For a friend

I'll wait for you at Plaza San Martin, the one in front of Retiro. I felt as impatient as if I had 15 years old and it was my party. But it was yours. Honestly, I don't know if you just arrived from wherever you live (you still didn't tell me where) or if it's a good neutral place where we could meet. But if we're being honest, you also didn't tell me if you were single, committed or married and that didn't matter to me.

I was sitting on a bench near the monument to those who died in Malvinas, with the beautiful view that elevation offers of the formerly called Tower of the English, waiting for you trembling like an autumn leaf. I still remember feeling your perfume before your voice: that smell of man that I can't describe but will identify even in my tomb (I swear I got wet just smelling it).

You greeted me as if we weren't familiar with each other and grabbed my hand as if I were your girlfriend. But your lips on mine, warm and fleshy, disarmed me and I couldn't think anymore.

You took me to where you wanted (I still don't know what hotel we went to), even inside I didn't know how it was. Without letting go of my hand, you took me to a room that I'm incapable of describing and undressed me. Nobody could ever say I wasn't yours for one second during that afternoon.

Your smile made me feel more confident than ever, and your hands explored where I liked most. Your teeth played with my ears while your hands explored between my legs. When you gently grabbed my hair and turned me around, I knew I was completely and irremediably yours since the first of your stories I read.

Gently pushed me onto the bed making me kneel, to have my Booty at the height of your cock, to present it but not give me the pleasure. No, you weren't going to give it to me that easily.

Instead, you leaned over me to whisper things in my ear. No, I won't reproduce them: I love my friends from Poronga boys, but what you... You said you wouldn't share it with anyone. Only you know what was necessary to say for my Booty to open like a flower. Because that's why we met at Plaza San Martin de Retiro: so you could do my Booty.

I've been reading you for years, and never until I started doing it did I think about giving up the ass. I thought it didn't involve any pleasure for the woman, only pain, and for the man it meant more a matter of morbo and domination than physical pleasure. But without knowing you, your words struck me in my sexuality, and curiosity got the better of me. I asked my boyfriend to do it, and after several unsuccessful attempts we asked him to do it again.

It was incredibly pleasurable, and quickly became my preferred way (the truth is that I prefer anal sex a thousand times more than vaginal) and we did it often. But even so, it can't be compared to what I felt when you did my Booty...

Dr., you didn't even get close to my clitoris. You didn't put your fingers in my vagina. You only used your own saliva as lubricant. And what can I complain about if that, added to your presence, was more than enough? My Booty opened immediately, like magic. All his stories came true between my moans and his smiles (because all those mirrors didn't let me lose myself).

The more fingers you put in, the more complete I felt: inevitably I had to beg you to penetrate me. Obvious, he didn't give me the pleasure. He said he had awakened his morbo, and we were going to keep playing. Luckily for me, his concept of playing involved him sucking my cock like it was the last one existing, very deep, until the throat; filling it with saliva, that thick and well-heated that comes from nowhere when I do a good deep throat, eating my testicles like they were the last chocolate ice cream on Earth, and letting me bite his breasts as if you were a giant hungry baby (you filled me with) moretones on my breasts, but I didn't realize it until much later, due to the contrast... better ending afterwards.) For that moment, what can I say? I had even wet thighs: a sailboat could have slid between my legs as soaked as I was. But you didn't want to take me there. You had traveled not yet knowing how many kilometers for my Booty. And it was about to happen. I'll never forget, Doctor, when he used his index and major fingers to join the moisture of my pussy and bring it to my ass to lubricate it well. Or the heat I felt when you spat yourself a cock, big, fat, and hard, so that it would fit better. Or when you presented it in my hungry ass, which immediately dilated upon feeling the temperature of your gland. Or how you only put your head in, so that my own desire, the hunger I had for your cock, stored for so many years, would make my body incline towards you, with a voracious appetite for cock, so that it could fill me up completely with that magnificent member, which now dignified my ass with its regal presence. The explosions didn't take long to arrive: slow at first, like everything expert, allowed me to enjoy the dilation of my well-opened ass slowly and quietly, while we found our own rhythm. But, luckily, you liked it enough for you to lose control in my Booty, and with each thrust you became more savage. I must admit that at some point I worried about a possible tear; your cock entered and left my open ass, giant, hard, without any compassion. But, why describe my screams, the indecible pleasure that overwhelmed me, the nullity of my thoughts, when you turned into a beast that took me and broke my ass, screaming obscenities and pulling my hair? To whom can I explain the urges I had to fill my ass with cum, to see it dripping from my vaginal lips, filling my entire ass with your precious semen? I can make someone understand that each of your thrusts meant an orgasm for me, that the tears that sprang to my eyes weren't from pain nor a hint of it, that I couldn't hold on even with my knees due to the amount of pleasure I was receiving from the magnificent cock's shaft splitting me in two like cheese...? I won't recount the rest; excuse me, friends, but it's a memory I'm too selfish to share, not even with you...