Twister and tequila: A bad combo for fragile masculinity

So, this past Thursday, my friend Carlos threw one of his infamous parties. You know the type—good music, a mix of old and new faces, and enough alcohol to sink a battleship. I’m still kinda new to this whole being-out thing, so these nights always feel a little electric to me, like I’m making up for a decade of lost time.

I was chilling with a beer, people-watching, when I spotted him. Marco. A guy I kinda knew from the gym. Total bro-type. Always there with his girlfriend, lifting heavy and grunting louder than necessary. The kind of guy who radiates that “no homo” energy so strong you could bottle it. He was there with his girl, looking every bit the straight, macho poster boy.

At some point, a group dragged out a Twister mat. You remember that game, right? A rainbow of colored circles and a whole lot of awkward limb-tangling. They decided to make it interesting: a shot of cheap tequila for every time you fell. A brutal, beautiful idea.

Marco and his girl jumped in, and so did I. What followed was the hottest, most confusing hour of my life. The spinner called out impossible positions—right hand on yellow, left foot on blue—and we all became a knot of sweating, laughing bodies. At one point, I was twisted under Marco, my back against his chest, his thick, denim-clad thigh wedged firmly between my legs. I could feel the heat coming off him. Then, another time, I was arched over him, my face inches from his, and I felt it: a solid, unmistakable hardness against my hip.

His dick was rock hard.

I glanced at his face. He was flushed, whether from the tequila or the game or something else, I couldn’t tell. But I started to notice a pattern. He’d “lose his balance” right after our little contacts, taking his shot with a grimace that looked a lot like frustration. He was drinking himself brave.

The game finally ended. I was buzzed and turned on in equal measure. I slipped away to the bathroom at the end of the hall, needing a minute to cool down. I’d just closed the door when I heard a heavy knock. I opened it, and there he was. Marco. His eyes were glassy from the tequila, his breathing was shallow.

He didn’t say a word. He just looked at me, that macho bravado completely gone, replaced by a raw, desperate need. He pushed his way into the bathroom, locked the door behind him, and his voice was a rough, broken whisper.

“Just… suck it. Please. Just suck my dick.”

A huge, uncontrollable smile spread across my face. Hours ago, this guy was the king of the macho men. Now he was begging me for a blowjob in a cramped party bathroom. I didn’t need to be asked twice. I dropped to my knees right there on the tile floor and fumbled with his belt and jeans. They practically fell down his thick, muscular thighs. And there it was. He wasn’t huge, but he was thick and hard as a rock, pulsing with need. I didn’t play around. I took him all the way into my mouth, deep-throating him like my life depended on it.

He gasped, his hands flying to the sides of the sink for support. His hips started to buck involuntarily, fucking my face. I worked him with my mouth and hand, using all the tricks I knew, and it didn’t take long. With a choked, guttural moan that sounded nothing like his gym grunts, he came, shooting his load down my throat. I swallowed every last drop.

He was panting, leaning heavily against the sink, completely spent. But I was far from done. The tequila and the power surge had me feeling bold. I stood up, pulled a condom and a little packet of lube from my pocket (always be prepared, boys), and spun him around so he was facing the toilet.

“What the fuck—” he started, but it was a weak protest.

“Shhh,” I whispered, squeezing lube onto my fingers. “You wanted this.” I worked a finger into his tight, virgin ass. He was so tight, but he was also drunk and pliant. He groaned, a mix of pain and shock. I didn’t give him time to think. I rolled the condom on, added more lube, and pressed the head of my cock against his hole.

He tensed up. “No, man, wait—”

I didn’t wait. I pushed with everything I had. There was a moment of intense pressure, and then my head popped past his ring and my entire length slid deep inside him in one smooth, brutal thrust. He cried out, a high-pitched, girlish whimper that was the hottest thing I’d ever heard. I grabbed his hips and started fucking him, hard and fast, my balls slapping against his ass. The whole bathroom was filled with the sound of skin slapping and his helpless, shameful little moans. He came again, untouched, all over the toilet seat just as I filled the condom inside him.

I pulled out, cleaned up fast, and watched him. He scrambled to pull his pants up, his hands shaking, not looking me in the eye. He looked terrified. He unlocked the door and practically ran out, straight back into the living room and into the waiting arms of his oblivious girlfriend.

He looked completely horrified and ashamed. But I knew the truth. I could still hear his girly moans echoing in my ears. That macho man had loved every single second of it.