My First Time with a Woman Was Inside the Car

I never liked picking people up in bars, not even when I was single and could still allow myself that kind of thing. In my forties, with two children and a husband I had never once cheated on, the idea felt utterly foreign. Going out at night belonged to another version of me, one that had been buried under a decade of diapers, homework, and half-watched series.

My husband never made a fuss when I went out with my friends; quite the opposite, he encouraged me. The problem was me. Most of the time I was so tired that it was me who couldn’t be bothered to move off the sofa.

That night, though, I had no choice. A newly divorced friend needed to vent, and to my misfortune the third woman in our group backed out at the last minute with some stupid excuse. We were left alone facing the danger. Especially me.

My friend was fired up. She would let any man in as long as he wore trousers and looked halfway decent. By my standards it was already late when we walked into a pub with a reputation for encouraging hook-ups: a bar well stocked with strong drinks, a dimly lit dance floor, and comfortable sofas where people seemed to have little intention of talking.

The place was packed with all kinds of regulars dressed as provocatively as possible. The women were wearing very little, some almost naked. In my summer sundress with its thin straps, I felt practically like a nun by comparison.

By around two in the morning, a boy almost twenty years younger than my friend — and, I have to admit, very well built — had managed to slip his hand under her skirt. She didn’t make it difficult for him. She spread her thighs, and before I knew it the boy was playing with the elastic of a tiny red thong that barely covered anything.

I was sitting right across from them and could make out everything with uncomfortable clarity: the boy’s fingers pushing aside the lace, the miniskirt hiked up to her hip, her ragged breathing. My God, they’re going to do it right here.

My friend wasn’t staying still either. At some point she had let a hand fall onto the young man’s fly, and from where I sat you could tell he was already pretty hard. She was stroking him up and down, shamelessly, while her tongue explored the boy’s mouth with an eagerness that left my throat dry.

—I’m going for another drink —I said, more to myself than to her.

She didn’t even hear me. Meanwhile I had had to turn down more than one fly’s attention. At first I thought it was funny; I didn’t know if I still turned heads at my age or if they were simply desperate enough to come on to a mature woman trying to go as unnoticed as possible. But I’m not made of stone, I’ll admit it. The almost pornographic show in front of me was heating me up more than I wanted to admit.

I leaned on the bar to clear my head and cool my hormones. And then I saw her.

She was at the other end of the counter, and she looked even more understated than I did. Brunette, short hair with blue highlights, almost masculine clothes: loose jeans and a T-shirt with a slightly geeky print. She had a silver ring in the side of her nose and a clearly androgynous look. She must have seen my bored face, because she came over with her glass in hand.

—Hi, I’m Bruna —she said.

I turned with my best smile. Boredom, alcohol, and arousal were working equally in her favor.

—Carla, nice to meet you.

—I noticed how into it your friend is —she remarked, nodding toward the sofas.

—She just got divorced. Looks like she’s still processing it —I replied.

Her laugh was crystal clear, and the look she gave my neckline was anything but innocent. The open buttons of her men’s shirt showed the smooth edge of a sports bra and a discreet cleavage. Everything about her said lesbian. If I hadn’t spent ten years shut away, seeing the world through the TV screen, I would have realized much sooner.

—Do you like girls? Don’t you? —she asked, direct.

It wasn’t that I wasn’t open-minded; it was simply that I had never even asked myself the question. Homosexuality was, to me, like the moon: you knew it was there, but you could neither reach it nor did it reach you. Even so, after a few compliments, even I began to understand where the catch was.

—Right now I like you. I think you’re very sweet —she added.

And honestly, her attention flattered me. It was the first time I’d received that kind of attention from another woman, and that gave it a new, forbidden taste. Every so often I glanced over at my friend to make sure she was still busy with her young lover and didn’t see me talking to a stranger. The last thing I needed was for word to get around in our circle.

—I think I like you too —I said, and my own voice sounded strange to me—. That’s never happened to me before.

Bruna became more and more affectionate. She laid a hand on my bare forearm and moved closer until her almost flat chest brushed my arm. With every minute she was closer, and that not only stopped bothering me: I was starting to really like it.

—Then this is going to be a new experience —she murmured against my ear.

Everything she said, every time she moved closer, got naughtier and more sensual. She leaned down to pick up her drink and, as if by accident, dragged the edge of her jaw along the bare skin of my shoulder. A slow touch that raised goose bumps all over me. With her chin she deliberately pushed the strap of my dress down until it slipped off my arm, exposing the top of one breast.

—Well, I’m enjoying it —I admitted, and made no move to put the strap back up.

I felt desired and beautiful. Maybe at that hour and with the drinks in me I wasn’t very objective, but that’s the whole point of those places: people are supposed to want each other. When I shifted on the stool, I rested my hand on her thigh covered in cotton, and I didn’t keep it still. I moved it slowly, feeling the firmness of her leg.

—What a shame you aren’t wearing something shorter —I blurted out.

By then it was clear neither of us was going to avoid contact. Her hand moved up my back with exasperating slowness, tracing my spine from the edge of my ass up to my shoulder blades. Whenever she wanted to say something to me, she brushed my ear with her lips, using the music as an excuse. They were no longer brushes: they were soft kisses.

—Everyone can see us here —I whispered, not too convincingly.

—Everyone’s doing their own thing. Don’t worry.

Our breasts pressed together over our clothes, and we both felt our nipples outlining through the summer fabrics. The zipper of my dress slid lower and lower, mysteriously, with each sip from her glass, making room for her fingers to reach a larger patch of my skin. Soon I could feel them stroking the side of my breast.

—If you keep that up, you’re really going to turn me on —I warned her.

—I can already tell —she answered with a smile.

I, on the other hand, had my hand wrapped around her firm ass over her jeans and was beginning to long for the moment I could touch her skin, which by then seemed far too covered to me.

—Why don’t you say goodbye to your friend and we go somewhere else for one last drink? —she suggested.

For the first time I felt her tongue brush the edge of my ear. It was something no one had ever done to me before, and a shiver ran through me. Said and done. Hypnotized, not wanting to think about the madness I was about to commit, I walked over to the divorcée. I kissed her on both cheeks and told her I was leaving. Her eyes were glassy, the boy’s hand between her thighs, and she barely noticed I was going.

—See you, darling —I told her.

—Have fun —she replied, lost in her own thing.

***

Once we were out on the street, Bruna took me by the waist and kissed my lips softly. With how worked up I was, that wasn’t enough. I put both hands on her ass, pulled her against my body, and shoved my tongue deep into that narrow-lipped mouth.

—Where? —I asked between kisses.

—I’ve got the car just around the corner —I answered myself, because the idea had just flashed into my head.

Without letting go of her tight ass, I led her to my car and trapped her against the side panel. I kneaded her firm breasts while she, even more impatient than I was, slipped a hand between my legs, hiking my skirt up to the edge of my panties. I moaned into her mouth, muffling my sighs with her tongue.

—You’re soaking wet —she said in amazement, sliding her fingers under the fabric.

I wasn’t wet: I was dripping. Her fingers found the way in and tore a moan from me that I had to bite back. One more moment stroking the lips of my sex and I would have come right there, standing in the middle of the street, clutching the back of her neck.

—Let’s go or I’m going to do something crazy right here —I panted.

I opened the car and, gathering every bit of concentration I could manage, drove to a vacant lot I used to go to with my husband when we were dating, to make out. Bruna wasn’t exactly helping: she was stroking my thigh, my shoulder, whatever my right breast that her bra let her reach.

—Stop or we’re going to crash —I begged, laughing.

Halfway there I asked her to take off her shirt. Beneath the sports bra, her hard nipples stood out against the Lycra. At a glance I spotted a piercing in her navel, a silver crescent moon, and you could make out another one in one of her nipples. Far from putting me off, all of it turned me on even more.

The place hadn’t changed that much; in fact, it had improved. The overgrown bushes created very discreet little corners to park in. By the time I finished parking, Bruna had already shed her jeans and I had my dress up at my waist and my breasts spilling over the cups.

—I’ve wanted to get my hands on you like this —she told me, diving onto my tits.

She kissed and devoured them like no one ever had before. I managed to lift my ass off the seat to get rid of my panties, and the dress ended up being pulled over my head and tossed onto the dashboard next to the bra I’d already unclasped.

—Naked? —I blurted out, with a nervous laugh.

While she leaned down to eat me out, I pulled her top off, making her lift her slim, toned arms. I took possession of her small, hard breasts, played with the barbell that decorated one of her nipples. Those little tits drove me crazy, so different from mine.

—I love these tiny tits —I murmured.

—Careful, don’t rip them off —she laughed.

I ended up with one foot on the back of her seat and the other on the dashboard, in a position I didn’t remember being capable of after two births. I only wanted to feel her tongue on the lips of my sex, playing with my clit, and if she added one or two fingers, even better. I was burning up.

—Eat me, baby —I begged her.

The skill with which she did it gave her away: she had done it to a few others before me. Her tongue reached places I didn’t think possible, gathering every orgasm that chained itself to the one before it. I moaned, I sighed, and the only will left in me was to stroke her short hair and slender shoulders.

When I recovered a little sanity, I made her get between the two seats and positioned myself behind her. I slowly pulled down her tight slip, revealing her shaved sex. I spread her legs, one foot pressed against each rear door, and ran my tongue over her from top to bottom, gripping her firm buttocks to open her up properly. It was the first female body I had ever done that to, and I discovered I loved it.

—You’re not bad at all, babe —she panted, her face buried in the seat.

Her juices ran down her thighs and I caught them with my mouth, feeling her whole body tremble every time she came. I didn’t give her a break, just as she hadn’t given me one. After one especially strong orgasm that made her scream, she slid back to sit beside me. For a moment I feared people in the cars around us might hear, but I hardly cared anymore.

She found my mouth hungrily, tasting her own flavor on my lips, while her hands squeezed my breasts and pinched my nipples. We stayed like that for a while, sitting there, caressing each other, letting our tongues cross in and out of our mouths.

—Are you sure you’d never been with a girl? —she asked.

—Of course not!

—Well, you ate me out beautifully. I thought you had more experience.

—I just did what I like done to me and a bit from the example you set me —I replied.

More recovered now, she licked all over my pussy again, this time with me leaning between the two front seats so she could take her time. She made me come again and again with her expert tongue.

It was almost dawn when, with great difficulty, we decided to end the encounter. We got dressed in the clothes damp from the condensation of our breathing, which dripped from the windshield down onto the dashboard. I couldn’t hold back.

—You should wear something sexier. You’ve got a gorgeous body —I told her.

—You should update your lingerie too. I’m sure you can find something smaller, and it would look amazing on you —she answered, laughing.

—Then keep my panties. Next time I’ll try to wear a thong.

I drove her home, and we couldn’t help saying goodbye with one last long kiss by her building’s entrance. Thank God it was Sunday morning and there wasn’t a soul on her street.

Did we see each other again? Absolutely. I’ve found a new babysitter, a bit masculine, but very sweet and affectionate with both the children and their mother. Just the way I like it.