2001-11-10 - 10:25 p.m.
Share and Share Alike

Enrique left town Monday; I miss him terribly already. But man, he and I will both be savoring memories of last weekend’s joint venture for some time to cum…

As mentioned, last Friday night Enrique was out with Damian again, the boy--one of the boys—he brought home the weekend before, as well as a friend of Damian’s, Rico. Three lovely-looking Latino boys, out for a good time. I noticed Damian a lot more than I had the first time; my god, he looked fine. He and Rico danced sexily on the stage at the front of the tavern’s dance floor later that night (while I was waiting that last time for Drew to return from the men’s room); Enrique was too shy to join them.

Saturday morning I was half-expecting to find the three of them curled up on the hide-a-bed in the living room, but it was just Enrique and Damian there when I wandered out at 9:30. I swooned at the sight of pretty Damian sleeping.

Enrique woke up as I made my morning coffee; again, I suggested they adjourn to my room to continue their slumber—and whatever else they might wish to get up to. Enrique liked the sound of that, especially since they’d arrived home from the after-hours club at about 6 am; “And we only got to sleep about an hour ago,” sleepy-headed Damian added, saucily, sleepily.

Enrique made a beeline for my room. Damian climbed out of bed more slowly; I couldn’t help but gawk as he cast off the covers to reveal luscious hairy legs spilling out of nylon boxers—you know, the kind of boxers that creep up when, for example, you’re climbing out of bed. He stood there looking at me with a drowsy grin, two hands down the front of those boxers as he told me about their evening. I listened, doing my damndest to keep my eyes on his.

By the time he joined Enrique, I had seized up with lust. I reminded myself that Damian had celebrated his eighteenth birthday the weekend previous, an inane attempt to quell my desire, having, of course, the opposite effect.

And then, darn it all, wouldn’t you know it? I realized I’d forgotten to turn on the heat. My apartment’s kind of chilly first thing in the morning, especially by the window where my computer is, and the heat control is in the bedroom. So a few minutes later I had to go knock on the door. “Sorry guys,” I said.

“You didn’t have to knock,” said Damian. “After all, it is your place.”

“Yeah, but who knows what I might have been interrupting?” I said with a grin.

“Oh, we were all done that a couple hours ago,” came Damian’s reply. He paused, pregnantly. “Unless of course you’d like to join us.”

“Oh my goodness,” I said, blushing, “Suddenly it’s gotten very warm in here – maybe I didn’t need to turn up the heat after all.” With that, I made a quick, none-too-graceful exit.

I then danced around my living room and chewed on my nails: anything to tame the monstrous excitement unleashed by Damian’s invite.

Eventually I calmed down a bit, but the fantasies continued; I giggled at myself. A cute young man had caught me off guard with seductive impudence and here I was all weak at the knees.

While I was having a shower later, I couldn’t seem to stop visualizing saucy Damian sneaking in to scrub my back.

At around noon I had to knock on the bedroom door again. “Sorry guys,” I said again, “But I need my clothes.”

“Why?” asked Damian, lying there cuddled up with Enrique, “Why not stay naked?”

Why not indeed?

Once dressed, I walked up town to run a couple errands. There was a noticeable bounce in my step, let me tell ya. This was all so deliciously confusing. I mean, Damian was “with” Enrique; what was up with that? My fantasy did not particularly involve the three of us getting it on—I mean, I’ve written before about being attracted to Enrique but as we’ve gotten to be close friends, my attraction has pretty much evaporated. He had giggled each time Damian made brash comments during my morning visits to the bedroom, but how did he really feel about his “date” flirting with me?

I love having these kind of problems, I thought as I skipped along.

I’d been back home only a few minutes, sitting here at my computer, when I heard the bedroom door open. Damian peeked around the corner—I could see his bare shoulder and his lovely young face—to ask if it was okay if he had a shower. I said it was. “Here, let me get you a towel,” I helpfully added, jumping up to retrieve said item from the laundry hamper by the front door. I turned around to hand it to him, and nearly fell over.

There he was, buck naked, a lovely hard-on dangling and wagging.

“Oh my god!” I exclaimed. Enrique was still lying in bed, watching us and laughing.

“Would you like to have a shower with me?” Damian asked.

Speechless and red in the face, I smiled and took one more drink of the sight of him before fleeing back to my computer desk. Damian followed me; by this time he was attempting to wear a towel around his waist. It fell off three or four times as he walked towards me. I’m sure my trembling was visible.

I forget exactly what he said by way of taunting me at that point, but he didn’t get right over to me or I’d have been a goner. After a few sizzling moments, he did go for that shower. Alone.

While Damian was thus occupied, Enrique came out and we chatted. I told him that I was absolutely fucking loving Damian’s flirtation, but that I had no intention of acting on the erection it had elicited. Laughing, Enrique said he’d never seen me so worked up before. He was enjoying my libidinal frazzle. Rather bashfully, he also communicated what a “good time” the two of them had had on my living room hide-a-bed between 6:30 and 8:30 AM, and then a second time just now in my bedroom. “You didn’t hear us a few minutes ago?” he asked, blushing. “Your bed is pretty creaky.”

I was, of course, curious about where Enrique was at with a threesome scenario. Early on in this fabulously confusing day, I realized that if he was “into” a ménage a trois, I was up for it; but my assumption was that he was not. I don’t think I’m Enrique’s type; he is attracted to guys his own age—22—and younger.

So I made some oblique reference to Damian’s threesome idea, saying I didn’t want anything to happen that would jeopardize our friendship. Equally obliquely, Enrique agreed with me.

Then the sassy boy wandered out again, this time in his undies with the soggy towel around his neck, his still semi-erectness flopping to and fro as he sauntered towards me.

“I want you,” he sang, pawing at my chest. Enrique giggled.

“Ahem,” I stammered, as his hand veered down towards my crotch. About to explode, I brushed his hand away; his brown eyes gleaming naughtily, Damian plunked down on the couch with Enrique.

So this is how we looked for the next several hours: Damian on the end of the couch closest to me here at the computer, Enrique on the opposite end. Without a word of exaggeration, every fucking 90 seconds Damian would fling another brash comment my way; all the while, he and Enrique sat there with their feet prodding each other’s crotches.

Sheesh.

I learned that Damian is half Colombian and half Chilean, raised here in Canada. “Personality-wise, I’m more Colombian,” Damian said, “Colombian men are sex maniacs—horny and ready to go with anybody, male or female, anytime of the day or night.”

“I see,” I said, drooling over his bare shoulders, his slim belly with its smattering of fine dark hair.

“Yeah, that definitely describes you,” was Enrique’s comment as he toe-poked Damian’s crotch yet again.

A minute later, Damian said to me, “Come join us on the couch,” patting the cushion next to him.

“Yeah, right,” I said, blushing anew.

Knowing that Enrique was leaving town soon, I wanted to get some pictures of us. I swear that was the only reason for producing my camera at this point.

Honest.

So I snapped a couple shots of these young Latino men, and Damian took pics of Enrique and I. “Now I want one of us two,” the naughty young man said.

With great reluctance—you do believe me, don’t you?—I sat down a respectable distance from Damian; Enrique familiarized himself with my camera, and the horny Colombian boy snuggled right up beside me and pawed at my crotch as the flash went off.

Then he nibbled on my neck and caressed my chest. “Let’s all have sex,” he whimpered. I was rock hard.

“Look,” I said to him, “I’m totally attracted to you, guy. But Enrique and I are friends, eh? We’re not going to have a threesome today, but if you want to meet up sometime after Enrique leaves town, I’d definitely be interested.”

A big smile on his face, Enrique nodded his approval of my spiel.

“Okay, fine,” said Damian with mock disappointment. “But can I have one kiss?”

I hesitated, my eyes blurring over the soft fullness of his lips. “Well, ok-a-a-a-y,” I said.

Oh my fucking god. It was all I could do to break away from that thirty second smooch. As I pulled away from him, I couldn’t help but notice the spasmodic tentedness of his undies.

I retreated to the relative “safety” of my computer chair and tried to catch my breath.

So that’s kind of how the afternoon unfolded. Lots of sexy conversation—I’m not sure the three of us talked about anything other than sex for over three hours—as Damian made out with Enrique and constantly shot me come hithers.

I cannot believe I resisted.

And it was all so fucking much fun, so exciting; I cannot begin to tell you.

And through it all, sure, I thought my usual, so-called “deep” thoughts: about friendship, about lust, about the unparalleled ego boost of being “wanted” by someone so young and beautiful. And my thoughts flowed into the conversation and it was all so light and throbbingly sexy and real. Enrique said he didn’t think friends could sleep together, that he’d tried it and it didn’t work. Damian—who’s only been ‘out’ for a few months—didn’t see why not. He implied that he had sex with all of his gay male friends. I loved the simplicity and unabashedness of his desires, and said so. “But I agree more with Enrique,” I added, “In my life I’ve found that sex and friendship don’t usually mix. I wish it wasn’t the case but it seems to be, at least in my life lately.”

During these erotic discussions, I learned that—whatever his natural prowess in the flirtation department—Damian was relatively inexperienced sexually. He said he’d never been fucked, but wanted to try it with the right guy. (Enrique had already mentioned “borrowing” a condom earlier that morning, so I knew then that it was he who’d gotten it up the hoop.)

I walked out into the kitchen for something or other. Damian exclaimed—he exclaimed, I tell you—to Enrique, “Oh god, I want to have sex with him!”

And I blushed, and swelled up in more ways than one.

“Hey,” Damian called to me in the kitchen, “I want you to kiss me again.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, but right here,” he said, yanking at his undies until his lush left testicle plopped out, pointing at that fleshy magic spot where upper thigh meets pube.

I laughed it off and rolled my eyes as if his request had been preposterous. I don’t think I fooled any one.

“Well,” Damian continued, relentless. “Can I at least feel your thigh?”

Now why—after I’d so successfully rebuffed all the others—did that particular request give pause? For whatever reason, I strode over and stood there to see what he’d do. And sure enough, Damian reached over and felt me up and down and all over the place. As my leg began to spasm, Enrique giggled some more. After a delirious moment or two of such caress, I walked farther away again.

So I do not think I exaggerate when I say it was getting damned hot in my living room, boys and girls. But I was certain that I would resist Damian and just enjoy this sexy game for what it was. If Damian wanted to get together later, after Enrique left town, now that would be another matter.

At least, that was the plan.

Meanwhile, Enrique and Damian got more and more carried away on the couch. As they wrestled and kissed and poked at one another, Damian became naughtier and naughtier. At one point I thought his bare foot was going to free Enrique’s dick out from under the bottom of his yellow shorts!

Which gave occasion for me to shift position: I adjourned from the computer chair over to the easy chair on the other side of the couch. That way I had an unparalleled view of Damian while affording Enrique a slight bit more privacy for their intensifying romp.

(impish grin)

From my new vantage point, I drank in Damian’s body, every petulant writhe. He pulled Enrique on top of him; they began necking up a storm. Enrique paused, asked me “Are you sure this is okay? We’re not offending you, are we?”

Laughing, hoping my hard-on had not yet stained my jeans, I urged him to rest assured that no offence was being taken at this particular moment.

“Join us?” came Damian’s refrain, about every two minutes.

And I felt my resolve wearing down. All I needed now was the slightest sign from Enrique that he wanted me to participate, and I’d have been in there like a dirty shirt.

Damian tugged at Enrique’s shorts. “I’m not hard yet,” said Enrique, adorably. “I don’t want [QS] to see my dick until it’s hard.”

What could I say to that? I said nothing.

The mission was soon accomplished; Enrique’s shorts were soon yanked down. I admired his hairy, small butt, his stiff, uncircumcised rod.

And they carried on and on and on. Within myself, I too carried on, happier than a pig in shit.

Enrique was just about to remove Damian’s underwear. “Sure you won’t join us?” Damian said, then—when I’d replied that I was just fine where I was—contradicting himself by commenting that the couch was a little crowded.

“Hey, why don’t you guys move into the bedroom?” I said, helpfully.

“Why, don’t you want to watch any more?” asked Damian.

“Oh no,” I said, laughing, “I’d come along too. You’d just have more room, that’s all.”

They both thought that sounded like a plan. But Enrique said he needed a shower before things went any further.

And as soon as he said that, I knew it was game over.

“You’re going to leave me alone with him??” I queried, worried and titillated both.

They laughed at me. Enrique traipsed off towards the bathroom, told us to be good.

Approximately 17 seconds later, I was on top of Damian, enacting 35 fantasies simultaneously of the 3,500 festering inside me.

As I played with his perennial hard-on through his undies, as we played a rousing game of tonsil hockey, as he caressed many square inches of my clothed, hypersensitive body, Damian suggested we adjourn to the bedroom.

He did not have to ask twice.

Once there, Damian stepped out of those maddeningly sexy boxers. We stood there embracing as I kneaded his exquisite eighteen year old buttcheeks for a few minutes before I pushed him onto the bed.

This consummation was tinged with guilt for me. What would Enrique’s reaction be when, a few minutes later, he emerged from the shower? Would he be surprised? Upset? Would he join us? Amid our delicious struggle, as Damian helped me out of my clothes and in between kisses, I voiced my concern.

“Why are you so worried?” Damian said. “He seems fine with it.”

I hoped it was that simple.

“Why can’t you just share me?” he asked.

Why not, indeed?

I was tracing his treasure trail of fine black belly hair down to, um, journey’s end when the bathroom door opened. And there I was, buck naked on the bed with Damian’s dick prodding my chin: “Enrique!” I exclaimed. “Um, things got a little carried away here. I’m sorry!”

He laughed, said not to worry. “I’ll just go play on the computer for a bit,” he said. “You guys have fun.” He wandered off to the living room.

And I spanked that boy butt and chewed on those big red lips and licked the young man every-fucking-where. His ass tasted like God; by his rhythmic squirms, it seemed to be somewhat of a religious experience for Damian, too.

And I noticed how—hyperactive lips and rapidly roving hands aside—Damian was quite passive in bed. He didn’t take much initiative or do a whole lot. But I didn’t care: I was so incredibly aroused, he could lie there all he liked.

This is how turned on I was: Damian got me off with a hand job! That is incredibly rare, especially since he didn’t—nor did I ask him to—spit in his hand. We were kissing as I came; I yelled down his throat.

And I kept pumping his beautiful dick with my spit-soaked hand as we kissed. After a few minutes, Damian said “I don’t think I can cum again—I’ve already cum twice since 8 am and my dick’s a little sore.”

We lay there cuddling and kissing for another ten minutes. I saw vulnerability in those brown eyes, a total absence of brashness; wisely, I made no comment on that deeper beauty. But what I saw there in that post-coital moment sparked something inside that no sassy flirtation could ever reach.

“Well, you got me,” I said, laughing.

“Did you like it?” he asked. I answered affirmatively.

“Well next time, would you like to fuck me?” he continued. “Or should I fuck you?” Undeniably thrilled at his reference to a ‘next time’, I suggested we could figure out such tantalizing configurations later.

“Well,” I said, “Here’s to friendship, eh?”

“Indeed,” he said, smiling and planting another wet kiss on me.

He said he was drowsy; I left him alone to rest and went out to Enrique. Melodramatically panicky, I rushed over and asked him if he was okay with what had just happened. He assured me that he was. I needed quite a bit of convincing that I hadn’t fucked up; authentically, Enrique provided it. Then I relaxed, sucking back on a much-needed and well-timed hourly smoke.

Five or ten minutes later I went back in to check on Damian. You’ll never guess what he was doing….

Masturbating!

Laughing, I asked him what the hell was going on. “Well, I’m so horny and I simply have to cum or I’ll get blue balls.”

So, he did. Cum, that is.

By this time it was about 5 pm and I had to run out for an errand; I took a shower, and by the time I got out Enrique was in the bedroom talking to sleepy Damian. I dressed and left the apartment. When I got back a half hour later, the bedroom door was closed and my living room was empty.

Three-quarters of me smiled when I saw that closed door; the other quarter felt weird. Jealousy creeps into the damndest scenarios; I gently poo-pooed the feeling away and soon the boys came out of the bedroom. Enrique looked sheepish and glowing; Damian looked exhausted.

“I’m sexed out,” he said, his voice almost catatonic. “My penis is actually red like a bruise!” We laughed. “And your bed,” Damian added, “smells like my ass.”

I said I’d definitely sleep like a king that aromatherapeutic night.

Damian showered—his second or third of the day—and Enrique and I were a tad uncomfortable around each other. This made me fret, but I knew we’d have lots of time to talk things out once Damian left.

He stepped out, again with my green towel around his waist, and I snapped a picture of him like that. Damian got dressed, and went to say something to me and admitted that he couldn’t remember my name. We cleared that up.

“And as for your name,” I said, “I think we’ll have to call you by one of my old nicknames.”

“What’s that?”

“A Good Time…Had By All.”

Once Damian left (I made sure he had my card; he said he would call; it’s now been a week and I haven’t heard from him but oh well…), it only took about half an hour for Enrique and I to reconnect. He admitted that he felt guilty about bringing Damian back to my apartment in the first place, overstepping the bounds of my hospitality. And he felt a bit weirded out about getting so carried away with Damian in front of me. I managed to allay his concerns on both counts, and then he relaxed.

“It’s just that I’ve never had such hot sex with anyone ever before,” Enrique said. “I never have sex three times in one day, but he just gets me going.”

“I hear you,” came my qualified reply.

And as the evening wore on—our last together before this sweet young man left town—Enrique and I fell into a giggly, excited, just-got-laid vibe that was absolutely fucking delightful.

“By the way,” he said at one point, “Damian told me you spanked him. No one ever had spanked him before, and he said he really liked it.”

“Cool,” I said.

“He also said you rimmed him and chewed on his butt. That was all new to him too and he told me it was incredible.”

“I kind of gathered that, yeah,” I said.

“Oh my god, you cum so loud!” Enrique kept exclaiming. “At first I had no idea what that noise was from the bedroom.”

“And you should have seen the guilty look on your face when I came out of the shower and your face was buried in Damian’s crotch,” he said, “It was hilarious!”

And it went like that. It was a day of sharing: sensuality and discomfort and flirtation and bliss.

And in a weird, delightful way, Enrique’s and my horny shenanigans brought us even closer together.

As for Damian? I’d be a happy guy if he wanted to spend time with me again, explore a deliciously sexual friendship, but I’m not holding my breath.

There are two strands to my queer life: one propelled by the force that through the red-hot fuse drives my dick, the other that more sustainable energy of mutual caring and friendship. I want them to merge more. I want lust and love to meld so that it’s just me and you—and you and you and you—aroused and affectionate and concerned with one another.

But maybe—and I pose the question without cynicism—last Saturday’s one-off romp is as good as it gets?

With friends who love me and other men who merely want me, I am happy. Content, for now.

And all the more eager to maze.