Don't Call My Name

In high school I was quite proficient in Spanish. I was skillful enough, anyway, that when we had a week-long Spanish class trip to Mexico, I immediately made friends with a narrow-waisted, shiny-haired Mexican gentleman from the street outside the hotel, who out of a fondness for me more or less single-handedly saved that week from being a total disaster for everyone by acting as our personal tour guide. Though to be frank, I’m not sure it was my weird-ass high school Castilian accent that charmed him as much as my little butt and my white-blond hair.

But that’s another story altogether.

While I was out east, I had Tuesday to myself. I slept in a little bit, had breakfast, took my shower, and then hopped online to see whom I could have over for some fun. Almost immediately on Adam4Adam I was messaged by a guy in my vicinity who said: q rico tu huevo ilike 2 cock baby sexy col my bb!!

Now, admittedly, my Spanish is way rusty, but I couldn’t make heads or tails out of that message. My eggs looked delicious? I gathered he liked my cock, but did he want me to call him baby? Or color him bareback? Or something else entirely? It was a mystery.

I wrote back something like, I’m sorry, I don’t understand, and got back a couple of question marks. Obviously the guy didn’t comprehend me, either—and it was a shame, because he was a gorgeous man, judging from his photos. His age hovered in the lower twenties while his dick sized soared to about nine fat inches. He was way bigger than I. My favorite photo of him, though, showed him slouching back in his computer chair, muscles pumped and his nipples betraying little dark fringes that were the only traces of hair on his golden chest. He looked thoughtful, and wore a pair of rectangular glasses much like the frames I usually sport.

I wanted his ass.

After a few more abortive attempts at communicating, finally he sent a single-word email I understood: Hotel??? I responded with the street address and my room number. A couple of minutes later, he sent me a time that seemed to indicate he’d be there a half hour.

He was prompt. I heard a knock on my door just as the hour turned, and when I opened it, he stepped in and smiled broadly. His teeth were white, even, and sparkling. He said something to me in Spanish that I failed to understand (I blame it entirely on his lack of a Castilian accent), though I thought he was saying something about it being easy to find the hotel, or something similar. “I’m glad you made it here,” I said, hoping I was in the right ballpark.

He raised his eyebrows. “¿Que?” he asked.

“Never mind.” I put my hands on his narrow waist, which funneled down to his ample butt. “I’m just glad you showed up.”

“¿Que?” he asked again.

We were rapidly devolving into a Fawlty Towers routine between Basil and Manuel, so I shut up and let my mouth do the talking. His own answered back immediately, as they pressed together hungrily. I loved how full his lips were against my own. They felt like cushions I could fall into, over and over again, without ever diminishing their plump softness. His hand rested on the cage of my chest, as if he was feeling for my heartbeat. I pulled away for a moment and rested my fingers atop his. “Rob,” I said, telling him my name.

He understood, and pulled my hand onto his own chest. “Alejandro.”

Thanks to Lady Gaga, that was a name I was unlikely to forget. “Tu estas muy guapo, Alejandro,” I said, running my fingers through his hair and wondering if I should’ve gone with an usted.

He seemed delighted with my lame attempts at communication, however. “You . . . sexy, papi!”

I’d like to say I pushed him down onto the bed at that point, but in point of fact, he was so overcome with puppy-dog enthusiasm at my rudimentary Spanish that he leapt on me and made me tumble to the mattress. I’d planned to remove the bedspread, because whenever I see a hotel bedspread all I can think about are those local news sweeps month exposes in which reporters run black lights over the bed linen to reveal all kinds of disgusting stains and dried fluids. But Alejandro was such a hungry kisser and so determined to take off my shirt and then undo my pants that stains were the last thing on my mind.

He had my dick in his mouth within a few seconds of me landing on my back. I was already hard and the insides of my shorts were slick with precum; by the time my head reached his lips, there was so much juice flowing that he stopped, looked up at me, and asked a question I didn’t understand. I think he was asking if I’d already shot.

“Just suck,” I whispered, pushing his mouth back down on me. The combination of his warm throat and those soft, pillowy lips made me sigh, deep from my chest. Idly I reached down and played with his brown, hairy nipples while he slobbered over my inches. In the dim light of the hotel room I could tell his eyes were closed as he relished every sensation of my dick sliding in and out of his mouth.

He licked my balls next, and kissed the insides of my thighs. Then he was back on my cock, muttering to himself in those moments when his lips were sliding up and down the exterior, rather than eating it whole. It sounded as if he were dirty-talking to himself. Then he pulled himself up to kiss me again. His legs straddled my hips, so that my dick was rubbing first against his own, then slipping back and between his butt cheeks. I reached around to feel his butt cheeks. The round globes of them filled my hands. He gasped when I pulled them apart and exposed his most private spot to the cold air of the hotel air conditioning.

My turn. I pushed his face into the pillows and assumed a spot behind him so I could rim his butt. He smelled not only of soap, but of a scent I recognized from my college days, when every frat boy on the make wore Polo. Alejandro had not only washed himself out thoroughly, but had sprayed his ass cheeks with cologne for me. I preferred the natural scent to the artificial, so I buried my nose and mouth as deep into his butt as I could. He responded by helping me out. His hands grappled back to lift and pull apart his cheeks, urging me in more deeply. Again, he swore in Spanish, and I found it deeply arousing.

I’d retrieved my mobile bottle of lube from the car earlier that morning. It was still warm from baking in the glove compartment the day before, when I squirted a dollop into my palm and spread it onto my red and steel-hard meat. He wanted me inside him almost more than I wanted inside him; his hips ground back and tried to seek out my dick’s tip even before I’d maneuvered it into range. “Calm down there, tiger,” I said to him. “You’ll get what you came for.”

He responded with something I didn’t understand. To my ears, though, it sounded like, Fuck me. Fuck me.

I slid into him. He opened like a fast-blossoming rose, spreading out so quickly and effortlessly it took my breath away. I had to stop when I reached the base, out of the unusual fear of shooting too quickly. When I encounter an unusually submissive bottom, the way his hole spreads to accommodate me and then grips down to keep me in often leaves me wanting to fuck hard right from the start, and Alejandro was begging to be banged. I didn’t hold back, and immediately began pounding his ass hard. With every collision of my hips to his ass, his cheeks vibrated and danced to my rhythm. His hands reached out and clutched one of the pillows. With a little whimper, he pulled it to his face and buried his nose and brow in its cool white cotton.

I fucked him on my knees, and then lying atop him with his legs pulled together, and on his side. But my dick best liked him in a doggie position with his ass in the air. At the bed’s edge I slammed in and out of him as his hands frantically played with his enormous uncut meat. From time to time I let my own hands slip down and between his thighs, where they would come away soaked from the precum leaking from his copious foreskin.

Alejandro could tell by my breathing when I was close to shooting. He responded by pressing his forehead against the mattress, as if he was attempting a headstand. His back arched. He seemed to watching me fucking him from underneath and upside down, as he beat his dick to a climax. We ended up shooting at the same time. I clenched and let loose only a split-second before he.

Alejandro’s load landed with a splat on the hotel bedspread. My dick slipped out of him. A moment later, my load slid from his well-fucked hole and dripped next to his own. So yes, gentlemen, when later this year or the next a news reporter investigates unusually large semen stains in a Stamford hotel in order to generate shock and horror ratings for the local stations, those will be mine, thank you very much.

We dressed fairly soon afterward, saying very little, and exchanging a quick kiss before I let him out into the hallway’s bright lights. We didn’t really need to speak, though. When in unison both of us had roared and groaned, then panted, and sighed, then at last we’d spoken the same language.