My Classmate Kissed Me on the Graduation Trip

It was our graduation trip and we’d been at the hotel for three days already, that kind of all-inclusive place where the plastic wristband guarantees you endless alcohol and the perfect excuse to forget who you were in high school. I was twenty-two, freshly graduated, and dragging half a generation along with me: lifelong friends, classmates, some serious couples and some weekend-only ones. Renata came with her boyfriend, Joaquín, who was one of our closer friends in the group.

That afternoon we were at the main pool, the one with the lounge chairs and the floating bar. There was sun, there were watered-down mojitos, and there was some absurd conversation among the girls about whether we all had one breast bigger than the other. I listened half-heartedly, more focused on the reflection of the water than on my classmates’ anatomical theory.

“Hey, can I touch yours?” Renata asked me, out of nowhere, as if she were asking to borrow sunscreen.

I laughed. I gave a little shrug that meant, “fine, if you insist.” It was a game, one of those stupid trip antics you later tell people about with an eye roll. Renata put her hand over my bikini, squeezed for a second, burst out laughing, and turned back to tell the group which one was bigger. Nobody at the table seemed scandalized. Joaquín was at the bar ordering another round. I stayed on my lounger as if nothing had happened.

As if nothing had happened.

The truth was Renata and I had never been friends. We’d shared classes since freshman year, but she ran with a different circle, more party-heavy, more out there. I said hi to her in the hallways and that was it. That had been the first time in five years I’d felt her hand on me, and it kept buzzing in some place I didn’t want to pay attention to. The truth is my nipples hardened under the wet little triangle of fabric as soon as she let go, and I spent the rest of the afternoon squeezing my thighs together with the stupid feeling that something had already started.

***

Hours later we moved to the small pool, the one the hotel reserves for older guests and that, by some miracle, was empty. There were fifteen of us, split into little groups, with tall plastic cups brushing the pool edge and music coming out of a portable speaker. Renata sat across from me on the other side, with Joaquín next to her, his arm over her shoulders.

The water was warm. Almost nobody swam; we floated. I remember the sound of ice clinking against plastic cups and the way the five o’clock sun slipped between the palm trees.

Renata looked at me from across the pool. I held her gaze a second longer than necessary. And then I felt her foot.

It was slow. Not a clumsy brush or a hidden cramp. It was a foot sliding up the inside of my thigh, under the water, with the care of someone who knows exactly where she’s stepping. I swallowed. Looked to the sides. Joaquín was talking to a friend, oblivious. The girls were laughing at something I didn’t hear. And Renata’s foot climbed another centimeter, then another, until the top of her foot rested right in the center of my bikini. I felt her thumb testing over the fabric, pressing right where my cunt was already hot even in the warm water. A tiny gasp slipped out of me, and I covered it with a sip from my cup.

Small pools have a problem: they’re transparent. Anyone leaning over from outside could see perfectly well how Renata, with her boyfriend sitting beside her, was rubbing my cunt with her foot. And I didn’t stop her. I crossed my legs to hide it, yes, but also to squeeze her ankle between my thighs and rub against the top of her foot with the smallest movement of my hips, which she understood instantly. She answered the pressure. She hooked her big toe under the elastic of my bikini, tugged it aside for a second, and I felt her skin directly against my wet lips, now with no fabric in between. I bit the inside of my cheek so I wouldn’t close my eyes.

“Are you okay?” my friend Camila asked from the side, eyes narrowed.

“Yeah, yeah,” I answered too fast. “It’s the sun.”

Camila didn’t believe me. That night, in the room, she told me straight out.

“Don’t get into that, seriously. Renata’s with Joaquín. Joaquín is our friend. Don’t be the cause of some mess you won’t know how to put out later.”

I argued with her. I told her Renata had started it, that I hadn’t done anything. Camila looked at me like an older sister looks at a dumb younger one.

“Then stop her yourself,” she said, and turned off the light.

And I did stop it. For the rest of the trip I kept my distance. There were looks, yes, there were shoulder brushes in passing, there was a hand on my hip for two seconds in the elevator when it was just the two of us — and also, it has to be said, some fingers slipping inside my shorts and rubbing my soaked cunt before the doors opened and she stepped back with a calm, bitchy smile —. But we didn’t go further. We said goodbye at the airport with a kiss on the cheek and a few “take care”s that meant nothing.

***

A week later there was the pool party at Diego’s house. He was Mateo’s cousin, another one from the group, and he lived outside the city, in a house with a pool, a yard, and a cantina-style bar his dad had had made for his birthdays. Almost all of us from the trip were there, plus some friends from other majors. I didn’t expect to see Renata there. But there she was, in a white spaghetti-strap dress over her swimsuit, with the smile of someone who had already made up her mind.

By nine at night I’d had four vodkas and a badly measured mezcal. The pool lights were on, and nobody knew anymore who was controlling the music. I got into the water with Mateo to tell him about a final project I never finished. We were talking about nonsense when Renata got in too, with the dress still on, laughing that she hadn’t had time to change.

She came over to us. I don’t remember what she said. I know she laughed at something Mateo said, I know she put one hand on his shoulder and the other on mine, and I know that, at some point I didn’t see coming, her mouth found mine.

It was short. Three seconds, maybe four. Enough for Mateo to go as quiet as I did. Enough for the mezcal taste on her mouth to mix with my vodka. Enough for me to understand I wasn’t going to be able to keep pretending.

“Let’s go to the store,” Renata said in my ear. “I need to buy cigarettes.”

***

Mateo drove us. Diego got in the passenger seat because it was his car and no one else knew the shortcut to the store. Renata and I sat in back. I didn’t even try to put my seatbelt on.

The car started. She moved to the middle. Looked at me. Grabbed the back of my neck with one hand and kissed me with all the weight of a week of waiting. This time it wasn’t three seconds. This time it was her tongue pushing into my mouth without asking, her saliva mixing with mine, her teeth biting my lower lip until I gasped, her hand squeezing my thigh over my shorts and sliding up to slip under the hem of the fabric.

“Finally,” she murmured against my mouth. “You’re soaking wet, slut, I can feel it from the outside.”

And it was true. Two of her fingers ran over my cunt through my underwear and the fabric caved in from how drenched I was. She pushed my panties aside with her thumb and shoved her heart deep inside me in one stroke. A moan slipped out of me, and I muffled it against her shoulder.

Mateo, beside us, stared straight ahead with an awkward smile, like someone who knows he shouldn’t turn around but doesn’t want to miss the miracle either. Diego was driving with the rearview mirror angled back. You didn’t need to be very smart to realize both of them had hard cocks straining under their shorts.

Renata sat on my lap. The two of us in short skirts, in the back seat of a car going forty down a neighborhood street. Her hips over mine, grinding against my stomach with her dress pulled up to her waist. Her breasts at mouth level. I yanked down the cup of her bikini top and pulled out one whole breast, round, with the dark nipple standing up like a stone. I sucked it hard, bit it, let it fall with a wet sound. I licked under it, along the edge of the bikini, across the hollow between her breasts. She arched back, and in doing so leaned against Mateo’s shoulder, and by then he was no longer pretending to look ahead.

She looked at him. And then, before I understood what was happening, she kissed him too. A long, tongue-filled kiss, while I kept sucking her breast and she slid two fingers back into my cunt and moved them inside me with an obscene rhythm. Then she came back to me, with Mateo’s saliva on her mouth, and passed it to me by kissing me. Back to him, back to me, sharing out something that belonged to no one. I grabbed her wrist and pushed her fingers deeper. She laughed against my mouth.

“Suck them,” she told me, pulling them out shiny.

I sucked them. I sucked the taste of my own cunt off her hand, looking her in the eyes, while with her other hand she went under her dress and touched herself. Mateo, beside us, had his hand over the bulge in his shorts and wasn’t pretending anymore. Diego, up front, hadn’t spoken in two blocks.

I’m not going to stop this.

That’s what I thought. And I didn’t stop.

***

We got to the store. Mateo got out to buy cigarettes, tugging his shorts into place with one hand as best he could. Diego didn’t turn off the engine. He didn’t say anything, didn’t ask us to wait, didn’t get out either. He stayed there, hands on the wheel, staring at the lit-up storefront ahead and, every so often, sliding his eyes to the rearview mirror.

Renata took advantage of the pause. She pushed me down onto my side on the seat, spread my legs, and yanked my shorts and panties down to my knees in one pull. I felt the cold air from the car’s AC against my soaked cunt for a second, and then her mouth. Her hot tongue went from my entrance up to my clit in one long, flat lick, and stayed there, circling, sucking, while she slid two fingers into me and curled them inside, searching for the spot. I grabbed her hair with both hands and shoved her face against me. A moan escaped me, too loud.

“Shut up, dummy,” Diego whispered from the front without turning around. “He’s coming back.”

But he wasn’t back yet. Renata kept sucking me for another minute, two, eyes lifted and fixed on mine over my stomach. She bit my clit lightly, teeth over the hood, and made my whole body tremble. In between ragged breaths, I managed to rip the top of her dress off and slide my hand under her bikini. I grabbed her cunt with my whole palm. She was drenched, swollen, slick. I shoved two fingers into her and she sat down hard on my hand, moving up and down, riding it in silence while I tried to get my shorts back into some kind of order.

I saw Diego’s eyes in the mirror. They held mine for a second. I didn’t look away. Neither did he. Renata noticed and, without stopping the motion over my hand, turned just enough to smile at the mirror, pulling out her breast again and showing it off. Diego closed his eyes for an instant, gripped the wheel, and opened them again just in time.

Renata bit my neck as she came. She came silently, squeezing my fingers inside her with a series of spasms that ran through her thighs, her mouth against my shoulder so she wouldn’t cry out. I bit my lips because my panties were still halfway down my legs and my clit was throbbing, unfinished. And in the background, the store’s little bell let us know Mateo was coming back.

By the time he opened the car door, we were both sitting like obedient little teenagers again, dresses in place and breathing mostly under control. Renata laughed, subtly sucking the fingers she’d had inside me. I couldn’t.

“Ready?” Mateo said, still holding the change in his hand.

“More than ready,” she answered.

***

The ride back was quieter. A couple more kisses, almost goodbye kisses, while Mateo handed us the cigarettes over the back of the seat. Under the blanket someone had left on the seat, Renata’s hand slipped back into my shorts and finished me with three fingers moving slowly, staring ahead as if she were thinking about something else. I came like that, in silence, biting my knuckle, with Diego’s eyes meeting mine one last time in the mirror when my breath caught. Diego didn’t say a single word the whole way. When we got into the house, we acted like we were laughing about some idiotic Mateo joke, and nobody seemed to notice anything.

My friends, though, did notice me. They noticed my pupils, they noticed my hair, they noticed the lipstick that was no longer where it should have been, they noticed the dark wet stain on my shorts. Camila came over, grabbed my arm, and said, without raising her voice:

“I’m taking you home. Now.”

I didn’t argue. I left with her wrapped around me, my cheek on her shoulder, still tasting Renata’s mezcal, smelling my own cunt on the fingers of my right hand, and feeling my pulse hammering in my wrists.

***

We never talked about it again. Renata and I saw each other a couple more times at group things, at a wedding, at a New Year’s toast. Always with Joaquín beside her. Always with that half smile that said, “this happened and neither of us is ever going to admit it.”

I got married two years ago. Renata married Joaquín three years ago. We congratulated each other by message, with no extra emojis.

But sometimes, when I’m alone, when my husband is asleep and I slip my hand inside my pajamas, I remember the car, Diego’s rearview mirror, the taste of mezcal, Renata’s tongue circling my clit in the back seat, Renata’s foot sliding up my thigh under the transparent water of a small all-inclusive pool in a hotel. And I cum thinking of her, squeezing my thighs together, my mouth closed. And I understand that it’s still, without question, the sexiest experience I’ve ever had with a woman. With a woman who said she was straight, who had a boyfriend, and who that day — that whole week, really — decided I wasn’t going to forget her.

I didn’t forget her.