I wasn’t even planning to write about this. Honestly, it had been tucked away in the back of my mind for almost a decade, one of those memories I’d half-forgotten except for the flashes that come back when I’m jerking off on a gay kick. But someone reached out after reading my "body count" post and asked if I’d ever share the time I had an all-male threesome.
So here we are.
This happened about ten years ago, back when Craigslist still had “casual encounter” ads. I was in a phase of deep sexual exploration: hungry, restless, and chasing anything that made my cock ache. At that point I’d already had my first experience with a man. I dropped to my knees, sucked his cock until he finished in my mouth, and then laid flat on the ground while he climbed on top of me and fucked me.
Not long after came another man. That time, it was the middle of the day, and I pulled off on a back road with him in the passenger seat of my car. I unzipped him, leaned over, and took his cock in my mouth while my eyes kept flicking nervously up at the rearview mirror, half-expecting another car to come rolling past at any second. Risky, reckless, and so fucking hot. I met him again soon after, this time sneaking into his house late at night. He told me to strip, and I got down on the floor beside his couch to take his cock again, completely naked while he lounged like it was nothing.
Those encounters didn’t scare me off. They pulled me in. I didn’t hate the taste, didn’t hate the stretch. In fact, I loved it. I was enthralled and I wanted more. And the “logical” next step, at least to my cock-clouded mind, was obvious: I needed to be in a threesome. A MMM. But with one stipulation, I wanted to be the middle M.
I was married at the time, and that part matters because it explains why I was so reckless, why I was chasing things I probably shouldn’t have been. She was already fucking someone else, so in my head, I figured I could suck some cock of my own. That was the logic. Messy, sure, but it gave me the freedom to dive headfirst into this side of myself without feeling guilty.
So I went to Craigslist. Back then, it was a wild place with intimate encounters posted every day, anyone with a hard-on and a few dirty words could reel in a stranger. Looking back, my cock was doing all the thinking. It could’ve been dangerous as fuck, but once the right things were said, once the fantasy was dangled in front of me, I was willing to risk almost anything.
I put up a post, clear and direct: I wanted a threesome. Two men, one me. I wanted to be used, spit-roasted.
It didn’t take long before I got a reply from a guy who said he and his roommate were interested. We started emailing back and forth and he said all the right things. The kind of dirty, no-nonsense talk that had me hard at work or jerking off in the shower. He made me feel like their toy already, like the only thing left was for me to show up and let them take me.
We arranged to meet within a week. I had to plan carefully and come up with excuses for being home late, letting my wife believe I was stuck at work or something along those lines. Just a little longer each night so she’d not pry when I walked in the door 30 minutes past when I usually did. I set the stage for my alibi while secretly setting the stage for my first threesome.
The night finally came. I drove to their place after work, my stomach twisted in knots and my whole body buzzing with nerves. That edge-of-a-cliff feeling terrified, but so turned on I couldn’t stop myself. I parked, sat there for a moment with my heart thumping, then sent them an email to let them know I was there.
One of the men came out to meet me. He waved me in, and I followed him down a short hallway to their ground-floor apartment. Every step made me more tense, more aware of what I was about to do.
The place wasn’t anything special. A small kitchenette opened up into a living room on one side and a bedroom on the other. The living room light was on, the bedroom mostly dark. My first impression was that it was definitely not high-end which only made what I was there to do feel even more surreal.
The guy who had been emailing me, the one who let me in, was shorter, older, not what I’d call attractive. Shorts, a tank top. The other man was already inside, shirtless in the bedroom, shaved head, very thin build. Younger than the first, closer to my own age. He had gay porn playing on the computer, just watching it casually it seemed, which struck me as strange, but it made the air heavier all the same.
I didn’t know yet if they were lovers or just roommates of convenience. All I knew was that I was inside, the door had closed behind me.
The older man didn’t waste time. He led me straight to the bed, dropped his shorts, and told me to suck his cock. Just like that.
So I did.
I dropped to my knees and took him in my mouth. He wasn’t well-endowed and honestly, smaller than the first guy I’d ever blown but that almost made it hotter in a way, because it wasn’t about size, it was about me obeying. I wrapped my lips around him, bobbing my head, tasting him, letting myself slip into the role of their use.
He was vocal about it. Not in a way I particularly liked, his voice grated on me a little, but not terribly so. The point was that I was down on my knees, my mouth full, giving myself over. The younger man stayed quiet in the background, I wasn't sure what he was doing.
Then I felt him move behind me.
The older one looked down and asked, “Do you want to get fucked now?”
I remember nodding, desperate, my voice coming out small and needy as I said, “Yeah.”
The older man told me to strip, and I did. Every layer until I was completely naked, kneeling on their bed with two mostly-naked men with me. My heart was pounding, my cock hard, my nerves on fire, but I was exactly where I wanted to be.
The younger one rolled on a condom, rubbed some lube on himself and then some down my ass, then lined up behind me. I stayed on all fours, ass in the air, while the older man laid back across the bed, his cock waiting in front of me.
The younger man slid inside me in one slow push. Smooth, almost too smooth. It didn’t hurt, it didn’t stretch it just slid right in with nearly no resistance, and for a second I barely felt him at all. I wanted to feel it. I wanted to be filled and stretched and used. Instead, it was more like a glide. My only thought was that he probably wasn’t very big.
But still, the fact remained: I had one cock in my ass and another waiting for my mouth.
I lowered my head and swallowed the older man down, sucking him hard while the younger man pumped into me from behind. My body became a bridge between theirs, my mouth stuffed at one end, ass filled at the other.
It didn’t last long. The younger man fucked me in silence, his hips moving steady, but there was nothing passionate about it. No moans, no words, just the mechanical rhythm of him using my ass until he finished. I felt the shift in his body, the pull of him as he came, and then he slid out, peeled off the condom, and left the room without a word.
That was it. No glance, no touch, no afterthought. He just walked out like it was routine, like I was just another guy he and his roommate cycled through.
I stayed on my knees, still sucking the older man’s cock. When the younger one disappeared into the living room, the older man climbed off the bed, got behind me, and put on his own condom. He pushed inside, and again nothing. I hardly felt him at all. I just stayed there, letting him use me, mouth wet with spit and pre-cum, ass open for his thrusts, waiting for him to finish.
He was more vocal, grunting and muttering things I couldn’t even focus on, until finally he came, pulled out, and tossed the condom away.
I never came. And honestly, I didn’t want to. With men, I almost prefer not to. Once I cum, the high crashes, the shame rushes in, and suddenly I don’t want to be there anymore. But if I stay on edge — needy, desperate, aching then every thrust, every cock in my mouth or ass, keeps me locked in that sexual haze.
So I let them use me without release.
When it was over, I put my clothes back on. Shoes laced, shirt straightened. I stepped out into the living room and saw the younger one sitting there, watching TV like nothing had happened, as if guys just wandered in off Craigslist to be fucked and then left, no different than ordering a pizza.
It felt strange. Detached. Almost like I’d been a prop in someone else’s routine. No intimacy, no spark, just the pursuit of orgasm at any cost. It was over 10 years ago and I still don't know if I like that or not.
I left, drove home, and everything slipped back into normal.
We traded a few messages afterward. The one who I had been communicating with, the older man, asked if I wanted to come back and I said yeah, sure, but I never did. There wasn’t a pull. Maybe if I’d felt some kind of connection with either of them, even just one, I’d have gone again. But I didn’t.
My only regret, the one thing that still sticks with me is that the younger guy never reached under me while he was fucking me. I wanted so badly for him to grab my cock, to force me over that edge. To make me cum while I was being fucked, then leave me spent and humiliated, forced to keep taking it while my body trembled from release. That mix of shame and helpless arousal is exactly what I craved, and I didn’t get it.
I would’ve loved to be truly double-fucked too, one cock in my mouth while another drove into me harder from behind instead of just being fucked from behind while my head bobbed up and down while someone lounged on the bed. But even without that, I got the main thing that I wanted.
That was my one and only all-male threesome. I don’t think about it all that much, but every so often, when I’m on a gay kick and looking up cock to jerk off to, it flashes back into my head. The nerves, the need, the way I gave myself over to two strangers just to be used.
And I know this much: if I had the chance again, I’d do it in a heartbeat. Back then, right now, anytime. I’d strip down, kneel between two men, and let myself be fucked all over again.