The Stranger Who Showed Up in Her Knickers at Dawn

What I’m going to tell you happened many summers ago, one morning in mid-August, and there are still days when I wonder if I dreamed it. But it was real, exactly as I’m going to say it, without adding or taking away a single word. I worked as a delivery driver, and that day I had to take an urgent order to a warehouse on the other side of the city. It was a long weekend, the streets were empty, and I left home when there was still no sign of daylight in the sky.

I picked up the van from the garage just as it was beginning to get light. Since I was ahead of schedule, I stopped for a moment in Olivar Park, the one right off the ring road. I rolled down the window, lit a cigarette, and watched the deep blue turn to grey among the trees. There was no one around. Just the sound of the sprinklers and the odd early bird.

And then it all started.

A woman appeared on the dirt path that cuts across the park. She had to be in her forties, wore glasses, and was walking barefoot. What froze me in my seat was that she was wearing nothing but white knickers. In one hand she had a blue dress crumpled into a ball, and in the other a pack of cigarettes and a lighter that, apparently, didn’t work.

She came up to the van with not a trace of shame, as if strolling around half-naked at dawn were the most natural thing in the world. Her nipples were hard from the morning chill, standing out against the air.

—Got a light? —she asked, leaning toward the window.

I held the lighter out to her. And while the flame caught her cigarette, I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.

—You look incredible —I muttered, in a low voice—. You have no idea how badly I’d like to fuck you right now.

I expected a slap, or for her to run off. Instead she smiled, took two steps forward, turned slowly, and came back.

—Want to have a proper fuck? —she said, looking at me over the top of her glasses.

I thought it was a trap, that afterward she’d ask me for money. I told her straight: with you, yes, but I’m not paying.

—I don’t want your money —she replied, laughing—. I’m doing it because I feel like it. Though… you’re not very big, are you?

I clocked her accent straight away: she was from the south, Andalusian, with that way of swallowing the ends of words. She leaned against the van’s bodywork and, without me asking her anything, started telling me how she’d ended up there.

—I’ve had one hell of a day since yesterday —she said—. A bloke brought me from Almería. I met him online, and we agreed he’d pick me up and take me into the city. But when we got there he turned off onto some dirt tracks by a few fields and told me he wanted to get paid for the trip.

She told it to me like that, without any drama, like someone going over a bill. The man had taken her clothes off, behaved like an animal, and when he was done he left her dumped in the field and took off with her bag. She walked until a taxi picked her up late at night.

—And the taxi driver wasn’t exactly a saint either, was he? —I ventured.

—No, he wasn’t. But at least he asked. He brought me here, to a meadow behind those hedges, and… well, we understood each other. I fell asleep on the grass with the sound of the sprinklers. This morning he left and I came up the path. And I found you.

She shrugged, took a long drag, and looked at me.

—So where to now?

***

I pointed to the same hedges she’d come from. It was the only place in the park where you could be without the people who were starting to come out and exercise on the paths outside seeing you.

—No one can see us back there —I told her—. But put your dress on to cross over, so we don’t draw attention.

She did as I said. She pulled the blue dress over her head, smoothed down her hair, and once she was dressed I noticed a detail that with the knickers and the dim light had escaped me: she had a dark little mustache over her lip, more pronounced than anyone’s. For a second I hesitated. But the heat she’d put into me by showing up almost naked outweighed any reservation, and I was already half-hard inside my trousers.

We reached the gap between the bushes in no time. The ground was covered with long grass, still damp. I lay down and yanked my trousers and boxers down in one pull. She didn’t even wait. As soon as she saw my hard cock she pounced like a wild animal and took the whole thing into her mouth.

And Christ, did she know what she was doing. She sucked with a greed I’d never come across, bobbing up and down, helping herself with her hand, looking up at me every so often to make sure she had me exactly where she wanted me. I didn’t last long. I came in her mouth with everything I had, and she swallowed it without pulling away, then licked her lips as if it were the tastiest thing in the world.

—You’re not resting yet —she told me.

Before I could catch my breath, she climbed on top of me astride. She was so wet, and I was so slick from just having come, that she drove me in all the way in one go. She threw her head back and let out a long sigh.

—You’ve got it so nice and hot —she murmured, starting to move.

—What’s your name? —I asked, grabbing her hips.

—Inmaculada —she said, biting her lip—. Inmaculada, and I’m a virgin, just so you know.

I let out a weak laugh under her.

—You’re not immaculate, and I’m not the Holy Spirit —I shot back—. And we came here to fuck, not pray the rosary.

The joke really amused her. She laughed hard and, I don’t know if it was the laughter or the movement, but her first orgasm hit almost without warning. She convulsed on top of me, clenched her thighs against my hips, and a warm gush came pouring out from between her legs, soaking my belly. It wasn’t piss. It was her, coming harder than I’ve seen anyone come in a long time.

I was on the edge again, but she kept herself locked around me with her legs and pinned me to the ground, not letting me pull out. I had to push her away with both hands so I wouldn’t finish inside her. I came over her tits, which had ended up bare with her dress pulled down to her waist.

***

Far from being satisfied, she turned around and got down on all fours on the grass.

—From behind —she asked, glancing over her shoulder—. Up the arse.

I knelt behind her, but when I was just about to go in, I deliberately changed the angle and shoved it into her cunt from behind. She protested, tried to wriggle away a little, but I held her hips firmly and by the first few thrusts she’d already forgotten what she was complaining about. A rhythmic clap, clap, clap sounded out, my hips slapping against her ass, and mixed in with that noise were her moans, getting rougher by the second.

After a few minutes I noticed something different. Some kind of wave of heat moving through her from the inside, and each thrust going deeper, all the way to the bottom. She started shaking uncontrollably, arched her back, and let her face fall into the grass.

—Don’t stop —she kept saying—. Don’t stop now.

She let out another gush, just as strong as the first or stronger, and that dragged me under too. I pulled out at the very last second, outside her, purely out of instinct so I wouldn’t get anyone pregnant in the middle of a park. I collapsed to my knees, breathless.

—Mate, you fuck so well —she said, turning round and letting herself fall onto the grass with a grin from ear to ear—. Back in my village, plenty of women would pay for a morning like this.

She wiped herself with her own knickers and, in the same motion, wiped me too, with a kind of naturalness that was almost funny. She put her dress back on, straightened her crooked glasses, and smoothed her hair as if she were walking out of a hair salon instead of rolling around in a wasteland.

—And now? —she asked.

—Do you know how to get to Pilar Avenue? —I said, pointing toward the park exit—. You’ll find a taxi there in ten minutes.

She nodded, gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, and walked off down the path as if nothing had happened, disappearing among the early-morning runners who were already starting to fill the park. I stayed sitting on the grass for a while, my heart still racing, smoking another cigarette while the sun finally came up.

Then I went back to the van, started it up, and delivered the order to the warehouse almost an hour late, without any decent excuse coming to mind. I never saw her again. I don’t know whether her name was really Inmaculada, or whether she was really Andalusian, or whether any of that Almería story was true.

All I know is that it happened. One August morning, in an empty park, a stranger in her knickers asked me for a light and gave me the most unbelievable confession a man could ever tell. Unbelievable, yes. But true from beginning to end. And it happened to me.