Private Classes

At Carla's house, it's always the same. Guacamole, worms, El Zar or some trendy band to hide our age. Shredded beef, wine, and the same old couples: Felipe—her "worst of all," as she calls him—Chechu and Gordo Fer, Santi and the other girl, La Turca and Esteban, Ramiro and me.

We were chatting about typical forty-something topics: open relationship, yes or no? Separated friends hooked on Tinder. Someone offered a theory about the ideal frequency of oral sex. The debate was settled when I blurted out:
— "The issue is not how much, it's that you do it worse than us."

"Coffeeee!" Carla said, smiling as she collected the cups. La Turca and Chechu laughed and clapped. We left.

In the car, there was silence. Until Ramiro asked the question:
— Am I doing it wrong?
— You make it worse —I replied.

He ran a red light. We argued. He said it was "unprovable, subjective, and a load of sociological mumbo jumbo." I closed the topic with a suggestion: go inside the house and see who could get the other guy to finish first.

While smoking a cigarette, exhausted and defeated, he said it to me:
—Let 's not split the couple, but let's bring someone different each time. I'll watch and take notes while she sucks you off. Private lessons. She can't stick it in you.

We laughed, then we argued, then we fucked and I agreed.

Man 1

It was like the first day of high school. My hands were sweating. I changed clothes and combed my hair twenty times. I lit a joint. The bell rang.

He didn't seem nervous. Ramiro greeted him with a kiss, as if they knew each other. He introduced us and went to get some ice. When he disappeared, Man 1 looked at my legs. I was wearing a flowery miniskirt. I closed them. He smiled at me.

Ramiro came in and said:
— Are you getting into the situation?
They both laughed. The way uncles laugh with each other.

We barely spoke. He mentioned something about the Uber and the neighborhood. Ramiro nodded toward the bedroom. They stood up. I was slow. Ramiro grabbed my hand and, with another gesture—lifting his chin—signaled me to hold it. I walked into the room holding hands with both of them. I felt like a Lolita.

Ramiro gently pushed me, and I fell onto the bed, face up. Man 1 watched, waiting for orders.

— I'll undress her. I need you to look at her carefully, in detail. I'll show her to you first, but don't touch her. Smell her, look at her closely. And only when you know what to do, let me know to start. I need you to spread her legs wide and give me room to see.
— Perfect —he answered nervously.

Ramiro also gave me an order:
— If you resist, I'll tie you up.
I didn't answer. I looked at the ceiling.

He knelt down, pulled down my skirt and panties, which caught on a sandal. He spread me wide open at the knees, making me arch. With his fingers, he parted my lips, stretched them sideways, and turned to make sure he was watching. Man 1 stood a meter behind him, serious.

They sat up, standing side by side. Ramiro took a sip from his glass, placed it on the table, and picked up a notebook.
- Begin.

Man 1 knelt down. He repeated the opening with his fingers, brought his face closer, and when his nose touched my clitoris, he inhaled deeply. I heard Ramiro's pen.

It opened me up a little more.
— I'll start.

He placed the tip of his tongue, hard, on the hole. I retreated. I lifted my head as if doing a sit-up. Man 1 stopped. Ramiro was scoring. I lay back again, thinking I'd have to clarify a few points: I don't like the tongue there, in my pussy hole, and even less so on entry. But I was soaked from the situation.

As if reading my thoughts, Man 1 touched my thicker, darker right lip and followed it to the junction. I began to moan.

Ramiro separated my knee and bent down. As I felt a trickle of saliva run toward my ass, Man 1 opened me up again with both hands and placed his tongue—wide and soft—over almost the entire length of my pussy. Then, like my cat drinking water, he began to lick everything that came out of me. He stopped, blew on me, and went back, faster. I twitched and ended up with my eyes closed.

Man 1 stepped back. I couldn't look at them, but I knew they were there. He was smiling, his arm over his eyes, like when there's a lot of sun. Ramiro waved him goodbye.

Men 2 and 3

They did it wrong. Ramiro wrote it down. Then we discussed:
— "He makes it hard from the start. He moves it slowly at the end, when you need to finish. He loses the point."

Man 4

An open book. I asked permission to kiss that one. Ramiro let me.

Man 5

He tried to put a finger in. I refused. He squirmed. He said:
— "Let me try a little bit, that's all."
He put his thumb in his mouth, covered it with saliva, and slowly inserted it into my ass. With the rest of his hand, he lifted me slightly. I finished with that one twice in a row.

Man 6

A lead. A little machine: tiki-tiki, round, up-down. I finished, but without grace. I closed my eyes and thought about the one who hooked up with the Formula 1 drivers. It never fails.

For Man 10

There were no more introductions. I waited naked in bed. Ramiro greeted them.

11

He asked to fuck me. Ramiro said no. He always fucked me after each man, finishing quickly and thickly inside me.

12 and 13

A couple. And the first woman. The four of us hooked up with them. I want to marry her. I blocked him on Instagram. We won't be back.

14

He gave me Menthoplus. I almost died. Three hours in the bidet.

15

Single woman. Lesbian. He massaged my clitoris for hours. He sucked all my cum out. He lay down next to me and hugged me. Ramiro sat on the chair where I hang my clothes and watched us for a long time. He wrote down two pages.

I started a diary with drawings. We set up a mirror. We filmed the 16th and 17th (with consent). We celebrated the bullfight on the 18th, and he later masturbated in front of us while we fucked.

19

We argued. He was an older guy, he knew how to do it, but he treated me badly, he rushed me, he talked like he was in a porn movie. He got into a fight with Ramiro. He yelled "Fucking whore!" at me as we left.

20

Ramiro said it was the last one. I went to bed at the agreed-upon time. The bell didn't ring. I rolled over, touched myself a little, and fell asleep.

I woke up with a head touching my legs. A warm tongue making its way. A millimetric cleaning. His nose making small circles. Hands lifting my ass like a puppet. Spreading my buttocks and licking from end to end: clitoris, urethra, pussy, perineum, ass. A wide, confident tongue.

She returned to the clitoris without hesitation. Soft, agile, faster and faster. As I was finishing, she pressed her palm against my pelvis, and the orgasm stretched out in tremors.

I knew it was him.

He started jerking me off and when he was about to, he stuck it in me.

I lit a cigarette and, exhaling, said:
— He didn't come.

From the bed, he replied:
— Two minutes seventeen, my love. I've learned.