When in Paris E3 | A stranger welcomes me into his home in a foreign land... (Patreon)

Everyone is over the age of 18

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The rest of the airplane ride went without a hitch. I have to say, I was kind of disappointed that Mathieu didn’t stop by again. From what I could see, and that was only the back of his head, he seemed to sleep for the rest of the trip. 

He did have sex in the lavatory, and he busted a load in the urinal before boarding. Usually one load is enough to knock me out for the night, so I don’t blame him for passing out after 2. It’s just biology. And kind of a good strategy for a long flight across continents.

I, on the other hand, didn’t catch a wink of sleep. The events of him being so sexual kept replaying in my head.

I always wanted to have sex on a plane, like everyone else.

I didn’t think people actually did it. I thought it was just a thing we saw in movies or in porn.

I couldn’t even jerk off in the lavatory, even though I was hard in there. I got too nervous that somebody would be waiting outside to use it, and I would accidentally make a mess that I couldn’t clean up. 

Plus… I can’t jerk off to the image of him. That’s gay. I’m not gay.

The girl he fucked in there was hot, no doubt about it. I don’t think a girl like that would be interested in a plain American guy like me. I wouldn’t have his uncut cock either…

I suddenly imagine him sliding in and out of her, probably with no lube. I’ve always been jealous when I’ve seen that in porn where the guy can pump easily and with no prep. I’ve always had to add a little lube or else the head starts chafing. My brain hyperfixates on Mathieu pushing his uncut cock into her, which leaves an indefinite buzz in my chest.

Before long, the plane lands and the horny excitement turns into voyage excitement. I’m in Paris, for God’s sake. I’m one of the first ones up to get my bag from the overhead bin and I wait impatiently for the line to start moving. 

As I navigate the airport and the border control, I lose track of Mathieu’s full head of brown wavy hair. The last I saw him was when he went into the “French passport” line, and he passed through the security much faster than I did. 

I thought maybe that was the last I’ve seen of Mathieu and that that would have been a weird story I can tell my friends later. The guy who didn’t care if he was getting watched jerking off at the urinal. The guy who told me I was too closed off and then banged a chick less than a couple feet away from me. I wouldn’t even know how my friends would handle that story. 

Of course, I forgot about picking up my checked baggage. And so, even though he passed through the border faster than I did, Mathieu was there waiting for the carousel to start. 

“Allo again,” he says as he catches me coming closer. “Did you have a good rest of your flight, James?”

“It was ok,” I say. “How about you?” Even though I’ve seen the most intimate part of him, he still feels like a stranger. Well, because he is. 

“I slept …what do you say? Like a rock,” Mathieu says with a little wink. 

“Yeah, I saw.” The words escape me before I catch them.

“Ah.” A humorous tone with a sparkle in his eyes. He doesn’t inquire further, and the carousel starts spitting out bags. 

“I slept too,” I lie suddenly, without a reason really to.

“Sure,” Mathieu says with a smirk. “Et voilà.” He picks a bag off the rolling carpet. “Where are you going to be staying?”

“Oh, it’s this hostel.” I check my phone and then show him the address on my maps app. 

“You are not going to enjoy this,” Mathieu says with a look at the neighbourhood. “My friend come to pick me up. Do you want to ride with us?”

How could I say no? If I could save the money on the rideshare, I could spend it elsewhere. I accepted with thanks, and then once I got my bag, we went out to the street to wait for his friend. A blue car pulled up soon with an Arab guy pulling down the window. 

Mathieu said something I didn’t understand at all, and his friend nodded at me. We put our things in the trunk and then got in the car. I sat in the back, and they talked in French the whole time. The melody of the language was a little bit of a lullaby and I fell asleep in the car. 

“We are here.” Mathieu wakes me up. “I thought you sleep on the plane?” 

I didn’t respond, and instead sat up straight, looking at the hostel outside the window. 

“I am telling you, you will not like it. Unless you like sleeping on old crunchy blankets.” His friend laughs in the front. “Here, have my number. You can call me unless you have the bedbugs.” 

Groggy, I chuckled half-heartedly and gave him my phone to get his number. After grabbing my bags, I said another round of thanks before going off on my way. The hostel certainly wasn’t a 5 star hotel by the looks online, but I didn’t expect it to smell that bad. 

I can’t start my trip like this…

After sitting on the, in fact crunchy, bedsheets for a while, I texted Mathieu. I started with just another thank you, but he replied instantly. 

“It’s bad, isn’t it? Come stay with me.” 

He didn’t come back to pick me up. Mathieu sent me an address that I followed on my maps. I almost got lost on the metro system, but managed to find my way eventually.

So sweaty and tired from carrying my luggage around, I texted him again to let him know I was there. 

He didn’t respond for a couple minutes. It gave me a heart attack like I went all this way just to be shafted by this stranger I met. That would fall in line with some of the travel horror stories I’ve heard.

But then he opened the door with a smile, and I walked through his residence until we got to his apartment. 

“It’s small, but it’s my château,” Mathieu said. There’s a faint smell of cigarettes in his place. It really was small, with his bed in the middle of the main room. It’s pretty much a studio. 

I look around for a place to put my luggage, and come to the conclusion there really is none. In fact, I don’t even see a couch where I can sleep. Where am I supposed to sleep?

“I don’t wear clothes in my château,” he says as he takes off his pants, revealing form fitting boxer briefs. Then, he takes off his shirt, and hangs it up. “Don’t sit on the bed with your pants from the plane.” 

Should I go back to the hostel?

“And your shirt. You are too sweaty. We don’t have air conditioning here, you know. Not too écologique.” He turns around, and I try not to stare at his lightly furred chest and defined arms. 

“Hey, you know what? I don’t want to be a bother,” I start and he smirks at me.

“James, we both know you came for something,” Mathieu says while closing the gap between us. The cigarette smell gets masked by his cologne, which is even stronger without his shirt on. “Why do you keep hiding yourself?”

“Hey, if you mean that I…” I stop and hold my breath as his face comes inches away from mine. 

I can feel him breathing on me.

I can feel the heat of his face in front of mine. 

“You came here for something. And it’s ok.”

“I didn’t…”

“I don’t know who you are, James from America on his first solo trip. And I don’t care to know more.” He moves his mouth slightly closer to mine.

And I give in.

All I had to do was part my lips and lean in.

After all, it’s my time to explore. And this might be the only chance.

I kiss him.

He pulls me in by the shirt roughly, taking ownership of the kiss. Then he reaches down, groping me hard and making me gasp in his mouth. 

“You’ve had this for too long.”