I never planned to write this down, but here it is, every filthy detail from the night I finally stopped pretending. My name is Alex, and for years I kept my hookups quick and quiet, like most guys I knew. Then I met Marcus at that dive bar on 12th, the one with the sticky floors and the old jukebox. He was thirty-eight, same as me, with shoulders that filled out his black T-shirt and a beard that looked like it had been grown just to scrape against skin. We talked for two hours about nothing and everything, and when he leaned in and said, My place is two blocks away, I followed without asking what would happen.
The door clicked shut behind us and the air changed. Marcus didnt waste time with small talk. He grabbed the front of my shirt, yanked me forward, and kissed me hard enough that our teeth clicked. His tongue pushed past my lips and I tasted the whiskey hed been drinking. My cock was already stiff against my zipper. I shoved my hands under his shirt, feeling the hot skin and the trail of hair down his stomach. He broke the kiss only to mutter, Get your fucking clothes off.
We stripped right there in the hallway. His body was solid, a little soft around the middle the way real men get, and his cock hung heavy between his legs, already half-hard and thick. I dropped to my knees without being told. The floor was cold but I didnt care. I wrapped my fingers around the base of his dick and licked the head, tasting the salt that had already leaked out. Marcus groaned low in his chest and pushed forward. I opened my mouth and took him in, sliding down until my nose brushed the dark hair at his root. He tasted clean and male, and I worked my tongue along the underside while I sucked.
Fuck, thats it, he said, voice rough. His hand settled on the back of my head, guiding me but not forcing. I bobbed faster, spit running down my chin, and reached between my own legs to stroke myself. My balls were tight already. I wanted to come just from sucking him, but he pulled me off after a minute.
Bedroom. Now.
We made it to the bed in a tangle of limbs. Marcus pushed me onto my back and climbed over me, his heavier body pinning me down. He kissed my neck, then bit the spot where it met my shoulder. The sting made my cock twitch against his thigh. He reached between us and wrapped his fist around both of us, stroking slowly, the heads rubbing together slick with pre-cum. The friction was perfect and maddening at the same time.
I want to fuck you, he said against my ear. You want that?
Yeah, I answered, voice already hoarse. Want your cock in me.
He rolled me onto my stomach and spread my cheeks with both hands. The first touch of his tongue against my hole made me jerk. He licked in long, slow strokes, getting me wet, then pushed the tip inside. I shoved back against his face, shameless, while he ate me out. When he finally sat up I heard the click of a lube bottle. Two slick fingers pressed in, stretching me open. He worked them deep, curling until he found the spot that made my vision blur.
Marcus, fuck, please, I begged.
He lined up and pushed in. The stretch burned for a second, then melted into heat as he sank all the way. His hips met my ass and he stayed there, breathing hard, letting me adjust. Then he started moving. Long, steady thrusts that turned into harder snaps of his hips. The sound of skin slapping filled the room. Every time he bottomed out I felt it in my gut. I reached down and jerked myself in time with his thrusts, moaning into the pillow.
He fucked me like that until my arms shook, then pulled out and flipped me onto my back again. He wanted to watch my face.
He hooked my knees over his elbows and drove back in, deeper than before. Sweat dripped from his chest onto mine. I reached up and grabbed his beard, pulling him down for a messy kiss while he pounded me. My orgasm hit without warning, cum shooting across my stomach and chest in thick ropes. My hole clenched around him and he groaned, thrusting twice more before he buried himself and came. I felt every pulse of it, hot and deep inside me.
We lay there afterward, breathing hard, his weight still on top of me. He didnt pull out right away. Instead he kissed my forehead, then my mouth again, softer this time. That was the moment something shifted. It wasnt just a fuck anymore.
We saw each other the next night, then the night after that. Each time the sex got dirtier and the conversations lasted longer. Marcus told me about the guy who broke his heart five years earlier. I told him Id never let anyone stay the night before him. One weekend we didnt leave his apartment at all. He fucked me in the shower, bent over the kitchen counter, and once on the living-room floor while the TV played some movie we ignored. I learned he liked it when I talked dirty back to him, calling him a greedy bastard while he railed me. He learned I came hardest when he held my wrists down and told me I was his.
Three months in, we were at his place again, the windows open to the summer night. I was on my back with his cock buried in me, legs wrapped around his waist. He moved slow, drawing it out, and I could feel every inch. His eyes stayed on mine the whole time.
Love you, he said, voice low and certain.
I came right then, untouched, just from the words and the way he filled me. He followed seconds later, groaning my name. After he pulled out he stayed between my legs, pressing kisses to my thighs and stomach, cleaning me with his tongue in that filthy, tender way that always made me shiver.
We still write things down sometimes, little notes we leave for each other. Mine usually say what I want him to do to me later. His say what hes going to do. Its our version of romance, raw and honest, exactly the way two men who stopped pretending can love each other. Every night ends the same: him inside me, or me inside him, and the quiet certainty that neither of us is going anywhere.
