My Best Friend’s Sister Kissed Me at That Bar

The message came on a Tuesday at four in the afternoon, just as I was about to close up the office. It was Camila, Joaquín’s sister, one of my best friends since high school. “Are you free tonight? I need to get out. My boyfriend went away, and I’m going crazy alone at home.” I read it twice, making sure I wasn’t imagining things.

I’d known Camila since she was sixteen. She’d grown up right in front of me, from a shy girl with braces into a twenty-three-year-old woman anyone would turn around to look at on the street. Brunette, tall, slim, with a body that showed she worked out at the gym and a smile that always seemed on the verge of apologizing for something.

—All right, I’ll come pick you up —I replied, with Joaquín’s voice echoing somewhere in the back of my mind.

It’s just an outing. A friend, a little trip, dinner. Nothing more.

That’s what I kept telling myself as I drove to her building. That’s what I told myself when she came downstairs wearing tight pants and a semitransparent white blouse that showed the outline of her bra and the shadow of her nipples. That’s what I told myself when she kissed me twice and her perfume clung to my neck for the rest of the night.

We went to eat somewhere quiet, a small restaurant in a neighborhood she’d chosen because “nobody knows us here.” That sentence should have alerted me, but I pretended not to notice. She ordered red wine, and I ordered the same. We talked about anything and everything: her job at an art gallery, my recent trips, Joaquín and his new girlfriend, the family. Everything perfectly proper, everything very much between friends.

—Shall we have a drink afterward? —she asked when the check arrived—. I’m not ready to go home yet.

I accepted without thinking. I accepted because it was already too late not to.

The bar was one of those places with low lighting and soft music, where people lean forward to talk and distances grow shorter without anyone realizing it. She ordered a sweet cocktail. I had whiskey. By the third glass, her hand was resting on mine and the conversation had dropped two tones.

—I’ll confess something to you —she said, biting her lip—. I’ve wanted to go out with you like this for a long time. Alone.

I didn’t get a chance to answer. She leaned across the table and kissed me. It wasn’t a soft or hesitant kiss. It was a determined kiss, from someone who had been rehearsing it in her head for weeks, maybe months. She slipped her tongue straight in, without preamble, and bit my lower lip before pulling away.

—What about your boyfriend? —I asked when I managed to separate from her.

—I don’t want to hear about him right now —she replied, and kissed me again. This time hungrier.

—And Joaquín?

—Joaquín won’t find out.

***

I ordered an Uber without really knowing what I was going to tell her when we got to my apartment. In the back seat, she settled against me, one leg over mine and her face hidden in my neck. I tried to maintain a civilized conversation with the driver while Camila’s hand slowly moved over my pants, squeezing the cock that was already beginning to swell against the fabric.

A few blocks from the building, I dared to make a move. I slipped my hand beneath her pants, over her underwear, and felt the wet heat of her cunt through the fabric. The lace was soaked. I slid a finger over her slit, and she breathed hard and pressed herself against me, but something made me hesitate. For a second she looked at me with a mixture of surprise and reproach, as if I’d rushed a move she’d intended to happen differently.

I pulled my hand away. Wait. Don’t scare her.

We got out in silence. We rode up the six floors in the elevator without saying a word, her looking at herself in the mirror, me watching her look at herself in the mirror. I opened the apartment door, and before I could turn on the light, she pushed me against the wall and kissed me again, with an intensity that had nothing to do with the shy girl in the Uber. She grabbed my cock through my pants and squeezed it with both hands, measuring it, weighing it.

Then I understood. She hadn’t minded being groped. She’d minded the place.

We took our clothes off between kisses, in that urgent struggle that comes before the inevitable. I opened her blouse and found a black lace bra she clearly hadn’t put on by accident. Her tits were firm and round, not very large, but perfect, with her nipples outlined and hard against the fabric. I bit one through the lace and felt her arch, moaning softly. I pulled the bra cup down in one tug and sucked her bare nipple, biting it and tugging it with my teeth while I squeezed her other tit with my hand.

—Wait —she said. She pulled away for a second, looked at me with glassy eyes, and, without breaking eye contact, unbuttoned her pants herself. She lowered them to her ankles and stood in front of me wearing only red underwear, also lace, a tiny triangle clinging to her cunt and revealing the wetness already soaking through it.

—You too —she ordered.

I yanked off my shirt. The belt took longer. When I was down to my boxers, she came closer, slipped her hand inside, and grabbed my cock directly, her hot skin against mine. She began to stroke me slowly, squeezing the base, moving up to the head and back down again, all while looking me in the eyes.

—Mmm. Joaquín would describe you very differently if he knew what you had here —she whispered, giving me another squeeze.

—Don’t mention your brother now.

She laughed. A low, husky laugh, completely new to me. The laugh I knew was the bright one from the family table; this was the laugh of someone about to do something she shouldn’t and loving it. She knelt without looking away, yanked down my boxers, and left my cock springing out in front of her face. She gripped it at the base, spat on it, and took it into her mouth in one motion, swallowing me almost to the throat.

—Fuck —I blurted, grabbing her by the hair.

She sucked me slowly at first, her eyes fixed on mine, letting a thread of saliva run down her chin. Then she sped up. She pulled me out, licked my balls one by one, and took me back in until she gagged. I held her head with both hands, and she cooperated, letting me fuck her mouth at my pace. When I felt I was about to come down her throat, I pulled her up sharply.

I led her to the bedroom, holding her by the waist. I laid her on the bed, slowly pulled down her underwear, and knelt between her legs. Her cunt gleamed, almost completely shaved, her lips swollen and parted, dripping. Before I touched her with my mouth, she lifted her head.

—Put on a condom, please. I don’t want to get pregnant.

—Not yet.

Before she could protest, I gave her a long, slow kiss right where she was already soaked. I licked her from bottom to top with my flat tongue, gathering all the juices running down her slit. I stopped at her clitoris and worked it in circles, gently at first, then sucking it directly between my lips. I pushed two fingers inside her at the same time, curling them upward and searching for her spot inside while I kept sucking her clitoris. I felt her grab the sheets and let out a muffled moan, then another, and her hips began moving on their own against my face.

—Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop —she repeated, squeezing my head between her thighs.

I didn’t let her come. I stopped her right before it happened, when she was already trembling. I moved up, kissed her navel, her ribs, her neck, and finally returned to her mouth so she could taste herself on my tongue.

Then I put on the condom. I was rock-hard, ready, dripping. I spread her legs wide, placed the tip of my cock at the entrance to her cunt, and rubbed it up and down, wetting it with her own juices. She tried to lift her hips and take me all at once, but I held her back.

—Put it in, come on, don’t make me wait —she begged.

I entered slowly, looking her in the eyes. Inch by inch, feeling her cunt open around me, squeeze me, devour me. For an instant, I thought that the woman beneath me was the same girl I’d helped study for a geography exam seven years earlier. And instead of stopping me, that finally turned me on completely. I drove into her all the way, and she let out a short cry, her mouth open, her eyes closed.

—Harder —she begged—. Harder, please.

—Do you like it like that?

—Tonight I’m your slut.

The sentence hit me like a bucket of cold water. For a second I didn’t know what to do with it. But she was already scratching my back and moving her hips to meet me, so I decided to believe her. I did as she asked. I began fucking her with all the desire I’d stored up over the years of watching her out of the corner of my eye at family birthdays. Every thrust made our flesh smack together, a wet slap, and her tits bounced with every blow.

—Do you like the way I fuck you? —I asked, in a voice I didn’t recognize.

—Yes, yes, yes —she answered with every thrust, biting the back of her hand to keep from screaming—. Break me, come on, break my cunt.

I grabbed her legs by the ankles and spread them in a V, folding them against her chest so I could get deeper. From that angle I could see everything: my cock going in and out, shiny with her juices, her swollen clitoris, her tight asshole just beneath it. I lowered my thumb and pressed it there, without pushing it in, simply applying pressure. She moaned louder.

—Do you like it there too?

—Shut up and keep going.

I turned her over. I put her on all fours. I gripped her waist with both hands and began pounding her as if I wanted to leave a permanent mark. Her ass bounced against my hips and made a dry sound every time we collided. I slapped one cheek, then the other, and again. Her skin turned red on both buttocks. She laughed and asked for more.

—Hit me, come on.

—Who are you?

—I’m whatever you want me to be.

I grabbed her hair, wrapped it around my fist, and pulled back until her back arched. From there I kept fucking her, deeper, harder, watching myself disappear inside her with every thrust. I leaned close to her ear.

—Tell me you’re my slut.

—I’m your slut —she answered without hesitation—. Break me, please.

I spat on her asshole and rubbed it with my thumb, pressing until the tip slipped inside. Her whole body shuddered. I began fucking her cunt with my cock and her ass with my finger at the same time, coordinating both movements, and after a few minutes I felt her begin to tremble.

—I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming.

We went on like that for a long while. We changed positions three or four times. She came once on the bed, with a scream she muffled in the pillow, squeezing my cock with spasms that milked it inside her. And she came again when I sat her on top of me and gripped her hips to guide her, riding me while she squeezed her tits and pinched her nipples for her own pleasure. I, on the other hand, didn’t finish. I don’t know why. Maybe it was the amount of alcohol. Maybe it was in my head, swinging back and forth between pleasure and the constant reminder of who she was.

After a while, when I pulled out, she looked at the condom and was surprised.

—You didn’t come?

—Not yet.

—You didn’t like it?

—I loved it. I don’t know why I can’t finish.

She thought for a second. Then she sat up, knelt in front of me on the bed, and carefully removed the condom. She left it beside her, on the nightstand.

—What if we do it without one? —she suggested.

—Are you sure?

—I want to feel you. Nothing between us. I want you to come inside me.

I didn’t answer. I nodded. Before laying her down, she bent over and sucked my cock for a while longer, cleaning the latex off me and covering me completely with saliva. I laid her down again, spread her legs, and entered without protection, skin against skin. The sensation was different. Completely different. It was warm, alive, slippery, unlike anything else. I felt every fold of her cunt, every pulse, the pure heat without a barrier. I heard her let out a long, deep moan, different from all the others.

—Like that, like that, like that. Oh God, like that.

I fucked her slowly at first, savoring the bare skin, sliding all the way in and pulling almost completely out before sinking into her again. She wrapped her legs around me and dug her heels into my ass, drawing me in, swallowing me. She pulled my mouth to hers and kissed me while I kept thrusting, biting my tongue whenever pleasure overwhelmed her.

—Come inside me —she whispered—. I want to feel you finish.

I sped up. I grabbed her beneath the small of her back, lifted her slightly to change the angle, and began fucking her deeply, without holding back. The bed slammed against the wall. She came again, this time with her mouth open and no sound escaping, her throat locked, and that contraction of her cunt around my bare cock pulled my orgasm out of me. I emptied myself inside her in long spurts, holding her against me, while she whispered in my ear not to pull out, to stay there, to let her feel me finish.

When I finally pulled out, a thick string of semen ran from her cunt down onto the sheet. She brought two fingers to her slit, gathered what was dripping out, and put them in her mouth, looking at me.

We spent the whole night together. We dozed for a while, then went on. She woke me twice with her mouth, kneeling between my legs, sucking me until I was hard again and climbing on top of me before I was fully awake. I woke her once by slipping inside her from behind, spooning her while she was still half asleep; she came like that, silently, clutching the pillow. By six in the morning, we’d both finished several times, and the bed was destroyed: the semen mixed with her juices had formed dark stains on the sheet, and she had red marks from my hands on her hips and ass.

***

She called me at eleven. When I saw her name on the screen, I thought the regret would come, along with the apologies and the “we can never see each other again.”

But she told me something else.

—My boyfriend comes back Sunday. I have four days.

—Four days for what?

—For you. If you want.

I wanted to. Of course I wanted to. I wanted to even though Joaquín’s face appeared in the background every time I imagined her.

She came over that same afternoon and stayed until Friday. She took vacation time from the gallery and left her phone on silent. She told her boyfriend she was spending a few days at a friend’s house. For four days, we didn’t leave the apartment except to order food at the door. We fucked in the bed, on the sofa, in the shower with her pressed against the tiles, on the kitchen table with her legs spread while I ate her cunt and the coffee went cold beside us. The second night she asked me to fuck her ass, and I did, slowly, with plenty of lube, until I was all the way inside her and she came with two fingers on her cunt and my cock in her asshole. We didn’t use a condom again even once.

That was eight months ago. Camila is still with her boyfriend. I’m still Joaquín’s best friend. We go to family birthdays, eat together at his parents’ house, and applaud his mother’s speeches on her birthday. And every so often, when her boyfriend goes away or she invents an excuse, she appears at my door with a small backpack and a smile I know by now.

I know it’s wrong. I know that one day it will end in the worst possible way, and that I’ll probably lose my best friend. But there’s something about the secrecy, about the thrill of knowing that what we’re doing can’t be told, that becomes addictive. Every visit is the last one. Until the next.

Maybe one day I’ll have the courage to end it. Maybe one day she’ll get tired before I do. Maybe one day Joaquín will find out and everything will go to hell. In the meantime, I keep waiting for those four-o’clock messages, the ones that arrive when she has a few hours free and an urge that nobody else can satisfy.