My First Time in a Bathroom with a Stranger

For the record, I’m not the kind of girl who sleeps with strangers in the bathroom of a nightclub. I wasn’t, until that night at Club Aurora. I’d been living in Barcelona for three years, after coming from Seoul on a design scholarship and a half-broken promise to go back when I finished my master’s. Back home, I never would have done what I’m about to tell you. Back home, I wouldn’t have dared go out alone to a club, let alone dance in the middle of the floor in a skirt that barely covered me.

It was Saturday and the place was packed. Strobe lights slicing through the dark, heavy bass making my ribs vibrate, reggaeton after reggaeton. The dance floor was an ocean of sweaty bodies moving all at once. I was in the center, alone, thinking of nothing. I’m one meter fifty-seven, and that night I’d put on thin heels that made me feel taller than I am. I’d dressed for myself, even if I lied and told myself otherwise: a tight silver top, no bra, a short black leather skirt, and a thong that barely existed.

I’d promised myself no, that that night I was just going to dance, have a couple of drinks, and go home walking with my friends. But my friends had left for another room half an hour earlier, I’d left my half-finished drink on some random table, and I’d found myself dancing alone in the middle of the floor like I hadn’t let myself dance in months.

I felt him before I saw him. The heat of a body behind mine, the scent of fresh cologne mixed with clean sweat. I didn’t touch myself. I didn’t turn around. I waited a second, two, three, and started moving in his direction, letting him know I knew he was there. When I turned my head over my shoulder, I saw him: tall, dark, a trimmed several-day beard, brown eyes that never left mine. The black T-shirt clung to his chest. The dark jeans, his hips. I smiled, biting my lip.

—What’s your name? —he asked, almost in my ear when he dared to touch me.

—Yuna —I said—. And you?

—Adrián.

His hands were big and landed on my hips as if he had every right to do it. We danced pressed together through several endless songs. Me arching my back, him guiding me. I could feel the hardness of his cock grinding against my ass every time the beat slowed. Every time I turned toward him, he kissed my temple, my neck, the edge of my jaw. When I finally turned all the way and my lips crashed against his, there was no turning back. Tongue. Saliva. One of his hands slipping under my skirt to squeeze my ass without the slightest pretense.

The lights spun over us. The people around us kept dancing as if nothing was happening, oblivious to the bubble in which he held me by the waist while he nipped at my lower lip carefully, as if he knew that was something I liked.

—You’re rock hard —I told him, almost laughing at my own boldness.

—And you’re soaked, you can’t deny it —he answered, fingers searching under the thong fabric—. You’re driving me crazy, Yuna. Don’t call me a coward if I tell you what I’m thinking.

—I’m not going to call you a coward.

He took my hand. We went up the side stairs to the bathrooms on the floor above, where the bouncers barely went in and the cubicles were spacious. The smell of disinfectant and mixed perfume hit us as we crossed the door. We went into one and he slid the latch with a click that sounded louder than it should have. The music kept playing out there, but muffled, as if we’d crawled inside a box.

I heard a group of girls laughing in the hallway, distant voices, someone slamming a door in another stall. Adrián looked at me, one hand still in mine. He asked me without words if I wanted to go on. I nodded.

***

He turned me against the tiled wall. The cold stole my breath for a second. The skirt yanked up impatiently to my waist. He pushed the thong aside with two fingers, not bothering to pull it down. I heard the sound of his belt, the zipper, the rustle of boxer briefs falling. He opened my legs with his knee.

I felt the head of his cock brushing against me, thick, hot, wet. He pushed. He entered in one hard thrust. I let out a moan he covered with his palm because he knew, just like I did, that we weren’t alone on that floor. He fucked me with a deep rhythm, one hand on my hip, the other over my mouth. Skin slammed against skin. I braced myself against the tiles as if they were the only thing keeping me up. I thought I was going to come like that, against the wall, within minutes.

—Harder… —I begged against his hand.

He did. He sped up. Thrusts that pinned me against the tiles. And then, without warning, he pulled out. I felt him slip out of me, slick with my juices, and the head seek a little higher.

—Adrián, not there… —I started to say, turning my face away.

Too late. He pushed. The head went in hard into a place where no one had ever gone before. The pain was sharp, electric, a line of fire climbing up my back. I screamed into his palm and my eyes filled with tears at once. My whole body went rigid, trying to pull away.

He froze. I heard him gasp, felt his cock throbbing inside me, felt him understand a second after I did what had happened.

—Fuck, sorry, sorry —he murmured, voice rough, not moving—. I made a mistake, Yuna, I didn’t mean to… should I stop?

I was hurting. I was about to tell him yes, to stop, to go to hell. But something stranger was happening inside me. Every pulse of him woke up an electric current that didn’t quite hurt and didn’t quite feel good either, a new kind of mixture. My cunt, suddenly empty, throbbed. My clit burned just from the internal pressure.

—Wait —I told him, my voice breaking—. Wait a moment.

He waited. He rested his forehead against the back of my neck, breathing into my hair. I felt his beard rubbing against my sweaty skin.

—Am I hurting you?

—A little —I admitted. I swallowed—. But don’t take it out yet. Slowly. Move slowly, please.

He let out a low groan, almost one of relief, as if he’d been holding his breath for a century. He started moving very slowly. Short pulls that left a burning emptiness, gentle pushes that filled me again. My body, little by little, gave in to the sensation. The pain began to turn into something else: every centimeter of him lit up a deep, electric point I hadn’t imagined could exist.

Don’t stop, I thought before saying it.

—Don’t stop —I heard myself say, surprised by my own words.

—Are you sure?

—Yes. Keep going. Faster if you want.

He grabbed my hips with both hands. He started fucking my ass for real, first with controlled thrusts, then deeper, then without restraint. Every time he drove all the way in, his balls slapped against my swollen cunt. I moaned against the tile, unable to control it, my nails digging into the grout in the wall. I was offering him more without having consciously decided to do it.

—Jesus, Yuna, you’re so tight… —he growled against my neck—. I’ve never felt anything like this.

—More —I begged—. Deeper.

The orgasm hit me like a train without brakes. It started deep inside, where he was filling me, a brutal contraction that squeezed his cock like a fist. I screamed into my own hand, my whole body jolting, my legs trembling so hard I nearly fell. And then I felt something new: my cunt, without anyone touching it, let out a hot gush that ran down my thighs. I didn’t even know my body could do that. My ass tightened around him in long, intense spasms, almost painful in how overwhelming they were.

He held on as long as he could. Not long.

—I can’t hold it anymore —he growled—. I’m coming, Yuna, where…?

—Inside —I said, without thinking—. Come inside.

Three more deep thrusts, and he came. I felt him throb, fill me, a hot, thick sensation unlike anything I’d ever felt before. When he pulled out slowly, I heard the wet sound and felt a thread running down my thigh. I leaned against the wall, weak, panting, with my skirt wrinkled up to my waist and my thong twisted.

Adrián hugged me from behind. He kissed my sweaty neck, my ear, my temple.

—Yuna, I’m really sorry. I didn’t want to start like this.

I turned my head slowly. I looked at him. I smiled, a limp, trembling smile, my eyes still glassy.

—Don’t apologize —I said—. It’s been the best mistake anyone’s ever made with me.

***

We came out of the stall separately, just in case. I straightened my thong in front of the mirror, combed my bangs with my fingers, checked that my mascara hadn’t smudged too much. My reflection wasn’t the same as it had been half an hour earlier. There was something new in my eyes. Something only I could see.

We went back to the dance floor. We danced one more song, slower this time, pressed together, as if we’d been doing it for years. When he offered me a taxi, I said yes. We didn’t go to his place. Not mine either. We ended up in a little neighborhood hotel that stays open all night, and there we finished what we’d started, naked, under the light, with no bathroom latches and no mistakes.

In the taxi, still with his smell on me, I thought about the first weeks I spent in Barcelona, scared, without friends, counting euros to pay rent in a shared flat in the Raval. Three years had passed and I had become someone I didn’t recognize and, suddenly, liked. Adrián squeezed my hand over the seat. We didn’t say anything. There was no need.

The next morning, while he slept, I left my number on a piece of paper on the bedside table. I didn’t know whether he was going to call me. I didn’t really care.

I only knew one thing: that Saturday night at Club Aurora I discovered something about myself I’d gone twenty-five years without knowing. And I have no intention of unlearning it.