My First Time Was with My Best Friend’s Father

What I’m about to tell you is true, and I’ve never told anyone—not even the friends I share almost everything with. My name is Carla, I’m thirty-six years old, and I’ve recently become a mother. I lead an ordinary life, but inside I’ve never felt entirely ordinary, and recently I realized that I needed to put it into words in order to finally feel heard.

I was nineteen when it happened. It was one of my best friends’ wedding, at a country estate on the outskirts of the city, the kind with a dirt courtyard and trees heavy with lights. It was a grand affair, with music blasting from the speakers, wine that never seemed to run out, and the unruly joy of an entire family that had been waiting weeks for that night.

Until then, I’d had boyfriends for holding hands and kisses that rose just a little in intensity, but nothing more. I was a virgin, and I was one without guilt or urgency, simply because no one had appeared yet who made me want to stop being one.

That night, while everyone else danced and laughed from the chairs around the courtyard, I wandered back and forth, pretending not to notice anything. The alcohol loosened people up, and every so often someone would get up with an excuse to disappear into the dark corners of the house. I saw couples pressed against the walls, a girl kneeling in the shadows, sucking a guy’s cock while he held on to a doorframe, and I also saw more than one stranger taking advantage of some woman who was far too drunk to notice. I watched it all with a mixture of shame and curiosity I didn’t dare confess, and felt a heat between my legs I didn’t dare name.

What did surprise me was the attention of an older man. He was my friend’s father, a nearly fifty-year-old widower who never missed an opportunity to talk to me or compliment me. He was never crude. His daughter was always nearby, and he was careful not to go too far, but there was something in the way he looked at me that made me nervous in a way I didn’t know how to name. That night, amid the uncles’ laughter, I learned that in his youth he’d had a reputation as a womanizer in town. I laughed along with everyone else, but the information stuck with me.

I was a city girl, with a fully developed body and wide hips that my narrow waist made look even more generous. My breasts filled out my bra in a way no dress could completely conceal. I’d learned that through years of compliments in the street, from men who approached me with any pretext to gauge whether I was easy or worth the attempt. At nineteen, I didn’t entirely understand the effect I had, but I was beginning to suspect it.

***

By three in the morning, the party was something else entirely. Most people had left, and those who remained were drunk or half-asleep on the sofas. The music was still playing, but no one was dancing anymore. My friend, pretty far gone, had gone off some time ago to make up the bed where we were supposedly going to sleep together. Since she didn’t come back, I got up to look for her.

It was her father who approached me. Don Esteban told me that his daughter had already fallen asleep and that they’d prepared the room at the back of the courtyard for me, one with its own bathroom that they used to store boxes in but that had a bed ready. I was frightened by the hour and by the thought of being alone so far from the house, with the risk of some drunk wandering around shouting. He noticed.

—I’ll walk you there. I don’t want you to get lost—he said, offering me his arm.

The side path had no lights. We walked in the darkness, and I clung to his arm more tightly than necessary, because the truth was that the wine had made me dizzy too, and my legs answered me clumsily. I felt strangely safe. His arm was firm, his voice calm, and for the first time that night I stopped being afraid.

The room was at the far end of the property. When we arrived, I asked him to stay a moment, until I got settled, because the thought of hearing the door close and being left alone gave me chills. He came in, left the door ajar, and sat on the edge of the bed at a prudent distance.

—Better this way?—he asked.

—Better this way—I said, and sat beside him.

I don’t know exactly who started. I know that at some point his hand was on mine and I didn’t pull it away. I know he leaned in slowly, giving me all the time in the world to move away, and I didn’t. The first kiss was slow, almost a question. The second didn’t ask anything anymore. His tongue slipped between my lips and sought mine, and I felt my whole body go limp all at once.

This shouldn’t be happening, I thought, and kept kissing him anyway.

—If you want me to stop, say so and I’ll stop—he murmured against my neck. —One word and I’m gone.

—I don’t want you to stop—I replied, and my own voice surprised me.

***

He laid me back on the bed with a calmness I’d never known in boys my age. He wasn’t in a hurry, and he wasn’t clumsy. He knew exactly where to put his hands and, worse for my composure, exactly when not to put them. He opened my blouse button by button without taking his eyes off me, and when my breasts appeared, squeezed inside my bra, he let out his breath slowly, as if it had taken all his effort to hold it in.

—Look what you’ve got in here—he said, running his thumb over the fabric. —This would drive anyone crazy.

He pulled my bra down and sucked my nipples one at a time, long and slowly, tugging them with his teeth just enough to make a moan escape me. They were hard, swollen, throbbing. He ran his tongue around the areola, nipped them lightly, and with his other hand he was already undoing my pants. He lowered them slowly to my ankles while looking into my eyes, waiting for a refusal that never came. My tiny white panties were soaked, and he noticed as soon as he brushed them with his fingers.

—You’re soaking wet—he murmured. —I haven’t even really touched you yet.

He slipped two fingers beneath the fabric and caressed my cunt, up and down, feeling the way it welcomed him. He brought them to his mouth and sucked them in front of me, never taking his eyes off me, and I had to bite my lip so I wouldn’t moan too loudly. No one had ever looked at me like that, as if I were something to eat.

He gently turned me until I was on my knees on the floor, my chest resting on the mattress and my ass raised toward him. He tore my soaked panties off my legs and left them on the floor. He spread my buttocks with both hands, and I felt his mouth where no one had ever touched me. His tongue, hot and precise, entered my pussy all at once and tore a moan from me that I couldn’t contain. I clung to the sheet and buried my face in it so no one would hear, though there was no one nearby who could.

—That’s it, easy—he said in that deep, rough voice of a grown man. —Let yourself go. There’s no hurry.

He started eating me whole, without the slightest shame. He licked me from bottom to top, his tongue long, stopping at my clitoris and sucking it until I raised my ass to seek him, then going back down and pushing his tongue inside me as far as he could. Then he moved higher; the tip of his tongue found my other hole and tasted that too, at first to my frightened hesitation, and then to a trembling whose source I couldn’t identify. I’d never imagined something like that could give me pleasure. He was doing things to me I didn’t even know people did.

I’d never fucked, but I had touched myself alone and knew the pleasure of coming by myself. This was different. This was learning, for the first time, the kind of desire a body like mine could awaken in someone, and discovering that desire returned the favor many times over. He alternated: he sucked my clitoris until he brought me to the edge, then eased off, making me wait, forcing me to want him with a patience that was almost cruel. I asked him not to stop, asked him in a low voice, almost begging, and he laughed against my pussy and went on playing with me as if he had the whole night.

He turned me over and sat me on the edge of the bed. He undid his belt, lowered his pants and briefs, and there it was, hard and thick, bigger than any I’d seen in the few pictures I’d secretly looked at. He took hold of it and brought it toward my face.

—Try it—he said. —Slowly, however you want.

I had never sucked a cock in my life. I stuck out my tongue and barely touched it, the tip first, and tasted the saltiness of the fluid already leaking from it. I opened my lips around it and took a little inside, and he placed one hand on the back of my neck without pushing, only guiding me, teaching me. I learned in five minutes what others learned in years. I sucked the head, circling it with my tongue, took it deeper until I gagged, pulled it out with a thread of saliva, and licked its entire length from bottom to top. He moaned softly, pushed my hair away from my face so he could see me better, and told me things that made me squeeze my thighs.

—That’s it, baby, that’s it… look how pretty my cock looks in your mouth.

When he was about to come, he stopped. He pulled me up and spoke into my ear.

—I’m going to be your first—he said. —But only if you want me to.

I was breathing unevenly, dizzy with wine and pleasure, confused and aroused in equal measure. I thought of my friend sleeping on the other side of the courtyard, thought of everything that was wrong with that sentence, and still heard myself answer.

—Promise me no one will ever know.

—No one—he said. —Just the two of us.

—Then do it.

***

He lifted me in his arms and carried me to the bed. We kissed for a long time, without hurrying, and he positioned me face down, with a pillow beneath my hips to raise my ass. He didn’t put his cock in my pussy, as I’d imagined a thousand times my first time would be. He sought another way, slower and more careful. He spat between my buttocks and spread the saliva with his fingers, caressed my hole with his thumb, pressing lightly until it began to give. I tensed, and he stopped.

—Easy, breathe with me—he said. —It won’t hurt if you relax.

He inserted one finger first, halfway, and moved it in circles. Then the whole finger. Then two, with more saliva, more slowly, until I stopped resisting and began moving on my own against his hand. Only then did he settle behind me, place the tip of his cock against my ass, and push lightly.

At the first attempt I tensed. At the second a whimper escaped me and he withdrew, spat again, and pushed once more. By the third he was completely inside me, and I cried for a while—not from pure pain, but from a mixture I didn’t know how to decipher—with a grown man’s cock inside a place even I had never touched, while he remained still, waiting, one firm hand on my hip and the other caressing my back.

—Breathe—he said. —When you’re ready, let me know.

And when I let him know, he began to move slowly, and what had hurt stopped hurting. He pulled almost all the way out and went back in to the hilt, and with every thrust I felt my body opening a little more, learning how to take him. He slipped one hand beneath me and found my clitoris with two fingers, rubbing it in the same rhythm as he fucked my ass, and I buried my face in the pillow because I couldn’t take what I was feeling. It was too much everywhere at once.

He moved over my back, over my ass, and whispered things in my ear that no one had ever said to me, filthy things that at any other time would have embarrassed me, but that dawn they lit me up like dry kindling.

—What an ass you’ve got, baby, what an ass… look how you swallow me whole.

—Harder—I begged, and didn’t recognize my own voice.

—You want it harder? Say it properly.

—Fuck me harder.

And he did. He grabbed my hips with both hands and began driving into me to the hilt with hard thrusts that made his balls slap against my pussy and drew a moan from me with every blow. The bed creaked, the pillow was soaked with saliva and tears, and I begged for more. I begged him to keep talking to me, not to stop, and I was amazed at the slut I was becoming in a matter of minutes.

—So many men would give anything to be where I am right now—he told me, his voice broken by the effort. —Someday you’ll remember who taught you this. Who broke your ass first.

And he was right, because here I am, remembering it. He ran his hand over my back, gently took my hair, and made me lift my head so he could see my face while he kept fucking me. His fingers never left my clitoris, moving in quick, precise circles until I began to tremble in a new way. I came in a way I hadn’t known was possible, an ending that didn’t begin where I thought such things began, but in that forbidden place, with my ass full of cock and his fingers pressed to my clitoris. I exploded once, twice, three times in a row, screaming into the pillow, squeezing him inside me with a strength I hadn’t known I possessed, and that was what made him finish, burying himself to the hilt, gripping my hips hard, emptying himself inside me in hot spurts while saying my name as if it were a secret word.

He remained still for a long while, on top of me, his cock still inside, breathing against the back of my neck. Then he pulled out slowly, and I felt his semen trickle between my buttocks and run down my thighs, warm and thick. He cleaned me with a towel, unhurriedly, kissing my back as he did, as if that too were part of teaching me something.

***

He stayed with me for the rest of the night. He held me, took care of me, and at some point before dawn he woke me with his mouth between my legs and made me come again, more slowly, with his tongue alone, while I was still half-asleep and didn’t know whether it was a dream or a continuation of the same thing. Then he drove me back to the city before the entire house woke up. No one ever knew that something began between us that night. It lasted almost two years, hidden away in motels and stolen afternoons I never told anyone about.

I never experienced it as abuse. I gave my consent explicitly, and I don’t regret it. It was tender, beautiful in its own way, and it taught me things about my own body that took me years to feel again. I was the one who ended it, because circumstances changed and because, with time, I understood that the relationship had nowhere to go. It wasn’t healthy to maintain it, and I realized that on my own, without anyone having to tell me.

Later, at university, I met a guy my own age, and I had a normal relationship with him, the kind you talk about out loud. But that dawn in the back room is still mine, and mine alone, even now that I’ve finally dared to tell it. The rest is another story.