Tracey Parker is a gay cruising fanatic who travels around the world, always sharing stories of hot hookups and anonymous sex. After sharing a hot gay sauna in Puerto Vallarta, Tracey takes us to another gay cruising location in Mexico and the Zona Romantica section of PV, a beach where hookups are horny and guys cruise deep into the night after the bars close.

The magnificent full moon hung over the Pacific, illuminating the dark water and the sands of Playa de Los Muertos. My head was still thumping to the rhythm of the dance music from the gay bars that line the streets of Puerto Vallarta; I was in town for a friend’s birthday, trying to “go with the flow” for as long as I could stand it. The beach was calling to me. Puerto Vallarta always has such beautiful weather and beaches are understated treasures of the country’s region.

As soon as I reached the shoreline, I noticed men dispersed across the sand, lurking in the shadows. I was ninety percent sure I knew what they were doing, and I was determined to find out for certain. I picked a vantage point where I could see everything—listening to the rhythmic crash of the waves while watching figures drift from solitary spots to approach one another.

In the distance, two men drew near. Their brisk pace slowed as the gap closed, until they were standing chest-to-chest, staring into each other’s eyes. It felt as though an invisible web connected us all, a shared pulse that made us move in ways unrecognizable to the “real world” or the frantic bars nearby. They reached into each other’s pants for a moment before disappearing together toward the hotel zone.

“Hello, güero,” a voice said in English from behind me. I knew the greeting was for me. In Mexico, the term is used for anyone with light skin; it’s a friendly, respectful gesture that can be quite flirty if the intent is there.

I turned to find a young Mexican man with long, curly hair. He wore an orange tank top and pastel blue shorts, accessorized with a wooden necklace and worn friendship bracelets. He was lean and striking, with a pretty smile he was using boldly to show his interest. He was exactly my type.

We exchanged pleasantries and fell into an easy conversation. I wanted to ask him everything about the local gay cruising scene—it wasn’t overly explicit, and most pairs seemed to vanish quickly—but as we spoke, the focus remained entirely on us. I didn’t want to change the subject.

As we talked, he reached into my pants, his fingers curling around me. I looked down; he had sat beside me with his legs crossed, and I could see he was already straining against the fabric of his shorts, his cock eager to feel release from the fabric prison. 

He told me he had a room up the hill and asked if I wanted to spend some time with him. I paused for a heartbeat, then told him I’d love to. We left the beach together, following the silent tradition of the couples I’d watched over the last hour.

As we climbed the stairs behind the Zona Romántica, the neighborhood became more local and the view more expansive. I hadn’t even known these stairs existed. I had gone to the beach to escape the bar scene, but I never expected to find myself this far removed. I liked the world he was introducing me to.

His room was small and warm. He opened the window and pulled his shirt off immediately, allowing a cool breeze to flood the space as we gazed out at the lights of Puerto Vallarta shimmering below. 

His bed took up most of the room. There was a larger bed next to it where his brother slept, but he assured me he worked late at a bar. Their schedules were complementary; they each had the small space to themselves during the day, only truly sharing it for sleep.

He leaned back against the wall in a way that suggested this was his habitual spot. Crossing his legs “Indian style” as he had on the beach, he let himself pop out from the bottom of his shorts again. I lay on my stomach and wrapped my hands around his narrow waist, massaging his stomach with my thumbs. He had a musky, natural scent that made my blood run hot.

I delicately moved the fabric of his shorts aside like a pair of curtains. He was long, thick, and curved slightly to one side. A neat trim of dark hair surrounded him, all of it seeming to point toward the center, urging me forward. I looked up at his face; his expression said the same. To clear any lingering doubt, he gave me a small smile and a nod.

I took him into my mouth, my lips moving softly. A sigh of pleasure escaped him, encouraging me. I gripped his base and moved slowly, exploring every curve of him.

Eventually, he whispered that he wanted to be inside me. I was still fully dressed, so I stripped quickly. He followed suit, kicking off his shorts effortlessly while remaining leaned against the wall. He slid down until he was horizontal, and I moved to sit on top of him. We both used a bit of saliva to prepare ourselves. I braced my hands against the wall and looked down; his face was a mask of concentration as he guided himself to me.

He pressed against me, meeting my eyes. I began to open up, slowly lowering myself. I winced at the initial stretch, but he inched further and further inside until, with a final push, he was all the way in. We both let out a deep, synchronized moan. We stayed like that for a long time—no frantic thrusting, no pornographic theatrics. We just felt the breeze across our skin and the slow, internal glide of our bodies. He reached for his phone and put on some low, sexy music, and we moved together in silence.

“Casi me llega,” he whispered—he was close. I had been on the verge for a while myself. I rose onto my knees, letting him slip out, and knelt so we were chest-to-chest.

My perspective shifted then. I imagined what we looked like from outside the window to a silent spectator—much like I had been watching the cruisers on the beach. How strange we must have appeared: two naked men, limbs tangled, features strained with focus, no longer aware of the room or each other, completely submerged in the internal fantasies required to reach the finish line.

We began to pant, our breathing growing heavy until we finally came. Once we finished and began to catch our breath, he was slick with the evidence of our encounter. He didn’t seem in any hurry to clean up, even as it dripped onto the sheets. He simply put his hands behind his head and looked up at me with what looked like genuine admiration.

I reached for a discarded shirt on the bed and asked if I could clean him up. He murmured a “yes” without even looking to see what garment I had grabbed. As his heartbeat finally settled, I gazed over his body, carefully wiping the fluids away, savoring the quiet aftermath of the hill above the sea.