The First Time That Didn’t Go as Planned

Camila and I had been seeing each other for almost a month. We weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend, but we weren’t just friends either: we were that awkward in-between stage where every message has a double meaning, where every accidental brush lingers in the memory longer than it should. We sent each other voice notes at midnight. We stayed talking in her doorway until the cold forced us to say goodnight. We knew exactly where all of it was headed. Only the moment was missing.

I was twenty-one. She was nineteen. We were both virgins, although neither of us had said it out loud yet. We sensed it. When you reached that age without having fucked anyone, there was something in the way you handled boundaries, in the deliberate clumsiness of your caresses, that gave you away to the other person without needing words.

We had touched each other, yes. In the back seat of a car, in the doorway of her house, one night on a friend’s sofa while the others slept. Hands exploring over clothes, breaths quickening, abrupt stops when someone came near. Once I had managed to brush her tits under her bra, and she had squeezed my cock over my jeans, feeling how hard it was, and both times we had pulled away with dry mouths and pounding pulses. We knew what we wanted. We just needed the place.

The carnival night seemed to be the answer to everything.

***

We met at ten in the central square. I had dressed as a Roman gladiator: a short tunic made of thick fabric, a golden plastic breastplate that crackled when I walked, sandals that pinched from the very first step. It wasn’t the most comfortable costume in the world, but Camila had picked it well, and when I saw her arrive I understood why it had seemed like such a good idea.

She was dressed as a Greek nymph: a very light white dress, fitted from her shoulders to her thighs, with a golden ribbon in her hair and strappy sandals that climbed her calves. She had painted her eyes with something dark that made them look bigger. When she looked at me from the corner, I had to breathe slowly before walking over to her. Beneath the pale fabric her nipples showed through, and I made myself not look down any more than necessary.

“You look incredible,” I told her.

“So do you.” She looked me up and down with a smile I knew well, the one that wasn’t entirely innocent. “Although those sandals are a bit market-stall.”

I laughed. The nerves eased a little.

We joined a group of friends in a bar on the main street. There was open bar until one, music too loud to talk over, and that reddish light that makes everyone look hotter than they really are. We drank. Not too much, but enough for the edges of the world to soften a little and the doubts to grow quieter.

At midnight, Camila came up behind me and wrapped her arms around my waist. I felt her body pressed to mine, her tits against my back, the warmth of her through the thin fabric of my costume, and I knew there wasn’t much space left between desire and decision. My cock started swelling under the tunic and I had to spread my legs a little.

“Do we stay here?” she asked in my ear.

“What do you want?” I replied.

She pressed closer still. She moved her hips just slightly, rubbing herself against the bulge that showed from behind. That was answer enough.

***

The plan was to go to Marcos’s place. He lived only four blocks away, always left the door unlocked when there was a party, and nobody asked questions. We walked quickly, hands entwined and not talking much. The street was full of costumes, music spilling from every bar, people shouting from balconies. But all I could feel was the heat of Camila’s hand in mine and the sound of her breathing when we brushed against each other as we walked.

When we got to Marcos’s doorway, the door was standing wide open. Inside: twelve people in the living room, as many more in the kitchen, someone asleep on the sofa with a crooked cardboard crown over their face. There wasn’t a free corner anywhere.

We went back out into the street and looked at each other.

“My place is ten minutes away,” Camila said.

“Let’s go.”

We walked fast. February air stung our faces, but neither of us felt the cold. We barely spoke. There was a tension between us that didn’t need words, one that was more honest without them: the tension of knowing exactly what was about to happen and not wanting to ruin it.

When we reached the entrance of her building, Camila stopped short.

“My parents are home,” she said.

We had forgotten. Or we had ignored it, which isn’t the same thing.

“Ah,” I said.

We stood in silence for a moment. She looked up, toward the stairs spiraling through the inside of the entrance.

“The top floor’s been empty for months. The penthouse neighbor moved in with her daughter.”

I looked at her.

“Are you sure?”

“No,” she answered honestly. Then she laughed, a little nervously. “But it doesn’t matter.”

***

We climbed the stairs on foot so as not to make noise with the elevator. The stairwell smelled of damp and old paint. On every landing, a flickering bulb. Camila went ahead of me, her white dress moving slightly with the rhythm of her steps, and from where I followed her I could make out the shape of her ass beneath the fabric each time she climbed a step. My cock was fully hard before the second floor, and I could feel it bumping against the edge of the tunic with every step.

On the fourth floor we stopped. No one was there. The whole building seemed asleep, and the only sound was the distant echo of music from the street and our own breathing.

Camila turned to me and kissed me. It wasn’t like the kisses before, cautious and measured: this was a kiss with no way back. She slipped her tongue in without asking, with a decisiveness I hadn’t known in her, and I sucked on it slowly, trapping it between my teeth. I felt her open hand on my chest, searching for the edge of the tunic, and I put mine on her waist and pulled her close until there was no space at all between us. She immediately felt my hard cock pressing into her belly, and instead of pulling away she pressed harder, rubbing herself against it.

We leaned against the wall of the landing. Above us, the bulb on that floor was burned out, so there was only the light rising from below, dim and orange. We couldn’t see well, but it was enough. Maybe it was better that way.

I ran my hands over her shoulders, her back, her hips. I slid one hand down to her ass and squeezed it fully through the dress, and she let out a low moan into my mouth. Then I moved up front, to her tits, and pinched her nipple through the fabric until I felt it harden under my finger. She wasn’t wearing a bra. She buried her fingers in my hair and pressed me harder against the wall. The urgency of weeks of waiting needed an outlet, and at last it had one.

I pulled back a little to look at her.

“Do you have a condom?” I asked.

She shook her head, never taking her eyes off mine.

“Neither do I.”

We stayed like that, foreheads almost touching, breathing in short gasps. Her hand slowly lowered to the hem of my tunic, slipped underneath, and took my cock for the first time, skin against skin. A gasp escaped me. She held it for a moment, squeezing it with curiosity, measuring it with her fingers, and smiled at the way it jumped in her hand.

“We can do other things,” she said softly.

I don’t know why that simple sentence turned me on more than everything before it. I stroked her cheek while she kept closing her fist around my dick.

“Are you sure you want this?”

“I’ve wanted this for weeks,” she answered, and squeezed me harder to make it clear.

***

I lifted her dress slowly, giving her time to stop me if she wanted. She didn’t. I raised it to her waist and held it there, the hem wrinkled against the skin of her belly. She wore plain white cotton panties, simple ones, and at the center a dark patch of dampness showed through. I stroked her thighs from the inside, up and down, still not quite touching her pussy, and she started moving her hips, seeking my fingers.

I lowered my hand to the edge of her panties, pulled the fabric aside, and touched her directly for the first time. Her pussy was soaked, swollen, with the lips already open from how badly she wanted it. She sucked in a sharp breath and grabbed my arm, digging her nails in.

“Fuck,” she whispered.

She was very aroused. That relieved a tension I hadn’t known I was carrying: I had been afraid all the desire was an illusion of mine, that the waiting had built everything in my head. But it wasn’t. It was there, real and solid under my fingers, dripping between them.

I ran my middle finger between her lips, up and down, soaking it completely before moving up to her clit. I found it hard, swollen, and I started moving my finger in small circles, very slowly, watching her face to see what she liked. When I changed the rhythm and made the circles faster, she threw her head back against the wall and bit her lip.

“Like that,” she said. “Like that, like that.”

I slid one finger inside her. She was hot, tight, and the moment I pushed it all the way in, she clenched around it. I began moving it, in and out, while my thumb kept working her clit. She held onto my arm with one hand and searched for me under the tunic with the other.

When she grabbed my cock again, this time she didn’t let go. She started stroking me at the same rhythm I was using on her, awkward at first, then finding the beat. She dragged the skin all the way down, pressed the head with her palm, and slid back up. I had to bite my tongue not to moan too loudly.

“Wait,” she said suddenly.

We moved clumsily, with no choreography and no elegance. At some point she complained because I was pressing her against the railing and we had to readjust our positions. We both laughed, with that uncomfortable laugh that comes when reality doesn’t quite match the fantasy beforehand. It was an odd moment: ridiculous and intimate at once, and somehow that made it more real.

“Better like this,” she said, settling into the corner, one leg slightly raised and resting on the step above.

I nodded. That position left her wide open, and I drove my fingers into her again with a better angle, this time sliding in two at once. A deeper moan escaped her, and she hurried to cover it with her hand.

I kissed her more slowly this time. Without so much urgency, with more attention. She responded differently too: with more confidence, with firmer hands, with a more determined mouth. She guided my hand against her pussy, setting the rhythm she wanted, and when I hit the right spot she stopped kissing me and stayed with her mouth open against mine, panting softly.

Without words, we had agreed not to try penetration without a condom. It wasn’t a long conversation; it was a look and a gesture and the silent understanding that there would be other nights, better prepared. Tonight was this: learning how to touch each other, learning how to recognize each other, learning what made her close her eyes and what made me clench my teeth.

***

I made her come with my fingers. It took longer than either of us had imagined, maybe because we were both nervous, maybe because the position was uncomfortable, maybe because the adrenaline of being on that staircase with the constant risk of someone opening a door kept us both in a state of alert that didn’t help us relax completely.

But she got there. I kept two fingers inside her, bent upward, pressing that spongy spot that made her writhe every time I brushed it, and my thumb pinned to her clit, drawing quick circles. I felt her start trembling. Her belly tightened, she rose onto her toes with her weight on my shoulder, and all at once her pussy clenched around my fingers with a force I hadn’t expected. I felt her come in waves, soaking my hand, heard a muffled sound she covered with her palm, and then she relaxed completely against me, all the weight of her body surrendering.

I pulled my fingers out slowly, shining with her juices, and without thinking much about it I brought them to my mouth. She saw me and let out a nervous laugh.

“You’re insane.”

“You know it.”

We stayed still for a moment. She with her head against my chest, still breathing hard. Me with my free hand on her hip and my heart racing and my cock throbbing under the tunic.

“Your turn,” she said softly.

She knelt in front of me with a naturalness I hadn’t expected from either of us in that first encounter. She lifted my tunic with both hands and held it against my belly, leaving my cock exposed, hard and taut and pointing at her face. She looked at it from below for a moment, as if not quite sure where to begin, and then wrapped her hand around the base and moved closer.

The first lick was timid, barely a flick of the tongue under the head. A moan escaped me, much too loud, and she laughed under her breath, emboldened. The second lick was long, from base to tip, and then she took the whole head into her mouth. I braced my back against the cold wall and closed my eyes.

I felt her go down slowly, swallowing what she could, choking a little when she tried to reach farther. She pulled back, took air, and took me in again, this time setting a rhythm with her hand at the base and her mouth closed over the top half. She sucked with her whole face, cheeks hollowed, leaving my cock glossy with saliva each time she pulled all the way off to breathe.

It wasn’t perfect, technically speaking. Her teeth grazed me from time to time and I could feel her correcting herself, learning on the fly which angle worked best. It was the first time for both of us, and it showed. But the awkwardness of those first attempts had something no later experience could ever replicate exactly: the raw thrill of something completely unknown, the sense that every second was brand-new territory neither of us had ever set foot on before.

I put a hand on the back of her neck, not pushing, just guiding. She understood and sped up a little, sucking my cock with more eagerness, looking up at me from below with shining eyes.

“I’m going to cum,” I warned through my teeth.

She didn’t pull away. She took my cock out of her mouth just before, held it pointing upward, and started jerking me off fast with her closed fist, her tongue peeking out and pressed against the head. With two or three more strokes I let go. I came in thick spurts, and she took some of the semen on her tongue and some on her cheek and chin, never stopping her hand until the last shudder.

I felt something that had been building tension for weeks, for years maybe, finally let go.

She stayed kneeling for a moment, her face stained, and then she wiped her cheek with her thumb and licked it clean. Seeing that almost made me lose it again.

***

We straightened our clothes in silence. I brought the hem of her dress down and she wiped her face with the inside of the fabric. Below, through the doorway of the entrance, the distant noise of the street party drifted up. Someone passed on the sidewalk shouting the lyrics to a song I didn’t recognize. The city kept going with its night, knowing nothing about us.

“Are you okay?” I asked her.

Camila looked at me and smiled. It was a different smile from all the ones before it: calmer, grounded in something real.

“Yes,” she said. “And you?”

“Yes.”

We went downstairs together, slowly, not letting go of each other’s hand. In the entrance we kissed again, this time without urgency, without the weight of expectation. Just for the pleasure of it. I could still taste my cum in her mouth, and I didn’t care.

That night wasn’t what either of us had imagined. There was no bed, no soft music, no romance like the movies associate with first times. There was a cold staircase, a burned-out bulb, soaked fingers and a cock that came in the mouth of a girl who, until that night, had never sucked anyone. Two people who didn’t really know what they were doing but wanted to do it together.

Months later, once we had more experience behind us, once we were fucking in her bed and mine with condoms to hand and no rush, we kept talking about that night. Not with shame, nor with the feeling that it should have been different. We remembered it as something completely ours: imperfect, real, unwitnessed, unscripted.

With time, that turned out to be exactly enough.