The Night She Stopped Pretending to Enjoy It

Mara closed the apartment door and stood there for a second with her hand on the bolt, wondering whether to turn the key. In the end she didn’t. The keys fell with a jingle into the little clay dish she used as a key bowl by the entrance.

She crossed the narrow living room and turned to look at him. Karim? Karem? Kamir? She never remembered those kinds of names. Whatever his name was, the man met her gaze and neither of them said a word. They stood there, tense and smiling, sizing each other up. Every so often, because their eyes were tired but also because of a happy impatience, their gazes would drop and each of them would allow themselves to take in the other’s body.

He had black, curly hair, shorter on the forehead and twisted into whorls at the nape. His eyes were somewhere between green and brown, like moss on stone. His lips were thin, but with a sheen that invited you in. His olive skin looked clean, as if he’d just stepped out of a long bath. A coquettish mole on his left cheek gave him an almost tender air. The little wrinkles around his smile made it impossible to think of him as “a boy.” He was a couple of years older than her, she guessed, but he carried a mature, unhurried self-assurance. He was wearing light-colored pants and a green jacket fitted to his chest. When he asked permission to hang his jacket on the coat rack, Mara discovered underneath a thin black sweater, clinging to him like a second skin, that betrayed the strength of his arms and back.

As she watched him put the jacket away, Mara was thinking. Even when he turned to look at her, he had avoided letting his eyes settle on her chest. Why? That night she had put on black dress pants that sharpened her legs and, to go with them, a blue blouse with tiny yellow and white flowers, with a deep V-neck. The fabric cinched at the waist, tied in back, and hung loose above, in folds that were meant to conceal what the neckline hinted at. Only with her that didn’t work: she filled the blouse without effort. To Mara, it was simply a tight garment.

She didn’t like showing off. She had chosen that blouse for pleasure and for defiance. For pleasure, because it reminded her of a party kimono, and that night there was a full moon. While getting dressed in front of the mirror, an old haiku had come to her mind: “Was this kimono / sewn just for me? / Autumn moon.” She liked feeling like part of the landscape; or rather, of that imagined landscape that lives in our expectations.

And yes, she had a big bust. Sometimes she found it disproportionate. That provoked something strange in men, or so it seemed to her: desire felt more hostile, more grotesque, when it was aimed at her and not at her friends, who were slimmer but less voluptuous. “If a woman’s beauty gives her a certain authority,” she reasoned, “my breasts take that away from me, because they make men desire me while despising me a little.” And right away she corrected herself: “No. Desire is always the same. The problem is those assholes, not me.” And as a response to that clumsy desire, she would deliberately wear a blouse like this one.

The problem with defiance, she thought now, while Karim turned back to her smiling, was precisely a situation like this. Had he avoided looking at her chest out of respect or out of contempt?

Why had she thought the night would end well? She had found a handsome man among her friends’ friends. They were introduced. He invited her to get a drink alone. At the bar they clicked quickly: they listened to similar music, read the same women authors, and politically neither of them had much hope left. Something in his gestures suggested to Mara that his parents were not from here, and to her foreignness always had a sensual side. On the street they kissed. He kissed well: slow, attentive, dry—thank God—changing angle every so often to make her turn her head. When he brushed her neck, she started to get wet.

That week, on top of everything, she had the apartment to herself. Her roommate, Renata, was going to spend some time caring for her sick father. Before leaving, she had said to her:

—You should bring someone over to keep you company.

—I’m heterosexual, Renata —Mara replied—. I’m not thrilled by the idea.

—And what does that have to do with it?

—Have you never heard of the orgasm gap?

Patiently, Mara explained that men reach orgasm in the vast majority of their encounters, while women manage it in barely less than a third of the cases.

—Have you ever faked one? —she asked.

—Never.

—Have you been with a man?

—Well… no. Only with Carla, and with the girl I was dating before.

—There you go. Sex with men is basically a fiction.

Then she explained that the gap widens in casual sex, because men are even less interested in pleasing a girl whom, deep down, they consider to be little more than nothing.

Why, then, had she invited Karim? Not having an answer was starting to bother her. They sat together on the sofa, but she got up almost immediately.

—Do you want coffee? —she asked.

He shook his head. The situation was not moving forward.

—Look… I’m not really sure what we’re doing.

—Whatever you want —he said, smiling.

—Well, I want us to go to bed —Mara blurted, with a voice more loaded with impatience than certainty.

Karim burst out laughing.

—Come here. Sit down —he said, stretching out an arm over the back of the couch.

Mara sat where he told her to. Karim took her by the shoulder and smiled at her.

—Can I kiss your cheek? —he asked.

She made a gesture that was hard to decipher, somewhere between surprise and urgency, and finally nodded.

When he started kissing her cheek, he also took one of her hands: with one he held it, and with the other he barely stroked the back of it. Mara started getting aroused and began to tremble slowly. She let out a soft moan, almost like a coo, just before she needed to turn her neck to search for his mouth. Karim noticed and let her. He gave her just one deep, long kiss, with his hand resting on her nape. Then he pulled away and kept stroking her neck, playing with her hair.

—Let’s go to my room —said Mara.

—What for? —he replied—. Didn’t you say you had the place to yourself? Don’t rush so much.

He started stroking her arms, slowly, barely grazing the skin. He asked whether it bothered her and she just shook her head, because she still didn’t know how to react. Then he put his hand on her knee. They kissed again and the caress slowly traveled up her thigh. When Mara needed air, he brushed her ear with his nose, holding his breath, and left little kisses on her temples.

—It’s hot in here, isn’t it? —she said, fanning herself with her hand.

—A little. Don’t you want to take your pants off? I’d like to stroke your legs.

—In the living room? —she nearly shouted, a little offended.

—So what? —was all he answered.

Now she was the one feeling ridiculous for hesitating. What was strange about never having had sex outside a bedroom? She took off her pants and was left in steel-blue lace underwear. As she did, she touched herself for a second and checked that she was already wet, so she closed her legs.

Now it was Karim who sought her mouth. He kissed her eyelids, her temples. When he moved down to her neck, Mara began to moan. He kept working her thighs. The more aroused she got, the wider she opened her legs; and he didn’t enter that space all at once, he waited for her guard to drop and moved little by little toward her center.

—I want you to touch me —she whispered—. I want you to masturbate me… but not here, please. I’m going to stain the sofa.

Karim stood up and held out his hand. She thought they were going to the bedroom, but he walked over to the coat rack. He took his green jacket and spread it over the sofa. Then he pulled off the black sweater and put it on top.

There he was, with firm arms—lighter than his face—, a slim, strong torso, and that muscle between his chest and belly throbbing with contained arousal.

Mara understood and sat on the clothes. There was something dirty and, at the same time, something gallant in him preferring to stain his jacket rather than send her to the bedroom.

He sat back down beside her. He stroked her knee, kissed her, and slowly moved up her thighs. Mara repeated her game of opening her legs very slowly before letting him touch her over the lace. She really liked this performance of the hard-to-get girl.

When he finally moved the fabric aside and touched her, she was already completely wet. She was surprised not to have to spread the wetness: he found her ready. He took his time stroking the folds, playing with the entrance, and then pressed the clit from the sides with two fingers.

Then he penetrated her with those two fingers. He searched for the spot that made her shiver and stayed there, while his wrist barely brushed her clit. Only when he felt her close her eyes and give herself over did he move up over her and carefully stroke her.

Mara started breathing audibly, moaning with open vowels. Karim understood it was time. He quickened his fingers and, when she contracted, pressed firmly from inside while his wrist made the clit vibrate. Mara came with a long tremble.

Afterward she kissed him hard, almost biting his lip. He pulled back, fixed her hair, and tilted his face, as if to look at her from another angle.

—You look less tense —he said—. And you’re gorgeous.

She blushed. Karim knelt in front of the sofa. He smiled at her, looked at her legs, and started stroking them the same way as at the beginning, bringing his face close to her sex.

—No, wait —she stopped him, trying to close her legs—. I’m really sensitive.

—I’m going to go very slowly —he answered—. If you don’t like it, we’ll stop.

Karim moved in slowly. He started with the outer lips, kissing them on one side and then the other, barely catching them between his own, unhurried, giving her time to recover sensitivity. Mara tightened with every touch. Little by little, as he persisted, the pleasure returned and grew.

Then he went to the center. He kissed below the opening and moved upward slowly; he slipped his tongue in a couple of times and felt her narrowness offering him playful resistance. Meanwhile he massaged her legs, and without her noticing his hands moved closer until he replaced his tongue with a finger. He pushed it in while with his index and middle finger he pressed the clit from both sides. He blew on it, gave it little kisses and, in the end, took it between his lips, hiding his teeth, and began to suck it slowly.

Mara didn’t want to crush his face, so she kept her legs wide open; when she needed to clench, she shifted that tension into her arms and stroked his head, suggesting a rhythm that he only half followed, suddenly breaking it with some unexpected twist of the tongue. When he found that rough spot behind the pubis again and stayed there, between the suction and the exact fingers, Mara couldn’t take it anymore: she closed her legs around his head and came against his mouth.

They stayed seated for a moment. Then she, pretending to be annoyed, stood up. Her knees were trembling, but she didn’t stop.

—That’s enough of this here. I’m going to my bed. If you want to come, you’re welcome —she said, and turned her back on him as she walked away, naked from the waist down.

Karim laughed: the sight of her walking away seemed tender and exciting to him at once. He took his clothes and followed her. They turned on the light. In the room there was nothing out of place; the empty bed belonging to her roommate awakened a sordid curiosity in him, but he said nothing.

Tired, Mara sat on the bed. She looked at him with steady eyes and said:

—It’s time to see what you’ve got for me.

With total calm, he undid his belt and rolled it up. He took his pants down and folded them. Impatient, Mara herself bent down to pull off his underwear.

He had trimmed his hair long ago, which made everything look bigger. It was thick and maybe the longest she had been with. Mara thought that, in general, it mattered little, but she knew certain men like praise, so she played at comparing it to her forearm and the thickness of her wrist.

When he lay back, with his feet hooked over the edge of the bed, she even said coquettishly:

—Oh… it’s huge. I don’t know if I’m going to be able to take it.

And she herself brought it to her entrance. He panicked and reached for a condom in the pocket of his jacket. Mara laughed.

She was pretending, of course. But in pretending, she remembered the last time she had truly thought that. It was her first time. The boyfriend she had then was called Esteban.

They were at his place. She was wet because she wanted to do it: she wanted to please him, to know what it felt like, to feel experienced. For ten minutes, Esteban groped her ass and breasts like an octopus, sucked her nipples and tried, very clumsily, to masturbate her. When he realized he was incapable of it, he stopped trying; his frustration turned into annoyance for a moment and, right away, he went back to her breasts and forgot all about it. He put on the condom. He didn’t ask whether she wanted him to, but she told him yes.

He got into missionary and pushed into her. Credit where it’s due: he was slow, though more because he wanted to enjoy taking her virginity at his leisure than because he was being careful. Once inside, he didn’t come out again: he rubbed in circles, burying his face in the pillow, panting in her ear. When he felt he was about to finish, he pulled out suddenly, forced her to stay still, straddled her chest and masturbated between her breasts.

—My love —he told her in a thick voice—, you have goddess tits.

And he came over her collarbones. Mara burst into tears. He broke up with her shortly after.

Karim, on the other hand, wasn’t like that. After putting on the condom, he asked:

—Are we both good with this?

—Yes —she said, already impatient.

—Do you want to tell me how you like it?

—Put it in, please! —she snapped.

Karim laughed. And she realized right away that she actually loved being asked that, and that she shouldn’t have answered like that. When he started to penetrate her, he said:

—First the tip… in and out slowly. Then halfway, just as slowly. And then stay there.

He did exactly that. She was tight, so he used Mara’s face, her expression, to gauge the rhythm.

—I feel more at the entrance —she confessed all of a sudden—. That’s why I like feeling the head go back in.

Karim started playing with the entrance: he passed the tip over the folds and, when he reached it, pushed in only a little. Mara got more and more aroused, until she crossed her legs so he wouldn’t be able to pull out.

—Now… now you can put it in deeper —she moaned.

But he made her wait a few more seconds. And suddenly he moved in halfway. As he entered, she tightened, and when he reached that point she let out something between a moan and a cry.

—Everything okay?

—Yes. Stay there —she said.

They kissed. He stroked her hip and, almost on its own, his cock kept slipping in deeper. Mara broke the kiss to look. When a couple of centimeters were still left, she felt something touch her at the bottom.

—That’s as far as I go. If you go any deeper, you’ll hurt me.

—I understand.

From then on, Karim fucked her with a careful, tender rhythm, controlling his size very well, kissing her as he did it. Mara thought she really wasn’t having a bad time; that this was probably the best casual sex of her life. In the middle of that thought, smiling with satisfaction, she heard him say:

—Shall we begin?

—What do you mean, “begin”? —she answered, puzzled.

Then he sped up. The tenderness didn’t go away, but a burst of arousal took Mara’s legs: she felt how he possessed her when he went in and left her aching when he pulled out, in a cycle that lasted less than a second.

—Yes, yes, start me. So good that you started. Don’t stop starting me —she moaned, laughing at her own words.

After that she couldn’t think of anything. She breathed with her cheeks puffed out, clutching the sheets. She didn’t see where the orgasm came from. And Karim didn’t seem to notice. Should he have noticed?

—I… I… —she stammered, but didn’t finish, because he was looking at her and smiling, and in the face of that smile she no longer knew what to say.

They stayed like that until suddenly he stopped moving his hips and went still inside her.

—Did you finish? —Mara asked.

—No, no. I just need a second.

A break! At last she had a chance to take the reins back. She was embarrassed to have been so surrendered; she needed to look sensual, less satisfied. She broke the penetration, lay down on her stomach, opened her legs and lifted her ass a little, so he could see her properly.

—Fuck me like this —she said.

Karim forgot about the break, got up on the bed on his knees and fucked her. As he did, he took her ass in his hands and pulled her toward him. Mara loved that a man who had made such an effort to please her also knew how to take her, move her.

But something was missing: she needed to feel more. She propped herself up with one hand and slipped the other beneath her torso, found her clit and began to masturbate herself. The two of them felt how she tightened around him, and he gave a grunt.

—Sorry —she said, and stopped.

—No, no. Keep going. I love it like that.

And she kept going. While she touched herself, she could feel his balls knocking against her fingers. On one of those knocks she caught them and rubbed them against her sex. The new texture, the sensation of doing something dirty, made her clench suddenly, though this time without losing sensitivity. Had that been an orgasm? She was confused.

Then what she had secretly been waiting for happened. Karim stopped holding her by the ass, leaned over her and took her breast over her clothes. By then, Mara was too aroused to think about taking off her bra; and if he liked it like that, what did it matter?

—Should we try another position? —he asked.

She nodded hard. Karim lay her on her side, brought her ankles together with one hand and left her legs suspended; that way, her sex was visible from below. He dropped down and rammed into her.

He started hitting her exactly where she liked it, nonstop. Taking advantage of the bounce of the bed and Mara’s body, he found an almost hypnotic rhythm. She didn’t even realize that, if at first he had barely gone in halfway, now he had gone all the way in.

—Oh… you put it all the way in —she said, liking the way it sounded.

Karim only smiled at her tenderly.

When the next orgasm hit, Mara’s eyes rolled back. He lowered her legs, spread them and went back to missionary. But she wasn’t there anymore. Just as he was about to suggest they stop, she beat him to the word:

—No more, please! I came so many times I don’t feel anything anymore. I think I’m going to hurt myself.

—It’s okay, forgive me —he said, worried, and stopped.

An impulse of that servility that custom imposes on women took hold of Mara for a moment, and she looked for a way to make up for it.

—You can finish on my tits —she offered.

—That’s a lovely offer —he said, smiling.

Without pulling out yet, Karim finally lifted her loose blouse. With the movement, her nipples had slipped out a little from the blue lace bra. He stroked the side of one breast as one might stroke a cheek, lowered his head and gave the nipples a tender kiss, just like the first kiss he had given her on the mouth.

Then, with his mouth on them, he thrust three more times and finished.

—Can I pull out? —he asked.

She didn’t answer: she was exhausted. She barely noticed when he removed the condom and cleaned himself up. Mara had put her arm over her face, to block out the light and the whole world. Karim lay down beside her, naked. For a second, she imagined he would take out a cigarette and start talking about love and life, like in a French movie.

But no. He stroked her shoulder. Mara, between delicate and still aroused, snorted like a horse.

—Everything okay? —he asked, puzzled by the noise.

She covered her face with her hands. She was red with embarrassment. Not because of the orgasms, but because she was considering telling a man that, at last, for the first time in her life, she had had a good time. She drew a breath and asked:

—Have you heard of the orgasm gap?

Karim burst out laughing.

—And I’ve tasted it too —he said, while he placed a fond hand over her naked sex.

Mara laughed, annoyed and moved all at once.

—You’re an idiot.

She laid her head on his chest and slowly drifted off to sleep.