What My Friend and I Did While She Slept

Just over three years ago, Valentina and I settled in a city neither of us knew. We had accepted a temporary contract that took us away from home, and the plan was simple: hang on as long as necessary, save money, and go back.

That was when I got back in touch with Rodrigo. We had met at secondary school, fifteen years earlier. We had shared classes for several years, the odd end-of-year trip, and that kind of intense teenage friendship that fades when each person goes their own way. Since then, just the occasional message on special dates.

But he lived a little over an hour and a half’s drive from where we had moved. Too close to keep saying, “we should meet up one day.”

The first meeting was awkward, as it usually is when you see someone after a long time. You look for the boy you remember and find a man making the same gestures. But the awkwardness didn’t last long. Within two hours we were talking as if nothing had changed.

The visits became regular. He came every couple of weeks, first to spend the day and later to stay the whole weekend. The flat wasn’t big enough for more than an air mattress in the living room, but none of us seemed to mind. Rodrigo and Valentina got on from the start: there were no off-limits topics among the three of us. We talked about work, relationships, money, sex. Rodrigo had that ease, that way of saying things straight, without drama.

One Saturday afternoon, having a drink in a bar in the neighbourhood, the conversation turned to personal experiences. With the same naturalness he might have used to ask for another round, Rodrigo mentioned that at some point he had been with a man. A couple of encounters, nothing serious. He said it and kept talking.

—And what was it like? —Valentina asked, curious, toying with the ice in her glass.

—Different —he said—. Less touching, more direct. Sometimes that’s what you need.

Valentina and I exchanged a glance. Then the subject changed by itself.

***

That night we got back to the flat later than planned. We had drunk more than usual and the atmosphere had that lightness alcohol gives you when mixed with the fatigue of a long afternoon. We put something on the TV, whatever came up first, and without anyone deciding it we ended up settled on the sofa: Rodrigo at one end, me in the middle, Valentina leaning on my shoulder with her eyes already heavy.

We switched off the living-room lamp. Only the flickering light from the screen remained.

Valentina brought a blanket from the bedroom because it was cold. The three of us covered ourselves with it, with that casualness that comes from months of shared trust.

I was just about ready to fall asleep. The film was still on, but I was no longer following it.

I don’t know how long it was before I felt the hand.

It was slow. A pressure on my thigh that started softly and kept moving upward with a clear purpose. I opened my eyes. Valentina had hers closed, her breathing slow. Asleep.

I glanced sideways at Rodrigo. He was staring at the screen, with that neutral expression that can mean anything. The hand didn’t stop. It climbed along the inside of my thigh with calculated slowness, stopping millimetres from my crotch, waiting. Waiting for me.

This is happening.

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t pull his hand away. I stayed still while I felt the situation affecting me physically, while my cock hardened inside my trousers before I had made any conscious decision. I felt it growing, tense against the fabric, and I knew he could feel it too through the back of his fingers.

Rodrigo probed the waistband of my trousers, worked his way inside and wrapped his hand around me. I was already rock-hard. His fingers circled the base, squeezed once to size me up, and began to move up and down slowly, with a calm that seemed unbelievable given what was happening. His thumb brushed the head, paused at the tip, traced it in a circle. I was wet. He noticed, barely smiled without turning his face, and used that moisture to slide his hand more easily, closing around my cock on the way down, loosening on the way up.

I closed my eyes.

The pleasure was real and concrete, and mixed with something harder to name: the awareness that the person jerking me off was my friend of fifteen years, on the sofa in my living room, with my partner asleep thirty centimetres away. Every tug of his fist sent a jolt through me that I had to swallow in silence so I wouldn’t wake her.

I turned toward Valentina and kissed her neck. She murmured something and shifted slightly. I kissed her mouth. She answered, still half asleep, with that automatic bodily response that comes before the mind.

—What time is it? —she said without opening her eyes.

—Late —I answered, and kept kissing her.

I slid a hand under her T-shirt and found her nipples already hard from the cold. I pinched them slowly, one and then the other, while Rodrigo kept masturbating me under the blanket without breaking rhythm. Her lips began to respond more firmly. I moved my hand down Valentina’s stomach, slipped my fingers under the waistband of her panties, and when I reached her cunt I found it soaked. We had spent weeks in the flat line of habit, and yet that night her body didn’t need any preamble: I opened her with two fingers and she was already dripping between them, hot, slick.

She started moaning very softly. She took off her T-shirt and sat up to pull down her panties, and in the dim light I saw Rodrigo’s eyes go to her tits, to the dark triangle between her legs. He didn’t stop touching me for a second.

I no longer knew what part of what I was feeling was for her and what part was for everything else.

***

I don’t remember exactly how we ended up on Rodrigo’s mattress in the corner of the living room. At some point the sofa was left behind. The room was completely dark; only a thin strip of streetlight came in under the blind.

Valentina lay on her back, naked, her legs already open by instinct. Rodrigo got between them before I did.

I stood there for a moment watching in the darkness, my hard cock pointing forward. I saw him lean over her, run his tongue along the inside of one thigh first, then the other, taking his time, and then bury his face between her legs. I heard her react with a soft, sustained sound that escaped her throat when Rodrigo’s tongue found her clit. He licked her slowly, dragging his tongue flat from bottom to top, and she arched her back against the mattress.

I don’t know if Valentina was aware of who was with her. Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe the darkness meant none of the three of us had to answer for anything. Her hands went down, looking for a head to grab onto, found Rodrigo’s hair, and instead of pushing him away she pulled him against her cunt and pushed her hips upward, against his mouth.

I knelt beside her and brought my cock to her lips. She found it by touch, took hold with her hand and swallowed it all in one go. She started sucking me with her eyes closed, her tongue curling around the head, her hand pumping the base at the same time. Every time Rodrigo licked her harder below, she moaned with my cock inside her mouth and the vibration shot up my shaft and exploded in my groin. I had to pull back before I came in her mouth.

After a while Rodrigo moved aside and gave me room.

I positioned myself between Valentina’s legs and entered her in one thrust, all the way to the hilt. She was so wet my cock sank in without resistance, and I felt the walls of her cunt close around me, hot, tight. She gave a low cry, biting her lip. We both started fucking together in a way that hadn’t happened between us for a long time. The night’s built-up tension made everything more intense, more urgent. Valentina wrapped her legs around me and dug her heels into my ass to pull me deeper with every thrust.

—Harder —she murmured against my ear—. More.

I obeyed. I started fucking her hard, driving into the back of her, feeling the air mattress shaking beneath us with every push. Her tits bounced against my chest. I grabbed one in my hand and pinched her nipple while I kept thrusting.

Then I felt Rodrigo’s hands on my back.

They moved slowly down my spine, followed the small of my back and grabbed my arse. He spread me with his thumbs, carefully, and ran his tongue over my ass.

I stopped dead for half a second, every muscle in my body tensed. I felt the hot, wet tongue circling, insisting, nudging slightly inside. Then I kept moving, fucking Valentina again, and the sensation multiplied in a way I had no name for. Every forward thrust now carried two different layers of pleasure: Valentina in front, squeezing my cock with every impact; Rodrigo behind, eating my arse with his whole tongue, sucking, salivating me. It was too much to process.

Rodrigo stopped using his tongue. I felt his body pressed against mine, his cock rubbing against me from behind without quite entering, sliding between my cheeks with what he had left there. He wasn’t fully hard. The pressure was enough. I kept going with Valentina, not stopping, fucking her faster and faster while my friend’s cock moved up and down along the line of my ass.

Then a finger. He spit on it first; I felt it cold against my skin, and then he pushed it in. Slowly, synchronised with my own movements: when I thrust toward her, the finger retreated; when I drew back, the finger advanced and went deeper. It was a coordination no one had planned, and it worked with a precision that seemed almost unreal to me. The finger reached the knuckle, turned inside, pressed a spot that made my legs tremble.

Valentina, beneath me, began to pant faster, her mouth open against my neck.

—I’m coming —she said—. I’m coming, don’t stop, don’t stop.

And she came. I felt her cunt clamping in spasms around my cock, her whole body tightening and then suddenly letting go. With Rodrigo’s finger still inside my arse, I picked up the pace. I didn’t hold out much longer.

I came inside Valentina with an intensity that left me breathless for several seconds. It came in bursts, I felt each one shooting deep inside her, while Rodrigo pushed the finger further in so I could empty myself completely. I collapsed to one side, my heart hammering hard and my legs weak, with semen still dripping from my wet cock.

Valentina took a moment to move. She sat up by feel, looked for her clothes on the dark floor and headed to the bathroom, walking slowly, her legs still weak. The door closed. The sound of running water.

I lay there on my back, eyes open in the dark.

Rodrigo came over in silence and lowered his head to my crotch. He started cleaning me with his tongue. He was meticulous and unhurried: he ran along my still-sensitive cock from base to tip, sucked the remains of semen and Valentina’s juices off me, took every drop into his mouth. He went down over my balls, took them in one by one, and kept going lower. He didn’t say a single word until nothing was left. When he finished, he came back up and gave me a short kiss on the mouth with both our tastes still on him.

—I’m going to sleep —I said into the air.

I made it to the bedroom as best I could. Valentina was already in bed. I lay down beside her and fell asleep almost at once.

***

Sunday was different.

There wasn’t open tension, not exactly. But the silence between the three of us was different from usual: more careful, like the silence around things that are not named because naming them makes them too real.

Rodrigo left before noon. We had breakfast with a normality the three of us maintained with effort, talked about unimportant things, and when he picked up his bag he said he had things to do. I walked him to the door. Nothing was said that was worth remembering.

Valentina took several days to ask me. Not directly: first it was a passing remark, “that night was weird, wasn’t it?”, said while she looked out the window without turning her head. Then another remark. Then several days of silences that stretched longer than usual.

I dodged everything I could. I didn’t exactly lie; I just didn’t answer precisely.

I don’t think she knew what had happened in detail. But she knew something had happened, and that something made her uncomfortable even if she couldn’t put a name to it. It made me uncomfortable too. For different reasons.

For almost a month there was no contact with Rodrigo. I didn’t call; neither did he.

When we got back in touch, it was with that forced normality that two people adopt when they have tacitly agreed to ignore something. The visits continued, more spaced out, with a tone that was sometimes noticeable and sometimes not.

Valentina never asked directly. I never told her.

Some things happen in a specific moment, under specific conditions, and afterwards are hard to classify. I don’t know if that night was a mistake, an accident, or something the three of us had somehow allowed to happen. What I do know is that time passes, and that certain nights stick to memory with a clarity that has little to do with regret.