The Night Mariana Taught Me How to Use My Tongue

This past year was full of discoveries. I learned more about my own body and my desires than in the entire previous decade, and almost everything started with a text conversation. For a few days I had been messaging with a woman in her early thirties, dark-haired, light-eyed, with a way of speaking that completely undid me. Her name was Mariana, she was charismatic and not shy at all, and from the start she made it clear that she knew exactly what she liked.

One afternoon she cut straight to the chase: I should come to her apartment, we should explore together, and she would show me everything I had never dared to try with another woman. I hesitated for hours. I deleted three different replies before writing a simple «yes».

I had never been with a woman. I had fantasized a thousand times, in the darkness of my room, imagining what it would be like to touch another skin so similar to my own, but I had never had the courage to take the leap. Mariana knew it. I had confessed it to her in one of those messages you send at dawn, when you dare to say things you keep silent by day. And instead of getting scared, she offered to be my first. To teach me.

It was Friday night and nerves had my stomach in a knot as I rode up in the elevator. Curiosity weighed more than fear, so I kept going. When the doors opened, she was already waiting for me, leaning against the frame of her door with a soft smile. She took my hand without saying a word and led me inside.

—You’re shaking —she said, amused—. Relax, let go. Unwind.

We sat on the sofa. We talked for a while, though I barely took in the words: I only felt her gaze fixed on me, as if she were reading me. At one point she rested her hand on my thigh and tilted her head.

—Why haven’t you tried kissing me yet? —she asked.

I was speechless. She laughed under her breath, took her hand away, and settled back against the arm of the sofa, deliberately stretching out the silence. Then she moved her index finger, beckoning me closer, and I went to her as if hypnotized. I stopped a hand’s breadth from her mouth. A shiver ran through me when she wrapped her arms around my neck and bit her lip.

The distance vanished on its own. We kissed. Her tongue was restless, eager, but she controlled it with a calm that drove me crazy. I dared to bite her lower lip and she liked it, so I kept at it. Suddenly she pulled away gently, opened her legs, and let me settle between them while she drew them slowly tighter against my body.

I lowered my lips to her neck. I gave her a couple of soft kisses and she tipped her head back, offering it to me. I didn’t stop: I increased the intensity, marking her skin with my mouth until I felt her trembling beneath my lips.

I went back to her mouth while holding her waist. I slid my hands upward, under the fabric of her top, feeling her warm abdomen until I brushed her breast. Only then did I notice she wasn’t wearing a bra. I wondered if she’d be just as bare below, but I didn’t want to rush.

—Move aside for a second —she murmured.

I obeyed. She stood up and took off her top with calculated slowness, first sliding the straps off her shoulders. Her brown, toned torso was laid bare and I stared at her openly, unable to hide my astonishment. She rested her hand on my shoulder, gently pushed me back against the sofa, and sat astride me.

—Easy —she repeated, this time almost in my ear—. It’s time you learned.

I placed my hands on her back and began drawing slow circles while we kissed. She pulled away just enough, brought her own hand to her neck and slowly trailed it downward, tracing the path for me. I followed the movement with my lips. Then she took my hand and guided it between her legs. Through her underwear I felt the wetness giving her away. I moved my fingers slowly, back and forth, and her arms tightened around my neck.

I kissed her neck again without stopping rubbing her through the fabric. Then I took my hand away and lowered my mouth to her breasts. I took them in my hands and squeezed them gently; she exhaled and held my gaze. I moved from one to the other, taking them into my mouth, playing with the tip of my tongue over her nipples, moving it side to side and in circles, pressing them lightly between my lips.

—More —she asked.

I gave her more. When I stopped, she was the one who took control. She made me stand up, slowly lowered the zipper of my jacket while biting her lip, and let it fall to the floor. Then she unbuttoned my blouse button by button while kissing my neck. It tickled, but she didn’t stop until she had left me with my blouse open and my bra in full view. She looked me over from top to bottom, and without a word walked to the room next door. She came back with something pink in her hand.

***

She lay back on the sofa. I wanted to get closer, but she planted her feet against my chest and stopped me cold. I got the message: I started kissing them slowly, working my way down her legs. I found her white underwear and gave her short kisses over the fabric, all the way to the edge, all the way to her abdomen. I hooked my fingers into the sides and pulled them down without hurry, letting them fall to the floor.

I worked my way back between her thighs. I kissed them, inching closer and closer to the center, and when I got there, I ran my tongue over her lips from bottom to top, over and over, making my way to her clit. I started licking it gently. I paused, moistened the tips of my fingers with saliva, and traced circles over it. I heard her exhale slowly. That turned me on immensely: knowing that she liked it gave me a confidence I didn’t know I had.

I set the pink toy on the table to one side and kept going. I licked her with more intensity, focusing on the entrance and the lips, sucked her clit for a few seconds and, without warning, started to draw on it. Her moans grew louder and her legs slowly closed around my head. I brought them together and lifted them for better access, licking her from bottom to top.

I worked up the nerve to slip in a finger. I felt how wet she was and noticed how her fists clenched. I moved it back and forth while keeping my tongue circling her clit. Her moans grew more and more intense. I pulled my finger out and replaced it with my tongue, going in and out, and she dug her hands into my hair until she asked me to stop.

—Come here —she panted.

I lay back with my head resting on the edge of the sofa. She settled herself over my face, rising and falling slowly. I held her thighs to set the rhythm myself and moved my tongue between her lips. She was soaked and her moans were getting caught in her throat. Then she sat up abruptly and asked me to sit.

I did. She sat with her back to me, between my legs, and turned her head to kiss me. I spread her legs and went back to her clit with my fingers, circling it while she bit her lip with each kiss. I slipped in one finger, then another, and moved them hard from bottom to top. She tried to close her legs but I didn’t let her; I kept stimulating her until she trembled all over.

Then she stretched out her arm and finally took the toy. She handed it to me and lay back again. It was nothing out of the ordinary: a small, straight vibrator. I started running it over her clit, deliberately pulling it away at times just to see the frustrated look on her face. Seeing her like that turned me on; I could feel my own wetness between my legs.

I kept circling with the vibrator while my other hand stroked around her entrance. She cried out and her legs tightened, but I didn’t stop. Suddenly she told me to stop and sat up beside me, breathless. I knelt in front of her and went back to her with my tongue, sucking in pauses, taking her clit between my lips and stretching it lightly, again and again.

I pressed the vibrator against her clit and licked her lips side to side at the same time. She moaned nonstop. Suddenly I felt a different kind of wetness, a warm spray against my face. I pulled my head back and saw a small stream come out. I kept working with the vibrator and slipped my fingers inside her, moving them quickly from bottom to top.

At that moment the doorbell rang. We ignored it. I kept moving my fingers until another spurt came out, this time more abundant, and I didn’t stop until she herself forced me to pull my hand away. She finished trembling, soaking everything, looking me straight in the eyes as she did it. She loved me seeing her like that, and I loved looking at her.

***

She let out a deep breath and took a few seconds to collect herself.

—Now it’s your turn —she said with a smile.

I stood up and took off my blouse. When I started to pull down my pants, the doorbell rang again. She ignored it and kept going, but then came two quick, insistent rings. I stopped her. She threw my jacket over her shoulders, went to the door, and opened it just a crack to speak to the building porter. When she closed it, her expression had changed completely.

—Get dressed —she said, rummaging frantically through her clothes on the floor—. My mother just showed up out of the blue.

I got dressed amid nervous laughter, my heart still racing and my body still hot with everything that hadn’t gotten to happen. Mariana walked me to the door, gave me a short kiss on the lips, and promised me, with that smile I already knew far too well, that next time no one would interrupt us.

What was going to be my turn was left pending for another night. As I went down in the elevator I looked at myself in the mirror: my cheeks were red, my hair was messy, and I had a smile I couldn’t wipe away. That night I learned something no man had ever shown me before, and I knew, with absolute certainty, that I was already counting the days until I could knock on her door again.