That Night My Husband Made Me Feel Like a Real Woman

I’m writing this many years later, when all I have left are memories and the scent of his beige jacket stored at the back of the closet. But there is one night I still see with the sharpness of the first day, as if time had chosen to honor it. It was the night Damián made me feel, for the first time and forever, like a complete woman.

That afternoon we had made love slowly, without haste, giving ourselves to each other with the tenderness that only appears when two people stop being afraid. Then we got ready to go out to dinner. He insisted I take my time getting dressed, that I enjoy each step.

Don’t rush —he told me—. I want to see you come out of that room and be left speechless.

And he did.

I put on the dress he had given me that same week: wine-colored, fitted to the body, knee-length. The V-neck opened just enough to the base of my breasts, which stood firm thanks to a low-cut bra. A thin necklace rested on my collarbone and gave the whole outfit a discreet glow. Over it I threw on a light beige jacket, one of his, which smelled like him.

When I came out of the bathroom, Damián was silent for a full second. Then he let out his breath all at once.

—Wow… —he said, his voice cracking a little—. You’re beautiful. Truly beautiful.

I felt as safe as I had in very few moments of my life. It wasn’t just the dress or the makeup. It was the way he looked at me, that protective feeling of his wrapping around me and making me forget all the years I had to hide. I considered him my husband long before any paper ever did. He had seduced me with respect, which is the most dangerous way to seduce someone.

***

The restaurant was up in the city’s upper district, one of those places with heavy tablecloths and candlelight that he had booked days in advance. It was Friday and it was packed. As we crossed the dining room I felt a few looks, but they no longer mattered to me the way they once had. I was lucky my voice had always been soft, delicate, and it had never been hard for me to speak the way I truly was. Even so, that night I let Damián carry the conversation.

—Good evening, we have a reserved table —he said to the maître d’.

I greeted him with a nod and a smile. He pulled out my chair, helped me sit, and ordered for both of us, as though he knew by heart everything I liked. He did. In those tiny details, the love he had for me fit perfectly.

There was a small stage at the back and a band playing old boleros. We ate unhurriedly, laughing at silly things, brushing our hands over the table. At one point he squeezed my fingers beneath the tablecloth and leaned toward me.

—Do you know how proud I am to be out with you? —he asked softly.

I felt my eyes fill and had to look away so I wouldn’t ruin my makeup. Nobody had ever made me feel like this.

When they cleared the plates, he held out his hand and took me dancing. I rested my cheek on his shoulder, felt his steady hand on my lower back, and let myself be carried by the slow rhythm of the music. I closed my eyes. For a few minutes there was nothing but the warmth of his body and the promise of the night ahead. I felt dreamt, as if I were floating inside a life I had believed for years would never be mine.

During a break in the music, as we were going back to the table, an older couple seated nearby smiled at me and the woman told me we made a lovely couple. I thanked her with a lump in my throat. Those little things, which for any other woman were ordinary, still carried the weight of a miracle for me. Damián squeezed my waist as if to say See? I told you.

We spent almost three hours there. When we left, the cool street air brought me back to reality, but that night reality was better than any dream. We walked half a block to the car without letting go of each other, and in every shop window we passed I searched for our reflection, still not quite able to believe that woman in the wine-colored dress, on the arm of that man, was me.

***

We went back to the hotel hand in hand. For me it was our honeymoon, the gift Damián had prepared with a care that still moves me. We rode up in the elevator in silence, looking at each other in the mirror, holding back our desire.

As soon as we closed the room door I hugged him. I kissed him long and deep, feeling desire slowly settle into my body. He held my face with both hands, as if I were something that could break, and at the same time he kissed me with a hunger that made me tremble.

—Wait —I whispered against his mouth—. Give me a minute.

I slipped away from him and went into the bathroom. I had saved a lingerie set I knew would drive him crazy. I put it on slowly, looking at myself in the mirror, recognizing myself. That night there was nothing of the insecurity from the first time he seduced me. Now I was determined. I wanted to show him everything I felt, I wanted to be for him and only for him, to make sure he would not need to look anywhere else for what I could give him. He was the owner of my heart and I wanted him to know it with my whole body.

When I came out, Damián was sitting on the edge of the bed. He stayed still, looking me up and down, and I saw his breathing quicken.

—Come here —he said, his voice rough.

I walked over to him and gently parted his legs, then pushed him onto the mattress until he was lying back. I settled on top of his body and started kissing him on the mouth, along the jaw, on the neck, feeling the skin rise under my lips. I unbuttoned his shirt patiently, button by button, until his hot chest was bare. I ran my tongue over one of his nipples, heard him moan softly, and that only lit me up more. I loved hearing him, I loved that new power of making him lose control.

I went down his torso slowly, kissing the center of his chest, his stomach, the edge of his pants. I undid the buckle and zipper with hands trembling from want, and when his cock came free, hard and heavy, I was already soaked with pure desire. I took it in one hand, stroked it up and down, feeling the heat and hardness under my fingers, and then I bent down to lick the head, slowly, until I heard his breath turn ragged.

—That’s it… —he panted—. Like that, fuck.

I took his cock into my mouth with complete surrender, sucking him deeply, taking more and more until my throat would allow no further. I worked my tongue over the tip with long, wet sucks while one hand massaged his balls and the other held the base to set the rhythm. He tangled his fingers in my hair and pushed me just a little, not to hurt me but to sink deeper into that mouth that had him on the edge.

—Like that… —he repeated, voice breaking—. You’re one of a kind. There’s no one like you.

—I’m only yours —I answered, lifting my eyes to look at him—. Only yours.

I felt him shudder at those words. I kept going a little longer, enjoying it as much as he was, until he took me by the shoulders and pulled me up to kiss me. His lips tasted like me, and that made me burn even hotter.

***

—I want to see you —he told me, and guided me to climb onto him.

I straddled him and slowly lowered myself, guiding his cock to my entrance until I felt myself opening under that delicious pressure. I sank down millimeter by millimeter, breathing deeply, until I had him fully inside me. Heat rushed up my back like a living current. I threw my head back and let out a long moan. He held my hips with both hands, helping me rock, looking at me as if I were the only thing that existed in the world.

—More… —I begged, and my own voice sounded far away.

I moved on top of him again and again, at first slowly, then harder, letting myself be carried by a wave that kept growing without pause. I could feel every inch of his cock brushing inside me, tightening me, rubbing the exact spot that made my legs tremble. Damián sat up a little to kiss my breasts, lick my nipples through the fabric, bite my neck, never stopping driving up from below to fill me to the very bottom. Then, with that steady firmness of his that melted me, he turned me until I was on my back.

He took my legs and rested them over his shoulders. He entered me again, this time deeper, and I clutched the sheets. Every thrust ripped a sound from me I couldn’t hold in. The mattress creaked under our bodies, the bed hit the wall with each thrust, and that made everything dirtier, more urgent, more ours. He opened me with his hands, held me by the waist, and fucked me with an exact cadence that made me lose my mind.

—Look how I make you mine —he murmured in my ear.

I arched, sweating, my cunt soaked through and throbbing around his cock. Pleasure became continuous, a succession of jolts running through my whole body, and in the most intense moments I felt him so deep inside me that I bit my lip to keep from screaming. He slid one hand between us and rubbed my clit with his fingers, first gently, then faster, all the while still coming in and out of me mercilessly. The sensation was so brutal that my thighs went weak.

—Don’t stop —I pleaded—. Please, don’t stop.

He didn’t stop. He held my gaze the whole time, and that was what finally undid me: knowing he saw me, that he desired me exactly as I was. His hips slammed hard, his breathing was a wreck, and I could feel every thrust bringing me closer to the edge, clenching me from the inside until I was shaking.

—Now… —I managed to say—. Damián, now…

—With me —he answered—. Come with me.

And then he took me there. The orgasm exploded first in my belly, then in my legs, my throat, the tips of my fingers. I came with a moan so loud I didn’t recognize myself, convulsing around his cock while he kept thrusting into me a few more times. I felt him tense, sink in deep, and in the final instant he came hot inside me, leaving us both trembling. The world went still for a second, broken only by our gasping.

I collapsed onto his chest, shaking, and he held me tight, saying nothing, letting me listen to the wild pounding of his heart.

***

We stayed like that for a long while, tangled together, catching our breath. I stroked his chest with my fingertips and he kissed my forehead every so often. That was the complete gift Damián gave me that first night of the weekend: not the dinner, not the dress, not the hotel. The gift was feeling, without reservations or fear, the woman I had always been inside.

—Thank you —I murmured.

—For what? —he asked.

—For seeing me. For truly seeing me.

He pulled me a little tighter against his body and didn’t answer. There was no need.

That night was the beginning of twelve years together. Twelve years in which Damián held me up, defended me, and loved me without ever asking me to be anything other than what I was. There were trips, silly fights, slow reconciliations, mornings of shared coffee, and comfortable silences. Everything that fits inside a life shared by two.

Sadly, he left too soon and made me a widow, with a broken heart and a closet full of his scent. That’s why I’m writing, I suppose: so that night won’t be lost, so that someone will know there was a man capable of looking at a woman like me and seeing nothing but his wife.

I’ll keep telling you our story, the good years and the hard ones, everything Damián did for me. But I wanted to begin here, with the night I felt whole.

With affectionate kisses to everyone who made it to the end.