The First Time I Gave Myself to a Stranger

I was twenty-two when I decided. I had lived my whole life in Guadalajara with the feeling that something was missing, that every time I saw a coworker at the office run a hand along his neck, my gaze lingered there longer than it should. For months I had had a dating app installed on my phone, opened every night under the sheets and closed every morning before going to work. Until that Friday, I had never replied to a message.

My name is Damián, though for that app I had used another name. It was a stupid way to protect myself, as if changing two letters could make me invisible. I work in a small graphic design agency, in a downtown building where the air conditioning never quite reaches the eight of us in the office. That afternoon, while everyone else was putting their things away to go home, I stayed seated in front of the computer pretending to check a file. In reality I was looking at the screen on my phone, hidden between my thighs, with my cock half-hard pressed against the seam of my pants for half an hour.

I had matched with a man who lived twelve minutes away on foot. Twelve. Like a sign.

His name on the app was Tomás. He was thirty-two, according to his profile, and had only two photos: one of him on what looked like a rooftop with the city behind him, and another of his torso, in black and white, cropped just below the navel, with the line of hair running down and disappearing into the waistband of his boxer briefs. He wasn’t a gym body. He was a real body, with the soft line of his shoulders and a little hair on his chest. I liked him precisely for that.

—Do you work nearby? —he wrote.

—Ten minutes away.

—Got plans for today?

It took me three minutes to type “no” and another two to send it.

What came after was a short conversation, straight to the point. He suggested meeting at his apartment. I said yes before thinking. He sent me the address and a message that said, “Come straight up, fifth floor, don’t ring, I’ll leave it unlocked.” And another right below it: “I’m coming to eat you whole.” I turned off the computer, said goodbye to the last coworker still there, and stepped out into the street with a hot face, cold hands, and my cock already throbbing inside my underwear.

***

The building was old, with a peeling yellow facade and an intercom that didn’t work. I went up the stairs because the elevator was out of service, counting the floors to distract myself. On the fourth floor I stopped, leaned against the wall, and breathed three times in a row. I thought about going back down. I thought about texting him that something had come up. I thought about a lot of things, but I kept going up.

The door to 5B was ajar. I pushed it open with the back of my hand.

—Come in —said a voice from the back.

The apartment smelled of fresh coffee and something else, something I took a while to identify and later understood was simply him: skin, clean sweat, a warm trace of man. Tomás appeared in the hallway in jeans and a white T-shirt, barefoot. He was taller than I had imagined from the photos, and thinner. He had a short dark beard and eyes of a color that was hard to define. I looked at the bulge without being able to stop myself: it pressed sideways against his thigh, thick, long, already half-awake beneath the denim.

—You’re prettier in person —he said, and laughed at his own cliché.

I laughed too, out of nerves. He offered me water and I accepted, if only to have something in my hands. We talked for five or ten minutes standing in the kitchen, about anything. My job. His: he was an engineer at a telecommunications company. The heat that week. I nodded without hearing half of it, focused on his mouth, on his hands, on the way he leaned his back against the refrigerator and on how his pants opened a little at the fly.

When he went quiet and looked at me in a different way, I knew we weren’t going to talk anymore.

—Is this your first time? —he asked.

I don’t know how he could tell. I nodded.

—We’ll take it slow. If you want to stop, you tell me and we stop. Okay? But I’m warning you —he added, lowering his voice—: I’m going to fuck you good, and you’ll remember it tomorrow.

—Okay.

He took me by the wrist and led me down the hallway. The apartment was small: the bedroom was at the back, with a double bed covered by a gray spread. The curtains were half closed and orange evening light came in, cutting across the wall and falling diagonally over his face when he turned to look at me.

***

He asked me to sit on the edge of the bed. He stayed standing in front of me. Without saying anything, he took off his shirt and let it fall to the floor. I kept looking at him from below, my mouth a little open, feeling my heart banging against my ribs as if it wanted to burst out. His chest was covered with a dark layer of hair that ran in a thick line down to his navel and continued lower, disappearing under his belt.

—Now you —he said.

I took my shirt off awkwardly. It got tangled around my arms and we both laughed. He came closer, knelt between my legs, and helped me pull it off. Then he put a hand on my cheek, tipped my face, and kissed me.

The kiss was slow at first. His lips were warm and a little rough, and he smelled like coffee. When he parted his mouth and found my tongue, I felt something in my stomach I had never felt with a woman. It was different. It was as if everything fit together in a way that didn’t need anyone to explain it to me. His hand moved from my cheek to my chest, from my chest to my stomach, and from there straight to my crotch. He squeezed my cock through my pants without asking, and let out a little approving sound when he felt how hard it was.

—You get hard nicely —he murmured against my mouth—. I want to see it.

He gently pushed me back so I could lie down. He climbed on top of me without taking off his jeans yet and kissed my neck, my collarbone, the center of my chest. Every time his mouth moved a little lower, I closed my eyes. He licked one nipple and bit it carefully, then the other, until both were hard and sensitive. When he unbuckled my belt, I lifted my hips to help him.

—Relax —he said against my ear—. We’ve got all night.

That undid me more than anything else. I wasn’t used to anyone saying that. The few times I’d been with a girl, everything had been rushed, almost clandestine, with the clock ticking. That phrase—“we’ve got all night”—kept turning in my head while he pulled my pants and underwear down together. My cock sprang against my stomach, hard, the tip already wet.

—Look at that —he said, and ran his thumb over the head to spread my pre-cum across the glans—. Already soaking wet.

When he lowered his head and took me into his mouth, I opened my eyes wide. I wasn’t expecting him to start there. I wasn’t expecting it to feel like that: his warm tongue circling my glans, the exact pressure of his lips sliding down the shaft, one firm hand at the base squeezing me while the other cupped my balls. He let saliva run over the tip and went down again, this time all the way, until I felt my throat closing around the head. I let out a long moan and covered my mouth with the back of my hand, embarrassed.

He looked up without taking me out and gave me a look. Do it. Don’t hold back.

He pulled off with a wet sound and held my cock against his cheek, staring straight at me.

—I want to hear you —he said—. Moan. Tell me what you feel. Nobody can hear you here.

He took me into his mouth again. This time he started sucking in rhythm, bobbing his head up and down, sealing his lips over the glans every time he came up, swallowing me whole every time he went down. He sucked my balls one by one, ran them over his tongue, and went back to my cock. My hands were gripping the gray spread, my hips pushing by themselves against his mouth, and when I felt I was about to come I pulled his hair.

—I’m going to... wait, I’m going to...

He pulled off just in time and squeezed the base with two fingers, cutting me off cold. He looked at me with a half smile.

—Not yet. You’re going to last longer than you think.

***

After a while he asked me to sit up. He stood and unbuttoned his jeans, letting them fall with his boxer briefs. When I saw him fully, with nothing on, I swallowed. His cock hung heavy and thick, with a slight curve upward and a prominent vein running along the top. His balls hung low, big, full. I had never held one in my hand that wasn’t mine, and this one was clearly bigger, wider, with a dark purple head that shone from how tense it was.

He sat on the edge of the bed and told me to kneel between his legs. I did. He took the back of my neck carefully, without pressure, and guided me. I ran it first over his lips, then over his tongue. It tasted like clean skin, slightly salty, with a bitter hint from the fluid leaking from the slit. At first I gagged when I tried to take it all and pulled back coughing. He stroked my hair and waited.

—No rush —he said—. Start with the tip. Suck the head slowly. Then work your way down.

I tried again. I wrapped my lips around his glans and ran my tongue in circles, tasting the salt, feeling him swell even more in my mouth. I went down a few centimeters and came back up. I licked the whole shaft from top to bottom like it was an ice cream cone, and nibbled his balls gently. A deep growl came out of his chest and he gripped the back of my neck tighter.

—Just like that, just like that —he panted—. Learn to suck it properly. Take more of it in.

This time I went slowly, opening my mouth wide, letting in only what I could handle, until I felt it hit the back of my throat. My eyes filled with tears but I didn’t pull away. In a matter of minutes I learned what made him press his hands into the sheets, what drew out a low sound that seemed to come from his chest: twisting my tongue under the glans as I came up, sealing my lips and sucking hard as I went down, sliding my free hand under to jerk the base with saliva while the rest of it was in my mouth. Every time I heard him moan, something in me lit up a little more, and my own cock leaked between my legs without anyone needing to touch it.

—You’re good for a beginner —he murmured—. You’re going to be a beautiful whore.

The word hit me like a lash. Instead of offending me, it made me hotter. I sucked harder, with more hunger, until he yanked my hair back.

—Stop. I don’t want to come yet. I still need to fuck you.

After a long while, he took me by the shoulders and made me get up. He flipped me onto the bed with a ease I hadn’t expected.

—Face down —he said—. Rest your face on the pillow. Stick your ass up.

***

What came after is what I remember most. I felt him kissing my back, slowly, vertebra by vertebra, moving lower. I felt his hands gently opening my cheeks, spreading them all the way apart, and then suddenly his warm tongue against my hole. I let out a muffled cry into the pillow. No one had ever done that to me. I had never imagined it could feel like this.

He ate my ass with patience, licking me in circles, pressing the tip of his tongue against the ring until he made me open a little. He pushed his tongue inside and worked it around, pulling a long moan out of me that surprised even me. He spat on the hole and went back to licking, soaking me through.

—What a delicious ass —he said hoarsely—. My mouth’s watering.

Then came the cold cream that made me clench my fists, and his fingers preparing me with a patience I didn’t deserve. First one, entering slowly, turning inside me, searching for something. When he found it—a deep, electric spot—a sharp gasp slipped out of me and he laughed softly.

—There. You’ve got it there. Remember that feeling.

He slid in the second finger. It burned a little, but he kept moving them, scissoring them open, stretching me. My face was pressed into the sheet, my ass lifted, and without realizing it I started pushing back against his hand, wanting more. When the third finger went in I complained, but I didn’t tell him to stop. It took time. A long time. At some point, the only thing that existed in the world was that bed, that room, that orange light dying on the wall, and those fingers stirring me from the inside.

I heard the crinkle of the condom wrapper. I heard more lube, a cold squirt that landed on my slit. I heard his heavy breathing behind me.

—I’m going to put it in slowly —he said, resting the tip against my hole—. Breathe.

When I finally felt him enter, I groaned. It was a dry, sharp pain that made me bite the pillow. The glans, that thick purple head I’d had in my mouth ten minutes before, was now forcing its way through my ass ring, and for a second I thought it wasn’t going to fit. He stopped dead with only the tip inside.

—Keep going or stop?

—Wait —I said through clenched teeth.

He waited. He rested his forehead against the back of my neck, not moving, with his cock buried only a few inches in me, breathing into my ear. He slipped a hand under me and took my cock, which had gone soft from the pain, and started jerking me slowly until it got hard again. When I took a deep breath and told him to continue, he pushed a little more. And a little more. And a little more. Millimeter by millimeter, until I felt his balls pressing against my ass cheeks and knew he was all the way inside.

—There —he murmured—. You’ve got all of it now. Hold it there.

The pain started to turn into something else. I don’t know how to describe it exactly. It was a mix of discomfort and something warm rising from below, something that asked for more without me even thinking about it, a deep burning that turned into pleasure every time he moved his hips just a little.

—Like that —I murmured, surprised by my own voice—. More. Move.

He started moving. First calmly, pulling out until just the tip and pushing all the way back in, slowly, letting me feel every inch. Then with a rhythm that made me lift my hips to meet him. Each thrust hit a deep place that pulled a new moan out of me. He grabbed my wrists and crossed them behind my back, holding them there with one hand, while the other pressed my neck into the mattress.

—Your ass is so tight —he panted—. You’re milking my cock.

—Harder —I asked, not recognizing myself—. Fuck me harder.

He picked up speed. The sound of his hips slapping my ass filled the room, mixed with my muffled moans into the pillow and the grunts he let out every time he drove home. My face was buried in the pillow, moaning into someone I didn’t know, feeling my whole body trembling, my cock dripping onto the sheet without anyone touching it.

—Turn over —he said after a while, pulling out all at once. I felt the emptiness like a physical absence.

He arranged me on my back with my legs bent against my chest, almost over my shoulders. I was left completely open in front of him, with my ass lifted and my cock pointing at my face. He spat into his hand, ran it over his cock, and came back in with one hard thrust. This time it was different: I could see his face, his eyes half-closed, his jaw clenched, a bead of sweat sliding from his temple. Every time he slammed into me I saw the muscles in his stomach tighten, the vein in his forehead stand out.

From there he hit my prostate in a different way too, at an angle that made me grind my teeth and arch my back. I threw my arms around his neck and pulled him toward me. We kissed with our mouths open, biting each other’s lips, while he kept moving faster and faster, and for the first time in my life I felt I was exactly where I was supposed to be. He took my cock in his hand, hard as stone between our bellies, and started jerking me in the same rhythm he was fucking me.

—Come —he whispered into my mouth—. Come with me inside you, I want to feel you clench.

I came a few seconds later. It was a long, savage release that splattered my chest and stomach in spurts, and made my ass clamp around his cock with spasms that he felt and told me about, panting, teeth clenched. I watched white spit drip down to my neck.

***

I didn’t want it to end. When he asked me where, I told him in my mouth.

He slid out of me slowly, took off the condom, and threw it on the floor. I knelt again at the edge of the bed, legs trembling, and he stood in front of me, gripping his cock at the base, pointing it at my face. I opened my mouth and stuck out my tongue. I started jerking him with both hands, squeezing his shaft, sucking the head at the same time, circling my tongue over the glans until I felt it harden even more.

—Here it comes —he growled, and grabbed the back of my neck.

The first spurt hit my palate, warm, thick, with that salty, slightly bitter taste that was him. The second filled my tongue. The ones after that ran out of the corner of my mouth and down onto my chest. I took everything without moving, without pulling away, without stopping looking at his face while he came in me. When he finished, I swallowed. Then I ran my tongue over the sensitive glans to clean off the last drops, and he let out a sharp, almost painful moan. I kissed his hip, his thigh, and stayed leaning against his leg for a few seconds while he stroked my hair in silence, his cock still hard and resting against my cheek.

He let me use the bathroom. He gave me a clean towel. While I got dressed in the bedroom, I watched him from the doorway: he was sitting on the edge of the bed in his boxer briefs, looking at his phone with a calm expression. He looked up when he noticed me watching him.

—Are you okay? —he asked.

—I’m okay.

And it was true. My body was wrecked, my legs unsteady, my ass throbbing with a strange soreness that would last me two days, his taste still stuck on my tongue. But I was okay. Better than okay.

We said goodbye at the door with a long kiss. He slipped his tongue into my mouth one last time, squeezed one cheek over my pants, and smiled at me. He didn’t ask for my number and I didn’t ask for his. It wasn’t necessary.

I went down the stairs with my hand on the railing, slowly, feeling every step in my ass and all through my body. By the time I got out to the street it was night. The air was warm and smelled like food from some nearby stand. I walked to the corner, leaned against a pole, and laughed to myself, unable to help it.

I had been with a man for the first time. I had let myself be fucked, sucked, and filled my mouth with semen. And the only thing I could think about, while I waited for the bus to go home with the taste of his come still on my tongue, was when I was going to be able to do it again.