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 that 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 earlier. The afternoon was sticky, one of those when the heat creeps in through the blinds and no fan can do a thing. Then the phone buzzed.

It was Nuria. A friend from way back, and when I say way back I mean it: we’d known each other since school, since we were seven or eight years old. Nearly three decades had passed and we were still each other’s refuge. The conversation started like any other of ours, by text, with no real ceremony.

—What are you doing? —she wrote.

—Here at home, reading for a bit. You? —I replied.

—Are you dressed? Fancy 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.

—Okay, come over. 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 woman left me hanging. But she was bringing beer, and sooner or later she’d spill whatever it was, so I didn’t give it another thought. With Nuria, you never knew what was coming, and that unpredictability was part of why I loved her so much.

It wasn’t even twenty minutes before the doorbell rang. I picked up the intercom and she hit me with a “open up, come on” in that voice of hers. I pressed the button and heard her taking the stairs two at a time.

She showed up at the door in a pair of jeans that looked like they’d been chewed 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 wore a loose black T-shirt with a strange design on the chest and her hair pulled back in a Viking-style braid that fell over one shoulder. Hanging from her body was her inseparable worn leather shoulder bag. In her hand, a bag loaded with cans. I counted about a dozen, and the plastic was already sweating from the cold.

—I see you’re staying awhile —I joked, stepping aside to let her in.

—It’s hot as hell. This stuff drinks itself.

We sat at the kitchen table, one opposite the other, and set about making short work of the bag. The cans were ice-cold and, in that heat, went down way 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 got into trouble 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 about to burst.

—I have to go 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 wet myself.

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

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

—Go on, then.

—Okay, 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 left my head spinning.

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

—I’m done, pest. —She let out a nervous laugh—. There was this guy who, after fucking a girl, took her into the shower and pissed all over her to “clean her up.” And I don’t know what came over 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, since you’ve got him for that. —Iván was her latest thing.

—Not that, idiot. —She smacked my arm—. The other thing. I want you to piss on me. That’s it. You’re not going to touch me, I’m not going to touch you. Not a finger. Just your cock letting out the stream and me underneath it. 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 no matter what. What difference does it make where? The toilet bowl or me. You choose.

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

—All right. But hurry up, because I can’t hold it anymore.

—Flying! —She jumped up, eyes shining.

She kicked off her sneakers, then slid the ripped jeans down over her hips with a sway of her ass I’d never seen her do in my fucking life, and finally pulled her T-shirt off over her head, leaving the braid hanging. She stood there in the middle of the kitchen in a bikini. Black, with tiny triangle cups connected by strings tied at the back and neck. The triangles barely covered her nipples, which showed hard beneath the fabric, two firm bumps jutting forward. The bottom was a thong in the same color, tied at the hips, leaving her ass almost completely bare. A spinning instructor’s ass: firm, round, two tight half-moons separated by that black little cord disappearing between her cheeks.

—Damn, you came prepared, you shameless thing! —I said, though my voice came out rougher than I meant.

—Just in case you said yes.

The truth is, she has an unbelievable body. She’s a spinning instructor; she spends her life on a bike, and it shows in every inch of her. I couldn’t help staring at her tits, squeezed into those tiny triangles, with the sweaty cleavage glistening; or her hard thighs, the curve of her hips, or the shadow of her cunt showing beneath the little triangle of the thong, with the small bulge of her lips pressing against the fabric damp with heat. I felt a stab of heat in my stomach that had nothing to do with beer, and I noticed my cock starting to thicken inside my pants, swelling on its own without permission, without me having given it the order.

Am I seriously getting hard with my best friend?

—Come on, into the shower —she said, unaware of my little internal drama—. We don’t want to make a mess on the floor.

I followed her down the hall without missing a single detail of the sway of her ass with each step. The thong wedged into her crack and disappeared, leaving those two half-moons bouncing from side to side, knocking against each other with every stride. The fabric was so buried in her cleft that you could see the whole shape of her ass perfectly, and lower down, between her thighs, a small taut triangle hiding just enough. I could feel my blood racing, my pulse in places where there shouldn’t have been any pulse in a situation like that, and my cock was already pressing against the seam of my pants, half-erect, trying to get out.

***

She stepped into the shower tray and knelt on the tiles, knees apart, leaving me exactly the space to position myself in front of her. Her face was level with my waist, too close, and for a moment the air between us turned thick. 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 go on and piss, come on.

The threat, which I knew perfectly well she’d carry out, knocked my ego down just enough. I unbuttoned my pants and pulled them down with my boxers to my ankles. My cock sprang free, half-hard, thick and heavy, pointing neither up nor down, in that awkward state that makes it impossible to aim properly when you’re pissing. Nuria gave it a quick glance, raised an eyebrow, and looked back at my face without losing that little smile.

—Focus, come on, you’re going to get it hard.

—Shut up and open your eyes, because I aim like shit like this.

I shut my eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and tried to force the stream out. After six beers, I swear, your aim, with your cock only half-swollen, leaves quite a bit to be desired. The first burst came out like a beast, a hot lash that hit the side of her neck dead on and ran down her shoulder and collarbone, disappearing into the cup of the bikini. She let out a little squeal and a laugh, throwing her head back.

—Asshole, aim!

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

I grabbed her at the base with my right hand, squeezing to lower the angle, and started spreading the stream over her breasts, first at the center of her cleavage and then from one to the other. The yellowish liquid ran between her tits, steaming slightly against her skin, and soaked the bikini fabric, sticking it to her nipple. She took hold of the bikini triangles and pulled them aside, getting her tits out, then cupped them with both hands, squeezing them to make a channel to catch the stream. Her nipples stood up like stones, swollen and dark, trembling every time a fresh burst hit her.

—Fuck, it’s so hot —she muttered almost to herself—. Jesus, Jesus, this is such a turn-on, I can’t believe it.

She took one hand to her cleavage and rubbed my piss over her tits, spreading it across her skin, smearing her nipples with her thumb as if it were oil. I lowered the stream a little more and started painting her belly, following the line of her tight abs until I reached her navel, where the liquid pooled for a second before spilling over and running into her groin. Then I aimed lower, at the black triangle of the thong, and soaked her cunt right through the fabric. The bikini clung to her mound, outlining the swollen lips underneath, and the piss ran down the insides of her thighs to her knees.

—Oh, God —she gasped, her voice even huskier, parting her thighs—. It’s so hot, fuck. Keep going, keep going, don’t stop.

I swept the stream back up her body, tracing a line of piss from her soaked cunt to her neck, passing over her navel, the pit of her stomach, between her tits. She followed the path with her mouth shut, arching her back every time the hot liquid touched a new spot. Her whole skin was shining, dripping, and yellowish drops hung from her nipples before falling onto the shower floor.

—Put some in my mouth, come on —she said suddenly, opening her eyes and looking straight at me—. Since we’re at it, let’s do the whole thing. All or nothing.

—Sure? —I asked, cutting the stream off at once by clenching my muscles.

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

She opened her mouth as wide as she could, sticking out her pink tongue a little and curving it like someone waiting for a dropper. I stepped half a pace closer, aimed my cock straight at her lips, and let go again. The stream went straight into her mouth, striking the roof and tongue. She didn’t swallow it, just held it there for a couple of seconds, letting her mouth fill right to the edges, and then let it run out through the corners of her lips and down her chin, falling in two yellow streams back onto her tits. She stuck her tongue out a little more and let the rest run over it, splashing her neck.

—More —she murmured, not quite closing her mouth—. Empty yourself, fuck, empty yourself in me.

I clenched again and let loose another short burst straight onto her tongue. She caught it, gargled for a moment making an obscene noise, and spat it back out down her chin. She was smiling, her teeth shining with liquid, and it ran from her jaw to her sternum, forming little pools between her breasts that she squeezed with her hands to hold in place. The last of it no longer came out in a stream, but in jolts, in small irregular spurts, thick drops that landed all over her. One hit her cheek, another her forehead, another fell right between her eyebrows. She was laughing with her head thrown back, eyes closed, absolutely soaked in me from the crown of her head to her knees.

I shook my cock a couple of times with my thumb and forefinger to get the last drop out, and of course it landed on her right nipple. She burst out laughing when she felt it and slowly rubbed it with her palm, looking at me with a mixture of cheek and satisfaction I’d never seen in my fucking life.

I stood there for a moment, cock still in my hand, half-hard, dripping the last drops onto the floor. My heart was racing and I was trying to make sense of what the hell had just happened between us.

—Fuck, man, what kind of tank do you have? —she said, opening her eyes and looking at me with a smirk as the shower head started raining down on her, washing all the piss off her skin and into the drain—. My God. Come on, let me take a shower, please.

—All yours.

I left the bathroom still dazed, boxers in hand, 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, feeling my cock slowly deflate against my thigh. I didn’t really know what to think. I didn’t regret it. That was the strangest part of all.

***

She came out after a while, dressed again, braid undone and wet hair falling down her back. She looked relaxed, almost radiant, like someone who’s just been relieved of a weight.

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

—No problem. But next time bring more beer —I answered, and we both laughed.

—You’re not going to make me think I’m a toilet, smartass. —She picked up her shoulder bag and slung it over her shoulder—. Well, 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 and gave me a real hug, one of the long ones. She smelled like my shower gel and something else, something like complicity. Then she went downstairs and I heard her whistling as she walked away.

It is, by far, the strangest thing that has ever happened to me in my life. And, unbelievable 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 neighborhood kids. Only now we share a secret we won’t tell anyone.

Anyway, I know it’s a story different from the usual, but I felt like sharing it. If you liked it, you know. Until next time.