The Video with My Ex I Saved Without Knowing
I woke up before the alarm went off, my head full of a memory I hadn’t touched in years. My ex-wife. Bárbara. And my body responding as if I still had her beside me, as if her scent were soaked into the pillow. I lay there on my back for a couple of minutes, breathing slowly, trying to push the image away. It didn’t work. The sheet was pressing a rock-hard erection into me, the tip already wet against the fabric, and I remember clenching my teeth and biting my lip so I wouldn’t reach down there with my hand right then and there.
We’d been separated for more than six years. Six years in which she had moved to another country, rebuilt her life, and I had rebuilt mine. I have a steady partner now, Daniela, a sweet, patient woman who doesn’t deserve me waking up with a hard cock thinking about someone else. And yet there I was, remembering Bárbara as if I’d fucked her last night.
I got into the shower. I turned the cold water on first, on purpose. The shock jolted me and dragged me back to the morning, but my dick stayed stubbornly hard, throbbing against my hand when I lathered up. Bárbara was a beautiful woman, I’m not going to lie. Green eyes, light brown hair, very white skin, those hips that looked designed to drive any man crazy, a pair of medium-sized tits with pink nipples that went rock hard the moment I touched her. But it wasn’t the body that marked me. It was the way she lived sex, like it was an urgency, a need as natural as breathing. She fucked hungry. She came hard, screaming, not caring about the neighbors. And she loved swallowing.
I got out, got dressed, and took care of a couple of errands. Stopped by the bank, dropped off some papers at the notary’s office, bought something I needed for my desk. I was walking without thinking, headphones on, when I stopped in front of the window of a lingerie shop on Bellavista Avenue. It wasn’t a decision. My body stopped on its own.
On the mannequin was a black baby doll, with lace over the neckline and a ribbon detail at the waist. Exactly like the one Bárbara had. The same color, the same cut, even the little bow at the back. I stood there for a couple of seconds staring, and I swear I could feel her behind me, smell her perfume, that strange mix of vanilla with something darker I never could identify. She’d worn that baby doll one night with nothing underneath, no panties, and made me kneel on the floor to eat her out. She’d lifted it with two fingers and pushed my face against her wet cunt until she came in my mouth.
I shook my head and kept walking. But I couldn’t get her out of me anymore.
I got home after noon. Daniela was on a long shift at the hospital and wouldn’t be back until night. I poured myself a coffee, sat down in front of the computer, and started checking work emails. I had to send a quote to a client and couldn’t find the file. I started looking folder by folder, those old folders one inherits from previous computers and never quite manages to organize. And then one showed up that I didn’t remember saving. “Personal_2017.” Nothing else but that name.
I opened it out of curiosity more than anything. Inside there were photos. Many photos.
The first one stopped my heart. Bárbara on all fours on the bed in our old house, looking at the camera with that smile she only ever gave me, wearing a wide-brimmed hat and long boots. Just that. The yellow light from the bedside lamp fell over her back and traced the curve from her waist down to her hips. Her ass was lifted, round, with the split of her cunt open and shiny between her thighs, still wet from what we’d just done. I remember exactly the night I took that photo. We’d come back from a themed party and she refused to take off the hat. I’d fucked her twice, once against the door the moment we got in and once on that bed, and in the photo you could see my cum running down the inside of her thigh.
***
I went through the photos slowly, one by one. Bárbara in the shower with foam running down her chest, cupping her tits and sticking her tongue out at the camera. Bárbara in white lingerie sitting on the edge of the bed, her panties pulled aside and two fingers inside her cunt. Bárbara asleep naked with one arm across her stomach, her legs slightly open and her shaved pussy shining under the bedside lamp, a photo I took without her noticing and that she never knew existed. And another, lower down, her on her knees on the bathroom floor looking up, mouth open and tongue out, waiting. I’d taken that one myself, holding the cell phone with one hand and my cock with the other, a second before I came on her face.
My body had already reacted before I decided anything. I felt the heat rise, my breathing change, my dick pressing hard again against my zipper. I thought about closing the folder. I didn’t close it.
At the bottom there were videos. Four or five, dated 2016 and 2017. I clicked on the first one, almost at random.
It took me two seconds to realize what it was. Me coming into the apartment with my gym bag slung over my shoulder, still sweaty, T-shirt stuck to my body. The camera followed me. Bárbara laughed behind the lens.
—Take your clothes off right there —her voice said off camera—. Don’t move. I want to see your hard dick before you shower.
I laughed, told her to stop filming, and she ignored me. She came closer, dropped to her knees in front of me in the hallway, and started pulling my shorts down without hurry. I remember the exact feeling, that strange mix of embarrassment and arousal at being so sweaty and not having her care. On the contrary. She liked it. She said the smell of a man fresh from training drove her crazy, that it made her panties get wet in an instant.
In the video, she pulled my cock out of my boxer briefs with one hand, weighed it in her palm, ran it over her cheek, over her lips, rubbing it across her face as if she were smelling it. Then she opened her mouth and swallowed it whole in one go, all the way down, choking on purpose, never letting her eyes leave mine. The camera kept rolling, propped up on the hall table, recording everything. You could see her moving her head, her cheeks puffing out, strings of saliva dripping from her chin down to her tits. Me braced against the wall, eyes closed, her beneath me eating me out like she was starving, pulling back only to lick my balls and take me back to the back of her throat. A wet, obscene sound, mixed with my voice trying to keep control and the distant hum of the building elevator.
—Come in my mouth —I heard her say when she pulled it out for a second—. All of it. I don’t want to lose a single drop.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I rolled the chair back, unfastened my belt, and pulled my pants down to my ankles along with my boxer briefs. My cock sprang out rock hard, the tip already dripping. I grabbed it with my right hand, spat into my palm, and started slowly, staring at the screen, my heart beating in places that weren’t just my chest anymore. I pumped my fist up and down from the base to the glans, squeezing at the top, the way I knew I liked it, the way she had done it to me so many times.
***
Bárbara had that thing. She had it carved into my head, into my skin, into a part of the brain where a man doesn’t want to admit he keeps things. She would keep me awake at two, at three in the morning, with my cock hard against her back, and she’d be sleeping soundly on the other side of the bed. It was enough for me to touch her hip. Enough for me to slowly pull her panties down to her knees. Without opening her eyes, she’d roll onto her back, spread her legs, wet her fingers with her tongue, and rub her clit a couple of times, slowly, until I saw her cunt opening up pink and shiny, and then she’d yank the collar of my T-shirt toward her. She never said anything. There was no need. I’d shove it in her all at once, all the way, and she’d let out a rough moan still half asleep, tightening her legs around my waist. We’d fuck like that, in silence, listening only to the wet sound of her cunt sucking my cock with every thrust, her hands on my ass shoving me deeper. And she wouldn’t let me go until I finished inside her, until I felt my balls emptying and filled her pussy with cum. Afterward she’d give me a long, slow kiss, tasting of sleep, her drowsy tongue finding mine, and then she’d turn to the wall with my load running down her thigh. The next day we’d never mention what had happened, as if it were a secret agreement between her asleep and me awake.
The hallway video kept going. After eating me out for a long while, she stood up, turned around, lifted her skirt to her waist, and braced her hands against the corridor wall. She wasn’t wearing panties. She looked at me over her shoulder, spread one cheek open with a hand, and said, “Fuck me here, like this, sweaty.” I drove into her with one hard push, all the way, and she screamed biting her arm. The camera, propped on the table, recorded everything from the side: my ass clenching with every thrust, the sound of our thighs slapping together, her tits bouncing under the blouse she hadn’t had time to take off. I remember grabbing her by the hair and yanking her head back while I fucked her without mercy, and her begging for more, deeper, to split her pussy open. I used to finish in five minutes, pulling out just before I came and shooting over her white ass while she looked at me with that glazed smile, tongue out, waiting for some of it to land in her mouth too.
I played it three times. Four. By the fifth I was jerking off hard, spitting into my hand, squeezing the base of my cock so I wouldn’t come too soon. I felt the tingle rise from my balls and knew I wasn’t going to last. I went back to the exact same second, that second where she looks at the camera and bites her lip with my dick down her throat, and I let it happen. I clenched my teeth so I wouldn’t make a sound in an apartment where no one was home. I came in long, thick ropes, over my hand, over my stomach, some of it all the way to my chest. I finished with such force I was left breathing in short gasps for a long minute, my hand full of warm semen, my heart pounding, my eyes fixed on a frozen image of a life that was no longer mine.
***
I stayed seated for a good while. I didn’t move. I wasn’t thinking about anything in particular either. Just listened to the fridge humming in the kitchen and the cars going by on the street, trying to get back to the world where Daniela would be home in a couple of hours and I had to look like a normal husband, not a guy who had just jerked off watching his ex.
I closed the video. I wiped myself with napkins I had on the desk, running them over my stomach, over my hand, over my still-sensitive cock. I went to the bathroom, washed my hands, my face, changed the T-shirt that had gotten stained. I sat down again in front of the computer and looked at the “Personal_2017” folder still open on the screen. My finger hovered over delete.
I didn’t do it.
I just closed it, left it where it was, on an external drive I almost never plugged in. And I went back to the client’s email to finish the quote nobody had actually urgently asked me for.
Daniela got home at eight. She brought warm bread from the bakery downstairs and a tired smile. She kissed me on the cheek. I kissed her on the forehead. I asked how her shift had been and she told me about a difficult patient, about a doctor who had pissed her off. I listened, nodded, smiled where I was supposed to smile.
We cooked together. Some random pasta, with vegetables from the fridge and grated cheese on top. We ate on the couch watching a series we’d already seen. At some point she fell asleep with her head on my shoulder, and I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, slowly, with the same hand that two hours earlier had been gripping my cock while I watched another woman suck it.
***
I don’t know exactly what I’m going to do with that folder. Deleting it would be the right thing, but I’ve spent years avoiding the right thing in that specific part of my head. I also know that opening it again is a trap, an easy slope to go down and very hard to climb back up. But there it is, on the external drive, waiting for me, with Bárbara’s photos of her spreading her cunt for the camera and the videos of her taking me in all the way.
There are things you keep without knowing why. Photos, old messages, perfumes someone left on a forgotten scarf. Bárbara was all of that to me. A folder with no clear name, a mark that doesn’t erase with six years or with a new partner or with three moves. A woman who taught me, without meaning to teach me, that desire doesn’t go away. It only hides, settles into a corner, and one day comes back out disguised as a baby doll in a shop window or a lost folder on a computer, with the cock hard again and the hand dirty again.
Tonight, while Daniela sleeps against my chest and breathes slowly, I’m writing this. Confessing it, I suppose. Not to clean my conscience, because that doesn’t get cleaned. But to understand what happened today. To name it. So it doesn’t stay stuck in my throat like a secret that later rots.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll delete the folder. Maybe not.
For now, I write. And I breathe slowly. And I look at Daniela asleep, and I stroke her hair, and I try not to think about another woman who is thousands of kilometers away and who probably, right now, doesn’t remember me even a little, or how she screamed when she came with my cock all the way inside her.