My First Date Through the App and What Happened Afterward

I’m thirty years old and, if I’m honest, I’ve never felt completely comfortable in my body. I’m one of those women who weigh more than the magazines say they should, the kind who walks into a party looking at the floor and searching for a wall to lean against. In person I’m quiet and insecure; it’s incredibly hard for me to keep a conversation going with someone I like. There’s one exception to all of this, and it’s a fairly dangerous one: when I drink, I transform.

Drunk, I stop thinking about my legs, my belly, what the other person is going to think. Drunk, I become another woman, one who laughs loudly and dances pressed up against people and says yes before considering the consequences. I’m telling you this because without that detail, none of what happened that night makes sense.

A few months ago, I had one of those dating apps installed on my phone. I’d downloaded it more out of boredom than conviction, and most of the matches died after two lukewarm messages. Until he appeared.

His name was Damián. He had a crooked smile in his pictures and wrote without spelling mistakes, which, to me, already meant half the battle was won. We chatted for several days, he made me laugh, and when he suggested going out for a drink, I said yes without my usual anxiety. We arranged to meet at a bar with a dance floor, one of those places where the music is so loud you don’t have to talk much. Perfect for me.

I arrived early and ordered a beer to loosen my nerves. By the time he showed up, I was already on my second, and my shyness was beginning to dissolve. Damián was taller than I’d expected and smelled good, something woodsy that made me move closer than necessary when I greeted him.

—I thought you were going to cancel at the last minute —he said in my ear, because that was the only way I could hear him.

—I thought about it —I admitted, and we both laughed.

The beers kept coming. At some point we left the bar and went onto the dance floor. I dance well when I’m like that, loose and without shame. And he danced pressed against me, his hands on my waist, setting the rhythm against my body.

This is going to end badly, and I don’t care at all.

Each song left us closer. I felt his breath on my neck, his fingers slipping a little lower past my waist every time he thought I wasn’t noticing. And then I felt it: a hard cock digging into my hip, right there in the middle of the dance floor, among the people and lights. Instead of moving away, I pressed myself closer, rubbed my ass against his bulge, and heard him growl in my ear.

From there, everything sped up. One of his hands slid beneath my blouse, pinched one of my nipples through my bra, and hardened it in two seconds. The other squeezed my ass over the fabric of my skirt, lifting it a few inches and searching between my legs. I let him, dizzy from the alcohol and from how soaked my panties already were. We kissed for the first time in a dark corner, a long, messy kiss with tongues and teeth, and he slipped his hand beneath my skirt and touched my pussy through the wet fabric. When we pulled apart, his eyes were shining and his fingers were damp.

—Should we go somewhere else? —he asked.

—Let’s go —I said, without hesitation.

***

The problem was getting there. We ordered a car, and during those fifteen minutes on the road, with the air conditioning blowing in my face and the silence inside the car, my drunkenness suddenly wore off. I became myself again. The usual me. The insecure one. I started thinking about my body beneath those motel lights, about what was going to happen, about how I barely knew this man, and a cold knot settled in my stomach.

When we reached the room, I’d already decided I didn’t want to go on. Not completely, at least. I sat on the edge of the bed with my purse clutched against my knees like a shield.

—I think I regret this —I blurted out—. I’m sorry. I’m not sure about this.

Damián didn’t get angry. He sat beside me calmly and said nothing for a while. Then he leaned over and kissed my shoulder, slowly, without rushing.

—We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do —he murmured—. But stay for a while. Just stay.

His lips moved down my arm, over my wrist, and from there to my knee. I kept repeating to myself that no, I was going to get up, this wasn’t for me. But his mouth began to travel up the inner side of my thigh, biting gently and leaving warm trails of saliva, and my body began contradicting everything my head was saying. My thighs opened by themselves a few inches.

—We shouldn’t —I said, and my voice no longer sounded very convinced.

—Tell me to stop and I’ll stop —he replied against my skin.

I didn’t tell him.

He settled between my legs, tore my panties at one side without taking them all the way off, pushed them aside, and placed his mouth over my pussy. The first complete lick, from bottom to top, tore a moan out of me that I couldn’t swallow. He licked slowly, with his whole tongue flat, then moved up to play with my clitoris, making circles, enclosing it between his lips, tugging ever so slightly. When he slipped two fingers inside me and curled his knuckles forward while he kept sucking me, a “fuck me” escaped me, and I had no idea where it came from.

I was still moving, still pretending I wanted to stop, but every time he persisted, my resistance grew smaller. Little by little, I stopped moving to escape and began moving to seek him out, to press his face against my pussy, to ask for more without saying so in words. I grabbed the back of his head and pushed him deeper between my legs. He growled down there, and the vibration made me clench my fingers around the ones inside me.

I closed my eyes. I gripped the sheets with my other hand. What had begun as a refusal turned into liquid heat rising from my pussy to my throat, and when I came, it was so intense that I arched off the bed and soaked his face. I was left trembling, breathing unevenly, my thighs squeezing his ears, unable to understand when I had changed my mind so completely. He pulled away slowly, his mouth glistening, and smiled at me from down there before coming up to kiss me on the mouth. He made me taste my own flavor, and I didn’t care about anything.

***

Damián sat up with the crooked smile I’d seen in his pictures. He lowered his pants and boxers without taking his eyes off me, and I saw it whole for the first time: thick, hard, with a swollen tip and a clear drop appearing at the end. He sat on the edge of the bed and, with a firm but gentle hand, guided me until I was kneeling in front of him on the carpet.

—Your turn now —he said.

I looked up at him, his cock inches from my face. Part of me was still surprised to be there, but there was no turning back, and I wasn’t looking for one anymore. I took it in my hand, slowly at first, testing its weight, and ran my tongue along the entire vein underneath, from his balls to the tip. When I reached the top, I licked the drop hanging there, and his whole body shuddered. I put it in my mouth little by little, first just the head, sucking hard, then going lower and lower until I felt it hit the back of my throat. He threw his head back and let out a deep moan.

—That’s it, that’s it, don’t stop —he panted.

His hand tangled in my hair, not to force me, but to set a rhythm that I followed. I sucked him, moving up and down, my hand accompanying him at the base, and every so often I pulled it out to lick his balls, one and then the other, while continuing to jerk him off. Saliva ran down my chin and dripped between my tits. When I went too fast and shoved him in farther than I meant to, my eyes filled with tears from the effort, and he immediately eased off, let me breathe, and stroked my cheek with his wet thumb.

—Are you okay?

I nodded. Then I lowered my head again, this time by my own decision, swallowing him all the way down, gagging and all, because I was enjoying watching him lose control.

We stayed like that for quite a while, between pauses and glances, until he stopped me gently, his cock throbbing against my lips.

—Stop —he panted—. I don’t want to finish yet. I still have to fuck you.

He helped me stand. He finished taking off my clothes with a slowness that made me feel, for the first time that night, truly looked at. When I was naked, I didn’t look down; I held his gaze. He led me in front of the large mirror covering an entire wall and bent me over the edge of the table. I saw myself reflected there, disheveled, my cheeks flushed, my tits hanging and swaying, my pussy swollen and glistening between my spread legs, while he stood behind me, running his cock between my buttocks.

—Look at yourself —he said softly, his eyes fixed on mine through the glass—. Look at what a slut you’re becoming.

I felt him searching for my entrance with the tip, rubbing it up and down between the lips of my pussy, soaking himself in my wetness, and by then I didn’t merely want it anymore: I was asking him for it.

—Put it in me, please, put it in me now —I said out loud, not recognizing myself, pushing my ass backward to seek it.

When he finally entered in one thrust, I was so wet that he slid all the way in at once, and we both moaned together. He stayed still for a second, buried to the base, then began to move, slowly at first, pulling almost all the way out and thrusting back in hard, then faster and faster, gripping my hips to drive me against the table. In the mirror, I watched my tits bounce with every blow, my mouth fall open, and him clenching his teeth behind me.

He talked to me while he fucked me. Things that would have made me uncomfortable in any other context, but there, in front of the mirror, turned me on even more.

—Do you like my cock? Tell me you like it.

—Yes, I love it. Harder, come on.

—You look like a good girl, but you’re a slut. Look at how you beg for my cock.

—I’m a slut, I’m your slut, don’t stop.

He grabbed my hair with one hand and pulled my head back, forcing me to watch myself in the mirror while he drove into me balls-deep. With the other, he slapped my ass, the smacks echoing throughout the room and leaving my skin red. I answered everything he said, lost in it, clenching him with my pussy every time I felt he was about to come.

***

At some point he took me back to the bed, laid me on my back, and spread my legs with his hands, folding them against my chest. He settled over me and pushed back inside in one thrust, but this time he slowed down, making it deeper and heavier. I felt every thrust all the way to my navel. I heard him breathing against my ear, felt his weight, felt his balls slap against my ass with every thrust, and knew I wasn’t going to last much longer.

I reached one hand down between us and touched my clitoris with two fingers while he kept moving inside me. I looked him in the eyes and rubbed myself faster and faster, soaking my fingers with my own fluids and his. He lowered his head, sucked one of my nipples, bit it, and then a second orgasm shook me from head to toe, longer and deeper than the first. Everything inside me contracted; I squeezed him so hard that he let out a “fuck me” against my neck.

—Wait —he said, pulling away just in time, his cock glistening with me and throbbing in his hand.

I knelt again, without him having to ask, opened my mouth, and stuck out my tongue. He jerked himself off quickly, two, three strokes, and came in spurts: the first landed on my tongue, salty and thick, the next ones over my tits and neck, one reaching my chin. I stayed still, looking at him, semen running between my tits, and ran my finger over one nipple before putting it in my mouth. He let out one last hoarse moan when he saw it and stayed still for a moment, his hand still resting on the back of my neck, before falling backward onto the bed.

We stayed like that in silence, catching our breath. Then he got up to find a towel, handed it to me with a tired smile, and began getting dressed to leave.

***

I remained sitting on the bed for a while longer, alone, looking at my reflection in that same mirror where minutes earlier I had been someone else. I felt contradictory things, all at the same time. I felt used and desired. I felt like a stranger to myself. Above all, I felt incredibly alive.

I had arrived at that room determined to stop everything, certain that I wasn’t the kind of woman who did these things. And it turned out that I was. That beneath my shyness and insecurity there was someone capable of letting go completely and enjoying it without guilt—or almost without it.

I never saw Damián again. There was no need. What I took away from that night wasn’t him, but the certainty of who I am when I dare to let myself go.

Thanks for reading me. If you made it this far and something stirred inside you, then there are two of us now.