The First Time Someone Made Me Lose My Mind

I lost my virginity late. Very late. And not because I wasn’t interested in sex —I was obsessed with it, consumed by it, kept awake until three in the morning with my mind racing and my hard dick pressed against my navel— but because something in me froze every time the possibility came close. I’m five foot eight, I’ve always been thin, and people used to say I had a good presence. But no compliment ever managed to convince me that I was the kind of person someone could want.

I masturbated constantly. It was my only real release, and I’m not exaggerating when I say I jerked off between ten and fifteen times a day at my worst. I loved the smell of semen soaked into the sheets, the sticky texture of my load between my fingers, the feeling of control over something that in the rest of my life always slipped completely out of my hands. I’d finish with my hand covered in cum, my breathing ragged, and twenty minutes later I was back again with my cock in my hand, imagining mouths, open cunts, raised asses. My body made me doubt myself, especially when it came to size. Five inches seemed insufficient to me until, with time and experience, I began to understand that mine had more thickness than length, and that that broad cock, with its pronounced veins and thick glans, was far more interesting than I had imagined.

Porn came late into my life too. We didn’t have a video player at home until well into the nineties, and the first time I saw a porn film I was already an adult. I was left speechless. I had never imagined that a woman could kneel with that attitude, with that mix of willingness and pleasure, and swallow a whole cock all the way to the throat the way that actress did on screen. I watched her drool, suck with her eyes closed, stick out her tongue to take the cum on her face, and I came three times in a row watching the same scene. From that moment on, I was hooked. Oral sex became my central fantasy, what fueled my masturbation sessions, what kept me from sleeping. I dreamed of hot mouths closing around the glans, of tongues licking my balls, of women sucking me with real hunger.

I had a girlfriend then. Her name was Verónica. She was decent, pretty in her own way, and completely closed off physically. She let me brush against her over her clothes, nothing more. Sometimes I could rest my hand on her hips or feel the heat of her back through the fabric, but never more. She never touched me. Not once in months of being together. And I took that rejection as proof that something in me didn’t work, that there was some invisible defect women picked up on instinctively.

What I did like about Verónica was when one bra strap slipped down under the shoulder of her T-shirt. That detail turned me on in a way I couldn’t explain. It’s still a fetish. I’m very attracted to a woman who wears that kind of clothing with some awareness of her own body, who knows what she has and lets it peek out without making a scandal of it.

***

The first moment that changed something in me happened at university. That day I was wearing sweatpants, which wasn’t usual for me. I went to sit near two classmates who were alone in the classroom: Valeria and Sofía. Valeria was one of those people who operate on their own frequency. She talked about sex with a naturalness that left all of us a little bewildered. Sometimes she’d touch her chest in front of the group as if she were adjusting her clothes, with no shame at all. On occasion she had said, looking directly at some of the guys, that she’d like to know what their cocks looked like inside their pants, whether they were thick or long, whether they got hard easily. When she included me in comments like that, I felt my heart speed up and my brain short-circuit.

That day I went over to them with no particular intention. Valeria held out her hand, pointed her index finger at my crotch, and said with a smile:

—It’s crooked.

And she was right. My cock was lying horizontally and showed perfectly through my pants, even soft. She pulled her finger away immediately, with a smile that made it clear she had done it spontaneously, almost reflexively. Sofía tensed up beside her. Without thinking too much about what I was saying, I replied:

—Straighten it out for me.

Valeria looked at me for a second, as if assessing whether I was serious. I told her I was. Then, with a calm that I found incredibly arousing, she laid her palm over the fabric and made a slow movement, as if measuring the weight of what was underneath. She closed her fingers around my cock through my pants, squeezed it gently, ran her hand from the base to the glans, and I felt it start to swell against her hand. It wasn’t exactly straightening anything out. It was something else entirely. It was a slow handjob through clothes, done in broad daylight in the classroom.

Then she slipped her fingers into the waistband of my pants and asked Sofía if she wanted to see too. Sofía jumped up, muttered a barely audible “no,” and left the room. Valeria shouted after her to watch the hall, without losing her composure.

When we were alone, she asked if I’d let her look. I nodded. She pulled my pants down, underwear included, and my cock sprang out hard, stiff, pointing at the ceiling. A tiny “oh” escaped her throat. At that moment a strand of pre-cum stretched between the fabric and the glans, shiny, long, refusing to break. Valeria didn’t look away. She kept watching the scene with a smile that wasn’t mockery, something closer to genuine appreciation.

—What a thick one you have —she murmured—. Look at it drooling on you.

She stretched out a finger carefully to follow the strand without breaking it. Then she touched the tip of the glans to collect the fluid, pressing softly on the opening with the pad of her finger. I trembled all over, because the contact was minimal but the situation had me right on the edge. I felt a spasm rise from my balls and a fat drop of pre-cum burst out clear over the head. She laughed, rubbed her fingers together, noticing the sticky texture, brought her hand to her nose and smelled it. Then she brought her fingers to her mouth, took them in whole, and sucked them with her eyes closed.

—I like your dick —she said—. It tastes very good.

That word. Dick. I had never heard it said like that, with that cadence, while looking me in the eyes. It left a mark on me that’s still there today. There’s something about the way that word sounds in certain women’s mouths that turns me on instantly.

Valeria had a caramel lollipop in her coat pocket. She took it out, licked it once, and then slowly ran it over the glans, coating it with the fluid that kept seeping out. She wrapped the tip in the candy, spun it around as if she were painting my cock, and then put the lollipop in her mouth and sucked it slowly, letting the mixed taste fill her tongue. She brought it back down, slid it along the frenulum, rolled it around the glans, and with her other hand she grabbed the base and slowly jerked me off, squeezing. Every movement sent a shiver through me. My cock pulsed in her fist on its own, the thick vein down the center standing out, my balls tightening against my skin.

—You’re about to come, aren’t you? —she whispered, never stopping her hand—. I can feel you throbbing. If I put it in my mouth now, you’d empty in two seconds.

I nodded without a sound. I wanted to tell her to suck it, to swallow it all, to let me dump my cum down her throat, that that was the only thing missing from my life. She opened her mouth slowly, stuck out her pink tongue and brought it toward the glans, and I was already feeling her hot breath brush the tip when Sofía came running in.

—They’re coming.

Valeria reluctantly pulled her hand away, gave the cock one last lick of air two inches from it, and sighed in frustration. I covered myself as best I could and sat down. I was completely hard, swollen, sticky with caramel and pre-cum, and it took me several minutes to calm down. The fabric of my pants was stuck to my glans and every rub made me jump. Valeria, sitting beside me, kept savoring the lollipop with deliberate slowness. Her tongue appeared and disappeared over the candy and every so often she glanced at me sideways with an expression that knew exactly the effect she was having. She knew perfectly well she was licking my taste, and she wanted me to know it too.

After that I tried to get closer to her again, but she gave no sign. She didn’t reject me outright, nor did she offer me anything. She stayed in that ambiguous territory that led me to weeks of analysis. I wondered if my size hadn’t seemed enough to her. I wondered if I wasn’t what she was looking for. I never knew.

***

Months later I broke up with Verónica, for reasons that had nothing to do with sex, although sex weighed on it too. I started going out more, going to parties, trying to relate to people in a different way. One night I ended up on a dark sofa with a girl named Rebeca. We made out, I slid my hand under her skirt, moved the edge of her panties aside and found her cunt soaked. I touched her slowly, with two fingers between her wet lips, searching for her swollen clit and rubbing it in circles until she started panting into my neck. I slipped in one finger, then two, and felt her pussy tighten around them as she ground herself against my hand. I kept at it for a good while, feeling her get slicker and slicker, hearing muffled moans against my shoulder. Then she returned the favor for about a minute —pulled out my cock, squeezed it a couple of times, moved my hand up and down with obvious reluctance— and left. One minute. I was left alone, my dick out, shiny with spit and need, and with that feeling that something in me still wasn’t attractive enough for anyone.

The party was in an apartment I didn’t know well. Rebeca’s aunt lived there, a woman in her forties named Elena. She wasn’t pretty in the conventional sense, but she did have something physical that was attractive: a calm presence, full lips that looked made for sucking, a round ass outlined beneath her dress, and a way of moving that suggested she knew exactly what she was. That night she’d had quite a bit to drink.

When most people left, Elena rearranged the sofa so she could lie down. She told me that if I wanted to stay, I should, the neighborhood was far and the night was already late. I stayed. We fell asleep side by side without touching.

At some point in the middle of the night I woke up on my back. Elena’s thigh was resting between my legs, warming me directly over a cock that was already half hard. The feeling was so good I didn’t want to move. I started making tiny, almost imperceptible movements, rubbing against her thigh with the fabric of my pants frictioning over the glans, to see if she’d react. She woke up. I pretended to keep sleeping.

I felt her move. Then I noticed her hands searching for the waistband of my pants. She touched my arm to wake me, and when I opened my eyes she asked, her voice still rough with sleep:

—Can I take it out?

I told her yes. She opened my pants carefully and took a moment to maneuver because I was already fully hard. When she finally freed it, the cock stood rigid in her hand, thick, the shiny glans peeking between her fingers. She spit a good warm mouthful into her palm and wrapped it around me completely. She started stroking me slowly, going up and down with a twist of her wrist on each pass, squeezing when she reached the glans. I felt the heat of her palm, the measured rhythm, the exact pressure. It was the first time anyone had touched me with that kind of concentration, as if my body truly mattered to her. With her thumb she caressed the opening, spreading the pre-cum that came out bit by bit, and every touch there made me grit my teeth.

Then she whispered in my ear that she’d been surprised. That I was very big. She was lying, and we both knew it, but at that moment nothing mattered.

—What a delicious cock —she said, shaking it slowly against her own cheek, letting me feel the bone—. So thick, look at it. The liquid’s coming out of you and everything.

She asked me to close my eyes and stay still.

First her tongue. Slow, flat, exploring from the base to the tip, gathering the pre-cum that had spilled down my side. I felt her lick my balls one by one, take them into her mouth and roll them with her tongue. Then she moved up along the thick vein that crossed my shaft, dragging her whole tongue, and reached the glans and kissed it with pressed lips before opening her mouth. Her lips closing around the head, going down, swallowing centimeter by centimeter until I felt the tip bump against the back of her throat. She came back up. Down again. She made a pressure motion with her mouth that drove me completely insane, something between sucking and milking, as if she were trying to draw my cum out by vacuum force, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from making a sound. Her cheeks hollowed every time she went back up. Her tongue never stopped working under me, pressing my frenulum against the roof of her mouth.

I lifted my head to look at her. Her hair was loose, tousled, her face wet with saliva and an expression completely surrendered to what she was doing. A strand of drool hung from her chin to my balls. She looked unbelievably good like that, mouth full of cock, eyes half-closed in her own pleasure. She gestured for me to close my eyes again.

At one point, without warning, she sat up, pulled her nightgown up over her hips —I caught a glimpse of her dark cunt, bare, shining with wetness— and slid me into it. She lowered herself slowly onto my cock and I felt her wrap around me completely, tight, hot, wet in a way I had never felt before. No condom. I tensed immediately. Pleasure cut off hard, replaced by an unease I couldn’t ignore. I asked her to stop, to go get a condom. She understood without me needing to explain further and got up, leaving my cock free, shining with her juices.

There were no condoms in the apartment. But there was another option, she said, smiling while she licked her lips, tasting herself. She went back down.

What followed lasted almost an hour. Elena wasn’t in a hurry. She took my cock with both hands and started again, this time with no rush at all, as if she had the whole night ahead of her. She alternated rhythms, pressures, angles. She sucked me slowly, swallowing me to the base and holding me there, with her nose pressed against my belly, while her throat pulsed around the glans. Then she’d pull off with a wet noise and whip my cock against her tongue, letting me see the saliva mixed with my pre-cum dripping from it. Sometimes she would stop and run my cock across her lips as if she were applying something, slowly, side to side, painting her mouth glossy. Other times she pressed it against her cheek and closed her eyes, and I could see the bulge marked inside her face. She took my balls into her mouth one after another while she kept giving me a slow handjob. It looked pornographic in the best possible way. Her makeup had smeared and there was black beneath her eyes. Her hair fell across her face. Saliva ran down her chin and soaked her cleavage. She smelled of sea salt and something sweet I couldn’t identify.

At one point she turned around and presented her ass to me while she kept sucking me from the side. With one hand she spread her cheeks and let me see her cunt open, swollen lips, the clit sticking out thick. She ran two fingers over it, slid them in, pulled them out glistening, and brought them to my nose so I could smell before she took my cock back into her mouth. The smell of wet cunt mixed with the heat of her mouth around my glans nearly made me finish right then and there.

At a certain point she changed pace. She got more intense, more determined. She started sucking faster, pressing her lips against the shaft, moving her head up and down in a steady rhythm, while one hand jerked the base and the other squeezed my balls, and I understood she wanted me to come. I delayed it as much as I could because I didn’t want it to end. I clenched my ass, held my breath, thought about anything else. When I finally focused and let go, I felt the orgasm rising from my balls like a long physical shock. The first bursts filled her mouth at once and she didn’t pull away: she kept sucking, swallowing what she could, letting the rest run from the corners of her mouth. She didn’t stop. She kept moving with my cum in her mouth, sucking me while I emptied, milking out the last drop, and somewhere along the way she made a sound from deep in her throat, something between a moan and a sigh muffled by semen, and went still. She had come too, just from that, just from having my cock in her mouth and feeling me finish.

She slowly sat up, without swallowing yet. She opened her mouth so I could see the white cum pooled on her tongue, rolled it around with the tip as if it were candy, then closed her lips and swallowed in one go, eyes closed. She ran a finger along the corner of her mouth, gathered what had spilled out, and licked it off.

We fell asleep after that. Before I left that morning, she tried again. She woke me by sucking me again, with my cock already in her mouth before I opened my eyes, and stayed a long while between my legs, changing hands, changing angles, spitting on the glans to keep it slick. She didn’t manage to make me come; I was hard but completely emptied. I ended up masturbating in front of her, my cock in my own hand and her kneeling beside the sofa watching me jerk off, mouth open and tongue out, waiting. When I finally felt I was about to shoot, I aimed upward, and what was left I left on her face: two thick jets landed on her, one on her cheek and another crossing her forehead into her hair. She didn’t wipe it off. She ran her fingers over her face, collected the semen and brought it slowly to her mouth, staring straight at me. I walked home with the sun already high and my clothes rumpled, feeling for the first time in a long while that something inside me had moved into a different place.

***

Elena wrote to me several times after that. Direct messages, no beating around the bush: that she missed me, that she wanted to do it again, that she needed my cock in her mouth again. The niece, Rebeca, also wrote to me at some point, jealous of something she hadn’t quite witnessed. I imagine the rumor spread.

I never picked things back up with Elena. She wanted more than I could give, and that made things difficult for me. What we had stayed in that one night and in the concrete fact that she had given me what I’d been waiting for years to find: someone who truly enjoyed sucking me, who didn’t treat it like a favor or an obligation, who came just from having my cock in her mouth.

That was my beginning. It took me much longer to have full sex with someone, but that night planted something in me that never left. The obsession with oral sex. The attraction to women who have that uninhibited attitude, that self-contained pleasure that asks no permission. The fetishes I discovered almost without realizing it: a word used at exactly the right moment, a gaze held too long, a mouth that knows what it’s doing and isn’t in a hurry to prove it.

Valeria never gave me anything more. But I never forgot her either. There are things that don’t need to be completed in order to stay etched in you.