Night One

Hugo and Camille walked Paul to the door. He grabbed his coat, ready to call it a night. 

His friends stood in the doorway, still flushed with alcohol and laughter, their eyes glassy. The three of them had polished off a bottle of red wine apiece, an excellent Brouilly Paul had bought at the corner shop before joining the party. Their small group had stayed late; the other guests had left long ago.

Paul had travelled to Strasbourg especially for the gathering. He'd spent the evening reminiscing with his friends, a storm of laughter and stories taking him back to the fun days at university. Hugo and Camille were not a couple, just good friends who found it more convenient to remain roommates while starting their careers.

Though living in different cities, the three friends remained close. Still, their lives were growing apart. The carefree times of their early 20s were disappearing as each of them built a real adult life. 

Now they lingered at the threshold, sharing hugs and quick cheek kisses.

"Wait, wait, do you have my lighter?" Hugo asked Paul.

Paul rolled his eyes. He was busted. With a smile on his face, he pulled it out of his long oversize black coat and gave it back to his friend. Stealing each other's lighters had become a long-running joke between them. It reminded them of good times, when they were young and inseparable.

 "Good night my friends! I'll text you tomorrow!" said Paul, closing the apartment door behind him.

He turned out toward the street, his breath fogging the air. The wind chose that moment to knife straight through his coat.

"Come on!" he muttered, pulling his scarf higher over his nose, which was starting to sting from the cold. Alsace, France, is very cold in February.

 The city lights shimmered before his eyes, a mesh of colors glowing through the haze of wine and laughter that still held him… for a while, at least.

The farther he walked, the more the music and voices that had filled the air were replaced by an odd silence. He felt as though he was floating in a sea of loneliness, the friendly lights from the apartment windows turning dark and cold.

The friendship dynamic between Paul and his friends was evolving. Their discussions were not the same and they sometimes needed more time to feel confident again. They didn't see each other that often. It was a reminder that even the strongest bonds can sometimes feel fragile. Paul was left to deal with the fleeting nature of time and the harsh reality of cherished memories fading.

He gave a quick shiver and stamped his feet. He hoped he could get an Uber quickly; he had to catch an early morning train back home to Paris.

God, it was cold. He was dressed casually in jeans, a blue navy shirt, and sneakers, perfect for a night out, not so perfect for the weather. He opened Instagram to distract himself.

The first thing he saw was a shirtless influencer on an Australian beach. Abs like a freaking Greek god, damp swim trunks hanging just low enough to be criminal.

Paul paused, then scrolled again. Another guy, grey sweatpants, shirtless, enough said. A third, personal trainer, but mainly influencer, mid-workout, every muscle taut.

Paul sighed. Okay, Instagram, I get it. I have a type. Even the algorithm knew.

The problem was, no one but the algorithm knew.

Even his parents didn't know, and they were liberals, almost radical in their liberality. They would be the first to support him. He knew that. And yet, he couldn't force the words out of his mouth.

Paul was born into a middle-class family, which over time had moved up to a more affluent, upper-middle-class status. His parents took him on trips around the world when he was young, opening his eyes and his mind to different cultures.

They paid for his higher education, including a business school in Paris. He discovered life. He met people. He went out. He had his first girlfriends, though none of it ever felt entirely right.

He played along, following his friends, young straight guys who were into sports, women, and partying.

But Paul always knew he was different.

He felt attracted to men but kept it to himself. He never acted on it, forbidding himself from exploring. He played the game, talked about girls. But when watching porn, or when lost in his own fantasies, there were always men in the picture.

He told himself that one day, he would come out.

His family wouldn't care. Neither would his friend group. They already had one openly gay friend and, while they joked about it, he was always accepted.

So there wouldn't be a problem.

But Paul wasn't ready. Not yet.

He sighed and turned his attention back to Instagram, scrolling down to photos of his friends. There they were at a vineyard during their last year in college, arms wrapped around each other. At a concert he hadn't been there for. Hugo and Maxime in a restaurant, Camille photo bombing in the background.

Paul stopped walking.

The pictures didn't make him sad exactly. He still talked to them all the time, but, looking at the photos, something chewed at him.

He clicked his phone off. His fingers were frozen. His face was frozen. He was pretty sure his soul was frozen.

That was enough self-pity for the night. Time to get back to his hotel before he lost a toe to frostbite. He fumbled with his phone, pulling up the Uber app.

A black Mercedes. Driver's name: Zayed. Five stars.

"Huh. Fancy," Paul muttered, rubbing his hands together to heat them up.

Zayed's profile picture stared back at him. A stranger who, in about three minutes, would become his driver. Paul wondered if Zayed could sense when his passengers were spiraling.

Headlights appeared in the distance. At least the car would be warm.

A black Mercedes pulled up, and Paul exhaled in relief. Finally, he could get out of the cold.

"Zayed?" Paul asked, his voice coming out in a puff of condensation.

The man nodded, flashing a smile that, to Paul's absolute horror, he found immediately attractive. "Ready for a ride?"

There it was. That stupid stab of attraction. Of lust that shot up when he least expected it. Always at the worst possible moments.

Paul cleared his throat. "Yeah. Thanks."

Zayed moved to open the door for him, and Paul wished he hadn't noticed how attractive the man was. Zayed was a striking guy, even in his suit. Broad shoulders and a hint of muscle.

The pants, creased, showed off his legs. Crisp white shirt, perfect tie, and those shoes, shiny black oxfords. He had a flat stomach, looked like he took care of himself.

Paul couldn't help but notice the little things too—the lines around Zayed's eyes, the set of his jaw, his hands, strong and steady, opening the door, his brown skin shining under the streetlights.

Paul stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets and slid into the warmth of the car, willing his brain to behave. He sighed, sinking into the comfortable seat. This was exactly what he needed: a quiet, peaceful ride back to his hotel.

Zayed walked around the car into the driver's seat, adjusted the mirror, and looked back at him. "Long night?"

Paul let out a breathy laugh. "Something like that."

Zayed pulled onto the road, his driving smooth and almost effortless. The silence was welcome, broken only by Paul sniffling as he tried to warm his nose.

Paul closed his eyes. He could fall asleep like this, just drift off, pretend he wasn't slightly tipsy, slightly lonely.

"You here on vacation?"

Paul cracked one eye open. Zayed was watching him in the rear-view mirror, his expression polite but vaguely interested.

"Uh, something like that," Paul answered, almost whispering. "Visiting some old friends."

Zayed hummed and nodded. "Nice."

Paul was grateful Zayed didn't press further. He closed his eyes again, trying to convince himself he really didn't want to talk to Zayed, that he preferred the silence.

"You know," Zayed said, his voice so deep Paul could feel its vibration. "Sometimes the cold is beautiful. Makes you appreciate the heat."

Paul's eyes snapped open. Okay, what was that? That was not a normal thing to say. He coughed. "Uh. Yeah. I guess."

Zayed smiled, his large hands relaxed on the wheel. "Or maybe I just say things like that to make winter feel less miserable."

Paul allowed a short laugh to escape. "Yeah, I was going to say, it feels pretty damn miserable to me right now."

Zayed chuckled. "Understandable. After a long night, all you want is your own bed."

Paul settled deeper into his seat. His eyes jumped back to the driver. Zayed had that easy confidence, the kind that made a person seem entirely comfortable in their own skin.

He looked like he was in his early thirties, maybe a few years older than Paul, with dark hair cropped close to his head. His jawline was sharp, the kind of face you'd accidentally stare at for too long.

He was looking very good in that suit, even if you could clearly tell he wasn't used to wearing it every day.

Paul shut his eyes again. Nope. Not going there.

Zayed looked up at him in the mirror, smiling. "Looking forward to my weekend."

Paul opened his eyes lazily. "Yeah? Any big plans?"

Zayed's smile softened. "Just spending time with my wife and daughters. Don't see them much during the week. She works as a school educator."

Paul's brain short-circuited. Wife. Daughters.

Of course.

Paul was so far away from having a wife and kids that it didn't even feel like part of his world. He let out a small, humorless laugh. "Yeah, makes sense. Family time is important."

Zayed nodded. "You have family here?"

Paul shook his head. "Nope. Just friends." He hesitated, then added, "Well… Sort of."

Zayed raised an eyebrow. "Sort of?"

Paul sighed, leaning his head against the window. "You ever have friends that feel like family until one day you realize you've kind of moved on without them?"

Zayed gave him a quick look before turning his attention back to the road. "Yeah," he admitted. "That's a hard thing to realize."

Paul huffed. "Tell me about it."

For a moment, the only sound was the music. Paul felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

A message from Camille: "Get home safe!"  

He didn't know why, but it made him smile.

Zayed spoke up again. "I wouldn't worry that much."

Paul blinked. "What?"

Zayed shrugged. "People grow. Change. Doesn't mean anything. You keep the good time in memory."

Paul was quiet for a moment. It was such a simple thing to say, but for some reason, it settled something in his chest.

"Yeah," he said eventually. "Maybe."

Zayed smiled. "Besides, you never know what the future brings."

Paul thought about that.

He thought about the way he kept pretending he was fine with how things had turned out. The way he refused to admit that maybe, just maybe, he was lonelier than he allowed himself to believe. Or that he wasn't perfectly happy.

He exhaled. "Guess I'll have to figure that out alone."

Zayed grinned. "Sounds like a plan."

Paul leaned back in the seat, feeling like he almost knew Zayed. Like the man had become his friend, just because he'd been able to share something with him that he'd refused to share even with himself.

His eyes, unsure where to look, glanced downward, stopping on a stack of magazines in the seat pocket in front of him. He reached forward, curiosity getting the better of him. The first few were exactly what you'd expect: Auto-Moto, L'Express, Chasse et Pêche. The usual driver stuff.

But then. Oh.

Two magazines in the stack stood out immediately. Glossy. Bold lettering.

And very, very naked women between the covers. Paul's eyebrows shot up.

He stared for a second, not really understanding. Then his fingers snapped the magazine shut so fast he nearly bent the cover.

He didn't know what to think.

Amused at first, then embarrassed, he quickly pushed them back into the seat pocket, suddenly aware of the fact that he'd just been flipping through a porn magazine.

To make it worse, when he looked up at the rear-view mirror, Zayed was looking right at him.

Paul froze. His stomach dropped, and his skin prickled with heat.

He had two choices: he could either die of embarrassment right there, or he could play it cool.

He went with the second option. Kind of.

"Oh wow." Paul forced a laugh that came out a little too loud. "You certainly have magazines for every taste."

Zayed's lips twitched, his hand steady on the wheel as he laughed at Paul. "Something for everyone."

Paul let out a sharp breath. Okay. That's fine. This is fine.

He should leave it at that. Stare out the window. Pretend this never happened.

But no. Of course not.

Curiosity made him do it. He had to know. He leaned forward slightly. "Do a lot of clients… you know… look at those magazines when you drive them?"

Zayed paused, like he was weighing his answer. Then he shrugged, the corner of his lips curling. "It happens."

Paul swallowed. "Really?"

"Some people find it relaxing," Zayed said simply. "Long drives, late nights… " His voice trailed off like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Paul blinked. His brain was having trouble keeping up. He leaned back and closed his eyes, his face burning with embarrassment. But curiosity was stronger. 

"If you want some relief, just pretend I'm not here," Zayed said, all casual like he was offering Paul a bottle of water instead of suggesting…

Wait.

What?

Paul's entire body went rigid.

He turned his head sharply. "What do you mean?"

Zayed's face didn't change, and he shrugged. "You don't have to worry about me," he said, eyes still on the road. "I want my clients to feel comfortable. If you're interested in those magazines… There are tissues in the door. And some lube in the front pocket."

Paul's soul left his body. Zayed had just casually suggested—his brain refused to finish the thought.

The car suddenly felt very, very warm.

Paul's mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. He was fairly certain he looked like a fish gasping in the air.

Zayed looked at him through the mirror, a smile playing at the edges of his lips. "You okay back there?"

Paul let out a choked laugh, his fingers tight around the edge of his seat. "I…" He cleared his throat, voice breaking slightly. "That's very thoughtful of you?"

Zayed chuckled, low and smooth. "I like to keep my passengers happy."

Paul's pulse roared in his ears. He was tempted. Really?

This had to be a joke. Had to be. He needed to shut it down. Now.

He waved a hand, still feeling certain it was a dream. Had to be. "Oh… uh… thanks, but I think I'll pass."

Zayed shrugged again. "Suit yourself."

Silence settled between them. Paul felt almost disappointed at how easily Zayed had given up. And realized he would have done it with just a little more push. He turned his head slowly, staring out the window, begging his brain to erase the last five minutes from his memory.

Now, of course, he was thinking about it. He couldn't stop.

His gaze dropped, just for a second, toward the magazines again.

He caught himself, snapping his head forward.

Zayed, voice low and amused, asked, "So…" He winked at Paul through the mirror. "You prefer the Auto-Moto, or…?"

Paul groaned, dropping his face into his hands. "I hate you."

Zayed just laughed.

The sound washed over him, and Paul knew he was in trouble. He had been drunk before. Tipsy at holiday parties, totally drunk on vacation with his friends, once completely wasted at a wedding where he'd mistaken the groom's uncle for a waiter and asked for another gin and tonic.

But this? This was different.

His mind felt elastic. Loose in a way that made thoughts slip through his fingers before he could decide if they were normal.

Like how, only moments ago, he'd been sitting here, minding his own business, when Zayed, his very attractive Uber driver, had casually suggested he touch himself in the back seat.

Confused, but strangely affected by all the wine he'd had, Paul found himself suddenly awake. How can you be so tipsy one minute, and so present one minute later? Something was calling to him.

It wasn't just the wine; there was a thrill in the audacity of Zayed's suggestion, a thrill that Paul had long denied himself.

What in the world is happening to me? Paul thought, his mind racing. He always knew this part of him was there, but it had been dormant, a secret he kept from himself. Was it the wine making him behave like this?

Or was it something deeper, something he'd been unconsciously wanting to explore? He glanced at Zayed, who seemed oblivious to the effect his words were having.

Paul felt a strange sense of freedom, like he was the only person in the world. He carefully reached down and ran a hand over his zipper, considering the offer.

Did he want to? Yes. Should he? Most probably not. But the desire was too strong.

He shifted slightly, his jeans slipping, revealing the waistband of his boxers. Excitement started to rise within him.

Without thinking further, he slid his hand toward his jeans' zipper and pulled it down.  He sat up, looking at his open zipper, directly at his boxers, Calvin Klein, white. Hesitantly, he pulled his dick out through the front pocket and let it hang out. It became harder at once.

A wave of dizziness hit him. He closed his eyes, an unexpected rush of arousal taking his breath away. The strangeness of the situation, combined with the alcohol, made his heart pound hard in his chest.

He thought Zayed glanced at him, the driver's silent approval sending a shiver down his spine. Just the idea of this situation was giving him a thrill. He opened his eyes and cautiously looked at Zayed in the mirror.

It was unlike anything he'd ever done before, and the fact that it was so wrong made it even more exciting. He began stroking himself gently.

This game of exhibitionism and freedom made him even harder. He jerked his eyes open and looked around nervously, searching for hidden cameras. This was too good to be true. It was as if all his fantasies had come alive.

"Go ahead, enjoy," Zayed said calmly, lowering his voice. "Aren't magazines great?"

Paul looked startled, accidentally meeting the driver's eyes in the rear-view mirror. "Sorry, man," he stammered. "I couldn't resist." He was exposing himself with an intimacy he had never shown another guy directly, especially a stranger. This was another level for him.

"You're doing fine, man," Zayed replied with a reassuring smile, his eyes sparkling mischievously. "Enjoy yourself."

 Zayed's words warmed Paul and made him feel more confident. He shifted again, just enough to pull his jeans wider and his dick completely out, along with his balls. He was completely hard now.

Zayed was now humming along to a song on the radio, seemingly unaware of the effect his words were having.

Paul felt a strange sense of liberty. The idea of being watched made it more thrilling.

Suddenly, Zayed laughed. "You're really enjoying yourself back there, aren't you?"

Paul smirked, the wine chasing away fear, his body light with arousal. He was still stroking himself, his fingers moving lazily, teasing himself as much as Zayed was teasing him. "You can't blame me," Paul murmured, his voice hoarse. "I mean, you did say to enjoy myself."

"That's right."

Paul let his eyes drift half-closed, focusing on the heat of his palm, the ache in his gut, the delicious danger of it all. His fingers stroked slowly, the touch sparking thrills throughout his body. He let out a small shudder, barely realizing he was biting his lower lip.

It was weird that Zayed was willing to interact so much with him, but Paul decided not to think about it. His heart was pounding. The situation was insane. He was completely exposed, jerking off in the back of a stranger's car. But that only made it hotter.

"I haven't had a chance to, uh… relieve myself in a while," Paul admitted. The strangeness of the situation—talking so casually while touching himself—made his stomach flip. It was very odd for Paul to have a normal discussion with a stranger while holding his dick in hands, but somehow here he was, doing just that.

"Don't worry, I understand. Between work and family, there's never a spare moment."

Paul's fingers tightened around his cock as he remembered that Zayed had a family. A wife and kids. "I can imagine. At least you have your wife for company."

"Yeah, but you know married life, right?" Zayed shrugged. "Things aren't always as exciting as they used to be, if you know what I mean."

"Ah, now I understand the magazines," Paul joked, trying to pull Zayed into the titillating ambiance of the back seat.

"I admit, sometimes between rides, I take a moment for myself," Zayed said, a playful twinkle in his eye. "By the way, check out the other magazine, there's a great gangbang picture. The girl is absolutely stunning."

"No way! This isn't something you just pick up between rides. I think you've been spending a lot of time poring over these magazines yourself." Paul chuckled sarcastically.

He noticed a subtle change in Zayed's expression. The playful glint in the other man's eyes seemed to deepen, hinting at something fiercer beneath the surface. Paul felt an unexpected jolt of excitement.

"Oh yeah, I can tell you're an expert!" Paul said, his voice laced with playful banter as he searched for the magazine page Zayed described. "When was your last… you know, session?" he asked out of genuine curiosity.

"About a week ago, I think," replied Zayed. "Not ideal, I know."

"A week? Man, that's not normal for a guy like you." Paul chuckled, trying to project an air of casual confidence. His stomach clenched.

Then, surprising himself with how direct the words came out, he said. "If you want to join me, man, no problem." His voice was careful, testing the waters. "Come on, man, you haven't done it in a week, and I'm having fun sitting in the back of your car. It's not fair."

Paul hadn't planned to ask, but he couldn't help himself. He wanted something to happen. What? He didn't know. He spoke before his mind could even figure it out.

For a moment, there was silence. An absence of sound so absolute, Paul knew he had ruined it. His cock jumped in his fingers, almost as though it was angry at him.

Then Zayed let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. "No thanks, I appreciate the offer. I'll let you enjoy yourself. I'm trying to be professional here, but go ahead, have fun."

Paul sighed contentedly, his hand instinctively reaching under his shirt to gently touch his nipples. He kept looking at Zayed in the rear-view mirror, trying to figure him out.

Was he really playing along, or was he just a straight guy trying to keep his demanding customers happy? Or was there something else?

"How long until we get to my hotel?" Paul asked.

"Don't worry, we're almost there," Zayed replied, "about fifteen minutes left. You're on the gangbang page, right? I told you, it's incredibly hot."

"You weren't kidding!" A small chuckle rumbled in Paul's chest. He decided to push things a little further. He'd come this far; he couldn't let it go without trying his luck. "You seem like a really nice guy," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "If you really want, you can sit with me and look at the magazine. I understand you don't get much time to yourself, and I wouldn't mind paying more. We can have a great time."

 He saw hesitation in Zayed's eyes, a silent battle going on inside him. Zayed looked in the rear-view mirror, his jaw clenched. "Don't push it, man," he said, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips. "I've got blue balls right now and they will burst anytime. I know I won't be able to do anything when I get home, everyone will be asleep. But that's not exactly professional, is it? If you were a hot chick, I'd already be all over you."

They both burst out laughing. But Zayed's hesitation was clear, and it was causing Paul's adrenaline to spike.

Paul said. "As you wish… but I want you to know that it doesn't bother me at all. We could stop at a rest area, get off a quick one, and head back. I don't want to be the only one enjoying it."

Zayed had never done anything like this before, never even considered it. He couldn't remember ever being tempted to share any intimacies with his friends or any other man. From a cultural perspective, yes, they'd hang out a lot, yes, they'd play sports together, but they didn't show themselves naked in front of one another. Masturbation wasn't even something they talked about. It was like it didn't exist. 

But here, for him also, there was something tempting. Every word from Paul sent something electric through him, tightening his muscles, giving him a half-chub.

His body was betraying him. Or maybe he was just frustrated because he hadn't had sex with his wife for way too long. And had a punishing schedule that prevented him from touching himself as much as he would like.

"Look," he began, feeling his neck getting hot, "I don't usually do this, but…" he trailed off, not sure how to explain the sudden change in his desires.

Paul leaned forward, a soft, curious look on his face. "That's alright," he said soothingly. "No pressure."

Zayed felt unexpectedly excited.  He looked down at his pants, his zipper line, and realized he was in fact getting aroused. "I… I don't know about this," he stammered, panic and excitement warring inside his head.

Paul laughed. "Just a little fun."

"We're crazy." Zayed laughed nervously. "Are you serious about this, bro? We're actually going to show each other our dicks?"  

Paul confirmed immediately, with a simple "Yes," that sent a jolt through him. And Zayed had called him "Bro." Their relationship was on a different plane now. Despite his initial bravado, he was freaking out. It wasn't just a drunken fantasy anymore. It was real. He was about to share a deeply intimate moment with a complete stranger, a man he barely knew.

A shiver of doubt ran through him. Was this a good idea? Could he trust Zayed? What if things got out of hand?

"Okay, let me find a place to pull over. Save me some tissues." Zayed continued, his tone urgent, like he needed this to happen now, before he could change his mind. "I love my wife and only love women, so we're good. No other man has seen my dick before, so let's be on the same page and trust each other. We just take care of our business and that's it."

"Same here, man," Paul replied, though his words came out a little shaky.

His erection was still there, hard and insistent despite his slowing strokes.

He couldn't explain it if he wanted to, but there was something about Zayed. Maybe it was his easy confidence, or maybe the way he spoke so casually about what they were about to do, but it made Paul feel oddly comfortable. Almost like they were best friends or more, in a weird, fucked-up way.

Zayed pulled into a deserted rest stop and turned off the car's engine. Without a word, he opened the door and stepped out. "Wait, I'm going to pee and have a smoke. I'll be right back."

Paul watched as Zayed walked away, his shoulders broad under his fitted shirt. The cool air pushed through the open door, shocking Paul out of the heated fog he'd been trapped in.

What the hell am I doing?

He rubbed a hand over his face. He couldn't even claim he was drunk anymore; his tipsiness had worn off from the shock. He was fully aware. And yet, here he was sitting in the back seat of an Uber, his dick still hard and out of his boxers, pants open, waiting for a married man to come back and jerk off with him.

It was about to happen, and Paul didn't want to stop it.

At this moment, he was going to live for himself. He could never talk about it. Everyone would think he was crazy.

His fingers curled against his thigh. He could stop this now. Pull up his pants. Pretend none of it had ever happened. Zayed would come back, and they'd drive off. Life would go on as if nothing had happened.

But he didn't move. He didn't want to.

Instead, he sat there, staring at the magazine on the seat beside him, his balls heavy. He checked himself out in the mirror, making sure he looked good. Zayed seemed to have an amazing, muscular body. Paul was leaner, but he was in shape too.

A few minutes later, the passenger door opened and Zayed slid into the back seat. They locked eyes, and then, at the same time, burst into laughter.

Paul found himself watching the other man. Zayed was bigger and taller, his clothes stretched just right over a well-built body. The smell was clean, masculine. He smelled good. Too good. Even now, sitting there, he looked like he was in control. The car felt suddenly smaller, maybe because Zayed's muscular body seemed to have taken up all the space.

"What is this, man?" Zayed asked with a big smile. "We should be with chicks, not shocking each other in this car."

Paul didn't know how to react. He slid the magazine between them. "Here, take a look, man!"

"Wait, I wasn't talking about that one," Zayed said. "That's the wrong gangbang." He turned the pages until he found a picture. "Look at those tits, and especially that tight pussy. She's driving me crazy."

"Come on, man, let's get into it." Paul said.

"Don't worry, bro. We'll honor this magazine. Let's stick those pages together with our jizz." Zayed snorted. He began to relax, leaning back on the seat and spreading his legs.

"Go ahead, man. It's your car," Paul said, a playful smile on his face.

"Do you mind if I take off my pants so I can be in my underwear?" Zayed asked in a very polite way that contrasted with the situation.

"Look at me! I'm well into the action already," Paul said with a smile.

"Calvin Klein, good stuff." Zayed said, looking down at Paul's boxer briefs. "They fit well, don't they?"

Paul nodded to encourage Zayed, "Yeah, very comfortable, does the job quite well. What about you, what are you wearing?"

"I have some CKs at home also," Zayed said. Slowly, he unbuckled his belt, took it out of his pants, and slipped it into the front seat pocket. He unbuttoned his pants and pulled the zipper down, revealing a solid bulge.

Paul's heart chose that moment to skip a beat. He looked away, or at least tried to force himself to.

"Just guys," Paul muttered, trying to make himself sound like Zayed. Trying to act as if what they were doing was casual.

Paul was still a bit thrown by what was going on. He pulled his pants all the way down to his ankles, hitching his hips up a little to make it easier. So there he was, sitting down in just his boxers, pants bunched around his ankles.

Next to Zayed.

"I go for the classic thing," Zayed said, adjusting his underwear on his thighs. "Regular boxer briefs. Keeps everything... you know... in place."

They were grey Hanes and, even though Zayed wasn't fully hard yet, Paul could see he was packing something impressive.

Zayed's boxers hugged his thighs, which were muscular and solid. He had a little bit of hair, but his brown skin looked smooth. His black trousers were also around his ankles, and his black socks went up to his calves.

"Damn, this chick is hot!" Zayed said, moving one hand instinctively towards his crotch. "But you're not comfortable there, with those boxers bunched up around your thighs. Get rid of them!"

Paul laughed, feeling a strange sense of freedom. "Okay, wait," he said. He pulled his boxers down slightly, until they were just under his buttocks and balls.

Zayed had this ease in demonstrating closeness that made Paul relax, too.

"Now we're comfortable," Paul said.

"Oh yeah, that feels a lot better," Zayed agreed. There was an immediate change in Zayed's behaviour. His erection, which had been hinted at earlier, was now showing proudly, so huge it was pushing at the waistband of his boxers.

"Damn, man," Paul said, unable to suppress a smile. "You're packing a monster!"

Zayed smiled back, a mischievous look in his eyes. "Stop it," he said, his eyes fixed on the picture of the woman in the magazine. "That's the slut who's been doing this to me." He licked his finger and traced the woman's pussy lips with the wet digit, stopping over the clit like he could imagine himself stroking it. "Alright, let's get to work!"

With a single tug of his shorts, Zayed freed his cock. It was a magnificent sight, fatter and taller than Paul's own, the skin stretched as it expanded right before Paul's eyes.

"Good dick," Paul breathed, a wave of unexpected excitement washing over him. He stared at it greedily. It looked as strong as its owner.

Zayed said, "Yours, too. Look at our beautiful beasts."

"Man, I'm not circumcised," Paul said.

"No, you're not. Back in Oman, it's normal. Circumcision is unavoidable…" replied Zayed, almost laughing when Paul shook his head.

As they both began to run their hands over their cocks and masturbate, the air in the cab grew heavy with the scent of male arousal, anticipation—and a hint of fear.

They stroked their cocks on their own, their hands rubbing up their torsos or caressing their thighs. They didn't look at each other, but they could feel the electric energy between them.

Paul was very aware of Zayed grunting beside him.

"I'm going to fuck her hard," Zayed growled, his voice rough with desire.

"Me too," Paul echoed, his own breathing getting heavy.

"I won't be long, look at these things," said Zayed, pointing to his swollen testicles. They were hanging heavy and full, but beautifully shaved and soft.

"You need to empty them like me," Paul said, truly impressed. "So, where are we going to shoot, bro?" he asked, laughing nervously. "Because it's going to be messy."  

Zayed smiled, looking around the interior. "Be careful with the car, let's not get it everywhere. We can just cum on our chests. We have tissues, after all."

Paul nodded, and with that, Zayed unbuttoned his shirt, which slowly fell open. Paul waited for his first look at Zayed's stomach and wasn't disappointed.

He was stunning. His abs glistened, lightly defined from hours at the gym. Paul was shocked. He'd never seen anything like it in person before—broad shoulders, a hairless chest, and a body that spoke of strength and discipline.

Paul unbuttoned his own shirt, feeling a sudden wave of inadequacy. He definitely didn't have a similar build, but still felt he looked good. He worked out at the gym a few days a week, enough to give him some pecs. His skin tone, on the other hand, was very pale. He didn't have any visible abs, but at least his stomach was flat.

Side by side, with the air brushing their skins, they returned their attention to their cocks.

Zayed slipped his boxers down to his ankles, the cool air welcome against his skin. He spread his legs, getting into a more comfortable position, a small rumble in his chest. He took out a small silver tube from his front pocket and squeezed a dollop on his dick, the cool gel completely opposite to the heat building inside him. He turned to Paul and asked, "Do you want any?"

"Yeah, please," replied Paul, expecting Zayed to offer him the tube. Though he rarely used lube, he was curious to try it. He wanted to do exactly as Zayed did. He watched as the other man leaned closer and opened his hand to receive the gel.

Completely ignoring his outstretched hand, Zayed squeezed a drop of gel directly onto the sensitive tip of Paul's cock. They both laughed when the gel went rolling down its shaft and Paul hurried to cup his fist over it.

It was a unique, almost primal moment, a beautiful combination of release and comfort. Despite being strangers moments before, a bond was quickly building between them. Pure freedom.

Zayed began to move rapidly, the veins in his arms bulging with effort. "I can feel it, man," he said, his voice rough and hoarse.

Paul watched, mesmerized by the other man's cock, red and swollen, throbbing and pulsing harder the more Zayed stroked it.

Paul looked at his own dick. A small bead of pre-cum glistened at the end. He knew he was very close to his own release as well.

"Let go, I'm not far behind!" Paul encouraged. His hand was blurring against his own skin, as he jerked his fist up and down, stopping at the top each time to stroke his pre-cum down over himself. He shuddered; his jaw clenched.

Their strokes became increasingly intense, perfectly in tune. Their breathing was heavy and labored. The sound of clapping rang out to the rhythm of their thrusting.

Paul's eyes fixated on Zayed's balls, which were swinging wildly, each brush sending them slapping against his thighs. He also noticed the way his abs contracted with each stroke, showing the raw power and control he exerted over his body.

Suddenly, Zayed spread his legs, his right knee making contact with Paul's left knee. It felt natural, like an agreement. They pressed their legs together, a masculine display of cooperation, the physical contact intensifying their experience.

"It's coming!" Zayed shouted, sitting up straight in his seat, his voice tight, chest moving up and down too fast as he tried to catch his breath, his lips stretched as he grunted over and over again.

"Oh yeah? Shoot it," Paul encouraged, feeling his own balls tighten, a tingle sweeping over his skin. He gave Zayed a knowing smile; they were both very close.

Paul couldn't help but focus on Zayed's cock as he continued to pleasure himself. His attention needed to be there.

Then, without warning, a thick jet of semen erupted from the tip of Zayed's cock, a strong, throbbing stream.

With each spasm, Zayed moved between holding and releasing his shaft, a sensation both pleasurable and overwhelming. For several seconds, cum flowed in a stream, splashing his chest and even his partially open shirt.

The scene was incredibly exciting. Seeing Zayed release himself completely naturally, Paul felt a strange sense of sharing, as if they were both experiencing an orgasm together. The thick white cum shooting onto the other man's stomach was all the proof Paul needed that Zayed had enjoyed himself.

Zayed exhaled, clearly relieved, a soft moan escaping his lips. He immediately grabbed some tissues to clean himself off, his laughter matching Paul's.

"Alright, man, it's your turn. Let it all go!" Zayed held his breath, but his voice was high with exhilarating, residual joy.

Paul began to pump his cock faster, his eyes glued to Zayed's now softening cock, a feeling of hope welling up inside him.

Now it was Paul's turn to deliver. He needed to focus if he wanted to match Zayed's impressive display.

Zayed looked at him, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Yeah, man, that's it. You can feel it building, huh? Go ahead, brother!"

Paul's mind was consumed by his words, the other man's excitement fuelling his own desire. He made himself harder, determined to prove something to him—to Zayed—to make this moment special for both of them. To acknowledge this joy.

"Yes, I can feel it building!" Paul was panting, his breath ragged, his body shaking with the force of his own pleasure. It was crawling up his spine; his entire body was alive and wanting to explode. "Think of that chick, man, that we're going to fuck together," he said, the thought of that shared victory driving him wild.

Noticing the few remaining drops of cum on his chest, Zayed used his finger to collect them and provocatively placed them on the magazine page directly above the bare pussy of the girl they both admired.

Then, without warning, Zayed's hand, cold and firm, slipped under Paul's balls. A shock, unexpected and exhilarating, shot through Paul. It was a bold move, a gesture that spoke volumes of intimacy.

This was purely impossible to explain, but felt natural in the moment.

Paul's breathing was ragged, his body shaking with a mix of surprise and excitement. Zayed's large hands gently cupped his testicles. The feeling of Zayed's skin sent shivers down his spine, and he instinctively moved into the touch, a low moan escaping his lips.

Zayed was acting like he would help a friend. With his hand, by pressing a bit on the balls, doing everything he could to set the stage for Paul to have a mind-blowing orgasm. And then it happened. The explosion. Suddenly, a massive release overcame Paul. Zayed quickly removed his hand but thoughtfully pushed Paul's shirt aside, making sure his semen wouldn't be scattered everywhere.

Paul's cock erupted, sending thick streams of cum into the air. As he climaxed, Zayed lightly brushed Paul's left nipple with his finger, a playful smile on his lips. One of Paul's hands fell on Zayed's arm.

Paul was panting with pleasure, his body shaking with the intensity of the orgasm.

Zayed looked at him happily. "Damn, man, your juice is hot." He laughed.

Paul felt a bit embarrassed, "Sorry man, I got some on you."

"No worries, mate. Look at all the stuff you've shot! Well done, brother," Zayed said with a laugh.

Paul was left breathless, a feeling of empty satisfaction washing over him. It was the kind of emptiness that felt good, like a powerful force had just been released.

His chest was drenched in sweat, and he still couldn't bring himself to let go of his limp cock. Zayed handed him some tissue,s and Paul began to clean himself up, still a little keyed up from the intensity of the experience.

Their eyes met again, and they both laughed, this time a quiet, knowing laugh. Leaning back in the seat, pants around their ankles, cocks now soft and resting.

Zayed broke the silence. "Time to wrap it up?"

They pulled on their boxers simultaneously, a synchronized movement born of understanding. Pants were hastily pulled on, and shirts buttoned with ease.

"Okay," Zayed said, "I'll take you to your hotel. It's only five minutes away."

"Let's go!" Paul replied, a smile still on his face.

"Come and sit in front. You're not really a client anymore," Zayed said with a carefree tone in his voice.

Paul grinned and followed Zayed out of the back seat, the air thick with the heat that had been trapped on their skin. They slid into the front seats, and Zayed started the car, the engine rumbling through the night.

A comfortable silence settled between them, a deep sense of trust blossoming unexpectedly. It was a relationship forged in the heat of the moment, something irresistible and deeply satisfying. Words felt superfluous, their shared experience a richer language than any verbal exchange.

Zayed looked at Paul, his eyes searching for confirmation. Paul, ever perceptive, returned the gaze with a warm smile, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken understanding between them.

As he looked at Paul, Zayed unconsciously adjusted his seat, his fingers tracing the outline of his wedding ring, a silent pledge to his chosen life.

In a few minutes, they reached the hotel. Paul was quiet. A storm of emotions rocked through him—shock, exhaustion, and an unexpected sense of peace. All of them roamed inside him and he couldn't settle on which he preferred.

"Thanks again, man. That was really cool. Get home safe, okay?" Paul said, getting out of the car.

"Okay, bro. Very happy. Take care." Zayed replied, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a knowing smile.

Paul noticed changes in Zayed's appearance. His shirt was loose, his sleeves were rolled up, zipper slightly still undone, revealing his grey boxer briefs.

Zayed was disheveled in exactly the right way to remind Paul of their heated passion just moments ago.

The two exchanged soft smiles, Zayed's eyes shining with a mischievous glint. He gave a playful wink, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken bond they had formed. Paul closed the car door and walked towards the hotel, his steps light.

A feeling of joy, of lightness, filled Paul. He felt like he was walking on air. The experience had been short, but the memory of its intensity would stay with him long after he left Strasbourg.

Paul entered the lobby of his hotel, smiling to himself, the memory of Zayed's eyes, their mutual release, and their unexpected closeness running over and over through his mind.

He walked slowly toward the elevator, totally relaxed, like he had smoked a big joint. Nothing around him existed anymore. Not even the question of whether he was going to meet Zayed again.