What Happened with Diego When Everyone Fell Asleep

My parties at the apartment always ended the same way: someone puking in the bathroom, couples making a scene in the hallway, and a handful of survivors scattered in the corners by sunrise. That March night was no exception. I was still holding my rum pretty well, but at four in the morning I decided I’d had enough and retreated to my room.

Vanessa, my best friend, had been passed out in my bed for two hours. I’d dragged her in there when she started talking to the furniture, and she’d fallen asleep with her face buried in my pillow. I lay down next to her thinking I’d just sleep, that was all, but the mattress sank on the other side and I knew without looking that it was Diego.

Diego had been after Vanessa all semester. Or at least that’s what he said. Every time he saw her at the faculty building he started stammering, sent her messages she never answered, and asked me what he had to do for her to talk to him. That night he’d come to the apartment under the pretext of saying hi, but he’d been glued to Vanessa ever since he walked through the door.

When she curled up against me in her sleep and slipped an arm around my waist, Diego stopped moving. I felt his breathing change. I heard him swallow a sigh that wasn’t from tiredness.

“Move over,” he murmured.

“I’m fine here,” I replied.

He shoved his hip against my back. The first time I thought it was an involuntary movement, one of those little shifts people make to get comfortable. The second time I felt, very clearly, what he was pressing against my lower back. It was him, and he was hard. A whole cock showing through his pants, rubbing against my ass like it was an accident.

I turned around so fast I almost woke Vanessa up.

“Diego, stay still, you’re acting like a little kid,” I whispered.

He didn’t listen. He came closer again, this time with his hand. He brushed my thigh over my pajama pants and left it there, as if waiting for me to give him permission or hit him. I did neither. I got out of bed without saying anything and walked into the living room.

He followed, of course.

The living room was empty. The bottles were still on the table, the ashtrays were full, the balcony door was still open. I sat on the couch and crossed my arms.

“What’s your problem?” I asked. “I thought Vanessa drove you crazy?”

“She does.”

“Then?”

Diego stood in the middle of the room with his hands in his pockets. The lamp lit half his face. He was twenty-two, played soccer for a neighborhood amateur team, and always looked like he was about to apologize for something.

“I don’t know what I like,” he said. “That’s what’s wrong with me.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know what you like?”

“I like women, I swear I do. Vanessa drives me crazy. But sometimes I look at another guy and I get hard.” He made a vague gesture toward his crotch, where the bulge was still obvious. “And I’ve never tried it. I don’t know if it’s real or if I’m making it up.”

I swallowed. I looked at him more carefully.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because in class you never stop messing with me. You hit me in the balls, you act all funny. You wouldn’t get mad if I asked you.”

“If you asked me what?”

He lowered his voice one more notch.

“If you’d let me touch you. If you’d let me suck you off.”

***

What Diego didn’t know was that he wasn’t the only one with a secret. For two years I’d been living alone in that apartment because I needed a space where nobody could see me. My weekends, when my classmates went back home, I spent trying on the underwear I kept hidden in the bottom drawer of the dresser. Black thongs, lace briefs, a pair of fishnet stockings I’d bought online.

I’d do my makeup watching tutorials on my phone and take pictures to post on a fake account where no one knew my real name. The followers told me they wanted to wreck my ass, that I was a little slut, and I’d end up getting myself off with my hand while staring at the screen. In my public life I was still a twenty-two-year-old guy my friends considered a womanizer.

My ex-girlfriend had been the only person in the world who had seen me like that, and we’d broken up three months earlier. Since then I hadn’t told anyone. And now Diego was asking me for something that wasn’t exactly that, but that hit the same nerve.

“Diego, I like women,” I said, not entirely convinced.

“I just want to try.”

“I don’t feel like being your experiment.”

“It’s not that.” He sat down beside me on the couch. I felt him hesitate. “It’s just that I trust you.”

That sentence was what finished undoing me. People didn’t say things like that to me. People saw me as the party guy, the one who organized study groups, the one who always had liquor in the freezer. Nobody saw me as someone you could trust with something intimate.

I looked at him. His eyes were a little red from exhaustion and a little bright with fear. I sighed.

“Just one thing,” I said. “And nobody finds out.”

Diego nodded so fast his hair almost fell into his face.

***

I unzipped his pants myself, I don’t know why. Maybe because if he did it, it would take him half an hour and I’d lose the mood. I took off his belt, pulled his jeans down to mid-thigh, and let him do the rest. His cock was already hard, pressing against the fabric of his briefs, leaving a wet patch at the tip. I freed it in one pull and just stared: thick, veins swollen, the head red and shiny with pre-cum. I looked at him without touching him yet. Diego watched me like he was waiting for a grade.

“Is it okay?” he asked. “Is it okay?”

“It’s okay, Diego. You’ve got a nice one.”

A low gasp escaped him, as if those four words had cracked a whip down his spine. I closed my hand around the base and squeezed. I felt it pulse against my palm, alive, hot, hotter than anything I’d ever touched before. I pulled the skin back and fully uncovered the glans. A thick strand dripped over my knuckles.

I let him touch me first. He slid his hand down into the waistband of my pants slowly, like he was afraid of breaking something. When he grabbed my cock he went still for a second, not breathing, and then he started moving up and down with such clumsy rhythm that I had to bite down on a smile.

“Slower,” I told him. “And use some spit, spit on your hand.”

He brought his fingers to his mouth, soaked them, and took me again. The change was immediate: his hand slid better over the shaft, he squeezed me right below the glans and tugged my balls with the other, imitating what he must have done to himself when he jerked off alone. A moan slipped out of me and I covered my mouth.

“Shh,” he whispered, smiling. “Vanessa.”

“Shut up and keep going.”

He leaned forward without warning. Before I could tell him no, that blowjobs weren’t really my thing, that the tip was too sensitive for me to endure it for more than a minute, his mouth was already on my cock. I closed my eyes. The sensation was strange from the very first second. No man had ever done that to me. He lacked technique, had too much saliva, and kept accidentally knocking his teeth against me every five seconds. I could feel him fighting the gag reflex, pulling back, breathing, and then taking me again halfway down. His tongue trembled flat against the underside of the glans and that sincere clumsiness, that beginner’s effort, was killing me.

I put my hand on the back of his neck, not forcing him, just guiding him. He understood. He started bobbing his head with more steadiness, sucking with his lips tight, letting a string of saliva run down his chin to my balls. And still, knowing it was Diego down there, Diego the soccer player, Diego the one who had jokingly called me a faggot since freshman year, lit something in my chest that had nothing to do with physical pleasure.

“Wait,” I told him. “Wait, stop.”

I pulled away before I came. I didn’t want to finish yet.

“Already?” he asked, his mouth shining with spit and me.

“Pull your pants back up for a second.”

“Why?”

“Because if we keep going like this, I’m going to finish in your mouth and the night’s over. I want to do something else.”

Diego looked at me like I’d offered him an overseas trip.

***

I told him to lie down on the long couch, face up. I took off his jeans and briefs and kicked them to the floor. When I had him naked from the waist down, I realized he was a lot bigger than he’d looked with clothes on. Not absurdly huge, but enough that the first time I wondered how I was supposed to take the whole thing. I spread his legs with my hands, ran my thumbs over his groin, and licked slowly from his balls up to the tip. Diego arched his back and muffled a moan into his arm.

I knelt on the floor between his legs and, before thinking too much about it, I took him into my mouth. All of it. Or as much as I could. I felt it hit the back of my throat and had to pull back coughing.

“Fuck,” Diego whispered, lifting his head. “Fuck, Luna.”

My name, said like that, in a situation like that, made me clench my thighs and feel my cock throbbing inside my pajamas.

I’d never done anything like that. I’d imagined it a thousand times in front of the mirror, with lipstick on, pretending with a hairbrush. But doing it was something else: the hot texture, the weight, the smell of men’s shampoo, the salty taste of pre-cum dripping over my tongue. I was surprised I didn’t feel disgusted. I was even more surprised to discover my mouth was starting to water, my lips were swelling, that while I moved my head up and down I was touching myself over my pants until I pulled them down and got myself out.

I sucked like I’d been practicing for years. I ran my tongue under the glans, sucked the tip like it was a fruit, let it go with a pop, and took him back in as far as I could. I licked his balls one by one, sucked each one into my mouth while jerking the shaft with my hand slick with saliva. Diego was wrecked. His fingers were buried in the couch, his legs trembling, his abs tight.

“Luna, Luna, Luna,” he kept repeating, as if it were the only word he had left.

He didn’t last long. He grabbed my hair after two minutes.

“Stop, stop, stop.”

I pulled back with my mouth full of saliva and a string hanging down to my chest.

“Almost,” he said. “I almost came in your mouth.”

“Then it worked.”

He laughed. A nervous, childish laugh. Then he sat up and pushed me back until I was reclined on the couch. He took his shirt off. His chest was flushed red, his nipples hard, a line of pale hair running down to his navel, and his cock stood against his stomach, still shiny with my saliva.

“I want to too,” he said.

“What?”

“What you did. I want to do it right. I want to try it.”

He stripped off my pants awkwardly. I lifted my hips to help him. When he left me naked from the waist down, he stared at my dick with almost comical concentration, like it was an exam he was about to take. His hand trembled when he grabbed it. He brought it to his mouth slowly, eyes closed, and sucked me with a clumsy devotion that made me grip the back of the couch.

“Like that,” I told him, guiding him with my hand on the back of his neck. “Tongue underneath. Good. Move it up and down. Ah, like that, Diego.”

He learned fast. His lips adjusted right away, he kept his teeth covered, he started producing that thick saliva that only comes when you’re really good at blowing someone. He looked up at me from below with my cock in his mouth, and I think that was the moment it became clear to both of us that this wasn’t going to be a one-time thing.

And then, without saying anything, he settled himself the other way around on top of me. His cock ended up at my face. And there, on the couch where my classmates used to sit and watch the league on Sundays, Diego and I gave each other a sixty-nine neither of us had ever done before.

***

I don’t know how long we stayed like that. I remember it in fragments: the salty taste, Diego’s thigh against my ear, the lamp in my eyes, the little shivers his ragged breathing made in my crotch. I grabbed his ass with both hands and forced him lower, until he was shoving his cock all the way into my mouth. I could feel his ass cheeks clench every time I ran my tongue over the frenulum. He devoured me from above, taking mine in with a rhythm that grew less and less clumsy, moaning around it with his mouth full.

At some point I stopped thinking. I only heard my own mouth being filled, the wet sounds he kept making, my own moans muffled against his groin. I slid a saliva-wet finger between his ass cheeks, not going all the way, just brushing his hole, and Diego shuddered all the way down his legs.

“Oh, fuck,” he said, pulling his cock out of my mouth for a second. “Oh, fuck, don’t stop.”

“Do you like it?”

“Keep going.”

It was ridiculous. Diego didn’t know what he was doing. Neither did I. And yet the clumsiness was part of it. If it had been perfect it wouldn’t have been what it was. I took him deeper into my mouth, down to my throat, and endured it even as my eyes filled with water. He answered in kind, swallowing mine with a determined thrust, and this time I was the one who had to smack his thigh for him to stop.

“I’m coming,” I said, my mouth still pressed to his glans. “Diego, I’m coming.”

“Me too.”

We came almost at the same time. I went first, in three or four thick spurts that Diego swallowed halfway and let drip halfway from his chin onto his chest when he pulled back. Seeing him there, my load hanging from his lower lip, made me squeeze his ass harder and shove his cock back into my mouth, his, hunting for the finish. He didn’t take long. One spasm, then another, and he filled my tongue with a hot, dense stream that almost made me cough. I swallowed it. All of it. I don’t know if it was pride or because there were no napkins nearby.

Diego let himself fall sideways against the back of the couch, panting, his cock still hard and pressed against my face, dribbling the last drops over my cheek.

“Luna,” he said after a long while, letting go of me for a second. “Luna, listen.”

“What?”

“The shower got clogged.”

Vanessa.

I sat up so fast I almost hit my nose against his hip. Diego got up from the couch, picked his pants off the floor, pulled his T-shirt over his head, ran his fingers through his hair. I pulled my pajamas back up, wiped the corner of my mouth with my sleeve to clean off what was left of him, tried to steady my breathing, and looked around the room as if I could hide the smell of sex. The couch was a mess. The cushions were thrown around. One of the bottles had fallen over without us noticing and left a dark ring on the wood. There was a wet stain on the leather, where part of Diego’s load had landed.

“The kitchen,” I told him. “Go to the kitchen, pour yourself some water, pretend to be asleep.”

Diego bolted. I sat where I’d been before, rested my elbows on my knees, and tried to breathe slowly.

The bathroom door opened right then.

Vanessa came out with a towel tied around her chest, her hair still wet, her cheeks red from the hot water. She looked at me from the other side of the room. I don’t know what face I had on. Something must have seemed off, because she tilted her head, frowned, and then put on a smile I didn’t understand.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“Everything’s fine.”

“Your eyes are shining.”

“I just didn’t sleep much.”

She walked over to the couch. She passed in front of me, leaving me smelling of shampoo and steam. Just before going into the bedroom, she turned around.

“Luna,” she said, “tell Diego next time to close the bedroom door when he’s done. I saw him through the bathroom crack when he came out. And you’ve got something on your cheek, by the way.”

I ran a hand over my face and stained my finger.

I stopped breathing.

“I won’t tell anyone,” she added. “But next party, make less noise. You can hear everything from the bathroom.”

She closed the door. I stayed on the couch for a long while, my heart about to burst out of my chest and a smile I couldn’t control on my face.

Diego came back a while later. I told him what Vanessa had said. I thought he’d panic, but he just stayed quiet, looking at the floor, and in the end he said, “Better her than anyone else.”

After that we saw each other several more times, in my room and always with the door closed. We learned things: I learned how to open myself up for him, how to take him all the way without it hurting, how to come just from having him inside me. He learned how to suck me without teeth, how to whisper filthy things in my ear while he was fucking me, how to call me by the name I signed my photos with. We learned, above all, that he wasn’t exactly what I thought he was, and neither was I. But that first morning on the couch, with Vanessa showering three meters away and my best friend’s head between my legs, is still the most honest confession I’ve ever made.