I Accepted the Date with a Man Out of Pure Curiosity

Mateo had been a creature of habit all his life. Alarm at six, strong coffee, thirty minutes at the gym before the office, an early dinner, one silent series episode, and then sleep. At twenty-eight, no one would have said that this small-project architect carried around a question he didn’t dare answer.

The question was simple, and it had been simmering since adolescence: what would it be like to be with a man? What would it be like to have someone else’s cock in his mouth, in his hand, inside him? What would it be like to get fucked by another guy?

He had never given it voice out loud. He had dated women, he liked women, none of his friends suspected anything odd. But on Sunday nights, when the apartment grew too quiet, he would open profiles on his phone and look at them with the same curiosity as a child lifting the lid of a box he shouldn’t touch. He would jerk off looking at photos of naked men, of hard cocks, of open mouths around other cocks, and then delete the history as if that were enough.

One rainy March dawn he opened the app and, instead of closing it after two minutes, he wrote. He wasn’t sure why he chose Iván. Maybe for the eyes, green and a little tired, or for the line on the profile: «If your arguments sound familiar, don’t write.» They all sounded familiar. He wrote anyway.

Iván replied seven minutes later. He didn’t ask stupid questions. He didn’t say “hey handsome” or “what are you looking for?” He told him he’d just gotten out of the shower, that he was drying his hair, that winter destroyed his skin. Mateo laughed to himself, the phone pressed to his face.

—Have you been thinking about it for long? —Iván wrote three messages later.

Mateo stared at the blinking cursor for a long minute.

—Quite a while —he finally replied.

—No pressure —Iván wrote—. We talk. If one day you want to meet, let me know.

They talked for almost three weeks. Iván was thirty, worked in a graphic design studio, and lived alone with a gray cat he called Bruno. He didn’t send naughty pictures, didn’t pressure him, didn’t ask too much. Mateo found himself waiting for the messages with a mix of anxiety and relief.

On the Thursday of the fourth week, Iván sent him the address of a downtown hotel, discreet, with an entrance down an alley.

—If you don’t show up, no problem —he wrote—. If you do, also no problem.

Mateo read the line three times.

—Friday at nine —he answered before turning off the phone.

***

Friday felt endless. He worked on autopilot, ate something without knowing what, showered twice. At eight thirty he parked two blocks from the hotel and sat in the car with his hands on the wheel. His shirt clung to his back and his heart was pounding in his ears.

—It’s only one night —he said out loud—. If I don’t like it, I leave.

He got out of the car before he could think any more. The entrance was a dark wooden door with no sign. The receptionist, an older man who didn’t even look up, handed him the key and pointed him to the stairs. Room 207.

He went up. The door was ajar.

—Come in —said the voice from inside.

Iván was barefoot, wearing a white shirt open to the third button and a glass of whisky in his hand. The room smelled of new wood and his cologne, something citrusy and clean.

—I thought you weren’t coming —he said, setting the glass on the table.

—Me too —Mateo replied.

They looked at each other for a moment. Iván was taller than Mateo had imagined, broader in the shoulders, with a firm jaw. He had a small mark over his left eyebrow, a childhood scar the photos hadn’t shown.

—Do you want something to drink? —Iván asked.

—No.

—Do you want to sit down?

—Neither.

Iván smiled, a sideways smile that barely moved his lips.

—Then come here.

Mateo approached. He was short of breath. Iván put a hand behind his neck, not the whole head, just the nape, and pulled him in slowly. The first kiss was brief, barely a brush. The second lingered: Iván’s tongue parted his lips with calm insistence, entered his mouth, sought out his and tangled with it with a calm that was no longer calm, it was hunger.

It’s not that different.

It’s not that different and, at the same time, it’s unlike anything. That was what Mateo thought when Iván’s tongue pushed against his. The beard brushed his chin, the hand tightened at the back of his neck, the chest felt firm against his. Everything was more solid, rougher, more concrete. And he liked it. He liked it so much he could already feel his cock getting hard inside his pants, pressing against the fly, trying to get out.

Iván pulled him against his body and Mateo felt the other cock, Iván’s, pushing against his hip through the fabric. Hard, thick, insistent. A moan escaped him into the other man’s mouth.

—You can feel it already —Iván murmured, smiling against his lips—. It’s for you.

—Fuck —was all Mateo managed to say.

Iván took off his jacket without breaking the kiss. He unbuttoned his shirt button by button, unhurried. When he opened the fabric and slid an open palm over his chest, Mateo let out a sound he hadn’t even known he could make. Iván’s fingers found a nipple and pinched it, gently at first, then harder, until it stiffened. He ran his hot tongue over it and Mateo clutched his shoulders.

—Easy —Iván said against his ear—. Tonight, only what you like. But everything you like.

He kissed his neck. Nipped softly at his collarbone. Went lower. He kissed his chest, dragged his tongue over one nipple, then the other, sucked on them until they shone, and Mateo felt his knees go weak. He held himself up by Iván’s shoulders.

—Sit down —Iván said, pushing him toward the edge of the bed.

Mateo sat. Iván knelt in front of him, unbuckled his belt, and pulled down his pants and boxers in one movement. His cock sprang free, hard, swollen, the tip already wet, bumping against his abdomen. Iván looked up at him from below, with that sideways smile again, and licked his lips.

—I look at you a lot —he said.

—Don’t look at me so much.

—I’m going to look at whatever I want. And I’m going to suck it all the way.

He took Mateo’s cock in his hand, squeezed once at the base to make a bead of precum appear, bent down and ran his tongue from his balls to the tip, slow, tasting him. Mateo let out a long gasp. Iván licked the head, played with the frenulum, wrapped his lips around it and took it into his mouth all at once, deep to the root.

Mateo shut his eyes and threw his head back. A man’s mouth was different. Hotter. More determined. Iván didn’t tease: he gripped the base with one hand, worked up and down in a rhythm Mateo had never felt before, kept his lips tight around the cock, pulled it out completely to spit on it and put it back in, sucked it to the back of his throat until Mateo felt the throat closing around the tip. He fondled his balls with the other hand, squeezed them carefully, rolled them between his fingers. Every time their eyes met, with that mouth full and lips stretched around him, Mateo felt a tug in his lower belly that climbed all the way to his nape.

—Fuck, like that —Mateo murmured—. Like that, don’t stop.

Iván didn’t stop. He only took it out of his mouth to spit again on the tip, spread it with his hand, look him in the eyes and say in a hoarse voice:

—Fuck my mouth. Don’t hold back.

And he put it back in. Mateo lifted his hips, hesitated a second, and then pushed. Iván took him in, relaxed his throat, let him sink in. Mateo started moving, first nervously, then looser, gripping Iván’s nape with both hands, fucking his mouth as if he’d been wanting to do it for years.

—Iván, wait —he murmured—. I’m about to finish. I’m going to cum.

Iván didn’t move away. He increased the pace, dug his nails into Mateo’s thigh, swallowed around him and Mateo came with a sound that came from some part of his body he had never used. He unloaded shot after shot into another man’s mouth for the first time in his life, and Iván swallowed without taking his eyes off him, without letting go of the cock, sucking until the last drop and then cleaning the tip with his tongue.

—God —Mateo said, collapsing back onto the mattress—. God.

Iván climbed onto the bed and lay down beside him. He slid a hand over his stomach, still with the taste of him in his mouth.

—Good?

—More than good.

—Do you want to stop here?

Mateo turned his head. Iván’s lips were still wet, shiny with saliva and semen, his hair mussed, his shirt slipping off one shoulder, and an obscene tent in his pants. He had never wanted to touch a man before; not like this, not with all his fingers.

—No —he said—. I want more. I want everything.

***

They undressed slowly. Mateo forced himself to look. Iván had the kind of body that’s built without a gym: clean skin, dark hair on the chest running in a line down to the groin, narrow hips and, between his legs, a hard, thick cock bent slightly upward, with heavy balls hanging beneath. Mateo’s mouth went dry looking at it. He ran a hand over his thigh, hesitated a second, and then grabbed it. He was surprised by how warm it was. How hard. Surprised that he didn’t want to pull away.

—Is this okay? —he asked.

—It’s perfect. Move it however you move yours.

Mateo did. He closed his hand around the shaft, squeezed it, slid his fist up to the tip and back down. He saw a clear drop emerge and, without thinking, spread it with his thumb over the glans. Iván groaned. Mateo liked that sound as much as he had liked cumming in his mouth. He jerked him off slowly at first, then faster. He watched while he worked him, memorizing him: how the veins swelled, how the balls tightened, how the tip got wet every time he loosened and tightened again.

—Suck me —said Iván, his voice rough—. Only if you want to.

Mateo looked him in the eyes, licked his lips, and lowered his head. The first time he brushed his lips against the tip, just a test. The second time he opened his mouth and let it in. It was hot, salty, much thicker than he had imagined. He felt clumsy. He gagged at first, pulled back a little, found the angle, went down again. He closed his lips around it and began moving up and down the way he’d seen it done so many times on lonely nights with his phone.

—That’s it, Mateo. Tongue down. Just like that.

Iván grabbed his hair with one hand, not to force him but to guide him, and Mateo let himself be guided. He licked Iván’s balls first shyly, then took one whole into his mouth. He ran his tongue along the shaft from top to bottom, took it back in, pulled it out to breathe, a thread of saliva hanging from his lip. Iván gasped, clenched his jaw, threw his head back.

—Enough, stop —he said after a while—. If you keep going like that I’m going to cum in your mouth and I want to finish inside you.

Mateo pulled away, chin wet, lips swollen, and felt his cock hardening again. He liked it. He liked it a lot.

—Come here —Iván said, rolling him over on the bed.

He stayed on top, straddling Mateo’s hips. He reached for the condom and lube on the nightstand with a naturalness that Mateo found almost moving. He put the condom on calmly, without theatrics, like someone tying a shoelace. Then he squirted cold lube into his hand and spread it over Mateo’s cock, all the way until it shone, gripping it with a firmness that made Mateo moan again.

—Look at me —he asked.

Mateo looked at him. Iván brought two shiny fingers back there and prepared himself, one hand braced on Mateo’s chest and the other behind him. He slid one finger in, closed his eyes, drew a deep breath. He added another. He started moving them inside himself with his mouth just open and his eyes half closed. Mateo had imagined that scene a thousand times and it didn’t look like this. This was slower. More intimate. Iván bit his lip when he concentrated and Mateo’s cock trembled beneath the other man’s ass, waiting.

—Now —said Iván.

He took Mateo’s cock in his hand, held it straight, and sat down slowly on it. Mateo felt the tip push, find the entrance, yield. A tight, hot ring opened around his glans centimeter by centimeter, then around his shaft, swallowing him whole until Iván’s ass settled against his groin.

Mateo let out the air in one burst. He had never felt anything so tight in his life. Iván stayed still, letting him get used to it, breathing hard. He pressed his palms to Mateo’s chest and lowered himself to find his mouth.

—Good? —he asked again.

—You’re... fuck, you’re so tight.

—I’m going to move.

—Please.

He started slowly, a short, deep rocking, rising until only the tip was inside and then dropping all the way down in one motion, his thighs firm on either side of Mateo’s hips. Mateo gripped his waist, dug his fingers in. Iván found a rhythm. The streetlights filtered through the blinds and striped his back and ass as he rode up and down. Mateo couldn’t decide where to look: at the other man’s face, at the abdominal muscles tightening with every thrust, or at his own cock disappearing inside him.

—Don’t go quiet —said Iván—. Tell me what you feel.

—That you’re hot inside, fuck, that you’re squeezing my cock, that I don’t want you to stop.

—Fuck me harder. From below.

Mateo did. He planted his feet on the mattress, gripped Iván’s hips with both hands and started thrusting upward every time Iván came down. Hip against thigh, skin against skin, a wet and dry blow at the same time. Iván picked up the pace. He leaned forward, bit his neck, dug his fingers into his shoulders. Mateo lifted his hips to meet him harder. Iván gasped. Mateo gasped. The bed creaked under them in a new rhythm, made of two breaths that didn’t quite match and of the steady slap of Mateo’s balls against Iván’s ass.

—Put me on all fours —Iván blurted suddenly—. I want you to fuck me properly.

Mateo obeyed as if he’d been doing it all his life. Iván got off him, got on all fours at the edge of the bed, arched his back and showed him his ass open, still shining with lube, marked by him inside. Mateo knelt behind him, grabbed his cock, pressed it to the entrance and pushed in one single motion. Iván growled into the pillow.

—Like that, fuck, like that.

Mateo gripped his hips and started fucking him for real. Without fear. Pulling almost all the way out and then shoving back to the hilt, watching how the other man’s ass opened and closed around his cock, how the skin of his thighs reddened with every удар. He slapped him, without thinking. Iván moaned louder.

—Again.

Mateo did. And again. Iván started jerking off beneath him, face pressed into the mattress and ass raised, and Mateo lost every shred of shame. He grabbed him by the hair, pulled to lift his back, pressed him against his chest while he kept driving into him.

—I’m going to finish again —Mateo said, surprised he’d held out so long—. I’m going to cum.

—With me.

Iván let go, straightened again and turned back to ride him once more, this time facing away, leaned against Mateo’s chest, cock in hand jerking himself fast while Mateo pushed from below. Mateo watched him: his body arched, his abdominal muscles tense, his head thrown back over Mateo’s shoulder, his hard cock between his fingers, mouth open. Iván came first, over his own abdomen and over Mateo’s chest, thick hot spurts staining his skin, with a deep sound Mateo had never heard before and that stayed etched in him. Mateo followed a second later, gripping his hips with both hands and unloading into the condom as the other man’s walls clenched around him in spasms.

They stayed still. Iván let himself fall forward slowly, Mateo’s cock slipping out of him little by little, and then he turned and leaned in until his forehead rested against Mateo’s. They breathed together, saying nothing, with Iván’s semen still warm between them.

—Did you survive? —Iván asked after a while.

—I’m not sure —Mateo answered, and they both laughed.

***

Iván got up to clean the traces away with a damp towel. He ran the towel over Mateo’s chest, over his belly, with tender calm, then cleaned himself. Mateo stayed lying there, staring at the ceiling. The question he’d carried for fifteen years was gone now. In its place were others: how often? with whom? what was he going to say Monday when he went back to the office and everyone kept treating him like the same old him?

Iván came back to bed, lay down beside him, and draped an arm over his stomach.

—You’re thinking about everything all at once —he said.

—A little.

—Tomorrow you have a whole day to think. Tonight, rest.

Mateo closed his eyes. He smelled like another person’s skin, sweat, semen, clean sheets. It seemed to him it had been a long time since he’d slept with someone so close, so present.

—Iván?

—Yeah?

—Can I write you on Monday?

Iván didn’t answer right away. Mateo braced for a gentle no, a parting line and never seeing each other again.

—You can write me whenever you want —said Iván—. But don’t write me for this. Write me if you want to have coffee again.

Mateo smiled in the dark. Fifteen years of questions, and the answer wasn’t just one thing. It was a whole lot of small answers he would have to discover little by little.

—I’ll write you —he said.

He turned off the light and, for the first time in a long while, fell asleep without setting the alarm.