The blindfold prevented me from seeing who it was

The message arrived on my phone at midnight, a buzzing that broke the silence of my apartment. It was him, "X", as he called himself on the app. No profile picture, no real name, just a brief description: "Discreet, direct, I make you mine." We had been talking for a couple of days, messages with a high tone that left me sweating and with an accelerated pulse. He proposed something that made me nervous, but also turned me on: to meet without seeing his face. "You cover your eyes, I enter, I fuck you and I leave. No complications." I accepted, almost without thinking, with the heat rising up my chest.

The agreed-upon night, I prepared myself as if it were a ritual. I showered, made sure I was clean, inside and out, because his messages made it clear that there would be no soft foreplay. I put on tight black boxers, the ones that mark everything, and left the apartment door ajar, as he had asked. In the living room, I sat on the sofa, with a black silk blindfold that I used to sleep. I tied it tight, covering my eyes, and the world became dark. My heart was beating so strongly that I could feel it in my throat. The silence was heavy, only broken by the ticking of the kitchen clock.

I heard the door open, a slow creak, and then firm footsteps on the wooden floor. He didn't say anything, but I felt his presence, as if the air had become denser. He smelled of leather and something else, a masculine perfume, rough, that made me swallow saliva. He approached, and the sofa sank a little when he sat down beside me. His hand, large and warm, rested on my thigh, pressing hard. There was no delicacy, only hunger.

"Stay still," he said, his voice low, with a hoarse tone that gave me goosebumps.

I nodded, although I couldn't see him. His fingers went up my leg, brushing the edge of my boxers, and then, without warning, he grabbed my package with a firm hand, as if he wanted to measure what he had in his hands. I moaned, and he let out a low, almost mocking laugh. He pulled off my boxers with a jerk, leaving me exposed, and I felt the cool air against my skin. I was hard, and he noticed. His rough fingers caressed me, slow at first, but then with more pressure, as if he wanted to provoke me to the limit.

He got up, and I heard the sound of a zipper going down, followed by the rustle of clothing falling to the floor. He returned to the sofa, and this time his body was closer, his heat almost burning me. He pushed me back, until I was lying down, with my legs open. His hands opened me more, without asking permission, and I felt something wet and cold at my entrance: lubricant, I supposed, because there was no time for soft foreplay. His fingers, one first, then two, slid inside me, opening me with precise but rapid movements. I moaned loudly, and he grunted, as if my reaction gave him more desire.

"Damn, you're tight," he said, and his voice had a edge of raw desire.

He didn't give me time to respond....