She Arrived Virgin from the Coast and Changed Everything

I had my first apartment for a few months and took care of it with almost obsessive meticulousness. I lived alone because that was the only way it worked: no roommates, no one else’s rules, no having to negotiate space or schedules. Everything clean, everything orderly, everything to my taste.

That kind of privacy has advantages you only discover when you have it for the first time. I could receive whoever I wanted, whenever I wanted. And back then I spent my afternoons in forums and chat rooms, something that sounds old-fashioned now but was where all the interesting things happened then.

That’s how I met Valeria.

She showed up in a thread on a literary forum, commenting on someone else’s text. I replied. We exchanged private messages for a week and then talked every day. She told me she worked for a state-run company in her city, on the Caribbean coast, and that she also had her own business distributing office supplies. That business brought her to the capital at least once a month. She always stayed at the same hotel near the historic center. Her parents knew that hotel’s number and called her there.

She was 26. Dark-skinned, with soft features, and the sing-song accent of someone who grew up in a hot-climate city and made no apologies for it.

One night she confided something I hadn’t expected: she was still a virgin.

She said it without drama, almost as if it weighed less to tell me than to keep carrying it alone. She explained that she had grown up in a traditional family, that there was always someone watching her, and that the men she had met either didn’t interest her or got spooked when she told them the truth. I wasn’t spooked. On the contrary.

That confession changed the tone of our conversations. We started talking about what she’d like to experience, about what she imagined. She was direct, more than I would have expected from someone inexperienced. She asked me questions. We fantasized about situations. I told her about my apartment as if it were a refuge far from the world, and that made her curious.

One Tuesday she wrote me to say the company was sending her to the capital that week with paperwork for the central offices. That she would also take the chance to stock up her business. That this time she didn’t want to stay at the hotel.

I offered her my apartment without hesitation.

It took her two days to decide. The problem was cover: her parents would call the hotel looking for her. Then she found the solution: she would tell them she was staying at a college friend’s place, Claudia, who had been living in the capital for some time. If they wanted to speak with her, they could call there. And she gave them my number.

All set.

***

I went to meet her at the terminal on a Friday morning. We had only described ourselves in text, so we agreed on the clothes each of us would wear. I arrived ten minutes before her bus was announced, positioned myself near the arrivals exit, and waited.

I saw her before she saw me.

She was hard to miss. She walked dragging a small suitcase, with the bearing of someone used to moving alone through cities that weren’t hers. She wore a knee-length skirt, low-heeled sandals, and a light ivory blouse. Well-shaped legs, hips the skirt couldn’t hide, and dark hair pulled up with a few curls escaping.

She spotted me from a distance and quickened her pace.

The hug was the kind you don’t plan. Solid, real. I asked if she had slept on the way. She said no, that she had been too nervous. We laughed.

We took the metro to get to the apartment. We were squeezed into the car, as always at that hour. I put a hand on her waist so she wouldn’t lose her balance with the suitcase and kept it there. She didn’t move it away. At the next stop I edged a little closer, and when the train braked hard, she leaned into me and neither of us did anything to separate.

We got to the apartment. I gave her a quick tour: the kitchen, the bathroom, the bedroom. She looked at everything carefully, touching the back of the sofa, peering out the window. She said it was exactly how she had imagined it.

I kissed her before she finished the sentence.

It wasn’t a tense kiss. It was the kind of kiss backed by weeks of buildup. She answered with her hands on my nape, and I slid mine down to her hips. I could feel the heat of her skin through the light fabric of her skirt.

But I had to go to work. I had slipped out only to receive her.

I left her settled in with the apartment keys, explained how to get to the nearest metro station, and we agreed to meet again in the afternoon. She said goodbye with another kiss at the door, longer than the first.

***

I spent the rest of the day unable to focus on anything.

We texted through the afternoon. She finished her errands at the state offices, made her purchases for the business, and told her family she was with Claudia and would be home late. I left work earlier than usual.

I found her in the café on the corner by the apartment, with a half-finished glass of water and her phone in hand. She had changed clothes: a shorter skirt, sleeveless blouse, hair down. When she saw me arrive, she put the phone away.

We went upstairs to the apartment.

We didn’t get to the bedroom right away. We stayed on the sofa, talking first, picking up the live conversation we had had for so long only through text. But every pause filled with contact. A hand on the thigh. A kiss in the middle of a sentence. Her hand on my chest.

She was the one who took my shirt off.

I kissed her neck, her collarbone, her shoulders. I ran my fingers down her back while I unbuttoned her blouse. Underneath she wore a black lace bra I hadn’t expected from someone who had told me she had never been with a man. When I told her so, she smiled.

—I wanted to be ready —she said.

Her breasts were brown, with dark nipples that hardened as soon as I touched them. She moaned softly, without exaggeration, with the honesty of someone feeling something for the first time and not yet knowing how to hold back. I squeezed one breast in my hand, sinking my fingers into the warm weight of her flesh, and she let out a long, trembling sigh as she hunted for my mouth hungrily.

I slid the bra fabric off her shoulders and her breasts came free, round, firm, their tips hardened by my tongue. I went down to suck her nipples, one and then the other, slowly at first and then with more pressure, until she began arching against me and spreading her legs wider on the sofa. I slipped a hand under her skirt, brushing the edge of her thong, and she shuddered as my fingers slid through the wet fold between her thighs.

—You’re soaking —I murmured in her ear.

—It’s your fault —she replied, with a voice rougher than I expected.

I laid her back a little more and started touching her without hurry, first over the fabric, rubbing her cunt until I felt her belly tense. Then I pushed the thong aside and sank my fingers into the hot wetness, palping that soft, sensitive flesh, tracing circles over the clit until her breathing broke. She gripped my arm hard, eyes closed, mouth half open, repeating my name as if it were a plea.

That was when the apartment landline rang.

Both of us froze for a second. Then we remembered: it was her family. I answered.

—Good evening, is Claudia there? —said a woman’s voice.

—One moment, please —I replied, covering the receiver.

I handed the phone to Valeria. She smoothed her blouse over her shoulder and answered in a completely normal voice. She told her mother that everything was fine, that she’d finish work errands tomorrow, that yes, she was eating well, that she shouldn’t worry.

They talked for ten minutes. When she hung up, she looked at me with an expression that mixed relief and contained laughter.

—That’s it —she said.

***

We went to the bedroom.

I unfastened her skirt and let it fall. Underneath, matching underwear: black lace thong, coordinated with the bra. I stepped back only to look at her better. She was exactly as I had imagined her, but better, because she was real and standing there in front of me.

I laid her on the bed and went down slowly.

I kissed her stomach, her hips, the edge of her underwear. I heard her inhale when I pulled the fabric aside with my fingers. She was shaved, cared for, and when I spread her legs fully I found that pink, wet cunt, swollen with arousal, gleaming under the dim light of the room. I brought my tongue close and licked her from top to bottom, from the entrance to the clit, and the first moan she let out was so sharp it made me smile against her skin.

I kept eating her out patiently, opening her with my fingers to get deeper, sucking hard on the sensitive tip of her sex while she writhed on the sheets. I held her hips so she wouldn’t slip away from me, and every time I pushed my tongue further inside she answered with a short shake of her legs and a wet, undone, beautiful whimper. Her hands tangled in my hair, not to command me or stop me, but to hold on to something while I took her to the edge.

I stayed there a good while. She kept telling me in a low voice what she felt, without specific instructions, just scattered phrases that confirmed we were doing fine. When she arched her back and pressed her thighs around me, I understood she was ready.

I sat up. Went to the nightstand drawer. Came back with a condom.

She watched it with that mix of curiosity and nervousness she made no attempt to hide. Her lips were parted and her eyes bright.

I knelt between her legs and kissed her before going in. I stroked her hair, spoke close to her ear. I lined the tip of my cock up with her wet entrance and pushed slowly, very slowly, feeling the tense ring of her cunt squeeze me at first, then yield little by little with every centimeter I advanced.

She made a sound that was neither pain nor pleasure, but both at once. She clutched my shoulders and closed her eyes. I kept moving calmly, letting her get used to it, going in just a little more each time until at last I was all the way inside. I held still for a moment, breathing against her neck, feeling her pulse around me, hot and tight, as if she were measuring me entirely.

—Tell me if you want me to stop —I said.

—Don’t stop —she replied.

I started moving slowly, pulling out only a little and then pushing back in, letting her feel every thrust. Her hips trembled under my hands. When she saw there was no reason left to resist, she began pushing toward me with a need rising from her whole body. Then I grabbed her legs and spread her thighs wider, driving in a little harder, listening to the wet sound of our bodies slapping together.

I kissed her breasts, her neck, her mouth. I asked if she was okay. She said yes with her eyes still closed, and then she said more, more, like this, don’t stop, while her breathing grew short and her cunt tightened in little spasms around my cock. The hand I had free went back between her legs, rubbing her clit with my thumb so the pleasure would climb again, faster, more intense. She moaned with her mouth open and bit my shoulder, not hurting me, only letting me feel the edge of her teeth and the desperation of her body.

Then I turned her onto her stomach.

Her hips were generous, her buttocks firm and brown. I stayed still for a second, just looking, before settling in again. She bent her elbows slightly over the pillow and waited. When I entered her from behind, she let out a clearer moan than any of the previous ones.

We found a rhythm. She pushed back every time I thrust forward, and that made everything more intense. I put my hands on her hips and pulled her toward me. I could feel her tightening around me, involuntary, pure reflex. I spread her ass cheeks with one hand to see better, to watch my cock disappear and come back out of that wet, slick cunt, each time more sensitive. The impact of my hips against her ass sounded dry in the room, mixed with her moans and the slosh of wetness between her legs.

—Like that, like that —she murmured, without thinking, voice broken.

I picked up the pace when she started asking for it with her breathing and with her body. The bed creaked beneath us. She clutched the sheets as if she wanted to tear them off. I went in and out until I felt the heat rising through my abdomen, until each thrust brought me closer to the edge. I dropped one hand again between her thighs and pressed firmly on the clit, brushing it with short movements while I kept fucking her from behind, and that made her lose all composure. Her arms gave out, her ass opened wider, and the orgasm took her entire body in one long, wet shudder, with a moan that turned into a muffled scream against the pillow.

I held out as long as I could.

When I couldn’t anymore, I came with my forehead pressed to her back and my fingers digging into her hips. She clenched at the same time, with a muffled sound and her hands clenched in the sheets.

We stayed like that for a moment without moving, without speaking.

***

Afterward we took turns in the bathroom. She came back to bed in her underwear and I lay down beside her. We looked at each other in the half-darkness of the room, without needing to say anything important.

—Are you okay? —I asked.

—Very okay —she said. And she meant it; you could tell.

There was something different about her. Something looser, more assured. As if that weight she had carried for years had finally been left somewhere else.

We stayed talking about nothing in particular. Then I got hungry and so did she. We dressed without hurry, without the tension of before. She put on another short skirt and some sandals. When we stepped out into the hallway and crossed paths with a neighbor, I didn’t care in the slightest.

Valeria walked differently. Or maybe I looked at her differently.

We had several days ahead of us. That had only been the first night.