The intercom rang, and as usual, he had his hoodie on, facing away from the camera. I unlocked my door and headed into the bedroom, getting into position as usual after letting him in.

This was not my first time with the discreet guy. The feelings of anxiety I had when I first met him nearly two years ago had been replaced by excitement and comfort. Anon play is not generally my thing. I made an exception once, and here we are still doing our thing.

Things to know about the discreet guy:

He likes my natural scent, not dirty but not freshly showered.

He doesn’t do penetration because he classifies himself as completely straight.

At its most basic, we make out, we cuddle and grope, and then he usually goes home.

Over time, our sessions have become longer; we talk more. Still, I will never see his face. I’ve gotten over wanting to see his face; it’s too far gone. Not seeing his face is now part of our connection.

He could be someone I see all the time; he could also be someone I have never crossed paths with. He is simultaneously everyone and no one as I walk through the world during the day.

I have learned that I get as much out of the interaction as he does. He may very well be someone around me, but when we lie in my bed, in the dark, we are two strangers being vulnerable with each other more than either of us can be in our public lives.

He told me once he could feel my sadness, and he squeezed me extra tight. It was at that point I realised and felt that this connection was something special for me too.

I struggle to be vulnerable around people I know. Struggling to make eye contact or making excessive small talk. Quick to say it’s fine or great.

The discreet guy slows me down, I don’t have to say anything, he can see it and feel it anyway.

There have been times when he asked me to cuddle him and not say anything. We would lie for hours in incomplete silence, aside from a barely noticeable tremble.

It’s been a while since our last meeting, and I’m excited for that familiar warmth, his smell, and voice. The way I can feel his smile when he’s talking to me.

The door opens; he enters and locks the door behind him. He takes his shoes off at the door, comes into my room. I hear him remove his clothes before he gets on the bed and lies on top of me. I know he’s taller than me, a bigger build. The muscles in his photos were not an exaggeration. The discreet guy wraps himself around me, squeezes tight, kisses the back of my neck, and says, “I missed this.”

My body feels electric and sensitive. I take in this feeling that comes to me less and less before kissing his forearm, “Same.”

My frantic heartbeat slows.