That Hello That Handed Me Over to His Control

I’m twenty years old, I’m brunette, tall, big-breasted, and I’ve got a smile that, according to people, opens more doors than it should. Today I’m here to tell one of my best-kept secrets: how a simple greeting turned me into what I never imagined I’d want to be.

I met him because of a friend. Mateo was her boyfriend back then, a guy about twenty-five, tall, kind to everyone, and with a body that seemed carved on purpose to drive me crazy. I never thought a loose “hi,” said almost without looking at me, would be the beginning of everything.

It was a cold night. I went out to buy something for dinner and stepped into the kiosk on the corner. He was alone, leaning on the counter. He said “hi” to me and, right after that, completely ignored me. I couldn’t stop staring at him: his eyes, his mouth. I’d kiss every inch of him if I could, I thought, and the idea set my cheeks on fire.

He bought his stuff and left. When I went out ten minutes later, I found him waiting for me on the corner, sitting on his motorcycle.

—Hey —he said when I passed by him—. Will you give me your number?

I don’t even know when I gave it to him. I only remember warning him, with a firmness I didn’t really feel:

—I don’t want trouble, okay? Just friendship.

That same night he texted me: “It’s me, save me. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, if you want and you’re not scared of meeting new people.” I waited for that message like you wait for a sentence. Anxious, scared, awake.

***

The next day I got to college late, and between classes his first message arrived.

—Hi.

—Hi, how are you? —I replied, trying not to let my fingers shake.

—Good, you? You’re starting the day late, huh?

—I had things to do first —I lied—. Otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to give you my full attention.

—Don’t say things like that, I might believe you —he answered—. I wish I had all your attention all the time.

—I thought about you last night —he wrote after that—. And honestly, that skirt left me no choice. I need to be your friend.

—Friends? —I typed, laughing to myself in the middle of the hallway—. I have lots of friends. So we’ll be very good friends.

In my head, though, only one thought kept turning over: that all those sensations running through my body weren’t my imagination. They were real, and they were growing.

He stopped texting. Not until four in the afternoon did I get a different message, drier, more calculated.

—From now on, if I send you “HI” in caps, I’m the one in charge. If you don’t agree, don’t answer. It’s fine, pretty girl.

I didn’t answer. I flung myself onto the bed to fantasize about him, eyes closed and hands slowly searching for me, imagining that mouth, those orders. I liked too much what my own body did when I thought about obeying it.

Never before had a word gotten me so turned on. It wasn’t what he said, but how he said it: like someone who has already decided and is just waiting for me to realize it. I spent hours staring at the ceiling, repeating those capital letters in my head, wondering how far I was willing to go with a stranger who was, besides, my friend’s boyfriend. Guilt and desire braided together until I could no longer tell one from the other.

That night I went out onto the sidewalk in a short black dress, with nothing underneath, because I loved feeling air on my skin. I saw him pass by in the distance. Without thinking, I started walking, hoping to run into him. Then my phone buzzed.

—HI.

The capital letters. The code. My breath caught.

—Hi, handsome —I wrote.

—Want to go have a coffee?

—Now?

—Yes. Can you get away?

—I’ll ask and let you know.

—Do that.

—All right, yes. Where do we meet?

My heart was racing, my head even faster. We met halfway down the block. He had the calm of someone who already knows how the night will end.

—The coffee is going to be somewhere quiet —he said—. So we can be alone and talk properly.

***

We walked a couple of blocks and stopped in front of the discreet door of a motel by the hour. I had never been inside a place like that. I froze on the sidewalk.

—Do you dare come in with me? —he asked, and it wasn’t quite a question.

—Yes —I said, trembling, not understanding that there wasn’t any coffee waiting for me in there. Just a double bed and a TV that didn’t even work.

We got room 102, on the first floor. The hallway smelled of disinfectant and cheap perfume, and every step up felt like a point of no return. As we climbed the stairs, he slipped an arm around my waist and took my hand, slowly, like someone taming a frightened animal.

—Easy, pretty girl. Nothing’s going to happen that you don’t want —he murmured, opening the door—. We’re just going to get to know each other a little better.

We went in. He locked the door. He lay down on the bed, relaxed, with his hands behind his neck.

—Come here, lie down with me. We’ll talk about whatever you want.

It was hot. I took off my jacket and sat on the edge of the mattress. He looked me up and down, slowly, without shame.

—I know I’m older than you —he said in a low voice, almost a whisper—. But I like how you look at me. I like that you’re already shaking without me touching you.

I didn’t know what to do or what to say. All my fantasies were fighting to get out, and none of them could find the door. I was drowning in my own thoughts when he kissed me.

He filled my mouth with his tongue. One hand yanked my dress down, exposing my breasts. He looked at me fixedly, with a confidence that bent me from the inside.

—You’re mine —he said—. And you’re going to do everything I tell you.

—Yes —was the only thing I could get out—. That’s what I want.

He kissed me again while he squeezed my nipples, so hard it pulled a dull moan from me. I couldn’t scream, because every time I opened my mouth he bit my lower lip and swallowed the sound. He pressed me against his body, against his erection, and I felt like I was melting into the sheets.

—I can’t wait to taste all of you —he panted against my neck—. But first I want you to do something for me.

My inexperience left me speechless. I didn’t know what he expected from me. Then he said it, with a calm that was an order:

—Kneel.

I thought about it for barely a second. The next, I was already on my knees in front of him, on the floor, not quite knowing what was coming. I was so turned on that my fear had turned into something else.

—Take it in your mouth —he said, holding himself with his hand.

—No... I don’t want to —I murmured, more out of reflex than conviction.

He grabbed my hair, gave me a slow kiss, and pinned me with his gaze.

—I’m the one in charge here. Do it.

And I did. I started slowly, with my tongue, tasting him, tracing him, learning in real time what he liked by the way his thighs tensed. He guided me with his hand tangled in my hair, setting the pace, sliding in and out of my mouth, unhurried, enjoying the control. Every time I tried to set my own rhythm, he gave my hair a little tug to remind me who decided.

—Like that —he murmured—. Slowly. Looking at me. I want you to learn to obey me with your eyes open.

I obeyed him, held up only by his voice and his hands, until his breathing broke completely.

—Since it’s your first time —he said between gasps—, I’ll let you spit. But from now on, you’ll swallow what’s mine every time.

That was his only concession. And at the same time, his way of marking me.

***

I wanted to stand up to pull my dress back into place, as if I could still pretend I controlled anything. He didn’t let me. He grabbed my waist and threw me onto the bed.

—Now it’s my turn —he said, ripping away the little I still had on—. I’m going to show you the stars.

He moved down between my legs without stopping looking at me. His mouth worked slowly, and his hands wouldn’t stop squeezing my breasts, biting the inside of my thighs, marking my skin with his teeth. I writhed, clutched the sheets, tried not to scream, and failed halfway.

And there, with his tongue and his whispered orders, I had my first real orgasm. I was soaked, bitten, trembling, out of breath.

He gave me no respite. He took me by the waist, hard again, and kissed me while he entered me in one thrust. He held me on top of him, marking my movement with his hands, deciding for me when to go up and when to come down.

—Where do you want it? —he asked in my ear, tugging my hair—. Ask me for it.

He let me fall back onto the mattress and sank into me all the way, watching my face like someone studying his own work. He didn’t ask me anything else. That night, he didn’t need to.

That’s how, with a motel by the hour, a room with a broken TV, and a “HI” in capital letters, an entire story of domination began. His over me. And, to my own surprise, I didn’t want it to end.