Columbia Heights, DC, Winter 2008

 

 

As soon as I got out of the bus, the cold air assaulted the tip of my nose, the only part of my body I hadn't properly managed to shield with wool sweaters, hat and scarf. It had been a fairly short drive all the way up 16th street but, as is often the case in DC, a few minutes on the bus and a few blocks walk can drop you in a drastically different urban landscape, can make you tread where gentrification hasn't yet gilded the lead of deprivation.

"Top?" they had typed, barely thirty minutes earlier. "Top", I had answered.

"Couple here", they had specified – needlessly, as their profile description was self-evident. Still, a welcome confirmation, since a threesome was what I had in mind when filling my search criteria.

It was a freezing, damp, and gloomy Sunday early afternoon, the city had seemed empty and slightly forbidding. I was looking for the warmth and agitation that horniness uniquely brings, those days when coffee and The New Yorker just don't quite cut it, when love is something of the recent past and possibly of some near future, when friendships take a break between the high spirits of a Saturday night and the checking-ins of a Monday morning. It was one of those days best spent alone, in the comforting heat and hands of strangers.

The first half-hour of cruising on the hook-up site had been a little tedious: a forty-five-year old who kept referring to himself as "boi", a young man who dubiously and quite lavishly insisted on his inexperience, another who launched, after a couple of "what's up", into a monologue on the detailed sexual program he had in mind for both of us (or, I suspected, for him and anyone who might believe his picture was actually his).

I had closed all the active windows and restarted the search, narrowing on couples. They had appeared on top of my results and I had sent the lame and innocuous "Hey". They quickly unlocked their pictures (blurry but promising), asked for mine, and double-checked "Top?". "Top" indeed. Within a few minutes of a short, rapid-fire exchange of sexual snippets, my mind had sharpened their pictures, as it does, and ignited the necessary mixture of curiosity, anticipation and overpowering excitement. I got their address, showered and covered myself in woolen layers.

I walked a few blocks from the bus stop to their building, mist blowing from my nose and, through my scarf, from my mouth. I felt the cold shriveling my penis and thought, amused, that it was now about a quarter of the inches promised in my profile and apparently eagerly expected by the couple whose last names were on the buzzer right in front of me. I didn't let myself think or doubt and pressed it. I did notice the font they used to print out their own label was stylish and hip, a stark contrast to the other scribbled and scratchy, mostly Hispanic, names.

A voice gave out a floor number (three, the top one) and the door unlocked. I took the stairs, passing each floor loud with agitated conversations or blaring Telemundo. The buzzing life in the building was a warming contrast to the cold, deserted streets of the city. I was hot again by the time I reached their floor, where a single heavy iron door stood in the middle of an impeccably white wall. It felt illicit and exciting.

I knocked and the door instantly opened wide.

My face may have betrayed some surprise, however cool I tried to appear and act. The apartment had the stunning look of an industrial warehouse converted into a wide open space, the man at the door had the stunning look of a South American soccer player on the brink of early retirement. The apartment was scarcely but impeccably furnished, the man was lightly clothed for the weather outside: a grey tank top, loose navy sport shorts and white tennis socks.

He waved me in, with a warm silent smile. The air reeked of pot. I spotted his partner sitting cross-legged by the coffee table, stubbing out a joint and lazily hoisting himself up to welcome me with an effortlessly seductive shrug.

They displayed the kind of contrasting features I had noticed in more than one couple. The South American man must have been Brazilian, since a green flag with a yellow lozenge was somehow artfully hanging by a window; he was in his early thirties and very tall, lean and chiseled. The other man was American (the few words he'd utter in the following two hours made me think he may have been from Boston); he was in his mid-forties, studly and handsome, short and stocky. Neither of them looked quite like their pictures (and nothing like their pictures redrawn by my imagination); both of them looked, atypically and unexpectedly, much better.

They hadn't and still didn't ask my name, I refrained from asking theirs.

The Brazilian guy was warm, charming and engaging when he helped me out of my coat, gloves, sweaters and scarf. The American one was more aloof, burly and very business-like when he took them away and stocked them in a neat pile in a far corner. While the Brazilian attempted some little banter (the weather, the bus, Sundays in Washington), the American left for the bathroom and returned to put a Viagra in my hand. He gave me a glass of water to swallow it and grazed my shoulder with his big hand.

He turned and made his way to the bed, stacked behind a big bookshelf (there wasn't a bedroom to speak of) and with a large TV set right in front of it. The whole loft was flooded with a white winter sunlight, warmed by some mid-century lamps scattered around the place. The sheets on the bed were white, crisp and inviting.

The Brazilian guy walked towards the bed too, checking and turning off his phone, with a quick and distracted smile over his shoulder, making sure I was following them.

The American made me lie down and undressed me, efficiently and cursorily. I was quickly naked, my skin cooled by the fresh sheets, unsure what pose to assume and what conversation to spark, if any. I let the silence warm me.

I couldn't quite figure out the dynamics of their couple, sexual or otherwise. They had clearly stipulated that they both wanted to be fucked, but hadn't been quite as explicit whether this was all they were looking for, all they might allow to happen, all they had any inclination to let unfold.

They started to undress too, staring at me, glaring over various parts of my body. They looked focused, hungry and expectant; standing and undressing next to each other, they barely exchanged a look. Within a second, the Brazilian was down to his white boxer briefs, the American only had to untie his sweatpants and slide it down with his underwear – I wondered if he was wearing any.

I motioned for them to slow down just a bit. I had just gotten in, my body was still adjusting to the new warmth after twenty minutes in the icy outdoors. I needed to get in the mood, I wanted to get in the moment. "What are you names?" I asked. Joao and Patrick were the ones given. They still didn't ask mine. I lifted myself up to be able to touch them, to finish undressing them. Patrick was oblivious to my gesture; Joao hesitated but followed the lead of his partner.

I understood then that I was there for the sole purpose of fucking them and there would be little room for me to decide how and when things should be done. I usually do like to be somewhat in control, to structure and sequence foreplay, arousal and penetration. I like to brawl for command a bit, I like to let the power bottom win and the sex-starved wrestler capitulate. Yet there was to be no struggle here; I felt like I had been summoned to fuck them compliantly and, somehow, that very idea became incredibly arousing.

So I lay on the bed, while they were conscientiously going about their business: finishing undressing, folding their clothes, uncovering the lube, preparing the condoms, fluffing the pillows. The whiteness of Patrick's flesh and the dangling of Joao's limp cock were dancing, blurry shapes, as they went about their gathering and ordering of objects. There was something very erotic to the whole scene, a voyeuristic sneak into their domesticity. Patrick eventually got a small pipe and weed, lit it and took a couple of puffs. He lay the pipe carefully on the nightstand, next to the lube, to the condoms, to me.

Patrick gently put a hand on the small of Joao's back, nudging him to the bed. Joao kneeled on my left side, his partner on the other. Joao lowered himself and took my cock with both his hands, kissed it and licked it, then swallowed it all. Patrick lay a hand on his hair, the other on his neck, massaging and guiding his head. Joao looked huge, a back that seemed to stretch up yards before his lifted ass whitened by speedo tan lines. His shoulders were wide and the muscles on his arms sinewy, making waves with every movement he made on and around my dick. His whole upper body was wiggling more and more, his hands gripped my thigh and stomach, his moaning was getting louder.

I bucked when he deepthroated me; he struggled to hold his position for a while before lifting himself up and gasping for air. His eyes were moist when he stared at me, his open mouth heavily breathing. He kept looking at me, licked his lips, and exhaled loudly. There was something jubilant in his eyes.

Patrick had replaced him on my cock, hard and achingly throbbing from the Viagra. He made a fist around it, then was all tongue, all saliva, all brash licking, all powerful suction. Joao was now on all fours, and moved closer towards me, panther-like. He lowered his mouth on mine, and placed a soft kiss on my lips. He straightened up and looked at his partner forcefully blowing me. There was delight and hunger on his face. His back was gracefully arched and I was inches away from his staunchly erect, throbbing cock. Patrick was a bobbing mass of flesh, muscles and hair and his dick was flaccid; and yet, under that light, in the expert delivery of an intense blowjob, and under the intense gaze of his partner, he exuded a raw, animal masculinity that was intoxicating.

Joao went back to kissing me, fervently. He grabbed my head, my shoulders, my cheeks. He only left his gripping or squeezing to occasionally tug a few times at his dick – something I had tried to do, but had been gently waved off from attempting. I was so buried on his neck, hair, face that I quickly felt engulfed in moist darkness, in the musky smell of his skin, of weed in the air, of a shut apartment in winter. I was feeling every one of the twenty fingers on my body, two tongues and two mouths, I counted one knee and two elbows. I felt lifted, wrapped and sealed by their sweat, their lust, their moans. When Joao finally unglued his head from mine to catch his breath, I opened my eyes to see Patrick, still voraciously sucking me, fingering himself with equal energy. That sight jolted me and I felt the first pang of an orgasm building up. I wiggled a bit to unplug my dick from Patrick's mouth and told him to stop for a minute.

He look slightly annoyed, then said, hoarsely and while wiping his mouth with the back his hand: "Fuck him now". Joao instantly positioned himself on his back and raised his legs. Patrick stood up, grabbed the lube and applied some on his partner's pulsating hole; he took a condom and tore it open with his teeth in one swift movement. I had, mechanically and somewhat hypnotically, already moved myself right behind Joao and he unrolled the condom over my cock. He placed his two wide, strong hands on each of Joao's ass cheeks, spit once on the crack and told me "Get in".

I was fully inside within three thrusts, each of them received with a grunt from Joao and a "yes" from Patrick. I grabbed the Brazilian man's ankles and increased my pace. His body again felt disproportionally large: he had spread his arms straight, almost covering the entire width of the bed, his legs were so long and heavy it felt straining to maneuver them, his feet were so big that, when he pressed one against my face, it felt like it extended from below my chin to above my forehead. I felt a brief panic at cumming too soon again, then quickly remembered the delaying effect of the potent Viagra I had taken. I relished the staying power it had given me the previous times I had been offered one and noticed the glistening sweat that was quickly accumulating all over my body – something too that jolted memories from previous experiences with the blue pill.

Patrick was standing next to the bed, intently watching us, slowly jerking off. Joao was staring at me, with lustfully vindictive eyes, beckoning me to go faster, harder, deeper. I noticed Patrick moving and sitting on the floor, his back rested against the wall, still intently taking the scene before him. "Doggy style", he calmly said. I instantly dropped Joao's legs, grabbed his hips and motioned him to switch position. I was back inside him within a few seconds, banging him with renewed energy, bolstered by Joao's encouragements (muffled by the pillow he had buried his face in) and by Patrick's noticeably increased stroking rhythm.

I slammed inside Joao a little forcefully at some point, as he raised his face off the pillow to utter a cry of pain. I stopped and paused way up inside him, gripped his ass cheeks tightly and tried to calm myself down. "Let him straddle you", I heard Patrick order. Without missing a beat, Joao and I both moved and shuffled around. "Do you need more lube?" I asked as he was slowly lowering himself on my cock. "No, I'm fine" he said, impaling himself indeed easily and sloppily.

I tried to move my hips up and down, but the force of his own movements made it clear he knew how he wanted to ride me. He was gorgeous. His eyes were closed most of the time; when open, they either glanced at Patrick, enjoying his partner enjoying the show, or were rolling up, in ecstasy and abandon. At some point, he put both his hands behind his neck, and slamming up and down on my dick, shouted a furious "Fuck, yeah" four times in a row.

I turned towards Patrick; I thought how this must be what he looks like when he is watching porn, a lustful, hazy glare coming out of tired eyes, regularly applying lube on his cock and on his hole. And indeed, it felt like we were performing for him, responding to his directing and his fast forwarding. "Let him lie on the floor and fuck him on top of him", he next said. I did. My sweaty palms, elbows, knees and feet against the neatly varnished hardwood floors making it difficult sometimes to keep my balance.

"Fuck him sideways". I did. Joao put his fingers around his hole, shaping a second tight circle for my dick to rub against.

"Go by the window and fuck him from behind". I did. Joao's hole was so loose, the condom was comfortably tight, I felt I could fuck him forever. His breath was misting the tainted glass.

"Sit on the edge of the bed and make him sit on you". I did. I kneaded every part of Joao's body I could grab.

"Have him lie down again and wrap his legs around your back. Fuck him harder". I did.

"Don't kiss him so I can see his face". I pulled my mouth away.

Patrick stood up, moved to the bed, sat down next to our humping coupling, and resumed his jerking off, silently. I noticed the clock: I had been inside Joao for forty minutes, pounding him. Still I kept fucking, and buried myself in his neck, rubbing my sweaty forehead on his reddening skin. When I raised my head, I was surprised to catch a glimpse of Patrick cumming. He did so without much fanfare, no sound, no thrusting. He just came, dribbled really, and didn't say anything.

He rolled around in the bed, lay on his stomach, put a pillow under his chin, and faced the TV set. Then he just said "Now, fuck me".

On cue, I slipped my dick out of Joao's ass and moved over on top of Patrick and entered him. I was soaked in sweat by then, and my drenched chest and stomach were gliding nicely on his back. Patrick's hole was tighter, his ass wider. I started to fuck him rhythmically, which I sensed he seemed to like. I noticed Joao stand up and walk around the bed to the TV. He turned it on, along with the DVD player. A disc was already in and resumed in the middle of the scene where it had, presumably, been previously switched off. On the screen glared a staged locker room and two men sucking each other off, too old to be the high-schoolers or undergraduates they seemed supposed to portray. The sound was muted, but they acted out quite distinctively their enjoyment.

The TV was distracting, even though Patrick was staring at it absently. I focused on his body, on his shoulders, on his back, raising myself and straightening my tired arms, pumping in and out of his ass metronome-like. I wanted to be good, I needed him to get a good fuck. I usually liked to move around, to switch positions, to get creative and a little acrobatic, to lock eyes, to hear words that jolt and flush me. Patrick was silent and immobile; I was pounding into a moist, muscled lump of meat. All he had indicated was "Fuck me"; so I did.

I felt Joao move a bit; he lay on the bed between his partner's and my spread legs, his face inches away from my cock and Patrick's ass. I turned my head around and saw him watch the sliding movements intently. He placed a hand on one of my ass cheeks and kneaded it, he accompanied its bobbing movement. His hand slid down slowly to my crack, my balls, my shaft. My dick gave him a show: varying speeds and angles, pulling almost completely out before slowly, wetly, sliding back in. I looked at him again: he seemed absorbed and oblivious to my attempt to catch his eye. "You're so big," he uttered absently, but I was too dazed to either blush or boast. I also felt that my cock wasn't mine anymore, it was wholly theirs. My cock wasn't mine to unveil, operate and satiate, it was theirs to handle, instruct and deplete.

Joao's fingers played around my drilling cock and Patrick's hole. The tingling sensation was intense, so intense that I let out a loud moan and increased my panting. Patrick, still watching his porn, said very nonchalantly, "If you want to cum, just cum on my face". So I pulled out, got out of the bed, stood between him and his TV, took out the condom, kneeled a bit for a better aim, gave a few strokes, and sprayed all over his face. I had burst, I had sorely exploded, I had achingly erupted. Patrick gave me his first half-smile, his face drenched in dripping sperm.

Joao was jerking off on the bed, with a slightly faster pace than he had before. But he interrupted himself to ask me if I needed some water. I realized how I must have looked: drenched in sweat, hair ruffled, with a reddened deflating dick and red spots scattered on my body, a discarded condom which had landed on my foot. I said I'd get it myself, pointing at the open kitchen area at the opposite side of the large loft.

I hobbled slowly across their apartment, passing first the living room, just behind the large bookshelf delineating their bedroom. I noticed magazines and newspapers on the coffee table, next to a little stash of weed: today's sports section from the Post, a couple issues of Newsweek, and a Wallpaper. I passed the dining area and spotted a little buffet, where a bunch of framed photographs had been displayed. There were Patrick and Joao, smiling and much younger, with what looked like Battery Park in the background. There was Joao graduating, even younger in full cap and gown, surrounded by what must have been his large family, mostly brothers - all handsome and wealthy. There was one of them both hugging protectively a young girl in between them. A niece? Goddaughter? Whose? There was a brass plaque, some kind of architecture award from the State of Maryland, with Patrick's name in bold font. There was Joao, in a suit and a tie, posing in front of a desk in a modern, flashy corporate surrounding.

I found the fridge and two small bottles of water, both of which I gulped down. I went to the sink and splashed my face with cold water. It must have been the Viagra, but I was still half hard, my cock achingly dangling with every bit of movement.

I walked back to the bed and lay down, between Joao, his back against the headstand, jerking off slowly, and Patrick, still on his stomach where I had left him, still staring at the TV. They were both watching the muted porn, which was now showing a coach sucking off two baseball players.

Joao came closer and started to caress and kiss me, cuddly and softly. He delicately grabbed my dick and whispered "I'm going to need some more, is that okay?" I moved on top of him, he put his hands on my cheeks and kissed me again, while wrapping his legs around my back. Patrick scooted over, to give us more room, without averting his eyes from the TV. Then he silently stood up, went to fetch a new condom, which he unwrapped and placed over my dick, before resuming his previous position.

Joao was so loose by then that I entered him in one shove. He moaned and kissed me harder. His own pelvis was moving, encouraging faster and deeper thrusts. He felt tenderer and more affectionate than he had been earlier. For a moment, it felt like we were just alone on the bed; I was embracing, touching, making love to the Joao I had just glimpsed on the pictures. His tall, lean body slowly morphed into various iterations of the man, of the life that these photographs had sketched. I was inside a young Joao, who had snuck out from the hugs and ruffles of his brothers at his graduation party to get fucked in the seclusion of nearby bushes. I was inside Joao, who had closed the door and blinders of his corner office and had begged me to pull down the expensive pants of his suit, bend him over his desk and fuck him senseless. I was inside Joao who had followed me in the bathroom while his partner was on a stage, receiving an award from some Maryland official, and whom I had penetrated slowly, standing against the stall door, grabbing his shoulders.

I was locked in lust again, yet I did feel that these mental gesticulations were a bit forced and inorganic to the moment. It was puzzling - as constructing backstories for my hook-up partners or for porn characters had always proven to be a potent aphrodisiac. I gave up and, much more satisfyingly, immersed myself back in the reality of the apartment, when I felt Patrick's hand kneading my calf, when I heard Joao mutter "Fuck me harder". I did.

The coach and players on the screen, Joao and me: the room was filled with silent, energetic fucking.

Patrick finally turned around and said "Don't cum without telling me". Joao unlocked his lips from mine and told him he was really close. I concurred with a grunt. Patrick left the bed and wordlessly went to lie down on his back on the floor, in the space between the living and dining rooms. Joao gently pushed me out of his ass, took my hand and led me to his partner.

He made me stand on one side of Patrick's body, while he faced me on the other. He kissed me briefly and gently, then grabbed my left hand with his own. He started to jerk off with his free hand and I followed suit. He locked eyes with me for a few seconds, yearning and panting, then looked down at Patrick. Joao was pure, raw, animal lust when he started to cum all over Patrick's body, staring at him and (I think) whispering his name, while squeezing my hand firmly. I came too, my body suddenly so exhausted that my knees buckled a bit and I missed part of my aim: I had dropped some cum on Patrick's lips, but most of it had landed on Joao's right leg.

I stepped back and dropped to the floor, resting against the wall and spreading my legs and arms wide. I saw Patrick head to bathroom before I closed my eyes. I reopened them when I felt a glass of water being gently nudged against my lips. Joao made me drink, then sat between my legs, his smooth, large back against my soaked, panting chest. I forced myself to keep my eyes open, to feel and watch the extraordinary beauty of Joao, and to listen to the sound of Patrick's shower.

Fifteen minutes later, I was sitting on an almost empty bus, ambling down 16^th Street. My skin was moist with cold sweat. My cock felt distant and absent, just a sore, disconnected organ. Still a little hard and sticky. I was dizzy and drained. I thought about the inviting warmth of my empty bedroom, the duvet, my book. I waved off introspection, realizing that I felt neither the elation nor the uneasiness that most often follows good or mild online hook-ups. I felt something else, something better left to ponder later, something powerfully, oddly arousing. I thought about how they had never asked my name; they had asked me to fuck them. And I did.

 

 

 

 

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