My Roommate Taught Me to Desire Him with My Mouth

I always considered myself an average girl, even less than that. In school and high school, no boy ever looked at me, and I took refuge in my room inventing romances that were never going to happen. I was skin and bones, almost no curves, and I had convinced myself that desire was something reserved for other women.

Sex never interested me. If a steamy scene came on TV, I changed the channel. If my friends talked about boys, I made up any excuse to leave. The weird one, they said. And they were right, though for reasons I never told anyone.

When I was thirty, I left the village and moved to the city to work painting nails in a small salon, from nine in the morning until midafternoon. It didn’t pay much, barely enough for a room in a shared apartment twenty minutes from the place.

The apartment belonged to a woman with a very nasty temper who, fortunately, almost never showed up. There were three bedrooms: one always empty and another occupied by Adrián, a guy my age who worked as a radiology technician at the hospital across the street. His schedule and mine matched almost perfectly, so we ended up being home together every afternoon.

***

We cooked and ate together, and little by little those meals turned into long after-dinner conversations, then into dinners, later into talks that stretched well into the night. We became friends without even realizing it. One afternoon he told me he worked in obstetric radiology, that he spent the day looking at ultrasound scans of pregnant women, and I remember the whole conversation because I blurted out without thinking:

—What a coincidence.

—A coincidence why?

—Sorry, it’s just… —my face was burning before I’d even started.

—Don’t worry. If you don’t want to tell me, that’s your right.

—It’s just that I’ve had a problem there since I was a child —I finally said—. A malformation that keeps the entrance practically closed. It hurts at the slightest touch. I’ve seen a thousand specialists.

Adrián set his cup on the table and looked at me with a seriousness I hadn’t expected.

—I’m so sorry. It’s something uncommon, and if it’s complete, the prognosis isn’t simple. Did they consider operating?

—Too much risk, because of the way the tissues are. I accepted it years ago. Nothing can go in there, so I ruled out sex forever. —I laughed so I wouldn’t cry—. That’s why I never dared with any boy. What do you say to someone you like if you know you’ll never be able to make love with him?

—You shouldn’t limit yourself like that —he replied softly—. There are other ways to enjoy yourself. You just have to find the right person.

The right person. I kept thinking about that phrase for much longer than I should have.

***

It was the first nights of summer, and we slept with the window open and the blinds partly down. Both rooms faced the same inner courtyard. One night, as I passed his door on my way to the bathroom, I heard a muffled sound that stopped me dead. Girl curiosity, I told myself. I went over to my window, stretched up on tiptoe, and through three badly closed slats I managed to see him.

Adrián was in bed, his computer screen lit up on a rolling table. There was no need to guess what he was watching. Below, with a slow and almost careful motion, he was stroking himself.

I turned red, my whole face was burning, and then for the first time in my life I felt what so many times had been described to me and I had never understood: arousal. A current running down through my belly and leaving me breathless. Without thinking, I put my hand between my legs. I knew I would never get to feel what the others called an orgasm, my body had never allowed it, but that night I didn’t care. For the first time I was enjoying myself, in my own way, trembling against the window frame.

Half an hour later the light went out and I only heard one long, deep moan before the silence. Adrián was asleep. I didn’t close my eyes all night.

***

The next morning I got up early on purpose to run into him, and when I saw him come out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist I confirmed that image wasn’t going to leave me. I made him coffee and, almost without meaning to, started looking for excuses to be near him.

The following days turned into a strange, sweet routine. One afternoon he came back from work arguing on the phone, beside himself. When he hung up I asked what was wrong and he collapsed onto the sofa.

—My ex —he said—. She wanted to talk and it ended even worse. She cheated on me with several men. She left me for a very specific reason, you know? She said I wasn’t enough for her. That she preferred… something else.

—You don’t have to tell me if it hurts.

—It’s ridiculous. —He ran a hand through his hair—. We live obsessed with measurements, with comparing ourselves. And in the end the only thing that mattered to her was that. She made me feel like I was nothing for months.

I looked at him and saw, for the first time, that he too carried his own idea of not being enough. Something settled inside me that night. We weren’t so different.

***

A week later, while we were having dinner, the subject of my chest came up. I joked about how flat I was, about the estrogen that had never quite finished developing me, and he, instead of being awkward, got excited like a scientist.

—There’s an interesting line of research —he said—. They’ve been doing trials for years on natural hormonal stimulation. Certain hormones that promote breast development are found naturally in semen and are absorbed through the walls of the stomach.

—Are you telling me that…? —I burst out laughing in disbelief.

—It’s only been measured in couples, of course. In pregnant women who took their partner’s semen orally. The ones who did it regularly gained a cup size, and kept it afterward. At least in most cases. —He shrugged, amused—. Science has weird things.

—What a shame not to have a donor on hand —I said, and looked at him steadily, bolder than I had ever been—. Although if everything else is off the table, that would be perfect for someone like me.

There was a heavy silence. He swallowed.

—I’m starting to look at you with different eyes —he murmured.

—I love that —I answered, and my heart was pounding like a drum.

***

It took me days to gather the courage, but one night I told him straight out: that I liked him, that with him I had felt desire for the first time, that why not try it. Adrián lowered his gaze.

—There’s something I find hard to admit —he said at last—. I’ve got my own issue too. A genetic thing: I produce too much. I need to release myself almost every day. If two or three days pass, the pain is unbearable, I’ve ended up vomiting from how much it bothers me. That’s why all my relationships fail. At first everything goes well, but then I have to masturbate when the other person doesn’t want to, and I’d rather be alone than feel like a burden.

I moved closer and took his face in my hands.

—Then we’re perfect for each other —I said—. You give me what I need and I give you what you need. I promise I’d never leave you with that pain. And I’d never, ever cheat on you.

—Are you sure you won’t get bored? Only one way…

—I’m going to learn to do it better than anyone else. I swear it.

Then he kissed me. He kissed me like a storm, my first kiss at thirty, and my knees turned to water. I had to hold on to his shoulders so I wouldn’t fall.

***

We didn’t take long to get to bed. We kept kissing as we undressed awkwardly, and at last I saw him fully, hard, beautiful. He seemed enormous to me, though he insisted he wasn’t. Before continuing he asked my permission to look at me “as a technician,” and opened my legs with infinite tenderness.

—It’s complete —he confirmed in a low voice, almost to himself—. But let me try something.

He went down, scattering kisses over my belly, over my groin, and when his tongue brushed me I jerked. It wasn’t pleasure: it was unbearable, maddening tickling. My body closed up, as always. He tried with heartbreaking patience, but it was impossible. In the end he came back up, kissed my forehead, and smiled.

—Relax. We’ll invent our own thing.

I kissed him again and felt him harden once more against my thigh. And I knew what I wanted to do.

—Guide me —I asked him—. I’ve never done this.

—The only rule is that you enjoy it. Just as much as I do, if possible.

I went down slowly. I felt him hot, much warmer than I had imagined, and took him into my mouth. That feeling of something so warm and tense completely undid me. I started as best I could, a mess, I know that now, but he kept telling me in a husky voice: like that, slower, careful, hold it with your hand and move it at the same time.

I thought of all the times my friends had talked about this, of the images I used to avoid, and I couldn’t believe it was giving me such pleasure. My legs were shaking. And then I began to feel deep stabbing sensations, inside, in a place that had never woken up before.

—Those are micro-orgasms —he explained later, stroking my hair—. The pleasure you feel in your mouth travels down your spine and releases there inside. For a girl like you, it’s the closest thing to cumming.

I had never kissed anyone and I was already having the biological substitute for an orgasm. It was incredible. I didn’t want it to end ever. I could taste his skin, his heat in my mouth and my own burning through me.

—Do you like it? —he asked, panting.

—More than anything in my life —I answered without taking him out.

—Then I’m going to explain the important part —he said—. When you start sucking hard, don’t stop, keep the rhythm until I tell you. As soon as I feel myself close, slow down, keep the tip inside and keep going, gently, without pulling away. I hate people who finish and pull away right away. That isn’t desire, it’s gymnastics.

—I don’t know if I’m going to remember all that —I said, dizzy with excitement.

—Just don’t choke —he smiled.

I stayed like that for a couple of minutes that felt like heaven to me, until he came. He filled my mouth, I pulled back a little, I didn’t do anything he’d told me to do, it was a complete disaster. But we both laughed afterward, wrapped around each other, sweaty, happy. It was my first time and everything has to be learned.

The taste was unlike anything. At first it was hard for me, both because of the taste and the texture, but over the days I discovered I loved it, just like the first bitter beer or the first sip of something strong that ends up becoming your favorite.

***

As the weeks went by I learned how to make love to him while both of us enjoyed it to the fullest. I managed to make those stabbing sensations become stronger and stronger, a madness of pleasure I never thought my body could give me. He stopped trying to lick me, because that didn’t do it for me, and gave himself completely to our way, ours, the one we invented together.

We’ve been together for four months now and I’m ridiculously happy. At last I enjoy sex and I make my man enjoy himself like no one ever had. Sometimes I think about that skin-and-bones teenager shut away in her room, convinced that desire wasn’t for her, and I want to hug her and tell her she was wrong. That the right person exists. That sometimes he lives in the room next door and all it takes is looking through the crack.