The Catalan Woman from the Pool Table Took Me to the Pub Bathroom

The ice from my third whiskey floated at the bottom of the glass, half dissolved, giving me back a murky version of myself. Murky like the whole damn week. Murky like every night since I’d lost count.

The pub had dark wood, the smell of varnish and old leather, and that low lighting that forgives any face. It wasn’t crowded for a Thursday in February, but there was just the right amount of murmuring. I came almost every day. It was far from my home, and lately that was the only virtue I asked of a bar.

I didn’t want to go back. Not until Beatriz fell asleep. I couldn’t stand another night of her silences, her glassy stares, her unanswered questions. We both knew it was dead. Neither of us dared sign the death certificate.

—Is it taken?

I turned slowly. A woman with copper-colored shoulder-length hair, freckles scattered across her nose and cheekbones, and amber eyes slanted like a cat’s. She must have been in her late thirties.

—The stool, I mean—she clarified before I could answer. —I’m sick of playing gooseberry.

She pointed with her glass toward the back, where a friend of hers was enthusiastically devouring the mouth of a suited man with more gusto than prudence allowed. I made room for her.

—Núria—she introduced herself, holding out a small hand with a wedding band gleaming on her ring finger.

—Damián.

We talked about stupid things. Her Catalan accent, mine from Madrid. Her husband, who had brought her to the city five years earlier for one of his jobs. I told her I sold insurance. She arched an eyebrow, skeptical.

—I can’t picture you behind a counter—she said. —Something with more adrenaline suits you better.

—A firefighter? A lion tamer?

—Something like that.

When Núria turned to greet her friend, the table at the back was already empty. The man had taken her friend away, leaving Núria behind like a discarded cigarette butt. I watched her face fall apart, then pull itself back together three seconds later, a new idea dancing in her eyes.

She took off her suede jacket and slowly rolled up the sleeves of her linen shirt with deliberate languor.

—I came out tonight to have fun—she said. —And you sell insurance, right?

—That’s what I told you.

—Then insure me against not having fun tonight.

I raised my glass. I didn’t say yes. I didn’t need to.

***

We ended up in the pool-table corner, half hidden behind a green-glass screen. Núria pretended she didn’t know how to play. She leaned over the table, aimed with one eye closed, stuck the tip of her tongue between her lips, and deliberately missed. Every time she bent over, her linen shirt opened a little farther and her jeans tightened across her ass.

—Help me—she asked after her fifth missed shot. —Get it in. The ball, I mean.

I positioned myself behind her. I put one hand over hers on the cue and the other on her hip. Our faces were at the same height. She smelled of sandalwood and something citrusy. And of warmed skin.

She pressed her ass against my crotch without the slightest subtlety.

—Well—she whispered. —A pool professional.

—Shut up and shoot.

—I’d rather have you put the ball in me.

The tie I was still wearing loosely was the first casualty. Núria tugged it downward, turned around, and kissed me with her mouth already open, biting my lip before I could react. She tasted of gin, mint, and hunger. I cupped her ass with both hands and lifted her onto the edge of the pool table. Her legs suddenly wrapped around my hips, and through my trousers I felt her pubic bone grinding against my cock, already pushing against the fabric as if it had a life of its own.

I tore open three buttons of her shirt. Her breasts came out, squeezed into a white silk bra, firm and with her nipples showing through the fabric. I lowered my mouth to her cleavage and ran my tongue over the salty skin of her collarbone. She let out a low, guttural moan and pulled my hair upward to kiss me again.

—Not here—she panted, her lips pressed to mine. —Follow me.

She got down from the table, roughly fastened two buttons, and took me by the hand. The rest of the pub remained absorbed in its own world. The bar murmured, the bartender dried glasses, and the music covered any uncontrolled breathing. No one was looking at us. Núria opened the women’s bathroom door and pulled me inside.

***

I slid the bolt shut. She was already standing in front of the mirror, leaning against the sink, watching me in the reflection with glazed eyes and shallow breaths. I could see her erect nipples pressing against the silk, and a smudge of runny mascara at the corner of her right eye.

I pressed myself against her back. I swept her hair to one side and bit her nape. Núria threw her head back and moaned against my shoulder. I slid my hands inside her shirt, yanked the bra cups upward, and grabbed her tits in handfuls. Her nipples dug into my palms, hard as stones. I pinched them. She let out a long gasp and guided one of my hands toward the button of her pants.

I undid her belt. I lowered her zipper. I slipped my hand inside her panties, searching blindly, and found a soaked pussy that opened all by itself. No warm-up was needed. I ran my fingers over her lips, up and down, a couple of times, and found her clit already hard beneath my fingertip. Núria jerked and moaned louder than was wise.

—Keep your voice down—I whispered in her ear—or the whole pub will hear us.

—I don’t give a fuck—she replied. —Fuck me already.

I pushed two fingers all the way inside her. She screamed into the back of her own hand. The bathroom’s automatic light went out, leaving us in darkness, with only the glow of the emergency sign above the door. Better. I began sliding my fingers in and out to the rhythm she herself set, thrusting her ass against my hand and against my cock, which was already straining inside my pants as if it were about to burst through them.

—More—she panted. —Deeper.

I added a third finger. Her pussy opened, adjusted to me, and began squeezing me with short spasms. With my other hand I kept abusing her left nipple. Núria gripped the sink with both hands, bent forward, and moved her hips against me as if she were riding me.

The light came back on. I saw her face in the mirror, her mouth open, her forehead beaded with sweat, her gaze lost on the ceiling. I pressed my fingertip against the soft spot high on the front wall, and she came with a hoarse cry that she swallowed by clamping her lips against her shirt sleeve. I felt her tighten around my fingers once, twice, three times. The spasms lasted almost a minute.

When she opened her eyes, she turned around, pulled my fingers out of her, and brought them to her mouth. She licked them one by one, staring straight at me, then sank to her knees on the tiles.

She undid my belt without asking. She pulled down my pants and underwear in one tug. When she freed my cock, it was already dripping. She ran her tongue over her lips like someone preparing for a hot dish and took me all the way in at once, down to the back of her throat. I felt her tighten around the tip and contract, and had to brace my hands against the mirror so I wouldn’t fall.

She sucked me slowly at first, her tongue running over me from my balls to my glans. Then she picked up the pace, grabbing my ass with both hands to draw me toward her mouth. I started fucking her mouth without realizing it, thrusting my hips against her lips. She moaned with my cock inside her, and the sound of her choking throat mingled with my breathing.

—Stop—I said, pulling her hair upward. —Stop or I’ll come.

She stood with a crooked smile and pressed against me, biting my neck. I turned her around against the sink. I pulled her jeans and panties down to her knees in one movement. I saw her white, round ass, marked by the elastic of her panties. I grabbed it with both hands and spread it open.

I entered her from behind with one clean thrust, all the way in. Núria screamed and dug her nails into the edge of the sink. Her pussy squeezed me so tightly I nearly came right there. I stayed still for a second, gritting my teeth, then began fucking her slowly, pulling almost all the way out before burying myself in her again up to the balls.

The mirror gave us back the scene. Her shirt open, her loose breasts swinging with every thrust, her mouth a silent O. Me behind her, hair stuck to my forehead, holding her by the hips so I could go deeper. With every push, the edge of the sink struck her pubic bone, and she made a sound halfway between a moan and a cry of pleasure.

—Harder—she asked, her voice broken. —Harder, goddammit.

I grabbed one of her tits with one hand and squeezed her nipple between two fingers. With the other, I held the back of her neck and pressed her head against the mirror. I started fucking her for real, my hips pounding her ass with the sound of flesh against flesh echoing off the bathroom tiles.

Núria began spitting out Catalan swear words between moans. I didn’t understand half of them. I only understood that she liked it, that she wanted more, and that if the pub couldn’t hear this, it was because the music was playing at a miraculous volume.

I pulled out abruptly and turned her around. I lifted her by the thighs and sat her on the sink, her back against the mirror. She wrapped her legs around my hips and yanked me inside. I pushed my cock into her again and kissed her at the same time, swallowing her moans. Our tongues searched for each other with the same urgency as our sexes.

Núria dug her heels into my ass so I would thrust harder. She grabbed my face with both hands and looked me in the eyes while I fucked her. Her eyes were lost, wearing that primeval expression women get when pleasure short-circuits every thought.

—I’m going to come again—she panted against my mouth. —Again.

—Come.

She dug her nails into the back of my neck. I thrust once, twice, three more times, and felt her pussy begin squeezing me in waves, sucking me inward. I held out as long as I could, the veins in my neck ready to burst. When Núria’s final contraction dragged me over the edge, I came inside her with a growl she swallowed by pressing her mouth to mine. I emptied everything. Every thrust forced out another spurt, and she received them by squeezing me with her legs and her pussy so nothing would spill out of her.

We stayed that way, locked together and panting against each other, for a full minute. The automatic light went out again. In the darkness I heard her laugh softly against my shoulder.

—You’re a terrible insurance salesman—she said. —But a very good liar.

I helped her down from the sink. We put ourselves back together as best we could in front of the mirror, clothes rumpled and faces flushed. She combed her hair with her fingers, wiped away the smeared mascara with a little water, and fastened her pants. I pulled up my trousers and buckled my belt as if I’d just come out of a battle.

—Are you going home?—I asked her.

She shrugged.

—I told my husband I was sleeping at Sofía’s.

We looked at each other in the mirror. Neither of us said anything else. We left the bathroom two minutes apart, her first. She collected her suede jacket from the stool, greeted the bartender as if nothing had happened, and waited for me outside, her hand already raised for the first taxi.

When I got in behind her, she gave the driver an address that was neither mine nor hers. A hotel downtown. She pressed herself against my shoulder again and whispered in my ear, as if it were a secret only I could keep for her:

—You still haven’t insured the whole night for me.

And I, who had wanted nothing for weeks, wanted two things that night: not to fulfill her policy too quickly, and not to think about Beatriz until the following morning.