My First Time Was at a Construction Site, in the Rain

My name is Valeria. I’m twenty-four now, but the story I’m going to tell happened when I had just turned eighteen. I remember it because it was unlike anything else that had ever happened to me, and because what began that night didn’t end with it.

Back then I was slim, fair-skinned, with brown hair down to my shoulders. People described my face as sweet, almost childlike, which filled me with a mixture of pride and frustration. I liked getting dressed up: red lipstick, long earrings, tight clothes that showed off the figure I had built through exercise routines. It wasn’t just vanity. It was the certainty that my body could make men turn around, and I liked that feeling more than I dared admit.

I lived with my mother in Toluca. She worked long shifts as a nurse and sometimes worked nights, so I spent many nights alone at home. I had finished high school that year and still had no idea what I would do next. What I did know was that I wanted to stop being a virgin.

It wasn’t a romantic urgency. It was something more concrete and less elegant: I wanted to know what it felt like to have a cock inside me. I had imagined a man on top of me a thousand times, without tenderness, without flowers, without promises, fucking me until I couldn’t breathe. The fantasy that visited me most often was specific: an older man, a rough laborer, in a filthy, dark place, spreading my legs and fucking me as if I belonged to him. I had thought about it so much, with my hand between my legs until I came while biting the pillow, that it almost seemed like something I had earned.

***

The Friday when everything happened, my friend Daniela turned eighteen. She organized a small gathering in the yard of her house, just her closest friends. Her mother agreed on the condition that the party stay there, with no men, and that we shut things down at a reasonable hour.

My mother drove me to Daniela’s house before leaving for her shift. She told me to be back before nine. I promised I would.

We spent hours listening to music, drinking tequila with grapefruit soda, smoking the occasional cigarette, and talking about everything and nothing. It was a simple, happy night. When the others began to leave, I stayed behind. It was eleven-thirty when I said goodbye to Daniela. She offered to call me a cab. I told her it wasn’t necessary, that I lived nearby.

I made the mistake eighteen-year-old girls make when they think nothing bad can happen to them: I left alone.

***

The street connecting Daniela’s subdivision to mine wasn’t paved. It was long and dark, with vacant lots on either side and a few scattered houses. The streetlights worked only sporadically. That night, almost none of them worked.

When it started to rain, I had already been walking for ten minutes. The cold was immediate. I was wearing a camisole and very tight jeans that soon clung to my skin like a second layer, outlining every curve, my nipples stiff and pressing against the wet fabric. My heels sank into the soft earth. I walked close to the walls so I wouldn’t lose my balance.

That was when I saw the construction site.

It was a half-finished building, with steel rods jutting out of the unfinished roof, sacks of sand piled at the entrance, and wooden beams crisscrossing the interior. A faint yellow light came from inside. And leaning against the outer wall, his arms folded and his eyes fixed on me, was a man.

He looked about forty. Tall, with several days’ growth of beard and work clothes dusted with cement. He looked me over without disguising it, from head to toe, lingering on my wet tits and on the crotch where the seam of my jeans showed between my lips, with the calm of men who don’t bother pretending they aren’t looking.

“Quite a night to be walking alone,” he said.

I didn’t answer. I quickened my pace. But the alcohol weighed on my legs and the rain struck my face, and something inside me stopped me before I left him behind. I stopped. Slowly, I turned around.

He was still watching me. He hadn’t moved. I saw the bulge beneath his dirty pants, the heavy shape of a cock already getting hard just from looking at me.

I don’t know exactly what happened to me in that moment. Actually, I do, but it’s hard to say without sounding like I’m making excuses: I felt exactly what I had always imagined. The darkness, the rain, the mud, that rough man looking at me as if he had known me before, as if he already knew how I would moan when he put it inside me. Everything suddenly fit the fantasy I had carried for years. My heart pounded. My hands trembled a little. I felt my pussy getting wet beneath the rain, a different heat, my own, running along my groin.

I walked toward him.

***

I approached slowly, feeling my soaked clothes cling to my body with every step. He said nothing when I stopped in front of him. I put my hand on his chest and felt the muscles beneath the damp fabric. Then I lowered my hand to the bulge and squeezed it through his pants. It was rock-hard, thick, throbbing against my palm. A sigh escaped me that sounded more like a request than a question.

“Will you take me inside?” I said. My voice came out smaller than I wanted.

He took me by the arm and guided me inside the construction site.

Inside, it smelled of wet earth, cement, and tobacco. Rain struck the incomplete roof in places, and water fell in thin streams onto the concrete. At the back was a cot covered with old blankets, a flashlight lit on top of a toolbox, and a full ashtray. It was exactly the place I had imagined during my sleepless nights, with my hand between my legs and my mouth against the pillow.

He stood in front of me and looked me over unhurriedly. That was when I really got nervous. My heart was beating fast, and my breathing came in little jerks I couldn’t control.

“How old are you?” he asked.

“Eighteen,” I said. “I turned eighteen last month.”

He nodded slowly. Then he came closer and kissed me. He smelled of tobacco and hard work, and his mouth was rough, without ceremony. He pushed his tongue deep into my mouth, biting my lower lip while he gripped my hair with one hand and squeezed my waist with the other. I clung to his shirt. I felt his rock-hard cock against my stomach and, without thinking, rubbed my hips against it.

“I’ve never done this before,” I told him when he pulled away for a moment.

He looked straight at me. Not tenderly, but not indifferently either.

“Do you want to stop?” he asked.

“No,” I replied. “I want you to put it inside me.”

And that was enough for both of us.

***

He took off my blouse slowly, more slowly than I expected. Then my bra. He looked at my breasts for a moment before touching them, as if he were deciding something. When he did, his hands were calloused and rough against my skin, and the contrast ignited something in me I had never felt before. He pinched my nipples between his thumb and forefinger, squeezing them until I arched my back and let out a whimper. Then he lowered his mouth and sucked an entire breast, teeth against my skin, his rough tongue against my nipple while his other hand squeezed the other one.

He gently pushed me onto the cot. The mattress was thin and smelled damp. He took off his shirt while I watched. He had a broad chest, dark hair, scars from hard labor. He didn’t have the body of any of the boys I knew from school or the neighborhood. He undid his belt and lowered his pants. His cock sprang free, thick and erect, dark with blood, the veins standing out and the tip shining with pre-cum. My mouth went dry. It was bigger than anything I had imagined on any night.

“Take everything off,” he told me.

I obeyed. I clumsily pulled off my wet jeans, and my soaked panties clung to my thighs before falling to the floor. He stood there watching my naked pussy, half-shaved, its lips already swollen and glistening.

He knelt in front of me and spread my legs with both hands, without asking. He kissed my neck, my collarbone, my breasts. He moved down, licking my stomach. Then lower. I felt his mouth between my legs and lost my breath. His hot tongue traveled up my lips, slowly, soaking me completely, and when it reached my clitoris he sucked it as if it were candy. It was the first time anyone had touched me like that. I didn’t know it could feel so direct, so tangible, with nothing separating my body from what my body felt. I moaned and covered my mouth with the back of my hand.

He knocked my hand away with a gentle slap.

“Let me hear you,” he said, and buried his face between my legs again.

He licked my pussy hungrily, sucking my clitoris, pushing his tongue inside me as deep as he could, then adding two rough fingers that began sliding in and out while he kept working me with his mouth. I writhed on the cot, my chest rising and falling, my legs spread as far as they could go. I felt the first wave rising from my belly, something I had never known with that kind of force, and I came all over his face with a long, filthy moan, gripping his hair with both hands.

Then he grabbed me by the hair and sat me on the edge of the cot, stood in front of me, and brought his cock to my mouth. I opened up. I had never done that either. The tip was hot and salty, and he slowly pushed it into my mouth, thrusting with his hips until I felt my throat close around it.

“Use your tongue,” he said. “Suck it properly. Like you enjoy it.”

I did enjoy it. I closed my lips around him and began sucking him, clumsy at first, learning with every thrust. He guided me with his hands, and I learned quickly, focused on every detail, every change in his breathing. He pulled it out and rubbed it over my face, my lips, my cheeks, then shoved it back into my mouth until my eyes watered. He tugged my hair when I sped up, and I heard his breathing grow heavier and more ragged. A thread of saliva ran down my chin to my tits.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he said hoarsely. “Look how quickly that little mouth learns.”

***

When he laid me on my back and positioned himself over me, his cock wet with my saliva slapping against my thigh, I stopped him for a second with my hand on his chest.

“It’s going to hurt,” I told him.

“Yes,” he said. No beating around the bush.

I looked him in the eyes and moved my hand away. I felt the tip of his cock settle at the entrance to my pussy, pushing against my lips, searching. He gripped his cock and rubbed it up and down between my folds, coating himself in my juices, running the tip over my clitoris again and again until I was thrusting my hips on my own, seeking him.

Then he pushed.

It hurt. It was a sharp, clean pain that pierced me all at once, a burning wedge forcing its way into a place nothing had ever entered, and I let out a cry that startled me. He stopped for a second, his cock buried halfway inside me, letting me breathe. I put my hands on his back so he would continue. He thrust again, deeper, and I felt my flesh opening around his cock, felt the hot passage stretch until his belly struck mine.

“All the way in,” he said, looking at me. “All the way.”

He began slowly. He pulled his cock out until only the tip remained, then sank it all the way back in, watching my face each time, seeing how my mouth twisted with every thrust. Then the rhythm changed, growing deeper, heavier, faster. The pain didn’t disappear completely, but it began mingling with something else: a warm, dense pressure filling me from the inside out, a friction that started pulling short moans from me that I couldn’t control. I felt tears on my cheeks and didn’t even know whether they came from pain or something else.

He watched me while he fucked me. There was no tenderness in his eyes, but there was total attention, and it made me feel more seen than I had in a long time. He held my hips tightly, leaving finger marks on my skin, and began fucking me harder. I arched my back and planted my feet on the cot, spreading my legs as wide as I could. Every thrust made a sound, a wet slapping between my soaked pussy and his cock, mixed with the dry smack of his balls against my ass.

“Look at me,” he ordered, grabbing my chin. “Look at me while your filthy little pussy swallows my cock.”

I lowered my gaze for a second and saw his cock sliding in and out of me, shining with my juices, a pinkish thread of blood at its base. Everything inside me clenched at the sight alone. I looked back into his eyes and he gave the faintest smile.

He grabbed one of my legs and put it over his shoulder, driving even deeper. I screamed. He slapped my ass once, then again. After that he turned me onto my side without pulling out and kept fucking me like that, one hand on my hip and the other squeezing one of my tits.

When I came, I didn’t recognize it immediately. It was like falling from the inside: a slow collapse, followed by a jolt that left me speechless. My pussy contracted around his cock in waves, and I felt a warm gush running down my thigh. My legs trembled, and I had to cling to his arms so I wouldn’t lose myself completely.

“That’s it,” he said, looking at me. “That’s it. Come on my cock, just like that.”

He continued for a few more minutes, without a rhythm now, thrusting into me hard and fast, pulling my hair. When he came, it was with a deep, guttural moan. He pulled his cock out at the last second, and I felt hot jets of semen splattering across my stomach, my tits, all the way up to my neck. He watched me from above as he emptied himself, squeezing his cock with his hand, milking the last drops onto my navel. His weight fell on me for a few seconds before he moved away.

***

I thought it was over. I lay still on the cot, rain sounding outside and my body still trembling, feeling his semen cooling on my skin. There was blood on the mattress. I looked at it without horror. It was proof of something I had chosen.

But he wasn’t finished.

I felt his hand on my hip, turning me firmly. I got onto my stomach without fully understanding what was coming. He lifted my hips, put me on all fours on the cot, and with two fingers began gathering the semen that had fallen onto my stomach, carrying it up and smearing it between my buttocks. Then I understood when I felt the tip of his cock, hard again, pressing against my asshole.

“Wait,” I said.

“Just let yourself go. If you can’t take it, tell me and I’ll stop.”

I stayed silent for a few seconds. I felt one thick finger enter first, opening me, turning inside me. Then two. I bit my lip. The fear was there, but my curiosity was bigger. I wanted to know everything that body could feel. I gripped the edge of the cot and closed my eyes.

The pain as he entered was different from before: sharper, more concentrated, like a forced opening that made my entire body tense. The tip pushed through slowly, pressing against a ring of muscle that didn’t want to give way, until it did. I let out a long, broken moan. I breathed slowly and gradually yielded, inch by inch, while he held my hips and advanced patiently, until I felt his balls resting against my pussy. He was completely inside my ass. The burning began to mingle with another sensation that had no clear name. It wasn’t exactly pleasure, not yet, but it wasn’t only pain either.

“Hold on,” he said in a rasping voice. “Hold me there. Just like that. Stay still.”

He began slowly. He pulled almost all the way out and slowly pushed back in, letting me feel every inch scraping inside me. Then he increased the pace. With every thrust the burning changed, becoming more diffuse, and my body began yielding without me deciding to. He slipped one hand underneath me and began rubbing my clitoris with two fingers while he fucked my ass, and suddenly everything changed: the pain mixed with a filthy, hot surge that made me push my hips backward against him, asking for more without saying it.

“You like it there,” he said. “Look at the little slut begging for more.”

He fucked my ass with long, deep thrusts, gripping my hair and pushing my face into the blanket whenever I moaned too loudly. The mattress scraped my skin. The flashlight cast elongated shadows across the concrete walls. It was still raining outside. I bit the old blanket to keep from screaming, feeling another orgasm building inside me, different, deeper, darker. When it burst, my empty pussy clenched and my ass contracted around his cock, and he cursed under his breath and sped up.

He came inside me. I felt hot jets emptying into me, every pulse of his cock registering inside my ass. When he finished for the second time, he remained inside me for several seconds without moving, breathing heavily over my back. Then he withdrew in silence. I felt a hot trickle run down my thigh when he pulled out.

***

We barely said anything afterward. He dressed quickly, without ceremony. I stayed still on the cot for a moment, catching my breath, letting my body become mine again. I felt strange in a way that had no name, neither good nor bad, just completely different from how I had felt that morning. My pussy throbbed, my ass burned, and I had semen drying on three parts of my body.

He handed me my blouse without a word and helped me find my clothes in the gloom. As I was buttoning my jeans, he asked whether I lived nearby.

“Ten minutes away,” I said.

“Can you get there alone?”

“Yes.”

He looked at me for another second, nodded, and went back to his things. I left the construction site with my heels in my hand and mud between my toes. The rain had faded to a fine drizzle that could barely be felt.

***

I got home after midnight. I locked the door, climbed the stairs slowly, and shut myself in the bathroom.

I looked at myself in the mirror. My hair was stuck to my face, my mascara had run, there was a small bruise on my neck and the red mark of a bite on one breast. I was eighteen years old and no longer a virgin, and that was exactly what I had been seeking.

I showered with hot water until it began to cool. I felt semen running out of my ass as I soaped myself, and I slipped two fingers inside to remove what was left. When I got out, I wrapped myself in a towel and sat on the edge of the bed. My phone showed three missed calls from my mother.

I called her. I told her I had lost track of time at Daniela’s house, that I was already home, and that the tequila had given me a bit of a headache. She scolded me in a low voice so she wouldn’t wake my grandmother. I promised I wouldn’t come home so late again. I hung up before the silence could give us away.

I lay down in the darkness. I slipped my hand between my legs, almost without meaning to, and just brushing my swollen clitoris made me come again, biting my forearm so I wouldn’t make a sound.

I didn’t regret it that night. I didn’t regret it afterward either. What I felt was something stranger and calmer: the certainty that I had crossed a line I had been waiting to cross, and that on the other side it was exactly as I had imagined. Only more real. Only more mine.

Valeria.