The Virgin Who Called Me Before Leaving

When things ended between Sandra and me, I was alone for almost a month. It wasn’t an easy month, but it wasn’t endless either. It was at a dinner at some friends’ house that I met Valeria. She arrived late, with a friend, and sat down directly across from me.

She was twenty-two and had a presence that stopped you in your tracks. Slim, light brown skin, wide hips contrasting with a narrow waist. Her breasts were small, but the way she carried herself was hard to ignore. When she laughed, she tilted her head slightly back and closed her eyes for a moment. From that first night, I knew I wanted to fuck her.

It didn’t take us long to start seeing each other. She told me early on, without beating around the bush: she was a virgin and had no intention of changing that for just anyone. I understood. Or I tried to understand. We kissed, touched each other, I caressed her over her clothes, and she responded with an intensity I found hard to believe was her first time even doing that. She liked me to hold her tightly, kiss her neck, run my hands over her back and hips. Once in a while, when I had her sitting on top of me on the sofa, I could perfectly feel the heat of her pussy through the fabric of my pants, the moisture seeping through, the way she rubbed herself unconsciously against my hard cock. But that was as far as things went.

Two months passed, and I began to feel the strain. I didn’t pressure her, I wasn’t going down that road, but I did let her see that what we had felt incomplete to me. One day she called me and said, with a calmness that threw me off, that she still wasn’t ready. That maybe she wouldn’t be anytime soon. That if it was a problem for me, it would be better to leave things there.

It wasn’t easy to admit it, but she was right. We stopped seeing each other.

***

Three weeks later, my phone rang with a number I didn’t recognize. It was Valeria.

—Are you home? —she asked.

—Yes.

—Alone?

—Yes —I answered, still not understanding anything—. What’s wrong?

—Can I come see you?

I told her yes before thinking about whether it was a good idea.

She arrived half an hour later. She was wearing a floral dress that came above her knees, tight across the hips, with a wide neckline that left her shoulders bare. She had put her hair up. I invited her in, and we sat on the living-room sofa. I put two glasses of water on the table. Neither of us touched them.

She didn’t speak right away. She stared at her hands for a moment, as if silently arranging her words. Then she raised her eyes and looked directly at me.

—I’ve been thinking a lot these past few weeks —she said—. About you, about us, about why we ended things.

—Valeria…

—Let me finish. —She drew a breath—. Since I met you, you’re the first person who’s made me feel this way. You never pressured me. You never got pushy. And that mattered to me more than I thought it would. There’s something I’ve never given anyone. And I want to give it to you. Even though we’re nothing anymore. That much I’m sure of.

It took me a second to process what she was telling me. When I did, I felt something in my chest that wasn’t exactly euphoria. It was something more serious than that, something closer to responsibility.

—Are you sure? —I asked.

—Yes. —She paused—. Tomorrow I’m leaving for Guadalajara. They offered me a job there, and I’m going to study too. I might not come back for a long time. I didn’t want to leave without doing this. Without you being the first to put it in me.

She said it softly, her cheeks flushed, but she said it. And my cock got hard instantly.

I really looked at her for the first time since she’d arrived. The floral dress left her shoulders bare, and the afternoon light came through the window, giving her skin the warm tone I remembered so well. Her hips, the soft curve from her waist, her thighs showing when she crossed her legs. I hadn’t forgotten a thing.

I don’t know which of us moved first. I only know that suddenly she was close, and I tilted my head toward her, and we kissed. Slowly at first. Her lips were soft, and she opened them without rushing, as if she wanted to savor every second. I put one hand on her waist. She placed hers on my chest. We stayed that way for a while, sitting on the sofa, until the kiss stopped being slow.

I slid my tongue into her mouth, and she sucked it hungrily. I moved my hand down her waist, over her hip, to her thigh, and pulled her dress up underneath. The skin on the inside of her thigh was burning hot. I ran my hand over her panties and felt that she was soaked, the fabric warm and sticky. She let out a short moan against my mouth when I pressed my fingers there a little harder, over the fabric.

—Oh —she said—. Wait. Not here.

***

I took her by the hand and led her to my bedroom. I closed the door. The light coming through the half-open blinds crossed her face in strips of shadow and brightness.

She took off my T-shirt with a calmness that surprised me. She ran her hands over my chest and shoulders, as if learning their shape. She looked me in the eyes.

—I’ve never done this before —she said quietly. Not as an apology. As a fact she wanted to make clear.

—I know —I told her.

I slowly and carefully unzipped her dress. The fabric fell to the floor without a sound. She was wearing a simple black bra and matching panties. I stepped back to look at her properly, without hurrying.

She was exactly as I’d imagined her, and yet nothing was quite like what I’d thought. Reality always has a detail imagination can’t reach. With her, it was the way she breathed, her shoulders slightly tense, the way she held my gaze without looking away.

I carefully unhooked her bra. I let it fall. Her tits were small and firm, with brown nipples already erect, pointing upward. I brushed my thumb over one, and she drew a deep breath. I lowered my head and took it into my mouth. I sucked it slowly, tugging a little with my teeth, feeling it grow even harder against my tongue. I did the same to the other. She squeezed the back of my neck, holding me there.

I put my hands on her hips and pulled her toward me. She released the breath she’d been holding, a brief, restrained sigh. I began kissing her neck, then her shoulders, then her breasts again, without rushing. She closed her eyes. Her hands wrapped around my back.

She pulled down my pants. When she reached my boxer briefs, she paused, looking at the bulge of my cock outlined beneath the fabric. She pulled those down too, slowly. My dick sprang upward, swollen, already glistening with a clear drop at the tip. She stayed still for a second, as if sizing it up.

—Can I touch it? —she asked.

—Yes.

She did it carefully, wrapping her hand around it, gauging its weight and warmth. She closed her fingers around the shaft and moved them up once, then down, and smiled when she saw it grow even harder between her fingers. A thread of pre-cum wet her thumb, and she looked at it for a moment before lifting it to the tip and spreading it over the glans.

—Do you like it? —she asked.

—A lot —I told her—. Keep going.

She continued, moving her hand up and down with more rhythm, squeezing a little harder. I had to grit my teeth. After a while, she knelt in front of me without my asking, and looked up at me with my cock a handspan from her face.

—Show me —she said.

—Stick out your tongue. Lick it first, underneath.

She did. She ran her tongue along the entire underside of my shaft, slowly moving up to the tip, and when she reached the top, she looked at me and put the head in her mouth. She sucked it with her lips tight around it, not using her teeth, testing how much she could take. She went down a little, gagged, pulled back, and tried again. Saliva dripped down her chin and wet the hand holding the base.

—Like that, with your tongue underneath —I told her, placing my hand on her hair without pressing—. Yes, like that.

What followed was inexperienced and clumsy and absolutely perfect. She sucked the tip, hesitated, adjusted the angle, and tried again. She looked up at me with her mouth full of cock, and that image alone almost made me come. She didn’t know exactly how to do it, and that not knowing had its own kind of charge. She took me out of her mouth for a moment to breathe and masturbated me with her hand while sucking my balls, one first, then the other, with a flat tongue. Then she put it all the way back in, as far as she could.

I put my hand on her hair without pressing. After a while I gently lifted her up, because if she kept going like that I wasn’t going to last, and I hadn’t even gotten near her pussy yet.

I lay her down on the bed. I hooked my fingers into her panties and slowly pulled them down her legs. When I had removed them completely, I spread her legs and stood there looking at her. She was almost completely shaved, with a thin, dark strip, her lips swollen and already shining with moisture. I paused to take her in: her legs slightly bent, her brown skin against the white sheet, her chest moving with the rhythm of her breathing.

—Are you okay? —I asked.

She nodded. Her eyes were open and looking at me without fear, only with a certain focused seriousness.

I lay facedown between her legs and ran my tongue over her entire slit, from bottom to top, slowly, feeling her flavor fill my mouth. She flinched and let out a short moan, surprised. I licked her again, more slowly, parting her lips with my thumbs so I could reach her clitoris properly. I stayed there, sucking it with my lips, circling around it with the tip of my tongue, until I felt her trembling between my hands.

—Wait, wait —she whispered—. It’s too much.

I lowered the intensity a little, licked her more gently, and slowly slipped in a finger. She was very tight, so closed that I could barely fit. I moved it carefully, barely sliding in and out, and went back up to suck her clitoris at the same time. She arched her back against the mattress and gripped my hair with both hands.

—Oh God —she said—. Oh, like that, like that.

I kept licking her until I felt her completely soaked, until she was getting my chin wet and my finger slipped in and out without resistance. Then I climbed on top of her. I touched her with my fingers again first, slowly, wanting to make sure she was ready before going any further. She was wet, very wet. I spread her legs a little wider and moved toward her entrance.

I took hold of my cock and rubbed it all over her slit, up and down, wetting it with her own juices, sliding the glans over her clitoris each time I moved up. She moaned with every pass.

—Put it in me —she said, almost voiceless—. Now. Please.

I looked at her face before moving.

Her eyes were still open. She was looking at me.

I pushed slowly. The tip entered, and she tensed her shoulders and pressed her lips together. I continued carefully, stopping each time I felt her close up, giving her time. She was incredibly tight, her whole pussy closed around the head as if she didn’t want to let me through. I stroked her hip with my thumb.

—Breathe —I told her.

She drew a breath. I moved a little farther in. There was a moment when I felt something give, a resistance disappearing, and she squeezed her eyes shut and dug her nails into my back. A tear ran along her temple and disappeared into her hair.

—Okay? —I asked, still not moving, my cock buried all the way inside her.

—Yes —she said. Her voice was firm—. Don’t stop.

I began moving slowly. I pulled almost all the way out and pushed back in to the hilt, feeling her give a little more each time, feeling her pussy adjust to the size of my cock. She had her legs tight around my hips, her feet crossed behind my back as if trying to anchor herself. Little by little, the tension in her body began to change. Her shoulders relaxed. Her breathing grew longer and deeper. She began moving with me, still without much confidence but with intention, wanting to be there, lifting her pelvis to receive every thrust.

—That’s it —I whispered in her ear—. Move with me. That’s right.

—You’re putting all of it inside me —she murmured, her eyes closed—. All of it.

—All of it.

I grabbed one of her tits and squeezed it as I picked up the pace a little. She moaned softly with every thrust, a new, husky sound I’d never heard from her before. I changed the angle, leaning more onto my knees, and thrust upward, searching for her sweet spot. I felt her trembling beneath me.

I wasn’t going to last long, and I knew it.

It was too much: the novelty of her, the heat, the tightness with which she closed around me every time I pulled out and pushed back in, the way she looked at me from time to time and then closed her eyes and arched her neck slightly. Within minutes, I felt I couldn’t hold back any longer. My balls tightened, and I realized I was about to come.

—I’m going to come —I told her.

—Inside —she said, squeezing me tighter with her legs—. Come inside me.

I thrust all the way in and stayed there. I came inside her in a spasm that ran through my entire body, long and sustained, jet after jet of cum releasing deep inside her. She squeezed my back with her hands and watched me, feeling it, while I trembled over her with my cock still buried inside her, emptying myself down to the last drop.

I stayed on top of her for a moment, propped on my elbows so I wouldn’t put my weight on her, still inside her, feeling my cock slowly lose its hardness inside her pussy. When I finally pulled out, I saw a thick thread of semen and blood trickling between her thighs onto the sheet. She looked at it too and said nothing, only closing her legs slightly. Then I moved away and lay down beside her. She turned and rested her head on my chest. We didn’t say anything for a while. I listened as her breathing returned to normal.

When she got up to get dressed, she did it calmly. There was no hurry. She wiped herself between the legs with a tissue before putting on her panties, and I saw the paper stained red and white. I put on my pants and walked her to the door. We hugged for a long time, both of us silent. I asked whether she wanted me to drive her home.

—Yes —she said.

I drove her home. We didn’t talk much in the car. There was a silence between us that wasn’t uncomfortable, quite the opposite: it was the silence of something that had been made complete. At the entrance to her building, she kissed me on the cheek and pulled away.

—Take care —she said.

—You too —I replied.

I watched her go inside. I waited until she disappeared into the elevator.

When I got home, I picked up the clothes from the floor and stripped the bed. When I folded the sheets, I found a small dark stain on the fabric, and beside it, something so small I almost didn’t see it: a thin, translucent membrane, barely perceptible.

I put it in a drawer.

I don’t really know why. I suppose there are things you don’t simply throw away.