The Night I Ended Up with Andrés in the Alley

I'm Mateo, and what I'm about to tell you, I haven't told anyone. Not even my brother, whom I trust more than anyone. I've kept it to myself for two years, the way you keep things that, if you don't say them out loud, only half-exist.

Andrés lived half a block from my house, in the building on the corner with the green awnings. He must have been twenty-three or twenty-four, the same age I was then. He'd been openly gay since his teens: the whole neighborhood knew, his family knew, the guys at the kiosk knew, the parking lot attendant around the corner knew. He dressed without hiding it. Very tight pants that highlighted his round, perky ass, short T-shirts that stopped at his navel, sometimes clothes that were outright women's. When he crossed the street, men would shout at him from their cars or whistle from the corners, and more than one would yell filthy things about what they'd do to him if they caught him alone. He ignored them with an indifference I always found admirable, though I'd never have admitted it at the time.

I knew him by sight, like I knew everyone in the neighborhood. As teenagers we'd played soccer in the same square, though not anymore. We'd say hi when we crossed paths. That was all. I'd never thought anything particular about him, or so I told myself, though once or twice, seeing him walk down the sidewalk in those tight pants, my eyes had lingered on the bulge and the ass longer than I wanted to admit.

That night I was in a very bad mood. Paula had texted me at six in the evening: “I can't make it today, let's leave it for another day.” No further explanation. We'd been seeing each other for two months, and it was the third time she'd stood me up. I had that mix of anger and frustration that sticks to you when you have nowhere to put it, and on top of that I'd gone weeks without fucking, with my cock hard in the mornings and nobody to unload with. I went to our usual corner with the others simply so I wouldn't stay home alone, brooding and jerking off for the third time that day.

There were five or six of us: Mario, el Chino, Gonzalo, and a couple of others. Canned beers bought at the corner store, music playing low from someone's phone, the sticky August heat refusing to let up even at eleven at night. Around eleven-thirty Andrés showed up. Mario knew him from somewhere and invited him to stay. He leaned against the wall with his hands in his pockets, accepted the beer they handed him, and stood there without making a display of anything.

I looked at him more than I should have. More than I could explain to myself. My eyes kept going to those pants that squeezed his crotch, to that mouth with full lips that sipped the beer like he was sucking it. Andrés noticed my stares from the start and returned them without trying to hide it, with that calm of his that made me uncomfortable in a way I couldn't name then. Every time I looked away, after a while I'd seek him out again. And he knew it. Once he ran his tongue over his lower lip while looking at me, and I felt a tug in my cock that made me shift it discreetly in my pocket.

What are you doing? I asked myself inside my head. I had no answer.

***

After midnight, Mario and el Chino left. Gonzalo was farther away, talking on the phone with his back to us. Andrés and I were basically alone on the corner, with two beers between us and the music almost gone. The side alley was right behind us, dark and empty.

“Aren't you cold?” I asked him. It was the first thing I could think of.

“It's twelve in August,” he replied, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye.

“Yeah.”

Silence.

“What's wrong with you?” he asked, direct.

“Nothing.”

“You've had that face on for two hours.”

I shrugged.

“My girlfriend stood me up again.”

He nodded without saying sorry or anything like that. He just took a sip and looked toward the street. I liked that. People who reflexively say sorry wear me out.

“Her loss,” he muttered after a moment, without looking at me. “With a face like yours.”

I felt heat climb up the back of my neck. I didn't know what to say.

We fell silent. And in that silence, without really thinking about it, I moved half a step toward him and leaned my back against the same wall he was leaning on. Our shoulders almost brushed.

Andrés didn't move.

Neither did I.

We stayed like that for a few minutes. Gonzalo waved goodbye from a distance and left without waiting for a reply. The street was completely empty.

“Are we going to stand here all night?” Andrés asked.

I didn't answer. Instead, I tilted my head toward the side alley and said:

“Come on.”

***

The alley had no light. At the back there was a brick wall and some cardboard stacked in the corner. It was a place I'd known all my life, from when we were kids and used it to hide during games, and now I looked at it as if I were seeing it for the first time.

Andrés came in behind me without asking anything.

I positioned myself behind him and put my hands on his hips. He didn't pull away. On the contrary, he leaned back, pressing his ass lightly against my bulge. It was a small movement, almost imperceptible, but absolutely deliberate. I felt him rub just enough to measure me, to notice how hard I already was.

“What are you doing, Mateo?” he whispered. His voice was calm, with no real surprise in it.

“I don't know,” I answered, which was the only honest answer I had.

I kissed his neck. He smelled citrusy, cologne or shower gel, it didn't matter which. Andrés tilted his head to one side and let out a soft, restrained sound, as if he didn't want it heard from the street. I ran my tongue under his ear, bit his lobe, and felt his body relax into mine, give way a little. His ass pressed again against my cock, firmer this time, with clear intent.

I wrapped one arm around his waist and pulled him tight against my body. I slid my hand down to his crotch without thinking too much and grabbed his cock over his pants. He was rock hard, outlined against the tight fabric. A low growl escaped me against the nape of his neck.

“I don't usually do this,” I said, not really knowing why I was saying it, squeezing the bulge in my hand.

“I know,” he replied, pushing his hip against my hand. “You can tell.”

There was no mockery in his voice. Just the statement of a fact.

***

We turned and kissed against the wall. Andrés kissed very calmly, unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world. I was used to another pace, more urgent, and it took me a while to adjust. Then I was glad I had. His tongue came into and out of my mouth slowly, finding mine, barely sucking on it, playing. I grabbed the back of his neck and kissed him harder, pressing my lips into his with mine.

I ran my hands over his back, his hips, the lower curve of his waist until I reached his ass. I squeezed it with both hands, all of it. It was round, firm, and fit into my palms as if it had been made for that. He let out a gasp into my mouth. His hands were on my chest, exploring without urgency, learning, until one dropped and squeezed my cock over my pants, weighing it in his hand.

“You're thick,” he whispered against my mouth, smiling.

“Shut up,” I said, and kissed him again.

At one point he looked me in the eyes from very close, with his breath mixed with mine, and I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing.

“Do you want me to suck it?” he asked softly.

I knew exactly what he meant. It took me a few seconds to answer. Not because I was unsure, but because hearing him say it like that, so direct, had taken my breath away.

“Yes.”

He knelt in front of me with a naturalness that left me speechless. He opened my belt slowly, unbuttoned me, pulled my fly down with his teeth and hand. When he yanked my pants and briefs down, my cock sprang out hard, the tip already wet. Andrés stared at it for a second, lips parted.

“Fuck,” he murmured.

He took it at the base with one hand while looking up at me. That look has been burned into me ever since: bright eyes, mouth a centimeter from the head, tongue already peeking out. He stuck out his tongue and licked me slowly from base to tip in one long stroke. My whole body tensed.

Then he took it into his mouth all the way. In one go. I felt the tip hit the back of his throat and he didn't choke or pull back. He stayed there, lips pressed to the base, swallowing, nose against my pubic hair. When he pulled off, he made a wet sound and a thread of saliva hung from his mouth to the tip.

“You suck cock like a whore,” I said without thinking. It came out hoarse.

“Shut up and enjoy it,” he muttered, and took me back in.

What came after was the best I'd ever had done to me up to that night. No exaggeration. Andrés knew exactly what to do and when to stop, when to go slow and when to squeeze, where to put his tongue and when not to. He sucked me with his whole mouth, then only the tip, then ran his tongue under the head in circles that made my legs shake. With one hand he jerked the base to the rhythm of his mouth and with the other he grabbed my balls, squeezing them carefully. There was no clumsiness, no unnecessary hurry. I braced myself against the wall with one hand, with the other I stroked his hair and then grabbed it hard, pushing his face against my cock.

“Don't stop,” I told him, panting. “Don't fucking stop.”

He didn't stop. He sped up. He drove me to the back of his throat again and again, with wet sounds bouncing off the alley walls. Saliva dripped down his chin and onto my balls. I felt them tightening, felt I was close.

It took longer than I expected. When I felt I was reaching the limit, I pulled him up by the shoulders and turned him around so he was facing the wall, his hands flat on the brick. I didn't want to come yet. I wanted more.

“You want to keep going?” I asked. My voice sounded rougher than usual.

“What do you think?” he replied, pushing his ass back.

***

I lowered his pants slowly, down to his knees. He was wearing a tight black thong that disappeared between his cheeks. I stared at that for a moment. He had a perfect ass, white, round, with the black fabric splitting it down the middle. I slid an open hand over one cheek and squeezed until it left a mark.

“Did you already know?” I asked.

“I always come prepared,” he said, completely calm. “Just in case.”

I pulled the thong down to his thighs. His cock hung hard between his legs, and his ass was bare, exposed against the dark wall. I spread his cheeks with both hands and looked at his hole for a moment. It was pink, tight, and on impulse I didn't stop to think about, I bent down and licked it flat.

Andrés let out a moan he couldn't quite control.

“Ah, fuck,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to the brick.

I licked him several times, circling around with the tip of my tongue, nudging in just enough to slip it inside. He pushed his hips back, looking for my mouth. I spit on him, ran my thumb over the wet hole, and pushed it in a little. It went in without resistance. I added another finger. Andrés was panting softly, head against the wall.

“Put it in already,” he said, voice broken. “Fuck me, Mateo.”

I straightened, spit into my hand, and ran it over my cock, getting it thoroughly wet. I pressed the head to his hole. I went carefully, more carefully than I would've with anyone else, not really knowing what to do but letting myself be guided by how he responded. I pushed slowly. The head gave way, went in. Andrés tensed his back for a second and then let the air out slowly, controlled.

“Slowly,” he murmured.

“Yeah.”

I moved forward little by little, stopping every time I felt resistance, waiting until it yielded. I could feel his ass clenching around my cock, adjusting to me centimeter by centimeter. When I was all the way inside, with my balls pressed against his cheeks, we both stayed still for a moment, not moving, his back against my chest and the two of us looking at the same brick wall.

“Are you okay?” I asked through clenched teeth.

“Very okay,” he said. And he meant it. “Move.”

I started moving. First slow, with long, controlled strokes, pulling almost all the way out and driving back in to the hilt, feeling every centimeter. Andrés's ass swallowed my cock as if it had been made for that. Andrés pressed his forehead to the brick and started breathing harder. I put one hand on his hip and with the other steadied myself against the wall.

What surprised me most was that he wasn't passive. He moved his hips toward me, syncing up, clenching his ass when I came forward, milking my cock with each thrust. His body responded with a precision that took me out of control. It was as if he were keeping the rhythm for both of us at once.

“Like that,” he panted. “Like that, give it all to me.”

I started speeding up. I was pounding him harder and harder, and the sound of my hips slapping against his cheeks mixed with his ragged breathing. Andrés moaned softly, short, contained sounds he tried to keep under control. We were both aware the street was thirty meters away.

“More,” he said once. “Harder.”

I gave it to him. I gripped his hips with both hands and started fucking him for real, driving him into the wall with hard thrusts that made his ass bounce higher and higher. I slapped one cheek and he let out a louder moan that he swallowed almost immediately.

“Quiet,” I whispered in his ear without stopping. “They'll hear us.”

“Then fuck me quietly,” he replied, and gave a low laugh before biting his lip.

***

With one hand I wrapped around him from the front and grabbed his cock. It was dripping with fluid. I started jerking him off at the same rhythm I was fucking him, syncing my hand with my hips. Andrés shuddered and dug his fingers into the brick, scratching it. His breathing grew broken, faster, with none of the control he'd had until then.

“Don't stop,” he repeated, like an echo of what I'd said before. “Don't stop, fuck, like that, like that.”

I didn't stop. I squeezed his cock harder, sliding his foreskin with my wrist while I drove into him to the hilt. His ass clenched in spasms around my cock, milking it without his being able to stop it.

He came first. He let out a strangled sound that escaped him without control and I felt his cock start throbbing in my hand and spurt hot ropes against the wall. His ass contracted so hard around mine that I almost yelled. That was enough to take me to the edge. I grabbed his hips with both hands, drove into him two more times, brutally, and came inside him. I felt it all: the long spurt, the spasms, my balls emptying into his ass. I stayed with my forehead against his back and my eyes closed, silent, pushing just a little as I finished emptying myself.

We stayed like that, still, not moving, with my cock still inside and my cum beginning to run down his thigh when I pulled out slowly. Andrés was breathing hard against the brick. I ran my hand over his back, without thinking, almost tenderly, until both our breathing settled.

***

We fixed our clothes in silence. He pulled up his thong and pants with a slight grimace, and I tucked my still-wet cock back into my briefs. I didn't know what to say and preferred not to say anything. Andrés took a cigarette from some pocket and offered me one. I hardly ever smoke, but I took it.

“First time with a guy?” he asked while he lit his.

“Yeah.”

He nodded, not doing anything else with that information.

“Are you going to have a crisis?” he asked, half serious, half not.

“I don't think so.”

“Good.”

We smoked in silence for a while. From the street not a sound came through. No one had missed us.

“Was this a one-off?” I asked at last.

Andrés looked at me for a second before answering.

“Depends on you,” he said.

***

It wasn't a one-off. Over the following months we saw each other several times, always at night, always discreetly. Sometimes in the same alley, sometimes at my place when my parents weren't home, once even in the back seat of my car parked on an empty lot. I filled his mouth with cum more times than I can count, and I fucked his ass in every position I could think of. I learned that he liked dirty talk, liked me pulling his hair, liked me driving my cock into him to the hilt without mercy. Always at my initiative, though he never made himself hard to get. I kept seeing girls. Andrés never asked whether I had a girlfriend, and I never told him anything about my life outside those encounters. There was something comfortable in that unspoken boundary, in not having to put a name to what it was.

One day I stopped looking for him. There was no fight or explanation. Things that don't have a name don't have a clear ending either.

I see him sometimes around the neighborhood. We say hi, exchange a few words if we run into each other at the store. He with that same calm as always, me with the certainty that there's a part of those nights I still don't quite know what to do with. I don't regret anything that happened. It's just that some experiences don't fit in any drawer you've already got open, and that was one of them.