I Confess What Happened with Damián in the Middle of Carnival

Damián came back to the village after five straight days chipping stone on the construction site. He got on the morning bus first thing Friday, and I stayed in the shed trying not to think about him. I’d actually spent weeks thinking about him: about the way he would tuck Lorena in in the shared room when he thought no one was looking, the way he scratched his belly button when he got up, the way he filled out those worker shorts that no longer quite closed at the waist.

The number of handjobs I gave myself fantasizing about him had me sick of myself. And of my own hand. I’d come in my fist imagining that young stud’s cock rammed all the way down my throat, imagining his hairy ass sitting on my face, imagining anything at all as long as I could cum twice a night thinking about him.

That same night, late, my cell phone rang. It was him. He was half drunk and his voice came out wet, slow, hiccuping between one phrase and the next.

—Boss, I got screwed —he said—. They took everything from me at the cantina at the crossroads. My whole pay, my ID, the change in my pocket. Everything.

I told him to calm down, to breathe. He didn’t calm down. He started crying like a six-year-old kid. That he didn’t have money to get back, that he didn’t have money to eat, that his mother was going to kill him, that if I could “help him out,” that he was desperate, that please, please.

I sent him just enough through the app so he could come back two days later. I felt sorry for him, sure. But I also felt something else, something lower, something I had trouble admitting to myself while I filled out the transfer receipt. My cock went hard, pressed against the leg of my pajama pants, and when I hung up I pulled it out and jerked off thinking about how he was going to pay me back every peso I’d advanced him.

Sunday afternoon came. He got off the bus with his backpack hanging from one shoulder, sweaty, unkempt, looking like he hadn’t slept a wink. The whole village was in carnival mode: loudspeakers in the square, kids throwing water balloons, motorcycles crossing by with paper flags tied to the handlebars. And there he was, defeated, right in the middle of all that.

—Boss, thank you —he muttered.

—Go take a shower and come eat something —I told him, like it was nothing.

***

The site was shut down for the holiday. No one was going to show up Monday, and Damián had no village left to go back to, because his mother had kicked him out a month earlier for going on a bender. I suggested he come to my house to rake the garden and clean the back porch. Any excuse would do. Any excuse was a good one.

That afternoon I bought a case of beer and put it in the fridge at the back, where it wouldn’t be noticed. When he arrived, still wearing the same baggy shorts from the trip and a white T-shirt that smelled like a long bus ride, I offered him the first can like I was offering him a glass of water. He downed it in three swallows.

—Pretty good, boss.

—There’s more —I told him.

And there was more. One, two, five, seven. Damián was twenty-two years old and had a body that seemed bottomless. He drank like the beer was going straight into a vein. In two hours his eyes were already small, bloodshot, shiny, and he was laughing to himself with the cigarette smoke between his fingers.

He didn’t eat. He didn’t want to eat. I insisted twice, and the third time he waved me off with his hand, like he was swatting a fly. Then he flopped down on the porch sofa and fell asleep almost immediately, his arms spread in a cross and his head hanging to one side.

I sat in the chair across from him and kept staring at him for a long time. Too long. The light from the bulb hit him from the side and traced the line of his jaw, still with a three-day shadow of badly shaved stubble. He had his T-shirt rolled up to his ribs, leaving his belly button exposed and a little trail of dark hair running down toward the shorts. The shorts hung so loose at the waist that any movement showed the waistband of his underwear, and in his crotch you could make out a thick bulge spread toward his left thigh, obscene even asleep.

I moved closer, slowly. If he wakes up, I’ll say I was covering him up.

He didn’t wake up.

I ran my hand over his chest and lifted his shirt up to his neck. No chest hair, not a single one, the skin still young, slightly tanned, with an old scar at rib height. But the armpits were another matter: two dark, thick patches, with that coarse male hair that clings to the body even if the guy bathed hours earlier. They smelled of sour sweat, of sun, of a long trip. I leaned in and inhaled like it was the first time I’d ever breathed in my life. I stuck out my tongue and licked the hollow of his armpit, slowly, tasting the salt, the stale sweat, the smell of man trapped in clothing for two days. My cock hardened instantly, rock-hard, already wet with pre-cum against the fabric of my pants.

***

I helped him to his feet, murmuring in his ear that we were going to the bedroom, that he slept better there. Damián walked with heavy feet, leaning against my shoulder, and let himself be thrown face-up onto the double bed. He moved his head twice, opened his eyes halfway, looked at me, and closed them again with a smile that was not innocent.

He’s pretending to be asleep on purpose.

I ran my hand over his shorts, slowly, without squeezing. I felt the soft, warm bulge, much bigger than I’d already imagined. And I felt it grow there, under the fabric, throbbing on its own, without him making the slightest gesture. His cock was hardening at a slow, stubborn pace, as if it wanted to make it clear to me that it was awake even if its owner didn’t want to be. I squeezed his balls over the shorts and he shifted slightly, spreading his legs a bit more, giving me permission without giving me permission.

When I slid my hand under the waistband, the first thing I found was a thick patch of long, silky hair, dense all the way to the belly button. I wrapped my fingers around it. The cock was a dark pole, much thicker than it was long, with the head already uncovered and a color that was almost furious red. It smelled of stale piss, of male sweat, of something that should not have been smelling in my own bed on a carnival Sunday. I lifted it in my fist and jerked it slowly, feeling it pulse alive between my fingers, feeling a thick drop of clear spit drip onto my thumb. I brought the finger to my mouth. It tasted like salt and iron.

I started jerking him off like that, slow, looking at his face to see if he reacted. His mouth parted slightly. His legs separated a little. But his eyes stayed closed. I sped up my fist, squeezing hard under the mushroom head, rubbing the foreskin against the glans until the pre-cum started running down the shaft and wetting my wrist. A low moan escaped him, almost a snore, and his hips moved on their own, pushing upward, fucking the air.

***

I climbed on top without taking my clothes off all the way. I pulled his shorts down to his ankles and leaned over his torso. I started with the armpits, again. I buried my face, licked, bit the hairs, inhaled so hard I got dizzy. Damián moaned for the first time, a low whimper, a sound he hadn’t planned on letting out. His cock twitched against my stomach, leaving a wet mark on my shirt.

I lowered my lips down his hairless chest, over his belly button, over the little trail of hair, until I reached the dark nest between his legs. I grabbed his balls with my free hand. They were small, hairy, tucked close to the body, almost hidden behind that wild patch. I put them in my mouth one by one, feeling them slide between my lips, playing with them with my tongue, sucking them hungrily, while I kept jerking his cock with my closed fist. I pulled them out wet and licked all along the seam of his scrotum, up to the base of the shaft, burying my nose again in that tuft of hair that smelled of two days’ sweat.

Then I went up. I opened my mouth and swallowed the head in one motion. I ran my tongue around the glans, pressing the crown with my lips, and went down until I was halfway down the shaft, already choking on the first gags. I spat saliva on the cock and went down again, this time all the way to the base, until my nose sank once more into his thick pubic bush.

Damián arched his back like he’d been electrocuted. The hand hanging off the bed shot up and grabbed the back of my neck, forcing me down. I choked. I coughed. I spat. Saliva ran from the corners of my mouth and fell onto his balls. I slapped his thigh and he loosened up for a second. Then he pushed again, harder, fucking my throat like it was any cunt. I could feel the head knocking against my uvula, the hairs scraping my chin, the smell of man driven all the way into my brain. The only thing I knew for sure was that the guy didn’t want me to stop and was going to use my mouth however he pleased.

—Hold still, boss —he murmured, with a thick, slurred voice, without opening his eyes—. Suck it all. All the way in.

So he was awake. So he’d been awake the whole time. I locked eyes with him from below, with his cock down my throat, and did as he said. I sucked his cock like it was the last thing I was ever going to eat in my life, sliding up and down, pressing my lips against the shaft, sucking his balls in between, spitting saliva over the pole so the whole thing shone. Damián held my neck the whole time, guiding my rhythm, growling curses under his breath.

—Like that, little boss, like that… suck it good… damn, sir, you’ve got a sweet mouth…

***

I sat up before I came in my throat. I pulled down my pants and reached for the bottle of lube in the nightstand drawer. Damián still had his eyes closed, but now with a wide, shameless grin, like a kid who’d just had a whim granted. He grabbed his cock, slick with spit, and jerked it slowly, waiting.

I coated my fingers and got myself ready, standing there beside the bed while he lifted his head just enough to watch. I shoved two fingers into my ass in one go, clenching my teeth, forcing myself open, while he licked his lips and stroked his cock, hard against his belly button. I smeared a good amount of lube on his shaft and spread it with my fist until the whole thing gleamed.

Then I climbed on top of him, facing away, and lined his cock up between my ass cheeks. I lowered myself slowly. Too thick. Too hard. The head pushed and wouldn’t go in, and with every attempt a groan tore out from between my teeth. I could feel the glans pushing against my sphincter, stretching me, burning me.

—Slowly —I said, more to myself than to him.

Damián wasn’t in the mood for slowly. He grabbed my hips with both hands and lowered me himself, in one firm motion. I felt something open inside me, my breath cut off, my eyes filling with water. His cock went in all at once to the balls, spearing me from top to bottom, and I let out a shout that got stuck in my mouth. I stayed still for a few seconds, leaning on his chest, waiting for my body to let me keep going, feeling his cock throbbing inside me like a second heart.

—Damn, boss, your little ass is so tight —he panted, laughing under his breath—. Move already, go on.

Then I started moving. I rode up and down on that thick cock, feeling it slide out to the head and go back in to the hilt, each thrust ripping an animal grunt out of me. I dug my nails into his thighs, braced myself farther back, and started riding him like my life depended on it, my own cock slapping against my belly button, dripping pre-cum over his hairless stomach.

***

Damián pumped into me from below like he’d been holding back that fury for weeks. He didn’t talk to me. He barely grunted. Every now and then he dug his nails into my hips and yanked me toward him so hard the bed creaked. I held on however I could, thighs shaking, clawing at his forearms more and more desperately each time. The sound of his balls slapping my ass with each thrust filled the room, a wet, dirty splashing that mixed with my moans and his growls.

At one point he flipped me over. He put me face down, grabbed my wrists and held them against the sheet. He forced my legs apart with his knee, spat on my ass, shoved it back in with a single thrust, and settled over me with all his weight. He bit my shoulder. He bit my neck. He bit my ear. And he kept pushing, slow at first, then brutal, hammering my ass against the mattress, crushing my cock between my belly and the sheet. Ten minutes passed, fifteen, twenty, and the guy still didn’t ease up. He stopped, stayed still inside me, waited for his breathing to settle, and went again. He pulled out all the way, looked at my open, wet hole, spit in his hand, smeared himself again, and rammed it back in all at once.

—It’s been a while since I came, boss —he whispered—. A long time. I’m going to fill that little ass of yours up real good, get ready.

—Come inside, go on —I panted into the pillow—. Cum all the way inside, bastard, give me all your load.

And when he finally came, it was like he was letting out everything he’d been holding inside from the five days on the site, the robbery at the cantina, the mother who’d kicked him out, the carnivals he wasn’t going to be able to dance at. He grabbed my hips, dug his nails in until I bled, and started spilling his load in thick, hot bursts, so deep inside me I felt it rise up into my guts. There were five, six, seven spasms, and with each one he growled like a beast against my neck. I felt the hot stream pouring inside me and him trembling on top of me as if he had a fever. I came underneath him without touching myself, rubbing my cock against the sheet, soaking it with semen while he kept thrusting. He kept thrusting even after that, slower and slower, splashing around in his own cum inside me, until he fell asleep on my back, his cock still trapped in my body, his load dripping down his balls and my crotch.

***

That dawn we did it two more times. The second time was calmer, almost tender, with him still half asleep and me guiding him from behind. He slid it in slow, spooning me, hugging me from behind, breathing on my nape, and he pumped me for at least half an hour with long, deep thrusts before emptying my ass for the second time. The third was near sunrise, with the birds in the yard starting to sing. I rode him this time, sitting on his hard cock, and I fucked myself on it looking him in the eye, watching him wake up under me, watching him grab my dick and jerk it in time with my rising and falling. I came over his hairless chest in thick spurts that reached his chin, and he licked up what landed near his mouth before grabbing my hips and emptying me inside for the third time that night. And that time he kissed me on the mouth for the first time. He kissed me clumsily, like someone who’s never done it with a man, with the taste of my own cum still on his tongue, but he kissed me.

On Monday morning I woke up before he did. I left coffee and eggs on the porch table and sat in the chair waiting for him. When he came out of the room, in his underwear, hair messy, eyes swollen, he didn’t say a word about what had happened. He sat down, ate, lit a cigarette, looked at the garden.

—What needs raking, boss? —he asked at last.

—We’ll rake later —I told him.

Damián smiled without lifting his eyes from the plate. He scratched his belly button, scratched his badly shaved beard, and laughed softly.

Those were the best carnivals of my life. And although we never spoke of that night again, the two of us know it wasn’t the last.