My First Time Was the Afternoon Everyone Fell Asleep

I had known Camila’s house for a year, but that afternoon of January 6th it seemed different. Maybe it was the summer light coming in slantwise through the dining room window, or the smell of stew still clinging to the curtains. Maybe it was the little bag I had slung over my shoulder, with three belated gifts wrapped in red paper. Or maybe it was simply her, opening the door in a white dress with black trim I had never seen before.

—You’re late —she said, and she gave me a quick kiss at the corner of the lips, the kind of kiss she saved for when family was around.

—I fell asleep. New Year’s and all that.

—I saved you a plate. Come in.

Her mother, Doña Rosario, greeted me from the couch with a tired gesture. Her younger sister, Antonia, didn’t look up from her phone. Don Hernán, the stepfather, shook my hand without moving from where he was. They had finished lunch a while ago, and you could tell by the empty glasses and the bodies sprawled out as if they weighed twice as much as they had in the morning.

I ate alone at the dining table, across from Camila, who watched me with that little smile she wore when something was on her mind. The plate had chicken with rice and a bit of salad already gone soft. I ate without being hungry, more out of obligation than anything else.

—Is it good? —she asked.

—It’s perfect. Thank you.

She bit her lower lip for a moment and kept looking at me. She’s thinking about something, I remember telling myself.

When I finished, I took the plate to the kitchen and came back. The house’s living room was divided in two by a low arch and a long piece of furniture covered with picture frames. From the other side where the rest of them were, an old soap opera played at barely audible volume. Recorded laughter, some stray word. On our side, only the two of us on a three-seater sofa and a yellow light falling diagonally in.

I handed her the gifts. They were three silly things: a leather-bound notebook, a cheap perfume I knew she liked, and a pair of earrings I had been staring at in a shop window two months earlier. She opened them one by one, slowly, without raising her voice. When she got to the earrings, she held them in her hand a second too long.

—You didn’t have to.

—I wanted to.

She kissed me. This time on the mouth, without the caution of before. A short kiss, but more mine. Then she settled against my shoulder and we stayed silent, listening as the laughter on the other side thinned out until it became long breaths.

***

I don’t know how long passed before I started drifting off too. The after-lunch slump, the bus ride, the heat coming in through the window. I closed my eyes for a moment and after a while I felt Camila’s hand where it hadn’t been before.

It was moving up my thigh, over my jeans, slowly, measuring each centimeter. Her fingers advanced with a very clear purpose, and when they reached the bulge that had already started to form, they stayed there, squeezing, measuring the size with her open palm. I opened my eyes and found her looking straight at me, very close, with an expression I had never seen on her. As if she knew exactly what she was doing.

—What about the others? —I asked in a low voice.

—They’re asleep.

—All of them?

—All of them.

She stretched her neck to look over the long sideboard, toward the other side of the room. She nodded once, satisfied. When she turned back to me, her hand was already on my fly and she was lowering it with two fingers, never taking her eyes off mine.

—Stay still —she told me—. And keep your mouth shut, okay? Not a sound.

She opened my jeans, pulled my underwear down just enough, and took my cock out with the naturalness of someone taking a book off a shelf. It was already hard and throbbing. She looked at it for a second, as if studying it, and then she ran her tongue over her lips in a gesture that wasn’t from a movie, it was genuine desire.

—Look how hard you’ve got it —she whispered—. All for me.

She lowered her head onto me before I could answer anything. It wasn’t sweet or shy. It was a firm, confident sucking, as if she had rehearsed it a thousand times in her head. I felt the hot air of her mouth wrap around my tip, then the tongue curling under it, then the lips sealing tight and sliding down and down until halfway along my shaft. All the sleep left me at once. I lifted my hands not knowing where to put them and ended up resting them carefully on either side of the couch, so I wouldn’t grab her head, so I wouldn’t rush her.

She went up and down with a rhythm I didn’t know from her, her right hand at the base for what her mouth couldn’t take, and every so often she pulled the whole thing out to lick it from the balls to the tip, slowly, sucking my balls too, one and then the other, while she looked up at me with glistening eyes. When she took me back in, she took me all the way, until I felt myself hit the back of her throat, and there she stayed for a few seconds, barely choking, swallowing the saliva that dripped from the corner of her mouth.

—You suck it so good —I said softly, unable to hold back—. Jesus, Camila, you suck it so good.

She didn’t answer me. She fixed her eyes on me and pulled me out of her mouth with a pop that sounded loud in the silence of the room. She spat a long thread over the tip and spread it with her hand, then took me back in, faster now, deeper, sucking with sunken cheeks as if she wanted to empty me out all at once.

She did that for a while, with me seated. Then she motioned for me to stand. It was hard. My legs were shaking a little and my cock was twitching on its own with every beat. She knelt on the rug and kept going, now looking up at me from below, eyes half-closed. The yellow light fell on her hair and bare shoulders. She took my cock in both hands, pressed it against her face, ran the tip over her cheek, over her nose, over her closed lips, as if she liked feeling it anywhere before swallowing it again.

—Wait —I murmured when I felt the pit of my stomach starting to tighten—. I don’t want to finish like this. I don’t want to come in your mouth yet.

She lifted her head. Her lips were shiny with saliva, a long string hanging from her chin, and a strand of hair stuck to her cheek.

—Are you sure? —she asked, and I understood the question was something else—. You want to fuck me, then?

—Yes.

—Say it.

—I want to fuck you.

She stretched her neck again, looked across the arch. She turned back toward me and stood up. Then, without saying anything, she pulled the white dress up to her belly, both thumbs hooked in the elastic of red panties with black hearts. She lowered them halfway down her thigh, without taking them off completely, and sat on the edge of the couch with her legs a little apart.

—Come here. Lick me first. Lick me good.

I knelt this time. I returned the gesture, slowly, without the confidence she had shown, but wanting it badly. I kissed the inside of her thighs first, barely biting the soft skin above the knee, working upward with my mouth open, leaving a wet trail. When I reached her cunt I found it already soaked, shiny, with parted lips and the clit standing out. I stayed there a second looking at it, breathing on it, and she pushed my head against herself without saying a word.

I ran my whole tongue from bottom to top in one go, long, sucking up everything I found. She arched her back against the sofa and bit the back of her hand so she wouldn’t scream. I did it again, and again, until I found the clit with the tip of my tongue and stayed there, circling, sucking, while she gripped my hair in her fingers and moved my head to her rhythm.

—Like that, like that, don’t stop —she hissed, almost voiceless—. Like that, my love, lick me like that.

I didn’t put any fingers in her. It didn’t even occur to me. I wanted the first time to be whole, not in pieces. I remember it like that, with that exact phrase turning over in my head while I licked her cunt until I felt her thighs tense against my ears and she pulled my hair upward, breathing hard and soft, so I’d stop before I came on her face.

After that I took the condom out of the little bag, the one I’d bought two weeks earlier and carried with me to every meeting without daring to use. I tore it open with my teeth because my hands were shaking too much. Camila was laughing without making a sound and she put it on me herself, sliding it down to the base with both hands, and took the chance to give me two or three more pumps before letting go.

***

The first attempt was disastrous. She lay on her back on the couch, I knelt between her legs and put her calves over my shoulders, like I’d seen in some video I shouldn’t have watched. I grabbed my cock with my hand, set it against her cunt, pushed. The tip barely went in and she made a face. I pushed again. Nothing. I felt her tense, close around me like a fist.

—Easy, easy —she whispered—. Don’t rush. It’s your first time, idiot, you’re not going to stick it in all at once.

—Sorry.

—Come on, sit down. I’ll put it in myself.

We changed the order. I sat against the backrest, with my hard cock pointing at the ceiling, and she got herself positioned on top, one knee on each side of my hips. She grabbed me with her hand, set the head of my cock at the entrance of her cunt, and helped herself. She pushed down slowly, millimeter by millimeter, and I felt with a strange clarity how she made her way in, how her cunt closed around me for the first time, how she stopped being a virgin while looking me in the eyes without blinking. It wasn’t an instant, it was a slow process. She stopped twice, took a deep breath, clenched her teeth, and kept lowering herself. When she sat all the way down on me, her thighs pressed to mine, she closed her eyes and took one deep breath. I felt her all the way. Tight and wet wasn’t enough. It was a complete sensation, like I’d been put inside another body, inside a hot, narrow glove that was sucking me from the inside.

—You okay? —I asked, voice breaking.

—Yes. I’m fine now. Stay still for a minute.

She started moving. Slowly at first, resting her hands on my shoulders, rising a few centimeters and lowering again, letting the couch make as little noise as possible. I couldn’t talk. My throat was locked up from pleasure and from fear that my chest would explode. I grabbed her waist, her thighs, her back, her whole ass with both hands, helping her down, feeling my cock bury itself completely each time she let herself fall. I kissed her neck awkwardly, bit her shoulder, bit her ear. She was laughing without laughing, with a tiny movement of her mouth, without making a sound, but every so often a soft “ah” escaped her and made me hold her tighter against me.

—You’re putting it in all the way —she murmured in my ear—. All of it, all the way in. I can feel it up here. I can feel it in my belly.

I grabbed one breast under the dress, small, warm, with the nipple rock hard, and squeezed it. She bit her lip and sped up. I could hear the wet sound of her cunt swallowing me each time she rose and lowered herself, a little obscene sound that seemed impossible not to be heard across the arch.

Then we went back to the position from before. Me on top, her below, her legs around my waist. Now it went in. I started moving with a slow rhythm, measured, attentive to every face she made, watching how her cunt opened around my cock each time I pulled almost all the way out and drove back in to the hilt. But the temperature rose. I started moving faster, deeper, driving with my hips on every thrust, and she dug her heels into my ass so I wouldn’t let up. I started sweating like I’d never sweated in my life. Drops fell from my forehead onto her chest, her neck, the edge of the dress she still had half off.

—Wait —she said, and laughed softly—. You’re soaked. You’re getting me all wet.

She lifted herself for a second, with my cock sliding out of her with a sucking sound that made us meet each other’s eyes, went to the kitchen on tiptoe and came back with a bundle of paper napkins. We dried ourselves off as best we could, both of us laughing now, with that silent laughter you only have when there are other people nearby and you don’t want to wake them.

—Wait —she said again, and pulled the whole dress off over her head.

She tossed it over the back of the couch, next to the red panties. She was naked in front of me, with the yellow lamp light falling on just one side of her body. I looked at her small breasts with their nipples marked and hard, her belly button, the triangle of neat dark hair, the open, shiny cunt still tightening on its own, the sweaty skin that glistened faintly. It seemed impossible that she was there, with me, in that moment. It seemed impossible, and yet there she was.

—Suck them —she said, pointing at her tits—. Suck them while you fuck me.

She sat on me again. This time there was no awkwardness. She slammed herself down at once, all the way, and a low moan escaped her that I covered with my mouth. This time we were both at once. I bit one nipple, then the other, sucked them while she rocked on my cock as if she’d been doing that all her life. She dug her nails into my back, pulled my hair, talked to me in my ear with a voice I didn’t know from her.

—Fuck me hard, come on, harder, like that, look how it goes into me, look how you’re eating me up.

I grabbed her ass with both hands and started lifting and lowering her myself, helping with the strength of my arms, burying it in her to the hilt each time. She let herself go, arched back, showing me her breasts, biting the back of her hand so she wouldn’t scream. The couch creaked softly, with a steady rhythm that made both of us even hotter.

We stayed like that, I don’t know how long, too much and too little at the same time. An hour, I figured afterward. Maybe less. Maybe more. We changed positions again, I put her on all fours on the couch, with the dress and panties tangled around the furniture arm, and I grabbed her waist with both hands and fucked her from behind. I could see her whole back curved, her hair falling forward, her white ass opening each time I pushed in. I ran a thumb along the seam, slowly, and she shuddered all over and pushed back so I’d sink deeper.

—Like that, like that, like that, don’t stop —she repeated like a prayer—. Break me, break me, come on.

I know that at some point I stopped thinking and only felt. I felt the heat of her back under my palm, the salty taste of sweat when I kissed her collarbone, the rhythm of her hips changing without her fully deciding it, the cunt suddenly tightening when she was about to come, and how she came, shaking all over, biting a pillow so her cry wouldn’t escape, while I kept fucking her from behind without easing up.

***

A creak on the other side of the room stopped us dead. A piece of furniture shifting, a body settling into the big couch. I froze, with my cock inside her halfway. She sprang off me in two movements, grabbed the dress, pulled it over her head, found the panties with her feet and pulled them up while I took the condom off and yanked my jeans back up, my cock still hard and not fitting properly into my underwear. In thirty seconds we were both seated side by side, hair stuck to our temples, breathing still high. I grabbed an old magazine from the sideboard and opened it to some random page.

It hadn’t been anyone. Don Hernán had rolled over in his sleep, that was all. But it was already late, and we still hadn’t finished, neither of us, in the literal sense. Blood pounded in my temples and in other places too.

—You have to go, right? —she said, glancing sideways at me, her hand between my legs, squeezing my cock through my jeans, as if saying goodbye to it.

—Yeah. Before they wake up.

—Next time I’ll finish sucking you off. I promise. I’ll make you come in my mouth.

—Next time.

She walked me to the door. In the hallway she gave me a quick kiss, then a longer one with tongue, and looked me in the eye with a mix of complicity and pride I still remember. I went down the building stairs without taking the elevator, I don’t know why. I wanted to walk, I wanted to feel the air on my face, I wanted to keep understanding what had just happened.

When we changed positions the first time, I remember, I caught sight of a tiny spot of blood on the condom. It hit me in the chest, a good hit, not a bad one. It was proof of something that could no longer be undone. I kept that image the way I kept other things from that afternoon: the slanting light, the napkins piled on the floor, the red panties with black hearts, her silent laugh, the way my legs shook when I stood up.

Camila gave me that couch years later, when her mother renovated the living room. I still have it. It has a strange dent on the right side and one arm sort of sagging, and any reasonable person would throw it out. I’m not throwing it out. I’ll keep it as long as I have somewhere to put it.

What happened that afternoon didn’t end that afternoon. A week later we had another chance, this time with no one sleeping on the other side of the arch, no napkins, no hurry. What began on January 6th finished beginning on the 13th. But that’s a story for another day, and this memory belongs to me alone.