Copyright by Marathon Brad, 2026, permission given to Gay Demon to reprint this story. It may not be copied to another website without prior approval from the author.
Please feel free to share your comments, thoughts and/or ideas with me at [email protected]
A reader from South America trusted me with this story, sharing a deeply personal and passionate connection he once had with a young athletic soccer player. He asked me to re-tell the story, not just for him, but so others could feel it as well.
It had been two days since we returned from Medellín before Diego texted me again.
Neither of us had stopped thinking about those two nights together.
The memory of our last kiss stayed with me.
Pool tonight?
After a warm kiss everything felt fantastic again. Diego held me close, breathing slow, his hands gentle on my back.
I had been kissed by men before.
But never like that. Never by someone like him.
I pulled back just a little and looked at his face. His blond hair was dark with sweat. His green eyes were soft and satisfied. He had the beautiful face of a twenty-year-old athlete. He looked like a modern day Adonis. His hunger belonged to a young man who was just discovering what he truly wanted.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Yes," I said.
He looked into my eyes.
"I want you," he said. "I like being with you."
We climbed out of the pool together. He wrapped a towel around my shoulders. We sat close in the chairs with our knees touching, looking toward the blue pool lights.
I leaned my head on his shoulder.
Later Oliver came outside, sleepy, smiling, rubbing his eyes. I wondered how much Oliver had begun to notice.
"You two still swimming?" he asked.
Diego answered, his voice relaxed. "Just talking."
Oliver watched us for a moment.
"Seems like you two do a lot of that lately," he said.
Diego smiled.
"I know."
Oliver shrugged.
"Good."
He smiled again and went back inside.
Sometimes Diego texted me just one word.
Come.
And I always did.
We swam. We talked. We sat close. We shared private, passionate moments whenever we found ourselves alone.
One evening I walked alone to Lake Maracaibo. The wind touched my face and I thought about how I had first noticed Diego simply for his beautiful body and his athletic skills. That simple admiration had grown into something much deeper and more intense now.
My phone buzzed.
Pool tonight?
I smiled at the water.
Yes.
The weather in Cabimas was still hot. The city was still loud, filled with attractive, strong construction workers. And I was Javier, a quiet twenty-eight-year-old computer teacher who had fallen for the most beautiful, passionate, young soccer player I had ever seen.
A few days later I arrived at the pool after work and let myself in. I found Diego standing under the outdoor shower, completely naked, his extraordinary athletic body catching the last of the afternoon light. He stepped back into the full force of the spray and turned his face up into the water. A smirk rested on his lips.
He stood there like a masterpiece carved from bronze, as though the water itself had been made just to run over him.
I forgot to breathe.
No one had ever taken my breath away like this.
Water ran in silver lines down and around every muscle on him.
His abs were cut into six perfect, defined ridges, each one catching a bead of water before it slid lower.
His skin was that deep golden brown that came from a lifetime of training under the Venezuelan sun, and against it his body hair glowed softly in the fading light.
A soft trail led down from his navel. A light dusting crossed his pecs. Hair grew thicker and darker under his arms, visible now that he had lifted them over his head.
His cock hung heavy and thick, already beginning to stir from the warmth of the water and, I suspected, from knowing I was standing there watching him. His balls hung full, framed by that same dark trail of hair.
I swallowed hard.
My mind went straight back to Medellín. To that hotel room. To the exact feeling of him fucking me those two nights. My body already knew him by then. It knew the shape and weight of him from the pool before our trip. I remembered how easily I had opened for him, already trained to his size, already eager for him, and how that ease had only made everything feel more intense.
I remembered the sounds that had come out of me, low and desperate, telling him not to stop, telling him to take whatever he wanted from me. I remembered begging him to use me, to fuck me exactly as hard and as deep as his young body demanded.
He knew exactly what he was doing. He was giving me a show beneath the spray, and he wanted me to enjoy every second of it.
He raised his arms, lifting them above his head. The water traced every groove between his thick biceps and defined abs. He held the stretch. His blond armpit hair was beautiful when wet and dark. The warm masculine scent of him mixed with the soap and water made my mouth go dry. He took the bar of soap and worked up a rich lather in his palms, then spread the foam across his chest in long, wide circles that followed every muscle. His fingertips teased his own nipples and a moan escaped through his teeth. His eyes stayed closed. His lips curved in that knowing smirk.
His hands continued down his soccer body, over his narrow hips and the deep V of muscle pointing below his waist. Then, finally, one hand slid lower, wrapping around his swollen, hard cock. He stroked himself under the warm water, his head dropping back, a moan rolling up from his chest. His hips moved with it, a natural roll that was pure male pleasure.
I could not move.
I could not look away.
His other hand slid behind him, his fingers finding the cleft of his firm ass, pressing gently against his entrance with one slick fingertip. A sharp intake of breath. Then a deeper, intimate moan as he pressed inside himself, his stroking hand never breaking that slow rhythm on his very hard cock.
He worked his finger deeper, testing his own body the way he had tested mine so many times before. His hips rocked back onto his own hand like he could not help himself. A second finger joined the first, and he groaned, stretching himself open right there in front of me. His fingers slid in and out in a rhythm that matched the stroke of his other hand on his cock.
My eyes stayed fixed on him. Every inch of him was close enough to touch. His hole gripped his own fingers each time he pulled them almost all the way out before pushing back in deep, the muscle stretching and clenching in plain view, glistening under the water. His breathing grew heavier the deeper he went. His cock throbbed and leaked in his other hand every time his fingers curled inside himself just right, finding the same spot he always seemed to know exactly how to find.
"Caliente, Javier," he breathed, surprising me, eyes still closed, hips working steadily against his own hand. "I can feel you watching every second of this."
A slow smile spread across his face.
"Good," he said softly. "Keep looking."
He kept going, in and out, stretching himself wider with every pass. His moans grew louder, his thighs trembling with the effort of holding himself upright under the spray. Every second of it happened right there, impossible to look away from.
"You like watching me?" he said, his eyes opening just enough to find mine through the steam. "You have no idea what you do to me."
I wanted to answer, but the words would not come.
He smiled.
He was in complete control. He withdrew his fingers, presenting his powerful back muscles to me, the two perfect dimples above the firm, round curve of his athletic ass. He washed his shoulders, the white soap suds sliding down his sculpted body. He bent at the waist to soap his trained legs, those extraordinary soccer thighs, the strong calves, giving me a full view of his moist hole and everything else.
He took his time. Every second was meant for me.
When he finally rinsed, he ran a hand through his short blond hair and looked directly at me with those green eyes.
"Your turn," he said.
I did not hesitate.
I stripped quickly, letting my clothes fall to the tile, then moved toward him as if in a dream. The tiles were cool under my feet as I stepped into the shower stall. The hot spray hit my back immediately. The space between us was small, our bodies just inches apart. The scent of soap, clean male skin, and the warm heat of his body filled the air.
Diego's scent.
He did not touch me at first. He looked, his green eyes traveling from my face, down my throat, over my chest and stomach, to where my cock stood rigid against my body.
"I enjoyed watching you," I whispered.
"I know," he said. "Now I will watch you."
His own swollen, impressive erection hung between us, still hard and flushed and glistening.
His soft hands came up and held my face, his thumbs stroking my cheekbones. The confidence in his expression broke into something more urgent.
"Te deseo tanto, Javier," he breathed. "I want you so much."
His mouth found mine. This kiss was deep, his tongue exploring my mouth with heat that made my knees weak. My hands found his shoulders and held on tight. A moan built in my chest and moved into his mouth, and he answered it immediately with a deep, warm sound of his own. The two of us stayed close beneath the warm spray, unwilling to let go.
When Diego finally broke the kiss, he worked the bar between his palms and began to wash me. But this was not cleaning. This was worship. The devoted, hungry attention of a passionate young man giving his complete focus to my body.
He started at my neck, his fingers massaging the tense muscles with firmness, his thumbs pressing lightly into the hollow of my throat.
I closed my eyes.
There was nowhere else to put my attention, nothing else in the world but his hands and the warm water and the sound of my own breathing.
"You have the most beautiful eyes," he said quietly, his gaze steady on mine even as his hands kept working.
He moved to my shoulders, kneading deeply, his palms drifting across my chest. Every place he touched felt like the only place that had ever mattered. When his warm hands finally cupped my pecs, rubbing long, firm circles, a moan escaped me. He teased my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, slow circles that sent pure pleasure shooting straight through my entire body and to my cock. My knees buckled slightly, only his hands and the wall behind me keeping me upright.
"I love how soft your skin is," he murmured, his lips brushing my shoulder as he said it. I was trembling, a constant erotic sensation under his warm hands.
Diego worked his way downward, his palms sliding over my ribs and abs. Then he dropped to his knees on the tiled floor. He looked up at me, his expression focused and burning with intent.
My heart pounded against my ribs.
His hands glided over my thighs and up the insides, pushing them gently but firmly apart. His knuckles brushed close, making me shudder hard. He ignored my aching cock completely. The teasing made me whimper.
"Your body is perfect to me," he said.
I could not find the words.
I smiled instead.
Then his soapy hands gripped my hips and turned me toward the wall.
I braced my hands against the cool tiles. I was exposed and more aroused than I had ever been in my life. Behind me I could feel the warmth of his athletic body.
His hands slid over the curves of my ass with firm, appreciative care, the hands of a young man taking pleasure in every inch of what he touched. He leaned in and I felt the wetness of his tongue trace between my cheeks, a long, deeply intimate stroke that made me moan out against the tiles, a loud helpless moan. He did it again and again, his tongue rimming with patient, intense focus, his hands spreading my hole wide. Each wet, long stroke pulled another desperate moan from somewhere deep in my chest.
There was nothing to do but feel it, every slow pass of his tongue circling tighter, closer, until I could not tell where one stroke ended and the next began. Then one thick finger pressed against my entrance. He circled it first, teasing the rim, before pushing the first knuckle inside, then the second, working it in with pressure until I felt myself opening around him the way he had opened around his own fingers minutes before. I moaned long and loud and pushed back hard against his hand, wanting more of him, wanting all of him.
A second crooked finger joined the first, and he worked them both in slow, deliberate strokes, out almost to the tip and back in deep, stretching me wider with every pass. I could feel every inch of the stretch, every small give of my body around him, my hole clenching and releasing around his fingers as he found the deep place inside me that made my vision go white and my moans turn into broken, breathless cries. He kept going until I was shaking against the tiles, desperate for more than just his fingers.
"Are you ready for me?" he whispered from behind me.
"Yes," I said softly. "Please, Diego. Please."
He withdrew his fingers, stood up, and positioned his body directly behind me. The blunt head of his thick young cock pressed firmly against my hole, urgent and burning with passion. He placed one hand flat on my back and pushed forward in one driving stroke.
He filled me completely.
Stretching.
Penetrating.
Buried deep.
I cried out before I could stop myself.
His chest was warmed against my back.
One hand spread across my stomach. The other braced against the wall.
"Mío," he breathed into my ear, his teeth grazing the lobe. "You are mine."
The words sent a shiver through me.
He began to move.
Slow at first, withdrawing almost completely, then thrusting back in with a deep, grinding roll of his soccer hips. The angle was deeper and more intense than in the pool or the hotel room. Every drive found the place inside me that sent sparks shooting up my spine and pulled moans from my throat that I could not control and did not try to. The water made our skin slippery, and every movement felt so good.
Behind me I could feel every part of him working, the flex of his thighs driving forward, the tight clench of his ass as he drew back before each thrust, muscle and water moving together in one long, powerful line. His hard stomach pressed against my lower back with every drive, tightening and releasing with each roll of his hips.
He picked up his pace, his athletic hips snapping forward, thrusting into me with a force that pressed me hard against the cool tiles. The wet sound of our bodies together, the sound of the shower, and the steady stream of my moans filled the small area around us. His hand slid down from my stomach and wrapped around my cock, stroking me perfectly with every movement.
Steam curled around us, the water streaming down both our bodies as he moved inside me.
I reached back once, just to feel him, my palm finding the curve of his ass as it flexed under my hand with every thrust, hard and round and exactly as beautiful to touch as it had been to look at minutes before under the water.
I was completely lost. My body was no longer my own. It belonged entirely to him, this hungry young athlete who had decided from the very first night that he was going to have me whenever he wanted, and had pursued me with the relentless seduction of an athlete who never stopped until he won.
"I want you to look at me," he said.
With his quiet strength that always astonished me, he turned me in his arms. I was facing him as water streamed over both our faces. He looked at me with desperate intensity, his eyes locked on mine, burning with the passion and desire of a twenty-year-old.
I could not look away.
Then he hooked his hands under my thighs, lifting me. I wrapped my legs around his waist. He pinned me against the wall, supported entirely by the tiles and his own athletic strength, and drove up into me with short, hard, perfect thrusts that had me moaning continuously, loudly, without shame. Every thrust came from deep in his hips, his ass flexing tight with each drive, his thighs straining beneath me as he held my full weight and still found the strength to fuck me harder with every stroke. I could feel every ridge of muscle in his stomach against mine, his whole body working in perfect rhythm, like nothing existed for him now except getting deeper inside me.
I saw everything now, everything I had only glimpsed before under the spray. The strain in his neck. The clench of his jaw. The hunger in his face. Water ran over his shoulders and down his chest as every thrust drove deeper inside me. His cock, buried inside me, was the same thick length I had watched beneath the shower. Knowing that made every drive feel even more overwhelming, like I was finally being filled by the body I had just worshipped with my eyes.
It was one of the most intimate, overwhelming moments of my entire life.
"Javier... mi cielo... I am..."
"Me too..."
Diego pinned me deeper into the wall with the momentum of every fast thrust, his eyes locked on mine, watching my face. "I am going to cum," I gasped, barely able to get the words out. "Diego, I am going to cum."
I felt the pressure building low and deep before I could stop it, every nerve in my body pulled stiff, the weight of him inside me and the pull of his hand on my cock was too much to hold back any longer. My whole body tensed, every muscle locking at once, and then the wave broke. I came hard, head thrown back, a loud cry tearing out of me that I did not try to contain, my release spilling in long, thick pulses that painted both our stomachs and ran down between us, every wave wrung out of me by the relentless drive of his hips.
The deep clenching of my body around him was the final trigger he needed. I felt him swell harder inside me right as his rhythm broke, his hips losing their perfect control, his breath catching hard against my ear.
"My turn," he groaned against my neck. "I am going to cum inside you, Javier. I am going to shoot my whole load in you."
With a deep, moaning shout that echoed off the shower tiles, he drove into me one final time and held there, buried to the base, his entire athletic body shuddering above mine. I felt every second of it, his hips making small, desperate movements as the first hot pulse hit deep inside me. Then another, then another, each one drawn out and heavy, filling me completely.
I felt every single pulse. Every hot, white surge, one after another as his whole body finally went still, his forehead dropping against mine. Both of us still trembling. Both of us completely spent.
We stayed locked together beneath the warm spray, holding each other without saying a word.
He eased me back to my feet, pulled me close and kissed me softly, our hearts still pounding hard against each other's chests.
There was a softness in his eyes that I had never seen before. This was Diego without the performance. Without the smirk. Without the carefully arranged show. Just a beautiful, horny twenty-year-old athlete standing naked under a warm shower, looking at me like I was the only thing in Cabimas that truly mattered to him.
He lifted his hand and pushed the wet hair from my forehead.
"You know what this is," he said. It was not a question.
My chest tightened. "Yes," I said. "I know."
This was not just desire. This was not just the heat of Cabimas or the blue glow of the pool or the hunger of a twenty-year-old soccer player who had chosen me for reasons I still did not completely understand.
This was something deeper.
Standing there under the warm water with Diego's arms wrapped around me, I decided I was never going to apologize for a single moment of it.
We dried off slowly, in no hurry to cover up what we had just given each other. Diego stood there a moment longer than he needed to, running the towel loosely over his chest. His body still glistened faintly under the patio lights, water clinging to the trail of hair below his navel, his cock resting heavy and spent against his thigh. I let myself look at him fully one more time, every inch of him, the six-pack that had caught the last of the afternoon sun, the thick length that had just filled me completely, the powerful thighs that had carried him through every thrust. I wanted to memorize all of it, every line and shadow and muscle. Some part of me already understood that a body like his was not something I could keep forever, only something I was allowed to have for as long as he wanted to give it.
We sat close together in the warm night air, our shoulders touching, our fingers brushing in the dark. The pool lights glowed blue and steady. The city of Cabimas hummed around us, hot and loud and oblivious to two men sitting quietly beside the water.
Diego's phone buzzed on the table.
He ignored it.
He looked at me instead, that slow, satisfied smile back on his beautiful face, and placed his warm hand over mine.
"You are so handsome, Javier," he said softly, just for the two of us to hear. "Same time tomorrow?"
I looked at the blue water. I thought about the hot streets of Cabimas and the silver shine of Lake Maracaibo and the quiet, ordinary days I had lived before the evening Oliver walked through my door with his younger cousin.
I thought about how one person can change my life without even trying.
I smiled.
"I will be here," I said.
And for now, just for now, that was exactly how we wanted it.
Author is Brad
My email is [email protected] and I would love to hear your thoughts.
I love getting men excited, whether it is through my writing, watching me grind out reps in skin-tight gear at the gym, showing off online, or moving my body on a stage.
I will stay hard for you in every way that matters.
Thank you, Javier. Your experiences were a pleasure to share with my readers.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
