I Was Her First Love and Her First Time

The first day I saw Valeria on campus, everyone noticed her. It was impossible not to: tall, fair-skinned, black hair falling to her waist, and eyes that strange color between green and gray. She was a freshman and I was in my second year, but the distance between those two worlds shrank to nothing the moment she crossed the main hallway.

She was quiet in a way that wasn’t ordinary shyness, but something deeper, as if she had learned very early that silence protects you. She sat alone in the cafeteria, ate alone, and when someone spoke to her, she answered with a brief smile and looked away again. The kind of person who seems fragile but has actually had to be very strong.

I later found out how she had grown up. Her father, a man who never knew how to stay put, had dragged her mother out of the house when she was barely an adolescent. They lived in poverty for years, in a room without windows or hot water, until he ended up in prison for getting mixed up in the wrong business. When he was deported, her mother returned to her family with her two daughters, Valeria and her younger sister Sofía, to rebuild what he had torn apart.

All of that left its mark. Valeria had grown up without a man around to show her how she ought to be treated, and that made her vulnerable in the way the wrong people recognize before the right ones do. On campus, the first to approach her were the worst ones: La Mosca and her crew, girls with a history of trouble, able to smell loneliness from a distance.

I knew them by sight. La Mosca was the kind of person who leaves a trail without doing anything remarkable: always around the guys who sold pills to students, always in the wrong place. Watching her circle Valeria gave me a discomfort I only fully understood after a few days.

I started looking for excuses to speak to Valeria. It wasn’t hard: a coffee in the cafeteria, an empty seat in the library, a borrowed note. She answered with that polite kindness she had for everyone, but whenever La Mosca or one of her friends showed up, the conversation would die. They’d whisk her away as if she belonged to them.

On Thursday afternoon I went to the park where I usually ran. There were two guys on a bench, talking without bothering to lower their voices. They were talking about a girl, about how La Mosca was going to introduce her to them on Friday, about how hot she was and how they had to take advantage of the opportunity. One of them pulled something from his pocket: pills. He said he’d slip them into her drink before taking her to the hotel.

They described the girl in enough detail that I had no doubt. It was Valeria. I left the park walking slowly so as not to draw attention, but inside, something had lit up in me and I had no intention of putting it out.

I had a friend of my grandfather’s on the police force, a serious, terse man I owed a favor. I called him that same night and told him everything I had heard. The next day he confirmed the operation was ready: they would intervene at the soda fountain where they had arranged to meet, before the guys could go in.

On Friday morning I looked for Valeria before her friends arrived. I offered her a coffee and she accepted. I asked her who she was going out with that afternoon and she told me without suspecting a thing. The only thing I said, almost offhand, was to be careful with what she drank. She laughed and told me she didn’t drink liquor anyway.

When Valeria left with her group, La Mosca turned to me before following them.

—Stay away from her —she said—. She already has someone taking care of her. You’re in the way.

I didn’t answer. It wasn’t worth it.

That afternoon, the police waited at the door of the soda fountain. The guys arrived on motorcycles with La Mosca, were stopped before they could go in, and were found carrying enough stuff on them for all of them to be taken in. Valeria, who was already inside waiting, came out to see the commotion without understanding what was going on. They didn’t touch her. They had nothing on her.

I let her walk a bit before catching up to her on my motorcycle. I asked her what had happened as if I knew nothing. She told it with a slightly shaken voice: La Mosca’s friends had been arrested for carrying drugs. She said she was nervous and couldn’t get home like that because her mother would realize something had gone wrong.

—I’ll buy you something —I said—. Whatever you want. It’ll calm you down.

She hesitated for a second and then got on the motorcycle. We went to a burger joint on the other side of town, one of those with wooden tables and paper napkins. We ate unhurriedly. She talked more than I had ever heard her talk, and at some point she completely forgot why she had been nervous.

I took her hand across the table and she didn’t pull away. I wiped a smear of mustard from the corner of her lips with a napkin and she didn’t pull away either. There was something in the way she responded to touch, not with nervousness but with a kind of relief, as if touch was something she hadn’t received in a long time.

When we said goodbye in front of her building, I wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. She closed her eyes. I kissed her slowly, carefully, and she kissed me back with more intensity than I expected, as if she had been waiting for that moment before I even knew it. The kiss lasted until, from upstairs on the top floor, a voice cut through the silence.

—Mom’s waiting for you!

Valeria pulled back with an embarrassed smile.

—You’re the first —she told me—. The first boyfriend I’ve had. I like you a lot.

And she ran upstairs.

***

Monday came with her waiting for me in the spot where I always parked the motorcycle. We had breakfast together in the cafeteria. When La Mosca showed up, she came straight toward us.

—Stay away from her —she told me—. She already has a suitor.

—I’m the suitor —I replied—. Isn’t that right, Valeria?

Valeria looked at her without blinking.

—Mateo is my boyfriend —she said—. And you’re someone I want to stay away from. That suitor you had in mind for me is a criminal. Leave me alone.

La Mosca walked off without saying anything else, though the look she gave made it clear it wasn’t over. Valeria listened to me from that day on and never went near her again. That was how she was: when she made a decision, she made it with no turning back.

***

One Friday, one of those days when the heat clings to the asphalt, we left campus early. I suggested going to my apartment before taking her back home. We bought pizza on the way. It was so hot that just climbing the stairs left our clothes damp, and the apartment’s air conditioning was the strongest argument I had.

Valeria sat on the sofa with a glass of iced tea in her hands and looked around the apartment with that quiet curiosity she had for everything. I sat beside her. The silence between us was the kind that doesn’t ask to be filled with words. I kissed her. She set the glass on the coffee table and kissed me back with both hands free, timid at first and then digging into my nape, dragging me toward her as if she feared I’d pull away.

My hands started moving over her body without haste. I traced the curve of her waist, the line of her shoulders, the small of her back. Valeria let herself be carried along with that ease of hers, not passive exactly, but present, attentive to everything that was happening. I slowly unbuttoned her blouse and she didn’t stop my hands. Every button that gave way revealed more fair skin, more white bra, more of that short breath already starting to escape from her half-open mouth.

Her skin was soft and very warm. When I took off her bra, she covered herself instinctively for a second before letting her arms fall. I looked at her. She let me look. She had the prettiest breasts I’d seen in a long time: full, firm, with pink nipples already hard, pointing upward as if they were waiting for me. I lowered my mouth to one of her breasts and felt her breathing speed up. I closed my lips around the nipple, sucked slowly, let it slip between my teeth, and caught it again with my tongue. Valeria let out a long, surprised gasp and grabbed my head with one hand so I wouldn’t pull away.

I moved to the other breast without letting go of the first, now kneading it with my hand. I nipped the nipple carefully and she let out an “Oh, fuck” so low I almost didn’t hear it, but she said it, and the way she said it confirmed something for me: beneath that calm she carried by default, there was another Valeria waiting to come out. I licked between her breasts, up her sternum, up her neck, and back down. She arched every time my tongue touched a nipple, offering them to me, and I took my time with both until they were shining with saliva and she was writhing beneath me on the sofa.

I guided her hand to me, to the bulge already straining my pants. At first she felt it hesitantly, not quite knowing what to do, squeezing over the fabric as if afraid she might break something. That told me everything before she could say it with words.

—I’ve never done it —she said softly.

I pulled back a little to look at her face. She was blushing but not frightened. Her eyes were searching mine.

—Do you want to stop? —I asked.

She shook her head slowly.

—I can’t stop —she said—. I don’t know what’s happening to me but I can’t. I just want you to do it. Make me feel like I exist.

I took her hand and showed her how to open my belt, how to lower the zipper. When I took out my cock, her eyes widened. It was hard, thick, the head already wet. She stared at it for a long second, as if calculating something, and then she wrapped her fingers around it with a clumsiness that made me even hotter. She moved it up and down without rhythm, learning. I put my hand over hers and showed her how to squeeze, how to pull the foreskin back, how to run her thumb over the glans.

—Like that —I told her—. Slower. That’s it.

She learned fast. And then, without being asked, she bent down and took it into her mouth. Not much: just the tip, testing it with her tongue, her lips tight around it. I let out a moan I couldn’t hold back. She lifted her eyes to mine without taking me out of her mouth, and that look —a novice asking for instructions with my cock filling her mouth— made me clench my teeth to keep from coming right then and there.

—Take it out a little, breathe, and put it back in —I said, my voice rough—. Suck it like it’s an ice cream. Use your tongue. Don’t be afraid.

She obeyed. She pulled me out of her mouth, licked me along the side down to the base, sucked my balls with almost reverent care, and then lifted me again and took me deeper. A little more each time. When it caught in her throat, she coughed, laughed without taking me out completely, and tried again. I put my hand in her hair —not hard, just guiding her— and she closed her eyes and let herself be carried by the rhythm I set with my fingers.

I held out as long as I could. When I felt it all starting to surge up from below, I lifted her by the shoulders and pulled her away before I came in her mouth. I didn’t want to finish yet. I wanted her first time to be inside her.

I took off her pants without rushing. I left her panties on a moment longer, just to look: the white triangle of fabric darkened in the middle by a wet, round, telltale stain. I ran a finger over the fabric and Valeria jumped, clamped her knees together, then opened them again, embarrassed. She was soaked.

—Look at how wet you are —I told her—. Dripping.

She covered her face with her hands, blushing, but she didn’t close her legs. On the contrary: she opened them a little more.

I slid her panties to the side, without taking them all the way off, and ran two fingers through her slit from top to bottom. She was so wet my fingers went in without resistance, sliding over her lips, and when I brushed her clitoris with the pad of my thumb, Valeria gave a short cry and clutched the back of the sofa with both hands.

—Shhh —I told her—. Easy. You’re going to scream a lot more than that.

I pulled her panties the rest of the way down, took them off her ankles, and threw them on the floor. She was completely naked under me. I parted her legs with both hands, knelt on the floor between her thighs, and looked closely. Her cunt was pink, shiny, with a short patch of black hair above and swollen lips from desire. I leaned in and blew on it slowly. She shuddered all over.

—Please —she murmured—. Please, do it now.

I lowered my mouth and licked her from bottom to top, in one long motion, pressing my tongue against the flesh. Valeria arched off the sofa and let out a moan from deep inside. I licked her again, slower, lingering on her clit to work it in circles with the tip of my tongue. I slid a finger inside her while I kept sucking her, and felt her cunt close around it, tight, hot, still virgin.

—Oh, Mateo, don’t stop, don’t stop please —she started saying, no longer controlling her voice.

I didn’t stop. I pushed in a second finger, curling them upward, searching for the spot inside while my tongue kept circling her clit. Her hips began to move on their own, bucking against my mouth, against my fingers, with a desperation I hadn’t known in her. She clung to the sofa cushions with clenched fists, letting the air out in short bursts, trying to say something and not finishing the sentence. She was close.

Before she reached the edge, I pulled my fingers out and lifted my mouth. She let out a whimper of protest, almost pain.

—Why are you stopping? —she panted.

—Because I want you to come with my cock inside you —I said—. Not with my mouth.

I got up to fetch a condom. When I came back, she was lying back with her eyes still half-closed, her body loose and warm, her legs open without shame now. She watched me tear the wrapper open with my teeth and roll it on. She bit her lip.

I gently spread her knees and moved over her. The tip brushed her cunt lips and she let out all her breath at once.

—Look at me —I said.

She opened her eyes.

I pushed carefully, without haste. I found resistance and felt her tense all at once. I kept going slowly, not withdrawing, gaining a centimeter at a time. She clenched her teeth, breathed through her nose, dug her nails into my arms. When the pain made her tighten, I cupped her face with my hand and kissed her until she relaxed. It took a moment. I felt her give way inside, open, let me in all the way.

—That’s it —I whispered against her mouth—. It’s all the way in now. Are you okay?

She nodded without opening her eyes. Then her hips moved toward me, a small but deliberate motion, a silent request.

I began to move with a gentle rhythm. I pulled almost all the way out and slid back in slowly, letting her feel every inch. Valeria closed her eyes and opened them again, as if she still couldn’t decide whether she wanted to be here or anywhere else. Her hands clutched my shoulders. As the initial discomfort faded, she began to find the rhythm too, moving with the same cadence as me, lifting her hips to meet me.

—That’s it, my love —I told her in her ear—. Move with me. Feel how I’m fucking you.

—Yes —she let out, surprised by her own voice—. Yes, like that, more.

I lifted one of her legs, hooked it over my shoulder, and drove into her deeper. She gave a long moan, mouth open, not caring how she sounded anymore. I lowered my mouth to her nipple while I kept thrusting and she started saying half-formed things, broken words, my name repeated over and over. The sofa creaked beneath us. Her cunt was no longer tense: it was wet, soft, sucking me in.

I pulled out suddenly and turned her over. I put her on her knees against the back of the sofa, her ass toward me. I ran my hand down her back, from her nape to her waist, and squeezed her butt cheeks with both hands, spreading them. From that angle everything was visible: the swollen, wet cunt, gleaming under the light, and above it the other little hole, tight. I stared at her for a few seconds until she looked back over her shoulder impatiently.

—Don’t make me wait —she said—. I can’t take it anymore.

I slammed my cock into her in one thrust, all the way to the hilt. Valeria screamed —a real scream this time, unfiltered— and gripped the back of the sofa with both hands. From behind, I fucked her deeper, harder, feeling my balls slap against her clit every time I pushed in. Her moans were stifled at first, as if she still couldn’t believe she was capable of making that sound, and then they weren’t. She started moaning without shame, loud, mouth open against the cushion.

—Like that, fuck me like that, don’t stop —she panted between thrusts—. My God, Mateo, don’t stop.

I pulled her hair back, gently at first, testing how she took it. It drew out a lower moan. I tugged a little harder until her back arched and her head tipped toward me. I bit her shoulder, her nape, while I kept fucking her. I ran my hand around to the front, grabbing one breast first and then sliding down to her clit to rub it with two fingers in time with my thrusts.

I sped up. I felt her whole body tightening in regular waves, each one more intense. I squeezed her hips with my other hand, taking her with all the force I had, until her ass jolted with every hit and her flesh was left marked red beneath my fingers.

—I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming —she started repeating, voice muffled—. Don’t stop, don’t stop, oh God.

She came with a long shudder that ran through her from bottom to top, a spasm that clamped her whole cunt around my cock as if she wanted to drain me dry. She let go of the sofa and let her face fall against the cushion, still convulsing, breathing in broken gasps, her thighs trembling uncontrollably. I held on for two or three more thrusts, feeling her contracting around me, and then I couldn’t anymore.

I pulled out at the last second, ripped the condom off with a yank, and came across her back with two or three hard jolts. The semen spilled in a long line from her waist to her shoulder blades, hot, taut. She stayed still, face still pressed into the cushion, breathing deeply, letting me finish on her skin.

We stayed still for a few minutes. I went to get a towel and wiped her back slowly, running the cloth over every drop, while she sighed with her eyes closed. Then she turned slowly and settled beside me on the sofa, her body pressed against mine, still naked, still warm, with her hair stuck to her temple from sweat. The air conditioner hummed. Outside, the sun was still heating the building walls.

At some point we remembered the pizza. We ate it in the kitchen, naked, she sitting on the counter and me standing in front of her. We talked about nothing important. She ate slowly and looked at me now and then with something I didn’t quite know how to classify. Every so often I’d spread her knees with my hand, lean in, and run my tongue between her thighs until she dropped a slice of pizza onto the counter. She’d laugh, shove me away with both hands, and go back to chewing as if nothing had happened. Then she’d look at me and open her legs again.

When she dressed to leave, she took my hand with both of hers.

—Don’t leave me after this —she said—. Please. I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t throw me away once you’re no longer interested.

She said it with a calm that made the weight of the sentence harder to bear.

I realized, not for the first time that afternoon, that this girl needed someone not to leave. She had grown up watching every man walk away, and now she was asking me to be different. The problem was Daniela, who was waiting for me at home with our daughter. I didn’t tell her any of that. I rode her back to her building and kissed her at the entrance before she went upstairs.

I stayed parked on the street for a while, looking at the building windows. In one of them, the light was on. I thought about what would have happened to her if those guys had managed to do what they planned. I also thought about whether what I had done was really so different, or whether I had simply been more careful. I didn’t have a clear answer. I started the motorcycle and left.