I Ended the Year Getting Fucked by a Stranger in a Booth

It was seven-thirty in the evening on December thirty-first and I was still wandering around downtown with no desire to go back to my hotel room. I knew exactly how the night was going to end if I went up to that room: lukewarm beer, a television on with the volume off, and an unbearable loneliness as soon as the first New Year’s firecracker went off. I was not in the mood for that.

I was walking down a busy avenue when I remembered a place I had visited months earlier. A discreet basement, no sign on the street, with individual booths connected to an internal chat where you could look for gay hookups without having to speak to anyone in the hallway. Silent cruising, anonymous, perfect for that night.

It took me a few minutes to find the entrance. It was half-hidden between a closed bookstore and a tattoo shop that also wasn’t open that night. I went down the narrow staircase and reached a tiny reception area where a bored-looking guy with glasses handed me a key without looking at me twice. I paid for the individual booth, walked down the dimly lit corridor, found the door with the number engraved on a metal plate, and went in.

I locked the door behind me. I settled onto the narrow bench, turned on the computer, and opened the venue’s chat. The screen showed a general room with messages refreshing every few seconds. Most of them were bottoms begging for dick, with the occasional voyeur wanting nothing more than to look through a peephole. I was after the other thing: a decisive top who would make me forget the date.

While I was browsing the messages, someone kept trying to open my door by pulling the handle. I had put the latch on; that night I intended to choose.

Then I saw him write in the general chat. “I’m a top, forty-one years old, a bit stocky, booth twenty-seven. Discreet bottoms, message me.”

There were several available candidates, but something about the bluntness of the message appealed to me. I replied to him privately.

“Hi. You caught my attention. Thirty-five, big ass, bottom, discreet. Looking for something specific?”

Two or three long minutes passed before his answer appeared.

“Come to twenty-seven. Key in the door. We’ll see in person.”

I logged off, stepped into the corridor, and walked to the back. The little sign said twenty-seven, with the paint a bit chipped. I nudged the handle and the door gave way without resistance. Inside, sitting on the bench, was him. Short black hair, thin-rimmed glasses, a little taller than me when he stood up, a rounded belly under dark-blue boxer briefs that were the only thing he had on.

Before I had even finished closing the door behind me, he had already yanked me inside. He shot the latch, pushed me against the wood, and fixed me with a look as if he were measuring whether I was worth it.

“Stay still,” he said softly, with a smile that was not kind.

He braced one forearm against the door at the level of my head, and with the other hand he lifted my chin. He kissed me. It was not a shy kiss. It was an open-mouthed, hungry mouth that stole my breath in two seconds. I answered by winding my arms around his waist and letting him decide the pace. I felt his erection pressing through the fabric against my thigh.

בלי breaking the kiss, he moved his hand down to my belt. He undid it with one motion, unbuttoned my pants, and when he had me disarmed, he pulled back just enough to look at me.

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” he muttered.

He grabbed the sides of my pants and yanked them down to my ankles. The boxer briefs came down with the pants. I was naked from the waist down, my back against the door and my heart pounding in my throat.

He took my right arm and, with a firm twist, turned me around. I ended up facing the wall, hands spread against the Formica paneling. He placed his open hand on the back of my neck and pushed lightly so I’d lean forward. Then he came close to my ear.

“This ass is going to be mine. You’re going to end the year properly fucked,” he said, his voice rough.

***

He gave me two dry slaps, one on each cheek, hard enough for me to feel them burning but not enough to make me pull away. Then he left his palm there, squeezing the flesh. He started massaging, opening and closing my ass cheeks with a slowness that made everything on my skin prickle.

He leaned over my back. I felt his breath on the nape of my neck first, then his tongue on my earlobe. He licked the side of my neck, my collarbones, while he kept kneading me. I let out my first moan without being able to stop it. He chuckled softly, as if he’d been waiting for it.

He lowered his mouth down my spine. He kissed each vertebra, slowly, until he reached the dip in my back. When he got to my ass, he planted an almost tender kiss on each cheek and then pulled them apart with both hands. The cold air of the place hit my exposed ass and I felt it contract on its own, without permission.

“Look at that little perky thing,” he said, amused. “This little ass is already hungry.”

Still bent over me, I felt something familiar sliding between my cheeks. He had lowered his boxer briefs and was rubbing his dick along the crease, not penetrating yet, just grinding it there. It was thick and hot; I could tell even without seeing it. He grabbed my waist with both hands to keep the rhythm. He stayed like that for a while, teasing, making me wait.

Then he pulled away. He took me by the arm, spun me around again, and pushed me onto the bench until I was seated. His cock ended up at mouth level, inches away. It was big, thick, shaved, with a clean glans and a bead of precum at the tip.

He took it in his hand and started running it over my face. Over my cheeks, my lips, my chin. Marking territory. When it reached the corner of my mouth, I opened.

I started slowly, just the head, licking his glans with the tip of my tongue, playing with the frenulum. He let out a deep groan and put a hand on the back of my neck, not pressing yet, just resting there. I took more of it in, millimeter by millimeter, as far as my reflex would allow. Then I started moving, setting my own rhythm. I could hear his breathing getting heavier. His fingers closed in my hair.

“That’s it, keep going.”

He increased the intensity. He pushed my head a little farther, not too much. His hips began to move with me. When he was on the verge of coming, he grabbed my face with both hands and pulled his cock out of my mouth with a ragged breath.

“Not yet,” he said.

He took me by the arm, lifted me, turned me around, and put me on my knees on the bench, chest against the backrest and ass in the air. He laid his palm between my shoulder blades to hold me in place.

***

I heard the snap of a sachet. Then I felt the cold liquid fall between my cheeks and run down my perineum. His hand followed the trail, rubbing, opening me, smearing lube over my hole with a slowness that made me bite my lip so I wouldn’t complain out loud.

He pushed in a finger. It didn’t go in on the first try. He persisted patiently, added more lubricant, pushed again. This time it worked its way inside. I felt the brief burn, the stretch, the finger turning inside me in small circles. He pulled it out, added more liquid, pushed it in again, this time without resistance. In and out, circles again. Working me over.

“Ready or not, get set,” he said, and straightened up.

He spread my ass cheeks apart with both hands. I felt the tip of his cock pressing in the center, applying pressure. My sphincter resisted, then gave way. There was an instant when pain and pleasure were the same sensation and I let out a moan that bounced off the walls of the booth. He went in halfway with one thrust and stayed still.

“You’re so tight,” he said, his voice trembling. “What a little ass I’m eating to close out the year.”

He waited. He let me breathe. When he felt I had adjusted, he pulled his cock all the way out, added more lube, rested the tip there again, and pushed once more, this time all the way in. I felt his balls slap against mine, his hips pressed to my ass, his hand firm between my shoulder blades.

He started slowly. He pulled out halfway, then pushed back in to the hilt. Slowly, measuring, feeling me. Each thrust ripped a moan from me that I couldn’t control. Then he picked up the pace. The booth filled with the wet sound of his pelvis against my cheeks, his heavy breathing, my moans growing louder and louder.

At one point he pulled out all the way. He spread my ass cheeks with both hands again and just looked.

“Look how pretty and open you look,” he said, almost in a whisper. “I’m enjoying this more than you can imagine.”

And he slammed it back in, all the way. This time without stopping. He gripped my waist hard with both hands and started fucking me with a new rhythm, faster, deeper, almost violent. I clung to the bench backrest as best I could and let him take me.

His breathing turned into a continuous pant. His groans blended with broken words, fragments.

“I’m going to finish inside you,” he told me near my ear, without stopping his motion. “Take it.”

Three, four more thrusts, deep, brutal. Then I felt it. A hot pulse inside me, once, again, again. He was buried to the hilt, his nails digging into my waist, a long groan that broke into a sigh.

He stayed still for a few seconds. Then he pulled out slowly. He spread my ass cheeks apart to look at what he had done. He gave me two more slaps, this time soft, almost affectionate.

He pulled me by the arm to make me stand. When he had me in front of him, he kissed me. A long kiss, unhurried, completely different from the first.

“Happy New Year,” he said, his face still pressed against mine. “What a great little ass to close on.”

He kissed me again. He massaged my ass for a while longer, now without urgency. Then he helped me get dressed almost tenderly while I tried to get my balance back. When I was presentable, he opened the door and nodded for me to leave.

I went back to my booth, logged off without looking at the chat, climbed the stairs, and stepped out into the air of the last day of the year. The avenue was already full of people carrying bags of ice and bottles of cider. I walked back to the hotel unhurried, with my ass still hot and my head strangely light. That night I slept better than I had in a long time.

I never went back to that place. Nothing like that ever happened to me again. But every time I hear fireworks on the night of December thirty-first, I remember the guy in booth twenty-seven and how he fulfilled, in his own way, the promise.