What I Confess About That Dark Room

I’ve never told anyone this, and maybe that’s why I need to write it down. My name is Renata, I’m thirty-four, and until that Thursday afternoon I considered myself a boring woman, the kind who plans the supermarket run and falls asleep at eleven. This is what happened when I stopped being that, even if only for an hour.

The shop door clicked shut behind me, and all at once the noise of the street vanished. Inside, the air was thick with perfume: freshly cut leather, warm vanilla, and something darker underneath, a musky base that seemed to cling to the skin. I’d spent weeks walking past the place without daring to go in. That afternoon, I don’t know why, I just pushed open the glass door.

The lights were low, red and violet, as if the whole place were holding its breath. There were shelves with toys of every size, lingerie so fine it looked woven with bad intentions, leather harnesses hanging from silver hooks. I ran my fingers over one of them and felt the cold metal. My nipples were already pressing against my blouse, and between my legs pulsed a wet, stubborn throb I couldn’t remember feeling in years.

I’m just going to look, I told myself. It was a lie and I knew it.

At the back of the shop, almost hidden behind a curtain, there was a black door. A gold sign announced: “Private room. For those who dare.” I stood there for quite a while, my heart pounding against my ribs. A saleswoman somewhere in the shop pretended not to see me. I took a deep breath and went in.

The darkness greeted me like a hand over my face. Only a thread of red light fell from the ceiling, enough to make out silhouettes and nothing more. The floor was soft, cushioned, as if the whole room were a mattress without edges. It smelled of bodies, of recent sweat, of everything that had happened there before me. I closed my eyes for a second and waited.

Then I felt it. A presence behind me, warm, close. I hadn’t heard him come in. His breath brushed the nape of my neck and a shiver ran the full length of my back and sank low, where I was already wet with pure anticipation.

—Welcome —a deep voice said, right by my ear.

I didn’t answer with words. I turned slowly and there he was: tall, broad-shouldered, a shirt open to reveal his chest. The scant light outlined his jaw and eyes that glinted with something like hunger. I didn’t ask his name. I didn’t want to know it. That was exactly why I’d come in: to be, for once, nobody with nobody.

His hands settled on my waist and he pulled me to him. Our bodies collided without violence, fitting together. I felt his erection pressing against my stomach and a rough sound slipped out of me before I could swallow it.

—You’re trembling —he murmured, lowering his mouth to my neck—. Is it fear, or desire?

—Both —I confessed.

***

His mouth found mine and it wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was urgent, possessive, the kind that leaves you breathless. His tongue slid into my mouth and I took it with the same haste, clutching his shirt as if I might fall. His hands moved up my sides, brushed the curve of my breasts, and I arched my back, asking for more without saying a word.

He squeezed my breasts over my blouse, found my nipples through the silk, and pinched them until a gasp broke against his lips. Every nerve in my body seemed to wake all at once.

—I want to taste you —he said, and the words ran through me like a current.

He guided me backward until my back met the padded wall. The darkness covered us like a shared secret. He lowered himself slowly, kissing my neck, barely biting the hollow of my collarbone. His fingers unbuttoned my blouse with a calm that drove me mad, and when my breasts were bared, he claimed them with his mouth. His tongue circled one nipple, sucked it, while his other hand climbed my skirt, dragging the fabric up to my waist.

—You’re soaked —he whispered as he brushed against the fabric of my underwear.

I parted my legs before he even asked. He shoved the garment aside and slid two fingers into me. I moaned without shame, because there, in that dim light, there was no one to explain myself to. He began to move them slowly, curling them right where I needed it, where no one had known how to look for so long.

—There… right there —I panted—. Don’t stop.

—Not yet —he answered—. I want you to come in my mouth.

He dropped to his knees in the dark. He tugged my underwear down and buried his face between my thighs. His tongue was patient and cruel at once: he licked slowly, tracing circles, then sucked hard while his fingers stayed inside me. I tangled my hands in his hair and began to move my hips against his mouth, completely lost, not recognizing myself at all.

—I’m coming —I warned him, my voice breaking—. I’m coming.

The orgasm shot through me like a jolt. My legs trembled, I held onto his shoulders so I wouldn’t fall, and he stayed there, drinking in every second of it, groaning against my oversensitive skin. It took me a while to come back. When I did, I pulled him up and kissed him, finding myself in his lips.

***

My hands slid down to his belt. I unfastened it clumsily, hurriedly, and freed him. I wrapped my fingers around him and started stroking him slowly, weighing him, savoring the growl that escaped him.

—I want to feel you —I told him in his ear.

Then I knelt. I took him in my mouth without thinking too hard, first the tip, slowly, and then deeper, as far as I could. He held my head gently, never forcing, letting me set the pace. I looked up at him from below, in the red half-light, and saw him throw his head back.

—Like that —he murmured—. Exactly like that.

His groans grew rougher, shorter. Before he could lose control, he lifted me, turned me against the wall, and left me with my hands braced there and my back arched toward him. I felt the tip of his erection brush my wet entrance and held my breath.

—Sure? —he asked, and that question, in the middle of everything, melted me more than anything else.

—Sure —I said.

He pushed in slowly, opening me centimeter by centimeter, until he was all the way inside. We both let out a long moan. He began to move, slow and deep, pulling almost all the way out before driving back in. Every thrust pressed me harder against the padded wall, grazing exactly where I needed it.

—Don’t stop —I begged—. I’m going to come again.

He sped up. His hands clamped over my hips and the rhythm turned rougher, deeper. The sound of our bodies filled the dark room, mixed with my gasps and his. I never stopped being a stranger to him, and that, far from scaring me, set me free.

—Look at me —he said.

I turned my head. In the dim light, his eyes were shining. He kissed me from the side, never slowing, and I felt him tense, felt the end drawing near. When he came, it was with a hard grunt against my neck, and that tremor of his was enough to drag me under again. My second orgasm was deeper than the first, slower, a wave that took longer to break and longer to recede.

***

We didn’t stop right away. He turned me, held me against the wall, and my legs went around his waist almost on instinct. He kissed me calmly this time, running his hands down my back as if he wanted to memorize me even if he was never going to see me again.

—One more time —I asked, and even I didn’t recognize my voice.

He moved again, slowly at first, and then with everything he had. My nails dug into his wet back. Our bodies slid, the air had turned thick, unbreathable, perfect. The third ending came for us almost at once, me first, clinging to him, and then him, emptying himself with a long shudder while I kept trembling.

We stayed wrapped around each other for a while, panting, still joined, two nameless silhouettes in a room that smelled of us. He kissed my forehead, a tenderness I hadn’t expected after so much urgency.

—You’re incredible —he whispered.

—And you made me forget who I am —I answered, and it was the most honest thing I’d said in a long time.

I dressed with my legs still unsteady, groping for my clothes in the half-light. He gave me one last long kiss before I pushed the curtain aside. I never saw his face fully. I never knew what he did, or his name, or whether it was his first time the way it had been mine.

When I stepped back out through the shop door, the street seemed too bright, too noisy, too real. I went home, made dinner, answered a couple of messages, and fell asleep before eleven, as always. On the outside, nothing had changed.

But inside me, something was still burning low and steady, like an ember that refuses to go out. I confess that I pass by that shop more often than necessary. And I confess, too, that sooner or later I’m going to push that door open again.