Rodrigo’s Joke That Changed Everything in Cartagena

Rodrigo and I met in our second year of high school, when the chemistry teacher seated us together in alphabetical order. We were both tall, we both preferred soccer to books, and we were both late at least three times a week. Within two weeks we were inseparable. Six months later, neither of us remembered what life had been like without the other.

We were that kind of friends who told each other everything. First girlfriends, first fights with our parents, first drunk nights. We lent each other clothes, had each other’s apartment keys, knew the phone codes by heart. Everyone at school took it for granted that wherever one was, the other was too.

Rodrigo was handsome in a way that he himself seemed not to fully notice. Tall, a meter eighty-something, broad back, easy smile. He had that way of laughing that made you laugh too, even if you didn’t know what at. I knew everything about him: that he slept on his back, that when he was nervous he drummed his fingers on his knee, that he had a small mole just below his right collarbone.

I knew that because sometimes we slept in the same room. It wasn’t strange between us. When it got late working on some project, when there was a game and neither of us felt like moving, we simply stayed over. A double bed or the two of us on the sofa, with nobody making much of it.

There had been moments I never quite knew how to classify. Once we were watching a movie and I fell asleep resting on his shoulder, and he didn’t move until I woke up on my own three hours later. Another time at his house’s pool, when on the way out he helped me with a towel and his hand brushed my hip more than necessary, and neither of us said a thing. They were little things I kept somewhere I didn’t talk about.

When high school ended, the group organized a graduation trip to Cartagena de Indias. There were fourteen of us, we stayed at a hostel near Laguito Beach, and we split the rooms two by two. Rodrigo and I shared a room without even discussing it, as always. I was twenty, he was nineteen. We both had partners: mine was in Europe that month with her family, and Rodrigo’s girlfriend studied in another city and hadn’t been able to come.

The first day was exactly as we’d imagined. Beach from eleven, beers before noon, the Cartagena sun beating down hard on our skin. Rodrigo spent the afternoon laughing with some tourists playing volleyball on the shore. I watched him from under the beach umbrella with something I couldn’t quite identify. I only knew it felt good to have him close.

In the afternoon, at a bar in the walled city, we ran into two girls traveling alone from Medellín. Their names were Valeria and Natalia. They were with us for a couple of hours; we drank aguardiente, danced cumbia with more enthusiasm than technique. Around midnight we suggested going back to the hostel. They agreed.

We got to the room. There were four of us, music playing from Rodrigo’s phone, drinks still going around. The situation was clearly heading in one direction. And then Valeria’s phone vibrated, she read the message and her face changed. She said something quietly to Natalia. Ten minutes later the two of them had left, with hurried apologies and a phone number neither of us was ever going to use.

The room fell silent.

Rodrigo threw himself onto his bed on his back, his arms behind his head. I sat on the edge of mine. We were both pretty drunk, in that warm drunk that loosens your tongue and lowers your guard.

“Bad luck,” he said, staring at the ceiling.

“Yeah,” I said.

There was a pause. Rodrigo turned his head toward me with a crooked smile and said:

“I’m so horny that if you keep looking at me like that I’m going to have to do something about it.”

He said it as a joke. But also not entirely. There are phrases that sound like a joke but are really a question. And there’s a split second after someone says them in which everything depends on what the other person does.

I didn’t laugh.

I looked at him. He looked at me. The silence between us landed in a completely different way from every silence before it. I lowered my eyes for a second and saw the clear bulge under the thin fabric of his shorts. His dick was outlined in full, thick, pulling the cotton to one side. Rodrigo noticed exactly where I was looking and didn’t move to cover himself.

I got up from my bed and went over to his. I sat beside him. Our arms brushed. Neither of us said anything. And then, without either of us being able to say exactly who moved first, we were kissing.

It was a clumsy kiss at first, with the uncertainty of someone who doesn’t quite know where to put his hands. Then it became something completely different. Rodrigo put a hand on the back of my neck, opened my mouth with his tongue, and the kiss changed gears. I felt heat in my chest, in my stomach, in my cock, which went hard instantly against the seam of my pants. I bit his lower lip. He let out a low growl and ran his other hand over my crotch, squeezing me through the fabric.

“You’re rock hard, you son of a bitch,” he murmured against my mouth.

“So are you,” I answered, and I squeezed his dick over his shorts.

We fell onto the bed together. I slid my hand under his T-shirt and traced his abdomen, counting each muscle with my fingers. I lifted it and pulled it off over his head. The broad chest, the fine body hair, the mole I knew by heart just below the right collarbone. I leaned down and licked it. Then I went lower, over the sternum, dragging my tongue, biting his left nipple until he arched his back.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “Keep going.”

I’d been curious for a long time, even though I’d never said it out loud. I’d never had another man that close with that intention. I discovered him slowly: the width of his shoulders under my hands, the heat of his skin, the way he breathed when I brushed his neck with my lips. I sucked his neck until I left a red mark under his ear. He slipped his hand inside my pants, grabbed my cock directly, and started jerking me off with slow, firm strokes, squeezing the base hard.

I went lower. First the chest, then the stomach. I licked his navel, the line of hair that disappeared under the waistband. I pulled his shorts and boxers down at the same time. His cock sprang out, hard, heavy, hitting his stomach. I didn’t think too much. I just acted.

It was big, bigger than I would have imagined. Thick, with veins standing out along the shaft, the tip already wet with pre-cum. I took it in my hand slowly, weighing it, feeling the heat and the weight. I squeezed the base and watched the skin tighten over the glans. I stuck out my tongue and ran the tip along the frenulum, gathering that clear drop. Salty, thick. Rodrigo made a sound that wasn’t exactly a moan, more like a long, contained exhale.

“Fuck,” he said, and his voice broke.

I ran my whole tongue underneath it, from the balls to the tip, in one slow lick. Then I took it into my mouth. Just the head at first, sucking with closed lips, playing with my tongue over the glans. I went down little by little, feeling my mouth fill, feeling it hit the back of my throat. His fingers tangled in my hair but he didn’t push me, he just held on.

I started sucking him with a rhythm. I went up and down, keeping my tongue pressed to the underside, dragging it along the thick vein running down the center. I took him out fully and slid him back in, spitting to lubricate him, leaving him glossy and slick. I grabbed his balls with my other hand, squeezed them gently, kneaded them while I kept sucking. Rodrigo started lifting his hips into my face, unable to help himself.

“Like that, like that, don’t stop, fuck, don’t stop,” he gasped.

I stayed like that for a good while, finding the rhythm, learning what made him react. Every so often I deliberately gagged, let the cock hit the back of my throat, and he let out a deeper groan. When I felt his legs tense, when his balls started tightening in my hand, he suddenly sat up and gently pushed me away by the shoulders.

“Wait, wait, I’m gonna come already,” he said, breathless. “My turn.”

He yanked off my pants, boxers included. He stared at my cock for a second, hard, pressed against my stomach, and smiled.

“Look what you’ve got hidden here.”

He grabbed me with his hand and jerked me a couple of times, squeezing hard. Then he lowered his head and took me into his mouth in one shot, all of it. He didn’t test it the way I had. He swallowed me to the base on the first try. I nearly rolled my eyes back.

“Ah, fuck,” I blurted out.

He did the same thing I had, but calmer, with a concentration that completely threw me off. He sucked me slowly, going up and down with his whole mouth, pressing his lips tight around the edge of the glans when he came back up, making a wet, obscene sound every time he took me all the way in. He licked my balls one by one, took them into his mouth, went back up. I was trembling.

When I thought that was all, he spat on his fingers and started exploring lower, in the area I’d never let anyone explore. He ran the tip of his middle finger over the hole, in circles, pressing just a little, while he kept sucking me without stopping.

“Relax,” he murmured around my cock.

The first finger was uncomfortable. I tensed up, clenched every muscle. Rodrigo didn’t stop completely, but he did ease up, kept his mouth doing what it was doing and waited. He slid it in slowly, millimeter by millimeter, to the first knuckle, then the second. Little by little the muscle gave. He started moving it inside me, in circles, looking for something. When he found that spot inside I jolted hard and let out a moan I didn’t recognize as mine.

“There it is,” he said, smiling with his mouth full.

When he put in the second finger the sensation became something completely different. It stung a little at first, but he moved his fingers patiently, opening me, while he sucked my cock with calculated slowness. I closed my eyes. I could feel him opening me from the inside, every movement of his sending a jolt to my tip.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I answered. And it was true. “Keep going, please.”

He slid in a third finger. He worked them like scissors, stretching me. It burned, but it was the kind of burn that wanted more. I was pushing my hips against his hand without realizing it.

I sat up. I pushed him from the chest until he lay back on the bed. I stripped off what was left of my clothes. My cock hung rock hard, wet with saliva and my own pre-cum. His was the same, rigid, pointing at me, the glans swollen and purple. I used my own saliva carefully, the way I’d seen him do it. I spit on the tip and lubed him up well with my hand, from top to bottom, until he was shiny. Then I spit on two fingers and ran them over the hole, working them inside myself a couple of times to make sure.

I climbed on top of him, straddling him on my knees. I grabbed his cock with one hand, held it steady, and settled over it. I placed the tip against the hole and started lowering myself very slowly.

The first inch was hard. It burned. The head is the thickest part and I had trouble getting it through. I clenched my teeth, breathed through my nose, and kept going down. When the glans went in all the way, I let out the air in one sharp burst. The second inch was hard too. But I controlled the pace and that changed everything. I went down in small movements, sinking a little more each time, stopping whenever I needed to stop, until I felt his pubic bone against my ass. He was completely inside me. I stayed still for a moment, breathing.

There are no words for that feeling. Pressure, heat, my best friend’s whole cock buried to the hilt, something expanding from the inside out and touching me in a place I didn’t know existed. Rodrigo had his mouth open, eyes half-lidded, looking at me as if it were the first time he’d ever seen me.

“You’re so tight,” he gasped. “Fuck.”

I started moving. I rose a few inches and came back down. Again. Again. Every time I dropped onto him he let out a gasp. Rodrigo put his hands on my hips. Not to guide me, but to hold on to me. He looked at me with an expression I had never seen on him before. I looked at him too. We were still just the two of us, but something had changed in a permanent, irreversible way, and we both knew it.

I found a rhythm. I learned the angle that hit that spot inside me and started riding him in search of it, letting myself drop harder each time. The bed creaked. I could hear the wet sound of my ass slapping against his thighs. Rodrigo lifted his hips to meet me, pushing from below, syncing with my rhythm until he could drive all the way into me in one thrust.

“Like that, ride me like that,” he growled. “What a ass you’ve got, you son of a bitch.”

I leaned forward without pulling off him and kissed him. We kissed like that, without stopping moving, with that mix of awkwardness and intensity that only the first times have. He bit my earlobe. He ran his hands over my back, over my ass, spread me open with his fingers to drive deeper. I could feel heat building in some inner place I hadn’t known existed, my balls tightening, my cock bouncing between our stomachs and leaving trails of pre-cum on our skin.

He flipped me over without pulling out. I ended up on my back on the mattress, legs spread, and he on top. He grabbed my ankles and hooked them over his shoulders. He drove into me again with one long thrust. From that angle I felt him even deeper. He started fucking me hard, with long, full strokes, almost pulling out completely and then driving back in to the hilt every time.

“I’m gonna fill you up,” he said in my ear between thrusts. “You’re gonna walk around all day with my cum inside you.”

He said things in my ear. Raw things that in any other context wouldn’t have sounded the same, but in that moment landed exactly where they were supposed to land. I didn’t answer with words. I answered by moving more, clenching my ass around his cock, clawing at his back. The bed kept hitting the wall. He grabbed my hips with both hands and pulled me toward him every time he shoved in.

“Say it,” he gasped. “Tell me you like it.”

“I like it,” I told him, voice breaking. “I love it, don’t stop, keep fucking me like that.”

When Rodrigo came I felt it before it happened: the tension all through his body, his hands gripping harder, his breath catching, his thighs locking against mine. He sank all the way in and stayed there, crushing me, and I felt that new heat inside me, in waves, shot after shot pounding through me. There were several. Each one tore a deeper groan from him. I came without touching myself, just from that: my cock jumped between us and sprayed all over my stomach and chest, splattering up to his neck.

He collapsed on top of me, his cock still inside, still hard, still pulsing. I felt full, sticky, open. When he finally slid out, slowly, I felt a warm thread run down my ass to the sheet.

We stayed still for a long minute. He held me from above, his arms around my back. I rested my forehead on his shoulder. Outside, in the street, music was playing from some nearby bar.

We fell asleep like that, tangled together, without speaking.

***

I woke up with the sun coming through the half-closed blinds. It took me a few seconds to get my bearings. Then I realized Rodrigo was still beside me, one arm over my waist and the slow breathing of someone sleeping deeply.

I looked at him. He was still exactly the same as always and yet something had changed in a way that still had no name. I moved carefully so I wouldn’t wake him, but on the third movement he opened his eyes.

We looked at each other in silence.

“Morning,” he said, voice rough.

“Morning,” I said.

Neither of us knew exactly what to do with what had happened, so neither of us did anything. I got up and went into the bathroom. My ass was sore, sensitive, and when I sat on the toilet I could feel his cum still running down inside me. Hot water was what I needed.

I’d been under the shower maybe three minutes when the bathroom door opened. Rodrigo came in and stood in front of the glass, naked, his cock already half-hard hanging between his legs, with that expression he wore when he wanted something and couldn’t quite ask for it.

I opened the shower door.

He stepped in. He stood behind me, wrapped his arms around my waist, and pressed his body to mine. I felt him hard against my ass, his whole cock sliding along my crack under the running water. He bit my shoulder. He ran one hand over my chest, pinched my nipple. The other slid down my stomach and grabbed my cock, started jerking me slowly under the spray.

“Again,” he said in my ear, and he pushed my hips back with his, rubbing it over my hole.

I wanted to do it again, and so did he, but I was still pretty sore and I didn’t think I could take it another time.

“I can’t,” I told him. “You wrecked me.”

He laughed softly against my neck.

I turned to face him. I put one hand on his chest. Then I slid it down his stomach, through the wet hair, until I closed my fist around his cock. It was hard again, completely hard, throbbing in my hand. I jerked it a couple of times slowly, watching the foreskin slide over the glans. He dropped his head back against the tiles.

I knelt in the tub with water pouring over me and took him into my mouth again, this time more calmly, with more curiosity than the night before. I started by licking him all over, from the base to the tip, in long strokes. I sucked his balls, one first, then the other, feeling them heavy on my tongue. I went back up the shaft and took just the head into my mouth, playing with my tongue around the glans, pressing it into the slit at the tip until it made his legs tremble.

Then I took him in all the way, slowly, letting him go to the back of my throat. I explored every inch, learned the rhythm he liked, paid attention to every tiny change in his breathing. It was different doing it like that, in daylight, without the drunk haze dulling the senses. It was more real. I could see his stomach contracting each time I touched a sensitive point, feel his fingers tightening in my hair, firmer than the night before.

I started sucking him with rhythm, bracing my hands on his thighs to hold myself steady. He began pushing my head with both hands, not hard, but keeping the pace. He was fucking my mouth slowly, looking down at me with half-lidded eyes. I let him, lips sealed around his cock, swallowing all the saliva and pre-cum dripping inside me.

“Like that, look at me,” he gasped. “Look at me while you suck me.”

I lifted my eyes without taking him out of my mouth. His face tightened. His thighs hardened under my hands. When I felt him close, I didn’t move away. I stayed where I was and held him hard by the ass so he couldn’t pull back. I dug my nails in.

He came in my mouth. I felt the first jet hit my palate, hot, thick. Then the second, the third. His cock throbbed between my lips with every release. I closed my mouth around the base and held on. I didn’t dislike the taste. Thick, salty, with something sweet underneath. I swallowed all of it. When I let him go, I ran my tongue over the tip one last time to clean off the drop that was left.

I stood up. We looked at each other under the water.

“We’re weird,” he said, with a half smile.

“We’ve always been weird,” I answered.

We both laughed. It was the same laugh as always, but with something new inside it that neither of us was going to mention yet.

We dressed quickly because someone knocked on the door. It was Valeria and Natalia, with apologies and two coffees bought on the corner. We let them in. The rest of the day was beach, laughter, and Cartagena’s heat falling over everything like a blanket.

That night we went back to the room with the two of them. But that’s another story.