My girlfriend and I stopped being virgins on Halloween

We had been dating for five months when that Halloween party came around. I was a skinny guy with brown skin and constant nerves; she, Camila, was a blonde with hazel eyes who spoke little and smiled a lot. Neither of us had been with anyone before and, without ever saying it outright, we had signed a kind of silent pact: when it happened, it would happen with each other.

The house where the party was being held belonged to one of my classmates. The music shook the walls and the patio smelled of cheap booze and fried food. We arrived separately, almost as if we wanted to run into each other by chance. I stayed with a group of friends near the drink table and she went to the couch with two girls who had done her makeup like a black cat.

For almost an hour we barely looked at each other. I kept searching for her out of the corner of my eye, but as soon as she felt my gaze, she would turn her face away and bite her lip. It was a game we had been playing since summer and one we could never seem to bring to an end.

—Go on, go talk to her already —my friend Renzo nudged me, sick of putting up with me.

I took his advice. I crossed the living room, weaving past a couple dressed as a skeleton and a dead bride, and tapped Camila on the shoulder. She stood up without a word and followed me to a side hall, away from the speaker, where the light was orange and the music came through muffled.

—Hi —I said, like an idiot.

—Hi.

We kissed as soon as we understood no one was nearby. It was a long kiss, different from the ones we gave each other in the entrance of her building when I walked her home after school. Her hands slipped inside the collar of my shirt. Mine, without warning, slid down her waist to the curve of her hips. She drew a sharp breath through her nose and pressed herself against me, and I realized that my cock was already hard, pressing against the zipper of my pants, jammed against her belly. She noticed too, because she brought a hand down and rested it there, outside the fabric, measuring the bulge with her fingers spread.

Tonight.

I thought it without saying it. She did too, because when we broke apart to catch our breath, she pinned me with her eyes and whispered:

—Not here.

—Your parents.

—They went out to dinner. They won’t be back till late.

Nothing else was needed. We went back to the living room separately, grabbed our jackets, and crossed paths at the door as if we had been talking for hours. Out on the sidewalk, I flagged down the first taxi that came by.

***

The ride took twenty endless minutes. The driver was an older man with a tropical station on at half volume and a rearview mirror that seemed nailed to us. Camila sat pressed against me and squeezed my hand against her thigh, underneath the short skirt of her costume. Whenever the traffic light turned red, she moved my fingers a little higher, until at one point she slid them over her panties and I felt the warm, wet fabric clinging to her pussy. She bit her lip and pressed me there harder, forcing my middle finger to sink against her slit through the cotton.

—Stay still —I told her under my breath, laughing.

—Then drive faster —she told the driver, and all three of us laughed.

We arrived. I paid extra so I wouldn’t have to wait for change. We rode up in the building elevator without speaking. She leaned against the back mirror and gave a little nervous laugh.

—So now what? —I asked.

—Now we’ll see.

***

The apartment was empty and warm. The lights were off except for the little lamp in the entryway. I was heading straight for the couch, but she stopped me with her palm.

—Give me two minutes.

She went into her room and closed the door. I sat on the couch feeling my pulse in my neck. My mouth was dry. I got up, went to the bathroom, pissed without looking in the mirror, and sat back down. I took the chance to feel the condom I had been carrying in my wallet for weeks with my thumb. I had been waiting for this moment before I even knew it would arrive.

When the bedroom door opened, I had to swallow.

Camila had changed her costume. She was wearing a short red-and-black dress, a tulle skirt, a headband with two tiny horns, and a little plastic trident she held like she knew she was in a movie. She had completed the look with fishnet stockings on both legs.

—Don’t say anything —she warned.

I didn’t say anything. I straightened up slowly and she came at me, poking my chest with the tip of the trident, pushing me back until I fell into the couch again. She climbed astride me, set the trident on the floor, and kissed me with that mix of laughter and fear the night had worn since we left the party. She began moving on top of me, rubbing her pussy against my cock over my pants, up and down, resting her hands on my shoulders. I felt the fabric of her panties grow even wetter against me, leaving a dark patch on my jeans.

—Look how you’ve got me —I told her, pressing her against my crotch.

—And look how you’ve got me —she shot back, grabbing one of my hands and sliding it under the tulle. I touched her panties in front and they were soaked through. I pushed the elastic aside and ran my middle finger along her slit, bottom to top, and felt her breath escape.

She bit her lip, got off the couch, and knelt between my legs.

***

She undid my pants with clumsy fingers. My knuckles were white from gripping the edge of the couch. She took my cock out carefully, opened her eyes wide, and let out a weak laugh. There, in the palm of her hand, my cock looked bigger than I had ever seen it in the bathroom mirror at home, the tip swollen and a clear drop hanging from it.

—It’s not as big as the girls said —she muttered, trying to be brave.

—Seventeen centimeters, I figured the other day.

—Shut up.

She kissed it first, almost asking permission. A short kiss on the tip, with her lips pressed tight, like someone kissing an old lady on the cheek. Then she stuck out her tongue and licked me from the base to the head, slowly, looking me in the eyes to check whether she was doing it right. I could barely keep my mouth shut. Her tongue trembled a little, and when she reached the tip she circled the head with it, clumsy but determined. Then she started working it with her hand, slowly, sliding the foreskin up and down, squeezing too hard at first and then loosening up when I wordlessly asked her not so hard.

—Take it into your mouth —I asked, grabbing a lock of her hair.

—Wait. I’ve never done this.

—I know. I’ve never done it to anyone either. Start with just the tip.

She opened her lips and took the head into her mouth. I felt the heat of her mouth, wet, and a gag from her that made me think I had pushed too much of it in. She pulled back, breathed, tried again. This time she took it more slowly, closing her lips around it and using her tongue against the frenulum. I held her head with both hands and didn’t push her, I just set the rhythm a little. She got used to moving up and down in time, saliva slipping from the corners of her mouth and dripping onto the chest of the red dress. She did it for two or three minutes, unintentionally speeding up, knocking her teeth against the head, and suddenly it hurt a little. I touched the top of her head for her to stop.

—Slow, slow —I pleaded through my teeth.

—Sorry.

—No, it’s fine, it’s fine. Come here.

I lifted her off the floor, gave her a long kiss —still with the salty taste of me in her mouth— and took her to the bedroom.

***

I threw her onto the bed on her back. The room smelled of her perfume and shampoo. She stayed there, legs stretched in a V, staring at the ceiling as if she expected the words to come to her.

—Take that off —I asked, pointing to the underwear under the tulle.

—Wait.

She propped herself up on her elbows and took a deep breath.

—I don’t know if I’m ready. I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it.

I sat on the edge of the bed. I brushed her bangs off her forehead and spoke quietly.

—I’m scared shitless too, Camila. If you want, we stop. Really.

—I don’t want to stop. I just want it to go slow.

—Slow.

She stood up, took off the fishnets herself, pulled down her panties —the white cotton had a long dark stain in the center— and lay back down in the same position. I knelt between her legs and lifted the tulle of the dress until everything was visible. The blonde pussy, with little hair, the small pink lips, and a wetness gleaming between her thighs almost to the crease of her ass. I pushed her knees farther apart to open her up more.

—Look at how you are —I told her.

—Don’t look so much, it makes me self-conscious.

—You’re beautiful.

I lowered my face and ran my tongue from her perineum to her clit, slowly, one long, flat lick. Camila jerked on the bed and grabbed my hair with both hands, not knowing whether she was pulling me closer or pushing me away. I repeated the lick. And another. On the third, I found her swollen clit with the tip of my tongue and stayed there, circling gently. She started trembling beneath my hands.

—Ah, ah, not like that —she murmured—, it’s too much.

—Bad?

—No, too much. Wait.

I eased up. I started touching her with my middle and ring fingers, slowly, just as I had imagined a thousand times, circling the entrance, wetting my fingers with her juices and going back up to the clit. She closed her eyes. Every time I brushed a precise spot, she clenched and her thigh tightened against mine. I slid my middle finger halfway in, carefully, and felt a hot resistance squeeze around it from the inside. I pulled it out wet and shining, and pushed it back in a little farther.

We stayed like that for several minutes. I alternated the finger inside with my tongue outside, and she kept letting out air more and more audibly. When she started speaking to the ceiling in a very low voice, almost pleading, I knew it was time.

—Already? —I asked.

—Already. But put the condom on.

—Yeah, yeah.

I went through the motions. I took out the condom, tore the wrapper open with my teeth, and pretended to put it on while I kissed her neck. I wanted to feel her for real, even if only for an instant. It was stupid, one of those lies a dumb kid tells and later confesses with guilt, but in that moment it seemed like the most important thing in the world.

—Get on all fours like a kitty —I asked her.

She turned onto her knees and elbows. The light from the little hallway lamp came in strips through the crack in the door and lit up her back, the curve of her pale ass raised high, and between her open thighs the pussy glistening with wetness. I touched her waist. I knelt behind her. I brought the tip close and moved it slowly, rubbing up and down along her slit, not going in, wetting my cock with her wetness. The tip kept catching at the entrance and she kept moving her hips back, looking for me.

—Put it in already, please —she asked.

—Slowly.

I sucked my fingers and spread a little saliva on her. I pushed in a couple of inches and she tensed so hard I had to stop. She let out a cry that scared me.

—It hurts, it hurts.

I pulled out. The tip came out shiny and red. I got off the bed, opened the drawer of her parents’ nightstand like a thief, and found a little bottle of lubricant half-hidden behind some creams. I went back to the room.

—This’ll help.

—Where’d you get that?

—Don’t ask.

She gave a small laugh while I squeezed some onto my cock and some onto my fingers, and I ran my hand over her pussy until everything gleamed. We waited for the friction to change, talked about stupid things for a couple of minutes, she kissed my hand, and when I tried again, it was different. I rested the tip against the entrance and pushed with my hips, very slowly. The first stretch went in with almost no resistance. Camila took a deep breath, let out a sound halfway between pain and pleasure, and told me to keep going.

—You’re inside —she murmured, as if she couldn’t believe it.

—A little. Not all the way.

I went in halfway. She gave a short cry that made me stop again. I held her by the hips and waited, feeling her squeeze around me, her hot pussy closing around my cock, throbbing against my shaft. When she told me, “Keep going,” I kept going. I pushed in little by little, pulling out a little and then going a little farther in, until I felt my hips slam against her ass and I was all the way inside. I stayed there for a second, still, with my forehead resting against her back.

—That’s it —I told her.

—Yeah. Yeah, I can feel it now.

I started moving. First one thrust every two or three seconds, slowly, pulling almost all the way out and then sinking back in completely. She came with me, arching her back, pressing her ass back against me every time I pushed. Then I began to speed up. I grabbed her waist with both hands and fucked her with a rhythm, a clumsy rhythm but one that was finding its shape. The slap of my hips against her ass made a flat sound in the room, and she started letting out muffled moans into the pillow so she wouldn’t scream.

—Like that, like that —she murmured between moans.

—Do you like it?

—Yes, yes, keep going.

We spent almost half an hour moving carefully, changing pace, stopping to breathe, laughing sometimes from nerves. I laid her on her side with one leg up and entered her like that, seeing her breast slip out of the red dress. I turned her onto her back and left her legs over my shoulders and took her while looking at her face, my forehead pressed to hers. At one point I took advantage of the fact that she leaned forward to adjust herself and, before she could look at me again, I put the condom on for real. As if I had had it on the whole time. I kept that little betrayal between my teeth.

***

We had been at it for almost an hour and a half when we heard the front door. Two voices. A dull clatter of keys against the dish in the entryway.

—My parents —Camila whispered as if she’d been electrocuted.

—Weren’t they coming back late?

—It’s already late.

I jumped out of bed with my cock still hard and shiny, dripping lubricant and her wetness. I grabbed my clothes off the floor in one sweep, shoes in one hand and shirt crumpled in the other. Camila pointed at the closet with a panicked look on her face. I got inside and shut the doors, leaving a crack open. She pulled on an oversized sweater that covered her to mid-thigh and ran her hand through her hair at top speed.

Footsteps reached the hallway. Her father knocked on the bedroom door.

—Camila, are you awake?

—Yes, Dad, I was sleeping, what’s going on?

—We came back early. I need to get something from your room drawer.

—I’ll bring it to you now, don’t come in.

—Honey, stop messing around.

I heard all of it from inside the closet, my back pressed against a stack of sweaters, my cock still hard and wet, hanging out of the pants I hadn’t managed to pull up all the way. My heart was beating so hard I was sure it would be heard over the conversation. They talked right outside the door, she held out as best she could, her mother joined the conversation, there was a short verbal tug-of-war, and in the end Camila went out of the room herself to give them what they were looking for. Two endless minutes. I heard the click of a door closing at the end of the hall.

I came out of the closet with trembling legs.

—If they catch me, I’m dead —I said.

—Both of us are.

We lay back on the bed and laughed soundlessly for a good while. After half an hour, she got up barefoot, went to her parents’ room, and came back saying they were asleep now.

We picked up where we had left off. This time it was slower, with less fear, with more mouth. I pulled the oversized sweater off over her head and left her completely naked for the first time that night. I sucked her tits, both of them, nipping at the nipples until they grew hard and red. She grabbed my cock with her right hand and worked it while I licked her, squeezing me with more ease than the first time, no longer afraid of breaking me.

—Come here —I told her, lying back—. Now get on top of me.

She straddled me, grabbed my cock with one hand, and slowly slid herself down onto it, lowering her pussy little by little until she sat all the way on top of me. She let out a long moan and pressed her open hands against my pecs. She started moving on her own, up and down, finding the rhythm that worked for her. I held her hips and helped her, watching her face, her open mouth, half-closed eyes, her breasts bouncing each time she came down hard. I ran my thumb over her clit while she kept riding me and she shuddered, bent forward, and drove her nails into my chest.

—Oh God, oh God, something’s happening to me —she whispered against my neck.

—Come on, come on, don’t stop.

When she came, she let out a long moan against my shoulder and her arms went weak. I felt her pussy contract in waves around my cock, squeezing and releasing me as if trying to milk me. I held on a few minutes longer, turned her face-down, lifted her ass with both hands, and kept fucking her from behind, harder this time, without fear, hearing the flat slap of my balls against her cunt. Before I came, I pulled out the condom because she asked me to in a thread of a voice, climbed over her chest astride her, and worked my cock with my hand until the orgasm surged up my back. I came over her face and chest with a muffled shout that got stuck in my throat, thick ropes splashing onto her cheek, her lip, her chin, and running between her tits. Camila gave a small laugh, stuck out her tongue and licked the corner of her mouth, and looked at me as if she had just discovered something.

***

We showered together in the tiny bathroom in the hall, speaking softly so we wouldn’t wake anyone. It was two-thirty in the morning. I told her I had to get back home before her parents got up. Camila grabbed my arm at the door.

—Stay. We’ll wake up at six and you can leave before then.

—If they see me, I’m dead twice.

—They won’t see you.

I listened. We fell asleep wrapped around each other as if we’d been doing this for years. At eight-thirty, the sound of a drawer in the kitchen woke me. I nudged Camila. It was insanely late.

When we came out of the bedroom, her parents were already sitting at the table with toast served. They looked at us in silence for a second that lasted far too long.

—He came to study last night —Camila improvised—. It got late and I told him to stay on the couch.

Her father offered me coffee as if nothing had happened. Her mother poured me orange juice. We ate in a thick silence, talking about the neighbors’ Halloween party and the rain that was coming in. When I left the building at ten in the morning, still smelling like Camila’s shampoo on my neck, I knew two things: my in-laws hadn’t swallowed a single word, and I couldn’t have cared less.