much. Marcos needs to know.

I unlocked the door and stepped inside. Usually, I’d announce my arrival to the whole house, but I wasn't in the mood. Marcos was watching TV. He turned in his armchair to look at me, not bothering to get up.

"Where have you been?" he asked.

Something in my expression must have set off alarm bells, because he shot up from the chair and rushed over to hold me.

I buried my face in his chest, hesitation creeping in. But I had to tell him.

"Where were you? What happened?" he asked, his eyes locking onto mine, heavy with concern.

"I just came from Sergio's," I said, knowing he would understand exactly what that meant.

Marcos went completely rigid. He dropped his arms, stepping back from the embrace, and buried his face in his hands.

"I knew it. I fucking knew it."

I reached out to touch him, but he jerked away.

"I knew it," he repeated.

When he finally looked at me, his eyes were brimming with tears.

"I knew he’d tell you eventually. I was so sure he’d spill it. That son of a bitch. I don't even know how it happened, Luis. You have to believe me."

I just stared at him, completely paralyzed. My brain hadn't even begun to process what he was saying.

"I felt like absolute shit every time we hooked up, but I couldn't stop. I just kept going back for more. I don't know what it is about that guy, but he completely messed with my head. I'm so sorry, Luis. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Marcos backed into the kitchen and started thumping his head against the refrigerator door, sobbing uncontrollably, chanting apologies like a broken record.

And then, it finally clicked. I understood exactly what Marcos was telling me.

If you can't wait for the next part and want to read the complete, uncensored ending right now, check the PINNED POST on my profile. Thanks for reading!

When I Stopped Waiting

VIII

The deeper I took his cock, the faster my anger melted away. Honestly, it was a fucking relief. Sergio was a degenerate, maybe even an addict, but that wasn't my fault. I hadn't opened his eyes to some new world of forbidden pleasures by seducing him; he had discovered all of that on his own, years ago.

As for the lies, Sergio actually had a point. I was a different person depending on who I was with, too. To Sergio, I was the gay best friend, hopelessly and eternally in love with him. To Marcos, I was the loving, devoted husband. And to Marta, I was the ultimate confidant. The guy who, no matter what happened, would never be crazy enough to sleep with her husband—which was exactly what I was doing right at that very second, all over again.

I was no better than Sergio. So there was no point in beating myself up over it. But there was definitely a point in sucking his fucking dick.

Besides, for some twisted reason, knowing that Sergio wasn't the innocent little angel I thought he was actually got me incredibly hot.

"Luis, believe me. You have the best mouth I've ever felt. You give a phenomenal fucking blowjob." As he said it, he reached down and pulled his balls back with both hands, forcing out a couple more inches of thick shaft just so I could choke on him exactly the way he liked.

And I did. I didn't choke, but I made room for his flesh, impaling myself on his cock, holding my breath, just reveling in the feeling of having his impressive shaft stuffing my mouth all over again. I felt him growing thicker and harder. It seemed like watching me take him so greedily was turning him on. I surrendered completely to the task, focusing only on the hot, heavy flesh pushing deep into my throat, refusing to think about anything else. I loved it when his balls slapped against my chin. It meant I was a perfect swallowing machine, especially considering the massive size he reached when he was genuinely turned on.

And with me, he was genuinely turned on—or at least, that's what I liked to tell myself. I had to tell myself that kind of shit so I could still stomach being with Sergio after everything he had done to me. And I needed to keep wanting him, because I still loved him.

"Let's take this to the bed," he said suddenly, pulling his thick shaft out of my mouth.

I tried to grab him, desperate not to be deprived of his cock for even a second. He just laughed and forced me to stand up.

"Let's go to the bed," he repeated. "We'll be more comfortable."

"I'm perfectly comfortable right here, thanks."

"Suit yourself. But I'm going to the bed."

I followed him, obviously.

He lay back, propping himself up against a pile of massive pillows, and pointed both index fingers right at his raging hard-on.

"Go ahead. Swallow."

I reminded myself that this was the bed where he fucked Marta. I wondered if he brought guys back here too, or if he kept his hookups outside the house.

"Swallow, you fucker," he urged.

I stripped my clothes off first, just to make him wait. He took the opportunity to stroke himself slowly, completely aware that I loved watching him do it. Once I was naked, I climbed onto the bed and crawled toward him on all fours, like a she-wolf, full-on Shakira style.

"You're a first-class slut," he told me, using the feminine word in Spanish.

I hated, hated, hated being referred to in the feminine. I despised those stories where some dominant guy grabs a kid, shoves his dick down his throat, and calls him a little bitch, a whore, or shit like that. But I realized that Sergio could say whatever the fuck he wanted. Absolutely anything that came out of his mouth was music to my ears.

"Come on, Luisito. Swallow my cock."

First, I dragged my tongue across his balls, and he shuddered.

"Swallow," he demanded again. The man had a one-track mind.

Then I buried my face in the crease between his right thigh and his balls, licking the sensitive skin.

"Come on, fucking swallow it," he growled.

I ran my hands up and down his legs while I sucked and licked all around his genitals.

"Swallow it already, for fuck's sake!" Sergio barked, his body writhing in pleasure. "Take my cock, you miserable fuck!"

I dragged my tongue briefly across the tip. He tried to thrust upward, chasing the friction, but I pulled back.

"I want your mouth on it. Now," he commanded.

Ignoring the order, I trailed my hand up to stroke his chest. He glared at me, dark and frustrated, yet his lips parted. The slight glimpse of his tongue was an open invitation. I leaned in and tasted him, slow and deliberate. My hand wrapped firmly around his length as I kissed him, my teeth grazing his lower lip. A heavy sigh spilled from him, straight into my mouth.

"Luisito…" he murmured.

I worked his zipper down further, and his breathing hitched. He crashed his mouth against mine—urgent, starving. As my hand stroked him, his strong fingers framed my face, gripping me tight.

"Luisito," he breathed out between heavy pants.

Suddenly, he shifted, forcing my head down toward his lap.

"I told you to take it," he ordered, his voice sharp and absolute.

He shoved my head down with ruthless precision, burying himself exactly where he wanted to be. The sheer dominance of it went straight to my head, intoxicating me.

"Take it!" he demanded. "Yeah, just like that. Now!"

I did exactly as I was told. My mouth full, barely able to breathe, but completely surrendered—utterly drunk on the heat and the closeness of him. He wouldn't stop forcing my head down, driven by a primal frenzy, grinding me against his massive cock while I struggled to take the sheer bulk of him. I gagged, feeling Sergio's control slipping, but I didn't give a fuck. I wanted more. I wanted him to impale me all the way down. Sergio eased up for a split second, pulling back just enough before burying himself even deeper into my throat. His grip on my head was brutal; it hurt, but the pain only spiked my arousal.

"Take it, fuck, take it," he demanded.

I pushed myself to the absolute limit.

"Take more, you can fit more," he insisted.

One hand kept shoving the back of my neck flush against his groin; the other wrapped around my own cock, jerking it with a rough, punishing grip.

"Take it, take it, take it," he repeated.

I lost all sense of time. All I knew was this twisted, euphoric high—I never wanted it to stop. I loved being his toy.

For a fleeting moment, I actually thought about leaving Marcos just to stay with Sergio. Not in his house, but in his bed. I wanted him to tie me up and use me, to fuck me whenever the urge hit him, to keep me locked away between sessions. For that one instant, desire pushed me completely over the edge. I was out of my mind with lust.

I swallowed, swallowed, and swallowed, choking on his cock.

"Spit on my dick," he barked.

His cock and balls were already slick with thick trails of saliva, so I didn't know why he needed more, but I spat on him like a good little whore.

"Now you're gonna find out what's good," he suddenly growled. He ripped his cock from my mouth, shoved me down with brutal force, and threw himself over me, his heavy frame crushing me completely.

For a terrifying second, the wind was knocked out of me. I thought he was going to snap one of my ribs. Then I felt his cock—absolutely monstrous against me—fighting to breach my hole, and it hit me: he was going to take me by force.

Sergio ground his hips erratically against me, completely out of his mind. A blinding flash of pain tore through me as he forced his way past my entrance. I fought with myself, desperate to make the right choice.

Finally, sanity won out. I have no idea where I found the strength, but I shoved him off me with a violent push.

"Not without a condom!" I yelled.

Sergio stared at me, completely dazed. His face was flushed dark red, the veins in his neck bulging. He didn't even look like himself. And without really knowing why, I broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. It took Sergio a moment to process what had happened, but eventually, he pulled me into a tight embrace, holding me fiercely until my sobbing finally subsided.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he whispered into the quiet.

We lay there side by side. I could feel his cock pressing against my thigh. It was still rock hard. The guy wasn't even human. But then again, feeling my own dick getting hard just from his touch proved that I wasn't either.

"I'm married to a great guy," I said.

"I know," he replied.

"I shouldn't cheat on Marcos again. But if I do, it's going to be with a condom."

"We didn't use one in the park."

"In the park, I thought you were a guy who had been fucking the same woman for ten years and had never tasted anything else."

"I'm sorry, Luisito."

"Don't you ever lie to me again."

"I won't."

"Good. Because if you do, I'll fucking kill you."

"I'd let you."

"Bullshit."

He kissed me, trying to smooth things over, but my mind was already made up. I knew damn well I had to get the hell out of there.

"I'm leaving," I told him.

"You're not leaving."

"Yes, I am."

I got up and started hunting for my boxers around the room. He leaned back against the pillows, putting his rock-hard cock on full display.

"I'm still hard as a goddamn rock. You can't leave."

I ignored him, having just scooped my boxers off the floor.

Then he started jerking off. I tried not to look at him as I gathered the rest of my clothes. But as I grabbed my shirt, my eyes betrayed me and I looked back.

He was fondling his massive, hairy balls with one hand, while the other rubbed spit over the head of his cock. He writhed in pleasure, his dark eyes locked onto mine the entire time.

I put my shirt on. He coated the fingers of his left hand in spit, spread his legs a bit, and lifted his hips off the mattress. While his right hand kept stroking his cock, he dragged his slick fingers over his hole.

I pulled my pants on, desperately trying to hide the fact that I was fully hard again. He slipped a finger inside his hole, sliding it in and out agonizingly slow, while his right hand pumped his cock faster and faster.

I slipped my sneakers on, my eyes glued to him. Seeing he had me hooked, his pace quickened, jerking himself off with rougher, faster strokes.

Right as I was tying my laces, he started shooting his load. Sergio was a gorgeous man, but watching him come was something else entirely. I had never seen anything like it in my life. It completely scrambled my brain. I had to get the fuck out of there.

And I was dead set on never coming back.

On the walk home, I decided the only way out was to come clean to Marcos. If I told him the truth and he forgave me, I could force myself to cut Sergio out of my life for good. Sergio was too fucking dangerous for me.

I walked up the stairs, refusing to entertain any other options. Marcos needs to know. I owe him that much. Marcos needs to know.

I unlocked the door and stepped inside. Usually, I’d announce my arrival to the whole house, but I wasn't in the mood. Marcos was watching TV. He turned in his armchair to look at me, not bothering to get up.

"Where have you been?" he asked.

Something in my expression must have set off alarm bells, because he shot up from the chair and rushed over to hold me.

I buried my face in his chest, hesitation creeping in. But I had to tell him.

"Where were you? What happened?" he asked, his eyes locking onto mine, heavy with concern.

"I just came from Sergio's," I said, knowing he would understand exactly what that meant.

Marcos went completely rigid. He dropped his arms, stepping back from the embrace, and buried his face in his hands.

"I knew it. I fucking knew it."

I reached out to touch him, but he jerked away.

"I knew it," he repeated.

When he finally looked at me, his eyes were brimming with tears.

"I knew he’d tell you eventually. I was so sure he’d spill it. That son of a bitch. I don't even know how it happened, Luis. You have to believe me."

I just stared at him, completely paralyzed. My brain hadn't even begun to process what he was saying.

"I felt like absolute shit every time we hooked up, but I couldn't stop. I just kept going back for more. I don't know what it is about that guy, but he completely messed with my head. I'm so sorry, Luis. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Marcos backed into the kitchen and started thumping his head against the refrigerator door, sobbing uncontrollably, chanting apologies like a broken record.

And then, it finally clicked. I understood exactly what Marcos was telling me.

If you can't wait for the next part and want to read the complete, uncensored ending right now, check the PINNED POST on my profile. Thanks for reading!

When I Stopped Waiting

IX

I met Sergio the following day. At a café, to keep temptation out of the equation.

I felt utterly betrayed. Not by Marcos—who, at the end of the day, had only fucked Sergio, exactly like I had—but by Sergio himself. For deceiving me for years. For telling me he loved me that night we made love in the park, only to turn around and fuck my husband without a second thought. For playing sick mind games with my feelings, with Marcos, with Marta, with the whole damn world. For being sick in the head—because what Sergio had was a sickness. But most of all, I hated him for ripping away any chance I ever had of being happy... by his side.

When I walked into the café, he was already there. And he wasn't alone, which instantly made my blood boil.

Sitting to his right was a kid, maybe twenty years old. He was wearing sunglasses indoors, and even though he gave off major fuckboy vibes, he was undeniably, devastatingly gorgeous.

To his left sat a man in his early forties with salt-and-pepper hair, broad shoulders, and an immaculate, tailored suit—looking like he’d just stepped off the set of some American legal drama. But more than anything, he radiated this overwhelming, unapologetic aura of an absolute sexual predator. It hit you like a physical wall.

"Luisito, sit down," Sergio said the moment he saw me.

I didn't appreciate him using that name in front of strangers.

Luisito made me sound fragile. Easy to control.

"I told you I needed to talk to you," I said, my voice sharp. "I assumed you'd understand I meant alone."

His companions exchanged a smirk, and it hit me—they were sharks, just like Sergio. Neither of them made the slightest move to leave.

"Come on, Luis. Don't be rude. You don't know these men. They could be my bosses, or my cousins. Hell, we could've just come from a funeral. It's not polite to just shoo people away, don't you think?"

My stomach churned. His tone left zero room for doubt: he didn't give a flying fuck about me. Sergio couldn't even begin to fathom the damage he was doing to me. Or worse—maybe he knew exactly what he was doing.

Still, I had come here for answers. This might be the final chapter of our friendship, but I wasn't walking away without the truth. So I sat down, bracing myself to have this conversation even if these two strangers refused to give us the room.

"We need to talk," I tried again.

"Let's talk. But don't you want me to introduce you to my friends first?"

I gave a tight, resigned nod.

"This one here," he said, gesturing to the younger guy, "is Daniel."

"Hey, Luisito," Daniel said.

Even though he used the pet name, there was no mockery in his tone.

"And this is Braulio. They're both heading to Barcelona in a few hours. Right now, the three of us could be fucking—hell, all four of us, if you were up for it—instead of wasting our time in a café."

The whole situation was bordering on surreal. If someone had told me this story, I would never have believed it.

"You'd rather... fuck than talk to the man who's supposed to be your best friend?"

"I'd rather fuck than do just about anything, Luisito. And honestly, it's getting a little boring how you never seem to catch on."

Now it was crystal clear: he was trying to hurt me on purpose. He was putting on a calculated, dominant show just to impress the two assholes sitting next to him. But I refused to play along.

"Fine. Like I told you on the phone, Marcos came clean last night about you two."

"What exactly about us?"

"That you fucked a couple of times."

"A couple of times?"

"When did it start?"

"A long time ago. Did you happen to mention that you fucked me too?"

I stayed dead silent, glaring at him with every ounce of hatred I could muster. I hadn't been able to tell Marcos a damn thing. I’d barely managed to get him to even look me in the eye again. Deep down, I knew that coming clean would ease his guilt, but it could also destroy our marriage for good, and I wasn't willing to take that risk. The sun was almost coming up by the time we agreed to bury the whole thing and cut Sergio out of our lives. Not only had I kept my own cheating a secret, but here I was, already breaking the one promise we had just made.

"So you didn't have the balls, Luisito. Classic."

I knew if he kept talking to me like that, I was going to smash a beer bottle over his fucking head.

"When did it start?" I repeated. "You didn't answer the question. And since when did you become such a massive prick?"

"Which question do you want me to answer first?"

"The first one."

"Fine. I think I started fucking Marcos about two years ago."

It felt like a swift kick to the balls. Two years? Sergio and Marcos had been fucking for two years?

I was suddenly forced to rewrite every single memory from the last two years. It was like one of those time-travel movies where the protagonist changes one tiny detail in the past, completely shattering the timeline and waking up in a twisted, alternate reality.

I finally understood why Marcos was always so on edge whenever the three of us hung out. It wasn't because he suspected Sergio and I were hooking up—it was because he was terrified I’d find out they were. What a fucking disaster.

"Why didn't he tell you the rest?" Sergio asked. "If he had the balls to come clean, why not go all the way? What difference does it make at that point?"

"It's complicated. Those of us who actually have feelings find it a lot harder to destroy people than you do."

"So, what exactly did he tell you?"

"That he slept with you a couple of times. I already told you."

"And he didn't mention how he tried to break it off every single time I came inside him? Or on his face, or all over his back? Only to come crawling right back to me the very next day? He didn't tell you we were fucking every single day? Honestly, I think I've fucked him more times than anyone else I've ever been with. Did he also forget to mention that he was on the verge of leaving you a dozen times, and the only reason he didn't was because I refused to leave Marta? Sounds like you two barely talked at all."

"And I think you're completely sick in the head, Sergio. And you fucking know it."

"He didn't tell you anything else?"

"What else was there to say?" I asked, entirely convinced that nothing Sergio could possibly add would be more devastating than what he had already confessed.

"For example, he could've mentioned that Marta walked out on me when she caught us—me and Marcos, your perfect fucking husband—fucking like dogs in the kitchen."

The shock completely knocked the wind out of me. Sergio grinned from ear to ear, practically glowing at the devastation his words had caused.

"Get him a drink. He's gonna need it," he told his friends. Then he got up and headed for the restroom.

I just sat there, staring blankly at the table. I didn't dare look at the two strangers; I knew damn well they were either laughing at me or pitying me.

Then Braulio, the older man with the salt-and-pepper hair, dragged his chair closer to mine and rested a heavy hand on my knee.

"Have you ever stood completely naked in a narrow hallway, with barely enough light to see where you're stepping? Surrounded, besieged, completely swallowed up by the bodies of over seventy men—all just as naked as you—grinding against every inch of you? Pressing their cocks against your ass, hands roaming everywhere, mouths kissing every part of your body? Can you even imagine what it’s like to drop to your knees in a place like that? To taste those cocks, to lick those asses, to be brushed by a sea of heavy balls? To be impaled by one cock, then another—taking them two at a time, three at a time? Having them in your mouth, deep in your guts, in your hands... everywhere, all at once? Your friend knows exactly what that’s like. He hasn't just tasted it; the experience completely broke him. Sex has entirely replaced everything else in his life. Your friend is good for absolutely nothing, except for guys like us to fuck him five times in a single afternoon—and even then, we wouldn't even scratch the surface of the dark, gaping void that replaced his soul. Don't waste another second on him. Go get your man and be happy."

While Braulio unloaded all of that on me—making me feel like I was trapped in some fever-dream Almodóvar film—the younger guy had been scribbling something on a cocktail napkin. He slid it across the table to me.

"Here's my cell and my email. If you ever need to talk to someone..."

I took the napkin, completely dazed. Then I stood up, gave them both a brief nod, and walked out of that café. I left knowing that Sergio was now nothing more than a painful memory—a chapter of my life I desperately needed to forget.

And I try. I keep trying with everything I have.

This is the end of the story. Thank you so much for reading. If you enjoyed this and want to read more dark, uncensored MM stories from me, check the PINNED POST on my profile.

When I Stopped Waiting

IX

I met Sergio the following day. At a café, to keep temptation out of the equation.

I felt utterly betrayed. Not by Marcos—who, at the end of the day, had only fucked Sergio, exactly like I had—but by Sergio himself. For deceiving me for years. For telling me he loved me that night we made love in the park, only to turn around and fuck my husband without a second thought. For playing sick mind games with my feelings, with Marcos, with Marta, with the whole damn world. For being sick in the head—because what Sergio had was a sickness. But most of all, I hated him for ripping away any chance I ever had of being happy... by his side.

When I walked into the café, he was already there. And he wasn't alone, which instantly made my blood boil.

Sitting to his right was a kid, maybe twenty years old. He was wearing sunglasses indoors, and even though he gave off major fuckboy vibes, he was undeniably, devastatingly gorgeous.

To his left sat a man in his early forties with salt-and-pepper hair, broad shoulders, and an immaculate, tailored suit—looking like he’d just stepped off the set of some American legal drama. But more than anything, he radiated this overwhelming, unapologetic aura of an absolute sexual predator. It hit you like a physical wall.

"Luisito, sit down," Sergio said the moment he saw me.

I didn't appreciate him using that name in front of strangers.

Luisito made me sound fragile. Easy to control.

"I told you I needed to talk to you," I said, my voice sharp. "I assumed you'd understand I meant alone."

His companions exchanged a smirk, and it hit me—they were sharks, just like Sergio. Neither of them made the slightest move to leave.

"Come on, Luis. Don't be rude. You don't know these men. They could be my bosses, or my cousins. Hell, we could've just come from a funeral. It's not polite to just shoo people away, don't you think?"

My stomach churned. His tone left zero room for doubt: he didn't give a flying fuck about me. Sergio couldn't even begin to fathom the damage he was doing to me. Or worse—maybe he knew exactly what he was doing.

Still, I had come here for answers. This might be the final chapter of our friendship, but I wasn't walking away without the truth. So I sat down, bracing myself to have this conversation even if these two strangers refused to give us the room.

"We need to talk," I tried again.

"Let's talk. But don't you want me to introduce you to my friends first?"

I gave a tight, resigned nod.

"This one here," he said, gesturing to the younger guy, "is Daniel."

"Hey, Luisito," Daniel said.

Even though he used the pet name, there was no mockery in his tone.

"And this is Braulio. They're both heading to Barcelona in a few hours. Right now, the three of us could be fucking—hell, all four of us, if you were up for it—instead of wasting our time in a café."

The whole situation was bordering on surreal. If someone had told me this story, I would never have believed it.

"You'd rather... fuck than talk to the man who's supposed to be your best friend?"

"I'd rather fuck than do just about anything, Luisito. And honestly, it's getting a little boring how you never seem to catch on."

Now it was crystal clear: he was trying to hurt me on purpose. He was putting on a calculated, dominant show just to impress the two assholes sitting next to him. But I refused to play along.

"Fine. Like I told you on the phone, Marcos came clean last night about you two."

"What exactly about us?"

"That you fucked a couple of times."

"A couple of times?"

"When did it start?"

"A long time ago. Did you happen to mention that you fucked me too?"

I stayed dead silent, glaring at him with every ounce of hatred I could muster. I hadn't been able to tell Marcos a damn thing. I’d barely managed to get him to even look me in the eye again. Deep down, I knew that coming clean would ease his guilt, but it could also destroy our marriage for good, and I wasn't willing to take that risk. The sun was almost coming up by the time we agreed to bury the whole thing and cut Sergio out of our lives. Not only had I kept my own cheating a secret, but here I was, already breaking the one promise we had just made.

"So you didn't have the balls, Luisito. Classic."

I knew if he kept talking to me like that, I was going to smash a beer bottle over his fucking head.

"When did it start?" I repeated. "You didn't answer the question. And since when did you become such a massive prick?"

"Which question do you want me to answer first?"

"The first one."

"Fine. I think I started fucking Marcos about two years ago."

It felt like a swift kick to the balls. Two years? Sergio and Marcos had been fucking for two years?

I was suddenly forced to rewrite every single memory from the last two years. It was like one of those time-travel movies where the protagonist changes one tiny detail in the past, completely shattering the timeline and waking up in a twisted, alternate reality.

I finally understood why Marcos was always so on edge whenever the three of us hung out. It wasn't because he suspected Sergio and I were hooking up—it was because he was terrified I’d find out they were. What a fucking disaster.

"Why didn't he tell you the rest?" Sergio asked. "If he had the balls to come clean, why not go all the way? What difference does it make at that point?"

"It's complicated. Those of us who actually have feelings find it a lot harder to destroy people than you do."

"So, what exactly did he tell you?"

"That he slept with you a couple of times. I already told you."

"And he didn't mention how he tried to break it off every single time I came inside him? Or on his face, or all over his back? Only to come crawling right back to me the very next day? He didn't tell you we were fucking every single day? Honestly, I think I've fucked him more times than anyone else I've ever been with. Did he also forget to mention that he was on the verge of leaving you a dozen times, and the only reason he didn't was because I refused to leave Marta? Sounds like you two barely talked at all."

"And I think you're completely sick in the head, Sergio. And you fucking know it."

"He didn't tell you anything else?"

"What else was there to say?" I asked, entirely convinced that nothing Sergio could possibly add would be more devastating than what he had already confessed.

"For example, he could've mentioned that Marta walked out on me when she caught us—me and Marcos, your perfect fucking husband—fucking like dogs in the kitchen."

The shock completely knocked the wind out of me. Sergio grinned from ear to ear, practically glowing at the devastation his words had caused.

"Get him a drink. He's gonna need it," he told his friends. Then he got up and headed for the restroom.

I just sat there, staring blankly at the table. I didn't dare look at the two strangers; I knew damn well they were either laughing at me or pitying me.

Then Braulio, the older man with the salt-and-pepper hair, dragged his chair closer to mine and rested a heavy hand on my knee.

"Have you ever stood completely naked in a narrow hallway, with barely enough light to see where you're stepping? Surrounded, besieged, completely swallowed up by the bodies of over seventy men—all just as naked as you—grinding against every inch of you? Pressing their cocks against your ass, hands roaming everywhere, mouths kissing every part of your body? Can you even imagine what it’s like to drop to your knees in a place like that? To taste those cocks, to lick those asses, to be brushed by a sea of heavy balls? To be impaled by one cock, then another—taking them two at a time, three at a time? Having them in your mouth, deep in your guts, in your hands... everywhere, all at once? Your friend knows exactly what that’s like. He hasn't just tasted it; the experience completely broke him. Sex has entirely replaced everything else in his life. Your friend is good for absolutely nothing, except for guys like us to fuck him five times in a single afternoon—and even then, we wouldn't even scratch the surface of the dark, gaping void that replaced his soul. Don't waste another second on him. Go get your man and be happy."

While Braulio unloaded all of that on me—making me feel like I was trapped in some fever-dream Almodóvar film—the younger guy had been scribbling something on a cocktail napkin. He slid it across the table to me.

"Here's my cell and my email. If you ever need to talk to someone..."

I took the napkin, completely dazed. Then I stood up, gave them both a brief nod, and walked out of that café. I left knowing that Sergio was now nothing more than a painful memory—a chapter of my life I desperately needed to forget.

And I try. I keep trying with everything I have.

This is the end of the story. Thank you so much for reading. If you enjoyed this and want to read more dark, uncensored MM stories from me, check the PINNED POST on my profile.

When I Stopped Waiting

VII

I fully expected him to lose his shit, but Sergio just smiled.

"You followed me to the beach? And what exactly did you see?"

"Everything."

"Define 'everything'."

"Your little show leaning against the tree, the guys who blew their loads all over your face, the one who ate your ass..."

"What did you think of the double penetration?"

"I didn't see that part."

"Ah, then you missed the best part. Where were you hiding?"

"Right above your head."

"Did you film it?"

That's when I finally snapped.

"Did I film it? What the fuck are you talking about? Do you even hear yourself?"

"We could be watching it together right now."

"What the hell happened to you, Sergio? What have you turned into?"

"Hey, whoa! Back the fuck up. I'm the exact same guy I've always been. The problem is you just don't know me as well as you think you do."

"I might be the person who knows you best in the entire fucking world."

"You're wrong."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

He sighed.

"Let's see how I can explain this without offending you."

The crazy part was, the entire time we were having this conversation, he was still fondling his cock and balls, maintaining a terrifyingly hard erection.

"Don't get pissed off, okay?"

"I'll try," I said, knowing damn well I was going to get pissed off, but way too intrigued to say anything else.

"I guess it's best to go all the way back to the beginning. Do you remember the night we met?"

"Do I remember it? It's not exactly something I'm ever going to forget. Actually, I recently wrote a story about that night. I posted it on an erotica site."

"How flattering."

"I didn't use your real name."

"Why not?"

"What do you mean, why not? For starters, because you're married."

"But nothing actually happened that night, right?" he asked, flashing a strange, knowing smile.

"Well, I've written a few sequels too. And you don't exactly come out looking like a saint in all of them."

"Ah... Well, you'll have to let me read them sometime. Anyway, back to my point. The night we met at Pappy Dog, I went down to the darkroom with you. You were dead set on convincing me that I should be turned on by the fact that there were guys down there getting phenomenal blowjobs. I told you I was only into chicks, and that sex between men didn't do a fucking thing for me."

I nodded, having no idea where the hell he was going with this.

"After that, we swapped numbers and went home."

"It was one of the best nights of my life. I think I fell in love with you the exact second I saw you."

He waved his hand dismissively, like my comment was completely irrelevant, and kept talking.

"When I got home and got into bed, I kept replaying everything you’d told me about guys fucking, everything I’d caught glimpses of in that darkroom, and... it got me hot as a motherfucker. I jerked off so hard, and when I finally came, I realized that for a guy who supposedly wasn't turned on by men, I had just had one of the hottest fucking wanks of my life."

"You never told me that."

He made that dismissive hand gesture again to shut me up, and I suddenly had the urge to punch him right in the fucking face.

"I was still completely hard and I couldn't stop thinking about it. So I got dressed and went back out."

"Are we still talking about the exact same night?"

"Exactly. The night we met."

"You went back out? To the gay scene?" The gears in my brain started grinding.

"I went back to Pappy Dog. By myself. But by the time I got there, it was past six and they were already closed, so I went looking for an after-hours club. I ended up walking into Punto G D Gay."

I remembered that place. It was a bear bar with a heavy BDSM vibe. It didn't even exist anymore.

"The second I walked through the door, every single guy sitting at the bar turned and stared at me. I felt incredibly, intensely desired, and I got hard instantly. And then I just froze. I didn't know if I should go to the bar to order a drink, or go to the bathroom, or look for the darkroom. Every possible option terrified me. I felt completely paralyzed. I pictured myself trying to hit on one of those guys, and panic set in. I just wanted to get my dick sucked. I needed one of those guys to suck me off, but I had no fucking clue what I was supposed to do to make it happen. My whole body was shaking. I was terrified, but I was so incredibly hot. You're not going to believe this, but suddenly, it was like my hands weren't even mine. I unzipped my jeans right there, right at the entrance of the bar. It was like I was watching it happen on a TV screen, like it wasn't even me doing it. I pulled my cock out and just stared down at it. I didn't dare look toward the bar. I didn't want to think, because if I thought about it, I might realize that public exposure—even in a gay bar—probably wasn't allowed, and they were going to throw me out, and I was going to suffer the worst fucking humiliation of my life."

"But suddenly, a pair of pants stepped into my field of vision, and a hand wrapped around my cock. My own hands grabbed this heavy-set guy by the shoulders and shoved him down, and he just let himself be pushed down. He took my cock into his mouth while every single guy in the bar watched us. I closed my eyes and just let myself enjoy it—enjoying the blowjob, and enjoying the insane situation I had somehow caused. And you have no fucking idea how this guy sucked. He was choking on my cock, taking it so deep I was actually worried he was going to hurt himself. Thick trails of spit were running down his chin; he soaked me completely. You know, one of those frantic, spasmodic blowjobs that leaves you completely weak. He sucked me off for about twenty minutes. I warned him when I was about to cum, and he just went at it harder. I came, and he swallowed my entire load without a single complaint. Afterward, like absolutely nothing had happened, I walked up to the bar and ordered a drink. I spent the rest of the night talking to the bartender, who kept telling me how fucking hot I was, how he couldn't believe it was my first time with a guy, and how nobody had the balls to pull off what I had just done. When the after-hours club closed, the bartender invited me back to his place, and I went with him. He introduced me to his man, who was asleep, and made me get into bed between them. I slept with them, and I woke up to two expert mouths licking me absolutely everywhere—from my nipples to my toes, and right up my asshole and my balls." As he said that, he weighed them in his hand. "After that, you can understand my need to explore. I went to Pappy Dog and my new friend's bar almost every single night, and I did absolutely everything with everyone. I turned out to be an insatiable stud—something I still am to this day."

"Are you making all this shit up? Are you just trying to get me hot?"

"I swear to God, it happened exactly the way I'm telling you."

"It doesn't fit you. If that's true, you've been lying to my face for years."

"That's exactly my point. You were a new friend, and I was just starting to discover new sides of my sexuality. At first, I just decided to let you keep believing what I told you that first night. Then I met Marta and started dating her, and it didn't seem like a smart idea to tell you about my hookups. And to top it all off, you fell in love with me. I couldn't sleep with you because I knew it would hurt you, because I didn't fall in love with you—I fell in love with Marta. On top of that, I started being a lot more careful about where I went to fuck so I wouldn't run into you. I knew it would crush you to see me fucking other guys when I could have been fucking you, knowing how much you loved me."

"You son of a bitch. I don't understand you."

"What don't you understand? I'll explain it to you."

"I've thrown myself at you in every possible way for years, and you played the uptight straight guy while actually being a total fucking slut? You used to call me almost crying, telling me you were going to leave Marta because she wouldn't give you a fucking blowjob, because of her phobia of cum. You told me you were sick of it because you'd never had your dick sucked in your life and cheating wasn't an option. And the whole time, you'd gotten more blowjobs than Marcos and me combined."

"I was playing a role. To you, that's who I was. So when I was with you, that's who I was. That's not lying."

"You are out of your fucking mind."

"Fine. It's lying. But we all lie, Luis. We all have a million different sides to us. We're all different people depending on who we're with."

"I'm not."

"You snuck out to the park with me while Marcos was asleep in your bed."

"That's not what we're talking about. We're talking about the fact that I thought you were my best friend. I trusted you, and you systematically lied to my face. For years."

"You're pissed off."

"Fuck yes, I'm pissed off! Every single memory I have with you is a fucking lie!"

"Don't exaggerate, Luis..."

"When you jerked off that day after I got you hot touching your nipples... do you have any idea how I felt when you kicked me out of your house right after? You made me feel dirty. You made me feel guilty for seducing you."

"Try to understand. I was confused. I had promised myself that nothing would ever happen between us, exactly so I would never have to tell you the truth about me. But the situation was just too fucking hot, and I couldn't hold back."

"And what about playing dumb in the bathrooms at La Muesca Alemana? Oh, wow, Luis! Don't tell me guys actually come to the bathroom to get their dicks sucked!"

"I'm telling you, I had to act according to who you thought I was. Just like everyone else does."

"Not everyone is a disgusting, cynical sociopath with bipolar disorder and a sex addiction."

"You're really pissed off."

The sick fuck was still hard. He was completely destroying my reality, shattering my heart into a million pieces, and he was still rock-hard. I felt so sick... so utterly broken... that I honestly don't know how I managed to swallow my pride, drop to my knees, and take his massive cock into my mouth without saying another fucking word.

If you can't wait for the next part and want to read the complete, uncensored ending right now, check the PINNED POST on my profile. Thanks for reading!

When I Stopped Waiting

VIII

The deeper I took his cock, the faster my anger melted away. Honestly, it was a fucking relief. Sergio was a degenerate, maybe even an addict, but that wasn't my fault. I hadn't opened his eyes to some new world of forbidden pleasures by seducing him; he had discovered all of that on his own, years ago.

As for the lies, Sergio actually had a point. I was a different person depending on who I was with, too. To Sergio, I was the gay best friend, hopelessly and eternally in love with him. To Marcos, I was the loving, devoted husband. And to Marta, I was the ultimate confidant. The guy who, no matter what happened, would never be crazy enough to sleep with her husband—which was exactly what I was doing right at that very second, all over again.

I was no better than Sergio. So there was no point in beating myself up over it. But there was definitely a point in sucking his fucking dick.

Besides, for some twisted reason, knowing that Sergio wasn't the innocent little angel I thought he was actually got me incredibly hot.

"Luis, believe me. You have the best mouth I've ever felt. You give a phenomenal fucking blowjob." As he said it, he reached down and pulled his balls back with both hands, forcing out a couple more inches of thick shaft just so I could choke on him exactly the way he liked.

And I did. I didn't choke, but I made room for his flesh, impaling myself on his cock, holding my breath, just reveling in the feeling of having his impressive shaft stuffing my mouth all over again. I felt him growing thicker and harder. It seemed like watching me take him so greedily was turning him on. I surrendered completely to the task, focusing only on the hot, heavy flesh pushing deep into my throat, refusing to think about anything else. I loved it when his balls slapped against my chin. It meant I was a perfect swallowing machine, especially considering the massive size he reached when he was genuinely turned on.

And with me, he was genuinely turned on—or at least, that's what I liked to tell myself. I had to tell myself that kind of shit so I could still stomach being with Sergio after everything he had done to me. And I needed to keep wanting him, because I still loved him.

"Let's take this to the bed," he said suddenly, pulling his thick shaft out of my mouth.

I tried to grab him, desperate not to be deprived of his cock for even a second. He just laughed and forced me to stand up.

"Let's go to the bed," he repeated. "We'll be more comfortable."

"I'm perfectly comfortable right here, thanks."

"Suit yourself. But I'm going to the bed."

I followed him, obviously.

He lay back, propping himself up against a pile of massive pillows, and pointed both index fingers right at his raging hard-on.

"Go ahead. Swallow."

I reminded myself that this was the bed where he fucked Marta. I wondered if he brought guys back here too, or if he kept his hookups outside the house.

"Swallow, you fucker," he urged.

I stripped my clothes off first, just to make him wait. He took the opportunity to stroke himself slowly, completely aware that I loved watching him do it. Once I was naked, I climbed onto the bed and crawled toward him on all fours, like a she-wolf, full-on Shakira style.

"You're a first-class slut," he told me, using the feminine word in Spanish.

I hated, hated, hated being referred to in the feminine. I despised those stories where some dominant guy grabs a kid, shoves his dick down his throat, and calls him a little bitch, a whore, or shit like that. But I realized that Sergio could say whatever the fuck he wanted. Absolutely anything that came out of his mouth was music to my ears.

"Come on, Luisito. Swallow my cock."

First, I dragged my tongue across his balls, and he shuddered.

"Swallow," he demanded again. The man had a one-track mind.

Then I buried my face in the crease between his right thigh and his balls, licking the sensitive skin.

"Come on, fucking swallow it," he growled.

I ran my hands up and down his legs while I sucked and licked all around his genitals.

"Swallow it already, for fuck's sake!" Sergio barked, his body writhing in pleasure. "Take my cock, you miserable fuck!"

I dragged my tongue briefly across the tip. He tried to thrust upward, chasing the friction, but I pulled back.

"I want your mouth on it. Now," he commanded.

Ignoring the order, I trailed my hand up to stroke his chest. He glared at me, dark and frustrated, yet his lips parted. The slight glimpse of his tongue was an open invitation. I leaned in and tasted him, slow and deliberate. My hand wrapped firmly around his length as I kissed him, my teeth grazing his lower lip. A heavy sigh spilled from him, straight into my mouth.

"Luisito…" he murmured.

I worked his zipper down further, and his breathing hitched. He crashed his mouth against mine—urgent, starving. As my hand stroked him, his strong fingers framed my face, gripping me tight.

"Luisito," he breathed out between heavy pants.

Suddenly, he shifted, forcing my head down toward his lap.

"I told you to take it," he ordered, his voice sharp and absolute.

He shoved my head down with ruthless precision, burying himself exactly where he wanted to be. The sheer dominance of it went straight to my head, intoxicating me.

"Take it!" he demanded. "Yeah, just like that. Now!"

I did exactly as I was told. My mouth full, barely able to breathe, but completely surrendered—utterly drunk on the heat and the closeness of him. He wouldn't stop forcing my head down, driven by a primal frenzy, grinding me against his massive cock while I struggled to take the sheer bulk of him. I gagged, feeling Sergio's control slipping, but I didn't give a fuck. I wanted more. I wanted him to impale me all the way down. Sergio eased up for a split second, pulling back just enough before burying himself even deeper into my throat. His grip on my head was brutal; it hurt, but the pain only spiked my arousal.

"Take it, fuck, take it," he demanded.

I pushed myself to the absolute limit.

"Take more, you can fit more," he insisted.

One hand kept shoving the back of my neck flush against his groin; the other wrapped around my own cock, jerking it with a rough, punishing grip.

"Take it, take it, take it," he repeated.

I lost all sense of time. All I knew was this twisted, euphoric high—I never wanted it to stop. I loved being his toy.

For a fleeting moment, I actually thought about leaving Marcos just to stay with Sergio. Not in his house, but in his bed. I wanted him to tie me up and use me, to fuck me whenever the urge hit him, to keep me locked away between sessions. For that one instant, desire pushed me completely over the edge. I was out of my mind with lust.

I swallowed, swallowed, and swallowed, choking on his cock.

"Spit on my dick," he barked.

His cock and balls were already slick with thick trails of saliva, so I didn't know why he needed more, but I spat on him like a good little whore.

"Now you're gonna find out what's good," he suddenly growled. He ripped his cock from my mouth, shoved me down with brutal force, and threw himself over me, his heavy frame crushing me completely.

For a terrifying second, the wind was knocked out of me. I thought he was going to snap one of my ribs. Then I felt his cock—absolutely monstrous against me—fighting to breach my hole, and it hit me: he was going to take me by force.

Sergio ground his hips erratically against me, completely out of his mind. A blinding flash of pain tore through me as he forced his way past my entrance. I fought with myself, desperate to make the right choice.

Finally, sanity won out. I have no idea where I found the strength, but I shoved him off me with a violent push.

"Not without a condom!" I yelled.

Sergio stared at me, completely dazed. His face was flushed dark red, the veins in his neck bulging. He didn't even look like himself. And without really knowing why, I broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. It took Sergio a moment to process what had happened, but eventually, he pulled me into a tight embrace, holding me fiercely until my sobbing finally subsided.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he whispered into the quiet.

We lay there side by side. I could feel his cock pressing against my thigh. It was still rock hard. The guy wasn't even human. But then again, feeling my own dick getting hard just from his touch proved that I wasn't either.

"I'm married to a great guy," I said.

"I know," he replied.

"I shouldn't cheat on Marcos again. But if I do, it's going to be with a condom."

"We didn't use one in the park."

"In the park, I thought you were a guy who had been fucking the same woman for ten years and had never tasted anything else."

"I'm sorry, Luisito."

"Don't you ever lie to me again."

"I won't."

"Good. Because if you do, I'll fucking kill you."

"I'd let you."

"Bullshit."

He kissed me, trying to smooth things over, but my mind was already made up. I knew damn well I had to get the hell out of there.

"I'm leaving," I told him.

"You're not leaving."

"Yes, I am."

I got up and started hunting for my boxers around the room. He leaned back against the pillows, putting his rock-hard cock on full display.

"I'm still hard as a goddamn rock. You can't leave."

I ignored him, having just scooped my boxers off the floor.

Then he started jerking off. I tried not to look at him as I gathered the rest of my clothes. But as I grabbed my shirt, my eyes betrayed me and I looked back.

He was fondling his massive, hairy balls with one hand, while the other rubbed spit over the head of his cock. He writhed in pleasure, his dark eyes locked onto mine the entire time.

I put my shirt on. He coated the fingers of his left hand in spit, spread his legs a bit, and lifted his hips off the mattress. While his right hand kept stroking his cock, he dragged his slick fingers over his hole.

I pulled my pants on, desperately trying to hide the fact that I was fully hard again. He slipped a finger inside his hole, sliding it in and out agonizingly slow, while his right hand pumped his cock faster and faster.

I slipped my sneakers on, my eyes glued to him. Seeing he had me hooked, his pace quickened, jerking himself off with rougher, faster strokes.

Right as I was tying my laces, he started shooting his load. Sergio was a gorgeous man, but watching him come was something else entirely. I had never seen anything like it in my life. It completely scrambled my brain. I had to get the fuck out of there.

And I was dead set on never coming back.

On the walk home, I decided the only way out was to come clean to Marcos. If I told him the truth and he forgave me, I could force myself to cut Sergio out of my life for good. Sergio was too fucking dangerous for me.

I walked up the stairs, refusing to entertain any other options. Marcos needs to know. I owe him that much. Marcos needs to know.

I unlocked the door and stepped inside. Usually, I’d announce my arrival to the whole house, but I wasn't in the mood. Marcos was watching TV. He turned in his armchair to look at me, not bothering to get up.

"Where have you been?" he asked.

Something in my expression must have set off alarm bells, because he shot up from the chair and rushed over to hold me.

I buried my face in his chest, hesitation creeping in. But I had to tell him.

"Where were you? What happened?" he asked, his eyes locking onto mine, heavy with concern.

"I just came from Sergio's," I said, knowing he would understand exactly what that meant.

Marcos went completely rigid. He dropped his arms, stepping back from the embrace, and buried his face in his hands.

"I knew it. I fucking knew it."

I reached out to touch him, but he jerked away.

"I knew it," he repeated.

When he finally looked at me, his eyes were brimming with tears.

"I knew he’d tell you eventually. I was so sure he’d spill it. That son of a bitch. I don't even know how it happened, Luis. You have to believe me."

I just stared at him, completely paralyzed. My brain hadn't even begun to process what he was saying.

"I felt like absolute shit every time we hooked up, but I couldn't stop. I just kept going back for more. I don't know what it is about that guy, but he completely messed with my head. I'm so sorry, Luis. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Marcos backed into the kitchen and started thumping his head against the refrigerator door, sobbing uncontrollably, chanting apologies like a broken record.

And then, it finally clicked. I understood exactly what Marcos was telling me.

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When I Stopped Waiting

VIII

The deeper I took his cock, the faster my anger melted away. Honestly, it was a fucking relief. Sergio was a degenerate, maybe even an addict, but that wasn't my fault. I hadn't opened his eyes to some new world of forbidden pleasures by seducing him; he had discovered all of that on his own, years ago.

As for the lies, Sergio actually had a point. I was a different person depending on who I was with, too. To Sergio, I was the gay best friend, hopelessly and eternally in love with him. To Marcos, I was the loving, devoted husband. And to Marta, I was the ultimate confidant. The guy who, no matter what happened, would never be crazy enough to sleep with her husband—which was exactly what I was doing right at that very second, all over again.

I was no better than Sergio. So there was no point in beating myself up over it. But there was definitely a point in sucking his fucking dick.

Besides, for some twisted reason, knowing that Sergio wasn't the innocent little angel I thought he was actually got me incredibly hot.

"Luis, believe me. You have the best mouth I've ever felt. You give a phenomenal fucking blowjob." As he said it, he reached down and pulled his balls back with both hands, forcing out a couple more inches of thick shaft just so I could choke on him exactly the way he liked.

And I did. I didn't choke, but I made room for his flesh, impaling myself on his cock, holding my breath, just reveling in the feeling of having his impressive shaft stuffing my mouth all over again. I felt him growing thicker and harder. It seemed like watching me take him so greedily was turning him on. I surrendered completely to the task, focusing only on the hot, heavy flesh pushing deep into my throat, refusing to think about anything else. I loved it when his balls slapped against my chin. It meant I was a perfect swallowing machine, especially considering the massive size he reached when he was genuinely turned on.

And with me, he was genuinely turned on—or at least, that's what I liked to tell myself. I had to tell myself that kind of shit so I could still stomach being with Sergio after everything he had done to me. And I needed to keep wanting him, because I still loved him.

"Let's take this to the bed," he said suddenly, pulling his thick shaft out of my mouth.

I tried to grab him, desperate not to be deprived of his cock for even a second. He just laughed and forced me to stand up.

"Let's go to the bed," he repeated. "We'll be more comfortable."

"I'm perfectly comfortable right here, thanks."

"Suit yourself. But I'm going to the bed."

I followed him, obviously.

He lay back, propping himself up against a pile of massive pillows, and pointed both index fingers right at his raging hard-on.

"Go ahead. Swallow."

I reminded myself that this was the bed where he fucked Marta. I wondered if he brought guys back here too, or if he kept his hookups outside the house.

"Swallow, you fucker," he urged.

I stripped my clothes off first, just to make him wait. He took the opportunity to stroke himself slowly, completely aware that I loved watching him do it. Once I was naked, I climbed onto the bed and crawled toward him on all fours, like a she-wolf, full-on Shakira style.

"You're a first-class slut," he told me, using the feminine word in Spanish.

I hated, hated, hated being referred to in the feminine. I despised those stories where some dominant guy grabs a kid, shoves his dick down his throat, and calls him a little bitch, a whore, or shit like that. But I realized that Sergio could say whatever the fuck he wanted. Absolutely anything that came out of his mouth was music to my ears.

"Come on, Luisito. Swallow my cock."

First, I dragged my tongue across his balls, and he shuddered.

"Swallow," he demanded again. The man had a one-track mind.

Then I buried my face in the crease between his right thigh and his balls, licking the sensitive skin.

"Come on, fucking swallow it," he growled.

I ran my hands up and down his legs while I sucked and licked all around his genitals.

"Swallow it already, for fuck's sake!" Sergio barked, his body writhing in pleasure. "Take my cock, you miserable fuck!"

I dragged my tongue briefly across the tip. He tried to thrust upward, chasing the friction, but I pulled back.

"I want your mouth on it. Now," he commanded.

Ignoring the order, I trailed my hand up to stroke his chest. He glared at me, dark and frustrated, yet his lips parted. The slight glimpse of his tongue was an open invitation. I leaned in and tasted him, slow and deliberate. My hand wrapped firmly around his length as I kissed him, my teeth grazing his lower lip. A heavy sigh spilled from him, straight into my mouth.

"Luisito…" he murmured.

I worked his zipper down further, and his breathing hitched. He crashed his mouth against mine—urgent, starving. As my hand stroked him, his strong fingers framed my face, gripping me tight.

"Luisito," he breathed out between heavy pants.

Suddenly, he shifted, forcing my head down toward his lap.

"I told you to take it," he ordered, his voice sharp and absolute.

He shoved my head down with ruthless precision, burying himself exactly where he wanted to be. The sheer dominance of it went straight to my head, intoxicating me.

"Take it!" he demanded. "Yeah, just like that. Now!"

I did exactly as I was told. My mouth full, barely able to breathe, but completely surrendered—utterly drunk on the heat and the closeness of him. He wouldn't stop forcing my head down, driven by a primal frenzy, grinding me against his massive cock while I struggled to take the sheer bulk of him. I gagged, feeling Sergio's control slipping, but I didn't give a fuck. I wanted more. I wanted him to impale me all the way down. Sergio eased up for a split second, pulling back just enough before burying himself even deeper into my throat. His grip on my head was brutal; it hurt, but the pain only spiked my arousal.

"Take it, fuck, take it," he demanded.

I pushed myself to the absolute limit.

"Take more, you can fit more," he insisted.

One hand kept shoving the back of my neck flush against his groin; the other wrapped around my own cock, jerking it with a rough, punishing grip.

"Take it, take it, take it," he repeated.

I lost all sense of time. All I knew was this twisted, euphoric high—I never wanted it to stop. I loved being his toy.

For a fleeting moment, I actually thought about leaving Marcos just to stay with Sergio. Not in his house, but in his bed. I wanted him to tie me up and use me, to fuck me whenever the urge hit him, to keep me locked away between sessions. For that one instant, desire pushed me completely over the edge. I was out of my mind with lust.

I swallowed, swallowed, and swallowed, choking on his cock.

"Spit on my dick," he barked.

His cock and balls were already slick with thick trails of saliva, so I didn't know why he needed more, but I spat on him like a good little whore.

"Now you're gonna find out what's good," he suddenly growled. He ripped his cock from my mouth, shoved me down with brutal force, and threw himself over me, his heavy frame crushing me completely.

For a terrifying second, the wind was knocked out of me. I thought he was going to snap one of my ribs. Then I felt his cock—absolutely monstrous against me—fighting to breach my hole, and it hit me: he was going to take me by force.

Sergio ground his hips erratically against me, completely out of his mind. A blinding flash of pain tore through me as he forced his way past my entrance. I fought with myself, desperate to make the right choice.

Finally, sanity won out. I have no idea where I found the strength, but I shoved him off me with a violent push.

"Not without a condom!" I yelled.

Sergio stared at me, completely dazed. His face was flushed dark red, the veins in his neck bulging. He didn't even look like himself. And without really knowing why, I broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. It took Sergio a moment to process what had happened, but eventually, he pulled me into a tight embrace, holding me fiercely until my sobbing finally subsided.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he whispered into the quiet.

We lay there side by side. I could feel his cock pressing against my thigh. It was still rock hard. The guy wasn't even human. But then again, feeling my own dick getting hard just from his touch proved that I wasn't either.

"I'm married to a great guy," I said.

"I know," he replied.

"I shouldn't cheat on Marcos again. But if I do, it's going to be with a condom."

"We didn't use one in the park."

"In the park, I thought you were a guy who had been fucking the same woman for ten years and had never tasted anything else."

"I'm sorry, Luisito."

"Don't you ever lie to me again."

"I won't."

"Good. Because if you do, I'll fucking kill you."

"I'd let you."

"Bullshit."

He kissed me, trying to smooth things over, but my mind was already made up. I knew damn well I had to get the hell out of there.

"I'm leaving," I told him.

"You're not leaving."

"Yes, I am."

I got up and started hunting for my boxers around the room. He leaned back against the pillows, putting his rock-hard cock on full display.

"I'm still hard as a goddamn rock. You can't leave."

I ignored him, having just scooped my boxers off the floor.

Then he started jerking off. I tried not to look at him as I gathered the rest of my clothes. But as I grabbed my shirt, my eyes betrayed me and I looked back.

He was fondling his massive, hairy balls with one hand, while the other rubbed spit over the head of his cock. He writhed in pleasure, his dark eyes locked onto mine the entire time.

I put my shirt on. He coated the fingers of his left hand in spit, spread his legs a bit, and lifted his hips off the mattress. While his right hand kept stroking his cock, he dragged his slick fingers over his hole.

I pulled my pants on, desperately trying to hide the fact that I was fully hard again. He slipped a finger inside his hole, sliding it in and out agonizingly slow, while his right hand pumped his cock faster and faster.

I slipped my sneakers on, my eyes glued to him. Seeing he had me hooked, his pace quickened, jerking himself off with rougher, faster strokes.

Right as I was tying my laces, he started shooting his load. Sergio was a gorgeous man, but watching him come was something else entirely. I had never seen anything like it in my life. It completely scrambled my brain. I had to get the fuck out of there.

And I was dead set on never coming back.

On the walk home, I decided the only way out was to come clean to Marcos. If I told him the truth and he forgave me, I could force myself to cut Sergio out of my life for good. Sergio was too fucking dangerous for me.

I walked up the stairs, refusing to entertain any other options. Marcos needs to know. I owe him that much. Marcos needs to know.

I unlocked the door and stepped inside. Usually, I’d announce my arrival to the whole house, but I wasn't in the mood. Marcos was watching TV. He turned in his armchair to look at me, not bothering to get up.

"Where have you been?" he asked.

Something in my expression must have set off alarm bells, because he shot up from the chair and rushed over to hold me.

I buried my face in his chest, hesitation creeping in. But I had to tell him.

"Where were you? What happened?" he asked, his eyes locking onto mine, heavy with concern.

"I just came from Sergio's," I said, knowing he would understand exactly what that meant.

Marcos went completely rigid. He dropped his arms, stepping back from the embrace, and buried his face in his hands.

"I knew it. I fucking knew it."

I reached out to touch him, but he jerked away.

"I knew it," he repeated.

When he finally looked at me, his eyes were brimming with tears.

"I knew he’d tell you eventually. I was so sure he’d spill it. That son of a bitch. I don't even know how it happened, Luis. You have to believe me."

I just stared at him, completely paralyzed. My brain hadn't even begun to process what he was saying.

"I felt like absolute shit every time we hooked up, but I couldn't stop. I just kept going back for more. I don't know what it is about that guy, but he completely messed with my head. I'm so sorry, Luis. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Marcos backed into the kitchen and started thumping his head against the refrigerator door, sobbing uncontrollably, chanting apologies like a broken record.

And then, it finally clicked. I understood exactly what Marcos was telling me.

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When I Stopped Waiting

VI

That very same night, I showed up at Sergio's place, fully intending to set the record straight. My initial plan was to keep my mouth shut about following him to the beach, but things didn't exactly go according to plan—something I was quickly going to have to get used to when it came to him.

I knocked on his door around ten o'clock. He opened it completely butt-naked, which immediately threw me off balance.

"Hey, Luis!" he said, sounding surprisingly thrilled to see me, considering he’d been icing me out for weeks.

"You're naked."

"You coming in?"

He stepped aside, and I walked in. As I passed him, the back of my hand accidentally brushed against his cock.

"Is this how you greet all your guests now?"

"Only you. I happened to see you pull up and park. You want a drink?"

There was only one fucking thing I wanted to put my lips around right then, and it sure as hell wasn't a Coke. But I had come here to talk. So I asked for a beer and dropped onto the couch, desperately trying to keep my eyes off his heavy dick and maintain some shred of focus.

Sergio brought me the beer and sat down right across from me in his rolling desk chair. He spread his legs wide, making damn sure I had a perfect view of his heavy balls and his cock, which was already starting to get hard. It took everything I had to look him in the eye.

"We need to talk," I said, swallowing hard.

"Are you sure? Wouldn't you rather I lay this right on your tongue?" he asked, stroking his cock with a filthy, lazy rhythm.

"No," I answered, though I didn't sound convincing at all.

"You want me to put something on?"

"No, that's not necessary." I hated myself for being so fucking weak.

"Alright. I'm listening." He pulled back his foreskin, revealing a rock-hard head already slick with pre-cum. "Do you mind if I touch myself while we talk?"

"It's your house. I'm not going to tell you what to do."

"Good. So, what do you want to talk about?" he asked, thrusting his hips forward, putting his cock on display exactly like he had done at the beach for other eyes just a few hours ago.

"Exactly this."

"Sex?"

"Well... you have to admit your behavior lately has been a little strange."

"What's strange about it? I'm not doing anything I haven't already done with you."

"But you've been treating me like absolute shit all these weeks. I've tried to talk to you forty different times, and you've dodged me every single time."

"My wife left me. I was trying to process it. I didn't exactly feel like talking about it with you," he said calmly, casually fondling his balls.

"Well, your attitude has completely changed now."

"I just got over it."

"Well, it seems pretty fucking weird to me, what do you want me to say?"

He smiled. And it was a dangerous fucking smile.

Then he stood up, walked over, and pressed the thick shaft of his cock right against my nose.

I breathed in deep, filling my lungs with his raw, musky scent.

"So, you think it's strange that I'm putting my cock in your face?"

I nodded, taking the opportunity to brush the tip of my nose against the slick head of his dick.

"Do you think it's weird that I'm rubbing it against your lips?" he murmured, doing exactly that.

I nodded again, every single one of my senses completely hijacked by his heavy shaft.

He dragged his cock all over my face, tracing my eyes, my cheeks, and my forehead with that massive dick, teasing my lips with the coarse hair of his swollen balls.

"Well, I think it's strange that you aren't opening your mouth to swallow my entire cock."

Honestly, I thought so too. It was weird as fuck.

"That's what's strange," he continued, still rubbing himself against my face. "It's unnatural. Here's my cock. All you have to do is part your lips a little, and it's yours. You're dying to suck it, to take me so deep you choke on it."

I held my ground, keeping my lips pressed tight, even though I was savoring every single inch of his flesh against my skin.

"You're the one acting strange," he declared. And to my absolute misery, he sat back down in the rolling chair, depriving me of his touch, his scent, his pulse.

I was a split second away from begging him to come back and tempt me with his cock again, but I forced myself to hold back. He stared at me for a long time, that dangerous smile never leaving his face, his hand never stopping its slow rhythm on his shaft.

Finally, I forced myself to speak:

"But... do you even remember that night in the park?"

"Of course I remember. You're the one who doesn't seem to remember. That night, you didn't have any problem swallowing my cum. You sucked my cock like you were starving for it. I came in your mouth, pumped you full of my load, and then we kissed."

Everything he was saying was true, but the way he was saying it... It was like I was listening to a completely different person, not my Sergio.

"Are you bipolar or something?" I blurted out.

He laughed. A good sign, I guess.

"I'm just horny. Same as you. It turns me on seeing you sitting there, trying to play hard to get, when you're dying to give me one of your phenomenal blowjobs. It turns me on that I opened the door naked, and that I'm sitting here fondling my balls right in your face while you stammer. It turns me on to see you again. I've been dying to, but it just wasn't the right time."

"And now is the right time?"

"Well, you're here, aren't you?"

"I'm here," I admitted. "But I came to talk."

"You don't even believe that bullshit yourself," he said, standing up and planting his cock right against my mouth again.

I couldn't take it anymore. I gave the head of his dick a desperate, longing suck that tasted like absolute heaven. He thrust his hips forward and, exactly as he’d promised, filled my mouth with hot, throbbing flesh. I sucked him. I sucked his cock like it was my last day on earth, with a ravenous hunger that honestly scared me. Sergio fed me cock, and cock, and more cock, until I finally forced myself to stop and shoved him away.

He just laughed again.

"Play hard to get all you want. But you're not leaving here tonight without swallowing my cum."

I'm not leaving here tonight without talking to you, I told myself.

"I'm going to cum," he continued, his voice dropping lower. "A couple of thick ropes right on your tongue, so you can really taste it, and then I'll blast the rest all over your nose. You'll feel my thick cum sliding down to your lips. And you'll stick the tip of your tongue out to catch it."

"Today..."

"Today. Right fucking now. You're dying for it. Stop fighting it, Luis. You know it's going to happen."

"Today... I followed you to the beach."

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When I Stopped Waiting

VI

That very same night, I showed up at Sergio's place, fully intending to set the record straight. My initial plan was to keep my mouth shut about following him to the beach, but things didn't exactly go according to plan—something I was quickly going to have to get used to when it came to him.

I knocked on his door around ten o'clock. He opened it completely butt-naked, which immediately threw me off balance.

"Hey, Luis!" he said, sounding surprisingly thrilled to see me, considering he’d been icing me out for weeks.

"You're naked."

"You coming in?"

He stepped aside, and I walked in. As I passed him, the back of my hand accidentally brushed against his cock.

"Is this how you greet all your guests now?"

"Only you. I happened to see you pull up and park. You want a drink?"

There was only one fucking thing I wanted to put my lips around right then, and it sure as hell wasn't a Coke. But I had come here to talk. So I asked for a beer and dropped onto the couch, desperately trying to keep my eyes off his heavy dick and maintain some shred of focus.

Sergio brought me the beer and sat down right across from me in his rolling desk chair. He spread his legs wide, making damn sure I had a perfect view of his heavy balls and his cock, which was already starting to get hard. It took everything I had to look him in the eye.

"We need to talk," I said, swallowing hard.

"Are you sure? Wouldn't you rather I lay this right on your tongue?" he asked, stroking his cock with a filthy, lazy rhythm.

"No," I answered, though I didn't sound convincing at all.

"You want me to put something on?"

"No, that's not necessary." I hated myself for being so fucking weak.

"Alright. I'm listening." He pulled back his foreskin, revealing a rock-hard head already slick with pre-cum. "Do you mind if I touch myself while we talk?"

"It's your house. I'm not going to tell you what to do."

"Good. So, what do you want to talk about?" he asked, thrusting his hips forward, putting his cock on display exactly like he had done at the beach for other eyes just a few hours ago.

"Exactly this."

"Sex?"

"Well... you have to admit your behavior lately has been a little strange."

"What's strange about it? I'm not doing anything I haven't already done with you."

"But you've been treating me like absolute shit all these weeks. I've tried to talk to you forty different times, and you've dodged me every single time."

"My wife left me. I was trying to process it. I didn't exactly feel like talking about it with you," he said calmly, casually fondling his balls.

"Well, your attitude has completely changed now."

"I just got over it."

"Well, it seems pretty fucking weird to me, what do you want me to say?"

He smiled. And it was a dangerous fucking smile.

Then he stood up, walked over, and pressed the thick shaft of his cock right against my nose.

I breathed in deep, filling my lungs with his raw, musky scent.

"So, you think it's strange that I'm putting my cock in your face?"

I nodded, taking the opportunity to brush the tip of my nose against the slick head of his dick.

"Do you think it's weird that I'm rubbing it against your lips?" he murmured, doing exactly that.

I nodded again, every single one of my senses completely hijacked by his heavy shaft.

He dragged his cock all over my face, tracing my eyes, my cheeks, and my forehead with that massive dick, teasing my lips with the coarse hair of his swollen balls.

"Well, I think it's strange that you aren't opening your mouth to swallow my entire cock."

Honestly, I thought so too. It was weird as fuck.

"That's what's strange," he continued, still rubbing himself against my face. "It's unnatural. Here's my cock. All you have to do is part your lips a little, and it's yours. You're dying to suck it, to take me so deep you choke on it."

I held my ground, keeping my lips pressed tight, even though I was savoring every single inch of his flesh against my skin.

"You're the one acting strange," he declared. And to my absolute misery, he sat back down in the rolling chair, depriving me of his touch, his scent, his pulse.

I was a split second away from begging him to come back and tempt me with his cock again, but I forced myself to hold back. He stared at me for a long time, that dangerous smile never leaving his face, his hand never stopping its slow rhythm on his shaft.

Finally, I forced myself to speak:

"But... do you even remember that night in the park?"

"Of course I remember. You're the one who doesn't seem to remember. That night, you didn't have any problem swallowing my cum. You sucked my cock like you were starving for it. I came in your mouth, pumped you full of my load, and then we kissed."

Everything he was saying was true, but the way he was saying it... It was like I was listening to a completely different person, not my Sergio.

"Are you bipolar or something?" I blurted out.

He laughed. A good sign, I guess.

"I'm just horny. Same as you. It turns me on seeing you sitting there, trying to play hard to get, when you're dying to give me one of your phenomenal blowjobs. It turns me on that I opened the door naked, and that I'm sitting here fondling my balls right in your face while you stammer. It turns me on to see you again. I've been dying to, but it just wasn't the right time."

"And now is the right time?"

"Well, you're here, aren't you?"

"I'm here," I admitted. "But I came to talk."

"You don't even believe that bullshit yourself," he said, standing up and planting his cock right against my mouth again.

I couldn't take it anymore. I gave the head of his dick a desperate, longing suck that tasted like absolute heaven. He thrust his hips forward and, exactly as he’d promised, filled my mouth with hot, throbbing flesh. I sucked him. I sucked his cock like it was my last day on earth, with a ravenous hunger that honestly scared me. Sergio fed me cock, and cock, and more cock, until I finally forced myself to stop and shoved him away.

He just laughed again.

"Play hard to get all you want. But you're not leaving here tonight without swallowing my cum."

I'm not leaving here tonight without talking to you, I told myself.

"I'm going to cum," he continued, his voice dropping lower. "A couple of thick ropes right on your tongue, so you can really taste it, and then I'll blast the rest all over your nose. You'll feel my thick cum sliding down to your lips. And you'll stick the tip of your tongue out to catch it."

"Today..."

"Today. Right fucking now. You're dying for it. Stop fighting it, Luis. You know it's going to happen."

"Today... I followed you to the beach."

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When I Stopped Waiting

VII

I fully expected him to lose his shit, but Sergio just smiled.

"You followed me to the beach? And what exactly did you see?"

"Everything."

"Define 'everything'."

"Your little show leaning against the tree, the guys who blew their loads all over your face, the one who ate your ass..."

"What did you think of the double penetration?"

"I didn't see that part."

"Ah, then you missed the best part. Where were you hiding?"

"Right above your head."

"Did you film it?"

That's when I finally snapped.

"Did I film it? What the fuck are you talking about? Do you even hear yourself?"

"We could be watching it together right now."

"What the hell happened to you, Sergio? What have you turned into?"

"Hey, whoa! Back the fuck up. I'm the exact same guy I've always been. The problem is you just don't know me as well as you think you do."

"I might be the person who knows you best in the entire fucking world."

"You're wrong."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

He sighed.

"Let's see how I can explain this without offending you."

The crazy part was, the entire time we were having this conversation, he was still fondling his cock and balls, maintaining a terrifyingly hard erection.

"Don't get pissed off, okay?"

"I'll try," I said, knowing damn well I was going to get pissed off, but way too intrigued to say anything else.

"I guess it's best to go all the way back to the beginning. Do you remember the night we met?"

"Do I remember it? It's not exactly something I'm ever going to forget. Actually, I recently wrote a story about that night. I posted it on an erotica site."

"How flattering."

"I didn't use your real name."

"Why not?"

"What do you mean, why not? For starters, because you're married."

"But nothing actually happened that night, right?" he asked, flashing a strange, knowing smile.

"Well, I've written a few sequels too. And you don't exactly come out looking like a saint in all of them."

"Ah... Well, you'll have to let me read them sometime. Anyway, back to my point. The night we met at Pappy Dog, I went down to the darkroom with you. You were dead set on convincing me that I should be turned on by the fact that there were guys down there getting phenomenal blowjobs. I told you I was only into chicks, and that sex between men didn't do a fucking thing for me."

I nodded, having no idea where the hell he was going with this.

"After that, we swapped numbers and went home."

"It was one of the best nights of my life. I think I fell in love with you the exact second I saw you."

He waved his hand dismissively, like my comment was completely irrelevant, and kept talking.

"When I got home and got into bed, I kept replaying everything you’d told me about guys fucking, everything I’d caught glimpses of in that darkroom, and... it got me hot as a motherfucker. I jerked off so hard, and when I finally came, I realized that for a guy who supposedly wasn't turned on by men, I had just had one of the hottest fucking wanks of my life."

"You never told me that."

He made that dismissive hand gesture again to shut me up, and I suddenly had the urge to punch him right in the fucking face.

"I was still completely hard and I couldn't stop thinking about it. So I got dressed and went back out."

"Are we still talking about the exact same night?"

"Exactly. The night we met."

"You went back out? To the gay scene?" The gears in my brain started grinding.

"I went back to Pappy Dog. By myself. But by the time I got there, it was past six and they were already closed, so I went looking for an after-hours club. I ended up walking into Punto G D Gay."

I remembered that place. It was a bear bar with a heavy BDSM vibe. It didn't even exist anymore.

"The second I walked through the door, every single guy sitting at the bar turned and stared at me. I felt incredibly, intensely desired, and I got hard instantly. And then I just froze. I didn't know if I should go to the bar to order a drink, or go to the bathroom, or look for the darkroom. Every possible option terrified me. I felt completely paralyzed. I pictured myself trying to hit on one of those guys, and panic set in. I just wanted to get my dick sucked. I needed one of those guys to suck me off, but I had no fucking clue what I was supposed to do to make it happen. My whole body was shaking. I was terrified, but I was so incredibly hot. You're not going to believe this, but suddenly, it was like my hands weren't even mine. I unzipped my jeans right there, right at the entrance of the bar. It was like I was watching it happen on a TV screen, like it wasn't even me doing it. I pulled my cock out and just stared down at it. I didn't dare look toward the bar. I didn't want to think, because if I thought about it, I might realize that public exposure—even in a gay bar—probably wasn't allowed, and they were going to throw me out, and I was going to suffer the worst fucking humiliation of my life."

"But suddenly, a pair of pants stepped into my field of vision, and a hand wrapped around my cock. My own hands grabbed this heavy-set guy by the shoulders and shoved him down, and he just let himself be pushed down. He took my cock into his mouth while every single guy in the bar watched us. I closed my eyes and just let myself enjoy it—enjoying the blowjob, and enjoying the insane situation I had somehow caused. And you have no fucking idea how this guy sucked. He was choking on my cock, taking it so deep I was actually worried he was going to hurt himself. Thick trails of spit were running down his chin; he soaked me completely. You know, one of those frantic, spasmodic blowjobs that leaves you completely weak. He sucked me off for about twenty minutes. I warned him when I was about to cum, and he just went at it harder. I came, and he swallowed my entire load without a single complaint. Afterward, like absolutely nothing had happened, I walked up to the bar and ordered a drink. I spent the rest of the night talking to the bartender, who kept telling me how fucking hot I was, how he couldn't believe it was my first time with a guy, and how nobody had the balls to pull off what I had just done. When the after-hours club closed, the bartender invited me back to his place, and I went with him. He introduced me to his man, who was asleep, and made me get into bed between them. I slept with them, and I woke up to two expert mouths licking me absolutely everywhere—from my nipples to my toes, and right up my asshole and my balls." As he said that, he weighed them in his hand. "After that, you can understand my need to explore. I went to Pappy Dog and my new friend's bar almost every single night, and I did absolutely everything with everyone. I turned out to be an insatiable stud—something I still am to this day."

"Are you making all this shit up? Are you just trying to get me hot?"

"I swear to God, it happened exactly the way I'm telling you."

"It doesn't fit you. If that's true, you've been lying to my face for years."

"That's exactly my point. You were a new friend, and I was just starting to discover new sides of my sexuality. At first, I just decided to let you keep believing what I told you that first night. Then I met Marta and started dating her, and it didn't seem like a smart idea to tell you about my hookups. And to top it all off, you fell in love with me. I couldn't sleep with you because I knew it would hurt you, because I didn't fall in love with you—I fell in love with Marta. On top of that, I started being a lot more careful about where I went to fuck so I wouldn't run into you. I knew it would crush you to see me fucking other guys when I could have been fucking you, knowing how much you loved me."

"You son of a bitch. I don't understand you."

"What don't you understand? I'll explain it to you."

"I've thrown myself at you in every possible way for years, and you played the uptight straight guy while actually being a total fucking slut? You used to call me almost crying, telling me you were going to leave Marta because she wouldn't give you a fucking blowjob, because of her phobia of cum. You told me you were sick of it because you'd never had your dick sucked in your life and cheating wasn't an option. And the whole time, you'd gotten more blowjobs than Marcos and me combined."

"I was playing a role. To you, that's who I was. So when I was with you, that's who I was. That's not lying."

"You are out of your fucking mind."

"Fine. It's lying. But we all lie, Luis. We all have a million different sides to us. We're all different people depending on who we're with."

"I'm not."

"You snuck out to the park with me while Marcos was asleep in your bed."

"That's not what we're talking about. We're talking about the fact that I thought you were my best friend. I trusted you, and you systematically lied to my face. For years."

"You're pissed off."

"Fuck yes, I'm pissed off! Every single memory I have with you is a fucking lie!"

"Don't exaggerate, Luis..."

"When you jerked off that day after I got you hot touching your nipples... do you have any idea how I felt when you kicked me out of your house right after? You made me feel dirty. You made me feel guilty for seducing you."

"Try to understand. I was confused. I had promised myself that nothing would ever happen between us, exactly so I would never have to tell you the truth about me. But the situation was just too fucking hot, and I couldn't hold back."

"And what about playing dumb in the bathrooms at La Muesca Alemana? Oh, wow, Luis! Don't tell me guys actually come to the bathroom to get their dicks sucked!"

"I'm telling you, I had to act according to who you thought I was. Just like everyone else does."

"Not everyone is a disgusting, cynical sociopath with bipolar disorder and a sex addiction."

"You're really pissed off."

The sick fuck was still hard. He was completely destroying my reality, shattering my heart into a million pieces, and he was still rock-hard. I felt so sick... so utterly broken... that I honestly don't know how I managed to swallow my pride, drop to my knees, and take his massive cock into my mouth without saying another fucking word.

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