When the Stranger from the Bar Came Up to the Apartment

I had been alone in the apartment for ten days when Marcos called.

It was the first week of August, and I had rented the place for an entire month: an apartment block on the coast of Castellón, a couple of miles from the sea and a twenty-minute drive from Peñíscola. Good conditions for doing nothing in particular. What you might call a real vacation.

—I want to come over this weekend —he told me—. Do you have room?

My relatives were arriving the following week, so I had the apartment to myself until then.

—Come whenever you want —I said.

Marcos is thirty-three and gay, like me. We have known each other for a long time, and there is a kind of trust between us that needs no explanations: if we walk around the apartment naked, neither of us finds it strange; if we sleep in the same bed, there is no need to comment on it either. We had not seen each other in person for months because of the distance—he lives in the north—although we spoke on the phone almost every day.

He arrived in the middle of the afternoon, his car loaded with more things than he needed for a weekend. He came in, dropped his bag on the floor, and stretched out on the sofa without taking off his shoes.

—Several hours behind the wheel —he muttered—. Don’t talk to me for twenty minutes.

I let him sleep. When he woke up, I found him on the balcony with a cold beer waiting for him. The sun was already going down, and there was a sea breeze.

We went to the beach late in the day. We walked along the shore without a destination, the water around our ankles, talking about everything that piles up when there are months of distance between two people: work, the people we had stopped seeing, a couple of stories each of us had had separately since the last time. Then we had dinner at home and went out for a walk. The town had plenty of life that night—it was high season, and there were people everywhere—and we ended up going down to the harbor, where we stopped at a terrace I had noticed during the preceding days.

We ordered beers, and that was where we saw him.

He was sitting alone at the neighboring table, with a half-finished bottle of water and his eyes fixed on the sea. Tall, with several days’ growth of dark beard, wearing a white T-shirt that fit tightly across his shoulders. Twenty-eight, perhaps a little older. He had the kind of body that came from being constantly on the move, not from spending hours in front of a gym mirror.

Marcos glanced at me.

He had noticed him too.

He was the one who spoke first. He asked the guy if he knew whether there was any bar in the area that stayed open later. The guy answered naturally, without the wariness of someone who did not want to be bothered.

—I’m from Valencia —he explained—. I’ve been here alone for four days. My name’s Rodrigo.

His name was Rodrigo, he was from Valencia, he was on vacation by himself, and he did not seem to have any plans for the night. We talked for almost an hour across the three tables, the distance shrinking all the time. At one point the waiter brought a round nobody had ordered—Rodrigo had paid for it without saying anything—and when I looked at him to thank him, he did not look away.

There was something there. You did not have to put it into words to recognize it.

—If you want, we can go up to the apartment for another beer —I suggested.

Rodrigo left a bill on the table and stood up. As he rose, I could see the bulge outlined beneath his trousers, already half-swollen, with no effort whatsoever to hide it.

***

At the apartment, it did not take us long to stop pretending we were going to have a beer.

Marcos and I took off our clothes as we always did at home, without ceremony. Rodrigo watched us for a moment, his gaze traveling up and down, and then did the same. He took off his shirt, then his trousers, and when he lowered his briefs, a thick, dark, already swollen cock sprang out, its tip glistening. It curved slightly upward, with heavy balls hanging beneath it and a trail of black hair climbing up his stomach.

—Fuck —Marcos murmured, unable to look away.

The three of us moved closer and started slowly. Hands on backs, ribs, hips, moving down to asses. When two people were touching you at once, the body received too much information all at once, and there was something about that which was hard to explain: you never knew exactly whose hand was on the back of your neck, whose was squeezing your thigh, or whose mouth was biting your neck. I felt Marcos’s hardening cock against my hip and, at the same time, Rodrigo’s cock striking my stomach whenever he moved. I took Rodrigo’s dick in my hand and weighed it for a moment: it was heavy, and hot as though he had a fever.

—Let’s see what you do with that —he said, his voice thick.

I knelt without thinking. I took it into my mouth all at once, as much as I could, and felt his stomach tense. I started sucking him slowly, my tongue circling his glans, pulling it out to spit a thread of saliva over it and then swallowing it again until it closed off my throat. Marcos got behind me and spread my ass with both hands, crouched down, and started eating me out. I felt his hot tongue pressing insistently between my cheeks, and I had to grip Rodrigo’s thighs to keep my balance.

—The son of a bitch sure knows how to suck cock —Rodrigo panted, one hand on the back of my neck, setting the pace.

Marcos kept eating my ass for a long while, leaving it soaked, pushing his tongue deep inside me, then one finger, then two. When he stood up, his cock was hard against his stomach and dripping.

I’m passive. I always have been, and Marcos and I understand each other well in that respect—we have fit together that way before. I got on all fours on the sofa while he positioned himself behind me. Rodrigo stood in front of me, and I could see him up close: he was substantial, thick, completely hard, with a thick vein throbbing along its length. He brought it toward my mouth, and I took it without rushing, letting it fill my whole mouth, tasting the salty pre-cum that kept leaking from the tip.

Marcos spat on my hole, ran his cock along my crack a couple of times to coat it well, and entered slowly, with the patience that characterized him, giving me time to adjust. I let out a muffled moan with Rodrigo’s cock in my mouth. Marcos sank all the way in, until I felt his balls hit my ass, and stayed there for a moment before beginning to fuck me with long thrusts, pulling almost all the way out and then driving back in to the hilt.

—Open his throat for him —Marcos told Rodrigo—. This one sucks like a whore when he’s being fucked from behind.

Rodrigo obeyed. He grabbed the back of my neck with both hands and started fucking my mouth, setting the rhythm, pushing it in until my eyes watered and drool ran down my chin, dripping onto the floor. I let him, my body open on both sides, jolting between Marcos’s thrusts from behind and Rodrigo’s from in front. Rodrigo’s cock struck the roof of my mouth, thick, and every time he pulled it out to let me breathe, a stream of saliva mixed with pre-cum spilled over my lips.

The three of us found a rhythm and kept it up for quite some time, the temperature steadily rising until the pace became faster and less controlled. Marcos fucked me harder and harder, gripping my hips and smacking my ass, the sound carrying against my skin. Rodrigo began to growl with his cock buried in my throat, his thighs tensing.

Marcos came first. I recognized the change in his breathing before he sped up. He pulled out abruptly, gripped his dick in his fist, and shot his entire load in hot spurts across my back, panting and pressing against me to empty himself to the last drop. I felt the semen run down my spine to the crack of my ass. A few seconds later Rodrigo clenched his jaw, tightened his fingers in my hair, and came without warning. He shot the first burst into my mouth, salty and thick, and brought the rest out to paint my face: it landed on my lips, cheek, and chin, thick strings of cum leaving my skin sticky.

Marcos chuckled softly from the sofa.

—What a mess —he said.

—Good? —Rodrigo asked, still not breathing normally, shaking the last drops against my lips.

—Yes —I said, swallowing what remained in my mouth—. Good.

***

We took a break. We drank something cold and put on quiet music. Rodrigo sat on the floor with his back against the sofa, carrying himself in that way people did when they were still processing something they had enjoyed more than expected. His cock was half-soft between his legs, still shiny with saliva.

After a while, he was the first to move. He stroked himself slowly with his palm until he was hard again, then looked at me.

—Again —he said, not asking.

This time it was different. Marcos sat in the armchair, his cock revived, and Rodrigo knelt in front of him. He began sucking him hungrily, swallowing Marcos’s entire cock, hollowing his cheeks and making wet sounds that filled the room. I positioned myself behind Rodrigo and, without any need for words—he tilted his hips toward me, arching his ass, a clear enough signal—I spread his cheeks with my hands and bent down to eat him out. His hole was closed, pink, tight, and I started licking it slowly, insisting with the tip of my tongue until he relaxed and I could slip it inside. Rodrigo moaned with Marcos’s cock in his mouth.

I spat on him, put in one finger, then two, moving them in circles until he stopped resisting. I stood behind him, my cock already rock-hard, and rested it against his crack. I pushed slowly. I felt the ring yield little by little, squeezing my head, and then open to let me in.

—Put it all the way in —Rodrigo muttered, briefly taking Marcos’s dick out of his mouth—. All of it.

I obeyed. I pushed to the bottom, until my balls struck his, and stayed there for a moment, feeling him squeeze me inside. Then I began to fuck him, gripping his hips, pulling almost all the way out and driving back in hard. Each thrust pushed him forward against Marcos’s cock, and between the two of us we had him impaled as if he were some goddamn toy.

—What an ass this bastard has —I panted—. It grips just right.

Marcos grabbed Rodrigo’s head with both hands and began fucking his mouth to the rhythm of my pounding him from behind. Rodrigo was in the middle, trapped between us, his eyes half-closed and drool running down his chin. I drove my cock into him harder and harder, listening to the smack of my body against his, while Marcos grunted above him.

The thickness of what I was putting inside him—mine was no small thing—began to bring me close. I turned him over and laid him on his back on the sofa, lifted his legs, and pushed his knees onto his shoulders. I entered him that way again, watching his face, watching him open his mouth and arch his back every time I reached the bottom. Marcos positioned himself beside him and put his dick to his lips; Rodrigo took it in his hand and started sucking him without stopping taking me.

This time Rodrigo came first. He was not even touching himself. He began to shake beneath me, his whole body tensing, and his cock released a jet that reached his neck, followed by several shorter ones that soaked his chest and stomach. His ass clenched around my dick so hard it almost made me come right there.

Marcos took advantage of the moment. He moved Rodrigo’s hand away from his cock, knelt over him, and shot his load across his face, burst after burst, mixing with Rodrigo’s own cum on his chin. I held out a few seconds longer, fucking him with hard, rapid thrusts, then pulled out to empty myself onto his chest, over everything else, in two long spurts that added to the mess.

I lay there staring at the ceiling for a long minute, breathing unevenly, while Rodrigo ran his fingers over his chest, gathering semen and bringing them to his mouth.

—This wasn’t in my vacation plans —Rodrigo said quietly.

—Vacation plans are meant to be broken —Marcos replied.

***

We decided Rodrigo should stay the night. The apartment had two bedrooms, and nobody was going to mind. Marcos and I got into the double bed, while Rodrigo settled into the room next door.

I did not sleep much. Neither did Marcos, judging by his breathing. We touched each other during the night without calling it anything, without urgency. At some point I found his cock hard again in my hands and sucked him slowly in the dark, unhurried, feeling it swell in my mouth until he released a short, salty load that I swallowed whole. We stayed wrapped in each other afterward, our skin sticky, saying nothing.

Near dawn I heard noise in Rodrigo’s room: the unmistakable sound of a hand jerking off a cock at a steady pace, a muffled pant, a short moan. It went on a couple of times before silence returned. Marcos squeezed my shoulder in the darkness.

—Poor guy can’t get enough —he murmured.

There was no need to ask him anything. In the morning, while we made coffee in the kitchen, Rodrigo mentioned it himself with a smile that was not embarrassed.

—Twice —he admitted—. I got hard every time I thought about it.

—Welcome to the club —Marcos said.

***

Sunday started late. Marcos was still in bed, half-asleep, when Rodrigo appeared in the doorway and looked at me. He was naked, his cock already beginning to rise simply because he was looking at me. He said nothing for several seconds.

—Can I? —he asked at last.

I nodded and pulled back the sheet. I had been hard since I heard his footsteps in the hallway.

He climbed onto the bed and positioned himself between my legs. He took my cock in his hand, brought it to his lips, and sucked me with a calmness he had not possessed the night before. He began at the tip, licking it in circles with his tongue, sucking my glans as if it were a piece of candy, making wet little noises that raised gooseflesh on my skin. Then he moved down my shaft, licked my balls one by one, put them in his mouth, came back up, and swallowed my entire cock, burying his nose in my pubic hair. He stayed there with his throat full until he had to pull back to breathe.

—Fuck, man —I panted.

Marcos, beside me, slowly opened his eyes and smiled without saying anything. He propped himself up on one elbow to get a better look. He reached out and grabbed a lock of Rodrigo’s hair, setting the rhythm and pushing his head down every time he came up.

He stayed like that for a long time, not hurrying, paying attention to every detail. He licked my frenulum with the tip of his tongue until he made me tremble, sucked my balls while jerking me off with his hand, put a finger in his mouth, and then went down to eat my ass while he jacked me off, alternating between one thing and the other until I could not take any more. I grabbed his head with both hands and pushed him into my groin.

—Don’t move —I asked him.

I came in his mouth in a long release, holding my breath, feeling him swallow while semen kept pouring out. He accepted it all without taking his eyes off me, without moving his mouth, without letting a drop fall. When I finished and he pulled away, his lips were shining, and a white thread hung from the corner of his mouth. He gathered it with his thumb and licked it.

Afterward I returned the favor with my hands, lying beside him. I took his cock, already swollen and soaked with pre-cum, and began jerking him off slowly, squeezing hard and twisting my fist around the tip the way I knew he liked. Marcos was fully awake by then and moved to the other side, took Rodrigo’s balls in his hand and massaged them, then slipped a finger into his ass. Rodrigo opened his mouth soundlessly, closed his eyes, and let his head fall back onto the pillow.

—Faster —he asked, his voice broken.

I did as he said. I began stroking his cock hard, without mercy, while Marcos continued sucking him from the other side with his finger inside. Rodrigo took quite a while, longer than the night before, his body tensing and relaxing in waves. When he came, he ejaculated over my back in a long shudder, four or five thick spurts falling from my shoulder to my kidney and leaving his stomach and pubic hair smeared with his own semen.

—Thank you —he said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

—Thank you —I replied.

***

Late in the morning, Rodrigo gathered his things. He had friends waiting for him in Valencia and many hours of driving ahead. I walked slowly with him down to the parking lot.

—If you come back along the coast —he began.

—We already know where to find you —I interrupted.

He laughed. He opened the trunk, put in his bag, and closed it. He walked around the car, got in, and drove off without looking back. I watched until he turned at the first corner and disappeared.

When I went back up to the apartment, Marcos was in the kitchen making scrambled eggs with the radio on.

—How did it turn out? —he asked without turning around.

—Good —I said—. It turned out well.

***

Marcos left after lunch. He had the drive north ahead of him and wanted to leave before three to avoid the heaviest traffic. We tidied the apartment slowly, had coffee, and when he had everything in the car, we went back upstairs for a moment to get something Marcos had forgotten—and probably had not completely forgotten.

It was slower than the night before. Without Rodrigo, without the novelty, without anything to prove. Just the two of us in the bedroom with the blinds down and the fan turning, with the confidence of someone who knew exactly what the other needed.

I lay on my back, and he positioned himself on top of me. We kissed for a long time, tongues intertwined, while we rubbed our cocks against each other. Then he moved down my body, kissing my neck, chest, and stomach, until he took my cock into his mouth and began sucking me with the calm that only someone who knows you can possess. I put my hand on the back of his neck and let him do it, closing my eyes and enjoying the wet heat around my cock.

When I was close, I pulled him upward. He straddled me, spat into his hand, and spread the saliva over his ass, then took my cock and slowly lowered himself onto it, lowering his weight until he was seated fully on me. He stayed still for a moment with his eyes closed, adjusting to me, and then began to move.

I watched his hard cock bouncing against his stomach as he rode me. I took it in my hand and stroked it in time with his rising and falling. Marcos leaned forward to kiss me without stopping his movements, and we stayed that way for a while, fucking slowly, our breathing mingling, sweat running over us.

We came almost at the same time. He came first, in my hand and across my stomach, spasms squeezing my cock inside him and dragging me along a second later. I emptied myself inside him without pulling out, feeling the semen slide between us when he finally came off me. A long kiss followed, serving as our closing note, and afterward we lay still for a minute without saying anything, breathing the same sticky air.

—Next time I’ll go north —I said at last.

—You’ve been saying that for two years —he replied.

—This time I mean it.

He laughed. We got dressed. I walked him down to the car and watched him drive away. I watched until the car disappeared at the end of the street.

I went back up to the apartment and sat on the balcony with a beer, looking out at the sea. I had an entire week before my relatives arrived.

It was enough time to remember everything at leisure.