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Day Four – The Catamaran

Bryson lay on his stomach, his face turned towards me, his hand tucked up underneath his pillow, his back rising and falling with his steady breath, pale and smooth like marble in the morning light. His face was serene, motionless save for the faintest twitch above his left eyebrow, and for a moment I wondered if he was dreaming. Both of the previous mornings he’d been up and out of bed before me, so this was the first time I’d been able to see him asleep. Something about it felt important and sacred, like a secret I wasn’t supposed to know. 

I was grateful for this space to watch him, partially because he was beautiful when he slept, and partially because I didn’t know what to expect when he woke up. I’d fooled around with enough straight guys to know that they didn’t always feel the same about things that happened late at night once the sun finally came up. I couldn’t help but worry that Bryson would be no different, that he’d change his mind or feel ashamed or want to pretend things had never happened. I would go along with it, of course, I always did; but I couldn’t deny that a part of me would be devastated, a part of me I usually kept at arm’s length but had somehow found its way to the surface this week.

“Morning,” he said lazily, his voice husky and warm. His voice had startled me.

“Hi,” I greeted in return, meeting his eyes. He smiled and slowly rolled over, extending his arms in a slow stretch. I watched him as he moved, observing how his skin pulled tight over his ribcage, how his chest flattened from the usual curvature of his pecs, how his biceps flexed and hardened while he raised his arms above his head. The covers pulled tight across his waist as he turned, exposing a bare hip and just a hint of curly hair, and I realized he was still naked. For some reason, I felt myself blush. “How’d you sleep?” I asked.

“Amazing,” he sighed contentedly, tucking his arm behind his head. I stared at his armpit, remembering that taste of it on my tongue. “Which, I mean, is no surprise after that.”

“Yeah?” I couldn’t help but chuckle, relieved he’d already addressed the elephant. “Good. Happy I could help.”

“Oh, you helped,” he looked at me with a mischievous grin. “Believe me, you helped.”

Our eyes met, his expression soft. 

“So…you’re okay with what happened?” I tried to sound casual; it probably didn’t work. 

“Okay? Of course. I mean, sure, maybe it’s been a bit unexpected, but I’m good.”

“Okay, good,” I replied, my body relaxing, the relief obvious in my voice. “I just didn’t know what to expect. The morning after, ya know?”

Bryson’s expression changed as he looked at me. “Tucker,” he said seriously, propping himself up on an elbow to look me in the eye. “We’re good. You and I are always gonna be okay, okay?”

“Okay,” I said, nodding my head as if that would help me believe him. “I just…I’ve been with a lot of guys who’ve been…” I searched for the right word. “Curious. And it was all fine and good while they were getting off but, afterwards, they still looked at me like…I don’t know, like I’d…”

“Hey,” he cut me off, laying his hand gently on my chest. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You know I would’ve stopped you or said something if you’d done anything to make me uncomfortable. You didn’t. I…I liked it.” He looked at me, his cheeks pink.

“Yeah?” I asked, playfully, the tension dissolving as I saw his shy smile. “You liked it, huh?”

“It was the best handjob I’ve ever had, okay? You happy?” he whined playfully, flicking my nipple. It hardened at his touch. 

“I’m pretty happy with that review, I’ll be honest.” I grinned and he rolled his eyes. “But, I’m glad it was good. It was really fucking hot for me, too.”

“Yeah?” He wore a disbelieving smile. 

“Hell yes. I love making a guy get off,” I reassured him. He looked down, eyes scanning my bare torso, the bedsheet falling just below the hem of my underwear. 

“If you say so,” he said thoughtfully. “I don’t know, I almost feel bad. I’m just not used to being the center of attention like that.

“What do you mean?”

He chuckled, his hand came up and gently traced my collar bone. “Like, in my previous experiences,” he emphasized,” I feel like I’m just concerned about making sure the girl has a good time. Sure, she might go down on me to warm me up and all, but I guess I’m…,” he stared intently at his fingers as they grazed across my chest, “not used to being the object of focus.”

“Well,” I started, unsure how to respond. “You don’t need to feel bad, it was honestly really hot for me. And besides…” I weighed my words, “you deserve some attention.”

“Thanks,” he smiled that shy smile that seemed to be the star of the morning. It was a different smile than I was used to seeing, crooked and soft, forming dimples on his cheeks. “You know, I could…take care of you,” he said, his voice thick, his eyes looking down my body where skin and fabric met. “If you want.”

I smiled and laughed gently. “That’s okay, it was more than enough as it was. You don’t need to pay me back or anything.”

He paused and steeled himself. “What if…I want to?” His voice shook just a little, and his eyes returned to mine, serious and clear. 

“Oh.” My mind suddenly went blank. The possibility of getting to touch him had seemed miraculous enough, I’d never even considered the possibility of him wanting to touch me. “Okay.”

The corner of his mouth raised up in the faintest smile, and he turned his attention to his hand. It slid slowly down my abdomen, crossing onto my briefs and falling lightly on my dick. He gave me a gentle squeeze, and I drew in a breath. He repeated this a few times, squeezing and releasing, adjusting to the feeling of me in his hand, and I began to harden beneath his touch. His palm began to fub slowly up and down my shaft. 

He pulled away, looking at the bulge of my erection, and then, cautiously, he slipped his fingers beneath the elastic of my briefs, dragging fingertips through my neatly trimmed pubes and onto the base of my cock. He looked back at me, a blush brightening his cheeks. “Can I take these off?” he asked softly. 

I just nodded, my brain unable to formulate words, my heart melting at his politeness.

He hooked his fingers around the fabric and began to pull them off, and I reached down to help him. My cock slapped against my stomach and I laid back, fully exposed under his gaze.  For a moment, he just looked at me, his eyes slowly moving over my stomach and groin, and I worried he was doubting himself, getting in over his head. 

“Damn, Tucker,” he whispered. “I knew you were fit but…Jesus.” He reached out and gently took me in his hand, stroking up and down, moving slowly, cautiously. I laid my knees out wide and pressed up into his hand, shifting my focus between his face and his hand and his face again. He looked focused, determined, and somewhat wonderstruck, as if trying to capture the moment in his mind. 

“That feels good,” I encouraged, bracing a hand on his shoulder, fingers stroking his neck. He tightened his grip slightly, drawing a moan from my throat and a bead of precum from my dick. I knew after the events of last night I wasn’t going to last long, but I was determined not to end the party too soon. 

He dragged his thumb over the head of my dick, taking the precum with it, watching it slowly string between me and his hand. He swirled it around, wetting the tip of my dick, slowly stroking back down and cupping my balls in his fingers.

“How’s it feel?” I somehow managed to ask.

He continued stroking, his voice steady. “Good. Soft. Well, hard obviously,” he chuckled, “but your skin is so soft.” He switched his grip, his palm grazing down the head and the top of my shaft. I shuddered  and writhed beneath him. “Not all that different from mine, but…at the same time it feels different in my hand.”

Returning to his normal grip he picked up the pace, and my body responded to his touch. I ground my hips up into his palm. 

“You like that?” he asked, his voice dark like velvet. 

“Yeah,” I gasped, my hand tightening around the back of his neck. He began to pump his fist vigorously, and I felt the pressure building rapidly, a long overdue release. “Fuck, Bryson, I’m getting close.”

“Yeah?” he growled. “You gonna cum for me?”

Hearing those words pushed me over the edge. “Yeah. Yeah, I am. Oh fuck.” I thrust my hips and felt my cock spasm in his hand, my body contracting, shooting ropes of cum up and across my abdomen. I heard myself moaning, and not quietly either.

“Oh fuck yeah,” Bryson said, marveling at the sight. 

The shockwave ripped from my toes to my forehead, and I fell back against the pillow, breathing hard. Bryson continued to stroke me as I softened in his hand, a pool of cum laying on my groin. 

“Goddamn, dude,” Bryson looked at me, impressed. “That was…that was hot.” 

“Fuck,” I exhaled, looking for better words and finding few. “Yes. Yes it was.” I took a minute to catch my breath, then looked up to see him smiling down at me, his face betraying his satisfaction with himself.

“Not to pry but do you always cum like that?” he asked, drawing a laugh from me.

“No, I do not,” I confessed, looking down at the mess I’d made. 

“Guess I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said with a smug grin. I rolled my eyes as he wiped his hand absentmindedly on the sheets. He fell back on the pillow, and I felt his shoulder against mine. For a few minutes we just lay there. I was still coming down from the orgasm, and Bryson stared up at the ceiling, deep in thought, his hand tracing lazy circles on my thigh. I wanted to speak, to fill the silence somehow, but I couldn’t think of anything to say, and it wasn’t a bad silence, not really. Eventually, I heard my phone vibrate aggressively on the nightstand and reached up to grab it off the charger. 

“Oh shit,” I said reading my screen. “Breakfast is at 9:30.”

“What time is it?” Bryson asked, his arm draped lazily across his face. 

“9:08” I said, and we both laughed. “Big day ahead so we should probably get our stuff ready.”

“Fair enough,” Bryson groaned. “Besides, I gotta take a leak.” He rolled over me, swung his legs out of bed, and walked naked towards the bathroom, his pale, bare ass shaking a bit with each step. I watched him the whole way, a smile on my face. 


The dock was buzzing with excitement as we got checked in for the catamaran cruise. About 50 or 60 people all stood, huddled in groups, taking selfies and organizing their belongings and slathering themselves in sunscreen. The five of us stood, huddled under an umbrella while Emily dealt with checking us in. She’d found and booked the whole thing, and we happily let her take the lead. Before long she returned with six blue festival wristbands. “We wear these and that gets us into the lunch buffet and the bar once we get to the island,” she explained, handing them out. “So don’t lose it.” We all looked at Tyler.

“What??” he exclaimed. 

“Did you even bring a bag?” I asked. 

“No,” he said, looking at me like I was crazy, “ I didn’t want to drop it overboard.”

As we boarded the boat, the captain explained the schedule of the day – we’d sail into the bay for a snorkeling, then head to Isla Mujeres for lunch at the beach club, and after a few hours of free time to explore the island we’d sail back to the mainland. We rushed to the front of the boat and secured seats on the corner of the boat’s canvas netting, and as the ship slowly pulled away from its berth, we were all smiles and anticipation. 

It was nice to spend the day together as a group, intermingling across our respective pairs and having space for a wide range of conversation. I talked to Tyler while Emily caught up with Mitchell while Abigail chatted with Bryson. I’d been a little uncertain whether things between Bryson and I were going to be tense or awkward or different after the events of last night – not to mention this morning – but, unsurprisingly, he acted as if nothing had changed. He’d said things were fine, and I believed him, but old habits die hard and I still felt myself waiting for something to backfire. Fooling around with straight friends never ended well, right?  But so far things were disconcertingly good, and I was starting to think that maybe I needed to chill out. 

Before we knew it, it was time to snorkel. The crew handed out equipment and walked everyone through the basics. We put on our fins and life vests and waddled to the stern where, one by one, we jumped into the water. The conditions were ideal, the water warm and clear and calm. There were about two dozen people who decided to partake, and though we had to keep to one general area, we had some freedom to explore. 

Bryson and I stuck near each other, communicating in a jumble of unclear hand signals and muffled sound effects, but somehow we seemed to understand. We swam over schools of fish, through an underwater art installation, and even passed by a few Mayan ruins. At one point we broke the cardinal rule of snorkeling and slipped out of our life vests so we could swim down and touch what looked like the foundation of an ancient building. It was breathtaking. Down there, twenty feet under the water, feeling like a rebellious teenager again, I stared out into the clear blue sea before turning to see Bryson smiling at me from behind his goggles. 

Nearly an hour later, we climbed back onto the boat, exhausted but exhilarated, and were greeted with news that the bar was officially open. I made my way back to the netting while Bryson and Mitchell got in line for drinks. I dug my sunglasses out of my bag and leaned against the deck of the boat, still catching my breath from all the exertion. Bryson returned a few minutes later, holding two clear plastic cups filled with colorful liquid. 

“Be warned,” he said ominously, holding one of the cups out to me, “these babies are no joke.”

“Perfect,” I smiled, taking the cup. Bryson climbed onto the netting, steadying himself with one hand on the deck. 

As he sat down, he casually dropped his arm over my shoulders and leaned against me, a gesture that walked the line between friendly and romantic in a way that caught me by surprise. His bare torso pressed against mine, warm and wet with droplets of sea water, and I had to fight a reflex to pull away, an instinct that told me this type of contact was too much, far past the unspoken boundaries of gay-straight friendship dynamics. He leaned against me, comfortable and confident, as if this was the most ordinary posture for two friends to take. Maybe for him it was.

“Salud,” he said, raising his cup. I smiled in reply and tapped my cup to his, taking a sip.

“Whoa,” I laughed, my face recoiling from the tequila. “You weren’t kidding.”

We stayed like this, leaning into one another, for the remainder of the ride to the island. At one point, I locked eyes with Abigail who eyed me suspiciously from beneath the wide brim of her hat. I gave an innocent smile and shrugged, feeling her “I told you so” radiate from across the netting, and I fought off the urge to feel self-conscious

 Just yesterday I’d argued that Bryson was straight as an arrow and here we were, getting cuddly on a catamaran. I knew we probably weren’t being subtle; I knew Abigail and Emily would have thoughts; and I knew I’d hear them at some point during the day; but for now I sipped my drink and enjoyed the feeling of the wind in my hair, the sun on my face, and the feeling of Bryson’s bare skin against mine.


The beach club was simple, but nice. The lunch buffet boasted an impressive assortment of food, and the open bar poured a mean hibiscus margarita, of which we had several. After an extended lunch, we made our way out to the private strip of beach just outside the restaurant. The lounge chairs were full, so we dropped our things in the sand. 

I unbuttoned my shirt and turned to see Bryson pulling his tank top. Even after three days, my stomach fluttered at the sight of him undressing, more so after the events of last night. He looked at me and smirked. 

“You’re staring,” he said with a cocky grin.

“So? You’re nice to look at,” I shrugged dismissively.

He laughed and tossed the sunscreen at me. “Shut up and get my back, will you?”

“It’s a shame I have to stop with your back,” I said quietly as I massaged the last bit of liquid into his shoulder blades. He snorted a laugh and turned around, grabbing me by the shoulders and spinning me away from him. He began applying sunscreen, his hands sliding up and down my back, free of all the hesitation or uncertainty they’d had a few days ago. 

“You know,” he whispered into my ear, his voice rough and sexy, “you’re not too bad to look at, yourself.”

“Glad you think so,” I replied, feeling my cheeks flush. 

We waded into the water, settling in a nice spot about chest deep, and organized ourselves in a circle, chatting enthusiastically as the tequila kicked in. As I looked around, I was stunned by how picturesque the scene was – the pristine turquoise water capped with the white tips of sailboats, the bright white sand dotted with friendly palm trees and straw-roofed cabanas. As I had the thought that this – this right here – was the closest to paradise I’d ever been, and I was suddenly awestruck by this trip, by my amazing friends, by this life I never thought I’d get to live. 

“You good?” Bryson asked quietly, apparently noticing that I’d spaced out. He’d scooted closer to me in the water, our shoulders brushing.

“Yeah,” I smiled. “I’m good. Just admiring the view.” He gave me a knowing smile. “The actual view, you dick.” We both laughed, neither of us pulling away. 

Eventually, Mitchell announced he was going to make a trip to the bar to “procure more tequila” for he and Abigail. Tyler offered to tag along, as did Bryson. 

“Want anything?” he asked, turning to me.

“Hibiscus margarita, please,” I replied, and watched as he exited the water, his mint green swim trunks clinging to his backside. When I turned back, I noticed Abigail and Emily, both eyeing me. “What?” I asked.

“He’s being extra boyfriendy today,” Emily said with a coy smile. 

I felt a blush flash across my face. “Yeah, well,” I stalled. “We may have kinda hooked up a little last night…and again this morning.”

“What??” Abigail exclaimed. Emily pretended to faint, splashing dramatically in the water. “You’re kidding.”

“I knew it!” Emily pumped a fist into the air. 

“Calm down,” I said, trying not to beam with pride.

“So…how was it?” Abigail asked conspiratorially. 

“It was…” I struggled for words. “It was really freaking good.”

“Who…did what?” Emily asked. 

“Em!” Abigail exclaimed, looking scandalized. “You can’t just ask that.”

I laughed heartily. “It’s fine. It was just hand stuff, but…it was still really good.”

“Y’all are such a hot couple”, Emily said, though maybe to herself, and I realized the margaritas were definitely catching up to her. 

“How are you feeling about it?” Abigail asked. 

“Trying not to overthink it,” I pondered. “Trying to believe it actually happened in the first place. Trying to just enjoy our last twenty-four hours in Mexico.” Then, because I felt obligated to add, “I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean for this trip to become all about me having a fling.” 

“Oh my goodness, don’t be sorry, this is honestly the most exciting part of this trip,” Emily gushed. 

“I gotta agree with her on this one,” Abigail chuckled. “You never share any good relationship drama with us, so having a fling with your hot bi-curious coworker is like the best thing we could have ever hoped for.” 

We all laughed at that one. “Well, I’m happy to provide the entertainment.”

“If you get together, Mitchell is gonna be so excited. He already wants Bryson to come to Lolla with us.” 

I just rolled my eyes. 

A few minutes later, the boys returned, six hibiscus margs between them. They looked giddy as they splashed their way back towards us. Mitchell came up behind Abigail and wrapped his arms around her, handing her a marg and kissing her sloppily on the cheek. 

“What happened to you guys,” she asked, startled. 

“He gave us shots,” Mitchell said excitedly. 

Tyler put an arm under Emily’s shoulders, and she reclined into him. Bryson looked at me, his cheeks pink, though whether from a blush, a sunburn, or the alcohol I couldn’t be sure. He handed me my drink. 

“What, no shot for me?” I asked. 

“Guess you had to be there.” He shrugged, flashing his boyish smile.  

We stood there in our circle, weightless in the water, our chests rising and falling gently with the waves. Amidst the uncharacteristic PDA of my friends, a surge of longing rushed through me. I fought it off as best I could, trying to distract myself when I felt a hand on the small of my back. I looked at Bryson, and he smiled a little awkwardly, but I took a step in towards him and felt his arm hook around my chest, his hand falling on my ribcage, his thumb just below my nipple. 

I waited for it to feel weird, uncomfortable or exposed here in front of my friends – I’d never dated anyone long enough to bring them around before, and so, while I was out to everyone I knew, they’d never actually seen me with another guy, much less do anything affectionate. But it never did. Feel weird, that is. It felt good, freeing if a little unexpected. Bryson and I had gone from drunken kisses to public displays of affection pretty quickly, and my brain was working overtime to process the progression.  But then again, we’d never shied away from touching before – usually quick, casual gestures after we’d been drinking, gestures like a friendly pat on the shoulder or a gentle hand on the forearm – so, in a way, this felt like a natural next step. 

And so, taking this as sufficient justification, I let myself relax against his hip and laugh at Tyler’s horrible dad jokes and be okay with the fact that, maybe for one afternoon, standing under a cloudless, blue sky in the warm, clear waters of the Caribbean, it was okay if things felt too good to be true. Maybe, for one afternoon, that didn’t matter.


The boat ride back to the mainland was a party. The speakers blasted all sorts of hits you’d expect to hear at any respectable college fraternity party, and tequila shots were passed out like candy on Halloween. We were all feeling the effects of bottomless margaritas, and the pulsing beat of the music and general chaos of the boat made my head spin. Bryson and I leaned against the railing at the bow of the boat, arms pressed against each other with the same casual contact that had made up much of our day. Behind us, a horde of people danced and drank and enjoyed the reverie, but we were quiet, tired from the long day of sunshine and tequila. 

Back at the resort, we grabbed dinner at the buffet, riding the downhill slope that always comes after day drinking, and watching the sunset from our table on the terrace. The conversation was slow and easy, each of us wanting to savor the feeling of our last night in paradise. The sky turned deep shades of orange, gold, and violet, and we raised our glasses in a toast.

“To a great trip,” Mitchell said.

“And great friends,” Emily added.

“Old and new,” Abigail said with a smile, gesturing towards Bryson.

He took a sip, thought for a second, and raised his glass again. “I just wanted to say thank you all for a wonderful time. I wasn’t sure what to expect hanging out with a group of strangers for five days – I’m not usually that bold with my social choices. But I figured, if you were friends with Tucker, you must be pretty special. And I was right. You guys made me feel so welcome and like such a part of everything, and I’ve just had the best time. Tucker is lucky to have you, and I’m really grateful that I got to meet you all. So…thank you.”

We raised our glasses again, as everyone poured out compliments at Bryson.

“You’re welcome to join anytime, man,” Tyler said.

“You’re lucky you found Tucker,” Abigail smiled warmly. “He’s a good one.”

“We’re lucky Tucker found you,” Emily joked. 

Bryson looked at me, his eyes radiating in the twilight, and we smiled.

“Glad you’re here, buddy,” I said, and we clinked our glasses.

“So…Tucker invited you to Lolla, right?” Mitchell asked excitedly. 


“Jesus, I need a shower,” I said as we walked into the room, tossing my back on the floor. “You need in the bathroom first?”

“Nah, go for it,” Bryson replied. 

I cleaned up, savoring the feeling of warm water washing the salt and sand and sunscreen from my body. I washed my crotch especially well, unsure what to expect from the night ahead, and made sure to get my ass nice and clean – if only for wishful thinking.

I returned to the room wrapped in a towel as Bryson went into the bathroom behind me. Fishing my phone out of my bag, I plopped down on the bed and began scrolling through the day’s pictures – one group shot of us sitting on the netting of the catamaran, a few pics of us gathered round the lunch table at the beach club, and a few slightly blurry, definitely sloppy shots of the return trip. One picture caught my eye though. Bryson had taken it, one arm holding the camera high, his other arm wrapped around my bare shoulder, our heads pressed close together. We both wore the biggest smiles. 

“Man, that feels better,” Bryson sighed as he walked back into the room. He was wearing his towel, too, and as he got to the foot of the bed he stopped. I set my phone on the nightstand beside me and met his gaze. He didn’t look away.

“You’re staring,” I said flatly.

“So? You’re nice to look at,” he replied, using my words from earlier, but without any of the sarcasm. His face was blank, his voice steady, his eyes bore into mine. 

“Well,” I took a fortifying breath, and shrugged casually. “You could do more than just look…if you wanted.”

“Yeah?” he asked, frozen in place.

“Yeah.” Holding his gaze, I unwrapped the towel from my waist and spread my legs just slightly. My dick was still hanging loose after the warm shower, my balls nice and low, and I watched Bryson’s eyes trace down my body. He swallowed hard. 

His hands went to the towel at his waist, unfastening it, letting it fall to the floor. For a moment he just stood there, and we both stared openly, taking in the full view of each other’s bodies. He was magnificent. His broad shoulders and massive chest tapered down to his hips where faint v-lines gave way to a mound of strawberry blonde pubes, beneath which hung his cock, plump and thick and mouthwatering, a set of impressive balls. He looked strong, athletic, powerful, all the things that contrasted with what I knew of his kind, gentle nature. My stomach turned over on itself as I took in the sight before me, Bryson in his nakedness, putting it all on display before me. Me, of all people. Once more I felt like I was being trusted with something important, something special. Something that was only for me.

“Jesus, Bryson,” I muttered under my breath, meeting his eyes once again. They shone with desire. “You’re…beautiful.”

Silently, he put his knees on the mattress and began to crawl slowly up the bed towards me, his eyes devouring me as he went. He fell onto his side, leaving the tiniest fraction of an inch between us, and brought his face to mine, hovering just inches away. His eyes burned with heat but his smile was kind. 

“Hi,” he said. 

“Hi,” was my shaky response. He looked at me for what felt like a long time, his eyes dancing over my face; then, gently, he leaned in to kiss me. It was slow and patient, the kind of kiss you savor, our lips moving in rhythm together, our tongues lightly caressing. We’d both sobered up after the long day, our bodies tired but relaxed. I felt it in the way he touched me, like he was in no rush, like we had all night to enjoy ourselves. 

His hand found its favorite resting spot on my ribcage as mine rested on the side of his face, pulling him in against me. My fingers slipped into his hair, thick and still slightly damp, and he sighed against my mouth. “You can play with my hair all you want,” he murmured between kisses. 

“Noted,” I chuckled, sliding my fingers deeper in, grabbing a handful. His hand slid around my back, his hand traveling up to the base of my neck, and he pulled me against him. I dropped my hand to his back and down to his hip, rubbing it over the bare, smooth skin of his ass and down his thigh. Our kiss intensified, our hips pressing against each other, our stiffening cocks grazing. 

I pushed him onto his back and rolled atop him, pressing every available inch of my body against his. His body was warm, his chest hair tickled my skin, and I could feel his cock pressing against my hip. Slowly, I ground my hip against his, moving in small, gentle circles, eliciting a satisfied moan from his throat. His hands explored my back confidently, fingers digging into my shoulder blades, hands squeezing my ass. 

I kissed his neck and jaw, licking and biting and sucking at every inch of his soft, pale skin, and he brought a hand up into my hair. I positioned my hips so that his cock was directly next to mine and began to thrust, feeling the friction of his skin and his pubic hair, feeling him rub against mine. 

“Shit,” he moaned. 

“Feel good?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he sighed, “surprisingly so.”

Wanting to up the ante, I sat up, my legs straddling his thighs, and put my cock directly on top of his, gripping both of them in my hand. He watched me as I began to stroke and rock my hips, our cocks sliding against one another in my fist. 

“Fuck, dude,” he said, his eyes brightening. “This is hot.”

“Yeah? Good. I always like it.” I said, a wicked grin flashing across my face. “Here, spread your legs.” He eyed me with some hesitance. “I’m not gonna do that, just trust me.” He spread his legs and I centered myself between them. I spat onto my hand and used it to grease up both our cocks, and with some better leverage from the new position, resumed jerking us both off. He watched our cocks intently, his mouth ajar, his face flushed, his hips starting to press up to mine. 

“I didn’t know this was a thing,” he said breathlessly. 

“I told you,” I laughed. “Sex is more than just the one thing.”

He brought his hands up to my face and kissed me, a breathless, desperate kiss. I sucked on his tongue as it breached my mouth, and he took my lip between his teeth, and we were a mess of lips and tongues and hands.

I broke away and kissed down his jaw, down his neck and chest, stopping at each nipple, eliciting enthusiastic moans from each. I continued down his stomach, kissing around his belly button and following the trail of hair that led to his groin. I kissed lightly around the edge of his pubes, feeling the soft skin of his hip against my mouth, working my way to his inner thigh. His legs spread a little wider, almost instinctively, and I could hear his breathing, ragged and sharp, and his cock twitched next to my face.

Gently, I kissed his balls, licking them in a slow, smooth stroke, taking one on my mouth. They were smooth, which was surprising given the state of his bush. I inhaled the scent of him, warm and musky, spicy from his body wash, and I caressed his ball with my tongue. His face was glazed over but his eyes were sharp, watching my every move. After I felt I’d got him nice and warmed up, I dragged my tongue slowly up his shaft. I swirled it around his head and kissed my way down one side before kissing up the other, teasing him, showing him what it really felt like to get your cock sucked by someone who wanted it, and then finally, took him in my mouth. 

He let out an uninhibited moan as he watched his cock slowly disappear between my lips. I took only a few inches at first, coming back up, licking his crown before sinking down an inch further. My guess last night had been pretty spot on – he had to be near seven inches, and was decently thick, with a protruding vein that ran the top of his shaft. It wasn’t an easy size to take, but I was up for the challenge, and I savored the feeling of it as it slid and out of my mouth, slowly working its way to the back of my throat. Settling in, I took him all the way to the base of his cock, my nose nestling in his pubes. His hands found the back of my head, fingers lacing in my hair.

“Fuck, dude,” he gasped. “You’re really good at this.”

I came off his cock, laughing, spit stringing out from my lip. “Lots of practice,” I laughed, stroking him with my hand. “Besides, it’s pretty easy to tell what you like.”

I dove back in, sucking and slurping and bobbing while he moaned above me. His hands stayed in my hair, not forcing my movements or applying pressure; mostly hanging on for the ride. Each time he hit the back of my throat he moaned or cursed or laughed, a kind of lighthearted laugh of disbelief that made my heart flutter and my dick throb. I could tell I was blowing his mind, and it felt fucking amazing. 

“Fuck. Dude. I’m.” He uttered between breaths. “Gonna. Don’t. Want. Not. Yet.”

I pulled off and looked at him, a proud – possibly smug – smile on my face. “Not ready to call it quits?”

“Hell no,” he sputtered. “Want you”

He grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me up towards him, turning me and pushing me onto the pillows with surprising efficiency. I was surprised – and more than a little excited – at how easily he could throw me around. Kissing me deeply, he hooked a knee between my legs and spread them apart and began to kiss down my chest. He moved steadily, like walking along a precarious edge, afraid of making a wrong step. He reached my groin and ran his palm along my upper thigh, across my pubes, gripping my cock and lifting it up off my stomach. He looked at me, his eyes nervous.

“I can’t promise this is going to be any good,” he said, shyly.

I smiled. “Dude, just seeing you like this is…the hottest thing I have ever seen.” He smiled, a bit relieved. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna grade you or anything.”

Staring at my cock, brow creased with concentration, he slowly lowered his head and took me in his mouth. He was wet and warm, his tongue sliding against the underside of my head. He only took a couple of inches, closing his mouth gently, careful to avoid any teeth, moving his head slowly up and down. 

“That’s good,” I sighed, putting a hand in his hair. “That feels really good, man.”

Encouraged, he pulled away and licked me from base to tip, sending a shudder through my body. Smiling at my response, he did it again, and took me back in his mouth, going a little deeper. I wasn’t as big as him, only about six-and-a-half inches, and definitely skinnier than his, but I knew it was still a challenge for someone’s first time. As he pressed lower, I heard a gag and he pulled away, his eyes watering.

“Sorry,” he coughed, but I just chuckled. 

“Dude, it’s okay, you can take it easy. There’s no pressure.” He caught his breath for a second, his hand stroking me absentmindedly. “Thoughts?” I asked.

“It’s…not what I expected?” he replied. 

“How so?”

“I don’t know, it’s…I expected it to taste like something?” he admitted, and we both laughed. “But it just…tastes like skin. It tastes like your lips. It takes up more space than I expected. You’re kind of  a mouthful,” he flashed a devilish grin.

“Uh, you should try sucking that monster you’re packing,” I teased back.

“Yeah, I’m honestly so much more impressed now,” he laughed, settling back into position. He went back to work, noticeably more relaxed. With one hand he supported himself, and with the other he began to massage my balls.

“Fuck Bryson, your mouth feels  so good,” I moaned. “That’s it, relax your jaw, open your throat, there you go.” He took the pointers and before long took my entire length, his nose bruising against my pubic mound. He picked up the pace, and I watched in awe. In all my wildest fantasies, I never imagined Bryson slobbering over my dick like this, and I could tell it wouldn’t be long before I blew. “Whoa, okay. I’m getting close,” I said, pulling him off me. 

He lurched forward and kissed me, a fervent, ardent kiss, collapsing on top of me. I laughed at his sloppy, uncoordinated enthusiasm, feeling again like a teenager fooling around for the first time. My heart – much like my cock – threatened to burst with every touch, I felt like all I wanted was more of him near me, on top of me, inside me. 

“Here. I have an idea. Lay this way,”  I gestured across the bed lengthwise. As he moved his head to my side of the bed, I flipped around so that my face was just about level with his hips. He looked at me, eyebrows raised, and I couldn’t help but laugh. “Sorry, too cliche?” I asked.

He grinned. “No. I’m just realizing that, for all the adolescent jokes, I’ve never actually sixty-nined before.”

“Well,” I said, grabbing his cock and pointing it towards my mouth. “We can add it to your list of firsts.”

It was a challenge to take him in my mouth from this angle, his girth really coming into play, but as soon as I felt his mouth on me I knew I’d find a way to make it work. So, taking a deep breath, I dove in, devouring his cock, slobbering like an animal, my hands traveling down and up and in between his thighs. He responded with equal fervor, his mouth attacking my cock with impressive skill for a beginner. I came up for air and decided to focus on his balls, licking and sucking them, and then, because I cannot help myself, moved them to the side and began to lick his taint. He moaned, his mouth vibrating around my cock and I felt him pull back.

“Fuck, dude, do that again.” I obliged, licking his taint and massaging it with my tongue. “Shit, Tucker.” Hearing my name in his deep, baritone growl sent a shiver up my spine and I descended on his cock again, determined to make him see stars. To his credit, he continued to work on me, sucking and stroking and licking until I heard his breathing get ragged. “Dude, I’m getting close.” He jerked me off while he moaned and cursed, but I kept going. “Fuck, I’m gonna come, dude. Shit, I’m coming.”

His cock spasmed and I felt him unleash into my mouth. He moaned loudly, his pleasure raw and unabashed, his hips pressing into me, his back arching in ecstasy, and with one more stroke of his hand, I broke loose, my cock twitching as I unloaded. He shot at least a half-dozen ropes of cum down my throat, some of which was spilling out of my mouth while I sucked him clean of every last drop. My body writhed as he continued to squeeze and massage my cock, his head falling back against the mattress. I finally pulled away, impressed he was still hard, and fell back, my chest heaving. 

For a few minutes, we stayed like that, breathing deeply, unable to speak, our limbs tangled as our heart rates slowed. He was the first to speak.

“Holy shit.” He sounded amazed. I laughed, feeling more accomplished than I cared to admit. 

“Yeah,” I agreed. “That was…that was something else.”

I felt his weight shift and raised my head to see him looking at me. “Was it really good for you, too?”  he asked, sounding curious and a little surprised. “I feel like I didn’t do that much.”

“Fuck yeah, dude. Are you kidding? That was…God, you’re so hot,” I laughed. He blushed, and I sat up, swinging around to lean my head against his, ducking in to kiss him. As we pulled apart, I looked down at his chest and saw it completely coated in my cum. It ran down his collarbone and dampened his chest hair. “Damn, I made a mess of you, huh?”

He looked down and blushed harder. “A little bit. I wanted to, ya know…try to swallow it but…I don’t know, I think I blacked out there for a second.”

“Don’t apologize, you didn’t have to do anything if you didn’t want to.” I placed a hand on his shoulder. “And besides, it’s kind of hot seeing you like this.” He cocked an eyebrow and looked at me.

“Yeah?” he asked. “Is it always this messy?”

“What do you mean?” 

“I guess I’m not used to this.” He looked down at his abdomen. “When I’m with a girl, I’m usually wearing a condom so…I don’t know, I just cum in that and pull it off  and throw it away. I never really see it. But this is the third time that at least one of us has ended up completely covered in cum.”  He laughed. 

“Fair point,” I conceded. “I don’t know, it isn’t always this messy. Depends on what you’re doing, I guess. Like, sometimes it’s just oral and swallow or sometimes you cum when you’re, ya know, inside somebody. And I wear condoms too, ya know, I’m not completely irresponsible.” He chuckled and laid back, his head falling on his bicep. I mirrored his posture, my finger drawing circles on his chest. “But I don’t know, personally, I enjoy it when there’s a mess.”

“How so?” he asked.

“Well, I’ll put it this way. When a girl cums, you don’t necessarily see it. You see signs of it – the way her body moves and contracts, the way her breathing changes, the expressions on her face – but with a guy…you see it. On top of all those signs, you get to see the fireworks. It is obvious and visible and messy, and…maybe it’s just me, but I love watching that moment happen. It’s like…getting to admire my handiwork.” I scraped a drop of cum off Bryson’s chest with my finger and put it in my mouth. He watched me, transfixed. 

“Shit,” he said under his breath. “Sounds kinda kinky when you put it that way.”

“It is kinky, for sure,” I laughed. “But I am sorry, I did make a mess of you, and if you don’t like it, I won’t be offended. I should’ve given you more warning.”

“I seem to remember you had your mouth full,” he quipped, flashing a wicked grin. “And it’s alright. I really don’t mind it.” He brought his own hand up to his chest, dragging his fingers through a damp patch of chest hair. For a second, he looked at his hand, inspecting it, evaluating it. Then he licked it clean. His face was neutral for a second before his eyes met mine. “My handiwork, I suppose.”

I stuttered, my jaw slack and my cheeks flushed as I watched him lick my cum off his fingers. He must have noticed my dumbstruck expression, because he laughed. “I do think I need to wipe off, though.” 

He climbed off the bed and went to the bathroom to get a towel. As I lay there, I tried to process the fact that I’d had two of the best orgasms of my life today just from Bryson touching me. I’d had a lot of sex that just felt nothing like this, that was just going through the motions, but this felt like something more. Maybe it was the novelty, maybe it was the taboo of fooling around with a curious friend, or maybe it was just the magic of of Mexico, but at some point the idea had been planted that this is what it was supposed to feel like, having sex with someone, learning the ins and outs of his body, making him turn to jelly at your touch. At this notion, my chest got tight and reality came crashing back down on top of me: tomorrow we were going home, and this would all be over.

Bryson turned off the lights as he walked back to bed, pulling back the covers and sliding in quietly. I turned off my lamp and nestled under the sheet, turning on my side towards the center of the bed. Trying to quiet my mind, I felt Bryson turn towards me in the dark, felt his face close against mine, and then his hand reached out and found its spot on my side. I inched closer to him in the dark, my forehead resting against him, and he leaned forward to kiss me lightly on the lips. For a while, we lay there in silence, trading empty words for the subtle sound of our breath, of bare skin moving against fabric as we pulled closer together. And then, at some point, in a tangle of limbs and bedsheets, we drifted off to sleep.