The Last Time I Gave Myself to My Secret Lover

It had been almost a year since the first time, and everything that had happened in that span felt like a roller coaster that never slowed down. Our secrets lived in the shadows, cowardly hidden from prying eyes. Even pretending had become a worn-out habit, a routine we repeated without thinking.

It was a relationship that, deep down, did not exist. Reduced to stolen encounters, away from anyone else, cut off from everything around us. And yet behind it all was a story as much ours as the years we had spent being friends before crossing that line.

What we shared had its own language, a reason unlike anything else I had ever lived through. Something halfway between desire and silence, between what we truly were and what we pretended to be in front of others.

My happiness lived in that intimate space. I was happy, I could not say otherwise. Without even stopping to consider that it might be a mistake, little by little I came to realize that, even if it was, everything it made me feel more than made up for it and ended up making it worth it.

Adrián was my partner, or that was how I felt. A companion I learned from, someone I could trust, the person I thought I would end up sharing my plans and my life with. In my head, I had turned him into the ending of a story I was writing all by myself.

But that was nothing more than the sigh that would shatter the mirage of my own desires. An idealized reflection of the absurd idea I longed for so badly. A hazy fog seeping through the cracks that, without my seeing them, were already opening between us.

Because things were not right. Not as time went by, not with that secret known only to the two of us. That same secret that one day stopped protecting us and began to weigh more than the happiness it claimed to give me.

I felt deceived. Convinced that the situation had not yet crossed any irreversible line, and at the same time overwhelmed by it, I threw myself with an almost suicidal boldness into forcing things.

What had begun as something temporary, waiting to settle into what we wanted or felt, lasted far longer than desired. And time, without warning, began to work against us.

It was not until much later that I became aware I was not the only one living deceived inside that lie.

That afternoon I was already tired of hearing the same old excuses.

—Don’t keep insisting... why do we have to tell everyone? Aren’t we fine like this? Why ruin it? —he answered with a hint of annoyance, and before leaving the sentence unfinished, he added—: We’re not a couple.

That sentence buried my hopes. A few words were enough for him to destroy all my illusions in one blow, leaving behind the faintest possibility and a friendship that, without my even realizing it yet, was beginning to crack.

The coldness with which it came from his lips froze my heart. And he finished breaking it with what he said right after.

—We’ll never be a couple, we could never be... I’m sorry if I confused you. —An apology that only foretold the worst—. This is just a game between friends.

He killed me. He shattered my illusions and my dreams, ripped away the happiness I had held up for months and let it fall like glass over my bare feet.

Of course nothing I wanted would ever happen. Of course he would never see things the way I did; it was impossible. For him it was nothing more than a game between friends. He would never see me as a partner. I was only the friend who was there, the one occupying, at that moment, the space left by need. I was only the cunt Adrián called when he felt like fucking, when no one else was watching.

That day the eleven months we had shared came crashing down. Eleven months of fucking behind closed doors, of his fingers buried to the hilt, of his cock going in and out of me in the dim light of borrowed rooms. That day our friendship was left adrift.

Every memory ran me over like a train at full speed. Not even my eyes managed to cry, trapped by helplessness, by the rage and pain consuming and suffocating me all at once.

I needed time. I needed to think.

That afternoon I hung up convinced there was nothing left to fix. The end of what we knew was near, and our friendship was coming to an end.

It was hard to accept that everything was over, that I would not feel his kisses or his lips, or his tongue sliding down my belly until it buried itself between my thighs. Even so, I resisted; I still held onto the hope that it had all been a fit of rage, that there might be some way to go back and turn time around.

***

It was Wednesday afternoon when Adrián called me, as he did almost every day.

With his usual calm, he flirted without complications, as if nothing had happened between us the day before.

I was no longer the same woman I had been that day.

Complicity had abandoned me, and it choked me in every forced laugh. Things had reached a point of no return and, without fleeing, I was marching straight toward the abyss. He, oblivious to everything twisting my stomach and pounding in my head, pretended nothing was wrong and acted like always.

I made an effort to smile, I swear I tried. To seem carefree, pleasant, even though all I truly wanted was to scream. I did everything possible not to let my voice break, convinced he would not notice the sadness overtaking me. It was useless. The truth always comes out in the end and leaves a strange weight in words.

—Are you okay, baby? —he asked, oblivious to my tone.

—No, Adrián, I don’t feel well —I answered, angry.

—What’s wrong? Why are you like this?

His indifference to everything I felt only made me angrier. But of course, I was the one who was living deceived.

—I can’t keep doing this. I don’t want to —I told him, my voice halfway to breaking.

—Doing what? —he asked in disbelief.

—Pretending you don’t matter to me. Lying to myself by believing that one day you’ll see this for what it really is. We’re living in hiding, for fuck’s sake! —This time I could not hold back the crack in my voice.

—I’m not hiding you... I don’t want you to say that.

—That’s how it feels to me. You’re ashamed, for whatever reason, you’re ashamed of us. You’re ashamed of me —I insisted, even though my voice had turned to sobs—. Or what would you call it?

—No need to label anything —he insisted, now in a more serious tone—. I don’t want a girlfriend. I don’t want anyone telling me where to go or which friends I can go out with. I don’t want to shape my life around another person. I thought that was clear. —He drove the point home with all the force his own words carried.

—We’ve never talked about that... That conversation never happened between us. —I took a breath, trying to loosen the knot in my throat—. But it was understood that we were more than friends. You can’t come now and take for granted things that only you wanted, as if they belonged to both of us. —I paused to breathe and keep going—. That makes me think you never took me into account. Maybe because you didn’t want to, or maybe because you were never interested in my opinion. —And, summoning all my courage, I told him the words that would seal the conversation—: Tell me now... what do you choose? Your friends, your single life, your silence and your supposed freedom... or me?

The question hung in the air for a few seconds. Seconds that felt like an eternity to me, waiting for an answer I already sensed. The ultimatum was on the table. All that remained was to know who would win that game, and something told me it would not be me.

—I don’t think you’re being fair —he answered with some indignation.

—You just have to answer, Adrián —I pressed him—. You just have to give one answer. Speak for once and everything will be settled once and for all.

At least ten minutes of silence preceded what he said. An awkward, deafening silence settled between us and left the answer hanging in the air.

—I want to be with you...

The beginning encouraged my heart, which was still deceiving itself by holding on to the slightest bit of hope, believing that maybe I was wrong and he was going to offer some other way out.

That thread of trust did not last long. It snapped at once.

—But I don’t want a relationship... at least not that kind of formal relationship. —He said it with a hint of sadness in his eyes—. We’re not made to be a couple.

He had chosen. And so had I. It had never been his choice.

I was left without a voice, unable to utter a word, swallowing hard to ease the narrow, painful knot that closed my throat completely and made breathing difficult.

—Say something... —he pleaded, perhaps trying to dispel the guilt he felt.

—No... no... I can’t —I answered, forcing myself to sound composed.

Through my sobs I tried not to burst into tears. Breaking down in front of him was not an option. Keeping myself cold, and maybe a little haughty, was. I ended that conversation by condemning it to an absolute end.

—That’s all been said, Adrián. —I stayed silent for a few seconds loaded with tension—. Don’t call me again.

—But we’re friends... —he pointed out.

—I don’t know. It’s better if we stay away from each other for a while. Right now I can’t see you.

With that, I said goodbye and hung up the phone that brought an end to almost a year of feelings.

***

A huge change was beginning ahead: life without him. I had lost the man I thought was the love of my life and, at the same time, my most faithful friend. Now I had to learn how to live without either of them. I was alone, empty, and let down.

My wounded pride did not let me take him back. Every time he tried to recover what little remained of our friendship, he ran into my rage and resentment. With no hope and no illusions, the days slowly faded away after Adrián disappeared.

And, as if fate had a cruel sense of humor, it was Saturday night when the girls convinced me to go out.

—Come on, we have to go out. I’ve got tickets to the concert; we’re not going to waste them —Carla insisted—. Come with me, it’ll do you good.

Between her constant pressure and the pressure I was putting on myself to leave everything behind once and for all, I eventually gave in. At half past nine we were at the door of the Almena venue. A rock group with flamenco overtones was playing, blending both genres into melodies that sounded strange to my limited ear. Different, but not quite to my taste.

The dinner that had sounded so promising ended up being a hamburger eaten standing up at the usual place, and what was supposed to be a drink became, inevitably, an entire night of partying. What a plan. In other words, they had tricked me on purpose to get me out of the house.

After going through the usual bars, we ended up —of course— at the pub where I had so many times finished the night. With every step I feared the moment I might run into him. I knew we were walking the same ground, that we shared the same streets and the same bars. Meeting each other was only a matter of time.

And then it happened.

When I walked into a bar called El Faro, there he was. As if something had warned him, he found me immediately with his eyes. I confess I did the same.

With no interest in going over to him, I walked right past. The remnants of what we had still hurt. So, pretending he did not exist, I kept going toward the corner where my friends were clustered.

They wasted no time starting to talk to a group of guys. Under normal circumstances I would not have noticed any of them, but that night I was in no mood to turn anyone away. Ready to give people something to talk about and, above all, to avoid thinking, I joined the group, trying to ignore the eyes I knew were fixed on me.

I did not take long to notice one of them taking an interest. Another small victory for the night. If seeing the surprise on his face when I brushed past him was already a reward, feeling that I now had someone eating out of my hand was, quite simply, a win.

The boy, eager and willing, was a little taller than I was. Attractive, maybe even quite handsome. I admit that in other circumstances I might not even have stopped to look at him, but that night he served my purpose, and that was enough. He did not take long to close the distance. When he pressed his body against mine, he made his intentions clear. I felt his cock, already half hard, against my hip, pressing into me through the fabric of his trousers, and I did not move away. On the contrary, I pushed my ass back a little, rubbing myself slowly, knowing Adrián was seeing everything.

Adrián did not miss a thing. From a distance he followed every movement. Everything happening in that corner was under his silent watch.

When I made an excuse to go to the back of the place for a moment, he intercepted me.

—What are you doing? —he snapped, barely hiding his discomfort.

—Let go of me —I said, his hand still holding me—. What the hell do you want? —I asked, now angry.

—What are you doing with that guy?

It was almost ironic that he, precisely he, would now worry about what I did.

—I think that’s none of your business, is it? —I answered, looking him straight in the eye.

—It is. You’re my friend. I don’t want you making a mistake.

You’re my friend. That nuance was too much for him. Way too much. The guilt showing in his voice gave me exactly the push I needed.

—A mistake... like I made with you?

The rage in his eyes confirmed I had hit where it hurt. I left him there, caught between the need to answer and the cowardice of keeping quiet.

The night carried on with its usual pulse. When an old slow song the two of us knew all too well began to play, Adrián came over, grabbed me by the waist, and led me to the dance floor.

—Do you remember this song?

No pause was needed to know it. It was the first slow dance I ever danced with a boy, and it had been with him. With my inseparable, much-missed friend.

—We could be okay... We could go back to the way things were.

I looked into his eyes, expecting him to be drunk or confused. But no. He was calm, convinced. He meant it, and he said it with a kind of normality that unarmed me. While he spoke to me, his hand slid down my back and rested just above my ass, pulling me against him. I felt his cock harden through his jeans, pressing against my stomach, and a hot jolt went through me. Eleven months of memory under the skin do not vanish in a few weeks.

—I miss you —he said, just before adding—: Let’s get out of here.

Even now I still don’t understand how, after so long, he kept that power over me. How he managed to eclipse all my common sense and make me believe leaving with him was a good idea.

I gathered my things and, without saying goodbye to my friends, we left together.

***

It was the first time I had slept with someone out of spite. The first time I gave myself to him knowing that, as soon as we parted, everything would go back to exactly the way it had been before entering that bar. But I did not care. I wanted him, I desired him, and I needed to close that door with fucking, sweat, and moans.

We went straight to his brother’s apartment, who happened to be away for several weeks and whose place Adrián could access. When we got there, no words were needed. We had not gone there to talk; what was the point of wasting time?

As soon as he closed the door, he shoved me against the hallway wall. His mouth crashed onto mine with weeks of pent-up fury, his tongue inside without asking, biting my lower lip until I could feel it swell. I returned the kiss with the same rage, gripping his nape, tugging his hair, biting his mouth until I could taste the metallic sting of blood on my tongue.

—Bitch —he whispered against my neck, angry and aroused in equal measure—. The bar went to your head, huh?

—Fuck you, Adrián —I answered without looking away from his eyes—. Shut up and fuck me already.

His shirt ended up on the sofa, torn off in a yank, with two buttons rolling across the floor. My top was on the floor by the door, along with the bra he unhooked with a slap from behind. His underwear at his feet and mine lost somewhere in a corner of the short path from the entrance to the living room, dragged off by his fingers as he ripped my panties down to my ankles without even fully unfastening my skirt.

He braced me against the back of the sofa, looking at me naked for the first time in weeks. His eyes roamed over my tits, my stomach, the wet hair between my thighs, like someone recognizing ground that had belonged to him for far too long. His cock, hard, thick, throbbing against his own belly, was brutally close, and I felt my cunt clench just from looking at it.

—Get on your knees —I ordered, surprised by my own voice.

He looked at me for a second, not understanding, and for an instant I thought he might refuse. But he obeyed. He knelt in front of me on the carpet, spread my thighs with his hands, and buried his face between my legs without preamble. His tongue traced a long lick from the entrance of my cunt to my clit, and then another, and another, until my whole belly trembled. He sucked with delayed hunger, pressing his lips to mine, sliding two fingers inside me to the hilt and curling them exactly where he knew it would make me lose my mind.

—Like that, asshole, like that... —I panted, grabbing his hair, rubbing my pussy against his mouth with no tenderness at all—. Don’t stop, don’t stop...

I came standing against the sofa, pressing his head against me, closing my legs around his ears while the orgasm shook me in waves, soaking his chin. He pulled back with his mouth shining, panting, looking at me with a mixture of rage and adoration that made me want to spit in his face.

—Your turn —I said, pushing him back.

I threw him onto the rug and knelt between his legs. I took his cock in both hands, thick, throbbing, the tip already wet with pre-cum, and looked at him as I took it all into my mouth at once. A rough moan escaped him when I reached the base, when I felt the tip against the back of my throat and did not pull away. I started sucking him with hunger, moving my head up and down fast, squeezing his balls with one hand, sucking the tip with tight lips and then taking him back down to the root again.

—Fuck, fuck... —he stammered, his hands buried in my hair—. Not like that... wait... wait, I’m going to cum...

I lifted my face, my lips swollen and a strand of spit hanging from my chin, and smiled at him with malice.

—That’s the problem, huh? You only know how to come in my mouth when nobody’s watching.

I did not give him time to answer. I climbed on top of him, grabbed his cock, and lined it up with the entrance to my cunt. I lowered myself slowly, impaling myself centimeter by centimeter, feeling it forcing its way inside me, filling me completely until my ass met his hips. I let out a long moan, throwing my head back, my hands planted on his chest.

—Look what you’re going to miss, you motherfucker —I hissed as I started riding him, setting the pace myself for the first time in the whole relationship—. Look carefully.

And I moved. Fast, filthy, with no tenderness at all. I rose until only the tip was inside and dropped down hard, making my ass slap against his thighs with a wet sound that filled the living room. My tits bounced in front of his face and he grabbed them with both hands, squeezing hard, biting my nipples, tugging them with his teeth until I screamed.

—You’re such a bitch, fuck —he panted, thrusting upward, driving his cock deep into me—. My bitch.

—Yours nothing —I spat—. I’m nothing of yours anymore.

He grabbed my hips with both hands, lifted me as if I weighed nothing, and turned me over. He put me on all fours on the rug, my face against the floor and my ass raised. He shoved his cock into me in one brutal thrust, all the way in, and started fucking me from behind with all the rage he had inside. His hips slammed against my ass with violence, my cheeks trembled with every thrust, and his left hand grabbed my hair, yanking my head back.

—Like this? Is this how the idiot from the bar fucks you? —he growled between gasps—. Like this?

—Harder —I demanded, my cheek pressed to the rug—. Fuck me harder, coward.

He obeyed. His thrusts became deeper, more brutal, with that wet, sticky sound of two bodies colliding in raw flesh. I felt his other hand sliding down my back, grabbing my ass, spreading my cheeks and rubbing the thumb wet with my own juices over my asshole, pressing without quite entering, playing with that edge he knew drove me crazy. I came again, face to the floor, screaming into the rug, clenching around his cock in spasms he felt perfectly. He did not stop. He kept fucking me for what felt like whole minutes, until he dragged me into a third orgasm almost back to back, nibbling at my nape, whispering filthy things in my ear.

—Lie down —I told him when he finally pulled out of me.

I had played a dangerous game and he answered with the same intensity. Rough, loud, without a single tender gesture. That was how that night was. Rage and spite took shape in two bodies taking revenge without shame or compromise.

His mouth bit my neck while my nails dug into his back. The heat, the urgency, and the confusion of our bodies filled everything. I pushed him onto the mattress in the guest room, where we had ended up in a stumbling mess, and I positioned myself on top, setting the pace for the first time, determined to take what I had come for. He gripped my hips hard, sinking into me, and for a moment we stopped being two hurt people and became only skin, sweat, and ragged breathing.

I rode him slowly this time, rolling my hips, rubbing myself against him, forcing him to look into my eyes while he drove into me again and again. I grabbed his wrists and held his arms above his head. I wanted him to feel small. I wanted him to remember that night every time he slept with someone else.

—Tell me I’m the best —I demanded, never stopping my movement, tightening the walls of my pussy around his cock—. Say it.

—You’re the best, fuck, you’re the fucking best...

—Tell me no one will ever suck you off like I do.

—No one, no one... I’m going to cum, I’m cumming...

—Not yet —I cut him off, rising all at once.

His cock slipped out of me with a wet, shining pop, throbbing. I took it in my hand and started stroking him slowly, looking him in the eye, watching his jaw tighten with pure, contained desire. I lowered my mouth over him again, slower now, sucking only the tip, playing with my tongue around the glans while looking down at him with the same fake sweetness he had spent eleven months giving me.

—Now you know what it feels like —I murmured, pulling my mouth away just when he was about to tip over—. When they give and take away.

—Please... —he moaned, and that word in his mouth was worth more than any argument of the past few weeks.

I mounted him again. This time I let him cum. I dropped down on him, clutching his shoulders, riding him with everything I had, feeling his cock swell inside me a second before it burst. He came shot after shot inside my cunt, with a guttural moan that wrung the last orgasm of the night from me, long and filthy, squeezing him inside until I milked him dry.

I stayed on top of him for a while, still, with his cock still buried inside, softening, while his semen slid between my thighs and stained Adrián’s brother’s sheets. His chest rose and fell beneath me, soaked in sweat. Neither of us spoke.

When I finally stood up and felt the hot liquid running down the inside of my thighs, what I felt was not pleasure. It was calm. The icy calm of someone who no longer has anything left to prove.

When everything went quiet, I let out a long sigh. Like someone settling an old debt, I drew in a deep breath and let it out in one sharp, final exhale.

And in that instant I understood it: I had not gone there for him, but for myself. Not to go back. Not to stay. But to confirm, at last, that there was nothing left to save.

I will never remember that night as a mistake, but as the door I finally managed to close.