The First Time I Had Him All the Way in My Mouth

When Mateo and I started dating, we had a routine we defended as if it were sacred. Almost every afternoon he’d come by my place after work, we’d eat whatever in the kitchen, and then we’d lock ourselves in my room to waste time. I was twenty-two years old and had my head full of things I didn’t dare say out loud.

What began as a silly conversation always ended the same way. We kissed until we were out of breath, his hands would search under my clothes, and without even realizing it, we were both worked up and breathing hard.

Mateo was the kind of man who doesn’t rush. He had patience, a patience that drove me crazy and made me like him in equal measure. He kissed my neck, spoke softly in my ear, and laughed every time he saw me losing control. I acted tough, but inside I was always on the verge of giving in.

We had only been seeing each other for a few months. Everything was new: the first boyfriend who I felt truly mattered to me, the first relationship in which I dared to explore without so much fear of what people would say. And even so, there were things I still hadn’t done. Things that made me curious and embarrassed at the same time.

Some afternoons we managed to go all the way. Others stopped halfway because my mother was wandering around the house or because the phone rang at the worst possible moment. Mateo would leave my house turned on, with that sweetly annoyed look men get when you leave them hanging.

I imagine he got back to his apartment and thought about me more than once that night.

But that afternoon was different. It was raining outside, my mother had gone out to run errands, and we were alone for the first time in weeks. We kissed for a good while on the couch, without hurry, letting the heat build slowly.

***

We moved to a corner of the living room, the one that can’t be seen from the entrance, almost out of habit, to make sure we wouldn’t get caught. There, pressed against the wall, I felt him get hard. I laid my hand over his pants and held it there for a second, feeling him grow beneath the fabric.

That turned me on more than I expected.

—I like feeling you like this —I told him in his ear, with a sincerity I didn’t even know I had in me.

He smiled to one side and looked at me straight on.

—It’s yours —he murmured—. Do whatever you want with it.

He unbuckled his belt and pulled his pants down to his knees. I stared at it up close, surprised to have it so within my reach. Until then I had touched it a thousand times, but I had never stopped to look at it like that, with no clothes in between.

I started slowly, with my hand. I stroked it gently, up and down, and noticed how it responded to the touch, how it got firmer between my fingers. Mateo let out a long sigh and threw his head back.

I loved the silence of that afternoon. All you could hear was the rain against the window and his breathing, which grew deeper with every movement. I watched him as if I were learning a new language, paying attention to every gesture, every time he squeezed his eyelids shut or bit his lip.

I wanted to see his face while I did it. I wanted to know that I was the one making all that happen to him.

***

I’m not exactly sure how it went from my hands to my mouth. It was almost instinct. I leaned in and gave the tip a soft kiss, then another a little lower. The skin was incredibly warm and delicate against my lips.

I looked him in the face while I slowly ran my tongue over it. He held my gaze, and in his eyes there was a mix of astonishment and pleasure that gave me a confidence I didn’t know I had. Seeing him enjoy it made me want to keep going, to test how far I could take it.

In an instant I had it inside my mouth. It was the first time. I had never done anything like that before, and the sensation overwhelmed me: the weight, the heat, the way it took up all the space.

I lifted my eyes and saw him biting his lip to keep from making a sound. That image was what finally let me go.

I kept going with more eagerness, playing with my tongue while I had it in my mouth, figuring out by feel what he liked best. With one hand I stroked the back of his thighs, with the other I held him at the base. Every time I found a movement that made him tremble, I repeated it.

I had never measured it, but there I understood why it was always so clearly outlined through his pants. It was big, and I was an absolute beginner. I went carefully, without rushing, wanting to stretch the moment as much as possible.

I was a little afraid, I won’t deny it. Afraid of doing it wrong, of it showing that it was my first time, of not being up to it. But every time I looked up and saw his face, that fear dissolved. He wasn’t judging me. On the contrary: he looked at me as if I were the best thing that had happened to him in a long time.

Maybe that’s why I let myself go so much. Because for the first time I didn’t feel like I had to pretend anything.

***

There was one detail that made me nervous and turned on in equal measure: on the other side of the house, out in the street, you could hear people. Neighbors talking under the eaves because of the rain, someone shuffling by. The idea that at any moment my mother might put the key in the lock made my pulse race.

Mateo rested his hand on the back of my neck. He didn’t push, he barely set the rhythm, matching the back and forth. At times he went deeper than I thought I could take, and I breathed through my nose so I wouldn’t stop.

Every sound filtering in from outside made me even more alert and, paradoxically, more aroused. The risk of getting caught gave everything a different flavor, an urgency we had never had in the comfort of a closed room. We were doing something forbidden, in broad daylight, a few feet from the door.

I heard him hold back a groan and I knew he was holding himself back for me, so he wouldn’t scare me, so he wouldn’t break the spell. That gave me an unexpected tenderness in the middle of all that heat. I focused on him, on his pleasure, completely forgetting my own nerves.

I clung to him and pulled him toward me, as if I wanted more than I already had. For a moment I felt like one of those movie scenes you watch in secret and swear you’ll never imitate. And yet there I was, completely surrendered, discovering I liked it far more than I would ever have admitted.

If someone had told me a week earlier that I’d be doing this, I would have laughed in their face.

Mateo was breathing faster and faster. His body stiffened, his legs trembled a little, and I knew, without him having to say it, that he was close.

***

—I’m gonna come —he managed to say, his voice broken—. I can’t take it anymore.

I didn’t have time to think what to do. It all happened too fast and too new. I tried to stay there, to hold the moment as best I could, but inexperience got the better of me. Part of it I took in, the other part slipped away, and we both ended up laughing at the mess, breathless, still pressed against the wall.

It was the first time I had tried something like that. The first time I had taken a situation that far and discovered I could do it, that I liked the power I felt seeing someone come undone because of what I did to them.

Mateo lifted my face with both hands and gave me a long kiss, grateful, the kind that says more than any words ever could.

—You have no idea what you just did to me —he said, smiling, still not fully having caught his breath.

I laughed, my face flushed, feeling clumsy and powerful at the same time.

***

That afternoon stayed with me forever. Not because it was perfect —it wasn’t perfect at all—, but because of what I discovered about myself. That curiosity can beat shame. That desire, when it’s genuine, pushes you to do things you never imagined.

With time, Mateo stopped being my boyfriend and became my husband. We learned together, making mistakes and laughing at each one, until we found our own rhythm. But that first rainy afternoon, against the living room wall, with the fear of being discovered and my heart racing a mile a minute, is still one of my favorite memories.

Sometimes, when we’re both calm at the end of the day, he reminds me of it with that same smile from back then. And I feel again, for a second, the same mix of nerves and daring as that twenty-two-year-old girl who, without really knowing how, dared to try something new.

Some confessions are hard to write. This one wasn’t. I tell this one with a smile, because it was the beginning of everything that came after.