My First Time in the Car of a Mature Man

That June afternoon I left the faculty building with a heavy head and an even heavier body. We’d had six straight hours of class and, while the others went off in a group for a drink, I was going down the stairs alone, backpack hanging from one shoulder and headphones on. I wasn’t listening to anything, really. I just needed a wall between the world and me.

My name is Tomás, I’m twenty-two, and I still find it hard to say out loud what I’m about to tell. This isn’t the first time I’ve written here, but it is the first time I’ve dared to recount something like this. Months ago I accepted that I like men, even though my friends don’t know and neither does my family. I live that part of myself in silence, almost like a secret that slips between classes, notes, and the chats I open at dawn when I can’t sleep.

And that Friday, while I was walking to the bus stop, I felt that same silence pushing me toward something. It was winter and by seven in the evening it was already pitch black. The yellow lights of the streetlamps drew circles on the wet sidewalk and the air smelled of smoke and damp pavement. I took out my phone almost without thinking and opened the app.

I had talked before with several men. Some went nowhere, others just fizzled out in conversation. But that night I was horny in a different way, as if exhaustion had lowered my guard and everything I’d been repressing was looking for an outlet.

—Hi —I wrote—. Are you nearby?

The message came back almost instantly. His name was Ricardo. Forty-five years old, one meter eighty tall, solid. He sent me a face-less photo: broad chest, gray beard trimmed close, a shirt open to the second button. He was sitting in his car, about six blocks from where I was heading.

—I’m parked right here —he wrote—. If you want, we can go for a drive.

A drive.

I smiled to myself, right there in the street, while my heart started racing. I told him it was the first time I was going to do something like that with a man, that I’d never tried it, that I’d only been with girls. I expected it to end there, for him to tell me he preferred someone with more experience. Instead, it went the other way.

—Even better —he answered—. I’ll teach you slowly.

That sentence hit me somewhere I didn’t even know I had. I pressed the phone against my thigh and walked the remaining blocks with a dry throat. For a moment I thought about turning back, going home, locking myself in the bathroom and finishing what had already started in my head. But my feet kept carrying me forward.

When I saw him, I recognized him immediately. He was under a flickering streetlamp, his elbow resting on the lowered window. He was huge, the kind of man who takes up the whole seat, with his belly tight against the seatbelt and his forearms covered in dark hair. He gave me a quick nod.

—Get in, Tomás.

The inside of the car smelled of leather cologne and stale tobacco. I sat in the passenger seat with my backpack between my legs, as if it were a shield. He smiled sideways at me, started the engine, and began driving without asking where.

—Relax —he said—. We’re going somewhere quieter. I’m not rushing you at all.

I nodded without being able to speak. Everything in me was boiling: cold hands, hot nape, a strange excitement unlike anything I’d felt before. It was fear and desire mixed in equal parts.

—What faculty are you coming from?

I answered in short phrases. I study engineering. I’m in my third year. I live with my mom. While I talked, he kept glancing at me out of the corner of his eye, and there was something in that look. It wasn’t impatience, it was patience. As if he knew exactly how long he had to wait before touching me.

—Are you nervous?

—A little.

—That’s good —he said, and laughed softly, almost to himself.

We drove for ten or twelve minutes. We crossed empty avenues, turned right several times, until we got into an inner street in a neighborhood I didn’t know. It was an area of closed workshops and warehouses. There was no one around. The streetlamps were so far apart that between one and the next the car was left in darkness for several seconds.

He parked beside a long brick wall. Turned off the engine. Silence fell inside like a blanket.

—Well —he said, looking at me directly for the first time—. No one can see us here.

I swallowed. My mouth was dry, but something was pushing me to do something, not to stand there frozen like a little kid. I stretched out my hand and rested it on his thigh. The jeans were thick, but underneath I immediately felt what I was looking for: a firm, thick shape that reacted to the touch. I stroked it over the fabric and he let out a short, controlled sigh.

—Slowly —he said—. We’re in no hurry.

But there was no slowly left in me. I opened the button, pulled down the zipper, and slid my hand in. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath. The skin was hot, almost burning, and I was surprised by the thickness. I took it out carefully, as if it were an object that could break, and for the first time in my life I had another man’s cock in my palm.

It was different from mine. Thicker, darker, with a pronounced vein running all the way along it. The tip was wet with a clear fluid that had gathered in the slit. It was about six inches long, not huge, but it felt heavy, full.

This is real. It’s happening.

I lowered my head without thinking. The first thing I did was smell it. It had a clean scent, fresh soap, but with that animal note sex has and that you can’t mistake for anything else. I closed my eyes, kissed the tip, and took it into my mouth.

***

The taste hit me first: salty, smooth, with something metallic mixed into my own saliva. The texture was the strangest thing. Hot, alive, unlike anything I’d ever had in my mouth before. I moved forward a few inches, pulled back, then went forward again. I didn’t really know what to do, so I let myself be guided by a clumsy imitation of what I’d seen on screens.

Ricardo put a hand on the back of my neck. He didn’t shove me down, just set the rhythm with a gentle, patient pressure. When I rushed, he stopped me with his fingers. When I lingered too long, he nudged me to continue with the slightest movement.

—Like that, Tomás —he murmured—. Take your time. Feel it.

I don’t know how long I went on. Three minutes, five, ten. The dashboard clock glowed green, but I wasn’t looking at it. Every so often I gagged and had to pull off, cough, smile crookedly, start again. He didn’t laugh at me, didn’t rush me. He waited. He let me learn.

When my face got tired, I kissed the base of his cock, licked his balls with the clumsiness of someone discovering something new, and went back up. Saliva was dripping down my chin. He had his head leaned back against the seat, his breathing getting more and more ragged.

—I’m close —he said at last, his voice hoarse—. Do you want me to…?

—Yes —I answered before he could finish the question.

I wasn’t even sure what I was saying yes to. To everything, probably. I went back to his cock with a urgency I didn’t recognize in myself, licking it, sucking it, getting it wetter, and then I felt it swell a little more and a low groan escape from deep in his chest. He filled my mouth in one burst. Much more than I expected. It spilled out the corners of my lips, ran down my chin, warm as it went down my throat.

I didn’t know what to do. I swallowed it almost without thinking. It was thick, salty, strong, with a bitter edge at the end. I stayed there a little longer with his cock in my mouth, feeling it lose firmness, and then slowly straightened up. He looked at me with half-closed eyes and a tired smile.

—Good student —he said.

I wiped my chin with the back of my hand. I thought that was the end of it, that he’d start the car, drop me near my house, and I’d never see him again. But he stretched out an arm, touched my crotch over my jeans, and squeezed.

—Now you.

***

It was hard to get myself arranged. I lowered the seat back, unbuttoned my pants, pulled down my boxers. My cock was so hard it hurt. Five and a half inches, nothing special, wet with my own fluid. He leaned over the gearshift and, without asking me anything else, took it all the way into his mouth.

I almost screamed.

I’d been with two girlfriends before. Both of them had sucked me off, both of them had done it well. But this was something else. It was a hungry throat, a beard brushing the skin of my pubic area with a pleasurable roughness, a big hand gripping my base firmly and the other one buried underneath, stroking my balls as if they were fragile pieces.

—Look at me —he said, lifting his eyes without taking me out of his mouth.

I looked at him. And that was the end. Seeing that mature man, gray-bearded, with my cock in his mouth and his eyes fixed on mine, was more than my body could take. I felt everything tighten from the waist down, I wanted to warn him, I opened my mouth, but all that came out was a broken moan.

I came inside his mouth.

He didn’t stop. He kept sucking me slowly, milking me to the last drop, while I sank into the seat with my head thrown back and my legs shaking. When he finally let me go, he licked his lips calmly, straightened up, and leaned over me. He kissed me. A long kiss, with tongue, with all of our mixed taste in the middle.

It was the most intimate kiss anyone had ever given me in my life.

Then he settled his clothes, ran his fingers through his beard, and started the engine. He drove back toward my neighborhood without saying much. He just kept glancing at me and smiling every so often, as if we were sharing a joke no one else could understand. He dropped me off a block from home, on a shadowy corner where no one would see me get out.

—Take care, Tomás —he said—. And text me whenever you want to keep learning.

I closed the door and stood there on the sidewalk watching the taillights of the car fade away. My legs were weak, my mouth still tasted like him, and my body was filled with a strange calm, as if I’d had a weight lifted off me that I hadn’t even known I was carrying.

That night I walked the last few blocks slowly, looking down at my feet. At home I said hello to my mom, went into my room, threw myself on the bed, and lay staring at the ceiling with a goofy smile for a long while.

I didn’t regret it for a second. I knew there was going to be a next time.