The Wetness My Body Never Learned to Forget

I was eighteen the first time my cousin fucked me.

It was in the shed behind my grandparents’ house, among rusty tools and the smell of wet earth. He pulled my shorts down, spat into his hand, and shoved it into me without warning. Burning pain, tears, but also something else: that strange, hot, deep pressure that made me gasp even though I didn’t want to.

For almost a year we kept doing it. Whenever we could. Always without a condom. At the end, when he came, he would press my stomach with both hands, as if he wanted to push his cum deeper inside. I could feel him throbbing inside me, feel his cock swelling as he came, and then that thick wetness seeping between my ass cheeks when he pulled out. Hot. Sticky. Running down my thin thighs.

I learned to cum from that alone: from the feeling of being full, from the wet sound of his cock going in and out, from his rough grunts and the final squeeze on my stomach. That gesture stayed engraved in my body like a brand.

We never gave a name to what we did. It wasn’t necessary. He would come to the shed, slam the sheet-metal door shut, and I already knew what he wanted. He’d turn me around against the workbench, pull my clothes down, and take his time. Sometimes he’d whisper in my ear, things I didn’t fully understand back then but that still got under my skin. Sometimes he’d just breathe hard against my nape until he was done.

Then he’d leave like nothing had happened, and I’d stay there, my heart pounding and that warm wetness between my legs, wondering why I liked something so much that I knew was wrong.

Summer ended, he moved to another city, and I never saw him again. The desire went to sleep for years. Or so I thought.

Until college.

***

It was a freshman party. Too many people, music blasting, laughter. I felt out of place, small, androgynous, with long hair and skin still soft from the hormones I’d only been taking for a few months. Only then was I starting to recognize myself in the mirror: finer features, my body slowly changing into something that at last felt like mine.

But that night, surrounded by strangers, all of it felt fragile. As if anyone could look at me and find out what I was still learning to be. I’d hidden myself in a corner of the balcony, a warm cup in my hands, when he came over.

Forty, maybe forty-two. Tall, broad-shouldered, neatly trimmed short beard, deep, direct voice.

—You’re very alone here, aren’t you? —he said bluntly, looking me up and down—. You look like you’re dying for someone to use you.

I froze. No one had ever spoken to me like that.

He took a little scrap of paper from his pocket, wrote down his number, and put it in my hand.

—When you get tired of pretending you don’t want it, call me. I’ll fuck you good and no bullshit. Just me putting it in you. No reciprocity. Understood?

He walked away without waiting for an answer.

For four days that scrap of paper burned in my pocket. I unfolded it in class, in the bathroom, before going to sleep. I memorized the number without meaning to. Every night, lying in my bed in the dorms, I remembered my cousin’s hands squeezing my stomach as he came. The hot cum dripping out. The obscene sound of wet flesh. The shame mixed with pleasure.

I told myself I wasn’t going to call. That it was crazy, that this man was three times my age, that I knew nothing about him except the way he’d looked at me, as if he already knew everything I was hiding. And yet every time I closed my eyes I was back in the shed, to that pressure, to that wetness running down my thighs, and my body answered on its own.

On the fifth day I called.

His name was Esteban.

He asked me to meet him at his downtown apartment that same night.

***

I arrived trembling. Anxiety, fear, arousal, all of it together. As soon as I went in, he shut the door and looked at me hungrily.

—Clear rules —he said, undoing his belt—. I fuck you. You let yourself get fucked. You don’t touch my cock unless I ask you to. Tonight I want you to be my little whore. Do you agree?

I nodded, my mouth dry.

He smiled.

—Good. First we’re going to play a little.

He took me to the bedroom and opened a drawer. He pulled out a black lingerie set: lace thong, padded bra, and garter stockings. Clearly feminine clothes.

—Put it on —he ordered—. I want to see you transformed.

I undressed in front of him, feeling ashamed and strangely aroused. My hands trembled as I pulled the stockings up my legs, as I adjusted the bra over my almost flat chest. He didn’t help me. He sat on the edge of the bed and watched me do everything, slowly, enjoying my awkwardness.

When I saw myself in the mirror wearing that tiny outfit, my hips and ass framed by lace, I felt a liquid heat between my legs. My sex, small and hard, pressed against the thong. I imagined myself with tits and longer hair, made up, lips painted red. For a moment I didn’t recognize myself, and that strangeness aroused me more than any caress.

Esteban came up behind me, rubbing his bulge against my ass.

—Look how good it fits you. What a nice little ass you’ve got.

He stroked me over the fabric, then slid his hand inside the thong and started jerking me off slowly while he kissed my neck. I moaned softly. His other hand squeezed one cheek, spreading it apart.

He took his cock out. It was thick, veined, bigger than my cousin’s. He made me get on my knees.

—Suck it.

I took it in my mouth. First just the head, savoring the salty taste of his fluid. Then deeper. I felt it get harder against my tongue, the veins pulsing, the heavy balls brushing my chin. I sucked hungrily, making wet noises. Esteban groaned low, holding my head.

—What a filthy mouth you’ve got. You sucked my dick so fucking well.

He pulled me up, put me on all fours on the bed, and tugged the thong down to my thighs. He spat at my hole and added cold lube. Two fingers went in easily. Then three. He opened me wide, preparing me.

—Ask me for it —he growled.

—Please… put it in me —I whispered, my voice breaking.

I felt the thick head pressing in. He pushed in slowly. Burning pain at first, that feeling of being opened, stretched. I moaned loudly, but I didn’t pull away. He kept going in, centimeter by centimeter, until his balls touched my ass.

—You’re so tight… fuck.

He started moving. At first slowly, pulling almost all the way out and then driving back into me. Then faster. The sound of skin against skin filled the room. Every thrust tore a sharp moan from me.

Esteban grabbed my hips, speeding up.

—You turn me on so much, you know? That little ass swallowing my whole cock. You drive me fucking crazy.

His hands moved up to my stomach, squeezing hard while he fucked me deeper. That gesture, exactly that gesture, made me tremble all over.

—I’m going to fill you. I’m going to dump all my load inside you.

I felt him swelling inside me. A rough grunt and then the first hot jet. He came hard, pulsing, flooding me. I kept feeling each throb, each thick shot. When he pulled out, the semen started leaking out immediately, hot, viscous, running down my thighs and staining the stockings.

Exactly like with my cousin.

I was left trembling, breathing hard, my hole throbbing and gaping.

***

He helped me get dressed almost tenderly, which in some way was worse. He walked me to the door, gave me a short kiss on the temple, and told me I’d been a good little whore. I went down the stairs with weak legs and semen still wetly staining my underwear.

The pleasure had been intense, almost violent. But when I got home, guilt came crashing down on me like a slab of stone. His handprints were still on my hips. I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, hair a mess, mascara smeared and I didn’t even remember putting it on, and I felt disgusted with myself.

I definitely shouldn’t let this happen again.

I tore the scrap of paper with his number into tiny pieces and threw it in the trash.

It’s over.

A week later, I was in the kitchen making myself coffee when my phone rang. Unknown number.

I answered without thinking.

Esteban’s deep voice filled my ear, low and steady.

—I couldn’t stop thinking about you. About how you moaned when I fucked you. About how your ass squeezed me when I came inside you. I want to do it again. I want to keep transforming you. I want you to dress even sluttier for me next time. I want you to let yourself be used until you can’t walk straight.

He went quiet for a second, waiting.

—Are you coming?

My hand trembled holding the phone. I could feel my hole clenching involuntarily at the memory of wetness dripping out, the pressure in my stomach, the obscene sound of his cock fucking me.

I thought of all the reasons to hang up. That I’d promised myself it was over. That this couldn’t be good for me, that repeating with a stranger what my cousin had started years ago was opening a door I might not be able to close afterward.

But I also thought about how I’d felt in front of the mirror, transformed, desired, finally resembling the woman I saw when I closed my eyes. In the lingerie against my skin. In that dripping wetness my body never learned to forget.

Desire and guilt were fighting inside me, stronger than ever.

And I still hadn’t answered.