The Night I Gave Myself to My Best Friend’s Boyfriend

My name is Renata, and this happened a little over a year ago, when I was still convincing myself that things with my husband could be fixed. I’m twenty-seven, thin, fair-skinned, with brown hair I almost never bother to brush. I’m married to a thirty-four-year-old man whom I stopped wanting without ever noticing the exact moment it happened. It wasn’t a fight or a betrayal; it was something slower and sadder, a drip of nights when each of us stared at our phone with our backs to the other until silence became a habit.

So you understand: we’d gone three months without touching each other. The only thing left between us was that every so often I’d jerk him off before bed, almost out of habit, without getting anything back. The truth is I didn’t really let him either. But when I was alone, I’d read things online and touch myself imagining I was the one in the story. A couple of times he caught me, and so he wouldn’t ask too much I’d repeat what I’d read while I stroked him. He’d come almost instantly. I’d be left just as hungry as before.

That night I went out clubbing with my friends. My husband had gone out with his, so there was nothing to keep track of. We went to a place that had just opened near downtown, one of those clubs with purple lights and music so loud you had to shout into someone’s ear for them to hear you. We drank, danced, and talked a lot of nonsense. Several guys came over to buy us drinks and none of us accepted.

At some point the conversation turned heavy, the kind you only have between women after a few drinks. Carla, one of my friends, shamelessly said her boyfriend was huge and that they fucked without condoms because she loved feeling him like that. I was dying of envy. When I confessed I’d been dry for three months, they all laughed.

—Grab anyone from the club —Carla told me, nudging me with her elbow—. No one’s going to say anything.

—It’s just that none of them do anything for me —I answered, and it was true.

What I didn’t tell her was that I couldn’t get her boyfriend out of my head and what he’d be like in bed. I’d seen him in photos, at some party, always from far away. And that night, as if I’d summoned him, he showed up.

His name was Diego. He was nearly six-foot-three, dark-skinned, with arms you could make out even under his shirt and a deep voice that cut through the music. He came with a friend. From the moment he walked in I couldn’t stop looking at him, and he noticed right away. He held my gaze every time I thought I was being discreet, which I wasn’t.

Either he’s the biggest stud here or he’s gay, and tonight I’m going to find out.

I don’t know if Carla noticed or if she was just too happy to pay attention. At that point I didn’t care. When the mood heated up and everyone was shouting along to whatever the DJ was playing, I managed to dance pressed against her, with Diego right behind her. And then I did something I hadn’t even expected from myself.

I kissed her. On the mouth, in front of him.

Carla froze for a second and then burst out laughing, amused, not fully understanding. But Diego understood. He looked at me like he’d already stripped me naked, and I answered with a little expression that left no room for doubt.

***

I don’t remember whose idea it was to go to the motel with the pool. The four of us were outside the club, waiting for the cold early-morning air to sober us up: Diego, Carla, the friend —his name was Andrés— and me. Andrés had been flirting with me for a while on the way there, and he was handsome, so I thought maybe I could get Carla properly drunk and keep both of them. The idea turned me on more than I should admit.

I called my husband and told him I was going to sleep at Carla’s place, something I’d done other times without him complaining. He answered half asleep that he was still at a friend’s house and not to worry. I hung up with a strange calm, as if I had already made a much bigger decision than whether I was going home to sleep.

The suite had a small pool and a steaming jacuzzi in the middle. The moment I walked in, I took off my skirt and blouse without thinking, stayed in my underwear, and threw myself into the water. The two of them watched me from the edge with that hungry look I needed to see. We kept drinking, now all of us inside the jacuzzi, our legs tangled under the hot water.

I started making out with Andrés while Carla and Diego watched us. I think that turned them on, because not long after they shut themselves into one of the bedrooms without saying anything. Andrés and I stayed alone, kissing in the steam, but something about him didn’t quite do it for me. What I wanted was on the other side of that door.

I suggested we play pool to kill time. I was still in my underwear, soaked, droplets sliding down my back while I leaned over the table pretending the game mattered. Andrés kept getting drunker, missing every shot, laughing at his own mistakes. I could only hear the muffled noises coming from the other room and wondered how much longer until the door opened.

At some point Andrés locked himself in the bathroom and never came back out. I was left alone in the jacuzzi, floating between exhaustion and alcohol, watching the sky begin to brighten through the window. Part of me thought about calling a taxi and going home. The other part, the one in control that night, stayed and waited.

***

It must have been around five in the morning when the bedroom door opened and Diego came out. He found me half asleep in the water, my hair stuck to my face.

—Careful, don’t drown on me —he said, chuckling softly.

He held out his hand and helped me out. The cold instantly raised goosebumps on my wet skin.

—Thanks —I murmured—. I’m going to shower and take this off. I want to sleep for a while.

He walked me to the other room and looked for a towel in the closet. I got into the shower and let the hot water pour over me. And then, with the steam rising over my body, I realized I didn’t want to sleep at all anymore.

He came in to leave me the towel. I grabbed his hand before he could go.

—Don’t you want to fuck your girlfriend’s best friend? —I blurted out, without a trace of shame.

He didn’t answer. He took off his clothes and got into the shower with me. We kissed under the stream, his huge body covering mine, and when I pulled down his boxers I understood why Carla bragged about him so much. I knelt on the tiles and took him into my mouth. I couldn’t fit him all at once; I choked and tried again, wet, lost, thinking of nothing but that moment.

—Let’s go to bed —I told him after a while, my voice hoarse—. We’ll be more comfortable there.

He followed me. We didn’t even dry off. Like that, soaking wet, I threw myself onto the mattress and climbed on top of him, moving slowly, feeling him enter me centimeter by centimeter.

—We should get condoms —he panted.

—Fuck me like this —I answered—. Tomorrow you can buy me the pill.

I was so wet he slid in all on his own. He started moving under me with a force that stole my breath, and our wet bodies slapped together with a sound that filled the room. I held onto his chest, moaning things I didn’t even remember saying.

He took me off him and turned me onto all fours. Then he really drove it all the way in, slowly, making me feel every part of him.

—You’re bigger than my husband —I confessed, and it was no lie—. With him it took me more than a year to let him do it without a condom. And you, the first time, are fucking me bare.

Something lit up inside him when I said that. He started fucking me hard, relentlessly, calling me things in my ear that under different circumstances would have offended me and that there made me hotter than ever.

—Does your husband come inside you? —he asked, gripping my hips.

—No —I answered in broken gasps—. He’s not allowed.

Diego let out a satisfied male laugh, like he’d just won something. He fucked me even harder, repeating that he did, that he was going to fill me like no one else could. We stayed like that a long while, doggy-style, until my knees stopped responding. I wanted to change positions and he wouldn’t let me. He told me to behave like what I was being that night, and that, instead of bothering me, pulled me even deeper under.

I came three times in a row and he still didn’t stop. I felt the rhythm speeding toward the end, his ragged breathing against the back of my neck.

—Do it, daddy —I begged—. Inside. Fill me.

He came with a long growl, emptying himself inside me. I kept moving my hips, slowly, milking him, feeling him overflow. I didn’t pull out. I didn’t want him to pull out. We kept going another couple of minutes, his erection softening little by little without leaving me, until he came a second time and collapsed beside me, spent.

I stayed there on my knees for a moment, feeling the air and the heat slip out between my legs. Then I lowered myself and cleaned him with my mouth, something I had never done for my husband, something that had never even occurred to me until that morning. He let me do it in silence. When I finished, he didn’t want to kiss me anymore. He got up, dressed, and left the room without a word.

I stayed alone, naked on the tangled sheets, my body still trembling. I thought about Carla sleeping on the other side of the wall, about my husband at his friend’s house, about the pill I’d have to buy the next day. And still I didn’t move. I didn’t want to shower, I didn’t want to erase anything. I closed my eyes and fell asleep exactly as I was, while the morning sun began to seep through the curtain.