Shared Wishes

The story I'm going to tell you is 100% true, except for names and locations, to ensure the privacy of all involved.

The night at Fábrik had that dense air of flashing lights, sweaty bodies and music that beat the chest with every vibration. Pablo, Álvaro, Jose, Valentín and I moved through the crowd, drinking, laughing and letting ourselves be carried away by the rhythm of the night. As the hours went by, the alcohol and substances began to melt in our veins, clouding our judgment a little but sharpening our senses in another way.

Jose and Valentín said goodbye early, leaving the three of us in a bubble of our own, more relaxed, more open. We sat in a secluded corner, and between jokes and unfiltered comments, the topic inevitably turned to sex. It wasn't unusual among friends; There was always that moment when desire became words, when we shared confessions and anecdotes as if we were teenagers discovering the world for the first time.

The conversation became more intimate when we took out our phones. There they were: our women, goddesses on our screens. Each one with a unique beauty, with those curves that drove us crazy, with those looks that trapped us without remedy. Alvaro showed a photo of his girl in black lingerie, the fabric perfectly adjusting to her figure, highlighting the smooth skin and the lips parted in an expression of pure desire. Pablo slid through his gallery to an image of his girlfriend, with her hair disheveled on the bed, her hard nipples protruding through a shirt that was too thin.

I was not far behind. I showed my wife in one of those stolen moments after sex, her naked body still reddened by pleasure, her gaze lost between exhaustion and satisfaction.

The atmosphere changed. From laughter we moved to a different tension, something electric in the air. Our hands instinctively lowered, adjusting our pants, feeling the pressure of the fabric that prevented direct contact. We looked at each other, complicit in the situation, caught in an almost tribal desire, a celebration of female beauty and shared pleasure.

Words became unnecessary when someone proposed the inevitable. We got up and headed to the bathroom, our heartbeats accelerated by the morbidity and adrenaline of the moment. We entered a cubicle together, closed the door and each took out his phone, admiring our women again, but this time with a more defined purpose.

Breaths became heavy, the sound of zippers being lowered filled the small space. There was no shame, only instinct. The images on the screens were hypnotic: shiny skin, parted lips, burning gazes. We lost ourselves in pleasure, in the involuntary synchronization of our movements, in the feeling of sharing something beyond friendship, beyond individual desire.

The climax came with brutal intensity, each one trapped in his own universe of pleasure, but aware of the presence of the other. We looked at each other, smiled, a mixture of complicity and fun tinged with satisfied desire. We recomposed ourselves without haste, as if nothing was strange, as if the night had simply brought us to that point without effort.

As we left, the music continued to beat the air, the dance floor full of moving bodies. We laughed, with that loose laughter of those who have shared a secret, of those who have crossed an invisible line and have come out on the other side without fear or remorse.

We continued talking about our women, this time with a new spark in our eyes, with the certainty that that night we had entered a different dimension of friendship, where sensuality and complicity had intertwined in a game of desire and masculine connection.

And the night continued, as if nothing had happened... but knowing that, deep down, everything had changed...

If I see that you like it, I'll tell you what happened after that.