Zac Baker

If there’s two of them, or maybe it’s three? If there’s three of them, and you didn’t catch all the faces yet, you just get a sense of muscle, and they start spitting at your hole and pulling you open on their fingertips…there’s a point, with your ass in the air like this, that you’d have to admit it’s…exposing.

Sweat glistens off his body. Arms and chest. Forehead and face. But you know what I mean when I say he is hot, this man.

It’s a street bar. The lights are so bright you could land a plane by them. And so the fact that Tiago has had his hand round my cock out in the bar for the last thirty minutes, well, it has become known. Not saying we’ve had an audience, but…OK, we had an audience.

Oh yes, Ruben is muscled, with strong shoulders and a narrow waist that speak of a lifetime in the gym, though with a thin layer of fat than humanises him and brings him down to my level.

He unfolds himself from behind the hostel reception desk at half the speed of a regular human. And then I see why he needs to save energy. His smile. He smiles like the shine of sun off gold.

And at night he lies in the blue hot shade of midnight, the window open and the party sounds of Rio night drifting in on the breeze.

Giving me more than I ever had at one moment. Kicking me higher to a new tier. I never knew, until I knew, that I had so much to learn.

And out onto the sand, so we might disappear into shadows, the bright lights of the seafront a white neon stripe in the distance. On his back then, in the sand, my weight pressing him down, my lips at his mouth, exploring him. Tasting him. I smooth his hair away from his eyes and catch the moonlight glittering there.