I Accepted a Date with a Man Out of Pure Curiosity

Mateo had been a man of habits all his life. Alarm at six, strong coffee, thirty minutes at the gym before the office, early dinner, a series watched in silence, and bed. At twenty-eight, no one would have guessed that this architect of small projects was carrying a question he didn’t dare answer.

The question was simple, and it had been simmering in him 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 for another guy to fuck him?

He had never said it aloud. He had dated women, he liked women, and none of his friends suspected anything unusual. But on Sunday nights, when the apartment became 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 wasn’t supposed to touch. He jerked off while looking at photos of naked men, hard cocks, mouths open around other cocks, and afterward deleted his browsing history as if that were enough.

One rainy March morning, he opened the app and, instead of closing it after two minutes, he wrote. He wasn’t sure why he chose Iván. Maybe it was the green, slightly tired eyes, or the line in his profile: “If you’re just going to make excuses, don’t write.” Every excuse sounded familiar to him. 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 Mateo he had just gotten out of the shower, that he was drying his hair, that winter wreaked havoc on his skin. Mateo laughed to himself, the phone pressed against 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 can talk. If you ever want to meet, let me know.

They talked for nearly three weeks. Iván was thirty, worked at a graphic-design studio, and lived alone with a gray cat named Bruno. He didn’t send suggestive pictures, didn’t pressure him, and didn’t ask more than he needed to. Mateo caught himself waiting for the messages with a mixture of anxiety and relief.

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

—If you don’t show up, it’s fine —he wrote—. If you do, that’s fine too.

Mateo read the sentence three times.

—Friday at nine —he replied before turning off his phone.

***

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

—It’s only one night —he said aloud to himself—. If I don’t like it, I’ll leave.

He got out of the car before he could think about it any longer. 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 toward the stairs. Room 207.

He went upstairs. The door was ajar.

—Come in —a voice said from inside.

Iván was barefoot, wearing a white shirt open to the third button, with a glass of whiskey 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.

—So did I —Mateo replied.

They looked at each other for a moment. Iván was taller than Mateo had imagined, with broader shoulders and a firm jaw. He had a small mark above 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?

—Not that either.

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

—Then come here.

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

It’s not that different.

It’s not that different, and at the same time it’s nothing like anything else. That was what Mateo thought when Iván’s tongue pushed against his. His beard brushed Mateo’s chin, his hand tightened around the nape of his neck, and his chest felt firm against Mateo’s. Everything was more solid, rougher, more tangible. And he liked it. He liked it so much that he could already feel his cock hardening inside his pants, pressing against his fly, trying to get out.

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

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

—Fuck —was all Mateo managed to say.

Iván took off his jacket without breaking the kiss. He unbuttoned Mateo’s shirt one button at a time, unhurriedly. When he opened the fabric and ran his open palm over Mateo’s chest, Mateo made a sound he hadn’t known he could make. Iván’s fingers found one nipple and pinched it, gently at first, then harder, until it stiffened. He ran his hot tongue over it, and Mateo grabbed his shoulders.

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

He kissed Mateo’s neck. Gently bit his collarbone. Then he went lower. He kissed his chest, ran his tongue over one nipple and then the other, sucked them until they were shiny, and Mateo felt his knees weaken. He held on to Iván’s shoulders.

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

Mateo sat. Iván knelt in front of him, undid his belt, and pulled down his pants and underwear in one movement. His cock sprang out, hard and swollen, the tip already wet, striking 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 everything I want. And I’m going to eat it all.

He grasped Mateo’s cock, squeezed it once from the base and watched a drop emerge, then bent down and ran his tongue from the balls to the tip, slowly, savoring it. Mateo let out a long gasp. Iván licked the tip, played with the frenulum, wrapped his lips around it, and took it deep into his mouth in one movement.

Mateo closed his eyes and threw his head back. A man’s mouth was different. Hotter. More determined. Iván didn’t toy with him: he held the base with one hand, moved up and down with a rhythm Mateo had never felt before, closed his lips tightly around the cock, pulled it all the way out to spit on it and put it back in, sucked it deep until Mateo felt his throat closing around the tip. He fondled his balls with his other hand, squeezing them carefully, rolling them between his fingers. Every time their eyes met, with Iván’s mouth full and his lips stretched around him, Mateo felt a pull in his lower belly that rose all the way to the back of his neck.

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

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

—Fuck my mouth. Don’t be careful.

And he took it back in. Mateo raised his hips, hesitated for a second, and then pushed. Iván received him, relaxed his throat, and let him sink in. Mateo began moving timidly at first, then more freely, gripping Iván’s neck with both hands, fucking his mouth as if he had wanted to do it for years.

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

Iván didn’t pull away. He picked up the pace, dug his nails into Mateo’s thigh, swallowed around him, and Mateo came with a sound that rose from a part of his body he had never used before. He shot load after load into another man’s mouth for the first time in his life, and Iván swallowed without looking away, without releasing his cock, sucking until he had taken every last drop, then cleaning the tip with his tongue.

—God —Mateo said, falling backward onto the mattress—. God.

Iván climbed onto the bed and lay beside him. He ran a hand over Mateo’s stomach, still tasting him in his mouth.

—Good?

—Better than good.

—Do you want us to stop here?

Mateo turned his head. Iván’s lips were still wet, shining with saliva and semen, his hair tousled, his shirt fallen over one shoulder, and an obscene tent marked his pants. Mateo 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 built without a gym: clean skin, dark hair on his chest descending in a line to his groin, narrow hips, and between his legs, a hard, thick cock curved slightly upward, with heavy balls hanging beneath it. Mateo’s mouth went dry looking at it. He ran a hand over Iván’s thigh, hesitated for a second, and then took hold of him. He was surprised by how warm it was. How hard. He was surprised that he didn’t want to pull away.

—Is this okay? —he asked.

—It’s perfect. Move it the way you move yourself.

Mateo did. He closed his hand around the shaft, squeezed it, slid his fist up to the tip, and lowered it again. He saw a clear drop emerge and, without thinking, spread it over the glans with his thumb. Iván growled. Mateo liked that sound as much as he had liked coming in Iván’s mouth. He stroked him slowly at first, then faster. He watched as he worked him, committing him to memory: the way the veins swelled, the way his balls tightened, the way the tip grew wet every time he loosened his grip and squeezed again.

—Suck me —Iván said hoarsely—. Only if you want to.

Mateo looked him in the eyes, ran his tongue over his lips, and lowered his head. The first time, he brushed his lips against the tip, barely testing it. The second time, he opened his mouth and let it enter. It was hot, salty, much thicker than he had imagined. He felt clumsy. He gagged at first, pulled back a little, learned the angle, and lowered himself again. He closed his lips around it and began moving up and down as he had seen it done so many times during lonely nights with his phone.

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

Iván took his hair in one hand, not to force him but to guide him, and Mateo let himself be guided. He licked his balls timidly at first, then took one whole into his mouth. He ran his tongue up and down the shaft, put it back in, pulled away to breathe, a thread of saliva hanging from his lip. Iván gasped, clenched his jaw, and threw his head back.

—Enough, stop —he said after a while—. If you keep that up, I’ll come in your mouth, and I want to finish inside you.

Mateo pulled away, his chin wet, his lips swollen, and noticed that his cock was hardening again. He liked it. He liked it very much.

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

He climbed on top, straddling Mateo’s hips. He found the condom and lubricant on the nightstand with a naturalness Mateo found almost touching. He rolled the condom on calmly, without theatrics, as if tying a shoelace. Then he poured cold lubricant into his hand and spread it over Mateo’s entire cock until it gleamed, gripping it with a firmness that made Mateo moan again.

—Look at me —he said.

Mateo looked at him. Iván brought two glistening fingers behind himself and prepared himself, one hand resting on Mateo’s chest and the other behind him. He inserted one finger, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply. Then he inserted another. He began moving them inside himself, his mouth slightly open and his eyes half-closed. Mateo had imagined that scene a thousand times, and it was nothing 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 —Iván said.

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

Mateo released his breath all at once. He had never felt anything so tight in his life. Iván stayed still, letting him adjust, breathing hard. He placed his palms on Mateo’s chest and lowered himself until he found his mouth.

—Okay? —he asked again.

—You’re… fuck, you’re so tight.

—I’m going to move.

—Please.

He started slowly, rocking in short, deep movements, rising until only the tip remained inside and then dropping hard all the way down, his firm thighs on either side of Mateo’s hips. Mateo grabbed his waist and dug his fingers in. Iván found a rhythm. Streetlights filtered through the blinds, striping his back and buttocks as he rose and fell. 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 be quiet —Iván said—. 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 underneath.

Mateo did. He planted his feet on the mattress, gripped Iván’s hips with both hands, and began thrusting upward every time Iván came down. Hip against thigh, skin against skin, a wet and dry slap at the same time. Iván increased the pace. He leaned forward, bit Mateo’s neck, and dug his fingers into his shoulders. Mateo raised his hips to meet him harder. Iván gasped. Mateo gasped. The bed creaked beneath them with a new rhythm, made of two breaths that never quite coincided and the steady slap of Mateo’s balls against Iván’s ass.

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

Mateo obeyed as if he had been doing it all his life. Iván climbed off him, got on all fours at the edge of the bed, arched his back, and showed him his open ass, still glistening with lubricant, marked by Mateo inside him. Mateo knelt behind him, took hold of his cock, pressed it against the entrance, and pushed in with one movement. Iván grunted into the pillow.

—That’s it, fuck, like that.

Mateo grabbed his hips and began fucking him in earnest. Without fear. Pulling almost all the way out and driving back in to the hilt, watching the other man’s ass open and close around his cock, watching the skin of his thighs redden with every slap. He smacked him without thinking. Iván moaned louder.

—Again.

Mateo did it. And again. Iván began masturbating beneath himself, his face pressed into the mattress and his ass raised, and Mateo lost all his shame. He grabbed him by the hair, pulled him up by the back to raise his torso, and pressed him against his chest while continuing to thrust into him.

—I’m going to finish again —Mateo said, surprised he had lasted so long—. I’m going to come.

—With me.

Iván released himself, straightened up again, and turned backward to ride him once more, this time with his back to Mateo, leaning against his chest, his cock in his hand as he jerked himself quickly while Mateo thrust up from below. Mateo watched him: his arched body, the tense muscles of his abdomen, his head thrown back over Mateo’s shoulder, his hard cock between his fingers, his mouth open. Iván came first, over his own abdomen and Mateo’s chest, thick, hot jets splattering his skin, accompanied by a deep sound Mateo had never heard before and that stayed etched in his memory. Mateo followed a second later, gripping Iván’s hips with both hands and ejaculating inside the condom while the other man’s walls clenched around him in spasms.

They lay still. Iván slowly fell forward, Mateo’s cock slipping out of him little by little, and then he turned and leaned down until he rested his forehead against Mateo’s. They breathed together without saying anything, Iván’s semen still warm between them.

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

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

***

Iván got up to clean away the traces with a damp towel. He ran the towel over Mateo’s chest and stomach with tender calm, then cleaned himself. Mateo lay there, staring at the ceiling. The question he had carried for fifteen years was gone. In its place were others: how often? With whom? What was he going to say on Monday when he returned to the office and everyone continued treating him as if he were the same person as always?

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

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

—A little.

—Tomorrow you’ll have a whole day to think. Rest tonight.

Mateo closed his eyes. He smelled of someone else’s skin, sweat, semen, and clean sheets. It seemed to him that in a long time he hadn’t slept with anyone so close, so present.

—Iván?

—Yes?

—Can I text you on Monday?

Iván didn’t answer right away. Mateo braced himself for a kind refusal, a parting phrase, and never seeing each other again.

—You can text me whenever you want —Iván said—. But don’t text me for this. Text me if you want to meet for coffee again.

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

—I’ll text you —he said.

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