What Happened at the Pool When My Parents Left

My parents left at noon with their suitcases packed and the list of errands taped to the fridge. One week in my grandmother’s village, nothing more. My uncle Andrés saw them off to the car, gave each of them a hug, and came back into the house with that calm men have when they’ve just separated and still don’t quite know what to do with all that free time.

I watched them drive away from the living room window. Then I flopped onto the sofa in my underwear.

—Are you going to spend the day like that? —Andrés asked me as he passed by.

—Probably, yeah —I answered.

—Good call.

And he headed out to the garden without another word. That was the first thing I liked about him: he didn’t try to play father during that week. He was just my uncle, newly separated from Aunt Cristina, looking for a few days away from lawyers and awkward conversations.

What I wasn’t expecting was the swimsuit.

It was the short kind, the kind that leaves little to the imagination. Navy blue, snug. And the body underneath it belonged to someone who did more than walk the dog on Sundays. He was thirty-eight, but at the pool he looked ten years younger. Broad back, flat stomach, arms that weren’t just for show. The bulge in his trunks was so pronounced it was impossible not to estimate what was underneath.

I had my console, my sofa, and my underwear. But the view from the garden distracted me more than it should have. I got hard twice before evening just watching him come out of the water dripping, the fabric clinging to his package.

***

After six in the evening, Andrés showed up in the living room in a tank top and something in his right hand.

—Hey, Marcos. Now that we’re alone, I need to ask you something —he said.

I looked up from the screen.

He was holding a thin, neatly rolled joint. He showed it to me casually, as if he were showing me a pen.

—No problem —I told him—. I’ve got the same vice, but I don’t smoke them inside because my old man has a nose like a bloodhound. You can smoke as many as you want in the garden.

—Thanks. —He sat on the arm of the sofa.— There’s something else too. A habit I have when I’m alone at home. Or with people I trust.

He paused. I waited.

—Nudism —he said—. I like swimming and sunbathing naked. If that seems weird to you or makes you uncomfortable, I’ll stop. It’s just a personal quirk.

I felt my cheeks heat up before I could answer. I looked away toward the powered-off television.

—I don’t think it’s weird. Do whatever you want.

—You sure?

—Sure.

Andrés looked at me for a second. Then he lowered his gaze, very slowly, to the gray underwear I was wearing. Just that. And he raised an eyebrow.

—The difference between what you’re wearing and nothing at all is pretty small, Marcos.

I didn’t know what to say. My ears burned. He smiled, ruffled my hair with his hand as if I were ten years old, and headed back out to the garden.

It took me exactly four minutes to go up to my room.

***

I stationed myself behind the curtain with my phone raised and my breath held.

Andrés was on the lounger. Naked. The afternoon light hit him from the side and left nothing unlit.

His pubic hair was very short, almost nonexistent. His cock rested on his balls with that easy calm men have when they aren’t ashamed of anything. It was thick even at rest, with the head clearly defined, long in a way that didn’t invite you to look away. His balls hung heavy, full, shaved the same as his pubes, and the vein running up the shaft stood out from the base all the way to the tip.

Jesus Christ.

I estimated about sixteen centimeters soft. I preferred not to imagine the rest because getting down the stairs was going to be difficult.

I pulled my underwear down right there, behind the curtain, and started stroking myself, eyes fixed on his pubes. A groan escaped me and I had to bite my lip. I came in three minutes, with a jet that landed on the windowsill, and even then I stayed hard. I wiped myself with my underwear and put on a fresh pair.

My phone vibrated in my hand. It was Diego.

I moved away from the window before answering.

—What do you want? —I whispered.

—For you to invite me. Right now. Your parents aren’t there, you’ve got a pool, and from what you sent me before you’ve got a very interesting visitor —he said, as direct as ever.

—The photos were to make you jealous, not to make you show up here unannounced.

—Come on, Marcos. Have you sucked him off already or are you still waiting for me?

—Lower your voice, at least —I said, even though he had no way of knowing I was whispering from the hallway of my own house.

Diego was a distant cousin of mine, one of those who practically feel like friends because you see them at every family gathering for as long as you can remember. Two years older than me, with a body that made people turn around at the beach. And so foul-mouthed he could say anything to anyone without blinking.

That was why I didn’t let him come over without thinking it through first. With my uncle freshly separated and still testing the waters, Diego was perfectly capable of ruining everything in thirty seconds.

—My uncle isn’t into that —I explained—. He’s been married for years. He has daughters.

Silence on the other end. Then:

—Is he separated or not?

—Separated. Almost.

—A separated man who shows up at his gay nephew’s house, in a swimsuit, the second his parents leave... and you’re telling me he isn’t into that? —he repeated—. That uncle of yours wants you to suck him off, Marcos. And if you don’t, I will.

I didn’t answer.

—Think about it, Marcos. And if you change your mind, text me. —He paused.— I’ll hop on the bike and be there in twenty minutes.

He hung up.

I sat on the edge of the bed with my phone in my hand, thinking about what Diego had just said. And also thinking about the moment before, in the living room, when Andrés had looked down at my underwear that way. Not how a guy looks at his nephew. How someone looks when they’re measuring something they’re not saying out loud.

I decided to go down to the pool.

***

—Do you have a friend named Diego? —I asked from the edge, feet in the water.

Andrés was at the opposite end, doing slow laps. He stopped.

—Diego... Doesn’t ring a bell. Where do I know him from?

—My sister’s wedding, maybe. He’s my cousin on my father’s side.

—I don’t remember. Why are you asking?

—Because he wants to come over. You decide whether you mind having company.

Andrés swam up to the ladder. He got out of the water with that irritating ease men who actually work out have, braced himself on his arms, and sat on the edge. A meter and a half from my feet. With everything on display and the sun hitting his back. His wet cock glistened, stuck to his thigh, and his balls, tightened by the cold water, looked like marble.

—Show me a photo —he said.

I searched my phone. I showed him one from that summer at the beach: Diego in a competition swimsuit, with the body he’d earned in the gym over three years, staring at the horizon.

Andrés took the phone. He zoomed in more than necessary just to recognize a face. He stayed like that for a few seconds. I watched how his cock, against his thigh, slowly started to swell, thickening on its own until it hung heavy between his legs.

—I don’t remember him —he said at last, handing my phone back with a smile that wasn’t entirely innocent—. And he says he wants to come swim?

—That’s what he says.

—Does he know nudism goes on here?

I smiled before I could stop myself.

—I can ask him.

—Do that —Andrés said—. But tell him that if he comes, the nudist house is for everyone. I’m not going to be the only one walking around naked to put on a show for you two.

I pulled out my phone and texted Diego four words: “Come. No bag. No clothes.”

The reply came before I’d even put the phone away.

“Twenty minutes. I’m on my way.”

***

But before Diego got there, there was still time.

Andrés was still sitting on the edge of the pool. I got into the water and moved up until I was right beneath him, my face level with his knees and the sun on the back of my neck.

—Can I ask you something? —I said.

—Whatever you want.

—Did you know what could happen when you came here these days?

Andrés took a moment to answer. He leaned back on his hands, half reclined. His cock rested on his thigh, no longer entirely calm. It had swollen halfway, and the head was peeking out thick and shiny, with a drop of water hanging from the tip.

—Not exactly —he said—. I came thinking I’d ask you for something different. To introduce me to someone. A friend, an acquaintance... Someone I could be with so I’d finally know whether it was worth throwing my marriage overboard.

—And you didn’t think to ask me directly?

—I swear I didn’t. The last time I saw you, you were... different. Younger, I guess. This morning I realized it was you looking at me, and that’s when I started thinking maybe I’d chosen the wrong plan from the very beginning.

I rose a little in the water. I placed my hands on his knees.

—And the nudism? —I asked—. Was the nudism part of the strategy too?

He smiled. Under my hands, his muscles tightened slightly.

—The nudism always —he said—. The rest was improvised.

I slid my hands up his thighs. He didn’t pull them away.

—Have you ever been with a man? —I asked.

—Once. Many years ago. It was in a weird situation, with some friends and a few girls in the mix. I didn’t get anywhere concrete, but I knew what I felt watching the others. What turned me on and what didn’t. —He lowered his voice.— And ever since, I’ve kept it very quiet.

—A very long time quiet.

—Too long.

I spread my fingers over the inside of his thigh, very close to his balls, without quite touching them. His cock moved on its own, lifting a couple of inches off his thigh and then dropping back, heavier now, throbbing.

—You don’t have to keep quiet anymore —I told him.

And I moved closer.

I put one hand on his balls first, weighing them. They were heavy. Warm from the sun and firm as if they’d gone months without being emptied. He let out a breathy moan through his nose. Then I grabbed his cock at the base, squeezing it hard, and lifted it to look at it up close. I jerked it once, then twice, watching the foreskin retract and reveal a thick, almost violet head, with a shiny slit of moisture. The crown was huge, well defined. I kissed it right there, on the tip, and tasted the first drop. Salty, thick.

—Fuck... —Andrés muttered—. Fuck, Marcos, don’t let go...

I stuck my tongue out fully and licked him from the balls to the tip, very slowly, following the thick vein that ran underneath. He shuddered. I went back down, sucked one ball whole, then the other, my tongue working under them, dragging them upward, until there was a strand of saliva hanging from his groin.

Then I took him into my mouth. Just the head at first, holding it there, sealing my lips tightly behind the glans and rubbing my tongue underneath, where I know it drives them crazy. Andrés groaned loudly, a groan that escaped him and made him glance toward the house for a second in case someone was coming.

—Nobody’s coming —I told him, with his cock out of my mouth for just a second—. We’re alone.

And I went back down.

I took him in little by little. He was thick. I felt him grow inside my mouth until he brushed my uvula and I had to breathe through my nose to avoid choking. I went a little farther and stayed there, the head still, feeling the vein throb against my tongue. I pulled him out with a wet sound that echoed all through the garden.

—You’re rock hard —I told him, looking up at him—. How long has it been since someone sucked you like this?

—Years. Cristina doesn’t... —He stopped—. Keep going, fuck, don’t stop.

I took him back in. Now with rhythm. Down, up, down, up, setting the pace myself, my hand at the base squeezing so he wouldn’t cum too early. With my other hand I had my own cock under the water, stroking it in the same rhythm I was using to suck him off. My feet planted against the pool wall, my ass floating, and my mouth full.

Andrés leaned all the way back onto the grass. I watched his abs contract with every movement I made. His eyes were closed and his arms stretched out, surrendered, doing nothing but taking what I gave him.

That’s how I like it.

I started squeezing his balls with my free hand, tugging them downward, and I took him all the way to the back of my mouth. He let out a “holy fuck” that bounced off the pool walls. I pulled him out again and spat on him, coating his cock in saliva, and took him back down to the base. I worked him like that for a few minutes, slightly choking, eyes watering and spit hanging from the corners of my mouth, but without letting him go.

I kept going until I felt him teetering on the edge. His cock got harder if that was even possible, his balls drew up tight against his body, and his thighs started trembling. Then I stopped.

He opened his eyes.

—Why are you stopping?

—Because I don’t want you to finish yet —I told him—. The best part’s still coming.

I sat up, pulled off my swimsuit, and threw it far from the pool. Andrés sat up. He looked me over without hiding it and without shame, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He fixed his eyes on my hard cock, pointing at him, and ran his tongue over his upper lip.

Then he did something I wasn’t expecting: he took me by the hips with both hands and lifted me out of the water as if I weighed nothing. With astonishing ease. He sat me on the pool edge, facing him, my legs dangling and my balls pressed against the hot stone.

—Now it’s my turn —he said.

And he lowered his head.

He spread my legs in one tug and got between them. No ceremony. He grabbed my cock at the base with his right hand, looked at it for a second like someone looking at what he’d been waiting for for years, and swallowed it in one go. All of it. Until I felt his lips against my balls.

—Fuck, man —I moaned—, fuck, fuck...

He stayed there, gagging on me for a moment, coughing around me, without taking me out. Then he started moving. Clumsy at first, with too much saliva, brushing his teeth against me a couple of times. But by the minute he’d figured it out and was sucking me like he’d kept quiet about this for years and was now making up for all of it at once.

He took my balls into his mouth too, one by one, while he jerked me with his hand. Then he licked me from the balls to the tip, very slowly, looking me in the eyes.

—You’re gorgeous, Marcos —he told me—. Sorry I didn’t notice before.

—Shut up and keep going.

He laughed with my cock still in his hand and took me back in. Now he was serious. He sucked me deep, in rhythm, sliding up and down without pause, squeezing my ass with both hands to pull me into his mouth. He ran a finger between my cheeks and left it there, resting at my hole, pressing without going in.

—Do you like being touched there? —he asked, pulling my cock out of his mouth for a second.

—Yeah. Put it in.

He spat on his finger and pushed it in to the knuckle. I threw my head back and let out a cry that could be heard in the street. He kept sucking and now he was milking me from the inside with his finger too, searching for my prostate until he found it and started massaging it with his fingertip. My vision blurred.

—I’m going to cum —I warned him—, I’m going to cum, Andrés...

He didn’t move away. On the contrary. He took my cock to the back of his throat and held it there, finger working me from inside, and I came in his mouth with three long shudders that left me breathless. I felt him swallow. He swallowed everything, without pulling away, until I went soft in his mouth, and even then he kept sucking for a while longer, drawing out the last drops.

When he finally let me go, I collapsed backward onto the grass, my legs still dangling in the water.

—Your turn —I said when I could speak.

Andrés didn’t hesitate. He got out of the water by the ladder, came over to me, and knelt over me with his cock aimed at my face. He put it to my lips and I opened my mouth. This time he set the pace, pushing from above, fucking my mouth without restraint, his balls hitting my chin. I grabbed his ass with both hands and squeezed, pulling him closer. He was hard, gym-built, with two dimples at the small of his back.

—Take it all, nephew —he panted—, like that, fuck...

The word turned me on even more. I jabbed a finger between his cheeks and he gave a grunt, sank deeper, and ten seconds later he was already warning me:

—I’m going to cum. I’m going to cum, Marcos, where do you want it?

—Here —I told him, pulling him out for a second—. In my mouth. All of it.

He shoved himself back in and came. Long, thick jets, one after another, more than I thought he could hold. It spilled over the corners of my lips. I swallowed what I could and the rest ran down my chin to my chest. When he finally stopped, he pulled out and ran the head of his cock over my lips, cleaning himself on my face.

He dropped down beside me, panting.

***

When we were both finished, we stayed lying on the grass side by side, staring at the sky, still breathing hard. The sun was still high. Less time had passed than it felt like. I still had his cum drying on my chest and he had his saliva-slick cock resting on his thigh.

—What time is your cousin getting here? —Andrés asked.

—He should be here any minute —I said.

—Good.

Silence. Somewhere in the garden a bird was singing. Andrés had one arm under his head and was looking at the clouds with that serene expression I hadn’t seen on him all day.

—Hey —he said after a moment.

—What?

—Doesn’t this all seem weird to you?

I thought about it for a second.

—A little —I admitted—. But not in a bad way.

Andrés burst out laughing. A real laugh, the kind that comes from the gut. He told me later he hadn’t laughed like that in months. Months of whispered conversations, of nights in cheap hotels, of staring at the phone waiting for messages that didn’t come or came and would have been better left unread. And then suddenly he was here, in his sister’s garden, naked in the afternoon sun, laughing, with the taste of his nephew’s cum still in his mouth.

—What are you going to do when your time here ends? —I asked him.

—I don’t know yet. —He turned to look at me—. But something changed today. I know better what I want. Or at least I know more clearly what I don’t want to keep doing.

—And what don’t you want?

—To keep quiet.

I nodded without saying anything else.

From the street came the sound of a motorcycle braking in front of the house. Diego. Punctual as always when it suited him.

I got up, went to open the garden gate, and found him on the other side with his helmet in his hand and a grin from ear to ear. No bag, just as I’d told him.

—Is this the nudist place? —he asked, looking over my shoulder toward the pool where Andrés was still stretched out in the sun.

—This is the nudist house —I confirmed—. And the rules are respected.

Diego looked at me. He noticed the trail of semen still at the corner of my mouth and smiled wider. Then he looked at Andrés, naked and stretched out with his cock still half-soft on his thigh. Then he looked back at me with that expression of his that meant he was calculating exactly how long the afternoon was going to last.

—No problem with the rules —he said.

And he started taking off his shirt.