The Secret I’ve Kept with N Since That Friday

There are nights that seem like all the rest and yet end up etched into you forever. Mine was a Friday in September in Madrid, in one of those squares in Malasaña where you could still drink in the street without the police showing up every half hour to kill the vibe.

The usual group was there, split between the curb and a doorway that smelled of damp. Marcos and Sara, the Roldán siblings, my girlfriend Carla, two coworkers, and N, who had come with her then-boyfriend, an Argentine guy we called the Tano. I’d known N since university. We’d shared notes, hangovers, and a couple of trips, and nothing serious had ever happened between us, beyond silly jokes neither of us had ever taken seriously.

That night we were drinking calimocho from plastic cups and arguing about some neighborhood nonsense, I don’t even remember what. What I do remember is that N was wearing a short black dress, backless, and white sneakers that suited her as if they were a challenge. Every time she laughed, she threw her head back and her hair moved in a way I had spent years pretending not to notice.

“I’m pissing myself,” I said, setting the bottle on the ground. “I’m going to find a bar.”

“I’ll come with you,” she answered, almost without thinking. “I’m not sure I can hold it either.”

We walked a couple of blocks downhill, dodging groups. Carla didn’t even look at us; she was talking to Sara about who knows what. Neither did the Tano; he’d spent half an hour trying to roll a cigarette that kept falling apart in the same spot.

“It’s packed to the rafters,” I said, peering into a bar. “The bathroom line goes all the way to the counter.”

“What bathroom, for fuck’s sake,” N snapped. “Go over there, between those two cars, and hurry up. Me too, probably.”

We turned into a dead-end side street that smelled of trash and tobacco. There were cars parked bumper to bumper, a dead streetlamp, and, at the far end, a green dumpster. The music from the nearest bar came muffled, as if it were playing inside a box. And then I came out with the line, I don’t know whether because of the alcohol or because of everything I’d been holding in.

“Just so you know,” I said, half joking, “if you pull your panties down in front of me, my cock’s going to get hard as a rock.”

The alcohol said it for me. She laughed, not with that nervous laugh people use to downplay things, but with a low laugh, like she thought it was funny that someone had finally dared to say it.

“You’re an idiot,” she said. “But go on, keep watch in case someone comes.”

She went behind a white Seat and hiked her dress up over her hips. She wasn’t wearing panties. I saw the whole instant: the curve of her white, round ass, split by a dark line, and a piece of cunt peeking between her thighs, half lit by the streetlamp at the back. I didn’t look away. My mouth went dry all at once and I felt my pants filling, pushing the fabric forward as if it had a life of its own.

“Dirty bastard, you’re staring at me,” she said, laughing, not angry at all.

“I’m looking at your cunt,” I replied, already without a filter. “And I’m telling you so.”

“What a filthy fucker.”

“If I’m honest with you,” I blurted, already with my guard down, “looking is the last thing I want to do.”

There was a second of silence. The only sounds were the stream hitting the asphalt and the muffled music from the bar. N turned her face toward me from her crouched position, her hair falling over one eye.

“Then what do you want to do?” she asked in a tone I had never heard from her before.

“What I’ve wanted to do for years,” I said. “Eat your pussy. Fuck you to the hilt. Come in your mouth. Whichever comes first.”

She finished, shook herself as best she could, and stood up without pulling her dress down all the way. She stayed like that, the fabric bunched at her waist, her cunt out in the open, looking at me with a smile I can’t even describe.

“Say it again,” she asked.

“That I want to eat you out. Here. Now. And then you suck me until there’s nothing left.”

“You’re insane.”

“I know.”

She took a step toward me. I grabbed her arm, turned her, and pressed her against the Seat’s hood. It was still warm from the afternoon sun. I told her to lean over and she obeyed without complaining, her palms flat on the metal and her forehead almost touching the windshield. I hiked her dress all the way up, leaving it bunched around her waist, and spread her cheeks with both hands. That’s when I saw her whole, from inches away: her cunt already shining, swollen, with the lips peeking through the short hair, and above it the tight little hole, pink, pulsing with nerves.

“If someone comes I’ll die,” she said, but she didn’t move.

No one came. I knelt on the filthy alley floor without thinking about my pants or anything else. I spread her legs fully with both hands and ran my tongue from bottom to top, slow, very slow, starting at the clit and going up to her ass, not skipping a single centimeter. She tasted salty and of something else, a strange mix I’d never tasted before and would have stuck in my head for months. She let out a very soft curse, like she wanted to and didn’t want to at the same time.

“Son of a bitch,” she whispered. “They’re going to see us.”

“Let them see me eating your pussy.”

“Shut up and keep going.”

I kept going. I dug my fingers into her hips to hold her there against the car, spread her cheeks wide and plunged my tongue between the lips of her cunt. I pulled it out, pushed it back in, circled the clit until she started pushing her ass backward, seeking my face. I ate her out the way I’d been imagining for years: sucking each lip one by one, drawing her clit into my mouth until she moaned against the metal, and every so often running my tongue up to her hole and leaving it there, testing, until I felt it open just a little. Every time I licked the top of her, her whole body tightened and a sound slipped out of her halfway between a whimper and a plea. I learned her map in a matter of minutes, as if I’d been memorizing it in my dreams for years.

I slipped two fingers into her cunt without stopping sucking her clit. She was so wet she swallowed them whole without resistance, and she clenched around them inside with a force I hadn’t expected. I curved them, searching for her spot, and she let out a barely audible “there, there, don’t stop.” I started fucking her with my fingers to the rhythm of my tongue, in and out, while the thumb of my other hand brushed her tight little hole.

A car turned the corner at the end of the street and flashed its headlights over us for an instant. N held her breath. I didn’t stop, didn’t even think of stopping, and I didn’t pull my fingers out. The car drove on. We were alone again. By then she already had both hands clenched into fists on the hood, and a line of saliva hung from her mouth onto the windshield.

“I’m going to come,” she said, not finishing the sentence.

I changed the rhythm. Faster, deeper with my fingers, sucking her clit without separating from it even a millimeter. I could feel her whole body tightening against my face, her legs trembling, her thighs closing around my ears, her cunt squeezing my fingers as if it wanted to rip them out of me. She came there, over the hood, covering her mouth with her forearm so she wouldn’t scream. I felt the spasms deep inside her, four or five hard pulses in a row that soaked my hand to the wrist. I didn’t pull away until she stopped moving, and even then I gave her a small kiss on her open cunt before standing up, sucking my fingers in front of her so she could see.

When I straightened up my face was soaked with cunt and my knees ached. She stayed against the car for a moment, breathing as if she’d climbed six flights of stairs.

“You’re a son of a bitch,” she said, still not turning around.

“You already knew that.”

She turned at last. She grabbed the back of my neck and kissed me as if she wanted to check the taste she’d left on me. She did it slowly, unhurriedly, sucking my lips, my tongue, my chin, cleaning off her own juices herself as if the rest of the group weren’t two streets away waiting for us. When she pulled back her face was red and her eyes were shining.

“And you,” she said, sliding her hand down my stomach until she squeezed the bulge over my jeans, “you’ve got a cock like iron.”

I didn’t protest. I leaned my back against the same car, this time on the driver’s side, and she crouched down in front of me. She pulled my jeans and boxers down to mid-thigh without asking, with the same face she used to decide what beer to order. My cock sprang free, hard, the head shining with what had already been dripping inside my underwear.

“Fuck,” she whispered, looking at it up close. “It’s gorgeous.”

“If they catch us, I swear I’ll die,” she said again.

“Then hurry up and get it in your mouth.”

She laughed, stuck out her tongue, and ran it from bottom to top along the whole vein, from my balls to the head, very slowly, the tip barely brushing. Then she took me into her mouth in one go, all the way down, without warning. I let out such a stupid little groan that I was embarrassed instantly. I felt it bumping against the back of her throat and she didn’t pull away; she stayed there, swallowing around me, pressing my cock against her palate with her tongue. I lifted my head to check both ends of the street. Empty. Just us, a dead streetlamp, a green dumpster, and the distant music.

And N, down there, with my cock inside her mouth and still staring up at me.

That was the part I remember most clearly from the whole night. Not her hands, not her tongue, not the pressure of her lips tight around the base, but her eyes. She had this way of lifting her gaze from under her lashes while she sucked me, relentlessly, as if she were daring me to look away. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to. I stroked her hair with one hand, ran my thumb over her cheek swollen by my cock, and every time she sped up I could feel the floor dropping out from under me.

She really started sucking me. She drew my cock out to the tip, sucked the head with her lips sealed around it as if it were candy, then swallowed me again all the way down. With one hand she held the base and twisted me while she sucked; with the other she squeezed my balls, measuring them, tugging them down whenever she sensed I was close. A long thread of saliva ran down her chin to her tits, and she spread it herself all over my cock so it would slide better. I heard her choke on me a couple of times, her eyes watering, and instead of pulling back she went deeper, deeper, until I could feel her lips pressed against my pubic hair.

“Warn me,” she murmured for a second, letting me go for an instant and continuing with her hand. “I want to know when you come.”

“If you keep going like this I won’t have time to warn you.”

“Then don’t warn me. Come in my mouth. All of it.”

She went back to it, now faster, bobbing her head up and down, sucking me with hollowed cheeks, her lips clamped around my cock like a suction cup. I helped her get farther in a couple of times, gently pushing the back of her head, and I heard her choke out a satisfied noise against me, a guttural moan that vibrated all the way through my dick. She slid a hand under her dress, between her legs, and started touching herself too while she sucked me. Watching her masturbate in a crouch, with my whole cock in her mouth, spitting saliva over it as if it were the most natural thing in the world, was what finished me off.

I couldn’t hold out much longer. I warned her at the very last second anyway, in a voice I didn’t even recognize, gripping her hair with both hands. She didn’t pull away. On the contrary: she swallowed me whole and pressed her lips to the base, her tongue flattened under the head, waiting. I came there, inside her mouth, in four or five thick spurts that I could feel filling her throat. She swallowed the first ones with her eyes closed and her brow tight, not letting go of me, still sucking while the rest came out. I felt her moan around my cock when she noticed it was still coming, as if she liked the taste. She kept sucking until there was nothing left, and even then she waited a few seconds, keeping me inside, licking me with her tongue flat as if she hated to let me go. Only then did she pull back slowly, with a kiss on the tip, turn her head a little, spit a white drop onto the same asphalt where she’d pissed ten minutes earlier, and wipe herself clean with her thumb at the corner of her mouth. She stood up as if she’d just tied a sneaker.

We looked at each other. We both laughed, silently, almost in whispers, like kids who’ve just broken something at their grandparents’ house.

“Come here,” she said.

She kissed me again. Now there were two flavors in the kiss, hers and mine, mixed in her mouth, my cum still on her tongue and her juices still on mine. It seemed to me the most honest thing I’d tasted in years.

“This,” she added, pressing her forehead to mine, “is going to have to stay our secret. In case we want to do it again.”

“You want to do it again?”

“Ask me tomorrow. But I’ll tell you now that next time you’re fucking me in the cunt. And in the ass too, if you dare.”

We got ourselves put together as best we could. She smoothed her dress over her soaked cunt, and I fastened my belt with clumsy fingers over my still half-hard, sticky cock. We left the alley separately, two minutes apart, as if we’d rehearsed the scene a thousand times. When I got back to the group, Carla didn’t even look up. The Tano had finally managed to roll his cigarette and was proud of himself for it. Marcos asked me what had taken so long, and I gave him the first lie that came to mind, something about an endless line at a bar on the parallel street.

N showed up a while later. She went straight to the Tano, kissed him on the temple with the same mouth I’d come in ten minutes earlier, asked for a sip of his mixed drink to wash the taste away, and laughed at something Sara was telling her. She didn’t look at me once in the next half hour. When she finally did, it was only for an instant, over the rim of the glass, and she slipped her tongue between her teeth with the same wicked smile she’d worn in the alley before pulling down her dress and showing me her ass.

I understood what it meant.

***

That was quite a few years ago now. Carla and I broke up the following summer, for reasons that had nothing to do with N. The Tano went back to Buenos Aires. N and I stayed friends, and sometimes, when we end up at a wedding or some group dinner together, she gives me a look over her glass that needs no explanation. The line from that night still stands. We did repeat it, yes, and yes, she made good on what she promised that Friday against the hood of a Seat, but that’s another story and not the one I’m meant to tell today.

The only thing I wanted to put in writing about that Friday was this: that a “come with me to piss” can change the rest of your life if the two people in that alley have been saying the same thing to themselves in silence for too long.