What Happened That Night with My Best Friend

I remember perfectly how it all started, even though more than fifteen years have passed. The November heat was barely making itself felt in the city, and we were in the final stretch of the semester. Classes were practically over, exams would be finished in a week, and afternoons were a luxury. Andrés, my best friend since our first year, had organized a get-together at his house to celebrate the end of the year. He invited half the faculty, but that night only he and I showed up.

—Quite a success, huh? —he said, opening the second beer.

—More for us —I replied.

His parents had gone away for the weekend to their house in the mountains, and the whole chalet was ours. We put on some music, took the beers out of the refrigerator, and sat on the couch talking nonsense. We went from professors to classes, from classes to girls, and from girls to confessions one normally keeps to oneself.

—Mariana’s sister drives me crazy —he told me—. Every time I see her at the faculty, I think about the same thing.

—And what do you think?

—I think about fucking her against the bathroom wall, grabbing her by the hair and shoving it into her mouth all the way. I think about coming inside her and watching my cum run down her thighs.

He laughed softly. Andrés had a nervous laugh, as if he were always on the verge of saying something he would later regret. That night he talked about things you don’t tell even your closest friends. Things a man thinks about when he’s alone and in the dark. I played along and let out my own: the Roman law professor I’d suck for hours, the sociology classmate whose ass I’d break if she gave me the chance. The beers kept disappearing, and the conversation grew more and more explicit.

After midnight, we decided it would be better for me to stay the night. I lived on the other side of the city, and driving after five beers wasn’t a good idea. Andrés had a large double bed, left over from when his parents remodeled the master bedroom. He lent me a T-shirt and a pair of shorts to sleep in, and we went to bed.

I had always slept curled up on my side, tucked against the edge of the mattress. I turned off the light, turned my back to him, and closed my eyes. It wasn’t long before I noticed Andrés settling in behind me. At first I thought it was accidental, that the bed naturally dipped in the middle and we were both sliding toward that spot without meaning to. But then I felt something much more concrete.

His cock, hard as a rock beneath his shorts, pressed against my ass cheeks. I could feel it throbbing. Every time he breathed, that swollen dick shifted slightly, outlining itself in the fabric, trying to fit into the crack of my ass over our shorts.

I didn’t know what to do. On the one hand, my first reaction was to move away, slide toward the edge, and pretend I hadn’t felt anything. On the other hand—and this is the hardest confession to make—I liked it. I liked the pressure, the heat coming through the fabric, Andrés’s steady breathing against the nape of my neck. I felt my own cock starting to harden inside my shorts, pressed against the sheet. I stayed still and let it happen. Andrés moved slightly, a subtle rub, and the tip of his dick settled right into the cleft between my ass cheeks. Every exhalation against my neck burned.

—Are you awake? —he whispered.

—Yes.

—Let’s jerk off.

He said it just like that, without beating around the bush, as if he were suggesting we get another beer. And before I could answer, he added:

—Thinking about some girl. I’m going to think about Mariana’s sister, about how I’d fuck her from behind. You think about whoever you want.

The excuse was elegant. It let us do something forbidden under the cover of a heterosexual pretext. I pulled my underwear down to my thighs without turning around, and he did the same. I heard the fabric rustle, followed by the unmistakable sound of a hand closing around a hard cock. I started touching myself. My dick took only a few seconds to become fully hard, swollen, the tip already wet with pre-cum. The darkness of the room, the sound of his broken breathing, the awareness that he was jerking off thirty centimeters away from me—all of it had me hotter than any fantasy about Mariana’s sister.

I could hear the wet slap of his fist moving up and down his cock, and the sound drove me crazy. I imagined Andrés’s dick in his hand, thick and red, the vein throbbing. I quickened my own pace without meaning to.

And then I felt his hand.

First on my leg, almost by accident. Then moving upward, deliberately, without apology. His fingers found my cock and closed around it with a firmness that stopped my breath. My heart began pounding against my ribs as if it were about to break free. I said nothing. I didn’t move his hand away, either.

—Does it bother you? —he murmured.

I shook my head, even though he couldn’t see me.

—You’ve got it so hard —he said, and his voice sounded hoarse, different.

His hand began moving with a rhythm that wasn’t mine. Slower, more careful, almost reverent. I had never imagined another man’s hand could feel so different from my own. I knew every millimeter of my own cock, but Andrés’s fingers explored it as if they were discovering things I had never noticed. He ran his thumb over the head, spreading the pre-cum across the whole glans, squeezed the base until I could feel the pulse of blood, then moved back up in a slow, knowing stroke. With his other hand he found my balls and weighed them, rolling them gently between his fingers. Without realizing what I was doing, I rolled onto my back. A moan escaped my throat.

—Shut up, idiot —he whispered—, they can hear everything in this house.

But he wasn’t quiet, either. His breathing was a ragged pant mingling with the creaking of the mattress.

***

Andrés sat up in bed. Moonlight came through the blinds, drawing stripes across his torso. He took off his T-shirt and then his shorts. I saw him naked for the first time—or rather, I saw him in a way I had never looked at him before. His chest was hairless, with a line of hair running from his navel to his pubic area, and his cock was a little thicker than mine, fully erect, the purple head peeking from beneath his retracted foreskin, a clear drop hanging from the tip. I saw his balls pulled tight, pressed against the base, and the veins standing out along the shaft.

—Can I? —he asked.

I didn’t know what he meant until he leaned over me. His face descended toward my crotch and, without any further ceremony, his mouth closed around my cock.

The pleasure was unlike anything I knew. The wetness, the heat, the pressure of his tongue against my frenulum, that sensitive spot just below the glans where a simple caress can make you come. Until that moment I had never been with anyone. No girl had ever sucked my dick the way Andrés was sucking it in that room at three in the morning. I gripped the sheet with both hands and tried not to make a sound. The bed creaked with his movements, and I had the irrational but persistent certainty that the neighbors could hear us.

He moved up and down at a patient rhythm. His cheek hollowed each time he sucked hard, and I felt his tongue curling around the head. Sometimes he stopped and licked only the tip, gathering the pre-cum with his flat tongue; other times he took the whole thing into his mouth as far as he could, until I felt his throat tighten against the head, and worked his tongue around the shaft. He went down to my balls too and sucked them one by one, taking them fully into his mouth while he jerked me with his hand. Then he went back up, his tongue tracing the entire length of the shaft from base to tip, and gave me a look I had never seen from him before.

—Your cock is so fucking good —he murmured before swallowing it again.

He closed his eyes and concentrated, as if he were doing something important. I had imagined a blowjob a thousand times, but I discovered that none of my fantasies came close to the real thing. My thighs trembled on their own, my balls contracted, my stomach tightened in spasms.

This can’t be undone.

When I felt I was about to come, I pushed his head away with one hand.

—Wait. I want to do it to you too.

He settled onto his back, and I knelt between his legs. His cock, seen from so close, was strange and familiar at the same time. I took it in my hand. The skin was soft, the base hotter than the rest, his balls hanging heavily beneath it. I brought my mouth closer slowly, almost afraid. I didn’t know if it would disgust me, if I would be able to do it, if I would regret it afterward.

But I did it. And it didn’t disgust me.

It tasted clean, slightly salty, with nothing unpleasant about it. The hardness in my mouth was a new sensation that would stay with me forever. I ran my tongue over it from base to tip, exactly as he had done to me, and heard a deep moan I hadn’t expected. Then I put it all—or almost all—the way into my mouth, as far as I could, and started sucking it with a beginner’s clumsiness. At first my jaw ached and I gagged a little when the tip touched the back of my throat, but I gradually found a rhythm. I moved up and down, sucking with my cheeks hollowed, tasting the salty pre-cum that began to flow more and more abundantly. Feeling a man’s body react to what I was doing with my mouth was what finally broke me.

Andrés lifted his hips and gave me a gentle thrust, sinking a little deeper into my mouth. He placed his hand on the back of my neck, not squeezing, just guiding me.

—That’s it, exactly like that —he panted—. Suck it properly, idiot, don’t stop.

I went down to his balls and licked them too, as he had done to me. They were tight, pulled up against the base of his cock. I felt them throbbing against my tongue. I went back up and sank his entire dick into my mouth once more, feeling it contract slightly against my palate.

I got incredibly horny. Too horny.

***

—I want you to put it in me —I said without thinking too much.

Andrés looked at me from the pillow. His face was flushed and his hair stuck to his forehead, and his cock was shining all over with my saliva.

—Are you sure?

—Yes. Fuck me.

I got on all fours on the bed and turned my back to him. I felt him settle in behind me. He spat into his hand and coated his cock; I heard it sliding through his fist, then he spat again and rubbed my anus. The cool sensation of his saliva against that part of me that had never been touched made me tense up. He spread my ass cheeks with both hands, and I felt the hot tip of his dick rest against my entrance. He pushed slowly. The thick head pressed against my clenched ring, and no matter how hard I tried to relax, I couldn’t let it through. I could feel the muscle resisting, my whole body instinctively contracting each time he increased the pressure.

—Relax your ass —he whispered—, take a deep breath.

I tried. He spat on me again and rubbed it in with his finger, this time slipping just the fingertip inside me to lubricate me from within. The sensation of the finger entering was strange and sharp, with a slight burning. He pulled it out and tried again with his cock. The tip settled against my hole, pushed, and at the last moment something gave and something closed, and his dick slid upward again without gaining any ground.

We changed positions, tried more saliva, tried being patient. Me on my back, with my legs in the air. Me on my side. Me pushing my ass backward to help him. But I wasn’t ready. My body closed up every time he pressed, and after fifteen minutes of trying, we had to stop. We were both sweating, our hearts racing, our cocks still hard and throbbing.

—It’s okay —he told me.

—Sorry.

—Idiot, don’t apologize.

We finished separately. He lay on his back and jerked off quickly, his hand clenched into a tight fist moving up and down at a furious pace, his balls bouncing against his pubic bone. I watched his whole stomach tense and the first jets of cum leap onto his chest, white and thick, one after another, five or six of them, until he was covered and a thread ran down his hand. I sat against the wall and jerked off while watching him, watching him come, and I came almost immediately afterward, with a long release that spattered my thighs and the sheet. When I finished, I collapsed onto the mattress, and we lay there in silence, listening to the hum of the fan.

—Let’s never talk about this again —he finally said.

—Agreed.

And that’s what happened.

***

The next morning we had breakfast as if nothing had happened. We took our final exams a week later, each went on vacation separately, and the following year Andrés moved to another city to begin graduate school. We saw each other a couple more times at mutual friends’ weddings, always with other people around, always briefly. We never brought it up again. Sometimes I look at his photo on social media—he’s married now and has two children—and wonder whether he also thinks about that night when he goes to bed beside his wife, whether he still remembers the taste of my cock in his mouth.

I married Lucía eight years ago. I love her, desire her, fuck her often, and I’m happy with the life we have. But the unease that awakened in me that dawn with Andrés never completely went away. I fantasize about tasting another cock in my mouth, feeling the weight of a hard dick against my tongue, swallowing a whole load. About feeling one slowly entering my ass, this time all the way, until the balls slap against my buttocks. The curiosity that was left unfinished that night turned over the years into a persistent itch that married life never quite manages to soothe.

With Lucía, I’ve learned to approach it by side roads. One ordinary day I asked her to touch my ass while I jerked off. She laughed at first, then became curious. Now it’s part of our repertoire. She puts in one finger, sometimes two, pushes them in to the knuckles and moves them inside me while she licks my balls, and the intensity of the orgasm when I’m like that is unlike anything else: my whole back arches, and my loads come out thicker, longer, almost painfully. When she isn’t home, I take a small dildo we keep in the drawer—she thinks it’s only for using on her—and take care of myself. I bend over the edge of the bed with my ass spread, sometimes putting one of her thongs over my thighs to feel the fabric against my skin, coat my anus thoroughly with lubricant, and slowly work it inside me. The first time was difficult; my ass clenched just like it had that night with Andrés. But I learned. Now it slides all the way in, and I fuck myself with it, thrusting my hips backward, imagining it’s him, or a stranger, or any man who might want to help me with that itch. I jerk off while I push it in, and when I come, the release makes me see stars.

But that’s where it stays. In fantasy. Lucía will never know, and I will never seek out another man.

This is my confession. The first time I’ve ever put it into words, after so many years of carrying it alone. I don’t know whether Andrés still thinks about that November night. I don’t know whether he ever put it into words himself, in some whispered confession he later deleted from his phone. But I know that was my first time with a man, and that it will probably also be my last, and that the memory is enough to keep feeding the fantasy whenever I close my eyes.