I Never Confessed What I Did in the Cinema That Night

I’m going to tell it exactly as it happened, without embellishment, because I’ve been keeping it to myself for too long and I think writing it is the only way to let it out. I never told anyone. Not my partner at the time, not my friends, not the therapist I saw for an entire year. But it happened, and there are still nights when I remember it and my breath catches as if I were back there again, my cunt wet and the semen from two strangers dripping down my thighs.

It was a winter Tuesday. I was in my early twenties and worked at an agency that left me empty inside. That night I’d had a stupid fight with Damián, my boyfriend, over something I barely even remember now, and instead of going home I went into the first cinema I found open. One of those old ones, of which few remain, with worn velvet seats and a smell of damp that clings to your clothes.

The last screening had already started. I bought a ticket without even looking at what was playing. I wanted darkness and silence, nothing more.

The auditorium was practically empty. I counted three people, maybe four, scattered in the front rows. I went all the way to the back, to the last row, and sank down in the middle. I crossed my legs over the armrest, closed my eyes, and let the screen wash my head clean.

I don’t know when they arrived.

***

When I opened my eyes, two men had sat in the same row as me. One to my right, leaving a seat between us; the other a little farther along, to the left. I hadn’t heard them come in. The red light from the emergency exits tinted them with an odd, unreal color, and for a second I thought I was dreaming.

The one on the right looked at me. Not brazenly, but with a calm that disarmed me more than any pick-up line could have. I should have stood up. I should have changed seats, gone downstairs, done any of the thousand sensible things one does. I did none of them.

“It’s empty in here,” he said softly, almost a whisper, as if he didn’t want to break something.

“I like it that way,” I answered. And I noticed my voice came out rougher than I expected.

What are you doing? I asked myself. What the hell are you doing.

I didn’t move. That was my whole answer, and the two of them understood it.

The one on the right moved over into the seat next to me. He smelled clean, of wood and of something warm underneath. He rested his arm on the shared armrest and, very slowly, let the back of his hand brush mine. Just that. A touch. And I, who that same afternoon had been arguing over nothing, felt all my anger turn at once into a thick heat between my legs, into a ridiculous urge for that man I didn’t know to slip his hand under my skirt.

***

The fingers of the one on the left were the first to dare properly. He reached my ankle and began to climb my calf with a slowness that was almost torture. Every centimeter stole a little more air from me. I dug my nails into the forearm of the man beside me, not to stop him, but to hold on to something.

The one on the right tilted his head and brushed his lips over the curve of my neck, right where the shoulder begins. His breath was warm and the air in the auditorium was cold, and that contrast raised every hair on my skin. He traced down my collarbone to the edge of my neckline without hurry, as if we had the whole night. And we did.

I turned my face and kissed him. Me. I was the one who took that step, and I want to make that clear because for years I tried to convince myself I’d just let things happen, that it had been them. No. I was the one who sought his mouth first. A slow, deep kiss, the kind you feel in the back of your neck, his tongue shoved all the way in and his teeth biting my lower lip when I pulled away to breathe.

Meanwhile, the other man’s hand had reached the inner part of my thigh. My skirt had ridden up on its own and he traced circles with his thumb over the thin fabric of my panties, not going in yet, waiting. I could feel the wetness seeping through the cotton and soaking his fingers, and he could feel it too, because he let out a very low laugh against my knee. He slid the fabric aside with two fingers and finally touched me, direct, skin against skin, gliding over lips that were already dripping. A sound escaped my throat and disappeared inside the first man’s kiss.

“You’re soaked,” the one below murmured, and he slid his middle finger inside me to the knuckle, pulled it out shining, and pushed it back in, this time with two fingers.

***

After that I stopped thinking.

My hands no longer knew who they belonged to. One tangled in the hair of the man on the right; the other slid down the chest of the one on the left, found the buckle of his belt, and fumbled it open. I pulled down his zipper and slipped my hand inside. He was hard, thick, throbbing against my palm. I freed him from his pants and began to peel the skin back slowly, feeling a thread of moisture bead at the tip. He gave a muffled groan and thrust into my hand. They moved as if they’d been doing this for years, as if I were a conversation they already knew by heart.

One man let my strap slide off my shoulder, yanked my bra down, and his mouth followed at once, warm, wet, closing over my nipple until he sucked hard, biting it just when I thought he was going to let go. The other finally moved the fabric that was in his way and started rubbing my clit in tight circles, with a precision that arched my back against the seat. Two fingers went in and out in the same rhythm, curling inside until they found a spot that made me clamp my thighs around his wrist.

I was panting. I tried to keep it quiet, afraid of the four silhouettes in the front rows, but fear was part of it all, it was fuel. Thinking that at any moment someone might turn around, that we were in the dark but not invisible, that maybe one of them was already hearing us and jerking off in his seat while listening to me being finger-fucked, got me in a way I hadn’t known existed inside me.

“Slower,” I begged, and they both ignored me on purpose, and I liked that even more.

***

The man on the right lifted me effortlessly and sat me astride him. My skirt was now just a wrinkled piece of cloth at my waist, useless. My panties had ended up hanging from one ankle. The other knelt on the floor, between the seats in front, and opened my thighs with both hands, so wide I felt the cold of the theater slam into my swollen cunt.

The first brush of his tongue tore a moan from me so long it reverberated through the whole room like an echo. I was frightened by my own sound. He didn’t stop: he pressed his whole mouth to me, sucked, licked from bottom to top, lingered on my clit, rolling it between his lips, and went back down to slide his tongue into me. Above me, the other man held my nape and kissed me hungrily, swallowing everything I couldn’t keep quiet, while with his other hand he pinched my nipples one after the other.

I had pulled his cock out and it was trapped between us, sliding against my belly every time he pushed his hips upward. I lowered my head and spat on it before wrapping my hand around it and starting to stroke him with a clenched fist, squeezing hard, twisting my wrist at the tip the way I liked to be licked. He threw his head back and whispered something I didn’t understand, some filthy thing that slipped out and made me squeeze my thighs tighter around the other man’s face.

My hips began moving on their own, searching for more. The man below obeyed before I even said anything: his tongue grew faster, two fingers slid into me with a slowness that made me shiver from head to toe. Every movement matched the other exactly, as if they had silently agreed on it.

I broke for the first time there, clenching around his head with my thighs, stifling my cry against the mouth in front of me. It was so intense that my vision blurred and I felt myself coming on the stranger’s tongue, soaking his chin. And still, neither of them gave me a break. The one below kept licking while I trembled, bringing on a second spasm almost on top of the first, until I had to push against his forehead because I couldn’t take any more.

***

I was still shaking when they turned me around. I ended up on my knees on the seat, gripping the backrest, my clothes definitely forgotten somewhere on the sticky floor. My ass lifted, my back arched, my cunt open and dripping for whoever was behind me. The one on the left took his place there, opened his pants, and rubbed the head of his cock up and down between my lips, making sure it was wet, giving me two or three soft taps with his shaft on my clit that made me moan with pure impatience.

“Yes,” I said when he pressed it to the entrance again. One word, and he went in.

He shoved it all the way in with one thrust, to the hilt, and the pleasure was so sudden my arms gave way and I fell forward against the chest of the other man, who was already there, waiting, his cock hard and throbbing in front of my face, guiding my mouth toward him. I took him without hesitation. I swallowed him deep, taking him down to the throat, lips tight around his shaft, and he let out a growl and grabbed my hair to set the rhythm. Every thrust from behind drove me farther forward, and that force was what buried the cock in front in my mouth. They fucked me at the same time, from both sides, with me doing nothing more than letting it happen.

I moaned around him every time the thrust from behind tore a gasp from me, and the sound came out muffled, guttural, like the purr of an animal. Saliva dripped down my chin, staining my hanging breasts, and I didn’t care. The three of us found a rhythm that didn’t seem like ours, as if it belonged to someone else, someone wiser and more lost.

The sounds were obscene and, at that moment, perfect: skin against skin, the wet slap of my cunt each time the cock slid out and back in, my muffled cries around the one in my mouth, the two men’s hoarse grunts on the edge of control. The air smelled of sweat, sex, semen about to burst. I was not myself. I was only a body opened between two men, a hole at either end, and there was nothing else in the world more urgent than that.

***

When the man behind me sped up, his fingers dug into my hip so hard they left marks I would discover the next day, I felt the second orgasm rise like a wave that couldn’t be stopped. I clenched around him, squeezing every muscle around his cock, and he followed almost at once, driving in to the hilt with a guttural sound I still remember, coming inside me in hot spurts I felt thud deep within. He stayed there a few seconds, still, breathing against my back, until he pulled out slowly and a thick mix of him and me slid down the inner side of my thigh.

I hadn’t finished shaking when the other man turned me with a gentleness that contrasted with everything that had come before and sat me back down on him, now face to face. He took his cock in one hand and opened me with the other, and filled me in one go, slowly, never taking his eyes off mine. I felt him sliding in through what the other had left inside, and he felt it too, because he closed his eyes for a moment and muttered a tight “fuck” between his teeth. And that, that look when he opened them again, was the most intimate thing of the whole night. More than anything else.

I began moving on my own, rising and lowering myself over him, my hands braced on his chest to gain momentum. He grabbed my ass with both hands, spreading me, guiding me, letting a wet finger slip into a place no one had entered that night yet. I cried out softly against his mouth when he did, and he took that as permission to push in deeper. We kissed dirty, desperate, with tongue and teeth, while I fucked myself on his cock and felt the third orgasm join what remained of the second. When he burst, I stayed pressed to him, trembling all over, and he came inside a few seconds later, gripping me so hard I heard the seat creak. The three of us ended up wrecked, sweaty, breathing as if we’d run for miles, tangled in that last row of a cinema the world had forgotten.

***

There were no names. I didn’t ask for them, and I didn’t give mine. When the dim lights came on, I gathered my clothes with shaking hands, straightened myself up as best I could, stuffed my soaked panties into my bag because there was no way I could put them back on, and left without looking back, feeling the semen from both of them still running down the inside of my thighs with every step. They didn’t follow me either. It was a pact we signed without speaking: what happened there stayed there.

I went back to Damián. I went on with my life. I got married, not to him, to someone else, years later. I have a normal life, even a boring one, and no one who knows me would ever suspect this story.

But sometimes I walk past that cinema — now it’s a closed shop, with the shutters down and a faded “for rent” sign — and my breath catches just like it did that night. And then I know I don’t regret it. That of all the things I keep silent, this is the only one I would do again without thinking, as soon as the lights went out again.