The Night My Husband’s Friend Called

The night I’m going to tell you about begins, like many things in my life, with too much heat and a bad choice of clothes.

I’m thirty-two years old. Two children, a marriage that works in its own way, and a job that steals my night shifts. The open relationship was Sebastián’s idea, my husband’s, and I accepted it without fully understanding what it meant for me. In practice, it meant he found his own stories while I was left with the abstract freedom to do the same if I ever wanted to. Until that night, I never had wanted to.

I’m not the kind of person who seeks attention. I’m tall, with a good figure from so much gym, dark hair that reaches my shoulders, and lips people notice even when I don’t think about them. I work, I come home, I sleep, I repeat. Desire, when it shows up, I ignore it until it goes away on its own.

That night, it didn’t go away on its own.

***

Sebastián throws dinner parties with his friends every two or three weeks. When the kids go to my in-laws’ place, the house fills up with people I know only halfway: names I’ve heard in conversations, faces I associate with an anecdote or with a season of his life I didn’t live through. That time, my days off coincided with the dinner and I had no excuse not to come downstairs.

I put on a long black dress because it was hot and it was the most comfortable thing I had within reach. Nothing strategic. I tied my hair up, poured myself a glass of wine, and settled onto the sofa with the TV on in the background, looking like I didn’t want to be bothered and didn’t want to bother anyone either.

That was when I saw him.

Damián. Six feet tall, several days’ beard, dreadlocks tied back with an elastic at the nape of his neck. He had a way of standing in the world that caught my attention immediately: no tension, no posing, like someone who doesn’t need to prove anything to anyone. Sebastián had mentioned him several times, but I’d never seen him in person—or I had, and just hadn’t noticed. That night I noticed.

We didn’t speak until Sebastián asked me to go to the supermarket to get more wine. The cars were all piled up in the driveway, blocking mine, and before I could ask who was going to move, Damián appeared in the hallway with the keys in his hand.

—I’ll take you, if you want. We’ll save ourselves the whole hassle.

I said yes without thinking too much about it.

***

In the car, the silence lasted thirty seconds.

—You smell really good —he said as he started the car, without looking at me.

—Thanks. We’re going to the market on Corrientes, do you know it?

—Yeah, of course. —A brief pause. Then, with no preamble—: Sebastián told me how you two handle things. I think the setup is interesting.

I laughed. I hadn’t expected him to be that direct.

—It’s funny when he explains it —I replied—. In practice, the arrangement only gets used by one of the two of us.

—And that doesn’t bother you?

—I should’ve thought about that before I agreed.

We got out and went into the market together. Damián walked slowly, unhurried, like someone who never has anywhere urgent to be. He asked me whether in all that time I hadn’t been with anyone else, whether I’d stayed alone inside an arrangement that was supposedly for both of us.

—You’re my husband’s friend —I told him—. I’m not answering that, even if I wanted to.

—You don’t need to answer me —he said—. You already did.

—I didn’t say anything.

—Exactly.

We walked the aisles without hurrying. Picked wine, something to snack on. Before we got to the checkout, he put a strawberry lollipop in my hand, with no explanation at all, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

—How did you know? —I asked.

—Sebastián talks a lot —he said, and shrugged with a smile.

On the way back to the car, before I got out, he looked at me straight on, unhurried.

—If one day you want to use that arrangement you haven’t used yet, let me know. It doesn’t have to be complicated, and it doesn’t have to be anything you don’t want.

I didn’t answer. I got out of the car, went into my house, left the wine in the kitchen, and went straight to the bathroom. I looked in the mirror for a full minute. Then I took out my phone and texted him.

His reply came in less than a minute. I asked him how serious he’d been about what he’d told me. He answered that he was very serious, that if it was up to him he’d come upstairs right then and prove it to me. I told him that if he had the nerve, I was in my room.

Five minutes of silence. Then knocks at the door.

***

He came in, locked the door, and stood there looking at me for a moment before moving. He took me by the waist, pressed me against the door, and kissed me. It wasn’t a kiss asking permission. It was the kiss of someone who knows exactly what he’s doing and has no intention of stopping. His tongue slid into my mouth with an authority that made my knees go weak, and I answered with mine, sucking on him, biting his lip, feeling his hot breath against mine.

His hands moved over me slowly, not skipping a thing: my waist, my hips, my back. He hiked my black dress up to my waist and slid his right hand between my legs over my panties. He pressed there, palm flat, and felt the wetness soaking through the fabric. He smiled against my mouth.

—You’re already all wet —he whispered in my ear—. And I haven’t even touched you yet.

—Shut the fuck up and keep going —I answered, and the sound of my own voice surprised me.

He pulled my panties to one side and slid two fingers into me at once. A moan escaped me, muffled against his shoulder. He started moving them inside me while his thumb went searching for my clit and pressed it in circles. My hands were on his chest and my eyes were closed and the only thought I had left was that I didn’t want him to stop. I bit his neck, dug my nails into his back over his T-shirt.

I knelt before he even asked me to. I unbuckled his belt, yanked down his pants and boxers, and there it was in front of me, hard, thick, the tip already shining. I took it in my hand first, to look, to measure what I had in front of me. I dragged my tongue over the tip very slowly, tasting the bead that had formed there, and I heard him breathe differently. I licked the whole base, went up the shaft inch by inch, sucked his balls one by one, taking them fully into my mouth.

Then I took him all the way in, slowly at first, feeling how he opened my lips, how he filled my mouth to the back. I pulled him all the way out to the tip, kissed it there, took him back in again. Again. Deeper. I took him until the tip hit the back of my throat and I held still without pulling away, tears in my eyes, looking up at him from below. He grabbed my hair with one hand, squeezing the bun that had come loose, and used it to set the rhythm. I let him. He drove himself into my mouth at a steady pace, thrusts making me feel every vein of his cock against my tongue, and I kept my lips tight around him, sucking hard every time he pulled back out.

I grabbed his balls with one hand while I kept sucking him. I squeezed them softly, kneaded them, and felt them tighten. I knew he was close. I sped up. Now I was the one setting the pace, the one devouring his cock with hunger, the one pulling it out all the way to lick the tip with a flat tongue and swallow it back down in one motion.

—I’m going to come —he whispered—. In your mouth.

I nodded without taking him out. When he was about to finish, he pressed my head against his body and emptied himself all inside me. I felt every hot shot against my palate, my throat, my tongue. Thick, a lot of it. I swallowed everything without hurrying, not pulling him out until he stopped shuddering. Then I took him out of my mouth slowly, ran my tongue over him once more to clean off what was left, and looked up at him. We looked at each other. My lips were shiny and I knew he was seeing it.

We were called from downstairs.

He pulled up his pants calmly, adjusted my hair with his fingers, and looked at me with a smile that promised nothing innocent.

—To be continued —he said, and opened the door.

He left. I stayed leaning against the wall, pulse racing, his taste still on my tongue and a heat between my legs that wasn’t going to go away on its own.

***

I took a quick shower, put on black pajamas, and went down to dinner with everyone as if nothing had happened. I sat across from him. I ate, listened to conversations I didn’t take in, answered questions I don’t remember. At some point Damián gestured for me to move over next to him on the sofa, and I ended up with his shoulder against mine while the others laughed at something I also didn’t hear. Under the blanket we shared, his hand slipped between my thighs and pressed over my pajamas, unseen by anyone, and I had to bite my lip to keep from giving myself away.

When everyone went into the living room to play on the console, I stayed in the kitchen clearing the plates. I heard his footsteps before he came in.

—Want help? —he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

—For cleaning, no.

—Then for the other thing.

He followed me to the back patio door. He spoke to me in a low voice, told me he wanted more time, that he didn’t want this to be just what had happened before. He pressed me against the dark hallway wall, slipped a hand inside the pajama pants, and stroked my cunt with two fingers without ceremony, finding me soaked. He brought them to his mouth and sucked them while looking me in the eye.

—We’ll keep going later —he told me—. I’m not done with you until dawn.

Before I could answer, I heard Sebastián’s footsteps coming down the hallway.

We came into the kitchen by different routes. My husband opened the fridge without looking at me.

—I’m going out with the guys for a bit —he told me—. Won’t be long.

—I’m going to sleep —I answered.

I finished cleaning, turned off the lights at the back, and went upstairs. I got into bed with a series on, lit a cigarette, and poured the rest of the wine into a small glass. The phone lay face-up on the pillow like I knew it was going to ring.

It rang ten minutes later.

He asked if I was sleeping. I said no, I was watching a series. He asked if he could come over, that the others had gone to a bar and I was going to be alone. I told him to come, that I was inviting him to watch the series with me.

He didn’t answer after that. I started imagining his hands, his mouth, the cock I’d had in my throat a little while earlier, what had happened before in that very room. I touched myself without meaning to, eyes closed and him in my head. I slid two fingers in and found the rhythm he’d set for me against the door, imagining it was his hand and not mine. With the other I squeezed a breast, pinching my nipple through the pajamas. I was completely soaked, my fingers shining with my own slick, when the doorbell rang.

***

I’d just taken a quick shower when he called three times and I didn’t hear. I opened the door wearing only the towel, my hair still damp. I saw his face and realized I hadn’t noticed I wasn’t wearing anything else.

He looked me up and down. He hugged me, kissed me, and with both hands took the towel off me with a calm that threw me off even more than if he’d done it all at once. The towel fell to the floor and I was left naked in the middle of the living room, with the lamp’s low light hitting my skin still warm from the shower. I stepped back. He stepped forward.

—All of this is going to be mine tonight —he said quietly, grabbing one breast with his open hand, squeezing it and then sliding his hand down my waist to my ass, which he squeezed too—. Not all yours. All mine.

He took me to the sofa. He laid me on my back and knelt between my legs on the floor. What followed was slow and very deliberate. He took his time with every part of my body. He licked my neck, sucked my shoulders, bit the edge of my collarbones. He went down to my breasts and stayed there a long while: sucked one nipple while squeezing the other with his hand, nipped them gently, tugged them with his teeth until they were so hard they hurt. He ran his tongue down the center of my sternum, over my ribs one by one, over my stomach. He went down my belly inch by inch, unhurried, as if he had all night and knew it.

When he reached between my legs he stopped. He spread my thighs with both hands, wide open, and looked at my cunt up close without touching me.

—Look how you are —he said—. All open for me.

—Eat me already —I told him, and I didn’t recognize my own voice.

He ran his whole tongue over me, from bottom to top, very slowly, ending on my clit with a pressure that arched my whole back. I couldn’t think about anything else anymore. He started sucking me with no rush, broad tongue first, then the tip, tracing circles, letters, things I didn’t recognize but that had me trembling.

His fingers went in slowly while his mouth worked at the same time. First one, then two, curved inside me, searching for the spot he already knew where it was. He found it and didn’t let go. Every time I tried to move, he held me with his free hand pressed against my belly and kept going, without changing rhythm, without hurrying, sucking my clit and driving his fingers into exactly where I needed them. I gripped his head with both hands, tugged at one dreadlock, lifted my hips and started fucking his mouth myself, moving against his tongue, grinding myself against his face.

—Like that —I told him—. Don’t stop.

He didn’t stop. I shook against his mouth in a way I couldn’t control, with a long spasm that went up from my thighs to my stomach, and I felt myself gush all over his beard, his fingers, the sofa. I lay still, breathless, my legs still open and him licking me slowly to clean up everything he’d made me leak out.

He stood up, extended his hand to me, and said, his face shining with me:

—Now, the series.

I laughed despite everything. We went upstairs.

***

We turned on the TV. Smoked. Neither of us watched the screen. He was lying next to me, running his fingers slowly over my arm, my neck, my jaw. He spoke to me in a low voice: that he wanted to be my lover, that he didn’t want this to be a one-night accident, that he wanted me to choose him with all the letters of his name.

—And if I say yes? —I asked him.

—Then we start now.

I climbed on top of him without another word. I kissed him with my whole mouth, still with my own taste in his. I took his hands and placed them on my hips. I looked him in the eyes:

—Then do what a lover does.

I grabbed his dick with my hand and lined it up at my entrance. It was hard again, fully, thick. I rubbed it against my soaked cunt, wetting the tip with my slick, grinding it against my clit before letting it drop onto me. I slid the tip in slowly, feeling myself open around him, and lowered myself little by little until he was all the way inside. I stayed still for a moment, sitting on him, with his whole cock driven in to the hilt.

—Look how much fits in me —I told him.

—All of it. You took all of it.

I started moving. At first slowly, in circles, letting him feel every inch. I took his hands and put them on my breasts. He pinched my nipples between his fingers, tugging them, and I sped up. I rose and fell on him, feeling how the cock came almost all the way out and then went back in deep with each downward motion. The sofa creaked. I moaned without caring, knowing we were alone in the house, letting out everything I’d been swallowing all night.

Damián grabbed my hips, sat up sharply, and flipped me over. He laid me on my back on the bed, climbed on top of me, and shoved his cock into me again in one thrust. He lifted both my legs and rested them on his shoulders. That made it deeper, much deeper. He started fucking me hard, with long thrusts that made me scream. He watched me while he moved, watched my face and my bouncing tits, and smiled like he knew exactly what he was doing to me.

—Tell me what this is called —he said between thrusts.

—Fucking me.

—And what am I putting in you?

—Your cock. All your cock inside me.

—That’s what I like.

He changed position without warning: took my legs off his shoulders, turned me over, and put me on my knees. He took me by the hips and kept going from behind, deeper that way, harder. I told him not to stop and he didn’t stop. He bit the skin between my shoulder blades, squeezed my breasts from underneath with his hands, kissed my neck while he moved inside me. With one hand he grabbed my hair from the nape and pulled my head back, arching me, and drove his cock into a place I didn’t know existed.

—Whore —he said in my ear, affectionately, and I clenched all around him.

At one point he eased up the rhythm. He ran his thumb, wet with my own slick, to my ass and rested it there, pressing lightly, not entering yet. He asked me in a low voice if I wanted it all. I told him yes, to give me everything he had, to do whatever he wanted. He pulled his cock out of my cunt, left it well lubricated with what was mine, and pressed it against the other hole. He went slowly at first, pushing in little by little, carefully, waiting for me to settle around him. I felt the tip open my ass first, then farther in, then the whole shaft. It burned and at the same time filled me in a way I had never felt before.

When I told him to keep going, he kept going. I kept repeating for him not to stop even though it hurt, and he still didn’t stop. He started moving inside there, slow at first, faster after, with one hand going down to my clit to touch me at the same time. He put two fingers in my cunt while he fucked my ass, filling both holes at once. I was so lost in that sensation that I couldn’t tell where the pain ended and something else began. I came right there, with him buried in my ass and his fingers in my cunt, screaming into the pillow, clenching around him with everything I had.

He lifted me up, changed positions again, pulled out and shoved back into my cunt, this time on top of him. He put me over him so I could set the pace. I rode him with my hands braced on his chest, while he looked up at me with his hands on my waist, helping me drop harder each time. I pinched his nipples with my fingers, leaned down to suck his neck, then straightened back up. I felt every vein of his cock inside me, the tip hitting deep each time I came down.

—I’m going to come inside —he told me.

—Come all the way inside. I want to feel it.

We both finished, almost at the same time, with him buried to the hilt and me clenching everything I could. I felt every hot shot driven deep inside me, and my whole body trembled around him too. I stayed on top without pulling off, shaking, my hair stuck to my forehead, looking him in the eyes.

When he finally pulled out, I took him into my mouth without thinking and cleaned the tip with my tongue, sucking the last drops mixed with mine. He watched me in silence.

We lay back on the bed without speaking. His breathing gradually calmed alongside mine. I could feel everything he’d left inside me trickling between my legs. He took my hand over the sheet. A few minutes later he fell asleep.

***

Two hours later I woke him up.

—You have to go.

He sat up without hurry. Got dressed in the dark with the same calm he’d shown for everything else. Before leaving, he found me in the dimness, took my face in both hands, and kissed me long and unhurried.

—That’s how you’re going to greet me from now on —he said.

I closed the door. I heard his footsteps going down the stairs, the soft click of the front door, the complete silence of the house.

I stood in the hallway for a while without turning on the light. I thought about whether I was going to regret it. I thought about Sebastián, who still hadn’t come back from the bar. I thought about that arrangement I’d accepted without fully understanding, and whether this was what it had always been meant to be from the start.

I didn’t reach any conclusion.

I got into bed, paused the series, turned off my phone, and fell asleep. For the first time in a long time, I slept well, all at once.