My straight friend discovered my stories and wanted to try

It was ten in the morning when the doorbell rang. I was in front of the computer, finishing correcting one of my stories, and for a moment I considered not getting up. Then I remembered the conversation from the day before with Mateo at the café: they had given him a new iPhone and he had no idea how to transfer the contacts from his old phone. I had promised him I would do it. I locked the keyboard and went to open the door.

“Good morning,” he said from the threshold, with his usual shyness.

“Hi, Mateo. Come in.”

I let him in and closed the door. He was thirty, handsome in a clean, almost teenage way, and an absolute clumsy idiot with anything that ran on a battery. That was why I liked him: people who don’t brag put me at ease.

“Did you bring both phones?”

“Yeah, both. I only managed to transfer one contact and I almost lost my mind.”

I took him to the room where I keep the computer. I moved the keyboard aside to make room on the desk and only then did I realize the screen was still on, with the Word document open in plain sight. I switched windows right away, but as I did, the browser maximized, and there it was: the website where I publish, with my profile loaded in the main tab. To make things worse, Mateo had already seen enough.

He went red all the way to his ears. He looked away from the monitor and then, with an effort, looked back.

“You… write this?”

“I do, yes. Mostly things I’ve lived through,” I said, acting as if it meant nothing. “At sixty, I’ve had all kinds of relationships, but the ones that still get me hard are the ones I have with men.”

“But… it’s gay stuff.”

“It is gay stuff, yes. And I publish it because I enjoy writing it and because someone on the other side is probably jerking off while they read. That flatters me, what do you want me to say?”

He let out a nervous laugh. His hands were shoved into his trouser pockets, as if he didn’t know where else to put them.

“If you want, later I can give you the website address,” I added. “But let’s do yours first.”

I connected his old phone, exported the contacts, synced them with his Gmail account, and set up the new iPhone so everything would come through automatically. It took less than fifteen minutes. While I explained where to tap to call or send a message, I opened Safari and, almost without thinking, typed in the page address. I went into my profile. The list of published stories filled several screens.

“Browse if you want,” I told him, and I went to the kitchen to get two glasses of water.

When I came back, he was sitting in my chair with the phone in his hand, shoulders hunched and breathing a little faster. He didn’t lift his head. I set the glass down next to the mouse.

“Fuck,” he murmured, still not looking at me. “This is getting me horny.”

“You don’t need to apologize for that.”

“I’m straight, okay?” he said, and the line sounded more like a question than a statement. “But… fuck.”

“What you’ve read—is it that different from what you imagine when you fantasize?”

It took him a while to answer.

“It just seems real.”

“It is. I embellish some of them a little, but it happened. Have you never had anything with another man?”

“Nothing. It doesn’t do anything for me.”

“And yet, look at you.”

I openly looked at the bulge in his trousers. It was making an unmistakable line under the denim. Mateo shifted in the chair as if he wanted to hide it and realized there was no way. I took a step closer, put my hand over it without warning, and squeezed lightly.

“Oh!” escaped him, and he bit his lip.

He didn’t pull away. He didn’t protest. He stayed still, his head turned slightly toward me and his tongue running over his lips every couple of seconds. I kept my hand where it was, pressing softly, feeling his cock continue to harden against my fingers.

“Have you never had your cock sucked?” I asked him.

“Yes. Women.”

“I meant by another man.”

He shook his head. He swallowed.

“Want to try?”

He stayed silent just long enough for me to think he was going to back out. Then, without looking at me, he said a nearly inaudible yes.

Before he changes his mind.

I knelt between his legs and pulled down his zipper. The boxer briefs were barely containing what was inside. I took his cock out carefully: hard, stiff, generous, with the head swollen and the foreskin still half pulled back. I loosened his belt and, with a couple of tugs, got his trousers and boxers bunched up around his knees.

“Don’t go anywhere,” I told him, and I leaned in.

I ran the tip of my tongue over the head, slowly, as if I were tasting something new. Mateo groaned and threw his head back. I pulled the foreskin all the way down with my hand and started sucking, unhurried, alternating tongue and lips, traveling the full length and coming back to the head to linger there. His hands were gripping the armrests, knuckles white.

After a couple of minutes, one of his hands rested on my head. He didn’t push. He just left it there, as if he needed to touch me to believe it.

I slid a hand under his T-shirt. He was hairless, his abdomen flat and hard, and when I brushed his nipples his whole body jolted. I smiled with his cock still in my mouth. That was one point he hadn’t expected, not even himself.

I lifted his shirt to his shoulders and bit one nipple. He let out a little cry and his back shot upward.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he kept repeating, like a mantra.

“Let’s go to the bed,” I said. “We’re not going to manage here.”

He got up unsteadily and took off his sneakers, trousers, socks, T-shirt. I got rid of my pajamas in two moves. I wasn’t wearing anything underneath, because I sleep naked, and I only put the pajamas on to open the door. We stood facing each other, naked, both cocks pointing at the ceiling. His, truth be told, had nothing to envy mine: a good eighteen centimeters that looked even bigger because there wasn’t a hair anywhere around it.

I wrapped an arm around his waist and went back to taking over those nipples that were responding so well. I kept pushing him toward the bed until he fell sitting and, with a gentle shove, I tipped him onto his back.

***

I ran my tongue over his body, discovering the places where he twisted uncontrollably: the nipples, the curve of his ears, the groin. Every time I went back to his ears and nipped at them, a moan escaped him that seemed to surprise him himself. I held him tight and went back down to his cock. I wanted it in my mouth again before asking him for anything else.

I bent his legs and spread them with my hands. He didn’t protest. I sucked his testicles one by one, bit his perineum, and then ran my tongue over his asshole.

His whole body lifted off the bed. He squeezed my head with his thighs and let out a scream that lasted longer than I expected.

“Jesus Christ,” he gasped. “Jesus Christ.”

I repeated the move. This time more slowly, with the tip of my tongue tracing circles around the sphincter. Each pass made him open his legs wider, as if his body understood before he did what it was asking for. I moistened a finger with saliva and started pressing at the entrance. It gave way immediately, not a single sound of protest.

“Does it hurt?”

“No.”

“I’m going to put in another one.”

He flinched when the second finger went in, but he didn’t close up. He held it. I started moving them slowly, opening him a little, and after a minute he was already arching his pelvis to look for me.

“Mateo,” I said, not stopping. “I want to fuck you.”

He took a while. He looked up at me from below, his head on the pillow and his hair stuck to his forehead.

“Slowly.”

“Slowly.”

I lifted his legs until I rested them on my shoulders. I leaned over him and that position raised his hips so much that his ass opened on its own. I coated the head with saliva, ran it a couple of times over the entrance as if I were drawing it, and pushed.

There was a muffled cry. A crack in his breathing. I stayed still with my cock halfway buried, waiting.

“Keep going?”

“Yes. Keep going.”

I pushed all the way in. His body gave completely and my balls slapped against his ass. I stayed there, breathing over his neck, feeling the muscles of his sphincter squeeze me as if they wanted to recognize me.

“There,” I told him. “It’s in you now.”

I started to move. Slowly, not pulling out all the way, giving him time to get used to it. With one hand I wrapped around his cock and jerked him off in time with my thrusts. Mateo closed his eyes. He began to moan low and rhythmic, with a new note I hadn’t heard from him before: the note of someone who understands, right then, that this turns him on more than he thought.

I increased the pace. I let go of his cock because I needed both hands to hold his hips, and I started fucking him for real. The sound of the collision, that dry, wet plop-plop at once, filled the room. Mateo had stopped talking; he only panted, mouth open and eyes squeezed shut.

I held out as long as I could. I tried.

“I’m coming,” I warned him. “I’m coming, fuck.”

I came inside in spurts, my body folding over his. I kept my cock buried until the last spasm. Then I took his again and jerked him fast, my palm sliding over the pre-cum that was dripping down to his navel.

“I’m coming too,” he said, and he came immediately.

He shot five long ropes that reached his neck and cheek. Before the last one came out, I leaned down and took the head into my mouth to finish him there. I wanted him to remember that morning every time he thought about what was straight and what wasn’t.

***

We stayed a while without speaking. I, still inside him. He, with one arm over his eyes. When I finally got my breath back, I pulled out carefully, went to the bathroom, and came back with a damp towel. I cleaned his neck, his face, his chest. I wiped the towel over his cock. He let me, his eyelids half-lowered.

“Did you like it?”

It took him a while to answer. He searched for the words like someone looking for loose change in a pocket.

“More than I expected.”

“More than you wanted to expect, you mean.”

He smiled faintly. He sat up, perched on the edge of the bed, and started looking for his clothes. I handed him his boxers.

“You’ve got a scandalous body and an even better ass,” I told him, giving one cheek a smack. “Next time I want to try yours.”

“Maybe. We’ll see.”

He said it with his eyes still on the floor, but he managed a smile he didn’t quite manage to hide. I walked him to the door with his new iPhone in my hand and the synced contact list ready. I gave him a goodbye hug that lasted a couple of seconds longer than usual.

When I closed the door, I went back to the room, opened Word, and started writing what had just happened. I was sure of one thing: sooner or later, my straight friend was going to ring the doorbell again. Once you try it, you almost always come back for more.