The Fantasy I Fulfilled with a Stranger in My House

I’m thirty-two years old and I’ve been married for seven years to a woman I adore. I’m what you’d call an ordinary man: I work in an office, I go to the gym twice a week, on Sundays I go eat with my in-laws. Heterosexual, with no cracks. Until I discovered I had a crack, and it was called curiosity.

It all started years ago, watching porn. My favorite category was always blowjobs. I was fascinated by seeing a beautiful woman with a big cock in her mouth, her tongue playing with the tip, her eyes lifting to look at the camera. One afternoon, I don’t remember which, I was surprised to find myself thinking something that made me uncomfortable.

What a delicious cock.

The first time I ignored the thought. The second, I cornered it. The third, one night of drinks and boredom, I typed “gay blowjobs” into the search engine and hit enter. The first video made me laugh nervously, the second made me uneasy, the third got me hard as a rock. It was two young guys doing sixty-nine, and I couldn’t stop looking at the cocks, not at them. I masturbated, imagining what it would feel like to have one like that in my mouth, and ended up with one of those orgasms you don’t forget.

From that night on, gay videos showed up from time to time in my rotation. Always the same elements: big, thick, clean, juicy cocks. I convinced myself I wasn’t attracted to men. I was attracted to an image, to an object. To the idea of sucking something like that. That’s how I explained it to myself for months, until the fantasy stopped being enough.

The problem was how to get what I wanted without destroying my life. Years earlier I’d subscribed to one of those hookup sites, naively hoping the woman of my dreams would appear there. She never did. The few real women were either unreachable or scammers. The account had been inactive in my life for a long time.

One dawn, while my wife was asleep, I opened the site again. I changed the filter, changed it again, until the profile appeared. A guy who advertised himself for threesomes with couples. In the photos, without showing his face, a thick, straight cock peeked out, with a sheen that suggested he took care of it. The username was Adrián. I wrote him without overthinking it.

—Hi, are you open to just a blowjob? I’m a man, married, first time.

It took him four hours to reply. Four endless hours in which I cleaned the kitchen, watered the plants, and rewound everything I had written.

—Hi —he replied—. Yeah, I could. Tell me more.

We spent a couple of days exchanging messages that were stiff at first and gradually loosened up. We agreed on the basics: it would be just a blowjob, no kissing, no caressing, nothing that looked like intimacy. I would blow him, he wouldn’t touch me. Mandatory shower beforehand. No photos or real names. No repeats if either of us felt weird.

We set it for a Tuesday midmorning, when my wife was at work and the house would be empty until night.

***

I got to the agreed spot fifteen minutes early. It was the parking lot of a medium-sized shopping center, full at that hour of retirees going out for coffee. I stayed in the car, watching the clock. Five minutes. Ten. He’s going to stand you up, idiot, I thought, and I almost felt relieved at the thought. Then someone tapped on the glass.

I rolled down the window and saw a young guy, a backpack over one shoulder and a gray T-shirt. Short hair, three days’ beard, brown eyes.

—Are you him? —I asked.

—I think so —he said, and laughed nervously.

He got into the car. I shook his hand, a firm, dry hand, and drove toward my house. He turned out to be twenty-two, an engineering student, and he had made it to the parking lot by bus. In the rearview mirror I stole sidelong glances at him: he was handsome in a clean, unforced way. Not the muscular Adonis from the videos, but something better. Something real.

We talked about trivial things during the twenty-minute drive. Exams, his soccer team being a disaster, gas prices. Not once did we mention what we were about to do.

We entered my house through the garage. I asked if he wanted anything and poured him a beer. We sat on the living room sofa, separated by a careful space. The dark television reflected us back: two men with a beer, waiting for someone to switch something on.

—Well —I said, and I was surprised to hear my own voice sound so steady—. Come here.

I settled in the middle of the sofa. Adrián stood in front of me. I unbuckled his belt with clumsy fingers, pulled down the zipper, lowered his jeans very slowly. The base appeared. More cock appeared than I expected. Still more appeared. When I’d finished pulling down his underwear, there was an enormous cock in front of me, not fully erect yet, shaved, perfect, exactly like the ones that had kept me up at night in those videos.

—Fuck —I whispered.

I took it in my right hand. It was warm and heavier than I’d imagined. I put it in my mouth before my brain could stop me.

The first thing I noticed was that it was easier than I thought. I wasn’t repulsed. I didn’t feel ashamed. I felt a strange calm, as if my body had been waiting for this moment for years. His cock hardened in a matter of seconds, a rock-hard stiffness that barely fit in my mouth. Adrián let out a long breath over me and I heard him murmur something I couldn’t make out.

I did everything I’d fantasized about. I sucked it slowly, licked it from the base to the tip, traced circles with my tongue around the head, took it in as deep as I could and pulled it out with a swallow of saliva. Every movement turned me on more. I didn’t know whether I liked the cock itself or the fact that I was crossing a line I’d been spying on for years, but it didn’t matter. I was on fire.

***

After a few minutes he sat down on the sofa and I knelt in front of him on the rug. I changed the angle, gripped his thighs with both hands, and kept sucking. His cock was so hard it scared me a little. Every time I pulled back for a second to breathe, it shone with my saliva and throbbed on its own.

I was so hard too that it hurt. Without standing up, I unbuttoned my pants.

—Permission —I murmured, almost as an apology.

I pulled my jeans down to my ankles and my cock sprang free. It’s not as big as his, but it’s a respectable size, and by then it was so swollen it seemed to belong to someone else. I grabbed it with my left hand while I kept sucking with my mouth.

—Fuck, what a cock you’ve got —I said, pulling back for a second.

—Well, you’re no slouch either —he replied, smiling with a frankness that fell over me like warm water.

—You up for it? —I asked, without thinking.

—I just got up for it —he said.

He knelt beside me and, before I could get into a better position, grabbed my cock and took it into his mouth. At first I could tell he was cautious: little licks on the tip, exploring. Then he got confident, opened wide, and swallowed it almost completely. It wasn’t the best blowjob I’d ever had, but it was a blowjob given with enthusiasm, and sometimes that counts for more than technique.

We stayed like that for a while, alternating. I sucked him, he sucked me, the two of us without looking each other in the eye, focused, as if we were solving a delicate problem with four hands.

—What if we put them together? —he suggested during a break.

I hadn’t thought of that. For a moment I hesitated. Is this too far now? I thought. But the line I’d been spying on for years was already far behind. I nodded.

We positioned ourselves facing each other, almost seated on each other’s legs, and brought the two cocks together. I rubbed mine side to side against his, and the skin-on-skin contact, hardness against hardness, jolted my guts. I took both in one hand and started stroking them together, slowly. Feeling his pressed against mine, feeling the warmth of the other one while I masturbated myself, was a new, electric sensation, one that had never been in my fantasies and yet fit them as if it had been waiting for a place for years.

***

Then I suggested sixty-nine. We lay down on the rug, both on our sides. It took us a while to find the position, our arms kept bumping, our legs didn’t quite fit together, but once we managed it we both went back to sucking at the same time, with a synchronicity that surprised me.

In that position, his balls were an inch from my face. I hadn’t thought about sucking balls; it wasn’t part of the package. But they were shaved, tightened by arousal, with not a trace of smell. One taste, I thought. I carefully stuck out my tongue and licked them. I was surprised by how soft the skin was, a softness unlike anything I’d ever touched with my tongue before.

I gave him a kiss. Another. Back to the cock. Down to the balls. Up. I ran my tongue flat along the shaft, slowly, like walking up a street. I went back down and sucked one testicle carefully, watching his reaction. Adrián let out a muffled moan and gripped my thigh with one hand. Good sign.

I don’t know how long we stayed like that. Ten minutes, twenty, an hour. I lost all sense of time. At some point I looked down and saw him with my cock buried deep in his mouth, eyes closed, his long lashes very still. It gave me an unexpected tenderness, as if between the two of us we had reached a place neither of us had planned but that nonetheless suited us.

I felt like I was about to come. I didn’t want to finish in his mouth without warning him.

—I’m about to come —I said.

He carefully took my cock out of his mouth, wiped it with his hand, and kept stroking me. I shot out one jet so long I lost sight of where it went. Two other shorter jets landed on Adrián’s hand, which he used to glide his fist once more over my cock, slowly, stretching my orgasm to its limit.

I stayed breathless for a second, dizzy. I came to when I heard him say, with a smile.

—How are you doing? —I asked.

—I’m still not there —he answered.

Which made me happy, because it meant I’d have more time to keep sucking that delicious cock. I put it back in my mouth and worked it slowly. Hand on the shaft, hand on the balls, tongue on the tip. I tasted something different, salty and clean, a drop of precum that tasted new to me and not unpleasant. He’s not far off, I thought.

—I’m close —he warned me, voice breaking.

I had a split second to decide. I had tasted my own semen once, out of curiosity, and it didn’t disgust me, but I didn’t seek it out either. I didn’t want to ruin the good thing with a bad taste. I pulled my mouth away, kept stroking him with my hand, and let him finish outside. He fired two thick ropes, some onto his own belly, others onto my fist. When he emptied, I put it back in my mouth to suck every last drop from him. That final taste, soft, almost without volume, tasted like nothing I couldn’t tolerate.

***

We got up in silence. Each of us went to a different bathroom. When we returned to the living room, dressed already, neither of us knew what to say.

—Well, I’m off —he said, in the same tone someone uses after class.

—Okay —I replied—. Thanks.

I shook his hand. He left.

I spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning the sofa, washing the rug, and airing out the living room, with the strange sensation of having been two different people in the same morning. When my wife came home, I gave her a long kiss. That night we made love with a tenderness we hadn’t felt in months. I didn’t notice any crack. Just curiosity, already satisfied for a few months.

A couple of weeks later I wrote to Adrián to ask him what he’d thought. He replied that the experience had exceeded his expectations, but that he didn’t want to make a habit of it either: he also considered himself heterosexual, he said, and preferred to leave it as a beautiful oddity in his biography. I understood perfectly.

I’ve tried to repeat it a couple of times, without luck. I met up with two other guys, in the same parking lot, with the same fifteen minutes of nervous waiting. When I saw them in person I knew right away they wouldn’t have what I wanted: neither the cock, nor the calm, nor the face. I thanked them without rolling the window all the way down and drove off.

Sometimes, when I masturbate alone, the fantasy comes back. Not always. Not with the same force. But it’s there, in a corner, like a room I once knew and know still exists even if I don’t visit it.

If any married man reads this and recognizes his thoughts in mine, I’ll tell him the only thing I learned: if you’re going to try it, do it with someone you trust and who takes hygiene seriously. And if you don’t try it, that’s fine too. Fantasy is also a good place to live, as long as you know where the doors are.