Three Strangers in the Vacant Lot Shortcut

I’m from Monterrey, and that night had felt long as hell. I’m twenty-two and bisexual, have been for as long as I can remember, though a lot of people still think bisexuality is a phase or a whim. I’ve been hitting the gym hard for two years, and between the broad back, the defined arms, and the tattoos climbing up my forearm, people I pass on the street don’t look at me like a man who also likes other men. That idea has always amused me: that my body can throw people off so much about what my head is asking for.

That afternoon I’d been with my university classmates until after eight. When we said goodbye on the avenue, the others went home to their beds and I was left with a heat inside me I couldn’t ignore. My blood was hot and my cock was alert inside my pants, reminding me I’d gone weeks without anything. I got on the bus knowing perfectly well where I wanted to get off.

I’d known the vacant lot for months. It was a huge abandoned plot, crossed by two dirt paths workers used as a shortcut to the transit stop. Vegetation had grown up in thick patches, and a few scraggly trees served as cover. I’d already read online that things got cooked up there after nine. Curiosity and horniness had been fighting inside me for weeks, and that night curiosity lost.

I got off the bus, crossed the avenue, and stood in front of the entrance to the vacant lot. My heart was pounding in my chest with a mix of fear and excitement I’d never felt in broad daylight. Just as I was about to take the first step, I saw an older man going in with his bicycle through one of the paths. He had to be over sixty, short, thin, dark-skinned, with a gray mustache and a white cap sunk down to his eyebrows. Honestly, he wasn’t my type, and for a second I thought about turning back. But my head wanted something else, and my feet decided for me.

I waited a couple of minutes so I wouldn’t look obvious. Then I walked slowly down the path, trying not to let my soles crunch too much over the dry dirt. The air smelled of crushed grass and dust. A few meters in, I heard a stream hitting a tree trunk. I stepped aside among the plants and saw the old man with the mustache pissing against the bark with his bicycle leaned against the tree next to him.

Better go back.

But I didn’t go back. I stayed rooted there, watching his cock, still soft, hanging between his fingers. You couldn’t see much of it, just the shaft and the huge bulge of the head, but even flaccid that head already promised something big. When I lifted my eyes, the old man was already looking at me. He smiled. A tight smile, almost conspiratorial. I didn’t know what face to make.

He shook his cock to drip off the last drops and, without putting it away, started stroking it slowly in front of me. The skin stretched and the big head swelled with each movement of his wrist. He tipped his chin forward, calling me over. I thought about it for a second. Then I took the three steps that separated us.

—Give me a few sucks, come on —he said in a low voice, rough from cigarettes.

I knelt on the dirt. His cock was hot between my fingers, throbbing slowly in my palm. I smelled it before I put it in my mouth; I could taste the urine on the first touch of my tongue, but it washed away quickly in my saliva. When it got fully hard, I realized what was in front of me: about sixteen centimeters of dark shaft and a disproportionately large head, swollen like a mushroom, almost deformed from how big it was. That’s the kind of cock that does it for me, the fat-headed ones that promise to stretch and open things that weren’t made to open.

The old man looked at me with a mix of pride and mockery, as if he knew the effect his cock was having on me.

—You like it, son? —he asked, without stopping pushing my head toward his pelvis.

I couldn’t take it. I stood up with his taste filling my mouth, pulled my pants and underwear down to my ankles, turned around, and braced myself against the tree he’d been watering a minute earlier.

—Fuck, just put it in —I said, spreading my ass cheeks with both hands so he could see the little hole exposed to the night.

He spat on the big head, spat on my ass, lined up the tip, and pushed. A strange sound came out of my throat, half a whimper, half a moan. I wanted to move on instinct, but the old man grabbed my waist with both hands and drove in as far as he could in one thrust.

—Take it, little faggot. Take it. I’m going to put it all in you.

I felt myself stretching inside, felt that fat head forcing its way until it went all the way in. It hurt. It hurt a lot for the first few seconds. Then it hurt good. And then it didn’t hurt. It just filled me.

He started moving. For the age he had, the old man fucked with the rhythm of a fifteen-year-old. He’d bury it all the way in, pull the cock almost all the way out, then slam back in with one blow. I clung to the tree trunk and let him shake me around, my nails scraping the bark.

—Oh, daddy, what a delicious cock —I blurted without thinking—. Give it all to me, ah.

—You squeeze nice, little faggot —he panted back—. Where do you want it? Where should I shoot it?

—Inside, papi. Inside. Knock me up like your bitch.

It took him another minute. I heard him growl very low, almost a whisper, and he pressed fully against my back. I felt the hot spurts inside me, one after another, throbbing against my walls. I closed my eyes and let myself be carried away by that feeling of fullness only men give me when they empty themselves inside me.

When he was done, he pulled out without warning and silently pulled his pants back up. He took the bicycle from the tree beside us, said nothing else to me, and disappeared down the path. I stayed there a moment leaning against the trunk, breathing hard, feeling the warm semen slowly trickling down the inner side of my thigh. When I turned my head, I wasn’t alone.

***

About five meters away, half camouflaged between two bushes, there was another man. He was standing there with his pants lowered to mid-thigh, openly jerking off. He must have been around thirty, thin, wiry, dark-skinned like almost everyone who showed up in that vacant lot. Black tattoos ran across his chest and disappeared under his rolled-up white T-shirt, and a dark cap was pulled down over his eyes. His cock was thick, curved downward like a sickle, with a good amount of black hair around it.

He came closer slowly, his cock still in his hand.

—Look at how I’m carrying it, dude —he said softly, not stopping jerking it—. Do me a solid. Let me put it in you for a bit.

For a second I hesitated. My body was still shaking from the old man’s fucking. But the horniness hadn’t gone away; if anything, it had multiplied. And that curved cock, with that good-sized head, looked made to hit me where the old man hadn’t reached.

—Okay —I said—. But like a dog. On all fours, on the ground.

He nodded without saying a word. I took a sweatshirt out of my backpack that I always carried and spread it on the dirt so I wouldn’t scrape my knees. I got on my palms and knees, stuck my ass up toward him, offered him what was already open and slick. The bastard got behind me, spat on his hand, lubed up his cock, and went in in one thrust.

—Oh, fuck, this feels so good —he panted, grabbing my hips hard—. It’s so fucking warm.

That curved cock hit a different spot. Every time he pushed in, a shiver ran from the base of my spine to the back of my neck. He was fucking me like a dog, with a desperate rhythm, no patience, like he’d spent hours waiting to unload and my ass was just an excuse to get off. I didn’t care. I was in that place where you’re not thinking anymore, where you’re just moaning and clenching and asking for more.

—Harder —I told him, biting the back of my hand—. Harder, asshole.

He did as I said. The thrusts became dry, forceful. He planted both hands in the middle of my back and shoved me down, leaving my face almost pressed to the ground, my knees spread and my ass raised for his taking. That position, with the body bent over and the weight of the other man on top, always drives me out of my mind.

It didn’t last long. After two minutes I heard him hold his breath, drive all the way in, and freeze on top of me. I felt his cock swelling, pulsing with each load of cum he left inside me. I clenched my hole on pure instinct, wanting to keep inside everything he was giving me.

—Hold on, hold on —he said when I tried to move—. Let me see you like that. Stay there.

I did as he said. I felt him pull out slowly, heard him spit, felt him pry my ass cheeks open with his thumbs to look at what he’d left inside. After a few seconds like that, with my whole intimacy exposed to a stranger in the middle of the field, I heard quick footsteps behind me.

I didn’t even get a chance to turn my head.

Two firm hands grabbed my waist, I felt a hot spit hit my entrance, and before I could react, another hard cock slammed all the way in.

—Hey! What the fuck? —I blurted out, trying to sit up.

But the third man was holding me with a strength that left no room for argument. I managed to turn my neck just enough to see him: past fifty, thin and dark-skinned like the other two, with very short gray hair and a shirt open halfway down his chest. He was smiling with tobacco-stained teeth.

—Why not, you fucking bitch —he said between pants, squeezing my waist harder—. I’m going to knock you up whether you want it or not.

I tried to push him away with one hand, more out of reflex than conviction. The bastard was fucking me with brutal rhythm and the cock, though I hadn’t had a chance to see it, filled me the same way the others had. Within seconds my body stopped fighting. I dropped my arms, braced my chest against the sweatshirt again, and let him do what he wanted.

—That’s it, fucking bitch —he panted, giving me another smack on the ass that echoed through the night—. Just relax your hole and enjoy my cock.

And that’s what I did. I closed my eyes, let the air come in and out of my mouth to the rhythm of his thrusts, and devoted myself to moaning. My thoughts shut off. All that was left was the pressure, the heat, the rough dirt against my palms, the hum of some insect nearby, and a stranger’s cock moving inside me as if it had belonged to me from the start.

—I’m going to leave you nice and full of cum, bitch —he announced when he started speeding up—. Nice and full.

He did. Three more thrusts, dry and deep, and he pressed himself against my back. I felt the pulses against my walls, that very particular throb of a cock unloading inside a freshly opened ass. I clenched as hard as I could, not to please him, but because by then it had become a habit that night.

—Squeeze, bitch. Squeeze it tight —he asked, smacking my cheek again.

When he finished, he pulled his cock out with a careless motion, got his clothes back in place in seconds, and walked away down the path without adding anything else except a low laugh through his teeth.

—Fucking bitches —he muttered as he disappeared among the plants.

When I lifted my face, the vacant lot was silent. The second guy, the one with the curved cock, had already left without me noticing. I was alone, on all fours, in the middle of the night, with three loads from three different men dripping down my thighs.

It took me a couple of minutes to move. I stood up slowly, brushed the dirt off my knees, and pulled my pants up carefully. I folded the sweatshirt and tucked it under my arm. I left the vacant lot through the other end so I wouldn’t run into anyone, my legs still trembling and my ass throbbing in its own rhythm.

That night I slept like I hadn’t in months. And the next day, in the shower, while I washed off the last traces of the three men, I was already thinking about the next time.