My First Gay Night at My Hosts’ House

I arrived in the north in the middle of a heat wave, sweaty, tired, and with that strange feeling of being out of place before I had even taken my suitcase out of the car. The address led me to a stately street lined with tall buildings, iron balconies, and entrances from another era. When I saw the façade, I thought I had made a mistake: for the price I had paid, I expected something simple, not that enormous apartment in an area far too elegant for my budget.

I pressed the intercom, and a young, calm male voice answered almost immediately. I identified myself, and the buzzer sounded like an invitation into another world. I went upstairs with my backpack over one shoulder, drenched in heat, and when I entered I found myself in a small foyer that opened onto an immense living room separated by a glass door with colored stained-glass panels.

One of the owners was waiting for me there.

He was wearing a light robe open over a tiny swimsuit, as though he had no need to pretend to modesty in his own home. He was handsome, impeccably groomed, with the kind of masculine beauty you look at for one second too long even if you do not want to admit it. He smiled, held out his hand, and ushered me in with such natural ease that it disarmed me.

“You must be Darío,” he said. “Come in, we’ve been expecting you. My husband’s still in the shower. I’m Mauro.”

He offered me a beer before I could even put my suitcase down properly. I accepted, more out of confusion than thirst, and sat with him in that immaculate living room that smelled of wood, expensive cologne, and cool air. We talked easily: about my trip, his city, the south I had come from, and the audiovisual business they ran together. Everything in that house breathed money, taste, and a quiet confidence that impressed me considerably more than I wanted to admit.

The other one appeared soon afterward.

He emerged from the hallway in a dark kimono, his hair wet and his expression calmer, almost more restrained than Mauro’s. He was probably a few years younger than me, but considerably older than his husband. Dark-haired, effortlessly attractive, with that sober masculinity that carries more weight than showiness. He introduced himself as Iván, shook my hand, took another beer, and sat beside me as though I were not a newly arrived stranger but someone they had already decided to accept.

With three beers in me and half a day of driving in my body, I began relaxing far too quickly. Iván showed me the bedroom: a large four-poster bed, abstract paintings, a huge wardrobe, and a balcony overlooking a lively, noisy street. It was much better than I had expected.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said. “We’re going out for a while. We only have one bathroom, so if you see the door closed, you know why.”

Once I was alone, I unpacked, showered, and put on the white bathrobe they had left for me. Then I sprawled on the bed with my phone and, out of simple curiosity, looked up the rental listing again. That was when I noticed the detail I had overlooked. In discreet but perfectly clear letters: “gay friendly.”

I laughed to myself.

Not out of rejection. More because of the irony of ending up there without realizing it. The truth was, the subject had always made me curious. I had never been with a man, and I had never considered myself gay, but I was not so naïve as to pretend certain thoughts did not arouse something inside me. There was definitely a thrill to it. A thrill and a new freedom that had been circling me for some time: the feeling that I no longer wanted to spend my life repressing what turned me on.

So I wrote to the woman I had been playing with from a distance for weeks. She was older than me, shameless, intelligent, and obscenely uninhibited. We had planned to meet in that city, although that very evening she had warned me she would not be able to. Still, she was quick to make it up to me.

“Tonight I want you on video,” she wrote. “Get your cock ready.”

I burst out laughing. That was just how she was.

A little while later, she sent me a picture of herself spreading her pussy open with two fingers, wet and pink, her clitoris swollen and her lips glistening. Beneath it she wrote: “Do as I say and show me something no one’s ever shown me.”

Just then I heard the front door. My hosts were back.

I changed, found something less conspicuous than my travel clothes, and went out for a walk. The night was alive, the streets packed, the bars overflowing. I went into a couple of places, ate something standing up, and after several twists and turns I ended up running into Mauro and Iván. They looked immaculate and cheerful, with the gentle euphoria of people who had already had several drinks and an easy evening.

“What a coincidence,” Mauro said. “Come with us. We’re still going to have another drink.”

I followed them.

With them I felt strange and comfortable at the same time. They knew half the city, greeted everyone, laughed a lot, and drank without losing their style. Beside them, I looked like a clueless tourist, but they did not make me feel inferior for a second. Quite the opposite: they drew me into the conversation, introduced me to their friends, and unknowingly pushed me toward a strange, instant complicity.

We ended up back at the apartment in the early hours, the three of us sunk into that enormous sofa, with half-finished glasses in our hands and our tongues looser than they had been at the beginning. We talked about movies, travel, politics, relationships. My phone vibrated on the table, and both of them looked over by reflex. So did I. It was her.

“Ready for a good virtual blowjob? For now.”

My laugh must have said everything, because Mauro raised an eyebrow.

“That doesn’t sound like a work message.”

I don’t know whether it was the alcohol, the trust, or the atmosphere, but I showed them the screen. They looked at each other and then at me, with a mixture of amusement and a hunger for gossip. I told them, without going into too much detail, that I was having a long-distance affair with a mature woman who was pretty filthy, and that one of the reasons for my trip was to see her.

“Our tenant’s got secrets,” Iván murmured.

“Answer her,” Mauro said. “Now we want to know how it goes.”

I replied in front of them. She immediately sent me another picture, even more explicit, with her fingers pulling her vulva apart and a short message: “Put anything you want inside me.”

Mauro let out a whistle.

“Fuck. Not even I get talked to like that so quickly.”

“I do,” Iván said dryly, and they both burst out laughing.

We kept commenting on the messages, with fewer and fewer filters. There was something indecent about showing them that conversation, and at the same time something exciting about feeling watched while she turned me on through the screen. When she wrote asking me to touch myself and show her my foreskin, Mauro rested his elbow on the back of the sofa and held my gaze.

“If you want privacy, we’ll leave you alone.”

He said it politely, but there was something else in his voice. A door left ajar. An expectation.

“No need,” I replied.

The three of us fell silent for a second.

Then the phone vibrated again. This time it was an absurd, filthy, specific instruction. She wanted me to put something into the tip of my cock and show it to her on video. I replied that she was crazy. She insisted. Mauro asked what was going on, and, as if I had already crossed a line I did not intend to return from, I told him.

Iván shook his head, amused.

“Don’t do that drunk.”

“Unless you want to end up in the emergency room,” Mauro added.

We laughed. But the excitement had already settled in the air like a warm, thick layer. I got up with my phone in my hand, saying I was going to the bedroom for a moment. No one stopped me. Nor did anyone look away as I left.

In the bedroom I sat on the bed, opened the video, and kept playing with her. I lowered the robe, took out my already-hard cock, and began masturbating slowly so she could watch. She moaned from the other side, giving me increasingly filthy orders. To pull my foreskin all the way back. To spit on the tip. To touch my balls. To put a finger in my ass while imagining her kneeling in front of me.

I did almost everything.

I was red, hot, hard enough to hurt, and still I did not come. I wanted to hold out. I wanted to stretch that strange excitement the living room had left me with, their looks, the way Mauro had said there was no need for privacy.

When I went into the hallway to get lubricant from the bathroom, I saw the door to their bedroom standing open.

I froze.

They were both naked on the bed. Mauro was on his knees, sucking Iván’s cock with slow movements of his head, one hand gripping his thigh and the other massaging his balls. Iván was reclining against the headboard, breathing deeply, his head thrown back, but when he saw me in the doorway he lowered his eyes and held my gaze without a trace of alarm.

Quite the opposite. He smiled.

That smile completely disarmed me.

Mauro pulled the cock from his mouth and turned toward me, his lips shining with saliva. He did not say “come in,” but he did not need to. I was still standing in the doorway with my cock rock-hard beneath my open robe, trembling more from adrenaline than fear.

“If you’re going to stand there watching,” Iván said in a hoarse voice, “come all the way in.”

I went in.

My heart was pounding. I could have turned around and left. I did not. I approached the bed, and Mauro grabbed me by the robe at the waist, opened it completely, and looked at my cock with blatant hunger.

“So that was the emergency,” he murmured.

He wrapped his hand around me and began stroking from base to tip, slowly, as if he wanted to measure my reaction inch by inch. I let out a clumsy moan. I was sensitive from all the playing around on video, and that direct, confident male touch sent an instant jolt through my belly.

“Relax,” Iván said. “If you don’t want to, you don’t have to do anything.”

I nodded, although the last thing I wanted at that moment was to run.

Mauro leaned down and ran his tongue over the tip. That alone was enough to make my knees buckle slightly. Then he took me into his mouth without ceremony, swallowing slowly, with such good technique that I had to brace one hand on his shoulder to keep my balance. He sucked me hungrily but without rushing, playing his tongue over the frenulum, pulling away, licking me, and taking me back in until he was almost down my throat.

“Fuck,” I let slip. “Fuck.”

Iván got off the bed and stood behind me. I felt his hands on my chest, broad and strong, sliding over my sweaty torso. He pinched my nipples just enough to make me gasp, then kissed my neck slowly, almost tenderly, in contrast to the brutal blowjob Mauro was giving me.

“Look at us,” he whispered in my ear.

I lifted my eyes and saw Mauro swallowing half my cock, looking up at me from below, jerking himself off at the same time. The scene was so obscene that my legs began to tremble. I had arrived there thinking I was a spectator, and now I was in the middle of it, hard as a rock, about to come on the face of a man I had known for only a few hours.

I pulled my cock out for a second so I would not explode, but Mauro grabbed me by the hip and put it back in his mouth. Iván stroked my stomach, lowered his hand, and fondled my balls from underneath, heavy and tense.

“Come if you want,” he whispered. “It’s okay.”

I could not hold out any longer.

I came with a moan that came out louder than I intended. Mauro swallowed some of it and let the rest splatter across his mouth and chin. The image was so filthy and perfect that I could almost have come again just from looking at it. Iván grabbed his face, kissed him on the mouth, and licked my semen from his lips. I stayed there watching, dazed, aroused, and surrendered.

“Come to bed,” Mauro said.

I sat between them, still panting. My cock softened for a few seconds, but not completely. Seeing two men kissing beside my thigh, touching each other shamelessly, sharing saliva and desire in front of me, brought it back sooner than I thought possible.

Iván got on all fours on the bed and turned his head to look at me. Mauro spread his buttocks, and I saw his ass perfectly presented, his anus wet with saliva and the lubricant he had already spread there with his fingers. A hard jolt of excitement struck my chest.

“Want to try?” Mauro asked.

I did not know if I could. I did not know whether I wanted only to watch or to get completely involved. But my cock, hard again, answered before I did.

Mauro put a condom on me with expert hands, applied more lubricant, and positioned me on my knees behind Iván. He took my cock and guided it to the entrance of his ass. The ring gave way little by little, hot and tight. The sensation as I entered was strange, intense, immediately addictive: resistance at first, then a dense slide that made me let out an involuntary grunt.

“Slowly,” Iván said. “Get it in properly.”

I pushed again. I put it a little farther in. Then all the way.

I felt him closing around me inside, that tight ring squeezing my cock with a pressure unlike any pussy I had ever tried. Mauro watched me, fascinated, stroking his husband’s back, attentive to both of us at once. When I began moving, awkwardly at first and then with more confidence, Iván let out a hoarse moan and rested his forehead against the pillow.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Yes, like that.”

I fucked him without quite believing what I was doing. Every thrust drew me deeper into the thrill. The sight of his ass swallowing me, the wet sound of the lubricant, Mauro’s hand gripping my waist and then moving down to stroke my balls, to touch my ass, to put a finger in my anus while I penetrated his husband... it all carried me toward a point of pure animality.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” I said through my teeth.

Mauro smiled.

“You’re enjoying it far too much for this to be your first time.”

And he was right. I was enjoying it far too much.

I kept thrusting, faster and faster. Iván began pushing his ass back, setting the rhythm for me, and I let myself go. Mauro knelt beside me and kissed me, slipping his tongue into my mouth while I was still inside his husband. That kiss completely threw me off. It was not an accidental brush or a test. It was a real kiss, wet and open, his breath mingling with mine and one hand gripping the back of my neck so I could not pull away.

I moaned into his mouth. I came for the second time much faster than I would have liked, unloading into the condom in powerful spasms, buried in Iván’s ass and almost unable to breathe. I stayed still for a few seconds until I could pull out of him.

My legs were trembling.

Mauro gently pushed me toward the bed.

“Now you.”

That was when I felt a real jolt of nerves. I looked at them both. They watched me without hurry or mockery, with an almost obscene confidence. I had spent years fantasizing about things I had never put into words, but imagining a finger, a toy, a dirty idea while masturbating was one thing, and opening my ass for a real cock was something completely different.

“I don’t know if I can,” I admitted.

“You can if you stop thinking,” Iván said.

They had me lie on my side first. Mauro kissed me while Iván spread my buttocks and applied lubricant to the opening of my anus with two slow, firm fingers. The first contact made me tense. The second drew a sigh from me. When he put one whole finger inside, I clenched reflexively.

“Relax,” Mauro murmured against my mouth. “Breathe and loosen up.”

I did. The finger went deeper. Then a second one. The sensation was not pure pleasure, at least not at first. It was pressure, invasion, heat, an exciting discomfort that had my heart racing and my cock half-awake again. Iván worked my ass patiently, opening me, lubricating me, moving in and out until my body began to yield on its own.

Then he replaced his fingers with his cock.

I felt the hot tip pressing against my entrance and gripped the sheet. Mauro held my face with one hand and kissed me while Iván slowly persisted, without forcing his way in all at once. It burned a little at first. Then I opened. Then he went farther, until I truly felt a cock fucking my ass and knew there was no going back.

I let out a strange sound, half complaint and half moan.

“There,” Iván said, his voice raspier than before. “You’ve got it inside you now.”

I stayed motionless, breathing deeply, trying to understand what my body was feeling. It was not the direct pleasure of a blowjob or the relief of coming. It was something else. Something deep, dirty, mental. The excitement lay in knowing myself open, taken, pushed from behind by a man while another stroked my chest and kissed my neck.

When Iván began moving, slowly at first and then with more confidence, my head went somewhere else. Every thrust shook my belly. I pushed my ass backward without thinking, seeking him. I wanted more. I wanted to feel him better. I wanted to lose my fear of it completely.

“That’s it,” Mauro said, aroused by the sight of me. “Move for him.”

I did.

I planted one knee, then the other, and ended up on all fours without anyone forcing me. Iván gripped my hips and began fucking me harder. That was when the rawest part of it all emerged. The sound of his balls slapping against me, the lubricant running, my own panting turning into short grunts, Mauro jerking me off in time with every thrust while calling me a dirty boy in my ear, biting my shoulder, telling me to look at how they were using me and how much I was enjoying it.

And I was enjoying it.

I enjoyed it so much that I was angry I had not tried it sooner.

Iván fucked me hard but without losing control. Whenever my body tensed too much, he eased off a little, and as soon as I relaxed again he thrust into me deeper. I began clenching my anus purely by instinct, and he let out a deep moan that turned me on even more.

“Fuck, don’t do that unless you want me to come right now.”

I did exactly that again.

Mauro laughed and squeezed my cock, completely hard now, with a hand slick with lubricant. He masturbated me quickly, never looking away from the sight of his husband pounding my ass. I was beside myself. Between the two sensations, cock and ass, shame and lust, pleasure and the sheer filth of the scene, I came a third time with a muffled moan into the pillow, staining the sheet while Iván was still inside me.

My orgasm pushed him over the edge.

He gave me three more hard, deep thrusts, then pulled out and positioned himself over Mauro, who was already lying on his back waiting. Without removing the condom, he slid into him in a single thrust and began fucking him in front of me. Mauro spread his legs, threw his head back, and let out a breathless little laugh that ended in a long moan when Iván buried himself to the hilt.

I remained half-sitting, exhausted, watching them.

Seeing them fuck each other after they had taken me was almost as arousing as participating. There was real intimacy in their bodies, an erotic familiarity honed over the years. Mauro stroked his back, then his buttocks, then grabbed his face to kiss him while taking every thrust. Iván increased the pace, the bed thudded against the wall, and they both finished almost at the same time: Mauro coming across his stomach, Iván emptying himself into the condom with a muffled grunt.

The silence afterward buzzed in my ears.

They both collapsed for a few seconds, breathing hard, then turned toward me with tired smiles.

“That definitely wasn’t included in the rent,” Mauro said.

I laughed, still trembling.

“Thank God.”

The three of us went to the bathroom. Sharing the shower was another kind of intimacy, less brutal and slower. We soaped one another, they washed the dried semen from my belly and the lubricant from my thighs, and I kissed them both on the mouth without feeling any strange barrier anymore. It was not love, nor did it need to be. It was satisfied desire, complicity, and an extraordinarily strange trust born in a single night.

“We work tomorrow,” Iván said, drying his hair. “Try not to fall in love.”

“Or charge us extra,” Mauro added.

We walked back down the hallway laughing, and each of us went to his own bed. I entered my room exhausted, my ass sensitive, my body drained, and my head burning. Then I remembered my phone.

I had several messages from her, growing more impatient by the minute.

I replied without much hope: “Sorry. I got sidetracked.”

Her answer came seconds later.

“You’d better be in the emergency room.”

I looked at the screen and grinned like an idiot before writing the truth, or at least the essential part.

“No. I just sucked two cocks, came on one guy’s face, fucked another, and got my ass wrecked. Is that a good enough excuse?”

It took her less than half a minute to answer.

“You bastard. And you didn’t record anything?”

I lay naked on the bed, still feeling every hand, every mouth, every thrust from that absurd and unexpected night in my body. I sent her a quick, lousy picture of my reddened ass in the mirror as best I could. Then we kept messaging each other for almost another hour, her horny, me still floating, as I realized something very simple.

I had not crossed over by mistake.

I had crossed because I wanted to. And because, deep down, I had wanted to know what was on the other side for a very long time.

And yes: I had liked it.