The Call From My Lover I Shouldn’t Have Answered

I’m going to tell this exactly as it happened, without dressing it up, because if I start trying to justify myself I’ll never finish.

It was six in the evening and I was alone at home when my phone started vibrating on the kitchen table. I saw his name on the screen —Damián— and my stomach clenched at once. I had saved him as “dentist,” just in case. You get good at little lies when you’ve spent months living inside one big one.

I should have let it ring. I swear I thought about it. But my finger moved on its own.

—I don’t know, Damián, I don’t know if we’re going to be able to see each other so soon —I said in a low voice, even though there was no one there—. My husband is acting really weird these days. He watches my phone, asks me what time I leave the gym. I’m terrified.

He laughed. That deep laugh that had given me goosebumps from day one.

—Don’t come at me with excuses now. Or have you already forgotten what happened last time in the car? Because I still go to bed thinking about that every night. I still jerk off thinking about your mouth, did you know that?

—Don’t be crude —I answered, and felt my face burn—. How could I forget? I still remember the taste of your cum going down my throat.

And it was true. That’s the part nobody understands when they judge a woman like me. It’s not just the body. It’s memory. There are memories that get under your skin, between your legs, and no husband, no house, no promise can erase them.

I’ve been married nine years. I love my husband, and that’s the uncomfortable truth in all of this. He doesn’t treat me badly, I lack for nothing, I don’t have any of the excuses I’m supposed to have to justify what I do. And yet, for months now, I’ve been living a double life. One woman who makes dinner and checks the kids’ homework, and another who locks herself in the bathroom to read messages that make her tremble and slide two fingers all the way in without making a sound.

***

—Tell me how it started —he asked, lowering his voice—. Remind me. When you came into the bar in those jeans and the blouse with nothing underneath.

I closed my eyes, leaning against the counter, and let the memory drag me under.

I had arrived a total wreck. We’d been talking for weeks by message, first nonsense, then things that made me clench my thighs while pretending to check work email. That night I told my husband I was going out with the women from the office. I put on what I knew Damián liked, no bra, with a thin black thong that was cutting into me just from walking, and I drove to a bar on the other side of the city, where nobody knew me.

He was already there when I walked in. Tight shirt, first button open, forearms resting on the bar. He looked me up and down from my feet and didn’t bother hiding it for a second. I saw the bulge in his jeans before I even reached the stool.

—You were gorgeous —I told him on the phone—. And you were eating me up with your eyes before I even said hello. You were already hard under the table, you could tell.

—And you were playing saint —he shot back—. I bought you a drink, we talked about anything, and when I told you I was dying to kiss you, do you remember what you said?

—“Let’s go for a walk” —I repeated, and laughed to myself in the kitchen.

—Exactly. As if we were going to look at the stars. You knew perfectly well where we were going to end up. You were already soaked, don’t deny it.

—I’m not denying it —I murmured—. When I got in the car, my thong was glued to me.

There was no point denying it. I knew it. I had decided days before, standing in front of the mirror, telling myself it would just be one drink, that a woman can have a drink with a friend. Lie. You tell yourself things like that so you can sleep.

***

We went out to the parking lot. He had left the car in the back area, where the streetlights were dead and darkness covered everything. As soon as we shut the doors, there was no more conversation.

—You took my blouse off in two seconds —I reminded him, and noticed my own voice had changed, rougher, slower.

—Because I’d been imagining it for weeks —he said—. I still remember the little noise you made when I kissed your neck. And how your nipples stood up, hard as rocks, the second I lowered the strap.

He had done it slowly at first, as if we had all night. He kissed my jaw, trailed down my collarbone, and when his mouth found my breast I was already lost. He sucked one nipple into his mouth, took it in deep, and bit down with his teeth, and I let out a moan so filthy I hardly recognized myself. I was throwing my head against the headrest and staring at the windshield fogging over, not believing what I was doing, not wanting him to stop.

His hand slid down my stomach, yanked open my jeans, and slipped his fingers inside my thong without asking. I spread my legs as far as the passenger seat would let me. I was so wet his finger sank in to the knuckles in one stroke, and he hissed a “fuck” through clenched teeth against my ear.

—Look at you, slut —he whispered—. You’re dripping everywhere. Is this how you come from home? Is this how you leave the bar with your husband?

I couldn’t speak. I could only grind my hips against his hand, wanting more, while he slid two fingers in and out slowly so I could hear the sound they made, that sticky, obscene sound that filled the whole car.

—I’m getting wet just remembering it —I confessed into the phone, and looked over my shoulder toward the door, terrified my husband might walk in at that moment. With my free hand I unbuttoned my pants and shoved my fingers in right there, in the kitchen. I was soaked again—. Oh, Damián, if you only knew where my hand is right now.

—Keep going —Damián told me—. Tell me the best part. And touch yourself, don’t stop.

The best part. This is where I should be ashamed, and I’m not. That’s my real confession.

***

—I whispered in your ear that I wanted to see you —I said—. That I’d been thinking about your cock for weeks every time I was alone.

—And I, like a good boy, did as I was told.

He unbuckled his belt right there, in the driver’s seat, with that calm of his that drove me insane. He was never in a rush. Never. He shoved his jeans down to his knees and his cock sprang out, hard, thick, the tip already shining. My mouth watered just looking at it. And I, who at home switch off the light before undressing, leaned over him without thinking twice.

I started with his thighs. I ran my tongue over them slowly, bit him softly, climbed centimeter by centimeter while he tangled his fingers in my hair. I licked his groin, breathed over his cock without touching it, and he jerked. I kissed his balls, took them into my mouth one by one, sucked them carefully while I held his dick in my hand and squeezed it at the base, feeling it throb against my palm. I wasn’t rushing him. I wanted to feel his whole body tightening, to feel his breath cut off every time I went a little higher.

—No one had ever done that to me so calmly —he said, and over the phone his voice sounded as if he were back there again—. With that much tongue. I thought I was going to lose my mind before we even started.

—That was the idea —I answered.

I ran my tongue from his balls to the tip, very slowly, tracing every vein. I lingered on the head for a second, circling with my tongue, sucking just the tip like it was a candy, until he pushed on the back of my neck. Then I took him in my mouth without using my hands, slowly, teasing. I took him all the way in, until the tip touched my throat and I felt like coughing, and I stayed there for a few seconds, feeling him pulse inside me. Then I pulled him out. A string of saliva hung from my lip to the head. I took him back in, faster this time, working my tongue underneath, sucking hard as I went up, pulling back whenever I felt him close.

He was pushing his hips, impatient, trying to set the rhythm, and I denied it to him on purpose. Every time his thighs tensed and I could tell he was about to come, I’d pull his cock out of my mouth and lick his balls again while I jerked him very slowly with my saliva-soaked hand. He loved having that power. At home he never had it. In that dark car I decided every second of what happened, and he was completely at my mercy.

—You called me all sorts of things —I reminded him, smiling—. Naughty married woman. You said I was a dirty little slut.

—Because you were —he laughed—. You are. You love having another man’s cock in your mouth while your husband doesn’t know where you are.

—I love it —I admitted, and slid one finger deeper, biting my lip—. And when you grabbed the back of my neck and made me swallow it whole, I almost came without you even touching me.

Meanwhile, outside the car, life went on. A couple passed by laughing on their way to the bar, a distant streetlamp flickered, someone started an engine. And I, inside that dark bubble, with a stranger’s cock all the way down my throat and the mucus of saliva running from my chin down to my bare tits, was doing something I had never done for anyone with so much abandon, not even for my husband on our wedding night. That contradiction is what still keeps me up at night. How I can be two people at once and recognize myself in both.

***

—And when you couldn’t take any more —I went on, because now I was the one who didn’t want to stop remembering—, you grabbed my head with both hands.

—I couldn’t help it. You were driving me crazy.

—I know. You shoved it all the way in and started fucking my mouth without any mercy. I gagged, tears ran down my cheeks, and I didn’t pull away. I stayed still, letting you do it, my hands on your thighs.

—I could hear you choking and it got me even harder. Forgive me.

—I forgive you nothing. I loved it.

When you finally exploded, you groaned so loudly I thought people in the street were going to hear us. I felt the first spurt hit the roof of my mouth, hot, thick, and I swallowed it all. Then came another, and another, and another. You didn’t stop. You filled my mouth until there was no room left, and even so I swallowed every drop. I didn’t let a single one go to waste. When you were done, I stuck out my tongue and cleaned the tip, and licked the last drops from my lips while looking you in the eyes.

There was a silence on the other end of the line. I knew it well. It was the silence of a man remembering something too intensely. I heard him breathing harder, the rustle of fabric, and I knew he was touching himself.

—You had me in a trance, honestly —he said at last, his voice hoarse—. No one had ever swallowed my cum like that, without disgust, hungry. And then you were looking at me with that good-girl face, with your lips shining from my load, like you hadn’t done anything.

—It’s because I’m a good girl —I joked—. Ask my husband.

—Your husband knows nothing. I know what you’re really like. I know the look in your eyes when you swallow it.

—Shut up —I murmured, and put in another finger. I was right there—. Damián, I’m going to come right here, in the kitchen.

—Come. Come thinking about how I’m going to fuck you next time. Because this time I’m not settling for your mouth, I swear. I’m going to put you on your knees on the hotel bed and fuck your pussy until you forget your married name. I’m going to spread your legs and eat you out completely before I put it in, and when I do it’s going to be all the way in, without mercy. I’m going to fuck you from the front, from behind, in every position I can think of, and I’m going to come inside you so you go home with my cum running down your thighs.

A long moan escaped me, pressed into the sleeve of my sweater. My knees went weak. I had to brace myself on the counter so I wouldn’t fall, shaking all over, fingers soaked to the wrist. I hadn’t even managed to stay quiet completely.

And there, the second I could breathe, my smile vanished. Because that’s the other half of the story. The one that isn’t funny.

***

—I can’t, Damián —I told him, and this time I meant it—. I really can’t. My husband is on top of me all day. If he finds out, this is over. Everything. My home, my family, everything.

—Just one afternoon —he insisted, with that velvet voice that knew exactly where to press—. This time it won’t just be your mouth, I promise. I really miss you. I miss your pussy.

—Don’t play dirty.

—I’m not playing. Tell me when. Same place, a hotel, wherever you want. I don’t care. Don’t make me beg. I want to fuck you all the way and hear you moan without being afraid someone will hear us.

And there was my problem, laid bare in a single sentence. Because the sensible part of me, the woman who wears a wedding ring and has wedding photos in the hallway, wanted to hang up and block the number forever. But the other one, the one who woke up in that dark car with a stranger’s cum in her mouth, was already calculating what day of the week my husband would be late.

—Let me see how things are at home —I murmured, and hated how easily it came out—. If he relaxes a bit, I’ll let you know. But I’m not promising anything, okay?

—That’s a yes in disguise —he said, and I knew he was right.

—Shut up, you maniac. I have to go.

—A kiss.

—A kiss —I repeated.

—No. A thousand. And don’t take long to call me. I’ve got a hard cock thinking about your pussy.

***

I hung up and stood there for a very long time looking at the phone on the counter, my heart pounding as if I’d run ten kilometers and my fingers still sticky. I washed them quickly in the sink, buttoned my pants, ran my hands through my hair. I heard the key in the lock. My husband was home from work, tired, ordinary, with no idea that the woman who greeted him with a kiss on the cheek had just come thinking about another man and had almost accidentally promised to spread her legs for him next week.

—Everything okay? —he asked, putting his keys in the bowl.

—Everything’s fine —I told him, and smiled.

That’s my confession. Not that I did it once in a car; plenty of people do that. My confession is that, knowing everything I have to lose, knowing what I have and what I could lose, I still can’t say no. And while he went upstairs to take a shower, I was already thinking about which afternoon this week I’d text Damián to tell him yes, and what it would feel like, finally, to have him inside me.