What the Wine Decided on Our First Date

“You write so well. I wanted to ask whether what you tell is real or fantasy.”

That’s how it began, the way so many conversations begin behind a screen. A simple, almost harmless sentence that nevertheless opens a door. Then the classic usually follows: “What if we meet up for a drink? I’d like to get to know you.” And then, without realizing it, the game begins.

The conversation stretches out, grows sporadic, sometimes breaks off and comes back to life days later as if nothing had happened. Only a few pass the filter: those capable of sensing something different, something that can’t be taught or written, but that can be felt between the lines.

Everyone pays compliments. Some from the soul, others from sex. Deep down, they all want a piece of me. Not necessarily of my body, but of that reflection they think they see, the one that awakens their desire or curiosity. Every message carries its own tone, its intention, a barely disguised promise.

I’ve always wondered what truly brings people together. In real life, I know: the look, the gesture, the energy. But here, in this digital world where there are no distances, where everything is said and nothing is touched, the rules change. Everything becomes more complicated or, perhaps, everything becomes easier. Even courtship.

The lines blur. The real and the imagined intertwine with an almost dangerous naturalness. Words replace hands, emojis replace looks. And yet we feel, or believe we feel. Perhaps today is one of those days when I understand that there are no limits, and that, precisely that, is what makes it so fascinating.

That’s why I feel like telling this story from the nakedness of my bedroom. A new confession. A bedroom confession, of sweat, saliva, and fire.

***

Marina and Adrián had met almost by chance. A comment on a post, a witty reply, and then another. He wrote with a brief, almost careless message, but with a calmness that threw her off balance. He wasn’t trying to impress her, only to talk. And that, in a place full of noise, was enough to spark Marina’s curiosity.

What began as a light exchange gradually transformed into increasingly long and sincere conversations. At first they talked about simple things—music, movies, anecdotes from the day—but little by little they lowered their defenses. They told each other what they didn’t usually tell anyone: disappointments, fears, desires they had kept hidden for years. And also the other desires, the ones you write with your pulse throbbing in your cunt: how she liked being fucked, what cocks she had sucked, what she had swallowed, what they had put inside her and where.

From then on, their nights began filling with words. Promises written without meaning to, confessions that emerged with racing pulses, silences that weighed more than any phrase. For weeks they sought each other without quite seeking each other, with a tension neither of them wanted to name.

Marina caught herself smiling at her phone, rereading every message, imagining the tone of voice he would have used to say it. Sometimes she felt Adrián knew her better than he should, as if he had learned to read her in the spaces between her words. And, in a way, he had. More than one night ended with her hand between her thighs, two fingers buried in her soaked cunt, coming silently with his name pressed against her teeth.

Desire grew slowly and steadily. They didn’t need to talk about it: the pauses were enough, the half-written sentences, that complicity built when two people recognize each other without quite knowing how. When they finally talked about meeting, neither pretended indifference. They wanted to find out whether the connection would survive real air, skin, movement.

So they wouldn’t be swept away by the pressure, Adrián suggested a game, a code.

“If we order beer,” he said, “it means it was nice meeting you, but we’ll leave it at that.”

“Okay,” Marina replied, laughing. “And if we order wine?”

“Then we keep going. We stay, no rush.”

“And a cocktail?”

“The night will decide that.”

The agreement was made. Simple, clear, and loaded with everything they hadn’t said.

***

Adrián arrived at the place first. It was small, with warm lights and the smell of wood. He chose a table beside the window, more out of habit than strategy. He was playing with the rim of his water glass when she walked in.

Marina was wearing a light-colored coat, her hair loose. She wasn’t exactly like her photos: she was more alive, more certain, more real. He recognized her before she looked at him, and when she did, he felt a strange mixture of nerves, anticipation, and his cock already pressing tight against his trousers.

They greeted each other with a brief, awkward hug, the kind of gesture people exchange when they’re trying to hide their excitement. The waiter appeared at once.

“What can I get you?”

Adrián looked at her. She held the menu for a second and then said:

“Wine.”

“Same for me,” he replied.

The silence afterward was almost a shared sigh. They raised their glasses without looking away from each other.

“So… wine,” he said.

“Wine,” she repeated with a smile. “The night is young.”

The first sip broke the tension. They talked about little things: books, travel, silly stuff. But every word was charged with electricity, with promise. Sometimes they laughed for no reason; other times they remained silent longer than necessary.

When the glasses began to empty, Marina gestured to the waiter.

“Could you bring us the menu for something to snack on?”

Adrián watched her, amused.

“So the wine wasn’t just curiosity.”

“Let’s say I was hungry for conversation,” she replied.

They ordered something light, taking their time. The place gradually fell quiet around them, and every pause between them seemed to have its own echo. Their looks began to last longer. Their gestures grew more intimate.

Halfway through dinner, Adrián leaned slightly across the table.

“I can’t stop looking at you,” he said, almost in a whisper.

Marina lowered her eyes but didn’t lose her smile.

“Then look at me properly.”

The words floated between them like a gentle provocation. Beneath the tablecloth, she crossed her legs, pressing her thighs together, feeling how wet she was. When the waiter returned, Adrián asked for the check. Outside, the night was waiting for them with the kind of warm air that doesn’t invite goodbyes.

***

They walked without any fixed destination, speaking little. The silence was already saying everything that needed to be said.

“I have a bottle at home,” he remarked as they passed a taxi. “We could open it and keep talking.”

Marina looked at him without answering immediately. Then she nodded.

Adrián’s apartment was simple, with warm lighting and music playing from somewhere, left on before they went out. Marina stopped in front of the bookcase, looking at the books.

“You have too many,” she said. “Either you read a lot, or you have trouble letting go.”

“Both,” he replied, moving closer slowly.

There came a moment when the distance between them stopped making sense. He raised his hand and placed it on her waist, barely brushing her. Marina didn’t move. The air grew thick, and both their breathing filled the silence. Adrián slipped his fingers beneath her blouse, felt the hot skin of her belly, and moved up until he brushed the edge of her bra. He squeezed one breast through the fabric and pinched her nipple, already hard. Marina let out a brief moan caught in her throat.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured against her neck.

“I’m soaked,” she shot back without moving away. “Find out for yourself.”

Adrián’s hand traveled down her skirt, slipped beneath the fabric, pushed her panties aside, and found her swollen, slippery cunt pulsing against his fingers. He ran two fingertips over her open lips and slowly pushed them inside. Marina threw her head back, leaning against his shoulder, and he bit her neck as he opened her with his fingers, searching for that inner spot that made her clamp her thighs around his wrist.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he growled in her ear. “You’ve been like this all through dinner, haven’t you?”

“Since I walked through the bar’s door,” she panted. “Keep going. Don’t stop.”

The bottle was still untouched on the table when she took his hand—still glistening—and led him toward the sofa. Adrián sat down and looked at her as if he wanted to memorize her. Marina took advantage of the background music and began to dance, slowly and suggestively, just for him. She was nervous, but she felt that at last she could let herself go, be herself without filters, without limits. As she swayed, she began removing her clothes without taking her eyes off him: her blouse fell, then her skirt, then her bra. Her tits were left bare, heavy, their taut nipples pointing at his face. She pulled down her panties too, soaked through, and tossed them against his chest with a smile.

“Smell them,” she told him. “So you know what you do to me.”

Adrián brought them to his nose, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply. When he looked at her again, his cock was outlined beneath his trousers like a bar. She knelt between his legs, opened his belt, lowered his zipper, and freed his cock with one tug. She stared at it for a second—hard, thick, with a clear drop appearing at the tip—then licked her lips before lowering her mouth.

She ran her tongue from the base to the head, slowly, licking the entire vein along the underside. She kissed his balls, took them into her mouth one at a time, and sucked them while gripping his cock and jerking him off. Then she moved up again and swallowed him whole, until the head struck the back of her throat and tears slipped from the corners of her eyes. Adrián held her hair with both hands and began fucking her mouth slowly, setting the pace, while she drooled, swallowed, gagged, and kept looking up at him from below, her eyes shining.

“That’s it, fuck, just like that,” he moaned. “You suck so well, you take my cock so well.”

Marina pulled his cock from her mouth only to spit a thread of saliva onto the head and put it back inside, this time faster, slurping, her tits bouncing against his thighs. When she felt him begin to tremble beneath her, she pulled away and smiled.

“Don’t come yet. Fuck me first.”

She climbed onto the sofa, straddling him, and sat on him with his cock between her thighs, rubbing her soaked cunt along its entire length without letting him penetrate her. Adrián gripped her hips, bit one nipple, sucked the other, and lifted her just enough to position himself at her entrance. Marina lowered herself slowly, feeling her cunt open around his cock, feeling it swallow him inch by inch until she buried him all the way inside.

“Oh God,” she moaned, mouth open. “You’re so big.”

She began moving on top of him, first in circles, then up and down, her tits bouncing against his face. Adrián grabbed her ass with both hands, spread her cheeks, and helped her ride him harder, thrusting up from below each time she came down. The sofa creaked, skin smacked against skin, and the smell of wet cunt and sweat filled the living room.

“Fuck me, fuck me harder,” she begged between moans. “Split my cunt open.”

Adrián lifted her without pulling out, turned, and laid her on her back on the sofa. He spread her legs wide, draped them over his shoulders, and began driving into her all the way, with long, hard thrusts that made her pant and clutch at the cushions. He watched her cunt devour his cock, saw it enter gleaming and emerge coated in her juices.

“Look at it going in,” he growled. “Look at me putting it all the way inside you.”

Marina lowered her gaze, saw herself open and impaled, and that alone brought her within a heartbeat of coming. She brought two fingers to her mouth, moistened them with saliva, and lowered them to her clitoris to rub herself while he continued thrusting into her. A few seconds were enough: she came with a long moan, arching her back and squeezing his cock inside her with spasms that made him close his eyes too.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, come inside me,” she panted, still trembling.

But Adrián didn’t want to finish yet. He pulled her off the sofa, put her on all fours on the rug, and positioned himself behind her. He grabbed her hips and plunged into her again in a single thrust. Marina cried out, arched her back, and pushed her ass out, asking for more. He fucked her doggy-style, gripping her hair with one hand and pulling her head back, spanking her ass with the other until one cheek turned red.

“Do you like it like this, slut?” he asked, never stopping his thrusts.

“Yes, yes, yes, just like that,” she answered, her face pressed against the rug. “Harder, deeper.”

She came for the second time, squeezing her cunt around his cock and soaking his entire groin. Adrián stopped for a second, panting, pulling out so he wouldn’t finish yet.

“I brought you a present,” Marina confessed then, turning around, coquettish, her voice broken. “Something we talked about.”

Adrián looked at her curiously, his cock still standing, glistening. She crawled to her bag and handed him a small box. He removed the wrapping slowly, and when he saw the brand, he knew immediately what it was: an anal plug, with matching lubricant. They had talked about it many times, part of those shared confessions that had aroused them so much from a distance. She had confessed that no one had ever fucked her in the ass, but that she was dying to try it with him.

Marina had decided that night would be a test for her to overcome. She knew Adrián’s tastes and wanted to make them real. Perhaps with someone else she would never even have considered it, but there, with him, she felt she could let herself be used and enjoy it without reservations, without limits.

Adrián took the toy and washed it calmly. Then he went to fetch the lubricant he kept in the bedroom drawer and returned to where she was waiting for him, already lying face down on the bed, her ass raised and her legs spread. She had told him how much she enjoyed dilating pleasure, stretching out the anticipation until it became unbearable. Marina looked at him over her shoulder, her pulse racing.

“Trust me,” he told her, brushing her back with his fingertips. “We’ll take it slowly.”

“I don’t want you to go slowly,” she replied, biting her lip. “I want there to be nothing left to try.”

Adrián poured a stream of lubricant into the cleft of her ass and spread it with his thumb, massaging her tight asshole until it relaxed. He inserted one fingertip, then half a finger, then the whole finger. Marina moaned into the pillow, clutching the sheets. When he felt her open, he withdrew his finger and positioned the plug, pushing it in carefully, twisting it, until her ass swallowed it in one gulp and it settled inside. She cried out, first in surprise, then in pure pleasure, feeling full from behind while he slipped two fingers into her cunt from below.

“Oh fuck, fuck, I can’t take any more,” she moaned. “Fuck me now, fuck me with that inside.”

Adrián positioned himself behind her and pushed his cock into her cunt, the plug still buried in her ass. The sensation of being doubly filled made her come almost instantly, trembling and screaming into the pillow. He fucked her like that, long and deep, feeling the plug press against his cock from the other side of the wall, until he couldn’t hold back any longer. He pulled out, gripped his cock, and came over her ass, long, hot spurts splattering her back, buttocks, and the base of the plug. Marina turned slightly, dipped her fingers into the semen, brought them to her mouth, and sucked them slowly while looking at him.

When at last they collapsed onto the bed, soaked and panting, there were no promises or conclusions. Only one certainty: something had opened between them, and the rest of the night—and perhaps something more—would depend on what they chose to do with everything that for weeks had existed only on their screens.

To be continued…