The First Time with Felix
I had always been curious, flirting with the edges of my desire. My cousins had taught me the basics, the teasing friction of skin against skin, but I had never known the full weight of surrender. Then I met Felix. He was thirty-seven, divorced, and possessed a confidence that both intimidated and electrified me. We had connected on Twitter, where he admitted he was captivated by my photos. When we finally met in person in Valencia, the chemistry was instant, though my shyness kept me from reaching for him.
For a while, fear got the better of me. I pulled away, deleting his contact and ignoring his messages, terrified of the intensity of what I wanted. But temptation is a persistent thing. Eventually, I reached back out, making a clumsy excuse about a broken phone. Felix didn’t believe me, but he didn’t care; he just wanted me. We met again at a shopping center in Naguanagua, and before I knew it, he was driving me to a motel.
The room was stunning, filled with large mirrors that reflected every angle of our encounter. The tension broke the moment we stepped inside. Felix stripped down to his underwear, taking my hand and guiding it to his hardness. The touch sparked something primal in me. I knelt before him, tasting him with a hunger I didn’t know I possessed, listening to his guttural moans of approval as I worked him with my mouth.
When he finally decided it was time, the reality of the act hit me. He reached for a condom, but we lacked lubricant. The first few attempts were clumsy and painful, causing me to wince. Thinking quickly, I remembered the Nivea cream in my bag. He applied it, and this time, he pushed forward. I gasped, a sharp cry escaping my lips as he breached my defenses. The pain was intense, but as he began to move, it blended with an overwhelming sense of fullness.
I watched us in the mirrors, mesmerized by the sight of his body driving into mine. He shifted my position, turning me over so I was on all fours. I couldn’t stop crying out—partly from the sting, partly from the sheer sensation of being claimed. He laughed, telling me to be quiet, though his movements remained steady and rhythmic. When he finally peaked, he filled me completely, the friction of the condom the only barrier between us.
We didn’t stop there. After a quick shower, he returned for a second round, this one slower and more intimate. Afterward, we collapsed into each other, lying spoon-style. I felt the soft weight of him against my backside as we drifted into a light sleep. He eventually drove me back home, teasingly calling me a “crybaby” for my loud reactions. Even now, though distance separates us, that nickname remains a tender reminder of the day I finally stopped hiding from my desires.