The Stripper at the Bachelorette Party I Still Can’t Forget

Four years ago, I received an invitation I wasn’t expecting. Camila, a former coworker from the office whom I lost touch with when she switched companies, wrote to me out of nowhere to say she was getting married and wanted me to be there. Honestly, I didn’t understand why she was inviting me after so much silence, but something inside me told me to say yes. I accepted without thinking too much about it.

I was in one of those awful months. I’d been fighting for a couple of weeks with the man who was my boyfriend at the time and, to top it off, one of my best friends had done something I still hadn’t forgiven her for. I needed to get out, see new faces, think about something else. Anything.

A month before the wedding, another invitation arrived at my door, this one truly unexpected. The bachelorette party. Addressed to me, handwritten. I smiled like an idiot.

—If I’m going to the wedding, I’m going to the bachelorette party —I told myself, and said yes.

Camila and I picked up our conversation again during those weeks. We talked about everything and nothing by message. We recovered that closeness we used to have in the office, when we’d go smoke together on the stairwell and tell each other things we didn’t tell anyone else. I asked her who else was going and she told me that almost all of them were her friends from college, that I wasn’t going to know anyone but not to worry, they were nice girls.

***

The bar was right downtown. She’d rented the whole place just for us, which already told me something about the budget. I arrived at eight on the dot, in a short black dress and red heels I’d bought that very same afternoon. The heels were the only risky thing about my outfit, and I chose them because I felt like I needed something that would make me walk differently.

Inside, it was another world. Balloons shaped like cocks, explicit decorations, a long table with glasses and trays of food. The music wasn’t normal bar music: it was electronic, with sticky bass, the kind that pushes you to move without asking permission. Camila hugged me as if we saw each other every week and introduced me to a dozen girls I wouldn’t remember after five minutes.

—Relax, tonight you’re going to have fun —she whispered in my ear.

She was right.

***

The games started early and gradually. First a silly one, guessing movies with charades. Then another with questions, where whoever lost had to take a shot. Then one where you had to confess your worst sexual experience and laugh. I took part only a little at first. I was embarrassed, I didn’t know them, I preferred to watch. But the white wine and the shots loosened my tongue, and by ten I was telling a story about a college guy who came in thirty seconds and ended with everyone on the floor laughing.

The mood shifted fast. One of the girls, a blonde with heavily made-up eyes named Lara, pulled out a box of toys and proposed a game: you had to guess the name of the toy just by touching it, blindfolded. The first two couldn’t stop laughing and had already lost before starting. Then it was a tall brunette’s turn, and she answered “dildo” with such confidence that the room exploded. When Lara told her it was indeed a dildo, the brunette stood up, took off her skirt and panties in front of everyone, and sat down on the sofa with her legs spread. She spat on her fingers, parted the lips of her cunt, and shoved the toy all the way in in one go, moaning without any shame. She started fucking herself with it, twisting it, pulling it out shiny with slick, pushing it back in. She licked her fingers between thrusts and looked at all of us without ever stopping smiling. Nobody said a word. Nobody looked away either.

I froze. Not because it bothered me —it stirred more curiosity than rejection— but because I hadn’t expected the night to go there. Camila came over, squeezed my thigh under the table, very high up, almost brushing my groin, and asked if I was okay. I told her yes. It was true. I was more than okay. My panties were soaked and I hadn’t even been seated for an hour.

After that there was no going back. Two girls to my left started kissing, first as a game, then for real, tongue down each other’s throats, hands inside each other’s blouses. Others took off their tops and stayed in bras, some not even that. Two more went into the bathroom and came back half an hour later, one with red knees and the other just finishing zipping up her skirt. I stayed in my chair, drinking, watching everything, feeling my cunt burn under the dress, feeling my nipples harden against the fabric. I was more turned on than I was willing to admit, even to myself. I pressed my thighs together and felt the pulse down there, beating like a second heart.

***

There were fifteen minutes left until midnight when Lara climbed onto the small platform at the back and tapped the microphone.

—Ladies —she said with a devilish smile—, it’s time for what you’ve been waiting for.

The lights dimmed. A song with heavy bass started playing, the kind you feel in your chest before you hear it in your ears. And three men came in through the service door.

Three. In boxers. Nothing else.

Two were blond, athletic, with that gym-built body you see everywhere. But the third. The third took my breath away. He was a tall Black man, with shoulders that looked carved, a back that couldn’t fit into my line of sight, and a smile that thanked you for being there. Under the boxers a heavy, dense bulge was outlined, hanging to one side and making everything else in the room look like decoration. He hadn’t done anything yet and I already knew who I wanted.

I looked at him without hiding it. He looked back at me and held my gaze for a couple of seconds. Then he turned and started dancing. But I didn’t take my eyes off him for the whole song.

***

The show started well and got out of hand fast. The three danced separately at first, then moved closer to the group, and soon they were doing private dances with whoever volunteered. A couple of the girls worked up the nerve to touch. The strippers responded by touching too. The line between performance and something else erased itself. One of the blondes already had Lara’s hand up under her skirt and Lara had her head thrown back, eyes closed.

When he went over to one of the brunettes and kissed her, and bit her neck, and grabbed one of her tits over the dress, I felt something absurd, like a stab of jealousy for a man whose name I didn’t even know. I got up from my chair. I walked the five meters separating us with my heart pounding in my throat. I waited for him to finish with her, touched his shoulder, and when he turned around I took his face in both hands and kissed him.

It wasn’t a greeting kiss. It was a long, deep kiss, with tongue, and he followed me as if he’d known me his whole life. I stroked his boxers over the front, felt the weight of his cock beneath the fabric, thick, already half-hard, throbbing in my palm. I squeezed him shamelessly, from top to bottom, feeling him grow even more. I ran my thumb over the tip and felt the wetness already marking the boxers. I told him in his ear what I was thinking.

—I want to suck your dick in front of everyone —I whispered, my lips pressed to his ear—. And then I want you to fuck me until I can’t walk.

A smile slipped out of him and he squeezed my waist with both hands.

—What’s your name? —he asked.

—I’ll tell you later.

And I went back to my seat, biting my lip, feeling his gaze nailed to my ass as I walked.

***

The girls, emboldened or defeated by alcohol, started pulling the boxers off the three of them. The blondes first. One had a long, curved cock, the other a shorter one and very thick, both already fully hard, shining under the lights. Him last, almost as if they’d understood without saying it that he was mine. When he stood naked, I couldn’t stop looking. His cock hung heavy between his legs, thick from the base, dark, veins standing out, and it was only half mast. The whole room made a sound. Someone shouted something obscene. It was exactly how I’d imagined it and a little more. Beautiful. That’s the only word I have, and even so it falls short.

A blonde girl with her hair tied up knelt in front of him and took him into her mouth without preamble. She sucked him with both hands around the base, pulling him out with a wet sound, spitting on him, taking him back in until she was gagging. He held her head with one hand, not forcing her, setting the rhythm. I came closer. I stood beside them, stroked his back, ran my hand over his chest, looked him in the eyes. I wasn’t going to let him go. When the girl finished, with red lips and smeared makeup, and stood up, I took her place.

I took him in both hands and felt that even then I couldn’t fully wrap my fingers around him. I licked him first from bottom to top, following the thick vein running underneath, all the way to the tip, and stayed there, lips parted, spitting on him, looking at him. Then I took him all the way in, or as much as I could, until the tip hit the back of my throat and I had to breathe through my nose so I wouldn’t choke. I pulled him out with a strand of saliva hanging from my mouth and took him back in, slower, sucking the head with my lips pressed tight. I ran my tongue underneath him, licked his balls, one first, then the other, and moved back up the shaft without letting go with my hand. Saliva dripped down my chin and onto my tits.

—Fuck —I heard him say under his breath.

I kept sucking him hard, with both hands, sliding him in and out, until I felt him throbbing against my tongue. He looked at me, stroked my head, pushed my hair aside to see my face, and I felt like the most desired woman in the world in a room full of people I didn’t care about. Around us the girls were screaming. One ran her hand over my back. Another was saying something to him I couldn’t make out.

—Stay with me tonight —I said, without thinking, with his cock still a centimeter from my mouth—. Please.

—What? —he asked, not hearing me well over the music.

I stood up, pulled my dress over my head —I wasn’t wearing a bra, my tits spilled out at once and someone whistled—, pulled my panties down with the red heels still on, and sat on the sofa with my legs spread wide open. I had a shaved cunt, swollen, and it gleamed from how wet I was. I slid two fingers inside and pulled them out coated, looking at him. I brought them to my mouth without stopping looking him in the eye. I didn’t need to say anything else.

He understood.

***

He knelt between my legs first. He grabbed my thighs with both hands, opened me wider, and planted his tongue on my cunt in one long lick, from the bottom to the clit. A moan escaped me, sharper than I would have wanted. He started sucking my clit like he knew exactly how, pressing it with his lips, swirling his tongue over it, while he slid in two thick fingers and curled them inside, searching for my spot. I grabbed his head with both hands and pressed his face against me without a trace of shame. I came in less than two minutes, shaking all over, squeezing his head between my thighs, screaming something I didn’t even understand myself.

I didn’t have time to recover. He straightened up, spat into his hand, smeared the spit over his cock, and shoved all of himself inside me in one single thrust. I felt him opening me from the inside. The stretch was so brutal my vision blurred for a second. He dug his hands into my hips and started fucking me right there, on the sofa, in front of everyone, with a long, deep rhythm that sent my tits jolting each time he slammed into me. The sofa creaked. I moaned at every thrust, unable to keep quiet. One of the girls came over and put a nipple in my mouth while he kept giving it to me. The other kissed me, tongue and all, and I kissed her back without stopping my moans against her mouth.

—Get on your stomach —Bruno told me, and he turned me himself before I could do it.

I ended up on my knees on the sofa, clutching the backrest, ass up and the red heels still on. He grabbed my hips, pushed back into me in one shot, and started fucking me like an animal, his hand on my nape pressing my head against the backrest. Each thrust made my tits slam against the leather of the sofa. I could feel him pulling almost all the way out and then driving back in to the hilt, his balls slapping against my clit. He slid his thumb into my ass, soaked with my own slick, and I felt a jolt race up my back. I came again, screaming into the backrest, clenching around him so hard on the inside that he let out a growl.

—Fuck, you’re so tight —he said through clenched teeth, not stopping.

Then he put me on my side, lifted one leg up onto his shoulder, and kept going, slower but deeper, with his hands around my neck, pressing just enough to make everything inside me speed up. He kissed me on the mouth, deep, dirty, while he kept fucking me, and the next second he was squeezing my throat and calling me a slut in my ear in a tone that made me tremble. He handled me with a strange mix of tenderness and hardness that was exactly what I wanted. I licked his mouth, bit his lip, told him not to stop.

The other girls and the other two strippers surrounded us, screaming, clapping, encouraging us with words that now seem ridiculous to me but at the time were fuel. “Give it to her all,” “break her,” “what a delicious cunt.” One of the blondes was getting sucked off by two at once a meter away from us. None of that mattered to me. I only looked at him.

When he felt I was about to come, he yanked his cock out all of a sudden, soaked, swollen, red. He grabbed my hair and threw me to the floor. I knelt in front of him without him having to tell me, mouth open and tongue out. He grabbed his cock with his hand and started stroking it fast, the tip resting on my tongue. On the third pull he came with a long growl. The first spurt hit the inside of my mouth, thick and hot, and filled my whole tongue. The second struck my cheek and slid down my chin. The rest landed between my tits, on my neck, in my hair. I didn’t close my mouth. I didn’t move. I stayed there with my eyes closed and my mouth open until he was done emptying himself. Then, without taking my eyes off him, I swallowed. I ran my tongue over the tip to clean off the last drop. The girls were clapping. Camila was crying with laughter, hands over her face.

***

The rest of the night blurs. I drank more, danced nonstop, laughed at things I don’t remember. When I came to, I was in a taxi on my way home, my dress on backward and one single eyelash stuck to me. My head hurt, my feet hurt from the heels, my cunt burned from how well I’d been fucked, and I had the mark of his mouth on my neck and dried cum sticking my hair behind my ear.

I asked Camila the next day what his name was. She told me Bruno, and that he was from the agency they’d recommended. I asked her for his contact info. She gave it to me. I sent him a message he never answered. I tried again a week later. Nothing then either. After the wedding, I left him alone.

Four years have passed. I’m with someone else now, someone good, someone who doesn’t deserve for me to keep this memory tucked away in some drawer of my mind. I haven’t told him anything about that night and I’m not going to. But sometimes, when I shower alone and let the hot water run longer than necessary, I remember how Bruno looked at me before he kissed me the first time, how he drove himself all the way into me, how I filled my mouth with his cum in front of twenty women who were shouting my name without knowing it. And the heat rises to my face —and my hand to my cunt— in a way I can’t control.

If this ever reaches him somehow, if for some improbable reason he’s reading this, let him know the following: it was me, the one in the red heels, the one in the black dress, the one who knelt and climbed on him without even knowing what his name was. I’m not asking for anything. Just that he knows I existed and that he exists in my memory as one of those things that happen only once in a lifetime. If they happen.