The Night Valeria Had Her First Time

It was a Tuesday in December when I met Valeria.

I had made plans with Marcos at his apartment to organize the details for the year-end gathering we had every December since we had been classmates at university. He was one of those friends you don’t need to see every day for the friendship to stay alive, the kind who show up when they’re needed and aren’t needed to disappear.

I arrived a little after seven. I rang the buzzer and she opened the door.

She was tall, with dark hair falling over her shoulders and light eyes that contrasted with everything else. She was wearing a simple T-shirt and tight jeans, and she looked at me with that expression of someone who wasn’t expecting visitors but wasn’t bothered by them either. She wasn’t Marcos’s girlfriend, I knew that immediately. There was something in the way he introduced her, too casual, as if he wanted to downplay the situation.

—Valeria, a classmate from university —he said, already back in the kitchen—. Sergio, the idiot I told you about.

She held out her hand. Her handshake was firm and brief. She didn’t look away.

—I know who you are —she said, and settled back onto the couch without explaining any further.

I spent the next hour listening to Marcos talk about the music for the party, how many people would confirm, whether we should order food or cook something. But part of my attention was always where Valeria was. She knew it. Every time she looked up from her phone and found me staring at her, instead of getting uncomfortable she would smile faintly, as if all of it were a game that had already begun without my noticing.

When she got up to leave, I followed her to the door under the pretense of getting my coat.

—Are you going to the twelfth’s party? —I asked.

—Depends —she said, looking for her keys in her bag without looking at me.

—On what?

She looked up. She had a way of holding eye contact that was direct without being aggressive, confident without being arrogant.

—Whether there’s anyone interesting.

She gave me her number before leaving. I didn’t have to ask for it.

***

The following days were a silent negotiation through the phone. Messages that said little but promised a lot. She always replied with a certain delay, not rudely but deliberately, as if she wanted to make it clear she had her own life and her own timing. I liked that.

I sent her a photo of a book we were reading in the same class, one of those Latin American authors professors assign because they feel they should. She replied with a comment that made me laugh to myself in my room. From there the conversation became smoother, more honest. At some point the messages turned more direct: she asked me what I had liked about her when I saw her, and when I told her it was her mouth and her legs, she answered with a simple “good,” which left me thinking about it all afternoon. One night she texted late, already in bed, and asked if I was alone. I said yes. “Me too,” she answered. Nothing else happened over chat, but it stayed there, floating.

By the time the weekend arrived, we had already agreed to meet before the party.

—I’ll pick you up —I wrote.

—No need.

—I know there’s no need. I’m going anyway.

A long pause. Then: “Good.”

I picked her up at her place on the twelfth at nine at night. When she opened the door, it took me a second to react. She had put on a dark, short dress that outlined her figure with a precision that made it hard to think about anything else. She had painted her lips a discreet red and wore her hair tied up, with a few loose strands on her neck. She smelled good, in that way that doesn’t identify any specific perfume but belongs directly to the person.

—Are you okay? —she asked, amused.

—Yeah —I lied. The truth was I had gotten hard just seeing her, and it was hard to hide it in the pants I was wearing.

We walked the few blocks to the bar where the group was meeting. We talked about anything: finals that hadn’t been taken, summer plans, a movie we had both seen without knowing the other had seen it too. But there was something under that conversation, a current neither of us named. When our arms brushed as we walked, neither of us moved away. It was a small contact, almost accidental, but repeated too many times to be a coincidence.

At the bar the group was already there. Music, drinks, the usual noise of those December nights when everyone celebrates different things for the same excuse. Valeria greeted the people she knew, laughed easily, moved with that ease of someone comfortable anywhere. But every so often she would look for me from the other side of the group, and when our eyes met, something happened that had no name but that we both understood perfectly. At one point she walked behind me to get to the bar and squeezed my ass with her hand, without looking at me, continuing on as if nothing had happened. My mouth went dry.

Around midnight, I leaned in and said in her ear:

—Want to get out of here?

She didn’t hesitate.

***

I don’t remember exactly how we got onto the subject. It was outside the bar, I think, or maybe while walking nowhere in particular. What I do remember is the exact moment. We were standing in front of a lit storefront waiting for the light to change, and she said in that calm voice of hers, as if it were something unimportant:

—I never went all the way with anyone. I never fucked, I mean.

I looked at her.

—By choice or by circumstance?

—Both. I never wanted it enough for it to be worth someone fucking me.

She said it without lowering her voice, with the same naturalness she’d had when ordering a drink at the bar. The light changed. We crossed in silence. When we reached the other side, I stopped.

—And now? —I asked.

She turned around and looked straight at me. There was cold in the street and the noise of the city, and her cheeks were slightly flushed and her eyes very still.

—Now I want to —she said—. I want you to fuck me.

I hailed a cab.

***

We found a hotel a few blocks away, one of those places with a dim lobby and hallways with thick carpet that swallows the sound of footsteps. The receptionist gave us the key without asking anything. The room was simple but clean: a large bed, heavy curtains, a bedside lamp casting a warm, low light.

Valeria went in first and stood in the middle of the room, looking around with an expression that wasn’t exactly nerves. It was more like focus, like someone who wants to be fully present in what’s happening and not miss anything.

I came up behind her and moved a strand of hair away from her neck. I kissed the exposed skin slowly, feeling the warmth radiating from her. I heard her breathe in deeply. I slid a hand around her waist and up until I was squeezing one of her tits over the dress. It was firm, warm, and her nipple hardened under the fabric at the first touch.

—Are you okay? —I asked quietly.

—Yes —she said—. Stop asking that and fuck me already.

I turned to face her. We looked at each other for a moment before kissing. Her lips were soft, and she kissed in a way that was at once confident and curious, like someone who knows what she wants but is still learning how to ask for it. Her tongue slipped into my mouth without shyness, searching for mine, and when I barely bit her lower lip, she let out a low moan that went straight to my cock.

I unzipped her dress very slowly. She didn’t move. She just held my gaze while the dress fell to the floor. She was left standing there in a black bra and panties, with a calm that completely undid me. Her tits were bigger than the dress had let on, round, high, and the panties outlined her pussy with such neatness that it made me think she had prepared for this night.

—Take my clothes off —I told her.

She opened my shirt button by button, unhurried. Pulled it off my shoulders. Unfastened my pants and yanked them down with my boxer briefs in one pull. My cock sprang out hard, and she looked at it for a second before smiling faintly.

—It’s bigger than I thought —she said.

—Is that a problem?

—No.

She knelt on the carpet without being asked. She took my dick in one hand, held it for a moment as if studying it, and then took the whole thing into her mouth. It wasn’t a timid suck, the kind a first-timer gives. She lowered her head until she gagged a little, came back up, went back down. Her tongue worked the tip, her hand squeezed the base. I put a hand on the back of her neck, not forcing her, just feeling the rhythm of how she sucked me, and she let herself be guided, going for the back of her throat each time.

—Like that —I told her—. You’re going to make me come if you keep that up.

She pulled her mouth off me abruptly, a string of saliva hanging from her lip, and looked up at me from below.

—Not yet. I want you to fuck me first.

I lifted her and took her to the bed. I pushed her back onto the mattress and unhooked her bra with one sweep of my hand. Her tits sprang free, nipples stiff and dark, and I leaned over to suck one while squeezing the other in my hand. I bit down lightly and she arched her back with a longer moan.

Time began to slow, grow denser, as happens in situations like that where attention sharpens and details become vivid. I kissed her neck, the curve of her shoulder, the skin of her chest. I ran my tongue between her tits, down her stomach, bit her hip. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was becoming less even.

I hooked my fingers under her panties and slid them down slowly. She was wet, it had been obvious before I touched her; the fabric had been stuck to her cunt with a thread of slick that broke when I pulled it away. Her pubic area was barely covered, with short dark hair, and her cunt lips were swollen and shining.

—Can I? —I asked.

She nodded without saying anything, opening her legs on her own.

I settled between her thighs and ran my tongue over her whole cunt, from bottom to top, long and slow. She shuddered all over. On the second pass I paused at her clit and started moving my tongue there, in circles, while I slid one finger in slowly. She was tight, very tight, and I felt her body tense for a moment before easing.

—Keep going —she whispered—. Don’t stop.

I sucked her clit with my lips, slid in a second finger, started curling them inside looking for the spot. When I found it, she threw her head back and let out a low sound, almost involuntary, telling me I was on the right track. Her fingers tangled in my hair and she pressed me against her pussy as if afraid I’d stop. I paid attention to every reaction, to how she answered each touch, learning as I went. When I felt her start to tremble, when her cunt began clenching around my fingers in spasms, I didn’t stop. I brought her off with my mouth, and I felt her whole pelvis lift against my face, soaking my chin.

When I came up to her mouth, she grabbed my face and kissed me with a hunger that hadn’t been there before, sucking herself from my lips without any disgust.

—I want more —she said—. I want your cock inside me. Now.

***

I settled between her legs. She opened them wider, drawing her knees apart, and with one hand she guided the tip of my cock to her cunt. I rubbed the head against her wet lips for a moment, soaking it, before I began to push.

It went in little by little. I felt the first inch resist slightly, and she held her breath. I stopped. Ran a hand over her face.

—Keep going —she said through clenched teeth—. Put it all in me.

I pushed a little more. I felt resistance inside and then something gave, and she let out a broken moan, caught between pain and something else. I stayed still, halfway inside, letting her get used to it.

—Are you okay? —I asked her, and this time she didn’t tell me to stop asking. She nodded, took a deep breath, and put her hands on my ass, pushing me deeper.

I worked it all the way in, centimeter by centimeter, until I felt my groin bump against hers. She was so tight I could barely move. Her cunt pulsed around my cock, sucking it, and I had to force myself not to come right there.

I started moving slowly. Short pullouts, thrusts all the way in. Her eyes were wide open, watching me, her mouth slightly open and her tits moving with each push. At some point the discomfort from the start left her face and something else appeared in its place, something hungrier.

—Faster —she asked—. Fuck me harder.

I did as she asked. I hooked one leg over my shoulder and started fucking her hard, all the way in, each thrust slapping against her skin. She was moaning uncontrollably now, her voice getting higher, clutching the sheets.

—Like that, like that —she kept repeating—. Don’t stop, goddammit, don’t stop.

I turned her over and put her on her knees, face against the mattress and ass in the air. I took a moment to look at her pussy open and pink, soaked all the way to her thighs, and gave her a soft slap on the ass that made her jump. Then I grabbed her hips and drove my cock back into her in one thrust, all the way in.

—Oh, fuck —she said with her mouth against the pillow—. Like that, daddy, fuck me like that.

I fucked her from behind for a good while, watching her ass tremble with each slam of my hips against hers. I grabbed her hair, wrapped it around my hand, and pulled her head back. She arched her back and clenched my cock so hard she almost made me come.

—Touch yourself —I told her—. Come for me again.

She slid a hand down and started rubbing her clit while I kept fucking her from behind. In less than a minute I felt her tremble all over, her cunt closing around my cock in spasms, and she let out a muffled scream into the pillow as she came for the second time.

I turned her over again, face up, and settled on top. I put both her legs against my chest, opened her wide, and started fucking her hard, without hurrying but without giving her a break. She looked at me with glassy eyes, her mouth slack, murmuring things she never quite finished saying.

—I’m going to come —I warned her.

—Inside —she said, without hesitation—. Come inside me.

I drove the last thrusts all the way in and came in spurts inside her cunt, feeling it throb around my cock as I filled her. She dug her nails into my back and came a third time with me, with my cum inside her, panting something I couldn’t quite understand.

I collapsed on top of her for a moment, still inside, feeling her tits against my chest and her heart pounding against my ribs. When I pulled my cock out, a white thread ran from her cunt to the sheets. She gave a soft laugh, looking at it.

—Look what you did —she said.

It wasn’t perfect in the technical sense of the word. It was perfect in another way, the way first times are when both people are truly present. No rush, no expectations to meet, nowhere more important to be.

She moved with a naturalness I hadn’t expected, as if her body knew exactly what it wanted even though her head hadn’t before. She followed me, guided me, corrected me subtly when something wasn’t right. There was no awkwardness in that. There was something closer to honesty.

When we finished, we lay in silence for a long while, staring at the ceiling. Her head was resting on my chest and she was breathing steadily. The bedside lamp was still on. Outside, the city went on with its business.

—How are you? —I eventually asked.

She smiled softly.

—Good —she said—. Well-fucked, actually.

—And?

—And what?

—I don’t know. I thought you’d say something else.

—Did you want a speech?

—Not exactly.

She sat up slightly to look at me. Her hair was messy and her eyes were far too awake for the hour. She also had a trail of semen still running down her thigh, and she didn’t seem to care.

—It was what I wanted it to be —she said—. That’s enough.

She took my hand and intertwined her fingers with mine. I didn’t say anything else. Some things don’t improve with words.

***

The next morning, the noise of traffic seeping through the curtains woke her. I sat up slowly so as not to move her, but she was already awake. She looked at me from the pillow, eyes half-open, hair messy against the white sheet. Before I could say anything, she slid a hand under the blanket and grabbed my cock, which was already half-hard since the moment I opened my eyes and saw her beside me.

—Good morning —she said, starting to jerk me off slowly, her wrist loose.

—Good morning.

She slipped under the blanket without stopping her hand and sucked me off for a long while, unhurried, as if she were having breakfast. Then she climbed on top, lined my cock up with the pussy still loose from the night before, and slowly took me in, looking me in the eyes, until she was seated all the way on top of me with my cock fully inside. She moved with incredible slowness, riding me with her ass, while I squeezed her tits from below. She came first, biting her lip, and I grabbed her hips and emptied my second load inside her a minute later.

We ordered coffee to the room. We drank it sitting on the bed with the sheets in disarray, no rush. There was no discomfort in that silence, and that was what surprised me most. It was the silence of two people who no longer need to fill space with words, which is the hardest kind of silence to find and the easiest to ruin.

When she left, in the hotel lobby, she gave me a short kiss at the corner of my mouth.

—It was exactly what I wanted —she told me, with that same calm of hers.

I watched her go through the revolving door and disappear into the people on the street. I don’t know if it was the beginning of something longer or a complete story in itself. Sometimes that doesn’t matter. What I do know is that when someone chooses you for their first time, something of that trust stays with you forever, like a responsibility you carried out well.

I still carry it with me.