The Fantasy That Began with My Adult Neighbor

When I think about the moment I stopped fantasizing about sex and started looking for it in earnest, I always go back to that old building where I spent several years of my life. It wasn’t an innocent or romantic story, and I don’t want to disguise it as one. It was desire, curiosity, and a horniness that slowly crept into our heads until we ended up locked in a room, trying everything.

We were neighbors and already adults, though still young. I lived with my mother in one of the apartments at the back, and he lived with his mother on the floor above. We crossed paths almost every day on the stairs, in the entranceway, or on the rooftop, and we started the way many things start: talking about nonsense until familiarity gradually stripped away our filters.

His name was Damián. Dark-haired, tall, with the calm gaze of a man who seems to listen to far more than he says. At first we talked about anything—the building, the heat, the noisy neighbors, the arguments at home. Then the conversations began getting dirty on their own, without either of us openly suggesting it.

We both came from broken families, from mothers rebuilding their lives as best they could, and from nights when the walls let you hear more than you wanted to. One afternoon, sitting on the stairs on the third floor, we started talking about it. The noises. The men who sometimes stayed the night. The moans that slipped beneath the doors.

—Did you ever see anything? —he asked me quietly.

I told him yes, though I didn’t tell him everything. I didn’t tell him how many times I had stayed awake listening to a bed pounding against the wall. I didn’t tell him that more than once, in the early hours of the morning, I had touched myself between my legs while imagining what was happening in the room next door, without fully understanding why I got so wet.

He was silent for a few seconds, then confessed that he had seen things too. That once he had looked over by accident and another time on purpose, and that ever since, certain images wouldn’t leave his head. The way a man spread a woman’s legs. The way he made her moan. The way she begged for more without shame.

—You learn by watching —he said with half a smile—. Or at least you think you do.

I let out a nervous laugh, but in reality my stomach was tightening. Not from fear. From anticipation. Because the way he said it carried something challenging, something like a filthy invitation that turned me on immediately.

—And do you really think you know how to make a woman happy? —I asked him.

Damián held my gaze without blinking.

—If you let me, I’ll show you.

I felt a rush of heat in my face. I should have stood up and left, but I didn’t. I wanted to know how far that conversation would go. I wanted to know how far I would go.

—How? —I murmured.

—In my room. Alone. Without anyone bothering us. And on one condition: that you don’t back out at the first hurdle.

I didn’t answer right away. I looked at him, noticing for the first time how close his knees were to mine, how broad his back looked inside his T-shirt, and how calmly he spoke about something that already had me trembling. In the end, I nodded. I don’t know whether it was courage or pure horniness.

We arranged to meet Saturday afternoon, when his mother would be working late and mine would be going to visit an aunt. I spent that entire week thinking about it. About his room. About what he was going to do to me. About whether he would kiss me. Whether he would touch me where no man had touched me yet.

When the day arrived, I saw him waiting on the stairs as if nothing were happening. We exchanged an awkward greeting, two pointless comments to disguise our nerves, and went upstairs. My heart was racing. As soon as he closed the door to his room, the silence became heavy. Intimate. Charged.

He approached slowly, without speaking, as if giving me one last chance to run. I didn’t move. He put his hands on my waist and pulled me toward him. The first kiss was short, almost a test, at the corner of my lips. The second was on my mouth. The third came with tongue and hunger.

It wasn’t a shy kiss. It wasn’t perfect, either. It was wet, clumsy at times, but very alive. His tongue slipped into my mouth while his hands began squeezing my waist and back. I gave in quickly. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back with the same hunger, noticing his breathing grow heavier with every second.

When he pressed me fully against his body, I felt the hardness of his cock showing beneath his trousers, rubbing against my thigh. The contact made me let out a low, involuntary moan. He noticed and pulled back slightly to look at me.

—You’re already enjoying it —he said.

—Don’t talk —I replied, and kissed him again.

We kissed for a long time, standing up, bumping against the door, the wall, the bed. He bit my lip, licked my neck, breathed over me as if he too were surprised by how quickly everything was heating up. When one of his hands slipped beneath my blouse and touched my breast over my bra, I arched my back without thinking.

My nipples hardened at once. He found them with his fingers, squeezing them curiously and then with more determination. I didn’t know exactly what I liked and what I didn’t, but I did know that I wanted him to continue. To keep touching me, kissing me, pawing at me as if he had been imagining that moment for weeks. Because I had imagined it too.

—Take it off —he murmured against my ear.

I pulled off my blouse with clumsy hands. He looked down at my bra and smiled like a man who finally had in front of him what he had been longing for. Then he unhooked it and stared at me for a moment before leaning in. He sucked one nipple with his hot mouth, gently at first and then harder. The sensation went through my entire body.

—Fuck —I blurted, surprised by my own voice.

He looked up.

—You definitely felt that.

—Yes. Keep going.

And he did. He sucked my tits unhurriedly, alternating tongue and lips, while his hands moved down my waist to squeeze my ass. I was already panting. It was no longer just curiosity. My body was alight, my pussy throbbing with a new and very clear urgency.

He laid me on the bed and knelt in front of me. He spread my legs with his hands over my skirt and rubbed his palm between my thighs, right where I was gathering the most heat. I felt a brutal shiver.

—You’re soaked, aren’t you? —he said.

I didn’t want to answer, so I only looked at him. He slowly hiked up my skirt, pulled my underwear down to my knees, and let out a dry exhale when he saw me. I closed my legs instinctively, burning with embarrassment. He opened them again.

—Don’t cover yourself now —he murmured—. If you told me yes, look at me and let me do this to you.

I obeyed him. Not because he was ordering me to, but because by then I wanted exactly the same thing. I watched him run a finger over my wet lips, parting them and playing with the moisture that was now truly running out of me. When he found my clitoris, a gasp escaped me and I clenched the sheets with both hands.

—So this is where the problem is —he said with a filthy smile—. You were already ready.

He moved his finger in slow circles, insisting right there, then lowered it and sank it inside me. It went in easily, thanks to how wet I was. I shuddered. Not from pain, but from the invasion itself, from feeling a foreign body entering mine that way for the first time.

He moved his finger in and out while rubbing me above with his thumb. Then he added a second. My body tensed and I let out a louder moan.

—Slowly —I asked him.

—Slowly, yes. But don’t tell me to stop.

I didn’t want him to stop. I wanted more. Much more. I knew it when he leaned down and licked my pussy for the first time. His hot tongue making its way between my lips, tasting me, sucking me, giving me little jolts that made me writhe on the bed. I buried my hands in his hair and pushed him against me.

—Like that, fuck... like that —I moaned.

Damián understood quickly. He ate my pussy hungrily, without tenderness, as if he wanted to learn my flavor by force of tongue. He sucked my clitoris, let it go, licked it again, slipped one finger inside me and then two, and the wet sound of his mouth between my legs was driving me crazy. Every time he raised his head, his chin was shining.

I had never felt anything so direct. So physical. My body reacted on its own: spreading my legs wider, lifting my hips, moaning uncontrollably. When I realized I was approaching something I didn’t know how to name but knew how to recognize, I grew nervous.

—I think... I think I’m going to come —I said, almost frightened.

He didn’t stop. On the contrary, he gripped my thighs hard and kept licking faster.

—Then come.

That was all. I came trembling, my stomach hard and my legs shaking, squeezing his head between my thighs as I let out a long, hoarse moan that left me empty and, at the same time, hotter than before. I would never forget the look on his face afterward, satisfied and aroused at once.

—Now it’s my turn —he said, standing up.

He took off his clothes without ceremony. When he lowered his trousers and boxers, I stared at his hard cock, raised against his stomach. It was no longer an abstract fantasy. It was a real, hot, thick dick, a few inches from my face. I swallowed.

—Touch it —he asked.

I slowly reached out and wrapped my fingers around it. It was truly hard, its skin hot and taut. I stroked it up and down, noticing how his breathing grew heavier with every movement.

—Like that —he murmured—. Don’t be afraid.

I leaned in and kissed the tip, barely brushing it. He moaned. That sound gave me a strange, almost insolent confidence. I opened my mouth and slowly took him in, tasting him with my tongue, knowing there was no turning back. I began sucking him with growing enthusiasm, alternating my mouth and hand, licking the base, rising again to the tip, feeling him grow even harder.

Damián grabbed my hair, not to hurt me but to set the rhythm. I followed it. I moved faster, breathing through my nose, tasting the saltiness of his skin and the weight of his cock on my tongue. He panted above me, muttering obscenities through his teeth.

—Fuck, you suck it so well... that’s it, don’t stop... deeper.

I pulled him from my mouth for a moment to look at him. His jaw was clenched, his eyes dark, his chest rising and falling violently. I put him back in my mouth, and this time I went deeper, until he made me pull away with a gentle tug of my hair.

—If you keep that up, I’m going to come right now.

The thought of him coming in my mouth turned me on even more, but I was already thinking about something else. About having him inside me. About feeling that cock truly opening me.

—No —I told him—. I want you to fuck me.

We looked at each other in silence for a second. He understood that it wasn’t a phrase thrown into the air. It was a decision. A request. Almost an order.

I lay back and opened my legs. Damián positioned himself between them, stroked my pussy with two fingers covered in my own wetness, and then took hold of his cock. He rubbed the tip between my lips, up and down, getting it even messier. I moaned impatiently.

—Put it in me —I whispered.

—Slowly.

He pushed carefully. The tip entered and my entire body tensed. It burned. Not unbearably, but intensely, newly, clearly. He noticed immediately because he went still.

—Breathe —he told me—. Look at me.

I did. I breathed deeply. He pushed again, a few more inches. I felt him opening me, felt my pussy adjusting to the pressure. Pain and arousal mingled in a strange way, and when he finally had almost all of it inside me, I bit my lip to keep from screaming.

—Fuck... you’re so tight —he said, his voice broken.

He stayed still for a few seconds, giving me time. Then he began to move very slowly, barely pulling out before entering again. Each thrust hurt a little less and aroused me a little more. My body gradually relaxed, lubricating itself better, accepting him. After a few minutes, what had burned before began to feel brutally good.

I grabbed his ass to pull him closer. He understood the signal and sped up. The sound of him sliding in and out began filling the room, wet and insistent. The bed creaked against the wall. I opened my legs wider and moved my hips to meet him, feeling his cock entering and leaving more easily, more deliciously each time.

—Like that... like that... don’t stop —I moaned, not caring about anything.

Damián fucked me while looking me in the face, as if he wanted to record every expression. He lowered one hand to rub my clitoris while continuing to thrust into me, and that set me off again. The combination of his cock inside me and his fingers above left me trembling. I began squeezing him with my legs, moaning louder, completely losing my shame.

—I’m going to come again —I warned him, my voice breaking.

—Do it. Squeeze me like that.

I came with him inside me, feeling the spasms of my pussy around his cock. It drove him crazy. He let out a rough moan, gripped my hips hard, and began thrusting harder and shorter, seeking his own climax. The pounding was constant, filthy, brutal. I could do nothing but take him and moan.

—I can’t hold on... I can’t —he said through his teeth.

—Come.

With two more thrusts, he came inside me. I felt it clearly: the pulsing of his cock, the heat of his cum filling me from within, his body collapsing onto mine while he remained buried to the hilt. We stayed like that for a few seconds, sweaty and pressed together, breathing like animals after a race.

When he pulled out of me, a thick thread ran down between my thighs, and seeing it gave me a wild thrill. He saw it too. He ran two fingers through it, gathered some of the mixture, and showed it to me with an incredulous smile, as if even he couldn’t quite believe what we had done.

—So I knew a little after all —he murmured.

I laughed, still trembling.

—You still need practice.

—Then you’ll have to let me keep practicing.

And I did. Of course I did.

***

After that first time, the tension between us disappeared and turned into something else: hunger. We sought each other out in every corner of the building, on the rooftop, in the laundry room, on the stairs whenever we knew nobody was passing by. Sometimes it was only a long kiss with a hand beneath our clothes. Other times we ended up masturbating each other in secret until we were left trembling.

The second time we went back to his room, there was no awkwardness. He greeted me by locking the door and pushing me against it. I unbuttoned his trousers before I even said hello. I pulled out his cock and began jerking him off while he lifted my skirt and slipped his hand between my legs.

—Wet again —he said, thrusting two fingers into me at once.

—Because I already knew what I was coming for.

He turned me around and bent me over the bed. That position made me feel even more exposed. He pulled down my underwear, spread my ass with one hand just to look, then went back to my pussy, licking me from behind with a slowness that made me moan against the mattress. I moved my ass toward him, desperate.

—Don’t tease me.

—You like being made to wait.

—I like you fucking me.

He laughed and shoved his cock into me in one motion. I let out a muffled cry. He began fucking me from behind, gripping my waist and setting a hard rhythm that shook my whole body. Each thrust pushed me forward. The sound of his pelvis hitting my ass mixed with my panting and his dirty words.

—This is how I wanted you —he said—. Open for me. Begging for it.

I slipped one hand between my legs and touched myself while he fucked me. The moment he saw me do it, he sped up even more. He used me in that position for a good while until I came again, my legs going limp. Then he turned me over and made me swallow his cum after pulling out in time, finishing on my tongue while I looked at him with my mouth open.

I’m not going to pretend to be modest. I liked it. I liked feeling the power of making him do that. I liked how quickly we learned to get dirty together.

***

Over time, our routine became a laboratory of desire. He wanted to repeat things he had imagined; I wanted to try anything that gave me a thrill. We sucked each other in silence so we wouldn’t arouse suspicion. We came with the door barely ajar, alert to every sound. More than once I went home with trembling legs and my pussy still sensitive from the way he had left me.

One afternoon he sat me on the edge of the bed and spread my legs while he remained dressed. This time he wanted to look at me calmly. To touch me without rushing. He ran his fingertips over my swollen lips, parted them, spat on me, and spread it with his hand before sliding three fingers inside me. I moaned so loudly that he had to cover my mouth.

—Keep your voice down —he whispered—. Or they’ll know exactly how I get you off.

That comment turned me on even more. It made my face and my pussy burn at the same time. I sucked his cock on my knees between his legs while he kept fingering me, then he lifted me onto his lap to fuck me sitting down, face-to-face, watching me bounce on him. I held onto his shoulders, rising and falling on his cock, feeling every inch enter and leave.

—That’s it, move —he told me—. I want to watch you fuck yourself on it.

I obeyed. I drove myself down harder each time, using my own legs to fuck him while I straddled him. Sweat ran down our chests. My tits bounced with the movement. He sucked one nipple while I rode his cock, and when I came, I squeezed him so tightly that he came almost at the same time, burying his face in my neck to muffle his moan.

Those encounters changed me. Not only because of what I did with him, but because of what I discovered about myself. I understood that my desire wasn’t accidental or a passing phase. I liked fucking. I liked it a lot. I liked foreplay, the filthiness of the words, the other person’s body reacting to mine, the feeling of losing control just before orgasm.

It didn’t last forever. Nothing does. Some time later, Damián moved with his mother to another city, and what we had ended the way many intense stories do: suddenly, without ceremony, leaving my body full of memories. The day he left, we said goodbye on the stairs where everything had begun. We kissed one last time, quickly and angrily, knowing that kiss was already a memory before it ended.

For a long time, I thought of him when I masturbated. His room. His tongue. The first time he spread my legs and made me come with his mouth. The first time he fucked me slowly until pain became pleasure. I don’t idealize him. It wasn’t everlasting love or a fairy tale. It was a filthy, intense, very real initiation.

And maybe that’s why it remains one of my favorite fantasies: because it began as a forbidden conversation between adult neighbors and ended by becoming the exact moment when I understood that sex didn’t frighten me. It made me hungry.