I Took My Rival from College

Mariana was one year ahead of me at university. We were never friends, but we were never outright enemies either; it was more of a mild distrust that she carried around every time we crossed paths in the hallway. I knew why. I knew she was dying of jealousy over the way men looked at me, and especially over the way her own boyfriend looked at me when he thought nobody was noticing.

Because her boyfriend, Mateo, looked at me.

Mariana was petite, slender, with straight black hair and brown eyes. Pretty in her own way, but discreet, almost invisible when she walked into a classroom. I was the opposite. At twenty-two, I had a body that drew attention without me making the slightest effort: wide hips, long legs, a generous chest. I’d gotten used to the looks for years, and I learned early on that those looks were a form of power.

Mateo was tall, green-eyed and fair-skinned, with straight hair that leaned blond. The kind of man who walks into a place and lowers the temperature of the conversation. He was with Mariana, yes, but everyone knew the relationship was hanging by a thread. He used her for notes, for group projects, to have someone waiting for him. And she clung to him like someone holding on to something she knew she was going to lose.

The first time we crossed from just looking to something more was in the university cafeteria. Mariana had gone to get a coffee and he took advantage of those thirty seconds to come over to my table.

“You know you drive me crazy, right?” he said, bluntly, with a shameless smile that should have annoyed me and didn’t.

“I know,” I replied, holding his gaze. “Your problem, not mine.”

He laughed. Mariana came back and he straightened up as if nothing had happened, but the game was already on and we both knew it.

***

I’ve always liked provoking people, I won’t deny it. I went running and cycling on weekends, and I chose my clothes with the same intention with which one chooses a weapon. A thin-strapped top with nothing underneath, the sheer fabric outlining my nipples; tight leggings that traced every curve. I liked feeling desired, I liked noticing heads turning when I passed. This wasn’t innocence. It was strategy.

One Saturday morning I went out cycling with Daniela, a lifelong friend, and we ran straight into Mariana and Mateo, who were also riding bikes in the park. He saw me and got starry-eyed, not even trying to hide it, his eyes glued to my body as I passed. I didn’t even register it at the time, but Daniela did.

“Look at him eating you up with his eyes,” she whispered, amused, pedaling beside me.

What neither of us figured on was that Mariana had seen it too. I braked for a second and managed to hear the commotion: she was screaming at him, hitting his arm, her face red with rage.

“Why are you staring at that girl’s ass?! Do you like her or what?”

Mateo turned red and didn’t know what to say. Mariana shot off on her bike toward where I was, ready to come at me, but he stopped her and dragged her away almost by force. I stayed still, with a calm that must have churned her stomach, and in that instant I understood something with absolute clarity: I was going to take him away from her. Not because of Mateo himself, but because of the way she looked at me, because of the contempt she gave me without ever having given me a single reason.

From that day on I flirted with him relentlessly. Wherever I saw him, I smiled slowly, bit my lip, brushed his arm as I passed. Sometimes I did it in front of Mariana, just to watch her boil. And like almost all men, Mateo fell easily. He played along with less and less shame each time.

***

The encounter that changed everything was one weekday afternoon, on a street in the city center. I was alone, wearing a floral mini dress with a V-neck and an open back, no bra. High sandals, my hair loose, makeup on as if the occasion called for it, even though I wasn’t going anywhere in particular. The truth is, I liked feeling that way.

I saw him coming toward me and knew that afternoon was not going to end with just looks.

“Hi, Mateo. How are you?” I said in the softest voice I had.

His face lit up. He let his eyes travel over me without a hint of shame, pausing a second too long on my cleavage.

“Hi, Camila. Gorgeous as always,” he replied.

I kissed him on the cheek, letting the perfume and the closeness do their work. I lowered the neckline just a little as I leaned in, just enough for him to see almost all of my tits, my nipples already hard against the fabric, and he swallowed with his mouth open. He invited me for coffee and I accepted with a smile that already promised how this would end.

We sat side by side in a corner of the café. It took less than five minutes to start. His hand slid under the table, first to my knee, then slowly up my thigh, centimeter by centimeter, measuring my reaction. When he reached the hem of the dress, I closed my legs, trapping his hand, not to stop him, but to feel the pressure, staring him dead in the eyes with a hunger I no longer bothered to hide.

“You’re shaking,” he said quietly.

I didn’t answer. I loosened my legs a little, gave him permission, and his fingers climbed the last few centimeters to the soaked fabric of my thong. He pulled it aside with two fingers and touched me directly, sliding over my slick cunt, circling my clit slowly and making me bite his shoulder so I wouldn’t moan in the middle of the place. He slid one finger in, then two, burying them to the hilt, and I clamped my thighs around his wrist, riding his hand under the tablecloth, feeling everything inside me tightening. We kissed right there, tongue to tongue, without hiding it, while he kept fingering me, until a waiter came over and asked us, with all the awkwardness in the world, to please leave.

We came out almost laughing, turned on, and headed to my place. My mother worked all day and I had the place to myself. In the taxi I grabbed his bulge over his pants and felt his cock hard as a rock; he slipped his hand under my dress and pinched one nipple until a gasp escaped me that the driver pretended not to hear.

***

We went straight up to my room. We sat on the edge of the bed and kissed again as if we’d been forbidden from doing it all our lives. He shoved his tongue into my mouth, biting my lips, while his hands searched for my breasts over the fabric. He yanked the dress straps down and my tits popped completely free; he leaned in and took one nipple into his mouth whole, sucking hard, tugging with his teeth until I cried out. Then he moved to the other one, licking it in circles, nibbling at it, while his hand was already hiking up my skirt and stroking my open thighs until he found my soaked cunt over the thong.

“You’re dripping,” he murmured against my breast. “You’ve got my fingers soaked.”

“I want to watch you,” he said a moment later, hoarse. “I want to see what you do to yourself when you’re alone. I want you to come for me before I touch you.”

I liked the idea. I took a thick dildo out of the nightstand drawer, the one I kept for my alone time, pulled the thong off completely, and lay back on the bed with my legs wide open, offering him everything. I rubbed myself slowly, two fingers spreading my cunt lips so he could see how wet I was, the pink flesh shining with slick. I slipped a finger in, then two, moving them in a curve, searching for that spot that makes me lose my mind, while my other hand pinched my swollen clit. He was sitting in the desk chair, one hand in his fly, watching me like he’d never seen a pussy in his life.

“Take it out,” I ordered without stopping touching myself. “I want to see you jerk off while you watch me.”

He pulled his pants down and took out his cock, thick and veined, and started stroking it slowly, staring at me. I switched on the dildo’s vibration and ran it over my clit until my whole back arched. Then I lowered it, set it at the entrance to my pussy, and eased it in slowly, centimeter by centimeter, watching it disappear inside me. Once I had it all the way in, I started fucking myself with it, driving it in hard, pulling it out glistening with my juices, pushing it back in to the hilt.

“Like that, don’t stop,” he panted, jerking himself faster. “Fuck it good, whore, I want to see you come.”

The word in his mouth lit me up even more. I sped up, moving my hips against the toy, with the vibrator against my clit at the same time, until my whole body tensed like a bowstring and I came with a long shudder that made me scream without caring about anything. I pulled out the dildo dripping, ran my wet fingers over my lips, and he came to the bed, knelt between my legs, and licked my cunt from bottom to top, sucking up my juices, working his tongue as far in as it would go, not letting me breathe. He made me come again with his mouth, with two fingers inside and his tongue working my clit, until I closed my thighs around his head and begged him to stop.

After that I knelt in front of him on the rug. I grabbed his cock with both hands, hard, hot, the tip already wet with precum. I ran my tongue over the base, over his balls, sucking them one by one, while my hand jerked him slowly. I moved up the shaft, licking the thick vein underneath, and when I reached the tip I took him all the way into my mouth. I sucked him slowly at first, going down until I started to choke, feeling him hit the back of my throat. Then faster, with both hands around the base, bobbing my head up and down, sucking hard, pulling off with an obscene sound just to swallow him whole again. I looked up at him with his cock buried to the hilt in my mouth and he had to brace himself against the wall to keep from losing his balance.

“I’m going to cum,” he moaned, his hand on my nape. “Camila, fuck, I’m coming…”

I pulled him out of my mouth just in time and gripped the base hard, cutting off his orgasm. I left him on the edge and stopped; I wanted him to remember that afternoon for weeks. I smiled at him with my lips shiny with saliva, and he let out a frustrated growl.

I pushed him onto the bed and climbed on top. The plain truth: Mateo was not the most skilled lover who’d been through that room, but that afternoon it didn’t matter, because I was the one setting the pace. I grabbed his cock and lowered myself onto it slowly, sinking down centimeter by centimeter, feeling him open me up from within. Once I had him all the way inside, I stayed still for a moment, squeezing him with my pussy muscles, watching his eyes roll back. Then I started moving, rolling my hips in circles, playing with the rhythm, rising until only the tip stayed in me and dropping hard to drive him all the way to the hilt. I rode him looking him in the eyes, with my tits bouncing against his face, and he grabbed them, squeezed them, took my nipples into his mouth one after the other.

“Is that how you give it to Mariana?” I shot at him between gasps, not stopping bouncing on him. “Do you give it to her that good? Do you ride her cock like this?”

“I barely touch Mariana,” he answered, out of breath, grabbing my ass with both hands. “You’re something else. You’ve got me crazy, fuck, I don’t fuck like this with anyone.”

I laughed to myself. That sentence was worth more than everything else. I sped up, driving myself down harder, feeling the wet slap of the impact every time I came down on him, until I came again, squeezing him so tightly with my pussy that I almost dragged him with me.

We changed positions. I lay back, spread my legs wide and pulled them up to my chest, offering him my open cunt. He got on his knees and thrust into me in one stab, balls deep, and started fucking me hard, leaning over the bed, watching his whole cock disappear into me again and again. He grabbed my hips, plunged deep, giving me a rhythm that kept building until the sheets ended up soaked with sweat and my juices. He licked my nipples, bit my neck, covered my mouth with his hand when I started screaming too loudly.

“Turn over,” he ordered, pulling out of me in one sharp motion. “Get on all fours.”

I obeyed. I knelt with my ass in the air, my face against the pillow, arching my back to offer him everything. He grabbed my hips and drove his cock into me in one single shove, to the hilt, and started fucking me without mercy, my ass bouncing against his pelvis, the sound of the blows filling the room. He grabbed my hair, pulling me back, making me arch even more.

“Tell me you’re my whore,” he growled in my ear, never stopping his thrusts. “Say it.”

“I’m your whore,” I panted, my voice breaking. “Fuck me harder, give me more, don’t stop…”

He sucked one of my fingers and stuck it in my ass while he kept fucking me in the pussy, and I lost my mind, coming again, biting the pillow to muffle my scream. He lasted a little longer, driving into me faster and faster, until he yanked his cock out, pulled me by the shoulder to make me turn around, and came in jets over my tits and my face, a long, thick orgasm that landed in my open mouth, on my chin, between my breasts. I dragged a finger over my face, gathered the semen, and sucked it off while watching him, and he collapsed beside me, almost breathless.

We spent the whole afternoon like that: resting, starting again, trying things, laughing. I sucked his cock again until it got hard, and he fucked me again in the chair, against the wall, on the floor. A long, sweaty afternoon, without a clock, with the room smelling of sex and the sheets in a mess.

***

With Mateo we repeated it many more times. He wasn’t the only man in my life those days, but for him it became an obsession: he looked for me under any excuse, made holes in his schedule, lied at home. And as always happens with these things, it eventually came out.

One afternoon Mariana followed him. She waited outside while we were upstairs — me with his cock in my mouth, to be exact, kneeling between his legs on my bed — and started pounding on the door with a persistence that didn’t bode well. I went down to open it wearing the first thing I found, one of Mateo’s T-shirts that barely covered me, my thighs smeared with juices and my lips still shiny with saliva, and Mariana’s face twisted when she recognized the shirt.

“Where’s my boyfriend?” she spat.

“What boyfriend?” I replied, with a calm that only enraged her more.

“That’s his T-shirt! Mateo! Mateo!” she started screaming, and pushed her way into the house before I could stop her.

She went straight up to my room and there he was, still naked, sitting on my bed with his cock half-soft and the sheets in a mess. She flew at him, accusing him, calling me every name in the book — bitch, slut, easy — while Mateo tried to calm her down without much success. In the middle of the struggle, the T-shirt I’d covered myself with rode up and I ended up completely naked in front of both of them, tits out, marked with bite marks, his semen still drying between my breasts. He held me by the arm so I wouldn’t get near her.

“Yes, I slept with your boyfriend,” I told her, not lowering my voice, not covering myself. “I fucked him all afternoon. He came in my mouth and on my tits and asked for more. And I’ll keep seeing him if I feel like it. Maybe you should ask yourself why he’d rather come here than stay with you.”

Mariana went silent, eyes full of tears. Then she turned around and left. Mateo got dressed in a hurry and followed her, I suppose to keep that relationship going a little longer even though it no longer made sense.

***

For weeks Mariana made sure to spread the gossip among all her friends. Every time I ran into her, she’d give me some hateful look, some insult under her breath. I let her do it; I understood that was all she had left. She forgave him, of course, but the relationship ended anyway when he moved to another city for work.

I never saw Mateo again, and truthfully, I didn’t need to. What we had was never about him. It was about that feeling of taking what the other person bragged was theirs and proving they didn’t have it as firmly as they thought. I’m not proud of how I handled it, but I’m not going to pretend I regret it either. Sometimes desire is half the story. The other half, in my case, was always winning.