I Climbed a Gate at Dawn to Confess Everything to Him

All the way there, my head never stopped silently insulting me. He was always out of your reach. What were you hoping to get? Did you really think he was waiting for you, that he’d look at you differently just because you turned eighteen? The voice was mine, but it sounded as if it were coming from someone else, someone watching the situation from the outside with folded arms and the expression of someone who couldn’t believe such stupidity.

I’d been walking for more than an hour. The streets were damp and almost empty, lit only by the orange glow of the streetlamps. Every time I passed a dark alley, I quickened my pace—not because I was scared, but because if I stopped to think too much, I’d turn around and go home. And I couldn’t do that. Not yet.

The edge of my shoes had rubbed against my heels for so long that I could no longer tell leather from raw skin. My stockings had worn through at the heel and every step was a small, constant stab. I kept walking anyway. I told myself this was the last time. That after that night I’d close that chapter, put it in a box, and bury it so deep that not even I would be able to find it.

What I didn’t tell myself was that I had no concrete plan for when I got there.

***

Mr. Herrera lived in a gated community accessible through a guard booth. I knew because I had been there dozens of times over the years, always accompanying Valeria, always with a legitimate reason to enter. That night I had none.

The guard looked at me as if I’d come down from another planet.

—Which residence are you heading to, miss?

I stammered. I gave the wrong number, then corrected myself, which made everything worse. When the man turned to grab the phone, I took advantage of the second of distraction and moved away from the booth as fast as I could without running.

I stayed on the sidewalk across the street, staring at the fence from the darkness. The gate was tall, iron, with climbing plants growing up the sides. In my normal state, I wouldn’t even have considered the possibility. But that night I wasn’t in my normal state. Before leaving home I’d drunk something from my mother’s cabinet—I don’t know exactly what or how much, just enough for everything to move a little slower than it should have.

I used the plants as a ladder. I climbed with more clumsiness than usual, feeling the cold metal under my fingers, my dress catching at every turn. At the top there was a camera I hadn’t seen from below. It was pointed directly at me.

I heard the guard shouting before I decided what to do.

I jumped.

It wasn’t graceful. I landed on my side on a bush that turned out to be far less soft than I’d expected. Branches dug into my arms, something stabbed into my right thigh, and the dress tore in several places before I could get back up. I stood with a dull pain in my tailbone and ran.

Motion lights came on as I passed. Dogs somewhere were barking. I vaulted a low fence, barely avoided a pool, fell twice on the wet grass. I ran until I recognized the door of the house I was looking for, and then I pressed the bell nonstop, over and over, my breathing still not under control.

The guard caught up to me before they opened the door.

He was a big man, with huge hands and an expression that admitted no negotiation. He took my forearm with the firmness of someone who had been doing this job for years and had no intention of giving an inch. I pulled in the opposite direction with all my body weight, dragging my shoes over the patio cobblestones. I think I screamed something. I don’t remember exactly what.

Then the door opened.

First I saw the light from inside. Then I saw a woman. She was mature, well dressed, her hair pulled back, with an expression that shifted from surprise to disgust in less than two seconds. I looked at the house number. It was the right one. I froze.

He appeared behind her.

Mr. Herrera came forward, gently pushing the woman aside to see what was going on. When he saw me, something crossed his face. It wasn’t anger yet. It was that look of someone who has just realized the situation is much more complicated than it seemed.

***

The police came. I don’t know who called them. I remember the blue and red spinning lights reflected in the puddles on the pavement, and the walk to the patrol car as the longest, most humiliating march of my life. The neighbors watched from their doorways in pajamas. Some muttered. Everyone was looking at me.

Inside the vehicle, an officer questioned me with exhausted patience.

—Do you know that man?

I nodded.

—Were you coming to see his daughter?

I nodded again, even though that wasn’t entirely true.

—Do you know what time it is? Do you know the scare you gave the whole complex?

I didn’t answer. My eyes were fixed on Mr. Herrera, who was arguing with another officer a few meters away. He gestured with the tense calm of someone holding back much more than he was showing. Finally the officer yanked open the patrol car door.

—Get out. He’s taking responsibility for you. Get lost before I change my mind.

***

I didn’t dare look at him when I walked over. I felt his hand at the back of my neck, a firm pressure but not brutal, and that’s how he guided me past the neighbors who still hadn’t gone back inside. No one said anything. He didn’t either.

When he closed the door behind us, the woman was in the living room with her arms crossed. She looked me up and down with an expression that needed no words.

—Sit down —he told me, pointing at the sofa—. I’ll be right back.

They went to the kitchen. I sat down and twisted my own fingers until they cracked, my eyes fixed on the floor. I could hear them murmuring. Not the exact words, but the tone. She was furious. He was trying to keep his voice low.

—What is that girl doing here? Who is she? —I managed to hear.

—She’s Valeria’s friend.

—Your daughter’s friend? At this hour, alone, in that state?

—Things at her house are complicated, Claudia. I can’t just throw her out.

—Call her parents, Luis! It’s not your problem!

—Let me take care of her first.

—You’re going to put that girl before staying with me tonight? Seriously?

—Claudia...

—Whatever. You’re an idiot, but whatever.

The slam of the door echoed through the house. I didn’t move.

***

When he came back, he had a first-aid kit in his hand. He knelt in front of me without saying anything for a moment, studying me with that expression between exhaustion and concern I’d seen on his face countless times, but never directed at me like that.

—Take off your stockings —he said in a neutral tone, putting on latex gloves.

I obeyed. I had wounds on my legs I hadn’t noticed while running. He examined them calmly, cleaning each one with gauze and antiseptic, pressing the edges to make sure no dirt remained. His hands were careful, precise. I tried to look at the ceiling.

—Lie back on your stomach.

I lay down on the sofa. His hands moved slowly up my legs, applying patches, checking every cut. The touch was impossible to ignore. It wasn’t inappropriate, it was exactly what it looked like, but the simple contact of his fingers on my skin made it hard to keep my breathing steady.

—Are you going to tell me now what you were thinking? —he asked without looking up from his work.

I didn’t answer.

—Turn over.

I lay on my stomach. The wounds on the back were worse: deeper, closer to my thighs. His hands moved upward little by little, with clinical precision, without hurry or hesitation. When he reached the limit, he stopped.

—Do you have more up here?

I could clearly feel that I did. A stabbing pain in my right buttock that I had ignored since the fall. But something in me couldn’t say it out loud.

—I’m not sure.

—Touch yourself and tell me if it hurts.

I did. The stab was immediate. Even so, I took a while to answer.

—Let me check —he said.

I could barely breathe.

He lifted my dress with a naturalness that unsettled me even more than if he had hesitated. He checked the wound in silence, disinfected it, covered it. Then he lowered the dress and stood up.

—You fell badly. You’ve got a serious bruise on your lower back. —He paused—. What did you drink?

—A liquor from my mother. I don’t know how much.

He exhaled through his nose. It wasn’t exactly anger. It was something more like exhaustion mixed with the resignation of someone who has seen too much.

—What were you thinking, seriously? You walked kilometers. In the middle of the night. Alone. Through areas that aren’t safe even during the day. —He sat on the edge of the sofa—. You were very lucky nothing worse happened to you.

—I know.

—No, you don’t. Or you do know and didn’t care much. Which is worse.

I sat up slowly. The wounds burned, but it was manageable pain. What wasn’t manageable was what I felt in my chest every time he spoke.

—So what was so urgent? Why did you have to see me tonight?

Say it. Say it once and for all and be done with this fucking thing.

—I... —I started three times. All three times I stopped on the same syllable.

—What’s wrong with you? You’re shaking. Look at yourself. —He leaned a little closer—. Talk, please.

I closed my eyes. Everything was spinning around me in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol alone. I tried to organize the words in my head, choose some combination that sounded less ridiculous. None of them did.

—I have feelings for you, Mr. Herrera.

Silence.

I didn’t open my eyes. I didn’t want to see his expression. The silence was enough for me to know I had said exactly what I had said, without ambiguity, without any possibility of taking it back.

—In a... romantic sense? —he asked slowly, choosing each word carefully.

I opened my eyes and looked at him. I nodded.

—Girl, the mind at your age can play tricks on you. Sometimes we confuse affection with something else. Maybe you’re...

I shook my head before he finished. The tears were already falling on their own, without my having decided anything about it.

He let out a deep sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.

—It’s not possible, daughter.

—I know —I managed to say that time.

He rested his hand over mine. They stayed there, still, on my knee.

—There are people more suited to you. People your age, with your energy. You just need to see them.

I couldn’t take it anymore. The crying burst out without warning, one of those cries that have no remedy and no dignity. He brought his hand to the back of my neck and pulled me against his chest without saying anything. I hugged him. I pressed my forehead against his shirt and cried for a good while.

—Calm down —he whispered—. It’s all right. That’s how things have to be.

—Why? —I managed to say between sobs.

—Because I’m a very complicated person and you’re just starting out. You deserve something that isn’t difficult from the beginning.

I lay back with him on the sofa without either of us saying anything for a while. His arm was around my shoulders. His hand gave me soft pats on the back, as if I were something fragile he didn’t want to finish breaking.

—I love you —I said at last, my voice muffled, buried in his shirt.

—Don’t go on, please.

—I need to know if I’m crazy. If all of this was only in my head. —I looked up—. Tell me you didn’t open your door for me out of pity. That there’s something there, even if it’s very small. Tell me. I can’t take not knowing anymore.

A long pause. His eyes, which I knew so well after so many years, were watery.

—No —he said at last.

The silence was total. Even the crying stopped all at once.

—You’re not wrong.

I breathed in.

—I do feel something. I’ve felt it for a long time. —Another pause, longer—. But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s impossible.

I hugged him with all the strength I had left. I felt his heart pounding against my cheek, fast, betraying him far more than his words. I lifted my face and found his mouth before he could say anything else. He kissed me slowly at first, almost as if he were still trying to hold himself back, but when I parted my lips and ran my tongue over his lower lip, something inside him broke. He grabbed the back of my neck with his whole hand and drove his tongue into my mouth, hungry, with years of restraint built up, and I moaned softly into his mouth, unable to stop myself.

—Girl, don’t make me do this —he whispered against my lips. But he didn’t let go. On the contrary: his other hand was already sliding up my thigh, under my torn dress, until he gripped my ass with a force that made me arch against him.

—Please —I begged in his ear—. Just once. After that I’ll leave. I swear. Just once.

He stayed still for a second, breathing hard against my neck. I took advantage of it to slide my hand between us and find the bulge over his pants. He was rock hard. A hot piece of flesh throbbing under the fabric, so big it filled my palm. I squeezed it slowly, measuring it, and he let out a hoarse growl from deep in his chest, like an animal.

—This isn’t right —he said. But he was already pulling the straps of my dress down with both hands.

The dress fell to my waist. I wasn’t wearing a bra; I hadn’t put one on that night because the straps hurt the wounds on my back. He stared at my breasts as if memorizing them, his mouth slightly open. Then he lowered his head and sucked one nipple into his mouth, so hard I cried out. He nibbled it softly, then licked it in circles, then moved to the other and filled it with saliva. I buried my fingers in his hair and pressed his head against me, while the wetness between my legs was already running down to my thighs.

—You’re soaked —he murmured when he lowered his hand and slipped it under my panties. His fingers parted the lips of my pussy and found my swollen clit without much searching. He began rubbing it in slow circles, watching my face while I let him do everything—. You were like this from the moment you came in, weren’t you?

—Since before —I confessed, my voice muffled—. For years.

He pushed one finger inside. Then two. He opened me slowly, feeling how I gripped him, how I soaked him. He moved inside me with a doctor’s patience, as if he were examining something else, and I writhed on the sofa, digging my nails into my thighs so I wouldn’t scream too loudly. His thumb kept working my clit at the same time, and I felt my legs beginning to tense.

—No, not like that —I gasped, pushing his hand away—. With your mouth. Please. I want you to lick me.

He looked at me for a long second, as if weighing for the last time whether he was going to cross that line. Then he tore my panties on one side and spread my legs with both hands. He knelt on the floor between my thighs, placed his hands under my ass, and lifted my hips up to his face. When his tongue touched my pussy for the first time, I arched all the way up and let out a moan so long even I was frightened.

He ate me like he hadn’t eaten in months. He ran his whole tongue from bottom to clit, flat, slow, soaking me with saliva. Then he focused on the top and licked the little button with the tip, fast, punishing it with tight circles until I was almost crying. When he felt I was about to come, he went lower, put his tongue inside me and fucked me with it like it was a little cock, in and out, while his nose pressed against my clit. Then he went back up again. He kept bringing me to the edge over and over without letting me finish.

—Please —I whimpered, tugging his hair—. Please, Mr. Herrera, make me come. Please.

He lifted his face for a second. His mouth and chin were shining with my juices, his beard wet, his eyes dark in a way I had never seen before.

—Say it properly.

—Make me come. Eat my pussy until I cum on your face. Please.

He went back down. This time he latched onto my clit with his lips and sucked nonstop, circling his tongue at full speed while driving two fingers into my cunt and curving them, searching for the spot inside me. I closed my thighs around his head, pulled his hair with both hands, and came so hard my vision blurred. I screamed against the back of my own hand so it wouldn’t be heard through the whole house. The orgasm shook me in waves while he kept sucking, stretching it out, until I could barely stand the pleasure and had to push his head away to get him off me.

He stood in front of me, breathing hard, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. I was trembling, my legs still open, feeling my pussy throb after the orgasm. I reached for his belt without saying anything. I undid it with clumsy hands, pulled the zipper down, and when I took his cock out of his boxers I almost let out a gasp of pure shock. It was huge. Thick, hard, with a vein running from top to bottom and the tip already wet with pre-cum.

I knelt on the sofa and took it in both hands. I gave it a long lick from base to tip, following the vein with my tongue. He swallowed without saying anything. I sucked the whole head, tasting the salty pre-cum, and then took it into my mouth as deep as I could. It hit the back of my throat and I still had more length in my hand. I started sucking him slowly, cheeks hollowed, looking up at him as I moved up and down. I ran my tongue underneath, soaked his balls with saliva, covered his whole cock in drool until it dripped down my chin.

—Fuck —he growled, taking me by the hair—. Fuck, don’t do this to me, daughter.

He pulled his cock from my mouth with a gentle tug and turned me on the sofa. He put me on all fours against the backrest, ass lifted toward him. I felt my dress riding up to my waist, his hands spreading my cheeks to look at me all the way, and then the cold of his saliva when he spat on my pussy and smeared it around with the tip of his cock.

—Last time I ask —he said behind me, placing the head at my entrance—. Are you sure?

—Put it in already. Please. Fuck me.

He drove it into me in one push, all the way. I screamed into the sofa cushion to muffle the sound. He opened me so wide it hurt and felt good at the same time, that mix I had never felt before. He stayed inside a moment, breathing hard, letting me adjust to him, and then he started moving. He came almost all the way out and drove back in to the hilt, with long, controlled thrusts, each one making my breasts shake beneath me and the sofa creak.

—Look how tight you are around me —he panted, gripping my hips with both hands—. You’re made for this, daughter. You’re soaking. All mine.

—Yours —I repeated, biting the cushion—. All yours. Fuck me harder, please.

He obeyed. He started fucking me faster, rougher, each thrust slapping my ass with his thighs, making a wet, obscene sound that filled the whole room. He slipped one hand under me and found my clit again, rubbing it in time with his thrusts, and I felt my second orgasm coming almost at once. My legs shook, my cunt clenched around his cock, and I came moaning his name softly, squeezing him inside with spasms he endured with clenched teeth.

—Not yet, not yet —he murmured, more to himself than to me. He pulled out of me for a second, flipped me onto my back on the sofa, and spread my legs wide until they rested against my own chest. He pushed back in while looking me in the eyes.

Fucking like that was different. I could see his face, the way his jaw tightened every time he sank all the way in, the sheen of sweat on his forehead. He sucked my nipples while he thrust. He kissed my mouth and made me taste my own flavor mixed with his. He held my throat with one hand, not really squeezing, just to mark that he was the one in charge there, and I thanked him for it by lifting my hips against his, chasing him, fucking him back from below.

—Come inside me —I asked, without thinking twice—. Please. I want to feel it. Fill me up.

—Girl, I can’t...

—I’m on the pill. I swear. Come inside me, Mr. Herrera. I need to feel your hot come inside me. Please.

That was what finally broke him. He drove into me faster, harder, without rhythm now, just flesh against flesh. I felt his cock swell even more inside me, felt it start to throb. He dug his hands into my hips, sank all the way in, and stayed there, growling through clenched teeth as he filled me in spurts. I felt each hot, thick release, spat into me again and again, more than I would have thought a man could give. When he finished, he collapsed on top of me, sweating, his breathing out of control against my neck.

We stayed like that for a long while. He was still inside me, still hard. I had my legs around his waist, feeling his semen start to leak out of me, sticking between us. I stroked the back of his neck. I kissed his shoulder over the shirt he hadn’t even taken off.

When he finally separated from me, he sat on the edge of the sofa with his head in his hands. I saw how his cock, still shining with my juices and his release, lay heavy against his thigh. He didn’t say anything for a long time.

—Girl, don’t make me do this —he whispered again. His eyes could no longer hide anything.

I lifted my hand and stroked his cheek. He didn’t pull away.

—It’s impossible —he repeated, his voice completely broken.

I smiled. It was still impossible. But it didn’t hurt the same way anymore.