The Night I Stopped Saying I Didn’t Know

I’m telling it because I promised myself this: if I ever stopped lying to myself, I’d write it down exactly as it happened. No embellishments. Up until that night I was the kind of guy who made a disgusted face when anyone brought up the subject. “That’s not my thing,” I’d say, very dignified, with a glass in my hand and the certainty of someone who had never tried anything.

I met him at a friend’s birthday party. His name was Bruno, or at least that’s how he was introduced to me. He had that easy calm of someone who doesn’t need to prove anything, and a way of looking at me that made me nervous without my knowing why. We talked all night about anything except what we’d end up doing.

We ended up at his apartment. I was still repeating the same old line to myself.

I don’t know, I don’t know. Who knows where he’s been? What if he’s dirty? I don’t know…

When I worked up the nerve and touched him, I discovered it wasn’t that big a deal. Touching him wasn’t disgusting at all. What came after was something else.

Well, touching it isn’t the worst thing in the world. But sucking it… Anyway, since I’m here, here I go, without thinking too much about it.

And I took it into my mouth almost out of pride, so I wouldn’t back out in front of him. The first thing I felt was how hard it was. The second was the sound Bruno made, a deep groan that ran up my spine.

Well, this isn’t so bad. Easy enough. Look how the bastard moans. I’m doing it right. God, I’m getting hard just from this. You’re completely out of your mind; better not think about it.

***

Then he asked me to turn over. He said it softly, as if he were suggesting something obvious, and I obeyed before even thinking about it. When I felt the cold of the lubricant, the whole dignified speech came rushing back at once.

—Relax —he told me.

—Yeah, relax, easy for you to say —I muttered, more to myself than to him.

I don’t know about this. I almost left. This isn’t for me. Fuck, it already hurts and it’s only the finger. This isn’t right. I don’t know…

I felt him settle in behind me. I heard the plastic of the condom and, for some reason, that calmed me a little. At least he was careful.

Oh, God. Just wait until you see how much that hurts. I should have told him I’m out. I’m not going to be able to handle this. I’m going to tell him there’s no way. Anyway… at least he’s putting on a condom.

—Hey —I blurted out, my voice trembling—. Be very careful, okay?

—Carefully —he repeated.

—Yeah, yeah, but if I tell you to stop, you stop. Okay? —I insisted—. Anyway, let’s see. Since we’re here, we might as well try. But I don’t know about this.

***

When he pushed in the first time, the world narrowed to a single point.

Slower! Where the hell is this animal going? Christ, that hurts. I’m not going to make it. This isn’t my thing.

—Hey, pull out —I asked, almost panicking—. For God’s sake, pull out. I don’t want to end up in urgent care, what a fucking scene.

Bruno stopped. He waited. He rested his hand on my hip without pressing, letting me get used to it. When he tried again, it was slower, millimeter by millimeter, and even though it still hurt, it wasn’t the same clawing jolt as before.

Here we go again, what pain. No position helps or anything. Anyway, breathe. Now at least he’s going slower. Let’s see how long I can last. I don’t know. First and last time. First and last time.

I clutched the sheets and counted backward, the way I used to when I was a kid and they gave me a shot. I thought that if I reached zero, it would all be over. I never reached zero.

***

After two minutes I noticed the pain easing. It didn’t disappear, but it became bearable, a dull background over which something else was starting to seep in.

Well, it hurts a little less now. It’s bearable. Fuck.

—Yeah, a little better, yeah —I admitted through clenched teeth—. But go carefully, okay?

It wasn’t that bad. You can put up with it. I’m almost annoyed at myself for complaining so much.

Bruno moved with a patience I hadn’t expected. He wasn’t just doing whatever he wanted, like I’d feared all night. He was paying attention to every flinch I made, adjusting the rhythm, waiting for my signals. And without even realizing it, I had stopped thinking about leaving.

At five minutes, something happened that wasn’t in my plans.

Fuck, this really isn’t so bad. These little tingles aren’t bad at all. I don’t know… What a beast he is. And I’m rock hard. Mmm. God, I’m liking this. Am I gay?

I asked myself that last question on reflex, like someone trying to cling to the old version of himself just as it slips through his fingers. But I didn’t even have time to answer it, because something inside me had just switched on and demanded all my attention.

***

At seven minutes there was no trace left of the dignified guy who had walked through that door.

But what the hell is happening to me? This feels so good. This is really good. Holy shit.

—Don’t stop —I said, and my own voice surprised me—. Don’t stop now, okay?

Bruno chuckled softly, not mocking me, and kept going. Every thrust tore a sound out of me I didn’t recognize as mine. I pressed my face into the pillow, half embarrassed, half defeated.

Then I felt the palm of his hand land on my skin with a dry smack.

Did that bastard spank me? Well, damn… it wasn’t that hard. Actually, it wasn’t bad.

And there, in that “it wasn’t bad,” I finally lost the battle I’d spent the whole night pretending I was winning.

***

At ten minutes I was someone else. Someone who said things I never would have imagined saying out loud.

—Don’t stop, don’t stop, keep going —I gasped—. God, this feels amazing. This is incredible.

—Like this? —he asked.

—Yes, like that. Again —I begged, barely recognizing myself—. Harder. Harder.

Each stroke pushed me a little farther beyond the limit I thought I had. I wasn’t counting backward anymore. I wasn’t thinking about urgent care or embarrassing scenes. I only wanted it to never end.

—Come on —I heard myself say, with a hoarse voice that wasn’t mine—. Go hard. Don’t stop now.

The man who had spent his whole life making a disgusted face was begging a stranger not to stop. And the strangest thing of all was that I wasn’t ashamed at all. Not then.

***

At fifteen minutes I lost my voice and my dignity at the same time. What came out of my mouth were no longer sentences, just stretched-out syllables, long sounds, a language I learned that night and didn’t know existed.

I felt something rise from deep inside me, a wave I couldn’t stop and didn’t want to stop. I clung to the sheets until my nails dug into my palms. My whole body tensed like a rope.

And then, without touching myself, without anything, I came apart.

***

It took me a few seconds to understand what had happened. I stayed still, panting into the pillow, my heart about to burst out of my mouth.

What was that? Was that an orgasm? God, I don’t know. What an orgasm. What a rush. For God’s sake, what a rush. Uf.

Something like that had never happened to me. Not even close. I’d come without anyone laying a finger on me, just from what I was feeling inside. I felt thrown off balance, euphoric, and a little scared, all at once.

***

But the body is treacherous like that, and as soon as the euphoria dropped, the old script showed up again, punctual as ever.

—Come on, pull out already —I asked, suddenly uncomfortable—. Pull out, come on, that’s enough.

Bruno came out with the same care with which he’d gone in. I let myself fall onto my side on the bed, staring at the ceiling, and felt the sting return now that the fever was fading.

Now it feels like it’s hurting again. But what have I done? Fuck, if anyone finds out. Once and never again. Once and never again. Last time. What a disgrace. And what ass pain. Once and never again, that’s it.

I thought it with all the conviction in the world. The same conviction with which, hours earlier, I’d sworn that this wasn’t my thing.

Bruno lay down beside me and offered me a glass of water without saying anything. I took it. We stayed silent for a while, and I laughed to myself at how ridiculous it had all been: the fear, the threats to make him stop, the “if I tell you to stop, you stop.”

***

And here comes the part I really have to confess, the one I don’t tell anyone.

Weeks passed. Maybe a month. And one day, without looking for it, I caught myself thinking about that night. I called Bruno again. And the sequence repeated itself, identical, with its prelude of doubts and its obligatory “I don’t know about this.”

But something had changed. The first reactions, the fear and the pain of the first few minutes, grew shorter and shorter. After a few months they almost stopped showing up. And the “once and never again” at the end, the one I had taken so seriously, turned into the opposite: asking him not to pull out yet, to wait a little longer.

With time I stopped pretending even to myself. I learned to ask for what I wanted without circling around my doubts, to say out loud things the dignified guy from the beginning would never have tolerated. Phrases I’m not going to repeat here, but that anyone who’s crossed that line would recognize.

So yes, I confess it: that first and last time was only the first of many. And if there’s still someone out there making a disgusted face and saying all dignified that “that’s not my thing,” I’ll say only one thing, the same thing that would have saved me so many nights of lying to myself.

Try it.