The Mercedes Daddy Who Picked Me Up in the Pine Grove

That story began the way all the ones that are really worth it begin: unplanned. It was an ordinary May afternoon, one of those when the sun warms without burning and you’re not quite sure what to do with the dead hours. I was stretched out on the sofa, the blinds half lowered and my phone in my hand, scrolling through profiles with little faith.

And then his message popped up.

He was a man from Villanueva del Arzobispo, married, like so many. One of those who spend half their life doing what’s expected and the other half looking for what nobody gives them at home. In his case, as he made clear within two messages, what he was after was a good blowjob. An obedient mouth that would blow his mind and drain the balls of a mature man the way God intended.

—Where are you? —he wrote—. I’m traveling, near Quintanar. Do you know any place?

It had been months since I’d had a proper cock in my mouth. Months. And the way he wrote, you could already tell the guy was serious, that he wasn’t one of those who talk a big game and then back out. So I didn’t think about it too much.

—I know a place —I answered—. Discreet. Give me ten minutes.

I opened the map and started looking for a spot that would work for us. I needed somewhere isolated, safe, away from curious eyes. Then I remembered an old nightclub I used to go to when I was young, one called El Faro that shut down ages ago, and a medium-sized pine grove right next to it. A perfect place for hooking up, the kind known by the people who know and by no one else.

Without overthinking it, I grabbed the car keys and headed there.

***

I got there first and used the chance to study the ground. I’m cautious; years teach you to be if you want to keep enjoying these things without any scares.

On the right there was a covered padel court where a few people, young and not so young, were whacking balls back and forth amid shouts and laughter. They were far enough away not to worry me. What made me a bit nervous was the people walking through the pine grove, with dogs or without them, because it was exactly the sort of day when the maniacs who go out for walks crawl out of their Netflix-and-football caves. Those people who take a twenty-minute stroll and then get drunk on beer in the bar and say they live a healthy life.

Even so, the place had nooks and crannies. I parked nose-in against the trees, in a clearing reachable only by a dirt track, and sent him my exact location.

He took little time. Five minutes later I saw a white Mercedes GLC come in along the track, gleaming, the sort of car men buy when they’ve worked hard and want it to show.

He parked a couple of spaces from mine, calmly, without rushing. And when he got out, I understood everything.

He was tall, well built. White hair, a neatly trimmed white beard, a checkered shirt rolled up to the elbows, and a watch that had some heft to it. A textbook daddy. The kind of man they call “sir” at work and keep a seat for. The kind who runs a meeting just by lowering his voice.

Fuck, what luck I’ve got today.

He kept up appearances for a while, as proper etiquette demands. He took out his phone, pretended to look at something, scanned the pine grove like someone checking there was no one around. And then, little by little, he started moving closer to my car.

I rolled down the window.

—Get in, if you want —I offered, giving the passenger seat a pat.

He shook his head and gave half a smile.

—This is better, isn’t it? —he said, leaning one elbow on the roof of the car, looking down at me from above.

And he was right. Standing there beside the open door, with him in control and me seated, the whole thing had a different edge. Rougher. More direct. More than either of us had come looking for.

***

I was already eager to get started. Too eager. I’d spent the whole drive imagining it and reality was far beyond what I’d fantasized.

I reached out and touched the bulge over his trousers. It was still soft, but with that promised weight men his age have when they get down to business. I lowered the zipper slowly, savoring the moment, and pulled it out.

It was hot. Hot and only half-erect, but that was a matter of minutes and desire, and I had plenty of both.

I opened my mouth and took him all the way in.

I’ve always loved that exact moment. The first one. When you feel it slide between your lips, brush your tongue for the first time, still warm, not fully hard yet. It’s like uncapping something and having no idea how it’s going to turn out.

I sucked slowly, with technique, without gagging and without hurry. I worked it with my tongue, up and down, helping myself with my hand at the base. And he responded, growing, hardening inside my mouth until I could barely fit him.

—Jesus, the way you suck cock, kid —he murmured, his voice thick—. What a wonder.

He wasn’t the first to tell me that. Everyone who’s passed through my mouth has ended up saying the same thing: that I suck like the best of them, that they didn’t expect something like that. And on top of that I swallow. Where are you going to find anything better than that?

I grabbed his thighs through his trousers to feel how they tensed. He put a hand on the back of my neck. Not to force me, but to set the rhythm, to accompany me. That firm hand of a man used to things being done his way.

***

And then, as always happens when things start getting good, people showed up.

A family. Father, mother, and a small child who was running a few yards ahead. They were coming through the pine grove, still far away, but getting closer.

I let go of the cock abruptly and he tucked it away with the skill of a professional, like someone who’d been doing it all his life. I sat up in the seat and pretended to look for something in the glove compartment. My heart was pounding a mile a minute, half from the scare, half from the heat cut off dead in its tracks.

The family, luckily, didn’t come all the way to where we were. They got distracted playing with some cats that seemed to live among the pines, a couple of skinny little strays that let the child pet them. They stayed a while and then turned back the way they’d come.

I wondered whether the father had seen the older man leaning against my car and imagined what was going on. And if so, whether maybe he was one of those who understand these things too, one of those who also head to a pine grove one day with the excuse of stretching their legs.

Meanwhile, the padel players kept at it, oblivious to everything. I thought about what would happen if one of them sent the ball our way and came looking for it. I thought about how thin the line was between kink and disaster. And I decided I’d rather not think and instead focus on the important thing: finishing what I’d started.

—Shall we keep going? —I asked him, looking up at him.

—You bet —he answered, opening the car door again.

***

I pulled it out again and this time I didn’t bother with delicacy. I needed it, and he needed me. I took him all the way to the back of my throat over and over, letting him brush it, swallowing him down completely until tears sprang to my eyes and I had to pull back up for air.

He was melting. I could tell by the way his legs trembled, by the way he clenched his teeth so as not to make a sound, by those contained gasps that escaped between them.

—Keep going, baby, keep going —he begged in a low voice—. You’re getting a reward. This is all for you.

And was it ever.

I felt him get even harder just before, that unmistakable sign there was no turning back now. I quickened the pace, never letting go, never stopping working it with my tongue, and then I felt the first hot spurt hit the back of my mouth.

I didn’t pull away. Quite the opposite. I swallowed it all, every last drop, savoring the texture, the thick, salty taste of a thirsty daddy’s load that had been saved up God knows how long. I fed on him slowly, luxuriating in it, while he let out a long sigh and let his head fall back.

Yes. I got the reward. And a generous one at that.

I gave him one last lick to make sure nothing was left, cleaned him up, and let him go carefully. He pulled his zipper back up with hands that were still a little shaky.

—Worth it, huh? —I said, licking my lips without trying to hide it.

—Oh, absolutely —he answered with a rough laugh—. Like a cathedral.

***

He stayed for a moment leaning on the car, catching his breath, looking at me with a mix of gratitude and mischief that only mature men have. There were no more words. None were needed. In encounters like this, anything that isn’t what just happened is too much.

—Maybe we’ll do it again another day —he said at last—. When I’m back in the area.

—I’ll be here —I replied.

He got into his white Mercedes, started it with that discreet purr expensive cars have, and drove off down the dirt track, kicking up a little dust. I watched him disappear in the rearview mirror until the pine grove swallowed him up.

I stayed a little longer, with the taste still in my mouth and a silly smile of satisfaction on my face. Then I started the engine and headed home, to my town, twenty minutes away.

I live in an area where finding hookups isn’t easy at all. You have to look for them, you have to be patient, you have to know the places and the people. But precisely for that reason, when you find one, when an encounter like that afternoon comes along, it tastes twice as good.

I parked outside my place, looked at myself in the mirror, fixed my hair a bit. And as I went up the stairs I thought that Mercedes daddy would be back. I knew it. People like that always come back.

And I, for one, plan to be waiting.

To be continued.