I Waited Three Years for That First Night with Camila

Camila was turning eighteen that Saturday in October, and for months she had been repeating the same sentence to me: “when I’m an adult, not before.” We had started dating at fifteen, when we were both in the same painting class at the cultural center. Three years of movies, public squares, and naps watched over by her mother. Three years of long kisses in the doorway and hands that knew exactly how far they were not allowed to go.

The plan had come together on its own. I had booked a room in a discreet hotel in Mendoza’s west side, far from the neighborhood where her aunt ran the produce shop and where any neighbor might see us go in. I told her we’d have dinner first and then go dancing at a club on the pedestrian street, and that I’d take care of the rest.

—Are you sure, Cami? —I asked her in the car, while we waited for the traffic light to change.

—If I say it again, I’ll regret it —she answered without looking at me.

She was wearing a short black dress and a pair of little boots I had given her for her birthday the year before. She had put on more eye makeup than usual, and every so often she bit her lower lip, a habit I knew by heart. When she bit her lip, it meant she was nervous and didn’t want it to show.

At the club we had a couple of beers. We danced pressed together, her forehead resting on my shoulder and my hands on her waist, feeling her breathing harder than usual. At one point I slipped my thigh between her legs while we were dancing and felt a gasp escape her against my neck. We didn’t talk about the hotel, but we both knew it was a matter of minutes. At one-thirty I whispered in her ear that it was time to go. She nodded and squeezed my hand.

The hotel reception was at the end of a hallway with dim lighting. I paid in advance, took the key, and we went up a worn marble staircase. Camila never let go of my hand. On the landing of the second floor she stopped, took a deep breath, and looked at me with shining eyes.

—If at any point I tell you to stop, we stop —she told me.

—We stop —I answered. —Whatever you say, whenever you say it.

She nodded and kept walking. I opened the room door and let her go in first. It was an ordinary room: a large bed with white sheets, an armchair in the corner, a floor lamp with a yellow light. She stood in the middle not knowing what to do. I locked the door and came up behind her. I moved her hair off her neck and gave her a soft kiss under the ear.

—Relax —I whispered—. We’re in no hurry for anything.

We started with the mouth, as always. Like in the doorway at her house, like at the movies, like in the hundred places where we had reached that point and no farther. The difference this time was that my hands could go lower, and they did. I stroked her back over the dress, then under it. Her skin was warm and her pulse was racing against the palm of my hand. I pulled her against my body and for the first time she felt, without the barrier of thick clothing, how hard I was pressed against her belly. She startled for a second and then pressed closer, as if she wanted to make sure that’s what it was.

—Mateo —she murmured.

—What?

—Nothing. I just wanted to say your name.

***

I lowered the zipper of her dress slowly, looking into her eyes. When the fabric fell to the floor, she stood there in black lingerie that she had clearly chosen thinking of that night. The bra straps marked her shoulders, and the panties were barely a strip of lace. She swallowed.

—I bought it last week —she said, trying to sound firm—. Don’t laugh.

—Why would I laugh?

—For nothing. Because I’m nervous. Say something, don’t look at me like that.

I came closer, took her face in both hands, and kissed her again. I unhooked her bra and let the straps fall from her shoulders. Her small breasts were bare, firm, with her nipples already hard from nothing but nerves. I took them in my hands, squeezed them carefully, and lowered my mouth to suck them. Camila arched her back and dug her fingers into my hair. I bit one nipple very lightly, and she let out a short moan that she cut off by covering her mouth herself.

—Don’t cover yourself —I said—. Here you can make as much noise as you want.

—I can’t help it.

—You will.

Then I took her to the bed and sat her on the edge. I knelt in front of her and removed the boots one by one. I kissed the top of her foot, her knee, the inside of her thigh. I felt her legs go weak and let her fall back onto the mattress.

I pulled down her panties calmly, without making a show of it. When I had her completely naked, I parted her legs with both hands and stayed there for a second, looking at her cunt. She had only a thin strip of neat hair, and she was already shining wet. I ran my fingers over it, very gently, and she jerked.

—You’re all wet —I told her softly.

—Don’t say that.

—It’s what’s there. It’s what your body is asking me for.

I lowered my face and kissed her there, with the same patience with which I had started with her mouth. I ran my tongue all the way from bottom to top, slowly, measuring her reactions. When I found her clit, I circled it with the tip of my tongue without pressing yet. Camila clenched the sheets in her fists and threw her head back. I slid in one finger, then two, curling them upward while I kept sucking her clit with my mouth. She didn’t moan loudly; hers was more of a broken breath, almost a restrained whimper, as if she were still afraid her mother might hear her from three neighborhoods away. I squeezed her thighs so she wouldn’t close her legs and licked faster, harder, until I felt her cunt trembling against my mouth and her legs went rigid. She came like that, with her teeth sunk into the back of her hand so she wouldn’t scream, while I kept moving my fingers inside her.

—I didn’t know you could do that —she said afterward, when I came back up to her face.

—There are a lot of things you didn’t know.

—Show me all of them.

I took off my shirt and jeans. She looked at my body with curiosity, not fear. She touched my chest with her fingertips, then my stomach, then down to the waistband of my boxers and stopped, uncertain.

—If you want, you don’t have to —I said.

—I want to. It’s just… am I doing it right or am I doing it wrong?

—There’s no way to do it wrong.

She pulled down my boxers and stayed silent for a moment, staring at my hard cock in front of her face. Then she reached out and took it in her hand. Her hand was small, cold with nerves. She squeezed harder than necessary and I let out a restrained laugh.

—Slowly —I told her—. Like you’re stroking my arm. From bottom to top, grip the base firmly.

She learned fast. Camila had always been like that: when something interested her, she got it in five minutes. What happened with guitar and with French seemed to happen in bed too. She started moving me with a slow, steady rhythm, watching my face the whole time to see what worked better. Then she leaned in and, without warning, gave me a kiss right there on the tip. Just a kiss, as if she were still measuring the ground. I stroked her hair. She opened her mouth and took the head of my cock into her mouth, just a little, lips tight around it. She sucked me like that, not yet daring to do more, moving her tongue awkwardly but eagerly. I felt her own curiosity pushing her to take a little more, and a little more, until it touched her throat and she choked and pulled back coughing softly.

—Easy —I told her, taking her gently by the nape—. You don’t have to take it all. Just the tip and your hand is more than enough.

She tried again, this time using her hand along with her mouth, going up and down at the same time. She sucked me for a few minutes like that, with the concentration of a diligent student, and I was right on the edge. I stroked her hair and told her she didn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to, that if she kept going like that we weren’t going to get to the other part.

—I’ll learn you better another night —she answered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand—. Tonight I want the other part.

***

I laid her on her back in the middle of the bed. I kissed her neck, her collarbones, her nipples, her navel. Then I climbed back up and settled between her legs, supporting myself on my elbows so I wouldn’t crush her. I moved a lock of hair away from her face and looked into her eyes. I ran my cock over her cunt without entering, up and down, wetting it with what she already had. Camila bit her lip and spread her legs wider.

—Are we okay? —I asked her.

—We’re okay.

—Tell me if anything bothers you.

—You tell me before you move.

I entered slowly, millimeter by millimeter. She closed her eyes and breathed through her mouth. I felt the resistance of her tight cunt, the virgin skin opening by force, pulled back, pushed in again, letting her get used to it. Camila dug her nails into my shoulders and suddenly opened her eyes.

—Wait —she said—. Wait a second.

I waited, with my cock halfway in, not moving. I kissed her forehead, her cheeks, the tip of her nose. I whispered nonsense in her ear: that the club song was awful, that the bartender looked like her school priest, that we were going to have churros for breakfast when we got back. Camila gave a soft laugh, a nervous laugh that loosened her up inside and loosened her cunt around my cock too. Then I pushed again, more decisively, and went all the way in. I felt her give way to the bottom, squeezing me like a hot glove.

She let out a short moan and stayed still. I stayed still too, pelvis pressed to hers, letting her breathe. I brushed my thumb over her cheek and waited for her breathing to return to normal.

—Does it hurt? —I asked.

—A little. But don’t stop. Just don’t go fast.

I moved only a little, in small circles first, then with slow, deep thrusts. I pulled my cock almost all the way out and slid it back in slowly, letting her feel every centimeter. Camila began to loosen her legs, to release her shoulders, to breathe with a different rhythm. A few minutes later she wrapped her thighs around my waist and let me know, without saying anything, that I could move a little harder now. I did. I started fucking her with even, deep thrusts, and she buried her face in my neck and began making a low, contained sound that wasn’t exactly a moan but escaped her despite herself. Each time I drove into her all the way, a short “uh” slipped out against my ear.

—Mateo —she said again.

—I’m here.

—Don’t stop yet.

—I’m not stopping. Relax, I’ve got you for hours.

***

We changed positions several times. I put her on her side, one leg over my hip, and kissed her mouth while I entered her slowly from behind. From that position I could drive my cock all the way in with short thrusts, and it reached a different place: I could tell because a sharper moan started escaping her, one that hadn’t happened before. I grabbed one breast with the hand on top and pinched her nipple without stopping.

—There, there, don’t stop there —she asked me, taking my hand so I would squeeze harder.

I fucked her like that for a good while, biting her nape and shoulder, until she herself asked to get on top. I lay on my back and helped her straddle me. I grabbed my cock with my hand, held it upright, and she took it in herself, lowering down slowly with both hands braced on my chest. A long moan escaped her when she took it all the way in.

It was hard at first: she moved in little jolts, without rhythm, laughing at herself when she lost her balance and my cock slipped out. I took her waist in both hands and set the pace, pushing her forward and back instead of up and down. In three minutes she had found her own rhythm, riding me with her breasts bare and her mouth parted, and suddenly the face she was making was no longer that of a beginner: it was the face of someone discovering something she liked very much and intended to keep discovering.

—Don’t look at me like that —she said, out of breath.

—Like what?

—Like I’m someone else.

—It’s you. It just took three years to get here.

She leaned down and kissed me long and deep, still moving on top of me, with her breasts pressed against my chest. I took her hands up to her breasts again. Camila had always had very sensitive nipples; I knew that from above her clothes. Now I confirmed it from below. When I brushed my thumbs over them, a moan louder than the previous ones escaped her, and she pressed herself against me, driving my cock deeper.

—I think something’s about to happen to me —she said, almost as a warning.

—Let it happen.

—I don’t know how.

—You don’t do anything. It happens by itself. Keep moving like that.

I lowered my hand and touched her clit in small circles with my thumb, never stopping my movement beneath her, pushing my cock upward each time she came down. Camila closed her eyes, went rigid, and a few seconds later started trembling all over, as if her whole body were tensing at once. I felt her cunt clenching around my cock in spasms, a series of strong, rhythmic contractions that almost made me come inside her. Then she suddenly went limp and collapsed onto my chest, breathing hard, her face buried in my shoulder and my cock still inside her.

—Damn —she murmured—. So that was that.

I laughed. I held her and stroked her back while she caught her breath again, feeling the last contractions of her cunt around my cock every few seconds. Then I turned her carefully, settled her on her back again, and got on top. I took her legs behind the knees and spread them wide, folding them against her chest, and went back in. This time I did let myself go a little more. Firmer thrusts, faster, making my pelvis smack against hers. She dug her heels into my back and pushed me deeper.

—Tell me —she asked when she felt me close, feeling my cock get even harder inside her.

—I’ll tell you.

—Outside, okay? Outside.

—Outside.

I kept my word. I held on as long as I could, fucking her harder in the last few seconds, and when I felt I wasn’t going to make it anymore, I pulled out of her cunt and came across her belly in hot spurts that fell from her pubis to just under her breasts. I watched her face as I came; she watched me too, without looking away, lips parted and chest rising and falling. Camila stayed still afterward, looking at me with an expression I had never seen on her before: a mix of exhaustion, wonder, and something like pride. She ran two fingers over her stomach, looked at them with my come on them, and something changed in her face. Then she stretched out that stained hand and stroked my face.

—Thank you —she said.

—For what?

—For waiting. And for not rushing me today either.

***

We stayed embraced for a long while, without talking. At some point she got up, went to the bathroom, came back wrapped in a towel, and lay down pressed against me. I offered her a cigarette and she said no, not tonight either. We talked in low voices about silly things until our eyes closed. She woke me at five in the morning by slipping her hand into my boxers without saying anything, looking for my cock in her sleep. I fucked her again, slower, in the dark, her on her side against me, without changing position, moving only a little, while she asked me in my ear to talk dirty to her and I whispered that she was mine, that she was my slut, that she had become a woman with me that night. She came again, silent, squeezing my wrist. At nine in the morning I woke her with a kiss on the shoulder and we went down to breakfast at a bakery on the corner.

Camila ordered a coffee with milk and two medialunas. She ate in silence, looking out the window. Her hair was still messy and her eyes were a little puffy with sleep. At some point she looked up and smiled sideways at me, with that new smile that had appeared during the night, and told me she wanted to go back to the hotel after breakfast. I called reception and paid for another night.

We were together for almost two more years after that first time. Then life followed its course: she went to study in Córdoba, I stayed in Mendoza, and little by little the calls got shorter and the trips more spaced out. The last time I saw her was at the wedding of a mutual friend, quite a few years ago now. She was more beautiful than ever, with a man on her arm and a calm smile.

What happened in that hotel on the west side I never told anyone. Camila didn’t either, I suppose. But sometimes, when I drive past that dimly lit hallway, I remember her hand squeezing mine on the second-floor landing, and I understand that some nights stay alive inside you forever.