My Neighbor Made Me Gay Through a Series of Bets

More than thirty years have passed, and I still come back to those first forays into sex the way one probes a wound that no longer hurts. Sometimes I wonder whether everything could have been different, whether I would have become another man if I hadn’t crossed paths with him that noon. I don’t regret it. I just remember, and remembering still makes something inside me quicken.

My name is Mateo. Back then I was a shy, quiet guy, the kind who prefers the back row in class. I had just turned twenty-two and, incredible as it may sound, I had never been with anyone. I’d just moved to a city where I didn’t know a soul. My only connections were the classmates from the night school I attended, and I didn’t even talk much with them.

I was walking home one hot afternoon when I saw a guy heading in the same direction. I’d seen him before at school, in one of the younger classes. We started talking, and it turned out he lived two blocks from my place. Just like that, without planning it, it became a habit: we would wait for each other after class and walk home together.

His name was Iván and he was nineteen. He was curious to the point of being nosy. He asked me about my whole life, and I, flattered that someone was interested in me, told him everything. That three-year age difference meant nothing; on the contrary, he seemed older because of the way he spoke, because of that boldness I lacked.

He lived with his mother and his sister Lucía, a twenty-three-year-old girl, tall and pretty, but serious. I barely exchanged greetings with her. Iván was alone at home until the two of them came back from work, around eight. I started going over there often in the afternoons.

He was an interesting guy, but also possessive, daring, one of those who seem like angels until something lights up in their eyes and they become something else. He made me feel childish without meaning to, and the funny thing is it didn’t bother me. I discovered all that little by little, as our friendship grew stronger.

Sex didn’t happen right away. It took time. And when it finally appeared, it did so in a way that left me not only shocked, but baffled for days.

***

It began one suffocating afternoon. Iván, to endure the heat, took off his clothes and stayed in his briefs. I looked at his white, smooth skin, and something shifted in me. It wasn’t that he overwhelmed me, but I felt a strange, specific attraction that at that moment went no further than that.

Days later the scene repeated itself. This time he invited me to do the same. I refused out of sheer embarrassment, until he insisted so much that I finally gave in.

I don’t remember exactly how, but at some point we started grappling, wrestling on the floor like two kids. I overpowered him quickly, so, to even things out, I tied my left arm against my body. The contact of our skin, damp with sweat, had something murky and seductive about it. Without saying it, we brushed against each other’s cocks, feeling each other out.

“Let’s do it naked,” he blurted out all of a sudden.

I objected, embarrassed. I’m not a prude, but shyness won out. Later I regretted saying no, though I never dared to suggest it myself.

As expected, he came back to the charge the next day, and that time I agreed. When we stripped and looked at each other, I felt that strange seduction again. I didn’t know whether it was from being naked in front of another man for the first time or from seeing his cock half hard, displayed without shame, like a symbol of power. I tried not to look at it. He made sure I did.

I tied my arm again, but still ended up beating him. There was something implicit in that struggle: asses rubbing together, cocks clashing, both of them already fairly hard.

Lying on the floor, catching our breath, he floated the proposition:

“Another wrestling match. The loser has to jerk off the winner.”

It seemed like a funny, brazen idea all at once. This time I tied my right arm. We did it, but halfway through the second round we heard his sister arriving and had to cut everything off all at once.

I was annoyed, and so was he. It was left pending for another day. That night I had fantasies that wouldn’t let me sleep until I relieved the heat with my hand.

***

The next day we picked up where we’d left off. The wrestling started, and I no longer knew whether I wanted to win or lose. What attracted me was touching each other, calming that boil; I wasn’t sure I wanted more, at least from my side.

“Is yesterday’s bet still on?” he asked.

“Of course.”

We stripped and started. At one point he squeezed my balls and I let out a yell; I lost the fight in the dumbest way. I protested, but deep down I liked having been defeated.

He lay down on the bed and I knelt beside him. I began the clumsy motions of someone who had never done it before, taking his cock, stroking it slowly, watching his stomach contract. I sped up when I felt him getting close, until he came on his own chest. Something about that image affected me more than I expected. For an instant I wanted to put it in my mouth, still wet.

He made me lie down beside him and gave me a light kiss on the lips.

“It was your turn,” he said softly, and there was an order disguised as a joke in his tone.

***

What came next I accepted almost without arguing. He put me face down, spread my legs, and settled himself on top of me. I felt his glans probing my entrance. It was like a ceremony, slow, measured, until he began to push and gain ground inch by inch. My groans grew as that weight opened me from within.

It felt as if he were splitting me open. That mixture of pain and pleasure is hard to explain. He nibbled at my neck while advancing without pause, and with one last thrust he was all the way inside me, my ass pressed against his pelvis.

“You’re mine,” he whispered in my ear. “I thought I’d never dare.”

I said nothing. I let myself be carried along, enjoying something I hadn’t imagined I would like. I felt his domination in every movement, in the way each of us played our part without ever having discussed it.

He started fucking harder, from a slow rhythm to an almost savage one, asserting his advantage, pulling almost all the way out and then driving back in. The friction against the sheets and that ruthless pumping made me come without barely touching myself. A few minutes later he emptied himself inside me, trembling, pressing against my chest, until he collapsed onto my back, exhausted and sweaty, without pulling out.

“Thanks. That was incredible,” he said.

Inside, I was glad, even though my arousal wouldn’t go away. Then, with that usual smile of his, he proposed another bet.

“We both jerk off. Whoever lasts longer wins.”

“And what does he win?” I asked, almost innocently.

“He gets to fuck the other one.”

I laughed, surprised, but turned on too. I lost, of course: my still-intact excitement stood no chance against Iván’s, since he’d just finished. I protested, tried to void the bet, glanced at the time.

“Your mother gets home in less than an hour. I’d rather do it calmly, without the clock hurrying us.”

“What if we stretch it to all of tomorrow afternoon?”

“That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“Highest card, then? If you win, it’s off. If you lose, you’re mine.”

“You’re awful,” I told him. “But fine. Tomorrow.”

I went home thinking about that bet all night.

***

The next day, after lunch, I went to his house. We had seen each other at school, but without saying anything. He opened the door wearing only briefs, and I laughed.

“No time to waste,” he said.

We went to his room, where the cards that would decide the winner were already laid out. To make it more exciting, we’d draw three times. I won the first one; he won the second and third.

I didn’t feel bad about losing. I undressed slowly.

“What do you want me to do?” I asked.

“Get on the bed.”

I lay face down, my cock hard despite my role. He got on me without wasting a second, put on lubricant, and spread my ass cheeks until everything was exposed. He began circling my entrance with the tip, tapping it, teasing, unsettling me more with every second. When his finger went in, slowly, then two, pressing, I knew there was no going back and, to my own surprise, I didn’t want there to be.

He placed a pillow under my belly and rested his glans against me. I felt that blend of discomfort and pleasure while I relaxed in anticipation. When he pushed in, he did it all at once, and I cried out, clutching the edge of the mattress, my toes curling.

With the second shove I felt almost like I needed to defecate, the pressure of something enormous forcing its way through. With the last one he was all the way inside. Every time he pulled out it felt like he was sucking my guts with him; every time he pushed in he drove deep into me. From then on he became my dominant, or pretended to be until he managed it, and I ended up accepting being his submissive for quite a while.

His thrusts grew harder, more violent. After a series of rapid drives I felt him empty himself inside me, trembling, biting my shoulder. He collapsed onto my back, holding me, soaked in sweat, without pulling out. The whole room smelled of heat and sex.

That afternoon we did it again. Afterward, starving, we went naked to the kitchen to devour some sandwiches. We spoke little; we just looked at each other. When I noticed Iván was hard again, I said nothing. He got up, sat me on the edge of the table, lifted my legs, and penetrated me again.

I went home with mixed feelings. I had liked it, but I also felt used. I wanted to experiment, not go that far, though the fault for allowing it was mine alone. I showered, ate dinner, and went to bed unable to get any of it out of my head.

***

When school let out the next day, he asked if I’d come by in the afternoon. I told him I had homework.

“Or did you not like what happened yesterday?” he tested.

“Nothing like that. It’s just that I’d like us to switch roles.”

“Ah, so that’s what’s going on. Too bad you can’t come today.”

“If I hurry, I could make it.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll leave it for another day.”

“No. I’ll be there at five,” I told him, impatient with myself.

I arrived a little after five, determined to assert myself even though I didn’t know whether I’d manage it. But Iván started differently: he stripped me slowly, as if time had stopped. He took my cock in his hand, brought his lips to mine, kissed my nipples until he sucked them hard, knelt, and licked my belly and pelvis in a pure act of eroticism.

He continued down the shaft of my cock, taking it into his mouth with an alternating suction that dragged me into a state I couldn’t contain. He threw me onto the bed, sucked my toes, made me turn over and spread my ass cheeks to lick my entrance. I couldn’t suppress a groan of pure delight.

“Keep going, keep going,” I begged him.

He didn’t take long to slide his cock into me. My “no” came out too late and without conviction. He took me by the waist and, at a frantic pace, fucked me again while I masturbated. The moment he finished, I took his wet shaft into my mouth, and that taste turned me on even more.

I went home both satisfied and confused. I was starting to be attracted to taking it passively, no matter how much I tried to deny it. The body doesn’t lie. On the other hand, I had once again fallen for Iván’s trickery.

***

I didn’t know whether I had anything homosexual about me; I still liked girls. But with him there was something different. He always had some gimmick to make me fall into his nets. Once he showed me a photo of his sister naked in exchange for letting me fuck him again. Her face couldn’t be seen well, but I still had her breasts and a mole near the right nipple burned into my memory.

One day I told him that if he let me be with his sister, I would be his faithful slave for a month.

“I’ll let you. We’ll have to see whether she wants to,” he replied. “Besides, Mateo, you like getting fucked.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

“Don’t I?”

As he said it, he unbuttoned my shirt, caressed my chest, and sucked my nipples. That was enough for me to strip, lean over the kitchen table, and take him again without resistance.

More than a month passed like that. I went over there almost every day. It became routine, with the occasional change of setting that he proposed: the woods, the beach, some empty house. Even when we went out, we always ended up in his room. Bringing someone else in never appealed to me, nor did wearing his sister’s clothes. But all that was put on hold when an illness left him unable to do anything for a while.

Even so, I kept visiting him. The medication made him sleepy and we talked little. His recovery was long; his mother took leave from work to care for him, and I went every day.

***

One of those afternoons a tall young man with dark skin and short curly hair, about twenty-two, showed up at the house. His name was Rodrigo. We talked for a while and then left together. I ran into him two or three more times; we never became friends, but we did talk.

One day, after he walked me a few blocks, he said:

“Are you Iván’s boyfriend?”

I turned red.

“No. Where did you get that idea?”

“The way you looked at him, the way you touched him. And what’s wrong with that?”

The color in my face gave me away. I ended up telling him that we’d done it once, without going into details.

“How do you know him?” I asked.

“I studied with his sister. Then we were boyfriend and girlfriend. And one afternoon I was with Iván too.”

I froze.

“I don’t believe you,” I said, irritated.

In response, he described a mole the sister had near her right nipple. The same one from the photo. Maybe he had seen it, but even so something inside me stirred.

“Look,” he said calmly, “what do I gain by lying to you? I’m not judging anyone. Each person does what they can and what they want. If you come to my place one day, I’ll tell you all the details.”

I walked back thinking about him. I had been forced into abstinence for more than twenty days, and Iván still hadn’t recovered. I dismissed it immediately. And yet, a few days later I ended up going.

***

He lived alone, about twenty blocks away, in a modest, very tidy house. He opened the door in shorts and immediately tried to touch me. I pushed him away, though I noticed the bulge in his pants. He began telling me in lavish detail how it had been with Iván, without knowing whether I was interested or not.

He tried again and I resisted, until he got tired of dancing around it.

“Look, kid, I invited you here for one thing. I don’t like beating around the bush. Either we do it, or you leave,” he said, pulling down his pants and showing a hefty cock that left me breathless.

An excitement flooded my whole body, without my fully knowing what to do. And that doubt, that tension of not deciding, was exactly what he was waiting for to make the first move.