I Had a Magical Foursome My First Night Out in Puerto Vallarta. It Led to the Best 'Boyslut' Photo Ever Taken.
I am absolutely obsessed with that little gay paradise and all the men who frequent it.
As you all know, I was recently in Puerto Vallarta. If you are someone who vacations in the gorgeous city, PLEASE hit me up and take me with you. I put out for free room and board…
Anywho, here’s the story of this—dare I say—iconic photo (and the orgy behind it), which, yes, happened while I was in PV, vacationing with VACAYA.
I was in Puerto Vallarta fucking my way through the men at the resort that I hadn’t yet hit up the gay clubs in Zona Romántica, the LGBTQ quarter downtown. And the nightlife is why the gay boys flock to PV. While the sunsets over the Pacific Ocean look like an impressionist oil painting, the scent of carnitas street tacos makes you drool like when Homer sees a donut, and you can stockpile (fun) drugs that require a prescription in the United States, you can do that anywhere in Mexico. What makes PV special, at least for the Gays™, are the clubs—specifically, the men who attend the clubs.
My first night out in town was with a few friends I had made at VACAYA, including Sebastian (OnlyFans), one of the most beautiful men I had ever seen. He looks like Tarzan’s sexier, younger, slightly more effeminate brother. His pearly whites glistened whenever he smiled, and his eyes perpetually had a twinkle in them. And Seba was a professional at eye contact. He wouldn’t look away, so whenever you spoke to him, you felt very seen (literally). I was obsessed with him the moment I laid eyes on him. (But let’s pretend I didn’t say that because we are friends, and I want to have sex with him again, and he’s going to read this.)
But he was one of the seven VACAYA men on our evening out. My friend Aria joined me on the trip, and I could not tell you the number of times I whispered in her ear, “If I don’t get to make out with Sebastian, I am going to burn this entire city down to the ground and kill myself.”
I was kidding…I think. Luckily, I made my move at STUDS, PV’s leather bar with a vibe similar to NYC’s The Eagle, and Seba didn’t reject me. (So I threw out my matches in my back pocket.)
A naked yoga teacher who reads poetry and the works of famous philosophers, Seba didn’t kiss with haste. He kissed with purpose. We weren’t mirroring the burly bears surrounding us, prodding their tongues down their lovers’ throats. No shade, I love a sloppy, open-mouthed makeout session—but this wasn’t that. This felt less lustful and more meaningful.
We kissed for nearly half an hour. At times, we’d take breaks, but then, I’d want more of him. I’d want his tight body pressed against mine. I’d want my hand under his shorts over his jock, squeezing his perky behind. I’d want him to kiss me the same way a WWII sailor kisses his wife upon returning from Iwo Jima.
My dick ached under my pleather jorts. (You know the ones.) But it felt rude to whip it out. This was an intentional makeout session, after all. But when I adjusted my cock upward, accidentally revealing its head, Seba made the first move. He rubbed my head with the palm of his hand and unzipped me. He squatted down, opened his mouth wide, and took all of me. I grabbed a tress of his curly hair as he sucked. I didn’t think it was possible to give a “meaningful” blowjob while the stench of body odor and ass permeated the air, but Seba managed.
I had him stop as I would close to shooting my load all over the dance floor. I suggested we head somewhere else. This was just the first stop of the evening, and I wanted to hit up as many gay clubs as possible.
Next, we stopped at Industry, a club that plays top 40 remixes. The boys were shirtless, and the trans girls looked like Spanish Barbie Dolls with breasts so large it was a miracle they stood upright. I built up the courage to flirt with one of the girls, whose sharp wingtips shouted, “Don’t fuck with me.” She had absolutely zero interest in me. As for the rest of the boys? Their eyes turned as I danced.
My new Venezuelan friend and lover, Jorge, explained how so many gay Latinos grew up watching American television. Their first crushes were on white Hollywood boys who looked like me. Many of them still desire white men.
While I loved the attention, I had eyes for no other man besides Seba. Sure, I kissed another boy here or there. And I loved kissing Jorge, but my relationship with him was solidified. We had fucked and cuddled two nights prior, and I knew we’d be friends/lovers for a long time. Meanwhile, Seba felt like more of a free spirit. It felt like now or never.
After dancing so hard that I desperately needed to wring out every article of clothing on my body, we headed to CC’s Slaughterhouse. There, yet again, we danced and kissed. I kissed some other boys. I briefly fucked a stranger in a bathroom stall until the attendant aggressively banged on the door. Other people actually had to pee—fair enough.
It was around 5 am when the VACAYA boys and I headed back to the hotel. I immediately passed out when I made it back to the hotel. A bitch was exhausted. But Jorge was not having it. He banged on my hotel door, “the boys are coming over to fuck, come on. Get up!” I repeatedly said I was coming, though I was clearly not coming, and he physically dragged me out of bed.
“Seba is coming,” he said. Jorge knew how to get me to come.
Fuck it. I was half asleep, but I could rally.
Back at his room, we totaled five: me, Seba, Jorge, Jorge’s friend Diego (who was staying in the same room as him), and Jerry. Jerry was out at Spartacus, the famous gay sauna, taking loads. But he wasn’t done for the evening. Thank God he wasn’t. Jerry’s an LA circuit boy who works as a personal trainer. You know the type, a man who religiously does his squats and wants to share his assets with the community. (God bless.)
Every single man was Latino, excluding me—Seba’s Costa Rican, Jorge’s Venezuelan, Diego’s Colombian, and Jerry’s Mexican. The asses on the men were just… Jesus fucking Christ.
When I saw Seba on the bed, reclining shirtless, like a model in a Renaissance painting, I threw myself at him. I draped my long legs over his sides straddling him, pushed him down on the bed, and kissed his pillowy lips.
The other boys watched; I think they knew how badly I wanted him, and they were generous, letting us have our moment before joining in.
I held the sides of his head as I kissed him, only taking breaks to look deep into his eyes. I shook my hips over his cock, and felt him grow hard underneath his shorts. My cock was already erect, standing at attention. I slid off his toned body so we could both wriggle out of our bottoms. I then got back in front of him and lifted his legs, so his ass tilted upward. I spit directly on his hole and massaged saliva inside of him. He was tight. I pushed his legs back farther, crunching him like a pretzel, and spread his cheeks. He tasted like caramel and butter. I started sucking his testicles and massaging his cock with one hand while I penetrated him digitally with the other. I felt him loosen and tighten around my middle finger. I grabbed the lube, which Jorge had strategically placed on the nightstand.
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