The Deception My Boyfriend Hid Behind Therapy

Mara did not sleep that night. She stayed seated on the floor of her tiny rental flat, her back against the sofa, until the first light of dawn slipped through the slats of the blind. Her phone vibrated every so often on the coffee table, flashing blue across the room. They were messages from Bruno: «Did you get home okay?», «I’m thinking of you», «Are you mad about something?». She didn’t answer any of them. Every time she tried to type, the words got stuck in her throat and all she managed was to cry in silence.

The next day she got up with swollen eyes and a cold determination settling in her chest. She was not going to wait any longer. She needed to look him in the face. She needed to know whether everything she had felt in his arms — every finger inside her, every hard cock pushing into her belly, every moan he had dragged from her with his tongue — had been real or just another piece of the deception.

She sent him a short, direct message: «I need to see you. Now. At your place. It’s important».

The reply came almost instantly: «Of course. Come whenever you want. I’ll be waiting».

She showered quickly, put on jeans, a loose T-shirt and a jacket, and left without breakfast. Under her clothes, her nipples were still sensitive from the friction of the fabric, as if her body remembered before her mind did. All the way there on the bus, she kept turning the same thing over in her head. How was it possible that Adrián, her fiancé, the man she was going to marry in three weeks, was behind all of this? Why did he need to keep her «distracted»? His family had never fully accepted her; they treated her with that glacial courtesy of people tolerating someone they considered beneath them. So why did they want her close? For appearances? Or was there something even uglier she still couldn’t understand?

When she reached Bruno’s building, she climbed the stairs with trembling legs. She rang the bell. He opened at once, with a smile that vanished the moment he saw her pale face and red-rimmed eyes.

—Mara… what’s wrong? You look awful. Come in, please.

She walked in without saying a word and slammed the door behind her harder than necessary. She stood in the middle of the living room, arms crossed, her gaze fixed on him.

And then she saw the sofa.

The fucking brown leather sofa, with the blanket folded over the back, the side table beside it with the same glass ashtray. Two weeks earlier, on that sofa, he had stripped her slowly, kneeling between her legs and spreading them with the palms of his hands. She had not been able to hold back the sound when he pulled her panties aside and ran his entire tongue through her cunt, bottom to top, finding her clit with the tip and trapping it between his lips to suck it hungrily. He had given her a backwards blowjob, opened her up wide, eaten her out for what felt like an hour, biting her thighs, sliding two fingers inside her until she arched her back against the cushions. And when she had come, dribbling into his mouth — trembling, covering her face with her hands because she was embarrassed to moan so loudly — he had wiped his lips with the back of his hand and whispered that he had never wanted anyone so badly, that he loved how she tasted, that he wanted to live with the taste of her cunt in his mouth. Then he had put her on her knees on that same sofa, grabbed her hair with one hand and her hip with the other, and shoved his cock in all the way, so hard it tore a cry out of her. He fucked her slowly at first and then harder, yanking her hair, telling her she was his, that he was going to fill her with cum, and she had come twice more before feeling him spurt inside her. There. On that sofa. Against those same cushions.

The memory burned through her and made her sick at the same time. Every inch of skin he had kissed now itched like ants were crawling over it.

—Did you know what they were doing behind my back? —she asked suddenly, her voice low but shaking.

Bruno frowned, genuinely confused at first.

—What are you talking about?

Mara took a deep breath. Her eyes burned with tears, but she held them back with rage.

—Last night I went to Esteban’s office. Without warning. I wanted to tell him I was quitting therapy, that it was all over. But I heard him talking to someone. They were talking about me. They said I was «hooked», that I thought this was about my marriage, that I had to be kept distracted until the wedding. And the other one… it was Adrián.

Bruno went still. The color drained from his face. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out at first.

—Mara…

—Did you know? —she insisted, raising her voice—. Did you know Adrián was behind this? That they were using me like a toy to cover something up? That the therapy, the sessions, you… all of it was part of a plan? That every time I spread my legs for you, it was because someone was paying you to fuck me?

Bruno lowered his gaze. He ran a hand through his hair, breathing hard, visibly shaken.

—Yes —he admitted at last, his voice rough—. I knew.

Mara felt something break inside her. She stepped back as if she had been punched in the stomach.

—Since when?

—From almost the beginning —he said, not looking up—. Esteban contacted me. He told me there was a girl in his group who needed «help» exploring her sexuality before getting married. That her boyfriend knew everything and approved. That my role was to make you feel safe, help you progress, keep you occupied. They paid well. And I was drowning in debt. I didn’t think about you at first. I only saw the money. I thought you were just another weird couple that needed a push. Another paid fuck, like the others I’d done.

Mara squeezed her eyes shut. The tears finally slipped free.

—And everything you told me? That you cared? That you loved how I came? Did you see me as anything more than an experiment, or was I just another cunt for you to shove your cock into?

Bruno lifted his gaze for the first time. His eyes were shining, bloodshot.

—Not at first —he confessed, his voice breaking—. At first you were a job, and because you were so beautiful, I didn’t even hesitate. When I stripped you the first time and saw your hard tits and that pink shaved cunt, I thought about getting paid and that was it. But after that… fuck, Mara, after that I really got to know you. I heard you talk about your mother, about your town, about how scared you were of getting married without having lived anything. I saw you laugh at my stupid jokes. I saw you trembling the first time I touched your clit with my fingers, with your eyes wide open and your mouth open like nobody had ever touched you right before. I saw you come for the first time in your life on my face and cry from relief afterwards. And I fell in love. It wasn’t in the plan. It was real. When I realized it, I didn’t want to stop anymore. I told Esteban, I asked to get out. He told me to keep going, that it was better this way.

Mara shook her head, tears falling uncontrollably.

—How am I supposed to believe you? It was all a lie. You made me think you were my friend, someone who truly cared about me… and all the while you knew Adrián was cheating on me, using me as a front. Every time you spread my legs and shoved your tongue in my cunt, you knew. Every time I sucked your cock, you knew. Every time you filled me with semen and called me beautiful, you knew.

Bruno took a step toward her, but Mara raised a hand to stop him.

—Don’t come near me. Don’t ever touch me again.

He stopped, his hands trembling at his sides.

—I know. I know I hurt you and I accept all the blame. It started for money, yes. But it ended up being for you. I don’t know why Adrián set this up. He never fully explained it to me. I only cared about you.

—And what do you want me to do? —Mara wiped her tears with the back of her hand—. Forgive you? Keep going as if nothing happened? Get on my knees in front of you tomorrow and suck your cock like this never happened?

—I’m not expecting forgiveness today. Or for you to stay. But if one day you can look at me without hating me, I’ll do whatever it takes to make it up to you. If you want me gone, I’ll disappear. If you want me to help you face this, I’ll be there. Not for money. For you.

Mara stared at him for a long time. The silence weighed on them, broken only by her ragged breathing.

—What hurts the most —she said at last— is that with you I felt something real. That you were the first person who made me come for real, wet and screaming, without holding myself back. Something I never felt with Adrián. And now I don’t even know if it was real or if they taught you how to touch a fool so she’d think she was loved.

She turned toward the door. She put her hand on the handle and, without looking at him, added:

—Don’t look for me. Don’t call me.

She opened it and left. She went down the stairs with tears streaming down her face. At the center of that pain, Bruno’s betrayal burned much more fiercely than Adrián’s, because Bruno had taught her body things Adrián had never even known how to name.

***

Mara returned to her flat a little after eight in the evening. The place was silent, lit only by the lamp she had left on that morning. It was her only refuge since moving to the city. Adrián only had a copy of the key «just in case», as he always said in that calm, detached voice. He had never lived there, never left clothes in the closet, never slept two nights in a row. The few times they had fucked in that bed had been quick, awkward, with him on top moving just enough to finish, not looking at her, barely getting her wet, coming almost silently and getting up to shower immediately. She had thought it was modesty. Now she understood it was disgust. That distance seemed obvious to her now, almost grotesque, like a sign she had refused to see.

She sat on the sofa, still wearing her jacket, and waited. She hadn’t told him she was coming. Her hands trembled in her lap and she pressed them together to make them stop.

When she heard the key in the lock, her heart lurched brutally. Adrián came in, set his briefcase on the floor with his usual gesture, and took off his jacket. When he saw her sitting there, motionless, he frowned.

—Mara… I thought you weren’t home, with the lights so low.

She didn’t get up. She just stared at him.

—I need to talk to you. Now.

Adrián closed the door and approached slowly, with that polite smile he used to smooth things over.

—Of course. What’s wrong? You look awful.

—Last night I went to Esteban’s office. I wanted to quit therapy. But I heard him talking to someone about me. They said to keep me distracted until the wedding, that they’d see after that. It was you, Adrián. You planned all of this. You paid Bruno to fuck me.

Adrián froze for a second, something like panic flickering across his face. Then he tried to pull himself together.

—Mara, wait. I think you misunderstood something. Esteban speaks with family members to coordinate. I only contributed financially because I wanted to help with your stress. You must have heard wrong. You were nervous…

—I didn’t hear wrong. I heard them perfectly. Tell me the truth. Why did you do this to me?

Adrián looked at her for a long moment. He saw there was no way back. His shoulders sank and he sat on the sofa, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.

—All right —he said at last, in a low, resigned voice—. I’ll tell you everything.

Mara sat in the chair across from him, keeping her distance.

Adrián lifted his head, but he didn’t look her in the eyes.

—I’m gay, Mara.

The silence that followed was so dense she felt the air leaving her lungs.

—What?

—I’m gay —he repeated, firmer—. I always have been. I knew it at fifteen, the first time I jerked off thinking about a guy from the locker room. I’ve never really gotten hard with a woman. With you I had to think about men so I could get it up. But I grew up in a very traditional family. For my father and my grandfather that doesn’t exist, or if it does it’s shameful. They told me a thousand times I needed to settle down, get married, have children, carry on the family name. They don’t accept any other option. And I didn’t want to lose everything: the company, the inheritance, the surname. So I hid it.

Mara listened in silence, her heart in her throat.

—Two years ago I met someone. His name is Gabriel. He’s an architect, he works with us on some projects. At first it was just attraction. The first time he sucked me off in a hotel in Madrid after a meeting, I came in his mouth in two minutes like a teenager. I had never felt anything like it in my life. After that it became everything I had ever wanted. We’ve been seeing each other in secret ever since. We fuck wherever we can —hotels, his place, rental cars— always with the door locked, always checking the time. He leaves marks on me and makes me cover them with makeup. I love him. But I can’t live with him in plain sight. My family would destroy us.

—And why me? —Mara asked, her voice trembling—. Of all women, why me?

—Because you were safe —he replied, almost in a whisper—. Because you didn’t ask questions. When I told you I had a long meeting, you nodded and smiled. You never insisted on knowing where I’d been. You never demanded I fuck you more often, or better. You were satisfied with the little I gave you. You were good. Too good.

He paused, rubbing his hands together as if he were cold.

—I even wanted you to get involved with Bruno so you’d feel guilty. So you wouldn’t complain as much about my distance, so you’d think you were doing something wrong too. I paid for him to eat your cunt until you screamed, to make you come every way possible, to fill your mouth and your cunt with semen as many times as necessary. The more he got you hooked, the less you’d bother me. I thought that would keep you quiet and happy.

Mara let out a bitter laugh, almost a sob.

—I was going to fire him, too —Adrián continued—. A few weeks ago he told me he didn’t feel comfortable anymore, that you didn’t deserve this, that he wanted out. He refused the last payments. I got scared. I was afraid he’d tell you. That’s why I moved the wedding up.

—And does Gabriel know you were using me as a cover? Does he know that while he was fucking you in the ass, you had a girlfriend at home believing you were going to marry her?

—He knows. At first he didn’t want to. He told me it wasn’t fair, that I was hurting you without your knowing. That using you like that was an asshole move. But I promised him that after the wedding we’d live more freely, that you’d never find out. That it would be a temporary arrangement.

—A temporary arrangement? —Mara leaned forward, her eyes flashing with fury—. And what about me? The perfect wife who doesn’t ask questions while you let Gabriel fuck you in secret? The one who spread her cunt once a month to simulate a marriage and kept her mouth shut?

—I thought you’d get used to it over time —he admitted, exhausted—. That you’d be happy with stability, with the house, with the children. I was the naive one. I thought I could have everything without paying a price. And the price was you.

Mara wiped a tear away in anger.

—I’m not going to tell your family anything —she said, and when he lifted his head hopefully, she added—: but not for you. For Gabriel. He’s not to blame for being trapped in the same lie I am. This is over, Adrián. I’m not marrying you. I can’t live a lie. I’m not going to keep spreading my legs for a guy who’s disgusted by my body.

Adrián nodded slowly, his shoulders slumped.

—I understand.

—The wedding won’t happen. Make up whatever excuse you want for your family. I won’t say a word. I promise you that.

He got to his feet. For a moment it looked like he might hug her, but he stopped. He knew he had no right.

—Thank you —he murmured, his voice broken—. I never wanted it to end like this.

He picked up his briefcase and jacket. At the door he turned one last time, but Mara shook her head before he could say anything.

—I don’t want to see you again. Maybe ever.

The click of the lock sounded like a full stop.

Mara was left alone. She was furious. She was sad. And underneath it all, she was relieved. For the first time in a long time she didn’t have to pretend, didn’t have to convince herself that everything was fine, didn’t have to play the part of the perfect fiancée or the satisfied woman with a husband who couldn’t get hard for her.

She wrapped her arms around her knees on the sofa and cried without guilt. She cried for the lie, for the deception, for the innocence that had dragged her here. She cried for the dripping cunt she had given to Bruno believing it was love. She cried for the years lost with Adrián, fucking in the dark and thinking it was normal never to come. And also, deep down, she cried out of pure relief. Because, even if everything was broken, at last she was free to decide what to do with the pieces. Free to choose who she let into her bed, who she opened her legs for, who she sucked off because she wanted to and not because she was supposed to. And even though it hurt like hell, she knew she would never be the same again. Never again.