What Happened to Me with a Stranger in the Parking Garage

I want to tell this because I still can’t quite believe I was the woman who was there. My name is Daniela, I’m twenty-nine years old, with wavy hair and an average height. The only thing I truly like about my body is my ass: big, firm, the kind that makes heads turn. I’m a stable woman, with a partner and a routine, but I’m also the kind who enjoys life—going dancing, having drinks with friends on any given Friday.

On those nights out drinking, I had a couple of affairs with other men. I never regretted them, but I always told myself the same thing so I could sleep peacefully: it was the alcohol. I wasn’t one of those women who went looking for it. It was the alcohol, I told myself. And I believed it.

Until that Saturday in August, when I discovered that I’d been lying to myself for years.

On Saturdays I do the week’s grocery shopping. My partner works that day, so I take advantage of it by going early and leaving the afternoon free for him. The supermarket is ten minutes from home, in a shopping center with the parking garage on the ground floor. I left at eight in the morning, feeling fresh, wearing a short skirt that came a little above my knees and a spaghetti-strap blouse. I was going to buy vegetables and wine, not look for trouble.

At that hour the place was almost empty. Perfect, I thought, I’ll go in, get out, and meet up with the girls. I paid for my ticket at the entrance, smiled at the security guard, and parked at the far end of aisle two, with plenty of space on both sides.

“Good morning. Don’t lose your ticket; it’s checked on the way out,” the man told me.

“Thanks, I’ll take care of it,” I replied, and went inside.

***

I got more distracted than I’d intended. I walked the aisles thinking about how expensive everything had become, compared prices, and grabbed a bottle of wine that’s never absent from my home. When I looked at the clock, it was already past ten. I paid for two bags and went out without hurrying.

The parking garage was a different place. In two hours it had filled up: thirty cars, maybe more, and people coming and going. I reached mine and realized it was blocked in front and behind. There was no way for me to maneuver.

I came early precisely to avoid this.

I took a deep breath, put the bags on the passenger seat, and sat down to wait. I didn’t last five minutes. I decided to ask the security guard if he knew whose car was in front, a dark-blue Honda Accord with tinted windows. I still remember that car in detail.

When I got out, I noticed something I’d missed before: there was someone inside the Accord. Through the tint, I could barely make out a silhouette with a phone in one hand. Well, even better, I thought. I’ll speak directly to the owner and we’ll sort it out.

I tapped on the driver’s window. He lowered it, and I was left speechless.

He was an older man, in his mid-fifties, fair-skinned, with graying hair and a white tank top. In one hand he held the phone, playing a porn video. With the other, he was gripping his cock, fully erect and in plain sight, without the slightest hint of embarrassment.

I should have turned around. I should have been outraged. Instead, I stood there frozen, staring at him as if my body no longer responded to me. He didn’t look away from me either. He kept watching me while he continued moving slowly.

I don’t know when he let go of the phone. The next thing I felt was his hand on my buttocks, over my skirt, stroking them calmly, as if he had every right. He slid it downward until he brushed between my legs, over my underwear, and a heat I didn’t want to acknowledge spread through my entire body.

I reacted a second too late. I took a step back.

“Would you be so kind as to move your car? I need to get out,” I said, and my voice sounded much less firm than I’d intended.

He spoke with a calmness that was more frightening than any shout.

“If you want, get in and we can talk about what you need.”

***

I don’t know what went through my head. I know I walked around the back of the car, opened the passenger door, and sat down beside him. I don’t remember making the decision, only the result: there I was, with a stranger, his erection inches from my hand.

I kept my eyes fixed on the windshield. I didn’t look at him, but I could feel his eyes on me. There was a silence that seemed to last forever, and meanwhile the wetness between my legs grew in a way that embarrassed and aroused me in equal measure.

What the hell am I doing?

“Take off your blouse. I want to see your breasts,” he said.

I didn’t move. He repeated himself, more quietly, more firmly. I thought about running out, and just then he took my hand and placed it on his cock. It was thick, heavy, difficult to get my hand around. My eyes fell there before I could stop them. My heart was pounding. I started stroking him slowly, and I heard him breathe harder.

“That’s it, that’s it,” he murmured. “Come on, show me those breasts.”

I said nothing. I lowered one strap of my blouse, and he finished the job, unclasped my bra, and tossed it onto the back seat. I felt his eyes on my breasts before I felt his hands. He caressed them slowly, and this time I was the one panting. I bit my lip to keep quiet, but my body had already won the fight.

I saw a drop glistening at the tip of his cock and, for the first time in my life, I knew exactly what I wanted: to taste it. It was as if he had read my mind. He took me by the arm and pulled me closer. I didn’t stop him. I didn’t want to stop him. I ran my tongue over the tip, played with that flavor, and then took as much of him into my mouth as I could—which wasn’t all of him, because he wouldn’t fit.

“That’s it,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Don’t stop.”

He grabbed my hair just when I was most focused.

“I’m not finished with you yet. The best part is still to come.”

***

With one yank, he pushed my seat back. I understood what was coming and, far from holding myself back, I wanted it. I lifted my hips slightly, and he pulled my skirt and underwear down in a single movement, all the way to my ankles. I took everything off, ending up naked in the middle of the parking garage, in broad daylight, and the thought that anyone could walk past me made me even wetter.

He returned my seat to its place and moved into the back seat. He gestured for me to follow him. I sat on top of him, facing him, and felt his cock strike against me. I adjusted my hips myself so it could enter.

The first thrust tore a moan from me that I couldn’t contain. I’d never had anyone so big inside me. I rose and fell on him, feeling all of him, and there wasn’t a single excuse left in my head. It wasn’t the alcohol. It was me, sober, at eleven in the morning, riding a stranger in his car.

“See? You’re exactly what I thought when you tapped on my window,” he said, holding me by the waist. “This is what you wanted.”

“Yes,” I replied, not recognizing my own voice. “Yes, this is what I wanted.”

I rode him until I lost all sense of time. Every movement, every thrust pushed me closer to an orgasm I could feel building deep inside me. I bit my lips, threw my head back, and stopped fighting the sounds coming from my throat. When I came, I came completely, trembling on top of him.

I felt him grow even harder and knew he was about to finish.

“I’m coming,” he said, squeezing me against his body. “This is what you came looking for.”

He emptied himself inside me with a long moan, and I remained on top of him, breathless and dizzy from what I’d just done.

***

I got off slowly. I picked up my underwear and used it to wipe away what was dripping out of me. I put my skirt back on without anything underneath. When I went to get my bra, he grabbed it first, brought it to his face, and inhaled deeply.

“I’m keeping this,” he said. “A souvenir.”

I didn’t protest. I put on my blouse without a bra, my nipples still hard beneath the fabric. He moved into the driver’s seat while I finished getting dressed. There were no more words, only silence. I got out of the car, and as I was walking toward mine, he called me.

“Come here.”

I walked to his window without saying anything. He placed some bills in my hand—one hundred and fifty dollars.

“That’s how you ask for things,” he said with a crooked smile. “With good service, you can get anything. You were delicious.”

Those words turned me on again, though I wasn’t going to admit it. I turned away. I felt a smack on my ass and didn’t look back. I reached my car, sat down, and stayed there breathing, my heart racing. I heard him start the engine and drive away; the blockage was gone, as if it had never been there.

I enjoyed every second with a man whose name I never learned. And that morning, without a drop of alcohol in me, I understood something I’d been avoiding for years. My affairs had never been the fault of the drinks. That was the day I stopped lying to myself about who I really am.