I Taught Camila What No Book Was Ever Going to Tell Her

I met Camila on the second day I set foot in Doña Patricia’s house, Iván’s mother’s. She was an eighteen-year-old girl, quiet, with that curious gaze of someone who keeps more questions than she dares to ask. Like her mother and like Andrea, her older sister, she was kind, attentive, easy to get along with. She didn’t go unnoticed, even if she thought she did.

Over time I learned a little more about her. After that story I had with Andrea and her friend Lola, I ended up finding out that Camila read erotic fiction magazines in the silence of her room. I heard it from Andrea, one afternoon over beers, as if it were harmless gossip. I kept it to myself.

To anyone looking from the outside, it’s going to seem like a family with a lot of tricks. It’s not like that. They’re ordinary people, neighborhood neighbors, ordinary habits. The thing is hormones don’t respond the same in every body, nor do they get fired up with the same intensity at every age. And in that house, by chance or by inheritance, the women had hot blood.

To that you add the atmosphere. The one each person creates in their home, what they hear without meaning to, what they happen to see one night without intending to. Camila had grown up among half-closed doors. More than once she’d caught her mother seeking relief on her own, on her long nights, with a vibrator humming softly from the next room, and also the muffled moans into the pillow when the woman came. I found out later, when she told me herself.

But that night was still far off. What I’m going to tell started one ordinary afternoon, in the living room of her house.

I came by to visit and say hello. Doña Patricia welcomed me with coffee and cookies, and after a while Andrea showed up looking like she still hadn’t quite woken up. We talked for about forty-five minutes about nothing important, and then Camila came down. She said hello shyly, sat on the sofa across from me, and listened.

I don’t know what went through Doña Patricia’s head, but a few minutes later she stood up saying she had to go out on an errand with her friend and would be gone about two hours. Andrea said goodbye shortly after: Lola was picking her up for a group assignment, according to them. On the way out, both of them winked at me. I then understood that the errand and the assignment were probably the same thing: a silent permission for Camila to stay with me.

And that’s how, without meaning to, I ended up alone with Iván’s younger sister in an empty house.

—I have a paper due the day after tomorrow —she told me as soon as the door shut— and I don’t know where to start.

—What’s it about?

—Biology. Sexually transmitted diseases.

I told her I’d be happy to help. She went up to her room and came back down with the textbook, a notebook, and two pens. She sat on the sofa next to me and opened the chapter page. We started with the basics: gonorrhea, syphilis, chancroid, HIV. I explained what can be cured with antibiotics, what can’t, what the symptoms are, how they spread. She took neat notes in rounded handwriting, nodding.

But at some point she set the pen down on the notebook. And the questions began that no longer came from the book.

—And how does someone know if the other person has something?

—You don’t always know. That’s why you use a condom.

—And if you use a condom anyway, can something still happen?

—Almost nothing, if you put it on properly.

She nodded. But her gaze was no longer that of a student. It was something else. A curiosity that had let go.

—Why do men jerk off? —she asked, just like that, without beating around the bush.

I laughed in surprise. She laughed too, red to the ears, but she didn’t back down.

—I’m asking seriously.

—It’s the easiest way to release tension —I answered— when there’s no one else, or when the urge to come is stronger than patience.

—Do women do it too?

—Women do it too. They put their fingers in their cunt, rub their clit, use whatever they have on hand. And they come just like a man.

She lowered her eyes. Bit her lip. And lifted her gaze again.

—I do it almost every night —she said in a low voice—. But I don’t know if I’m doing it right.

***

It took her five minutes to tell me the rest. That she had found erotic magazines in her sister-in-law Carolina’s bathroom, that she had read them in secret, that she had watched a porn movie her brother Iván kept hidden in the drawer of the dining room cabinet. That once, by accident, she saw Carolina sucking Iván’s cock on the couch, back when they were still dating: she had seen her kneeling, with her brother’s dick deep in her mouth, and Iván holding her by the hair. And that she spied on her mother some nights, when she heard the buzzing of the vibrator and the woman’s moans as she came alone in the next room.

—I don’t know who to ask —she told me—. If I ask my sister, she plays dumb. My mom isn’t going to answer me anything. That’s why I’m asking you.

I thanked her for trusting me. I told her she could ask me whatever she wanted, and I’d answer her as if it were any other question from the book.

And then came the real questions. What the first time is like. Whether it hurts when a cock goes into a virgin cunt for the first time. What a real orgasm feels like, not a solitary one with your fingers between your legs. How big an erect cock is, whether it would fit in her mouth, whether it would fit in her cunt. How you put a condom on, because she had seen it in drawings in the book, but never on a real dick.

—For that we’d need a banana —I said, trying to make it sound like a teacher’s joke.

—I don’t have a banana, teach —she replied. The word “teach” came out naturally, and I didn’t correct her—. But I do have a condom. I’ve kept one in my nightstand for months.

I smiled. I looked at her. She held my gaze.

—So?

—Then use yours, teach —she said, with eyes reddened by something that was no longer academic curiosity—. After all, you’re the one teaching me. You won’t take it the wrong way.

I felt heat rise to my face. I hid it. I asked if she was sure about what she was saying. She said yes. I asked if she understood that to put a condom on someone, that cock first had to be hard as a rock. She said she knew that too.

—You’re just going to have to help me, Camila. There’s no way it’s going to get hard on its own.

—Don’t worry, teach. I’ll get it nice and hard for you in a minute.

***

She got up with a new determination and went to the living room cabinet. She searched among the DVDs her brother had left and chose one with no label. She put it in, turned the volume down, and came back to sit next to me. Not as close as before. Closer.

On the screen, a girl on her knees was pulling a guy’s cock out of his pants and taking the whole thing into her mouth. Camila watched the movie with feigned attention, but I could see her mouth opening without meaning to, copying the actress’s gesture in the air. I watched her. After a minute, her right hand moved toward my leg. She didn’t touch me all at once. First she rested it on the fabric, on my thigh. Then she moved up slowly, as if feeling out unknown territory, until her fingers brushed the bulge already showing under my pants. When she felt it, she took a deep breath and squeezed.

—It’s rock hard, teach —she said softly—. And I still haven’t seen it.

She started rubbing over the fabric, with her palm open, measuring the size with her hand. My cock swelled harder against the zipper.

—Take it out for me —I told her.

Camila fumbled with the button of my pants, pulled down the zipper, and slid her hand into my underwear. When her fingers closed over the hot skin of my cock, a sigh slipped out of her. She tugged my clothes down and the cock jumped out, hard, red at the tip, the vein standing out. She looked at it like someone seeing for the first time something they had only known from a drawing.

—It’s bigger than I thought —she murmured—. And thicker.

She grabbed it with her right hand, wrapped her fingers around it, and started moving it up and down slowly, watching the foreskin slide over the glans. With her other hand she felt my balls, curious, weighing them.

—Like this, teach? Is this how you do it?

—More firmly. And pull the foreskin all the way back each time.

She obeyed. The wank started to find a rhythm. A thread of clear liquid showed at the tip and she watched it, fascinated, leaned in, stuck out her tongue, and licked it, tasting it. When she felt the flavor, she closed her eyes for a second, swallowed, and lowered her head again. Before I could warn her, she took half my cock into her mouth.

—Jesus Christ —I blurted.

Camila sucked me off without technique but with hunger, cheeks hollowed, her clumsy tongue moving under me, over-salivating. Every so often she pulled off with a smack, breathed, and took me back in deeper. On the third downstroke she hit the back of her throat and coughed, but she didn’t pull away all the way.

—Wait —I told her—. If you keep going like this you’re going to make me come too soon.

She straightened up, her mouth shining with saliva and a new smile. She reached toward the side table, opened a little drawer I hadn’t seen, and took out a condom in its wrapper. She handed it to me. I opened it. She gave it back.

—Watch the side —I warned her—. If you put it on backwards, you have to throw it away.

She placed it correctly over the swollen glans. She started unrolling it slowly, with both hands, and curiosity beat modesty: she did it with concentration, as if she were practicing for an exam. Unintentionally, that concentration gave me the strangest, richest handjob I’d had in years. When she finished pulling the latex all the way down to the base, she stayed a few seconds with the cock wrapped between her fingers, looking at it from the side, squeezing it slowly to see how the vein still showed even with the rubber on.

—Good —I said—. Perfect.

—And now?

—Now it depends on what you want to know.

I asked permission to touch her. I lifted her shirt and yanked her bra loose. Two small white tits fell free, with pink erect nipples trembling with her breathing. I took one in my mouth and sucked it slowly, biting the tip, while my other hand squeezed the other breast. She arched her back and dug her fingers into the back of my neck.

—Harder —she whispered—. Bite it harder.

I did as she asked. I ran my teeth over both nipples, made them red, and slid my hand down her waist, over her hip, to the mound. Her cotton shorts were soaked; the dark stain showed through the fabric. I slipped my hand under them and found her pussy swollen, the lips peeking out of her underwear, dripping. I stroked her slowly, patiently, until she started breathing hard and pressing my wrist against her. I slid one finger in, then two, and felt the tight, burning inside clenching around my fingers with every movement.

—You’re soaking wet —I told her in her ear—. Your cunt’s dripping.

—It’s because of you, teach. It’s the first time anyone’s touched me there.

—Teach —she said later, her voice broken—, what’s a cunnilingus?

—You want me to show you?

She nodded.

—But don’t put it in me —she added quickly—. Not yet. I’m scared. My mom won’t understand. Maybe later. Not today.

I told her no problem. That we’d go as far as she wanted, and not one step further.

I yanked down her shorts and panties. I knelt on the rug between her legs and spread them apart with both hands. Her cunt was almost completely shaved, with a fine fuzz on top, the inner lips peeking out and shining, the clit swollen like a pink pearl. I paused for a second looking at it, breathing in the hot smell coming off her. Then I leaned in and ran my whole tongue over her, from bottom to bud, in one slow lick.

Camila jolted and dug her nails into my shoulders.

—Oh my God —she said—. I didn’t know it felt like that.

I bit the inside of her thighs, left the mark of my teeth on her tender skin, slowly ran my tongue all over her cunt, sucked her lips one by one, learned every reaction she had. When I buried my tongue inside her and moved it like it was a little cock, a muffled cry escaped her. I went back to sucking the clit with my lips, licked it in circles, pressed it gently between my teeth, and moved back down. I slipped a finger in while I kept licking, then two, searching for her inner spot with the pads bent upward.

Her whole body started trembling. Her legs closed against my head without meaning to. Her cunt tightened around my fingers like a mouth. When she came, she did it with her hand gripping my hair and her teeth sunk into the back of the other one. She didn’t scream. She only let out a sound that was half moan, half laugh, and flooded my face with a hot flow that ran down my chin.

I stayed licking her while the trembling passed, sucking up every drop, until she gently pushed my head away because she couldn’t take any more.

Afterward, when she recovered and asked me to, she knelt between my legs and sucked my cock again, this time more calmly. She did it with the same seriousness with which she had unrolled the condom: as if it were an oral exam and she didn’t want to fail. She took it out of her mouth, looked at it, ran her tongue along the vein, over my balls, underneath, and took it back in. She asked me things while she did it. If this was okay. If I liked it harder or softer. If she could use her hand at the same time. If she could suck my balls too. I answered everything in a low voice, as if we were still going over the chapter.

When she felt I was about to come, she didn’t pull off. She shoved it down her throat and held it there, tearful-eyed, while I came inside the condom with my back arched off the sofa. Only when I went still did she straighten up, slowly pull the cock out, and look at me with a new, proud smile.

—I learn fast, don’t I, teach?

***

That afternoon ended there. The blowjob, the cunnilingus, the fingers. Nothing else. She set the limit herself and I respected it.

Three days later, without warning, she showed up at my apartment door. She had her hair tied back and a little backpack slung over her shoulder. When I opened the door, she came in without greeting, dropped the backpack on the sofa, and said:

—Today, yes.

No need to ask what she meant.

She did everything herself. She took me by the hand to the bedroom, closed the door with her foot, and started taking off her clothes without saying a word. The shirt, the bra, the jeans, the panties. She stood beside the bed naked, with her tits hard and her cunt already shining between her legs. Then she undressed me, button by button, patiently, and when she pulled down my underwear and the cock jumped out, a smile slipped across her face.

—I already missed it —she murmured.

She knelt and sucked my cock for a long while, to get it ready, soaking it well with her saliva. Then she took a condom out of the backpack and put it on me herself, with the technique she had learned that other afternoon. She laid me on my back on the bed, climbed on top of me, and grabbed the cock with her hand to line it up with the entrance to her cunt.

When she took me in for the first time, she did it slowly, eyes closed, biting her lip just like that afternoon with the book open on her lap. The cock went in halfway and she stopped, breathing, feeling herself open for the first time. She lowered herself a little more. A short moan escaped her.

—It hurts a little —she said—. But I want to keep going.

—Take your time. Don’t rush.

She went down little by little, centimeter by centimeter, until the cock was all the way in and her balls pressed against her ass. She stayed like that for a few seconds, still, getting used to having it inside. Then she started moving. First up and down, very slowly, holding on to my chest. When the pain passed, she changed the rhythm. She started moving her hips in circles, forward and back, as if she were looking for a specific angle. When she found it, she threw her head back and let out a long moan.

—There, there, there —she repeated—. Right there.

I grabbed her by the waist and helped her move. She rose and lowered herself with her own rhythm, looking at everything the whole time, as if she were studying me the same way she’d studied the condom. Her tits bounced with every drop. Her cunt made a wet sound every time the cock went all the way in.

Then she asked me to put her on all fours. I turned her around, grabbed her hips, and shoved it in at once. She pressed her face into the pillow so she wouldn’t scream. I grabbed her hair, pulled gently, and started fucking her with hard thrusts, slamming my balls against her clit with every stroke.

—Harder, teach. Harder. Break me open.

I gave it to her harder. The sofa, the bed, the whole room filled with the sound of skin on skin and her muffled moans against the fabric. When she came the second time, her cunt clenched so hard around my cock it almost ripped my orgasm out of me. I held on. I slowed the pace, waited for the trembling to pass, and started again.

We finished with her on her back, legs open over my shoulders, folded almost in two, while I buried myself to the hilt and watched her face. She came a third time, short and sharp, and I came with her, gripping her thighs, filling the condom inside her cunt.

When we were done, she stayed quiet for a while, staring at the ceiling.

—You know what, teach? —she said after a bit.

—What?

—I learned more in these three days than in all of high school.

I laughed. So did she. Then she got dressed, grabbed her backpack, and left, promising me she’d be back.

She came back. That initiative she had from the very first day is still intact. Every time she shows up, she arrives with a new idea, a new question, a posture she came up with out of nowhere. And I, who’m still the teach in this story, just keep taking notes.