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“Looking for love?” the man asks in broken Portuguese. It sounds like he learned the phrase from a Brazilian.
Sérgio regards him silently. He must be American, the way he’s dressed. Tall, pale, thin and rodent-like in the face. No chin. Ugly in a way that evokes not pity but revulsion. There’s a brown food stain on his expensive silk shirt and sweat beads on his forehead.
“Looking for sex,” Sérgio replies on a whim. The man looks nervous and ill in a way that intrigues him. He looks like he might be someone who kills gay men.
The American doesn’t take Sérgio to his hotel room, which just confirms what he’d suspected all along, that he’s got a wife waiting for him. A European honeymoon perhaps. Or maybe it’s already their anniversary. The stain on his shirt does resemble a child’s handprint.
They fuck right there on the beach, in the dunes, between beer cans and used condoms. The waves crash. The moon is not to be seen. Far away a transistor radio plays Santana and now and then a loud laugh carries over.
“Top or bottom?” Sérgio asks.
The American doesn’t seem to know. He stands dejected and mumbles something that Sérgio doesn’t understand, so he makes the decision for him by pulling down his own pants and turning his back on him. He seems to get the idea.
They fuck like dogs on hands and knees. The American’s dick is big enough to hurt on the way in and scratch a certain itch, but he’s clumsy with it, his hips stuttering whenever Sérgio starts to get something resembling pleasure out of the fucking. But it’s not unpleasant to be used, to be turned into an object, unthinking and unfeeling. The air is cooling but the sand under him is still warm from the day. Sérgio closes his eyes and buries his face in it. He imagines sinking into it, disappearing in it like the beer cans and condoms. He imagines the American’s hand on his throat, choking him.
It’s over quickly, as these encounters usually are, leaving Sérgio unsatisfied. With a pathetic whimper the American comes, and then collapses on Sérgio’s back. Sérgio can feel his lips on his neck, their suckling kisses, and a great revulsion comes suddenly over him. When the American’s hand reaches around in an attempt to reciprocate, Sérgio shoves it away before he can fondle his dick. Sérgio wants the man off his back now. He wants him to disappear and leave him to wallow in his misery.
But he won’t leave him alone. “Please,” the American whispers into his ear, speaking English now. “I want to be nice to you.” He’s very heavy all of a sudden, pinning Sérgio to the hot ground. Once, Sérgio tries to squirm away, but the guy won’t budge, and in the sudden explosive struggle between them Sérgio finds his face pressed into the sand again, and now he’s swallowing it, and it gets into his eyes and he panics.
He shuts down, and holds still. The man’s still inside of him. Again his hand comes sneaking around, and this time he manages to grab Sérgio’s cock. It’s entirely soft but that doesn’t stop him from trying to jerk him off. “Did you not like it?” he asks, as he squeezes the blood out of the unresponsive organ. His hands are cold, and his movements inorganic like the only dick he’s ever held is his own. He keeps kissing Sérgio on the back of the neck, whispering sweet words Sérgio doesn’t understand into his ear, while he tries to coax that orgasm out of him. It takes some terribly long minutes until eventually Sérgio manages to channel his terror into arousal, and have something resembling ejaculation milked out of his half-hard cock. Some drops, like white honey. Finally, this satisfies the American and he gets off his back.
Sérgio remains lying face down for a while, waiting for the American to leave him alone, but after that while he’s still there, so Sérgio pulls up his pants and slowly rises to his feet.
He finds the American looking down at him. “You are very pretty,” he says. He’s smoking a cigarette and offers Sérgio one, which he declines.
Sérgio walks off into the darkness, alone. Sand is sticking to the cum that’s started to ooze out of him and chafes the skin of his taint unpleasantly. The American doesn’t follow him, and he never sees him again.