My Ex Came Back to the Locker Room After My Fight

The night I saw her walk into the locker room, my body was still trembling from the fight. I had won less than an hour earlier, and although I had already showered, I could still feel the punishment of every blow on my skin, the burning in my cheekbone, the dull pressure in my ribs, the heavy exhaustion of having emptied myself completely on the mat. Several teammates, the coach, and a couple of guys I barely knew had congratulated me. I just wanted to sit down for five minutes and breathe.

Then the door opened and she appeared.

Her name was Mara, although for years I had called her something else, something more intimate, a name I bit back rather than use the moment I saw her. She was wearing a soft green dress, fitted at the waist, her brown hair tied up, and that way of looking at me that had always undone me more than any hold or kick. We had been apart for quite some time. We had ruined everything, especially me.

We stared at each other for one long second, awkward and electric. I was sitting on the bench, a towel around my neck and my bag open at my feet. She closed the door slowly and gave me the faintest smile, as if she also found it hard to believe she was really there.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” I replied, and stood up even though half my body hurt.

At first we hugged awkwardly. Then less so. Her cheek brushed mine, her perfume hit me at once, and it brought back memories I didn’t want so vividly present: cheap motels, afternoons shut away together, arguments followed by dirty sex, promises I had never known how to keep. When she pulled away, she looked me over from my split eyebrow down to my still-tense abdomen.

“They really fucked you up,” she murmured.

“I’d say the other guy came off worse.”

She laughed under her breath. That hurt me more than the fight, because it reminded me of everything I had lost by sticking my dick wherever I felt like it. I had cheated on her with students, neighbors, and strangers who barely held my gaze for five minutes. Mara found out enough to leave, and rightly so. Since then, we had only had one quick, secret encounter, as if we wanted to pretend that the body could fix what the mind had already broken.

“I saw you fight,” she said, moving toward the table. “You still charge in like an animal.”

“That’s what they say.”

“They don’t say it. You are one.”

She sat down across from me, crossed her legs, and started talking to me as if there weren’t two years of resentment between us. She asked about the gym, my training, an old shoulder injury. I asked her about her life, and she told me little, just enough. She had learned to protect herself from me. Even so, every now and then she brushed my knee with the tip of her shoe, and every time she did, I felt my body react like an idiot beneath the towel.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” I confessed.

“Neither did I,” she said. “But I came anyway.”

There was a brief silence. Outside, I could hear distant voices, the echo of a hallway, a door closing. In there, though, everything had become small and private. I noticed even the movement of her throat as she swallowed. She noticed that my eyes couldn’t stop looking at her legs.

“You still look at me the same way,” she said.

“You still provoke me the same way.”

Mara tilted her head and smiled in that way of hers, faintly cruel.

“And do you still fuck everything up the same way?”

I didn’t know what to say. The truth had always been simple where I was concerned: I wanted too much, too quickly, and almost never cared about the cost until it was too late. I lowered my eyes for a second, but she didn’t let me escape.

“Don’t play humble now,” she said. “You were never any good at it.”

I gave a dry laugh. She stood up slowly and walked around the table. When she was standing in front of me, she placed a hand on my shoulder with a delicacy that didn’t fit at all with what she was doing to me inside. I felt the heat of her palm through my shirt. Then she kissed my cheek, very close to the corner of my mouth.

“I’m glad to see you alive,” she whispered.

I turned my face, and our mouths were a breath apart. I wasn’t the one who took the final step. She was.

The kiss began restrained, almost cautious. It stayed that way for very little time. As soon as I parted my lips and she slipped her tongue inside, any intention of behaving myself went straight to hell. I grabbed her by the waist and pulled her against me. Mara let out a low moan, that rough sound I remembered far too well, and bit my lower lip before kissing me again, hungrier this time.

“You never learn,” she murmured against my mouth.

“With you, I don’t want to learn.”

I ran my hands up her back and felt the dress’s thin fabric, the curve of her waist, the tension she had been holding in as she came in pretending to be calm. She pushed me back against the bench again and, without stopping the kiss, settled herself between my legs. My erection was already hard and outlined beneath my sweatpants. When she felt it, she pressed her hips against me a little harder.

“You still respond quickly,” she said.

“You still know exactly what to do.”

Mara grabbed my jaw and forced me to look at her. Her green eyes were blazing.

“I didn’t come here to talk about feelings,” she snapped. “Don’t get confused.”

“Then tell me why you came.”

Instead of answering, she took my hand and slipped it beneath her dress.

The first thing I felt was the hot skin of her thigh. The second was that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. No panties. No stockings. Nothing. My fingers moved slowly upward, incredulous and eager, until they found her open and wet. She was already soaked. Very much so. Mara closed her eyes for a second when I brushed her pussy with my fingertips.

“This is why I came,” she said, almost breathless.

Her answer sent the blood rushing through me. I parted her lips with two fingers and began stroking her slowly, from underneath upward, pressing her clitoris with my thumb. She grabbed my injured shoulder without meaning to, and I had to let out a growl.

“Sorry,” she said, even as she kept rubbing herself against my hand. “It hurts.”

“Don’t stop because of that.”

I pushed one finger inside her slowly, then two. Her pussy received me tight and slippery, with that hot pressure that makes you think even less clearly. Mara rested her forehead against mine and began moving over my fingers, seeking them deeper. Every time I withdrew them almost completely, she squeezed me so I would put them back inside. The wet sound between her legs began to fill the room.

“Fuck...” she whispered. “Like that, yes... like that.”

I kissed beneath her jaw, along her neck, while I pumped my fingers faster. My thumb kept rubbing her clitoris, and she was already trembling on top of me. I pushed her dress higher, up to her waist. Seeing her like that, her skirt bunched up and her pussy shining on my hand, made me even harder.

“Look at me,” I told her.

She obeyed. She loved doing what I told her only in certain things, only when she wanted to. I pushed my fingers all the way in and watched her open her mouth with a louder moan.

“Do you still remember how I used to make you come?”

“Don’t make me talk,” she panted. “Put them back in.”

“Answer me.”

She dug her nails into my chest through my shirt.

“Yes, I remember,” she said. “I remember too well.”

I pulled my hand away from her abruptly and brought my fingers to my mouth. I tasted her in front of her without looking away. Mara let out a rough moan, half furious, half aroused. Then she looked down at my crotch and made no attempt to hide anything.

“Take it out,” she ordered.

I pulled my sweatpants and boxers down to mid-thigh. My cock came out hard and heavy, already wet at the tip. She grabbed it immediately and stroked it firmly, up and down, pausing for a moment at the head. Her fingers were slippery with her own pussy, and feeling that mixture on my skin made me clench my teeth.

“You’re still just as big,” she murmured.

“And you still get soaked too quickly.”

She smiled. Then she knelt in front of me.

Just seeing her like that already had me half gone. Mara kissed the tip before licking it slowly, gathering the fluid with her tongue. Then she opened her mouth wider and swallowed me in one go as far as she could. I had to brace my hands against the bench to keep from moving her head on pure instinct. She began sucking me at a steady rhythm, up and down, letting saliva run along the shaft of my cock to her hand.

“Fuck, Mara...”

She didn’t stop. She sucked me as if punishing me, looking up from beneath me with her eyes open, enjoying the effect she had on me. Every time she pulled her mouth away, she licked me from base to tip and took me deeper again. I barely felt the edge of her teeth, just enough to make it more intense, followed by the wet pressure of her lips tightening around me.

I grabbed her tied-up hair, and she let me guide the rhythm a little. No force was necessary. We knew each other too well. When I gave her the slightest push, she relaxed her throat and swallowed more of me. The wet sound, the saliva running down, her hand massaging my balls—all of it was taking me too quickly toward the edge.

“If you keep that up, I’m going to come in your mouth.”

She pulled away just to say:

“No. I want to feel you inside me.”

She stood up, her lips still wet, and sat down on my legs again. She hitched her dress up without the slightest embarrassment, took my cock in one hand, and placed it between the lips of her pussy. The tip slid through her wetness. She exhaled through her nose and lowered herself slowly, taking me inch by inch.

I watched myself enter her. The skin of her pussy opened and swallowed me slowly, tight and shining. When she had taken almost all of me, she went still for a second, eyes closed and mouth slightly open.

“Fuck...” she panted. “Yes. This is what I missed.”

“Move.”

She did. At first slowly, rising only a little and lowering again until she took me deep. Then a little faster. I held her hips and met her from below with small thrusts that made her lose her rhythm. Her breathing quickly became uneven. Her tits were taut beneath the dress, her nipples outlined against the fabric. I slipped one hand into her cleavage and squeezed them while she rode me.

“So you didn’t come here to talk,” I said.

“Shut up and fuck me.”

I obeyed. I began lifting my hips harder, and she started bouncing on my cock, increasingly disordered, increasingly hot. The room filled with the wet sound of her ass slapping against my thighs, our panting, and the occasional moan that escaped her too loudly before she muffled it against my neck.

I yanked down the neckline of her dress and pulled one of her tits free. Her nipple was hard. I leaned in and sucked it while she kept riding me. Mara grabbed the back of my neck and squeezed hard.

“Don’t do that or I’ll come,” she said breathlessly.

“That’s what I’m here for.”

I gently bit her nipple and felt her tighten around my cock. Her pussy squeezed me so hard I almost came. She noticed. She smiled maliciously and began moving more slowly, rubbing herself against me, forcing me to hold back.

“I still know you,” she murmured. “You’re always on the verge when I make you wait.”

“And you always talk too much when you’re horny.”

I lifted her abruptly by the thighs. She let out a surprised squeak and clung to my shoulders. I stood with her hanging from me, despite the pull in my ribs, and pressed her against the locker-room wall. I entered her again in a single thrust, all the way in. Mara threw her head back and moaned without holding anything back.

“There, yes... fuck, there.”

I held her beneath the thighs and really started fucking her. Each thrust made her back strike softly against the wall, and her dress kept riding up to her waist. Her pussy was so wet that my cock slid in and out with an obscene sound, gleaming with moisture. Mara wrapped her legs around my waist and began meeting me with her hips, searching for me deeper.

“Harder,” she asked. “Don’t be gentle with me.”

“You’ll complain afterward.”

“Fuck me and shut up.”

That was what I did. I got a better hold of her and increased the pace until the impacts became dry, intense, almost violent. She was moaning now without trying to hide anything. Sometimes she bit my shoulder; sometimes she kissed me desperately; sometimes she just repeated my name as if she were angry at herself for still wanting me so badly.

I lowered one hand between our bodies and found her clitoris while I kept fucking her. As soon as I began rubbing her there, she lost control. She squeezed me with her legs, buried her face in my neck, and her body began to tremble.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop...”

I rubbed her faster, synchronized with every thrust. Her pussy contracted around my cock once, twice, three times, and then she came with a long, filthy moan, completely surrendered. I felt her soak me more, squeeze me with spasms, and go weak for a second.

I kept going. I couldn’t stop. I lowered her just until her feet touched the floor, bent her forward with one hand against the wall, and spread her legs wider with my knee. From behind, the sight drove me completely crazy: her dress bunched up, her round, tense ass, her pussy open and shining, still waiting for me.

I spat on her entrance and shoved myself back inside her. Mara let out a muffled gasp.

“Fuck... yes...”

I gripped one of her hips hard and began pounding her from behind. There was nothing gentle left, only old desire, resentment, hunger, and habit. My cock came almost all the way out and went back in until it struck deep with a wet slap that shook my balls. She spread her legs wider to receive me better and pushed her ass back every time I withdrew.

“You like it this way, don’t you?” I said, panting. “You like me fucking you hard.”

“Yes... yes, you bastard... like that.”

I put two fingers in her mouth, and she sucked them immediately, moaning around them while I kept fucking her. Then I grabbed her hair and arched her back a little farther. My free hand dropped to her clitoris again. As soon as I began rubbing her, I felt her knees buckle.

“Again,” she begged. “Make me come again.”

“You’re going to come on my cock.”

“Yes.”

That was enough. I clenched my teeth, sped up even more, and worked her between the legs until she exploded again. This time her orgasm came out as an open scream, followed by a series of contractions that almost kept me from continuing. Her pussy milked me. I had been on the edge for a long time.

I held her by the waist and gave her a few more short, brutal thrusts, until my orgasm rose from my abdomen and I emptied inside her with a growl. I felt every pulse, every thick release spilling out and remaining inside her as I kept pushing all the way in. Mara went still, breathing hard, her forehead against the wall. Some of the semen began to run down when I pulled my cock out slightly, and the sight made me tremble again.

I gave her two more slow thrusts, squeezing out the last of it, and then I finally pulled out. Semen slid down her thighs. I ran my fingers through it and showed them to her. She looked at me over her shoulder, her mascara slightly smudged and her exhausted expression still beautiful.

“Always such a brute,” she said.

“And you always come back.”

She didn’t answer immediately. She adjusted her dress with hands still trembling and then turned toward me. We kissed again, more slowly this time. She tasted of saliva, sex, and the end of something that never quite ended.

“I miss you,” I blurted out, because after coming I no longer had the energy to pretend.

Mara caressed my battered cheek with a tenderness I didn’t deserve.

“You don’t miss a life with me,” she said. “You miss how you feel when you’re with me. It isn’t the same.”

“It could be different.”

“Not with you.”

It hurt because it was true. Even so, I insisted with my eyes. She shook her head slightly and wiped a spot of saliva from my lip with her thumb.

“You’re always going to go after someone else,” she said. “A student, a neighbor, anyone who looks at you hungrily. I know you too well.”

“Not always.”

“Don’t lie to me right now. You just came inside me, and you’re still the same man.”

I had no defense against that. I lowered my eyes. She lifted my face again.

“I didn’t come here to give you a second chance,” she said softly. “I came because I saw you fight, saw you walk out alive, and felt like remembering you. That’s all.”

“For you, it’s never just that.”

She smiled, sad and provocative at the same time.

“For my body, maybe not. For my head, it is.”

We stayed silent for a few seconds. Someone passed outside laughing. Reality returned all at once, with its hallways, its white light, and its ability to fuck everything up. Mara picked up her bag from the back of the chair and took a step toward the door. Before opening it, she turned back to me.

“Take care of those bruises.”

“Stay a little longer.”

“If I stay, I’ll ride you again. And if I ride you again, I’ll hate myself a little.”

“You already hate me a little.”

“Not as much as I should.”

She came over one last time, kissed me briefly on the mouth, and rested her forehead against mine. I felt her breathing, already calmer, the echo of what we had just done together, the damn habit of fitting together even when everything was broken.

“Goodbye, Darío,” she whispered.

And she left.

***

I was left alone in the locker room with my cock still half-hard, my legs weak, and my head worse than before. I sat back down on the bench and stared at the closed door for a while like an idiot, as if it might open again. Traces of her wetness remained on my thighs, and her perfume was still in my nose. More than anything, I was left with that sick mixture of satisfaction and guilt that always accompanies me after I do what I shouldn’t.

I could say that I understood something important that night, that I decided to change, that I finally saw myself for what I was. The truth is less clean. What I understood was that I desired her more than many others, but I didn’t know whether that was love, addiction, or simple habit. Maybe all three.

I took a hot shower to loosen my muscles. As the water ran down my back, I remembered how she had opened herself over my fingers, how she had sucked me on her knees, how she had trembled against the wall while she came on my cock. I tried to think of something else and couldn’t. I never could with her.

When I got out, I sat down and wrote it all in my notebook, because this is one of those stories you only tell if you’re willing to look bad. I look bad in almost all of them. I was an asshole to Mara when I had her. I stayed one when she came back. And yet, if someone asks me today which of all the women who passed through my bed shook the ground beneath me the most, I still think of her walking into the locker room in that green dress, the decision already made between her legs.

I don’t know if I’ll see her again. I also don’t know whether, if she comes back, I’ll have the strength to say no. The most honest thing I can admit is this: that night I didn’t get my ex back. I only fucked her again. But since then, no victory has ever tasted as powerful as that moment when she closed the door, came over to me, and showed me that she still knew the worst way to make me fall.