Confession of a Wank with My Old Friend

My name is Sergio, I’m over fifty, and I’ve been married for half my life. I’ve never had a bad sex life with my wife—quite the opposite. We’ve always understood each other well in bed, with trust, desire, and that peace of mind that comes from knowing each other’s bodies for years. That’s why, if someone had told me back then that one of the most intense experiences of my life would begin with another man’s cock, I would have laughed right in their face.

It all started quite simply. One night, browsing the internet without looking for anything in particular, I came across a forum where a guy was asking whether it was normal to feel curious about touching another man’s penis without considering yourself gay. I spent longer reading the replies than I’d like to admit. Some were mockery, others insults, but a few were very direct confessions from married men—straight, according to them—who admitted to that kink.

I read it several times. I closed the page. I opened it again. And I realized that the question had left me deeply unsettled.

The truth was, I had looked at other men’s cocks more than once myself. In locker rooms, bathrooms, showers, in those situations where a man pretends he isn’t looking while comparing, assessing, and feeling a dirty curiosity he never admits to. It had never gone beyond that, but simply recognizing myself in that question left a sharp itch in my mind for days.

The following week we went to a work celebration for my wife. I wasn’t in the mood at all. Those gatherings bore me: people I don’t know, repetitive conversations, polite smiles, and alcohol to endure it. I went into the place with the awkward resignation of a husband tagging along, until I saw a familiar face at the other end of the bar.

It took me a second to place him. It was Darío, a friend from my youth whom I hadn’t seen since the end of high school. Broader-shouldered, more serious-looking, with a discreet receding hairline and that way of smiling with one side of his mouth that was still exactly the same. My wife introduced us formally, though there was no need.

“It can’t be,” I blurted, shaking his hand. “How many years has it been?”

“Too many,” he replied, squeezing my hand firmly. “I would’ve recognized you anyway, you bastard.”

Our wives hit it off immediately and left us together. At first it was the usual conversation: work, moving house, grown children, routines, aches and pains, memories of our youth. Then the drinks came, and with them that old familiarity began to emerge, as if it had been sleeping beneath our skin. Within a couple of hours we were talking as though decades hadn’t passed.

We remembered girlfriends, crazy escapades, drunken nights, trips. Then, I don’t even know how, the conversation slid toward sex. I suppose alcohol helps take the weight out of certain words. We started talking about fantasies, things one doesn’t tell at an ordinary dinner table, quirks, habits, how desire changes with age. I was already pretty horny, not only because of what he was saying but because of the way he looked at me while listening.

That was when I told him about the forum. Not as some grand revelation, but as a comment tossed into the air, half-laughing, while watching his reaction.

Darío took a few seconds to answer. He looked at his glass, took a drink, and then said to me in a low voice:

“To be honest, I’ve looked too. More than once.”

I felt a hard blow to the stomach. Not fear. Excitement.

“And did it turn you on?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said bluntly. “Quite a lot.”

We fell silent for a moment, with the noise of the place all around us and that sentence hanging between us. I could feel my cock beginning to harden inside my trousers. He was more serious too, more focused on me than on anything else.

After a while I had to go to the bathroom. I told him, and he got up with me, saying he’d been holding it for a while too. We entered the men’s room and found the urinals at the back free, half-hidden by a partition. We stood side by side and took our cocks out to piss.

I’m not going to pretend I was decent: I looked.

At first I glanced sideways, then a little more openly. He had a thick cock, somewhat larger than mine, with a dark glans and balls drawn up by the cold bathroom. He realized I was looking at it and, instead of turning away or playing dumb, he smiled. That smile made me even worse.

What happened next was quick and, at the same time, stayed etched in my memory with brutal clarity. While we finished pissing, he reached out and brushed the back of my hand. I didn’t pull away. On the contrary, I turned it over and squeezed his. His other hand went straight down to my cock, still out, still soft but reacting instantly. He closed his hand around it firmly, without roughness, as though he’d been thinking about doing it for some time.

My breath caught.

I grabbed his. I felt its heat, its weight, the skin tightening beneath my fingers. Within seconds both began to grow. He fondled my balls with his fingertips, and I did the same. The thrill of holding someone else’s cock for the first time exploded in my head. It wasn’t theory, fantasy, or abstract curiosity. It was a real cock, growing harder and harder in my hand.

The bathroom door opened and people came in. We had to let go abruptly, regain our composure, and walk out as if nothing had happened. But it was already too late to pretend everything was normal.

***

We then sat in a more secluded part of the place, with another drink in front of us. I needed to talk, to put a name to what had happened, even if only to forbid it. He seemed more determined than I was.

“I don’t know what the fuck happened to me in there,” I said nervously.

“The same thing that happened to me,” he replied. “You turned me on, and I didn’t feel like pretending to be a saint.”

“I don’t want any weird complications.”

“Neither do I. But don’t tell me you didn’t like it.”

I couldn’t deny it. I didn’t even want to.

I told him I’d liked it more than I could admit, but that didn’t mean I liked men. He gave a short laugh and replied that he didn’t give a damn about labels. He was married, he desired his wife, and even so, he desperately wanted to touch my cock again.

At that moment his wife came over to tell us that they were going somewhere else to continue the night. My wife was delighted with the plan too, and they assumed we wouldn’t want to go. They offered to return separately later. Darío and I exchanged a look that decided everything before either of us said a word.

We were left alone.

When we left the place and got into the car, the banal conversation of two reunited friends didn’t begin. Something else did. A thick, almost adolescent tension filled the entire interior of the vehicle.

“Your place or mine?” I asked.

“Neither,” he said. “Somewhere discreet would be better.”

I knew of a vacant lot on the outskirts where couples went to fuck inside their cars. We went there. The place was dark, with several vehicles parked apart from one another, some rocking with that unmistakable motion. There were fogged-up windows, distant moans, a mixture of kink and clandestineness that turned me on even more.

I parked with one side of the car against a wall so we would be partly concealed. I turned off the engine. Suddenly the silence became heavy.

“One thing,” I said, trying to sound firm. “No kissing. No fucking. Just a wank. And we’ll see.”

“Perfect,” he replied without arguing. “I only want to touch you.”

We undid our trousers. I pulled mine and my underwear down to my knees. My cock was half-hard, thick but still halfway there. His, on the other hand, was already rising eagerly, wet at the tip. We each started with our own hand, facing each other in the front seats, looking at each other’s cocks without shame.

The mere sound of the other man’s breathing was arousing. Our hands moved up and down with an awkward rhythm at first, more purposeful afterward. I couldn’t stop watching Darío’s foreskin slide back, the shiny glans appearing, clear fluid beginning to seep from it. His thighs were spread and his cock was stiff, trembling slightly with every stroke.

“I want to jerk you off,” he told me in a hoarse voice.

“I want to grab that cock of yours properly too,” I answered.

We took off everything from the waist down and moved to the back seat. Naked now, sitting opposite each other with our legs spread, the sight hit me full force. Darío was completely hard, his balls shaved, his cock pointing toward his navel. I was no less aroused. My skin felt tight and hot.

I grabbed his cock and began jerking him off slowly, feeling it grow even harder inside my fist. He wrapped one hand around mine with practiced skill, moving up and down with exactly the right pressure to drive me crazy. The pleasure of feeling a male hand—strong, different from mine and different from my wife’s—was brutal. Not more romantic. Not more tender. Just different, more direct, dirtier.

“Fuck, you’ve got a beautiful cock,” he murmured.

“And yours is driving me crazy,” I replied without looking away.

We went on like that for quite a while, masturbating each other, until I dared to lower my other hand to his balls. I kneaded them gently and he let out a restrained moan. He asked me not to hold back, so I continued, massaging them, tugging lightly, feeling his whole body tense.

My fingers moved lower. They brushed his ass. I waited for a refusal that never came.

“Go on,” he said, spreading his legs wider. “Put it in if you feel like it.”

I caressed his hole with the tip of my middle finger in small circles while continuing to jerk him off. His breathing changed immediately. He pushed his ass toward my hand, asking for it without hiding anything. The finger went in at first only to the tip, then to the first knuckle. I felt it tight, hot, damp with sweat. Darío let out a deep moan and grabbed my forearm.

“That’s it, you bastard, that’s it... don’t stop.”

I pushed my finger in a little farther, slowly, and sped up the handjob with my other hand. He threw his head back, teeth clenched, his cock throbbing in my palm. I could feel the pre-orgasmic contractions. His glans became shinier, wetter.

“I’m going to come,” he growled. “Don’t slow down.”

I didn’t slow down. I jerked him hard, pushing my finger in as far as I could without hurting him. And then he came. His cum shot out in powerful streams; the first hit my neck and chest, the next splattered my stomach. Seeing that hot semen on my skin, brought out by my hand and my finger inside his ass, pushed me so close to the edge that I almost came with him.

Darío was breathing in great gulps, trembling.

“Now it’s your turn,” he said, his voice still strained.

He shifted position and grabbed my cock hungrily, using some of the semen still on his hand to lubricate me better. The slippery touch pulled a shamefully loud moan from me. With his other hand he fondled my balls and reached for my ass.

“Relax,” he told me. “You’re going to like it.”

His finger massaged my asshole calmly, without rushing. I was so turned on that I didn’t resist. When he began to enter me, I felt a strange mixture of discomfort and pleasure that made me arch my back. He kept stroking my cock at the same time, and that changed everything. The sensation became a continuous jolt rising from my ass to the base of my balls.

“Fuck... keep going,” I told him. “Keep going, don’t stop, you bastard.”

He pushed his finger deeper and jerked me faster. I pushed my hips toward his hand myself, seeking more. I felt my abdomen tighten, my cock give little tugs, the orgasm coming from inside me in a new and brutal way.

I came in streams over his chest and stomach, my cock pulsing inside his hand. I don’t remember releasing so much tension in a wank in years. I was left gasping, my legs weak and my ass still clenching around the finger he had just withdrawn.

We cleaned ourselves with some wipes and dressed from the waist down, still dazed. We didn’t talk much. Just enough to acknowledge that what we’d done had been outrageous and that neither of us wanted to pretend to feel completely sorry. I drove him home. Before he got out, we exchanged numbers.

I got home with my body still burning.

My wife came back later, slightly drunk and very horny. She climbed into bed naked, put her hand on me, and immediately found that I was hard again. She straddled me without much preamble, wet and hungry, moving with a rhythm that made me think the unthinkable: while I fucked her, I remembered Darío’s cock in my hand. The contrast turned me on even more. That night I came inside my wife again, my head full of images I never intended to tell her about.

***

During the following days I couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened. His cock, its weight in my hand, the moans, the hot semen on my skin, the ease with which we had broken through a boundary I’d thought was firm—all of it stayed in my head. Darío wrote to me the next morning. A simple greeting, then a joke, then a clear sentence: “I can’t stop thinking about last night.”

Neither could I.

The opportunity came sooner than expected. Our wives had to travel for work for several days. Before they left, we arranged a dinner at home for the four of us to say goodbye. Everything appeared normal: grilled meat, wine, laughter, conversation. But beneath the table there was another current. Every time Darío passed near me, he barely brushed against me. Once, in the kitchen, he pressed himself against me from behind while I was cutting bread, and I felt his hard package against my ass.

“I’ve spent the whole week thinking about your cock,” he whispered.

“And I’ve been thinking about yours,” I replied without turning around. “But hold on.”

We barely managed to hold out until they left the next day. My wife left aroused; she even left me hanging before getting into the taxi, her pussy wet and a promise for when she returned. Half an hour later there was a knock at the door. It was Darío. My neighbor, of course, was peeking out her window like a radar system behind net curtains.

He came in laughing about that, but as soon as I closed the door his expression changed. He looked at my hands, came closer, and lifted them to his face.

“You touched your wife before she left, didn’t you?”

I didn’t have time to answer. He smelled my fingers and then licked them slowly. I felt an immediate jolt in my cock.

“You son of a bitch,” I said, half laughing, half breathless. “I didn’t expect that.”

“Then wait until you see the rest.”

We left immediately to avoid suspicion and went back to the same vacant lot. This time we arrived while there was still some daylight. We waited inside the car, talking for a while, trying to give a rational air to something that no longer had one. We repeated that we weren’t a couple, that we weren’t in love, that we still desired our wives. All of that was true, and yet we were both wildly eager to touch each other again.

As soon as it grew a little darker, we stripped again and moved to the back seat. This time there was much less shyness. Darío grabbed my cock as soon as he sat down and began masturbating me confidently, using his thumb to insist on the frenulum, since he already knew that drove me crazy. I gripped his and pumped it hard, feeling how stiff and wet it was.

“You don’t know how much I’ve needed this,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Then show me.”

He spread my legs wider and slipped his hand between my buttocks. His finger found me immediately and began working my ass with more confidence than the time before. Almost at the same moment, I lowered my hand and put a finger in him. We both moaned. The inside of his ass was more relaxed, and so was mine. There was no surprise anymore, only desire.

We masturbated each other furiously, with broken breathing, sinking our fingers into each other at the same time. Every time Darío pushed his finger in and out, my cock jumped in his hand. Every time I brushed him inside, his cock throbbed and leaked more fluid. It stopped being just a mutual wank. It was a filthy, concentrated exchange of control and pleasure, without kisses, without tender caresses, pure kink between two men aroused like animals.

“Deeper,” he begged. “Put it in properly.”

I did. So did he with me. Our asses opened and closed around each other’s fingers while our cocks moved up and down inside slippery fists. I was leaning against the seatback, my legs spread too wide, letting out moans I never would have imagined making for another man. I didn’t care. In that dark car, surrounded by other cars where other couples were surely fucking, all that mattered was Darío’s hand on my cock and his finger inside me.

“I want to come with you,” he said, panting.

I tightened my grip on his cock, pushed my finger all the way in, and began jerking him quickly. He did the same to me. I felt it first in his cock: the dry contractions, the taut skin, the glans on the verge of exploding. Then in mine, a hot wave rising from my ass to my belly.

We came almost at the same time.

His semen struck my chest in several streams, and mine shot over the seat and part of my stomach. We continued for a little longer, squeezing out each other’s last spasms, until our cocks lost their strength and only our gasping and the thick smell of semen remained inside the car.

We burst out laughing like two exhausted idiots. But even that hadn’t been the end.

When the hands-free phone rang, it was my wife calling from the hotel. I answered, trying to keep my voice steady. She asked me about the trip, how I was doing, and whether I remembered the sexual promise she’d made before leaving. While I answered her with affectionate phrases, Darío caressed my package beneath the steering wheel and made obscene pouting faces, silently mocking me. The situation was so filthy that I got hard again in the middle of the call.

As soon as I hung up, we looked at each other and there was no need to speak. Trousers off again. Hands on cocks again. This third wank was shorter, more urgent, fueled by the tension of the call and the fact that we had already unloaded earlier. Darío milked my cock with short, fast movements until he pulled another, smaller load from me onto his hands. I returned the favor immediately, gripping him hard at the base, grinding his glans with my thumb until he came onto his T-shirt and my wrist, squeezing my thigh with his fingers.

We were exhausted, sticky, and satisfied in an almost ridiculous way. We cleaned ourselves, got dressed, and I drove him home. I thought the night had ended there.

It hadn’t.

When I stopped in front of his building, three emails arrived from an unknown address. I opened the first out of sheer curiosity and my blood ran cold. Someone had recorded us. Not once, but on both nights at the vacant lot. They knew who we were. They knew our wives were away. They said they had seen Darío moaning, watched us come, watched us enjoying ourselves. And they threatened to send the videos to our contacts if we didn’t cooperate when they called us.

I read the message aloud and felt the pleasure turn into a knot of fear.

Darío cursed and went white.

I squeezed the phone with cold fury, staring at the screen as if I could strangle whoever was behind it. Until that moment, everything had been kink, desire, and release. Suddenly, our cocks, our wanks, and our moans were no longer just a shared secret. They were a weapon in someone else’s hands.

And I knew, before the call came, that this was only the beginning.