The flight attendant left me his number on a wet wipe

I was nineteen and flying to Amsterdam to spend a few days with a couple of friends. Back then I was the typical skinny kid who had never set foot in a gym, tall and awkward, with a face that looked as if I had never done a bad thing in my life. People had told me a thousand times that I was handsome, but I never quite believed it. I was shy even when it came to holding someone’s gaze.

During the flight I noticed that one of the flight attendants kept coming over to our row more than necessary. He was attentive to me in a way he wasn’t with my friend, who was by the window and asleep for most of the journey. The attendant looked to be about thirty, with the sculpted body of someone who really trains, and he must have been close to six foot three. Every time he passed, he found an excuse to talk to me: whether I needed anything, whether it was my first time in Holland.

I thought I was imagining it. A guy like that wouldn’t notice someone like me. Even so, there was a part of my body that, no matter how thin the rest of me was, had been betraying me for a while by making the conversation nervous in the worst possible way. I was getting hard inside my pants, and every time he bent down to ask me something I crossed my legs so the bulge wouldn’t show.

When the plane landed and people started filing toward the exit, he was at the door handing out wet wipes. I took one without really thinking about it and tucked it into my pocket. Once at baggage claim, while I waited for my suitcase, I took it out to use it.

There was a phone number written on the plastic wrapper in ballpoint pen. It took me a second to understand what it meant. I put it away again, this time very carefully, and decided I’d text him as soon as we got to the hotel.

***

His name was Erik. When I sent him the first message, he replied right away, delighted that I’d dared to do it. He said he’d found me very sweet, that he knew I was traveling with friends, but that if I wanted, he could show me around the city one day he had off.

—I’d love that —I wrote, and deleted three longer versions before settling on that.

We met two days later. He picked me up in his car and drove me around half the city: canals, a tiny café by the water, a market where we bought something to go. It was an easy morning, one of those when silence never weighs on you. After a couple of hours wandering around, he pulled into an underground car park.

—This is my building —he said—. After lunch I like to relax for a bit. We’ll grab something to eat and keep going with the tour.

We went up. The apartment was bright and tidy, with large windows. He told me to make myself comfortable, and I sat on the sofa while he disappeared into the kitchen. He came back a few minutes later carrying a tray and without a shirt.

I didn’t know what to say. I kept staring at him longer than was wise, my eyes traveling over those arms attached to a torso that looked sculpted. His nipples stood out hard over the planes of his pecs, and a strip of hair ran down from his navel and disappeared beneath his pants. My mouth went dry.

—Let’s eat, I’m starving after all that walking —he said, finally breaking the awkward silence.

We ate with me barely opening my mouth. He talked about his job, the routes he liked best, how strange it was to live far from his country. I nodded and answered in monosyllables, trying not to show how hard it was to concentrate with him half-naked a hand’s breadth away. For a moment I thought maybe he was shy too. That idea fell apart as soon as we finished eating and he sat closer.

We kept talking for a while. By then I was more relaxed, until I felt his hand settle on my thigh and squeeze it slowly. We exchanged a look and nothing else was needed. He leaned in and kissed me, while his hand went straight to my crotch, which was already starting to strain the fabric of my pants.

He shoved his tongue into my mouth without asking, with the hunger of someone who’d been holding back for a while, and I sucked him off as best I could, shocked by how hot I was myself. He pressed the palm of his hand over my cock through my pants, measuring it, feeling how the whole thing was outlined sideways. He let out a low grunt against my mouth when he gauged the size.

—Fuck, you had that well hidden —he murmured.

I put a hand on his chest. I had never touched someone with pecs that firm; I ran my hands over them, squeezed them, barely believing where I was. I pinched one nipple between two fingers and he hissed against my neck, biting it slowly while he stroked me over my clothes with a calm that drove me crazy. He licked my ear, slid down my neck, and with his other hand he was undoing my belt without stopping the kissing.

He lowered himself to his knees in front of me and yanked down my pants and underwear. My cock sprang free, stiff, pointing at his face. A smile slipped out when he saw it, and he stayed there for a second staring at it with his mouth slightly open, as if he’d just unwrapped a gift.

—What a cock —he said, and ran his thumb over the glans, catching the bead that had risen at the tip. He brought it to his mouth and licked it slowly, looking me in the eye.

He came in without hurry, and the first brush of his tongue sent a current through my whole body. He licked me from bottom to top, following the thick vein running along the underside, and when he reached the tip he paused to tease the frenulum with the tip of his tongue. Then came his mouth, all of it, wrapping around me, swallowing me centimeter by centimeter until I felt his nose against my pubic hair. A groan escaped me so loudly I startled myself. For a moment I even forgot my own name.

He started sucking me with a slow, deep rhythm, pressing his lips tight on the way up, keeping his tongue curled around the glans every time he reached the top. With one hand he gripped the base of my cock and twisted it gently; with the other he fondled my balls, weighing them, squeezing just enough. When he had me right on the edge, he pulled his mouth away, spat on me, and took me in again, this time faster, dirtier. I listened to the wet noises his throat made every time he deliberately gagged, and that sound almost made me come right there.

I was enjoying it like I rarely had. I hadn’t been with many men, and certainly not with one who looked that good. Having him pressed against me like that, with that body kneeling there, with that mouth that looked made for sucking, feeling his attention focused only on me, made me feel powerful for the first time. I grabbed his head with both hands and pushed a little, testing him, and he opened wider and moaned around my cock, inviting me to fuck his mouth. He fucked me with his throat for a long while, until I had to pull his hair to make him stop before I came.

He straightened up for a moment, pulled his pants down, and freed his own cock. He was hanging with a thick, dark shaft, his balls low and heavy from all that holding back. When he came closer, I didn’t hesitate: this time I was the one who bent down. I ran my tongue over his balls first, one and then the other, taking them into my mouth in turn, and he let out a “fuck, kid” that made me even hotter. I licked my way up the whole length to the tip and took it in completely. It was thick; it took effort to open my jaw, but I didn’t want to let it go.

Having him in my mouth, hearing every broken breath that escaped him, was music. Every sound he made confirmed that this was really happening. I drooled all over his cock, sucked him with both hands helping me, spat on it and took it back in again, pulled it out slick and wet, and licked his balls once more. He looked down at me with his mouth open, breathing hard, gripping my hair to set the pace.

—I want you to fuck me —he said suddenly.

I stopped what I was doing and looked at him, disbelieving, with spit still dripping from his chin.

—You’re sure you want someone like me to fuck you? —I asked, not quite believing it. All my life I had assumed that with a man like that the roles were set in advance, and it was not exactly the one he was offering me.

—If you’ve got that, it’s meant to be used —he said, biting his lip as he looked at my cock, which was bouncing in front of his face—. I’ve gone too long without anyone really wrecking my ass. I need it.

—Okay, but I’m usually the bottom —I lied.

It was a lie and we both kind of knew it. People saw me as skinny, with a good-boy face, and assumed I was the one who got told what to do. The curious thing was that, deep down, that night I had imagined the other thing too: letting myself be taken, feeling his strength on top of me. But the way he offered himself, already almost positioning himself, made me decide quickly.

—I don’t care how you usually like it —he said, leaning forward—. Today I want this. I want to feel that cock inside. You look shy, but you’ve got something on you that’s meant for serious fucking.

He turned around on the sofa, got on all fours, and showed me his ass. It was a round ass, hard from training, with the cheeks spread just enough to let me see that tight hole asking for me. He took a small bottle out of the drawer in the side table and tossed it to me. I put lubricant on my hand, coated my cock completely, and slipped in two slick fingers without warning. He arched his back at the first touch and growled.

—Like that, get me ready properly.

I opened him slowly with two fingers, twisting them inside, and when I felt him give, I slid in a third. He was tight, clamped shut as if no one had touched him there in months. I licked one cheek while I kept working my fingers into him, and ran my tongue over the hole when I pulled them out. He let out a long, filthy moan and pushed his ass back, asking for more.

I didn’t think about it anymore. I positioned myself behind him, rested the tip against the hole, and pushed in slowly. The image of that huge man offering himself like that, ass open for me, was all I needed to lose the last trace of shyness. It was true what he’d said: I could feel, inch by inch, how tight he was, how much effort it took him at first, and, above all, how much he was enjoying it, because every movement tore a low sound from him, a guttural moan that drove me wild.

I started slowly, paying attention to his rhythm, letting him get used to it. I pushed in halfway and waited, feeling how his ass closed around my cock like a hot ring. He arched his back toward me, pushing his ass back to swallow the rest, and I understood he was ready. I grabbed his hips and went deeper little by little, until my balls slapped against his. The heat of his body, the firmness of his legs against mine, all of it pushed me not to stop.

—Like that —he murmured—. Fuck me. Don’t stop.

Erik moved back, coordinating every thrust with mine, and the two of us stopped pretending. I picked up the pace and he answered with the same intensity, moaning without holding back, asking for more in broken words. “Harder,” “take it all,” “like that, fuck, like that.” Every thrust made my pelvis smack against his ass, a wet slap that filled the whole room. I grabbed his short hair, pulled so he’d arch more, and started fucking him as if I’d been waiting years for that ass.

At one point he straightened up, made me lie back on the sofa, and sat on top of me. He dropped down all at once, impaling himself fully, and let out a hoarse moan that nearly made me come. He started moving on his own, riding my cock up and down and taking me to the edge with every rise. I let him use me, hypnotized by the sight of his body on top of mine, by the way his hard pecs moved with each bounce, by his own cock slapping his abdomen on every drop. I grabbed his shaft with one hand and started jerking him off to the rhythm of his movements. He threw his head back moaning, every muscle in his neck standing out, and I thought it was the most obscene image I had ever seen in my life.

When I felt him losing his mind, I lifted my hips and took control again, driving up from below with everything I had. A long breath escaped him, and he dug his nails into my chest to hold on.

We stayed like that for a good while, taking turns, without a plan, letting ourselves be carried by whatever our bodies wanted. I turned him onto his side, one leg raised over my shoulder, and fucked him from that angle while he stroked himself, looking me in the eye. I flipped him over, on his back, and lifted his legs against my chest to fuck him missionary, folding him, sinking all the way in on every thrust. I licked his hard cock while I was fucking him, and he begged me not to stop. The air in the room had turned thick, sticky, smelling of sweat, lube, and the two of us. I could feel I wasn’t going to last much longer.

—Tell me when —I said, my voice breaking.

—Hold on a little longer —he answered through clenched teeth—. I want it at the same time. I want you to come inside.

He turned around again, on all fours on the sofa, and I hurried to find him once more, unable to stay out for even a second. I buried my cock in one single thrust and he let out a muffled shout. I held him tightly by the hips and stopped pacing myself. I started fucking him with every bit of force I had, no rhythm, no pause, just driving like an animal. I could hear him begging for more, almost shouting, while he stroked himself to the rhythm of my thrusts, his cock dripping onto the sofa.

—I’m coming, I’m coming —he started repeating, squeezing his ass around my cock.

Just before the end, I felt his body tighten around mine, that unmistakable signal that he was about to go. His hole clamped down so hard I could barely move inside. Knowing that man was falling apart from something I was doing to him was what finally pushed me over the edge. I let out a roar and emptied myself inside him, shot after shot, as deep as I could, while he shot his own load beneath him, splashing the sofa and his own hand. I kept moving, slower, until my legs stopped obeying me, squeezing every last drop out inside him.

We collapsed on the sofa, me on top of him, both of us motionless, trying to catch our breath. I felt my cock slide slowly out of his ass, and with it a hot thread of cum that ran down to his balls. We kissed slowly for a couple of minutes, with no desire to move, his hands still stroking my back, until reality came back: my friends were waiting for me and I had to return.

***

He drove me back in his car. On the way we talked about what had just happened, how good it had been, how much we wanted to do it again.

—Next time I want it to be you —I confessed, looking out the window so he wouldn’t see me blush—. I wouldn’t mind at all if you were the one in charge. If you fucked me the way I just fucked you.

Erik smiled and promised the next time it would be like that. Unfortunately, the days I had left in the city filled up with plans with my friends and we never managed to find another opening. I went home with his number saved and the promise still pending.

For weeks, many nights ended the same way: with my hand on my cock thinking about him. Sometimes remembering how I had had such a man surrendering beneath me, his ass swallowing my cock and his moans filling my head; and other times imagining everything that would have happened if we’d had a second day, with him on top, fucking me the way I knew he knew how to do.