The Afternoon I Couldn’t Get Them Out of My Head

I got home with sweat on my body and my head somewhere else. I’d climbed the stairs faster than usual, as if I needed to put doors between the world and me before what was happening inside me showed on my face.

The apartment was empty. Perfect.

I dropped the gym bag in the hallway, leaned against the closed door, and let the silence wrap around me for a moment. Outside, the afternoon went on with its own life: cars, voices, the dull noise of the city. In here, just me, my cock already half-hard pressed against the fabric of my shorts, and what I’d been holding in for the past two hours.

The problem had a name. Well, two names.

Adrián had been on the university basketball team for three seasons. He was the kind of guy who didn’t need to try for people to look at him: six-foot-something, brown hair always kept short on the sides, a square jaw that seemed designed to make you stare without realizing it. He wasn’t the most talkative guy on the team, but when he said something, people listened.

Gonzalo was different. Dark-skinned, with almost-black eyes and a way of moving that was too slow for someone who played as well as he did. As if he always knew exactly what he was doing and had no rush to prove it. He had big hands, veins standing out on the backs of them, and for weeks I’d been trying not to look at them too long, imagining them around my throat, in my mouth, grabbing my ass.

That afternoon, after the scrimmage, the two of them had stayed behind in the gym stretching while the rest of us left. Shirtless. Adrián with his hands behind his head, elbows back, the muscles in his chest tightening with every movement and a strip of dark hair running down from his navel and disappearing into his shorts. Gonzalo sitting on the floor, leaning forward, his back shining with sweat and the bulge outlined against the elastic of his shorts every time he stretched.

I’d gathered my things with a speed that probably looked suspicious, my dick swelling inside my boxer briefs and a sticky wetness staining the tip.

The bus ride home took twenty minutes. Twenty minutes sitting with my headphones on and a song I wasn’t listening to, with my backpack slung across my lap to hide the erection that wouldn’t go away, while my mind silently built everything that hadn’t happened and wasn’t going to happen. But at home it was different. At home I could close my eyes, pull down my pants, and let it happen.

***

I went straight to the bathroom. The water took a while to heat up. I got undressed without looking in the mirror, my cock already fully hard pointing upward, taut against my stomach, and stepped under the spray as soon as the steam started to form.

Hot water hit the back of my neck, my shoulders, my back, slid over my chest and dripped down my balls, already pulled up tight. I closed my eyes.

That was enough.

The image of Adrián appeared immediately, clear and effortless. It was no longer the gym. In my mind the two of us were here, in this small bathroom that somehow wasn’t small anymore, both of us naked, Adrián’s cock hanging thick between his legs, still soft but promising. Steam all around us. Water falling over both of us.

I grabbed my dick with my right hand and started stroking myself slowly, pulling the foreskin up and down over the swollen head, following the natural rhythm of the fantasy.

—You’ve been staring at my cock for weeks —Adrián said to me in a voice deeper than in real life, close to my ear—. I thought you were never going to admit it. Get on your knees.

And I knelt. In the fantasy, the shower floor was warm beneath my knees, the spray hit my back, and he grabbed his cock with one hand and held it out in front of my face. Thick, dark, throbbing in his fist. A drop of clear fluid spilled from the slit, and he ran the tip over my closed lips until I opened my mouth.

—Suck it —he ordered—. All of it.

Gonzalo appeared behind me. Quiet at first, as always. He stepped into the shower without making a sound, stood behind me, ran his hands over my firm, patient shoulders. No hurry. I felt his hard cock against the small of my back, leaving a trail of moisture on my wet skin.

I braced one hand against the tiled wall. The cold of the material against my open palm contrasted with the heat of the water and the even hotter feel of my own cock pumping itself in my closed fist.

In the fantasy, my mouth was full of Adrián. I sucked him slowly at first, with my tongue flat under the head, learning its shape, the thick vein running underneath, the taste of soap and clean skin. He grabbed the back of my neck with both hands and started setting the pace, in and out, each thrust a little deeper, until the tip hit the back of my throat and I had to breathe through my nose.

—Like that, good —he panted—. All the way. Swallow.

Behind me, Gonzalo started sliding his hands down my sides. Slowly, with that calm that defined him. Skipping nothing. My ribs, my waist, my hips. Then he stopped there, holding my hips firmly, controlling my movement. I felt two of his fingers part my ass cheeks, searching, finding my hole, pressing there without going in.

—Easy —he said softly—. We’re going to leave your ass wide open.

Adrián pulled his cock out of my mouth and made me look at him. He tapped my cheek and lips a couple of times with his dick, marking me with the precum that kept leaking from him. Then he kissed me. Not gently, but with the urgency of someone who’d been waiting. His mouth against mine, his tongue pushing all the way in, his hand in my hair, his stubble scraping my jaw and down my neck to bite where it would leave a mark.

My movements in the shower grew more intense. My hand pumped my cock harder, my thumb brushing the head with each stroke, my balls knocking against my wrist. My breathing came in short waves.

In my mind, Gonzalo shoved in the first finger without warning, all the way to the knuckle, and I moaned with my mouth still pressed to Adrián’s. No lube, just water and the spit from my own mouth that he’d smeared over his fingers first.

—You look good like this —he said, his voice calm by my ear—. Wet. With two cocks around you. Not knowing which one to suck first.

It wasn’t an insult. It was an observation. And that was exactly what unraveled me.

Adrián kissed my neck while Gonzalo slipped in a second finger, twisting them slowly, opening me up. Between the two of them they created something I’d never felt in reality: total attention, no sharing, no turns. One cock in my mouth, two fingers in my ass, two mouths eating me in pieces.

I stopped just before it all finished, gripping the base of my cock hard to hold back the climax that was already surging up from my balls. I didn’t want it to end yet. I shut off the water and stood still for a moment, breathing, my cock pulsing in my hand, letting the feeling settle without spilling over.

***

I wrapped myself in a towel without drying off completely. I wanted to keep the warmth, the texture of wet skin, the smell of soap mixed with the steam still filling the room. My cock pushed against the towel from inside, still hard, the tip peeking out at the edge.

I went back to the bedroom.

The afternoon light came in at an angle through the half-closed blinds, laying stripes of sunlight across the floor. I lay down on the bed on my back. The towel slid off to one side and I let it. My cock bumped against my stomach, leaving a wet mark on my skin.

I closed my eyes and picked up the thread where I’d left it.

This time the scene was different. No longer the bathroom. The three of us on a bed, this bed, but bigger. Adrián standing at the edge, naked, arms crossed, his hard cock pointing at me, looking at me with that expression of his that revealed nothing and everything. Gonzalo sitting beside me, calm, running a hand over my chest without hurry, pinching my nipples until they were hard.

—You don’t have to do anything —Gonzalo told me—. Just stay still and spread your legs.

And I stayed still and spread them.

Their hands moved slowly over my torso. My ribs, my stomach, the strip of hair running down from my navel. He did everything with the same precision he had on the court: no wasted movement, nothing extra. He took my balls in his open palm, weighed them, squeezed just hard enough to make me gasp.

Adrián came closer and lifted my chin with two fingers, then put his thumb in my mouth. “Look at me,” he said. “While he sucks you.”

Because Gonzalo had leaned down. He spread my legs wider, pulled my knees up to my chest, and licked my balls first, one and then the other, taking them into his mouth one by one, leaving them shiny with saliva. Then he licked the vein on my cock from bottom to top, stopped at the tip, sucked it all the way down his throat in one long pull.

I looked at him. And he looked back with that attention that made it feel like you were the only thing that mattered in that room, that afternoon, that instant, while his mouth moved up and down my cock with a technique no one in real life had ever given me.

I stroked myself following the rhythm the fantasy set. My hand moved from base to head and back again, squeezing hard, my thumb rubbing the wet slit leaking precum. Eyes shut, jaw loose, breathing getting slower and deeper at the same time. With my other hand I pinched my nipples, alternating, imitating what Gonzalo would do to me.

In my mind, Adrián climbed onto my chest, straddling me with his knees on either side of my head, and ran his cock over my lips again. I opened my mouth and he slid in completely, deeper than in the shower, fucking my face slowly while Gonzalo kept sucking my cock below. I could feel his balls knocking against my chin, the strong smell of man, his weight on top of me. Gonzalo shoved two fingers into my ass without warning, with lube this time, and searched for the spot inside with his fingertip, pressing until he made me moan with my mouth full.

—What do you want? —Adrián repeated, pulling his cock out of my mouth for just a second, a thread of saliva hanging from my lips to the tip.

—I want to get fucked —I whispered, and in the real bed my voice came out on its own, almost without me noticing—. Both of you. At the same time.

The scene moved on. Gonzalo got behind me, turned me onto my side, lifted one leg. I felt the tip of his cock, thick and hot, pushing against the hole already opened by fingers. He entered slowly, centimeter by centimeter, until his balls touched mine and his pubic hair scraped my ass. Adrián in front of me, gripping my head with both hands, taking my mouth at the same rhythm Gonzalo was fucking me from behind. I felt two cocks at the same time, moving inside me, coordinating without speaking. The sound of bodies slapping together, wet scalp, three gasping breaths in the room. This is never going to happen, I thought. And the thought, far from slowing it down, made everything more intense.

My movements on the bed became more rhythmic. More urgent. My hand hammered my cock up and down, I let a glob of spit drip from above so it would slide better, squeezed my balls with the other hand until it hurt in the best way.

I stopped again when I felt I was too close, the orgasm crowding up at the base. I had something else in mind.

***

I rolled over and reached for the nightstand. I kept a bottle of almond oil there that I used to loosen my calves after training. I picked it up, warmed it between my palms for a moment, and poured a generous stream over my cock and balls, letting it run underneath toward my hole.

The contact changed everything.

My hand slid differently. Every movement was smoother and more intense at the same time, as if my skin suddenly had twice as many nerve endings. My fist pumped my cock with a wet, obscene sound that filled the room. I took my time. I slipped one oiled finger into my ass, then two, searching for the spot inside, pressing it while my other hand worked me, feeling how my prostate made more fluid leak from the tip.

In my mind, it was Gonzalo’s hands that had the oil. They ran over my back with open palms, up and down, never going straight to where I wanted them to go. He smeared my ass, spread my cheeks, ran his thumb over my hole without putting it in.

—Not like that —I told him, my voice rough—. Put it in already.

And he smiled. That almost-smile of his. Then he pushed just the tip in, only the tip, just enough for me to push back, asking for more.

—Ask nicely —he said.

—Fuck me, please —I begged in the fantasy—. Fuck me hard, Gonzalo. Break me.

And then he drove it in with one thrust all the way to the hilt and I screamed into the pillow.

Adrián watched from the other end of the bed, stroking his cock slowly, watching us. He had that ability to stay still while everything was happening, to look with that absolute attention that made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered in the room. His eyes never left me.

—Look at his face while you put it in —Gonzalo told Adrián, never stopping his thrusts from behind—. Look how he falls apart.

And Adrián looked at me. And I held that gaze in my mind, those eyes fixed on mine, while on the real bed my hand kept moving over my slick cock, the fingers going in and out of my ass in the same rhythm, eyes shut, breathing shorter and more irregular. I imagined Adrián coming closer, kneeling beside my face and emptying his load over me, thick hot ropes spilling onto my forehead, my lips, my outstretched tongue, while Gonzalo kept fucking me from behind.

The tension came all at once and little by little at the same time. That contradiction that always surprised me: the body building it slowly for hours and then suddenly deciding enough was enough. I felt my balls tighten, my legs go rigid, the climax rising from very deep down.

I let go.

The orgasm was long. The first rope hit my neck, hot and thick; the second landed on my chest; the ones after that spilled over my closed fist, my stomach, my pubic hair. A deep shudder left me breathless for a full second, then another softer one, then another even lighter. The fingers of my other hand stayed inside my ass, pressing my prostate, squeezing out the last drop. I stayed motionless, waiting for each wave to pass, not moving, not thinking about anything, semen sliding slowly down my sides to the sheets.

When I opened my eyes, my bedroom ceiling gave back its usual image: the same damp patch in the corner, the same fan turned off, the same thin crack running across the plaster from the window to the lamp.

I laughed a little to myself. I ran a finger over my chest, gathered up some of the cum, and brought it to my mouth, still inside the fantasy for one more moment.

***

I lay there for a long while, letting my body cool down, the semen drying on my skin and my cock slowly softening against my thigh. The light had shifted. Outside, someone went by on a motorcycle. A neighbor shut a door at the end of the hall. The world went on with its own business, oblivious to everything.

I thought about Adrián and Gonzalo. In real life they were teammates I’d barely spoken to beyond what was strictly necessary. I knew nothing about their lives outside the gym. I didn’t know if they liked men. I didn’t know if they’d ever noticed me looking at them, or the way my cock showed through my shorts when they passed close by in the locker room.

But in my head they’d built something without knowing it. A presence, a tension, a territory that was completely mine and that no one else could touch. Two cocks, two mouths, four hands, all mine in the silence of the afternoon.

I wasn’t ashamed. It didn’t make me anxious either. It was just what it was: a free afternoon, an empty apartment, a fantasy that had taken weeks to ripen and that afternoon had finally found its moment.

I got up slowly. I looked for clean clothes. I made myself something to eat without turning on the TV, in silence, watching through the window as afternoon turned to evening, as the lights in the buildings across the way came on one by one.

The next day there would be practice.

Adrián and Gonzalo would be there, stretching in the same corner of the gym as always, with their bodies sweaty and their cocks outlined under their shorts.

And I would be there too, calm as anything.