What I Never Told My College Classmate

There are memories from university that I keep to myself. I don’t tell them at gatherings with friends, and I don’t bring them up with family. They’re the ones that live in some drawer locked shut, the ones I open once in a while when I need to remember that I was once a person who knew how to take risks. What I’m going to tell now is one of those.

It was sophomore year. I shared most of my classes with Sofía, a girl with black hair and an easygoing nature who lived in the neighborhood next to campus. We got along without being intimate friends: we studied together, lent each other notes, and sometimes went out with the same group. Nothing more. But there was one night that changed my perspective on her and, without her knowing it, on me too.

It was one of our outings, without men. Four girls, a small apartment, two bottles of cheap wine, and the confidence alcohol gives you when the night goes on. At some point the conversation drifted to boyfriends, as it always does. Sofía had been with Mateo for almost two years, a guy I had seen a couple of times and who hadn’t made any special impression on me. A little short, not especially handsome, but with a clearly worked body. She mentioned him with that mix of tenderness and frustration people have when they talk about something they can’t solve.

—The problem —she said after a silence— is that it’s too big. I can’t take it without ending up sore.

The others laughed. I didn’t. I took a long sip of wine and listened more closely than I let on.

Sofía explained that she ended up with her cunt swollen after every fuck, that they had gradually cut the frequency down to almost nothing, and that Mateo, with all that unused cock, was probably sticking it into someone else or jerking off until he emptied himself. She said it without real resentment, almost like a fact she had already accepted. The others changed the subject soon after. I kept thinking.

Not about Sofía. About Mateo. About his cock. About the exact size. About what that would feel like inside a woman who actually knew how to take it.

***

It took me two weeks to act. It wasn’t an impulse: it was a decision I made slowly, calmly, while weighing what mattered to me and what didn’t. Sofía wasn’t my closest friend. Mateo wasn’t faithful to her anyway, according to what she herself had hinted. And I had spent several months with a sex life that wasn’t giving me what I needed: two guys with ordinary cocks, no idea how to fuck, who came before I even got started.

I got the name of the gym where he trained through a casual conversation with Sofía about workout routines. I switched to that gym without telling her anything. I went on a Tuesday afternoon, with the mental excuse that I was only going to look.

Mateo was training in the weights area with the concentration of someone who’s been doing it for years. He wore a cut-off T-shirt that left his shoulders bare and tight pants that didn’t leave much to the imagination. I understood immediately why Sofía had mentioned him in those terms. Even dressed, the bulge stood out against his thigh, dense and long, and just seeing it tightened my panties. He moved through the space as if he knew he was being watched, without showing off but without carelessness either.

I watched him openly for half an hour. He noticed. Those things are always obvious, and he had enough experience to recognize them.

The next day I went back. This time I made no effort to seem discreet: I looked straight at him when we crossed paths in the cardio area, and held his gaze until he looked away first. Five minutes later he came over under the pretext of asking whether I was using a dumbbell that was beside me.

—No, it’s free —I said.

—I thought I’d seen you before. Aren’t you Sofía’s friend?

—Classmate. She spoke well of this gym.

He smiled. It was the smile of someone who knew what he was worth, someone used to that working. And it worked, even though I had already decided it would work before he opened his mouth.

We talked for twenty minutes, leaning against the back wall. When he asked if I wanted to get a drink that afternoon, I told him I’d rather go straight to his place.

There was a second of silence.

—Alright —he said.

***

His apartment was small and tidy, on a fourth floor without an elevator. I arrived on time, with just the right amount of nerves that real anticipation gives you: not the kind that paralyzes you, but the kind that wakes you up. Even climbing the stairs I could feel my cunt pulsing.

Mateo opened the door wearing the same T-shirt from the gym. He let me into the living room, which had a large sofa against the wall and a window overlooking the rooftops of the neighborhood. There was no special decor. It was the apartment of someone who lived alone and didn’t care about that.

He offered me something to drink. I said no. I took off my jacket and left it on the back of a chair.

—What do you want to hear? —he asked, though I think he already knew the answer.

—Nothing —I said—. I want to see what you’ve got down there.

I had put on a simple dress, with nothing underneath. I took it off slowly, without turning it into a show, but without rushing either. When I stood naked in front of him in the living room lit only by streetlight, with my tits bare and my nipples already hard, I saw on his face exactly what I wanted to see: total attention, as if the rest of the world had stopped existing. His eyes went straight to the triangle between my legs and stayed there.

He was shorter than I was. He stood up, wrapped his arms around my waist, and pressed his face against my neck. I felt him breathe deeply, smell my skin. His hands traced my hips slowly, shaping every curve, and slid down to cup my ass with both open palms. He squeezed me hard, spreading my cheeks apart, and I felt against my hip the taut, thick bulge pushing against the fabric of his pants. I reached down to confirm it. I closed my fingers around it and couldn’t even fully encircle it. It was as thick as Sofía had said, and it was only half hard.

—You’re going to behave yourself with this —I murmured, more to myself than to him.

He pushed me gently toward the sofa. I lay back, legs open now without shame. He knelt on the floor in front of me and parted my thighs with his open palms, pushing them up until they were pressed against my chest. He looked at my cunt up close, without hurry, like someone inspecting something he was going to eat slowly. Then he lowered his head and started licking it without preamble or detours.

His tongue moved broad and flat over my lips, up to my clit and back down again, soaking me completely. Then he drove it inside me, as far as he could, and fucked me with it at a slow rhythm that made me press my heels against his back. He sucked my clit between his lips, let go, went back down. He shoved two thick fingers into me while still working me with his mouth and curled them upward, searching for the exact spot inside. When he found it, he kept steady pressure there and didn’t let up. It wasn’t perfect, but he did it with real eagerness, with genuine hunger, and at that moment that was worth more than any technique.

I took my time. I didn’t let myself be carried away by the first rush of urgency, but let the tension build layer by layer. I closed my eyes. I listened to the sound of the city outside, the distant traffic, the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen, and underneath it all the wet sound of his mouth against my soaked cunt. I grabbed his head with both hands and set the rhythm, pushing his face into me every time his tongue hit the right spot. All of that together with what was happening put me in a state of concentration that sometimes gets mistaken for distance but is actually the opposite: being completely present.

I came like that the first time, squeezing his head between my thighs and arching against the sofa. He didn’t stop. He kept licking me slowly while I shook, drawing it out, until I had to push his forehead away so he’d let go of my clit.

Mateo stood up. He pulled off his shirt with one movement and then his pants. And there it was.

Sofía had been right about everything. Long, thick, with a purple head and pronounced veins along the shaft. It hung between his legs, fully hard now, pointing upward, with a clear drop beading at the tip. I gauged it by eye: three fingers wide, more than twenty centimeters. But where she saw a problem, I saw exactly what I had been needing for weeks.

This is going to be good.

I sat on the edge of the sofa and took it in my hand. I couldn’t close my fingers all the way around it. I jerked him off a couple of times, feeling the weight, the hardness, the thick vein running underneath. I leaned in and ran my tongue over the tip, collecting the drop. Then I took him into my mouth as far as I could, which wasn’t all the way, and tasted clean skin and gym sweat. I heard him let out his breath sharply.

I sucked his cock slowly, one hand at the base and the other weighing his balls. I took it out and ran my tongue along the whole length, from root to tip, tracing the vein with the flat of my tongue. Then I took it back in, this time deeper, until it hit the back of my throat and made me pull away coughing a little. My eyes filled with water. I tried again. I slobbered all over his cock and worked him with both hands while I sucked just the head.

—Come on, lie down here —he said in a rough voice, pulling me off his mouth before it was too late.

I lay back again. He lifted my legs and rested them on his shoulders, folding me in half. He guided himself with his hand and set the head of his cock at the entrance to my cunt. I was so wet that I felt it sliding up and down, soaking itself completely, before he started to push.

He went in slowly, adjusting the pressure to my response, attentive to every signal without needing words. I felt the stretch first: the lips opening, giving way, that instant when the body wonders if it’s really going to fit. The tip pushed through and I let out a long moan. He shoved another centimeter. Then another. He opened me up from inside slowly, gaining ground little by little, until I felt his balls resting against my ass and knew he was all the way inside me.

—All of it —I told him, breathing through my mouth.

When he felt me give, felt my body receive him without resistance, he started moving more firmly. He pulled his cock almost all the way out and drove it back in to the hilt, at an even rhythm that made my tits bounce against my chest. I moved against him, searching for him, squeezing him with my legs hooked behind his back. He pushed deeper with every thrust. The sofa creaked against the wall. I didn’t make much effort to stay quiet: I moaned loudly, asked for more, told him to shove it all the way in, not to let up.

—Like that, you motherfucker, like that, don’t stop.

He fucked me with his hips pressed against mine, his balls hitting my ass with every thrust. That dull pressure gathered in my lower belly, announcing what was coming. The second orgasm came together quickly, built from weeks of waiting and from the intensity of having him exactly where I wanted him. I came screaming against his mouth when he bent down to kiss me, squeezing his cock inside me with the spasms, and he kept fucking me without changing rhythm, drawing it out. I let it pass through me completely, without cutting it off. And when it was over, when my body went still for a second, I asked him to change positions.

—I want you to fuck me in the ass —I said. No detours, no softening it.

Mateo didn’t answer with words. He pulled out of my cunt with a wet sound, turned me over slowly, and positioned me on my knees at the edge of the sofa. I put my hands against the backrest and leaned forward, arching my back to lift my ass. I felt his hands part my cheeks. He spat. The saliva ran warm between my cheeks. Then he ran two fingers over me, salivating my hole, sliding them in one by one with patience until the muscle started to give.

I felt the head of his cock rest there, still smeared with my pussy juices. He pushed. At first it wouldn’t go in: it was too thick for the closed hole. But he took his time, pressing evenly, letting my body adapt to the rhythm I set with my breathing. I pushed back, taking a deep breath, forcing myself open. There was a moment of pain when the head passed through, a limit-straining tension that comes before everything that later makes it worthwhile. I let the air out and gave a long moan when I felt him inside.

After that, he worked his way in to the hilt centimeter by centimeter and my body began to respond differently. My ass burned and throbbed at the same time, filled beyond anything I had known before. I felt his hand come down and find my clit while he kept pushing. He worked it in circles, syncing his fingers with his hips. When he was all the way inside, he paused for a second, letting me feel all of him.

I told him not to stop. To fuck me harder. To go all the way in with every movement.

He did. He started fucking my ass with even thrusts, pulling almost all the way out and shoving back in until his balls slapped my wet cunt. He had me by the hips with both hands, yanking me back every time he thrust. I clenched my teeth against the sofa back to keep from screaming too loud. My ass had opened for him and it didn’t burn anymore: it pulsed with pure pleasure.

—Harder, more, all the way —I begged him, and he obeyed without a word.

The third orgasm came together with his cock buried back there and his fingers working my clit at the same time. It was different: deeper, duller, coming from somewhere farther inside the body. I shuddered all over and squeezed his cock with my hole as I came. He felt me come and lost rhythm for the first time. He thrust twice more, very deep, and I heard him let out a short grunt.

When he reached the end I felt it completely: the release, the heat, the pressure giving way all at once inside me. The spurts filled my ass, one after another, hot against the walls. He stayed still there, with his cock still hard and sunk to the hilt, until he finished emptying himself. I stayed still for a few seconds with my forehead against the sofa back. When he pulled out, I felt his cum run down the inside of my thigh. I breathed slowly. My body was exactly where I wanted it to be.

***

We went into the shower together. There was no romance in it, only practicality: both of us sweaty, the apartment hot, cum dripping down my legs, the cold tap water taking two minutes to heat up. I washed my hair. He cleaned himself. And at some point, standing there under the water, I grabbed his cock again with my hand and felt it respond, slowly swelling once more against my palm.

I knelt at the edge of the tub with the water falling over my shoulders. I took him in my hand and first ran my tongue along the whole length, starting from his balls and going up to the tip. Then I took him into my mouth slowly, unhurriedly, aware that I had time and that this could also be exactly the way I wanted. I sucked his head while I pumped the base with my closed hand. I ran my tongue under the glans, in the spot where I knew it would get worse for him. I heard him tense his body. I took his balls in my other hand and weighed them, squeezing them just a little while I kept sucking his cock all the way to the back of my throat.

I drove him into my mouth as far as I could, holding him still there until I needed air. I pulled back, breathed, took him in again. Saliva dripped down my chin and onto his balls, mixing with the shower water. I heard his breathing change, shorter, more focused. When I felt his cock throbbing in my mouth I knew he was about to finish. I squeezed the base with my hand and concentrated on the head, sucking it quickly and working the frenulum with the tip of my tongue.

He came with a rough groan, grabbing my wet hair. When he reached the end, I stayed where I was and let him finish in my mouth. I felt the hot spurts one after another against my tongue, thick, with that salty taste. I swallowed calmly, without drama, and cleaned the tip with my tongue so not a single drop was wasted.

After that we wrapped ourselves in towels and sat on the edge of the bed. We were tired in a satisfied way, the kind that doesn’t ask for anything else for the moment. He spoke little. I didn’t have much to say either. It was one of those silences that don’t need to be filled.

Before I left I told him it had been better than I expected. It wasn’t a calculated compliment: it was true.

—For me too —he said.

***

What started that afternoon stretched on for several months. No fixed structure, no promises of any kind: he’d send me a message, I’d show up, or the other way around. Every encounter was direct, concrete, without the weight of expectations that complicate things when feelings are involved. I learned his rhythm. He learned mine. I learned to swallow his cock whole without gagging, and he learned exactly where to touch me to make me come in less than a minute.

There was something I enjoyed beyond the obvious: the certainty that I had chosen it. It hadn’t happened by accident or because someone suggested it to me. I had sought it out, planned it, carried it out. That sense of control over one’s own life is something it took me years to recognize as valuable.

I kept studying with Sofía, lending each other notes, having coffee between classes. I never noticed that she suspected anything. I never saw her act differently after that first afternoon, and neither did she with me. We shared the same library tables, the same hallways, the same final exams. There are conversations that change everything without the other person ever knowing.

When the year ended, things with Mateo dissolved on their own, without scenes or explanations. He moved to another neighborhood. I stayed in college. We crossed paths once more on the street, greeted each other naturally, and each went his own way. It ended exactly as it had to.

What that time left me with was something I couldn’t quite name back then but understand clearly now: the confirmation that I can go after what I want without waiting for it to come to me on its own. That there are decisions made with a cool head that turn out exactly as one calculated. That desire, when handled well, doesn’t have to get complicated.

They’re the memories I keep without guilt, in that drawer I open from time to time when I need to remember who I am.

And that I will never tell Sofía.