How I Ended Up in Bed with My Gay Best Friend

Rodrigo suggested it to me on Friday afternoon, and I said yes before he had even finished the sentence. I needed to get out. I needed to dance until my feet hurt and drink until my head hurt, because what I could not do was keep staring at the ceiling of my room thinking about Claudia.

Claudia, who left me for her “ex-girlfriend she had nothing left with.” Claudia, who turned out to have something left after all—quite a lot left, enough that I was out of the picture in a single weekend. Being a lesbian has its complications, and the biggest one is that when a woman wants to hurt you, she does it in ways you never expect. You say you’re a lesbian and people assume relationship problems get simpler, that without men in the middle everything flows better. I don’t know where that idea comes from, but it doesn’t work that way.

Rodrigo was my anchor in those situations. We’d been friends for years, since high school, and I had lost count of how many times we had comforted each other. I helped him when he came out, when his family took months to speak to him, when he cried in my room and didn’t know if things would ever get better. He helped me every time I broke up with someone, which was quite a lot, more than I’d care to count.

He wasn’t the kind of gay man you recognized at first glance. No affected gestures, no feathers in everyday behavior. He was a calm man with a deep voice, the sort who could spend an hour talking football with your uncles at a family dinner and no one would suspect a thing. Only when he drank too much did another version of him emerge—looser, more dramatic, more himself in a way. That version was my favorite, though not everyone had access to it.

The club was exactly what I needed: loud, dark, and full of strangers. The smell of alcohol and cheap perfume hit you in the nose before you even made it through the door. Rodrigo grabbed my hand so we wouldn’t lose each other in the crowd and shouted something in my ear that I could barely make out over the bass from the speakers.

—Tonight I’m not leaving you alone! I mean, unless you find better company!

—You owe me! —I shouted back—. You always ditch me when you find something interesting!

He laughed with that full-bodied laugh of his, and I laughed too, and by then I was already feeling a little better. That was our pact when we went out to hook up: neither of us interfered with the other. If I found someone interesting, he discreetly disappeared. If he found someone, I fended for myself. We’d been practicing that system for years, and it worked without friction.

The hours passed in the way they only do when you’ve had enough to drink and the music is good: without you noticing. Rodrigo and I moved between the dance floor and the bar, alternating drinks with songs, sweating, laughing, dancing like we were twenty again and nothing weighed us down. I had forgotten about Claudia, forgotten everything, and that was exactly what I had gone there to find.

It wasn’t the first time we had danced together like that. Pressed close, him behind me or me behind him, moving with the rhythm without thinking about it. It had never been anything more than that, never crossed my mind as anything else. But that night something was working differently, and it took me a while to realize exactly what.

His hip marked every beat against mine with a precision that was throwing me off. The heat of his body, the slow, rhythmic movement of his hips pressed to mine, his hands resting on my shoulders without crossing any line. I felt a knot in my stomach that had nothing to do with alcohol.

I tried changing position to cool things down, which was already rising for no apparent reason. Bad calculation. His hip ended up right behind my ass, and that did not improve the situation exactly.

This is absurd, I told myself. It’s Rodrigo. I’ve been dancing with him for years and nothing has ever happened.

But my body wasn’t listening to reason. I felt his breath on my neck when he leaned in to say something, and the sound of his deep voice against my ear sent a shiver through me that I hadn’t asked for and didn’t know how to interpret at that moment. I didn’t realize I had let out a low moan until I heard him laughing against my ear.

—Hey, Valeria, are you okay?

—Uh, yeah, yeah —I answered too quickly.

—I don’t know, with those sounds even I’m getting hard.

—Shut up —I said, laughing and trying to play it down—. I’m enjoying the music.

—Sure, sure. Whatever you say.

But neither of us moved away. His hands slowly slid down to my hips with such natural ease that it confused me, closing a distance that was already minimal. And then I felt it. A hard bulge, unmistakable, pressing against my lower back in time with the music, and the world shifted a little. I turned to face him, looking for a logical explanation, an excuse that would turn all this into something unimportant.

—What’s happening? —I asked, and my voice came out shyer than I expected.

He looked at me with an expression that wasn’t exactly guilt, but wasn’t innocence either.

—Nothing —he said—. I’m just enjoying the moment, like you.

—I need air.

I left the dance floor before I’d fully processed what I was doing. The cool air of the street hit my face and I let out a long breath, leaning against the wall, staring at the cobblestones without really seeing them.

This cannot be happening.

—Hey! Where are you going? —Rodrigo came after me before I could finish the thought—. Did I do something wrong?

—Tell me I’m crazy.

—What?

—Tell me what happened in there wasn’t real. That I’m making all of this up.

Silence. A silence that lasted long enough for me to know, without any doubt, that I wasn’t making it up.

—I can’t tell you that —he said at last, calmly.

I looked at him. He looked at me. We were both in the same confused place, with no map, no compass, no reference point telling us how to go on.

—What are we doing, Rodrigo?

—I don’t know, Valeria. Honestly. I don’t know what came over me. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable.

There was something genuine on his face, something I recognized because I had seen it in him before: the expression of someone who doesn’t know how they got where they are. That look he had when he was lost and didn’t know how to ask for help.

—I don’t want to lose what we have —I said.

—Neither do I.

We hugged. It was one of those hugs that start as comfort and linger a second too long. When we began to pull apart, our faces were close and our eyes met with that complicity that doesn’t need words to say what is about to happen.

The kiss came on its own.

I didn’t decide to do it, or if I did, it was in the same instant it happened, with no time to think. His lips were parted, they tasted of beer and something sweet I couldn’t identify, and I held onto his waist and deepened the kiss until I felt the ground wasn’t very steady beneath my feet. When our tongues met, I felt a warm, wet pulse between my legs, my panties soaking through without permission, and his cock swelled again against my stomach through his pants.

***

—Let’s go to my place —he said, his voice slightly rough.

The taxi ride was silent. A comfortable silence, an odd one, as if there was nothing to say that we wouldn’t say soon in another way. I put my hand on his thigh halfway there, and he took it and slid it up himself to his crotch, and I felt again how hard he was beneath the denim, and I squeezed without hiding it while the driver pretended not to see anything in the rearview mirror. When we reached his building, in front of his apartment door, lucidity hit me all at once.

—Rodrigo, I’m not sure this is a good idea. I mean… you’re not into women. This could end really awkwardly for both of us.

—And how exactly do you know what I’m into?

—You’ve never been with a woman.

—And that makes me an expert on what I don’t want? —He moved closer, without brusqueness—. Let me decide for myself.

He leaned toward my neck before I could answer, and his kisses started off shy, exploring the ground, testing my reaction carefully. But the situation itself, the strangeness and the familiarity mixed together, turned me on immediately. It wasn’t just physical desire; it was the weight of years of trust turned into something different, something that tasted forbidden without truly being forbidden.

He gently pushed me against the hallway wall and worked his way down my neck to my collarbone, sucking at my skin with his mouth open, leaving pink marks I would see in the mirror the next day. His hands pulled my dress up to my waist and yanked my panties off to one side with a short tug that made me gasp. Without saying anything, he slipped two fingers between my thighs and checked how wet I was.

—Fuck, Valeria —he murmured against my ear—. You’re soaked.

—Shut up and keep going —I answered, grabbing his hair.

His fingers started moving in circles over my clit, awkward at first, more precise a few seconds later, and I unbuttoned his pants without stopping kissing him. I pulled his cock out of his boxer briefs, and it was just as I had imagined in those three seconds I had spent imagining it: thick, hard, hot in my palm, the tip already wet with pre-cum. I started stroking him slowly, squeezing the base, sliding my hand up to the head and back down again, and he let out a deep moan against my neck that I had never heard from him before.

—Bedroom —he managed to say.

The clothes fell away in the hallway, piece by piece, without urgency but without pause. His shirt, my bra, my dress turned into a puddle of fabric by the door. Every time I touched his skin I felt like I was discovering someone I knew by heart in another language.

By the time he took me to bed, we were both naked. I looked at him with a curiosity mixed with desire that I didn’t try to hide. It was the first time I had seen him like that, cock aimed at me from his pelvis, taut and veined, chest rising and falling fast. The first time I had felt anything like this looking at him.

He laid me on my back and knelt between my legs. He opened my thighs with both hands, stared at my open pussy for a long second, and then bent down and buried his face there without a trace of doubt. His tongue found my clit on the first try, and I let out a moan so loud I covered my own mouth with my hand.

—Take your hand away —he said, lifting his face for a second—. I want to hear you.

And he went back down. He sucked my lips, parted them with his fingers, slipped his tongue inside me and then went back to my clit making slow circles, learning by trial and error, paying attention to every sound that slipped from me. When I moaned louder, he repeated it. When I arched my back, he kept pressing that spot. I grabbed his short hair and pressed his face against me without shame, and he accepted it, let me set the rhythm, and at some point he slid two fingers in and started curling them upward while still sucking me.

—Like that, like that, don’t stop —I gasped—, fuck, don’t stop…

The orgasm shot up my legs all at once and shook me against the mattress, my hips lifting on their own against his mouth, and he kept licking while I trembled, drawing out little aftershocks that faded slowly. When he finally pulled back, his chin was shining and he had a half-smile I didn’t know on him.

—Come here —I said, tugging his arm.

I kissed him with my own taste in his mouth, and went down his neck, his chest, his stomach, until I found his cock again. He was so hard the tip was touching his navel. I took him by the base and shoved him into my mouth without preamble, as much as I could, until I felt my throat close. He let out a muffled “fuck” and put a hand on the back of my neck without squeezing.

—I don’t have much experience with this —I told him, pulling back for a second, my voice rough—. It’s been years since I sucked a cock.

—Doesn’t look like it —he replied through clenched teeth.

I laughed and took him back in. I sucked the head first, circling it with my tongue, savoring the salty taste of the fluid leaking from him; then I worked my way down the shaft to his balls, licking them one by one, and went back up along the vein running underneath his cock. I used one hand where my mouth couldn’t reach and started moving both at once, with saliva, with sound, without any elegance at all. Rodrigo had his eyes closed and his jaw clenched.

—Stop, stop —he said after a while, thick-voiced—, or I’m going to come right now.

I let him go with a kiss on the tip and lay back again, opening my legs for him.

—Fuck me —I asked flatly—. Put it in me already.

He positioned himself over me with a care I hadn’t expected, looked at me for a moment searching my face for confirmation, gripped his cock, and slid it between my already soaked lips. He rubbed it over my clit a couple of times before finding the entrance, and entered slowly, centimeter by centimeter, all the way to the hilt. We both made a sound at the same time: his from surprise, mine from relief.

It was a feeling I had forgotten. It had been so long since I’d had a cock inside me that I’d stopped comparing. And with him there was an extra dimension I couldn’t name: the familiar made strange, the known made new. I felt him opening me from the inside, settling into a space that hadn’t been used to receiving anyone for a very long time, and I clung to his back with my nails.

—Move —I begged—. Move, fuck.

We started moving together, searching for a rhythm, and when we found it the moans filled the room without either of us trying to hold them back. His thrusts began slow and deep, all the way in each time, and I dug my heels into his ass so he wouldn’t pull out completely. Little by little he sped up, and the wet sound of our bodies colliding mixed with our moans and the creak of the bed frame.

—Harder —I asked—, harder, don’t hold back.

He obeyed. He propped himself on his arms and started fucking me hard, his cock going in and out all the way, and I watched his face twisted with pleasure and couldn’t believe it was him, that it was Rodrigo, that I’d been drinking beer with this man for ten years and had never imagined I’d be here like this, my tits bouncing every time he drove in, his cock hitting my womb, his voice breaking from how much he was moaning.

—Wait —I said—. Get underneath.

We rolled over the mattress and I got on top. I drove his cock into me in one movement, all the way to the base, and started riding him with my hands braced on his chest. He looked up at me from below while clutching my hips, eyes half-lidded and wearing an expression I had never seen on him, and he squeezed my tits with both hands, pinched my nipples, sucked one when I leaned forward.

—You feel so good —he murmured through his teeth—. You feel so fucking good…

—Shut up and fuck me deeper —I shot back, moving my hips in circles, feeling his cock hitting me inside at a different angle.

We changed positions several times, searching for angles, adjusting to each other. He put me on all fours and fucked me from behind, grabbing my hair, his free hand planted on my hip to pull me against him with every thrust. In that position I felt him differently, deeper, and he slapped one ass cheek with his open hand without warning, and I liked it so much I asked for another.

—Again —I gasped—. Harder.

He gave me another, and then another, and I clenched my pussy around his cock every time he hit me. On one of those times he leaned over my back, slid a hand underneath to find my clit, and kept fucking me while rubbing it in circles. I came apart there. I came completely apart.

Then he turned me over and put me on my side, with one leg up, and entered again without fully pulling out. In that position he could touch me while he stayed inside me, and the second orgasm came with a force that surprised me: my whole body tense for an instant, his cock squeezed inside by the contractions, then everything letting go all at once, the pillow muffling the sound I couldn’t hold back.

***

When I came back to myself, he was face down with his eyes closed and his breathing slow. I ran my hand over his back slowly, following the lines of his muscles. Then I went lower, to his ass, and stroked one full cheek with my open palm. He didn’t say anything, but I felt his breathing change.

I knew what I wanted to try. I’d heard him talk about his preferences in more than one late-night conversation, with more frankness than I’d expected, and I’d filed that information away somewhere in my memory without knowing why. Now I knew. He liked it done to him. He liked being touched there.

I spread his buttocks with both hands, sucked one finger, and started caressing his hole from the outside, in slow circles, not putting anything in yet. I felt his body tense for a second and then give in. I lowered my face and replaced my finger with my tongue. A long moan slipped from him into the pillow.

—Fuck, Valeria… —he said, his voice unrecognizable.

I ate his ass without rushing, with my tongue flat, pressing it against the muscle until it began to give. When I felt him more relaxed, I sucked my index finger and slowly pushed it in, to the first knuckle. He let out all his air at once. I waited a second, let him get used to it, and pushed a little farther. With my other hand I reached for his cock underneath and found it hard again, completely hard.

—Do you have anything? —I asked against his skin, moving my finger carefully inside him.

—On the nightstand —he replied without lifting his face from the pillow, his voice thick—, top drawer. And lube.

I opened the drawer. There it was: a brightly colored toy, not very big, and a nearly full bottle of lubricant. It made me smile. I took it, slathered on the lube generously, and lubricated Rodrigo’s hole too with two coated fingers, sliding them in and out until they moved easily on their own. He rocked his hips against my hand without saying anything, asking me for it.

I set the tip of the toy against the opening and pushed slowly, millimeter by millimeter, giving him time. When the widest part went in fully, he let out a guttural moan and gripped the pillow with both fists.

—Keep going —he said—. Give me more.

I started moving it slowly, in and out, and with my other hand I reached for his cock underneath his body and started stroking him at the same time. I adjusted the rhythm to what he asked for with his sounds and body movements. I tugged his short hair with my free hand when he wanted it, then rested that hand on his lower back, and he moaned full sentences that dissolved into the sheets, words I had never heard him say to anyone before.

—Faster —he gasped—. Faster, fuck…

I sped up the toy and my hand at once. At some point he lifted himself a little, propped on his elbows, and started fucking himself on the toy, pushing back against my hand while I kept stroking him in front. His moans climbed in pitch until they became unrecognizable.

—Valeria… I’m going to come… I’m going to come…

I increased the pace with both hands, squeezing his cock harder, pushing the toy deeper, and he came with a muffled shout into the pillow. The hot spurts of his cum fell into my palm and onto the sheets, one, two, three, four, and he kept trembling and thrusting back as if it would never end. When he finally went still, I pulled the toy out carefully and lay down beside him.

We both stared at the ceiling for a full minute without saying anything. The room smelled of sex, sweat, cum, and the cologne he’d always used—a strange mix that shouldn’t have worked, but did.

***

We woke up tangled together, still naked. I woke before he did and spent a while watching the light filtering through the blinds, listening to his breathing. The memories of the night came back in order, one after another, and they didn’t produce what I had expected on some level: neither guilt nor shame nor regret. Something more like quiet satisfaction, the way you feel when you finish a book you didn’t know you needed to read.

Rodrigo opened his eyes and looked at me with the same calm.

—Should we talk about last night? —I asked.

—Yes, I’d like that —he said—. But not exactly with words.

Before I’d finished processing the sentence, he was already moving down my stomach with his lips, slowly, knowing exactly where he was going. He parted my thighs with his shoulders, put my legs over his back, and buried his mouth in my pussy with the same hunger as the night before. He took his time. And I let him.

—Rodrigo! —I managed to say, though not very convincingly, my hands already tangled in his hair.

He laughed against my skin and kept going. He sucked my clit with his lips closed around it, slipped his tongue inside me, penetrated me with two fingers curling upward, and made me come again with the sun already streaming fully through the window, biting his thigh so I wouldn’t scream so loud I’d wake the neighbor.

It was a weekend that had not been in any plan. Rodrigo and I never turned it into something that needed a label or an explanation. We talked about it in other ways, at other moments, with the same trust as always but with a new layer neither of us had anticipated. We stayed what we were. We just knew a little more about each other now.

Some things can’t be explained well from the outside. This was one of them. And honestly, I had no need to explain it.