Two Weeks Thinking About Him and I Found Him on the Corner

There are encounters that mark you in a way that has no name. The first time I made myself his was one of those. After Damián left that night, I lay there staring at the ceiling with the certainty that something had changed, even if I couldn’t quite tell what.

The two weeks that followed were a soft form of torture.

I went to bed late. I woke up before the alarm for no apparent reason. In the dark of my room I relived everything with a precision that drove me crazy: how he had run his tongue over my neck before going down between my legs, how he had pried my thighs apart with his hands and licked my cunt until I was shaking, how he had grabbed my hair while I had his whole cock in my mouth for the first time. I remembered the salty taste of semen sliding down my throat, the way he held my head so I wouldn’t pull away, the feeling of having my mouth full and not being able to breathe properly and not wanting it to end. I remembered how afterward he had fucked me on all fours on the bed, his fingers digging into my hips, the wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of my soaked cunt. That was what followed me everywhere.

I woke up with my hand between my legs without even realizing it. I slid my fingers inside myself and thought about him, about his cock, about how he had shoved it all the way in that night. I came biting into my pillow so my roommate wouldn’t hear me, and then I’d be left with sticky fingers, humiliated by how much I needed him. I caught myself staring at my phone, hoping a message would appear. Nothing. Not a single word in fifteen days.

What made me most uncomfortable, what I didn’t dare tell anyone, was that I didn’t only fantasize about what he had done to me. I also thought about his girlfriend. I wondered if he was like that with her, if he made her swallow his cum too, if he drove his cock all the way in the way he had with me, if she knew that version of him that I had known, if she had ever given herself over the same way I had that night. Those thoughts didn’t make me proud. But I couldn’t turn them off either.

Fifteen days later, the message arrived.

It was Wednesday afternoon. I was at Sofía’s place, the two of us in front of the big mirror in her room, her with eyeliner in her hand and me tilting my head so she could do it better. We were going out dancing. It had taken me almost half an hour to choose the short black dress I was finally wearing, one that rode up with every step and made me wonder whether going out in it was a good idea or not.

The phone vibrated on the bed.

Hi.

One word. No name. No context. I recognized him anyway, instantly, without the slightest doubt.

I wrote back that I thought I wasn’t going to hear from him again. He replied asking whether I had missed him, whether I wanted to have coffee that night. I took a while to answer, looking for the right tone, the one that would make it seem like I could or couldn’t, that there was no urgency on my part, even though my body was begging me to cancel everything and go wherever he told me to.

—I already have plans today —I wrote—. Tomorrow I can. Tell me where to meet you.

—What plans? Tell me where you’re going to be —he replied.

I told him we were going out dancing, that I was at a friend’s place getting ready. Sofía asked me something about my heels and I had to put the phone down. When I picked it up again, there was a missed call from him and a short message:

Come out to the corner where you are.

—I’m going downstairs for a second —I told Sofía.

—Who is it? —she asked without taking her eyes off the mirror.

—No one important —I said.

Lie.

I adjusted my dress and went out. I walked the twenty meters to the corner feeling my heels click against the wet asphalt. He was there, leaning against the motorcycle, with that posture of his, like a man who had all the time in the world. He looked me up and down without the slightest attempt to hide it.

—Too pretty to go dancing alone —he said—. What are you really looking for?

—The same thing you’re looking for with your girlfriend —I answered.

He stared at me for a second. Then he got off the motorcycle, wrapped his arms around me and pulled me against him. He kissed me hard, with that mouth I had dreamed about fifteen nights in a row, and bit my lower lip until pain and pleasure mixed together. He went down to my neck. Bit me again. And without any warning he pulled down the neckline of my dress and took one of my tits out, right there, on the sidewalk, with cars passing two meters away. He licked my nipple with his mouth open, took the whole thing in, bit it slowly until a short moan escaped me that I tried to swallow. I felt his free hand slipping under my dress, sliding up the inside of my thigh, and when it found my panties he shifted them aside with two fingers and touched my cunt directly, without preamble. I was soaked. He laughed softly against my neck when he confirmed it.

—Look at you —he said—. Didn’t even have to touch you.

He slid in one finger. Then two. He moved them slowly inside me while he kept biting my nipple outside. I had to cling to his shoulders so I wouldn’t fall. A car rolled by slowly and I squeezed my eyes shut, begging the driver not to look over.

—Come on —he said, nodding toward a dark vacant lot beside an unfinished building—. I want you to do something for me before you go.

—Damián, we can’t. Sofía’s waiting upstairs. Not tonight.

He lifted me in his arms before I finished the sentence. He walked toward the vacant lot with complete calm while I protested in a voice far too low to convince anyone. My arms wrapped around him on instinct. My body knew things my head still hadn’t processed.

Once inside he kissed me more slowly. His hands on my face, unhurried, as if a month had passed since the last time and he wanted to remember every detail. I pulled away from him. Took a step back. And knelt on the dirt floor with the black dress spread out at my sides, looking up at him from below.

—I want you to fill my mouth —I said quietly—. Please.

He didn’t answer right away. He looked at me for a moment, dark eyes, breathing a little heavier.

—Then open your mouth —he said.

I undid his belt with both hands, pulled down his pants and boxer briefs in one tug to mid-thigh. His cock sprang out, hard, thick, pointing at my face. I took it in my hand and ran my tongue from base to tip, slowly, feeling the thick vein pulse against my tongue. I turned the head with my tongue, sucked the tip like it was candy, my eyes locked on his. I spat on the tip and worked it with my hand, then took it back into my mouth.

I took him slowly, feeling the heat and weight on my tongue, finding the rhythm with my lips. I started moving deeper, alternating the pressure, running my tongue over every part of him. I took his hips in my hands to have some control, but he grabbed my head with both hands, dug his fingers into my hair and set the pace himself. He shoved it to the back of my throat. I gagged, my eyes filled with tears, saliva started to run from the corner of my mouth and down to my chin. He didn’t stop. He kept pushing, pulling back just enough to let me breathe and then going all the way in again, his breathing getting heavier and heavier.

—That’s it, slut, that’s it —he murmured—. All the way with that mouth.

I ran my tongue underneath, sucked his balls one by one while I kept jerking him with my hand, feeling them tighten against my lips. I took him back to the back of my throat. I closed my eyes. I stopped thinking about the club, about Sofía, about the dress, about everything. There was only that: the dirt floor beneath my knees, the smell of a man, the salty taste of the pre-cum already filling my mouth, the distant noise of the street, and the strange satisfaction of being exactly where I wanted to be, kneeling, with a cock buried to the back of my throat.

When he was close he warned me with a sound I had learned to recognize the first time. I didn’t pull away. On the contrary: I took him deeper. I felt the first wave of thick cum slam into my throat, then the second, the third, and I swallowed it little by little while he held my head and wouldn’t let me move. I stayed still until the end, eyes closed and hands on his hips, feeling him throb inside my mouth to the very last drop. Then I stood slowly, ran my tongue over my lips, wiped a thread of cum from my chin with my finger and licked it off while looking at him. I kissed him on the mouth and let him taste his own load on my tongue.

—Now I’m going —I said.

He grabbed my arm.

I stayed still. I felt his breathing still ragged, his firm hand on my wrist. Something in that gesture told me he wasn’t finished.

He turned me around. I ended up with my back to him, my back pressed to his chest, his hand closing softly around my neck. I felt his body respond again, his cock hardening once more against my ass through the fabric of my dress.

—There’s something else —he said, his mouth at my ear—. I want to show you something you still don’t know.

—What? —I asked, though something in my body already guessed the answer.

He pulled my dress up to my waist. With one hand he tugged my panties down, left them hanging between my thighs. With the other he started exploring slowly, his fingers moving from one place to another, first sinking into my soaked cunt, going in and out with a wet sound that embarrassed me to hear, gathering that wetness and bringing it higher, pressing lightly on that territory no one had ever touched like that before. My whole body tightened. His wet finger, slick with my own juices, circled slowly, drawing loops, pressing without going in yet.

—Damián —I said.

—Shhh. Breathe. Look over there and breathe.

His mouth never stopped kissing my neck, my shoulder, the nape of my neck. He slid one finger into my ass, just the first knuckle, and I let out a sound I didn’t know whether was protest or plea. He moved it patiently, pushed it in more slowly, pulled it out and pushed it back in, each time a little deeper. With his other hand he found my clit and started rubbing it in circles, distracting me, mixing the familiar pleasure with the unknown. The pressure of his fingers was barely perceptible, more a question than an imposition. But I knew what was coming. And it scared me. I told him to stop. I told him it was going to hurt, that I didn’t want that, not tonight.

—I’m asking you seriously —he said without moving—. Do you want me to stop completely?

He waited. His hand still where it was. His mouth still on my neck. His body radiating heat against my back. His fingers on my clit moving just enough that I couldn’t think clearly.

I didn’t want him to stop completely.

I took his free hand and put it on my hip. No more words were needed. He understood. He spat into his hand and lubed his cock with saliva, ran his fingers over my cunt once more to gather more wetness and slick himself up. He set himself where he needed to and advanced very slowly, millimeter by millimeter, telling me in a low voice to trust him, to breathe, that he wasn’t going to hurt me.

When he entered me for the first time, I froze.

The sensation was impossible to classify. A burn first, a pressure that stole my breath, the certainty that he wasn’t going to fit. Then something gave way and I felt the head pushing through, thick, hot, opening me in a new way. A long moan escaped me. He stayed still for a few seconds, letting me get used to it, not moving, one hand on my hip and the other going back to my clit so I wouldn’t stop being wet, so pleasure wouldn’t separate from pain. Then he began, very slowly, with his hips, gaining a centimeter at a time, with a patience I hadn’t expected from him.

—That’s it —I said, and I didn’t recognize my own voice.

Something came loose. Fear, shame, the idea that this wasn’t for me. His cock entered a little more, and a little more, and suddenly I realized I had all of him inside me, to the root, and I hadn’t died. Quite the opposite. A strange heat rose up my back. I moved with him and found the rhythm. I pushed my ass back on my own, looking for him, feeling how he almost came all the way out and then went back in. I started asking for more with my body before I dared say it with words. Then the words came on their own.

—Harder —I told him softly—. Fuck me harder.

He sped up. He took my hair in one hand and pulled back until my back arched. He drove into me from top to bottom, with longer, deeper thrusts. He pressed his other hand over my mouth when my moans became too loud for the open night. I bit his fingers. I sucked two, three of them while he kept fucking me. He pinned me against the tree in front of us. I felt the rough bark in my palms, the knots in the wood, the cold of the night I had stopped feeling long ago.

He took his hand back to my cunt, two fingers opening me there too, and suddenly I had him in both holes at the same time, his fingers pushing in front and his cock fucking me from behind with the same rhythm. Something broke inside me. The first wave caught me off guard, a spasm that shot from my knees to my head. I screamed against the palm of his hand. My ass clenched around his cock and he let out a low, animal growl.

—That’s how I wanted you —he said through clenched teeth—. Coming with my cock in your ass.

He kept fucking me while I trembled, never slowing down, taking advantage of the fact that I couldn’t support myself anymore. I felt his hips slamming against me from behind, his balls hitting my soaked cunt with every thrust. A few seconds later I heard him clench his teeth. He drove in all the way and stayed there. He came inside me, pinning me against him, his mouth on my shoulder and his hands covering my hips, emptying himself in waves I felt pulsing deep, very deep. We stayed still for a moment, both of us silent, with the distant noise of traffic and the smell of earth, sex, and perfume mingled in the air.

When he pulled out, slowly, I felt a warm trickle run down the inside of my thigh. I bent down to pick up my panties with my legs shaking. He took them from my hands, slipped them into the back pocket of his pants and smiled at me.

—Tonight you dance without panties —he said—. And you think about me every time you feel it running down.

***

I got back to Sofía’s place ten minutes later. My makeup, miraculously, was still almost intact. I adjusted my dress in front of the elevator mirror and practiced a face that said nothing had happened. I felt the semen sliding slowly down my leg and pressed my thighs together.

—You took forever —she said when she opened the door.

—It was the building neighbor —I lied—. He wanted to borrow something.

—Does your neighbor live in this neighborhood?

—Too long to explain —I said, and went to the bathroom to touch up my makeup.

That night I danced until four. I drank whatever was put in front of me. I laughed when it was appropriate to laugh. I moved to the beat of songs I didn’t really hear, because there was no music in my head. Only the dark vacant lot, the tree, his voice telling me to breathe, the burn still alive between my cheeks every time I moved on the dance floor.

And the absolute certainty that I was going to look for him again before the week was over.