I Wrote to My Neighbor in a Moment of Spite

For privacy reasons I’m going to call myself Lorena, and my neighbor Damián. This is the first time I’ve dared to tell something like this, and I still can’t quite believe it happened.

For months I had been dragging around a silent fight with my husband. He had started neglecting himself first: I found messages on his phone with an office coworker, nothing conclusive, but enough to keep me from sleeping well for weeks. That night, after dinner watching television without speaking, I locked myself in the bathroom with my cell phone in hand and opened WhatsApp.

Damián had lived across from our house until two years ago. After his divorce he moved to the far end of the city and I lost track of him. By chance, that same afternoon I had seen him at the neighborhood supermarket: he was thinner, with a neat beard, and he had smiled at me from the wine aisle as if nothing had changed. I went home thinking about him more than I was willing to admit.

What if I write to him?

I typed, “Hi, neighbor. Did you move back to the neighborhood?” and deleted it three times before sending it. When I finally hit send, I put the phone face down on the sink and washed my face with cold water. I wasn’t expecting a reply. Not that same night.

But he replied within minutes. He was living in the neighborhood again, three blocks from the club. He asked how things were going, and instead of lying I told him the truth: “I need to get out for a while. Want to go for a drive?”

There was a long pause. So long that I convinced myself it had been a mistake. And then “When?” appeared.

***

The following Saturday I told my husband I was going out for drinks with two college friends I hadn’t seen in years. He didn’t even look up from the game. I dressed in the clothes I used to wear before I got married: tight black jeans, a sleeveless blouse, and the long earrings he’d given me for our first anniversary and which, all of a sudden, felt чуждан as hell. Underneath, I put on a black lace thong I’d had tucked away for years and a matching bra that lifted my tits until the neckline looked like an invitation.

Damián picked me up three blocks from my door, in a blue Corolla I didn’t recognize. I got in looking both ways like a teenager sneaking out during recess. My hands were ice-cold and my mouth was dry.

—You look even prettier than last time —he said, and he didn’t look at my neckline even once when he said it.

—You’re lying well —I answered.

He laughed. So did I, and all at once the pressure in my chest eased a little.

We drove aimlessly for ten minutes, talking about stupid things: the corner shopkeeper who had died, the dog that always roamed the same corner, the bakery they’d closed last summer. At one point, at a red light, he asked without looking at me:

—Do you want to go somewhere else?

I swallowed.

—Yes.

That was all. One word. He changed lanes and took the avenue heading south, where there was a row of hourly hotels with neon signs. I clutched my purse against my legs and looked out the window so he wouldn’t see my face. I was already wet between my legs, so much that I could feel my thong stuck to my cunt, and that alone was enough to tell me I wasn’t going to regret anything.

***

The room smelled of pine disinfectant and freshly pressed sheets. There was a huge mirror on the wall opposite the bed and an old television neither of us turned on. Damián locked the door and stood looking at me from the threshold, as if giving me the chance to back out.

I didn’t back out.

He crossed the three steps separating us and kissed me without asking. It was a long kiss, slow at first and then deeper and deeper, with his hands at the nape of my neck and his tongue searching for mine with an insistence that made my legs give out. I answered just as hard, with the same hunger, as if I’d been waiting for exactly that kiss for months without knowing it. I felt his hard bulge against my hip and my knees trembled: it was thick, long, and already pressing against the fabric of his pants, trying to get out.

—Stop for a second —I whispered, but not even I believed it.

—I don’t want to —he answered, and kept kissing me.

While he kissed me, his hands slid up under my blouse, found the clasp of my bra, and undid it in one movement. I felt the cold air on my back and a shiver that wasn’t from cold. I let myself be undressed standing in the middle of the room. He pulled the blouse over my head, slid the straps off my shoulders, and the bra fell to the floor. He stood staring at my tits for a few seconds, bent down, and took one nipple fully into his mouth. He sucked hard, then the other, then alternated between both with his tongue until they were so hard they hurt. I dug my nails into the back of his neck and swallowed a moan.

He tugged his shirt off over his head without unbuttoning it, and for the first time I saw his bare torso: more wiry than I remembered, with a thin scar over his collarbone I hadn’t known about.

—Where’s that from? —I asked, touching it with my index finger.

—I’ll tell you later —he said, and gently pushed me toward the bed.

***

I fell seated on the edge of the mattress. He knelt between my legs, pulled my jeans off my ankles, and took his time with everything else. He took my thong off with his teeth, looking into my eyes, and when the fabric caught on my feet he flicked it to the floor with a single swipe of his hand. He wasn’t in a hurry. That was what undid me most: the calm with which he touched me, as if he had left urgency behind in the car.

He spread my legs with both hands and looked at my open cunt for a long moment before speaking.

—You’re soaked —he said, and pushed his middle finger into me in one smooth motion.

I arched. He slipped in another finger and started moving them inside, searching for that rough spot just behind the bone, while he licked my clit with the tip of his tongue in very slow circles. Then he stopped circling and started sucking it whole, pulling with closed lips, and I gripped the bedspread with both hands because my legs were no longer obeying me. He sucked me like that until I screamed for the first time that night, with my thighs clamped around his head and my hips lifting on their own for more. When I finished coming in his mouth, he looked up at me from below with his chin shining with my juices and ran his thumb over his lower lip without stopping smiling.

I looked down at him while he kissed my belly. Then I leaned forward, unbuckled his belt, and went down too. I wanted to taste him. I wanted to know what that cock I’d been imagining for years tasted like. I yanked down his pants and boxers and it sprang out, hard, thick, with a red tip and a fat drop of precum hanging from the head. I took it with both hands first, slowly, and licked it from base to tip, following the vein running along its length. Then I took the tip into my mouth and sucked it like candy, playing with my tongue under the glans. Damián closed his eyes and breathed through his nose. I lowered my mouth until I felt the back of my throat, and stayed there, swallowing, while I squeezed his balls with my other hand. Once he tried to rush me, placing his palm on the back of my neck, and I moved his hand away without lifting my head. He let me do it. I sucked his cock at my own pace, spitting on it when I pulled off to get more lubrication, jerking it with my hand while I sucked his balls one by one.

When I let him go, his jaw was tense and his cock was throbbing against his stomach on its own.

—Come here —he said hoarsely.

He took a condom from his pants pocket, tore it open with his teeth, and put it on himself. He pushed me down onto the mattress with an open hand on my chest and settled over me. He spread my legs as wide as they’d go, grabbed his cock with his hand, and dragged it through my soaked cunt a couple of times, wetting the tip, rubbing the head against my clit until I was moaning from pure desperation.

—Put it in already —I begged him. —I can’t take it anymore.

The first thrust was slow, almost exploratory, pushing in little by little until I felt him opening me all the way. The second ripped a moan out of me I didn’t even try to hide: he sank in to the hilt in one shot and drove himself so deep I lost my breath.

I wrapped my legs around him. I dug my heels into his lower back so he’d go deeper. He started fucking me with long, deep thrusts, pulling almost all the way out and driving back in to the hilt, and with every stroke the headboard of the bed slammed against the wall. He kissed my neck, the hollow of my collarbone, my breasts, and every so often came back to my mouth as if he were afraid of forgetting something. He squeezed one tit with his free hand and tugged my nipple between thumb and forefinger just as he sped up, and I screamed so loudly that he laughed against my mouth and covered my lips with his palm.

—Shhh —he said—. They can hear us.

I bit his palm. He pulled it away and replaced it with his tongue. When he felt I was about to come again, he grabbed both my wrists and pinned them above my head against the mattress, and started fucking me faster, harder, with the bone of his pelvis hitting my clit on every thrust. I came like that, tied down by his hands, screaming into his mouth. I forgot everything: the husband who was watching the replay of the game in my living room, the spite that had brought me here, even the name of the hotel I hadn’t bothered to read when I walked in. Only Damián’s weight over me existed, his cock tearing me open inside, and the sound of my own ragged breathing. He held on for a few more thrusts and then went rigid, clenched his teeth, and came with a low growl, his cock pulsing inside the condom while he kept driving into me in short jerks until the last drop.

When he was done, he collapsed beside me on his back. His forehead was beaded with sweat and he had a half-idiotic smile I had never seen on him before.

***

We rested for a while without speaking. He slipped his arm under my shoulders and pulled me against his chest. I felt his heart still beating fast. I traced circles with my finger on his sternum, on the scar, on the upper edge of his stomach.

—Are you okay? —he asked after a while.

—I’m better than okay.

He gave a soft laugh.

Twenty minutes later the urgency came back. This time I started. I kissed his chest, nipped his earlobe, went back down with my mouth until I made him breathe hard. I sucked his flaccid cock until I felt it growing between my lips, enlarging, hardening again against my tongue. When it was fully hard, I spit on it, jerked it with my hand, and ran my tongue flat over his balls, one and then the other, sucking them carefully while I kept stroking him. Damián lifted his hips, seeking my mouth.

When he was ready again, I looked for another condom in the nightstand drawer and climbed on top of him. Damián settled against the headboard, gripped my hips with both hands, and let me set the pace. I sat down on his cock slowly, feeling it go in centimeter by centimeter, and when I had him all the way inside I stayed still for a second with my eyes closed, squeezing him with my cunt muscles.

I moved slowly at first, almost punishing him, rising and lowering just enough so the tip stayed right at the entrance and then sank back in to the hilt. I braced my hands on his chest to get momentum and started riding him harder and harder, my tits bouncing in front of my face. He looked up at me with an odd intensity, as if he wanted to memorize me. He sat up a little, caught one nipple between his teeth and bit down without hurting me while he squeezed my ass with both hands, guiding my rhythm. I threw my head back and rolled my hips in circles, rubbing my clit against the bone of his pelvis on every downward stroke. When I leaned in to kiss him, he grabbed my hair in a fist and yanked it back just enough to see my face.

—Don’t close your eyes —he ordered me.

I didn’t close them. I held them open while I came for the second time, without stopping riding him, with my mouth open and no voice, watching him watch me. He dug his fingers into my ass, pushed me against his hip, and came behind me with his jaw clenched, murmuring filthy things against my neck that I’m not even daring to repeat here.

***

There was a third time that night, and it was the one that changed my head. We were both on our sides, exhausted, his thumb tracing the line of my spine, when he asked me if I had ever done it from behind. I told him the truth: once, years ago, with my husband, and it had hurt so much I never wanted to try again.

—It won’t hurt with me —he said.

He said it without challenge, almost like a promise. I didn’t answer.

He got up, went to the bathroom, and came back with cold cream in his hand. He turned me over without asking permission and arranged me on all fours in the middle of the bed, face against the pillow and ass lifted. He began stroking my lower back, then my ass cheeks, spreading them with his thumbs to look at everything. In a low voice, almost in my ear, he explained what he was going to do. That we’d go slow. That if at any moment I said stop, he’d stop. That I should trust him.

I trusted him.

He bent down behind me and I felt his tongue first: hot, long, licking my whole asshole from bottom to top, wetting me, pressing the tip against the tight hole until I trembled. No one had ever done that to me. A long moan slipped out against the pillow. Then he smeared me with the cold cream, slid one finger in slowly to the knuckle, waited for me to relax, and slid in the second. He moved them inside patiently, opening me scissorwise, stretching me, while with his other hand he searched for my clit from the front and rubbed it in soft circles. The combination drove me crazy: I was pushing my ass against his hand asking for more without even realizing it.

When he finally entered me, there was a moment of discomfort, a brief burn as the head of his cock forced the way in, then a new sensation as he slid all the way inside, and then something else I didn’t know how to name: a strange fullness, a different, dark pleasure, coming from a place in my body I didn’t know existed. He began moving very slowly, with short thrusts, letting me feel everything. He rested one hand on my lower back to keep me still and threaded the other into my hair. I buried my face in the pillow and let him take me. After a while, I asked for more with my voice pressed into the fabric.

—Harder —I begged. —Do it.

He gave it to me. He started fucking my ass with longer and longer thrusts, gripping my hips with both hands, pulling almost all the way out and driving back in until his balls hit my wet cunt. The sound of our bodies slapping together filled the whole room. I bit the pillow and moaned things I didn’t even hear.

We stayed like that a long time. At some point we changed positions and I ended up on top, sitting backward on him, facing the mirror wall, controlling him, lowering and raising myself slowly with his cock buried in my ass while I watched myself in the reflection with my tits bare and my mouth open. I asked him to touch me with his hand and he obeyed without a word: he reached around me and started rubbing my clit with two fingers at the same rhythm I was riding him. When I came, it was unlike everything before: longer, stranger, more mine, a wave that shook me all over and made me clamp down on his cock inside with spasms he felt too. I heard him whisper my name twice in a row, “Lorena, Lorena,” and that finished breaking me. He came behind me, grabbing my tits with both hands, biting my shoulder so he wouldn’t shout.

***

After the last time we stayed still, staring at the ceiling. My hair was stuck to my forehead and my mouth was dry.

—What are you thinking about? —I asked.

—That I should have written to you two years ago —he said.

I didn’t answer. There was no need.

We got dressed without rushing. He helped me fasten my bra and I buttoned the cuffs of his shirt. In the bathroom mirror I fixed my smudged mascara as best I could. When we left the hotel, it was almost two in the morning and the street was empty.

In the car on the way back, he let me out three blocks before my door, just like on the way there. Before I got out, he took my face in both hands and kissed me again, slowly.

—Are we going to see each other again? —I asked.

—If you want to.

—I want to.

I walked the three blocks to my house thinking about a thousand things at once. When I opened the door, my husband was asleep on the couch with the television on. I threw a blanket over him and went into the shower without making a sound. Under the hot water I ran my fingers over my swollen cunt and my still-sensitive ass, and shivered by myself at the memory.

I have no excuse, I know. I’m not defending myself. I also know this didn’t start only because my husband cheated on me first: it started because I wanted it to start. His infidelity was the crack. What happened with Damián was the decision.

Three weeks have passed and I still don’t know what I’m going to do with all this. All I know is that today, when the phone rings and it’s his message, I’m going to answer him yes again.