Her First Time Was on Our Third Motel Date

We had arranged to meet at the same street crossing as always. She showed up on time, wearing dark jeans that hugged her hips and a white blouse that let the outline of her bra be guessed at. As soon as she got into the car, she gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and then another, slower one, on the mouth.

—Hi, daddy —she murmured, settling into the seat.

—Are you in the mood? —I asked, pulling away.

—You have no idea how much.

I ran my hand over her thigh as I drove toward the neighborhood motel. Traffic was light at that hour, and in ten minutes we were already crossing through the entrance gate. I asked for the first-floor room, the one with the small Jacuzzi, and we went up the stairs with her fingers tangled in mine.

It was our third date. The first had been at the end of autumn, on a cold afternoon when we barely talked before stripping each other naked. The second was two weeks later, more talkative, more curious. I had been waiting for this third one with a mix of impatience and respect: she had just turned eighteen and had a way of looking at things that seemed to get ahead of everything.

As soon as I closed the door, she threw herself at me. She kissed me as if she’d been saving it for months. Tongue against tongue, lips biting, her hand slipping between us to squeeze me over my pants.

—I’m desperate —she said, without fully pulling away—. I’ve held out a long time.

—Held out for what, exactly?

—For someone who knows what he’s doing.

She knelt down without preamble. She unbuckled my belt with a speed that surprised me, pulled my pants and underwear down in the same motion, and before I could breathe, she already had me in her mouth. She went slowly at first, tracing the path with her tongue, pausing at the tip to look up at me.

—This is mine and mine alone this afternoon —she said, taking me out for a second to breathe—. That’s right, isn’t it?

—All yours.

She took me back in. She ran the tip of her tongue over the frenulum, went lower, circled around me with a calm that forced me to brace myself against the wall. Every so often she looked up, checking the effect. She knew perfectly well what she was doing.

When I felt like I was going to lose my mind, I took her by the hair gently and got her to her feet. I shoved her against the wall, pulled her blouse over her head, unbuttoned her jeans, and took them off myself. She lifted her feet so I could remove them completely. She was left in black underwear, breathing hard, her chest rising and falling.

—Turn around —I said.

She did, slowly, pressing her palms to the wall. I removed her bra by tugging at the clasp, pulled her panties down to her ankles, and spread her legs with my knee. I started at her shoulders: my tongue tracing the nape of her neck, my teeth nibbling her earlobe, my hands kneading her breasts from the front while she threw her head back.

—That’s how I like it, just like that —she whispered.

I worked my way down her back, marking each vertebra with my mouth. I gave her cheek a soft slap and she shivered all over. Another one, a little firmer, and she let out a moan that bounced off the tile. I knelt behind her, spread her legs a little more, and ran my tongue between her thighs, slow, not touching where I wanted most yet.

—Please —she said.

—Ask properly.

—Please, daddy.

I gave in. I turned her around again, sat her on the edge of the bed, and knelt in front of her. I started sucking her clit with the tip of my tongue, drawing tighter and tighter circles. I bit her lips, alternated tongue and fingers until she had to grip the sheets so she wouldn’t fall backward. I put one finger inside her, then two, finding the rhythm that made her hold her breath.

—Get on all fours —I asked her.

She obeyed at once, resting her elbows on the mattress. I got behind her, kept working her clit with one hand while with the other I wet my thumb and began to press gently against the back entrance.

—What are you doing? —she said, turning her head, alarmed.

—Nothing you don’t want.

—Not there, that’s still virgin. It’s for my boyfriend when I have one.

I took my thumb away, no longer pressing, but I kept at the rest: my hand on her clit, my fingers going in and out of her sex at a rhythm that slowly undid her. Within a few minutes she had stopped looking back. Her face was pressed to the mattress and her back was arched.

I tried again. This time she didn’t protest. She only let out a deep moan when she felt the tip of my thumb working its way in a couple of centimeters.

—Take it out —she asked, but without conviction.

I held it still, not going any farther. I kept working her from the front, fingers and palm, until I felt her tremble. When her whole body tensed and she let out a long, hoarse cry, different from all the others, I knew she had reached a new place. She collapsed face-first onto the sheets, convulsing, her legs vibrating on their own.

***

It took her several minutes to speak. I had lain down beside her, waiting. I ran my hand over her back in slow circles.

—What did you do to me? —she finally said, her voice rough.

—What you wanted me to do to you.

—I’d never felt anything like that. Both things at the same time… —she fell silent for a moment, staring at the ceiling—. You deserve a prize.

She sat up, tucked her hair behind her ears, and lowered her head toward me again. But this time she didn’t stay there long. She looked at me from below and said something I wasn’t expecting.

—I want it to be you.

—Me what?

—The first time. Back there.

—You told me that was for your boyfriend.

—I changed my mind. You deserve it, since you know what you’re doing. But be gentle with me, slow.

—However you want.

She got back on all fours, this time with her ass higher, resting only her shoulders on the mattress. I went to the bathroom to wet my hands, found the lubricant the motel kept in the nightstand drawer, and came back. I put a good amount on her and spread it with my finger: first outside, then a half knuckle, then all the way in. She breathed slowly, counting the seconds.

—More —she said at one point.

I slid in my second finger. I heard her inhale deeply and let it out in a long moan. I waited for her to get used to it. When I felt her relax completely, I put on the condom, lathered myself with lubricant, and pressed the tip where my fingers had been.

—Tell me if you want me to stop.

—Just go in. Slowly.

I pushed a centimeter and stopped. She let out a whimper, not exactly pain, but something like amazement. I waited. Another centimeter. Another pause. I ran my hand over her back, her hips, her neck. When I was fully inside her, neither of us moved for a long minute.

—Don’t move yet —she asked.

—I’m not moving.

She was the one who started. A minimal sway, almost imperceptible, her hips moving back and forth a few centimeters. I let myself be guided by her rhythm. I brought my hand around to the front, found her clit with two fingers, and started to caress her in slow circles, at the same pace as her movements.

—Harder —she said after a while—. Back there, not up front. Harder there.

I began to thrust for real. Slowly at first, holding her by the hips, controlling each stroke. She answered with her own hips, returning the movement to me. I gave her cheek a slap, then another, and she responded with a moan that made me clench my teeth so I wouldn’t finish right away.

—Give it to me hard, daddy —she said, her face pressed to the mattress—. It doesn’t hurt anymore. Give it to me.

I did as she asked. I held her by the hair, not pulling, just gathering it into a fist, and picked up the pace. The room filled with the sound of our bodies crashing together and her broken breathing. When I felt I was close, I told her what was about to happen.

—I’m going to come.

—Come. I’m going to, too.

I thrust three more times and exploded. At the same time, she let out a hoarse cry, different from the others, and collapsed forward as her whole body shook. I fell over her, trying not to crush her completely. We stayed like that for several minutes, panting, without separating.

***

After resting for a while and drinking water from the carafe on the side table, she told me there was one last thing left. I still hadn’t recovered, but her mouth went back to work and within a few minutes I was ready again.

—Now I’m in charge —she said, sitting on top of me.

She put the second condom on me with her mouth, a skill I didn’t know she had, and settled herself. She began by moving slowly, resting her hands on my chest, setting a pace that let me look at her whole body: her hair falling over her shoulders, her breasts swaying with each rise, her eyes half-closed but attentive.

She changed positions several times. She turned around and kept riding me from behind, letting me see the arch of her spine and her hands braced on my knees. Then she faced me again, leaned forward, and kissed me long and deep, without stopping her movement.

—I’m going again —she said against my mouth.

—Let’s go together.

She sped up, her hips going up and down faster and faster. I gripped her waist with both hands and pushed up to meet every downward stroke. When she exploded, she did it with a long cry that dragged me with her. She collapsed face-first onto my chest and stayed there, breathing against my neck, for several minutes.

We showered together without talking much. We soaped each other up with that calm that comes from well-earned exhaustion. Then we dressed, left the motel, and I drove her to the corner where she always got out. Before closing the car door she kissed me on the cheek and said thank you, really, thank you. I didn’t know then that it was the last time I would see her.

A month later she wrote to me. She told me she had started seeing someone, a boy her age who treated her well, and that she felt it wasn’t right to keep seeing each other. Our agreement had always been to respect each other’s spaces, and I respected it. I wished her luck and told her to write me if she ever needed anything.

We spoke again six months later. Things were going well with the boy, they were traveling together, and she spoke of him in the happy voice of someone truly falling in love. Not long after that she changed her number and I never heard from her again.

Every now and then, driving alone along the avenues where I used to pick her up, I come back to that third afternoon and to the strange mix of youth, heat, and trust that happened between us then. People do not always cross paths that way. Sometimes, when it happens, it’s a brief bomb that goes off and dies cleanly, leaving only the memory and the certainty that neither of them will ever feel exactly the same with anyone else.