The Favor My Friend Asked Me for After Six Beers

Today I want to tell you something different, one of those strange things that happen to you once in a lifetime and you don’t dare tell almost anyone. It happened quite a few summers ago now. I was on vacation, with nothing urgent to do, sprawled on the sofa catching up on a novel I’d abandoned months before. The afternoon was sticky, one of those when the heat seeps through the blinds and no fan in the world can do any good. Then the phone buzzed.

It was Nuria. A lifelong friend, and when I say lifelong I mean it: we’d known each other since school, since we were seven or eight years old. Almost three decades had gone by and we were still each other’s refuge. The conversation started like any other of ours, over messages, with no ceremony to speak of.

—What are you doing? —she wrote.

—Here at home, reading for a while. You? —I answered.

—Are you dressed? Feel like a beer?

She knew my habit of walking around naked at home when it was hot, though when she came over I always put something on out of respect. I smiled at the screen.

—Sure, come by. I’ve got plenty in the fridge.

—No, I’m bringing them. But you’re going to have to do me a favor. Deal?

—Deal. What favor?

—I’ll tell you later. I’m on my way.

The shameless little minx left me hanging. But she was bringing beer, and sooner or later she’d spill whatever it was, so I didn’t overthink it. With Nuria, you never knew where she was going to come from, and that unpredictability was part of why I loved her so much.

It took her barely twenty minutes to ring the bell. I picked up the intercom and she hit me with a “open up, come on” in that familiar voice of hers. I pressed the button and heard her taking the stairs two at a time.

She appeared at the door wearing jeans that looked like they’d been chewed up by a dog, full of rips and frayed at the knees. They hadn’t been bought that way: she tore them herself with scissors because she liked it. She had on a loose black T-shirt with a strange design on the chest and her hair was tied back in a Viking-style braid falling over one shoulder. Slung across her body was her inseparable worn leather satchel. In her hand, a bag loaded with cans. I counted about a dozen, and the plastic was already sweating from the cold.

—Looks like you’re here to stay —I joked, stepping aside to let her in.

—It’s bloody boiling. This stuff goes down on its own.

We sat at the kitchen table, one across from the other, and set about the contents of the bag. The cans were ice-cold and with that suffocating heat they went down too easily. One after another, trip after trip to the fridge, they disappeared. An hour and a half of talking, laughing, remembering when we were kids and getting up to mischief around the neighborhood. We weren’t drunk, but the alcohol had loosened our tongues in that way that makes confessions come easier.

At one point I got up, my bladder ready to explode.

—I’ve got to piss, babe. Back in a sec.

—Wait, I need to tell you something —she said, grabbing my wrist.

—Can it wait? I’m seriously about to piss myself.

—No, wait. It’s exactly that. You have to do me the favor I told you about.

I sat back down, resigned, and rolled a cigarette while I watched her. I lit it, took a drag, and crossed my arms.

—Go on then.

—Look, don’t judge me. —She bit her lower lip, that habit of hers when she was nervous—. Last night I was in bed, watching porn before going to sleep, like I almost always do. And I saw a scene that completely blew my mind.

—The short version, babe, because I’m going to have to find a bucket at this rate.

—I’m getting there, idiot. —She let out a nervous laugh—. There was this guy who, after fucking a girl, took her into the shower and pissed on her to “clean” her. And I don’t know what happened to me, but I haven’t been able to get it out of my head all day. I want to try it.

I stared at her, cigarette halfway to my mouth, not sure whether to laugh or whether she was serious.

—Nuria, I’m not going to fuck you. Tell Iván, that’s what you’ve got him for. —Iván was her thing from the last few weeks.

—Not that, idiot. —She slapped my arm—. The other thing. I want you to piss on me. That’s all. I’m not going to touch you, you’re not going to touch me. Just that. And you’re the only person in the world I’d ask.

—You’re nuts, you know that? Is that why you brought so much beer?

—How many times have we left a concert and ended up pissing together in an alley on the way home? —She leaned over the table—. You’re like my brother. I don’t have that kind of trust with anyone else. And anyway, you’re going to piss whether you like it or not. What difference does it make where? The toilet bowl or me. You choose.

I gave it a couple of seconds of thought. The situation was absurd, surreal, and yet there was something about the way she asked me —without shame, direct, trusting me— that disarmed me. Besides, I was about to burst any minute.

—Fine. But make it quick, because I can’t hold it much longer.

—You got it! —She sprang up at once, eyes shining.

She kicked off her sneakers, then stripped off the ripped jeans, and finally the T-shirt, and stood there in the middle of the kitchen in a bikini. Black, with tiny triangle cups tied with strings at the back and neck. The bottom was a matching thong tied at the hips, leaving her ass almost completely bare.

—You came prepared, you little shameless thing! —I said, though my voice came out rougher than I intended.

—Just in case you said yes.

The truth was, she has an outrageous body. She’s a spinning instructor, spends her life on a bike, and it shows in every inch of her. I couldn’t help staring at her breasts pressed between those tiny triangles, her firm thighs, the curve of her hips. I felt a hot stab in my stomach that had nothing to do with the beer.

Am I seriously getting hard for my best friend?

—Come on, into the shower —she said, oblivious to my little internal drama—. Let’s not make a mess on the floor.

I followed her down the hall, not missing a single detail of the sway of her ass with every step. The thong barely covered anything, and the image was burned into my head before we even reached the bathroom. I could feel my blood racing, my pulse in places it had no business being in a situation like that.

***

She stepped into the shower stall and knelt on the tiles, leaving me just enough room to stand in front of her. Her face was at the level of my waist, far too close, and for a second the air between us turned heavy. She looked up at me and let out a line with that crooked half-smile of hers.

—If you get hard, I’ll bite it off. So start pissing, come on.

The threat, which I knew damn well she’d follow through on, brought me down a notch. I pulled down my underwear and, after six beers, I can assure you your aim leaves a lot to be desired. The first stream hit her neck and shoulder, and she let out a little yelp and a laugh.

—Asshole, aim!

—This is what you get, you asked for it!

I took hold of myself to direct it better and started dousing her breasts, first at the center of her cleavage and then one after the other. She grabbed the bikini triangles and pulled them aside, pressing her breasts together with her hands to catch it all between them. Her eyes were closed and she had a smile of pure satisfaction, as if she’d been waiting for exactly this moment for months.

—It’s hot —she murmured, almost to herself—. God, that’s filthy. Give me a little in the mouth, come on. Since we’re at it, might as well do the full thing.

—You sure? —I asked, cutting the stream off abruptly.

—Do it, come on. Before I change my mind.

I started again, noticing there wasn’t much left. She opened her mouth and let it fall inside without swallowing, just holding it there for a second before letting it run down her chin and onto her breasts again. The last remains came out in jerks, in little spurts, and landed all over her, while she laughed with her head thrown back.

A couple of shakes to get rid of the rest and it was over. I stood there for a moment, heart hammering, trying to understand what the hell had just happened between us.

—Jesus, mate, what kind of tank are you packing? —she said, opening her eyes and looking at me with a sly grin as water from the showerhead started pouring over her—. Bloody hell. Come on, let me have a shower, please.

—All yours.

I left the bathroom still dazed and sat in the kitchen to finish the cigarette I’d left half-smoked in the ashtray. I took a long drag, staring at the ceiling, not really knowing what to think. I didn’t regret it. That was the strangest part of all.

***

She came out after a while, dressed again, with her braid undone and wet hair falling down her back. She looked relaxed, almost radiant, like someone who’s just had a weight lifted off their shoulders.

—Thanks, seriously —she said, and for once there wasn’t even a trace of irony in her voice.

—You’re welcome. But next time bring more beer —I answered, and we both burst out laughing.

—Don’t go thinking I’m a toilet, smartass. —She picked up her satchel and slung it over her shoulder—. Right, I’m off, I’ve got class early. See you later.

—See you later, babe.

I walked her to the door and, before leaving, she turned around and gave me a proper hug, one of those long ones. She smelled like my shower gel and something else, something like complicity. Then she went down the stairs and I heard her whistling as she walked away.

It is, by far, the strangest thing that’s ever happened to me in my life. And, incredible as it sounds, also the most intimate thing I’ve ever shared with anyone. We fulfilled her fantasy, the one she’d kept inside without daring to confess, and we did it without changing anything between us. We’re still the same people, the same as always, the kids from the neighborhood. Only now we share a secret we won’t tell anyone.

Anyway, I know this is a different kind of story than usual, but I felt like sharing it. If you liked it, you know what to do. Until next time.