The Night It Got Out of Hand with Four

When a party gets too good, you stop keeping score. You stop counting the drinks, stop checking the time, stop thinking about what you’re going to say afterward. That was exactly what happened to me that Friday night, and I still don’t know whether I regret it.

The service was simple, almost a favor: keeping company with four college guys, all just over twenty, all from out of town. They lived surprisingly close to my apartment, four blocks away, in another building in a quiet residential area. You could tell they’d scraped together every last peso to pay for a couple of hours with me. The fridge was nearly empty, just a few cans and a whole lot of alcohol. A kickoff-of-the-semester party, they explained.

The arrangement included not dressing discreetly, so I put on a short black sequined dress with a very deep V-neck and an open back, platform heels, and nothing else but a plain thong underneath. When I arrived it was nine-thirty and they were already tipsy.

“The queen has arrived,” said the tallest one, opening the door for me with an awkward bow.

The apartment was the classic student nest: a plastic table, mismatched chairs, a speaker blasting reggaeton, and almost no furniture. They offered me beer. It wasn’t my favorite brand, but they looked comfortable, so I accepted.

***

The first hour went by in pure conversation. Two were from the north, one from the center, one from the coast, and I told them about places I knew through work. They joked about their disasters at university, about vacations, about the girlfriend one of them had left miles away. Despite the age difference, I was genuinely having fun, and that didn’t happen to me often.

“Let’s go to the pool hall on the corner,” suggested the one from the coast, a guy named Iván, as far as I could make out over the noise. “It’s halfway between your building and mine.”

I hesitated. Dressed like that, a neighborhood bar wasn’t the wisest plan. But the place was close and I didn’t see any risk. We walked slowly, because there was no way to hurry in those heels, and they took advantage of it to tease me.

“They’re not going to let you in, they only admit decent people there,” Iván laughed.

“Walk faster, missy, you’re wasting our time,” said another.

I laughed with them. They were doing it playfully, without malice, and the truth was I was enjoying myself.

***

The pool hall was dimly lit, with the music turned all the way up. They ordered the first round and before long I’d loosened up completely. We played several games, I hummed along to the band that was on, clinked glasses with everyone. They drank fast, too fast, and little by little they started crowding in when it was my turn to shoot.

These guys are about to start with their little games, I thought. But instead of bothering me, on my next shot I arched my back more than necessary and lifted my ass, fully aware the dress barely covered anything.

When one of them brushed up against me from behind, the others laughed and I yanked the dress down, pretending to be scandalized, missed the shot on purpose, and kept playing along. They told me I held the cue really well, that it showed I liked having something long in my hands, all that kind of nonsense. It didn’t feel heavy. It felt like flirting, and it had been a long time since I’d flirted without it being part of work.

Time was up at the table and they paid for another round. It was already my third hour with them. They still hadn’t paid me, so I stayed. One of them pulled me out to dance to one song, somebody took the opportunity to squeeze my waist, another slid a hand a little lower. I let myself go and enjoyed a night like I hadn’t in a long time.

***

We went back to the apartment in the early hours of the morning and the drinking didn’t stop. I held a beer in one hand and walked barefoot, my heels dangling from two fingers of the other. I felt beautiful, dangerous, free.

I texted Rubén, my husband, making up that the booking had gone on for several more hours. I’d settle up my money with him later. I didn’t want anything to ruin the night.

The drunk antics started: punishment shots in blackjack, shouting every time someone went to the bathroom, them grinding on each other while dying of laughter. They told jokes that weren’t funny at all and we doubled over anyway. For the first time in a long time I felt like part of something, not hired for something.

Iván’s phone rang. It was the building manager, a man they described as the rent-collecting ogre, asking us to keep the volume down. For a moment everything calmed down. We sat on the floor among empty bottles and puddles of beer, the living room a disaster that smelled of cigarettes and alcohol.

I had lost all composure. My hair was a mess, my dress had ridden up and was showing too much, and I didn’t care at all. None of them seemed to care either. And then, in the middle of that complicit silence, I felt the heat rise from my belly.

***

Without warning, I crawled on my knees to the nearest one and unbuttoned his pants. He dropped the can, startled, and the other three went silent.

“What?” I said, looking over my shoulder at them. “The party’s just getting started.”

I took him into my mouth slowly, feeling him harden against my tongue. He threw his head back with a rough groan. I was on all fours on the floor, the dress hiked up to my waist, the thong string the only thing covering anything, and suddenly I felt two pairs of hands running over my back, my thighs, tugging the fabric away.

“Don’t just stand there watching,” I murmured against Iván’s skin. “There’s enough for everyone.”

I turned toward the other two, who were already fumbling with their pants in drunken clumsiness. I went from one to the other, feeling the weight of each one grow in my hand, in my lips. Moans filled the room, unrhythmic, wild, just like everything else that night.

The first one I’d tasted positioned himself behind me. He pulled the thong string aside with one finger, smeared spit on me, and pushed in slowly until he was buried all the way inside. I let out my breath sharply.

“That’s it, daddy,” I panted. “And pass me another beer. I want to drink while you fuck me.”

As if it were a sacred command, a cold can appeared in front of my face. I took two long swallows without stopping moving against him, while another filled my mouth and the fourth waited his turn, touching himself. There were four of them and I was the center of everything, the one in charge even though I was on my knees.

***

I lost track of the order. They changed places, laughed, bumped into each other from the drunkenness. One pounded into me from behind while another held my face and guided me gently, and the third ran his tongue over my back. I drank, I panted, I teased them.

“Harder,” I begged. “You’re not going to break me, trust me, you won’t.”

They dragged me to an old mattress thrown in a corner and we kept going there. At times I closed my eyes and just listened: the four of them breathing hard, skin rubbing against skin, my own moans that I didn’t even recognize anymore. I felt one of them tense and finish between my lips; I managed to turn my face and the second one came on my cheek, hot, marking me. The third buried himself to the hilt with a long grunt. The fourth held my hips like he was afraid I’d vanish.

When they finally collapsed, one by one, around the mattress, I stayed on my back staring at the ceiling, out of breath, with a stupid smile that wouldn’t fit on my face. The living room was a battlefield. I was both the trophy and the winner.

***

I woke up with the harsh morning light stabbing my eyes. Iván was asleep in a chair, the others scattered on the floor. I sat up slowly, my body aching and my head about to explode. I found my dress turned into a rag, my heels in different corners, the thong God knows where.

I got dressed as best I could, took my money from the pocket where they had left it — all of it, even with a couple of extra bills — and left without waking anyone. I went down the stairs barefoot, heels in hand, and my dignity hanging from the same finger.

I walked the four blocks home with the sun burning the back of my neck. Rubén opened the door before I even put the key in. He didn’t say anything at first; he only looked at my tousled hair, the stain on my dress, the scraped knees. Then he let loose everything he’d been holding in.

“Five hours?” he spat. “I’ve been calling you all night.”

I went into the bathroom without answering. In the mirror I found a woman I didn’t fully recognize: smudged mascara, swollen lips, a bite mark on my shoulder. I expected to feel ashamed. I expected the usual weight.

But as the hot water ran down my back and washed the night away, the only thing I felt was wanting it to happen again. Maybe I did lose something with Rubén this time, I thought. But I haven’t felt this alive in years.

I closed my eyes under the shower and, instead of crying, I smiled.