As I lay on the worn couch in my small Venezuela apartment, surrounded by porn magazines and DVDs, I couldn’t help but crave a hard dick between my legs. The camera crew had long left, but their lingering gaze still burned within me. The rich cameraman’s parting question – “How many cocks have you sucked?” – echoed through my mind like a provocative mantra.
I closed my eyes, recalling the countless blowjobs I’d given and received in seedy backrooms and cramped hotel rooms. Each suck, each stroke, etched itself into my memory like a brand on my skin. My cock twitched at the recollection of rough, urgent oral sex in the dead of night, and the gentle, tender licks of morning lovers.
Suddenly, the door burst open, and a stranger stumbled in – his eyes fixed on my throbbing member. His name was Carlos, a burly Venezuelan man with a thick beard and an insatiable appetite for cock. He dropped to his knees, his rough hands wrapping around my shaft like a vice. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and sex as he sucked me deep into his warm mouth.
I felt myself being pulled under by the whirlpool of desire, my fingers tangling in Carlos’s hair as I pumped his head up and down my dick. His cock, long and uncut, bobbed against my stomach, a reminder that this was a two-way street – one of mutual pleasure and raw, animalistic need.
In that moment, our bodies merged into a single, pulsing entity, driven by the primal urge to fuck and be fucked. The world outside receded, leaving only the sound of grunts, gasps, and the wet slap of skin on skin. We were two men, lost in the unbridled passion of the present – our cocks, our mouths, our bodies, all consumed by the primal force that united us as gay men: the raw, unrelenting hunger for sex.
