Female Friends

The club queue smelled of weed and sweat. My flatmate squeezed my hand, not really knowing what she was doing there. I just kept thinking about finding him again.

We had a week to prepare the boldest costume. I showed up in a miniskirt and stockings. She opened her bedroom door with not a single piece of clothing on.

The commander’s voice froze them both. They’d only been alone in the ship’s infirmary for a few minutes, and the time they had left was no longer enough for anything.

She took another sip of wine, looked at me with that smile that means a confession is coming, and started telling me what really happened that night in the rented house.

I was fifteen and didn’t know what I was seeing. Now, at twenty-two, every memory of those afternoons takes on an entirely different meaning.

I’d spent twelve years waiting for Valeria to look at me like that. That night she finally did, but not in the way I’d imagined.

Ten years without seeing each other, and one champagne dinner was enough to bring everything between them to light. Some friendships hide something more.

When the candle went out, I thought it was my husband touching me. When the light came back, I realized it had all been planned long before that night.

The candle burned out. The darkness was absolute. And then I felt a hand moving up my thigh that wasn't my husband's. It was only a second, but it changed everything.

He called me a little slut the first time he saw me. The second time he begged me not to stop.

When Valeria came back to class after several days, I saw the flash of pain when she sat down. I knew the “flu” was an excuse.

The keys were rattling under my fingers when the phone rang. I knew her voice before she said my name, and I realized that night wouldn’t end alone.

I felt her before I heard her. Her scent came first, then her hands, then her mouth finding my neck in the dark hallway.

Rodrigo doesn’t know everything that happened on that trip. Only the version I chose to tell him. The truth is darker, more delicious.

When I went downstairs to the kitchen it was three in the morning. He was sitting there with a cup in his hand, bare-chested, looking at me as if he’d been waiting for me.

She told me to put my hands on the wall and look at myself in the mirror. Outside, people were walking by. Inside, only her fingers moving under my skirt.

It started as a night of pizza and fernet. It ended with each girl confessing the dirtiest erotic fantasy she’d ever said out loud.