My girlfriend agreed to try it with my friends that night

I was thirty-two when I met Camila. By then, I had built my entire adult life on a comfortable lie: to everyone else, I was straight, an ordinary guy who worked at a parts warehouse and watched the game on Sundays with the same friends as always. But deep down I knew, long before I could put a name to it, that I also liked men.

It wasn’t a one-day discovery. Before her, I’d been with several guys in discreet places, almost always with the lights off and always with the silent promise that we wouldn’t cross paths again the next day. Quick dicks in bar bathrooms, the occasional blowjob in a parked car in the dark, a couple of married guys who fucked me without saying a word and left before dawn. It was easy that way. Until Camila showed up at a mutual friend’s birthday and the whole system started to shake.

She had a loud laugh, no filter, and a way of looking at people that left you defenseless. The first night we ended up at her place, we drank some terrible red wine and stayed up until dawn talking about things I’d never told anyone. Things, not all of them. I kept one to myself.

—You weren’t my first time —she told me a few weeks later, lying against my chest—, but there are things you are first at.

—What things?

—Ask me that in a couple of months.

It took less than that. The first time I made her come for real was on a Thursday afternoon, with the air conditioner blasting and the blinds half closed. I yanked off her panties in one pull and dropped face down between her legs. I spread her pussy open with both thumbs and stared at it for a second, all pink and already soaking, before putting my tongue all the way in to the back. She jerked and drove her heels into my back. I ate her out slowly, from bottom to top, licking each inner lip one by one, burying my nose against her clit every time I pushed my tongue in. When she was good and wet, I slid two fingers into her and started hunting for her spot inside while I sucked her clit with my lips sealed around it.

—There, there, don’t stop, motherfucker, don’t stop —she told me through clenched teeth.

I slid a third finger in. I curved all three upward and rocked my hand fast, without stopping eating her out, until her whole body arched, her hand closed around my wrist, and she soaked my face with a long shudder that lasted almost a minute. I remember her body arching, the broken word she said afterward, while she laughed with her eyes closed and still trembled from the aftershocks rolling through her in waves.

—No one had ever done this to me.

I felt something more complicated than pride. I felt I was about to step into exactly the size of thing I had always avoided.

***

The next step happened without us talking about it much. Camila was curious, dirty-minded, hungry for new things. One dawn, while she was kissing my neck and squeezing my cock through my pants, she asked if I had ever tried anal sex. I half lied. I told her not with a woman, which was true. I didn’t tell her the other part.

—Would you do it with me? —she pressed—. I’ve never done it.

I told her yes, but with patience. We built it over weeks: lube, fingers, small toys, lots of whispered conversation. I started by slipping in one finger while I ate her out, then two, then my thumb while I fucked her from the front. I bought her a small plug she’d wear for a while before I penetrated her vaginally, so she could get used to having something in her ass while I tore up her pussy with thrusts. It was her who set the pace. One night she turned over on the bed, on all fours, looked back over her shoulder with her ass high in the air, and asked me to finish what we’d started.

I put lube on her asshole and on my cock. I lined up the tip and pushed slowly, millimeter by millimeter, until the head slid in with a wet pop. She took a deep breath, spat a nasty curse through clenched teeth, and told me not to stop. I worked my dick in deep, in short bursts, pulling it out and pushing back in a little farther each time, until I felt my balls slap against her wet pussy. Then I held still for a second, biting the back of her neck.

—Fuck me —she said—. That’s it. Fuck my ass.

I grabbed her hips and started moving, first slowly, feeling her ass squeeze my dick like a fist, then harder, until the bed was shaking and she was biting the pillow. I slid a hand underneath and rubbed her clit while I kept pounding her from behind. I felt her come twice like that, with my cock buried in her ass and my fingers circling her clit. When I couldn’t hold it anymore, I grabbed her hair, pulled her back, and came inside with a series of spasms that almost knocked the air out of me. When we were done, we were both trembling and a thick line of semen was dripping from her ass down to her pussy.

—Now you —she said after, still breathless.

—Me what?

—I want to do the same thing to you. With something. I’ve got a dildo.

I lifted my head. Here it is, I thought. Now or never.

I told her yes. I told her more than yes. I told her the truth: that I’d felt it before, that I liked it, that I’d been carrying it for years and had never found a way to say it. There was a long silence. Then she lay down beside me, brushed the hair off my forehead, and asked why I thought she’d be scared.

—Because most people are scared —I answered.

—I’m not most people.

***

What came next was a stage I remember with a mix of horniness and vertigo. Camila wanted to understand. She wanted to touch everything I’d hidden. She started by pegging me slowly, with the smallest dildo, while kissing my back and whispering in my ear. She made me get on all fours and licked my asshole for a long time, tongue flat, getting me good and wet before sliding in the first toy. Then she tried others, thicker ones, until one Friday night she put on the harness, made me kneel against the headboard, and fucked me for almost an hour, unhurried, talking in my ear.

—Look at how much you love it, asshole —she’d say as she pushed it all the way in—. Look at how your ass tightens when I drive it all the way home.

My cock was hard as a rock, leaking pre-cum onto the sheets without anyone touching it. She kept working me with one hand on my hip and the other tugging my hair until she made me come without touching me, just from the stimulation of having her inside me. I shot all over the bed and she didn’t stop, kept fucking me while my whole body shook, until I begged her to stop, voice breaking.

Another time we tried double penetration. I was fucking her pussy while she had the dildo in her ass, strapped into the harness she’d put on backward, the toy aimed inward at her. Camila laughed and said things I had never heard from a previous partner, filthy things that made me come too early. She was discovering something and she loved it.

—You feel everything, don’t you? —she asked one night, with my cock in her mouth, while I had two of her fingers in my ass.

—Everything.

—And wouldn’t you like it if, instead of the toy, it were something else?

I went speechless. She propped herself up on one elbow, looked at me with that smile she’d get sometimes, the one that was anything but innocent, and bit her lip.

—Think about it —she said—. Then tell me.

I didn’t think about it. All I did for several days was avoid the subject. I didn’t want to pressure her. I also didn’t want her to regret something said in the heat of the moment. But a week later, while we were fucking slowly one Sunday afternoon, with her on top of me moving her hips and my hands squeezing her tits, she was the one who brought it up again.

—Would you really do it? —she asked without stopping her bounce—. With me, together, with someone else?

—If you want to.

—I want to think it through. Clearheaded, not like this.

***

Two days later, during dinner, she put her fork down on the plate and pinned me with a look like she was about to announce something important.

—I thought it through already —she said—. And I watched some videos.

—Videos?

—To understand what turns me on and what doesn’t. And I found something out.

I waited. She poured herself wine with deliberate calm before continuing.

—The first time, I want it with men. The only woman in there is going to be me. And not just one. At least four. Better five.

I almost choked. She kept talking as if she were reading me a menu.

—And another thing. I want us both together, kneeling, facing each other. I want to see your face while they fuck your ass. I want you to see me with two cocks in my mouth. And I want them to have us from every angle, taking turns, until they can’t anymore and leave us dripping with semen from every hole.

I lowered my fork. I didn’t know what to say for a few seconds. She looked at me with a calm I had never seen in her before.

—Are you sure?

—Don’t ask me twice. All I ask is that they be discreet. I don’t mind if they’re acquaintances of yours, but discreet.

I laughed, nervous. I grabbed her hand across the table.

—That I can guarantee.

***

I had a few friends in that parallel world: guys I’d met in other times and kept up a cordial, almost office-like rapport with, never crossing into anything personal. I talked to two of them first. I explained the situation without going into details that weren’t mine to share. Both agreed quickly and offered to add three more acquaintances, all trustworthy, all with their heads on straight.

The following Friday night, they confirmed all five. I told Camila that same dawn, when I got home from work. I gave her the details I had: approximate ages, the little I could say, the minimum rules we had agreed on. Condoms always for penetration. No one was sleeping over. If she said stop at any point, it stopped for everyone.

—Tomorrow —she said—. If we wait any longer, I’ll change my mind.

—Tomorrow.

We spent Saturday moving around the house in an odd silence. She changed the sheets. Tidied the living room. Bought a bottle of fernet and a bottle of red wine, new lube, a big box of condoms. At nine at night she got in the shower and came out wrapped in a towel. At ten sharp, the doorbell rang.

***

I let them in. Camila stayed in the kitchen for a moment, breathing deeply. When she walked into the living room, wearing a short kimono and nothing underneath, none of the five said a word. They looked at her the way you look at something you didn’t expect to see so soon. She held each man’s gaze for a second, one by one, with that calm of hers, and then poured herself a glass of wine.

—Good evening —she said—. Thanks for coming.

The first few minutes were awkward. Small talk, tense laughs, a couple of jokes to lower the tension. Then one of my friends, a big guy named Damián, walked up to her and asked if he could kiss her. She said yes. He opened her kimono with both hands and started sucking her tits right there, standing in the middle of the living room, while she let her head fall back. Another guy put a hand on the back of my neck and kissed me with his whole tongue, biting my lip, while squeezing my cock over my jeans. And from that moment on, it stopped being a dinner and became something else.

We moved to the bedroom. Camila and I knelt on the bed, facing each other, just like she’d said she wanted. The five of them arranged themselves around us, undressing unhurriedly, watching. I took her hands and asked with my eyes if she was okay. She squeezed my fingers and nodded.

—Don’t let go of me —she whispered.

I didn’t let go.

The first to come up to her was Damián. He pressed his hard cock against her cheek and she opened her mouth without taking her eyes off mine. He shoved it all the way in, deep into her throat, and she coughed but didn’t pull away. At the same time, another guy knelt behind me. I felt his hands spreading my ass cheeks, his hot tongue licking my asshole from top to bottom, and then the tip of his cock pressing against the ring. With a condom on, well-lubed. He slid it in slowly, respecting what Camila had asked for, but once he was inside he didn’t ease up: he started pounding me with long thrusts that made me lurch forward against Camila’s hands.

She had Damián in her mouth and another man behind her, fucking her on all fours without ever looking away from me. Every thrust they gave her shoved her toward me and her tits slapped against my chest. We kissed like that, with another man’s cock filling each of us, with our mouths full of someone else’s saliva, and it was the most obscene and most intimate kiss I had ever given in my life.

—Don’t close your eyes —she begged, voice wrecked—. Look at me.

I didn’t close them.

***

What happened over the next few hours I can’t tell in order because I don’t remember it in order. I know that at some point Camila had one in her mouth, another in her pussy, and another between her hands, jerking him off while they fucked her from both sides. I know I was on my knees against the wall with two cocks taking turns in my mouth and a third buried in my ass to the balls. I know they swapped us around, changed positions, that at one point Camila was lying on her back with one man beneath her fucking her ass and another on top fucking her pussy, real double penetration, while a third filled her mouth and looked down at me with glassy eyes and tears running down his temples.

Every time I found her with my eyes, she was looking at me.

At one point they put me on my back and one guy sat on me, speared my cock into his ass, and started bouncing on it while another stuffed his into my mouth. Camila came over to suck the balls of the guy riding me and lick my nipples at the same time. When the guy on top of me finished, he shot over my chest and she bent down and licked the cum off me while the other guy grabbed her head and shoved his cock deeper into her throat.

There were moments of laughter, pauses for water, someone opening a window because it was hot. There was an hour where I lost all sense of time. Bodies mixed, skin blurred together, the room smelled of sweat, semen, and cheap perfume. Camila came every fifteen or twenty minutes, silently, biting her arm or gripping my face with both hands while the man inside her kept pounding her until he ripped another orgasm out of her.

There was a moment, maybe an hour and a half in, when all five of them stood around the two of us, kneeling again one in front of the other like at the start, and they jerked off over our faces. Streams and streams of semen falling onto our cheeks, our lips, our hair, Camila’s tits. She opened her mouth to take whatever she could and then kissed me with all of it inside her. I kissed her back without thinking.

I came three times. The first they pulled out of me by sucking me from both sides, one licking my balls and the other swallowing everything. The second was inside Camila, with her on top, while one of the friends fucked her ass at the same time and I felt the other guy’s cock moving against mine through the thin wall that separated them. The third I let go over Camila’s ass while two guys took turns fucking her doggy style. They came too, by turns, inside and out, on her face, on her tits, in her ass. When none of them could keep an erection anymore and all five were laughing, sprawled on the floor or sitting against the wall, drinking water with their cocks hanging and their bodies shining with sweat, someone said the obvious.

—That’s it. It’s over.

It was a little after two in the morning. Almost four hours had passed.

***

They left one by one, dressed again, with that almost shy formality that appears after something like that. Camila and I stayed alone in a room that looked like it had survived an earthquake, with stained sheets, used condoms on the floor, and heavy air. We looked at each other for a second. Then she burst out laughing and so did I, and we hugged in the middle of the bed like two people coming back from a very long trip.

—I’m fine —she said before I could ask.

—Sure?

—More than sure. Tomorrow I won’t be able to walk, or sit, or close my legs, but I’m fine.

We showered together, slowly, not talking much, helping each other get the dried semen out of our hair and off our skin. It took us both two days to recover. We walked like we’d been beaten. We laughed every time one of us made a weird face when sitting down. That week we didn’t fuck. We didn’t need to.

***

Several years have passed since then. Camila and I ended for other reasons, the ordinary ones, the ones that end couples that wear out. But that night stayed with us like a kind of shared mark. Every so often we write to each other. Every so often one of us mentions, without naming it completely, “that time.”

With the partners who came after, I was clearer from the start. I don’t want to hide that part anymore. Some get scared. Others stay curious. Some, the ones who matter most to me, dare to explore it with me. We don’t always get as far as we got that night. Almost never, really. But the possibility is there, and it’s no longer a secret I carry alone.

That’s why I’m telling it. Because for a long time I thought I would have to choose between what I was and what I seemed to be. And it turns out I don’t.