What I Never Told: My Friend and I in My Apartment

I’ve always considered myself a heterosexual man. I say that without asterisks or footnotes. I’ve liked women for as long as I can remember, and I doubt that’s going to change at this point. But there’s a story I kept to myself for a long time and, if I’m telling it now, it’s because it doesn’t make me uncomfortable to say it anymore.

I had a friend, Mateo, whom I met at the neighborhood gym. He was openly gay, funny, unfiltered. The kind of friend you end up talking about anything with until four in the morning without noticing. And from the very first moment, he made it clear that he liked me. He said it the way someone comments on the weather: without pressure, without expecting anything, just putting it on the table.

—You know my mouth waters every time I see you working out? —he’d blurt out with a smile whenever we crossed paths by the machines—. I imagine that cock of yours all sweaty, shoved down my throat until I choke.

I laughed and answered him with whatever came to mind. He had a shamelessness that didn’t offend. I took it as part of him, the same way I took it for granted that he dressed well or that he always took his café cortado with two sugars.

But among all the things he said to me, there was one that kept turning over in my head. I’ve always been the kind of guy who especially enjoys oral sex. To me, a good blowjob is one of the best things that can happen to me in a bed. And Mateo, who seemed to read me, never missed a chance to remind me that he was dying to suck me off, to have it all the way down his throat, to swallow every drop of my cum. He said it with that naturalness he had for everything, and at first I found it funny. Then it stopped being so funny.

***

One night he came over to my apartment with two beers and the excuse of showing me a series. We watched for half an hour and then stopped paying attention. We were on the couch, the TV on in the background, and the conversation drifted where it always drifted with him.

—Seriously —he said, setting the can down on the coffee table—. Once. Just once. I swear I’m going to suck your cock better than any woman ever did in your life.

I looked at him. He held my gaze. And at that moment, I’m not entirely sure why, I told him yes.

Mateo knelt between my legs with a calm that disarmed me. He wasn’t in a hurry. He unbuckled my belt, pulled my pants and underwear down slowly, as if he were opening a gift he’d been waiting months for. My dick came out half-hard, resting against my stomach, and he let out a long sigh, like someone finally arriving home.

—Look at that —he murmured—. I’ve been thinking about this cock for a year.

He took me at the base with his right hand and lifted me toward his mouth. Before taking me in, he ran his tongue flat from my balls to the tip, very slowly, stopping to lick my frenulum with the tip of it. I felt the shiver run up my spine. Then he grabbed me with both hands, pressed me against his closed lips and looked up at me from below while he rubbed me across his face, his cheek, his chin, as if he wanted to smear himself with me before starting.

—Close your eyes if you want.

I didn’t. I wanted to watch.

He opened his mouth and took me all in in one motion, so deep I felt the tip hit the back of his throat. He stayed there, lips pressed to my pubic bone, breathing through his nose, letting his tongue work beneath the head. When he finally came up, it was with a wet, obscene sound, leaving a thread of saliva hanging between his lip and the tip of my cock.

—Fuck —he said, his voice rough—. I knew you had a good one, but not this good.

And he went back down. He knew exactly when to tighten his lips and when to loosen them, when to keep his tongue still and when to circle the head with the tip of it. Every movement seemed deliberate. Every breath of his was calculated so I’d feel the warm air in exactly the right place. He took my balls into his mouth one by one, sucking them hungrily while he jerked me with a hand slick with his own saliva. Then he came back up, licked both at once with his tongue flat, and swallowed my cock all the way down again.

—Tell me if I’m doing well —he said between one gag and the next, his eyes glassy.

I didn’t answer him with words. I grabbed his head with my hand, buried my fingers in his hair and guided him myself, pushing his face against my pubic bone. He let me do it, swallowed, choked for a second and kept going. That lit me up in a way I hadn’t expected. I started moving his head myself, fucking his mouth like it was a cunt, and he didn’t resist at all: he let go with his hands, rested them on my thighs and opened his throat wider so I could come in and out at my own pace.

At times he swallowed me whole and stayed there, motionless, his nose crushed against my pelvis and tears rolling down his cheeks from gagging, until I thought he might choke. Then he’d come up slowly, as if it cost him to separate from me, and go back down. Other times he’d pull me out of his mouth and run his tongue over the tip with a precision that made me clench my fists against the couch, or he’d spit on it and use that as lubricant to jerk me with both hands while he sucked my balls.

This shouldn’t be turning me on this much.

But it was. A lot.

When I felt I couldn’t hold it anymore, I warned him. I told him I was coming, that he should move, that he should take me out of his mouth. I thought he was going to pull away. He didn’t. Quite the opposite: he drove me to the back of his throat, grabbed my balls with one hand, slipped the other beneath my ass and pushed me upward, and looked up at me with his eyes wide open, demanding it from me. Everything went blurry. I started coming and he didn’t move. I felt the first spurt go straight onto his palate, then another, and another, and another, his mouth full, his throat working to swallow without letting go of my cock. I finished in his mouth with a moan that probably made the neighbor next door hear. A little semen overflowed from the corner of his mouth, dripped down his chin, and fell onto his chest. He didn’t wipe it off. He pulled my cock from his mouth slowly, lips closed, squeezing me with them all the way to the tip to milk out the last of it. Then he opened his mouth and showed me what was left inside before swallowing it. He smiled.

—I told you so —he murmured, scooping up with his finger the semen that had dripped onto his chin and putting it into his mouth.

That night we didn’t talk much more. He left an hour later, as if nothing had happened. I stayed on the couch, the beer warm on the table, my cock still out of my pants and shining with dried saliva, trying to understand what the hell that had been.

***

A week later he came back. And the week after that too.

We built a routine without naming it. He’d show up with any excuse and I wouldn’t say no. Nobody knew. Not out of shame, really, but because there was no point in telling anyone. I didn’t feel less straight for letting him do his thing, and he wasn’t asking me for anything I couldn’t give.

The unspoken rule was simple: he sucked me off, I let him. Sometimes I’d put a hand on his head and fuck his mouth until tears ran from his eyes, other times I’d let him work me at his own pace. Every time he finished, he finished in his mouth. That part seemed to please him more than it did me; he’d ask me to warn him so he could watch while he swallowed my load.

—You’re my vice —he told me one night, still short of breath, licking away a drop left on his lip with his tongue—. You’ve got me addicted to this cock.

—And you’re my secret —I answered.

He laughed. He liked that word.

***

A month passed, maybe two. One dawn, after a particularly long session in which he’d made me come twice in a row in his mouth without letting me go, he sat up on the couch and looked at me.

—Did you never want to try the other thing? —he asked—. I mean, putting it in your ass.

He knew perfectly well what he meant, but he still said it in so many words.

I told him no, that it had never even crossed my mind. But that wasn’t entirely true. The idea had crossed my head more than once in the last few weeks, especially when he leaned over me and I saw his back, his shoulders, that waist narrower than it looked. Mateo wasn’t skinny, but there was something about him, the way he moved, a perky ass that stood out under his pants, that I could no longer look at the way I used to.

—Think about it —he said, and left.

I thought about it all week.

***

The night I said yes, we did it in my bedroom. Not on the couch. That already made a difference.

He came in without saying much. He knew. He undressed first, calmly, looking me in the eyes as if giving me time to back out. When he was completely naked, he turned around slowly to show me his ass, round, shaved, and bent down to pick up the pants from the floor with the sole intention of giving me a glimpse of the opening for a second. My cock got hard instantly. I didn’t back out.

He started as always, with his mouth, but this time it was shorter. More of a preparation. He knelt, pulled my cock out of my underwear, spit on it and swallowed it in one go. He sucked me off hungrily, both hands squeezing my balls, until I was rock hard. When he felt I was as hard as stone, he pulled away, wiped the saliva from his chin with the back of his hand and smiled.

—I need you nice and firm for this —he said, and turned around.

He got on all fours on the bed, his elbows sunk into the mattress and his ass lifted toward me, and the image hit me harder than I wanted to admit. It was him, clearly him, but the pose was the same one I’d seen hundreds of times in a different kind of scene. It took my head a second to put the pieces together. I saw his little hole, pink, tight, and below it his balls hanging and his hard cock pressed against his stomach. He reached behind himself and pulled one cheek open with his fingers, offering himself to me wide open.

I came closer. I asked if he was sure. He said yes, that he was ready, that he’d take care of it. He pulled an envelope out of the pocket of the pants he’d left on the chair. Lube. He’d thought of everything. He squirted a good amount on his fingers and slicked himself up, first one finger, then two, right in front of me, while looking over his shoulder at me. He moved them inside with ease, opening himself up, and let out low gasps that had me on the verge of finishing before we even started. Then he grabbed my cock with his lubricant-covered hand and coated it all over, calmly, squeezing and twisting his wrist at the tip.

—Come here —he murmured—. Put it in slowly the first time.

I moved in behind him. I pressed the tip against the hole. When I went in, I did it slowly. Slower than I’d ever gone into anyone. Not out of tenderness, but because I wasn’t sure how this was done. I felt the ring give way, the tip slipping inside with a short push, the tight heat wrapping around me centimeter by centimeter. He was tighter than any pussy I’d ever been in. He drew in a deep breath, let the air out through his teeth and pushed his hips back against me, swallowing the rest in one go. That was enough guidance.

The first thing that surprised me was the sound. Not mine. His. When I started moving with a little more rhythm, he let out a deep moan, almost a complaint, which then turned into something more like a purr. He didn’t sound the way I’d imagined. He sounded like any body being touched right, any female getting split open properly from the inside.

—Like that, like that, don’t stop —he murmured with his face buried in the pillow—. Break me, give me more.

I closed my eyes for a moment and stopped thinking. When I opened them, I was already going faster. I’d put a hand on his nape, I had him by the hair, with the other I held his hip, my fingers digging into the flesh. I was driving into him with hard thrusts, listening to my pubic bone slap against his ass with a wet, hollow sound that filled the room. I said things I hadn’t planned on saying. Nasty things, in the best sense. I told him I was going all the way in, that I was going to wreck him, that I was going to finish inside no matter what. He answered everything with yes, that he was going to give me all of it, that he was mine.

—Harder —he asked at some point, his face pressed into the sheet—. Fuck me harder, asshole.

I did as he said. I grabbed both his wrists with one hand and threw them back, leaving his chest pressed against the mattress and his ass even higher, and I drove into him with everything I had. Each thrust pulled a higher moan from him than the last. The bed started banging against the wall.

***

After a while he asked to switch. He had me lie on my back and sat on top of me, facing me first. He lifted himself onto his knees, took himself in one hand, pointed himself at the hole and lowered down slowly, eyes closed and mouth open, until he was completely seated with my cock inside him. Seeing his face while he sank down onto me was a strange experience. At times I looked at him —the cheekbones, the jaw, Adam’s apple— and convinced myself no, he wasn’t a woman; at others, I closed my eyes and the tight heat sucking my cock felt so much like a good pussy that I didn’t care about anything else. And that, far from putting me off, turned me on even more. I grabbed his cock, hard between us, and started jerking him off to the rhythm of his rise and fall. A thread of pre-cum ran from the tip, mixing with his sweat.

—Look at me, look at me while I take it —he asked, planting his hands on my chest and sinking his nails into me—. Watch how I swallow your whole cock.

I watched. He was riding me like a horse, his thighs trembling with the effort, and every time he came all the way down he let out a broken gasp.

Then he turned around. With his back to me, holding onto my knees, he started moving with an intensity I’d never seen in a bed. Now I had the view of his back, of his buttocks parting and coming together again with every drop, of my cock sliding in and out, shining, between his cheeks. Every time he came down, he went all the way to the hilt, with a sharp slap of his ass against my thighs. Every time he went up, he seemed on the verge of slipping off me, leaving me only the tip inside, and then he’d drop back down with all his weight. I put my hands on his hips and guided him, but more to follow along than to direct him. He had this under control. He’d give me dry hip punches, squeezing my ass each time he got to the bottom, milking me with that opening that knew how to close at will.

When he got tired of that position, he turned around again and got back on all fours. This time I climbed onto the bed too, behind him, and that changed everything. We were both up on the mattress, our knees sunk into the padding, and the sensation was completely different from the first time. I leaned over his back until I covered him completely. I pushed his head down into the pillow with one hand on his nape, bit his shoulder, told him in his ear I was going to fill him up. And I started moving like I’d been set loose. My hips slamming against his ass at a pace I no longer controlled, my free hand reaching for his cock underneath to jerk him off while I gave it to him. I felt it pounding in my fist, hard, soaked, on the edge.

—I’m coming, I’m coming —he moaned into the pillow, and I felt the hot spurt soaking my fingers, falling onto the sheet, while his ass clenched in spasms around my cock.

That squeeze finished me off. I felt the orgasm coming and I didn’t stop. I didn’t pull out either. I dug my fingers into his hip, gave two, three, four more deep thrusts, and came inside him, jaw clenched, without a moan this time. Just a dry sound I’m not sure where it came from, as I emptied into him everything I’d been holding back for half an hour. I felt every spurt come out, his ass swallowing it all, and still I kept pushing for a while longer, slowly, until I started to soften. When I finally pulled out, my cum dripped down my cock and over his ass.

I let myself fall beside him. I was soaked. He was too. He reached back, slipped his fingers in and pulled them out white. He sucked them clean without taking his eyes off me.

—Well? —he asked after a while, still face down.

—Nothing —I told him—. Get out before I change my mind about all of this.

He laughed into the pillow. He patted my leg. Then he got up, dressed, and left.

***

That night, the one I remember as the best, was the first of many. After that came others. Some better, some worse, none like that one. And even though I kept dating women, even though I kept falling in love with women and even though today I’m with a woman, I don’t erase that part of my life or deny it.

I learned something in that period, and that’s why I’m telling it now. It doesn’t matter all that much who you take to bed if what happens in there is honest. I’m not gay. But for a couple of nights, I was, in my own way, with a friend who knew how to read my body better than many women who passed through that same bed.

And if you ask me whether I’d do it again, my answer will depend on who’s asking. If my current partner asks me, never. If the mirror asks me, before going to sleep, you already know what I’m going to answer.