Part One here: http://www.poringa.net/posts/gay/2143631/El-pendejo_-parte-1-_historia-gay_-todos-_-de-18_.html
Part Two here: http://www.poringa.net/posts/gay/2145441/El-pendejo_-parte-2-_historia-gay_-todos-_-de-18_.htmlAs always, the story is fictional, characters are invented, any similarity with reality is mere coincidence, all involved parties are over 18 years old, etc.
Franco got out of the pool, shaking his hair a bit to get rid of the water, and was surprised by the silence reigning, interrupted only by the monotonous hum of the pumps. Practicing the butterfly style –which never came out as well for him as he wanted it to– time had flown by, and the clock hanging over the platforms already marked 9:30 pm, while all the others –including the coach– had been gone for a while.
He liked training alone for a bit, but he had stayed too long; formal training ended at 8:30 pm, and he normally left around 9. The caretaker should have closed the pool by 9:30 pm, he thought as he put on his flip-flops and grabbed his towel; in fact, on his way to the showers, he crossed paths with the guy, who looked at him with a grumpy face but didn't say anything.
He showered quickly, although he took advantage of not having anyone to wash off the algae. The club was open until 10 pm and it seemed there was no one left; the showers were as deserted as the pool, the silence interrupted only by the sound of water falling into a shower that, as always, some guy had left open.
Once bathed, dried, and with his towel around his waist, he walked to the locker room, which was already half in shadows, with half the lights turned off. He was a bit cold; he thought they must be turning down the heating.
His locker was near a corner of the locker room, at the back; when he got there, he realized he wasn't alone; when he saw him sitting on the bench, his back to him, and wearing only a minimum white short, he got a scare.Hey Chin!The other one turned around and, upon seeing him, stopped, intentionally showing off his boxer's physique. He wasn't very tall –he didn't exceed 5 feet 7 inches– but was very muscular, though not overly defined, rather solid. Each of his arms was like Franco's.
In the absolute silence of the locker room, he could hear him breathing; he listened to every step he took, not too slow but not too fast either, as if imposing presence, towards him, his eyes –those slanted and black eyes that always had a malignant expression– fixed on him.
He grabbed his arm and pulled him, dragging him to the farthest corner, and pushed him against the metal lockers. Franco complained slightly from the pain of hitting the cold metal doors and slid down to the bench, knowing he was lost.
Chino's expression changed from disdain to something like hunger. Chino grabbed something from above the bench; Franco saw it was a black karate belt. With the belt in hand, he went towards him, grabbed his hair, forcing him to tilt his head forward, and tied him up so that it covered his eyes.
Franco felt his towel being ripped off, followed by Chino's agitated, anxious breathing in the lower part of his stomach, then a slow, humid trail on his most intimate area, only to be enveloped by that humid, anxious heat. Then he was wrapped, devoured by that hot, anxious sensation.
Franco no longer knew what was happening. He was vaguely aware that at one point Chino put a condom on and penetrated him, before shaking with an orgasm that also caused his own, a sudden torrent of pleasure that quickly disappeared to make way for an unpleasant feeling.
As always, Chino undressed as if it burned him, got dressed, and left before he could react, leaving him alone in the increasingly cold locker room. Disgusted, he walked back to the showers, and under the water, he cried.– Franco.FRANCO!–Marcos got him out of his thoughts. –Huh? What? –Franco came back to himself with a slight shudder. –Is anything wrong? You've been acting strange since we left the minimarket. –No, nothing's wrong, I was just thinking –he replied without sounding very convincing, but Marcos believed him. –Ah, come on, you're thinking? –Marcos laughed. –Idiot –Franco pushed him with his shoulder–. Well, what else do we have to do? –We still need to get the glasses, serve the Coke... and then the beer afterwards, right? –As always. Franco searched for two tall glasses in the cabinet and served. While he was doing it, Marcos mentioned that they were missing fernet. –Ugh! Fernet! –Franco said with a face of disgust–. I don't know why everyone likes it, it's horrible and bitter, and the smell makes me want to gag. –I don't know, with Coke it's fine, but fernet alone, no way. Once I had a stomachache and they gave me fernet alone, forget about it... never again. Franco shuddered at the mere idea of having to drink fernet alone. –You can imagine, in Germany they have a competition for who drinks the most beer... if we were there, you'd be the one who drinks the most fernet. –Alone? –Marcos raised his eyebrows–. Like an epicure in a little while... pass me that tray. A few minutes later, enough junk food to feed four people decorated Marcos' desk, and he was taking out a fried potato every time he walked by, arranging things so they could sit down. Franco appeared with one of the kitchen chairs on his shoulder. –Well, let's eat... –he said–. Although you're already eating... –And good luck to the potatoes, almost as if I can hear them whispering “Marcos... Maaaaaarrrrcoooosss...” –Go ahead, jerk... –Franco laughed–. Pass me the Coke. The food and Coke disappeared, making way for Play and beer. The gaming sessions were always the same: Marcos, who spent hours playing, won by cheating in everything except racing games, where Franco seemed to have a natural instinct. He only played once a week. How much, and I didn't know how to handle in real life, something that Marcos remembered later after his third consecutive defeat. You, when are you going to learn how to handle? he asked. I would like to, but my old man doesn't want to teach me because he says I'll want him to lend me the car and see how it is... at any moment he sends my mom to sleep on the sofa and puts the car in the room. What about a driving school? It's the same, it's not that he doesn't want to teach me, it's just that he won't lend me the car... Franco looked up at the ceiling with a resigned expression. I get along well with your old man, but honestly, what a button, I do. Salty. Besides, even if I were going to ask for the car, in any case I would be driving once every thousand years on my mom's coffee table... Hold up, I wish I had my mom's coffee table said Marcos. She doesn't step on it, but that Citroën of hers walks around even though it's 15 years old. In theory yes, it runs, but my mom thinks she'll never pass her driver's test in real life... well you've seen her with it, you know said Franco. We hadn't met yet, but once when she had just bought the Citroën, the first day she came to pick me up from school arrived like 30 minutes late and then ta, school isn't that far from home... Pa, salty, you get there in 10 minutes from your house... now it takes an hour to get there but that's already extreme. Well, do I try to win you over or are you fed up? Go ahead, put it on and let's play one last race. Franco won for the fourth time by cheating. You're very rough with the controls said Franco. This isn't a 'kill' game, you're moving at 300 kilometers per hour, just make gentle touches on the controls. 'First-person shooters' are what they call it... corrected Marcos. GeekHe laughed, Franco.Geekyour grandma... –I wish she was here, imagine my grandma with Halo instead of comedy... –Pa, your grandma with Xbox, between that and the food she makes, I'd take the Play thing and move in with her, come on, try to convince her to play. Franco laughed. –Dumbass –he said. –How do you like saying dumbass to me, but you still love me. –You think so... –But shut up, if I'm adorable –the other one said laughing–. Look at me, I'm not tender... Marcos got up and hugged him; Franco was still sitting down. –Get out, don't joke... –Franco said between laughs. Marcos lifted him by the arm and hugged him harder; Franco struggled to free himself but only managed to hit his ankle against the chair –that hurt– and move both of them around the room, causing more laughter from both. –Let me goooo...! –You let me go! –Marcos replied, sticking out his tongue. –Bullshit, we're going to fall...! And that's what happened. They fell sideways across Marcos' bed, with half their bodies hanging off the edge, but the fall was cushioned. –Help! They're going to rape me! –Franco shouted without stopping laughing while struggling to free himself. The struggle gradually subsided and eventually stopped, but they remained lying on the bed, Franco halfway up Marcos' body, who held him against him. The smell of Marcos' deodorant mixed with his own, a particular aroma he knew well but had never felt so close. He stopped struggling: instead, he snuggled up a bit against his friend and rested his freshly shaved cheek against his slightly rougher one... –Marcos...? –What?...Part Four here: http://www.poringa.net/posts/gay/2303934/El-pendejo-parte-4-historia-gay-todos-de-18.html
Part Two here: http://www.poringa.net/posts/gay/2145441/El-pendejo_-parte-2-_historia-gay_-todos-_-de-18_.htmlAs always, the story is fictional, characters are invented, any similarity with reality is mere coincidence, all involved parties are over 18 years old, etc.
Three
Franco got out of the pool, shaking his hair a bit to get rid of the water, and was surprised by the silence reigning, interrupted only by the monotonous hum of the pumps. Practicing the butterfly style –which never came out as well for him as he wanted it to– time had flown by, and the clock hanging over the platforms already marked 9:30 pm, while all the others –including the coach– had been gone for a while.
He liked training alone for a bit, but he had stayed too long; formal training ended at 8:30 pm, and he normally left around 9. The caretaker should have closed the pool by 9:30 pm, he thought as he put on his flip-flops and grabbed his towel; in fact, on his way to the showers, he crossed paths with the guy, who looked at him with a grumpy face but didn't say anything.
He showered quickly, although he took advantage of not having anyone to wash off the algae. The club was open until 10 pm and it seemed there was no one left; the showers were as deserted as the pool, the silence interrupted only by the sound of water falling into a shower that, as always, some guy had left open.
Once bathed, dried, and with his towel around his waist, he walked to the locker room, which was already half in shadows, with half the lights turned off. He was a bit cold; he thought they must be turning down the heating.
His locker was near a corner of the locker room, at the back; when he got there, he realized he wasn't alone; when he saw him sitting on the bench, his back to him, and wearing only a minimum white short, he got a scare.Hey Chin!The other one turned around and, upon seeing him, stopped, intentionally showing off his boxer's physique. He wasn't very tall –he didn't exceed 5 feet 7 inches– but was very muscular, though not overly defined, rather solid. Each of his arms was like Franco's.
In the absolute silence of the locker room, he could hear him breathing; he listened to every step he took, not too slow but not too fast either, as if imposing presence, towards him, his eyes –those slanted and black eyes that always had a malignant expression– fixed on him.
He grabbed his arm and pulled him, dragging him to the farthest corner, and pushed him against the metal lockers. Franco complained slightly from the pain of hitting the cold metal doors and slid down to the bench, knowing he was lost.
Chino's expression changed from disdain to something like hunger. Chino grabbed something from above the bench; Franco saw it was a black karate belt. With the belt in hand, he went towards him, grabbed his hair, forcing him to tilt his head forward, and tied him up so that it covered his eyes.
Franco felt his towel being ripped off, followed by Chino's agitated, anxious breathing in the lower part of his stomach, then a slow, humid trail on his most intimate area, only to be enveloped by that humid, anxious heat. Then he was wrapped, devoured by that hot, anxious sensation.
Franco no longer knew what was happening. He was vaguely aware that at one point Chino put a condom on and penetrated him, before shaking with an orgasm that also caused his own, a sudden torrent of pleasure that quickly disappeared to make way for an unpleasant feeling.
As always, Chino undressed as if it burned him, got dressed, and left before he could react, leaving him alone in the increasingly cold locker room. Disgusted, he walked back to the showers, and under the water, he cried.– Franco.FRANCO!–Marcos got him out of his thoughts. –Huh? What? –Franco came back to himself with a slight shudder. –Is anything wrong? You've been acting strange since we left the minimarket. –No, nothing's wrong, I was just thinking –he replied without sounding very convincing, but Marcos believed him. –Ah, come on, you're thinking? –Marcos laughed. –Idiot –Franco pushed him with his shoulder–. Well, what else do we have to do? –We still need to get the glasses, serve the Coke... and then the beer afterwards, right? –As always. Franco searched for two tall glasses in the cabinet and served. While he was doing it, Marcos mentioned that they were missing fernet. –Ugh! Fernet! –Franco said with a face of disgust–. I don't know why everyone likes it, it's horrible and bitter, and the smell makes me want to gag. –I don't know, with Coke it's fine, but fernet alone, no way. Once I had a stomachache and they gave me fernet alone, forget about it... never again. Franco shuddered at the mere idea of having to drink fernet alone. –You can imagine, in Germany they have a competition for who drinks the most beer... if we were there, you'd be the one who drinks the most fernet. –Alone? –Marcos raised his eyebrows–. Like an epicure in a little while... pass me that tray. A few minutes later, enough junk food to feed four people decorated Marcos' desk, and he was taking out a fried potato every time he walked by, arranging things so they could sit down. Franco appeared with one of the kitchen chairs on his shoulder. –Well, let's eat... –he said–. Although you're already eating... –And good luck to the potatoes, almost as if I can hear them whispering “Marcos... Maaaaaarrrrcoooosss...” –Go ahead, jerk... –Franco laughed–. Pass me the Coke. The food and Coke disappeared, making way for Play and beer. The gaming sessions were always the same: Marcos, who spent hours playing, won by cheating in everything except racing games, where Franco seemed to have a natural instinct. He only played once a week. How much, and I didn't know how to handle in real life, something that Marcos remembered later after his third consecutive defeat. You, when are you going to learn how to handle? he asked. I would like to, but my old man doesn't want to teach me because he says I'll want him to lend me the car and see how it is... at any moment he sends my mom to sleep on the sofa and puts the car in the room. What about a driving school? It's the same, it's not that he doesn't want to teach me, it's just that he won't lend me the car... Franco looked up at the ceiling with a resigned expression. I get along well with your old man, but honestly, what a button, I do. Salty. Besides, even if I were going to ask for the car, in any case I would be driving once every thousand years on my mom's coffee table... Hold up, I wish I had my mom's coffee table said Marcos. She doesn't step on it, but that Citroën of hers walks around even though it's 15 years old. In theory yes, it runs, but my mom thinks she'll never pass her driver's test in real life... well you've seen her with it, you know said Franco. We hadn't met yet, but once when she had just bought the Citroën, the first day she came to pick me up from school arrived like 30 minutes late and then ta, school isn't that far from home... Pa, salty, you get there in 10 minutes from your house... now it takes an hour to get there but that's already extreme. Well, do I try to win you over or are you fed up? Go ahead, put it on and let's play one last race. Franco won for the fourth time by cheating. You're very rough with the controls said Franco. This isn't a 'kill' game, you're moving at 300 kilometers per hour, just make gentle touches on the controls. 'First-person shooters' are what they call it... corrected Marcos. GeekHe laughed, Franco.Geekyour grandma... –I wish she was here, imagine my grandma with Halo instead of comedy... –Pa, your grandma with Xbox, between that and the food she makes, I'd take the Play thing and move in with her, come on, try to convince her to play. Franco laughed. –Dumbass –he said. –How do you like saying dumbass to me, but you still love me. –You think so... –But shut up, if I'm adorable –the other one said laughing–. Look at me, I'm not tender... Marcos got up and hugged him; Franco was still sitting down. –Get out, don't joke... –Franco said between laughs. Marcos lifted him by the arm and hugged him harder; Franco struggled to free himself but only managed to hit his ankle against the chair –that hurt– and move both of them around the room, causing more laughter from both. –Let me goooo...! –You let me go! –Marcos replied, sticking out his tongue. –Bullshit, we're going to fall...! And that's what happened. They fell sideways across Marcos' bed, with half their bodies hanging off the edge, but the fall was cushioned. –Help! They're going to rape me! –Franco shouted without stopping laughing while struggling to free himself. The struggle gradually subsided and eventually stopped, but they remained lying on the bed, Franco halfway up Marcos' body, who held him against him. The smell of Marcos' deodorant mixed with his own, a particular aroma he knew well but had never felt so close. He stopped struggling: instead, he snuggled up a bit against his friend and rested his freshly shaved cheek against his slightly rougher one... –Marcos...? –What?...Part Four here: http://www.poringa.net/posts/gay/2303934/El-pendejo-parte-4-historia-gay-todos-de-18.html
8 comentários - El pendejo, parte 3 (historia gay, todos + de 18)
creo que ya es demasiado! 😞
😀 😀 espero la proxima!
Comparto la opinion de @alvarion
No nos dejes con la intriga de lo que paso!!!