Confession: What My Stockings Provoked That Night

I’m going to tell you something I kept to myself for more than ten years, and that still makes me smile to myself when I think about it. I had sex in a car, one early morning, with the mayor’s son from my city. Yes, just like that. And the most absurd part of all is that it was a pair of stockings’ fault.

It happened one October night, around two in the morning, a long time ago now. Impossible to forget the date. And the story had a second chapter last year, when we ran into each other again after a very long time without seeing one another. Our bodies, which apparently have better memories than we do, recognized each other at once with a hug that lasted too long to be just politeness.

But let’s go back to the beginning.

It all started when I organized a benefit festival in the neighborhood. I put it together with the neighbors, with a little help from the city council, and it went so well — so many people, so much money raised for the soup kitchen — that suddenly everyone was asking who this Mara woman was, the one who had brought together eleven artists on the same stage on an ordinary Sunday. I, who until then had been just another face, suddenly had a name.

And among the people asking was him. Tobías. The mayor’s son. In the neighborhood they called him Pulga, because he was short and skinny, but he had one of those smiles that undo you before you even say a word.

The festival earned me an invitation to join his political group. He said he was interested in my commitment. I, who had been wanting to do something different, accepted. So I started getting involved, and at my first event as part of the group I was put in charge of entertaining the kids dressed as a TV host, one of those who sing and dance for little ones. A completely innocent role.

What wasn’t so innocent was a wardrobe detail.

It wasn’t the skirt. It wasn’t the top. It was the garter stockings. I swear they were the first thing I found in the drawer that morning, I grabbed them and put them on without thinking. And with every step in the routine, without me realizing it, the skirt kept riding up a little, and then a little more, until the lace was showing. My God. Me dancing for a bunch of kids while the parents looked at something else.

When did I notice? When the show ended and Tobías came up to me, with a crooked smile, and said in my ear, low:

—More than entertaining the kids, you entertained the dads.

I had no idea what to answer. He left me frozen. And he walked off as if nothing had happened, hands in his pockets, whistling. That was the first round.

The second came at the next event. I repeated the same routine, and since that time I was wearing a crossbody bag, he stopped me as I passed and threw out another one of his compliments:

—They say women who use small purses have big asses.

Again I was speechless. But inside, I was laughing. And I liked it. I’m not going to deny it.

Things escalated in September. The group organized a training session for the activists and, to coordinate it, someone made a WhatsApp group where we were all in it. Tobías included. There everyone was tossing out ideas; I suggested organizing a weekend campout, and he replied in the group, in front of everyone:

—Good idea about the campout, Mara. You organize it.

There was a weird silence in the chat. The flirting was already so obvious it was uncomfortable, and he didn’t seem to care even a little.

A minute later he wrote to me privately:

—But with one condition. Bring the white stockings.

And there, neither slow nor lazy, I played along:

—Okay, sure. I’ll bring them. —And I added—: Looks like you really liked them.

—A lot —he replied.

That word, stretched out like that, was the spark. Suddenly the conversation took on another color and everything got away from us. We started tossing out innuendo, then not-so-subtle innuendo, until the innuendo turned into photos. Well, my photos, mostly. I was horny and emboldened, and I sent him one I shouldn’t have sent: on my knees in front of the mirror, in a thong, with two fingers just barely parting the fabric so my shaved cunt could be seen.

—Mmm —he answered when he opened it—. I’d eat you whole. I’d lick you until you begged me to stop.

My heart was pounding against my ribs. I texted back without thinking:

—Where are you?

—At the group’s office, three blocks from my house. Why?

—Come. Let’s meet up.

—Hell yeah! Wait for me. I’m leaving now.

Since he already knew my address from the festival, it didn’t take long. He came flying. I waited for him on the sidewalk, nervous and cracking up, wearing tight light-blue shorts and a black tank top with no bra that showed everything. It was hot. Or at least that’s what I told myself to justify the clothes.

***

He stopped the car in front of my house and rolled down the window. I got in, he gave me a quick kiss on the lips, just a brush, and pulled away.

—Hi. Everything okay? —he said, pretending to be calm when he wasn’t.

—Yeah, yeah —I said, and I was anything but calm.

—So where are we going?

A hotel was out of the question for obvious reasons. He was who he was, and in a small town everything gets around. So I told him to turn around the corner, that there was a half-dark square next to the monument, and that at that hour, almost two in the morning, there wouldn’t be a soul in the street.

While he was driving, he rested his hand on my thigh and slowly slid it higher, unhurried, breathing hard. He slipped his fingers under my shorts, found the fabric of my panties already wet, and laughed under his breath.

—Look at you, slut —he said, not taking his eyes off the wheel—. You’re soaked.

—Shut up and drive —I shot back, biting my lip, pressing my legs against his hand so he wouldn’t take it away.

I watched the sleeping houses through the window and thought I was about to do something crazy. And the truth is I didn’t want to stop it. His fingers kept moving between my legs, shifting my panties to the side, slowly entering my wet cunt as the car turned into the dark street by the square. He drove two fingers deep into me and made a strange little motion with his wrist that tore a gasp out of me.

He parked under a tree, far from the square’s only light. He turned off the engine. For a second we both stayed still, listening to the crickets and our own breathing. Then he leaned in and we kissed. And that kiss had nothing timid about it: tongue, hands, his mouth sliding down my neck, my fingers tangled in his hair.

He bit my lip just as his hand slipped under my tank top and squeezed one breast hard, searching for my nipple with his fingers, pinching it until it hardened like a little stone. A sound escaped me that I didn’t even recognize as my own, a rough, animal groan.

—Take off that tank top —he ordered.

I yanked it off over my head and ended up with my tits bare inside the car. He lunged at them and started sucking them one by one, hungry, barely biting me, tugging on my nipples with his teeth while I shoved his head against my chest. I stroked the back of his neck, told him yes, harder, not to stop.

—Let’s get in back —he said, his voice rough, when there was no longer enough room for his body between the wheel and me.

We scrambled into the back seats like two teenagers, banging our knees, laughing under our breath. He started unbuckling his belt and pulled his pants and briefs down to his ankles in one yank. For being Pulga, he wasn’t small at all. His cock was standing up against his stomach, thick, the tip already shining with how wet it was. Strong little bastard, I thought, and almost laughed out loud.

—What are you looking at? —he said, grabbing it in his hand and shaking it gently in front of my face—. Come on, come suck me. It’s all yours.

He didn’t have to ask me twice. I leaned over him, settled sideways on the seat, and took it in my hand first, slowly, looking at his face while I stroked it from top to bottom. It was thick, hot, pulsing in my palm. I ran my tongue over the whole length, from his balls to the tip, tasting the salty flavor of his glans before taking it into my mouth. I lowered my head and swallowed it whole in one go, to the hilt, until I felt it touch my throat.

—Fuck —he groaned, grabbing my hair with both hands.

I loved hearing him. Every time I had him all the way in my mouth, he let out a groan from very deep inside, gripped the seat with his fingers and threw his head back against the window. I started sucking him faster and faster, lips tight around the shaft, moving my head up and down, helping with my hand at the base and massaging his balls with the other. I licked the tip, made circles, swallowed him again to the root. A string of saliva hung from my chin.

—Like that, like that, don’t stop —he whispered, moving my head at the pace he wanted.

Meanwhile his free hand slipped in between my legs from behind, pushed aside the fabric of my shorts and panties, and started touching my cunt again. He slid two fingers in, then three, pumping them hard inside me while I kept sucking him. Every thrust of his fingers made me moan with his cock in my mouth, and that moan vibrated against his glans and made him twitch. I was already wet, dripping onto his hand, and feeling him open me up like that with his fingers set me on fire.

—Come here —he begged, tugging my hair upward—. Come on, get on top. I can’t take it anymore.

He really couldn’t. It showed. His cock was rock hard, red, throbbing against his stomach. Neither of us had brought anything, and when I told him that, he said it didn’t matter, to be careful, that he’d pull out before finishing. A textbook case of recklessness, I know. But by then we had already crossed every possible line and all I wanted was to feel that dick inside me with nothing in between.

I pulled down my shorts and panties, kicked them onto the floor of the car, and climbed on top of him with my stockings still on. I sat on him from behind, braced my hands on the passenger seat to steady myself, and lowered myself slowly, finding him with my hand. The tip found my entrance and I stopped for a second, feeling it press against me, wide, hot. I started lowering myself little by little, millimeter by millimeter. I let out my breath in a rush when the first half went in.

—Oh, God —I moaned—. You’re huge, you son of a bitch.

—Lower, lower, all the way —he begged, grabbing my waist, pulling me down—. Take it all, come on.

I finally sank down in one push and stayed still for a second, trembling, feeling him throbbing deep inside. He filled me completely. Then I started moving forward and back, slowly at first, while he held my hips and kissed my back, bit my shoulder. I stroked my breasts, braced my hands on the low roof of the car, searched for the angle, moved my hips in circles to feel him slamming against me from every side inside.

—Ride me, slut, ride me good —he told me in my ear, one hand climbing up to grab a breast and the other dropping down to my clit, rubbing it with two fingers while I rose and fell on his cock.

The window fogged up. I bounced on him faster and faster, the wet sound of my soaked cunt swallowing his cock whole filling the car, mixed with my moans and the curses he muttered through his teeth. Outside, the whole world was asleep and the two of us were somewhere else, in a sticky, hot universe that smelled like sex and sweat.

—Turn around, I want to see your face —he asked suddenly.

I got up with my legs shaking, turned as best I could in the tight space of the car, and sat back down on top, now facing him. I wrapped my arms around his neck, found his mouth, and lowered myself onto his cock again. Now I could see his eyes while I had him inside me, see how they narrowed every time I drove my hips forward. I bit his lower lip. He grabbed my ass with both hands and started moving me himself, lifting me up and down to his rhythm, driving up into me every time I came down.

—You drive me crazy —he panted—. You’ve had me crazy since the first day, since the fucking stockings, you know that?

—Fuck me —I begged him—. Fuck me good, come on.

He got serious, squeezed my ass harder, and started driving into me with all the force he could manage from below, pounding me, making me bounce on him in jolts. I had to bite my arm to keep from screaming. My clit was knocking against his bone with every thrust, and I felt one of those orgasms coming on that can’t be stopped, the kind that start in your feet and rise in waves. I came all over him with my mouth open against his shoulder, shaking all over, clamping down on his cock inside me in spasms I couldn’t control.

—Slut, like that, like that, keep going, keep going —I moaned as I came.

The pace sped up even more. I heard him say my name in broken breaths, felt his fingers digging into the skin of my ass. He was about to finish inside me, I could feel his cock swell and throb against the walls of my cunt, but he managed to lift me just in time. He took me off him, turned me with a shove so I was kneeling on the seat, and jerked himself off in a hurry behind me. He came over my ass and lower back with a long groan that made the hair on my neck stand up, hot streams of semen spilling onto my skin, one after another, while he kept squeezing his cock until the last drop.

—Holy fuck —he huffed, collapsing against the backrest.

We stayed like that for a while, both of us panting, sticky, saying nothing. Me with my face pressed against the fogged-up window and my ass full of his cum, him sprawled in the seat with his cock still hard, dripping into his hand. Then he reached out, found a roll of paper towels on the car floor —who knows why it was there — and we cleaned ourselves up as best we could, cracking up at how ridiculous the whole thing was.

—You okay? —he asked, still breathless, wiping my back with paper.

—Yeah, yeah —I said. And it was true, I had enjoyed myself like I rarely ever have. Even if I still hadn’t quite processed it inside.

***

We went home in silence, staring at the empty street, both of us pretending we were out of our minds about what had just happened. When we got to my door I got out, but before that he gave me one last quick kiss, with a smile drawn across his face.

—See you —he said. And he left.

I went inside and started pacing back and forth across the living room, unable to believe it. What was that? Did it really happen? With him? Did he choose me? I asked myself in a whisper, laughing alone like an idiot. It took me a long time to fall asleep. It took me days, really, to come down from that absurd cloud.

Then life went on, as it always does. I left activism a while later, moved to another neighborhood, changed jobs. I lost track of Tobías. Every so often I’d read his name in some local news item — he had gotten fully into politics by then — and the memory of that morning would come back to me, warm, like a secret only I kept.

Until last year.

It was at a party event, one I went back to almost by chance, dragged there by a friend. And there he was. Pulga. Now the mayor of my city, in a suit, surrounded by people, much older but with the same crooked smile as always. The moment he saw me in the crowd, he came straight over. He wouldn’t stop looking at me, hugging me, squeezing my hands while he kept saying he was happy, so happy, to see me again.

—A lot —he said. And I knew exactly what he meant.

I gave him back the smile with all the calm I could fake. Outside, it was the most normal greeting in the world, two old acquaintances meeting again. Inside, I was melting just like that early morning, more than ten years ago, in the back seat of his car.

Because, as everyone knows: where there was fire, there’s always some embers left.