The Night I Stopped Saying I Didn’t Know

I’m telling it because I promised myself I would: if I ever stopped lying to myself, I’d write it down exactly as it happened. No embellishments. Until that night, I was the kind of guy who pulled a disgusted face whenever someone brought up the subject. “That’s not my thing,” I’d say, all dignity, a glass in my hand and the certainty of someone who’d never tried anything.

I met him at the birthday party of a mutual friend. His name was Bruno, or at least that’s how he was introduced to me. He had the calm of someone who didn’t need to prove anything, and a way of looking at me that made me nervous without knowing why. We talked all night about everything except what we would end up doing.

We wound up at his apartment. I kept repeating the same old refrain to myself.

I don’t know, I don’t know. God knows where he’s been. What if he’s dirty? I don’t know about this…

Bruno closed the door, pressed me against the hallway wall, and kissed me without asking. His tongue entered my mouth with a calmness that allowed no argument, and I welcomed it as if I’d been waiting for it all night. I felt his hand move down my chest, over my stomach, and stop right on top of the bulge already showing through my pants. He squeezed me there, unhurriedly, taking my measure, and I let out a gasp that gave me away completely.

He took me to the bedroom without stopping his assault on my mouth. He pulled off my shirt, undid my belt, and yanked down my jeans. When I was left in my underwear, my cock making the fabric stick out like a stone, he knelt in front of me and looked up. No one had ever looked at me like that, as if I were something to eat.

He pulled my underwear down with his teeth. My cock sprang stiff against his face, and he chuckled softly before swallowing it whole in one go. I felt the back of his throat, his tongue wrapping around me, spit running over my balls, and my legs shook so hard I had to grab the back of his neck to keep from falling.

Fuck, fuck, this guy sucks cock like nobody else. I’m going to come standing up if he keeps this up.

He noticed and stopped. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, stood up, and began undressing in front of me without the slightest hurry. When he pulled down his boxer briefs, my mouth went dry all at once.

When I worked up the nerve and touched him, I discovered it wasn’t such a big deal. Touching him wasn’t disgusting at all. What came afterward was another matter.

Well, touching it isn’t the worst thing in the world. But sucking it… Anyway, since I’m here, here goes, without thinking too much.

And I put it in my mouth almost out of pride, so I wouldn’t chicken out in front of him. The first thing I felt was how hard it was, how hot, and how heavily it hung on my tongue. The second was the sound Bruno made, a deep moan that traveled up my spine and tightened my guts.

At first I did it badly, nervously, sucking only the tip, and he let me go on without correcting me. Then I screwed up my courage and went down halfway. I felt the thick vein pulsing against my tongue, the head stretching my palate, my mouth filling with a taste that was both salty and clean. I gagged once, coughed, tears sprang to my eyes, and instead of disgust, I felt like trying again.

Bruno took hold of my hair gently and began setting the pace. He pulled it out to the tip, let me breathe, then pushed it back in until I felt his balls pressed against my chin. I was drooling, my eyes watering, and every time he grunted above me, a jolt shot through my cock.

Well, this isn’t so bad. It’s easy. Look at the way the bastard’s moaning. I’m doing it right. God, I’m getting hard all by myself. You’re out of your mind. Better not think about it.

I lowered my hand and grabbed my cock without thinking. It was so hard it hurt. I jerked myself off in the same rhythm as I sucked him, and a moan escaped through my nose that made him laugh again.

“Look at the little faggot,” he murmured, and that word, in his mouth and at that moment, didn’t offend me in the slightest. Quite the opposite. He squeezed my balls.

I sucked his balls one at a time, pulled them from my mouth with a wet sound, ran my tongue up underneath his shaft, licking all of it, and swallowed him again until my throat closed around him. Bruno pulled me away before he came. Not yet.

***

Afterward he asked me to turn around. He said it gently, as if suggesting something obvious, and I obeyed before thinking about it. He put me on all fours at the edge of the bed, spread my ass with both hands, and, without a word, put his tongue between my cheeks.

What the hell is this animal doing? Oh, my God. Oh, God.

The sensation split me in two. No one had ever touched me there, much less with his mouth. Bruno licked in circles, pressed the tip of his tongue against my hole, opened me with kisses, spat on me, and went back to sucking. My face was crushed against the mattress and my cock was dripping between my legs, while sounds I had never made before came out of my mouth.

When I felt the coolness of the lubricant, all my dignified arguments came rushing back.

“Relax,” he told me.

“Yeah, relax, easy for you to say,” I muttered, more to myself than to him.

I felt a finger enter. Thick, calm, slippery. It stopped my breathing cold.

I don’t know about this. I’m almost leaving. This isn’t for me. Fuck, it already hurts and it’s only a finger. This isn’t right. I don’t know…

Bruno moved it in circles, slowly going in and out, searching for something inside me. When he found it, a sharp moan escaped me and gave me away completely. He added a second finger, and the burning mixed with a new tickling sensation I didn’t yet know how to name. I heard the crinkle of a condom wrapper and, I don’t know why, that calmed me a little. At least he was being careful.

Oh, God. You’ll see how much this hurts. I should’ve told him I was out. I’m not going to take it. I’m going to tell him no way. Anyway… at least he’s putting on a condom.

“Hey,” I blurted in a trembling voice. “Be really careful, okay?”

“Careful,” he repeated.

“Yeah, yeah, but if I tell you to stop, you stop. Okay?” I insisted. “Anyway, let’s see. Since we’re here, we can try. But I don’t know.”

***

I felt the tip of his cock press against my hole. Wide, hot, coated in lubricant. Bruno gripped my hip with one hand and held himself with the other to position it properly. When he pushed for the first time, the world shrank to a single point.

Slower! Where does this animal think he’s going? That hurts like hell. I’m not going to take it. This isn’t my thing.

“Hey, pull it out,” I asked, almost panicking. “For God’s sake, pull it out. What if I end up in the ER? What a fucking spectacle.”

Bruno stopped. He waited. He rested a hand on my hip without pressing and let me get used to the tip, inserted up to the crown. I breathed through my mouth, my ass open around that cock that seemed enormous, my thighs trembling. When he tried again, he was slower, millimeter by millimeter, gaining ground with the patience of a clockmaker. I felt the head pass the first ring, then the second, and the burning travel inward to my guts. Although it still hurt, it was no longer the same vicious strike as before.

There it is again, what a pain. No position helps. Anyway, breathe. At least he’s going slower now. Let’s see how long I last. I don’t know. First and last time. First and last.

I clutched the sheets and counted backward, like when I was a child and they gave me an injection. I thought that if I reached zero, it would all be over. I didn’t reach zero. Before then, I felt his hips press against my buttocks and realized he already had the whole thing inside me.

***

Two minutes later I noticed the pain easing. It didn’t disappear, but it became bearable, a dull background against which something else was beginning to seep through. Every thrust drew a broken sigh from me. Bruno’s cock filled me from side to side, rubbing an inner spot that made my eyes close.

Well, it hurts a little less now. You can bear it. Whew.

“Yes, it’s a little better, yeah,” I admitted through my teeth. “But be careful, okay?”

It wasn’t so bad. It’s bearable. I almost resent complaining so much.

Bruno moved with a patience I hadn’t expected. He wasn’t just doing his own thing, as I’d feared all night. He was attentive to every flinch, adjusting his rhythm and waiting for my signals. He ran a hand over my back, stroked my neck, and gripped my shoulder to pull me against him with every thrust. And without realizing it, I had stopped thinking about leaving and started pushing my ass backward to meet him.

Five minutes in, something happened that hadn’t been part of my plans. That tickling sensation turned into a current. My cock hung between my legs harder than it had ever been in my life, veined and dripping a clear thread that was already staining my thigh.

Fuck, this really isn’t so bad. These tingles feel pretty damn good. I don’t know… What a beast this guy is. And I’m hard as a rock. Mmm. God, I’m enjoying this. Am I a faggot?

I asked myself that last question reflexively, like someone trying to hold on to the old version of himself just as it slips from his hands. But I didn’t even have time to answer, because something inside me had just switched on and demanded all my attention. Bruno changed the angle, drove his cock upward, and I screamed into the pillow as if I were being killed by pleasure.

***

Seven minutes in, there was no trace left of the dignified guy who had walked through that door.

What’s happening to me? This feels so good. This is incredible. Oh, my God.

“Don’t stop,” I said, surprised by my own voice. “Don’t stop now, okay?”

Bruno chuckled softly, without mocking me, and continued. He sped up. Every thrust dragged a sound out of me that I didn’t recognize as my own: grunts, broken gasps, a long, filthy “ah” every time he buried himself in me. I pressed my face into the pillow, half ashamed, half surrendered. I heard the wet slap of his balls against mine, the squelch of the lubricant, his heavy breathing over my back.

Then I felt the palm of his hand land on my ass with a sharp smack.

Did that bastard just spank me? Fucking hell… well, it wasn’t that hard. The truth is, it didn’t feel bad.

And there, in that “it didn’t feel bad,” I finally lost the battle I’d been pretending to win all night. Bruno slapped me again, harder this time, and I clenched my ass around his cock without meaning to. I heard him moan above me and realized he liked it as much as I did.

***

Ten minutes in, I was someone else. Someone who said things I never would have imagined saying out loud.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, give it to me,” I panted. “God, that feels so good. This is fucking amazing. Fuck me all the way, fuck, give it to me.”

“Like this?” he asked, driving into me until I felt his balls tighten against my perineum.

“Yes, like that. Again,” I begged, no longer recognizing myself. “Harder. Harder. Give me another spanking, you bastard.”

His hand landed, hard, leaving my ass burning. Then the other one. Bruno found his rhythm, fucking me eagerly now, without his earlier caution, gripping my hips with both hands and pulling me against him with every thrust. The bed squeaked. I was seeing white spots.

“What an ass you’ve got,” he growled. “Look how you’re eating my cock now. You were the one asking for this.”

“Yes,” I answered without thinking. “Yes, give it to me, give it to me.”

Every slap pushed me a little farther beyond the limit I thought I had. I wasn’t counting backward anymore. I wasn’t thinking about the ER or making a spectacle. I only wanted it never to end. I pushed my ass up, arched my back, and offered him my open hole so he could drive into me even deeper.

“Come on,” I heard myself say, in a hoarse voice that wasn’t mine. “Give it to me hard. Don’t stop now. Fuck me properly, fuck, fuck me.”

The man who had spent his whole life looking disgusted was begging a stranger not to stop and to drive his cock right into his guts. And the strangest thing of all was that I wasn’t ashamed. Not then. Not at all.

***

Fifteen minutes in, I lost my speech and my dignity at the same time. What came out of my mouth was no longer sentences, but drawn-out syllables, long sounds, a language I learned that night and hadn’t known existed. Bruno thrust into me hard, every blow shaking my whole body, his cock hitting a place inside me that made me see stars.

I felt something rise from deep down, a wave I couldn’t stop and didn’t want to stop. My cock throbbed against my stomach, hard as an iron bar, wetting the sheet with strings of pre-cum. I clutched the sheets until my nails dug into my palms. My whole body went taut as a bowstring.

And then, without touching me, without anything, I exploded. I felt the first jet shoot out with enough force to buckle my knees, followed by another, and another, and another, while my ass clenched in spasms around Bruno’s cock. I screamed into the pillow, a long, broken scream, and he kept fucking me while I came, prolonging my orgasm until I thought I was going to pass out.

***

It took me a few seconds to understand what had happened. I lay still, panting into the pillow, my heart about to leap out of my mouth and warm semen running down my stomach and thighs.

What was that? Did I come? God, I don’t know. What an orgasm. What a feeling. God, what a feeling. Whew.

Nothing like that had ever happened to me. Not even close. I had come without anyone laying a finger on me, solely from what I was feeling inside, solely from another guy’s cock moving in my ass. I felt disoriented, euphoric, and a little frightened, all at once.

Bruno growled behind me, dug his nails into my hips, and suddenly sank all the way in. I felt his cock pulsing inside me, felt him come and fill the condom, and he stayed pressed against me, panting into the nape of my neck until it passed.

***

But the body is a treacherous thing, and as soon as the euphoria faded, the old speech returned, punctual as ever.

“Come on, pull it out now,” I asked, suddenly uncomfortable. “Pull it out, come on, that’s enough.”

Bruno withdrew with the same care with which he had entered. I felt the strange emptiness left by a cock when it goes away, and the afterburning that reminds you of everything that has just happened. I let myself fall onto my side on the bed, staring at the ceiling, my chest rising and falling, and felt the soreness return now that the fever was dying down.

Now it seems to be hurting again. What have I done? Fuck, what if someone finds out? Once and never again. Once and never again. The last time. What a disgrace. And what a pain in the ass. Once and never again, period.

I thought it with all the conviction in the world. The same conviction with which, hours earlier, I had sworn it wasn’t my thing.

Bruno lay down beside me and silently offered me a glass of water. I accepted it. We stayed quiet for a while, and I laughed to myself at how ridiculous everything had been: the fear, the threats to make him stop, the “if I tell you to stop, you stop.”

***

And here comes the part I really have to confess, the part I don’t tell anyone.

A few weeks passed. Maybe a month. Then one day, without looking for it, I caught myself thinking about that night, my cock hard beneath the sheets and my hand moving on its own. I called Bruno again. And the sequence repeated itself, exactly the same, complete with its prologue of doubts and its obligatory “I don’t know about this.”

But something had changed. Those first reactions—the fear and pain of the first few minutes—grew shorter each time. After a few months, they hardly appeared at all. I learned to open myself, to receive him without resisting, to move my ass myself when I wanted more. And the “once and never again” at the end, the one I had taken so seriously, turned into the opposite: asking him not to pull out yet, to come inside me, to leave it there a little longer even after he had gone soft.

With time, I stopped pretending even to myself. I learned to ask for what I wanted without the detour of doubt, to say out loud things the dignified guy from the beginning would never have tolerated: to fuck me hard, to fill my mouth, to fuck my ass until I came hands-free again. Things I’m not going to repeat here, but that anyone who has crossed that line would recognize.

So yes, I confess: that first and last time was only the first of many. And if there’s still someone out there pulling a disgusted face and saying, all dignity, “that’s not my thing,” I’ll tell him just one thing—the same thing that would have saved me so many nights of lying to myself.

Try it.