What I Did in the Cinema That No One Should Have Seen

It had been a long time since I’d dared to tell this, but some memories come back on their own—especially the ones that still make my skin burn and my pussy wet just by thinking about them. I wasn’t always like this. For years I was the girl who changed with the lights off, who crossed her arms over her chest at the beach, who would die of embarrassment if a blouse turned even slightly transparent.

All that changed with Mateo.

He discovered something in me that I didn’t even know I had. One night, almost as a joke, he asked me to go out without putting anything on under my dress. I laughed and told him he was crazy. But that same night, as we walked down the street feeling the air where no one should feel it, I understood that fear and desire were the same thing. From then on, going out with him became a game, and each time we raised the stakes.

The cinema became our favorite place.

***

That afternoon we went to the movie theaters in a large shopping mall, the kind with twenty screens that are always packed with families. Before going in, we stopped to eat at a restaurant right at the entrance to the mall. I was wearing a very short white-and-orange striped miniskirt and a thin white blouse. Nothing else. No bra, just a tiny thong that barely covered what was necessary.

We sat in a secluded corner, with me pressed against the wall so no one would see too much. Mateo couldn’t take his eyes off me. Partway through the meal, he leaned over and spoke softly, almost into my ear.

—Go to the bathroom, he said. I want to watch you walk back. I want to see your tits moving without a bra, see your nipples showing through the fabric.

I felt that current I already knew so well, the one that ran up my back and left me with no arguments. I stood up and climbed over him to get out of the booth. As I did, his hand slid up my thigh as if by accident, checked that my thong was still there, and his fingers slipped beneath the elastic for a second. He brushed my pussy, felt that I was already wet, and smiled.

—Take it off, he murmured. And bring it back to me wet.

I didn’t argue.

I walked toward the bathroom feeling the thin fabric of my blouse move with every step, my tits bouncing with each stride and my already-hard nipples showing like two dark points against the white. On the way I passed a man in his forties, attractive, sitting with his wife and two daughters. I wasn’t the one who looked at him; he was the one who couldn’t stop looking at me. His eyes went straight to my chest, where the white blouse gave away everything I wasn’t wearing underneath, and then slid down to my bare thighs. I felt my cheeks burning, but not with embarrassment. With something else. I also felt a hot thread running down between my legs.

In the bathroom I went into a stall, pulled down my thong, and stared at it: it was soaked, clinging to me, with a dark stain in the center. I ran it between my fingers and smelled it, and something inside me twisted. Before leaving, I touched myself lightly, two fingers brushing my swollen clitoris, just enough to keep from coming right there. I looked at myself in the mirror for a second. My nipples showed through the fabric as if the blouse didn’t exist, and beneath my skirt there was nothing anymore. I can’t believe I’m going out like this. But I left, my thong crumpled in my fist and my naked pussy throbbing beneath that striped skirt.

When I returned to the table, Mateo had the smile I already knew how to read. He enjoyed every inch of me bouncing beneath the blouse. When I passed that man’s table again, I opened my fist and let the thong fall to the floor, right beside him. I didn’t bend down to pick it up. I kept walking, knowing I’d left at his feet a garment still warm and soaked with me.

Later I searched for it with my eyes, but it was gone. I never knew whether he picked it up or whether it had simply been swept away. I like to think he took it with him, locked himself in the restaurant bathroom to smell it and jerk off with my fresh wetness still against his nose.

When I sat down again, Mateo took me by the nape and pulled me toward his face. Beneath the table, his hand went straight between my thighs and found my naked pussy, slippery and open.

—Did you see him looking at you? he asked as he slid two fingers inside me and moved them slowly.

—I saw him, I admitted, clenching my teeth so I wouldn’t moan.

—And did you like it? Did you like knowing he’s going to be jerking off thinking about your tits?

I didn’t answer him with words. The way I was breathing was enough, as was the way I squeezed my thighs against his hand, the way my pussy poured over his fingers beneath the tablecloth. He pulled out his glistening fingers, brought them to his mouth, and sucked them slowly while looking me in the eyes. Then he went on eating as if nothing had happened, while I wondered when I had become this slut who enjoyed being a stranger’s wet secret in a crowded restaurant.

***

We finished eating and went to the parking garage. Mateo always left the car on the same level, in an area where, even though it was covered, the afternoon sun came in from the sides. He parked, switched off the engine, and turned toward me.

What came next was already part of our ritual. He pushed my seat back and opened my legs without asking permission. His hand traveled up the inside of my thighs and found my naked pussy, still wet from the restaurant. He began stroking my clitoris with his thumb in slow circles while two fingers entered me all the way. I threw my head back, gripped the headrest, and bit my lip.

—Take it out, I told him in a broken voice. I want to suck you.

He lowered his zipper and pulled out his cock, hard and swollen, its tip already glistening. I leaned over the gearshift and took the whole thing into my mouth, until my throat closed around him. I sucked him slowly at first, savoring the way he throbbed against my tongue, then faster, moving my head up and down while he held my hair with one hand and kept fingering my pussy with the other. I licked his tip, ran my tongue along the underside and over the thick veins of his shaft, then swallowed him down to the hilt again, moaning with my mouth full.

—You’re going to make me come already, he gasped, pulling me away with a jerk. Not yet, slut.

He threw me back against the seat, spread my legs wide, bent down, and devoured my pussy with his mouth. His tongue traveled over my lips, went inside me, and sucked my clitoris until I trembled. I pressed his head against me, moving my hips against his face, until I felt the first orgasm rising inside me. I came against his mouth, screaming softly, my legs closing around his ears, and he kept licking me until the last drop.

When he told me to get out, I was no longer trembling: I was falling apart. I climbed out of the car on legs that were still weak, feeling my own orgasm trickle down the inside of my thigh. I adjusted my skirt as best I could and, when I looked up, I saw him.

A security guard standing a few yards away had seen everything. The car windows weren’t tinted. He had seen my head moving up and down over Mateo’s cock; he had seen me spread my legs so Mateo could eat me. He didn’t look away. His eyes dropped to the wet thread shining on my thigh. I didn’t look away either. I held his gaze for a second and smiled.

I didn’t tell Mateo. I kept that detail to myself, like a secret that made me feel even more exposed. And that feeling—the knowledge that a stranger had watched me come—turned me on in a way I hadn’t expected.

The sun came in from the side and fell right across my legs as we walked toward the entrance. I knew anyone passing in a car could see more than they should, that the skirt barely covered my ass and that everything between my thighs was glistening, and instead of quickening my pace, I slowed down. Mateo noticed and squeezed my hand. He didn’t need to say anything. We both knew I was no longer the girl who hid.

We entered the mall through the shopping area to reach the cinemas. I walked feeling the aftermath of what had happened in the car, that thick wetness running down the insides of my thighs, a mixture of my orgasm and Mateo’s saliva. I told him I needed to stop by the bathroom for a moment.

—Buy the tickets, I asked him. I’ll catch up with you.

I wiped myself between the legs with paper, and even so I was still dripping. I adjusted myself as best I could. Before leaving, I looked at myself in the mirror again and was surprised, once again, by how much everything showed through. The blouse hid absolutely nothing: my dark, swollen, erect nipples were perfectly visible against the thin white fabric. Anyone who paid attention would see. And I want them to pay attention. That idea, which months earlier would have terrified me, now made me smile and squeeze my thighs together.

***

The theater was half-dark when we went in. We found our seats and, as always, Mateo raised the armrest between us so I could lean against him. He put his arm around me, and his hand immediately found its way inside my blouse. He grabbed one whole tit, pinched my nipple between his forefinger and thumb, and slowly twisted it until I muffled a moan against his neck. He didn’t care who was sitting beside us. He never cared. That indifference of his was part of what drove me crazy.

On my other side there was a young couple, a guy with his girlfriend. I shifted around in my seat, sliding downward, and the skirt rode up without my doing anything to pull it down. In the darkness, almost nothing could be made out, but that’s how a cinema is: every so often the screen bursts into light—a daytime scene, an explosion, an open sky—and for an instant everything is illuminated.

During one of those moments I felt it. The guy beside me turned his head slightly. The screen filled with light right then, and I knew he saw. He saw my skirt pulled up to my waist, saw my naked pussy, open and glistening with wetness, saw Mateo’s fingers working between my legs. Because by then Mateo had already lowered his hand and pushed two fingers all the way inside me, moving them in a slow, silent rhythm while pressing my clitoris with his thumb. I accidentally brushed the guy a couple of times with my knee as I shifted, and each brush was an excuse to spread my legs wider, to let him see better.

Meanwhile, Mateo’s other hand kept working inside my blouse, taking turns between one tit and the other, pinching my nipples until it hurt, and I had to clench my teeth to keep quiet. The tension of staying silent while I came apart inside was almost unbearable. Every time the theater lit up, I thought about that guy’s gaze, about how hard his cock must be inside his pants, about what he must be imagining, about what his girlfriend had no idea was happening just a couple of seats away.

My first orgasm came silently, my mouth pressed against Mateo’s shoulder. I felt my pussy clenching around his fingers, felt a warm gush soak the seat beneath me. He didn’t take his hand out. He kept moving inside me, more slowly, while I trembled, and as soon as I began to come down, he sped up again. Another orgasm. And another. Each wave was stronger than the last, fed by the darkness, by his fingers already sloshing between my legs, and by the certainty that beside me was a stranger with his eyes fixed on my dripping pussy.

At one point I felt the guy move his arm. I didn’t see it, but I guessed what he was doing: touching himself over his pants, discreetly, with his elbow pressed against his side. The thought that he was jerking off while watching me triggered another orgasm, the strongest of them all. I bit my lip until it bled so I wouldn’t scream. Mateo whispered in my ear, his hand still inside me:

—You’re soaking the seat, slut. They’re going to notice.

I don’t know how many times I came that night. I lost count. I only know that I left the seat wet and had to bite my lip again and again so I wouldn’t scream in the middle of a theater full of people. When Mateo finally pulled his fingers from my pussy, he brought them to his mouth and sucked them slowly, then made me taste them too. I licked my own orgasm from his fingers while glancing at the guy beside me, who was no longer pretending to watch the movie.

When the lights came on at the end of the film, I calmly pulled my skirt down as if nothing had happened. The guy gathered his things without looking directly at me, but I caught sight of the hard bulge still showing in his pants, and the way he swallowed. His girlfriend was talking to him about the movie. He nodded without listening.

***

We walked out to the parking garage hand in hand, and Mateo asked me what I’d thought of the movie. I laughed, because I couldn’t remember a single scene that didn’t involve the light illuminating my own open pussy.

Years have passed since that afternoon, and I still remember it with the same thrill as the first day. I think about the man in the restaurant who may have kept my soaked thong, the guard who saw me suck Mateo’s cock and come against his mouth, the guy in the theater who took home the image of my wet fingers in his mouth and a bulge he surely emptied that very night thinking about me.

I like to imagine that, when they least expect it, one of them remembers me. The girl in the transparent blouse, the skirt that rose on its own in the darkness, the naked pussy gleaming beneath the light of the screen. The woman who stopped hiding and discovered that her greatest fantasy was simply being watched while she came.

And if any of them ever reads this, I hope he recognizes me. And smiles with his cock hard, remembering.