The Rainy Night We Told Each Other Everything

Almost a month had passed since that afternoon on the beach when everything came to light. A month of calculated silences, of quick glances that slipped away before they said too much, of forced laughter about anything that wasn’t that. Sofía and Diego kept on with their usual lives—their jobs, weekend shopping, the series they had started together—as if nothing had changed between them. But something had changed, and they both knew it.

Sofía noticed it especially in the mornings, when the memory came back uninvited. A stray image, a phrase he had said that afternoon on the shore, and suddenly she felt something hard to name. It wasn’t exactly jealousy. It wasn’t guilt either, though at times it seemed like it. It was more like the feeling of having opened a door you hadn’t known existed and not being able to stop looking through it.

Diego, for his part, had not come out of it unscathed either. There were days when he remembered her on the beach, telling that story in that voice that apologized for nothing, and he felt something that didn’t fit neatly into any known category. It wasn’t anger. It was more uncomfortable than that. It was wanting to know more.

One Friday in mid-autumn, the rain arrived without warning. Diego called her when Sofía had been home barely ten minutes, still wearing her coat.

—I’m almost there —he said—. I’ve got good bread. Make some hot chocolate.

Sofía took off her work clothes, pulled on a big wool sweater that had started out as his, and made the chocolate. She switched on the living-room lamp, found the series on the screen, and set the cushions where they usually went. When Diego opened the door, he was soaked through and his hair was plastered to his forehead. He went straight to change without saying much.

They settled on the sofa as always: him on the left, her with her legs over his, the steaming mugs on the coffee table. The rain tapped softly against the living-room window, drawing little streams that blurred the city lights. They watched an entire episode without saying anything that mattered.

When the credits started rolling, Sofía went to get more chocolate. In the kitchen, standing by the stove, she listened to the rain and made a decision.

She came back to the living room, set the mugs on the table, sat down.

—Did what happened on the beach bother you? —she asked, without preamble.

Diego looked at her. It took him a second to answer.

—No.

—We’ve gone a month without mentioning it.

—I know.

—Doesn’t that seem strange to you?

He put his mug down on the table and turned toward her. The rain kept falling on the other side of the glass.

—I think we both needed time to digest it. —He paused—. Do you regret what you said?

—No —Sofía answered, and it was true—. But I don’t know what to do with what you told me. Sometimes I think about it and I don’t know whether to feel jealous or something completely different.

—Different how?

Sofía took a long sip of chocolate before answering.

—Arousal —she said, more quietly.

Diego didn’t look away from her. A small smile crossed his face.

—That’s exactly how I felt about yours.

Sofía nodded slowly, as if that confirmation lifted a weight from her she hadn’t known she was carrying. The room seemed smaller all at once. More intimate.

—So what do we do now? —she asked.

Diego reached out and took her hand in his.

—I propose another confession —he said—. This time I’ll start. You pick the topic.

Sofía thought for several seconds. The rain kept falling. The chocolate cooled slowly in the mugs.

—Tell me about your craziest sexual encounter —she said at last—. The one you’d never tell anyone else.

Diego closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, his expression was different: more serious, more intimate.

—All right —he said—. Listen.

***

—I was twenty-two and worked evenings in the warehouse of a distribution company. There was a supervisor, Marcela. In her forties, married, with that way of moving around the place that made it clear she controlled everything and knew everything. She completely ignored me from day one, and I don’t know why, but that felt like a challenge.

Diego turned his mug between his hands. Steam rose, then dissipated.

—One night there was a malfunction in the inventory system and the two of us were left alone in the control office, waiting for the technician. We’d been in silence for almost two hours. I was pretending to check something on the computer. She was pacing back and forth, typing on her phone. And then she stopped right in front of me and asked, without any beating around the bush: “How long have you been looking at me?”

Sofía said nothing. She listened without moving, her fingers still around her mug.

—I told her I didn’t know what she was talking about. She smiled and said: “Of course you do. And that’s fine. Something similar happens to me too.” —Diego paused—. She kissed me right there, against the metal shelving. A kiss that was a kiss for about five seconds, and then it was something completely different.

—In that office?

—In that office. With the security cameras recording everything. It took me a while to realize it, and when I did, she said, perfectly calm: “Don’t worry. I’ll erase them when the shift’s over.” She was saying that to me while she’d already undone my belt and I had my hands on her hips without really knowing how they’d gotten there.

Diego’s voice grew lower, rougher.

—We pressed up against the control desk and she opened my zipper with this infuriating calm that drove me crazy. She pulled my pants down just enough to get my cock out and grabbed it with one firm, heavy hand, as if she already knew exactly how big I was and how hard she could squeeze me without asking permission. I was hard as an animal, my back against the cold metal, and she was looking me in the face like she was assessing merchandise. “That’s more like it,” she said, and dropped to her knees in front of me without breaking eye contact.

Diego swallowed, but kept going.

—She sucked me off right there, in the office, with the hum of the monitors and the white light over her hair. It wasn’t some delicate blowjob or anything like that. She took me in as deep as she could, swallowing and giving me back the wet head, her lips shining with my own arousal. She gripped my hips to pull me closer, to take me deeper into her mouth, and every time I so much as tried to move, she lifted two fingers and stopped me dead. “Stay still,” she told me. “Let me do it.” And fuck if I didn’t let her.

Sofía drew a slow, deep breath, never taking her eyes off him.

—What left me speechless most was that she never lost control for a second. While I was completely out of my mind, she was still the supervisor. She gave me instructions. “Slower.” “There.” “Wait.” In that voice of someone used to being obeyed. She made me put it in her mouth first, then she straightened up, hiked her skirt to her waist, and put a hand on the back of my neck to force my face down to her soaked cunt. She smelled of expensive perfume and clean sweat. Her panties had been pushed aside and her clit was swollen, shiny, trembling between her lips. I licked her like a desperate man, prying her cunt open with my tongue while she moaned softly, barely more than a breath, but never stopped looking at me as if she were still completely in control.

Diego tightened his grip on the mug. The rain kept battering the glass.

—After that she made me stand up, shoved me against the shelving again, and sat down on my cock without any pretense, dry as an order. She worked me inside her slowly, inch by inch, until I was buried in her, hot, tight, trembling around me. I lost my mind. I grabbed her tits under her sweater, squeezed hard, feeling the bra and the hard nipples, and she let out a short, dirty laugh. “That,” she said. “Like that.” Then she started moving on top of me, up and down with that heavy ass bouncing against my thighs, until the desk was vibrating with every thrust of her hips.

—And you lasted through all that? —Sofía asked, almost in a whisper.

—Barely. She had me so deep inside her I could feel every inch rubbing against her walls, every contraction, every time she squeezed my ass with her hands to make me go deeper. She didn’t ask permission for anything. She looked me in the face every time she was about to come, as if checking I was still alive, and told me not to dare finish yet. But of course I did. She came first, tightening around my cock with such force it almost tore a shout out of me, and when I felt her trembling on top of me, I came apart inside her too, filling her with cum while I bit my shoulder not to make a sound.

Diego’s voice grew lower, harsher.

—The worst, or the best, part was afterward. She got off me, adjusted her skirt, went to the bathroom, and came out a minute later as if nothing had happened. She looked in the mirror, smoothed her hair, wiped her mouth with a tissue, and went back to her desk. I was there with my cock still throbbing and my pants half pulled up, watching her keep working as if nothing had happened. When she left, she said to me: “Good work.” In a completely professional tone. And that was it.

Diego let out a slow breath.

—I was left alone in that office not knowing exactly what had happened. We never mentioned it again. I kept working there four more months. She ignored me exactly as she had before. Not a single extra glance, nothing. As if it had never happened.

The silence that followed was thick. Sofía had the mug between her palms but wasn’t drinking.

—And that turned you on? —she asked—. That she ignored you afterward.

—More than I’d like to admit.

—Why?

Diego thought before answering. Outside, the rain kept falling on the rooftops.

—I guess because she wasn’t expecting anything from me. It wasn’t a conquest, there was no foreplay. It was just what it was, nothing more. —He paused—. There’s something about that I can’t quite explain.

Sofía nodded very slowly, looking at him. Yes, she understood. She understood perfectly.

***

Sofía set her mug on the table. She looked at her hands for a moment. Outside, the rain kept falling over the dark city.

—Ignacio’s cousin’s wedding —she said—. Three years ago, in August.

Diego listened without moving.

—It was one of those endless weddings. So much heat, so many people, Ignacio had drunk far more than he should have. We were driving back at three in the morning, on the highway, with barely any traffic. He urgently needed to stop.

Sofía spoke more slowly, searching for the exact words.

—We pulled over on the shoulder. In the dark. Only a truck passed now and then, its headlights lighting us up for a second and then the darkness again. I got out too. I crouched beside the car, hitching my silk dress up to my hip, feeling the cold of the asphalt and the sound of the drizzle on the grass.

She paused.

—When I stood up, Ignacio was behind me. He put his arms around me. And then I noticed a couple of drops were still falling onto my wrist.

She touched her wrist, a slow, almost unconscious gesture.

—I didn’t think about it. I just did it: I brought my wrist to my mouth. The taste was salty, strange, and I shouldn’t have liked it. But I did. And the look on his face when he saw me do it.

Diego didn’t look away from her.

—What did he do?

—He looked at me for several seconds, as if someone completely different had suddenly appeared in front of him. —Sofía pressed her lips together—. And he said: “Get on your knees.” No further context, no questions. Just that. And I did. Right there on the highway shoulder, with the cold asphalt under my knees and the truck headlights lighting us up for a second at a time, like intermittent flashes.

I hadn’t thought I could feel something like that on the edge of a road.

—I did it with my mouth. He had his hands in my hair and every time a truck passed, it lit us up for an instant. The risk of being seen was the most arousing thing I’d felt in a long time. Not the situation itself. The risk.

—And after? —Diego asked, his voice lower than before.

—Afterward he opened the back door of the car. He helped me in, positioned me on all fours on the leather seat and fucked me with an urgency that had no name. No foreplay, no caresses first. Just him behind me, the road outside, and me clutching the headrest trying not to scream every time a vehicle passed. He filled me completely, pounding my cunt with every thrust, and I bit my lip until I tasted blood so I wouldn’t make a sound. I could feel his hands holding my hips, opening me wider, and the car seat creaked with every push. When he changed the angle and lifted my ass a little more, he hit exactly that spot that made me lose my mind.

Sofía looked up.

—We got home with the dress ruined. Hair messy, smelling of night and sex. Neither of us said a word for the rest of the drive. Just the radio in the background. I looked out the window with my legs still trembling and thought: I’m never going to tell anyone about this.

***

The silence that remained afterward was different from the one before. Heavier, denser. The rain had eased a little, but the sound of drops against the glass still filled the living room.

Diego leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at her.

—Did you never do it again?

—The shoulder, no. But something changed that night between us. —Sofía paused—. It lasted a while longer. But while it did, it was different. As if I had found a version of myself I hadn’t known existed. Or had chosen to ignore.

Diego nodded slowly. He understood perfectly what she was talking about.

—What I told you about Marcela —Sofía said—. Are you ashamed of it?

—Right now, here with you, no. —He looked at her—. And yours?

—Neither am I.

Neither of them said anything for a few seconds. The mugs had been cold on the table for a while. The series still sat paused on the screen, waiting.

—You know what strikes me most about these confessions? —Diego said.

—What?

—That they don’t drive us apart. They do exactly the opposite.

Sofía looked at him for a long moment. Outside, the rain kept falling, softer now, almost a murmur.

—And what do you do —she asked— with what I just told you?

Diego took a while to answer. When he did, his voice was low, almost a whisper.

—I try not to do the obvious thing.

—Which would be?

He slowly raised his hand. His fingers brushed Sofía’s wrist, exactly where she had touched herself while remembering that night on the highway shoulder. The pressure was minimal. Almost nothing. But she felt the contact as if it were something much bigger.

—This —he said, quietly.

Sofía didn’t pull her hand away. The two of them stayed like that, still, in that silence loaded with everything they still hadn’t said. The rain fell outside. The series waited on the screen. The mugs of chocolate, now cold, remained on the table.

Neither of them was in any hurry to break the moment.