The Student Who Took Revenge on Her Boyfriend in the Library

I’ve worked as a librarian at a private university in Bogotá for five years. The library takes up two floors of the main building, and at this time in the afternoon, when most of the students have already gone off to their internships or their usual cafés, the place becomes a silent refuge. That’s when things usually happen that I never tell anyone about afterward.

That Thursday afternoon, Camila came in with puffy eyes and smudged mascara. I’d known her for months; she was in her third year of business administration and came to read between classes. She was brunette, of medium height, slim, with a body of soft lines and a way of walking that always distracted me when she passed in front of the desk. That afternoon she wasn’t walking at all; she was practically dragging herself.

—Did something happen? —I asked, getting up from my chair.

She shook her head and collapsed into the nearest table. She closed her eyes and let out a long sigh. I brought her a bottle of water and sat down across from her without saying anything else. Sometimes silence is the only thing you can offer.

It took a few minutes before she spoke. Her boyfriend, Daniel, had accused her of flirting with a classmate. They’d argued in the hallway, in front of several friends, and he’d ended up saying things that were hard to swallow. Camila was squeezing the bottle in her hands as she told me. Her pale fingers on the plastic betrayed a rage that her words hadn’t quite managed to let out.

—The worst part is that the asshole is probably doing the same thing —she said at last, looking me straight in the eyes for the first time—. And here I am, putting up with everything.

I didn’t answer. There was no need.

—I want to do something to him —she murmured—. Something he’ll never find out about, but that I’ll know I did.

I looked at her slowly. I knew perfectly well what she was telling me and, at the same time, I knew she wasn’t telling me everything. She had looked at me more than once in that way where looks stop being innocent. I had avoided stepping into that territory, because there are unwritten rules in a university library. But that afternoon something changed in the way her eyes held mine.

I stood up without saying a word. I walked to the main door, locked the bolt, and turned off the lights in the study room. Only the yellow sconces in the stacks, in the back between the tall shelves, remained lit. When I turned around, Camila was already standing, waiting.

***

I wrapped my arms around her without haste. Her body trembled for a second and then relaxed against mine. I kissed her first on the temple, on the cheek, near the ear. She turned her face and found my mouth with an urgency that left no room for hesitation. She tasted of coffee and tears. I held her by the waist while our tongues met without formality.

I unzipped her jacket and slid it from her shoulders. Underneath she was wearing a simple white blouse, with the first button undone. My hands climbed her back slowly, measuring every inch. She took off my blazer with the same calm. Then she brought her fingers to my belt, unfastened it, and pulled down my zipper. I felt her smile when she grabbed me through my underwear.

—It’s hard —she murmured, as if confirming something to herself.

—That’s what you do to me —I answered.

Camila bit her lower lip and pushed with her palm. I undid the button on my pants and pulled them down to my thighs. The black thong she was wearing was barely an insinuation, and even through the fabric the wetness was already obvious. I touched her with two fingers, softly, in circles. She tipped her head back and exhaled against my neck.

I lifted her up and set her on the biggest table, the one we used to spread out the old maps. I finished taking off her pants, her thong, her shoes. She was left in front of me, still with her blouse open and her bra on, her legs apart and her heels crossed behind my hips. I moved close to her neck, bit the skin lightly beneath her ear, went down along her collarbone. When I reached her breasts, I unfastened her bra with one hand. Her nipples were hard, dark, small. I brushed them with my lips and she tangled her fingers in my hair.

—Lower —she asked.

I gave her what she wanted without answering.

I knelt between her legs and kissed the inner part of her thighs, slowly. She leaned back with her hands on the table, offering herself. When I put my mouth on her sex, she let out a restrained moan, muffled between her teeth. I knew we couldn’t make noise. The library was locked from the inside, but the building was still alive, and a badly judged cry could ruin everything.

I worked with my tongue slowly and methodically. Up and down, drawing circles around her clit, covering it with my lips and sucking just a little. She lifted her hips, seeking more. I slipped my arms under her thighs to anchor her, so she wouldn’t get away from me. I felt the first spasm when I’d barely been at it a few minutes. Camila bit the back of her hand to keep from screaming.

—Don’t stop —she begged—. Please, don’t stop.

I didn’t stop. I started again from the beginning, this time firmer, until I felt her come a second time. Her thighs were trembling around my head. When I lifted my face, I found her looking at me with shining eyes and a half smile that had nothing to do with the girl who had come in crying half an hour earlier.

***

She got down from the table and gently pushed me until I sat in her place. She knelt in front of me on the wooden floor. The yellow light from the back fell across her shoulders and left the rest of her body in shadow. She pulled my pants down to my ankles and stayed there for a moment, looking, measuring me with her eyes.

—Now it’s my turn —she said.

She took me with both hands first, slowly, running from the base to the tip. Then she leaned in and licked the head with the tip of her tongue. The sensation tore a groan from me that I had to smother. Camila clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and took as much of me as she could into her mouth. I felt the pressure of her throat, the heat, the saliva beginning to spill over. She pulled back, took a breath, and sank down again.

It wasn’t a rushed blowjob. It was the kind that felt studied, made to last. With one hand she stroked what wouldn’t fit in her mouth, massaged the spot where the blood was pulsing with her thumb, paused to breathe, and started again. When I felt close, I gently moved her head away.

—If you keep this up, we’re finishing now —I told her.

She smiled, stood up, and turned around. She braced her hands on the table, arched her back, and spread her legs. She gave me a view that got burned into me that afternoon and that I still remember.

***

I stood behind her and took her by the waist. I brushed against her opening first, without entering, rubbing myself against her wetness. She moved her hips, trying to pull me in. I gave in. I pushed slowly, centimeter by centimeter, giving her body time to adjust. When I was all the way in, I stayed still. Camila let out the breath she’d been holding.

—Slowly —she asked—. I want to feel all of you.

I moved her with a slow, almost cruel rhythm. I pulled almost all the way out and entered her fully again and again. She leaned on her forearms to lower her hips and open the angle. We changed position twice. I laid her flat on her back on the table, lifted her legs onto my shoulders, and entered her from another angle. Then I turned her on her side, with one leg bent and the other stretched out, and entered her again.

By then, she had already lost count. Her neck was marked red from my kisses and bites, her eyes closed, her hands reaching for me wherever they could. When I felt her close to another orgasm, I stopped. I wanted her to be in control. I asked with my eyes what she wanted.

—Behind —she said, almost voiceless—. I want you to do me from behind.

I turned her again, braced her against the edge of the table, and spread her ass cheeks with both hands. Camila reached for a small tube of cream in the pocket of her jacket, which was thrown over a chair; she’d brought it for her lips, but it would do. She lubricated me herself, with patient fingers, and kept a little for herself.

—I’ve never done it —she confessed—. Go slowly.

I started with one finger. Then two. I kissed her back while I prepared her, telling her in her ear to breathe, not to tense up. When I felt she was ready, I pressed against her and pushed in just a little. Camila let out a deep moan, not of pleasure yet, but of adjustment. I waited. I pushed a little more. Waited. Little by little, until she felt me slide in all the way. Only then did she start moving, setting the rhythm from below.

We lasted less than I would have wanted. The sensation was too intense, and I had been holding back for too long. When I knew I was about to finish, I pulled out. Camila turned immediately, knelt, and took me in her mouth in time. I came between her lips, steadying myself with one hand on the edge of the table so I wouldn’t fall. She swallowed almost everything and cleaned the corners of her mouth with her finger, slowly, looking at me.

***

We dressed in silence, unhurried. I handed her back her pants and bra; she helped me with my jacket. I brushed a bit of lint off her shoulder, and she gave me a smile I had never seen on her before.

—This isn’t going to hurt Daniel —she said, fixing her hair in the glass of a display case—. But it did me good.

—Are you going to leave him?

—Not yet. But now I know I can.

She came closer and kissed me again, differently. No urgency. Just a brush of lips.

—If one afternoon I need to feel this again —she said in my ear—, will the door still be locked?

—Always.

Camila took her backpack, opened the bolt, and headed out into the hallway. I watched her walk away with her head held a little higher than when she had come in. I turned the study room lights back on, put the chairs in order, and returned to my desk. When a first-year student arrived a few minutes later asking for an accounting manual, I helped him as if nothing had happened.

More things happen in this library than are ever recorded. And I, as long as no one forbids me, will keep letting them happen.