The Confession I Kept for Too Long

Renata was thirty-four and had been married to Aníbal for eight years, a financial adviser who kept her from living in luxury but without any shocks, and who left her alone most of the time. Her days were a succession of the same tasks: the house, the shopping list, the neighborhood supermarket on Thursday afternoons. That Thursday in October, while she was choosing peaches in the fruit section, she felt someone looking at her.

When she turned her head, she found herself facing a man who barely came up to her shoulder. He must have been just over four feet tall, broad-shouldered, with a smile that could undo anyone. His eyes were black, alert, with a glint of mischief that did not fit with the place’s gray routine.

—Want me to help you pick them? The ones on the left are still green —he said, in a deep, calm voice that took her by surprise.

Renata smiled, flustered without knowing why.

—Thanks. I was looking for the ripest ones.

—Nicanor —he introduced himself, extending a small, firm hand.

—Renata —she replied, shaking it.

The conversation flowed with an ease she had not felt in years. He made her laugh three times before they reached the checkout, and she didn’t care at all about his height; on the contrary, there was something magnetic in his confidence, in the way he occupied space despite his size. When he suggested coffee —“I’ve got one much better than the machine here,” he said with a wink— Renata hesitated for only a second.

She was married. But it had been far too long since anyone had looked at her the way he was looking at her. She left the cart half full and followed him to his apartment, three blocks from the store.

The place was warm, tidy, everything adapted to his height. While he made the coffee, she watched him move with an ease that mesmerized her. What am I doing here?, she thought, and immediately pushed the question away.

—Are you happy, Renata? —he asked, handing her the cup.

The question left her speechless. She was comfortable, secure. But happy?

—I don’t know if I should be here —she murmured.

Nicanor came closer slowly, lifting his face to look into her eyes.

—Sometimes happiness isn’t where we leave it stored away.

Renata felt a shiver run down her spine. There was no one else in the world in that instant. She leaned in, and their lips met. The kiss was soft at first, then urgent, hungry, as if they had both been waiting for it for years.

***

His hands slipped under her blouse, he yanked off her bra, and pinched her nipples until Renata moaned against his mouth. He led her to the bedroom without stopping biting her neck, while he lifted her skirt and ran his palm over her panties. She was already soaking wet.

—You’re dripping —he told her in that deep voice that made her clamp her thighs together—. You’ve known me less than half an hour and your cunt’s already turned to soup.

—Shut up —she panted, biting her lip.

—No. Say it. Say what you want.

Renata closed her eyes, embarrassed and turned on at the same time.

—I want you to fuck me.

—Harder.

—I want your cock inside me, Nicanor. Now.

She started tearing her clothes off, feeling more alive than she had in years. He watched her with an intensity that made her tremble. When she finished stripping, he stood in front of her and opened his pants. Renata held her breath.

Out of proportion with his small body, he had the biggest cock she had ever seen. Erect, thick, with prominent veins and the swollen, shining head pointed at her face. She let out an exclamation.

—Nicanor… you…

He smiled with calm pride.

—Yeah. Nature has a sense of humor. Come on, kneel down.

Renata dropped to her knees in front of him as if her body obeyed before her mind did. She took his cock with both hands and still had spare room. She felt the weight, the hardness, the heat throbbing against her palm. She ran her tongue underneath it, from base to tip, and he let out a rough groan.

—That’s it, suck it all —he murmured, burying his fingers in her hair.

She opened her mouth as wide as she could and took it in. It only went halfway before the tip was already pushing at the back of her throat. She started sucking, moving up and down, letting it slip out with a strand of saliva hanging from her chin, only to take it back in again. Nicanor held her by the nape, watching her choke on his cock, and every so often he shoved his hips forward to ram it a little deeper. Renata felt tears rise to her eyes, but she didn’t want to stop. She licked his balls, sucked them one by one while she kept jerking him with her hand, and took him back into her mouth until she gagged.

—Good girl —he said, his voice trembling—. You’re going to learn to swallow it whole.

He lifted her by the arm and threw her onto the bed on her back. He spread her legs with one hard push and buried his face between them. When his mouth found Renata’s pussy, she screamed. Nicanor ate her cunt with a precision that drove her insane: he sucked her clit, nibbled it, slid two fingers into her and curved them forward, searching for the spot Aníbal had never found in eight years. Renata clung to the sheets, arched her back, shook. He brought her to the edge three times without letting her fall.

—Please —she begged, voice broken—. Please, Nicanor, put it in me, I can’t take it anymore.

—Put what in you?

—Your cock, come on, fuck me, fuck me now.

He settled between her legs and brushed the head of his cock against her pussy lips, wetting the tip with what she herself was dripping. Then he began to enter her, slowly, centimeter by centimeter. Renata felt herself opening, felt herself creaking inside, the sting and the pleasure mixing into one thing. When he was all the way in, she felt the tip press against something she hadn’t known was there. She had never felt like this, so full, so stretched, so present in her own body.

He started moving. First slowly, pulling almost all the way out and driving back in to the base. Each thrust tore a moan from Renata. Then he sped up, gripping her hips, hammering into her to the hilt with a brutal rhythm that made the bed bang against the wall. His balls slapped against her ass.

—Like that, harder —she begged, lost—. Harder, break me.

He turned her face-down, lifted her ass and went in from behind again. He grabbed her hair and pulled back while he fucked her. Renata screamed into the pillow, mouth open, spit dripping from her lips. She could feel his cock driving into a place that hurt and delighted her at the same time. He slapped her ass, then again, and she asked for more.

—What a slut you are —he told her, shoving harder—. Look at how you’re begging for it.

—I’m your slut, I’m your slut, don’t stop.

He flipped her onto her back again and climbed on top of her. Renata dug her nails into his back while he fucked her, gripping her tits with both hands. She felt the first jet of his orgasm hitting deep inside her, hot, thick, and that was enough to push her over the edge. She exploded into a shudder that shook her whole body, her pussy squeezing around his cock, milking him for every last drop. Nicanor kept thrusting while he came, emptying himself completely inside her, growling against her neck.

They stayed still, panting, him on top of her, his cock still inside and leaking. When he finally pulled out, a thread of semen ran down Renata’s thigh. Reality came back, and with it guilt. But at that moment she didn’t care.

—We’ve got the whole afternoon —he said, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead.

Renata smiled. She knew that this was going to change everything. She didn’t care about that either.

***

The following weeks were a whirlwind of secret meetings. Renata made up excuses to get out: an errand, a friend, her mother. She always ended up in the same apartment, where Nicanor was waiting for her, often already naked, with his cock hard and waiting for her the moment she closed the door.

Each time was more intense than the last. She discovered that she liked rougher sex, more animal. She liked when he grabbed her by the hair the moment she walked in and shoved her face against his cock, made her suck him on her knees against the door before he even bothered to say hello. She loved when he took her from behind over the kitchen table, her pants pulled down to mid-thigh, while he yanked on her tits and bit her neck. She loved mounting him and feeling him go deep while he dug his fingers into her hips and forced her down to the hilt in one jerk. She discovered that she liked swallowing his load, feeling it thick against the roof of her mouth and showing it to him on her tongue before she swallowed it. Things she had never even dared to name with Aníbal.

One afternoon Nicanor slipped a finger into her ass while he fucked her, and she, instead of pushing forward to come, pushed back, asking for more. At the next meeting he had her prepared with lubricant and slid it into her ass slowly, his mouth against the nape of her neck, whispering filthy things in her ear. Renata cried with pleasure, her pussy dripping down her thighs while she let herself get fucked from behind for the first time in her life. After that, there were no limits.

And she changed. She became bolder, more confident. Even her marriage began to suffer: she started demanding things, settling for less, looking at Aníbal and wondering when exactly they had become two strangers sharing a house.

—You’ve been different lately —he told her one night, putting the newspaper down on the table—. Like you’ve got a secret.

Renata felt panic rise in her throat, but she managed to stay calm.

—Different how? —she replied, not looking at him.

—I don’t know. More alive.

That night she couldn’t sleep. Guilt was starting to weigh more than pleasure. She wondered if she should end things with Nicanor, but even the thought made her feel a physical anguish, almost pain.

***

The truth came by the most banal route. Aníbal was checking the card statements and found the charge from a downtown hotel, on the very day she had said she was visiting her mother. That same night, while Renata slept, he read the messages on her phone. The explicit ones, the passionate ones, the photos.

In the morning he was waiting for her in the kitchen, phone in hand and with an expression she had never seen on him before.

—Nicanor? —he asked, in a cold voice.

Renata went pale.

—Aníbal, I can explain…

—Explain what? That you’ve been cheating on me with… that?

The contempt in his eyes hurt more than any shouting. And then, instead of collapsing, she felt an unexpected fury.

—At least he makes me feel alive —she replied, with a firmness that surprised even her—. At least he wants me, desires me. You haven’t looked at me in years except as just another piece of furniture in this house.

The argument escalated. Old grievances, uncomfortable truths, came to light. Aníbal slammed his hand on the table and left, leaving her alone with her guilt and an enormous silence.

***

Renata couldn’t stand the empty house. She needed to talk to someone, to let it out, and went to Nicanor’s apartment. She found the door ajar. Before going in, she heard his voice: he was on the phone.

—Yeah, Mom, I know… No, it’s nothing serious… Just fun, that’s all, you know how I am…

She stood frozen in the hallway.

—No, don’t worry, I’m not going to let her ruin my life… She’s a boring married woman who needed a good fuck… Honestly, I was already getting tired of her.

The words hit her harder than any contempt from Aníbal. She felt her heart crack, her illusions fall apart one by one. She pushed the door open. Nicanor saw her and hung up abruptly.

—Renata… it’s not what it looks like…

—A boring married woman? —she repeated, with tears in her eyes—. That’s what I am? A pastime?

He tried to come closer, to touch her.

—Don’t touch me —she said, stepping back—. Don’t ever touch me again.

She left without looking back, more humiliated and lonelier than ever. In a single day she had lost her husband and discovered that her lover had never seen her as a person.

***

The following weeks were a silent hell. Aníbal had moved in with his mother and the word divorce had started to be spoken. Nicanor tried to write to her twice; she didn’t answer either time.

She felt empty and stupid. How had she risked so much for something that meant nothing to the other person? But as the days went by, beneath the shame something else began to appear: a question she had never asked herself. What did she want for herself, really?

One afternoon the doorbell rang. It was Aníbal, coming for his things.

—I’m sorry —Renata told him while he packed shirts into a box—. It was a terrible mistake.

He stopped and looked at her for a moment.

—Yeah, it was. But you weren’t the only one who made a mistake. I left you alone too. I took you for granted for years.

There was no reconciliation that afternoon. Only a new honesty, rough and raw, which tasted strangely like relief to her. Aníbal left, and Renata stood in the middle of the living room, feeling for the first time in a long while that the silence of the house was hers.

***

The months went by slowly. Renata went back to studying something she had left half-finished before getting married, took up friendships she had lost along the way, started going to the movies alone on Thursday afternoons, at the time she used to spend at the supermarket. She never went back to that branch again.

She spoke with Aníbal from time to time, cordially and at a distance. Sometimes she felt nostalgic for the security she had once had, but she no longer wanted to return to that comfort that had been dimming her without her noticing.

One day, walking through downtown, she saw Nicanor on the other side of the street, laughing with another woman, hand in hand. She waited for the familiar stab, but it didn’t come. Instead, she felt a strange calm. She was free of that obsession, free even of anger.

That night she poured herself a glass of wine and sat on the balcony to think. The affair with Nicanor had hurt her like few things in her life. But it had also, in a twisted way, set her free: it had shown her a body and desires she herself had chosen to ignore for years, out of fear of being judged, out of habit, out of laziness.

What she still hadn’t learned —and understood that night, alone, with the glass in her hand— was that she didn’t need another man to claim them. That desire was hers, not a gift someone came to hand her in exchange for her silence.

Weeks later, Aníbal called her. He wanted to know if she’d like to have dinner sometime, as friends, with no promises. Renata held the phone in her hand for a moment. She didn’t know whether that dinner would lead to anything or to nothing, and for the first time in a long while that didn’t scare her.

—I’d love to —she replied.

This wasn’t a story with a perfect ending, and she wasn’t looking for one anymore either. Sometimes happiness isn’t about staying or running away, but about looking yourself in the eye and accepting what you discovered along the way, even if the path itself was the wrong one.

This is the part I never told: I don’t regret the desire. I regret the way I let someone else teach it to me, instead of daring to seek it on my own. That was, in the end, my true confession.