Woke up with a hangover me and stumbled to this little palapa restaurant and slurped down menudo and coffee whilst Survive! was on the television - the story of the futbol team crashing in the Andes and had eaten each other to stay alive. Nice breakfast...
I sat on the beach the rest of the day tanning in my black swim shorts and Wonka glasses drinking cerveza Victoria and watching the boats bob until six - returned to the hotel for a little siesta.
I got to Francisco´s place last night at about nine thirty - he opened the door wearing only a pair of boxer-briefs. I was like, "Looks like the party's already started." And he went, "You are the party." I could tell by his eyes that he was fucked up. I walked past him into the living room and looked over toward the kitchen. I didn't see anyone. I looked up the stairs that lead to the roof and the roof hatch was closed. I glanced down the hallway, past the stairs, and I still didn't see anyone. He said it. "No one else is here; it's just us. A more intimate party." "Ah." I said and sat lighting a cigarette.
Francisco came over with my beer and some coke. I said I didn't want any but he kept trying to convince me. I told him I was hopped up from my day at the beach and the coffee I just drank prior coming over and would smoke a joint if he had any. After doing two lines, he went to get some pot.
Francisco´s apartment was small and tidy. Old furniture, sea trinkets, futbol banners, bathroom, bed room. I sat for a while and watched futbol on his little black and white television - Cruz Azul ; the worst team in futbol. Francisco came back came in, saw that I had the game on, and asked the score. When I told him he did one of those straight-guy Orales! where they make a fist and bend their arm and then jam their elbow down toward their knee. I'm the rare Americas fan and was in heaven last year when Cruz Azul choked the playoffs. I ignored his outburst and turned off the TV. One thing I've learned about fans of futbol is that they never listen to another point of view and they will lord even the smallest victory over you forever.
But whatever. I needed to get him naked and that's exactly what I did. We sat and drank and he started talking about girls and how he wants to nail some broad he knows in the building and I just cut him short - "How about that message?" I led him to his bedroom where I had a sheet on the bed and my oil out, and I told him to get undressed and to lie face down on the bed. I'd be right back, I told him - let him undress without me ogling him, what am I queer or sumpthin´? When I came back in he was lying as I told him to and he had put the draping sheet over his legs and lower back. I had on my basketball shorts - I wasn't wearing a shirt and I was free-balling. Man, what a nice body he had - lean, caramel colored and hairless.
I pulled the sheet down so that it was covering his ass except for the very top - the beginning of his crack - he had the best bubble but I had seen in many a moon. He was surprisingly calm and not all jumpy like I had feared. I dribbled the oil into my hands and I began on his back. I started with long strokes up and down and then went to work on his muscly shoulders. I straddled him so that I could get a good angle as I continued to work his shoulders and upper arms. Of course I had a huge boner and it was tenting out my shorts. As I worked my way back down his back, putting pressure on his spine, my cock grazed his ass: no reaction.
Even though this whole massaging-and-molesting-a straight-guy thing is my total fantasy, and really more about my pleasure than his, I really am good at massage. He was psyched.
After finishing with his back, neck, shoulders and arms, I pulled the sheet up so that it was covering his shoulders; just his head was poking out. Then I pushed the draping back to reveal one leg and his butt cheek. I started on the calf and then moved to the foot. I worked this little trick I know on the knee that feels great and then I started creeping up his thigh. He took a deep breath and I could tell that he was getting nervous as my fingertips grazed his nutsack and I began to massage his ass. I kneaded his ass cheeks hard and spread them apart to get a peek at his pucker. He shook his hips at that point, his way of telling me to back off his ass. I listened.
For a moment, anyway: it was time to do the other leg. I repeated all the same steps until I got up to the ass again. This time I leaned down and the minute I spread his cheeks I started blowing on his hole. He jumped and I pulled back. "What the fuck?", he moaned - not hollered, but moaned; that's important. I told him to just relax and enjoy the feelings. He told me not to play with his ass and I told him again to relax and just softly stroked his butt cheeks. My cock was about to explode. It was so fucking hard I thought it might break every time it throbbed.
I told him it was time to flip over. At first he didn't move and then I picked up the sheet, so that I couldn't see anything – just like a "legit" masseuse – and told him again to turn over. When I laid the sheet back over him I saw that his cock was semi hard and that these was a small tent in the sheet. I covered him up to his neck and then pulled out each arm and massaged it. After some good moves including one that required me to press his bicep against my crotch while massaging his forearm, I gave him a short but intense breast massage and a great nipple tickle.
It was time for the fronts of the legs. Again I started at the feet and the calves and then I massaged all the way up to his pelvic area, carefully avoiding his cock and even his black shiny pubes. His rod got harder - fat and uncut and God it was beautiful. My cock was dripping and there was a big spot on the front of my shorts; my leg was a little sticky. I couldn't stand it anymore so I pulled the sheet down and grabbed onto his prong. He gasped but didn't push me away. He closed his eyes really tight like it hurt – which I know it didn't. I started stroking up and down his cock; slowly milking it with these Tantra moves some guy taught me a few years ago. His eyes stayed shut but they stopped squeezing as he rocked his head from side to side.
His cock was getting dry because I hadn't put much oil on and I could tell it was going to chafe. I switched to one-hand stroking and with my free hand pulled my shorts down. I got a little whirlpool of saliva going in my mouth and leaned down and dribbled it onto his cock head. As I leaned in to him, my cockhead hit his hairless thigh; it felt like silk. I stood up again and continued my one handed assault on his penis. With my other hand, I was jerking myself pretty hard and fast. I was only a second away from cumming. And I shot – as quietly as I could – into my hand. Some cum dripped to the floor but I was able to keep most of it in my hand.
By this time the saliva had dried up. I put both hands together over his erection and covered it in my cum. I started massaging my cum into his cock. His eyes were still closed and he was moaning slight whispers - it was so hot. I started to get hard again and it hurt. He started contracting his stomach like he was doing a sit up and then he pulled his head up, opened his eyes, and let out a load. Then another and another - white spurts splashed across his flat brown stomach and ribs. He was panting and he kept saying, oh god, oh god, oh god. I still had a grip on the base of his hard on and he looked up at me, standing over him with my half-hard cock hanging out.
"Cool guy, thanks," Francisco finally said. I smiled, "Sure. Anytime." He got up from the table and wiped the cum from his body with the sheet - then stepped into his boxer-briefs, which he had thrown on the floor. "Nice unders," I quipped.
He smiled, sheepishly, embarrassed, and pulled up his jeans. He grabbed his t-shirt and walked out into the living room. I told him I was going back to my hotel room and write and he said, "Yeah cool." He had his back to me and said it emotionlessly - playing that macho part a little heavy handed. Just before he opened the door he turned and looked at me. "Mieda, I am not a fag, okay?" He said. I mumbled for him to not worry about it, lit a cigarette and split.
I adore straight guys. Like spaghetti - straight until you get them hot.
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