What I’d Do to You in That Empty Parking Garage

Let me tell it to you slowly, the way I like it, with my mouth pressed to your ear and my hand resting on your knee while I drive. This isn’t just any dream. It’s something I’ve been replaying in my head for weeks, every time I pass that place and imagine you coming with me.

In my city there’s a huge shopping center, one of those with three floors of stores and two underground parking levels. The very bottom one hardly anyone uses. People prefer to stay close to the exit, so the last level is always half-lit, with row after row of empty spaces and that strange echo big garages have when there’s no one in them.

At the back, past the column where the cameras stop, there’s a small bathroom. One for people with reduced mobility, with a wide door and a lock that actually works. I discovered it by chance one day when I went down to get the car. No one goes in there. And ever since, I haven’t stopped thinking about what would happen if you went in there with me.

***

I want you to come in a dress that moves on its own. Something made of light fabric, with a little flare, easy to lift, so all it takes is pulling the material a bit to raise it wherever I want. No pants that afternoon. I want to be able to get to you without fighting zippers or buttons.

And underneath, whatever I ask for. If you decide to come, I’ll text you in the morning and tell you what to wear. A fine lace bra, the kind that shows through a little. Tiny panties, the kind that barely cover anything and slip aside with one finger. Thigh-high stockings, held up with a matching garter belt. When you get in the car, I won’t touch you yet. I’ll just know you have all that on under the dress, and that alone will keep me on edge the entire ride.

—Are you wearing it? —I’d ask without looking at you, eyes on the road.

—I am —you’d say, and half a smile would slip out.

Nothing else would be needed. We’d go down the ramp in silence, circling to the last level, and I’d park the car in the darkest corner, far from the elevator light. I’d take your hand and we’d walk to that door in back as if we’d done it a thousand times.

And the whole way, in the car, I’d be thinking about it. During the drive I wouldn’t touch you anywhere except your knee, like I said. But you’d notice how my breathing changes every time we stop at a light, how I glance at you from the corner of my eye, how hard I grip the wheel. You’d let me suffer. You’d cross your legs slowly, letting the dress ride up a little, and stare out the window pretending you don’t know what you’re doing to me. By the time we got to the shopping center, we’d both be on the edge.

***

Inside, it smells clean and cold. I lock the door. That white, slightly ugly light they have in places like this flicks on, and the only sound is the hum of the fluorescent tube. You look at me, waiting. I still don’t say anything.

I kiss you. But not a soft good-night kiss. I kiss you like I want to steal your breath, with tongue, with both hands on your face, pushing you back slowly until your spine hits the tiled wall. When I pull away, your lips are parted and you’re breathing through your mouth. That’s the image I’ve been keeping for weeks.

I turn you around. I put you facing the big mirror over the sink, my hands on your hips, and I position myself behind you. I want you to see yourself. I want you to see your own face while I touch you, because I know that turns you on more than anything else.

I lift the dress slowly. I bunch it in my hands until it’s gathered at your waist, and there’s everything I imagined: the garter belt, the stockings, that panties that barely cover anything. I look at you in the reflection and you hold my gaze.

—Don’t move —I tell you in your ear.

I slide my hands up your stomach to your breasts. I pull the cups of your bra down a little and hold them in both hands, weighing them, playing with your nipples between my fingers until they go hard. You press your lips together to keep from making a sound, because you know we’re somewhere we shouldn’t be, and that makes everything better.

My mouth goes to your neck, just below your ear, that spot that drives you wild. I bite your lobe slowly, and I feel your breath catch. One of my hands leaves your chest and starts to move down. Over your stomach, over your navel, to the edge of your panties’ elastic.

***

I’m in no rush. I want you to be the one in a hurry.

I slip my fingers under the fabric and reach your sex, already hot and slick. I find your clit and start making slow circles, clockwise, nonstop, with a steady pressure I know you like. You open your legs a little more, seeking my hand, and in the mirror I see you close your eyes.

—Look at me —I tell you—. Open your eyes and look at me.

You open them. And in that reflection, with my hand between your legs and my mouth on your neck, you shape the words with barely any voice.

—Fuck me.

—What? —I ask, though I heard you perfectly.

—Fuck me —you repeat, a little louder.

—Say it again. Louder.

—Fuck me. Now. Please.

That’s all I need. I pull my pants down just enough. You reach a hand back and tug your panties to the side, without taking them off, because there’s no time and because I like it better that way. You lean forward a little, hands braced on the edge of the sink, and you offer me everything.

I go in slowly. At first it’s hard, because you’re very tight and I’m not exactly small, so I take it little by little, gaining ground with every thrust, letting you feel every inch. And when I finally get all the way in, you let out a long moan that bounces off the tiles, and I feel you clench around me as if you never want to let me out.

***

I stay still for a second, just to feel you. Then I start moving.

At the rhythm we settle into, the bathroom’s silence fills with other sounds: the slap of my body against yours, your broken breathing, an occasional gasp that slips out despite your effort to swallow it back. I hold your hips and drive deeper, again and again, all the way in, and you throw your head back and rest it on my shoulder.

—Like that —I whisper—. Just like that.

One of my hands drops again and keeps working your clit while I fuck you, both things at once, and that undoes you. You start trembling. You start saying things without finishing them, half-words, and I know what’s coming because I know you.

—I’m coming —you say—. I’m going to come.

—Come —I answer in your ear—. Come for me. Don’t hold back.

And you come. You come so hard you convulse all over, you clamp down on me until I’m breathless, you have to bite the back of your hand so you don’t scream. Seeing and feeling you like that, in that forbidden place, with the risk that someone could come down at any moment, is what finishes me off. I hold you tight against my body and empty myself inside you, in waves, while you keep shaking with the last spasms.

We stay like that, fitting together, sweaty, breathing like we’ve run a marathon. The white light keeps humming. In the mirror, your face is red and your hair is stuck to your forehead, and you smile at me with a mixture of exhaustion and I-can’t-believe-it.

***

I help you straighten your dress. I lift the cups of your bra back up, settle your panties, lower the fabric to your knees as if nothing happened. You wash your hands, look at yourself in the mirror for a moment, collect yourself. Before I open the latch, I turn your face toward me and give you one last kiss, this one soft and slow.

—Again —I tell you, not as a question, but as a promise.

We leave the bathroom like two strangers who happen to cross paths by chance. We walk to the car without touching, keeping up appearances for no one, because there’s no one there. And while I drive up the ramp toward the exit, you put your hand on my thigh and leave it there, and I know that next time you won’t wait for me to suggest it.

This is what I’ve been imagining for weeks. This is what I want to do to you. And if you liked hearing it, if you felt the same heat I feel every time I say it, I still have much more to tell you. You just have to say so in my ear, the same way I said it to you.