The Bachelorette Party I’ll Never Forget

The invitation hit me like a meteorite. Camila had been my cubicle mate at the agency, but we’d gone three years without exchanging more than the occasional “like” on social media. When I opened the envelope and saw my name written in gold ink, I thought she’d made a mistake. She hadn’t.

A month before the wedding, a second invitation arrived, this time to the bachelorette party. From then on, Camila and I started talking again. We hadn’t had a falling-out; life had simply pulled us apart, and now life, apparently, wanted to bring us back together.

At that point, I was going through the worst period of my life. I had just split up with Tomás after four years, one of my best friends had turned her back on me without explanation, and insomnia was my only companion. I hadn’t fucked anyone in five months, and the few times I’d tried touching myself, I’d ended up crying instead of coming. I agreed to go because I needed any excuse to get out of my own head.

The bar Camila rented was downtown, on a corner I didn’t know. It was a small place, with brick walls painted black and red lights hanging from the ceiling like ripe fruit. I arrived at eight fifteen. I only knew the bride.

—Martina, come on, come on, let me introduce you to the girls —Camila said, dragging me by the arm.

There were about fifteen of us, all younger or more uninhibited than I was, or both at once. Within ten minutes I knew five names and had drunk two glasses of sparkling wine. The decorations were, at the very least, explicit: penis-shaped balloons, garlands bearing phrases I won’t repeat, and a piñata that looked as if it had come from an adult toy store.

—Is this your first party like this? —a brunette sitting beside me asked.

—It’s my first bachelorette party, period —I replied, and she laughed so hard she had to hold my glass to keep from spilling it.

The games started early and, predictably, they all revolved around sex. We had to guess celebrities by their moans, draw positions with our eyes closed, and answer intimate questions without thinking. At first I felt uncomfortable, as if I’d landed in a movie I hadn’t chosen. The wine was doing its job, and my cheeks lost their shyness before the rest of my body did.

By ten thirty, the atmosphere had crossed every boundary. One girl pulled an intensely pink vibrator from a box, took off her skirt without thinking twice, and dragged her panties aside, exposing her shaved pussy. She slipped the tip of the vibrator between her wet lips and began moving it in circles over her clitoris while the others applauded and shouted obscenities at her. A few minutes later she was moaning without restraint, two fingers buried in her own pussy while the vibrator buzzed against her swollen clitoris. Another pulled down her blouse, leaving her tits bare—two white tits with nipples hard as stones—and began pinching them herself in front of everyone. At a table in the back, two of the bride’s friends were kissing as if they’d been waiting months for the opportunity; one had her hand under the other’s skirt, and from the movement of her arm it was obvious she was fingering her down there, shamelessly, in front of anyone who wanted to watch.

I watched everything with a mixture of arousal and embarrassment. I was wet, soaked, really; I could feel the moisture sticking to the fabric of my panties and my clitoris throbbing with every breath. There was no point denying it.

What have I gotten myself into, Martina?

***

It was almost midnight when a girl took the microphone and called for silence. She was the bride’s cousin, or a borrowed cousin—on nights like these, you never know.

—Ladies, the moment we’ve all been waiting for. Let’s welcome the three gentlemen of the evening.

The lights dimmed, and they came out from the back of the bar. Three men, standing in a line, wearing little more than black briefs that concealed nothing. The bulge of one of them made my eyes go wide. I was standing there with an empty glass in my hand, my eyes fixed on only one of them.

He was a tall Black man, with broad shoulders and a defined waist. His skin gleamed as if it had been polished. He had a firm jaw, the smile of someone who knows everyone is watching him, and legs that looked sculpted by someone who never made a mistake. I didn’t choose him; my body chose for me. My nipples tightened against my bra at first sight.

—Earth to Martina —the brunette I’d been talking to earlier whispered in my ear. —Close your mouth or a fly’s going to get in.

I laughed without taking my eyes off him.

—Do you know his name? —I asked.

—Damián, I think. But I don’t give a damn what his name is. I’d suck that cock without asking his name.

The three strippers began dancing among us, and with the alcohol in their systems, the girls’ hands didn’t hesitate. Soon there were laughs, screams, hands daring more than they should: hands slipping inside briefs, squeezing cocks through the fabric, closing around balls. Damián danced with Camila first, as protocol required. He rubbed his cock over her dress, and Camila, the bride, crouched down and kissed him over his briefs, tracing the shape of his cock with her lips. Then he moved among the others. I waited. For some reason I knew he would reach me, and when he did, I didn’t let the moment pass.

He was kissing a girl who had sat on the bar when he pulled away. He had hiked her skirt up to her waist and had his hand buried between her thighs; the girl moaned softly, her head thrown back. He looked at me for a second, as if he’d only just noticed me, and approached slowly. I grabbed him by the nape before I could think. I kissed him.

His mouth tasted of mint and something darker I couldn’t identify. His tongue found mine without asking permission, pushing inside hard, sucking on it. I lowered one hand and caressed him through his briefs, and what he had between his legs made me swallow. He was only half-hard and already filled my hand; I squeezed him from base to tip, feeling him harden beneath my fingers.

—I love what you’ve got hanging there —I whispered in his ear, biting my lip. —I want that cock in my mouth.

He laughed. A deep, professional laugh, but with something genuine underneath.

—Wait your turn, princess. I’m going to give you all of it, don’t worry.

I went to sit down with trembling legs and soaked panties.

***

The girls took turns pulling down the three strippers’ briefs, amid laughter and applause. When it was Damián’s turn, a blonde in a red dress pulled them down, and when the fabric fell, the entire bar fell silent for three seconds. He was enormous. Not in the exaggerated sense friends use when talking about an ex; enormous in the literal, mathematical sense of the adjective. About twenty centimeters, I calculated, although the light and the alcohol might have been deceiving me. I doubted it. His cock hung heavy and thick, the purple head showing between his dark skin; his balls—two enormous balls—swayed between his legs whenever he moved.

The blonde in the red dress wasted no time: she knelt, grabbed his cock with both hands—there was still plenty of cock left over even then—and began licking the tip as if it were an ice cream. Then she opened her mouth as wide as she could and took the head inside, sucking hard while her hand moved over the rest of the shaft. Damián placed a hand on the back of her head and pushed gently, making her take more. The blonde gagged, tears filling her eyes, and still kept sucking. When he pulled it out, a strand of saliva hung from her chin to the tip of his cock.

The girls began taking turns putting it in their mouths. Someone had decided that the party included that too, and nobody objected. One sucked him on her knees while fingering her pussy; another licked him from bottom to top, from his balls to the tip, and then put them in her mouth one at a time. When it was the turn of the girl beside me, I couldn’t stay seated any longer. I moved closer, knelt beside her, and while she sucked him, I caressed her tits and looked her in the eyes. I pinched one nipple through her blouse, and she moaned with her mouth full of cock. I wanted her to know I was next.

When my turn came, I held nothing back. I took him in my hand, tasted him slowly, licked the tip, gathering the mixture of the other girls’ saliva and his own salty, thick pre-cum. I worked him into my mouth little by little, because taking him all at once was impossible. I sucked his head while jerking off the rest of the shaft with my hand. Then I pushed him down my throat, fighting my gag reflex, looking up at him through tear-filled eyes. He looked down at me with a new expression, one that was no longer the professional entertainer’s. It was the expression of a man discovering that this girl in red heels wanted to keep him.

I sucked his balls one at a time while continuing to jerk him off. I went back up to the tip and swallowed him again, deeper this time, until my nose touched the skin of his pubis. I heard someone shout, “Now she knows what she’s doing!” and another tell me, “Swallow the whole thing, slut.” I pulled him out with a wet sound, spat onto the tip, and took him back into my mouth.

—Stay with me, please —I begged, taking him out of my mouth for a second.

—What? —he asked, as if he hadn’t heard me clearly.

I didn’t repeat myself. I stood up, pulled my dress over my head, and yanked off my panties. They were so wet they stuck to my thighs as I pulled them down. I kept my heels on because I’d already learned that the heels stay on. I sat on the red couch behind us and spread my legs as far as anatomy allowed, showing him my shaved, gleaming pussy, my swollen, open lips dripping wet.

—Fuck me —I said, biting my lip. —Fuck me all the way, now. Fuck me in front of everyone.

It took him half a second to decide. The other girls had gone quiet. The entire bar had become a kind of theater, and I, without intending to, was the main event.

—Fuck her! —someone shouted.

—Fuck her, fuck her! —several girls began chanting.

Damián knelt between my legs. He kissed my neck first, bit my shoulder, and brushed my hair away from my face with a tenderness I hadn’t expected. Then he lowered his head between my thighs and licked my pussy in one long stroke, from my asshole to my clitoris. My back arched on its own. He sucked my lips one at a time, opened me with his fingers, and pushed his tongue inside, moving it as if he were fucking me with it. He sought out my clitoris with the tip of his tongue and gave it quick little licks while he pushed two thick fingers inside me to the knuckles. I buried my hands in his shaved head and pressed his face against my pussy.

—Yes, like that, suck it like that, don’t stop, you son of a bitch.

I was about to come in his mouth when he stood up, looked at me with his chin shining with my juices, and gripped his cock. He rubbed it all over my slit, from top to bottom, wetting the tip with my moisture, tapping my clitoris with the thick head. Then he put it inside me.

It hurt. It hurt a lot for the first few seconds, because there was no human way that thing could fit without resistance. I felt my pussy being forced wide open, my lips stretching around his cock, every inch entering me filling me in a way I had never known before. And from the very first thrust, I loved it. It felt as if the universe had decided to compensate me for all the bad months with one single blow.

—Yes, like that —I begged. —Don’t stop. Put it all the way in, to the back.

—All of it, princess? You still have half left.

—All of it, you bastard. Break me.

He penetrated me slowly at first, gauging me, moving in and out with short thrusts so I could open up. When he finally buried himself to the pubic bone, I moaned so loudly that the girls around us screamed enthusiastically. Then he began fucking me harder, with long thrusts, pulling almost all the way out and driving back in with one hard push. His testicles slapped against my ass with every thrust, and that sound—the sloshing of my soaked pussy, the smack of his balls, my moans—was obscene and beautiful at the same time. I dug my nails into his shoulders, bit his collarbone, and said things that in any other context would have seemed unprintable to me.

—Give me more, you son of a bitch, give me all that cock.

—All of it, my love?

—All of it. Wreck my pussy, fuck me like a slut.

—You like that, huh, princess? You like being filled properly.

—Yes, yes, like that, harder, harder.

He lifted my legs onto his shoulders and sank into a new angle, deeper. I felt the tip pressing against somewhere that had never been touched before. He sucked my nipples while he fucked me, first one and then the other, biting them with his teeth until I screamed. He put two fingers in my mouth, and I sucked them the way I had sucked his cock. A girl approached, crouched beside the couch, and licked my clitoris while Damián kept fucking me. I buried my hand in her hair and held her there. I came. I came with a hoarse cry, my legs trembling over Damián’s shoulders and the unknown girl’s tongue moving over my clitoris. My pussy clenched around his cock in spasms, which he used to bury himself deeper.

He turned me over. He put me on my knees on the couch, my elbows resting on the back, and entered me from behind again. From that angle everything was different, deeper, more animal. I felt my face flush, my forehead pressed against the leather of the couch, my legs trembling, my ass raised in the air to receive every thrust. He grabbed my hair, pulled my head back, and fucked me as if he wanted to pass right through me. He slapped my ass, the sound echoing throughout the bar. Then another slap. He spit on my ass and ran his thumb over my asshole, pressing without quite pushing it inside.

—What an ass you have, princess, what an ass. I’m going to fuck it another day.

—Whenever you want, daddy, whenever you want.

Part of me wanted it never to end. Another part wanted to finish already. He put two fingers in my mouth from behind, pulling my jaw as if I were a horse, and kept fucking me. I drooled onto the couch, moaned uncontrollably, and came for the second time, the walls of my pussy squeezing his cock until it trembled.

—I’m going to come, princess —he warned me in a hoarse voice. —I’m going to come inside this slut’s mouth.

—In my mouth —I told him. —Give it to me in my mouth. I want to swallow all your cum.

He pulled out. His cock came out coated with me, gleaming, the head swollen and purple. I turned around, knelt on the floor in front of him, opened my mouth with my eyes fixed on his, and stuck out my tongue. He grabbed it and quickly jerked off in front of my face. The first spurts landed on my tongue, hot and thick, and kept coming: on my lips, my chin, my tits. One very long spurt, then another, and one smaller one that dripped from the tip when he shook his cock against my lips. I took it all. I swallowed every drop in my mouth as if it were a punishment I had earned and wanted to carry out; I gathered the semen that had landed outside with my fingers and brought that to my tongue too. I sucked the tip until the last drop, my eyes never leaving his. When I finished, I wiped the back of my hand over my lips and kept looking at him, smiling, still on my knees, with semen shining on my tits.

The girls applauded as if they were in a stadium. The other two strippers were still busy with other friends in other corners—two girls were fucking one of them at the same time, one riding him and the other sitting on his face. Camila, the bride, came over, helped me up, and hugged me without caring that I was staining her dress with semen.

—Thanks for saving my bachelorette party —she whispered in my ear, laughing. —You’re the biggest slut I know. I love you.

***

I had to be told what happened afterward. After the third drink following all that, I lost the thread. I woke up the next day in a hotel, my dress folded over a chair and my red heels on the floor. One of the girls had accompanied me, the brunette who had told me to close my mouth at the beginning. She had left a glass of water on the nightstand and a note: “You’ve gone down in history.”

I looked for Damián. I searched for Wilson, Daniel, every variation I could think of. On Instagram, Facebook, and through the agency Camila had hired for the night. There was no way. Camila only remembered the manager’s contact information, and the manager only gave out stage names. Damián, or whatever his real name was, still existed somewhere in the city, but to me he was a perfect ghost. The man I’d had the best night of my life with and would never see again.

I would have liked to meet him under different circumstances. I would have liked to know what he did when he wasn’t dancing at bachelorette parties. I would have liked to find out whether he liked coffee, whether he read, whether he had siblings, whether he supported a particular team. I would even have liked the remote possibility of falling in love with him. I know, it’s ridiculous. But the first and only night I spent with a man who fucked me like that left my thoughts in turmoil for months. I touched myself thinking about him for weeks, coming countless times as I remembered the way he opened my pussy, the way he filled my mouth with cum.

Four years passed after that night. I don’t drink as much anymore. I married a wonderful man who doesn’t need to resemble anyone from my past. Life gave me back the calm I needed so badly in those days.

But if, for some unlikely reason, Damián reads this, I want him to know who I am. The girl in the red heels. The one who asked him to stay. The one who swallowed every last drop. I’m still looking for you at every traffic light.