My beginnings of... the truth.

At the time of posting, only “the patio” plays, I press next... saved words “my darling”.... let’s change playlist... whatever you want... Bad Bunny... or the meteorite or Saint Peter... I’m doomed. Do you want me to cut my wrists before we start? Today I say… I’m going to write it properly. Calmly. With the periods where they belong. With the pauses it deserves. Because if I let it all out in one go, it becomes a mess, and I don’t want messes anymore. I want the air between one night and the next to be noticeable. For the breathing to be heard. For the weight of every decision to be felt.

Fifteen years ago. I was twenty-one. My name was Miguel.

Marcial was fifty. Gray at the temples, big hands, deep voice. That confidence of someone who has fucked a lot and knows exactly what he wants. Eliseo was the other one. The one who was already inside before I appeared. And I, a twenty-one-year-old dumbass, fell desperately in love with Marcial. Not Eliseo. Marcial. The one who looked at me as if he could eat me whole and still have hunger left over.

Before really letting me in, Marcial tested me.

He sat me on the sofa in his apartment one October night. The light was low. He looked at me steadily, without smiling.

“If you want to be with me,” he said, “you have to accept that Eliseo is here too. Sometimes both of us at once. Sometimes only him. Sometimes you. The love I offer isn’t exclusive. If you can’t handle it, you’d better leave now.”

I swallowed. My cock was hard just from hearing it, and my heart was tied in a knot.

“I can handle it,” I answered.

I lied. Or maybe I didn’t. At that moment I believed I could.

We started having threesomes.

The first time was in his big bed, dark sheets. Marcial in the middle. Eliseo on one side. Me on the other. Slow kisses at first. Exploring hands. Shared saliva. Then Eliseo mounted him on all fours. I knelt in front and put my cock in Marcial’s mouth while I watched him bounce. Each thrust from Eliseo pushed Marcial’s cock deeper into my throat. Marcial moaned with his mouth full of me. Eliseo panted against the back of his neck. I watched Eliseo’s cock go in and out, shiny, and felt an envy so thick it almost choked me. And still I kept sucking. Because he was mine. Because he had to be mine even if I shared the flesh.

Other nights the order changed.

Sometimes I stayed underneath. Eliseo fucked me slowly, deeply, while Marcial rode my face. I opened my mouth and received. The weight of both of them on top of me. The smell of sex. The wet sound of flesh against flesh. When Eliseo came inside me, Marcial climbed down and kissed my mouth tasting of his own semen. I swallowed everything. Because I loved him. Because possession and surrender had mixed inside me until they became the same thing.

There were nights when Eliseo took him to the bathroom.

I stayed in bed. I heard the knocks against ...