What I Discovered in the Alley That Night

This is my first attempt to put into words something that happened a couple of years ago and that I still think about when I least expect it. I don’t know whether to call it a confession or simply a story that deserves to be told.

I was thirty-one and worked at a distribution warehouse on the outskirts of the city. Night shift, twelve hours on my feet among boxes and forklifts, loading and unloading trucks that arrived at any hour. When I finished, I preferred to walk the forty minutes to my apartment instead of waiting for the company bus. It was a habit I never quite managed to explain to myself. I liked that silence cities have only between one and three in the morning, when the bars are no longer full but there is still life on the corners.

The most direct route went through the old neighborhood, near the train station. Three or four blocks with short-stay hotels painted in colors that weren’t really colors anymore, bars with the shutters half down, and groups of women standing near the streetlamps. I had seen it hundreds of nights. I walked quickly, head down, and kept going. I had never stopped. Partly out of principle, partly because I always carried only the bare minimum: one hundred and fifty pesos folded in my pants pocket, no wallet, no card. Just enough for an emergency.

That night it was drizzling. Not enough to soak me through, but enough to make the asphalt shine under the yellow streetlights and give the neighborhood that strange look it has when almost nobody is around. I quickened my pace.

Then I saw her.

She was leaning against the frame of a door painted a faded blue, arms crossed and wearing an expression of someone who was in no hurry. She had a brown leather jacket on, open despite the chill, and very tight black jeans. She was tall—taller than usual—with straight black hair to her shoulders and discreet makeup that was barely visible at that hour. Around thirty-five, I guessed. There was something in her posture, a calm confidence, that made me slow down without deciding to.

“Hey,” she said, nodding at me. “Come here.”

“I don’t have any money,” I answered. That was my usual reply.

“I’m not charging you,” she said, and stepped away from the door. She smelled like something sweet, vanilla or maybe sandalwood. “Just pay for the room.”

That was exactly the problem. One hundred and fifty pesos wouldn’t even cover the cheapest room in those hotels. I told her straight out. She looked at me for a few seconds, tilting her head as if assessing something, and then came closer, put her hand over my crotch through my pants, and squeezed slowly, firmly, measuring the bulge without the slightest embarrassment.

“I’ve got a free place two blocks from here,” she whispered in my ear, her voice rough. “And I’m fucking desperate for you to bury it all the way in me. Are you really going to leave me hanging?”

That was enough for my body to start making its own decisions without consulting me. I felt my cock harden against the palm of her hand and she gave a little laugh when she noticed.

“Follow me,” she said. “But stay a few steps behind.”

She turned her back to me. And there were her hips, moving with that slow sway only someone has who isn’t thinking about anything except what they’re doing. I followed her.

She turned down a side alley and slipped through a gap in a construction fence, between two rotten wooden boards. I hesitated for a second, looked both ways down the street, saw no one, and went in after her.

It was an abandoned lot. Uneven slabs, weeds up to knee height in places, the remains of what had once wanted to be a building. It took me a moment to get my eyes used to the dark. The rain had stopped. From there I could see a narrow strip of sky between the buildings on either side.

She led me to a corner where the ground was cleaner, sheltered by what was left of a rusted tin roof. She turned to face me. She kissed me before I could process what was about to happen.

Her lips were firm and her tongue direct, without hesitation. She shoved it all the way into my mouth and moved it slowly, searching for mine, biting my lower lip when she pulled away. I grabbed her by the waist and felt how lean but solid she was, muscle under the fabric. She pulled back just enough to unbutton her jacket. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Her tits were small but nicely shaped, the nipples dark and already hard from the cold. She offered them to me without saying a word.

I took them in my hands, squeezing them first gently and then more firmly when I heard she liked it. I bent my head and took one nipple into my mouth. I sucked it, bit it slowly, circled it with my tongue until she arched her back and let out a low moan. She tangled her fingers in my hair and pressed me against her chest.

“Like that, suck them,” she murmured. “Harder, you won’t break me.”

I did as she asked. I bit the other nipple while pinching the first one between my fingers, and she started rubbing herself against my leg, looking for friction. She kept kissing my neck while I ran my hands down her back, down to her hips and lower still. Her ass was round and firm. She pressed herself against me and easily felt the hard bulge inside my pants. She rubbed slowly against my cock, deliberately, and I knew that if she kept going like that I wouldn’t last long.

“Mmm, you’re already hard as hell,” she whispered against my ear, nibbling my earlobe. “Let me get it out.”

She pushed me gently against the cinder-block wall and knelt in the damp dirt without caring about her jeans.

I thought she would stop there.

She didn’t stop. With one hand she undid my belt, lowered the zipper, and slid my pants and underwear down to my ankles in one smooth motion. My cock sprang free, hard, already with a drop gleaming at the tip. The cold night air lasted only a second before her mouth replaced it with heat.

She took it all in at once. Her tongue traced underneath while her lips sealed around the base and I felt the back of her throat tighten around my head. She didn’t gag or hesitate. She pulled back slowly, sucking, leaving it shiny with saliva, and went down again. A slow, deep rhythm, both hands braced on my thighs to keep time.

“What a delicious cock,” she said when she took it out for a moment, holding it in her hand and running the tip across her lips, her cheek, her chin. “Nice and thick. I love it.”

She took it back into her mouth. Now faster, with her cheeks hollowed by the suction, that wet sound filling the lot. With her other hand she grabbed my balls and massaged them, tugging them downward every time her mouth rose to the head. I remember the wetness of her mouth and the soft sound she made as she moved. I remember gripping the rough cinder blocks behind me so I wouldn’t buckle at the knees. She took my cock out and ran it over her tongue, over her throat, spitting saliva onto it before taking it back in all the way. At some point I looked up and saw that narrow strip of sky between the buildings, and I thought, with the little mind I had left, that this was completely unreal.

When I felt I was about to come, she stopped. She squeezed the base of my cock with her fingers and waited a moment, looking up at me from below with her mouth open, a strand of saliva hanging from the corner of her lips to the head.

“Not yet,” she said. “I want it inside me when you come.”

She stood up. She took a condom from the pocket of her jacket and unwrapped it with her teeth. She put it on me herself, sliding it on with a skill I made no attempt to hide my admiration for, giving me a squeeze at the base when she finished. Then she took out a small bottle of lubricant and dripped a generous amount onto my fingers.

“Turn around,” she said.

And then I understood that she was the one turning around, not me.

She leaned against the wall with her palms spread open on the concrete. She pulled her jeans down to mid-thigh. She exposed a round, white, tight ass, and a strip of dark underwear that she moved aside with two fingers. She ran her lubricated fingers first over her hole and then lower down, preparing herself with slow movements, sliding one in, then two, moaning softly while opening up for me. I stood there staring, not quite knowing what to say.

“Come here,” she said, looking at me over her shoulder. “Put it in already. Slow at first.”

I went closer. I put one hand on her hip, guided my cock with the other, and rested the tip against that tight ring. I pushed carefully.

I entered slowly. I felt the ring tighten around the head, resist, and then give way all at once when the crown passed through. She let out a long gasp and threw her head back. I kept pushing little by little, taking ground with each thrust, until I had it all the way inside and felt her ass pressed against my stomach.

“Oh, like that,” she moaned. “All of it. Put it all in me.”

She was tense at first and then she began to give, and her moans started low and rose until I told her in a low voice to keep them under control, that there was no one around but the acoustics in that lot were amazing.

She laughed. Not a fake laugh but a real, brief laugh that loosened something between us.

“Then fuck me harder,” she whispered. “That’ll shut me up.”

I grabbed both her hips and started moving in earnest. I pulled almost all the way out and drove back into her to the hilt on each thrust, and the slap of my balls against her skin echoed through the lot mixed with her muffled gasps. She pushed back to take me, squeezing her ass each time I entered, milking my cock with that hot pressure. She grabbed the hand I’d placed on her hip, moving it, guiding me where she wanted. I slapped her ass and she laughed again, rougher this time, and asked for another. I gave her two more in quick succession and left her skin flushed under my hand. The rhythm found its own path.

Then she took my other hand and led it forward, underneath, toward her.

It took me less than two seconds to understand what I was touching.

It wasn’t what I expected. It was the same thing I had, smaller, but with absolutely no room for ambiguity, hard and wet at the tip. My hand stopped.

She didn’t stop moving.

“Don’t stop,” she said. It wasn’t a plea. It was an instruction. “Keep fucking me. And grab it. Move it the way you’d move yours.”

I stayed completely still for what must have been five or six seconds, though it felt much longer. I could feel the heat of her body, the pressure of her hips against mine, my cock still buried in her ass throbbing inside the condom, the sound of my own ragged breathing.

What was happening?

What changed what was happening?

I started moving again. I closed my fingers around her cock and began jerking her off at the same rhythm I was fucking her ass. It was hard, soaked in lubricant and her own juices, and every time I drove into her she lunged forward against my fist.

“Like that,” she moaned. “Exactly like that, don’t change the rhythm.”

I don’t know how to name what I decided in that moment because I don’t even know whether it was a decision. The body was already there, in that dark, cold corner, with my cock buried to the hilt in an ass tightening around me in a way I hadn’t felt before, and I wanted to get to the end. She knew it would be like that. That was why she hadn’t stopped when she could have.

I started moving harder. I fucked her deep, smashing her against the wall with every stroke, while I worked my fist up and down her cock, running my thumb over the tip each time I came back up so I could smear myself with what was dripping. She responded the same way, clenching her ass against mine harder, moaning more sharply against the cement. My hand moved along with hers, following her rhythm. I felt her cock grow even harder in my fist, felt her hole seal around my cock in spasms.

“I’m coming,” she gasped. “I’m coming, don’t stop.”

She came first. I felt hot jets splash my palm and my stomach, while her ass convulsed around my cock like a fist. That finished me. I came a second later, with a long spasm that folded me over her back, emptying me into the condom in deep pulls, my face buried between her shoulder blades. She finished shaking silently this time, forehead against the wall and shoulders trembling slightly.

We stayed like that for a moment without moving, my cock still inside her, listening to the city on the other side of the fence.

She eased away from me carefully. I pulled out slowly and felt her hole close behind me. She let out a long breath. She took a paper tissue from her pocket—she had everything in those jeans—and wiped my hand without making any comment, then wiped herself between the legs. She tied off the used condom and put it inside the tissue. She kissed me briefly at the corner of the lips, with a trace of my own semen still on her fingers, and picked up her jacket from the ground.

“I’m leaving first,” she said softly. “Wait a bit.”

I watched her move away through the weeds with the same calm cadence she’d had when she’d walked toward this place. She disappeared through the gap in the fence without looking back.

I waited. Maybe five minutes, maybe ten. I buttoned up my pants, leaned against the cold wall, and looked at the strip of sky peeking between the buildings. The rain had stopped completely. It smelled like wet earth and the strange stillness abandoned places have in the middle of the night.

***

I walked the forty minutes to my apartment without thinking much about anything. When I got there and emptied my pockets onto the bedside table, I noticed my left pocket was empty. The one hundred and fifty pesos were gone. I hadn’t felt a thing: not when we kissed, not when she knelt, not when she wiped my hand. At some point during all that, she took them with a skill that, thinking about it now, must have taken quite a bit of practice.

I lay down and stared at the ceiling for a while.

One hundred and fifty pesos. The night hadn’t even cost me that much.