Volume 1, Chapter 3: No Called ID
Next day, I stayed in my room all day. Curtains half-closed, room dim except for the glow of my TV. Some romantic comedy played in the background, but I barely registered the plot.
My attention kept drifting to my phone. I’d already scrolled through the pictures from yesterday more times than I could count; me with the team, me with Lucas, and of course… the ones with him.
Javier’s arm over my shoulders. His hand brushing my waist. That firm squeeze.
Every time I zoomed in, my chest tightened. And, yeah, my shorts got tighter too. I let out a quiet laugh at myself, tossing the phone beside me on the bed. Tried to focus on the movie. My hand rested over my crotch, thumb brushing absently over the bulge there, but I told myself I was just adjusting. Sure. I was just starting to actually follow the plot when—
Ding.
I glanced at my phone a text message with No Caller ID.
Ding.
Ding.
Three messages, back-to-back. My eyebrows furrowed as I picked it up.
No Caller ID: So…
No Caller ID: Did you survive yesterday?
No Caller ID: Or still shaking?
I blinked.
Shaking?
My thumbs hesitated.
Me: Who is this?
A pause. Then another vibration.
No Caller ID: You really don’t know?
No Caller ID: I thought I made more of an impression than that.
My mind spun. The only people I’d seen yesterday were… wait. No way.
Me: Okay, mysterious stranger. Give me a clue.
No Caller ID: Let’s just say…
No Caller ID: I noticed you.
No Caller ID: And I saw the way you looked at me.
My stomach dropped and my pulse kicked up. Whoever this was, they were toying with me.
Another message came through - an image.
I opened it.
Thick quads. Perfect skin tone. Lounging on a recliner in shorts, the kind that ride high enough to leave little to the imagination. One leg bent, the other stretched out. And there, impossible to miss, a faint but definite bulge pressing against the fabric.
My cock stirred instantly.
Shit.
Me: …Okay. Those are some very confident legs.
No Caller ID: You liked them yesterday too. I saw your eyes lingering on my bulge.
I froze. My brain scrambled through the moments from the meet-and-greet. Could it be…?
Me: How did you even get my number?
No reply. Instead…
No Caller ID: Your turn. I wanna see you.
The photo stared back at me from my screen. I was burning with curiosity now. Mr. Quads was bold, maybe a little cocky. And there was something about that semi- bulge that made my mouth dry.
Without thinking too much..dangerous, I flipped the camera, snapped a quick selfie. My hair was a mess, I was grinning like an idiot. Across the image, I scribbled in text: “You’re hot. I hope you’re not a serial killer.”
I hit send before I could second-guess it.
A reply came almost instantly.
“Haha. You're cute as fuck”
Attached was a picture. His shorts were ridden low, the faint trail of his pubes just visible.
I rolled my eyes, typing back, “As hot as that looks, a picture of your bulge isn’t going to get me interested.”
I snapped a selfie of me pouting and sent it. “You gotta do better than that, mystery man.”
Another picture dropped in. This time, his face was hidden, but his T-shirt was tugged up to reveal a slice of abs.
I texted back, “Okay bye. I’m blocking you. Where’d you even get my number?”
A minute or two later...another picture.
In front of the bathroom mirror, his face stayed hidden. His haircut was fresh and way too familiar, the sides tight and clean, the top left longer and pushed forward in a way that made his hairline sharp and defined, the kind you notice even without seeing his whole face. Shirtless, just in shorts, waistband pulled low enough to tease the same neat trail of hair from before.
Then the text came:
I thought you meant to give me your number when you handed me that artwork yesterday.
My stomach flipped.
I screamed inside.
Uhm… what the actual fuck.
Holy fuck. Holy fuck.
I would recognize that hairline anywhere, the way it framed his forehead so perfectly after a fresh cut, short and clean at the sides, blending into that slightly messy top like it had been styled without trying too hard. That body too..lean, defined, the kind you don’t mistake for anyone else’s. There was no doubt. It was fucking him.
It was Javier fucking Alvarez.
My cock twitched in my shorts, heat rushing to my face and somewhere much lower all at once. I was instantly hard, and I hated how fast it happened. What the fuck was wrong with me? Without even thinking, my fingers were already tapping at my phone, my thoughts spilling out faster than I could edit them.
Omg. Omg. It’s you. Javier.
Hi. Sorry.
Hi.
The words looked stupid on the screen but I sent them anyway.
Yes, I wanted you to have my number.
I didn’t know you’d actually text me.
Javier: Why wouldn’t I? You gave me your number, right?
I swallowed, grinning at my screen.
Me: Yeah, but… you’re you.
Javier: And you’re you. Cute, shy, and blushing like crazy yesterday.
That made my ears burn.
Me: I wasn’t blushing.
Javier: You were. The whole time. Even when we hugged. I felt your heart beating fast.
I bit my lip, remembering.
Me: Okay… maybe I was. I’ve been a fan for years, Javier. Like… actual years.
Javier: How much of a fan?
Me: I’ve… okay, this is embarrassing. I’ve literally been hard looking at our pictures from yesterday.
The typing dots flashed.
Javier: Already hard for me?
Before I could reply, a photo came through. My jaw dropped.
Javier. Shirtless. Lean, perfect chest, smooth tan skin. The sharp V-line disappearing into low-slung shorts. His abs glistened faintly.
Then another photo.
This time, his shorts were gone.
His cock… holy fuck. The most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Smooth and freshly trimmed, hardly even a faint trail of soft dark hair leading up to it. Uncut, the foreskin pulled back just enough to reveal the swollen, flushed red tip. Thick at the base, veiny along the shaft, easily eight inches and heavy-looking, like it had weight to it. My mouth actually watered.
Me: Holy fuck. You’re… perfect.
Javier: Perfect? Or just what you’ve been imagining for years?
Me: Both. I’ve literally drooled over you. And now… I’m actually drooling.
Javier: Send me proof.
My heart pounded. I lifted my phone, angling it to show my hard-on straining against my shorts.
Me: See what you do to me? I was already hard before. Now I’m aching.
Javier: That’s hot. I like that a fan is this into me.
Me: I’m not just into you, Javier. I’ve had the biggest crush on you for years. Posters, videos, everything. I literally worship you, Javi.
Javier: The way you were blushing yesterday… I knew. I could tell.
Me: And you liked that?
Javier: Loved it. Knowing someone so into me is right there, looking at me like I’m untouchable… but now I know you’re touchable.
Another photo came through. His hand wrapped loosely around the base of his cock, the foreskin sliding back more to reveal the whole tip. Thick bead of precum shining at the slit.
Me: You’re killing me.
Javier: Good. Now show me yours.
We texted for hours. Pictures. Voice notes. Me telling him every filthy fantasy I’d had since I first saw him play. Him teasing me for being such a desperate fan.
Somewhere between the teasing and the moaning emojis, it stopped feeling like some untouchable celebrity texting me and more like… Javier wanted me.
By the time the sun was coming up, I was wrecked. My camera roll was full of his nudes, my hand was sore, and my head was spinning. I must have cum two or three times throughout the night...like some desperate fan girl, and I still couldn’t believe what had happened.
At some point, between my exhaustion and my ridiculous grin, I finally worked up the courage to text him. “Can we please meet again? I promise not to be a fan girl this time.”
A few minutes later, a voice note came through; him laughing, deep and warm, before saying, “Okay… let’s meet for dinner. But at a place where people won’t recognize me.”
We ended up deciding on somewhere private, a place where we could talk without eyes on us. I suggested a secluded rooftop bar near my apartment, the kind that was so close to closing down it was a miracle they were still in business. Hardly anyone ever went there, which made it perfect, and I’d kept it in my rotation because they made the best cocktails I’d ever had.
I sent him the address, and he agreed instantly. Separate booth, quiet night air, and no one to bother us. As I set my phone down, my chest felt light and fizzy, like my heart had been carbonated. I had no idea what was going to happen, but every part of me was fluttering.
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