The Stranger from the App Who Came on a Saturday

It was a Saturday with no plans and my phone as my only company. I’d been swiping through profiles on a hookup app for a while and hadn’t found anything that caught my eye: half-cut-off photos, one-word messages, accounts with no photo. The usual. I was just about to give up when his profile appeared.

No face photo, but what he showed was enough: tanned body, well-proportioned, no frills. And a profile picture of his brown cock, thick, with heavy balls hanging beneath it, making it clear what he was playing with. His first message was direct:

—You’ve got an ass that’s begging to be fucked properly.

I laughed. It wasn’t the first time I’d been told that, but the way he wrote it, straight to the point, without the usual preamble from guys who act shy until they get comfortable, I liked it.

We started talking. His name was Mateo, he was Venezuelan, and he’d been in the city for two years. He told me without being asked that he loved eating ass, that he liked taking his time with his tongue buried deep before fucking, and that if the encounter didn’t start with him biting my cheeks and prying them open with his hands so he could lick at his leisure, it wasn’t worth it. He said all of it with a calmness that was more arousing than the ones who come on urgent from the first message.

I sent him a picture of my naked ass, arched against the mirror. He sent me two: one of his cock halfway hard, another already fully hard, shiny and veined, with his hand tight around the base so the thickness showed clearly.

The second one made it clear to me that the afternoon had a lot of potential. And that I was going to have to open up wide to take that cock all the way in.

—I need to shower and get ready —I texted him—. I’ll let you know in an hour.

—Perfect. I’m getting ready too. I want to come over ready to eat your ass for a good while —he replied.

I took a long shower. I washed myself inside carefully, twice, until I was clean enough for him to do whatever he wanted. I chose my clothes with more care than I should have: tight dark jeans and a simple gray T-shirt. Nothing flashy. Once everything was ready I sent him the message, and we agreed he’d come in forty minutes.

Those forty minutes felt endless.

I checked the apartment once. Made sure the bathroom was clean, that there were fresh towels folded on the shelf, that the bedroom looked tidy without seeming like I’d tried too hard. I left the lubricant and condoms in plain sight on the nightstand, not pretending I didn’t know why he was coming. I put music on low. I looked in the mirror more than I’d admit out loud. When the intercom buzzed, I answered immediately.

***

Mateo arrived wearing well-cut dark trousers and a short-sleeved shirt left open at the neck. He had tanned, glossy skin, very short hair, and wide lips I found impossible to ignore from the first second. He came into the apartment and we looked at each other for a moment, sizing each other up, as always happens when the screen becomes a real person.

—Hi —he said.

—Hi —I replied.

And that was the entire protocol.

He took me by the nape with one hand and kissed me slowly, unhurriedly, as if he had the whole night ahead of him. I rested a hand on his chest and felt the heat radiating through the fabric. His lips were exactly what the photos had promised: soft, firm, with a calm initiative that left no doubt about who was setting the pace. His tongue entered my mouth without asking permission and played with mine, mastering it, tasting me as if he were measuring me from the inside.

His other hand went straight to my ass and squeezed it. Not roughly. With clear intent. He dug his fingers in over my jeans, parting my cheeks as much as the fabric allowed, and I felt his already hard cock pressing against my hip.

—You really do have a good one —he murmured against my mouth—. I’m going to eat it until you beg me to fuck you.

—You’re not exactly lacking yourself —I said, lowering my hand and grabbing the bulge over his pants. It was hot, thick, hard all the way up. I squeezed it once, measuring it in my palm, and he let out a low gasp against my neck. I gently guided him toward the hallway.

***

We reached the bedroom without stopping touching each other. Clothes came off in whatever order each of us could manage. He took the lead, but I wasn’t passive. I unbuttoned his shirt while he pulled down my jeans, and when we were both in our underwear, we paused for a moment.

I looked him over from head to toe.

He was exactly what the photos had promised, and maybe a little more. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, thick thighs, skin stretched tight over his abdomen. The fitted black boxer briefs didn’t leave much to the imagination: his cock was hard, pushing sideways, the tip pressing against the elastic. I reached down and yanked his boxers off in one pull. His dick sprang up, thick, brown, with a shiny head and a drop of precum already beading out. His balls hung heavy, taut, ready.

—Fuck —I said under my breath.

I took it in my hand and squeezed from base to tip. It was thicker than it had looked in the photo. I stroked it slowly and he let his head fall back for a second.

—Turn around —he asked, his voice rougher.

I turned around slowly.

I heard him draw a deep breath behind me.

—Get on the bed. On all fours. Ass toward me. I want to see it properly.

It wasn’t an aggressive or forced order. It was a request with a lot of conviction. And I had no reason to resist it.

I knelt on the mattress and leaned on my elbows, arching my back as much as I could. He positioned himself behind me, and slowly lowered my underwear with both hands, not rushing the motion. When everything was off, he did nothing for a second. He just looked. I felt it in the silence, in the pause, in the weight of his gaze on my open ass, which is something you can feel even if you can’t quite explain why.

He placed both open hands on my cheeks and spread them apart completely, leaving the hole fully exposed. He blew gently. My skin prickled all over.

Then he buried his face.

***

Some sensations are hard to describe precisely, and what he did with his tongue over the next few minutes falls squarely into that category. First he licked me from top to bottom, with his tongue flat and broad, covering the whole groove in one pass. Then he sharpened it and pressed it into the center of the hole, pushing, trying to get inside. The hot tip pressed, yielded to the skin, entered a little, withdrew. He was eating my ass with real hunger, not with protocol.

I moaned. I couldn’t help it.

—You taste good —he murmured against my flesh, and plunged his tongue back in.

He alternated the rhythm with precision that didn’t seem improvised: from broad, slow motions, licking from my balls to the hollow of my back, to specific pressure points on the rim of the hole that made me clench my fists against the sheets so I wouldn’t make too much noise. When he felt me starting to settle into the rhythm, he changed it. He shoved his tongue in hard and deep, then softened and sucked all around the edge with his lips open, then gave my cheek a loose bite and attacked the center again.

He pushed my hips toward him with his hands when I instinctively tried to pull away. I wasn’t going anywhere, and we both knew it.

At one point he lifted a hand and found my cock without looking. He wrapped his whole palm around it, feeling the weight, and started jerking me off slowly while he kept eating my ass. I was already dripping onto the sheet, a long thread hanging from the tip. When he squeezed a little harder and synced the rhythm of his hand with that of his tongue, I lost track of where one sensation ended and the next began.

—Fuck, Mateo —I gasped—, don’t stop, don’t stop.

His tongue didn’t stop. Neither did his hands. He filled my hole with saliva, left it dripping, and then brought up one finger and slid it in slowly, all the way to the hilt, without taking his mouth away. His tongue wrapped around the finger, entering alongside it. I couldn’t close my mouth.

When he decided he was done with that part of the program, he made it known in the simplest possible way:

—Turn over.

***

I lay on my back. He leaned over me and started with my neck, found exactly the spot that loosens me in three seconds and worked it with teeth and lips until I had to grab his hair and tell him to go lower.

He went lower.

He stayed at my chest longer than I expected, without it feeling like a mandatory stop in the protocol but like something he was genuinely interested in. He sucked each nipple one by one, giving them little bites and then licking them, leaving them hard and shiny. Then he kept going downward, biting the skin of my abdomen, until he got where I’d been waiting for him to get for some time.

He didn’t hesitate. He swallowed my cock whole in one go, all the way to the base, and I felt the back of his throat close around the head. I arched on the mattress.

He was good at this. Very.

He didn’t make a fuss or unnecessary movements or look to me constantly for validation. He knew what he was doing and did it with a calm concentration that was more arousing than any theatrics. He changed the rhythm: sucking hard with his cheeks hollowed, then going all the way down and pausing with his nose pressed into my pubic hair for a second, swallowing around the tip. When he came back up, he left a trail of saliva from base to tip. He licked my balls, took them one by one into his mouth, and then went back to eating my cock whole. When he lifted his eyes for a moment to look at me from below, with my cock down his throat, I rested a hand on his head without thinking, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I pushed a little. He accepted it without resistance.

We stayed like that for quite a while.

Then, when I decided I wanted to get mine too, I sat him up, laid him down, and took my place. We arranged ourselves for a 69 that was, in every sense, a shared success. I got on top of him upside down and took his cock in my hand. Up close it was even more impressive. I ran my tongue all along its length, from the balls to the tip, and then took it as far as I could. At first I couldn’t handle the whole thing; I choked halfway down. I went down little by little, with saliva, until I managed to open my throat and swallow it all the way. He let out a long moan with my cock in his mouth. The vibration went through my whole body.

I sucked like I was getting paid for it. With both hands: one at the base, moving in time with my mouth, the other massaging his balls. He responded by sliding two fingers into my ass, already soaked in saliva, searching for the exact spot inside. When he found it, he pressed. I cried out with his cock in my mouth.

At some point he pulled his mouth away and asked:

—Do you want me to fuck you?

—Yes. Now.

—How do you want it?

—On top of you first. I want to ride.

***

He lay down in the center of the bed. I put the condom on him with my mouth, rolling it down slowly with my lips, and added a generous amount of lube on top. I worked some onto the hole too, with two fingers, pushing them all the way in to open myself fully. I got on top of him, looking at his face, with his cock pointed straight up, and lined it up against the hole.

I lowered myself slowly, without rushing. I felt the thick head push, force its way past the ring, enter in one hot sting. I paused a second, breathing, and kept lowering. The body takes it better when you don’t hurry, and I had no intention of hurrying. I went down centimeter by centimeter, feeling it open me from the inside, pushing against places that had been waiting for a while. When I had it all inside, with my cheeks resting on his thighs, I stayed still for a moment, breathing, letting the sensation settle before I started moving.

His face said everything. His mouth was half open and his hands were clamped to my hips, trembling with restraint.

—You’re so tight —he gasped—. Fuck.

I started moving.

At first slowly, rising until the tip almost came out and dropping back down to the hilt in one go. Each descent tore a moan from me. His cock filled me completely, touched places inside me not everyone knows how to find. He put his hands on my hips without pressing, just to follow the motion closely. I set the pace and he followed, though it was obvious he was struggling not to get ahead of me. I could feel it in the way his fingers clenched each time I went down slower than he wanted, and in the way his hips rose a fraction of a second before I got there.

—Like that —he said, in a low voice—, like that, don’t stop.

—Don’t move —I told him—. Hold on.

And he held on for a moment before giving in and going all the way down, and then he exhaled the breath he’d been holding without even realizing it.

He started kissing me when I leaned toward him to change the angle. In that position his cock hit my prostate dead-on every time, and I had to bite my lip not to come right then and there. I took advantage of the distraction to slow the pace almost to a stop, clenching my ass around him, squeezing his cock with every ring of the channel. His hips reacted on their own, searching upward without his having consciously decided to, driving inward in desperation.

—You’re a bad person —he said against my mouth.

I laughed. And clamped down again.

***

On all fours was different.

He positioned me near the edge of the bed, ass up, and entered again, this time in one thrust, all the way to the base. I screamed into the pillow. From that position the control was entirely his, and he used it without hesitation. He wasn’t violent at any point, but neither was he gentle in a restrained sense: it was exactly the amount of force needed for me to have to grab onto something so I wouldn’t slide toward the headboard.

I clung to the sheet with both fists.

He started fucking me with long thrusts, pulling almost all the way out and driving back in to the hilt. Every thrust ripped a sound from my throat that was neither word nor moan, something in between. The sound of his balls slapping against mine, wet, filled the room. He grabbed my hip with one hand and my shoulder with the other, pinning me against him on every downstroke.

He changed the angle once, looking for something specific. He found it. He drove it in right there and made me shudder all over. He changed again. Then he lifted one knee onto the mattress to gain height and I could feel the difference in depth with total clarity. I closed my eyes. The head of his cock was hitting me so deep it almost hurt, and even so I wanted more.

—Good? —he asked, without slowing.

—Yes. Don’t stop. Harder.

He sped up. He drove his cock all the way in each time, with a rhythm that shook my body forward and made me press my face into the pillow to muffle my cries. He slid a hand underneath me and grabbed my cock, jerking me in time with the thrusts. I was close. I told him so.

—Hold on —he said—. Hold on, I want more.

He slowed down. He left me at the edge and made me come down, and then he sped back up. He kept it up for a good while, with a rhythm that varied just enough for me not to predict it or fully get used to it. When he felt me starting to sync up, he changed it. It was the kind of thing you either have naturally or don’t learn easily.

He had it very naturally.

***

Then he laid me on my back.

He positioned himself between my legs, lifted them, and rested my ankles on his shoulders. From that position our faces were close and we could look at each other without effort. He entered again in one firm motion that punched the air out of me, and began moving with a long, deliberate rhythm, slower than before, with a little more intent in every thrust. Bent like that, with my knees against my chest, I felt him even deeper.

—I wanted to see you like this —he said—. With my cock inside you and that face.

I didn’t answer. No need.

I kept my eyes open. He did too. There’s something about looking at each other that way, with nothing hidden, while you’re being fucked and can’t disguise a single reaction, that adds a layer to everything else that’s hard to neutralize or ignore. At one point he reached out and intertwined his hand with mine against the mattress, without saying anything, without it especially making sense, and yet it felt completely natural. With his other hand he took my cock and started jerking me off again, coordinating it with the thrusts.

I wasn’t going to last much longer.

—I’m going to come —I gasped.

—Come —he said, without slowing down—. Come with me inside you.

He sped up both his hand and his hips at once. He drove in hard, to the hilt, and pushed again, and on the third one I came all at once, with a force I hadn’t felt in months. I let out a hoarse cry. The semen burst out in thick jets over my chest and abdomen, one stream reaching my collarbone. My ass clenched around him in long spasms, squeezing his cock with every wave.

—Fuck, fuck —he gasped—, like that, squeeze it like that.

That’s how we went on.

***

We’d been at it for close to an hour when he started changing the rhythm without my asking. I recognized it by the shorter breathing, the more urgent pace, the way the muscles in his abdomen tightened with every thrust and the way he’d started grinding his teeth. He didn’t need words for me to read him.

He pulled out of me, ripped off the condom, and we stood up beside the bed.

—Where do you want me to come? —he asked, cock in hand, stroking it slowly so he wouldn’t come yet.

—In my mouth. All of it.

I knelt in front of him on the rug. I put one hand on his thigh and took his balls with the other as I brought my mouth to him. I squeezed them gently, feeling they were already hard, heavy, ready. I ran my tongue underneath, from the balls to the tip, and took him down my throat. He jerked off with my hand over his, setting the pace, pushing his cock into my mouth with more and more urgency each time. I looked up at him from below, mouth open, tongue out, offering it to him.

—Now, now —he gasped.

I felt the first spasms at the base, and then I took him all the way to the back of my throat. He came hard, in several thick, hot waves. The first filled my mouth at once; the second came out while I was already swallowing it; the third and fourth he shot over my tongue, with his cock resting on my lips so he could see the semen gather before I swallowed. I kept him there until the end, until he stopped trembling and let out the breath he’d been holding without realizing it. I swallowed everything, down to the last drop. I ran my tongue one last time over the tip, cleaning off what was left, and he shuddered at the sensitivity.

I got up.

I went to the bathroom. When I came back, he was sitting on the edge of the bed with his hands on his knees and a calm expression, like someone who’s just finished something that went well.

—Well —he said.

—Yeah —I replied.

No need to add anything.

***

He showered. I put water on to heat while I waited. When he came out of the bathroom dressed, we drank coffee standing in the kitchen, not talking much but without the awkward silence that sometimes appears afterward. We talked about trivial things: the neighborhood, the weather, how long the subway took at that hour.

Before he left, at the door, he turned around:

—I’ll send you my number, if that’s okay.

—That’s more than okay.

I texted him through the app so he’d have mine. He replied with a brief “saved” and went down the stairs without looking back.

I closed the door and leaned against it for a moment.

It was six in the evening on a Saturday that had started with no plans and ended better than I had any right to expect. I promised myself I wouldn’t wait too long before writing to him.

And this time, I thought, I’d have to be the one to take the initiative. I wanted to see how he fucked from underneath.