The First Time I Belonged to Another Man

My name is Roberto and I’m 57 years old. I’m five foot four, I’ve got a bit of a belly that I no longer plan to hide, and I consider myself a reasonably normal person. I had two marriages, two children —one from each partner—, and for decades I believed my emotional and sexual life was exactly where it was supposed to be.

What I was never able to fully explain to myself were certain images that would appear uninvited. Fantasies about men. Not women dressed up as men, not abstract situations: men. With hard cocks going into my mouth, with other people’s hands opening my ass cheeks, with thick loads splashing across my face. I ignored them for years because ignoring them was easier than the opposite.

With my first wife the subject never even came up. With Valeria, the second, it was different: after a long time and a lot of trust, we ended up opening the door to certain experiences that I’d rather talk about another time. But this story is about me. About the afternoon I stopped ignoring what I wanted and gave it to another man for the first time.

***

I created a profile on an adult dating platform. It wasn’t what one imagines when hearing that phrase: there were swingers, people with specific fetishes, men looking for men, women looking for women. I signed up with a mix of curiosity and cowardice, with no clear expectations. What I found was a gay chat section that I didn’t take long to visit.

That’s where I met Sergio. Forty-eight years old, civil engineer, originally from Monterrey but living for several years in La Condesa, here in Mexico City. He lived alone in a fourth-floor apartment overlooking a big tree. I learned that later, along with many other things.

We spent weeks writing to each other. We exchanged photos —he sent me his in full, with his cock hard against his stomach, thick, dark, veins standing out—, we talked about what each of us was looking for, about what we’d never done and wanted to do. I told him I wanted to suck him until I was choking. I told him I wanted him to fuck me. Writing it, with those exact words, was one of the most liberating things I had ever done in my life.

Sergio was direct without being rough, sure of what he liked without being arrogant. There was something in the way he wrote —precise, without ornament— that gave me a strange calm, as if talking to him were a rehearsal for something I’d needed for a long time.

When he suggested I come to his apartment, I took two full days to answer. Then I said yes.

***

The afternoon of the agreed-upon Saturday I got ready with a care I hadn’t given any encounter in years. I showered twice. I shaved everything that needed shaving, taking my time, unhurried. I put my fingers in with soap, cleaned myself out inside with a bulb syringe until the water ran clear, because I wanted to be ready for whatever. I put on the dark pants that suit me best and a plain short-sleeved shirt, and at the last moment, when I was already about to leave, I decided not to put on underwear.

It was a small decision with a meaning only I understood: I wanted to arrive without any kind of barrier. I wanted that if he opened my pants, he wouldn’t find anything but my ass ready.

The metro ride took forty minutes. I told myself several times I could turn back. I told myself I didn’t want to do it. When I got off at Chilpancingo station, my heart was pounding in my throat and my half-hard cock was rubbing against the fabric of my pants with every step.

Sergio was waiting for me in the half-open apartment door. He was wearing a dark cotton shirt unbuttoned to the chest and house pants. He was quite a bit taller than me, with broad shoulders and several days’ worth of beard that gave him a deliberately scruffy look. When he saw me coming down the hallway, he put his index finger to his lips: silence.

I went in. He closed the door behind me with a soft click.

Without saying a word, he came up behind me with his arms around me, turned me slowly toward him, and kissed me. It wasn’t a tentative kiss. It was a long, firm kiss that opened my mouth before I could decide whether to open it. His tongue slid into my mouth with the same confidence with which he would later do everything else, and I sucked it as if I’d been waiting for it for years. He pressed me against him and I felt the hard bulge of his cock digging into my belly through the fabric. I kissed him back. I melted into that embrace in a way I hadn’t expected, a surrender that had taken decades to happen.

When he pulled back, he looked at me. Just that. And it was enough.

—Strip —he said—. I want to see you.

My fingers were trembling. I took off my shirt without much elegance. Sergio pulled me toward him before I could do anything else, gently bit one nipple, then the other, with a deliberation that made me hold my breath. He sucked hard, tugged with his teeth, left both nipples swollen and throbbing. He raised my arms and ran his mouth over the inside of my armpits with a slowness I didn’t know how to process, licking the sweat off me, sniffing me as if he wanted to memorize me. He let me go and looked at me again, waiting.

I turned my back to him. Unbuckled my belt. Slid my pants down slowly.

I heard something I couldn’t quite identify —a sound between approval and surprise— and then two smacks landed on my ass, shaking me from top to bottom and leaving my skin burning. Sergio spread my ass cheeks with both hands, crouched down, and blew against my hole before running his tongue flat over it, once, from bottom to top, very slowly. He stood up and called me a bitch in a low, loaded voice that wasn’t an insult but a way of naming something I didn’t yet have words for.

—That’s what you are —he said in my ear—. A bitch who came to get fucked.

—Yes —I said, and the word came out hoarse.

I took off my shoes, my socks, my pants. I was left naked with half an erection, in front of a man who was still partly dressed and looking at me as if I were already his.

Sergio unbuttoned the shirt all the way and yanked off his house pants in one motion. Between his legs, what I’d spent weeks imagining in blurry images became concrete and real: a thick, long cock, with a broad, dark head, already fully erect, throbbing against his stomach. His balls hung heavy beneath it, covered in thick black hair. He pulled me toward him by the shoulders, firmly but without violence, until I was on my knees on the cold floor.

I stayed looking at it for a few seconds, so close I could feel it breathing.

I stuck out the tip of my tongue and took the drop that had gathered at the end. It was salty and warm, and I liked it in a way that surprised no one anymore, not even me. I took it in both hands, felt the heat and weight, watched it while it grew a little more. I kissed it carefully, on the head, on the shaft, at the base. I went lower and buried my nose in his balls, breathed in his smell, sucked each one, every inch of each inside my mouth, with a slowness that drew the first growl out of him.

—That’s it, bitch —he muttered—. Suck it all.

I went back up the shaft with my tongue flat and wet, and when I reached the head I opened my mouth and took it in. My lips stretched to fit it. My tongue circled the glans and I tasted it, warm, salty, with that texture that was soft and firm at the same time. Sergio took my head in both hands and started pushing it into my mouth without haste, without stopping, until I felt it reach the back of my throat. I gagged for a moment and my eyes filled with tears. I breathed through my nose and held still until it passed.

He started moving.

At first slowly, pulling almost all the way out and then shoving back in, letting me feel each centimeter scraping against my palate. Then faster. He fucked my mouth with both hands locked around my neck, setting a rhythm I didn’t own and didn’t want to own. Saliva dripped down my chin and onto my chest. Every gag that escaped me excited him more and he answered with a deeper thrust. I tightened my lips into a ring and let myself be used.

—You suck it so well for the first time —he gasped—. Looks like you were born for this.

We stayed like that ten minutes, maybe fifteen. I tightened my lips, he set the pace. At some point he pulled out completely and slapped my cheek with the hard, wet cock, slick with my own saliva, once, twice, three times, never taking his eyes off me, and I stuck out my tongue to lick it while he struck me. At some point I stopped thinking about what I was doing and simply started doing it. Enjoying it. Asking for more with my mouth open every time he pulled out.

***

He pulled me off, lifted me up, kissed me again with the same firmness as the first time, letting me taste my own saliva mixed with his pre-cum. He led me to the bedroom with one open hand at the small of my back, as if he knew exactly where he wanted to take me.

What came next in bed was longer and more detailed than I’d imagined. Sergio wasn’t in a hurry. He laid me down on the mattress and went over my whole body with his mouth: my neck, my chest, my stomach, my sides. He stopped at my cock, took it in his hand, looked at it like someone sizing up what he’s going to eat, and took it into his mouth to the base without warning. He sucked me with a technique I had never received before, going up and down, pressing his tongue against the underside, playing with my balls with his other hand. I was about to come in less than a minute and he noticed and stopped, squeezing the base with two fingers.

—Not yet —he said—. You’ll come when I say.

He bit my ass cheeks slowly, over and over, with a calm that was driving me crazy. Then he put me on all fours at the edge of the bed.

—Spread yourself —he said.

I opened up. Without thinking, without hesitation, as if that instruction were the most natural one I had ever received in my life. I lowered my chest to the sheet and raised my ass, and with my hands I spread my ass cheeks for him, offering him everything.

What he did then with his mouth I won’t forget. First his lips on the skin, kissing each cheek, biting carefully, then his tongue right in the center, flat at first, giving long licks that made me scream into the pillow. Then his tongue went pointed and started going into the hole, circling, fucking me like a miniature cock. I pushed back against his mouth with no shame at all, looking for more. He sucked, licked, spat, licked again, until I was completely soaked and open.

Then one finger that went in slowly and turned with infinite patience. Then two, with more lubricant he took from a jar on the bedside table, slippery, folding inside me, touching something deep inside that made my whole body jerk and drew from me a moan I didn’t recognize as mine. Then three. I buried my face in the pillow and pushed back trying to take in as much as I could. I moaned without being able to help it, I begged him for more, I begged him to put it in already. I didn’t care at all to hear myself pleading.

—Please —I said, my voice muffled against the fabric—. Please, fuck me. Put it in already.

—What do you want? —he said with cruel calm—. Say it.

—Your cock —I gasped—. I want your cock inside me. Fuck me, please.

Sergio gave a low laugh. I felt the cold stream of lubricant pouring into my hole, and then his hand smearing it, working it in with two fingers until deep inside. He spat softly on top, placed the head of his cock in the center of what I was offering him, and told me, with the same calm he had used from the start:

—Push yourself in. Take it.

I closed my eyes. I gripped the pillow with both fists. I pushed back.

The moment the glans crossed the sphincter was pure pain for two or three seconds: a concentrated burn that made my whole body tense and left me clinging to the sheets. Sergio put one flat hand on the small of my back and waited, completely still, for me to open up. He didn’t push. He gave me the time I needed. I breathed deeply. Relaxed. When I pushed again, harder, I felt it enter centimeter by centimeter, opening me inside, filling me in a way that made me lose my breath. His hips touched my ass. I felt it throb inside me, thick, hot, alive. I stayed still for a long moment without breathing.

He was inside me. All the way.

The pain dissolved into something that wasn’t exactly pleasure yet, but a feeling of fullness that had no name in any language I knew. Sergio started moving: slowly at first, with long withdrawals and measured thrusts that let me feel every centimeter, every vein, the exact shape of the glans as it withdrew to the corona and plunged back in. Then he sped up. The burn was left completely behind and what remained was something else: the awareness of being possessed in a way that went beyond everything I had imagined.

He started really fucking me. His hips crashed against my ass with a wet sound that filled the room, his balls slapped against my perineum with each thrust, and from my mouth came a string of moans and swear words I had never heard myself say. He grabbed my hair, yanked my head back, kept fucking me while he talked in my ear.

—That’s how you like it, isn’t it? For me to shove it all the way in. Say it.

—That’s how I like it —I moaned—. Fuck me harder. More.

He gave it to me. He increased the pace until I had my cheek against the sheet, drooling, my own cock hard and dripping between my legs, my ass opening and closing around his with each thrust. I didn’t want it to ever end.

He pulled out and turned me onto my back. He lifted my legs over his shoulders, spat in his hand, slicked up his cock and slammed back in with one thrust, looking straight at me this time. I screamed. In this position he entered differently, deeper, touching something that made me see points of light. He pinched my nipples with his hands, twisted them, kissed me while he moved inside me, looked at me with an undisguised lust that made me feel exactly what I was at that moment.

With one free hand he grabbed my cock and started jerking me off to the rhythm of his thrusts. The combination was too much. I felt the orgasm coming from somewhere very deep, unlike any I had ever had before, an orgasm that began in my full ass and climbed all the way up my spine.

—Come —he ordered, without stopping fucking me, without stopping pumping my cock with his hand—. Come for me, bitch.

I came. Thick streams of semen burst out of me, splashing onto my stomach, my chest, one reached my neck. I screamed while I came, while he kept pounding into me nonstop, and the orgasm stretched longer than I thought possible because every thrust added another new jolt.

—You’re mine —he said, when I finally stopped shaking. It wasn’t a question.

—I’m yours —I answered, and I meant it, with a conviction I hadn’t prepared myself to feel.

At that moment I understood it: surrendering to someone is not defeat. It is, sometimes, the only honest way to be somewhere.

Sergio still hadn’t finished. He kept fucking me for a few more minutes, now slower, savoring my freshly emptied and still trembling ass. When he got close to the edge he asked me where I wanted him to finish. I opened my mouth and stuck out my tongue without saying anything. He pulled out, knelt over my chest, jerked himself off two or three times with a clenched fist over his lubricant-slick cock, and came over my lips. The first spurt hit my tongue, thick, hot, with a strong taste that filled my mouth. The following ones landed on my lips, my chin, one painted my cheek. I swallowed it. I ran my tongue over my lips and tasted it. I gathered with my fingers what had spilled out and brought that to my mouth too. Then I opened my mouth again so he could see there was nothing left, as proof of a surrender that no longer needed any explanation.

I knew in that instant that my life was not going to stay exactly the same.

***

We showered together under water that took too long to warm up and neither of us seemed to notice. He soaped my back, ran his hand between my ass cheeks with a tenderness that contrasted with everything before, kissed the nape of my neck. Then we sat on the couch with our glasses of cold water and talked about completely mundane things: work, Mexico City in August, the metro renovation. The normality of that conversation seemed to me the strangest and most perfect thing in the world, sitting naked on his couch with my ass still throbbing, with the taste of his load still somewhere in my mouth.

A while later, Sergio’s hand on my knee stopped being a companionable caress and became something else. It climbed up my thigh, grabbed my cock that was already starting to respond again, kneaded it calmly until it was hard once more. I leaned over him patiently, without the urgency of the first time, with a tenderness I hadn’t expected to feel, and gave him what I owed him: a second round, long and deliberate, in which he ended up with his hands in my hair and I decided I could stay like that for as long as it took.

I worked his cock with my whole mouth this time, already knowing what he liked: the long licks up the shaft, the balls in my mouth one by one, my throat opening to take him to the base. I licked his perineum. I begged him to shove it in until I cried. I begged him to fill my mouth. When I felt his legs tremble and his balls tighten against his body, I sped up, sucked hard, and received his second load directly in my throat. I swallowed everything, with his cock still inside, without leaving a single drop outside. I looked at him when I did it, eyes wet and lips shining. He nodded with what seemed to me like respect.

***

That first Saturday repeated the next one, and the one after, and the one after that. For almost a year, Sergio was a constant in my life that I told no one about but also never pretended didn’t exist.

Eventually he moved to Spain for work reasons. We still write to each other. Sometimes we talk by video call and there’s something in his voice that takes me back to that apartment in La Condesa, to the smell of wood and soap, to the August afternoon when I walked through that door without really knowing who I was going to be when I walked out.

This story is a tribute to him. To the man who made me his and who, in doing so, gave me back something I had kept in a drawer without a name for decades.

If you’re interested in what happened with Valeria, with the years that came after, with everything I learned about myself since then: I’m going to tell that too. Greetings from Guadalajara, Mexico.