Confession: One Real Night with Camila and Her Red Pacifier

That night I had decided to give myself completely to a whim that had been running through my head for weeks. I shaved carefully, showered twice, and got ready like someone preparing a little private ritual. I knew exactly what I wanted and I knew who to call to get it. I had Camila in my contacts, and Camila almost always said yes.

She arrived after a while, on time for once, with a black backpack hanging from one shoulder and a sweet perfume that preceded her the moment she came in. She gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and locked herself in the bathroom without asking permission. She liked to show up twice. The first time when she walked through the door. The second when she came out of the bathroom transformed into something else.

When she came back into the living room, she was wearing a white blazer with nothing underneath, no bra, nothing but her skin. The jacket fit her just enough to suggest everything and show almost nothing. Through the opening of the neckline, two small, firm breasts peeked out, with the nipples taut against the fabric. Beneath the last button, a few curly copper-colored hairs escaped, trimmed with that aesthetic of hers, like a mischievous girl always inventing something new.

She had just turned twenty-three. She was tall, slender, with that wiry build you get from doing sports for pleasure and not out of obligation. Long neck, slim arms, prominent collarbones. Her brown hair with reddish highlights she wore at shoulder length, tousled on purpose. But the best thing about Camila wasn’t her legs or her waist. It was her face, always ready to smile, always ready to have fun with whatever came next.

That night she showed up with a red pacifier between her lips. I didn’t ask where she’d gotten it. Camila was like that. Sometimes she brought toys, sometimes she brought ideas, and sometimes she brought nothing more than that smile that lit up the moment our eyes met. She started playing with the pacifier in front of me, biting it, taking it out, licking it slowly while she stared at me without blinking. I was almost done before I’d even started.

—Do you like what you see? —she asked at last, with the pacifier dangling from one finger.

—Too much.

—Well then don’t just stand there staring, man.

Camila had a strange trick. The bigger the challenge, the more she gave herself over to it. She loved situations that seemed too big for her. Not out of pride, but out of stubbornness. When she was up against something difficult, that was when she gave her best. And she always did it laughing, as if all of it were some enormous game whose rules only we knew.

I opened her white blazer and slid it off her shoulders slowly. Her whole body appeared. Pink nipples, defined abdomen, that pubis trimmed into a copper spiral that changed every month. Once she’d shaved it into the shape of a lightning bolt. Another time she’d left it like an arrow pointing downward. The outrageousness of some of the designs seemed excessive to me, but I was very careful not to mention it. Camila didn’t take criticism of her creativity well.

I pushed her gently by the shoulders until she knelt on the carpet. She did it slowly, sliding down, looking up at me with those small, lively green eyes. I gripped my erection, already so hard it hurt, and stroked her cheeks with it. I dragged my cock and balls across her whole face. Over her forehead, over her chin, over her closed lips. Camila let me do it with that smile that could never be wiped away.

—You smell like you just showered —she murmured—. I’m going to fix that.

I lifted my balls up to her nose and she inhaled hungrily, as if she wanted to burn the smell into her memory. Then I lowered my whole cock along her face, slowly, making sure my skin brushed against every pore. I didn’t stop until I was sure that the next day, all day long, her face would smell like me. Camila laughed softly, eyes half-closed, enjoying the game.

When I pressed the tip of my cock against her lips, she opened her mouth without being asked. I went in slowly the first time, measuring the space. The second time I went deeper. The third time I pushed without mercy. Camila somehow managed to keep the smile in her eyes even with her mouth completely occupied. Suddenly she let out a muffled sound like a laugh, as if the whole situation was cracking her up.

Her mouth was small and mine was anything but discreet. The difference showed. No matter how hard she tried, her teeth sometimes scraped my shaft, nausea rose from her stomach, and she struggled to catch her breath. But she kept going. She pressed her lips tighter, moistened her throat, swallowed, and pushed her head forward again. Camila sucked with determination, not technique. And that, in a way, was much better.

—Wait —I told her after a while.

I asked her to get on all fours, resting on her elbows and knees, back arched and ass up. She did it at once, still smiling. I positioned myself in front of her face and rubbed my cock over her cheeks again, this time with her in that posture. Then I pinched my balls together with two fingers and slipped them into her mouth. I left them there, hot and wet, while I jerked myself slowly, in no rush to finish anything.

Camila kept her eyes on my face, as if waiting for orders. I told her to cross her arms behind her back, right over her ass, to keep them immobilized. She obeyed. I wanted to fuck her mouth without letting her stop me with her hands. I pulled my balls out and put my cock between her teeth again, now at a different rhythm, tighter, harder. Camila swallowed, blinked with effort, but she never once pulled my head away. She trusted me more than I deserved.

When I saw her face turn red and air escaping from her nose in sharp bursts, I stopped. I lay her on her back on the carpet, with her legs bent. From above, the view was spectacular. Her small breasts rose and fell quickly, the nipples almost violet. Her flat stomach was marked as if someone had drawn a shadow down the center. And between her legs, open and wet, that absurdly trimmed cunt.

I wasn’t going to fuck her that night. It wasn’t on my mind. Camila had asked me with her eyes, and I’d answered by tilting my chin to one side. She smiled, of course. What was coming next appealed to her even more.

I positioned myself over her face, straddling it, with my knees slightly bent, and offered her the slit of my ass. Camila had a disturbing talent for moving her tongue into uncomfortable places. She loved the body’s most hidden corner. She started slowly, the tip of her tongue making small circles around my hole. Then she lengthened it, pushed it in, playing between the folds as if she had all the time in the world.

I grabbed my cock with my hand and started stroking myself gently while she worked below. Every movement of her tongue sent a shiver up my spine to the nape of my neck. It was a sensation few women ever dared to give me. Camila, on the other hand, did it with a devotion that wasn’t asking for anything in return. She just licked, smiled, licked. And when she got tired, she pressed her lips against the skin and breathed right there, as if she were filling her lungs with me.

—I’m going to come —I warned her.

—Then come here.

I climbed off her face, pried her mouth open with two fingers, and shoved my cock in deep. Camila closed her eyes, opened her throat as much as she could, and let me empty myself completely inside her. When I pulled the tip out, her mouth was full. Still with her eyes closed, she gargled. Then she parted her lips, stuck out her tongue, and showed me the result. The cavity overflowed with semen mixed with saliva. A little white pool trembling between her teeth.

—Swallow it —I said, almost voicelessly.

But Camila had other plans.

She closed her mouth, sat up onto her heels, and instead of swallowing, spat all the semen into her left hand. She looked at me with those eyes that never lost their sparkle. And then, before I could react, she slapped her semen-covered hand against her own cheek and smeared the load over her face until she’d coated her forehead, cheekbones, and neck. She burst out laughing, hair disheveled and nipples trembling with every laugh.

—What face should I make? —she said, posing as if for a photo.

I didn’t know whether to laugh with her or stay silent. Sometimes she surprised me with outrageous things like that and left me speechless. Once, in a threesome with a friend of hers, she’d spat semen straight into the other girl’s face. The friend hadn’t taken it well at all, but Camila had cracked up laughing for a good while. My dear Camila was a little crazy. And at the same time, it was almost impossible not to want her. She did the dirtiest, most unthinkable things without ever losing her smile, and that made her into something I’m not sure I know how to describe.

***

A trail of semen slid down her chin and fell into her navel. A perfect drop. Camila looked at her belly, laughed again, and pointed at her navel with her finger, as if she were showing me a trophy.

—Look what you did, you filthy bastard.

—Look what you did —I replied.

She shrugged, scooped the semen from her navel with the tip of her index finger, and put it in her mouth, still laughing. Her eyes were shining. Her face was beaded with saliva and cum. Her hair fell over her forehead. And in the middle of all that mess she was still smiling, as if none of what had just happened was compromising, intimate, or, much less, dirty.

Camila was like that. For her, everything was a game. And when you learn to play with someone like that, everything else turns gray.

—Can I borrow the bathroom again? —she asked, standing up with the naturalness of someone who’s just had coffee and is going to put the cup away.

—It’s yours.

She passed by me, kissed my ear, and whispered:

—Next time you’ll actually fuck me, okay?

She left behind a warm imprint of her fingers on my chest.

When she came out of the bathroom, she was already dressed in normal clothes. Jeans, T-shirt, hair tied back. No one would have said she was the same girl who ten minutes earlier had turned my face into a painting. She grabbed her backpack, blew me a kiss from the doorway, and disappeared downstairs. I heard her laugh to herself on the landing. Then the entrance hall. Then nothing.

I stayed seated on the sofa, still naked, staring at the ceiling. I wasn’t able to move for a long while. I wasn’t thinking about exactly what had just happened. I was thinking about her smile, about how she always had it ready for the most unlikely moment. Camila never got serious. Not when we talked seriously, not when she got angry, not when I shoved my cock down her throat. Her face was designed to laugh at the whole world, me included.

And that, I suppose, was the real addiction. Not the sex. Not the mouth. Not even the absolute surrender with which she offered herself each time. It was that mischievous laugh that appeared at the least expected moments, the laugh of someone who has decided life doesn’t deserve to be taken seriously.

Camila was a confession I’d been keeping to myself for years. If anyone ever asks me which was the freest girl I ever knew, I’ll have to answer with her name and with that image of her, sitting on her heels, face covered in semen and smile intact.

Always smiling. Always smiley.