The musician called me to his room and I couldn’t say no

He got up from the table, took his jacket off the back of the chair, and walked two steps toward the bar’s entrance. Then he stopped, retraced his steps, and leaned in behind me. I felt his hands settle on my shoulders and his mouth come close to my ear.

—Room 507. Don’t be too long. I’ve had a hard-on under the table for half an hour.

And he was gone. Just like that. As if he’d asked for the check and left. I stayed there staring at the coffee cup still in my hands and felt my heart hammering in my temples and my cock starting to swell inside my pants. The situation had been clear for a while. From the first look in the hotel lobby, from that conversation that began out of politeness and ended with our knees brushing under the table, the tension between us was something you could chew. I knew perfectly well what was going to happen if I went up to that room. I knew we were going to fuck, that I was going to suck his cock until he came, that he was going to shove it all the way up my ass. And I was going up, no question about that.

What paralyzed me was when. He hadn’t given me the key card, so he had to let me in. He’d told me he wanted to shower first. I didn’t want to knock and find him still under the water, but I also didn’t want to make him wait too long. I was turning something absurd over in my head that didn’t need it. I finished the coffee in one swallow, left a bill on the table, and walked to the elevator with my cock still clearly outlined against the fabric.

***

Martín had to be close to six-foot-three. I’m six feet, I’m used to looking at people at eye level or down, and part of what I liked about him was precisely that: having to lift my chin to meet his eyes. He was slim but well-built, the kind of body that looks worked without being exaggerated. Defined arms, broad back, flat stomach. He wore his dark hair very short, styled with that natural ease only possible when someone truly takes care of it. His beard was trimmed to the millimeter, a perfect set of teeth behind full lips, and a smile that had already undone me three times that afternoon.

His nails were immaculate, his skin well cared for, a clean scent that reached me every time he leaned in to talk to me. Everything about him radiated a natural masculinity, effortless. And he had a nice ass too, why deny it. When he’d stood up from the table, I’d turned to watch him walk away and his dress pants outlined the two round half-moons and the bulge between his legs: something thick, promising, that had been asking to come out for a while. Just thinking about having all of it in my mouth dried out my palate.

I’m a little slimmer and less broad than he is. I swim five days a week and it shows, but my build is more sinewy, more streamlined. I didn’t feel at a disadvantage. We were simply different, and that difference attracted me.

In the elevator I mentally retraced how I’d ended up here. That morning I’d woken up intending to spend a quiet Saturday. Pool in the morning, eat something light, maybe finish reading that album Martín had produced last year and that I’d been listening to on repeat for weeks. Then Lucas texted me to cancel our swimming session because his car wouldn’t start, and I decided to take a walk through downtown. I passed in front of this five-star hotel, where a sign announced a private acoustic session in the bar, free entry. I went in out of curiosity. And there he was, sitting on a stool with a guitar, playing for twenty people as if he were playing for no one.

I recognized him instantly. I’d seen his face dozens of times in interviews, on his album covers, in videos I’d obsessively searched for during months. Martín Heredia, the musician who had kept me company on the loneliest nights of the past year. The musician I’d jerked off to while listening to his voice more than once. And suddenly he was there, three meters away, looking at me while he played.

When the set ended he came over to me. He said he liked the way I looked at him. I told him I’d been listening to him for months. He smiled with that smile of his and invited me for coffee. An hour later he was no longer the musician in my headphones. He was just Martín, a guy in his early thirties with a contagious laugh, a slow way of speaking, and a habit of licking his lower lip before saying something important.

I’m not the kind of person who sleeps with someone I’ve just met. That’s not me. But that afternoon everything felt different, as if the rules I’d set for myself didn’t apply inside that hotel.

***

I checked the door number three times before knocking. Five-oh-seven. I tapped with my knuckles, firm, once. Martín opened it a few seconds later. He was wearing a white towel tied around his waist and his torso was completely bare. His hair was wet, half-styled with his fingers, and that smile he already knew undid me. The towel was tented in front by a bulge that left no room for doubt.

—Would you mind taking your shoes off? I like walking barefoot around the room.

I looked at his feet. They were proportionate to the rest of his body, well cared for, masculine. I have a weakness for feet and his gave me a thought I saved for later. It cost me nothing to take my sneakers off. I was planning to take off a lot more than that.

I took off the sweatshirt I was wearing too, and when I did, my T-shirt rode up, exposing my stomach. I still had the fabric over my face when I felt his hands slide up my stomach to my chest. A shiver ran from the nape of my neck to my ankles. Part surprise, part pure desire. My breath caught. When I finally pulled my head out from under the sweatshirt, his face was a handspan from mine. One of his hands had already moved down to the bulge in my pants and was squeezing my cock over the fabric.

—I’ve wanted to do this for a while now. And a lot worse things too.

I barely had time to let out a shy “me too” before he kissed me. His mouth was firm and soft at the same time. He bit my lower lip with a precision that felt rehearsed. One hand was on my waist and the other on the back of my neck, controlling the kiss without being rough. I wrapped my arms around him and at last I could feel what I’d been imagining for hours: the firmness of his back, the curve of his lats, the line that ran down to where the towel began. I slid my hands underneath and grabbed his ass, two hard, hot cheeks that tightened under my fingers.

My hands went a little lower and as soon as I brushed the fabric, the towel gave way and fell to the floor. His cock sprang up, hard, thick, already dripping clear liquid from the tip. It was a good-sized dick, thick at the base, veins standing out, the glans swollen and purple. I wrapped my hand around it and it felt heavy, throbbing. He moaned into my mouth when I started stroking him slowly. Meanwhile, he took my T-shirt off. That left us like this: him completely naked and with his hard cock throbbing in my hand, and me in workout shorts with briefs underneath, my own erection clearly outlined. As a swimmer, my legs are shaved and I’m fairly hairless. Martín had a little more body hair, distributed with just the right generosity that makes a male body look exactly the way it should. A line of dark hair ran down from his navel and disappeared into the thick, neatly trimmed bush from which his cock emerged. His chest was speckled just enough to make you want to run your tongue over it.

We kissed for a while I couldn’t measure. His hands explored me with a mix of hunger and patience that was driving me crazy. He’d slipped his hand inside my shorts and briefs and was gripping my cock with his whole palm, stroking me slowly, stopping just before I came and starting again. Then he began pressing down on my shoulders. The message didn’t need translating.

—I want to see you suck me off —he whispered—. I’ve been imagining it all afternoon.

I started moving down his torso, kissing his chest, his stomach, pausing on every inch as if I wanted to memorize the texture of his skin. I licked his nipples, bit the line of hair at his navel, kissed the inside of his thighs, deliberately avoiding the cock that kept bumping my cheek. When my knees touched the floor and my mouth finally reached his dick, I didn’t stop to taste it with the tip of my tongue. I took it all the way in, as far as I could the first time, and felt it hit the back of my throat. He let out a deep groan that ran down my spine.

—Fuck. Fuck, just like that.

I sucked his cock with my lips tight, pulling it all the way out and swallowing it again, letting it rest on my tongue before working it with gusto. I ran my tongue over the frenulum, over the corona of the glans, kissed his balls and took them into my mouth one by one while I stroked him with my hand. When I went back to his cock it was dripping pre-cum and I swallowed it in one go. It tasted clean, salty, slightly sweet. He placed his hands behind my head and started setting a slow rhythm. He was dominant and kind at the same time, a balance very few people can manage. He fucked my mouth carefully enough not to choke me, but firmly enough that I understood who was in charge there. I loved looking up and seeing his expressions, eyes half-closed, lip trapped between his teeth, head tilted back, jaw tense. I had my cock rock-hard inside my briefs, dripping, and I knew I was about to come just from having him in my mouth. His breathing was speeding up in proportion to the force of his hands and the tremor in his legs.

After a while he stepped back, pulling his cock out of my mouth with a wet sound, and lifted me up by the arm with a soft determination that left me breathless. He turned me around, bent me over the edge of the bed with my feet still on the floor, and yanked off my shorts and briefs in one motion. I was left completely naked, face down on the sheets, ass in the air and my cock flattened against the edge of the mattress.

—Fuck. What a nice ass you’ve got.

He said it with such spontaneity it made me smile against the pillow. He was tender even when he wanted to be rough. He spread my cheeks with both hands and stayed a moment looking at my hole. I felt him blow on it, I felt him spit, and then I felt his tongue and I closed my eyes. He started slowly, licking my ass from bottom to top, unhurried, savoring each reaction of mine as if he had all night ahead of him. And he did. He plunged his tongue in, pulled it out, drew circles with the tip around the ring, then slid it back in, this time deeper, fucking my hole with his mouth. I clutched the sheets and started moaning shamelessly. No one had ever eaten my ass like that. I could feel Martín’s beard scraping my cheeks, his saliva dripping down to my balls, his tongue going in and out in a rhythm that was driving me insane.

When he had me nice and wet and open, he brought up a finger. He slid it in slowly, waited for my body to accept it, moved it in circles inside me. I moaned into the pillow. He added a second finger, curled them, found the exact spot, and made me arch my back. My cock was leaking pre-cum onto the sheets.

—Please —I told him, my voice broken—. Fuck me already.

I should be at the pool doing laps and I’m here, in a five-star hotel, with the musician’s cock I’ve been listening to on repeat for a year about to go inside me.

That morning, while I drank coffee at home and organized my day, I couldn’t have imagined this ending. Lucas not being able to start his car had completely changed my Saturday.

I heard him open a drawer, I heard him tear open a packet, I heard him put lube on his hand. I could feel his fingers sliding inside me, lubing me up properly, and then I felt the thick head of his cock press against my hole. He pushed slowly, letting the glans work its way in, and I let out a sudden breath. He went in a couple of centimeters, stopped, waited, pushed again. With each slow thrust he shoved more cock inside until I felt his balls against mine. He was all the way inside me.

—Fuck. You’re so tight —he murmured, grabbing my hips with both hands.

He started fucking me slowly, pulling his cock out until only the tip remained and then driving it all the way back in. What came next was a pleasure so deep, so absolute, that I had to bite the pillow not to scream. He covered my mouth with his hand and that turned me on even more. He fucked me with a rhythm that kept climbing, his balls slapping against me, his pelvis striking my ass with a dry sound that bounced off the room’s walls. I felt like he was reaching a place no one had ever reached before, a territory I didn’t know existed inside me. My skin went prickly from my feet to the nape of my neck. Every nerve ending in my body was lit up and he knew exactly what to do with each one.

He changed position. He made me turn onto my back, put my legs over his shoulders, and drove back in with one thrust. Now I could see his face while he fucked me, the muscles in his abdomen tightening with each stroke, the line of hair shining with sweat. He grabbed my cock with his hand and started stroking me in the same rhythm he was fucking me. I was a tangle of broken moans.

—Look at me —he said—. Look at me while I fuck you.

I looked at him. His eyes were two black pits of hunger. He sped up, drove his cock all the way to the hilt and jerked me off with his hand covered in my own pre-cum. I could feel he was trying to prolong the moment, delay the finish to give me more time. And he was succeeding. But I sensed he was reaching his limit, I felt it in the pressure of his fingers on my hips, in the change in his breathing, in the tremor climbing up his thighs.

—Let go —I told him—. Come inside me.

He understood. He gave three more thrusts, deep, brutal, and emptied himself inside me with a deep groan that came from his chest. I saw it out of the corner of my eye and that image stayed burned into me: eyes closed, jaw clenched, his whole body tightening like a guitar string about to snap, his cock throbbing inside me as he came in spurts. Feeling his hot semen filling me from within was what made me explode too. Barely touching myself, I came between our bodies, splashing his stomach and mine, moaning his name against his neck. I smiled because we were sharing exactly the same thing.

He collapsed on top of me. I could feel his heart pounding against my ribs and his hot breath on my neck. His cock was still inside me, slowly softening, and when he finally pulled out I felt a thread of his cum sliding down my thigh. He stayed there for several seconds, limp and drained. He must have weighed two hundred pounds and I was feeling every one of them, but I didn’t want to move. I liked having him like that, all his weight on me, all his vulnerability, the sweat from both of us mingling between our chests.

Eventually he noticed and moved off me. He stroked my hair with a tenderness I hadn’t expected and said:

—Let’s go shower.

***

He came out before I did. When I appeared with a towel around my waist, there were two sets of clothes neatly folded on the bed. One was clearly for me. He was on the phone with reception.

—Yes, for this afternoon. Two spa passes in half an hour and a dinner reservation for nine, table for two. I also need an extra set of towels and I want to change the room from single to double with breakfast included. Thank you, very kind.

He hung up and looked at me with that effortless calm of his, as if organizing the rest of the night for two was the most normal thing in the world.

—Martín —I said—, I’m staying with you tonight. The afternoon, dinner, everything. But don’t make plans for tomorrow. I have to go back to my life.

He nodded without a grain of drama.

—I understand. Thank you for staying tonight.

The rest of the afternoon went exactly as he’d planned it. The spa, where he took advantage of the private room to kneel in front of me in the water and suck my cock until I came in his mouth and he swallowed every drop without losing a bit. Dinner, where he slid his hand under the table between courses and kept my cock hard all evening. The glasses of wine on the restaurant terrace with the city lights below. I let myself be carried along by everything because letting myself be carried along by Martín was the easiest thing I’d done in a long time.

At night we barely slept. Every time sleep started to come, one of us would reach out and the other would answer. I straddled him with my back against his chest and rode his cock myself, setting the pace, while he held my hips and fucked up into me from below. Later I fucked his mouth, ending with my cock between his lips while he dug his fingers into my ass. At dawn he took me from the side again, hugging me from behind, slowly, almost silently, both of us half-asleep, finishing inside me once more with a sigh that reached my nape. It was as if our bodies knew that this had an expiration date and wanted to squeeze out every last minute.

The next morning we had breakfast in silence, a comfortable silence that didn’t need filling. We said goodbye in the hotel lobby. A long hug, a brief kiss. I didn’t have the courage to look back.

***

When I got home I remembered he had given me his latest album before we parted. He’d left it on the passenger seat. I opened it and read the dedication he’d written by hand on the inside cover:

“Tomorrow morning you’ll leave and I won’t hear from you again. But something tells me this is going to be one of the most extraordinary nights of my life.”

Today I’m listening to his fourth album. There’s a song I think is about me. I’ll never know for sure, but every time it plays it brings back that first shiver at our first contact, his hands moving up my stomach in that room, his cock working its way inside me, his hot cum filling me from within, and I know some things don’t need to be repeated to stay inside you forever.