The Morning Invitation
In the quiet outskirts of the city, I had spent months admiring Matias. He was the young assistant at the local newsstand, a nineteen-year-old with a striking presence—deep tan skin, masculine features, and long, sleek black hair that brushed his shoulders. His lean, muscular frame was a constant distraction, but it was his friendly, conversational nature that truly drew me in.
Our connection deepened one Sunday morning. We ran into each other early, and I invited him for breakfast at a nearby cafe. Over coffee, Matias opened up about the frustrations of his youth. He spoke of nights spent at clubs where girls teased him, leaving him wound tight and aching with a desire that had nowhere to go. He confessed, with a hint of bitterness, that he lacked the privacy even to find release on his own in the small room he rented from his employer.
Seeing an opportunity, I offered him a sanctuary. I told him that a young man of his vitality shouldn’t have to suffer such tension. I invited him to call me whenever he returned from a party, regardless of the hour. I promised him a quiet place to eat and the privacy to handle his needs exactly as he pleased, emphasizing that we were friends and there was no room for shame.
For a week, I reinforced the offer with smiles and nods during my daily trips to the newsstand. Then, one Saturday, just as the sun began to peek over the horizon at 7:00 AM, my phone rang. It was Matias, his voice trembling with a mix of timidity and urgency. He had just come from the club and remembered my invitation. Without hesitation, I told him to come over.
When he arrived, the air between us was thick with unspoken anticipation. After a quick breakfast, we moved to the living room. To help him relax, I put on an erotic film, the imagery filling the room with a sensual energy. As we talked about sex, I watched the tension leave his shoulders, replaced by a growing, visible arousal. I suggested he take advantage of the privacy and let himself go.
He initially hesitated, glancing toward the bathroom, but I encouraged him to stay right there. I told him that true pleasure required freedom, and he accepted the challenge. As he stripped away his clothes, I marveled at his form—his well-defined pectorals, his smooth skin, and his magnificent, firm erection that pulsed with need.
He settled into the sofa, his eyes fixed on the screen. I brought him a towel, but as he began to stroke himself, I couldn’t resist. I asked if I could help, offering a second hand to heighten the sensation. He nodded breathlessly. I began by tracing the lines of his abdomen and thighs, before wrapping my hand firmly around his heat. He groaned, his hips beginning to sway in time with my grip.
As he neared his peak, I whispered that I could give him more than just a hand. I knelt before him, tasting him slowly, before sliding his length deep into my throat. Matias gripped my hair, his breath hitching as he moved frantically against me. With a final, guttural cry, he released a torrent of warmth into my mouth.
We spent the rest of the morning in a haze of intimacy, repeating the act until he was completely spent. We parted with a lingering embrace and a new, secret understanding. From that day on, Matias became a frequent visitor to my home.