My First Time Was with the Basketball Captain

My name is Sofía Castellanos. I was eighteen when this happened, and although several years have passed since then, I remember it with a clarity that few things in my life possess. I grew up in a deeply religious family—my mother was known around the neighborhood for her devotion—and that shaped my adolescence in ways it took me years to understand. I didn’t go out alone with boys. I didn’t go to parties without supervision. My parents met when they were twenty-four, theirs was each other’s only relationship, and they married the following year. That was the model my mother had for me.

At sixteen, I started playing volleyball seriously. I was tall, had a decent vertical jump and plenty of willingness to work, and that was enough for a private university in the city to offer me a sixty-percent scholarship in accounting. For my parents, it was perfect: a good institution, relatively close to home, and sports channeling my energy into something productive. For me, it was the gateway to a world I was only beginning to discover.

We practiced Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays at the campus athletic complex. On Wednesdays, we shared the schedule with the men’s basketball team: they arrived thirty minutes before us, and when they finished, they stayed sitting in the bleachers to watch the end of our practice. No one pretended it was because of an interest in the sport. Volleyball uniforms are what they are, and there were girls who knew it and took advantage of it. I was new and didn’t pay attention to those things, at least not at first.

By the fourth week, I realized that one of them was looking at me differently. Not like the others, who made comments amid laughter and looked wherever they could. He looked straight at me, unhurriedly, without looking away even when I caught him. He was tall, dark-haired, with very short hair and muscles that were noticeable even from a distance. Later I learned his name was Adrián, that he was in his third semester of architecture and was the team’s starting center and captain. He had the face of someone who knew exactly what he was doing.

His looks made me nervous. I started missing spikes that were usually automatic for me, blocks I should have been able to make with my eyes closed. The coach called me out twice in one week. The third time, Adrián turned around in the bleachers and faced away from the court. I calmed down instantly and finished practice without making a mistake. I thought it was over and that it had all been in my imagination.

That afternoon, when I came out of the locker rooms, I saw him by the entrance to the complex, chatting with Clara, our team captain. I kept walking without saying anything, my head bowed. I was halfway down the corridor when I heard his voice.

—Sofía!

I stopped dead. I turned slowly, as if I needed time to arrange my expression. He was standing there with a smile that seemed to know too much.

—I’m Adrián, from the basketball team—he said, taking two steps toward me. —I was just talking to Clara and saw you walk by. Are you in a hurry?

—They’re waiting for me at home—I lied.

—Would you mind if I walked with you for a while?

—Uh... no, I wouldn’t mind—I said.

Without asking, he took my backpack and slung it over his shoulder. We left together.

I don’t remember clearly what we talked about during those twenty minutes. I think I gave coherent answers, but I can’t swear to it. We got to within two blocks of my house, and I told him I would go on alone from there. He asked me why. I told him I would explain later. I wasn’t going to tell him that my mother was the most religious woman in the neighborhood and that bringing a boy to the door amounted, to her, to a declaration of war. He kissed my cheek and left. I ran inside with a smile that took me ten minutes to erase.

Two days later, on a Friday, he showed up at the athletic complex. The basketball team never came on Fridays. My teammates noticed before I did: they started laughing quietly and whispering, and the next serve I attempted went straight into the net. Red to the ears, I concentrated on finishing practice without any more mistakes. When I came out, he was waiting for me.

—I came to walk you home—he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

And so he did. He came back the following Wednesday. And the Friday after that. At some point, we stopped being two people who walked together and started holding hands, or walking with my arm linked through his. There was no official conversation. It simply happened, the way things happen when you don’t plan them.

One afternoon, near our usual corner, he put his arm around my waist and told me that, although I had never given him a formal answer, he already considered us boyfriend and girlfriend, and that the trust between us confirmed it. I nodded. Then he leaned in and gave me a short kiss on the lips. I froze.

—Does that bother you?—he asked, looking me in the eyes.

—No, of course not—I replied in the smallest voice I had ever used in my life.

He kissed me again. This time more slowly, with more intention. I felt his tongue brush my lips and opened my mouth without thinking. We stayed that way for almost a minute. Then I pulled away, grabbed my backpack and ran home.

That went on for another couple of weeks. We looked for each other on campus when our paths crossed, and he walked me home after every practice. The kisses became routine. One afternoon we took a different route, down a street with little traffic and workshops with covered entrances, and he gently pushed me into one of them. Out of sight from the sidewalk, we kissed for a long while.

At one point, I felt his hand slide down my back until it brushed my ass. I lifted his hand gently without stopping the kiss. He lowered it again, but this time he squeezed my ass with his whole palm, kneading it over my pants as if he were measuring what he held in his hand. Then he slipped it beneath my blouse and ran it over my back from the inside, directly against my skin. I let him: it was only my back, I told myself, even though I could already feel my panties growing wet.

It didn’t take long for his hands to travel up my waist and reach my breasts. When his fingers brushed one of my nipples over my bra, I felt something I had never felt before: a current that ran straight down to my cunt and settled there, throbbing, wet and confusing. My nipples hardened instantly, and he noticed, because he smiled against my mouth and gently pinched them through the fabric, playing with them between his thumb and forefinger until I let out a soft moan. I felt his erection pressing against my hip, hard and insistent, showing through his track pants. That was when I asked him to leave, my voice trembling, my thighs pressed together to endure the throbbing that wouldn’t go away. We didn’t talk about what had happened over the next few days. We went on as if nothing had happened, but every night in bed, I took myself in hand down there thinking of him and came biting my pillow so my mother wouldn’t hear.

***

Weeks later, our team qualified for an intercollegiate tournament in Querétaro. Both basketball teams were going too. We left Friday night on separate buses and arrived at the hotel shortly before midnight. We played well on the first day: we won three matches and lost one, and qualified directly for the semifinals as the top team in our group.

Adrián and I barely crossed paths that day: when I had a match, he did too, and when we finished, it was late and everyone was with their own team. We saw each other only for a moment before getting on the buses, without being able to talk. My roommate was Daniela, a third-semester student who went out shortly after eleven at night with some other girls to see the city center. I didn’t ask where she was going.

The next day we went down to breakfast at eight, already wearing our uniforms. We were free until eleven because our first match was at noon. After breakfast, Daniela left with the other girls. I stayed behind: my left ankle was swollen from a bad fall the day before, and I wanted to bandage it properly before the match.

I was sitting on the edge of the bed with the bandage in my hand when someone knocked on the door.

Daniela forgot her key, I thought.

I went to open it, and it was Adrián. In that athletic uniform, with that smile, those eyes I already knew looked at me in only one way.

—What are you doing here?—I asked, completely bewildered. His hotel wasn’t nearby.

—I had to see you—he said. And he stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

He came closer and wrapped his arms around my waist. He kissed me the same way he always did, but this time his hands went straight beneath my blouse, without any hesitation. My nipples reacted before I had time to think, hardening like stones against the rough fabric of my sports bra. When he reached underneath and pulled them free in one motion, leaving my tits bare with my blouse rolled up over them, I let out a moan that surprised even me. He caught one nipple between his fingers and pinched it, twisting it slowly, while his mouth sought my neck. I tried to pull away a little.

—Relax—he said softly, his hoarse voice pressed against my ear. —We’ll go only as far as you want. But stop holding back your moans—I love hearing you.

He started kissing my neck, sucking hard and marking me. His thumbs caressed my nipples with precise pressure, tugging and twisting them with measured cruelty that made me squeeze my thighs. I let my head fall back. I felt his hard cock digging into my stomach through both our pants, making a thick bulge that rose and fell with his breathing. He guided me backward toward the bed, slowly. When my knees touched the mattress, I sat down, and he took the hem of my blouse and pulled it over my head together with my bra in a single movement. He took his off too.

I looked at him. The muscles I had previously only guessed at from the bleachers were completely real up close: broad shoulders, defined abdomen, prominent collarbones, that line of hair descending from his navel until it disappeared inside his pants. I stared without saying or doing anything, my tits bare and my nipples so swollen they hurt.

He approached slowly, as if waiting for some sign. He kissed me again, and I wrapped my arms around his neck. The weight of his body eased me backward onto the mattress. He lowered his mouth along my neck and collarbone until he enclosed one of my nipples between his lips. He sucked it hard, tugging at it with his teeth, and I arched my back, biting my fist. He moved to the other nipple and did the same, licking it in circles and nibbling it until I began moving my hips on my own, seeking friction against his thigh.

His hands traveled over my curves—my waist, my hips, the skin beneath my clothes—and during one of those movements, his hand slipped inside my track pants. His fingers squeezed my mound over my panties and found the soaked stain I had been carrying there since I opened the door.

—You’re dripping—he whispered against my tit. —You’re so wet it’s coming through the fabric.

I didn’t know what to say. My face was burning.

He pulled my pants down to my knees. I helped him take them off, kicking them to the floor. He paused, looking at me in my panties, with my breasts bare and my legs pressed together. Then he lowered his mouth along my body, leaving a trail of saliva across my belly and navel until he reached the elastic of my underwear. I felt him stop for a second before continuing. He took my underwear in both hands and pulled it down in one motion to my ankles, leaving me completely naked in front of him for the first time in my life.

I didn’t feel embarrassed. I felt an animal heat that made me open my legs on my own.

He knelt at the foot of the bed and pulled my hips to the edge. He looked closely at my cunt, open and shining with wetness, and blew gently on it before lowering his mouth. The first lick went through me completely: a long, flat lick from bottom to top that ended by circling my clitoris. I screamed into my own hand. He did it again, and again, alternating broad licks with the tip of his tongue pressed into my clit. Then he sucked, wrapped his lips around my entire clitoris and drew on it as if he wanted to pull it out, and I began trembling uncontrollably, my heels digging into his back.

His fingers joined his mouth. First one, long and thick, which entered my cunt to the knuckle with the ease afforded by how soaked I was. Then two, which began pumping slowly, curling upward while his tongue never left my clitoris. I felt pressure building from inside, something piling up and piling up until it burst: I came in his mouth for the first time in my life, squeezing his head between my thighs, moaning long and hard into the pillow. He kept sucking through my orgasm, prolonging it, until my legs relaxed and all I could do was let out an exhausted whimper.

He lifted his face. His mouth and chin were shining, drenched in me. He smiled.

—You taste delicious—he said.

He stood and pulled down his pants and boxers in one motion. When his cock sprang free, hard and pointing at me, I stared at it in silence. It was thick, thicker than I had imagined, with a swollen head and a prominent vein running beneath it. It was the first time I had seen one like that, so close and so real. He took hold of it and stroked it slowly, looking at me without saying anything.

—Come here—he murmured. —Try it.

I rose onto my knees at the edge of the bed. He took a step until he was holding it at face level. I grasped it with both hands—it was hot, hotter than I expected, pulsing against my fingers—and stuck out my tongue to lick the tip. A transparent thread clung to my lip. I licked it again, this time from bottom to top along the shaft, following that vein, and when I reached the head, I opened my mouth and took it in.

Adrián let out a growl. He put one hand on the back of my neck, not pushing, just guiding me. I learned as I went: how much I could take, how to breathe, where to put my tongue. I took him as far as I could, sucking him, moving my head back and forth, pulling him out to breathe and then taking him back in. My free hand caressed his balls, heavy, warm and pressed against the shaft. He began muttering curses under his breath.

—That’s it, that’s it, suck me like that, fuck... what a good mouth you have, baby...

When he felt he was about to come, he gently moved me away. He took two steps toward the chair where his clothes were, reached into the pocket of his pants and pulled out a small silver packet.

While he put on the condom, I settled more comfortably on the bed, on my back, with my legs spread and my cunt still throbbing from my previous orgasm.

He came toward me on his knees over the mattress. He kissed me once more, and I ran my tongue over my lips, tasting his flavor and mine mixed together. He put his hand between my legs to check what he already knew, sank two fingers inside me and pulled them out dripping. He brought them to his mouth and sucked them while looking at me. Then he positioned himself at my entrance, held his cock in one hand and ran the head up and down my cunt’s lips, coating himself in my wetness and brushing my clitoris with every stroke.

I closed my eyes.

He pushed slowly. I felt pressure, then a sharp but brief pain, a burning that made me grip his shoulders with my nails. He stopped with half of him inside, waited, and when he felt me release the tension, he pushed again, this time in one thrust, until he buried his entire cock inside me.

I screamed. Muffled against the pillow, but I screamed. I felt him opening me from within, felt that thick, hot thing reaching a place I hadn’t known existed.

The pain was bearable. It was the unexpectedness of the movement that drove me wild. He stayed still inside me, supporting himself with his arms on either side, looking at me, his cock buried to the balls.

—Are you okay?—he asked.

—Yes—I said. And it was true.

—You’re so tight, fuck—he murmured. —You’re squeezing my dick dry.

When he started moving, he went slowly. He pulled out until he almost slipped free, then went back in all the way, with long, controlled thrusts that made me feel every inch of him. The pain disappeared within two or three breaths. What remained was something else: that rubbing, that back-and-forth creating a friction unlike anything I had felt before. I relaxed. I began moving my hips instinctively, following his rhythm, meeting him as he came in.

—That’s it—he panted. —Move for me. Fuck me too.

His words ignited something inside me. I began moving more, tightening the walls of my cunt around his cock every time he pulled out, scratching his back when he came in again. He grabbed one of my tits and pinched my nipple while continuing to thrust, and I let out a long moan I couldn’t silence.

He gradually sped up. The hotel bed springs began to squeak, and the headboard started hitting the wall with a rhythm we could no longer disguise. I moved with him. He lifted one of my legs and placed it over his shoulder, changing the angle, and suddenly every thrust touched a point inside me that made me see stars. I began panting harder, unable to keep quiet, murmuring, “Yes, yes, like that, more,” without realizing I was saying it.

—Holy shit, you’ve got such a delicious cunt—he growled, fucking me faster. —Squeeze it, squeeze my cock, you’re draining me dry...

He pulled out, turned me over on the mattress and put me on all fours in one motion. He gripped my hips and plunged back inside me from behind, driving all the way in, and this time I felt him even deeper. He gave me a sharp slap on the ass that echoed through the room, and I screamed into the pillow—but I screamed with pleasure. He began pounding me from behind, gripping my hair with one hand and my shoulder with the other, taking me like no one ever had, pulling his cock almost all the way out and driving it deep inside me again and again.

—Say it—he panted. —Tell me what you want.

—More—I moaned into the pillow. —More, harder...

There came a moment when the sensations piled up in a way I couldn’t control, and my whole body shook. The orgasm tore through me from my cunt to the nape of my neck, squeezing my walls around his cock in spasms, my legs trembling and my hands digging into the sheet. I screamed his name into the pillow. I felt him tense a few seconds later, felt his fingers dig hard into my hips as he gave three or four final thrusts, short and savage, until he went still with his cock buried to the hilt, coming inside the condom with muffled groans.

He collapsed over me, resting his weight on my back, still inside me, breathing against my nape. We were both sweating as if we had played an entire match.

When he finally pulled out, I felt a strange emptiness and a thread of me trickling down my thigh. I stayed face down for a while, not wanting to move, my heart still pounding in my ears.

***

We stayed there for a couple of minutes. Then he got up, carefully removed the condom, tied it and wrapped it in a tissue before throwing it away. He went to the bathroom for a moment and came back, dressing quickly. He brought me the box of tissues from the nightstand. He glanced at the sheet, where there was a small reddish stain mixed with moisture. I told him I would take care of it. Before leaving, he bent down and gave me a long kiss on the mouth, still tasting of me. He left silently, making no noise in the hallway.

Twenty minutes later, Daniela arrived with a bag of handicrafts from the market. She didn’t notice anything strange, even though I had taken a rushed shower and could still feel my cunt throbbing beneath my uniform. We put on our uniforms and went downstairs to warm up.

We lost the final that day. We came in second in the tournament. It didn’t matter to me as much as I thought it would. Every time I bent down to receive a serve, I felt the soreness between my legs and remembered him on top of me, and a smile escaped that I had to erase quickly.

The trip home was strange. I sat on the bus watching the dark landscape along the highway, and the only thing I could think about was whether anything different would show on my face when I got home. I didn’t feel guilty. I expected to—I had been taught my whole life that I would—but the feeling wasn’t there. What was there was curiosity. And something resembling pride.

I was with Adrián a couple more times, both at his apartment near campus. Each time I became a little more myself: less still, more present, less afraid of what I wanted. I learned to suck his cock until he came in my mouth, to swallow his cum without looking away. I learned to ride him, moving my hips on top of him until I came too, and to ask him to put it in my ass while he rubbed my clitoris with his fingers. I learned things during those afternoons that took me years to name, but that my body understood long before then.

Months later, I found out he was also seeing a girl from the opposing team. I confronted him in private. He listened without interrupting me and then said:

—Sofía, in this life you’re going to meet many men. Some will give you what I can’t. Others won’t measure up to what you deserve. One day you’ll find someone who fills all of that at once. And if fate brings us together again, perhaps we’ll have a second chance.

He kissed my cheek and left.

It took me a while to understand that he was right. There were others afterward, better and worse in different ways. In the end, the one who filled everything else came along too. But Adrián was the first. And that is something you always remember, in every detail, without anyone having to ask.