The school saint stopped being one that night

I have a group of friends from school, a convent school on the outskirts of Rosario, and most of them are still the same as when we graduated: long-term romances, foregone weddings, Sunday Mass, and sex is never discussed. I drifted away a lot over the years. When we get together, I listen more than I talk.

On Friday it was Camila’s birthday, one of the biggest poseurs of the bunch, and honestly I didn’t really feel like going. I was fighting with my boyfriend since the week before, not in the mood to keep arguing by text, so in the end I grabbed the first dress I had ironed and went. I thought it was going to be a total drag. I was wrong.

I arrived late on purpose, when the living room was already full and the hugs had been handed out. I greeted Camila, gave her the bottle I’d bought on the way, and started making the rounds. And in one corner, pouring herself a fernet with the concentration of someone who wants to be doing something, I saw Lucía.

Lucía had been my best friend until fourth year. Then she got together with a very serious guy and we started seeing each other less and less. The last image I had of her was from a birthday three years earlier: blouse buttoned to the neck, loose pants, a measured smile. That night, though, she was wearing a black miniskirt she would never have dared wear as a teenager. Lucía is short and everything about her is small and proportionate: waist, hips, a pair of small tits that, in that dress, were showing with more confidence than I remembered.

—I can’t believe that’s you —I told her when I hugged her.

—It is me —she laughed—. I changed my wardrobe.

As we poured ourselves another drink, she told me she’d split from her boyfriend a few months ago. She said it offhand, like someone commenting on the weather. I nodded and looked at her properly. There was something different in her eyes, a spark that had nothing to do with Sunday Mass.

Half an hour later the two of us were hooked up with two guys who had come over to ask if we were going to eat cake or if we were sneaking out early. They were friends with each other, one tall with a neat beard and the other shorter, with a shirt half untucked from his pants. The tall one stayed with me, the other with Lucía. They laughed at anything, but it never went beyond verbal flirting.

When the living room was almost empty and the few of us left were looking for our coats, the guys asked if they could drive us. I said yes. Lucía hesitated for two seconds and accepted. Once we were in the car, before anyone talked about getting out, the tall guy suggested coffee at Matías’s place —the one with the shirt. Lucía looked at me with a face that said, “What do we do?” I raised an eyebrow at her and said, loud enough for both of them to hear, that coffee sounded great.

Before that we stopped at an ATM. I grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her with me. I wanted to kill time and look her in the eye.

—Tell me —I said, as soon as the door of the place closed behind us.

—Tell you what?

—Everything. Since you broke up with Federico. Have you been with anyone?

She lowered her gaze for a second, then lifted her chin.

—With several —she said—. And I liked it. A lot. I can’t tell the girls in the group, you know how they are.

—I won’t tell anyone. But please, tell me.

—Like five —she murmured, covering her mouth with her hand so she wouldn’t laugh—. In three months. Me, in my whole life, I’d only ever been with one guy.

I stared at her. The Lucía I knew would have prayed a novena to erase that thought from her head. This other Lucía was smiling as if she were trusting me with a state secret.

—These guys —I told her— are up to something, that’s obvious. If you want, we can take a cab and that’s that. If you want to stay, I’ll stay too, but don’t expect me to play games. I’m going to do whatever I feel like.

—Me too —she said, surprised by herself. Then she added, as if settling her conscience—: But each of us with our own. I’m not doing anything weird.

—Each of us with our own —I promised.

We went back to the car. Ten minutes later we were on our way to Matías’s place.

I sat in the back with the tall one, whose name was Bruno. Lucía was in front. Five minutes into the ride, Bruno rested his hand on my thigh, over the dress. I didn’t move it away. Five more minutes and it was already under the dress, drawing circles with the pad of his thumb, slowly moving up until his fingers brushed my panties through the fabric. I was already wet, and he felt it: he pressed his lips together and looked at me sideways with the smile of someone who has just won something. He pushed the fabric aside and ran two fingers through my slit, from bottom to top, very slowly, stopping at the clit and drawing circles there too. A sigh slipped out of me, which I tried to hide with a throat-clear. I turned to look at him and he kissed me. It was not a careful kiss. It was the kind that makes it very clear what’s going to happen next: he shoved his tongue all the way in and at the same time pushed one finger deep inside me, and when it went in it slid with such ease that it made him laugh quietly into my mouth.

When I looked up, I saw in the rearview mirror that Matías also had a hand on Lucía’s knee, and that she hadn’t taken it away. Matías’s hand was going higher under her skirt, and Lucía had her head turned, looking out the window, as if looking forward would be confessing something. Her breathing was escaping through her slightly open mouth.

***

Matías’s apartment was single-guy territory all the way: a big living room, a long couch, an open kitchen with two empty bottles on the counter. They put on music, poured something sweet, and the round of forced laughter began. I was already hot from the car, with my wet panties stuck to my cunt. I had no patience for the social choreography.

—Come on, I’ll show you something in the bedroom —Bruno said, as if it were some spy code.

—Sure —I answered, without looking at Lucía. I felt that if I looked at her I’d be giving her permission to back out, and I didn’t want her backing out. I wanted her to go for it too. I wanted both things happening in the same apartment.

In the bedroom, Bruno closed the door and kissed me against the wall. He didn’t let me breathe. He jammed one hand into my hair to throw my head back and with the other he was already hiking my dress up to my waist. I grabbed his shirt collar and ripped it open with one tug that sent two buttons flying. He had a solid torso, nothing exaggerated, with a bit of hair in the center of his chest. I went for his fly and ran my hand over his pants: he was hard, pressed against the fabric, throbbing. I took off my little wool sweater and let him pull the zipper of my dress down. The fabric fell to my waist. He took me to the bed with a gentle shove.

He kissed my neck, my collarbones, my tits over the bra and then under it. He took my bra off with one hand —he knew what he was doing— and stayed for a moment just looking at me. I liked that. That he took a second to look. Then he lowered his mouth and sucked one nipple until it was hard as stone, and pinched the other with two fingers until my back arched. He bit me slowly and I moaned without caring, knowing the other side of the wall could hear.

He yanked my panties off my hips and threw them on the floor. He spread my legs with both hands, looked at my cunt for a long second as if memorizing it, and lowered his head. The first lick was slow, complete, from the bottom all the way up to the clit, and there he stayed, sucking me with his lips pressed to my skin, tracing circles with his tongue, slipping it inside me every so often to taste me. I grabbed his head with both hands and pushed his face against me. He ate me like he was hungry. When he added two fingers moving inside me and sped up his tongue, my breathing broke: I came with a shudder that tore through my legs and left his mouth completely wet.

I finished taking off his shirt, his belt, the rest. I kissed his chest, kissed his stomach, and went down until I took him into my mouth. He was hard and hot, thick, and the whole night he’d been holding that in. I sucked him slowly at first, playing with the tip with my tongue, licking him underneath, pulling him out of my mouth to spit on him and then taking him back in. Then I grabbed him at the base and started sucking him for real, moving my head up and down, closing my lips around his skin, letting him hit the back of my throat sometimes. His breathing tightened more and more, and he shoved a hand into my hair to set the rhythm. I pulled back for a second to run my tongue over his balls and watch him clench his teeth, and then I sucked him again until he yanked my hair to stop me.

—Wait —he said, and opened the drawer of the nightstand.

He put on the condom and I climbed on top of him. I didn’t want patience. I wanted him in me and for it to show. I grabbed him with my hand and lined him up at my entrance. I lowered myself slowly and felt him opening me from the inside little by little until I took him all the way in. I let out a long moan and stayed still for a second, sitting on top of him, feeling him fill me completely. I started moving with both hands on his chest, up and down, then in circles, then grinding against him with my clit pressed to the base of his cock. A few seconds later I heard, on the other side of the wall, Lucía’s first breath. Then a short, contained moan. Then another, less contained.

I couldn’t believe it. The girl who had never done “anything weird” was letting herself be sat on a couch fifteen meters from me. Instead of cutting me off, it set me on fire. I grabbed Bruno and started moving harder, faster, riding him with my tits bouncing in his face. He helped me with his hands on my hips, lifting me up and down whenever I lost the rhythm, digging his fingertips into my flesh. At one point he lifted me, turned me around, and put me on all fours against the bed frame. He shoved back inside me in one thrust and started fucking me from behind, gripping my hips, until skin slapped against skin. Every time he pushed, I moaned, and on the other side of the wall Lucía moaned almost at the same time, as if we were answering each other.

—Tell me how you want it —he said, his voice rough.

—Like this, harder, don’t stop.

He drove into me all the way with longer thrusts, pulling my hair, and I started tightening around him to make him come. I begged him to fill me. I told him to come. We both came almost at the same time, him with a short grunt against my nape and me biting the pillow so I wouldn’t scream to half of Rosario that I was coming. I felt his cock jerking inside me, and I was still trembling when I let myself fall face-down, breathing like I’d run a race. And then I heard, clear as an alarm, Lucía coming on the other side, with a sharp cry she didn’t even try to cover.

I started laughing. I couldn’t stop myself.

—You fucking bitch —I shouted toward the wall—, don’t scream so loud!

On the other side there was a muffled laugh, then a dull thud of a body collapsing onto the couch.

Bruno grabbed my hand.

—Let’s go say hi —he said.

We came out both wrapped in a sheet and blanket. Matías was sitting there, still panting, his cock still hard and shiny sticking out of his open pants, and Lucía was tousled, leaning against his chest with her miniskirt hiked up to her waist and her panties around one ankle. Her face was flushed and her eyes were bright. She looked at me as if asking for forgiveness.

—Don’t look at me like that —I told her—. Keep going.

And I gestured to Bruno to follow me to the couch opposite. I sat on top of him with my back to him, facing Lucía. I spread the blanket open, lined his cock up with my entrance, and took him in again, this time all at once, no ceremony. I wanted her to see me. I wanted to see her. I started moving slowly, with my legs open and my cunt fully on display, so Lucía could see how he was going in and out of me.

Lucía straightened herself on top of Matías, hesitated for two seconds, and then kept going. She lifted herself slightly and lowered herself again onto his cock, looking at me. I nodded without stopping my movement, as if telling her it was okay. She started riding him too, losing her shyness more with every second. Me too. The two of us in the same room, both moving in the same rhythm, looking at each other. Matías had opened her blouse and was groping her small tits with both hands, and she had her mouth open, tongue peeking out, asking without saying it. Bruno, behind me, held my breasts and pinched my nipples, and with his other hand he found my clit and started rubbing it while he drove up into me from below.

At one point I leaned forward and gave Lucía a soft kiss. I felt her go rigid for half a second and then she kissed me back, slowly, almost apologizing. Then she kissed me back less softly. I ran my tongue over her lips, opened them, and she sucked my tongue like she had never kissed anyone like that before. We stayed there with our mouths pressed together, moaning into each other’s mouths while the guys kept fucking us underneath.

We all came. I first, with the orgasm hitting me when Bruno squeezed my clit hard and thrust into me faster. Lucía came in my mouth, moaning against my lips, and then they came too, almost together, one inside me and the other inside her. When it was over, she covered herself immediately with one of Matías’s T-shirts and went into the bathroom. I stayed seated, wrapped around Bruno, with a strange heat in my chest that wasn’t just from sex.

Matías drove her home first and me afterward. On the way we barely talked. I was looking at the lit-up signs of the avenues, thinking that the night had turned out longer than either of us had imagined.

***

On Saturday, at eleven in the morning, the phone rang. It was Lucía.

—I don’t know what happened to me —she said, without saying hello.

—Good morning.

—Seriously. I don’t know what happened to me. I don’t do those things.

—You just did them. And from what could be heard, you liked it.

There was a silence. Then a nervous laugh.

—Can I come to your place? —I asked.

—Come.

She lived fifteen blocks away. I walked. When she opened the door she was in sweatpants and had just washed her face. I hugged her without making any comment. She stayed pressed against me longer than she usually did in a hug.

We sat in the kitchen with two cups of coffee. She told me she hadn’t slept. That she felt strange. That what had impacted her most, she said, wasn’t having slept with Matías —she’d already done that with other strangers— but kissing us.

—So? —I asked her.

—So nothing. I don’t know what to think. I’m not a lesbian.

—Nobody said you were. I’m not either. And once I kissed a girl on a school trip and my faith didn’t fall apart, nor did anything else.

—Seriously?

—Seriously. You can like kissing a woman without it defining you.

She went quiet, toying with the spoon.

—You liked it —I said.

—I liked it —she admitted, and covered her face with both hands.

I slowly pulled her hands away from her face. I looked at her. Her ears were red and her lips were slightly parted. I leaned in and gave her a soft, quick kiss, like the night before. I waited. She didn’t move. I gave her another, a little longer. Still she didn’t move, but she didn’t pull away either. On the third one she kissed me back, and I opened her mouth with my tongue, and she let me suck it slowly, as if testing it.

I took her to the living room couch. It was a gray two-seater, full of cushions, in front of a window washed in midday light. The light was harsh, different from the night before, and I liked that: I wanted her to see everything.

I kissed her slowly. I stroked her leg over the sweatpants, then underneath. Her skin was warm. I lifted her T-shirt and kissed her stomach. I ran my tongue over her navel and gently bit the skin below it, feeling it contract under my teeth. She was breathing with her mouth open, not knowing what to do with her hands.

—Touch me —I told her.

—Where?

—Anywhere you want.

She raised both hands, trembling, and rested them over my tits on top of my blouse. I laughed. I undid my blouse myself and put her hands under it, against my skin. She felt the hardened nipples and let out a short gasp, as if she was surprised that something like that could exist outside her own body. I took one of her hands and made her squeeze. I brought the other to my mouth and she sucked two of my fingers without being asked, staring straight at me. I took off her T-shirt, unhooked her bra, and took her small tits in my hands. I licked them one by one, sucking her nipples until they were hard and pink, and she arched her back against the couch.

I pulled her pants down. She didn’t resist. I kissed the inside of her thigh, worked my way up, and ran my tongue over her underwear. Her panties were already soaked through. She moaned, with that same breathing I had heard on the other side of the wall.

—Stop —she said suddenly.

I stopped.

—No, don’t stop —she corrected herself—. I thought I’d be able to, but I want you to… to touch me with your hand first. To go slowly.

I nodded. I slid my hand under the elastic of her panties and stroked her with one finger, not going in, until she herself pushed her hips into my palm. Only then did I go in. I sank one finger in slowly, to the knuckle, and she bit her lip. Then two fingers. Slow, deep movements, attentive to her breathing. With my thumb I found her clit and started rubbing it in circles while I pumped my fingers in and out. Every time I changed the rhythm a little, she adjusted herself, asking for more, opening her legs wider, closing her eyes.

When I felt her nice and wet, I ripped her panties off completely and lowered my mouth. I dragged my tongue all the way through her, from bottom to top, very slowly, and heard her let out a sharp breath. I opened the lips of her cunt with my fingers and sucked her clit without rushing, circling it with the tip of my tongue, while I kept sliding two fingers into her at the same time, curving them inward. I grabbed one of her hands and brought it to my hair so she could press my head against her. When she understood, she gripped hard. I shoved my tongue deep inside and felt her trembling. I went back to the clit, sucking with tight lips, and quickened my fingers to match. When she came, she bit my shoulder to keep from screaming, just like the night before she had screamed without holding back, and she pressed my head so hard against her cunt that I could barely breathe. I felt her jerk three or four times, with the inside of her contracting around my fingers, until she suddenly went limp and collapsed back against the couch.

She stayed stretched out there, her chest rising and falling. Then she laughed softly.

—I’m a saint, right? —she said, and covered her eyes with her arm.

—You’re a very diligent saint —I replied.

I kissed her forehead. I stayed a little longer with her, in silence. Then I walked home, with the strong sun on the back of my neck and the strange feeling that this story was only just beginning.

I’m going to turn her into a slut, I thought without guilt. And she’s going to like it.