I Spied on My Roommates One Night Without Lights

I want to tell you something that happened to me when I was living in a boarding house near the university. I didn’t want to leave the neighborhood when I finished my degree, so I moved into a place that had once been a women’s residence. It had been closed for months, and the owner agreed to rent me a room while the rest of the place sat empty. For weeks I was the only tenant.

For me, it was paradise. I had the whole house to myself. I wandered from room to room in my briefs or naked, without worrying about towels or bathroom schedules. The owner, Don Hernán, came by early on Sundays, asked me if everything was fine, took a quick look through the empty rooms, and left. Wonderful.

That freedom pushed me to open Grindr more consistently. It made no sense to waste so much privacy without company. What happened those weeks with three different guys would make a whole other story; it’s not what I’m here to tell.

Fifteen days later, Don Hernán told me that a new tenant would be arriving in a few days. That, clearly, got in the way of my plans to keep bringing strangers home at any hour. But what was I supposed to do.

One Saturday afternoon a giant van pulled up in front of the house. The father, in a button-down shirt ironed stiff as cardboard. The mother, in a floral dress and hair dyed a very deliberate blond. They smelled like money from every angle. And behind them came the son. A big, solid-looking kid, taller than his father, broad-shouldered, thick arms covered in dense brown hair. Short hair, greenish eyes, full pink lips, thick brows. He shaved his beard, but by mid-afternoon he already had stubble. I later found out he was turning nineteen that week.

He was looking for a boarding house because they’d kicked him out of the last one; his father let that slip as if by accident. He was also changing majors, from a public university to a technical institute three blocks away. A story of college ineptitude, basically.

That afternoon I was in the kitchen making rice. The parents looked at me as if I were a beggar in their house. The mother clutched her purse to her chest. But I couldn’t have cared less.

They didn’t come back all week. I thought the place must have seemed too modest for them. But a few days later Don Hernán told me that yes, they had paid, and the boy would be arriving soon. That gave me room for one last week of excess.

Until moving day came. The parents hauling boxes, clothes, a small fridge, everything in a rush, as if the son would get contaminated if he spent too much time near me.

The boy was hopelessly clumsy. He tripped over his own feet, dropped everything. But I liked watching him. He had the face of those guys in underwear ads, a chiseled jaw, vacant eyes. He struck up conversation with me while I was wiping the table. He turned out to be nice, talkative, quick to laugh. Then I saw him cooking in shorts, he took off his T-shirt because it was hot, and that’s when I saw his torso. He wasn’t athletic, he had a bit of a belly, but he had two pink nipples, drooping with the weight of his chest, that made me go to bed that same night to masturbate thinking about them for days.

His name was Tomás.

A week later his best friend, Bruno, moved in. I took it as normal. By then I’d already accepted that Tomás wasn’t gay, or bisexual, or anything. The way he talked about women, the music he blasted through the speaker, the soccer matches he watched screaming from the sofa. Everything about him screamed that he was the most heterosexual guy in the neighborhood.

Bruno was shorter, almost my height, skinny but not gaunt. Dark skin, hair nearly shaved, a closed-off look that didn’t invite conversation. He barely greeted me. When Tomás went off some weekend to visit his parents, Bruno locked himself in the room and I didn’t see him until Monday.

Until one night the electricity went out.

They had cut the power for the whole neighborhood. They thought I’d gone out, because my room was silent. But I had fallen asleep early out of boredom, with my phone at five percent.

It was ten at night when noises in the kitchen woke me. Tomás always talked at the top of his lungs, and Bruno barely answered him. But that night was odd. They would talk a little, fall silent, talk again. Long silences, way too long.

Unfortunately, we shared the bathroom, and mine was right across from the kitchen. I got up with my phone nearly dead and stepped out into the dark hallway. The bathroom door was at the back; you had to pass in front of the open kitchen.

I walked barefoot, making no sound. And I saw them.

It couldn’t be. They weren’t just friends.

Bruno was on his knees on the tiles, sucking Tomás’s dick. All in silence, with the skill of someone who had done it a hundred times.

The only light was the flashlight from Tomás’s phone resting on the table, and the blue flame of the stove burner burning in the back. That trembling light painted the beads of sweat on Bruno’s back, the tightened muscles in his shoulders, the curve of his shaved nape. I was frozen in the hallway, in the shadows, my heart pounding and my breathing cut short.

Bruno had his mouth full. His cheek bulged as he sucked with a slow, heavy rhythm. Tomás had braced one hand against the wall, thrown his head back, and let out muffled, hoarse moans, almost whispers.

—Just like that… just like that, you motherfucker… —he murmured, voice breaking.

Bruno looked up without taking his mouth off. His eyes glistened with spit and desire. He said nothing. He just took the cock deeper, until the tip of his nose touched Tomás’s stomach. He swallowed. He made a wet, deep sound, like someone who doesn’t want to lose a single drop.

Tomás grabbed the back of his neck and sank his fingers into Bruno’s nearly shaved hair.

—Don’t stop —he ordered, his voice trembling.

It was obvious they’d been at it for a while. Tomás’s dick shone all over, hard, the skin taut and veins standing out down to the base.

Bruno pulled it out suddenly. A long strand of saliva snapped in the air.

—You like it when I suck it like this? —he asked with a filthy smile.

And before Tomás could answer, he went back down and took it all the way into his mouth.

Tomás growled.

—Shut up… or the other guy’ll hear us…

—Nobody’s here —Bruno answered, mouth full, and went back to sucking him, slowly, pressing his tongue against the head.

I touched myself over my pajama pants. I was hard, aching. I bit my lip hard so I wouldn’t make a sound.

I backed away, trembling, and went back to my room. I couldn’t believe it. Was my radar that bad? All those weeks seeing them talk about women and sprawl on the sofa watching matches, and it turned out all this was going on between them.

Until I stopped hearing their voices again. I knew they were back at it.

I peered out again.

What?, I thought to myself.

Now it was Tomás on his knees, sucking Bruno’s dick. And it was bigger. Much bigger. A dark, thick cock, the head a vivid pink, shining with saliva. Tomás looked nervous. He sucked it carefully, almost timidly, as if he were learning. He dragged his tongue slowly from the base to the tip, then gave wet kisses along the side.

Bruno was leaning back against the fridge, arms crossed, looking down at him with a half-smile.

—Deeper —he said in a low voice.

Tomás tried to take more and gagged. A little saliva dripped down his trimmed beard. He coughed. But he didn’t stop. He tried again, closed his eyes, and lowered his head until his nose nearly touched Bruno’s stomach.

Bruno moaned. A short, hoarse moan that cut through the silence of the house. Then he grabbed Tomás by the hair, tangled his fingers in it, and pulled.

—That’s how I like it… swallow it all…

Tomás let out a wet sound, like a sob, and tears began welling up. But he didn’t stop. He bobbed his head up and down with a desperate rhythm, as if his life depended on it. The constant smack of wet mouth against skin could be heard.

I pressed my forehead against the hallway wall. My dick was throbbing inside my pants. I could smell my own arousal.

Then Bruno yanked him up by the arm.

—Stop —he said. —If you keep going, I’m going to come.

They kissed. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was a rough kiss, all tongue, biting each other’s lips. Tomás’s face was wet with the spit from the cock he’d just sucked. Bruno ran his thumb along the corner of his mouth, gathered up a strand, and put the finger into his own mouth.

—You taste good —he told him.

I stayed there, trembling, with my dead phone in my hand. I didn’t even feel like going to the bathroom anymore.

I went back to my room on tiptoe, my chest about to burst and my cock so hard it hurt. I shut the door without a sound, threw myself on the bed, and pulled down my pants. I didn’t even need saliva; I was already soaked from getting turned on watching them.

I started touching myself slowly, remembering every detail. The way Bruno took it down his throat without blinking. Tomás’s hoarse moan when his hair was pulled. Tomás’s submissive face when he was on his knees, all drool, tears in his eyes.

My head was spinning.

It was them. The ones who acted like straight friends. The ones who wore shorts and talked about women. Those same guys. Fucking in such a dirty, desperate, real way. It hadn’t crossed my mind for even a second. And they sure hid it well.

I clenched my teeth and sped up my hand. My cock throbbed hot, the skin sensitive. I imagined myself between the two of them. Bruno yanking my hair. Tomás kissing me with that mouth still full of the taste of the other guy’s cock.

—Fuck… —I whispered into the dark.

I came hard. So hard I had to cover my mouth with the pillow so I wouldn’t moan. My cum shot out in jets, hot, staining my stomach and the sheets. I lay there trembling for a while, breathing deeply, listening to see whether they were still in the kitchen.

But nothing could be heard anymore. Only silence and my own ragged breathing.

I cleaned everything up quickly with an old T-shirt and lay there staring at the ceiling. And now what? How was I supposed to look them in the face the next day?

What I didn’t expect was what happened in the morning.

Tomás greeted me with his usual ease.

—Morning, bro, everything good? —with that charming-guy smile.

Bruno nodded from the kitchen while making coffee. Neither of them looked at me strangely. As if the night before had never happened. As if I hadn’t seen them.

And I, the coward, played along.

—All good, and you guys?

—Relaxed —Tomás answered.

Relaxed. Sure.

Nothing happened that night either. Nor the next one. But on the third day I started hearing the same suspicious silences. Not from the kitchen anymore, but from Tomás’s room.

I was in the hallway, again by coincidence (or pure obsession), and I heard a muffled moan very clearly. Then Bruno’s voice, low and bossy.

—Shut up or I’ll cover your mouth.

I pressed myself against the wall. The door was ajar. Through the crack, the dim light from a desk lamp leaked out.

I didn’t have to imagine anything anymore.

I was seeing it with my own eyes.

Bruno had Tomás face down on the bed. The sheets were tangled, a pillow on the floor. Tomás was shirtless, his pajama pants pulled down to his knees, exposing his white, full, soft ass. Bruno was behind him, pants also down, his dark, hard cock brushing Tomás’s hole.

—Are you sure? —Tomás asked, his voice trembling.

—Shut up and take it —Bruno answered, and spat into his own hand. He smeared his cock with saliva, then pushed the head against the hole.

Tomás bit the pillow. He let out a long, muffled moan while Bruno entered slowly. You could see the skin stretching around that huge cock. I stood there, hypnotized, watching it disappear centimeter by centimeter.

—More —Tomás begged, his voice broken.

Bruno slapped his ass. A sharp crack that echoed through the room.

—Easy, bitch. This is mine and I handle it at my own pace.

He drove all the way in. Tomás arched his back and let out a short, breathless “ah… ah…” as if he couldn’t get enough air. Bruno stayed still for a few seconds, enjoying how tightly Tomás clenched around him from the inside. Then he started moving. Slow at first. Deep. Every thrust made the bed shake and the picture frames on the wall rattle.

I had my hand on my cock again. I couldn’t help it. I pulled it out of my pants, rubbed the tip with my thumb, watching Bruno fuck Tomás like he was his personal bitch.

—Tell me you like it —Bruno growled, yanking Tomás by the hair to lift his head.

—I like it… —Tomás whispered, face flushed, eyes teary—. I like when you fuck me.

—And who’s fucking you?

—You… you, Bruno…

—Say it right.

—You, my master! —Tomás shouted, almost voiceless.

Bruno smiled, leaned down, and bit the back of his neck. Then he picked up the pace. The thrusts were fast, brutal. You could hear the wet slap of skin on skin, Tomás’s moans he could no longer hide, Bruno’s broken breathing.

I came a second time that night. Straight against the hallway wall. I stood there trembling, cum sliding between my fingers, watching the two of them twist together until Bruno came inside Tomás with a hoarse growl and collapsed over his back.

Now I knew for certain.

They weren’t friends. They were lovers. And I had the best live sex show, free, every week, all to myself.