My Friends Gave Me a Very Hairy Surprise

Mateo and Sebastián come over almost every weekend. Sometimes they show up on Saturday afternoon and stay until Sunday lunchtime; other times they turn up on both days in a row, without warning, with a bag of beers and that unfriendly look that is really the look of someone already thinking about what’s going to happen as soon as the bedroom door closes.

The three of us are tops. That’s the first thing we cleared up when we met, a few years ago now, at a party we arrived at separately and left together. Logically, it should never have worked: three top guys, with nobody wanting the opposite role, seemed like a recipe for disaster. But something different happened between us, a strange chemistry that has nothing to do with the mechanics of sex and everything to do with trust, with being able to stop pretending you need something you don’t need.

Sebastián is tall, slim, with fair skin tending toward a tan because he runs outdoors three times a week. He has a slender cock, with a pink head, and a way of moving in bed that is almost acrobatic, as if he were listening to music only he can hear. Mateo is the opposite: short, compact, very pale, with a seriously worked body, broad shoulders and defined abs. When he gets naked, he looks like another person, as if his clothes were always two sizes too big to hide what’s underneath. I’m the dark one in the group, tall and slim, without Mateo’s muscle or Sebastián’s runner’s build.

Last week they showed up more turned on than usual. I noticed it the moment I opened the door. Mateo came in without saying hello, with that half-smile he wears when he’s already got something planned, and Sebastián was right behind him, biting his lip to keep from laughing out loud.

—We’ve got a surprise for you —Mateo said, setting the bag of beers on the kitchen table.

—A surprise of what kind? —I asked, though I already suspected the answer.

—The kind you like —Sebastián answered from behind him—. You’ll see.

I didn’t press. One of the things I’ve learned with them is that anticipation has its own flavor, and that ruining a surprise by asking too much is amateur hour. We put the beers in the fridge, decided we’d watch a movie later, and, as almost always, ended up in my room before we’d even opened the first can.

***

The afternoon sun came in at an angle through the window, that golden Saturday light that makes everything slower. I closed the blind halfway. Mateo was already taking off his T-shirt, his back to me, and Sebastián sat on the edge of the bed to untie his sneakers.

—Are you going to unwrap the surprise or do I have to guess? —I said.

Mateo turned around. He had his shirt in his hand, his torso bare, and before answering he unbuttoned his pants and let them fall. He wasn’t wearing underwear. The first thing I saw was the hair: he had it all, intact, not a single shaved hair, from his navel down to his thighs, covering his balls and climbing up the inner sides of his legs. He hadn’t trimmed anything in weeks, that was obvious. And over the hair, a smell that reached me as soon as he came two steps closer: the smell of a man, of skin without perfume, of a sweaty cock, of a body that had spent hours inside clothes that hadn’t been changed since morning.

—I didn’t shower either —Sebastián said behind my back. I said it without turning around; I’d already felt the same thing on him, that dense air you only notice when someone takes off his shirt and comes too close—. And I didn’t shave either. We decided this time it was your turn to ask for the opposite, if you wanted it.

I didn’t want the opposite. They knew that perfectly well. I love the way bodies get when they let themselves go, when they give up soap and deodorant and the razor and show up exactly as they are, with their dampness and their roughness. It’s not something I can explain very well without sounding weird, but it’s what gets me going, what makes my cock hard before anyone has even touched me. And my friends remember that, keep it in mind, and every so often they give it to me as a gift.

I took off my clothes in silence, never losing sight of either of them. My cock was already standing hard against my belly, a drop of fluid stuck to the head, and I hadn’t even touched myself. Mateo lay down first, propped up on his elbows, his legs a little apart; Sebastián climbed onto the bed from the other side, in the same position. I sat in the middle, against the headboard, and looked at them for a second before starting. That image, the two of them waiting with hard cocks pointed at the ceiling, different in every way and yet complementary, stays with me long after the afternoon is over.

***

The first kiss was all three of us. We leaned in at the same time, without anyone giving the order, and our mouths met in the middle. It’s hard to explain the technique of a kiss between three people; it isn’t romantic, it’s almost mechanical at first, but after a few seconds it becomes something else, a mix of tongues and breathing where you can no longer tell who belongs to what. I closed my eyes. I felt Mateo’s tongue against mine, thick and hot, and at the same time Sebastián’s breath warming my cheek, and the brush of Mateo’s three-day stubble against my chin. I sucked Sebastián’s tongue when he slipped it between ours, bit it slowly, and he answered with a low moan that shot straight down to my cock.

I lowered my face to Mateo’s neck first, licking from his collarbone to his ear, tasting the salt of sweat clinging to his skin. Then I turned and buried my nose in Sebastián’s armpit, which he lifted for me to get in better. That concentrated smell, rancid and sweet at the same time, made me close my eyes. I licked his wet hair, sucked the skin below it, and when I lifted my face the two of them were looking at me with parted lips.

—You’re sick —Sebastián muttered, smiling—. Keep going.

I loaded my index fingers with saliva, one on each hand. No need to warn them. Mateo and Sebastián lifted themselves a little, bracing on their knees, and I slid a finger into each of their asses slowly, one with each hand, while we kept kissing. There was barely any resistance. I felt each ring tightening around my finger, clenching and loosening, that muscle yielding little by little. They started moving at the same time, rocking their hips, fucking themselves on my fingers, and with their free hands each one grabbed his own cock and started jerking off to the rhythm set by my finger.

I didn’t touch myself. No need. Watching them, smelling them, feeling how they clenched around my fingers, all of it had me so hard it almost hurt. I curled my fingers forward, searching for that spot I know drives them both crazy, and found it almost at once. Mateo gritted his teeth; Sebastián let out a long growl. I closed my eyes now and then to focus on the smell: Mateo’s was stronger, thicker, almost acidic, mixed with his hot ass closing around my finger; Sebastián’s was cleaner by comparison, with a sweet undertone. The two of them together, mixed with the sweat beginning to appear on the sheets, formed an atmosphere unlike anything else.

I slipped a second finger into each of them. Sebastián arched his back and sank down onto my hand, wanting more depth; Mateo lowered his hips until I reached his knuckle. I started pumping them, opening their asses slowly, feeling them relax inside with each thrust. Sebastián’s hand moved faster and faster over his cock, squeezing the head at the end of each stroke, leaving a shiny film of pre-cum on his palm.

—I’m not going to last much longer —Sebastián murmured, his voice breaking, without stopping his movement.

—Then don’t last —I answered, and shoved my fingers all the way in, pressing his prostate on purpose—. Come. I want to see it.

***

Sebastián came first. He let out a short moan, almost surprised, stretched his legs until they tensed, curled his toes in that very particular way of his, and started shooting. His semen is always very fluid, almost transparent, and comes out in long bursts, one after another. I counted six, maybe seven, before he went still, head thrown back and mouth open without making a sound. It splattered his chest, his stomach, and one long spray hit my thigh. With my fingers still inside him, I felt his ass clenching in spasms around them, milking my knuckles with every burst.

When he relaxed, I pulled my fingers out slowly, and he, without fully opening his eyes, dropped to his knees between my legs and took my cock into his mouth in one movement. He swallowed it whole, until I felt his nose against my pubic hair and his throat closing around the head.

It wasn’t an elegant blowjob. It was a hungry blowjob, without pauses, as if he needed to make up for something. I felt his tongue sliding up and down the shaft, his hand gripping the base firmly and twisting it in time with his mouth, the other hand spreading my balls so he could lick them between bobs of his head. He sucked my balls one by one, took both into his mouth at once, went back up to the head and clamped his lips around it hard enough to make an obscene sucking sound. Above it all, that smell of a man still hot from orgasm, and the taste of his own semen that had stayed at the corner of his mouth and smeared my cock when he went back down.

While Sebastián devoured me, my other fingers were still inside Mateo, who was now moving on his own, slower, deliberately drawing his own climax out. He had knelt on the mattress, legs spread wide, fucking himself on my hand as if it were a cock, letting it rub his prostate on every downward motion. His thick cock swung heavy between his thighs, the head purple and glossy with fluid, and he wasn’t touching it: he wanted to hold back.

—Look at me —I told Mateo, never taking my eyes off him.

He looked at me without saying a word. Mateo is like that in bed: silent, almost serious, with an expression that from the outside could seem indifferent and is really total concentration. He doesn’t moan. He doesn’t talk. He just breathes harder and, when the time comes, his mouth opens as if to say something that never quite comes out.

At last he grabbed his cock, his hand closing all the way around it because otherwise he couldn’t get a proper hold, and started stroking it slowly, tightening hard every time he reached the head. I saw his fingers sink into the flesh, the foreskin moving back and forth, the pre-cum running in threads down to his balls. I was opening his ass with three fingers now, feeling the ring give way and suck me inward, and I kept massaging his prostate without letting up, my fingertip pushing on the same spot over and over.

I watched him getting closer little by little. The hand he was using to jerk off slowed down, the muscles in his abdomen became more defined, his balls pressed tight against the base, and then his mouth opened and he started to spill. His is the opposite of Sebastián’s: thick, dense, almost white. It didn’t shoot out. It came pushed forward, like a slow paste running down the shaft of his cock, coating his fingers and staying there, glossy, not quite falling. Mateo has a thick cock, much thicker than anyone else’s, and that makes the semen take longer to run down it, to gather in ridges that don’t exist on other bodies. Thank goodness none of the three of us is a bottom, because I can’t even imagine the scene reversed: that cock going into any asshole would have to do it with hours of patience.

He brought his semen-covered hand to his mouth without taking his eyes off me, and licked the cum off his fingers one by one, sucking them to the back of his throat. Then he lowered his hand to my face and smeared the rest across my lips. I licked it, sucked it from his thumb, tasting that salty, bitter density that only Mateo’s load has.

Watching him like that, silent, open, emptying himself without a single sound, with my finger still buried to the knuckle in his tight ass, was my own trigger. I tapped Sebastián on the nape of the neck to warn him, not to make him stop but to make sure he was paying attention, and let myself go inside his mouth. The first spurt hit the back of his throat; I felt him choke for a second and hold it. He pulled back only a little, leaving the head between his lips, and the next bursts I shot right there, on his tongue, one after another, watching the semen pool in his mouth before he had time to swallow. It was long, longer than I remembered for myself, and much more intense. Sebastián didn’t spit, didn’t turn his face away, didn’t lose a single drop. He swallowed everything, looking up at me from below with that thing in his eyes when he does something he knows wasn’t his turn to do and does it anyway. Then he licked the tip slowly, cleaning me to the very last drop, and gave the head a kiss before letting it go.

***

We stayed still for a long while. Sebastián rested his head on my thigh, not letting go entirely, his tongue still pressed against the shaft of the cock that was beginning to soften. Mateo let himself fall onto his back, arms spread, staring at the ceiling, still breathing hard, his cock lying on his stomach in a pool of his own load. My fingers were still sliding slowly inside him, almost by inertia, until he gently pulled them out himself and closed my hand over his.

—You were right about the surprise —I said after a minute.

—I told you you’d like it —Mateo answered, without turning his head.

—And what’s the next one?

Sebastián laughed against my leg. Mateo let out something like a grunt, which in his language means many things and almost never means no.

We spent a long while talking nonsense, the kind that only makes sense when there’s no tension left in the body. About a movie none of us had seen, about a mutual friend who had just moved away, about the air conditioner that had been begging for weeks for us to fix it. The bed was a mess, the sheets were stained with semen and sweat, the room smelled like all three of us at once, of ass and cum and man, and none of us cared in the slightest.

In the end I was the one who got up first. I held out a hand to both of them, helped them out of bed, and the three of us went to the bathroom together. The shower stall is big, enough for all three of us if we squeeze a little, and that’s what we did. The hot water washed away the smell little by little, first the surface smell and then the other one, the smell of skin. We soaped each other up without hurry, passing the sponge over backs, balls, between cheeks, laughing whenever one of us slipped.

—Next time maybe we won’t shower for a week —Sebastián said, his face covered in foam.

—Don’t promise things you won’t follow through on —I answered.

Mateo passed me the sponge over my back without saying anything, and the three of us kept rinsing in silence, hearing only the sound of water and each other’s breathing. As I dried myself off, I thought that the real surprise had not been the hair or the smell or the threesome. The surprise was keeping this, weekend after weekend, without wearing it out, without it turning into a routine, with the same certainty as the first time that the following Saturdays would also have their own version of the same thing.

And frankly, I can’t think of a better way to spend an afternoon.