The Night a Man Showed Me My True Role

Back then I was twenty-six years old and living a life anyone would have called “normal.” A girlfriend of two years, a solid group of friends, a university degree almost finished. I liked women. More exactly, I liked Carolina, and I had never felt the need to question anything beyond that.

But a few weeks before, she had taken a step that changed my head more than either of us could have imagined. One ordinary night, at her apartment, she let me go in from behind. It was her first time that way. She started by sucking my dick on her knees on the carpet, mouth open and tongue working the tip until my cock was hard as a rock. Then she climbed onto the bed on all fours, looked at me over her shoulder, and asked me to spit in her ass. I spit on her, ran my thumb over her hole, and started easing my cock in little by little, millimeter by millimeter, while she bit the pillow and told me to open her up. When I had all of it inside, I grabbed her hips and started fucking her ass slowly, feeling how tightly she clenched around my cock with every thrust. I came inside her, watching my semen drip out of her swollen hole when I pulled out. Then she fell asleep on my chest while I stayed awake staring at the ceiling, unable to get one image out of my head.

It wasn’t her in that image.

It was a man.

At first I got scared. I had spent my whole life telling myself I was heterosexual, and nobody had ever questioned that label, least of all me. But the image came back every night. I wanted to penetrate a man. I wanted to feel his ass clench around my cock, I wanted to hear him moan with my dick inside him, I wanted to fuck him the same way I had fucked Carolina.

I started looking at men in the street differently. Not just any men; I was drawn to the ones with some soft gesture, some finer feature, something in the gaze that promised obedience. In my head I was the one in charge. I was the top. That, at least, was not up for discussion.

***

I met him at a graduation party. A classmate from the literary workshop had taken me to a friend’s apartment in the Bellavista neighborhood. The owner of the place was called Andrés. He was thirty, worked in an advertising agency, and lived alone on a third floor with a view of the hill. He was not effeminate at all. He spoke in a deep voice, moved with the calm of someone who doesn’t need anyone to like him, and had big, dry hands.

Something about him caught my attention the second I walked through the door. I don’t know if it was the way he looked at me too long when we were introduced, or the way he smiled right before making a joke, as if he were sizing me up. We spent the party close to each other, trading scattered lines while the others drank and argued about movies nobody had seen.

Before I left I asked for his number under the pretext of a book he had recommended to me. He saved it without hiding his smile.

—Call me —he said.

—I’ll call you.

***

Four days later I texted him. I suggested we grab a few beers at a bar I knew near the river. He agreed immediately, but when I got there I saw him seated with another guy at the table. I felt a jolt of irritation that almost made me turn around and leave.

—Hi, Matías —Andrés greeted me with that same party smile—. Let me introduce you to Diego. I had to give him a manuscript, so we took the chance to meet up.

Diego shook my hand and stood up almost at the same time. He said something about an appointment, a schedule, his daughter; he said it too quickly. Andrés and he held each other’s gaze a second too long before saying goodbye. I understood that Diego knew. Andrés had told him about me.

When we were alone, we ordered a pitcher and sat facing each other. For a moment neither of us spoke. Then he laughed, for no apparent reason.

—You thought I was going to waste your night, didn’t you?

—Something like that.

—Diego’s a good friend. He knew I wasn’t going to steal your date.

That word, said without asking permission, hit me somewhere. The pitcher emptied fast. We ordered another. We talked about work, about my thesis, about the last time each of us had felt out of place somewhere. The bar lights were yellow and low, and at some point in the conversation I stopped looking at his eyes and started looking at his mouth every time he spoke.

—So what are you looking for, exactly? —he asked once we were both a little looser.

—I don’t know. Something different, I guess.

—Different?

—I want to fuck a man.

I said it without thinking. I was surprised by the relief I felt after letting it out. Andrés didn’t even flinch. He set his glass down carefully on the table.

—And what do you see yourself doing with that man, Matías?

—Well… —my throat went dry— I see myself on top. Putting my cock in him.

He smiled. It wasn’t a mocking smile, but it wasn’t innocent either.

—Are you sure?

—Pretty sure.

—Mm.

He drank, never taking his eyes off me. I kept going, because I could no longer stop myself.

—I imagine going into someone. I imagine fucking him the way I fucked my girlfriend a few weeks ago. I want a man to get on all fours for me, to ask me to put it in, to squeeze my cock with his ass. I don’t know why, but it’s the idea that obsesses me.

—And what if what obsesses you is not really what you think? —he said, without raising his voice—. What if your head invented that story so you wouldn’t have to admit the other thing?

—The other thing?

—That what you want isn’t to give it. It’s to receive it. What you want is a cock inside you.

I felt heat rising up my neck. But I also felt, for the first time in weeks, a kind of relief. As if someone had just put the exact word I had been avoiding on the table.

—Are we going to your place? —I asked.

—We’re going to my place.

***

Andrés’s apartment had white walls and a single lamp lit in the living room. He didn’t show me anything. As soon as he closed the door, he kissed me. I had never imagined that a kiss between two men could be so different from one with a woman. I shaved every day, but his three-day beard scraped my cheek, and that tiny friction dropped straight into my stomach. He pressed me against the door with his whole body, and through my pants I felt the hard outline of his cock against my hip. He pushed his tongue into my mouth, bit my lip, and one of his big hands grabbed the back of my neck while the other squeezed my ass over my jeans.

He took me to the bedroom. A queen-size bed, gray sheets, a bedside table with a book lying open face down. He told me to get comfortable and wait for him. He went to the bathroom.

I stripped fast, almost with the urgency of someone who knows that if he thinks too much, he might back out. I kept only my underwear on. I got under the sheet. My heart was pounding like I had run blocks. My cock was half-hard, pressed against the fabric of my briefs, and I realized I hadn’t been this turned on in months.

When he came back, he was naked. He walked to the edge of the bed and stopped there, with his cock half-erect between his legs, looking down at me. It was big. Bigger than mine, thick, with veins standing out and heavy balls hanging underneath. My mouth watered before I had even touched it.

—Take the sheet off —he said.

I obeyed.

—Take off your underwear.

I obeyed that too. And that obedience, so quick and so clean, told me something about myself before anything else did.

He stayed silent for a few seconds, watching me naked, my cock standing up and pointing at him. Then he came over and sat on the edge of the bed, right beside me. He ran his hand over my chest, down my stomach, and wrapped it around my cock with a firmness that had nothing to do with a woman’s hand.

—Matías, let’s do something. You think you’re going to fuck me. I think what you really want is for me to fuck you. Let’s try the second one first. If after that you still want the other one, I’ll give it to you. But something tells me you won’t want it.

He didn’t let me answer. He took my hand and brought it to his cock.

—Start here. Suck it.

***

What happened after that didn’t resemble what I had imagined during those weeks in my bed. I had imagined myself dominating. Instead, now I was bent over a man’s legs, his cock in my mouth, discovering that I liked it.

I took it at the base with one hand, held it straight, and ran my tongue from his balls to the tip. I paused at the top, mouth open over the glans, tasting the pre-cum leaking from the little hole. It was salty, thick, and it made me close my eyes. Then I took it in. First just the head, squeezing it with my lips, sucking like it was a piece of candy. Andrés let out a deep groan that made my hips tremble.

—Like that, easy. Take it all.

I pushed it deeper. I felt it grow against my tongue, hardening even more. When the tip touched my throat, I arched my neck, breathed through my nose, and kept lowering it until my nose was pressed against the black patch of hair growing at the base. I stayed there for a second, choking, eyes full of tears, and still I didn’t let it go. When I pulled back, a long thread of saliva connected my mouth to the glans.

—Very good —he murmured—. Again.

I took it all the way back down. And again. And again. I started sucking him rhythmically, moving my head up and down, my right hand squeezing the base and my left hand catching his balls. He put a hand in my hair, not pressing yet, just to set the beat. I looked up at him from below, mouth full, and he looked back with a calm that humiliated me and turned me on at the same time.

I kissed his balls. I took them into my mouth one by one while I jerked his cock with my saliva-soaked hand. I ran my tongue along the inside of his thighs. I went back to his dick and drove it down my throat until I really choked, until a trail of spit slipped from the corner of my mouth. And still I didn’t want to pull away. At some point I lost track of time. I don’t know if it was twenty minutes or forty. What I did know, with a clarity that surprised me, was that this was what I had been looking for: a hard, thick cock going into my mouth, a man moaning because of what I was doing to him.

—Pause a second —he told me, grabbing my hair and pulling his cock out of my mouth with a gentle tug—. If you keep this up, you’re going to make me come. And not yet.

I stopped. I lay back on the bed as he told me to, panting, lips swollen and chin wet.

He lifted my knees to my chest. He told me to hold them. And he settled between my legs with his face at the level of my ass.

What came next was the most intimate thing another person had ever done to me in my whole life.

His tongue moved over me slowly. He started with my perineum, climbed to my hole, circled it without touching the center. He blew on it. Then he went in headfirst and kissed me there like it was another mouth, pressing his lips against my anus, sucking it, pushing his tongue inside me. I closed my eyes and let out a sound I had never made before, something between a sigh and a word cut in half. My back arched on its own. Andrés chuckled softly, his mouth still pressed to my ass, and kept eating me out without hurry, alternating long licks with little nips at my cheeks.

—You’ve got such a tasty ass —he murmured against my skin—. You’re so tight. We’re going to open you up.

Then came his fingers. First one, soaked in cold lube that warmed quickly against my skin. He pushed it in to the knuckle and left it there, still, waiting for my body to accept it. Then he started moving it in circles, stretching me, searching. When he bent the finger forward, he touched something inside me that made me moan out loud, out of control.

—There —he said, satisfied—. There it is.

He put in the second finger. I felt the burn of skin stretching, but also something else, something that made me want more. I clutched at the sheets and at him, not knowing where to put my hands. Andrés kept his mouth on my balls while he worked my ass with his fingers, bending them, scissoring me open inside. He pushed in the third. I could no longer close my mouth; I was panting like an animal, my cock dripping pre-cum onto my belly.

—Fuck me —I begged him, not recognizing my own voice—. I can’t take it anymore. Fuck me.

—Easy —he told me in my ear when he came closer—. We’re going to go slow.

He positioned himself over me, put my legs over his shoulders, and I felt his cock pushing against the place where his fingers had been a minute before. He grabbed his dick with his hand and slid the head along my hole, up and down, wetting me with lube, making me wait. I lifted my hips, searching for him.

—Breathe.

I breathed.

—Deeper. Let the air out when I tell you.

I let it go when he asked me to. And in that instant, exactly in that instant, he pushed and the head of his cock went in all at once.

I let out a long groan. Not pleasure, not yet; it was burning, it was a new sensation my body didn’t know how to process, it was a ring of muscle giving way around something much bigger than his fingers. Andrés stayed still, with only the tip inside, his forehead resting against mine.

—Stay like that. Don’t move. I won’t move either. When you’re ready, tell me.

Seconds passed that could have been minutes. I felt my body giving way around him, the burn turning into something stranger and more mine. I touched his back. I touched the nape of his neck. I kissed his lips without thinking. And he, very slowly, kept pushing deeper, a centimeter, another, another, until I felt his balls resting against my ass and knew I had all of him.

—Go ahead —I murmured.

He started moving. At first barely, as if he were teaching me a motion I didn’t know, pulling halfway out and sliding back in with almost cruel slowness. Then a little more. The first thrusts still pulled groans of pain from me; the next ones didn’t. The head of his cock brushed something inside me that made me lift my hips to find it, to tilt them, to ask him for more with my body even when my mouth couldn’t. I, who had arrived convinced I was going to do this to somebody else, was now spread open under a man, his cock buried in my ass, begging for more with my waist like a whore.

Andrés noticed.

—I told you —he whispered, pulling almost all the way out and slamming back in in one stroke—. This is what you wanted.

—Yes.

—Say it.

—This is what I wanted.

—What is it you wanted?

—For you to fuck me —I said, and it sounded like a confession—. To put your cock in me. Fuck me hard.

He grabbed my wrists and pinned them to the pillow above my head. He started thrusting harder, deeper, for real. Every stroke knocked the air out of me and slapped his balls against my ass with a dull sound. I didn’t resist. I didn’t want to resist. The bed creaked. The headboard hit the wall. My cock, trapped between our bellies, rubbed against his skin with every thrust, and I felt like I was going to come without even touching it.

—I’m going to come —I panted—. I’m going to come like this.

—Come. Come with a cock inside you.

I let go. My orgasm shot out between our bodies, white and hot, splattering my chest, stomach, and navel. My ass clenched around his cock in spasms I couldn’t control, and Andrés let out a deep grunt, his face buried in my neck.

—Here I go —he said, voice broken—. Here I go.

He thrust three, four more times, each one to the hilt, and then he sank all the way in and stayed there. I felt his cock throbbing inside me, felt the hot stream of his semen filling me from within, and I grabbed his back with both hands as if I were falling. When he came, he did it inside me, slowly, unhurriedly, emptying himself into me down to the last drop. Then he stayed on top of me for a long while without pulling out, while I stroked his back. When he finally took his cock out, I felt the semen dripping from my open hole, sliding between my cheeks and onto the sheet. We didn’t speak. No need.

***

That night I stayed over. In the morning, before he woke up, I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor. My ass was still burning, and every time I moved I felt a warm trail running through my crotch. I wasn’t sorry. I wasn’t ashamed. I felt something simpler and stranger at the same time: for the first time in a long while, I had stopped explaining things to myself.

Andrés woke up and looked at me with one eye open.

—So? —he asked—. Do you still want to fuck me?

I laughed. I laughed for real, almost with relief.

—No.

—I knew it.

He stretched, grabbed me by the waist, and dragged me back under the sheets. He turned me onto my stomach, spread my ass cheeks with both hands, and I felt his tongue there again, cleaning me, licking up what he himself had left inside me the night before. I didn’t resist. I didn’t want to. I arched my ass against his mouth and asked him, without words, to put it back in me.