I Went Out to Let Strangers Use Me on the Street
I’ve been telling my stories for years, and they almost always revolve around the same thing: arranged encounters, carefully chosen men, a luxury night in which my husband watches me turn into someone else. This time I want to tell something different, something I did precisely to escape that routine that had become too comfortable.
For those who don’t know me, my name is Carla. I’m twenty-nine and have been married for seven years to a man six years older than me. We have a life anyone would call normal, except for the detail that some time ago we decided to open the door to experiences most people would never dare to try. And we were fine like that, very comfortable, until I wasn’t anymore.
I consider myself attractive without needing to exaggerate. I’m of average height, with tan skin, chestnut hair falling to mid-back. I have dark eyes, large and round, a fine nose, and thin lips. I never had a magazine waist or a huge ass, but I am firm, and my legs are nothing to complain about.
The encounters with strangers were always organized by Diego, my husband. He negotiated, he set the rules, he decided how far. And I, who for a while loved that feeling of being treated like a luxury object, began to notice that everything was repeating itself. The same hotels, the same polished faces, the same script.
I confessed to Diego that I was bored. We talked about it for weeks. He suggested toys, trips, more elaborate scenarios, but nothing truly turned me on until one night, right after one of those arranged services, an idea flashed through my head.
There’s always going to be men wanting to use a woman who’s willing. No need to schedule anything. You just have to make yourself available.
The fantasy alone sent my adrenaline spiking. Going out at night to a part of the city with little traffic, letting myself be seen, letting the situation get out of hand on its own. I knew the risks. I knew them perfectly. And maybe that was exactly why it turned me on so much.
***
I didn’t dare walk aimlessly. Instead, I looked for a hookup place hidden out on the outskirts, near some industrial warehouses, an area of country homes and sheds where almost nobody passed by. I’d order a ride from home, get dropped off a few blocks away, and walk the rest. That way I had an excuse, a destination, a minimal safety net without giving up the part that really interested me: the dark walk there.
The place was small and surprisingly clean. They offered nothing to the women who went through there; I wouldn’t be paid directly, only given a percentage for each man. I didn’t care. I wasn’t there for the money. The woman in charge, a dry-handed señora everyone called Doña Remedios, looked me up and down.
“Let’s see, girl. Are you sure you want to work here? You don’t look like the usual women for places like this, but it’s your call.”
I told her I had a need and that it would only be temporary. For everything else, I called myself Azucena.
My shift started at nine at night. The first time I arrived on time, dressed up, expectant, and absolutely nothing happened. I went home with a mix of anger and disappointment, after inventing a few extra hours at the office for Diego to justify my disappearance.
***
The second night I put in more effort. I chose a slightly fitted black dress, with a round neckline and hem to mid-thigh. I tied my hair in a ponytail, wore barely noticeable makeup, and put on strappy sandals. Underneath, I had a blue satin thong and a padded bra in the same color. I didn’t know the area well, so I moved discreetly.
A man appeared, about forty, dark-skinned, with a budding belly, wearing a work overall stained with something from a factory. Doña Remedios pointed me out without ceremony.
“There’s the new girl. Her name is Azucena.”
The guy nodded and took me to a room. As soon as he closed the door, he yanked off my dress and threw me onto the bed. Without a word, without even saying hello, he climbed on top of me and started groping my breasts. He filled them with saliva, tore off my bra, shoved his mouth into my neck, and bit one breast.
He smelled like sweat. He was rough, his hands as abrasive as sandpaper. Without taking off my thong, he pushed his fingers between my buttocks, pressing, forcing his way in. I was already wet, which both confused and excited me. The man was a bull, pawing at me as if he had to empty all his urgency in a minute, and I let him do it.
Suddenly he stopped, pulled down the zipper of his overalls, and, yanking my ponytail, aimed my face toward his crotch. He smelled strong, had a lot of hair, and I could feel it scraping my nose while I had him in my mouth. More than letting me work, he himself set the pace, going in and out without mercy, until he came without warning. He didn’t pull away, so I had to swallow everything. Then he stayed still, inside me, for a few eternal seconds.
When he finally came out, he took my dress off the floor, wiped himself with it, zipped up, and left without looking at me. I stayed on my knees on the floor, processing what had just happened. I had been used in a fleeting, brutal way, without even hearing the voice of the man who had used me.
***
I dressed myself as best I could and cleaned the stained fabric. I felt strange, almost dirty, a sensation I hadn’t experienced even in the most extreme encounters before. Without knocking, Doña Remedios came in.
“Girl, there’s another one outside. Do you want him or what?”
“Yes, but I need to clean myself up properly first.”
“You’re fine like that. This is quick.”
The second one wanted me to dance for him. They took me to a smaller room, with a pole in the center and dim light. He was already waiting there. An executive type, gray-haired, very white, not too tall, and a bit heavyset. He was by no means my type of man, but in less than half an hour he was already the second one of the night.
“Dance,” he said, and nothing more.
Electronic music was playing. I moved as well as I could, like in a nightclub, swaying, smiling, letting the dress hint at what it hid. I started to gain confidence. I came closer, brushed his hands and neck, rubbed my ass against his crotch until I felt him react. I ended up sitting on top of him, facing away, opening my legs.
He grabbed my neck, turned my face, and kissed me while he reached inside my thong, stroking my clit, sliding his fingers in. He did it patiently, until my body betrayed me and an orgasm hit me all at once. I trembled through my whole body.
Without letting me get down, he unzipped his pants and, still seated beneath me, started rubbing himself against my sex until he got inside. The rocking started slow and grew demanding. He squeezed my breasts, pulled my hair back, let my whole weight drop onto him again and again. I felt myself being filled completely. He lifted me, turned me to face him, and seated me again, setting the pace with his hands on my hips, sliding a finger where I didn’t expect it.
He kissed my neck, my mouth, and when he was about to finish he made me kneel on the floor so he could come all over my face. He let out a cry that rose above the music. He left my face soaked, even my left eye. Then he adjusted his clothes as if nothing had happened.
“Anything else?” I asked, still on my knees.
“That you leave. The other one I asked for is already on the way.”
I had no choice but to go out like that, with my face covered, half blinded, noticing that several people saw me passing in that state. Two men in less than half an hour, no buildup, no conversation, without knowing them, barely even seeing their faces. A confusing, disorienting situation, but at last something new. Exactly what I had gone out looking for.
***
The third night I went again on time. Even though they weren’t pleasant experiences in themselves, they had the value of the unknown, and that was enough for me. I chose a black skirt a little above the knee, with playful sheer panels near the hem, a white sleeveless blouse with a V-neck, and, for the first time, strappy heels. Underneath, black lace underwear that peeked out on purpose through the neckline. I only put on lipstick and wore my hair down.
The ride dropped me off seven blocks away this time. It was very dark, only a few streetlights blinking in the distance. As I passed a parked pickup truck, I heard a hiss. I stopped dead and turned around.
“You’re one of Doña Remedios’s girls, right? Come on, I’ll pay you double. I saw you yesterday, you’re smoking hot.”
I got scared and quickened my pace. The engine started and the pickup drove off. I breathed a sigh of relief. But three blocks before I got there, on a corner, the same vehicle cut me off. The man got out, opened the back door, and shoved me inside before I could react. I didn’t get a good look at him: very tall, very broad, an intense perfume. He threw me onto the floor of the pickup.
“Don’t play innocent. Yesterday you were covered up. I was going to come see you today anyway, but since you passed by, we’ll do it here.”
He covered my mouth with one hand and held my wrists with the other.
“Don’t scream, Azucena, or it’ll go badly for you. Behave.”
My head was spinning. There was nobody around. He started groping me everywhere, squeezing me hard, panting, while I hit his back with no effect. He was too heavy. He lifted my skirt, tore off my underwear, and with one single thrust he was inside. My scream died against his palm.
He let my mouth go for a moment to hold my hips better, and I took the chance to shout the word Doña Remedios had taught me to ask for help without raising suspicion. I didn’t even finish saying it. I felt a smack on the left side of my head that left me dazed.
“I warned you, Azucena. You wanted this.”
When I came to, he was still pounding away. And I discovered I was wet, responding, my legs hooked around his back without me ordering them to. He was moaning without shame, having the time of his life, until he emptied himself inside me with a long groan. I let myself fall against the metal floor, waiting for him to finish.
He got up almost immediately, made me clean him with my mouth, and I did it quickly, just to get out of there as soon as possible. He shoved me aside, adjusted his pants, opened the door, and dumped me out into the street. Before he climbed into the driver’s seat, I gathered what little voice I had left.
“And my money?”
He tossed me two crumpled bills and disappeared into the darkness. I didn’t even expect him to pay, but there it was: three nights of “work” reduced to a handful of coins, a couple of men who used me, and a stranger who cornered me in a pickup truck. I couldn’t believe it. And yet I smoothed out my skirt, gathered my hair, and kept walking toward the place. Because the show had to go on, and I still didn’t know how far I wanted to go.
