Christmas Eve with Manolo

Two years ago, the night before Christmas Eve, I was in my flat preparing the next day's dinner when the doorbell rang. It was Manolo, my neighbor from the fourth floor, a 71-year-old man with gray hair, light eyes, a bit of a beer belly, and hair just where it belongs. He had come to bring me a Manchego cheese and a reserve bottle, “so you can toast to my health.”

We opened the bottle, I cut the cheese, and we chatted for a good while. Between glasses, Manolo confessed to me what I had been suspecting for months. He had noticed how I looked at him in the elevator, and he wanted it too. We were silent for a moment, and then he proposed a game.

“Tonight you’re in charge,” he told me. “I’ll let you do things to me, but on one condition. If I say ‘nougat,’ we stop dead. Deal?”

“Deal,” I answered, and I shook his hand like someone signing a contract.

I took him to the bedroom. I slowly unbuttoned his red-and-black plaid trucker shirt, and then I pulled off his white undershirt. His chest appeared, full of gray hair. He smiled, unhurried, and let me do it. I took off his belt, lowered his zipper, and pulled off his brown pants. With the last pull, his shoes came off, and he was left in his light gray socks with white stripes and white toe and heel, which drove me crazy, and white boxers with little black dots.

“Do I keep going?” I asked him.

“Keep going, that’s what we made the deal for.”

I took off his boxers and left him with only the socks on. I undressed and lay down beside him. I hugged him, kissed his chest, and moved my hand down to his cock. At first it was hard for him to wake up, because of his age and the wine, but Manolo guided me with his hand on my nape and told me, “like that, kid, like that.” I sucked him off slowly, patiently, until I had it completely hard, while he writhed with pleasure and stroked my hair.

When I noticed he was close, I stopped and looked at him.

“Now you’re going to wait until I tell you,” I said.

He let out a hoarse laugh.

“You’re in charge.”

I kept him like that for a while, playing with him, bringing him close and stopping him, until he begged me. Then I put it back in my mouth, and this time I didn’t stop. Manolo came with a long moan, gripping the sheets. Then he laid me on my back and returned the favor with a slow, affectionate blowjob, until I finished too.

We stayed embraced, sweaty, with the socks still on. In the distance, Christmas carols could be heard from the neighbor downstairs.

“You know the best part?” he told me before falling asleep on my chest. “That tomorrow at dinner I’ll be sitting across from you, and only we will know why we’re smiling.”

Since then, every December 23rd the doorbell rings at the same time. He brings the cheese and I provide the wine.