I Confess What I Imagine When That Song Plays

I never told anyone, and that’s why I’m writing it here, where nobody knows me. It happens to me with music. Some random song comes on — one the rest hum along to without thinking — and I stop listening to the lyrics. The melody gets under my skin and starts putting together another story, a version nobody ever sang. I strip them naked from the inside, the songs. I get them dirty in my head. And there are three that always come back, as if they were waiting for me. These are them.

***

The first one gets me every time one of those sad cab-driver ballads starts playing. Then I’m the one driving, at night, in an old car that smells of gas and cold cigarettes. The city slides past the window like a woman who won’t look at me. I’ve gone hours without picking up a single fare and the tank is almost empty, just like my pocket.

On a badly lit corner I spot her: a flash of sequins under the streetlamp. A woman in high heels, with a short dress clinging to her body and makeup smeared by whatever she’s been crying over. I brake hard. She gets in the back with a slow movement, crossing her legs, and expensive perfume fills the whole car.

—Take me far away —she says in a hoarse voice—. Anywhere, but away from here.

I pull off. In the mirror I can see her face, her red eyes, her tight mouth. I ask her what happened and she blurts it all out at once: some rich guy who treated her like an object, used her, and left her waiting.

—He thinks he owns the world just because he’s got money —she spits—. And me, like an idiot, I spread my legs and believed him.

—He wasn’t worth it —I tell her, looking at her in the mirror—. And if you want to get even, I’ll help you.

She smiles for the first time. It’s a dangerous smile, the kind that runs down your spine. Her name is Malena, she tells me, though I know that in the fantasy I make it up myself. I turn onto a dark street she points out, and when I look back in the mirror, I see she’s pulled her skirt up slowly, showing me she’s not wearing panties. Her shaved pussy gleams faintly under the light of a traffic signal.

—And what does a cabdriver like you do, seducing the night? —she asks, amused, while rubbing herself with two fingers between her legs, never taking her eyes off me in the mirror.

I don’t answer. My cock gets hard against my pants and I grip the wheel. I speed to her house, one of those mansions with high gates and a perfect garden, and I follow her inside as if a magnet were dragging me. She pulls out a bottle, we drink straight from the neck, the liquor burning my throat.

—Show me how a woman like that gets revenge —I tell her, moving closer.

She laughs. She slips the straps of her dress down and the fabric falls to the floor in one yank. She’s left bare-chested, small firm tits, nipples already hard. I kiss her furiously, against the wall at first, biting her lip until it bleeds a little. I shove my tongue deep into her mouth while I grab one breast and twist her nipple between my fingers. She moans into my mouth and reaches for my fly, pulls it down, yanks my cock out and squeezes it in her fist.

—Look at what you’ve got down there —she pants—. That son of a bitch had half of it.

She drops to her knees right there, on the expensive tile of the foyer, and takes my cock all the way into her mouth in one go. She sucks me with rage, both hands on my ass, swallowing me until she’s choking. She drools all over my balls, licks them one by one, then comes back up slowly, sucking me, looking me in the eye with mascara smeared down to her cheekbones. I grab her head and push her to the back of her throat, and she lets me, makes guttural sounds, chokes on my cock and doesn’t let go.

I lift her by the hair before I come in her mouth and throw her onto the living-room rug. I rip her legs open and go down on her. I lick her pussy all over, from bottom to top, long and slow, tasting her juices. I shove my tongue inside her, move it in circles, then catch her clit between my lips and suck it. She arches her back and digs her heels into my back, yanks my hair, presses my face harder against her cunt.

—Lick me, lick me all over, don’t stop, you motherfucker —she begs, screaming.

I slide two fingers inside her while I keep working her clit with my tongue. I curl my fingers inside, find the spot that makes her scream the loudest, and when I hit it she starts trembling all over. She comes in my mouth with a howl, soaking my face, and I don’t let go until the last spasm passes.

When she can’t take it anymore, she turns me over and climbs on top. She takes my cock in one thrust and screams like it hurts and feels good at the same time. She rides me with her eyes closed, hands planted on my chest, going faster and faster, her tits bouncing, her soaked pussy making wet sounds every time she slams down to the root. I grab her hips and help her move, shove up into her hard, and she bites her lip and digs her nails into me until I bleed.

—You’re splitting me open, for fuck’s sake, you’re splitting me open —she says through clenched teeth—. Like that, harder, break me.

She trembles all over and collapses on top of me with a long cry. I don’t let her go. I turn her over again, put her on all fours on the expensive rug, lift her hips and shove it in her from behind in one blow. I grab her hair and pull so she arches her back. I fuck her like that, like a dog, my cock driving in to the balls, my thighs slapping against her ass. I smack one cheek and it leaves a red mark, and she asks for another.

—Hit me, treat me like he treated me, but fuck me like he never knew how.

She bites her forearm so she won’t wake the whole block. I slide a thumb into her ass while I keep fucking her, and she starts trembling again, cumming for the second time and clenching my cock inside her like a fist. I can’t take it anymore. I pull out, turn her face-up and come over her tits and neck in long spurts, one after another. She runs a finger through the semen and brings it to her mouth, looking at me.

We finish together, sweaty, stuck to the expensive rug of a guy neither of us knows.

—You’re not alone —I tell her afterward, getting my breath back—. I suffer in my neighborhood, you suffer in your mansion, but the pain is the same.

In the version I invent, we go afterward to an elegant bar so her ex can see her. And there, in a corner, is the rich guy with his arm around another humble woman. When I get closer, my blood runs cold: the other woman is mine. The city is small and fate is bullshit. Malena understands everything with one look and, instead of making a scene, she smiles at me wickedly.

—Now we play them the same game —she whispers to me.

And the song ends, and I’m just another guy on the bus again, looking out the window as if nothing had happened.

***

The second one hits me with a romantic cumbia, one of those they blast from cars in the neighborhood. Then I’m a guy coming home smelling of grease from the shop after a day with no work. I walked twenty blocks under the sun so I wouldn’t have to spend money on the bus, and I get there with my shirt stuck to my back.

She’s in the kitchen, turned away, stirring something on the burner. I tell her I got laid off again, that’s why I’m late and had to walk. I brace for the reproach, but when she turns around her eyes are a little red and her face is relieved.

—I thought it was something else —she says, coming closer—. I thought there was another woman. For it just to be work almost gives me peace.

In my head her name is Lucía. Her hair is loose, she’s wearing a white T-shirt with no bra underneath, her nipples showing through the fabric, and she presses herself against me without caring that I’m dirty.

—I don’t care about money —she murmurs against my chest—. I’ve got you, and this cock —she grabs it over my pants— is enough for me. I like that you’re the way you are.

That line always undoes me. I lift her in my arms and she wraps her legs around my waist. I carry her to the old couch, which creaks, and yank her shirt off. She’s got big white tits, with pink nipples standing up. I suck one and then the other, first slowly and then hungrily, biting her nipples until she lets out little cries. She fumbles with my belt, unfastens it, pulls my pants and underwear down together, and grabs my cock with both hands.

—Come here —she says, and gets down from the couch, kneels between my legs and takes my cock into her mouth. She sucks me slowly, her tongue wrapping around the tip, sliding down the shaft, back up, spitting to lubricate me. She looks up at me while she sucks me, with those eyes that are telling me in my ear, without speaking, that even if the sky falls I’ll never be alone. She swallows me to the throat, chokes a little, breathes through her nose and keeps going. She’s got my balls in one hand, squeezing them gently, then she licks them too, one by one, never stopping the other hand from stroking my cock.

When I’m just about to come in her mouth, I lift her up, rip off her little house pants and yank down her panties. I throw her onto the couch, spread her legs and bury my face between her thighs. Her cunt is dripping. I lick her all over, lapping at her lips, pushing my tongue inside, going up to her clit and back down again. I shove my tongue in as far as I can, drive it in like a cock, and she yanks my hair and arches her back against the couch.

—Fuck me now, please, I can’t take it anymore —she begs.

I climb on top of her and sink in at once, all the way in, and she screams my name with her nails in my back. Every thrust makes the couch creak against the wall, and neither of us cares. I fuck her hard, with three days of want stored up, feeling her squeeze my cock with her hot, soaked cunt.

—Harder —she asks, hoarse—. I want to feel you all the way in, I want you to split me open.

I turn her over, put her on her knees on the couch and take her by the hips. I go in in one hard thrust and she screams into the backrest. I slap one cheek and she lets out a filthy moan, asking for another. I give her another, and another, until both cheeks are red. I keep at it, setting the rhythm, pulling almost all the way out and then burying myself to the balls again. I grab her tits from underneath, squeeze them, twist her nipples while I keep fucking her from behind.

—Suck my fingers —I tell her, and I stick two in her mouth. She sucks them like they were my cock, moaning around them.

I pull them out, wet, and stroke her asshole. She jerks, pushes back, asking for more. I slide one finger in slowly, and she clenches all over, starts trembling, and comes screaming into the couch, her cunt squeezing my cock in spasms that almost make me finish. I hold on a little longer, thrusting harder and harder, until I feel her cum a second time, and then I do it: I pull out and finish over her back and ass, in thick streams that run down the hollow of her back to the cleft of her ass.

She stays sprawled there, breathing hard, my semen shining on her skin. I help her lie on her side and curl up behind her, still hard, rubbing myself against her ass.

—Never leave me —she says—. No matter what happens.

—Even if there isn’t a cent —I answer—, this cock is yours and this pussy is mine, and that’s never going anywhere.

She laughs softly and rubs back against me, feeling me hard again. Outside, the cumbia keeps playing from some car. And I believe her. In the fantasy, I always believe her.

***

The third is the one I talk about least, because in that one I’m not there. I’m only the one watching. It happens to me with one of those sweet songs about comforting a crying friend. And then I see two women in an apartment, at night.

One is falling apart on the couch, eyes swollen. Her boyfriend left her for someone else and she feels like the world came crashing down on her. The other, her best friend —in my head her name is Ana— looks at her from the doorway, not knowing what to do. Then she comes over, sits beside her, and hugs her.

—I don’t want to see you like this —she says—. If you’re sad, don’t keep it in.

The embrace lasts longer than it should. Something shifts in the air. Ana feels the warmth of the other woman’s body against hers, the breasts pressing against her own, the curves she’s always admired out of the corner of her eye, and a tingle rises between her legs that she wasn’t expecting. She strokes her back slowly, down to the waist, keeps going down to the curve of her ass.

The friend lifts her face, lips trembling, and looks at her in a new way. She doesn’t pull away. Ana cups her cheek and kisses her, first softly, then with her mouth open, slipping in her tongue, and the other answers with a surprised moan, tangling her fingers in Ana’s hair.

—I know how to get this sadness out of you —Ana whispers—. Let me show you.

She opens her blouse button by button and slides her bra down. She kisses her tits without hurrying, sucking one nipple and then the other, nibbling until they’re hard and red, leaving warm marks with her mouth all over her chest, while the other arches her back and begs her in a broken voice not to stop. She moves her mouth down her stomach, unfastens her pants, pulls them off along with her panties, and spreads her legs on the couch.

She finds her soaked, her pussy swollen and shining. Ana licks her lips, blows on her just a little and the other woman trembles. Then she lowers her face and tastes her slowly, with a flat tongue, one long lick from bottom to top. She repeats it, deeper and deeper each time, licking her lips, sliding her tongue inside, going up to the clit and working it in circles. The friend stops thinking about the one who left her. She grips the couch, moves her hips against Ana’s face, pants out things she can’t quite finish saying, asks for more, asks for everything.

Ana slips two fingers inside her and keeps sucking her clit. She curls them inside, moves them fast, and with her other hand grabs one breast and pinches the nipple. The friend twists in place, her legs opening wider, lifting herself into Ana’s mouth.

—Sorrows come and go —Ana murmurs between licks—. You’ll laugh again, just wait. You’re going to come so hard you’ll forget the son of a bitch’s name.

The friend comes with a cry, trembling all over, arching on the couch, soaking Ana’s face. Before she can catch her breath, she’s already pulling Ana toward her, tearing off her clothes, wanting to give back the same thing. She strips Ana’s tits and sucks them hungrily, bites them, and goes down her stomach too until she’s between her legs.

I see them roll together over the bed, tangled up, laughing between moans. They get into scissors, their pussies pressing against each other, moving their hips, searching for clit with clit. They arrange themselves the other way around, one on top of the other, and suck each other at the same time, holding each other’s asses, moaning against the other’s flesh. Taking turns, without haste and without guilt, they finger each other, lick each other’s nipples, kiss with their mouths full of the other’s taste. They both come again, almost together, one muffled in the other’s cunt, until they’re exhausted and wrapped in each other’s arms, shining with sweat, skin sticky.

—I want to see you happy again —Ana says in the dark, running a finger over the nipple still hard.

And I, who’m only the one listening to the song, turn the radio off before it ends. Because I know that if I keep going, I’ll stay awake all night, with my cock in my hand.

***

That’s what I confess. I don’t do drugs, I don’t really cheat on anyone, I don’t do anything I’d have to hide from the law. But every time a song comes on in the street, in the supermarket, in someone else’s taxi, someone sees my calm face and has no idea about the movie I’m watching inside my head. Now you do. And the next time you hear an old ballad, maybe the same thing will happen to you, and you won’t tell anyone. Just like me.