What Happened After My Guitar Lesson

My name is Valeria. I’m twenty-two, I study at university, and I’m in my final year. My hair is black and curly, and honestly, I don’t have much to brag about in the curves department. But I know how to play guitar, violin, and a bit of bass: strings have always appealed to me more than anything else.

I managed to get into a music elective offered by the faculty’s cultural department. There were twenty students, most of them with no prior experience. The professor was named Adrián: dark-skinned, dark hair a little messy, close to forty, with a crooked smile he used far too often. He wasn’t what I would have chosen from a photo, but something in the way he played—that total concentration, that absolute command over whatever instrument he picked up—was irresistible to me.

We’d had three sessions and were still stuck on theory. Chords, scales, staves. The rest of the class needed it, I suppose. I didn’t.

***

“Are you bored, miss?” he asked me while the others gathered their things to leave.

“I was expecting something else,” I admitted with a smile. “I wanted to actually play.”

“Do you have a moment?” he said, looking at me in a way that wasn’t exactly a professor’s.

I stayed. I’m not really sure why, or maybe I do know and just prefer not to say it yet.

I sat down with the guitar and he crouched in front of me. I was wearing a skirt and my knees were right at face level. His fingers turned the tuning pegs with a precision that made me nervous. At some point, his hand settled on my knee. He looked at me, searching for a reaction. I didn’t give him one. I just held his gaze and smiled slightly.

His hand didn’t move. In fact, it slid a few centimeters up the inside of my thigh, very slowly, his thumb brushing my skin. He stopped before reaching the hem of my skirt. I pressed my knees together, not to close them but to trap his hand there. He gave a lopsided smile and said nothing.

We played for a while. He corrected my posture by coming closer than strictly necessary, his fingers guiding mine along the fretboard with a firmness that wasn’t pedagogy. It was something else. I didn’t mind. I could feel his breath at the back of my neck every time he leaned in to show me a chord, and I noticed my panties were starting to get wet without me having done anything to provoke it.

When it started to get dark, I mentioned that taking the guitar on the bus was a problem. He looked at me with that calculated expression I was already beginning to recognize.

“I can drive you home, if you want.”

I blushed a little. I said yes.

***

We walked together to the parking lot and a classmate saw us. She asked Adrián where he was going.

“I ordered a taxi, it’s at the entrance,” he lied without blinking.

When she walked away, I asked him why he’d done that.

“My car’s small,” he said with a shrug. “And I don’t take all my female students home.”

“How many do you take, then?”

He didn’t answer. He just smiled and started the engine.

We talked about music on the way. About bands he liked, when he learned piano, why he ended up teaching instead of doing it professionally. He had a calm voice when he talked about serious things. I liked listening to it.

We stopped at a gas station.

“Duck down,” he said suddenly, putting his hand on my thigh.

“What?”

“A buddy of mine is filling up right over there. He knows me.”

We weren’t doing anything wrong. But I ducked down anyway. While he went to pay, I stayed bent over the console and, without thinking too much, opened the glove compartment. Various papers, a guitar pick, a couple of coins, and at the bottom, a condom in its silver wrapper.

I laughed to myself.

When he came back, I took it out and held it between two fingers.

“Musicians have a reputation,” I told him.

He actually blushed. He took it from my hand.

“That’s been in there for years. Look at the expiration date.”

I looked. He was right. Expired. I felt stupid and blushed too. The silence that followed was awkward until he asked:

“Do you have tattoos?”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Why are you asking me that?”

“I saw something on your wrist earlier, in class.”

“Several. On my arms, my back, my chest.”

He glanced at me without saying anything.

“And you?” I asked, using the informal address without even noticing.

“Correction accepted,” he said. “I’ve got a few on my chest and my back. Things I picked up over time.”

We arrived at my building.

“Do you want to see them?” he asked before turning off the engine.

***

My roommate had gone away that week. The apartment was completely mine.

“Can you help me carry the amp upstairs?” I said without looking at him.

“Do you want me to come up with you, Valeria?”

I really liked how my name sounded in his mouth.

“Please.”

We rode the elevator up in silence. One of those silences that weigh on you, that take up the space between two people and leave no room to think about anything else. When I opened the door, the light revealed the chaotic state of the living room: clothes on the sofa, books stacked on the floor, a forgotten mug on the counter.

“An artist lives here,” he said, looking around with a smile.

I picked up the most obvious mess and went into my room for a moment. When I came back, Adrián was standing with his back to me, looking at the laundry hanging on the balcony. Among the clothes were a pair of underwear.

“Looking for something?” I asked.

He turned around quickly.

“Some very nice pants.”

“And the panties too?”

He was speechless. Pale. Then he laughed, and that laugh seemed to me the most honest thing I had seen in him all night.

I offered him water, tea, or juice. He didn’t want anything. He asked if he could smoke and I told him yes, if he left the window open. I made myself tea and sat on the couch.

That was when something came in through the balcony: a small, frightened mouse that crossed the floor toward the sofa. I let out a scream I hadn’t expected from myself and grabbed Adrián’s arm. He got it out in a matter of seconds, with a calm that contrasted with my panic.

When the mouse disappeared, I noticed I was still gripping his arm.

“Sorry,” I said, letting go.

“You don’t have to let go if you don’t want to,” he said, placing his hand over mine. His voice had dropped a note. “Though if you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to have to eat your mouth.”

He said it bluntly. Without disguising it as a joke. He looked straight at me, waiting.

I took a second.

“Maybe I want you to,” I said.

***

He kissed me slowly at first, testing. Then with more determination. He grabbed my waist and pulled me against his body in a way that left no doubt about what he wanted. He bit my lower lip and I opened my mouth. I felt his surprise when he found the piercing in my tongue, something that was almost invisible at first glance.

“Fuck,” he murmured against my mouth. “With that little ball in your tongue, you’re going to suck my dick like you want to rip it off.”

He said it without filter, his voice thick, and I felt a jolt in my stomach. His hands moved up my sides to my neck, holding my face with a firmness that made me forget my own name. He started kissing my throat, nibbling my earlobe, and slid one hand down over my blouse to my chest. He squeezed one breast with his whole palm and I moaned before I could stop myself.

“If you do that I’m not going to be able to control myself,” he said hoarsely.

“When did I ask you to control yourself?”

His hand moved down to the hem of my skirt, lifted it, and slipped between my thighs without asking permission. When he found the fabric of my panties already soaked, he let out a small laugh against my neck.

“You’re dripping, Valeria. And I haven’t even touched you yet.”

“Then touch me already.”

He pushed the fabric aside and ran two fingers through my cunt, up and down, very slowly, parting my lips and coating his fingers with what was coming out of me. He made a slow circle over my clit with his thumb and my knees nearly gave out. He held me with his other arm against his body.

He took me by the hand and I pointed him toward the hallway. He didn’t need any more instructions. In my room he turned on only the desk lamp, that low, warm light, and looked at me in a way that forced me to hold his gaze even though it was hard.

He took off his jacket and shirt. He was thin, without much muscle but with a presence that didn’t depend on his build. Tattoos covered part of his chest and part of his back: a stylized skull, some runes, the silhouette of a crocodile on his side. On his back, taking up almost all the space, an angel with thick lines and, beneath it, small writing that I couldn’t read from where I stood.

“What does it say?” I asked.

“Hey Jude, the whole thing.”

I laughed.

“Do you want to see mine?”

“Find them yourself,” I said.

He raised an eyebrow. Then he came closer and it was him who started, looking for the first button on my blouse. He unfastened it calmly, without rushing, as if he had all the time in the world. When he found half a butterfly between my breasts, he stopped.

“The other half is underneath,” I said.

He unhooked my bra without asking. Let it fall. He stared at my tits for a few long seconds —small, with the nipples already hard, pointing up— and then tilted his head and sucked the left one completely, taking his time, wrapping the nipple with his tongue and tugging lightly with his teeth. He switched to the right and repeated it, rougher this time. I buried my fingers in his hair and pressed his head against me.

He traced the tattoos on my back with his lips: the tribal on the lower part, the phases of the moon at my waist, the small sun behind my neck. Then the ones on my arms: flowers, birds, a constellation that never ends. He didn’t rush anything. He took his time with every inch as if the night were his to decide how to use. When he reached the lower part of my back, he turned me toward him and gently pushed me until I was sitting on the edge of the bed.

He’s in charge here, I thought. And I don’t mind at all.

He took off my skirt and left me in my panties. He knelt between my legs and spread my knees with his hands, unhurried. He looked at the wet patch that had soaked through the fabric and smiled with that crooked expression of his.

“You’re soaked, Valeria. It’s showing right through.”

“No commentary, just keep going,” I muttered, blushing.

He asked if I wanted oral sex. I told him no, that I didn’t have much experience with it and the times before hadn’t been anything special.

“Let me show you they weren’t doing it right,” he said, his lips already brushing the inside of my thigh. “If you don’t like it, I’ll stop. My word.”

I hesitated for a second. Then I nodded. He pulled my panties down to my ankles, took them off completely, and spread my legs all the way open. I felt the cold air against my wet cunt and shivered. He brought his face close and blew on me first, very softly, his eyes locked on mine. Then he ran his entire tongue, flat, from bottom to clit in one long stroke, and I threw my head back with a moan that escaped me.

“Oh my God.”

“That’s me, yeah,” he murmured, and licked me again.

He started with his broad tongue, working me up and down, sucking my lips, slipping the tip in only a little, just enough to tease. When he got to my clit he circled it with the tip, first slowly, then faster, then trapped it between his lips and sucked. I screamed. I grabbed his head with both hands without realizing it.

“Don’t stop,” I panted. “Don’t stop, don’t stop.”

He slipped in two fingers and curled them upward while he kept licking. He found a spot inside me that made my hips lift off the bed. He noticed. He pressed there again, pushing and releasing, his tongue working my clit at the same time. In less than a minute I was shaking all over, my legs closing around his head. I came with a choked cry, squeezing his fingers inside me, and he didn’t stop until I shoved his forehead with my palm because I couldn’t take any more.

He pulled his fingers out, brought them to his mouth, and sucked them while looking at me.

“And you said you didn’t like it.”

“Shut up,” I said, laughing breathlessly.

He lay down beside me and brushed against me with his hip. I felt his erection against my thigh, hard, outlined beneath his pants. I unbuttoned them and dragged the zipper down clumsily. I slid my hand in and grabbed his cock over the boxer briefs. It was thick, hot, already with a damp spot at the tip of the fabric. I pulled everything down in one go and took it out. I ran my thumb over the glans, spreading that drop, and he let out a breath through his nose.

I lowered my head. I took it into my mouth without warning. I ran my whole tongue with the piercing underneath, from the glans to the base, and he moaned for the first real time, grabbing my hair. I started sucking him hard, closing my lips tight around the shaft, taking him in and out, using my hand at the base for what didn’t fit in my mouth. The little ball of the piercing dragged along the vein underneath every time I went up, and he kept letting out a gradually rising “fuck.”

“Stop,” he said, pulling my hair. “Stop or I’m going to come, and I don’t want to come yet like this.”

I let him go with a pop and licked my lips. I reached for the drawer of the nightstand: my roommate had left condoms “just in case.” I handed him one.

He put it on, positioned himself between my legs, and entered me without warning, with a firm, decisive movement that drove his cock all the way in at once. I screamed against his shoulder. He let the air out through his teeth.

“Fuck, you’re tight.”

He started moving with a controlled cadence that felt practiced, as if he knew exactly what rhythm to keep to have me at the edge without crossing it yet. His hands gripped my hips, marking the beat, digging his fingers into my flesh. Each thrust lifted me a little higher on the bed and he pulled me back down, spearing me again all the way to the hilt.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, squeezing. “Perfect, fuck, look at how you take me.”

He gradually picked up speed. My fingers searched for his back and I scratched him without meaning to. He seized my wrists and brought them over my head, pinning them against the pillow with one hand. Not with excessive force, just enough that I couldn’t move them unless he decided I could. He looked at me to make sure I was okay.

I was. More than okay.

“You like it like this?” he panted. “You like being fucked while I’m holding you down?”

“Yes,” I moaned. “Harder.”

He started fucking me harder, driving into me all the way with sharp blows that made my thighs slam against his. I felt his cock reaching a place inside me that made me grit my teeth. I began to writhe under him and he tightened my wrists a little more. I moaned louder and he tilted his head to silence me with his mouth, never stopping, sliding his tongue into me at the same rhythm as his cock.

“Get on top,” he said after, pulling out and lying back.

I straddled him, grabbed his cock, positioned it at my entrance and lowered myself slowly, feeling him open me again centimeter by centimeter. When I felt full, I stayed still for a second, hands on his chest, and then started moving. His hands guided my hips, setting a rhythm that was as much his as mine. I rose and fell on him, dropping down with all my weight, and sharper and sharper moans kept escaping me.

He propped himself up a little and sucked one of my tits while I rode him. He bit my nipple and I tightened my cunt around his cock in response. He let out a growl.

“Do that again.”

I did. And again. And again. He dug his fingers into my ass.

“Turn around.”

I turned without taking him out, awkwardly, until I was facing away from him, mounted the other way around. He slipped one arm around my waist to control the movement from behind, pulling me tight against him. His other hand lifted mine to my neck, not squeezing, just holding it in front. I could feel his cock inside me at a new angle, brushing a spot in front that made me clench around him on my own.

“Don’t stop,” he whispered against my neck, while his free hand went down to my cunt and rubbed my clit with two fingers to the rhythm of the movement. “Don’t stop, come all over my cock, I want to feel it.”

It didn’t take long. With his cock inside me and his fingers outside, his breath against my ear and the smell of him everywhere, I started shaking. I squeezed his cock inside me in spasms I couldn’t control and screamed, this time without covering my mouth, because the apartment was mine and so was he, at least for that night.

When he came, it was with a deep, almost uncontrollable sound, the first time all night I heard him lose his composure completely. He dug his fingers into my hip, held me down all the way, and I felt the jolts of his cock against the bottom as he came into the condom. I came right before him, shuddering and gasping for air.

We stayed like that for a few seconds. Neither of us spoke. He kept his nose buried in my nape, still inside, breathing me in. Then he lifted me carefully and pulled out. He took off the condom, tied it off, and threw it in the trash.

***

I got dressed in the first T-shirt I found and went to wash up. When I came back, he was half-dressed, looking at the books on my shelf with his hands in his pockets, as if he were genuinely interested.

“Are you staying?” I asked. “I can go to my roommate’s room, or you can sleep on the couch. Or leave, if you prefer.”

He looked at me for a moment.

“I’ll stay with you, if you don’t mind. It was sex, but you’re not the kind of girl you take advantage of and that’s that,” he said, scratching his head.

I smiled. I put on some low music and told him that if at any point he decided to leave, there was a set of keys on the entryway table. I wouldn’t blame him.

He took an acoustic guitar leaning against the wall and started playing, following the rhythm of what was coming from the speaker. I settled under the blankets and I don’t know at what point I closed my eyes.

***

I woke up after three in the morning. The room was dark, but I could feel his warmth beside me and the slow sound of his breathing. His hand was on my hip, under the T-shirt, his palm open against bare skin. I stayed still for a few seconds, listening to it. I felt him move behind me and his cock, hard again, brush my ass over my panties.

“Are you awake?” he whispered in my ear.

“Now I am.”

His hand slid down my stomach, went under the elastic, and found me still sensitive from before. A few seconds rubbing my clit were enough for me to start pushing my ass back toward him, looking for it. He pulled my panties down to my knees, lifted one thigh with his hand, and entered me from behind, from the side, very slowly, this time without a condom because there was no hint of a thrust.

“I’ll pull out before,” he murmured. “My word.”

We fucked like that, spooning, in silence, with slow movements that barely made a sound. He covered my mouth with his hand every time I started moaning too loudly, and licked my ear at the same time. It didn’t take me long to come again, pressed against him, biting his palm. When he was just about to, he pulled out, came over my ass with two or three muffled gasps, and left me there, wet and weak. He cleaned me with the edge of the sheet, pulled my panties back up, and hugged me from behind. I fell asleep again almost immediately.

In the morning, the alarm went off at nine. I was alone.

There was a note on the pillow:

“Had an early class. You look gorgeous asleep. Text me whenever you want. — Adrián.”

In the kitchen there was a second note, propped against the mug he’d left me:

“I don’t know what time you have breakfast, but the water is hot. Thanks for last night. See you soon. P.S. I’m taking your guitar and amp to the classroom. — A.”

I sat there with the mug in my hand and read both notes again.

Was it romantic?

Yes. It was romantic. And that unsettled me more than I expected.

Classes went on as normal, or at least that’s what I tried to make it look like. I sent him a couple of messages that he answered with his usual calm, as if nothing had happened and at the same time as if everything had happened. Nothing out of place, nothing to give us away.

Until his last message that afternoon: “Want to do it again?”

I spent an hour staring at the screen, my cunt wet again just from reading it.

Because the answer was yes. Because it had been months since I’d had anything like that, because I wanted to feel that hand holding mine against the pillow again, that cock filling me to the hilt, that tongue between my legs and that silent look asking if I was okay.

But I didn’t know how to say it without it sounding like too much.