What I Saw Through the Bathroom Crack That Early Morning

There are things you discover by accident and can never stop thinking about. That happened to me one early morning in a small-town hotel, almost nine years ago. And even today, when I remember it, my breathing catches and I feel that same hot dampness between my legs.

Back then I was dating Andrés. We had gotten away for a long weekend, a trip to a mountain village with cobblestone streets and squares with old lampposts. We had been together for several months and, if I’m honest, he had opened up a world I barely knew.

Before Andrés, sex had been something lukewarm to me, almost a polite obligation. With him I discovered something else. I discovered that I got wet when I knelt to suck him off in the middle of the road, when he pulled my hair and whispered things in my ear, when he bent me over any piece of furniture without asking too many questions. I learned to desire in a way I didn’t know was inside me.

I loved feeling how hard he got in my hands. He asked me to dance for him, to slowly strip as he touched himself watching me, and that turned me on like few things did. Seeing him jerk off for me, getting even harder just from looking at me, filled me with an enormous urge to take him in my mouth, to run my tongue over all of him, to not let him go until he was trembling.

That was where I discovered something about myself I had never admitted: I got turned on by watching. I got turned on by witnessing his pleasure, by observing every gesture he made when he was lost in himself. And believe me, I’m not the only one. I know there are many of us who go dry-mouthed watching a man touch himself, focused, oblivious to everything else.

***

That weekend started out heated from the very first minute. I had put on a short denim skirt, a light white blouse, and boots for walking around the town. We went out to roam the streets at dusk, pretending to be just another quiet couple, but Andrés didn’t give me a break for a second.

We walked pressed close together, and his hand always found a way to slip under my skirt. He brushed over my thong, slowly, just as someone passed nearby, so I had to pretend nothing was happening and bite my lip. He kept warming me up like that for hours, until going back to the hotel became almost an urgency.

As soon as we closed the room door, we threw ourselves at each other. Kisses, hands everywhere, my skirt hiked up to my waist, his fingers going in and out while I braced myself against the wall. He bent me over the bed, slid into me with that slowness that drove me crazy, and from there there was no rest.

We fucked for hours. Everywhere, in every position he could think of. I clung to him so he wouldn’t slip out, and he kept telling me how much he loved seeing me enjoy myself, seeing me fall apart, seeing me hungry for more. When we finally gave in, I fell asleep almost without realizing it, my body heavy and satisfied.

I don’t know how long I slept. The mattress shifting woke me, his side of the bed empty, and the sound of the bathroom door closing carefully. I thought he was just going to the bathroom for a moment, like anyone would, and I closed my eyes again.

***

But time passed and Andrés didn’t come back. I rolled over in bed and saw the strip of yellow light seeping in under the door. It was still on. What’s he doing in there?, I thought, still half asleep.

Curiosity won over sleep. I got up barefoot, making no noise, and approached the door without really knowing what I expected to find. Maybe he was texting someone, maybe nothing, maybe he just couldn’t sleep. I leaned in slowly, holding my breath.

And then I noticed it. The door of that old bathroom had a crack in the frame, a considerable slit he had never noticed. From the right angle, you could see everything inside perfectly. I brought my eye close and my breath caught.

There was Andrés. Standing in front of the sink, with his phone propped on the toilet tank lid, slowly stroking his cock, with a softness that was almost reverent. A video was playing on the screen, a blonde with huge tits in a double penetration. He watched fixedly, hypnotized, moving calmly.

My first reaction was a strange mix of things. Seriously? After fucking all afternoon, he still has the energy? It almost made me laugh, almost annoyed me. But those thoughts lasted a heartbeat. What really grew inside me, forcefully, was the filthy thrill.

So I stayed. Stuck to the crack, in the dimness of the room, spying on my own boyfriend without the slightest idea on his part.

***

I watched him switch videos several times, looking for something specific without stopping touching himself. I realized everything he chose was the same kind of thing: double penetration, threesomes, women surrounded by men. A secret pattern I had never known about him, and which I was now discovering in secret, with my eye fixed on a slit of wood.

I was surprised by how calm he was doing it. There was nothing of the urgency he had when we were together. This was something else, a kind of intimate ritual, slow, where no one asked anything of him or expected anything from him. And I, who thought I knew him, felt like I was seeing a stranger. A stranger who slept beside me every night.

I thought about the times he had watched me undress, touching himself while I danced for him. Now the roles had reversed without his knowing it, and that seemed to me the hottest thing of all. For once I was the one watching from the shadows, the one controlling a scene he believed was completely private.

Without thinking, my hand went down on its own. I lifted my nightgown, found myself completely soaked, and started rubbing my clit in slow circles. I was burning up. Seeing him like that, surrendered, without the pose we put on when we know we’re being watched, was the kind of intimacy that undid me.

He finally found a video he really liked. The rhythm of his hand picked up, became faster, firmer. He moved his lips as if saying something, and although I couldn’t make out the full words, I could read them on his mouth: bitch, slut, things that made me explode inside. His cock shone, wet with his own fluid and the saliva he used to help himself.

I couldn’t take any more. I was masturbating against the wall of the room, biting my free hand so I wouldn’t make a sound, wishing with all my might that he would open the door and slide into me right there. But I didn’t want to interrupt him. I wanted to watch. I wanted to know how far that side of him went that he kept for when he thought he was alone.

***

And then he did something that left me speechless.

Strings of fluid hung from the tip of his cock, thick from how turned on he was. I saw him gather that shiny drop with the pad of his finger, slowly, and bring it to his mouth. He tasted it. He ate his own cum without the slightest hesitation, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

I stayed frozen with my eye at the crack. I had never seen anyone do something like that, much less him. Part of me didn’t know what to think; the other was so hot it was hard to stay on my feet. Because, no matter how strange I found it, watching him do that turned me on in a way I hadn’t expected.

He repeated it a couple more times. He collected the fluid with his finger and ran it over his lips, never stopping jerking off, his eyes fixed on the screen. Each time he did it, a current ran through me, my legs trembling, my fingers moving faster and faster over myself.

By the color of his cock and the way his whole body tightened, I knew it wouldn’t be long. The strokes became more intense, shorter. He opened his palm right underneath, ready to catch. And one last absurd filthy thought hit me: I wanted to see if he would swallow that too.

He didn’t. But just watching him finish, silently, hunched over his own hand, was enough. I came right there, standing up, biting my hand, my pussy completely soaked and my heart about to burst out of my chest. I had to brace myself against the wall so I wouldn’t fall.

***

As soon as I saw him reach for the tissue to clean himself, I ran back to bed. I slipped between the sheets, pulled my nightgown down, and closed my eyes pretending to be in a deep sleep, my breathing still ragged. I heard him turn off the light, come back slowly, and settle beside me as if nothing had happened. He put his arms around me from behind. I played asleep, smiling in the dark with a secret I never told him.

Andrés and I broke up a couple of years later, for the usual reasons, without drama. But that early morning stayed with me in a way no other night with him ever did. I discovered something about my own desire I didn’t know existed: that watching, spying, being an invisible witness to someone else’s intimacy, turns me on as much as, or more than, being the one in the center of it.

Almost nine years have passed and still, when I remember it, I get wet again just like that night. I still wonder what it is about that image of him in front of the sink, getting himself off, thinking he was alone. And I still don’t fully understand why it turned me on so much, but I don’t care to understand anymore. It’s enough for me to close my eyes and go back to the crack.

Sometimes I wonder how many of you keep a similar memory. One of those times when you saw something you shouldn’t have and, instead of looking away, stayed. If anyone feels like telling it, I promise I’ll understand better than anyone.