What My Friend Let Me Do to Him in the Shower

Bruno had come back to town for the holidays after three years away, and the first free afternoon we had, we spent at the beach, just like when we were kids. He had been my desk mate in high school, my confidant and, although I never told him, the first man who made me understand what kind of desire I carried inside me. I had kept it all bottled up that whole time, folded away and hidden, while we exchanged birthday messages and little else.

Seeing him get out of the car that morning left my mouth dry. The years had treated him well. He was broader in the shoulders, his face harder, his arms defined from lifting weights. He hugged me tightly and I felt his chest against mine, and in that instant I knew the afternoon was going to be a long one.

We loaded up the towels and a cooler full of beers and went to our usual spot, the most secluded one, where the dune blocked the wind and hardly anyone ever came by. It was the same place where, at seventeen, we would stay until late talking about girls who, in my case, interested me far less than I claimed.

We spent hours stretched out on the sand, talking about everything and nothing, catching up. He told me about his job away from home, a girlfriend he had broken up with recently, and how much he wanted to come back. I only half listened; I was distracted by the way his stomach tightened when he laughed, the drops of seawater drying on his skin, the way he ran his hand through his wet hair. The sun sank slowly over the water, and most people were already gathering up their umbrellas to leave.

***

Near sunset, two girls who had spent the whole day joining in every game along the shore came over to us. They were twins, identical even in the way they laughed: Lucía and Lara. Both of them flirted with Bruno shamelessly, looking at him sideways and biting their lips every time he answered something.

—Shoulder wrestling —Lucía suggested—. One on each of you, in the water. Whoever knocks the other one off wins.

They decided it with rock, paper, scissors. Lucía won and climbed onto Bruno; I got Lara, the one who had lost. I would have been fine with either of them—they were identical and incredibly hot—but neither of them was what I was really looking at.

We went in until the water reached above our waists. They slid down our backs and settled astride our shoulders, their legs spread and resting against the backs of our necks. The heat of their thighs against my neck, the warm water, the setting sun: everything was pushing in the same direction. I could feel Lara’s pussy pressed against the back of my neck, barely covered by the bikini’s minimal fabric, and every time she moved she left a hot, wet trail that wasn’t seawater. A yard away, Bruno wore the same look of someone struggling to hold himself back, and beneath the water his hard cock showed, pulling his trunks upward, a thick bulge Lucía had already noticed and that made her bite her lips every time she shifted herself more comfortably over him.

We wrestled for quite a while, all four of us laughing and shoving, the girls trying to knock each other off balance. Under the water, we were both rock-hard, and we knew it. Every time I met Bruno’s eyes, he looked away immediately, but not before I noticed that he was breathing just as heavily as I was. I looked at his swollen cock beneath his wet trunks, the tip outlined against the fabric, and imagined pulling it out right there, crouching underwater to swallow it down my throat while the twins kept shrieking above us.

The girls’ mother called to them from the shore. It was time to go; the sun was almost touching the water.

The twins climbed down slowly, far too slowly, sliding along the sides of our bodies, their hard breasts brushing our arms, their nipples outlined through their bikinis and scraping against our skin. Before leaving, they each kissed us, with tongue, and in the process each of them squeezed us through our trunks, searching for our cocks with their fingers and gripping them tightly before letting go. Then they ran toward the shore, laughing hysterically, leaving us standing in the calm water with our cocks throbbing and no one to take care of them.

We were left there, both of us panting, the water up to our chests as the afternoon faded.

—Look what they did to me —I said, and before I could think better of it, I took his hand and brought it to my bulge.

Bruno was still dazed, as though he didn’t yet understand what was happening. He let me. I felt his hand open against the fabric, hesitate for a moment, then stay there, feeling the length of my cock through my trunks, squeezing with his fingers, gauging its thickness.

—And you? —I asked, touching his package through his trunks.

He was rock-hard. I didn’t take my hand away. I slipped my fingers beneath the wet fabric and grabbed him: he was hot despite the cold water, his skin soft, so soft that I stroked him slowly for a few seconds without him saying a word. He was thick, thicker than I had imagined during so many nights alone, my head full of fantasies, and a drop was already escaping him despite the water. I worked him slowly beneath the surface, moving my closed fist up and down along his full length, feeling him grow even harder in my hand, feeling him pulse against my fingers.

—What a waste —I murmured—. Those two have no idea what they missed.

He didn’t answer, but a moan escaped his mouth and his whole body trembled. He didn’t take my hand away either. He only looked at me, and in that look was a question we had gone years without asking each other.

***

There was hardly anyone left in our section of the beach.

—Let’s rinse off —he said, his voice rougher than usual.

We walked to the changing rooms without speaking. The sun had almost gone down, and the hallway lights buzzed as they came on, casting that cold glow that made everything seem a little unreal. I walked a step behind him, watching his back, his shoulders, the way the water ran down his spine and slipped beneath the elastic of his trunks, outlining the curve of his ass beneath the wet fabric. We stepped into the last two stalls, side by side, even though the place was empty. At first we kept our trunks on, out of habit, out of fear, just in case.

The wall separating the showers didn’t reach the ceiling. I could hear him breathing on the other side, the water striking his body, and I imagined every movement without seeing it: his hand moving down his abdomen, grabbing his cock, jerking it because he couldn’t hold back. I rested my forehead against the cold tiles and tried to calm myself, but my heart was racing, and I had already slipped my hand inside my trunks and was working my cock with my open palm, unable to decide whether to come. For years I had convinced myself that what I felt for Bruno was just an old whim, something from adolescence that had to be left behind. That afternoon, though, everything I felt was more alive than ever.

I turned on the shower and let the water fall over me. On the other side, I heard Bruno turn his on too, followed by the unmistakable sound of fabric falling onto the wet floor. I didn’t dare look right away. When I did, he was already soaping himself, his back to me, and the only thing I could think was that he was even more beautiful from behind than I remembered. His ass was firm and round, marked by the white line where his trunks had been, and the soap ran between his cheeks until it disappeared.

He realized I was watching him. He turned his head just slightly, found me open-mouthed beneath the spray with my hard cock pointing at him from the other side of the aisle, and smiled. It wasn’t an embarrassed smile. It was an invitation, and we both knew it.

I came up with an excuse that fooled no one.

—You’ve still got sand on your back —I said—. Between your shoulder blades.

—Where? —He stayed still without turning around.

—Can I?

—Yes —he said, the word escaping almost without breath—. Go ahead.

I moved up behind him. I ran my soapy hands over his back, slowly, following the line of his shoulders and moving down along his sides. There was no sand. We both knew it. I returned to his lower back and pressed with my palms, then moved lower still, until I grabbed his ass with both hands and kneaded it hard, spreading and squeezing his cheeks while my hard cock searched for the cleft between them.

—Those hands —he said softly—. They feel like caresses.

That’s because I’m caressing you, I thought. I’ve wanted to do this for years.

I kneaded the muscles of his lower back, moved up, then came down again. When I ran a soapy finger along the crack of his ass, very slowly, brushing the rim of his asshole with my fingertip, a long moan escaped him, one he tried to swallow, and he thrust his hips backward, seeking more. I pressed my body against his back and rubbed my cock against his ass, hard and slippery with soap, while one hand encircled his waist and grabbed his cock from the front. He was so hard I could barely close my fist around him, and with every stroke, a broken gasp escaped him.

—Turn around —I told him in his ear, without stopping my hand on his cock.

—No. I feel awkward.

—Don’t be stupid. I’m just as worked up as you are because of the twins.

—I’m worse.

—I don’t believe you. Let me see.

He turned around slowly, his eyes closed and water streaming over his face, chest, and stomach. He was hard, pressed against his navel, thick, his head purple and swollen, veins standing out along the shaft, a clear drop appearing at the tip. Seeing him like that, surrendered and defenseless, his cock pulsing in time with his heartbeat, stripped away the last bit of caution I had left.

I placed my hands on his waist and knelt beneath the water. I leaned in. First I kissed the tip, slowly, running my lips all over the head while looking into his eyes, which flew open in surprise. I licked away the drop, tasting him, then ran my flat tongue along his entire length, from base to tip, again and again, wetting it all with saliva.

He took hold of my head, at first as if to push me away. But I had already taken him into my mouth, very slowly, feeling his thick head press my tongue against the roof of my mouth, and instead of pushing me out, his fingers relaxed, tangled in my hair, and drew me toward him, sinking him deeper inside until the tip touched the back of my throat.

—Oh, Nico —he said, his voice breaking—. You suck so good. Fuck, you’re good.

The water poured over both of us, warm, drowning out the sound of everything else. I tasted the salt on his skin, felt the trembling in his legs each time I changed the rhythm, the way his breathing broke into short gasps he tried to hold back. I started sucking him faster, moving up and down with my mouth tightly wrapped around his shaft, sucking hard whenever I reached the tip, playing with my tongue beneath the head at the spot where I knew men went crazy. I took his balls in my free hand and kneaded them slowly, heavy in my palm, gently tugging them downward while I kept sucking.

I looked up once more and found him watching me, mouth slightly open, eyes fixed on me, without a trace of the embarrassment he had shown earlier.

—Don’t stop —he begged in a whisper—. Please, don’t stop. Suck me all the way.

I took it slowly. I went down and up, licking him, taking my time with what I had imagined for so long, until my nose pressed against his stomach, his entire cock buried down my throat. I stayed there for a second, motionless, savoring him, swallowing around his cock to squeeze it with my throat, and felt his whole body tremble beneath the warm water. Three years apart, and all the years before that, had been reduced to this moment, to his hand in my hair and the line we had just crossed, one we would never be able to uncross.

At some point he stopped holding his breath and surrendered completely, his back against the tiles, his fingers firm at my nape, setting the rhythm he wanted, fucking my mouth slowly at first and then harder, pushing my head against his pelvis. I followed him, alert to every change, reading him as I had never been able to read anyone, letting him do it, swallowing every time he reached the back of my throat. Saliva dripped from my chin, mixing with the shower water, and he looked down at me with his mouth open, panting faster and faster, tightening his fingers in my hair.

—I’m going to come —he gasped—. Nico, I’m coming, I’m coming.

I didn’t let go. I squeezed his ass with both hands, pulling him against my face, and felt his whole body tense, felt his cock grow even larger inside my mouth and begin to pulse. He came with a long, muffled groan, shot after shot of thick, hot semen striking my palate, tongue, and throat. I swallowed it all without losing a drop, sucking his cock through its final spasms until it softened and he was left panting against the tiles. I licked his clean head, savoring what remained, and only then withdrew him from my mouth.

There was no haste or awkwardness, only two bodies finding each other after far too long spent circling around it, and the sound of the water covering everything we didn’t dare say aloud.

And, honestly, neither of us wanted to undo it.