My Confession: The Afternoon I Met Mariana Again

On the second day after I got back from the intercollegiate tournament in Rosario, I dialed Mariana’s number. Her mother answered, with that kind, gatekeeping voice of someone who screens calls for her daughter.

—Good afternoon, is Mariana there?

—Yes, who’s calling?

—Andrés. We met at the university games. And whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?

—Her mother. Hold on, I’ll call her.

I heard her shout Mariana’s name upstairs. There were a few seconds of muffled voices, the click of a handset being picked up, and then her voice.

—Hello? —she said, and I recognized right away that way she had of smiling even over the phone.

—Hi, beautiful. How are you?

—Good. So you finally called me!

—A promise is a promise. I’ve developed the photos already. When would you like to see them?

She thought for a moment. I pictured her twirling the phone cord around her fingers, a habit I’d noticed in the afternoons we spent together during the competition.

—Friday I get out early from college —she said—. If you want, I’ll invite you over for lunch and we can look at them here. How does that sound?

—Sounds perfect. Give me the address properly.

We talked for almost an hour, remembering the days in Rosario, the track races I won, her swimming record, the late-night talks behind the bleachers. By the time we hung up, I already had Friday afternoon occupied in my head.

***

On Friday I skipped my last class, took a long shower, put on a blue shirt I’d bought on a trip and gray pants I was wearing for the first time that afternoon. I looked at myself twice in the mirror before leaving. At twenty-three, you think those things don’t matter, and yet they matter more than ever.

A maid opened the door for me and I went into the living room. A while later Mariana’s mother appeared, drying her hands on a dish towel, finishing up lunch.

—I wasn’t expecting you so soon —she said, holding out her hand—. Mari told me you were getting here at three.

—They canceled my last class. Nice to meet you, ma’am.

—Have a seat. I didn’t imagine you like this.

—Like what?

—I don’t know. Older, more put together. How did the tournament go?

—Pretty well. I won the hundred and two-hundred meters, and first place in soccer.

—My. Mari only told me about soccer and her swimming.

Just then Mariana came downstairs. She was wearing a short dress, no stockings, leather sandals, and her hair tied back in a ponytail that left her neck bare. She was radiant, and for a second I forgot her mother was still in the room.

We ate well and chatted easily. Her mother was a good hostess, elegant, attentive. The conversation turned to hobbies, and when I mentioned reading, she stood up.

—Well, I’ll leave you two, I’ve got things to do. Mari, show him the books in the library and see if any interest him.

—Thanks, ma’am.

Mariana took my hand and led me down the hall.

***

The library was a small room but nicely done: shelves to the ceiling, an old wooden desk, and a leather armchair by the window. I flipped through a couple of spines without really reading them. She came up behind me.

—Are you interested in any of them? —she asked.

I put the book back where it belonged and turned around.

—Yes —I said—. You. Since I saw you come down the stairs I’ve been speechless. You’re beautiful.

I stroked her shoulders and kissed her. She responded at once, wrapping her arms around my neck and pressing her body against mine. I slid my hands to her waist and pulled her in. The contact of her belly against mine was enough to make me hard immediately.

She noticed. She sighed and moved her hips, making the friction more insistent.

—I can see you liked seeing me —she said with a soft laugh—. Let’s sit down; I don’t want you to be uncomfortable because of me.

—I’d want to be this uncomfortable every day —I answered as we sank into the armchair.

We kissed again. I caressed her arms, then her breasts over the fabric, and slid a hand under the short dress to the inside of her thigh. She placed hers over my pants.

—Too tight? —she murmured.

—A little —I said, kissing her neck.

She squeezed gently. I glanced toward the door and she guessed what the gesture meant.

—Relax, it’s closed. When my mom gets into her own things, she forgets the world.

I unbuttoned my pants myself and lowered the zipper. She slid her hand in and stroked me slowly, tracing me all over with her fingers.

—I missed you these days —she said against my chest.

—Me too, beautiful. When I thought about you I got like this, like now.

—And what were you thinking about? —she asked without stopping.

—About touching you again. About that afternoon behind the bleachers, remember?

—Yes —she replied, and her cheeks flushed.

I lifted her dress and slipped my hand under her underwear. She was wet. I stroked her with my middle finger, parting, slipping in just a little, searching for her clit until she started breathing differently. She propped herself up a bit and, with both hands, kept stroking me.

—The last time you told me you told your sister —I said.

—And some friends from college —she admitted, mortified and aroused at the same time—. One of them brought a magazine and we looked at it together.

—And did you like looking at it?

—It made me curious. I’m curious about a lot of things with you.

No more was needed. I tilted her gently; she settled onto her side and brought me to her mouth. I kissed her navel, moved down her stomach, and ended up between her legs, parting her with my fingers and pleasuring her with my tongue, slowly, listening to how her breathing changed. We were both gasping. At that moment nothing existed but that room full of books and the two of us lost in each other, until pleasure caught up with us almost at the same time.

—Tell me next time —she protested afterward, laughing and catching her breath—. You nearly drowned me.

—Sorry, I couldn’t talk. You weren’t exactly in a state to listen either.

—No, it’s okay… I liked it. It just surprised me.

We straightened our clothes, walked out as if nothing had happened, and I said goodbye to her mother with the best of my smiles.

***

After that afternoon we went to the movies a couple of times. In the dark we touched each other like two teenagers, even though we weren’t anymore, and one of those nights she masturbated me to the end with a calm that drove me crazy. On the way back to her house, she asked me again about the films I’d mentioned.

—Whenever you want to see them, let me know ahead of time —I told her—. I’ll find a quiet place where we’ll be alone.

The following week she called me. On Friday her parents had a dinner and her brothers would be around the house; she’d told her mother we were going to the movies. I managed to borrow Tomás’s brother’s apartment, a friend from college. On Thursday I left everything ready: a laptop, a couple of films, and that magazine which, despite being explicit, treated the subject with a certain delicacy.

On Friday I went to pick her up. We went upstairs, I showed her the place, and we entered the living room. She was nervous, talking about unimportant things to fill the silence, but the air was charged and we both knew it. We poured ourselves something to drink and I started caressing her slowly to calm her down.

—Should we watch it? —she said, nodding toward the screen with her chin.

—If you want. But first, look at this.

I handed her the magazine and went to the bathroom. When I came back, her cheeks were flushed.

—Well? —I asked, sitting beside her.

—Interesting… —she said, and took my hand—. Once you promised me we wouldn’t do anything I didn’t want to do.

—And I stand by that. I wouldn’t do anything you don’t want as much as I do. I love you, baby. You told me you weren’t ready yet, and I’ll wait as long as it takes.

She kissed me with a new tenderness, different from the urgency of the library.

—Thank you —she murmured—. You were always considerate.

She grabbed a few snacks and we went to the bedroom. I closed the curtains until everything was in half-darkness. She sat against the headboard with her legs crossed, and I started the movie. At first we watched in silence, only our breathing was audible. On the screen a couple was beginning to undress slowly; in bed, Mariana ran her hands over my shoulders.

—Are you okay? —I asked.

She nodded, cheeks red, her chest rising and falling with each breath. I kissed her, opened her dress button by button without rushing, attentive to every sign of approval from her. I took off her bra and kissed her breasts while she reached through my clothes until she found me. She lowered my pants and began stroking me with both hands, almost unconsciously imitating what we were watching on the screen.

I removed the last garment. I caressed her from the pubic hair to the center, kissed the insides of her thighs, and went back to pleasuring her with my mouth, unhurried, licking every inch while she returned the attention with a surrender she hadn’t shown before. We stayed like that for long minutes, her arching, me feeling how her legs tensed until she came and let herself fall onto me, trembling.

She stayed still for a few seconds. Then she lay down beside me, kissed me, and reached for me with her hand.

—It’s time —she said softly—. I’m ready. I want to be yours.

I finished undressing. I kissed her mouth, her neck, her breasts, and went over her whole body before positioning myself between her legs. I brushed slowly at her entrance; she looked me in the eyes and moaned when she felt me enter for the first time. I advanced little by little, in and out by millimeters, giving her time, until I felt the resistance. She bit her lip.

—Look at me —I told her.

She did. She put her hands on my sides and, without taking her eyes off me, nodded. I pushed firmly and felt her open, her nails digging into my back, a moan half pain and half relief. I stayed still, letting her get used to having me inside.

—Are you okay? —I asked against her cheek.

—Yes —she whispered—. Keep going.

I started moving again, very slowly, kissing her breasts, picking up speed just a little when I noticed her breathing change. The initial expression of pain turned into a sigh, then into gasping, until pleasure caught up with her again and she held me tightly. We rolled over, ended up on our sides, her on top after that, setting her own rhythm with her hands braced on my chest. I let her carry me all the way through, and we finished in each other’s arms, our bodies pressed together and wet, with no desire to let go.

—How do you feel? —I asked some time later.

—Good —she said, and kissed me—. It hurts a little, but I’m happy. Very happy.

We took a bath, changed the sheets, and went back to her house when it was already dark. Her brothers were watching TV and asked us about the movie; we told them we’d ended up preferring to walk in the park. Her sister smiled at her knowingly. I said goodbye at the door and walked away, still with the taste of that afternoon in my mouth, knowing this would be one of those stories you keep to tell yourself many years later.