I Was Her Confidant, and Every Confession of Hers Turned Me On

This is the story of my friend Carla, or rather the story of everything she told me and I could never have. I met her in my teens. She went to another school and lived in a town right next to the city, but we had mutual friends and ended up running into each other afternoon after afternoon in the same park. We talked on the phone every day, laughed at everything, and became inseparable. From the very first moment, I was drawn to her.

Carla is brunette, with black eyes and an intense gaze, the kind that seems to enjoy things before they happen. She has full lips, a good pair of tits, and curves that turned heads in the street. I have no trouble admitting that I was in love with her for years, even while dating other girls. We always had a strange chemistry; we told each other everything, supported each other through anything.

She was not bold when it came to relationships, but she was almost never alone: she always had a boyfriend or some half-finished thing going on. Her cheerful personality attracted half the city. At parties it was normal to see her disappear for a while with some guy toward a secluded corner. And when she broke up with someone, it never took her a month to show up with someone else. I was her confidant. Every week I listened to the details of her entanglements with other men, sometimes with mutual friends, and that made me jealous and horny at the same time.

Deep down I was waiting for my turn. It’ll happen, I told myself. Unfortunately it never did, though it came close more than once. I jerked off hundreds of times imagining that moment, or remembering the kisses she described to me with other men. When we went out and she got off with someone, I couldn’t help watching with a certain kind of dirty fascination. That was when I began to accept that I liked that world—the world of watching, of sharing, of imagining her with someone else while she told me everything.

***

One summer afternoon a group of us played truth or dare on the beach. What started innocently got hotter as the sun went down. When it was my turn to come up with a dare, I knew what I wanted. I knew one of the guys in the group liked Carla, so I dared them to kiss with tongue.

I think I enjoyed watching their tongues seek each other out more than anyone else. My friend thanked me several times, and rightly so: the next day they started dating. They lasted only two weeks, but judging by what he told me later, he made good use of those lips.

What was curious was that Carla was still a virgin. She never quite took the step. One night, texting back and forth, we stayed up until five in the morning flirting. I confessed that I liked her and she told me she liked me too, but for some reason I didn’t dare go further. The conversation hung in the air. Far from frustrating me, it made me dream even more—not only of tasting her someday, but of imagining a future by her side.

***

That summer she went away on vacation with her parents to another city. When she came back, we met up to take a walk and catch up. Between laughs she confessed she had gotten off with a guy our age, the son of some family friends. What left me stunned was the rest: one day, locked in his room, she had sucked him off and given him a handjob. It turned me on a lot. Little by little she was getting more daring, when up until then she had gone no further than kissing.

We started university in different cities. We stayed in touch, but we barely saw each other, and between studying and the distance there wasn’t much time left for our confessions. One party weekend, with several friends, a comment from one of her classmates caught my attention. That girl boasted about the guys she had already slept with, while Carla and her friend Lucía teased her.

—Well, I prefer mine, because at least I get mine— the other one blurted out. —You two suck off the guys you hook up with and leave it at that.

—True, that leaves us halfway there, then— Lucía replied, dying of laughter.

I was left with the question burning inside me, but I didn’t know how to bring it up. Weeks passed and I didn’t dare ask about those blowjobs.

***

One day a message from her arrived that threw me off balance. After a “I’ve got something to tell you,” it turned out she had started seeing a guy from her town. Before I could ask about him, she wrote: “We already did it, hahaha.” I got comfortable in bed, turned on, and asked for every detail.

The lucky guy was Rubén. I knew him by sight and, honestly, I didn’t like him. He was a year younger than us and seemed like small fry for her. She told me that on weekends, when she went home, they’d meet up to make out, that he’d asked her to be his girlfriend, and that they’d fucked at his parents’ house, taking advantage of the fact they weren’t there. We talked about sex until four in the morning: what she had done with him, my own experiences at university with other girls. I was surprised that with Rubén she had only done it three times, and one of those already without a condom.

—I hope I’m not pregnant— she wrote to me, laughing.

***

Months passed and, although we stayed in touch, it wasn’t the same anymore. Carla stopped hanging out with our group and started moving with Rubén and his friends. We stopped talking about our intimate lives. Years even went by. Until one night, catching each other up, we ended up staying awake until six in the morning again.

She was still with Rubén. We talked about sex, about a string bikini she had bought —which I, of course, said I needed to see— and about my experiences with the woman who was my girlfriend at the time. When I talked to her about my girlfriend, I could sense a certain jealousy in her messages, some snide comment here and there. The conversation heated up and we started flirting again like in the old days.

—I wish we were in different circumstances— she told me. —There could already be a machine to teleport you here. I’ve always liked you, but you never make a move.

I asked her to meet me alone the next day, in secret. She said yes. I didn’t sleep at all that night. I came three or four times thinking about her.

But the next day, when I said good morning to her, she seemed distant, curt. Even so, I insisted on meeting up.

—Better not— she wrote. —We both have partners.

And so more years passed, with us drifting farther and farther apart, though without ever completely stopping talking now and then.

***

She had been with Rubén for seven years when we opened up completely again one night. I had gotten a job in the coastal city where I used to spend summers, a couple of hours from her town, and it was obvious the spark had gone out with her boyfriend. I told her that with my partner we did exchanges, threesomes, that I shared her. She confessed that a threesome with another man would turn her on, and that she wouldn’t rule out an exchange, but that Rubén was way too jealous for those kinds of things.

She told me that once, at a friend’s house, she had made out with Rubén in the same bed as the friend and her boyfriend, though it had only been kisses and caresses over their clothes. She wanted more, even to fuck in front of them, but they didn’t dare go any further. And then she dropped another one on me: one night, in a nightclub, she danced with a girl, a friend of a classmate, and they ended up kissing for a good while in the middle of the dance floor. The girl invited her to go outside for some air, but Carla got scared. She’s neither lesbian nor bisexual, and she had a boyfriend, so she told her “some other time” and that was that.

I realized Carla was a woman who wanted to explore. From then on I spoke to her more often, told her about new experiences with my partner, and it was obvious the subject thrilled her.

***

One morning I got a message from her: “I fucked up.” She told me that on Saturday she had gone out with her coworkers and in the nightclub she ran into the son of those family friends, yes, the guy to whom years earlier she had given her first blowjob. They danced together, laughed, flirted, and he offered to walk her home.

On the way he asked to hold her hand and she agreed. They kissed at almost every lamppost. They went up kissing in the elevator, kept going while he opened the door, and headed straight for the sofa. There they made out for a good while, until he poured her a drink. They talked and ended up in the bedroom. He undressed her between kisses, traced her neck and her chest, and ate her pussy. Then she sucked his cock, they sixty-nined, and masturbated each other until they both came. After that they fell asleep wrapped in each other’s arms until the next day.

She swore to me they hadn’t fucked. Do we believe her? I don’t know. It seemed strange to me that two naked people would spend the whole night in the same bed without going further. She told me she felt guilty, but that she didn’t think that counted as cheating on Rubén, because with the distance, things between them were no longer going well.

I laughed at the fact that she thought that wasn’t infidelity, but I backed her up anyway. That same day she broke up with Rubén over the phone, after seven years. I figured she’d start seeing the guy who had eaten her out all over, but no. She seemed shaken.

***

The following Sunday, a week later, another message came in: “Tonight I fucked hard.”

—With the son of your parents’ friends?— I asked.

—No.

That surprised me. She told me she had gone out again with her friends and that they, to cheer her up, had found her a guy. He was the opposite of her ex: three years older, long-haired, muscular, a massage therapist by profession. They got together, she liked him, and he offered to take her to his place to give her a massage. The guy was delighted to go along with it.

When they arrived they started kissing. She told me he sat on the sofa watching her while she undressed standing in front of him, and then she climbed on top of him completely naked. After licking her chest, he suggested they go into the shower. Carla, surprised, agreed. There he undressed and showed her a cock bigger than her ex’s.

They got under the water and started with the kissing, the caresses, the grinding. He soaped her up without missing a centimeter of her tits, her pussy, and her ass. Then it was her turn, and, eager as anything, she soaped up his cock, his balls, his torso. He turned her against the glass screen and started fucking her. Carla moaned as she felt the thrusts, the cold of the glass on her nipples, the splashes of hot water. She came right there, delighted.

When they got out they dried each other off, taking advantage of every inch, and went to bed to keep fucking, this time without holding back. They slept together. That very week they started dating.

***

For a while Carla kept telling me the filthy things they did in bed, in the bathroom, in the kitchen, on the sofa, and even in a park. But little by little we drifted apart again. Now it’s been more than a year since we last spoke. She has focused on her new boyfriend, Diego, and nothing else.

I stayed where I always was: on the other end of the phone, keeping every one of her confessions. And there are still nights when I ask myself the same old question.

Will I ever taste those lips?