I Gave Him My First Time in the Most Unexpected Place

That first stiff drink caught me off guard. Lorena and I had gone out to a town bar, determined to try the rum we’d never been allowed to buy before. One bottle between the two of us, the street freezing, and our heads full of school deadlines: the chemistry exam, the assignment nobody wanted to lend us, graduation plans. After a few sips I started to feel the walls tilt on their own and the rock music in the back blend with my friend’s hysterical laughter.

“Look at you, you’re laughing to yourself,” Lorena told me. “And that guy over there is laughing at you.”

I didn’t care. For the first time in my life I felt like nothing mattered, and that was the most liberating thing in the world. My eyes searched, among the blurry sway of bodies, for the supposed sane one who was laughing at my madness. I found him leaning on the bar: white skin, blond hair, two green eyes that looked painted on with tempera. He came over.

“What’s your name?”

“Camila,” I answered, and the word came out drawn out, almost sung.

“Mateo. Nice to meet you.”

He held out his hand as if we were at a town hall meeting. Something about that formal gesture, completely out of place at that hour and in that bar, made me laugh even more. I let go of his hand and kept laughing to myself, as if he were the joke and not me. Mateo wasn’t offended. He just stood there looking at me with a crooked smile, watching the circus I was making. After that I don’t remember much else: Lorena half-carrying me home, the two of us falling asleep in the bed still dressed, and the next day, neither the exam nor the assignment.

***

That year I came out of my shell. Before, I went unnoticed in the school hallways; suddenly, glances stayed on me a second longer. Suitors started appearing as if by contagion. Andrés was the gentleman, formal, distant, too proper to be real. Felipe, flirtatious, funny, with the face of a spoiled kid. Joaquín, romantic to the point of ridiculousness: letters, flowers, stuffed animals he’d leave for me at the front desk. Hugo, cheerful and hardworking, but always with his head somewhere else. I didn’t know which one to choose, and the truth was none of them made me truly sigh.

Meanwhile, I listened to my classmates tell their weekend adventures. Every Monday was a manual of positions, of cheap motels, of how it felt to have a hard cock pushing into them for the first time, of how many times they’d come, of the face the guy made when he filled their mouths with cum. I nodded like a diligent student, took mental notes, and then went out with one of my suitors to see if something similar would happen to me. Nothing happened.

I went out with Felipe several times. He was the boldest of the group. When I was about to say goodbye on the sidewalk in front of my house, with my mother already turning off the lights inside, he always found a way to press me against the porch wall. He’d lick my ear in slow circles, then my chin, then he’d take my chin into his mouth and suck on it as if he wanted to swallow it. He’d pry my legs open with his knee and grind the hard bulge of his cock against my pussy over my jeans, rubbing in short thrusts until I could feel the panties’ fabric wedged between my lips, soaked through. He’d stick his thumb in my mouth and make me suck it while he watched me with narrowed eyes, imagining —I knew it— that it was his cock I was sucking.

“You’ve got my cock about to burst, Camila,” he’d say in a broken voice, grabbing my hand and taking it to the bulge, pressing it there, forcing me to feel the thickness from top to bottom over his jeans. “Look what you do to me. Suck it for me, even if it’s just for a while. Get in the car with me.”

I smiled and didn’t answer. I’d leave my hand there a few seconds longer, squeeze once, feel the pulse of his cock against my palm, and then pull away slowly, enjoying the hungry-dog face he’d make. I loved seeing his face when, just as he thought he was going to win, I took it away. At bus stops, in the alley behind, on the motorcycle, wherever, I always got to the same border and left him there, his cock hard as a rod outlining his pants and a wet stain over the zipper. Felipe would bite his lips and curse under his breath, adjusting his package in anger. He wasn’t used to any girl resisting him; I knew that, and that’s why I kept doing it. Until one day he got tired and stopped looking for me. I felt something close to victory.

***

One afternoon I stopped by the park to buy something at the store and almost ran into him. Mateo. The green eyes as unreal as they’d been the night at the bar.

“Pretty girl, do you remember me?”

“Yes, of course I do.”

He told me he was the town’s youngest councilman, that his family had the farm on the way out of town, and that he went back and forth between the town and the city almost every week. He asked me out. I said yes out of pure politeness, because I was too lazy to tell him I wasn’t very curious. He’d seemed like a smug guy, full of himself, too aware that he was handsome.

After that, whenever he was in town, he texted me. Asking if we should meet for coffee. Asking if he could stop by for a moment to say hi to my mom. Asking if I’d come to the door before he left for the city. I always came up with an excuse: I had to study, I had visitors, I had the flu. When I had no choice and went out to the door, we’d talk for ten minutes and everything he said sounded like a political campaign. I nodded with the warmest smile in the catalog and prayed he’d leave soon.

***

On weekends I kept going out with Lorena to the town’s only nightclub. He was almost always there, watching me from afar. One night in particular, he caught me off guard. I’d fought with Joaquín that same day, I was bored with dancing, and Mateo brought me a drink without being asked. I took it. Then I took another. Then I accepted a kiss, I don’t know if out of comfort or sheer boredom.

At twelve-thirty they closed and we left together. Mateo’s house was at the back of an open parking lot, two blocks past mine. Instead of taking me home, he took me to the parking lot. He backed me against the unfinished block wall and pressed his whole weight into my body.

“You’re driving me crazy, Camila. I want to fuck you right here.”

“Here? You’re out of your mind.”

“Here. Nobody can see us. Let me stick my cock in you for even a little while, I can’t take it anymore.”

He grabbed my hand and slammed it against the bulge in his pants. He was hard, swollen, throbbing. He curled my fingers around it and made me run my hand from top to bottom twice while he bit my lip between his teeth. He shoved his tongue into my mouth without asking, groped one of my tits through my blouse, pinched my nipple until I jumped, and with his other hand hiked up my skirt, searching for my panties.

“Never,” I told him, my head clearer now, realizing where I was and who I was with, and I shoved his hand away from my thigh. “Take me home.”

He took me. It was two blocks away. We didn’t speak on the way. When I got to my room, I touched my mouth and felt a dull ache. I looked in the mirror: I had a red, almost purple bruise on my lower lip. My mother was waiting for me in the kitchen, her hands crossed on the table.

“Who were you with?”

“With Lorena.”

“And Lorena has a habit of biting your mouth?”

I blurted out the first lie that came to me: that something had bitten me. My mother said nothing, but that night she went to bed late. The next day someone at the bakery told her they’d seen me leaving the bar with the councilman’s son, and then I got the full lecture. From then on I found Mateo unbearable. He was shameless: he’d left me bruised, had tried to take my virginity against a dirty wall, and on top of that he’d made me look bad in front of my mother.

***

Months later I graduated and went to study in the city. Distance did its work. When I went back to town on long weekends, I listened to my friends talk about love affairs, heartbreak, pregnancies that had been saved by days. I was still the odd one out: the one who listened, nodded, and said nothing.

One Saturday, at the café in the square, I ran into Mateo again. He greeted me without the old look. Something in him had changed: his beard was shorter, his eyes less hungry. He invited me to have a drink as friends and, out of curiosity more than desire, I said yes.

That first conversation surprised me. We talked about music, about the bands we used to listen to on the way down to the farm. We talked about soccer. We talked about horses: he had two at his father’s farm and his face lit up when he spoke about them. We talked about the donation program for the outlying hamlets he was putting together with the council. The smug guy from before seemed like a character from another movie.

From then on we became friends. We went riding on Sundays. I accompanied him to deliver groceries to the higher hamlets, to the soccer matches on Saturday afternoons. When he happened to go back to the city on a Sunday night, we traveled together in his car. We talked the whole two-hour trip without ever running out of things to say.

He started getting jealous. Not much, just enough for me to notice it bothered him when some university classmate came to pick me up. And instead of annoying me, I liked it. It was the first time I’d seen a genuine reaction from someone because of me.

When I thought about him I felt something in my stomach, a small, ridiculous tug. When I saw him show up at the town nightclub, my eyes went on their own to the door. But pride got the better of me. After all the contempt I showed him, I’m not going to be the one to make the first move. If anything’s going to happen, let it happen on its own.

***

One Friday we agreed to meet at a mutual friend’s birthday party. That same afternoon my phone fell into the sink and died. I couldn’t confirm with him. I went anyway with Lorena. We arrived late, when the party was already in full swing, and I stood at the door for a while pretending to look for someone when really I was looking for him.

He appeared. He crossed the room with his green eyes lit up and, when he saw me, a smile spread on his face that seemed like the only place in the world I wanted to rest my mouth. We danced nonstop, laughed as if nobody else were there. We didn’t say anything important; everything was said with our eyes and with a hand resting a second too long on the waist.

Close to two in the morning he asked me to walk him home. We left on foot through the empty town streets. The mountain cold forced me inside his jacket. He took the opportunity to put his arm around my waist. Four blocks later we got to the parking lot. The same parking lot.

This time I didn’t resist. This time I wanted it to happen. He cornered me against the same block wall and, without saying a word, kissed me. Not the eager kiss from the other time: a slow kiss, his open hand on my cheek, as if asking permission. I opened his mouth with mine and let my tongue do the rest.

He slid his hand under my blouse, slowly, up my back until he unfastened my bra with two fingers. He left it loose there, without taking it off, and ran his thumbs under the cups until he found my nipples. They were hard, small, sticking out. He pinched them with his fingertips, first one, then the other, until a moan slipped out into his mouth. He lowered his face, lifted my blouse to my neck, and took one whole breast into his mouth, sucking my nipple with his lips and barely scraping it with his teeth. He kneaded the other breast with his open hand, squeezing it from the base, shaking it.

He unbuttoned my jeans and pulled them down to my ankles. He knelt in front of me and, before touching me, looked up as if asking for confirmation. I ran my fingers through his hair and that was enough. He moved my panties aside with two fingers and dragged his nose over my mound, smelling me, breathing deeply, as if he wanted to memorize me. Then he stuck out his tongue and licked me slowly, from bottom to top, once, twice, three times, spreading my pussy lips with his fingers so he could get in better. He found my clit and stayed there, circling it with the tip of his tongue, sucking it lightly, blowing on it. He slid two fingers inside me, slowly, feeling how tightly I squeezed around them, how my pussy closed around them looking for something to hold. I felt the heat rising through my belly to the nape of my neck. My knees went weak; I had to brace both hands against the wall so I wouldn’t fall.

“You’re soaked, pretty girl,” he whispered against my thighs. “You’re dripping.”

He turned me against the wall and kept going from behind, opening me with one hand while the other searched for my clit. He brought his tongue out again and dragged it between my butt cheeks, down the crack of my ass until he reached my pussy again. He licked me from behind, his face buried between my ass cheeks, while he rubbed my clit with two fingers in quick circles. The friction of the rough wall against my breasts over the loose bra sent a shiver I hadn’t expected through me: my nipples scraped against the block until they burned. I pressed my forehead to the block, opened my legs wider, and let him do whatever he wanted to me. I came there, against the wall, biting my forearm so I wouldn’t scream, my legs trembling so much he had to grab my hips so I wouldn’t collapse to the floor.

When I felt limp, he pulled my jeans up halfway and led me by the arm to a car parked at the back, the one farthest from the street. He opened the back door. Inside it smelled like old leather and air freshener. He sat down first and gently tugged me until I settled between his legs. I unzipped him, took his cock out with both hands, and stared at it for a second: thick, the skin stretched tight, the head purplish and shining with precum. I’d never had a cock so close to my face. I bent down.

I took it into my mouth slowly, just the head at first, sucking it with my lips closed, feeling it pulse against my tongue, against my palate. I went lower, until it caught in my throat and I had to pull back with a little cough, a thread of saliva hanging from my chin. I grabbed it at the base with my hand, ran it across my cheek, rubbed it against my lips, and took it back in. This time I licked it from the balls to the tip, with my tongue flat, and then I made circles around the head with the tip, like they’d told me in school. He threw his head back and let out a hoarse groan that made me clamp my thighs together.

“Like that, pretty girl, suck my cock like that,” he said, carefully taking hold of my hair, guiding my rhythm, moving my head up and down on his cock. “You make it feel so good. Like you know what you’re doing.”

I sucked him faster, both hands helping me, one at the base moving at the same time as my mouth, the other massaging his balls. I felt him vibrating all over, felt his thighs tense beneath me, and suddenly he pulled me away.

“Come here, come here. You’re going to make me finish, and I don’t want to finish like this.”

He pulled me up to his face, kissed me, sharing all the taste of his cock that had stayed in my mouth, and started taking my clothes off with that patience he’d never shown before. He pulled my blouse over my head, finished taking off my bra, and slid my jeans and panties all the way down. When I was naked on top of him, in the back seat, the parking-lot lights came in through the window in long bands that crossed my chest. I closed my eyes.

“Mateo, I’m a virgin.”

There was a silence that lasted two breaths. Then I felt his hand moving up my back to my nape.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

He kissed me again. I couldn’t say whether that kiss was too passionate or overly tender; both at once. He whispered “easy” into my neck, then into my ear, then onto my shoulder, as if the word were the best possible preparation.

He laid me on my back on the seat, settled between my legs, and lowered his face again. He licked my pussy slowly, long strokes, as if he had all the time in the world, in no rush to put it in. He sucked my clit with his lips, slid his tongue inside me, pulled it out, sucked me again. He massaged my clit with one finger while he lightly nibbled a nipple. He slipped in one finger, then two, moving them like scissors to open me, curling them upward, searching for that spot I didn’t even know I had. The other nipple tightened on its own, waiting its turn. I felt a current running up and down my spine, ending at the nape of my neck and then going back down. I clenched my fists without meaning to. I asked him, wordlessly, moving my hips against his fingers, to give me more.

“Now, Mateo, now. Put it in.”

He spread my legs with his knee and settled on top of me. He spat into his hand and spread the saliva over his cock, coating it, and with the other hand he opened my pussy lips and ran the tip up and down, wetting it in my juices, brushing my clit with the head until I shuddered all over.

I felt the hot tip searching for the place, pressing at my entrance, pushing. Then the burn. A burn that made me clench my fists harder and sink my nails into his shoulder. I felt the flesh opening for him, the thick head forcing its way in, my pussy resisting and him still pushing.

“Should I take it out?”

“No. Keep going.”

He pushed slowly, felt my resistance, waited, pushed again. Something gave with a short, hot tug, as if something had broken inside me. I dug my nails into his back and he understood and stayed still, his cock buried halfway in me, not moving. We stayed like that together, inside that stranger’s car, in that parking lot that a year earlier had been the stage of my first rejection. I could feel his cock throbbing inside me. I felt every vein, every centimeter of hot skin pressed against my walls. Then he pushed once more, the last time, and drove it all the way in. I let out a whimper and he covered it with his mouth.

He moved, slowly at first, pulling almost all the way out and sliding back in slowly, careful not to hurt me. Faster when he heard my breathing change. I scratched his back without meaning to, dug my heels into his ass, forced him deeper, made him find a rhythm. The pain mixed with something new, something warm and thick, something I couldn’t name but that had my whole body buzzing. Every thrust shook my tits against his chest, tore a short gasp from me against his neck. I felt the cock going in and out, churning in my juices and in the mixture of blood I knew I was leaving on his sex, and instead of disgust it gave me a perverse thrill I hadn’t expected.

“You’re so tight, pretty girl,” he gasped in my ear. “You’re sucking my cock with your pussy. I’m going to come.”

“Not inside,” I managed to say, my voice shaking.

He sped up a few more seconds, his breathing broken, and at the last moment pulled out, grabbed his cock with his hand, and came over my belly. I felt the hot streams of semen falling on my navel, on my tits, one even under my chin. There were three, four, five spurts in a row, with his face twisted over me and a long groan coming out of his gut. When he finished, he collapsed on top of me without weight, careful not to crush me, and held me against his chest smeared with cum. We stayed there, still, listening to the distant sound of an engine starting in the street. With two fingers he gathered a drop sliding down the side of my breast and brought it up to my mouth. I sucked it off without thinking.

I felt what little had been left inside me slowly leaking out, leaving a sticky warmth between my thighs that mixed with the blood and with his stain over my belly. He kissed my forehead. I didn’t move. I wanted that minute to last a week.

***

Since that night, we kept going back to the parking lot.