The Breakfast Delivery Guy Stayed All Morning

That morning I woke up with just enough time and nothing in the fridge. I didn’t feel like going down to the corner supermarket, buying bread, and making myself something half asleep, so I did the easiest thing: I ordered breakfast through one of those delivery apps. Coffee, something sweet, fruit. Three taps on the screen and wait.

I’d been living for more than a year in a country whose language I could barely chew through. I worked in English and handled daily life with gestures and a translator, but delivery drivers almost never spoke English. Over time I learned the trick: message them in their language, using copied phrases, and send them a photo of the entrance and the apartment number. Otherwise they’d ring from the street, try to explain themselves, and neither of us would understand a thing.

Usually I got a curt “ok” and, a little later, saw them arrive. That morning I sent the address and the photos to a guy named Idris, according to the app, and he replied as usual. In a few minutes the map icon was already on my street. I waited for him to ring the doorbell and opened up.

I had just gotten out of the shower. I was wearing an old T-shirt and shorts, my hair still damp, bare feet on the parquet floor. On the other side was a man about twenty-eight, dark skin, a very white smile, and a lean, fit body that the company polo did nothing to hide.

“Hi,” I said, in his language, one of the few words I could pronounce without messing up.

He greeted me back and, instead of handing me the bag and leaving, he kept looking over my shoulder into the apartment. He said something I didn’t fully understand, but I caught the gist: he was asking whether I lived alone, saying the building looked nice, that he was curious about what the apartments were like inside.

He looked nervous and, at the same time, determined. It was a strange combination, wanting something and not quite knowing how to ask for it. I stepped aside and invited him in with a gesture.

He came in. He set the breakfast bag down on the entry table, kicked off his shoes without being asked, and started taking in the living room as if he were visiting an apartment he was thinking of renting. I pointed him toward the sofa and offered him water or juice. He shook his head. He didn’t want any of that.

“Sit down,” I said, patting the cushion beside me.

He did as I said. And I, already having understood where things were headed, sat as close as I could, letting my leg brush against his. We talked about nonsense, half in broken English, half in gestures: where I was from, how long I’d been in the city, whether I liked it. He answered with short sentences and long looks.

I knew he wasn’t going to make the real first move. He’d had the nerve to come inside, but that was where his repertoire ran out. So I pressed my leg a little more firmly against his. He didn’t pull away. He also didn’t go for anything. He stayed still, waiting, breathing a touch faster than normal.

I decided to take the risk and laid my hand on his thigh.

That changed everything. His reaction wasn’t the one I feared: instead of moving away, he caught my hand in his. For a second I thought he’d politely hand it back and make up an excuse to leave. He didn’t. With one hand he held mine, and with the other he wrapped my shoulders and pulled me toward him.

I didn’t hesitate. I kissed him.

We kissed on the sofa for a good while, unhurried, as if we’d known each other before. His mouth was warm and he smelled clean, of cheap soap and the street. When I felt the sofa starting to get too small for what we wanted, I stood up, took his hand, and led him to the bedroom.

***

I yanked his polo off. He had a man’s torso built by work, not the gym: defined pectorals without exaggeration, strong arms, a line of hair trailing down his abdomen. I ran my hands over him, slowly, while he watched me without saying a word.

He pointed at his pants and asked something. I understood “Can I?” or rather “Do you want me to?” I didn’t wait for an answer: I undid the button and pulled them down myself.

And then I saw it.

Even though he wasn’t fully hard yet, it didn’t take much imagination to know where this was going. My mouth went dry. He noticed my face, smiled a little crookedly, and with a couple of words and a gesture toward me, asked if he could undress me.

I nodded.

He moved behind me. I felt the weight of his body against my back, his erection pressing into the small of my back while he lifted my shirt with both hands. He roamed over my shoulders, my arms, my abdomen, and in one motion pulled my shorts down. His cock slid between my thighs, hot, brushing against me, and he hugged me from behind, pressing his whole torso to my skin. The contrast between his burning chest and the cool air in the room made goosebumps break out over me.

He guided me to the bed almost as if carrying me.

He started with my back. A clumsy but generous massage, his big palms kneading my shoulders, sliding down my spine, spreading out toward my legs. Then he lay back, relaxed, with that smile of someone who knows what’s going to happen. I couldn’t stop looking at him. I reached out and touched him; he gently pushed me toward his mouth so he could kiss me again.

I traced his torso with my fingers, down to his belly, trying to go farther. He stopped me.

“Wait,” he said, or something like that, and finished the sentence with gestures: he hadn’t been with anyone in a long time. If I touched him too soon, he’d finish right away.

I sat astride his legs, not touching the place he was afraid of yet, and devoted myself to everything else. I stroked his biceps, his pectorals, his taut abdomen; I moved down his hard thighs. His erection jerked against his own belly, impatient, and I was dying to taste it.

I slid downward. I kissed the inner side of his thighs, licked slowly, let the heat of my breath reach him before my tongue did. He breathed deeper and deeper, with his hands spread over the sheets. I went back up little by little, barely brushing him, until he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Please,” he begged.

I couldn’t hold out any longer either. I started slowly, carefully, because there was no way to take all of him at once. He moaned low, restrained, barely moving his hips. Inch by inch I got used to him, gaining ground, until I managed to take him in deep. I moved my pelvis gently, without forcing it, letting him let me.

After a while he delicately moved my head away and whispered that he was close. I didn’t listen. I went back for more, harder, determined not to let go. He tried to pull me away once more, but I shook my head no and kept going. He gave in on the bed, spent, and I stayed a little longer, making sure there was nothing left.

***

He made room beside him. I lay down with my back to him and he held me from behind, his cock still heavy resting between my ass cheeks, his slow breathing on my nape.

“Are you in a hurry?” he asked.

“No,” I answered.

We stayed like that, still, letting our bodies calm down. But little by little I felt it: what was resting against me was stirring again, pressing harder and firmer against my skin. He wasn’t ready to let me go yet, and apparently neither was I.

I turned over, found his mouth, kissed him, and went back down again. He asked me to go slow this time, that he wanted it to last. I obeyed. I licked him calmly, with no rush at all, while he stroked the back of my neck and let out sounds that grew deeper and deeper. He propped himself up trying to reach me, stretching; the more he stretched, the deeper I felt him.

I got up for the lube. This wasn’t going in with saliva and good intentions alone. I came back with the bottle, smeared him well, and handed it to him. He took it from my hand and started preparing me patiently, one finger first, then more, working the lube in, unhurried, looking at my face the whole time so he wouldn’t miss a single expression.

When I was ready, I positioned myself over him and lowered myself little by little. I felt him making his way in, an intense burn that stole my breath, but I needed to have him all the way inside. I stopped, breathed, let my body get used to his shape. Slowly, very slowly, until I was still with him deep inside me.

I started to move. He held my hands, anchoring me, while I gradually picked up the pace. He asked me for softness, to go slowly, that he wanted to feel every inch. I did as he asked. I rocked on top of him for a long while, rubbing slowly, him still, unhurried, both of us lost in the same thing.

After a bit he warned me he was close. I asked if I could change the rhythm and he nodded. I sped up, dropping harder, and he started pushing his hips upward to meet me halfway.

“Can I…?” he asked, not finishing the sentence.

I didn’t answer with words. I gave him three hard, dry thrusts. He straightened his legs, clenched his fists in the sheets, and let out a hoarse cry. He was emptying himself inside me. I slowed down but didn’t stop; I kept moving slowly while he, eyes closed, grabbed me and held me tight against his body until the last tremor.

***

We lay there for a while, sweaty and breathless. Then he asked me, almost shyly, if he could shower with me.

We went to the bathroom together. He soaped my back with open hands and I returned the favor, making sure to get everything properly clean. The hot water and the friction stirred him again, but we were both exhausted. We laughed, not quite understanding each other, and left it at that.

He got dressed in silence. Before leaving, he thanked me and, pointing at the forgotten bag on the table, said something apologetic: he was sorry my coffee had gone cold. I waved it off. He gave me one last kiss at the door and left.

Twenty minutes later there was another knock. I opened the door, already dressed, and it was him again, with a freshly made coffee in his hand and that same white smile.

“So you can drink it hot,” he said.

He handed it to me, kissed me, and left.

From that morning on, Idris wrote to me almost every day to ask if I had time for breakfast. And on the days when I didn’t go in to work early, the delivery I ordered didn’t appear in any app.