What Happened That Night at Mateo’s House Changed Me

At eighteen, just starting university, I still didn’t understand my own head. For me, sex had always been an impulse that arrived uninvited, without feelings, without much connection to the person in front of me. I dated, I had casual partners, but nothing seemed to soothe that restlessness walking around inside me.

What I’m about to tell you happened on an ordinary Tuesday in my first semester. The political theory professor assigned us a group project and, by bad luck or good luck —depending on how you look at it— I got paired with three classmates I barely knew. We agreed to meet at Mateo’s apartment, a guy from out of town who lived alone in a flat lent to him by an uncle.

Mateo was tall, slim, with coffee-and-milk skin and brown hair always a little messy. He didn’t have a beard yet, just that shadow men who shave every two days leave behind. He spoke softly, looked people in the eye when they talked to him, and had long hands, like a pianist’s. He was kind in a way that didn’t feel forced.

Up to that day, I had been one hundred percent heterosexual. Not out of conviction, not because I was homophobic, simply because I had never felt anything like desire for another man. I spent my time looking at the girls in my class, fantasizing about the blonde from comparative literature, imagining me burying my cock deep inside her while I grabbed her hair. Mateo, to me, was just another classmate.

I got to his apartment at six in the evening. The other two from the group bailed at the last minute: one because of the flu, the other because his girlfriend had a birthday. We decided to go ahead anyway. We ordered pizza, opened our notes, and got to work as if nothing strange could happen afterward.

We finished at midnight. With my neck stiff and my head full, Mateo closed the laptop, stretched out on the couch, and glanced at me sideways.

—Are you leaving or staying a while? I’ll put on a movie.

I thought of my mother and I thought of the last bus. I texted her to let her know I was sleeping at a classmate’s place. Used to my schedules, she replied with an emoji and a «don’t be late tomorrow.»

—I’m staying —I said.

***

The movie he picked was called something like Whispers in the Dark. It was about zombies, but weird zombies, with a tone more gothic than bloody. He turned off the living room light, left only the lamp in the corner on, and settled beside me on the long couch. He smelled like new soap and something else, something warm I couldn’t name.

We hadn’t been watching for twenty minutes when the scene that threw me off came on. A woman was running through an abandoned building, fleeing a man covered in mud. The camera lingered on her short skirt, on her legs, on the sweat running down her neck until it disappeared between her tits. The man caught up with her in a locked room, slammed her against the wall, and ripped her blouse off in one pull, leaving her nipples bare. She screamed, cried, fought without strength while the man’s hand climbed her thigh and yanked off her panties.

It wasn’t a pretty scene. It was raw, almost unbearable. And yet my pants started tightening in a way that forced me to shift twice. I’d always been easy. Any scene with tension got me hard, and this was no exception. My cock had swelled so much that I could feel every beat of my heart pounding through the head trapped against the seam of my jeans.

What I didn’t expect was to see the same thing happening to Mateo. He was wearing light gray sweatpants, thin cotton, and under the fabric the bulge of a long, thick cock was clearly outlined, pushing upward, the head drawn against the cotton and a dark patch of precum slowly growing. Every so often, without meaning to, I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. It was like when you try not to look at something and end up looking at nothing else.

Halfway through the film, Mateo yawned, stretched his arms, and let himself lean toward me.

—Do you mind if I lie down for a bit?

—No, of course not —I answered.

Without really thinking about it, he rested his head on my thigh. Blood rushed to my face. I could feel every breath he took against my leg, I could feel the tip of my cock —hard as a rock inside my jeans— barely brushing the back of his neck. He said nothing. He stayed still, as if dozing, but I knew he wasn’t asleep. I knew he was smelling my crotch, measuring with his cheek the size of what I had trapped in there.

On screen, the scene went on. The camera lingered on every detail: an open mouth, a trembling knee, a muffled scream, the woman’s white ass crushed against the floor while the guy lowered his pants. I felt the literal ache of my cock pinned against the fabric. And then Mateo moved his head a little, settling in, and with that tiny friction a very low sigh escaped me that I hoped he hadn’t heard.

—Looks like something wants to come out of there —he said, without lifting his head, his voice a mix of laughter and nerves—. Doesn’t it hurt?

—A little —I admitted.

There was a long silence. Mateo lifted himself just enough to look at me.

—I’m not gay, you know —I blurted out quickly, as if I needed to make that clear.

—Neither am I —he replied—. But I get the problem. Take it out if it’ll help. I don’t care.

His tone held no teasing, no weight. It was almost clinical. And yet, looking at him, I knew neither of us was being entirely honest.

I unzipped. Adjusted the boxer fabric. Took my cock out and let it hang in the open, rigid against my stomach, the veins marked along the shaft and the glans shiny, swollen, purple from all the blood trapped in it. A fat drop of precum dangled from the tip and stretched into a thread before falling onto my pubis. The relief was immediate. Mateo, lying back on my leg again, had my cock a few inches from his face and pretended to watch the movie, but I could see him swallowing, see his Adam’s apple moving up and down every time the tip brushed his hair.

—If you want, you can take yours out too —I said, trying to sound casual.

—Embarrassing.

—What’s embarrassing? We’re comfortable with each other, right?

He took five seconds. Lowered the waistband of his sweatpants, moved his underwear aside, and revealed a thick cock, longer than mine, with a straight shaft and a broad, purple head dripping over his own navel. His hand barely covered it, long fingers wrapped around the shaft but not quite closing. Our eyes met. There was no trace left of the politeness from minutes before.

—Would it bother you if I put it in my mouth? —he asked, and his voice cracked at the end.

—Seriously?

—Give and take.

—All right —I said, swallowing.

***

The next thing I felt was his hot mouth swallowing my cock in one go. Mateo wasn’t careful, he was curious, he was hungry. He took it all the way in until the tip hit the back of his throat and pulled a soft gag from him that vibrated through my whole shaft. He started clumsily, almost tripping over his own saliva as it ran from the corner of his mouth and dripped down over my balls, and little by little he found a rhythm. His hand went up and down the base of my cock while his head moved slowly, sucking hard every time he reached the glans, giving it a circular lick with his tongue before sliding back down to the bottom.

I was thrown back against the couch, eyes closed, feeling every nerve in my body concentrate on that one spot. Mateo’s tongue was thick, flat, wrapping around my shaft like a warm hand. When he reached the tip he paused, held it between his lips, and drove his tongue into the little hole at the glans, trying to wring more liquid out of me. He sucked hungrily, with the kind of hunger only someone discovering something new has and can’t stop.

At the same time, he was jerking himself off with the other hand, the free hand sliding up and down his own shaft at a desperate pace. Before the movie even changed scenes, I heard him moan around my cock —a muffled moan that trembled through the glans and raised goose bumps all over me— and I felt his hot semen fall in thick spurts onto the carpet in his living room. Five, six, seven shots, one after the other, a white puddle growing between his knees. His body shuddered twice. I hadn’t done anything and he was already coming.

—I’m a little premature when I’m really turned on —he said, laughing, without taking my cock out of his mouth—. You last longer, it seems.

—I’m used to holding out.

—That shows.

He kept going. With more and more confidence, going lower and lower. Now that he’d emptied himself, he had the calm of someone who just wants to play. He sucked slowly, pulling my cock all the way out of his mouth and giving it long tongue licks from my balls to the glans, like it was an ice cream cone. Then he rammed it all the way back in with one hard shove and held on with his nose pressed to my pubis, breathing me in, letting me feel how his throat tightened around the tip.

At some point he took my balls into his mouth, worked them with his tongue, slipped them in one by one, sucking them, rolling them, while his hand shook my cock wet with saliva. Then he went back up, took me all the way in, and started riding my cock with his mouth, up and down, up and down, salivating more and more, making a wet, obscene sound that filled the whole living room above the screams from the movie.

I put a hand on the back of his neck, slowly. He let himself be guided. I started setting the pace, pushing his head against my pubis harder and harder, fucking his mouth without fear. Mateo didn’t resist; on the contrary, he moaned with my cock in his mouth and tried to swallow me whole. I felt my balls tighten against my body, the heat climbing up my spine, the orgasm racing up inside my cock, about to burst.

—I’m coming —I managed to gasp.

When I came, I filled his mouth in one burst, shot after shot, and he sat up coughing, cum running down his chin, spitting the excess off to the side onto the carpet already stained.

—I left you dry —he said, with a strange smile, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and then sucking his fingers—. It’s the first time I’ve done this. It tastes weird. But I liked it. You taste salty, a little bitter. I liked it.

I didn’t know what to say. He rested his head on my thigh again and stayed like that, silent, while on the screen the protagonist watched over a sleeping woman in an abandoned military base. The camera lingered on her hips, her thighs, the curve of a breast showing through the armhole of her bra. Slowly, the protagonist moved in toward her back.

—I’d do the same —I said, joking.

—Sleeping ass, lost ass —Mateo replied, lifting himself a little—. Wait, let me take this off. I’ve already got my cock out, better I just take off the sweatpants and that’s that.

—Me too.

We stayed in our underwear in front of the TV, sitting very close, still pretending we were only watching the movie. Both of us had our cocks out of our boxers, still shining with saliva and semen, still half-mast but recovering fast.

***

On screen, the protagonist kissed the sleeping woman. She reacted without understanding, tried to wriggle free, but his hand slid down her stomach, took her wrist, pressed her palm to his own cock. Mateo, beside me, was no longer pretending. He was hard again, cock vertical, throbbing against his stomach. His hand found mine and found me in the same state, started stroking me, finger by finger, gauging the thickness, squeezing the base as if he wanted to make me burst with blood.

—Should we go to the bedroom? —he said suddenly, in a whisper—. Anyone from the street can already see us here.

—Let’s go.

We turned off the living room TV, put the same movie on in the bedroom, and got under the blanket completely naked. He settled behind me, spooning. I could feel his hot chest against my back, his hard, wet cock rubbing against the curve of my ass, slotting slowly into the crack of my ass without going in, just rubbing there, sliding up and down between my cheeks, leaving me a wet trail of precum that seeped between the folds. His hands circled my waist and then moved down to take my entire cock, one hand over and one under, closing around it like a warm sheath.

I hadn’t even recovered yet and I was hard again. His breathing raised goose bumps on my skin, he nibbled softly at my neck, licked behind my ear. Every time he moved his hips, his cock settled a little more between my thighs, a little closer to the center. The tips of his fingers moved from my cock to my stomach, from my stomach to my hips, from my hips to a place no man’s hand had ever reached before.

I felt a finger. Barely. Soft. Wet with my own fluid, with my own saliva he’d spread over his hand. He rubbed my hole slowly, circling around it, not pushing, letting me feel every millimeter. Then he pressed lightly, the fingertip sinking just enough to make my eyes fly open.

—Mateo, what are you doing? —I said, more out of reflex than because I wanted to stop him.

—Don’t you like it? —he replied, voice broken.

—Keep going.

The finger went in all the way, slowly, turning inside, looking for something. I felt a strange shock, a mix of discomfort and pleasure that shot up through my stomach. Then a second finger went in, and that time I did complain, biting the pillow. Mateo waited, held them still, letting me get used to it, and started scissoring them, opening me up slowly. When he felt me relax, he pushed the fingers deeper and hit something that made me moan out loud, with an involuntary gasp.

—There it is —he whispered against my ear—. That’s it right there.

He pulled his fingers out. I felt empty all at once. A second later I felt his cock at the entrance, thick, wide, pushing calmly. He’d wet the head with saliva and whatever precum he had left. He pushed once and it didn’t go in. He pushed again and the tip forced its way through. The first shove hurt in a new way, almost metallic, as if something inside me were breaking, but something in me accepted it. I felt the head sink in all the way, felt the ring open and let it through, and then the shaft kept entering centimeter by centimeter, pressing slowly, measuring me, waiting for me.

—Hang in there —Mateo murmured, still, with his cock halfway in—. Breathe. I’ll wait.

I breathed. He took the chance to push another couple of centimeters, and another, until I felt his balls hit my ass and knew he was all the way inside. My face was pressed into the pillow, biting my arm to keep from making noise, eyes squeezed shut. He started moving, short pullouts, thrusts all the way in, a slow rhythm that kept building. Every shove tore a muffled gasp from me. Every withdrawal left me wanting him to go back in.

After a few minutes —only a few, because he was premature— I felt his body tense against my back, his hands grip my waist hard enough to dig in his nails, and his hot semen spill inside me in long bursts, each one matched with a dry thrust. He came moaning against my neck, biting my shoulder, leaving me full of a viscous warmth that started running down the inside of my thigh when he pulled his cock out.

—I went fast again —he said, laughing against my neck, breathless—. Then it’s your turn.

***

Just as I was sitting up to return the favor, someone knocked on the door. Three sharp knocks. Our souls hit the floor. We jumped out of bed, gathered our clothes, dressed in a rush —me feeling Mateo’s semen dripping inside my boxer briefs— and, still breathing like we’d run a kilometer, I sat on the couch with some random magazine while he opened the door.

It was his aunt. A short, friendly woman, carrying a Tupperware container.

—Honey, sorry about the hour. Your mom asked me to bring you dinner, I didn’t know if she’d told you.

—She hadn’t told me, Auntie. Come in, come in.

—No, no, thank you. Your uncle’s in the car, he doesn’t want to get out. I’m just dropping this off. Good night, young man —she said, glancing toward the couch.

—Good night —I answered, swallowing.

His aunt left. Mateo closed the door, leaned against it for a second, and let out a nervous laugh.

—What a scare. I thought she was staying for dinner.

—She almost caught us in the middle of a play —I told him, laughing too.

We went back to the bedroom. It was cold. We undressed again, this time more calmly, and got under the blanket. On the TV, the movie had moved on: the protagonist and the woman were arguing on a rooftop, he kissed her, she said, “We shouldn’t have done this,” he said, “The world doesn’t have rules anymore.” She ended up giving in, as always, letting him pull her panties down against the rooftop wall.

Mateo settled again in spooning position, but this time the other way around, offering me his back. He spread his cheeks with his hands, saying nothing, showing me the pink, throbbing hole, still closed but ready. I smeared saliva on my dick, put two fingers on the ring to open it a little, and then pushed. What I felt was an electric shock. Heat, pressure, suction. The ring closed around the base of my glans like a rubber band and then swallowed me, centimeter by centimeter, until I hit the back of him. I could barely breathe.

—Put it all the way in —he gasped—. All of it. Don’t hold back.

I went in. Came out. Went in again, faster, harder. Mateo got on all fours, without letting me go, ass lifted and back arched, offering me everything. His cheeks slapped against my thighs with a dry, wet sound that filled the room. I grabbed his waist with both hands and started really fucking him, driving in to the hilt with each thrust, watching how the ring of his ass stretched around my cock every time I came out and went back in.

His limp cock —because he had already come three times— swung under him like a tired pendulum, though it still spat drops onto the sheet whenever I hit him hard. I slid a hand underneath, took it, and started jerking him off in time with my thrusts. His cock hardened again, throbbing in my palm.

—Harder —he begged, voice shattered against the pillow—. Tear my ass apart. Come on, come on, come on.

I did as he asked. I let go of his cock, grabbed his hair with one hand and his hip with the other, and fucked him with all the anger I had built up. His fingers dug into the pillow, his back arched, my body felt like it was about to split in two. The sound of my thighs slapping his ass, of his muffled gasps, of the headboard scraping the wall, mixed with the movie’s screams into one single, obscene noise that left no room to think about anything else.

I turned him over. Put him on his back, lifted his legs over my shoulders, and shoved my cock back into his ass from that position. Now I could see his face: mouth open, eyes closed, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead. Every time I pushed, he moaned softly, gritted his teeth, and his cock —fully recovered— bounced on his stomach, releasing fat drops of fluid.

I leaned down, put his cock in his mouth and mine in his ass at the same time, and that’s how we stayed, fucking him from both ends. I licked the tip while my hips kept driving into him, feeling how every thrust tore a spasm from him that passed into his cock inside my mouth.

When I reached the edge, I felt his inside close around my dick like a hand. I pulled out of him, sat up, lifted his hips off the mattress, and came inside him, slowly, in long waves, feeling each burst leave my body and fill him to the brim. Meanwhile, he was shaking his cock with his hand and came at the same time, staining his chest, his neck, his chin, with three or four white spurts that hung from his skin.

I collapsed on his chest, sliding on his own semen, and he let himself fall back on the bed. My cock came out of his ass with a wet sound and a trail of semen ran down the crack to the sheet. We lay there like that, both sticky, exhausted, laughing in very low voices so no one else in the building would hear.

***

That night I slept in his bed, with his arm across my chest. The next morning, neither of us said anything about what had happened. We drank coffee with milk and ate toast, got dressed, went to campus together, and when we reached the courtyard, each of us drifted off to our own class as if the night before had never existed.

It wasn’t the first time, nor the last, that something like that would happen with him. But it was, without a doubt, the one that opened the door I’d kept closed for eighteen years without knowing it was there. That’s why, when people ask me how I discovered my other side, I always think of that zombie movie, Mateo’s light gray sweatpants, and an aunt who almost ruined the night with a Tupperware of lukewarm dinner.

To be continued.