The Night I Imagined My Girlfriend with Another Man

We were almost done with college, and we’d been together since before we ever set foot on campus. Lucía is a beautiful woman, with brown hair and fair skin, almond-shaped eyes, and a smile whose lips are impossible not to want to taste. Her body is an hourglass: unique curves flowing down into thick, firm thighs, and big, well-rounded buttocks that drew attention even when she wasn’t trying to.

Things were going wonderfully for us. We shared friends, schedules, habits; it was rare that we weren’t together. When the end of our degree came into sight, the last thing we wanted was to separate or stop growing in our relationship, so we came up with an idea.

—If we get a scholarship in another city, our parents will surely help us with part of the expenses —I suggested one afternoon—. And I’ve got some savings. We could live together and keep studying.

—We’re going to get those scholarships —she answered with that confidence I loved so much—. With our grades, it’s just a matter of sending in the applications.

And we got to work. We sent applications for different specializations and master’s programs in several cities, and after weeks of waiting we both got a scholarship in the same place. It was official: we were going to live together for the first time, in a new place where we didn’t know anyone. I loved the idea of having her close all the time, of being able to enjoy her whenever I wanted, and of her being able to do the same with me.

We had already celebrated several anniversaries and were still as passionate as at the beginning, but with the trust that comes from years together. Our sex life was active, though, all in all, fairly normal. With one exception I find hard to admit, something that started about eight months earlier and that I told in my first story.

That night didn’t remain an isolated case. I must confess that, although it wasn’t frequent, I went through the same thing a few more times. I ended up touching myself while imagining Lucía touching herself thinking about someone else, or doing something more. I was ashamed, but that shame didn’t extinguish the curiosity; on the contrary, it fueled it.

I started reading erotic stories online. I’d go into Spanish and English websites, and for some reason I always ended up in stories about infidelity, threesomes, partner swaps, and cuckolds. Those were exactly the topics that sparked my interest and, at the same time, my rejection, as if one part of me wanted it and the other punished me for wanting it.

—What are you thinking about? —Lucía asked me one night, resting her head on my chest.

—Nothing —I lied—. About the move.

I wasn’t thinking about the move at all.

***

Shortly before we left, we decided to go out partying with a group from the university. It was a kind of farewell: not just us were leaving, several people were changing cities or countries. Lucía’s friends were there, their partners, and a couple of other guys. I knew two of the boyfriends and got along well with them. I’d never seen the third one: he was Diego, Carla’s boyfriend, a friend Lucía hadn’t seen in a long time.

We met first at a friend’s place to gather before heading out together to the club. Lucía was wearing loose pants that, paradoxically, made her ass look even better, and a tight blouse that outlined her figure. A pair of heels lengthened her legs. She looked gorgeous, as always, and I noticed the looks that landed on her when she walked in.

At our friend’s place we started drinking. There was beer and someone opened a bottle of tequila that we emptied between conversations and laughter. When it was gone, we called taxis and went to the club. We arrived all nicely buzzed, the music was good, and we immediately started dancing with our partners. We ordered another bottle of tequila.

As the songs went by, we were genuinely having a good time. We danced, we laughed, the alcohol had us relaxed and loose. The girls danced among themselves and, every now and then, one of them danced with another girl’s partner, with no apparent malice. I watched it all with a strange mix of calm and something else, a tingle I didn’t want to name.

Later that night I finished my beer and went for another one. The bar was packed, so it took me a couple of minutes to get back. When I returned, I saw Lucía dancing with Diego, Carla’s boyfriend, the friend I hadn’t seen in so long. They weren’t glued together or anything weird, and Carla wasn’t in sight, which surprised me a little, but I didn’t want to ruin anyone’s night with unnecessary jealous complaints. I relaxed when Carla appeared a few seconds later with a beer in her hand.

Lucía caught my eye and I understood she wanted to keep dancing with Diego, so Carla and I danced together for a couple of songs. I liked her; she laughed easily and was easy to talk to. But every so often my eyes went back to Lucía and Diego, and I noticed how he, without going too far, spoke into her ear to make himself heard over the music.

***

It was almost closing time and we decided to end the night at a friend of Lucía’s place, who lived nearby. A couple of them would sleep there; the rest of us would go home separately. We went in, drank water, and laughed at the night’s funny moments and how drunk some of them were. The three taxis arrived. I was going with Lucía in the same one: her place was on the way to mine.

At that moment she stopped me at the door.

—Honey, I need to go to the bathroom before we head up. I can’t hold it until I get home.

—Go quickly —I told her—. I’ll go downstairs and ask the driver to wait a moment.

Those of us leaving by taxi went downstairs. Three friends got into one and left, and Carla and I stayed below. A couple of minutes passed and I still couldn’t understand why she was still there, waiting alone with me.

—Are you leaving with Diego? —I asked her.

—Yes, he was right behind me.

Right then Lucía came out. We said goodbye to Carla and, when we were already getting into the taxi, Diego appeared. If he was coming behind Carla, why had it taken him so long to come down? And why did he come out just seconds after Lucía?

My mind couldn’t help making the leap. The bathroom. The two of them upstairs at the same time. The friction from dancing that might have gotten them worked up, those couple of careless minutes anyone could use to give in to what they’d been holding back all night.

The taxi pulled away. Lucía rested her head on my shoulder, her eyes half-closed from fatigue and alcohol, and I stared at the streetlights going by while my mind did exactly what it shouldn’t.

***

I imagined her going into the bathroom and running into Diego. I imagined her letting herself be kissed with that urgency that comes when you only have a small window for everything, when you know every second counts. I could see him kissing her neck, her holding on to the edge of the sink, breathing out softly so no one on the other side would hear.

I imagined him touching her over those loose pants, a fabric so thin it was almost as if nothing were there. I imagined her so wet that the dampness would soak through the cloth, that he would feel it with his fingers and smile when he realized how much she wanted him. I imagined the exact moment she parted her legs a little, almost without meaning to, giving him permission without saying a word.

I felt angry. Angry because I couldn’t allow my girlfriend to do something like that, or because she had done it. And even angrier because, despite the jealousy and the rage, beneath my pants I was starting to get an erection that betrayed me to myself.

What is happening to me?

I clenched my jaw and looked out the window. Beside me, Lucía breathed slowly, completely unaware of the movie I was projecting in my head. I wanted to wake her and ask her, shake her and demand the truth. And at the same time I didn’t want to, because a dark, silent part of me preferred to keep the doubt, feed it, let it grow.

I left her at her house with a kiss on the forehead. She murmured “I love you” in her sleep and went inside. In my own taxi, for the rest of the ride, I thought of nothing else.

***

The next day I felt ashamed. I blamed the alcohol, the few hours of sleep, the frustration of not being able to sleep together every night. I told myself they were stupid ideas, the product of a mind that spent too much time reading things it shouldn’t.

Soon, I told myself, there would be no reason for those thoughts anymore. We’d be together every night and most of our free time. Those strange reactions, those fantasies that embarrassed me as much as they excited me, would disappear as soon as we shared a roof and a routine. The distance and the doubts would end with living together.

I never asked her what happened in that bathroom. I never told her what I imagined in the taxi, or that that image came back to me many nights later, even when we were already living together in the new city, even when everything was perfect. I told myself that once we moved, it would go away.

Right?